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Seo Changbin is not an artist.
At least, not in the traditional sense. He’s an architect, a designer— the type of guy who has no need for a figure drawing class.
And yet here he sits, straddling this awful wooden art horse, back aching as he hunches over his drawing board to pin up his sheet of newsprint. This is the ultimate karma for skipping out on this class during his foundation year: a class with a roster full of underclassmen and one naked model. Oh yeah, and thankfully, also one Jisung.
Jisung— one of Changbin’s roommates, his best friend, and also the unwilling victim of a transcript screwup: the illustrator jostles into Changbin’s shoulder playfully as he walks past him, into the figure drawing class he’s now, by the grace of God and poor record-keeping, Changbin thinks, taking for the second time. It would actually be unbearable to be the worst artist in a class full of underclassmen if he didn’t have any friends to make faces at during studio time.
Jisung grins at him from across the circle of seats, pulling out his drawing board and newsprint in record time as their professor walks in, ushering a robed model Changbin doesn’t look particularly closely at into the classroom alongside him. Professor Kim places his computer down next to the whiteboard and pulls up the class Canvas page and Milanote as the model takes a seat in the corner.
“Hello, class,” he greets. “We’re going to get right into it today, so that we make the most of Hyunjin’s time. We’ll take a short break every hour, and an hour's break at noon.”
Jisung’s not looking at him— Changbin waves his fingers around to try and get his attention.
“We’re going to start with one-minute gesture drawings, and then move into five-minute. We’ll do twenty-minute sketches after that. It’ll be a kind of repeat of last week, so I’ll end the class with a one-hour drawing again.”
Finally, Jisung looks up and smiles crookedly. He mimes throwing his kneaded eraser at Changbin from across the way. Changbin dodges, looks back behind himself and makes a face like he's just narrowly avoided a grenade. He pretends his charcoal is a gun and cocks it back at Jisung in revenge.
“Ahem,” Professor Kim clears his throat pointedly, glancing at Changbin. “Please keep in mind what we discussed last week: pay close attention to how accurate the volume of your form is. Weight rests on the spine— I want to be able to feel the weight of your drawing. Hyunjin, if you would.”
Changbin smiles back at the professor sheepishly before bending down to fish around in the bottom of his bag for more charcoal. He’s not looking, but he can feel it when the model — Hyunjin? — walks past him, and he hears it when the other man steps onto the wooden platform in the middle of the circle of students.
“Do you want me standing?”
The model— Changbin glances towards the sound of his voice and almost shits himself. He’s gorgeous: thin, pretty eyes and a full pout. Long, light brown hair frames his high cheekbones and round cheeks. It falls down the back of his neck and in his eyes. Breathtaking, truly, and Changbin realizes with dawning horror that he is about to get naked.
“Standing is fine, thank you,” Professor Kim answers. “Please begin.”
This is not his first figure drawing session.
Changbin knows how it works— he’s aware of the completely nonsexual nature of the exercise. And to be honest, he’s never really thought about it in any kind of perverted manner: that seems immature to him. He’s not frightened of dick and pussy. This is art school. Naked people are par for the course.
But.
Changbin can see the model’s leg peeking out from under his white robe, the slit in the fabric opening all the way up his thigh. Tempting him. Teasing him.
This is not right. It’s taunting, pornographic, almost, how Hyunjin gathers up the strings of his robe in his large, bony hands, pulls them away from his body to undo the knot. He’s facing Changbin almost head-on— unfair.
Changbin watches breathlessly as the model’s slender fingers pick at the fluffy sash, and as he shimmies his pointer finger in-between the fabric and picks the knot apart. He shakes the robe off his shoulders and down his arms, peeling it off himself like a snake molting, and Changbin feels his mouth go bone-dry as the model gathers the last of his robe away from his legs and waist, tossing it on the ground beside the platform. Hyunjin stretches and yawns, gathering his arms above his head and shifting his weight into the first pose.
And wow, God, he’s beautiful — long, thin legs: hairless and lithe, the gentle lines of his torso are interrupted abruptly by his broad, sharp shoulders. Sporadic moles dot his tanned skin beautifully — he’s so bony, angular, and his wrists and ankles jut out sharply in contrast to his round face. Changbin tries not to look, but he does: the model’s cock, like the rest of him, is shockingly long and pretty.
There’s nothing else for Changbin to do but stare, nothing to do but gawk and try to jot down the lines of his body: supple thighs and the sexy arch of his back marked down with charcoal, a flat line for his chest on the other side. Nothing to do but gawk, beg his dick to behave, and let his eyes travel down the model’s body as the timer sounds and Hyunjin changes his pose, this time turning his — Changbin swallows back a noise as Hyunjin turns his ass towards him: the model looks over his shoulder and catches Changbin’s eyes as they travel back up his body. There’s something predatory in the model’s smirk, in the way he bends his body: he’s too thin to have much of an ass, but from the way he moves, Changbin can tell he knows how to use what he does have — he must be abnormally flexible. Something stirs in his belly at how clearly he can picture the model’s delicate legs spread in front of him, for him.
The color drains from Changbin's face as his dick stirs in his sweatpants. Bad. Behave. Jesus Christ.
He forces his hand to move against his newsprint, trying desperately to tear his eyes away from the model's sharp gaze. This is fucked up.
And, oh, for a little while it's kind of working— he gets distracted as quick gestural lines sketched down in desperation start to form a cheap imitation of Hyunjin’s image. Changbin begins to understand the lines of the model’s body, of his movements. He takes a second to clear his head. This is okay. He can do this. If he just focuses on the drawings, it’ll go too quickly for him to even remember how sexy the subject is. Yeah.
Changbin takes a deep breath and begins a new drawing on top of the old one as Hyunjin changes his pose again. Good: this time the angle is easier to draw.
He starts with Hyunjin’s thick neck, shoulders, his upper chest. The divots of his collarbone. Delicate arms: he quickly marks one of the moles on his right bicep. Dark brown nipples on a flat chest: a chest so skinny it’s almost concave. Thin, square torso and the lines of his ribs. Changbin sketches in his hip bones, the gentle curve of his waist, his mostly-hard cock— what?
What?
Wait, what?
Changbin blinks, glancing around his newsprint at the model for a double-take. He’s definitely fully hard now — his cock is surprisingly big, so there’s no missing it. It twitches, bobs in the air. What? When did that happen?
Changbin looks up at Hyunjin in alarm: does he know? Is he embarrassed? Changbin’s never seen this happen before, but it’s not that weird, he guesses. It would probably happen to him too — should look away? Should he try to catch his eye and give the model a sympathetic grimace? Guilt starts to pile like rocks in his belly; it's probably, like, sexual harassment or something on his part to eye-fuck the model like he had — he'd kill himself if he was a nude model and some guy ogled him so hard he accidentally got hard in front of an entire class.
Any trace of pity disappears when he meets the model’s eyes. Hyunjin is staring at him. Has been staring at him, based on the look on his face, the evil glint in his eyes. There isn’t a single trace of embarrassment in his slight, mocking grin. Oh, ohhhh-fucking-kay. He knows. He definitely fucking knows.
Hyunjin doesn’t blink, dark pupils boring into Changbin’s own. It’s a shameless challenge; Changbin can feel the back of his neck start to sweat, nerves tingling. He swallows his pride and looks away— pathetic. He’ll definitely have to take “alphamale shit” out of his Instagram bio after this. He can feel his cheeks burn red with shame.
A frantic glance around the room confirms that he's going crazy: absolutely no one else seems to care, the only sound in the room that of serious sketching. Changbin's pretty sure if he could see Professor Kim's computer screen he'd be playing solitaire. Jisung doesn't even look up. Changbin decides this is definitely a him problem: he attempts to settle into this as his new normal. The only problem is that it turns out that it’s actually really hard to draw normally when you can feel the glare of the sexiest man you’ve ever seen in your life drilling holes into your head with his eyes. The solution, Changbin decides, is to avoid the fuck out of any eye contact and try to think of Hyunjin as lines. Volume. Boxes stacked on top of each other.
It works about as well as he expects it to— at least his dick stays under control, thankfully, but it's boring and hard to draw. Thinking of the model as boxes results in him just actually drawing a million boxes in the vague shape of a person, stacked on top of one another like some kind of perverted Amazon warehouse.
Charcoal shreds pile up next to Changbin's knee. He loses track of how long it’s been. Hyunjin gets less hard, but he never loses his erection for long. It’s kind of fucking crazy: Changbin isn’t even sure how he can do that, like, physically. The model's gaze stays firmly fixed on Changbin's easel.
He blinks and suddenly they’re taking a fifteen-minute break. Hyunjin’s nowhere to be found, but Changbin finds himself popping grapes into his mouth with little idea how he even got the grapes at all. Jisung stands right over his shoulder, looking at his easel with his arms crossed like he’s staring at the fucking Mona Lisa.
“Huh,” Jisung remarks, almost teasingly. He’s bent slightly at the waist now, almost pressing his nose into the paper of Changbin’s drawing. Changbin is overcome with the urge to shove his face violently into it and send him toppling.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Changbin grumbles, shoving Jisung’s shoulder lightly. He almost wants to ask Jisung about the model’s dick, like, is that normal, or, like, do you think he’s jerking off right now, but the risk of embarrassment is too high for comfort. Jisung didn’t seem to care, or notice while they were drawing, and he’s a real artist, so it’s normal. It’s fine.
“I dunno, man,” Jisung looks back at him with a chubby-cheeked grin. “You just kinda seem to draw this guy’s ass and thighs a lot, huh, hyung?”
Changbin sputters, punching the younger’s arm too-aggressively when he buffers thinking of a response, shoving him away and eventually settling on a poetic, “I’ll draw your mother’s ass and thighs!” aimed at Jisung’s back as he walks back across the room towards his own art horse. Jisung flips him off. A timer sounds out from Professor Kim’s Macbook. The fifteen minutes are over.
Hyunjin meanders back into the classroom, dressed again in that stupid white robe — Changbin tracks his every long-legged step as he walks towards the center platform and throws himself dramatically on the stool.
“I’m giving you twenty minutes per drawing, now,” Professor Kim begins, “I want you to focus on the energy of the form. He should be alive. I don’t want to see any static stick-figures,” he turns to address the model. “Hyunjin, please begin when you’re ready.”
The model strips off his robe again, propping his body up on the column behind him, arms draped above his head. He’s so sexy, so long and beautiful, and Changbin notices almost immediately that he isn’t hard anymore, cock hanging limp against his body. He must have jacked off in the bathroom, or something? Did he spend the break going over his multiplication tables? Changbin isn't sure what the twinge of disappointment he feels in his gut at the sight of Hyunjin's lack of erection says about him as a person, and he isn't sure that's something he wants to know about himself right now.
Hyunjin turns his head, again locking eyes with Changbin as he settles into the pose. Again? Why? Changbin blinks at him, pulling out a couple more sheets of newsprint. What is he playing at?
"Twenty minutes," Professor Kim says, sitting back at his desk with his computer.
Twenty minutes, indeed. Changbin adjusts in his seat.
He starts with a loose, light sketch of the model's position: it's nice, he thinks. Looks fluid. The darker values of his face — hair casts a shadow over his nose, under his thick brows. He blinks at Changbin as Changbin glances at his eyes. They really are pretty, his eyes: Changbin likes how many moles he has on his face. It's charming. He wonders if anyone else in the classroom is looking closely enough to notice them.
He moves down: neck, Adam's apple. His charcoal marks the mole at Hyunjin’s collarbone: Changbin clears his throat to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth. That mole— he wants to bite near it something crazy, brush aside Hyunjin’s hair and sink his teeth into the base of his neck. Would he like that? Changbin wants to hear him whine. He bets the model likes that kind of thing, being bitten and roughed up a little. He swallows again. Hyunjin’s armpits are shaved. Changbin can't help but notice another mole inside his left one. Stop being weird. This is gross of him. He’s practically drooling.
Changbin's charcoal follows his gaze down, and he watches the light change around Hyunjin's hips as he shifts and breathes. Watches his thighs move as he shifts his weight from one leg, to the other and back again. Watches as his quickly-hardening cock bobs and gives a harsh jerk.
There's no way. No way. Again?
His eyes shoot up to the model's face, eyebrows raised in surprise. Hyunjin just blinks back at him blankly. Changbin's by no means a prude, but by this point it's almost offensive, even to him. He looks down at the model's cock, then back up in a silent question, like, really?
For the first time, Hyunjin looks away from him. Changbin swears something in his face twitches, too. Is he finally embarrassed? Now?
He tries to will himself to ignore it again, but it's hard: with twenty minutes to kill, Changbin has to spend a lot more time focusing on the details of the model's slender body than before. He tries to move down the rest of Hyunjin's body, sketching in soft thighs and thin legs, but eventually he has to go back to his hips: when he does, Hyunjin gets visibly harder. Wait — it’s almost like every time his eyes brush over Hyunjin's waist he seems to get more aroused, throbbing right in front of Changbin's eyes. Is it...?
His gaze flicks between the model's face and his body: yeah. It's something in Hyunjin's face: something about the slight flush to his cheeks and the way his breathing changes. Yeah, he's right. It's him. It's Changbin looking at his dick that's making Hyunjin so hard. Not just the attention, not just being watched and naked — him.
The realization goes straight to Changbin's groin. There's only so much he can take: defeat feels like his cock chubbing up.
He feels insane, hyper-aware of every one of Hyunjin’s movements. The model sighs shakily, and Changbin almost snaps his charcoal in half with how he flinches, eyes flying to Hyunjin’s face. Hyunjin’s plush lips are parted slightly, now; he’s breathing through his mouth shakily. Changbin feels almost queasy: a chill shoots down his body, through his belly and to his crotch. And, whoa: Changbin glances down. Something shiny and wet glimmers at the top of the model’s pretty cock. Changbin looks back up, and Hyunjin bites his lip, avoiding his gaze.
Changbin watches with morbid arousal as a bead of precum rolls of the tip of the model’s cock and travels halfway down his length. He feels himself shudder as it parts from Hyunjin’s skin and drips, slowly, onto the wood of the platform beneath the model. Changbin’s dick throbs aggressively in his sweats. The model is dripping. That is so fucking gross. That is so fucking hot.
Is anyone at all seeing this? Changbin peers over his newsprint, around his easel at the class. Anyone? No. Silent sketching and observation on every other student's face, like they're completely blind to the sight before them: blind to the way Hyunjin's body curves, how his breathing hitches, shaking through soft lips that fall open in a silent gasp as his erection jolts. Changbin can't believe it. He looks over at Jisung— are you fucking seeing this? And— no. Of course not. Jisung, traitor that he is, just blinks when he sees Changbin staring at him from behind the newsprint, gives him a little confused head shake and a shrug, like, what?, like, you’re hallucinating, like, I’m not bothered because I’m a real artist, not a gay stupid architect, so fuck you. Is he being gaslit right now? What is going on?
The last ten minutes pass in a feverish haze. Changbin feel like he's underwater: he makes lines on the paper, but their relationship to the figure in front of him is questionable, at best. It's overstimulating: the slight tremble in Hyunjin's thighs, the scratching of charcoal on paper. Hyunjin's still looking at him, always looking, and by the time Professor Kim's timer sounds for their lunch break, Changbin's just as hard as the model, so hard it aches, straining and chafing against the fabric of his pants. He sits back to take in his drawings: the newsprint is covered in twenty-minute chicken-scratch abstractions.
Changbin's sure that Hyunjin hears the timer ring, but even as everyone begins to pack up and leave, he doesn't break eye contact with him. It's entrancing, hypnotizing, almost, how he keeps glancing back at Changbin as he steps slightly off the platform, bends down to gather his robe up and folds the white fabric over his arm, covering his hard-on from view. Still, he glances back to Changbin with that same glint in his eye, stepping away slightly to be out of the way of the students rushing out of the studio, peering over his shoulder and raising a hand, almost like he's about to gesture for Changbin, like he's about to say come here, big boy, point and wave and drop to his scrawny knees in front of Changbin's leaking cock, and then—
"Wow, hyung," Jisung remarks. Changbin almost jumps out of his skin at Jisung's hand clapping down on his back, pulling his bag into his lap at supersonic speed. For the love of God. When did he pull up behind Changbin's shoulder again? "Abstract. I like it, Picasso."
Changbin grunts in annoyed disapproval. "Picasso wishes."
Jisung hums, picking up Changbin's water bottle like he's trying to help pack up. "Let's go down the street for lunch. That new Mexican place just opened."
Changbin could scream. The depravity of this is off-the-charts: he's sure that he's, like, the world's biggest pervert, sitting here with like, the universe's biggest boner while his best friend tries to ask him about lunch. There is no standing up for him right now. This is rock bottom.
"Yeah, man," he says, gaze stuck on Hyunjin's back. Even though their professor has already left, the model is still sitting on the edge of the platform, robe over his lap, still naked. He's checking his phone. "You go ahead. I'm just gonna finish this drawing up."
"Finish what up? You barely drew anything here, dude. C'mon, let's—"
"Just," Changbin interjects, forcefully. "Go without me."
There's silence over his shoulder. Changbin can practically feel Jisung's eyebrows raise as his hand withdraws from his back.
"Alright," Jisung replies. "Understood. Jeez."
And then he leaves, and it's just Changbin. Changbin and the model, who stands up and places his robe and phone down on the platform as the sound of the door shutting echoes through the room and Jisung's footsteps fade down the hallway. He turns around to face Changbin: just standing there, blatant, naked, his slim frame laid bare with absolutely no room for plausible deniability. Changbin can't help but freeze, sit there helplessly and stare.
"So?" The model asks.
Changbin can't think of anything to say. He blinks.
Hyunjin blinks.
And then the spell is broken and Changbin’s scrambling up from his stool, tripping over himself to shove away the bag from his lap, scurrying pathetically across the room. He grabs at the model's hips, bony fingers down his pants before he can say anything, before he even thinks to say anything. He hears himself grunting as the model grabs at his cock over his briefs.
“Shit,” Hyunjin half-gasps, half-giggles, eyes lazy and lidded, and then Changbin’s lips are on his and he’s running his hands over the other man’s bare back, grasping at his thin waist, pushing him back against the column and shoving a leg between his bare thighs. He’s taller, by a considerable amount, but he’s so light, and Changbin makes some kind of weird noise into Hyunjin’s mouth when he realizes just how easy he’d be to throw around. His lips are so soft, and Changbin almost chokes on his own saliva when Hyunjin squeezes him. Fuck.
The model lets out a strained, whining sound when Changbin pulls away to breathe, hand withdrawing from where it was groping at Changbin's bulge to unzip his jeans. His free hand falls from the back of Changbin’s head to drape around his shoulder, trying to pull the shorter closer into himself. Changbin kisses him again.
It’s messier this time — the model is desperate, clumsy, distracted with trying to undo Changbin’s zipper, and it makes the kiss kind of gross with spit and tongue. He bites at Changbin’s bottom lip, groaning into his mouth. Changbin’s hands pull at his lower back, cup his ass and pull him forward as the model shoves his boxers down enough to take his cock out. He squeezes Hyunjin’s ass. Hyunjin whimpers, breath hot as he pulls away to bite his own lip. He goes boneless, pliant as he works his hand over Changbin’s erection and drops his forehead to Changbin’s shoulder.
Changbin hisses as the model spreads precum over the tip of his cock, down his length. He’d almost forgotten how hard he is — he jerks his hips up embarrassingly into Hyunjin’s hand as he closes it into a fist around Changbin’s cock, jerking him off, messy and loose.
Hyunjin sighs needily, floppily, fingers working against Changbin in an almost-punishing manner. “Jerk me off, too,” he complains into Changbin’s shoulder.
“Oh, yeah,” Changbin reaches for the other man’s crotch somewhat awkwardly, palming his cock, thumbing over the tip. Hyunjin squeaks, nails of the hand draped around Changbin digging into his shoulder. "Yeah, shit, sorry."
"Hnn-," the model keens, tossing his head back so that it rests on the column behind him. He grabs Changbin's head and pulls his face into his neck. Changbin’s happy to comply, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses onto the skin there as he fists Hyunjin's cock — though, what he really wants to do is bite, mark up the model's neck so that everyone in the class can see what an easy whore he is.
“I’m going to get fired,” Hyunjin giggles, breathily, hand pulling at Changbin’s hair. “I’m soooo getting fired, for real this time.”
"You're so sexy," Changbin replies, breathing unsteady, teeth teasing at Hyunjin's nape, hands busy. "Fuck, you're so sexy."
The model kisses him again, hot and careless, cock pulsing and throbbing and wet in Changbin's hand. He parts only to whimper in Changbin's ear. "Wait,” he whines. “Stop, stop, hgh— I’m gonna cum, wait-!”
And he does, dropping his head to Changbin's shoulder as he cums into Changbin's hand and all over his shirt with a gasping, drawn-out keen. His hand goes lazy as he slumps over Changbin, grabbing onto his shirt. "Shit," Hyunjin mutters, out of breath. "Shit, lemme suck you off."
Changbin grunts in affirmation, hand threading through Hyunjin's hair as he drops to his knees. The model's eyes lock onto his almost shyly as he brushes his hair behind one ear, out of his face. He wastes no time licking up the length of Changbin's cock, taking the sensitive tip into his mouth. Changbin can't help himself, tugging at Hyunjin's hair, forcing his lips further down his cock, Hyunjin swallowing him back easily as he rocks his hips subconsciously. He's just about to grunt out an apology when Hyunjin moans around him, eyes fluttering closed at the rough treatment.
"Jesus," Changbin grits out, "You like that? Gonna- gonna let me fuck your throat?"
Hyunjin peers up at him, nodding slightly. He reaches a hand up to close around Changbin's hand in his hair, urging him to pull.
Changbin doesn't need to be told twice, trying to stay somewhat gentle as he fucks into the model's mouth with reckless abandon. It doesn't really work, but Hyunjin doesn't seem to mind, letting his mouth go lax and lazy as Changbin desperately chases his own orgasm. He's close, so close, and he knows Hyunjin knows but he still tries to tell him, gasping out a, "Close—," as Hyunjin looks up at him blankly, making no move to pull off. Changbin screws his eyes shut and holds the model's head still as he cums, spilling down his throat. The experience is near-religious.
He loosens his grip, and Hyunjin sits back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He swallows it all.
Changbin sits back onto the platform, practically panting. He brings a hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes: hazy post-orgasm, he barely notices it when the model roots around in his robe on the platform beside him, pulling out his phone. He extends it to Changbin.
"What?" Changbin asks. It's not computing.
"Can I have your number?"
"Uh," Changbin responds, taking the phone with hands still-shaky, "Sure," he types in his number and hands the phone back, watching as Hyunjin presses "Add New Contact". His long, beautiful fingers pause over the "Contact Name" slot on the screen.
There’s a nervous pause as the model glances at Changbin's face, which he's sure is still flushed a splotchy, embarrassing red. “Sorry, um... what was your name again?”