Work Text:
Just before a quarter to 5pm GMT, Lukey took his phone, opened the notification from Instagram, and knew he was fucked. On the screen was the cutest photo of a barely waking Dutchman, bare shoulders just covered by white duvet, his eyes crinkled from sleep, and a cute pout that showed the discomfort of waking, and his perfect hedgehog hair—something he definitely fixed up just for the selfie. It was a scene he was used to waking up to, in different beds in different cities; but now, the scene wasn’t exclusive anymore. It sent quakes that stirred something deep within, a rousing jealousy of personal treasures being shown to the public eye, the greed that lay dormant—dormant because their schedules had always landed them together—finally awakened. The worst part? Lukey knew it was a ploy from Pangi. The big “look what you missed” blatantly broadcast across the channels of the internet and he fell for it: hook, line, and sinker. He is after all, just a man.
Unfortunately, said man was still stuck in the third out-of-a-total-of six hour lecture about production and film techniques used by the industry he already worked in. Lukey’s fingers worked quickly, screenshotting the evidence and shooting a message to the offender:
good morning! fuck you, you know I wanted to come!
He set the phone back down and attempted to shift his focus from exploring the mental image of Pangi’s barely waking form to what nonsense the lecturer was talking about before him. It was difficult. The man was quite cinematic in his own natural way. The lines of his exposed shoulders and the edges of the duvet, contrasted by shadow, created leading lines to his face. The creases from the pillow made his head the perfect target for wandering eyes. Then the hair—like tufts of cotton… those eyes—an invitation… that cute nose—perfect for a kiss… the darlings of the lens—drew you in, Pangi looked utterly soft. Lukey wanted to be there with him, to caress those features and push away the phone that sinned against him by exposing such a moment to the masses. He dropped his pen.
Not that anybody cared. The classmates he’d barely known due to his own hectic schedule with streaming and film work didn’t even shift a hair. The lecturer, far enough away, didn’t notice such a minor detail. Lukey however, was slightly pissed.
He picked up his pen and readjusted his position in the seat, making sure to sit in a way to ease off the pressure that had been building just below his belt.
Satisfied, he put the end of the pen in his mouth and opened up his phone again. Any degree of respect for the lecture lost with the blunder from before. Someone worth his time had sent a reply… and it was a photo—exclusively for him.
Lukey’s breath hitched. The end of the pen that hung on his lip almost fell before he pulled it back between pursed lips. It was Pangi, under the bright halo of what was possibly the backlight of the hotel bathroom mirror. His body in full display, almost like the statue of Venus found in the Louvre—except she was a he, and wore form fitting black boxer briefs that carefully hid away temptations under the layers of shadow and black instead of a loose shawl that hung around the hips.
“Fuck…” he muttered beneath his breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed back the saliva that threatened to escape his mouth.
Pangi held the camera just below his chin, face hidden away by shadow cast by his hair. An arm flexed behind his neck—the delicious bulge of muscle in prominent view, the elbow pointed outwards and upwards as if mid-stretch, followed by the toned pecs Pangi had been so pointedly sculpting. The lighting cascaded down his abdomen, highlighting the shallow grooves just above the v-line that disappeared into the black void of the fabric he wore. And his leg muscles, a mere sliver between the edges of the underwear and marble of the sink. Lukey pushed the base of his palm down his inner thigh, as he let the pen fall to his chest. This asshole was going to be the death of him.
He took another screenshot and sent another message with practiced precision; this time with a photo to accompany his complaints:
im in class
The picture was a hasty photo, lack of any of the artistic touch he was known for. It was a view of his jeans, a hand artfully placed over the consequence of the photo he’d just received. The pen from before, its button end still shiny from where it had fallen from his mouth, rested at the crumpled hem of his white jumper. The phone once again set down, right above the pen, as he leaned his head back and covered his face with his hands.
The lecturer was still droning on, something about lighting, camera angles, and post-production editing. His mind flashed back to Pangi’s body. There was nothing to improve, if it was placed in the scene of a movie, it would’ve been a dolly zoom from where the bathroom mirror would have been. The lens focusing on how he posed himself, of the slight smirk at the edge of his lips that appear for only a second before being hidden under the shadows, and the flash of tension just as he presses the button for the camera to take the shot—his muscles expanding between taut skin. Post-production, Lukey would’ve lost hours on the shot alone for personal and professional reasons… how could he improve the hot factor Pangi showed? Increase the contrast? Leave it silent or add some almost-silent music? Would he even want to release the cut to the world—no, no he wouldn’t.
Lukey stayed like that for a few minutes, a failed attempt to clear his mind of the other man stuck across the other side of the world. He could’ve been there, shared the bed with him as they always did—he wouldn’t have even minded paying for another room for Zam. He would’ve woken up first, as he always did, and watch the morning light seep past the curtains and wash over Pangi. He would’ve reached over to grab his personal phone and take photos as the Dutchman stirred awake. Each photo a perfect scene for a personal movie titled something corny like “Every Moment Awake With You” that he’d hide away from Pangi until sometime in the future… they’d probably laugh about it. His phone buzzed on his stomach.
He sat properly back in his chair, the lecturer’s droning once again blended in with the rest of the noise in the room. The person he could’ve been with if not for the class itself, had answered back. Unfortunately no picture this time, but equally still as annoying as ever…
hope that woke you up! call u tonight?
He rolled his eyes, but the smile gave away his inner joy. How could he say no? He is just a man, who was so deeply in love.
you distracted me, i was already awake
but yes!
have fun today!