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The first time Musa uses the camera in the bedroom, it's almost innocent. As innocent as it can be, at least.
Shindou's glowing, airy smile and content gaze as he lays beside Musa, reaching up to brush his fingertips featherlight over Musa's cheek. His light panting, his bangs slicked to his forehead from sweat, the love in his eyes as he traces Musa’s face - Musa wants to engrave it into his memory, to preserve this side of Shindou no one else sees long past the moment.
What Shindou lacks for in size, he more than makes up for with stamina and skill; like with running, he paces himself - slow and steady, thrust after thrust, stroke after stroke, finding the perfect rhythm to make Musa tremble. But it's not just his thrusts and his touch that make Musa come so hard he feels like he’s floating; it's also his tender kisses all over the inside of Musa's leg slung over his shoulder, it’s his whispered praises heavy with lust and heavier with affection, it’s his moans of
‘I love you, Musa, I love you so much,’
as their orgasms draw closer and closer.
All of his effort leaves him like this - a sight more stunning than any other Japan has to offer, a vision of euphoria caressing Musa's cheek.
Unlike the landscapes, though, it's not a sight Musa should capture on camera.
But he wants to so desperately.
“Shindou-san, may I take a picture? I want to keep this memory.”
His eyes widen, but his smile never falters. “Okay.”
Photos of Shindou naked and sweating from the waist up are locked in a folder hidden deeply in his laptop, where he assumes that's all there will be.
*
He couldn't have been more wrong.
Night after night, picture after picture, their hesitance crumbles and the folder grows.
“Takashiii,” Musa moans, struggling to articulate his thoughts, nevermind words no matter the language, as Shindou continues to lick his cock. “Takashi, may I-
ah,
may I take a picture?”
Shindou kisses the side of his cock again before he replies with a heavy voice, “Of course.”
On Musa’s camera screen, Shindou sets to his task again. One hand wrapped around the base of Musa’s cock, stroking in rhythm with his licks, the other hand fingering Musa, a steady in and out, hitting just the right spot and lingering there over and over.
But it's his blowjob that's driving Musa over the edge. A trail of kisses up the bottom of his shaft, followed by a pattern of licks up and down, up and down, sure to taste every centimeter, before he swirls his tongue around the head - all while looking up at Musa through his long lashes, pretty eyes searching Musa's face to gauge every reaction.
Click, click, click, he takes picture after picture. A shot of Shindou licking upwards every slowly, a shot of Shindou kissing the tip of his cock, a shot of Shindou looking directly at the camera as he finally takes him into his mouth.
Shindou can't go down too far, but it doesn't matter, it's never mattered - between his clever hands working him twice over, his content hum sending him over the edge, and his gaze on the lens just for his sake, Musa doesn't last much longer. “Ta- Takashi, I'm-”
Shindou pulls his mouth away, stroking his full length until he spills all over his stomach.
But the show's not over. Click, a shot of him kissing Musa’s belly button. Click, a shot of the mischievous delight in his eyes as he kisses again. Click, a shot as stares directly at the camera and licks at the pool of cum on Musa's abs.
These may be his favorite pictures yet, Musa thinks before sleep hits him as hard as any Shindou-induced orgasm.
*
He honestly has no favorites, though. How could he have a favorite
anything
when
everything
with Shindou riles him up in ways he's never felt before.
Before Shindou, he thought he was purely a bottom. There was simply no interest in switching, or much interest in butts either, for that matter.
Until he saw Shindou's.
From the first time he saw the man undressed, he knew he was doomed. Lean muscle that normally hid under deceptively cute sweaters, toned from his arms, to his chest, to his legs, and that knowing look in his eyes when he caught Musa's gaze tracing his spine down to his towel - before he let the towel fall away.
Taut from years of inclines, but still what Musa could only think to describe as ‘cute’ from his lithe frame.
And of course, firm. So wonderfully firm.
Musa can never get enough of it.
“Musa,” Shindou whines into his pillow as Musa continues to knead his ass, each cheek a perfect fit for his hands and each moan a sweet melody. “Musa,
ah,
please, I want you.”
Musa complies, stopping his squeezing only to grab the lube and condoms - and camera.
He takes a picture of just Shindou's butt, then another as he grabs a handful. He takes plenty of pictures as Shindou fingers himself, and then some shaky pictures with one hand when he takes over with the other to stretch. He takes a few pictures of his cock flat between Shindou’s spread cheeks, simply because he loves the look of it. He takes a picture of the head of his cock against Shindou’s entrance, and another of Shindou looking over his shoulder, biting his lip and pleading,
‘Please, Musa, I need you.’
He forgets to take anymore after he finally pushes in.
Shindou’s a performer even when the camera's forgotten, rocking his hips back in sync as Musa thrusts forward, grabbing a tight handful of his hair to keep it out of his eyes whenever he looks back, moaning Musa's name over and over, louder and desperate until it's nothing more than choked sobs.
Musa leans forward to kiss Shindou’s neck, stroking Shindou’s cock with one hand and wrapping his arm around Shindou’s chest to hold him closer. “Come for me, Shindou-san.”
And so Shindou does, legs trembling and voice hoarse as he moans Musa’s name a final time.
Shinduo flops over with a content sigh as soon as Musa pulls out, and it reminds Musa of the first time he took pictures of him like this; Shindou's glowing, an airy smile as he reaches to brush the back of his fingers over Musa's cheek.
Now Musa has dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of pictures of Shindou just like this.
And he loves each and every one of them. “Shindou-san, may I take a picture?”