#3039: Saint Petersburg, Russia
Original photo: @artleove
After a long day, Egor and Pasha retreat to a rooftop under the soft glow of the city’s white nights. What begins as a quiet, intimate photo session between two lovers unfolds into a tender and passionate exchange of roles, desire, and trust—captured in both memory and lens.
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Transcript
Egor sat at a table in the coffee shop, growing increasingly bored. It was half an hour past closing, but Pasha was still in the back, cleaning the coffee machine and stocking supplies for the next day. Normally, Egor would’ve helped with these tedious end-of-day tasks, but after a morning photoshoot for a commercial, he was too tired to lift a finger without sinking deeper into exhaustion.
He had already drunk a cup of coffee—actually two, both made by Pasha: one with caramel, the other with mint syrup. Both were far too sweet for the average person, but just right for Egor, who had an unshakable sweet tooth and never passed up something delicious.
Through the open door behind the counter, Egor could see Pasha moving. His partner's presence captivated him. Pasha, of average height and lean frame, had pale skin and bleached hair that made his blue eyes seem even brighter. His arms were covered in tattoos of fantastical creatures whose names Egor didn’t even know. Everything about the way Pasha moved—graceful and purposeful—fascinated him. Though being a barista wasn’t his dream, Pasha still performed his job with focus and integrity. It was just one of many reasons Egor had fallen—and kept falling—for him.
When Pasha wasn’t looking, Egor pulled out his camera and aimed through the open door, capturing Pasha in motion. His lens found confidence, quiet strength, and devotion in every frame. Egor smiled, already imagining how Pasha would react if he saw the photos. Despite living with a photographer, Pasha had always hated being photographed.
Eventually, Pasha called out, suggesting that if Egor wasn’t going to help with the dishes, he’d have to wash them alone. With a reluctant chuckle, Egor stood, gathered the cups, and carried them over.
As Pasha washed, Egor stared out the coffee shop’s glass wall. Though it was midnight, it wasn’t truly dark. In this northern city, summer brought long evenings of lingering twilight—what locals called “white nights.” Like many who’d moved here, Egor was charmed by them, seduced by the surreal beauty of a city that never seemed to sleep.
Soon, they locked the shop and stepped out onto the boulevard, talking softly about their plans for the next day—none of which were firmly set. Their apartment wasn’t far, which was lucky; at this hour, the bridges across the Neva were often raised to allow boat traffic, dividing the city into isolated islands. Tourists adored the spectacle. Locals mostly cursed the inconvenience and the late-night taxi fares.
Back at their building—a pre-revolutionary structure that had since been renovated—they climbed the broad staircase to their apartment. The soft indoor lighting did little to make them feel sleepier, and the lingering caffeine certainly didn’t help. It was clear they wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon. But they knew what could help.
With practiced ease, they grabbed a blanket and a few pillows and ascended the stairwell to a small door that led to the rooftop.
Technically, rooftop access was prohibited, but few cared enough to enforce it. Most buildings here had flat rooftops, making them ideal for quiet escapes, city views, and late-night peace—provided one was careful.
They had been here many times before. The view was no longer new, but still breathtaking. The palace, the river, the rooftops—all bathed in a dim, golden haze of the never-quite-night. Pasha lay back on the blanket, smiling up at the sky. Egor joined him, their hands brushing until he took Pasha’s in his own, pulling him close. The moment felt perfect, untouched.
Egor turned to look at him—how the light softened Pasha’s features, how his eyes seemed almost translucent, how his skin looked like porcelain. He reached for his phone, unable to resist capturing the beauty before him.
As he adjusted for the right angle, Pasha realized he was being photographed and frowned. He didn’t like being the subject. Egor pleaded silently, hoping for a few shots to remember this moment. With a sigh, Pasha relented. He knew how much photography meant to Egor—and he didn’t want to ruin the mood.
Once permission was granted, Egor's instincts kicked in. He began adjusting Pasha’s arms, tilting his chin, positioning him with gentle, practiced care. He had already taken more than a few photos but couldn’t stop. Pasha’s beauty, in this light, with this mood, was irresistible.
Egor asked him to take off his shirt. Pasha, mildly annoyed but still compliant, agreed. With his tattoos exposed and his body posed just right, the shots became more intimate. But it still wasn’t enough. Egor wanted more—wanted to see and capture everything.
When he asked Pasha to take off all his clothes, Pasha hesitated. They were, after all, outside. Even though darkness never fully arrived during white nights, shadows weren’t protection enough. But eventually, persuaded by Egor’s quiet insistence, he agreed.
Lying nude on the blanket, the cool night air brushing over his skin, Pasha posed while Egor continued taking photo after photo—until an idea struck.
With camera still in hand, Egor reached out and touched Pasha’s cock, lightly stroking it. Pasha’s breath caught, his eyes widening with surprise, then softening as pleasure washed over him. Egor kept photographing, capturing each subtle shift in expression—lips parted, brows tense, breath hitching.
He stroked him more deliberately now, thumb teasing the sensitive tip, palm tightening around the length. Pasha arched slightly, overwhelmed and breathless. Egor worked him expertly, both hands and camera in sync, until Pasha's cock throbbed and finally spilled across his stomach in a heated release.
Egor snapped one final shot, capturing the moment of ecstasy on Pasha’s face. He wasn’t sure what thrilled him more: the beauty of the moment, or the fact that he had preserved it forever.
Overcome, Egor leaned down and kissed him hard. Passion overtook artistic focus, and the camera finally slipped from his hands.
Sensing the shift, Pasha rolled them over, Egor now beneath him. He took Egor’s phone and grinned—it was his turn. Egor didn’t protest.
Now it was Egor who was asked to strip. Happily, he complied, shifting into poses, arching for the camera. But Pasha didn’t stop there. He lowered himself between Egor’s legs, spreading them to gain access to his lover’s body.
Desire burned between them. Pasha pushed into Egor slowly, savoring the heat, the tightness. He thrust with rhythm and hunger, camera briefly forgotten, then remembered again as he reached to capture Egor’s flushed face, parted lips, the pleasure blooming across every inch of him.
They moved together, meeting each stroke with a matching moan. The rooftop faded around them. The city was still alive—but for a moment, they were the only ones in it.
Eventually, the camera was discarded. Pasha’s thrusts quickened, driving deep until he lost himself completely inside his lover. Egor clung to him, trembling, moaning, finally releasing with a gasp, his own pleasure spilling onto his stomach as he stared up at a sky that refused to go dark.
The moment felt eternal—burned into memory, not just the photos.