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merryfuture2023-08-12 03:08 pm
staygame) wrote in merryfuture2023-08-12 03:08 pm
Entry tags:
my school president: you're like a song i can't resist (2023)
you're like a song i can't resist (ao3 link, see original work for author's notes) | my school president, tinn/gun, mature, 1.7k words
tags: consensual underage sex, canon related, creator chose not to use archive warnings
---
Gun is half-asleep when Tinn barges in. He knows it's Tinn even with his head buried under his blanket because, somehow, Tinn has the footsteps of a morning person. Gun's mom would never sound that enthusiastic this early.
"My mom has to stop letting you in," Gun says, which he doesn't mean.
"Come on," Tinn says. He pats the back of Gun's calf, sticking out from the blanket. "You're the one who said you wanted to keep up the training regiment to prepare for Hot Wave."
Those were the intentions of Gun from two days ago. Today's Gun, at 8 AM with another few hours of sleep within grasp if he just keeps his eyes shut, does not care about those plans.
"Ten more minutes," he groans.
"You will feel better when you start running," Tinn says. He shifts forward on the bed until he's got his hands on Gun's shoulders, giving them a shake.
"I absolutely will not," Gun says, tugging the blanket free from his face so that he can glare up at Tinn.
Tinn is closer than he expects, leaning down into Gun's space. He is unfairly good looking, Gun thinks. If they were dating, he could yank Tinn down under the covers with him and they would kiss until Gun's mom started calling them for breakfast. The mental image comes easily—every one of Gun's thoughts these days is about either Tinn, Hot Wave, or both. Looking up at Tinn, heat stirs in Gun's belly. A problem, since he was already rocking morning wood when Tinn showed up.
"Okay, okay. Just go wait downstairs while I get ready," Gun says.
Tinn is oblivious to Gun's attempt to get rid of him. "I don't trust you," he says. "You're going to go back to sleep."
He's straddling Gun, only the thin layer of the blanket between them and if either of them move the wrong way, Gun's predicament is going to make itself known. Gun curls and uncurls his fists, trying to breathe through the arousal, trying to redirect his thoughts to math homework and little old ladies and his bandmates, but then Tinn, still so close to Gun's face, says, "Should I help you get dressed?"
And normally Gun would laugh off Tinn's flirting (secretly charmed and trying not to show it), but this particular line is paired with a slight shift against Gun's crotch as Tinn tries to adjust his weight, and that's enough for Gun to let out a squeaky gasp.
Tinn stills. Gun shuts his eyes. He counts to three, then gives an awkward laugh. "Now if you'll move, I'll take care of this and we can go jogging or whatever."
"I could, uh, help you?" Tinn says.
Gun opens his eyes. "Help with what?"
"You know," Tinn says, looking down at where their hips are pressed together and then back up at Gun.
His expression is serious, the same sincere helpfulness as if he's offering to lend a hand with tutoring or carrying equipment to the van. It's kind of an absurd offer to make for someone who hasn't even managed to land a proper kiss on Gun yet, and besides—
"The rules," Gun says, grasping for anything to normalize this situation. "No dating."
"The rule is against dating, not other things," Tinn says. "Look, Gun, I just really, really like you and I really, really want you."
Gun's heart stutters syncopated in his chest. He knows how it feels to be liked, but he doesn't think he's ever known how it feels to be wanted until right now, until Tinn's eyes gazing down at him in earnest affection. It's a lot for eight in the morning.
"Ai'Tinn, are you trying to corrupt me?"
"That depends," Tinn says. "Is it working?"
"You'd better lock the door first," Gun says.
Tinn is on his feet in an instant. Gun sees the tenting of Tinn’s shorts and he has to wipe his sweaty palms against his mattress, his own cock twitching. He hears the click of the lock and a moment later, Tinn is climbing back onto the bed and ducking under the blanket. He leans in, eyes fluttering closed, but Gun shoves a hand between their mouths before Tinn can make contact.
“No kissing,” Gun says. Tinn looks down at him with a face that conveys this is where you draw the line? and Gun knows that it’s stupid, he does, but he doesn’t know how to explain the sentimentality behind it. That it’s not about what’s allowed or not allowed within this loose interpretation of the rules; it’s about how badly Gun wants to kiss Tinn as the winner of Hot Wave, as someone who’s as good and deserving as Tinn is. He tickles the underside of Tinn’s chin in consolation. “Just a little longer, okay?”
Tinn lets out a groan, pressing his face into the crook of Gun’s neck. “You are killing me,” he says, and it’s not the first time they’ve been in this particular position, but it’s the first time Gun is so immediately aware of Tinn’s mouth, hot and wet against his skin.
“I’d rather you not die,” Gun says. He slides a hand under Tinn’s shirt, fingers trailing along the smooth plane of Tinn’s stomach, up between his pecs, flattening against the top of his chest. His skin is warm to the touch. “Do you want to take—”
“Yes,” Tinn says. He sits up and strips his shirt off, flinging it to the ground before reaching for the hem of Gun's ratty pajama top.
Gun knows from his bathroom jerk-offs that his chest goes red and splotchy when he’s turned on and he’s a little shy when Tinn tugs his shirt over his head, but Tinn doesn’t seem to care. He lowers his head and presses a kiss to Gun’s sternum.
“That doesn’t count, right?” Tinn asks.
“No,” Gun stutters out.
Tinn’s smile borders on devious. “Good,” he says, and he kisses Gun again, this time just below his collarbone, sucking lightly before working his way up to the base of Gun’s neck, under his ear. Gun’s hips thrust up against Tinn’s like a reflex, pushing into the hard line of Tinn’s erection. The friction draws a gasp from Gun, his cock starting to throb.
It takes a lot—a bravery not unlike hooking his pinky around Tinn’s or asking Tinn who he liked, pushing past the butterflies for the reward that would hopefully follow—for Gun to say, “Touch me.”
“Yeah?” Tinn asks, lifting his head to meet Gun’s eyes.
“We don’t have all day,” Gun says, this time rolling his hips up purposefully, watching the stupid, horny expression on Tinn’s face. “You gonna help or what, Mr. School President?”
Tinn does not need to be asked twice. He rolls to Gun’s side, one arm cradling Gun’s head and the other tugging Gun’s boxers halfway down his thighs. He studies Gun’s cock for a moment like he never expected to get this far and honestly, Gun doesn’t blame him. He’s spent plenty of time thinking about kissing and touching Tinn, but always sort of abstract, with both a lack of firsthand experience to pull from and a faint, lingering guilt about imagining Tinn that way. But then Tinn must come to terms with reality because he fists a hand around Gun’s dick, thumb sliding through the wetness at the head. Gun feels heat prickling underneath his skin, his toes curling into the sheets.
Gun closes his eyes. If he looks at Tinn’s hand on him, it might be over in seconds. Gun can feel Tinn’s mouth against his neck, his breath hot and heavy, and he can feel Tinn’s cock pressing into his side, rutting against him. It might be over in seconds anyway, because Tinn has figured out his rhythm, stroking Gun faster, his grip firm and assured. There’s an urgency building in Gun’s stomach and he has to bite back a whimper. His fingers grasp at anything; Tinn’s hair, his shoulders. With an absurd kind of pre-nut clarity, he thinks, P’Yak definitely wouldn’t approve of this.
He’s laughing when he comes, his back arching off the bed as Tinn strokes him through it, spurts of come spilling over Tinn’s knuckles. His release feels wrung from him, more intense than anything he could do for himself. Every muscle un-tenses as Gun comes back to himself, opening his eyes to Tinn’s flushed cheeks and parted lips.
“I like you so much,” Gun says. It comes out as a whisper, like a shared secret. Tinn knocks his forehead against Gun with a heavy breath and only then does Gun realize that Tinn’s hips are still grinding against him, his cock pulsing against Gun’s thigh as he comes in his shorts. Their mouths are close enough for Gun to feel wet curve of Tinn’s upper lip, but before Gun can break his own promise, Tinn flops back onto the bed.
“I like you too,” Tinn says, panting. After a moment, he lifts his sticky hand. “Can I get a towel?”
Gun has to use his abandoned pajama shirt to clean up the mess on his stomach before he makes a run for the bathroom. Luckily, his mom is still downstairs and he’s able to return to his room with a damp washcloth without incident. Once clean, there’s a reassembling of clothes—Gun tries not to focus too hard on the fact that Tinn is now wearing his underwear and shorts—and some awkward shuffling, neither of them knowing quite where to look. If Gun thought sniff kisses made him shy, then this is inconceivable.
But this is Tinn, and Gun can’t look away from him for long.
He reaches for Tinn, arms hooking around his neck. “I certainly hope you’re not this nice to everyone,” he says.
“Never,” Tinn says. His hands settle on Gun’s hips, first pretending to push him away and then tugging him in closer. “I’ve told you. I only have eyes for you.”
“Do you think my mom will think I just fell back asleep?” Gun asks, smoothing down a few errant strands of Tinn’s hair.
Tinn gestures to his borrowed pants. “Maybe if she doesn’t see the new outfit,” he says, and Gun has to laugh.
“Mr. School President, I’ve already had my cardio for today. Why don’t we skip jogging?”
“No,” Tinn says, then kisses Gun’s forehead. “For Hot Wave, remember?”
For Hot Wave. For the promise of a victory and a boyfriend and more of what they did this morning. “Alright, alright,” Gun concedes. Not even exercises can bring his mood down now. He nudges Tinn towards the door. “Just try to walk fast and hope my mom doesn’t notice."
tags: consensual underage sex, canon related, creator chose not to use archive warnings
---
Gun is half-asleep when Tinn barges in. He knows it's Tinn even with his head buried under his blanket because, somehow, Tinn has the footsteps of a morning person. Gun's mom would never sound that enthusiastic this early.
"My mom has to stop letting you in," Gun says, which he doesn't mean.
"Come on," Tinn says. He pats the back of Gun's calf, sticking out from the blanket. "You're the one who said you wanted to keep up the training regiment to prepare for Hot Wave."
Those were the intentions of Gun from two days ago. Today's Gun, at 8 AM with another few hours of sleep within grasp if he just keeps his eyes shut, does not care about those plans.
"Ten more minutes," he groans.
"You will feel better when you start running," Tinn says. He shifts forward on the bed until he's got his hands on Gun's shoulders, giving them a shake.
"I absolutely will not," Gun says, tugging the blanket free from his face so that he can glare up at Tinn.
Tinn is closer than he expects, leaning down into Gun's space. He is unfairly good looking, Gun thinks. If they were dating, he could yank Tinn down under the covers with him and they would kiss until Gun's mom started calling them for breakfast. The mental image comes easily—every one of Gun's thoughts these days is about either Tinn, Hot Wave, or both. Looking up at Tinn, heat stirs in Gun's belly. A problem, since he was already rocking morning wood when Tinn showed up.
"Okay, okay. Just go wait downstairs while I get ready," Gun says.
Tinn is oblivious to Gun's attempt to get rid of him. "I don't trust you," he says. "You're going to go back to sleep."
He's straddling Gun, only the thin layer of the blanket between them and if either of them move the wrong way, Gun's predicament is going to make itself known. Gun curls and uncurls his fists, trying to breathe through the arousal, trying to redirect his thoughts to math homework and little old ladies and his bandmates, but then Tinn, still so close to Gun's face, says, "Should I help you get dressed?"
And normally Gun would laugh off Tinn's flirting (secretly charmed and trying not to show it), but this particular line is paired with a slight shift against Gun's crotch as Tinn tries to adjust his weight, and that's enough for Gun to let out a squeaky gasp.
Tinn stills. Gun shuts his eyes. He counts to three, then gives an awkward laugh. "Now if you'll move, I'll take care of this and we can go jogging or whatever."
"I could, uh, help you?" Tinn says.
Gun opens his eyes. "Help with what?"
"You know," Tinn says, looking down at where their hips are pressed together and then back up at Gun.
His expression is serious, the same sincere helpfulness as if he's offering to lend a hand with tutoring or carrying equipment to the van. It's kind of an absurd offer to make for someone who hasn't even managed to land a proper kiss on Gun yet, and besides—
"The rules," Gun says, grasping for anything to normalize this situation. "No dating."
"The rule is against dating, not other things," Tinn says. "Look, Gun, I just really, really like you and I really, really want you."
Gun's heart stutters syncopated in his chest. He knows how it feels to be liked, but he doesn't think he's ever known how it feels to be wanted until right now, until Tinn's eyes gazing down at him in earnest affection. It's a lot for eight in the morning.
"Ai'Tinn, are you trying to corrupt me?"
"That depends," Tinn says. "Is it working?"
"You'd better lock the door first," Gun says.
Tinn is on his feet in an instant. Gun sees the tenting of Tinn’s shorts and he has to wipe his sweaty palms against his mattress, his own cock twitching. He hears the click of the lock and a moment later, Tinn is climbing back onto the bed and ducking under the blanket. He leans in, eyes fluttering closed, but Gun shoves a hand between their mouths before Tinn can make contact.
“No kissing,” Gun says. Tinn looks down at him with a face that conveys this is where you draw the line? and Gun knows that it’s stupid, he does, but he doesn’t know how to explain the sentimentality behind it. That it’s not about what’s allowed or not allowed within this loose interpretation of the rules; it’s about how badly Gun wants to kiss Tinn as the winner of Hot Wave, as someone who’s as good and deserving as Tinn is. He tickles the underside of Tinn’s chin in consolation. “Just a little longer, okay?”
Tinn lets out a groan, pressing his face into the crook of Gun’s neck. “You are killing me,” he says, and it’s not the first time they’ve been in this particular position, but it’s the first time Gun is so immediately aware of Tinn’s mouth, hot and wet against his skin.
“I’d rather you not die,” Gun says. He slides a hand under Tinn’s shirt, fingers trailing along the smooth plane of Tinn’s stomach, up between his pecs, flattening against the top of his chest. His skin is warm to the touch. “Do you want to take—”
“Yes,” Tinn says. He sits up and strips his shirt off, flinging it to the ground before reaching for the hem of Gun's ratty pajama top.
Gun knows from his bathroom jerk-offs that his chest goes red and splotchy when he’s turned on and he’s a little shy when Tinn tugs his shirt over his head, but Tinn doesn’t seem to care. He lowers his head and presses a kiss to Gun’s sternum.
“That doesn’t count, right?” Tinn asks.
“No,” Gun stutters out.
Tinn’s smile borders on devious. “Good,” he says, and he kisses Gun again, this time just below his collarbone, sucking lightly before working his way up to the base of Gun’s neck, under his ear. Gun’s hips thrust up against Tinn’s like a reflex, pushing into the hard line of Tinn’s erection. The friction draws a gasp from Gun, his cock starting to throb.
It takes a lot—a bravery not unlike hooking his pinky around Tinn’s or asking Tinn who he liked, pushing past the butterflies for the reward that would hopefully follow—for Gun to say, “Touch me.”
“Yeah?” Tinn asks, lifting his head to meet Gun’s eyes.
“We don’t have all day,” Gun says, this time rolling his hips up purposefully, watching the stupid, horny expression on Tinn’s face. “You gonna help or what, Mr. School President?”
Tinn does not need to be asked twice. He rolls to Gun’s side, one arm cradling Gun’s head and the other tugging Gun’s boxers halfway down his thighs. He studies Gun’s cock for a moment like he never expected to get this far and honestly, Gun doesn’t blame him. He’s spent plenty of time thinking about kissing and touching Tinn, but always sort of abstract, with both a lack of firsthand experience to pull from and a faint, lingering guilt about imagining Tinn that way. But then Tinn must come to terms with reality because he fists a hand around Gun’s dick, thumb sliding through the wetness at the head. Gun feels heat prickling underneath his skin, his toes curling into the sheets.
Gun closes his eyes. If he looks at Tinn’s hand on him, it might be over in seconds. Gun can feel Tinn’s mouth against his neck, his breath hot and heavy, and he can feel Tinn’s cock pressing into his side, rutting against him. It might be over in seconds anyway, because Tinn has figured out his rhythm, stroking Gun faster, his grip firm and assured. There’s an urgency building in Gun’s stomach and he has to bite back a whimper. His fingers grasp at anything; Tinn’s hair, his shoulders. With an absurd kind of pre-nut clarity, he thinks, P’Yak definitely wouldn’t approve of this.
He’s laughing when he comes, his back arching off the bed as Tinn strokes him through it, spurts of come spilling over Tinn’s knuckles. His release feels wrung from him, more intense than anything he could do for himself. Every muscle un-tenses as Gun comes back to himself, opening his eyes to Tinn’s flushed cheeks and parted lips.
“I like you so much,” Gun says. It comes out as a whisper, like a shared secret. Tinn knocks his forehead against Gun with a heavy breath and only then does Gun realize that Tinn’s hips are still grinding against him, his cock pulsing against Gun’s thigh as he comes in his shorts. Their mouths are close enough for Gun to feel wet curve of Tinn’s upper lip, but before Gun can break his own promise, Tinn flops back onto the bed.
“I like you too,” Tinn says, panting. After a moment, he lifts his sticky hand. “Can I get a towel?”
Gun has to use his abandoned pajama shirt to clean up the mess on his stomach before he makes a run for the bathroom. Luckily, his mom is still downstairs and he’s able to return to his room with a damp washcloth without incident. Once clean, there’s a reassembling of clothes—Gun tries not to focus too hard on the fact that Tinn is now wearing his underwear and shorts—and some awkward shuffling, neither of them knowing quite where to look. If Gun thought sniff kisses made him shy, then this is inconceivable.
But this is Tinn, and Gun can’t look away from him for long.
He reaches for Tinn, arms hooking around his neck. “I certainly hope you’re not this nice to everyone,” he says.
“Never,” Tinn says. His hands settle on Gun’s hips, first pretending to push him away and then tugging him in closer. “I’ve told you. I only have eyes for you.”
“Do you think my mom will think I just fell back asleep?” Gun asks, smoothing down a few errant strands of Tinn’s hair.
Tinn gestures to his borrowed pants. “Maybe if she doesn’t see the new outfit,” he says, and Gun has to laugh.
“Mr. School President, I’ve already had my cardio for today. Why don’t we skip jogging?”
“No,” Tinn says, then kisses Gun’s forehead. “For Hot Wave, remember?”
For Hot Wave. For the promise of a victory and a boyfriend and more of what they did this morning. “Alright, alright,” Gun concedes. Not even exercises can bring his mood down now. He nudges Tinn towards the door. “Just try to walk fast and hope my mom doesn’t notice."