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“Why are you staring at me?” Gun asks, feet twitching restlessly in the blankets.
In my blankets, Tinn thinks as he continues staring brazenly. My boyfriend’s feet are in my blankets, on my bed, because my boyfriend is in my bed. My boyfriend. My bed my boyfriend my bed…
Not that being in bed together means they’re going to do anything special, Tinn reminds himself. They’ve never gone further than kisses and cuddles, and Tinn certainly doesn’t intend to do…more…tonight. Because he’s been dreaming about their First Time for months, and his fervent visions include rose petal-strewn beds in candle-lit rooms with love songs playing softly in the background (Tinn already has a playlist). It’s going to be beautiful and romantic and incredible, because first times only happen once and then Gun will remember it forever. And Tinn wants Gun to remember it being perfect.
(Of course, Tinn had similar romantic plans for their first kiss, their first confession, and their first I-love-you’s…all of which Gun has wrecked, but Tinn is determined to get it right this time, damn it.)
So Tinn’s happy to take things slow. But that doesn’t mean he can’t try to memorise how Gun looks right now (on Tinn’s sheets!) with his arms folded casually above his head (on Tinn’s pillow!) as Gun rolls his eyes and blushes at Tinn’s teasing (Tinn’s boyfriend is just too cute!!). Tinn can’t help reaching out to trace the exasperation on Gun’s lips with his fingers, to follow the curve of Gun’s growing smile. Gun’s skin is just so…so soft, so perfect to touch, and Tinn sometimes wishes he could touch him for hours, he just wants to—
No. Rose petals, he thinks firmly to himself, candlelight.
Except that when Tinn pulls back, Gun moves closer, turning on his side so that they’re facing each other. He whispers “Am I making you blush?” and lets his gaze fall unmistakably to Tinn’s mouth, slowly leaning in. Tinn’s heartbeat picks up, drumming heavy as the rain outside as he leans closer too, as—
The lights cut out with a rumble of thunder. When they flicker back on again, Gun has his hand in between their lips.
Tinn glares, thwarted. “You’re cheating! Why did you cover your mouth!”
Gun tilts his chin up like a challenge. “Try again then,” he says, a tease in his voice that Tinn is not falling for again, no way. But this time, after a beat of waiting, Gun closes his eyes and holds still, as if he’s offering himself up for whatever Tinn wants to give, and it sends a sudden shiver racing down Tinn’s spine. And before Tinn can think better of it, he’s moving closer again, helpless against the irresistible promise of a kiss from the boy he loves most in the world.
Gun doesn’t shy away this time. Finally their lips meet, and it’s glorious.
Gun’s lips are moving slowly against his, a tender caress that Tinn feels down to his toes. It’s so sweet, exactly as sweet as a first kiss should be—Tinn resolves to think of this as their First Real Kiss—but then Gun presses closer, sucking on Tinn’s upper lip for a brief, intoxicating moment that leaves Tinn gasping. Tinn finds himself reaching out to drag Gun towards him—lightning flashes outside, a flicker he catches even behind closed lids. Like candlelight, he thinks hazily, and then with more clarity, rose petals, damn it.
So he forces himself to let go, to shift away. Their lips part for the space of a breath.
Then Gun makes a noise of protest and shoves himself forward, crashing their lips back together.
It hurts, Tinn’s lower lip catching hard against his teeth, and his mouth opens on a hiss of pain that turns into a moan when Tinn feels a flicker of tongue—Gun’s tongue—against the roof of his mouth. Gun tastes like Tinn’s own toothpaste, a giddy realisation that rushes through Tinn all the way to the tips of his fingers, which have curved into Gun’s collar of their own volition. His hands pull just as Gun’s hands push, and all at once they’re rolling over, Gun’s weight knocking all the air from Tinn’s lungs as he lands sprawling over Tinn, heavy and hot from chest to hips to calves.
Thunder rumbles again, and they both freeze. Tinn has a single breathless moment to think, this is the closest we’ve ever been, before Gun jerks up onto his knees. He hovers awkwardly above Tinn, eyes wide. Tinn waits for him to roll off, to make a joke out of it, but Gun isn’t moving except for the heaving of his chest, so Tinn doesn’t move either. Maybe they’ll stay like this until the end of time, Tinn thinks hazily, and he’ll just exist as a reflection in his boyfriend’s eyes forever. Gun’s tongue swipes out across his lower lip, leaving it glistening and red—like rose petals—
Gun lunges forward, his hands closing around Tinn’s wrists and pinning them to the pillow next to his head. Tinn yelps in surprise, tries to jerk his hands back automatically, but Gun’s guitar-calloused fingers keep Tinn held firmly in place. “It’s GunTinn,” Gun declares, while Tinn feels all his blood rushing down between his legs and leaving him light-headed. Gun must take his lack of protest as surrender, because he smirks and wriggles a little in delight, brushing up accidentally against Tinn’s groin. Tinn whimpers, eyes squeezing shut as his hips thrust up with an urge too furious and sudden to stop. Pleasure ignites where his hips meet Gun’s ass for a split second—before Gun gets bucked forwards, his head bouncing off the headboard with a bang.
“Owwwww, Tinn!” Gun whines, rolling away and rubbing at his forehead.
Tinn stares at his boyfriend for an uncomprehending, overheated moment. Then some of the blood returns to his brain. “Oh shit, are you okay?” Tinn scrambles closer, pulls Gun’s hand away and tilts Gun’s head down so he can take a better look. There’s no bruise, no wound, nothing but a little redness on Gun’s forehead, but even as Tinn lets out a sigh of relief, he can feel Gun stiffening under his hands. Frowning, he prods as lightly as he can at the red mark. “Does this hurt?”
“...does that hurt?”
Tinn blinks. “What?” he asks the top of Gun’s head, because Gun is still looking down, down between Tinn’s legs at…
Tinn jerks back, feeling blood rushing back into his cheeks with a vengeance as Gun looks back up at him with a shit-eating grin. “Mr School President,” he sing-songs, “is that a pen in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”
Tinn groans and flops over, putting his back very firmly to his terrible, awful boyfriend, who is absolutely beside himself with laughter.
“It’s a very big pen!” Gun continues, in between sniggers. “No wonder you did so well for the exams.”
“That makes no sense,” Tinn sulks, curling in a bit tighter so Gun won’t see the way his dick twitched with primal satisfaction at hearing Gun say that his…well, that his pen is. Big.
“Are you shy?” Gun asks gleefully, and Tinn feels the mattress dip behind him as Gun eels closer. An arm curls around him, and then Gun is scratching under his chin, where Tinn is usually just a touch ticklish—except now the scrape of Gun’s nails raises goosebumps up and down his body. He bites back a needy whine and tries to squirm away, but that only makes Gun tighten his arm around Tinn’s chest; Gun’s biceps and forearms are flexing right there in Tinn’s line of sight, and Tinn’s wrists tingle with phantom pressure where Gun held him down. “Don’t worry,” Gun murmurs conspiratorially, “it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I walked in on Sound and Win once in the toilet next to—”
Tinn bats ineffectively at Gun’s arm. “Don’t talk about them when we’re doing this!”
Gun only laughs again, soft and intimate, sending hot sparks tumbling into Tinn’s gut. “Why? What are we doing?” His voice is all innocence, but his fingers curve again, a feather-light touch teasing under Tinn’s chin, and Tinn’s voice cracks when he protests, “Nothing!” Rose petals, Tinn thinks plaintively against the urgent clamouring of the rest of his body, candlelight.
Gun hums. “Nothing?” His fingers trail down Tinn’s neck, brushing between Tinn’s collarbones before skating over the collar of his shirt, stilling at the centre of Tinn’s chest. “Doesn’t look like nothing. I can see something…”
And then the absolute demon who is Tinn’s boyfriend pinches his left nipple hard.
Tinn cries out and reflexively tries to twist away, but Gun is holding on too firmly, and the sudden pull sends lightning shooting through Tinn’s body, a jolt too intense for him to tell if it’s pleasure or pain. His whole being narrows down to that single point of hot, throbbing skin, which Gun then flicks with a finger, and Tinn makes a shocked sound so loud that he almost doesn't notice Gun’s hoarse voice whispering, “Wow. Hah. You know, I see something here too…”
He definitely notices, though, when Gun’s hand moves down and cups firmly over Tinn’s cock.
Tinn lets out a strangled shout, his body arching up forcefully into Gun’s touch. Every single nerve ending in Tinn’s body lights up like tinder under a blowtorch. Gun’s fingers spasm with surprise, clutching tight and letting go, and even through layers of cloth it’s a glorious agony of too much and not enough. “Gun,” Tinn chokes out, hips shifting restless and needy, “Gun, please—”
Gun groans and shoves their bodies closer somehow, and then there’s hot breath gusting over Tinn’s ear, a leg forced urgently between Tinn’s thighs, and then something hard and unmistakable pressed against Tinn’s ass.
Fuck, that’s Gun’s cock, I can feel Gun’s cock oh fuck— Tinn grinds clumsily back to feel Gun thrusting up against him, and desire explodes through him, obliterates him of everything except a frantic, exhilarating instinct that seems to have overtaken Gun too. Gun’s hand is stroking and squeezing with unpracticed, arrhythmic urgency, just enough to drag Tinn towards a dizzying edge and yet not push him over, and Tinn’s desperation winds tighter and tighter until he feels like he could snap, his body drawing taut with a wild, violent need for something, anything, he just needs a bit more—
“Fuck, fuck, Tinn, I’m gonna—” Gun sinks his teeth into Tinn’s shoulder with a muffled yell, his fingers clenching tight. And that’s it, Tinn is shooting over the edge, overwhelmed with white-hot pleasure and flying, his boyfriend pressed close and shaking apart with him for the very first time.
Tinn doesn’t know how long he lies there, after, shivering with aftershocks and feeling the best he’s ever felt in his life. His body feels made of syrup, of sunlight, of music. He recovers his senses one at a time; first he notices the smell of sex heavy in the air, then the sound of his and Gun’s heaving breaths, then the feeling of Gun’s skin sticking to his as Gun begins to shift, in fits and starts, from where he’d ended up lying half-draped over Tinn’s back. Then the sight of Gun leaning over him, a dazed smile on his face that Tinn immediately decides is the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.
“Tinn. Hey, Tinn,” the most beautiful boy in the world says, as the most beautiful smile in the world disappears into a snigger. “It looks like you wet yourself.”
“...what?”
Gun flaps a hand at Tinn’s crotch, still giggling, and Tinn looks down to see a small but unmistakable wet patch in the front of his pants.
Tinn groans, throwing an arm over his face so he doesn’t have to look at anything, ever again, in his life.
Then he jumps when Gun smacks him in the shoulder. “What!”
“Where are your tissues?” Gun demands. Tinn lifts his arm just enough to see Gun making a face at his own crotch, his fingers plucking irritably at his waistband.
Tinn groans again. “This is so unromantic,” he mutters, dragging himself out of bed to get the tissue box before Gun can smack him again. “There should have been candles.” He throws the tissues at Gun, who makes an indignant noise as the box bounces off his chest.
“What candles? What are you talking about?” Gun retrieves the tissues, then curls away from Tinn to clean himself up as if he suddenly has something to be shy about. As if they haven’t just had sex. For the first time. For their First Time.
Tinn flops face down onto his bed and screams just a little bit into his sheets.
“Where’s your bin—what’s wrong with you? Tinn, hey—” a bony finger stabs Tinn in the shoulder “—hey, Tinn—”
Tinn twists away and catches Gun’s finger. He looks up to see his boyfriend frowning at him, illuminated by his boring bedroom lights, dressed in Tinn’s old clothes and clutching a wad of dirty tissues in one hand. Tinn bites down on another frustrated scream.
Gun wiggles his finger in Tinn’s grip. “Come on, what’s wrong?” When Tinn doesn’t say anything, Gun ducks down to drop a quick peck on Tinn’s knuckles. Then he looks back up at Tinn through his lashes, a smile on his face like they’ve just shared a delicious secret.
Frustration flows out of Tinn, leaving only fondness behind. “Nothing’s wrong,” Tinn says, and abruptly realises that it’s true. “Everything’s great. Everything’s perfect.”
Gun does the tiny eye-roll that is Tinn’s favourite expression, and Tinn feels his lips tilt upwards helplessly. Fine, so what if they didn’t have roses and candles for their First Time? Tinn will just have to make sure everything really is perfect for their next big milestone, make sure it’s all extra romantic. He has plans, he can already see it in his mind; the roses and the candlelight and the music and the ring…
Tinn falls asleep, utterly content.