Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/146280.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Trek_RPF
  Relationship:
      Chris_Pine/Zachary_Quinto
  Character:
      Chris_Pine, Zachary_Quinto
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, High_School,
      Teacher-Student_Relationship, Underage_Character, Underage_Sex, Rimming
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-12-31 Words: 1899
****** Physical Education ******
by withthepilot
Summary
     Chris is Coach Quinto's favorite target in gym class. He wishes he
     didn't like it so much.
Notes
     High school AU with (consensual) sex between an adult and a minor,
     sex in a school setting, rimming.
"Another set of ten, go! Don't slow down!"
Chris grunted and curled his fingers against his mat, willing himself to make
it through another set of push-ups. His biceps trembled with the strain of
forty push-ups already done, and stupid Eric on his right and asshole Karl on
his left both made it look easy in comparison. Chris liked to play baseball; he
wasn't some kind of muscleman like those two jocks.
The push-ups were getting more difficult to complete with each flex of his
arms, and now Coach Quinto was making his way over to Chris' side of the gym.
Chris hated when Coach Quinto came over to his side of the gym.
"PINE!"
The loud voice echoed off the gray-green walls of the gymnasium. Chris shut his
eyes tightly and ducked his head. Yeah, he really fucking hated when Quinto
targeted him. For one main reason.
"Get your butt down!"
Quinto put his hand on Chris' backside and pushed. Chris let out an
embarrassing noise, somewhere between a grunt and a whimper. Beside him, Eric
laughed breathlessly, tearing his way through his current set. Chris felt his
cheeks burn, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead.
"Coach—"
"Less talk, more push-ups, Pine. Maybe if you concentrate, you'll stop bopping
that bubble butt around so much."
Eric snorted out loud at that one. Quinto pushed again, punctuating it with a
little pat. Chris exhaled shakily and flexed his muscles to keep his ass down,
as instructed. He didn't say another word as Quinto lifted his head and walked
away, calling out for another set. And if there was a stirring in Chris' gym
sweats—a warm, needy tingle that overtook the pain for one intense moment—well,
he tried his best to ignore it. As he always did.
Admittedly, it was getting tougher to ignore the way Quinto made him feel. The
coach was always walking around in ridiculously tight t-shirts and too-short
shorts that showed off his sick body. He seemed particularly fond of singling
Chris out for some reason, roaring his surname across the gymnasium or out on
the field, always getting in Chris' personal space. And, yeah, sometimes Quinto
was a bit touchy-feely. Chris knew he could tell his parents about it, maybe
report the whole thing to the school principal. But even though he hated his
role as Quinto's appointed whipping boy, hated the way the other guys laughed
at him and added insult to injury, he knew full well of the dark, secret part
of him that thrilled at the attention, luxuriated in the sound of his name
barked from Quinto's lips, and longed for any ill-advised touch from the buff,
gorgeous gym instructor. In a way, he hated the way he felt about Quinto, even
more so than the constant harassment itself. It wasn't normal to take pleasure
in being humiliated that way. Or was it? Chris simultaneously wanted Quinto to
leave him alone and to keep hassling him. The whole thing was confusing and,
well...fucking weird.
When Quinto finally put the brakes on his torture routine, the boys all
dispersed and Chris took a moment to wipe his sweaty forehead with the back of
his wrist. He rubbed his aching arms as he slowly made his way to the locker
room. He had a free period after gym, so he didn't have to rush to get showered
and changed like the other guys did. Chris ambled into the locker room and made
a beeline for his own locker, desperate for the towel and bottle of water
inside. His fingers shook slightly as he worked at the combination lock, his
entire body trembling from Quinto's workout. He messed up, turning the dial one
too many times.
"Shit," Chris hissed, setting the lock back to zero. Then he heard a familiar
voice.
"Is that you, Pine?"
Chris looked up, wide-eyed, pausing in his fumblings with the lock. Goddamn, he
couldn't even get away from Quinto in the locker room.
"Yes, sir," he said. He nodded faintly and diverted his eyes. "Um, hi."
"Hi." Quinto smirked, his long, oddly slender hands propped on his hips as he
walked up to Chris' side. "Don't you have a class to get to?"
Chris tried not to frown openly, looking down at his combination lock again.
"Uh. No, I've got free period next."
"Well, all right." Quinto stepped forward, a little too close for comfort. He
looked as though he wanted to touch Chris, though that was probably Chris'
overactive imagination at work. "Good job out there today," Quinto said. Chris
couldn't help a surprised laugh and it stopped Quinto in his tracks. A hint of
a smile played on his lips. "Something funny?"
"Yeah, well, I mean...you brutalized me out there, man. I mean, Coach Quinto.
Sir."
Quinto laughed this time. "Coach is fine. And I single you out because I see
potential in you, Pine. You've gotten a lot stronger over the past two months."
"Oh. Cool. Potential." Chris nodded, his awkward feelings dissipating slightly
at the sight of Quinto's bright smile. He started fiddling with the lock again
absentmindedly, lining up the arrow with the correct numbers. "So that's why
you're always touching my butt."
Quinto froze for a second, his brown eyes wider than usual and his mouth
slightly agape. Chris realized the severity of what he'd said and panicked,
shaking his head rapidly.
"I mean! I mean...I'm not accusing you of...um. I mean, it's cool. You know? I
didn't mean it like that. I actually kinda like it, really. So, you know. Um.
Yeah."
He got a wary look from Quinto, who tilted his head but seemed to move just the
slightest bit toward Chris. "You...kinda like it," Quinto repeated.
"Well, like—"
"You—"
Chris dropped his lock on the floor with a clatter. "Oh, shit," he mumbled. He
looked between Quinto and the lock distractedly and then made the split
decision to bend down and pick it up. He barely had his hand on it when he felt
an all-too familiar grip on his rear end, Quinto's fingers cupping the rounded
swell and hesitating before digging into the flesh.
Chris made that same embarrassing, helpless noise again.
"You like it," Quinto said, his voice low and somewhat raspy now. "Is that what
you said, Pine? You like...this?"
Chris bit his lip and held his bent position, despite the protests of his
aching muscles. The sound of Quinto's voice, paired with the strong hand
gripping his ass, had him half-hard in his fucking gym shorts. "Y-yeah," he
admitted.
A loud gust of breath left Chris' lungs as Quinto suddenly pushed him into his
locker door. Chris shifted back instinctively but he was pinned by the same
hands that taunted him every weekday afternoon, and sometimes during the
nights, when he felt too restless and horny to sleep. Quinto pressed his weight
forward, his hot breath grazing across Chris' neck. Chris swallowed,
overwhelmed by each heavy thump of his own quickened heartbeats as his chest
heaved, held snug against the metal door.
The half-hard situation took a sharp swerve into raging boner territory.
"What else would you like?" Quinto murmured in his ear. Chris swallowed,
squirming under his hands. He knew his body was weak, after what Quinto had put
him through back in the gym, and he couldn't help but relish in the knowledge
that in this moment, Quinto was stronger than him and had all the control. His
mind swam with a million different possible answers to the question.
"I—I dunno," he whispered. "Something...something else with my ass? I guess?"
Quinto chuckled faintly. "It is a gorgeous ass." He slid one hand over it
reverently, propping the other between Chris' shoulder blades to hold him in
place. "I'll take any excuse to touch it, if you let me." Chris shuddered when
Quinto's hand moved under the waistband of his shorts and groped his bare skin.
Quinto dipped a fingertip into the cleft of Chris' ass and a needy groan left
Chris' lips. "Will you let me?" Quinto asked, asking permission for...for what?
Something awesome, Chris suspected.
"Yeah, shit...oh, my god, anything."
Quinto hesitated, presumably to make sure they were most definitely alone, and
then Chris' shorts were around his ankles, the meshed fabric pooled over his
sneakers. Chris looked down and saw Quinto on his knees, his strong hands
squeezing Chris' thighs. The idea of Quinto on his knees had never even
registered in Chris' late-night fantasies, but fuck, nothing he could conjure
would ever come close to the real thing. Chris held one palm upon the locker
next to his and gasped when Quinto pulled his ass cheeks apart, the cool air a
shock to the newly exposed skin. Then, a broad swipe of wet heat—Quinto's
fucking tongue, man—right over his asshole, and Chris nearly buckled,
scrambling to remain upright. He got another chill when his flushed cock
pressed against the metal door, a dizzying contrast to the heat of Quinto's hot
mouth on him. The coach buried his entire face in Chris' ass, lightly biting at
the swells of his buttocks and licking hungrily at his hole, slicking him
everywhere with warm spit and chafing Chris' skin with his stubble.
"Oh, fuck." Chris groaned with the first stab of Quinto's tongue inside him. It
was getting really difficult to keep his arm propped up. When Quinto moved one
of his hands to Chris' lower back, holding him in place, Chris grunted in
relief and let both of his arms hang limply at his sides. The least Quinto
could do was hold him steady after sapping his strength like this, and it
seemed like the coach was more than happy to oblige.
Chris' hips seemed to rock forward on their own volition as Quinto tongue-
fucked him deeper, his cock sliding back and forth against the cool, gray metal
before him. He widened his stance and pushed back against Quinto's mouth.
Quinto moaned his approval, pausing briefly to insinuate a fingertip inside
Chris' slick entrance. Chris gasped and bucked, clenching around Quinto and
then relaxing again, enough for Quinto to slide the entire length of his index
finger inside. Then that amazing tongue was back, working side by side with the
slippery, moving digit, and Chris' lashes fluttered wildly as the start of an
orgasm pooled in his gut. Chris groaned, loud and unabashed as it began to
build, thrusting his hips back just as Quinto crooked his finger inside him to
stroke that goddamn fucking amazing spot, yes, yes, yes—and it was all over,
Chris' come splashing against the locker door in thick, wet spurts, his sore
muscles trembling and twitching under Quinto's hands and mouth.
"Shit, Pine," Chris heard distantly. Quinto pulled Chris' shorts, the elastic
settling back around his waist. Chris let Quinto draw him back to rest against
his chest and watched dazedly as the coach grabbed the towel from inside the
locker and wiped the door clean. Quinto's insistent erection pushed against
Chris' ass all the while. "Period's only halfway over," Quinto said. "Got some
time to see the inside of my office?"
Chris pictured himself bent over Quinto's desk, on the receiving end of even
more ass-centered attention, and couldn't help a lazy grin.
"All the time in the world," he said.
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