The TA (Kingston College Book 1)

by Vivica Dorn

  By mid-October, after a few weeks of this of this new, strained relationship, Michel found himself frustrated. Painfully so. Frustrated with the sudden shift in Sam’s attitude, and frustrated that he was annoyed by Sam’s completely appropriate behaviour. And the frustration wasn’t just emotional or mental – after each of their meetings, their swimming lessons and study sessions, he walked away feeling hot and tense, his shoulders and his cock stiff, his skin scalded by the lack of touch. He knew that we hasn’t being fair, that he had asked for this, that he had made Sam be like this, and yet he couldn’t help but feel hurt and rejected, as absurd as that seemed.

  Now that Sam was keeping such a careful distance, Michel found himself aching for his touch more and more. When they studied in the dim warm light of cafes, his eyes lingered on Sam’s throat, his strong jaw, the curve of his mouth, his huge strong hands gripping his notebook and pen. When they had their swimming lessons, Michel couldn’t stop staring at Sam’s defined chest, his shoulders, the way his hair fell and curled a little when it was wet, the sharp V of the muscles at his hips that led down into his tight bathing suit. Michel was horrified to admit that he had even considered faking another near-panic attack so that Sam would have to rush to his side and comfort him. But he didn’t do it. He couldn’t. It was too ridiculous, even for him.

  And, truth be told, another episode wouldn’t have been particularly convincing, as Michel’s swimming was improving at a pace he had never expected. Being so perturbed by the coldness between him and his stoic swimming teacher gave him something to focus on besides his fear of the water. He was so intent on paying attention to Sam’s physical presence in the pool, so attuned to his voice, that he followed instructions and completed the exercises without hesitation or complaint. And, he recognized moodily, a part of him wanted to impress Sam. To see Sam smile the way he used to. Before everything had become so strange.

  One Wednesday, a week before Halloween, as Michel entered the pool deck, Sam asked him a question. It caught Michel off-guard – lately their conversations had only focused on the tasks at hand, and Sam had hastily shut down any other discussions.

  “How come you weren’t in lecture today? Lately you haven’t been there at all, actually, now it’s always just the professor...”

  Sam didn’t quite meet Michel’s eyes as he said it, and there was something forced in his voice, an unnatural nonchalance, as if he were trying to sound less interested than he actually was. Why couldn’t he meet Michel’s gaze? Was he too proud to admit that he was beginning to miss Michel, miss the way things had been before? Anger flooded through Michel, black as poison, and he responded testily, “why do you even care?”

  Sam met his eyes then, a sliver of real emotion finally shining through. His eyebrows shot up, his gaze giving away shock, and, Michel noticed with a mixture of relish and dismay, hurt. He looked away quickly, at the dark mirror of the pool, and muttered, “sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  Michel’s heart fell. He couldn’t understand his own behaviour. He had wanted more from their conversations for almost a month, had wanted so much more than Sam was giving, and now that Sam was reaching one tentative hand, no, finger, out towards him, he was pushing him away? What on earth did he think he would achieve with that kind of reaction?

  Why am I like this? He took a gloomy breath, purposely softening his voice.

  “I’m paid per hour and I have a set number of hours in my contract with the university. Most of those hours have to go towards marking essays and tests, as well as office hours. I actually don’t have a lot of time left over to sit in on the classes themselves.”

  Sam’s brow furrowed harshly and he sighed, running a hand through his wet hair then over his face.

  “So, you mean, I’ve been making you do extra work with our studying? You aren’t actually getting paid for that time? I’m really sorry, I didn’t understand how your contract worked. From now on if I need help I’ll come during office hours, when I can.”

  Michel was embarrassed by the tinge of desperation in his voice when he replied. But not embarrassed enough to keep his mouth shut.

  “Non, no, it’s fine, I swear. Besides, you’re teaching me too, aren’t you? We had a deal. I don’t mind, really.” He barely stopped himself short of saying please. His earlier anger had been replaced with the solemn ice of dread, his heart turning to lead at the thought of cutting their time together down by a third. There was no hiding from it, now, he thought bitterly. He wanted to be near Sam. Though whether he’d ever be able to admit that to the swimmer was another thing entirely. Especially after what he had said to him in the library. Our relationship isn’t appropriate. We can’t keep doing things like this. What he had said was true, but the words still haunted him.

  Sam didn’t look his way.

  “Whatever you say,” he offered noncommittally before taking a shallow dive into the pool. Feeling abandoned, Michel hurried forward to catch up, but, not quite brave enough to dive, he sat on the tiles and slipped into the pool, the water sucking at his skin like a cold, hungry mouth.

  Sam seemed even quieter than usual as he ran Michel through their exercises. They practised the front crawl and the breast stroke, and Sam once again corrected Michel on his form, ensuring that Michel was turning his head properly and not holding his breath.

  “Breathe,” Sam reminded him, again and again. “Breathe, breathe, breathe.” The word pounded in Michel’s heart and in his mind like a twisted anthem. He was sure that he would hear it in his dreams.

  Then they moved into the deep end and practised treading water. This was what Michel found most difficult, most threatening. He felt like there was such a tenuous, fragile pattern of movements that kept him afloat. But Sam had been an excellent teacher, and he now swam in the deep end with an awkward sort of ease.

  “Ok, last thing,” Sam said, swimming to the edge of the pool and getting out. “A full lap of the pool without stopping. Whatever style you like.”

  Michel’s heart began to pound as he looked from one end of the pool to the other. The distance seemed huge, impossible, as wide as the ocean that had already made one attempt on his life. There was no way he could do it, no way.

  “I know you can do it,” Sam said softly, crouching at the edge of the pool, elbows on his knees, his eyes serious and dark. Michel swallowed and wordlessly paddled to the closest end of the pool. He breathed deeply, trying to calm the panic rising in his chest and throat. This wasn’t the beach, there were no waves, no impossible depths. And, of course, there was Sam. Sam, golden and shining like the sun, wanting him to succeed, willing him to. Michel couldn’t let him down. With a gasp, he plunged forward, crawling, slowly but surely, towards his goal.

  Michel couldn’t tell how far he had gone. All he knew was that his body was beginning to fail, his muscles burning and shaking, his lungs desperate. He remembered what Sam had been telling him all along, breathe, breathe, breathe, and he did his best to take air into his chest as he moved choppily forward. He cursed himself for not paying more attention to fitness, for not working on his cardio the way he should have. The moment he was sure his heart would either burst right through his ribs or stop beating all together, his hand collided with something solid and cold. The other end of the pool. He had made it.

  And Sam was waiting there for him.

  Michel gripped the pool’s edge, panting and gasping, elation filling him so completely he was sure he wouldn’t have to tread water now, he was sure that he would float without any effort at all. He smiled unabashedly, feeling so unbelievably happy, so proud, like he had conquered death for the second time, and he looked up to meet Sam’s gaze.

  Sam was looking down at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. His eyes were soft, and Michel could tell that Sam was happy for him, that he was proud of Michel’s progress, but he wasn’t smiling. He looked almost sad, Michel realized, deflating like a forgotten balloon. His smile faltered, and the water suddenly felt much colder.


  “You’ve done so well,” Sam said softly, his eyes never leaving Michel’s, his jaw tight. “But I think that we should end this now. You don’t need lessons anymore. And I know that you’ll be fine.”

  The words plunged into Michel, unforgiving and cruel, lighting him up with sudden agony. His mouth fell open in protest, but no words came out. He closed his mouth sharply, teeth clacking. What was Sam talking about? Why was he saying this now? No more swimming and no more studying together? That meant that they would basically never see each other. Did he really understand that? Did he even know what he was saying? Michel thought of when he had said something similar in the library. But that felt so long ago. Things had changed since then. He had changed. At least, his heart had.

  Sam crouched down in front of him and brushed his thumb gently, so damn gently, against Michel’s cheekbone. Michel parted his lips, brows contracting, leaning into the touch. A raw, unrecognizable emotion flickered over Sam’s face – maybe longing, maybe pain – and his thumb moved downward to caress the inner edge of Michel’s lower lip. Michel opened his mouth wider, his tongue tentatively coming forward to taste the tip of Sam’s thumb. Sam’s nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed, and he stood abruptly. Michel looked up at him again, mouth still open and trembling.

  “Wh-where are you going?” He stammered, wishing, for the first time in his life, that the water really would swallow him up.

  “I’m going home,” he replied tersely. Without another word he turned and left.

  And only Michel’s gaze left with him, though the TA’s body ached to follow.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Why’d you even bother coming out tonight if you’re so down, man? I thought this would cheer you up but Jesus, was I wrong.” Sam barely registered Finn’s voice over the blasting music of the party. They had retreated from the intensity of the drunken crowds dancing in the living room and were leaning against a sticky kitchen counter top as other students milled around them, laughing and looking for drinks and snacks. Sam’s mind swam, foggy from the ear-splitting music levels and the six beers he already had in his system. He gripped his seventh beer, the bottle sweating, in his hand. Whose house was this again? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Finn had promised him a good time at a Halloween party. And so far, he wasn’t having a good time.

  And how could he be? All he could think about was Michel. It had only been a week since he had seen the green-eyed TA, when he’d broken things off in the pool, but it felt at least ten times that long. Sam had never felt like this when he’d broken up with any of his ex-girlfriends, and he and Michel hadn’t even really broken up. It’s not like they were actually dating or something. But that didn’t make him feel any better.

  Sam thought of the other boy constantly; he wondered how Michel was doing, where he’d been, if he’d been to the pool at all, how his graduate studies were going, if he’d had a chance to grade Sam’s quiz, if his lips were still the same impossible shade of red, if he’d been jerking off while thinking of Sam the way Sam had been while thinking of him.

  He was beginning more and more to feel like he had made the wrong choice, that he shouldn’t have ended things so abruptly. When Michel had tried to pull away from him in the library, citing the inappropriateness of their behaviour, he had been desperate to keep him by his side. He thought that he could handle a totally normal, polite relationship with him. But it had turned out to be far more difficult than he could have ever imagined. When he saw Michel’s brilliant smile, his fiercely innocent happiness at completing the lap in the pool, he had had to fight, truly fight, with every ounce of strength he had, not to kiss that smiling mouth. And even then, even calling on the magnitude of his entire store of strength, he had still faltered, reaching out to touch that beautiful face and slipping his thumb into Michel’s mouth. And in that moment he knew this truly wouldn’t work. He couldn’t hold back around Michel, he couldn’t just be a swim instructor or just be a student. He couldn’t even just be Michel’s friend. And it was breaking his damn heart.

  He clenched his jaw hard as he remembered the way Michel had slipped his tongue softly against the tip of his thumb. He wondered if, had he stayed still a moment longer, Michel would have closed his mouth and sucked. He stroked that same thumb up and down the slick neck of the beer bottle. He would have liked that, to have had Michel suck. He would have liked to have had Michel suck something else, too.

  What was Michel doing now? There was no way he would show up to a party like this, Sam was sure of it – he couldn’t even picture it. He was probably studying, or reading, or grading papers. Sam got the impression that the TA didn’t have many friends, and he figured Michel was probably alone. But what if he wasn’t alone? What if he was out with friends? Or someone more than a friend? Sam practically hissed at the thought, squeezing his bottle so tightly he was half-shocked it didn’t crack. But it didn’t matter anyway. He probably wasn’t thinking of Sam at all. And why should he be? Sam was the one who had gotten so weird, so attached, to the strange boy he had saved that day at the beach, all those weeks ago.

  He sighed roughly, then took a long swig from his drink. It wasn’t good beer, but it was getting the job done. Sam was well on his way to being drunk. But so far, none of the longing had been dulled.

  Finn eyed him, drinking from his own beer. He wiped the back of his mouth with his hand.

  “Hey, look, I know we haven’t known each other that long but you’re basically my best friend here. If something’s seriously going on I just want you to know we can talk sometime. We can hang somewhere other than class or practice. I’m a good listener.”

  Sam looked down at his long-lashed friend and smiled. Although, technically, at the moment he was Sam’s one-eyed friend, as he was wearing an eye-patch as part of a makeshift pirate costume. Sam hadn’t bothered to dress up, but seeing how funny and festive Finn looked made him kind of wish he had.

  Finn’s brow was furrowed intensely, cheeks flushed from the booze and the heat. Sam had gotten lucky, he realized, to have made such a good friend.

  He sighed again and placed a hand on Finn’s shoulder, leaning down towards him a little unsteadily, giving him an awkward side hug.

  “Thanks dude. Means a lot.”

  Finn laughed a bit self-consciously, but then returned the embrace, his hand coming up to pat Sam’s back. Sam breathed into the hug, smiling a little. He hadn’t touched anyone since Michel, and it was nice to have some human contact. Although, he had to admit it really helped to crystallize his feelings. When he hugged Finn, it felt friendly and pretty comfortable, but he didn’t find himself grappling with new, perverse desires. He didn’t hug Finn and immediately want to crush him beneath the weight of his body, didn’t want to bite him so hard he bled and begged for mercy, didn’t want stuff his cock inside him. He didn’t want to call him his baby. He squeezed Finn’s shoulder, appreciating the moment for exactly what it was – a kind embrace from a friend.

  Out of nowhere an enormously strong hand gripped the back of Sam’s shirt and yanked him back with colossal force, sending him careening into the wall. His knees buckled and he barely caught himself before he fell, his beer sloshing from the bottle to the floor. Trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him, he looked up to see who the hell had grabbed him and came face to face with the furious dark gaze of Lance Gallagher. Lance’s jaw was set, his eyes burning with barely controlled rage.

  “Yo, what the fuck?” Finn exclaimed from behind Lance’s back. After grabbing and practically throwing Sam, Lance had moved to step between him and Finn. Sam’s slow brain tried to comprehend what had just happened. Did he have beef with Lance? He didn’t think so. He’d never said more than a few words to the guy, and when he had he’d always been friendly. Mystified, he straightened and placed his now mostly-empty beer on the counter. He wasn’t particularly angry, just seriously confused. But he readied himself either way for whatever could come next. Lance was still staring at him with that same animalistic fu
ry. The other students who had been laughing and chatting in the kitchen were silent, watching the two boys with a mixture of fear and fascination.

  “I don’t know what that was for,” Sam said slowly, meeting that brutal gaze head on. “But I’m willing to overlook it. Maybe we’ve all had a little too much to drink tonight, yeah?”

  Lance did not respond. He didn’t move a fraction of an inch. His eyes bored into Sam’s with a ferocity Sam could not even begin to explain. Finn spoke up again, softer this time, almost sounding pained.

  “Lance, seriously, what the hell are you doing? You’re being crazy.”

  Lance turned away from Sam then and faced Finn, his expression shifting almost imperceptibly. Finn flushed and returned the look, chin jutting upward. And then, without a word to anyone at all, Lance suddenly turned and left the room as silently and strangely as he had entered it.

  Sam rubbed the back of his neck, his heart rate slowly returning to normal. Luckily he hadn’t hit his head on the wall, but his back and shoulders would likely be sore and bruised tomorrow. Good thing I’ve never been an angry drunk, he thought humourlessly. He hadn’t had the inclination to fight back unless Lance had made another move and it became absolutely necessary. He was a big guy, and strong, but he wasn’t sure he liked his odds against Lance Gallagher. Physically they were fairly evenly matched, (though Lance may have had a half an inch on Sam’s 6’3 frame), but Sam really hadn’t liked the lethal look in his eye, the cold electric rage that radiated off of him, sparking like a warning.

  He breathed out, still as confused as before. Finn shook his head and stepped up towards Sam.