The Shark (Kingston College Book 2)

by Vivica Dorn

  So, what the hell was he doing there?

  The question had surfaced in his brain several times already but he continued to push it further and further down each time it did. He had a feeling he knew the answer but he wasn’t interested in addressing it. At least, not yet. Why had he decided so suddenly and severely that he had to be here once he had heard that Finn would be? While he could probably name the motive, he could not yet understand it. And as drunk students jostled his elbows and heat swelled in the crowded house, any desire to analyze his actions completely evaporated. He went to take another swig from his rapidly warming bottle and realized it was empty. Strange how quickly a crappy beer that you didn’t think you were really drinking could disappear when you weren’t paying attention.

  Though he hadn’t enjoyed the drink, he figured he had better go get another. Without a drink in his hand he was just standing there brooding, ignoring the hungry and flirtatious glances of the girls around him. While he had never particularly cared what others thought of him, even he knew that standing there staring moodily into the crowd and doing nothing else would look unnecessarily odd. A bottle of beer could be multi-purpose: it was something to do, a distraction, something to keep him from having to make conversation with anyone else, and something to make it look like he belonged. Tossing his empty bottle into a recycling bin that had been strategically placed in the corner of the room, Lance made his way through the throngs of other students into the kitchen.

  Lance stopped short as he registered a familiar tall blond figure at the opposite end of the kitchen. Sam Hendrick was bent practically over double as he embraced someone much shorter than himself. Had he found a girl to latch onto? Lance looked closer. No, it wasn’t a girl. It was Finn.

  Rage, feral and foul, exploded in Lance’s chest. His vision narrowed into a tunnel of darkness, the only thing visible becoming the two students that he had locked his gaze on. Everything else around him – the music, the incessant laughing and chattering of the crowds – completely faded from existence. His jaw become so tight he practically felt his teeth crack under the pressure. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  Finn was laughing jovially, patting Sam on the back as Sam drunkenly leaned sideways to hug his friend. There as nothing odd about the action, nothing at all to elicit the extraordinary anger Lance felt pierce him like a sickly blade. And yet, and yet...

  And yet, with two large steps he had closed the gap between them and his hand found its way to the back of Sam’s T-shirt. He yanked hard, his entire body thrumming with hot kinetic force, and sent Sam careening into the wall. He stepped in front of Finn, facing Sam as the blond freshman struggled to right himself without falling to the ground. Lance heard Finn exclaim from behind him, “Yo, what the fuck?” But he did not turn around.

  Sam took a ragged breath and stood, his expression muddled and confused. A hush had fallen over the room as the other party-goers stood by, mouths agape. A couple of people had whipped out their phones to press record, anticipating further violence.

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

  But Lance hadn’t had too much to drink. He’d been sipping the same stale beer for the past 30 minutes and hadn’t had any more than that. He couldn’t blame his behaviour on any outside force. Only the strange, surging desires pounding in his blood. The desire to throw Sam into that wall yet again. And the desire to press Finn into a different wall in a very different way, trapping him with the huge cage of his body until he opened that beautiful fucking mouth and gasped.

  Lance remained silent, watching Sam grimly, waiting for what would happen next. Then, a quiet voice piped up from behind him.

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

  Lance turned to face Finn then. The freshman had flipped up an eye-patch he had been wearing as part of a makeshift pirate costume. His dark brows contracted over his large blue eyes with incredulity. Incredulity, and something else. Fear.

  When Lance’s eyes met his Finn flushed, but he raised his chin all the same. Always arrogant, always defiant. Lance felt his expression sour. He’d had enough of this place, this party, this mess. He’d had enough of this sudden loss of control, of his own inexplicable behaviour. He’d had enough of those deep blue eyes looking at him as if he were some sort of monster.

  Without a word to anyone, he turned and stalked out of the kitchen, exiting the house through the back entrance and breathing the inky green of the night air deep into his burning lungs. As the door slammed shut behind him, cutting off the music and voices from inside, silence swelled around him. The cool air soothed his hot skin. But it did nothing, nothing, for the rage. The rage still pulsed inside him, pulverizing every blood vessel and bone, unshakable, unquenchable. With a choking growl at the back of his throat he made his way out of the backyard and began to walk back to his apartment, a shark sluicing through dark, unmoving water.

  He didn’t know that Finn had followed him out of the house a few moments after he had left. He didn’t hear the younger student call his name, that small yet defiant voice echoing in the blood-steeped night.

  He was long gone by then.

  CHAPTER 6

  Finn stared at his exuberant friend disbelievingly. Sam’s dark mood from the past few days had completely evaporated, and his friend had returned to his usual grinning self. Finn couldn’t quite understand it given the strange encounter Sam and Lance had had last night. Especially considering the fact that, once again, Lance had maddeningly chosen to sit directly behind Finn.

  “Look who’s behind you again,” Sam whispered conspiratorially. “Guess he still wants to keep his eye on you. Sam’s clear, golden expression suddenly darkened. “He seemed to be keeping a pretty close eye on you last night, too.”

  Finn scowled and looked away.

  “What the fuck are you talking about,” he muttered. He had been wracking his brain for possible reasons behind Lance’s actions last night. He knew that Lance and Sam had had no conflict between them before, something Sam had confirmed to him immediately after the incident.

  “Well,” Sam started slowly, “now that I think about it, it kinda seems like he grabbed me in response to me hugging you. Like, he was reacting to me touching you.”

  Finn flinched. It was something he had briefly thought about before forcing it from his mind with embarrassed confusion. But he couldn’t quite deny the possibility now, now that Sam had so concretely put it into words. And there had been something in Lance’s gaze last night... When Lance had looked at Sam after throwing him, it had been with an expression of animalistic fury. When he had then turned to look at Finn, the rage remained, but there was something else behind the obvious violence in the expression, something deep and sad and hungry, something that both frightened Finn and aroused a strange curiosity. Something that made him follow Lance out of the house, something that made him search for the silent swimmer long after he had left.

  Finn sighed harshly. If Sam was barely concerned about last night’s events, why should he be? Who gave a shit if Lance wanted to brood behind him like some kind of giant gargoyle? Sam seemed unbothered by the whole turn of events, and Finn endeavoured to imitate his laissez-faire attitude.

  “I don’t even know, man. The dude’s a mystery.”

  Sam watched him for a moment before nodding. Then the TA, Michel, entered the room, and Sam was totally lost to him. Finn sighed again, more quietly this time, as he opened his notebook and prepared to take notes, trying his best to ignore the demonic burn of Lance’s gaze on his back.

  He was not looking forward to their next swim practice.

  At all.

  CHAPTER 7

  A week later Finn stood beneath the warm shower’s water in the locker room, breathing slowly, revelling in the heat. His dark glossy curls fell over his forehead and into his eyes. He brushed th
em away, rubbing at his face. Damn, he was tired. Today’s practice had been brutal. He had swum well, he knew he had, but the coach was beginning to get nervous about the meet coming up and he always took those nerves out on the team. Plus, he knew Lance had been watching him more closely than usual lately, and that made Finn swim with unusual vigour. He didn’t know why he suddenly had such an intense urge to impress the older boy, but he couldn’t deny that whenever he felt Lance’s eyes on his body he tried to show off. Yeah, right, Finn thought, as if someone with perfect form would be impressed with your thrashing. Besides, the dude’s a nutcase. Who cares what he thinks? Sighing, he turned off the shower, towelled off and dressed. He had taken a longer shower than he had meant to, and almost everyone had left. He had noticed that Lance had left the locker room extremely quickly after practice, the same way he had every practice since the Halloween party. Not that he cared. Sam clapped him on the shoulder as he left, calling, “see you tomorrow! Get some rest, eat some carbs!” on his way out through the door. The last one left in the locker room now, Finn got his things together, ready to leave. Suddenly he remembered that he needed to shave before the meet tomorrow. He couldn’t believe the meet had come up so quickly. It had felt ages away, and suddenly it was here. He paused, wondering if it was worth doing now, or if he should get up even earlier tomorrow morning to do it. Groaning, he decided to get it over with now. He dropped his bag back into his locker and began to undress again, grabbing his razor and shaving cream and heading back into the open shower area. He noticed someone had left their goggles on a shelf ahead of him on the wall.

  Turning the water back on, he stepped into the stream, sudsing his underarms with the shaving cream and shaving them quickly but thoroughly. Next he did his chest – he really didn’t have much in the way of hair on his chest, but his male ego ignored that fact. As he bent to begin on his legs, he heard the door to the locker room open and someone walk in. He straightened and froze for a moment, embarrassed, then shook it off. There was nothing to worry about, all the swimmers had to shave for the meets. Nevertheless, he stood still, razor in hand, waiting for the other person to leave. He felt a presence right behind him, and a long, muscled arm reached around him to grab the goggles on the shelf just ahead of him. He recognized that arm – Lance.

  Finn turned to face him.

  “I was wondering whose those were,” he said, trying to break the awkward silence that was settling around them.

  Lance studied his face inscrutably, grey eyes almost black, jaw set. Once again Finn noticed something strange, something he couldn’t quite name, in the older boy’s expression. He noticed Lance’s gaze move from his eyes to his mouth and he shivered despite the heat of the shower. He was suddenly hyper-aware of his nakedness, and of the extremely close proximity of the taller swimmer. Why the fuck are you so close to me? You have your goggles, now get the hell out of here! Finn thought. Lance didn’t budge. Finn could feel his breathing changing, getting more shallow, his heart beating faster, and all the while Lance kept staring at his face with that strange, dark expression.

  Lance then spoke the first words he had ever really said to Finn, his voice low. “Why’d you stop?”

  “Huh?”

  Lance nodded at the razor in Finn’s hand.

  Finn rolled his eyes.

  “Why, you wanna analyze my technique on that, too?” he spat, eyes narrowing.

  Lance didn’t react.

  “Maybe.”

  Finn’s eyebrow’s shot up before settling into a scowl.

  “What?” Finn asked, regarding the older boy suspiciously.

  “Let’s see your technique.”

  Was this a joke? What the hell was Lance playing at? Finn stood frozen, unsure what to do. Then, a surge of irritation hardened him and he said, “fine! Whatever, man.”

  Refusing to turn his back on Lance, he bent forward in front of him and re-sudsed his legs, shaving up his right shin and calf with long strokes, rinsing his razor each time. His face was burning. He glanced up at Lance as he moved up to his thigh. Lance was watching him studiously - the guy really was examining his technique! Unbelievable. Finn saw that the front of Lance’s T-shirt and jeans were getting soaked by the shower, but Lance didn’t seem to notice or care. Finn began to shave the front of his thigh, stroking the razor all the way up to his hips. He realized his hand was shaking slightly, and when he reached his hip bone he nicked himself, crimson blood bubbling out of the cut before being rinsed down his leg by the shower.

  “Fuck,” he said, and before he could react further Lance stepped forward, pressing his thumb, hard, brutally hard, into the small cut.

  “Yo, what the hell?!” Finn said, jerking under the strength of Lance’s touch. He looked up at Lance’s face and breathed in sharply.

  Lance’s stony expression from before had dissolved. He looked almost crazed. His jaw worked, his chest heaved, his eyes darker than Finn had ever seen anyone’s, staring down at his hand at Finn’s pelvis. Finn stuttered, softly, “what-what are you doing, Lance?”

  Lance met Finn’s eyes briefly, looking angry, looking at Finn like he had done something wrong, looking at him as if he were prey. Once again Finn was reminded of a shark, and he had made the fatal mistake of spilling blood in the water. Finn shook his head, his lips slightly parted, beyond confused and unsure what to do. Without warning, Lance dropped to one knee in front of Finn, his large hands grasping the sides of the younger boy’s hips fiercely, and he tongued the cut, sucking at Finn’s stinging skin. Finn cried out without meaning too. For perhaps the first time in Finn Adamson’s life, he found himself completely speechless. He looked down at the copper-haired athlete kneeling before him, watching as water began to soak that hair and turn it to a colour darker than the blood that until a moment ago had been flowing down his leg. Finn couldn’t process what was happening, had no words to describe what he was feeling. He was absolutely humiliated, stunned, confused, a little bit afraid, and, he realized with growing horror, more than a little bit aroused. Mortified, he watched as his cock began to thicken next to Lance’s cheekbone. What the hell was happening to him?

  CHAPTER 8

  Lance Gallagher couldn’t explain any of it. He couldn’t explain how he had ended up on his knees, fully clothed and soaking wet in the shower, grasping Finn’s slender hips with his hands so tightly that he knew he would leave marks. He couldn’t explain why the small amount of blood coming from the cut tasted sweet, almost as sweet as the pale, soft skin of Finn’s hip, and he sure as hell couldn’t explain why Finn hadn’t shoved him off yet. He knew that he was doing something crazy, absolutely fucking insane, yet he couldn’t stop himself. Having the boy speechless and shuddering under his mouth filled him with the most exquisite sense of control. His teeth nipped at the pale jut of Finn’s hip bone, and Finn flinched, crying out. As he adjusted the angle of his head, Finn’s growing cock brushed against his cheek. Lance froze. Finn was hard. Holy shit, Finn was hard.

  This broke Lance’s strange reverie, snapping him back to reality and the sensations of his own body. He realized that Finn’s hand was buried deep in his soaking hair, and the feeling of the boy’s fingers on his scalp burned. He also could not ignore the fact that he was hard as a rock and had been for quite some time. He pressed his thumb into the cut again and looked up at Finn’s face. Finn’s eyes were closed, his mouth was parted longingly, his face beautifully flushed, eyelashes glittering in the water. Fuck. Fuck.

  In one fluid movement Lance stood and gripped Finn’s chin in his hand. Finn opened his eyes blearily, panting.

  “What – what...”

  Seeing the younger boy panting, almost delirious, confused and embarrassed, sent a hunger coursing through Lance so fast and furious it almost felt like rage.

  “Your turn,” he growled, not recognizing his own voice. He barely sounded human. He sounded like a monster. Lance noted that fact grimly.

  “What?” Finn said again, blinking against the water streaming down over bo
th of them.

  Lance’s grip on Finn’s chin moved to his neck, his thumb brushing along that delicate jawline. With his other hand he undid the buckle of his belt and then his fly before pulling out his aching cock.

  “You heard me,” he said, his entire body thrumming, “get on your knees.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Finn looked from Lance’s hard, hungry face to his huge, glistening cock. He gulped, taking in the enormous size of Lance’s manhood. It made sense since Lance was such a huge guy, but still. Was there anything about Lance that didn’t make Finn feel inferior? Still, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of pleasure and power, realizing that Lance was so incredibly hard because of him. He felt like he finally had something on the other athlete, had finally gained some kind of upper hand. That feeling completely dissipated, though, when Lance suddenly brought his mouth down against Finn’s, hard, and Finn let himself open to the firm tongue without even putting up a fight. I’m so weak, he thought, face burning. He couldn’t quite figure out why he hadn’t made the taller boy stop yet. Lance’s hands held his face on either side, then moved down to his neck, his thumbs stroking the pulsing hollow between Finn’s collarbones. Finn whimpered against Lance’s mouth and he felt Lance’s hands tighten, and Lance’s entire body stiffen, in response. Lance ravaged Finn’s wet, aching mouth, leaving no area untouched by his hungering tongue. After what felt like an eternity, he pulled back, steely eyes on Finn’s.