The Shark (Kingston College Book 2)

by Vivica Dorn

  In a moment that he would later blame on his drunkenness and the cold, Finn, searching for more warmth, reached his own arms up, sliding them under Lance’s arms and then up under Lance’s jacket, tightening his grip around that strong back. He ignored the fact that this was Lance he was embracing, ignored the fact that he was placing himself in the clutches of a monster, and focused only on the pure physical sensations – the warmth, the stability, the scents lighting him up from within.

  Lance, with a voice more ragged and raw than Finn had ever heard before, began to speak.

  “Finn, I -”

  Suddenly the pub door opened and another voice cut in. Lance stiffened.

  “Uh, y’all good out here?”

  Finn recognized Greg’s voice. He sucked in a breath and lurched out of Lance’s arms, careening back against the brick wall he had been leaning against before.

  “Uh, oh, yeah, for sure, man. I just, I was out here, and I, like, I fell...”

  Lance did not look at Greg, and Finn could feel his gaze burning into the side of his face as he rambled at their teammate, hoping he didn’t sound too idiotic.

  Greg smiled.

  “Ok, sounds like you’re doing alright out here. I just came out to check on you and bring you your coat. You left it inside.”

  Greg tossed the jacket over and Finn caught it clumsily.

  “Jesus, it’s cold out here. I’m going back in. You gonna make it home ok?”

  “I...” He glanced at Lance. Lance, whose dark eyes had never left his face, not even for a moment.

  “He’ll be fine. I’ll see to it.” Lance’s voice had resumed its usual deep reserve, no hint of the strange rawness from before remaining.

  “Cool, sounds good, guys. Drink some water, Minnow.”

  Greg smiled crookedly then ducked back into the pub, closing the door against all the heat and the sounds. Finn felt like he had suddenly been thrust underwater, so quiet had everything become.

  Clearing his throat and awkwardly avoiding Lance’s piercing gaze, he shrugged into his jacket, taking care to try to appear less drunk than he truly was. Whatever moment had just opened up between the two of them had ended, evaporating into the air the way his clouds of hot breath did in the cold. Finn knew he had to rebuild his carefully composed defences. It had taken everything he had to appear aloof and unaffected in the locker room earlier – it had taken every molecule of muscle, every atom of resolve not to react when that strong hand had brushed his ear. He had wanted to jump at the electricity that sparked under his skin at the touch, cold lightning running down his neck into his spine. He had wanted to whirl around and scream at Lance in anger. He had wanted to run away, to hide. But, more than anything, he had wanted to lean into that touch. And he could not for the life of him explain why. Especially given how Lance had treated him in the showers. He wouldn’t let Lance get to him – he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear the thought of that exquisite face turning to an expression of sour disgust. Not again.

  He took a shaky breath and puffed up his chest as he struggled with his zipper; it seemed more stiff and difficult than normal, as if everything had been reversed. Finally managing to zip it up to his chin, he sighed with relief. Having an extra layer of clothing felt a bit like armour, a bit like he had created some safe sort of distance.

  “Ok, well, bye,” he blurted, finally meeting Lance’s gaze. What he saw there threw him totally off-kilter. It wasn’t the usual stern focus he was used to seeing, or the condescending sneer. Lance was smiling. Really, truly smiling. His entire face lit up with the genuineness of the expression, showcasing straight white teeth. Finn stood, totally stunned, and begrudgingly admitted that Lance looked even better when he smiled. Bastard.

  “You know your coat’s inside-out, right?” Lance asked, his broad smile fading into a smirk.

  Finn opened and closed his mouth a few times, brow furrowing, before looking down at himself. Christ, Lance was right. No wonder it had been so hard to do up the zipper.

  Sighing exaggeratedly, he turned on his heel with a huff.

  “Yeah, well, this is how I wear it sometimes. Whatever. Not my fault you don’t know about fashion.”

  Even in his drunkenness he knew how lame he sounded, a fact only confirmed by the deep, sudden laugh he heard behind him. His cheeks burned as he began to walk unsteadily towards his dorm. He had to walk, had to get away from there, to escape the way that laugh had settled deep in his chest, spreading sweet fire through his ribs.

  Walking away, it turned out, was futile, though, as with only two large strides Lance had caught back up with him.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Finn spat, or rather, slurred, the haze of alcohol making his words less sharp and severe than he’d intended. “What do you think you’re doing? I don’t need a babysitter.”

  Lance’s expression had resumed its usual seriousness, but there was an undeniable warmth about his eyes that Finn had never seen before.

  “You couldn’t even put your own jacket on. I don’t trust you to get back on your own.”

  Finn groaned, loudly and like a child, then kicked at a rock on the sidewalk as they began to walk again, side-by-side.

  “I don’t get you,” he said softly. Why was Lance doing this to him? Why couldn’t he just leave him alone?

  Lance’s face turned grim, then became unreadable.

  “Where’s your dorm?”

  CHAPTER 12

  Lance should have known something like this would happen. Finn didn’t strike him as the most careful or responsible person even when he was sober, so when the freshman yanked his jacket right-side out and searched all the pockets frantically before miserably declaring that he’d lost his dorm room key, Lance was only a little surprised.

  “Can your roommate come down and let you in?”

  Finn groaned and sat down roughly on the curb outside the building.

  “No. He goes to bed pretty early and sleeps like the fucking dead. He wouldn’t answer me if I called him.”

  “What about security?”

  “I don’t have my ID. It’s in my wallet. With my key card.”

  Finn slung his jacket back over his shoulders and jammed his arms through the sleeves before placing his face in his hands. The lights from the building above them shone on Finn’s hair. Lance curled his fingers tightly into fists to stop himself from reaching out and grasping those silver-streaked curls. He stared at the top of the seated boy’s head intently, knuckles cracking from the pressure.

  “Why me?” Finn whined, drawing out the last syllable in an almost comical wail that tilted up at the end – meeeeee-ah. Lance had to stop himself from laughing again. Seeing Finn like this, looking lost and vulnerable, and, well adorable, was endearing in a way he wouldn’t have thought possible before. He thought back to how the freshman’s cockiness had enraged him and left him feeling toxic and obsessed. In this moment all of that had disappeared – gone was the arrogant thrasher of a swimmer, replaced by someone tired and hungry and cold and pure. So pure and lonely and gorgeous, with those big eyes and that sulking mouth and a mess of curls catching the moonlight in an impossibly glossy net.

  Actually, maybe those feelings hadn’t totally disappeared, Lance thought tensely, as a wave of something irrepressible and just as toxic as before swept through him. But this time it was met head-on by the desire to protect this foul-mouthed freshman. He didn’t know which feeling would win out. And when he spoke next, he honestly didn’t know which feeling had motivated the words.

  “Stay at my place tonight.”

  Finn’s head snapped up and his bleary eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “What?”

  “My apartment’s nearby.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Finn whispered. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Lance knew what he had meant. He had meant, “What makes you think I would possibly go with you, after everything you’ve done?”

  With a grimace, Lance pushed, knowing he didn’t have to,
knowing he could have tried to come up with some other options for his stranded teammate, knowing that he was manipulating the situation in a way that was neither necessary nor fair.

  “What other choice do you have?”

  The brutal coldness of his tone surprised even himself, and he saw Finn shrink down like a cornered animal.

  Maybe the toxic side was winning out after all.

  But then Finn pursed his lips and looked up, his expression both resigned and proud, blue eyes glinting through their fevered haze.

  “Fine,” he said decisively. “Lead the way.”

  The walk to Lance’s apartment was silent but it didn’t take long. It really was only a few blocks from Finn’s dorm to Lance’s place. Lance lived on the sprawling first floor of one of the old century homes that dotted the downtown campus core. The only other tenant in the building was his friend, Michel, who lived in the apartment upstairs. Lance suddenly realized that Finn would know Michel, of course, as the TA in their Politics and Governance class. He thought about mentioning the fact as an attempt to make some kind of conversation, but then decided against it. Selfishly, he didn’t want Finn to associate this place, this night, with anyone but him. It already irked him enough that Finn had spent most of the night drinking with the other guys on his team. Lance didn’t normally socialize with the team, or with people in general, but this time he had meant to get to the party earlier, to participate for once, to claim his place next to Finn at the bar from the very beginning. He had been waylaid in his plans, though, by an upset Michel pounding on his door, asking strange questions about being in love. He hadn’t wanted to leave Michel alone looking so flustered, so they had had a few glasses of wine together, and by the time Michel had left and Lance made his way to The White Hart, Finn was already outside, leaning against the wall, head tipped back and throat bared like a drunken angel.

  The door swung open and the two swimmers stepped inside the darkened apartment. Lance flicked on a switch and warm pot-lights nestled in the high ceiling sprang to life, illuminating the space. He regarded Finn coolly as the younger boy gasped.

  “Your place is unreal!”

  Lance’s mouth twitched. Finn’s indignation and sulkiness from earlier had been totally replaced by an innocent wonder. Lance had expected this reaction – Michel had said something similar the first time he had stepped foot inside. Lance let his gaze sweep over the room, trying to take it in from Finn’s perspective. His leather couch and armchair gleamed invitingly in the soft light, and a giant TV hung over the fireplace. The living area stretched into an open concept kitchen furnished with stainless steel appliances and a huge larder that served as a wine rack. He supposed it was an impressive space, though material things like that didn’t particularly impress him. He liked to be comfortable, there wasn’t much else to it.

  “It’s so clean...” Finn muttered, his hand gliding over the granite top of the island that separated the kitchen and living areas. “Are you sure you’re a college student?” He turned to Lance then, eyes narrowed incredulously.

  Lance didn’t respond. Having Finn here in his home was stirring feelings that he had anticipated having better control over. For the second time that night, his knuckles creaked with the force of the fists he curled. He swallowed hard, something like hunger, or maybe something more like need, rising all the way from his pelvis into his throat. A part of him still couldn’t believe Finn had come back with him. He had almost expected Finn’s pride to lead him to sleep out on the curb rather than follow him home. Especially after he what had done. Why had Finn come with him? He could have gone back to the pub and explained his situation, he could have called Sam, could have called anyone. But he hadn’t. Could a part of him have wanted to end up here with Lance? He swallowed again, harder this time, as he watched Finn wander through the apartment in dazed awe.

  Finn didn’t seem to notice Lance’s gaze or the intensity of his darkening thoughts. He had stopped in front of the TV.

  “Yo! PS4, Xbox... you even have an N64! I used to play some wicked Mario Cart on that as a kid.” A nostalgic smile played about Finn’s lips as he regarded Lance’s array of gaming consoles. “I didn’t figure you for a gamer.”

  Lance smiled softly at Finn’s enthusiasm. He preferred to spend his time reading, but every once in a while he found the mindless running, shooting, and jumping of video and PC games to be quite relaxing – a meditative practice of sorts.

  Finn picked up the N64 controller and ran his thumbs over the buttons as if he were caressing a beloved childhood pet. Once again Lance was reminded of the boy’s purity – purity of joy, purity of aggravation, purity of passion. Finn was like a little tornado of emotion, feeling everything with exquisite strength and authenticity, always perfectly himself. Lance wondered what it was like to be so open with the world, to allow everything you felt to flow through you so easily, to never harden your face into a mask. Suddenly the image of Finn’s reddened, tear-streaked face in the showers, so shy and unsure but so earnestly hungry, mouth stretched to the limit with Lance’s cock, sprang to his mind. Heat exploded in his chest and he suppressed a groan. Shaking his head, he attempted to distract himself.

  “You can play something, if you want.”

  Finn placed the controller back down, stepped back from the TV, and then collapsed onto the couch, sighing. Using only his feet, he worked off his shoes before curling into the rich leather like a cat.

  “Maybe, maybe...” he muttered, eyes closed.

  Lance watched him silently for a moment, admiring the way Finn’s hair curled so softly over his forehead. He watched that pink mouth open slightly, watched that strong yet narrow chest rise and fall with each sleepy breath.

  “Hey, you still have your coat on.” Lance said. His voice sounded strange in his own ears, as if coming from another room, somewhere tinny and far away. Disconcerted, he cleared his throat, wondering if Finn had thought the sound strange, too.

  “’S’fine,” Finn mumbled, snuggling deeper into the couch.

  Lance turned on his heel, heading to the linen closet next to the bathroom to fetch one of the extra blankets he held on to but almost never used. On his way back into the living room he flicked off the lights, plunging everything into silvery darkness. As he approached Finn on the couch, he was struck by the distinct feeling that he was approaching some kind of unsuspecting prey – a lion creeping up on a sleeping gazelle. As he shook out the soft, knitted fabric of the blanket, he was keenly aware that his next actions would mark the kind of man he was. He knew that what happened next could define his relationship with Finn forever. After spreading the blanket over Finn’s body, his hand lingered at the smaller boy’s pale throat. His fingertips brushed that smooth skin, almost pearlescent in the light, just ever so slightly, his jaw tightening. Would he push further, move his hand lower, solidify his status as a monster forever? He paused.

  Finn sighed then shifted slightly. Lance withdrew his hand sharply, as if he had been burned, and without giving himself another moment to think or to make any more fucking mistakes, he turned and made his way into his bedroom, firmly closing the door.

  And so the lion went hungry that night, too touched by the beauty of his prey. Too pained by the purity he had witnessed there.

  CHAPTER 13

  The first thing Finn noticed when he woke up was the truly disgusting, gummy feeling of his tongue inside his mouth. It felt dry and strangely too large for the space, pressing stickily against his teeth. He opened and closed his mouth several times trying to alleviate the sensation. As he opened his bleary eyes, his gaze settled on a glass of water on a small table within arm’s reach. Propping himself up slightly on his elbow, he reached for the glass and chugged half the contents down before looking around the room confusedly. Where the hell was he? He didn’t remember checking into a luxury hotel last night, and yet that’s where he appeared to be. Brow furrowed, he took another sip of water. He had been out with the team, he had stepped out into the cold night, and
then someone, someone tall and sombre with a leather jacket and tousled bronze hair had approached him...

  Everything came back in a loose, hazy wave. Lance. This was Lance’s apartment.

  Finn sat up suddenly, jolted awake by the realization but instantly regretting the action as the blood rushed into his head, pounding. He winced, then noticed a bottle of Aspirin that had been left on the table, too. Had Lance left these out for him? Somehow he couldn’t picture it – maybe Lance had some kind old butler hidden away in here somewhere who had done it instead. Bizarrely, that seemed to make more sense. Finn warily glanced around before popping the bottle open and swallowing one of the pills. He washed it down with his last gulp of water. Mouth still feeling uncomfortably dry, he stood, about to make his way into the kitchen, when the apartment door opened.

  He froze, feeling strangely as if he were trespassing, as if he wasn’t supposed to be there.

  Lance walked in, looking much the same way he had last night, in jeans and a black leather jacket. Suddenly self-conscious, Finn raked his hands through his hair. His curls always tended to go haywire while he slept – he prayed that he had maintained a modicum of coolness. Maybe the leather had helped keep everything in place. By the feel of things, he doubted it. Sighing, he let his hands drop.

  Lance nodded at him as he closed the door.

  “You’re up,” he noted.

  Finn nodded dumbly.

  “Uh huh.”

  Lance watched him for a moment quietly, before stepping forward, holding out his hand.

  “Here. It was at The White Hart. I know one of the waitresses; she let me in and checked the lost and found.”

  He almost didn’t process that Lance was handing him his lost wallet. He was too preoccupied with what Lance had just said. Which waitress did he know? He must have been fairly close with her to be able to get her to open up the pub like that on such short notice. Was she pretty? What did Lance think of pretty waitresses, anyway? He tucked his wallet into his pocket and then without even realizing it started trying to fix his hair again, staring down at the floor, brows contracting.