The Shark (Kingston College Book 2)

by Vivica Dorn

  “Did you forget what I said?”

  “What?” Finn said, realizing he had barely said any other words besides “what” during this entire ordeal. What an idiot.

  “Get on your knees.”

  Finn hesitated, unsure, scared, but unbearably aroused. He had never sucked a cock before, of course he hadn’t, he wasn’t gay, but something about taking that huge, hard, sensitive part of Lance’s incredible body in his mouth made him feel curiously powerful. He wanted Lance’s cock in his mouth, he wanted to see him come undone for the first time, to show some kind of weakness. He tried not to think too hard about the fact that he wanted to suck the cock of the guy he hated most, or what that fact possibly could mean.

  He sank to his knees, the tile painful against his exposed skin. Lance was staring down at him intensely, and looking somewhat surprised, as if he wondered if this were real. You and me both, man, Finn thought, before taking the hot, pulsing cock in his hand. Lance sucked in his breath sharply and Finn felt him throb in his wet hand. Finn licked his lips, not sure if he could even fit the thing in his mouth. No going back now, he thought, grimacing a little, and slowly, gently, worked Lance’s erection into his mouth. Lance groaned and arched forward, causing Finn to pull back a little so he didn’t gag. Jesus, the guy really was huge. Finn’s lips felt stretched to the limit. He had no idea what the fuck he was doing, but he tried to imitate what girls had done to him before, moving his mouth up and down that exceptionally hard length. Lance’s breathing became laboured, and he swore quietly under his breath. Finn looked up through his eyelashes, keeping his mouth moving on Lance’s cock. Seeing Lance’s expression aroused and terrified Finn, shaking him to his very core. Lance’s face was almost unrecognizable with furious need. His jaw clenched, his eyes burned into Finn. Finn felt his cheeks flush crimson as he realized that Lance was watching him such his cock. This wasn’t just about getting a blow job, this was about Finn sucking him off. That realization burned Finn beyond measure, his own erection twitching and wet. Holding eye contact with Lance, he took him deeper into his mouth and throat, as deeply as he could, watching with fascination as Lance’s chest heaved.

  “Touch yourself,” Lance said forcefully. Finn blushed, suddenly more embarrassed than he had been during this entire bizarre interaction.

  “Do it,” Lance said thickly, almost whispering. Still staring at Lance’s hard face, he took himself in his hand and began to stroke in time to the movements of his mouth. Lance groaned again, louder this time, and Finn felt his pleasure begin to reach an incredible, warm, spreading crescendo deep in his pelvis. Fuck, he couldn’t believe he was going to come with another guy’s dick in his mouth.

  Suddenly the door to the locker room opened and both of them froze. The shower area wasn’t visible from the main locker room, but they still needed to move into a less conspicuous place. Lance gripped both sides of Finn’s head with his hands, shuffling backwards in his stiff, soaking wet jeans, not letting Finn release his cock. Finn, forced to follow, moved forward on his hands and knees, until they were in the corner, behind the wall that separated the locker room area from the open showers. Finn heard a locker open and someone began rummaging around. He tried to stay as quiet as possible, sure that his heartbeat was so loud it would give them away. He looked back up at Lance again, wondering what to do. Lance’s gaze had never left his face. With his hands still on each side of Finn’s head, he slowly began moving his hips, fucking Finn’s mouth silently. Finn whimpered, then gasped, cursing himself, hoping the sound of he running water would drown out the sound.

  “Quiet,” Lance mouthed, his brows contracting, gritting his teeth. He moved his hips again, in and out, the tip of his thick cock nudging at the back of Finn’s throat. Finn felt totally overwhelmed, stuffed, filled to the brim with that huge hardness. Trying desperately not to gag as someone stood mere feet away on the other side of the wall, he felt his eyes begin to tear up. He reached up and gripped the front of Lance’s thighs, trying to ground himself, trying to retain some semblance of control. This seemed to drive Lance over the edge. Lance’s grip on Finn’s face tightened and he moved faster. Despite Finn’s best efforts, he made tiny, soft sounds, his lips swollen and wet. Without thinking, he moved one of his hands off of Lance’s thighs and clutched at his own erection, beginning to jerk off again.

  They might see us... he thought, listening to whoever was there moving around in the locker room. But this only served to arouse him more. He closed his eyes, giving in the sensation of Lance fucking his mouth, feeling the pulsing hardness moving in and out, feeling the heat of him, the insatiability...

  Finn was spurting, hot and hard, onto the tiles of the shower. Aching and spent, he opened his eyes and looked back up Lance’s own icy grey ones, eyes that had never left his own. Lance tensed, his gaze as hard as his cock, and without warning he pumped cum mercilessly into the back of Finn’s throat, gripping the back of the kneeling boy’s head so he couldn’t pull away.

  “Mmmph!” Finn made a small strangled sound, forced to swallow so that he wouldn’t start gagging and spitting and give their position away. Finally, whoever was in the locker room left. Finn listened for the sound of the door closing, and finally let himself relax. Lance released his grip on Finn’s head and Finn slumped to the wet, hard floor, shuddering. Lance tucked himself back into his soaking wet jeans and zipped up silently. Finn panted below him on the floor, afraid to look up. When he did, the reasons for his fears were confirmed. Lance’s features had hardened into an expression not of regret, not of confusion, but of disgust. Finn shivered and curled into himself. He wanted to scream at the older boy. How dare he look disgusted when he had initiated this whole strange sequence of events? He wanted to question Lance, wanted to rail against him, but all that he managed to choke out was a quiet, lame-sounding “get the fuck out of here.” After a moment, and without a word, Lance turned and left, not bothering to dry off or change, the door closing behind him with a finality that made Finn, for some bizarre reason, want to cry. His eyes landed on the razor that had fallen to the floor. He hadn’t even finished shaving yet. Fuck.

  CHAPTER 10

  Lance was in a foul mood the next day, the day of the swim meet. He had tossed and turned all night going over and over the events of the locker room and he had barely slept. What the hell had Finn turned him into? What kind of animal had he become? He remembered, just after he came, seeing Finn slumped, small-looking and defeated, on the locker room floor, and he had felt horrifically, irrevocably disgusted with himself. He couldn’t believe he had pushed things that far. Finn didn’t seem to resist him in the moment, but when Finn told him to “get the fuck out” Lance knew he had made a mistake of monumental proportions. And yet, despite these misgivings, despite the guilt, Lance couldn’t stop thinking about Finn and the feeling of his mouth. The image of Finn’s tear-stained, blushing face being stuffed with his huge cock was exceptionally difficult to put out of his mind. Seeing the arrogant, undisciplined boy submissive on his knees, sucking enthusiastically while stroking himself had been almost too much to handle. Even now, the next morning, the images flashed and burned in his mind. Lance shifted uncomfortably. He had jerked off twice during the night, inflamed by the memories, and he still felt like an aroused and restless piece of shit.

  He entered the locker room later than he had meant to, and almost everyone else had already changed. He saw Finn, already in his bathing suit, his dark curls wet from a quick rinse in the shower, the same shower where less than 24 hours ago his slick mouth had cradled Lance’s cock. Lance pushed the thought from his mind, turning away as Finn noticed him. Finn stiffened and left the locker room, heading through the door to the pool deck. Lance changed then showered quickly and went to join Finn and the rest of the team.

  The benches surrounding the pool, usually empty during practice, were now filled with loud, jabbering crowds as everyone waited for the meet to begin. Teachers, students, and friends and family members of the competitors sat, s
taring at the swimmers and the water, chattering excitedly, the noise echoing in the giant space. The Kingston College supporters wore royal blue and gold; the supporters from the opposing Glenville College team donned forest green and white.

  Coach Smith said a few words into a loudspeaker, quieting the crowd.

  “Thank you everyone for coming and supporting our swimmers today at their first meet of the year!” Raucous applause broke out, rippling sharply outward, and audience members from both schools waved banners and signs of support. “And a big thank you and welcome to Glenville College for joining us today. The boys have been looking forward to this for a long time, and we’re excited to compete with a team as strong as you. Everybody, swim well!”

  The first relay swimmers from their team easily won the heat, much to the delight of the blue-and-gold portion of the crowd, and Lance and Finn lined up to get ready for the next relay. They stood in order, and as Lance was the fourth swimmer he stood directly behind Finn. Finn’s slender but muscled shoulders looked stiff and tense, and he never turned to look at Lance. Lance watched a single drop of water roll from beneath the bottom edge of Finn’s swim cap, down his sparrow-like neck, between the bone-tipped wings of his shoulder blades. He swallowed, hard, resisting the urge to press his mouth to column of Finn’s spine, sucking that drop of water up. He took a steadying breath as his chest warmed with a familiar emotion. Lance knew he had no reason to be angry, but he was. He wanted to grab Finn by the shoulders and spin him around, wanted to take his chin in his hand and force those long-lashed blue eyes upward to meet his. He could imagine the defiance he would see in them and it sent a frisson through his body.

  The first swimmers crouched, the buzzer rang, and the race began. Lance could easily see over Finn’s head to keep track of what was happening, and couldn’t help but smirk a little when he saw Finn try to crane around the second swimmer to see. Soon enough the second swimmers were crouching, then jumping into the water. Their team had fallen a little behind, into second place, and Lance knew he would likely have a gap to close if they wanted to win. Now Finn crouched before him, ready to leap, more focused and contained than Lance had ever seen him. Suddenly Finn tensed, then he dove into the water, hardly making a splash.

  Lance watched him move through the water easily. He was already closing the gap that had widened between them and the team in first place. Something was different about his movements today, they seemed less wild, more refined... more conservative. He was moving quickly, but strangely, not in his usual style. He was swimming the way Lance had wanted to see him swim for months, but somehow it looked wrong. Felt wrong. Finn reached the wall beneath his feet and looked up at Lance questioningly.

  “Go!” He exclaimed, eyes wide.

  Shit. Everyone else had already entered the water while he was staring like an idiot. Lance used all the power in him to launch as fast and as far as he could into the water, arms and legs pumping furiously. He was in last place and wasn’t sure if he could regain the ground that Finn had won them.

  No, he thought. He wouldn’t let his team down. He wouldn’t let Finn down. He moved ferociously, tapping into the fury of his body that he almost never used when swimming. Normally he put any and all emotions out of his head when swimming, but not this time. The rage and the guilt and the shame and the hunger propelled him forward with exquisite urgency. After an agonizing few laps, he finished in first place. Barely.

  Finn stared at Lance as he exited the pool. The expression in his blue eyes was unreadable. Then he turned stiffly and entered the locker room. Lance followed, his eyes never straying from the freshman’s back. The rest of the team was ecstatic in the locker room, revelling in their win. Finn and Lance were the only quiet ones. Sam, his gold hair dark from the water, laughed and clapped Lance on his shoulder.

  “You really pulled it together at the end there, man! That was a close one, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so far behind.” Lance tensed, then nodded, accepting the olive branch.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, glancing over at Finn’s hard back. It was the first time he and Sam had spoken since the Halloween party. Sam looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, before nodding again as if confirming something to himself. After a quick squeeze to Lance’s shoulder he moved away. Lance noticed in passing that Sam, rather than joining the party-like atmosphere the rest of the team had created, quickly changed and exited the locker room without speaking to anyone else. Lance glanced at Finn once again. The shorter boy had studiously ignored the entire exchange, and bent to remove his suit with unusually stiff care. Without thinking, Lance reached out a hand as Finn straightened, his fingers catching a stray wet curl and brushing the soft edge of his white ear. He bit back an animalistic groan at the back of his throat – Finn’s skin was so soft, so tender, sweet and damp...

  He expected Finn to turn to him with a defiant glare. He even expected Finn to hit him, to smack his hand away as if he were an obnoxious insect. What he did not expect was for Finn to barely react at all, stepping easily out of Lance’s reach as if he hadn’t even noticed the larger boy’s hand lingering at his throat. The red flush creeping across his cheek gave him away, but he quickly turned and headed to the showers as if nothing had happened at all, leaving Lance behind with his arm hanging in the empty air, lonely fingers clutching nothing.

  Lance clenched his jaw, scowling. He never thought he’d be so bothered by not hearing that arrogant boy’s voice, by not having those blue eyes on him.

  Yet here I am.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Minnow?” Finn’s teammate Greg asked, half-laughing, half-concerned, his Texas drawl stronger now that he had been drinking. Finn sighed, slumping and pushing his half-empty glass of beer away from him on the counter. He had had enough. The thought of finishing this drink after having finished so many others made him queasy. The campus pub, The White Hart, swirled around him in a haze of warm wood and worn fabric, music, and laughter. He gripped the edge of the old chipped table, head down, squeezing his eyes tightly shut in an attempt to steady himself and the pulsing of the room. Greg laughed again.

  “If you’re gonna hurl, don’t do it here, man.”

  Finn groaned, then pushed his chair out from the table abruptly and staggered from the group of swimmers celebrating around him. He didn’t think he would throw up, not yet anyway. He’d be ok if he just got some fresh air. Probably. He clenched his teeth and pressed firmly against the pub’s heavy wooden door, stumbling out into the cool breath of the night.

  The cold air entered him like a tonic and he took it in in huge medicinal gulps. The night felt like a salve against his burning cheeks and quelled the uneasy churning of his stomach. Relieved, he sighed and leaned back against the brick outer wall of the pub, next to the door he had just come through. Groups of students meandered by him, some entering the pub, letting clouds of warm air and loud voices waft out each time they yanked open the door. No one said anything to Finn, although a couple of people gave him sympathetic glances as they walked by, having been in that position themselves at one point or another.

  Finn tipped his head back against the brick and continued breathing in a slow, measured rhythm. He wasn’t feeling so nauseous now, but the air that had felt comfortingly cool a few moments ago now felt penetratingly cold, seeping into the fabric of his clothes and making him shiver. He had left his jacket inside; he’d have to go back in and get it. Despite the cold, the thought of entering the stuffy, jarring heat of the pub made his stomach turn. He crossed his arms over his chest, rubbing the bare skin of his upper arms.

  Just as he was taking another deep breath and steeling himself to head back into the pub for his coat, a voice broke through the darkness, clearing the fog in his skull and making him shiver anew.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  Lance stood before him in dark jeans, hands slung easily in the pockets of a black leather jacket. A slight breeze mussed his bronze hair and pressed his T
-shirt against his broad chest and chiselled abdomen. Even with his jacket undone he didn’t seem to notice the cold. He remained still, regarding Finn with an almost unreadable expression in the silvered pool of the streetlight above him. Finn thought at first that Lance looked totally uninterested, that he must have asked that question without caring to hear the answer. But, no, there was something else, something behind the careful composure, behind the artifice. Concern perhaps, or at least some kind of vague curiosity. Finn stared at the massive swimmer, taking in the perfect fit of his clothes, the impossible coolness of his jacket, his sharp jaw, his nonchalant stance, and felt anger rise in him like bile. It wasn’t fair that such an asshole could look like that. Finn didn’t bother trying to examine his emotions, didn’t bother trying to analyse whether his discomfort came from jealousy or desire. Or both. He didn’t try to analyse why suddenly all he could think about was the way that body had looked soaked in the hot stream of the shower as he had stared tearily up from his knees, aroused and oh so unsure.

  Finn pushed off from the wall, about to hurl some kind of smart, nasty remark Lance’s way when he lost his balance. Pitching forward without even really noticing in the limp, dizzy way drunk people do, he saw more than felt himself fall – saw the ground rush towards him. He didn’t see the strong arms snap out to catch him. He felt that. Just like the way he felt those arms tighten around his waist, ever so briefly, pulling him against a warm, firm chest. He didn’t move for a moment. Disoriented, he grounded himself by breathing in the sweet, soft smell of leather. Leather and something else, something clean and deep and sharp – shampoo? Cologne? He breathed it in again, feeling warmer now.