Page 39 of Subduing the Shark

Harold turned him around. Gentle, deliberate, his hands on Jack's hips guiding him until Jack was facing the pool wall with Harold behind him. The water was at their waists. Harold's chest pressed against Jack's back, warm and solid, and his mouth found the curve of Jack's neck and kissed there, slow, open-mouthed.

"We need..." Jack's voice was rough. "I don't have anything."

"Left pocket of my jeans."

Jack looked at the pile of clothes at the pool edge. "You planned this."

"I hoped for this. There's a difference. If you say no, everything stops. No matter what we're doing, even if I'm inside of you. Even if I'm seconds from cumming, you tell me to stop and it stops completely. I need you to understand that." Harold's teeth grazed his neck and Jack shivered. "I'll get it. Don't move."

Harold pulled himself out of the pool, crossed to his jeans, came back with a small bottle. He slid back into the water behind Jack and his hands returned to Jack's hips and his mouthreturned to his neck and Jack braced his arms against the pool wall and breathed.

Harold's fingers were slow. Careful. Slick and patient, working him open with the same attention Harold brought to everything, precise, thorough, and completely focused on Jack's responses. When Jack tensed, Harold stopped. When Jack's breath steadied, he continued. No rush. No force. No implication that Jack's pace was wrong or slow or inconvenient.

"More," Jack said.

Harold gave him more. Two fingers, and the stretch burned, and then didn't. It felt good in a way that Jack had never associated with the act because every time it had happened before he had been somewhere else. Gone to the blank space. Let his body do the enduring while his mind went to the pool, the ceiling, or the nothing place.

He wasn't in the nothing place. He was in Pool B with Harold's fingers inside him and Harold's mouth on his shoulder, and the water lapping at his waist. He could feel all of it. Every nerve. Every point of contact. Harold's chest against his back. Harold's breath on his neck. The stretch and pressure and the slow building heat that was pleasure, actual pleasure, his body responding to someone touching it because it wanted to be touched.

Harold's fingers curled inside him and Jack felt a jolt of pleasure that went straight through him. He gasped and pushed back against Harold's hand, his body begging for more.

"Fuck," Jack whimpered.

Harold chuckled. "You liked that huh?"

He could only nod as Harold did it again, curling his fingers repeatedly over his prostate until he was trembling against him.

"Please," he begged, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Harold entered him slowly. Jack gripped the pool edge and felt himself open. The fullness of it was overwhelming. His bodydid something it had never done during sex. It pushed back. Actively, deliberately, his hips pressing against Harold's, taking him deeper, wanting more.

Harold groaned against his shoulder. His hands tightened on Jack's hips and his hips moved, slow deep thrusts that Jack felt in his whole body. Jack pushed back to meet each one. The rhythm they found was imperfect. Graceless. Harold's foot slipped on the pool bottom. He grabbed the wall.

Jack laughed.

He laughed. During sex. The sound came out of him without permission, surprised and rough, and Harold laughed too, a breathless huff against Jack's wet skin.

"Pools are a terrible idea for this," Harold said.

He was probably right. "Don't stop though. Whatever you do. Please."

"I'm not stopping. I'm just acknowledging the logistics."

Harold adjusted his stance. The next thrust hit differently, deeper, angled. The laugh died in Jack's throat and was replaced by a rough moan that shook them both. Harold did it again. Jack's arms shook. The water sloshed around them and Harold's hands anchored his hips and Harold's mouth was on his neck again, not kissing, biting. The teeth pressed into the muscle where Jack's neck met his shoulder. The sharpness of it sent a current down Jack's spine that he felt in his cock.

"More," Jack begged. It was becoming the only word he had.

Harold gave him more. Harder, faster, the careful patience burning down to something rawer. His teeth stayed on Jack's neck, nipping at the skin. Jack could feel the bruise forming and he wanted it. Wanted the mark. Wanted to look in the mirror and see evidence that someone had been here, had touched him, had bitten him because they wanted him and not because they'd won a fight. And he wanted to remember wanting Harold too.Needing the moment with another person where he was in his hold because he wanted to be and not because he owed him.

Jack's hand dropped to his own cock and he stroked himself in time with Harold's thrusts and the combination of both was too much and not enough and his body was climbing toward something that felt different from every orgasm he'd ever had. Not the mechanical release of the shiver, that was the body finishing because the stimulation demanded it regardless of desire. This was desire. This was Jack's body chasing pleasure because it wanted the pleasure, reaching for it, leaning into it.

"Fuck. I'm close," Jack gasped.

"I know." Harold's voice was wrecked. "I can feel it. You're so fucking tight. Let go. I've got you. Cum for me."

The orgasm hit him and his body locked and his hand clamped on the pool edge and he cried Harold's name, loud, the sound bouncing off the walls and the water and the corrugated ceiling. Harold followed him three thrusts later, his teeth sinking into Jack's shoulder hard enough to break skin, and the pain and the pleasure blurred together into a single bright point that whited out everything else.

They stayed there for a long time. Harold's forehead against Jack's shoulder, both of them breathing hard, the water settling around them. Jack's whole body was shaking and it wasn't the blankness tremor, the post-fight vibration of a body that had gone away and come back. It was the tremor of a body that had been present for every second and was feeling the aftershocks of all of it at once.