Page 37 of Subduing the Shark

"Clearly."

Harold found his rhythm. Not graceful, nothing like Jack's effortless presence in the water, but functional. He treaded water across from Jack and the two of them floated in Pool B at eleven in the morning, naked except for Harold's boxers, and it was the most absurd and tender thing Harold had experienced in his life.

"Shift," Jack said.

"What?"

"Shift. I want to see the hound in the water."

Harold shifted. The bloodhound replaced him in the water with a splash and a scramble, long ears floating on the surface like kelp, legs paddling in a frantic circle that covered no distance whatsoever. The hound's nose lifted above the waterline and Harold could smell everything, the water and Jack's ocean scent was so pure and strong in this environment that it was overwhelming.

Jack shifted too. The shark appeared where the man had been, six feet of gray muscle, and for the first time in his life Harold was in the water with a shark. The hound's brain registered predator and his hackles would have risen if they weren't underwater. Every land-animal instinct told him to get out of the pool. Harold's human brain, riding underneath the hound, told his instincts to shut up.

Jack swam a slow circle around him. The shark was enormous up close, bigger than Harold had imagined, the grayskin smooth and the black eye tracking the ridiculous paddling hound with an intelligence that was entirely Jack. Harold paddled in his circle and the shark circled him and the absurdity of it, the vulnerability of it, a bloodhound in a swimming pool trusting a shark not to eat him, was the most ridiculous thing Harold had ever done.

Jack came alongside him. The dorsal fin cut the water inches from Harold's nose. Harold reached out a paw and batted it. The shark turned. Harold did it again, clumsier, and his paw landed on the fin and stayed there.

He was holding Jack's dorsal fin.

The shark went still. Not the shiver stillness, not the blank shutdown. A different kind of still. Attentive. Waiting. Harold gripped the fin with his paw and Jack began to move, slow at first, pulling Harold through the water. The hound's legs stopped paddling. He let the shark carry him, his body dragging through the pool behind the fin, and the trust of it, the surrender of it, a land animal gripping a predator's fin and letting himself be towed, cracked something open in Harold's chest that he hadn't known was sealed.

They circled the pool twice. Then Jack stopped and Harold let go and they both shifted at the same time, human forms surfacing together, treading water face to face.

Jack's eyes were bright. Not the flat gray of the club or the exhausted dullness of the steps. Bright, alive, and looking at Harold with an openness that made Harold's throat tight.

"Nobody's ever swum with me before," Jack said. "In the pool I was always alone. Every time. Nobody wanted to be in the water with a shark."

"I wanted to be in the water with you." Harold reached through the water and put his hand on Jack's jaw. Wet skin, cool, the pulse underneath fast and steady. "I looked ridiculous."

"You looked like a hound in a bathtub."

"I'll take it." Harold pulled him closer. Their bodies met under the water, skin to skin, and the contact sent heat through Harold's limbs despite the cold. "I need to tell you something."

Jack cocked his head, listening. "So tell me."

"I'm not going to push you. I'm not going to rush this. I'm not going to put anything on you that you don't want." Harold's thumb moved on Jack's jaw, the same gesture he'd used on the couch, in the truck, every time he touched Jack's face. "I'm just going to take care of you until you are mine. That's it. That's the whole plan. No pain, no rope, no tools you're not ready for. Just me, showing up, until you believe it."

Jack stared at him. The water moved between their bodies, warm where they pressed together, cool where they didn't. "Is that a Dom thing?"

"That's a me thing."

Jack pressed his lips together. "What if I don't know how to be yours?"

"Then we figure it out. At whatever speed you need." Harold kissed him. Soft, the water lapping at their chins, their legs tangling underwater as they treaded to stay afloat. Jack's mouth was cool and tasted like salt, always salt. His hands came up to Harold's shoulders and this time the grip was real. Not service. Not debt. Jack holding on because he wanted to touch him.

Harold deepened the kiss. Jack's mouth opened and his moan echoed off the pool walls, low and rough, and Harold's cock stirred in his wet boxers and the water moved around them as they pulled each other closer. Jack's hands slid down Harold's chest, fingers trailing through the water, and found his waist. His touch was tentative. Exploring. Learning what it felt like to reach for someone because you wanted them and not because the rules said you had to.

"Tell me if you want to stop," Harold said against his mouth.

"I don't want to stop." Jack's voice was raw. "I don't know what I'm doing but I don't want to stop."

Harold guided them to the shallow end where he could stand. His feet found the bottom and he pulled Jack against him and the full contact of their bodies, chest to chest, hips to hips, the hard length of Jack's cock against his own through the soaked fabric of his boxers, made Harold groan. Jack was hard. Fully, unambiguously hard, and his hips were moving, pressing forward into the contact with a rhythm that was instinctive and uncoordinated and real.

Harold got his hand between them. He pushed the boxers down, kicked them off, and wrapped his hand around both of them. Jack's cock alongside his own, hot in the cool water, the friction of skin on skin making Jack's breath stutter and his fingers dig into Harold's shoulders.

"Oh," Jack said. Just that. Just oh, like he'd discovered something he hadn't known existed.

Harold stroked them together, slowly, his hand tight enough that they could both feel it. Jack's forehead dropped against his shoulder and his body pressed into Harold's hand. His moans and groans were unguarded and messy, breath and noise and half-formed words that Harold caught against his neck. Harold's own pleasure was building fast, the heat of Jack's cock against his own, the water around them, the sounds Jack was making, muffled against his skin but still loud enough he was sure others in the pools around them could hear.