Kings of Hawkings [bxb]

Chapter 6

Before Jonas knew what was happening, Travis had pulled him into the common room. The sudden shift from the quiet moment with Hugh to the bustling energy of the common room caught Jonas off guard. His initial confusion gave way to curiosity as he stumbled behind Travis, who seemed determined.

The room was a hive of activity, with students lounging, chatting, and moving about, creating a cacophony of sounds. Travis' grip was firm and insistent, and Jonas couldn't help but feel a mix of bewilderment and apprehension. What had started as a casual afternoon was rapidly shifting.

Travis had him sit on a stool.

"Take off your shirt," Travis ordered, cutting through the din of the common room. The others fell silent, and their attention was turned toward the two of them.

Jonas raised an eyebrow, scanning Travis for any hint of an alternate motive.

"That's a bit forward, Travis," Hugh joked despite his own curiosity.

Jonas hesitated. Everett had joked about him working out shirtless, but that was just banter. In truth, he never removed his shirt in public, even at the gym. Sighing, he turned his back to them and lifted his shirt, unaware of the avid gazes following his every move. As he peeled it off, revealing a muscle shirt underneath, Hugh's eyes widened at Jonas' sculpted arms.

Jonas continued, pulling off his muscle shirt. The wolf whistles cut through the room as the shirt was halfway over his head. Jonas hurriedly removed the shirt and glared at the room over his shoulder.

For an 18-year-old, his physique was nothing short of extraordinary. His back was a masterclass in definition; each muscle group was meticulously sculpted and honed through countless hours of intense training. The smooth contours of his shoulders and the ridged valleys of his lats spoke to a disciplined regimen, a testament to years of dedication in the gym and fighting.

Yet, despite the impressive display of physical prowess, his back was marred by a troubling array of scars. These scars, some jagged and others faded, disrupted the otherwise flawless tapestry of muscle. They told stories of hardships weathered and wounds endured, hinting at a past filled with more than just routine workouts.

"Damn," someone whispered from behind.

"Thank god I'm gay," another muttered.

"Travis, can I switch dorms with you?"

Hugh huffed and stood between Jonas and the rest of the room. "Nope. I think everyone needs to leave!"

There were sounds of discontent, but Hugh was stubborn. He turned toward Jonas and leaned in close, his breath on Jonas' neck. "I'll kick them out if you're uncomfortable."

"What?" Jonas gasped, his face flushing from Hugh's proximity. He jerked back, and the stool wobbled.

"Watch out!" Hugh called out and reached for him.

However, the abrupt motion caused both of them to topple over. Jonas acted instinctively, his reflexes honed by years of training. As they fell, he managed to wrap his arms securely around Hugh, shielding him from the impact. They hit the ground with a muted thud, Jonas' body absorbing most of the force. He lay there, a protective barrier between Hugh and the hard floor. With Hugh sprawled across him, Jonas' embrace was firm.

Hugh rose to his hands and knees, panic flashing across his face. "Jesus. Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Jonas replied calmly, shaking his head slightly. "How about you?"

Hugh's gaze drifted over Jonas' exposed torso, taking in the impressive chiseled chest and well-defined abs. The v-line that extended from his hips was almost too perfectly sculpted to be real. A passage was tattooed over his ribs, flowing seamlessly with the contours of his body. However, the scars from his back reached his torso. The most striking was a jagged scar that ran from his lower ribs to his hips—its uneven edges clearly too rough to be a surgical scar. The raw, irregular marks suggested something more brutal than any routine operation.