Chapter 10

 

 

Sometimes Logan wondered what the hell they were doing.

It didn’t happen all that often. He generally dealt with the issue by not thinking about it. Not thinking about it was surprisingly easy when he had a hot guy sucking his dick whenever he wanted. Or rather, a hot guy letting him use his mouth whenever he wanted. The distinction was very clear—and one Andrew didn’t let him forget about.

They really needed to talk about it. People generally didn’t do that kind of thing without explicitly discussing what each party got from that kind of relationship. Not that it was a relationship. It was… a mutually beneficial arrangement, nothing more. 

Logan knew it wasn’t really about sex for Andrew. It wasn’t about sex for him, either. Sex was just a way for them to feel less lonely. A physical affirmation of life and an escape route from it at the same time. A way to feel good, a release of tension. The sex was an escape, like drugs and alcohol. Orgasms were secondary almost to the point of unimportance. Sexual gratification didn’t seem to be the main reason why Andrew liked sucking his cock—and he clearly liked it, no matter how much he liked to pretend that he was being forced.

At first Logan had been a little uneasy about the whole thing, but it was undeniable that the other man enjoyed having his mouth fucked. “Enjoyed” might actually be an understatement. Logan had never met a guy who got off on having his mouth used as much as Andrew did: he could come from it completely untouched. Andrew also liked making him hard. He would sometimes reach out and touch Logan’s cock for no reason and watch him get hard with a fascinated look in his eyes. Logan wasn’t sure why Andrew liked it so much—Andrew’s mind was a weird place and worked in mysterious ways. Logan didn’t try to understand him. He didn’t want to understand him. There was only one step from understanding someone to getting attached to them, and Logan wasn’t doing it. Not with a guy who was a bigoted, repressed mess.

But fuck, Andrew looked so soft after he let Logan use his mouth: all flushed, glassy-eyed, and mellow. It did things to him. Things Logan had to nip in the bud. So he tried not to look at Andrew in those moments—if he did, he  wanted to shove the guy under him and kiss him until he forgot his own name.

They didn’t do kisses. Ever.

Anyway, everything was fine—as long as Logan didn’t let himself think about things for more than a few seconds. 

The situation was… manageable enough until one day, weeks after they’d started fooling around, everything went downhill.

Logan was looking at the horizon, watching the spectacular sunset, his cock half-hard in the other guy’s mouth. He’d already come less than an hour ago, so the urgency wasn’t there. He just liked keeping his cock in Andrew’s mouth, to use him as a cock-warmer until he started hardening again. It was a kink he hadn’t even known he had—until Andrew. It also had the benefit of Andrew being quiet and mellow.

Absentmindedly, Logan scratched behind Andrew’s ear. 

A low sound, something like a purr, made him freeze.

He looked down at the guy seated on the sand between his legs. Andrew’s eyes were closed, his pretty lips stretched wide by Logan’s cock, an expression of utter contentment and peace on his face. 

After a moment, Logan’s hand moved again. Andrew purred like a pleased cat, leaning into his touch, his lips tightening around Logan’s cock—which was now rock hard again.

Fuck.

Logan wrenched his eyes away and started thrusting into that mouth, hard and almost cruel. 

It did nothing to erase the image of Andrew’s content, lovely face from his mind.

 

***

 

It should have stopped at that. One weird display of inappropriate affection could have been easily written off.

But now Logan found himself unable to stop touching him after and during the blowjobs. Andrew reacted to a gentle touch beautifully: all but purring and leaning into the touch like a touch-starved kitten. 

Logan had trouble believing it was Andrew’s normal. It was probably just the isolation getting to him. 

It was getting to Logan, too.

The more time passed, the blurrier his self-imposed rules became. What did it matter that Andrew was a bigoted asshole when they were going to be stuck on this island for the rest of their lives? Neither of them was their real self here. The island had changed them both into something else. The real-world Logan normally avoided homophobic, latent homosexuals like the plague. The real-world Andrew would never suck a “homo’s” cock.

Neither of those men existed on the island.

There was only here and now, the slick mouth around his cock and Andrew’s glazed, drunk eyes as he gazed up at Logan as if he were a god.

Fucking hell.

Logan had never liked being needed.

Now he wanted it, craved it like his own personal drug.

 

***

 

Time passed strangely on the island.

It felt like the days crawled, and yet at the same time, they blurred together, and months flew by.

Logan wasn’t sure when they’d started sleeping together.

At some point he just realized that it’d been ages since Andrew had slept on his own bedding. The guy dozed with his head on Logan’s stomach most of the time—when he didn’t fall asleep with Logan’s cock in his mouth.

The realization didn’t freak Logan out as much as it probably should have.

He just shrugged mentally and figured it was only practical. Convenient. If Andrew slept with his head burrowed against Logan’s stomach or thigh, it would be easier to slip his cock back into Andrew’s mouth in the morning. 

Sometimes Andrew sucked Logan’s cock while Logan slept. Just on the tip of it, as if it were a giant pacifier. He really seemed more content with Logan’s cock in his mouth, as if sucking Logan’s cock comforted him. Logan probably shouldn’t have found it as arousing as he did, but it was just another thing he’d stopped giving a fuck about. This whole arrangement was weird and surreal. 

What was one more weird thing to add to the pile?

 

***

 

Andrew had six moles on his left arm and just two on his right arm. Logan traced them idly with his fingers when he had nothing better to do—and he rarely had something better to do.

Andrew allowed it. He seemed so used to his touch by now that he never reacted negatively when Logan touched him—just leaned into the touch like a flower turning toward the sun. It did terrible fucking things to Logan’s insides.

He found himself touching Andrew more often with every day, until it became just something they did, all the time. They were rarely apart from each other for more than a few minutes. They did everything together, the concept of personal space long gone. 

The one time Logan left their bedroll in the middle of the night to answer the call of nature, he had to run back to their camp when Andrew started calling out his name in a tight, panicked voice.

“Shhh, I’m here,” Logan said, wrapping his arms around Andrew’s shaking form. 

Andrew clung to him, breathing raggedly, his face buried in Logan’s neck.

“Just a nightmare,” he said at last, clearly trying to save face.

They both knew it was a lie, but Logan didn’t call him on it.

He understood. 

He understood all too well. 

 

***

 

That nightmare may not have been real, but Andrew had real nightmares too.

They never really talked about it, but Logan often woke up to Andrew burying his face against Logan’s armpit and breathing oddly. Taking deep breaths. As if the scent of Logan’s sweat calmed him. Grounded him in reality.

It was heartbreaking and terrifying. Terrifying and exhilarating.

Logan could no longer deny that he loved being needed by Andrew. He liked being relied on. He liked it a little too much to be healthy. The subconscious trust in Andrew’s body language and attitude gave him such a rush, a thrill unlike any other.

He was addicted, in the worst possible way.

 

***

 

They had been on the island for seven months when Andrew got sick.

He was weak as a kitten, barely conscious, and his fever was so high his skin felt like a furnace to the touch.

Logan had no idea what was wrong: it wasn’t like he was qualified in any way to diagnose him. He could only observe him helplessly, feeling useless and angry, his chest tight with panic every time Andrew became unresponsive. He washed Andrew’s body with a cool rag and hoped he was actually helping instead of making it worse.

It was the longest week of his life.

By the time Andrew’s fever finally broke, Logan was mentally and physically wrung out, the tight ball of anxiety in his stomach refusing to dissipate completely.

Realistically, he had always known they were unlikely to live a long life on this island. Living in such poor conditions and eating barely edible, badly cooked meals was hardly conducive to a long life. He had always known that if they got sick, they wouldn’t have any medical care or medicine. But this week had driven the point home in a way he hadn’t realized before. 

“I hope I’ll die first,” Andrew murmured that night, pressing his face into Logan’s armpit.

Logan tightened his arms around him. “Shut up,” he said hoarsely. 

Truth be told, he selfishly hoped for the opposite.