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.
Chapter 11
They had been on the island for eight months when Logan realized that they barely talked anymore. It wasn’t that they didn’t communicate; they did. They just didn’t need words for that.
Their bodies were so attuned to one another at this point that words didn’t seem necessary. Why use words when Logan could just lay his hand on Andrew’s shoulder and turn him toward where he wanted him to look? Why use words when Andrew could just look at him in that particular way before dropping to his knees and swallowing down his cock? Words seemed redundant. There was nothing worth discussing going on in their life. Just them. And since they’d stopped arguing all the time and they both avoided talking about the thing between them, they didn’t really have anything to talk about. Even Andrew’s talking-at-night phase had ended a while ago. Now he seemed to prefer dozing quietly with his head on Logan’s stomach while Logan’s fingers played with his hair.
It wasn’t normal. But then again, nothing about this situation was fucking normal.
Or rather, their normal wasn’t what anyone else would consider normal.
They did have something of a routine.
They woke up, he fucked Andrew’s mouth, they ate whatever they could fish or forage, or their tomatoes. (It sometimes messed him up when he thought about the fact that they had been stranded on this island long enough to harvest their second crop of tomatoes.)
After eating, they ran several laps around the island to keep themselves in shape, and then dozed for a while under the canopy of palms, with Andrew on top of him, his face buried in Logan’s happy trail or against his chest. Normal people would probably call it cuddling. Logan didn’t call it anything, but it was his favorite part of the day. Peaceful. Companionable. The closest to happy he’d been since the plane crash.
He was usually awakened by a wet mouth around his cock. After sleepily fucking Andrew’s mouth, he watched Andrew get himself off, running his fingers through Andrew’s hair and stroking his neck and back. Sometimes he sucked Andrew’s cock if Andrew didn’t feel too weird about it that day. Sometimes they didn’t even touch each other sexually—just touched for the sake of it, and that was enough. Then they ate—and then the circle repeated itself.
The routine was almost comforting despite having a surreal quality to it. It wasn’t a relationship. It wasn’t even sex for the sake of it. It was a need. A necessity.
But it was simple. It was familiar.
It was all they had.
***
Their routine was broken by a huge storm.
They didn’t bother with the shelter—it wouldn’t withstand this kind of storm, so they huddled under a palm tree, Logan’s arms locked around Andrew from behind. Just for balance, of course.
His chin on Andrew’s shoulder, Logan looked at the raging ocean, wondering when the storm would finally stop.
Something white on the horizon caught his gaze.
For a moment, Logan’s brain didn’t seem to comprehend what he was seeing.
But the longer he watched, the more certain he became. His eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. There really was a ship—some kind of yacht—heading toward the island. Though “heading” didn’t seem to be an accurate description: the speed with which it was approaching the island was rather unsafe. The ship had been likely knocked off its course because of the storm. In the
nine months they had been on the island, they hadn’t seen a single ship.
But now…
Andrew made a questioning sound, and Logan realized that he might have squeezed him too hard in his excitement. Excitement. Was that what he was feeling? Logan didn’t know. But his heart was pounding, his body tense and alert for what felt like the first time in forever. It felt almost as though he was waking up from some bizarre dream.
“What?” Andrew said, his voice hoarse from lack of use.
“The ship,” Logan said, his voice equally hoarse.
Andrew went rigid before straightening up from his slouch against Logan’s chest.
Logan couldn’t see his face from his position behind him, but he could see Andrew’s muscles stiffen as he saw the ship, too.
“It’s heading our way,” Logan said, rather unnecessarily.
Andrew didn’t say anything for a moment.
Then, he all but scrambled away from Logan and got to his feet. He ran toward the shore.
Logan followed him after a moment, feeling oddly numb.
They were going to be rescued.
Rescued.
The thought was… strange.
Obviously he was happy. Beyond happy. But it was still strange. It didn’t seem real.
But it was.
The yacht dropped anchor in the island’s tiny bay, its crew clearly intending to wait out the bad weather there.
They swam toward the yacht, not even bothering to grab their things—they could always come back for them later. The raging ocean was nearly impossible to navigate. Logan grabbed Andrew’s arm when he disappeared under the high waves and squeezed it. Keep close.
Andrew nodded.
It seemed to take forever before they reached the yacht.
The moment Logan heard surprised shouts as the people on the yacht noticed them, a surreal feeling hit him again. Those people were speaking English. Hearing a voice that wasn’t his or Andrew’s after nine months was something of a shock.
Numb and disoriented, he climbed behind Andrew onto the deck and allowed other people to pull him up. Hands touching his shoulders. Hands that weren’t Andrew’s. It was fucking weird.
“Who are you?” someone said, wrapping a blanket around him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Logan didn’t reply. Couldn’t.
His eyes met Andrew’s. He was staring at Logan with wide eyes, looking equally lost and dazed, the way he looked when he wanted to be held.
Logan’s fingers twitched toward him. He balled them into fists.
They had been rescued.
It was over.
Everything was over.
Part II
Chapter 12
Boston greeted them with sunshine.
Andrew slowly descended the steps of the private jet that Logan’s family had sent for them—well, for Logan. He watched as two young women, likely Logan’s sisters, hugged Logan tightly, their eyes wet and their smiles radiant. A warm family reunion. It must have been nice.
Andrew turned away from the emotional scene and just stood there for a moment, unsure what to do.
The past three days since they’d been rescued had been kind of crazy: medical checkups, interviews, endless phone calls, and then the long flight back to the US. The latter had made him so anxious Andrew had to be medicated for the rest of the flight. He still felt off balance. The sheer noise of the airport was overwhelming, and he had to breathe deeply to stop a panic attack. It was fine. He was back home. He would get used to the noise again.
A cab. He needed to get a cab. A cab would take him to Rutledge Manor. The Rutledges were likely waiting for him. Probably. Maybe. Andrew had called them and told them that he was alive and when he was going to arrive. The conversation had been… awkward, to say the least. Andrew wasn’t even offended that Derek Rutledge’s only question had been about Vivian. Telling his brother-in-law that his only sister really was dead would forever be among the most uncomfortable conversations of his life.
And now he was back. Back home.
Home. Was Rutledge Manor still his home? He’d lived there for nine years with his wife, but now that Vivian was gone, he doubted he would be welcome to stay. He still needed to go there. All of his things were there—if the Rutledges hadn’t gotten rid of them.
He needed to go. Find a cab. Go to the Rutledges.
Go.
Andrew’s feet didn’t move. They didn’t listen to the commands of his brain at all.
He couldn’t fucking move.
Helplessly, he looked back at Logan. He found Logan already looking at him over the shoulder of the woman hugging him.
Their gazes locked.
Andrew wasn’t sure what emotion was on his face, but Logan said something to his sisters and headed toward him.
Andrew watched him approach, still thrown off balance by how different Logan looked in clothes. This clean-shaven man in a sharp business suit looked nothing like the unshaven, half-naked guy Andrew had become… used to. It was disorienting.
“Going home?” Logan said, stopping a few feet away from him.
Andrew nodded, pursing his lips tightly.
Logan shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his dark eyes unreadable. “See you around, then,” he said after a moment.
Andrew opened his mouth and then closed it without saying anything. There was nothing to say. He nodded.
They stared at each other some more.
Behind Logan, someone cleared their throat. “You must be Andrew! I’m Alice, Logan’s sister.”
Andrew tried not to flinch. He forced a smile and said something to the young woman who hooked her arm with Logan’s. She smiled and said something back. Andrew said something again. Small talk. They were making small talk. It was bizarre, after months of barely speaking. He thought he’d even managed to make some jokes, but he wasn’t sure. Everything felt too much and somehow not real enough at the same time. It all felt like a dream, Logan’s unreadable face the only thing in focus.
Somehow, Andrew ended up letting Alice and Kate—the other sister—talk him into dropping him off at the Rutledges’ place. He climbed into the backseat of Kate’s car and sat down next to Logan while Alice took the front passenger seat.
The sisters talked non-stop the entire ride about everything and nothing, catching Logan up with the lives of their relatives and mutual acquaintances. It flew right over Andrew’s head.
He couldn’t focus.
All he could think about was the warmth of Logan’s body next to his and the inch that separated their knees.
It had been three days since they’d been this close. Not since the island.
Andrew clenched his jaw. Why was he even thinking about this? It was over. Whatever madness—whatever sickness—had possessed him on the island was gone now that they were back to their real lives. He was glad he could return to his normal life. A life without Logan. He was fucking ecstatic.
Logan tapped him on his knee with his fingers.
Andrew stiffened, his heart jumping into his throat. He turned his head to Logan. What? He was disgusted that he didn’t even need to say that for Logan to understand him. It seemed the past few days hadn’t been enough for them to lose the near-telepathy they’d developed on the island.
Logan cocked his head to the side slightly, his dark eyes questioning. You okay?
Pressing his lips together, Andrew gave a clipped nod. The place where Logan’s fingers were touching him was burning. Or at least it felt like it.
Logan studied him for a moment, a wrinkle between his dark brows. “You just look like you’re going to be sick.”
“I’m not going to be sick,” Andrew said unconvincingly, dropping his eyes. His gaze settled on the V of Logan’s legs, on the outline of his cock, and his mouth suddenly filled with saliva. God, he’d give anything to have that cock in his mouth right now—the comforting hardness, girth, and warmth of it, moving in his mouth, using him, how good it felt to be just a v
essel for it, a—
“Andrew,” Logan ground out.
He snapped his gaze up—and encountered a pinched, annoyed expression on Logan’s face.
Logan glared at him.
His face hot, Andrew glared back. What?
“Andrew?” Alice said. “We’re almost there, I think.”
Wrenching his gaze away from Logan, Andrew looked out the window and stared at the handsome mansion they were approaching. The gates were open—so the Rutledges hadn’t forgotten about his arrival, after all—and the car stopped in front of the house.
“Thanks,” Andrew managed.
Kate smiled at him kindly. “You’re very welcome! It’s the least we could do to thank you for keeping our brother company on that godforsaken island.”
Alice chuckled. “Consider it an apology,” she said with a teasing smile at her brother. “He must have been insufferable.”
Andrew smiled wanly. “Oh, absolutely,” he said. “Thanks. See you.”
He opened the door and all but stumbled out of the car. He took his bag out of the trunk and then stood there, rooted to the spot, as the car took off.
Something twisted his insides into a hard knot as the car disappeared out of sight. He took a deep breath, then another, trying to get rid of the tight feeling in his chest. He wasn’t going to panic. He wasn’t on the island anymore. He didn’t need Logan. He was fine.
He was fine.
Andrew turned around and stared at the mansion. He’d expected to feel some kind of relief at seeing it. It had been his home for nine years. But all he felt was a sense of loss and dread. How could he enter it without Vivian? It felt like he had no right to do it.
He was being stupid. The Rutledges might not like him much, but they weren’t senseless or cruel.
Andrew forced himself to move.
Every step made the ball of anxiety in his chest tighten and harden until he felt nearly sick with it. His heart beat hard against his ribcage, so fast that he felt nearly dizzy. Was he having a panic attack?
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