One Big Family (Hot Alaska Nights Book 1)

by Aiden Bates

  Bastian scooped him up, and held him upright as he leaned heavily against him. They started shuffling together down the short path back to the wheelchair, Zachary whimpering with every step.

  “It’s a squall,” said Bastian. He heard the doom in his own voice, but couldn’t help it. “It’s a very sudden, very bad snowstorm, and we’ve only got about thirty minutes to get back to the Jeep.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Zachary threw himself into the wheelchair when they reached it, causing a jolt of pain up his entire side. He gritted his teeth and held in the whelp of agony, not wanting to cause Bastian any more worry. The look on his friend’s face when it dawned on him that they were about to get caught in a squall was terrifying.

  Bastian threw the lunch bag on Zachary’s lap, put his own coat back on, and started pushing hard. It seemed to Zachary that there might have been a very slight incline, which he wouldn’t have noticed before because they would have been going down a very slight decline. He could hear it in Bastian’s breath, as he struggled to get the wheelchair over the rocks and tree roots that now seemed everywhere.

  So many questions ran through Zachary’s mind, but he kept his mouth shut. Was he sure it was a squall? How bad would it be? Could they ride it out in the cave? He decided to leave it up to his friend to figure it out. After all, he was an Alaskan native, right? Or . . . wait . . . was Bastian the Alaskan native? Or was he the one originally from Florida?

  Oh fuck, we are going to die. We are going to die, we are going to die, we are going to die.

  They passed the glacier caves and made it to the dock shortly after that . . . and the ferry was nowhere to be seen.

  “What the . . . ” Bastian looked completely befuddled and was whipping his head around as if the ferry and its pilot were playing a prank, hiding behind a rock. “He must have gone back for someone.”

  As if on cue, the wind started whipping wildly.

  “He should be back soon then, right?” Zachary asked. He cringed when he heard the desperation in his own voice.

  Bastian was silent for way too long. “This is Alaska, man. He knows better than to come back in a squall. He’s probably already sitting in the ranger’s cabin on the other side.”

  Suddenly, Bastian spun the wheelchair around. “There’s a ranger’s cabin on this side, too. I remember seeing it last time I was here.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “Absolutely not. But if we stay on the path, we will come across it.”

  Zachary felt a brief second of hope, but then realized that this meant they hadn’t gone far enough before. The cabin had to be past the glacier caves and past Flat Rock. He looked up at the sky one last time before they plunged into the trees again, and saw that the clouds that were quickly covering the sky were an inky, indigo blue.

  Bastian was running now, pushing the wheelchair ahead of himself. Zachary held on to the wheelchair with his entire body, even though pain was searing through him. He was afraid that one small rock would send him flying, hurting him more, and slowing them down. He gripped the arms of the wheelchair with claw-like hands, and held the outside of the arms with his elbows. His good foot was wrapped around the footrest, as if that one little thing would keep him from flying.

  The glacier caves long behind them, they finally passed Flat Rock, and Bastian didn’t slow down at all. A low, loud growl filled their ears—thunder—and Bastian swore to himself again. It was only a few seconds after that that the first snowflakes fell, although since they were in the forest, it was hard to tell how hard it was really coming down. The pine trees were providing some shelter . . . but not for long.

  Suddenly, Zachary saw a chunky blur in the woods.

  “There it is!” he yelled, pointing to the right at an old wooden cabin.

  Bastian came to an immediate halt, and both men looked around wildly for a path. The snow was coming down harder now, but at least they had a destination.

  “I can do it,” Zachary said. “I can hop, if I can lean on you.”

  As they noisily crashed through the shrubs, Zachary on one foot, Bastian with the picnic bag hanging around his neck, all he could think was, There better be some of that wine left.

  No one answered, or appeared to be inside. That was normal, Bastian explained. The Parks Service didn’t have enough money to keep a full-time ranger in every station. They stood on the porch, with a small overhang barely protecting them from the now rapidly falling snow which was starting to whip through the air from all directions. The wind was getting louder.

  “The bad part is about to start,” Bastian said. He reached into the picnic bag and grabbed the blanket they’d sat on. After wrapping it around his fist, he punched through the window, unlocked it from the outside, and opened it.

  “Is there some secret life of crime you want to share with me?” Zachary joked. It wasn’t the right time for jokes, of course, but he was so full of relief he couldn’t control himself.

  As Bastian climbed in, he gave Zachary a wink. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  Zachary felt heat surge through him. No, it wasn’t the right time for winking—or flirting?—either, but it was okay. People reacted to stressful situations in all kinds of weird ways, right?

  After unlocking the front door, Bastian helped Zachary in, and deposited him on an old wool couch before going to the ranger’s desk and looking around in a take-charge way. He had the broken window taped up within minutes, and began to start a fire in the large, rustic stone fireplace.

  “I’m willing to bet there are some wool blankets in one of these closets,” Bastian said. “And even some canned food.”

  Zachary started to get up, wanting to help. He didn’t like leaving all of the work to Bastian.

  “Hey—no—” Bastian began, getting up from the now sputtering fire, and walking toward Zachary. “Sit. Please.”

  Zachary started to object, but thought better of it. Bastian’s eyes were filed with tenderness.

  “I know you don’t remember this,” Bastian said, squatting in front of Zachary, “but I’ve—we’ve—all been very worried about you. And now I’ve gone and banged you up some more. Please. Let me take care of you for now.” He reached out, as if to grasp Zachary’s hand, but then just patted him on the knee. “Believe me. The Stellar Landing crew would kill me if anything happened to you.”

  Zachary laughed.

  Was it his imagination, or was Bastian trying to cover up some genuine feelings in that moment?

  Bastian opened his mouth again, cleared his throat, and then stood suddenly. “So much to do,” he muttered.

  What is going on?

  Half an hour later, Bastian sat on the other end of the couch with an exhale. Zachary had watched as he tried to contact someone on the radio, as he tended the fire, and as he surveyed the supplies. It was impressive, the calm urgency with which this man moved.

  “The bad news is, we’re here for the night. Squalls don’t last long, but it’s dumping a lot of snow out there, and it’s already getting dark. You wouldn’t make it far in your condition.”

  “Okay. What’s the good news?”

  “We’ve got canned food, a roaring fire, and this.” Bastian held up half of a bottle of amber liquid. “It’s a pretty nice scotch.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bastian was in the best mood he’d had in months, which was ironic considering he was trapped in an old cabin in the woods.

  He knew that the fight or flight response had some interesting side effects, and one of those was euphoria. He’d chosen flight—because he couldn’t fight a storm—and now that things were going to be okay, his body and mind were reveling in the calm.

  And he certainly would not have been so positive if he’d been out here alone. Fortunately, he had the handsome and clever company of Zachary.

  They finished off the lunch stuff for dinner, and then dug into the ranger’s supplies. There were tins of smoked oysters, cans of beans, and a few
servings of “astronaut ice cream.” After that, they each sampled the scotch while warming themselves by the fire.

  “I’m not sure if I’ve ever had this stuff,” Zachary said, his mouth puckering with every sip. “But I certainly don’t like it now.”

  “Don’t drink it then,” Bastian replied with a laugh.

  “Oh, I’m kinda loving the warm feeling it puts in my belly, though, and it’s certainly helping dull the pain in my hip. It’s just the taste I can’t stand.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s making my limbs feel all heavy and relaxed, too.”

  “We deserve that after such a crazy day.”

  “Cheers to that.”

  They tapped their plastic cups together with a little click. Bastian’s eyes met Zachary’s, and he felt a different kind of warmth spread through him. He had to look away.

  “Tell me about your family, Bastian. Isn’t that what people usually do during times like this?”

  “I’ve never quite been in this situation, so I don’t know.” But Bastian did tell him, and as he talked about his folks and his brothers, and how he sometimes loved them and sometimes hated them, he thought he saw that wistful look again, a look of someone who realizes he is missing something but doesn’t quite know what it is.

  “You’ve never been married?”

  “No. I’d like to, someday. Just haven’t met that mythical Mr. Right yet. What about you?” The question slipped out, as if by rote, and then Bastian immediately wanted to kick himself. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry.”

  Zachary chuckled lightly. “Don’t worry about it. Well, I’m pretty sure I’m not married, but I can’t tell you if or how many times I’ve been married in the past.”

  They laughed together.

  “I can see you being married,” Zachary said softly. “And having a bunch of kids.”

  “Really.”

  “Oh yeah. The way you took control today, and took care of me. You’re the epitome of a dream-alpha. I’m—I’m not even sure how I know that. But you are.”

  Bastian felt his face turn red, and was grateful for the dim light of the fireplace. “I’m not so sure. It’s pure chance that I happened to know that there was a cabin out here, from the one time I visited last year. I’m not actually much of an outdoorsman.”

  “That’s okay. Omegas like smart psychologists, too.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “I like what I’ve seen so far.”

  Bastian was about to thank him awkwardly, but Zachary caught his eye again.

  Oh.

  Zachary was lying back on the rug, the fireplace light dancing around in the gold of his hair, and his light gray eyes looked almost ethereal. He was holding his cup of scotch lightly on his stomach, and Bastian could see it rise and fall with Zachary’s breath. Bastian was on the floor with his back against the couch, a few feet away. He waited for Zachary to do or say something else, but until then he was frozen.

  Finally . . .

  “Bastian?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m dying to kiss you. But my entire body feels like it’s broken. Help me out?”

  Bastian laughed lightly as reality mixed with romance, and he crawled on his hands and knees across the floor. He crawled over Zachary’s chest so that his face was directly above Zachary’s.

  “I can do that.”

  He dipped his head down and brushed his lips softly across Zachary’s. They tasted like scotch. They were both a little drunk, Bastian knew, but not so much that they didn’t know what they were doing. Besides, they were both single men out in the woods. What harm could come of it?

  Underneath the bitter taste of scotch was that almost infuriatingly delicious omega taste, the very flavor that caused their kind to search each other out. It was heady and intoxicating, and Bastian wanted more. He lowered himself so that his chest was against Zachary’s.

  “Is this okay?”

  “Yes. Hardly hurts at all. No—” he said, pulling Bastian down as Bastian tried to pull away, “I’m joking. Stay. I like it.”

  Bastian had always been a fan of stretching out pleasure, of enjoying the ride, so to speak. It felt like they had been making out for hours before he felt Zachary’s hands on his back, sliding down to his hips. Next, Bastian moved his lips from Zachary’s own plump mouth to his neck, inhaling his aroma as he went, and causing shivers in the omega.

  “Yes,” he heard Zachary breathe.

  He moved then to his collarbone, and grazed it in a way that made Zachary pant.

  “Take off my shirt,” Zachary whispered, and Bastian did so.

  Zachary’s body was perfect, not like a weightlifter’s but like a swimmer’s, taut and flexible, with long, gracefully chiseled muscles. Bastian raked his fingers lightly down his pecs and smooth belly, feeling the light blond hair that ended somewhere below the button of his jeans. His lips soon followed, his tongue laving Zachary’s nipple then tracing down his abs, until he got to the fly of his pants and then nipped it between his teeth and pulled playfully.

  This was so unlike Bastian, and he was scared. What if Zachary said no? Or worse, what if he said yes? Bastian hadn’t been with anyone in—damn, it’s been a long time—and had almost no confidence these days in his ability to perform.

  Zachary lifted his head and looked down at Bastian. Ardor was in his eyes. He licked his lips and nodded his head. Yes, do it, I want you, is what that look said.

  Bastian felt his cock stiffen—an encouraging sign—when he saw Zachary’s lusty gaze, and he began to remove the omega’s pants.

  Bastian’s breath caught. If the rest of Zachary was pretty, then his penis was beautiful, like a precious, hand-carved artifact of masculinity. Fair and golden and almost shimmering in the light, Bastian bit his lip as he first touched it, sliding his fingertips along its length. A blue-green vein throbbed within, making the cock look vivid and alive. Its head was large and perfect, peach in tone, and already had a glimmering drop of pre-cum posed in its slit.

  Bastian leaned down and lapped it up.

  The groan that broke the silence startled Bastian. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, no, no, don’t stop.”

  Bastian’s tongue swirled around the slit, as if to gather more of that luscious nectar, and formed a loose fist around the shaft, gently stroking up and down with the lightest touch. Zachary’s hips rose and he moved against Bastian’s hand, as if fucking himself. The sounds he made—primitive and low—created urges deep in Bastian’s belly. Arousal like he hadn’t felt in years.

  Bastian tightened his grasp, moving his fist from the base of Zachary’s cock to the head, swiping his palm across the sensitive tip that was now wet with his saliva. He didn’t think it was possible, but Zachary’s erection got even harder, like solid marble but hot. The head bloomed into a beautiful hot pink color. Bastian repeated the motion again and again, while watching Zachary’s tortured expression.

  Again, Bastian captured the head of the omega’s dick in his mouth—hot and wet, salty and sweet. He swirled his tongue around the slit again and worked his way down ravenously until he felt the thickness bump into the back of his throat.

  Zachary almost whined with pleasure, and threaded his fingers through Bastian’s hair. “So good . . . so good . . . ”

  Bastian’s hand was wet from his own spit, and without stopping sucking, he moved his finger lightly down the crack of Zachary’s ass, tracing the crevice lightly. His hair was light and silky, and Bastian found even that incredibly sexy. He explored gently, finding the puckered skin that tightened at the soft touch, and began to trace a light circle around the opening.

  “Is that okay?” he asked after pulling his mouth off of the omega’s erection.

  “Yes, yes, oh fuck yes,” Zachary hissed.

  That’s how it went, for what felt like a delicious eternity: Bastian teasing, Zachary begging, the fire crackling, the wind howling.

  Evolution was taking control. As much as Bastian doubted his abilities, as much as they b
oth may have thought to themselves, Should we take it slow? Their alpha and omega natures had brought them to the point of no return.

  Bastian whipped his own clothes off, tearing his shirt in the process. He pushed Zachary’s legs up, exposing that secret, hot place that he so desired, and leaned down to give him one firm, wet lick, before lining his own turgid erection with Zachary’s thoroughly lubricated ass.

  He wasn’t sure he could stop himself even if he wanted to, but he had to make sure.

  “Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked softly.

  He truly was searching for Zachary’s consent, but it came out so wickedly, wonderfully dirty that it made Zachary’s cock jerk.

  “Fuck me.”

  The first luscious thrust, like hot mercury, like liquid silk, like flowing lava, caused Bastian to cry out, his howl matching that of the storm outside. He paused for half a beat once he was fully inside his new lover, but he couldn’t hold back, pulling out and then impaling the omega over and over again.

  He was over Zachary again, his arms holding himself above him. The firelight flickered in Zachary’s eyes. An unusual mixture of emotion flooded through Bastian as he continued to fuck—dominance, masculinity, power, tenderness, playfulness, and vulnerability.

  A brief, fleeting, ridiculous thought came to him. Is this love?

  He almost laughed, but just bit his lip and smiled before giving Zachary a quick kiss. When he lifted his head again, a drop of sweat dripped onto Zachary’s cheek, and they burst into laughter.

  “Kiss me again,” Zachary begged in a lusty whisper, and now their bodies were connected at groin and lip, and they moved with slow intensity.

  Finally, “I don’t have a condom,” Bastian told him. It seemed like something they should have discussed beforehand.

  “Can you pull out? I trust you.”

  Bastian nodded, and then increased the pace once again. He was close, and he could tell by the quickness of Zachary’s breath and the way his sac was tightened that he was as well.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Bastian husked. “Cum for me, so I can watch you.”