Polar Reaction Read online

  When the meal was over, bottle in hand, they'd moved to the sleeping quarters to relax. Jamie had joined Tuck on the couch. Brendan sat on the cot next to it, eventually stretching out, his arms behind his head, the bottle of scotch on the floor beside him.

  As they continued to talk and drink, it seemed to Tuck that Brendan was avoiding his eye, mostly staring at the ceiling. Tuck was dying to know exactly what Brendan had witnessed between Jamie and himself. Was he avoiding Tuck's eye because he disapproved? Or was there something else at play?

  Tuck still wasn't quite sure what had gone on himself. His initial intention had been to calm the obviously anxious Jamie. It was also a diversion to focus on Jamie's knotted muscles. Tuck had always enjoyed giving massages, deriving satisfaction as tight muscles responded to his skilled touch, easing and untwisting beneath his fingers.

  So caught up with his research and his obsession with Brendan, he'd never really paid much attention to Jamie before, at least not sexually. They'd known each other from the institute back home, but only professionally. Jamie had only been there a year and kept pretty much to himself. During these past weeks in Antarctica, they had a cordial, positive relationship in the lab, but had had little personal interaction.

  At first he was unprepared for the strong sexual reaction he experienced once he touched Jamie's firmly muscled back and neck, but in retrospect he shouldn't have been. Jamie was, after all, extremely good looking. He was funny and smart, though a little younger than Tuck was used to considering as potential partner material.

  Even back in Monterey he'd suspected Jamie might be gay, and the massage had done nothing to dispel this feeling. A straight guy wouldn't have let Tuck touch him the way he had, slipping his hands beneath Jamie's shirt and most especially, lying over him, allowing Jamie to feel the bulge of his erection. How far would it have gone if Brendan hadn't chosen that moment to poke his head around the door?

  He smiled down at the sleeping Jamie. With a light touch, he pushed Jamie's flopping bangs from his face, though they promptly fell back again. Jamie was seven years younger than Tuck's thirty-two, and in repose he appeared even younger. Did he have someone at home worrying about him now? His parents, a roommate, a lover?

  Jamie stirred, turning his head so his nose rested on Tuck's fly. Tuck's cock rose in response, like Pavlov's dog hearing the bell. Embarrassed, even though Jamie was ostensibly still sleeping, Tuck moved away, letting Jamie's head fall to the mattress.

  Jamie opened his eyes and lifted his head, unfocused blue eyes coming to rest on Tuck's face. Pulling himself into a sitting position, he stretched his arms overhead and yawned. “Man, I fell asleep."

  "Me too.” Tuck surreptitiously admired the other man's broad chest. “Guess we're not used to drinking half a bottle of whiskey in the middle of the day."

  "I guess not.” Jamie smiled. His eyes were almond-shaped and slightly slanted beneath prominent cheekbones, lending him an exotic appearance. His mouth was sensuous, the lips plump and inviting.

  Jamie eyed Tuck with a quizzical expression. Without speaking, he touched Tuck's thigh with three fingers. Tuck looked at his hand and back up into Jamie's face. There was a question in Jamie's eyes, mixed with the unmistakable smolder of desire.

  Jamie leaned forward, his eyes still locked on Tuck's. Tuck found himself drawn toward Jamie by a powerful force. They moved in slow motion until their lips were touching.

  Jamie's hand still rested on Tuck's thigh. For several seconds they remained still, lips pressed together, hearts beating. A part of Tuck didn't believe it was happening. He was drunk and dreaming. He would wake in a minute, alone on his cot as usual.

  Jamie parted his lips, his tongue licking along Tuck's mouth, nudging until Tuck let it gain entrance. Tentatively Tuck explored his mouth in return. Jamie tasted faintly of whiskey and peppermint. Jamie clutched at Tuck's thigh and placed his other hand on the back of Tuck's neck.

  Tuck's eyes were open, focused on the door that led to the kitchen. He could hear the faint tap-tapping of Brendan's fingers on his keyboard. What would Brendan think if he walked into the room? Did it matter? Brendan was straight. He'd made his interest, or rather lack thereof, pretty clear since the one, sexually charged interaction the year before.

  And here was Jamie, handsome, sexy and obviously interested. It was a relief to have something to distract himself from the constant underlying anxiety caused by their being stranded and without communication with the outside world.

  Abandoning himself to the moment, he responded ardently to Jamie's kiss, pulling him close and running his hands over Jamie's back and shoulders as their tongues collided. Jamie drew back long enough to grip Tuck's shoulders and push him down against the sofa.

  Clambering over him, Jamie again sought his mouth, catching Tuck's lower lip between his teeth. Tuck could feel Jamie's erection, hard as steel against him. Tuck's balls were tight with need, the desire he'd been harboring so long for Brendan transferring itself to the hard-bodied man lying on top of him.

  He brought his arms around Jamie and slipped his hands into Jamie's jeans, pushing past the elastic of his underwear to cup the muscular globes of his ass. Jamie shuddered and moaned.

  "Jesus,” Jamie hissed, drawing out the second syllable in a sibilant breath. He buried his head between Tuck's head and shoulder. Tuck could feel Jamie's heart beating violently. He could feel Jamie's tongue, wet and warm against his neck, his cock thrusting and grinding against Tuck's hipbone.

  Jamie's breath quickened to a rapid pant, his body suddenly spasming on top of Tuck's. Jamie emitted a small, guttural cry. There were too many layers of clothing between them for him to feel the spurt, but he knew from Jamie's limp, heavy weight upon him that Jamie had come in his pants.

  Tuck's cock still throbbed, trapped in his clothing, pinned under Jamie's strong body. He held onto Jamie like a lifeline, confusion rising beneath the lingering lust. What was he doing, seducing this sweet, sexy young guy with Brendan in the next room? Was this new attraction purely a result of the dire straits in which they found themselves?

  Or was Tuck now falling for not one guy but two?

  "Fuck.” Jamie rolled from the cot to the floor. “I didn't mean to—” His face twisted into a sheepish grin. “You're just so damn hot, and it's been so long...” Jamie looked from Tuck to the closed kitchen door and back again. “Listen, let me return the favor."

  "No, we're cool.” In fact, Tuck felt anything but cool. He, too, looked toward the kitchen, straining to hear the sound of the keyboard on the other side of the door. Not that they'd done anything wrong, but he really didn't need Brendan walking in on them again.

  He glanced at Jamie, still sprawled on the floor beside the cot. “Maybe you want to, uh, clean up a little.” He gestured with his chin toward Jamie's crotch, where a small stain was spreading along the fly.

  Flushing, Jamie jumped up and headed toward his own cot. Grabbing some clothing from the trunk at the end of it, he went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

  Tuck put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. His own cock was still hard as iron but he found himself too distracted to do anything about it. His mind was jumping from Jamie to Brendan like oil sizzling in a pan. What the hell had just happened? What did he think he was doing?

  I haven't the slightest fucking idea, he answered himself.

  * * * *

  Earlier, Brendan had awoken before the other two, alone on the cot. For a long moment he'd looked at the two sleeping men, Tucker slumped uncomfortably against the sofa back, Jamie's head on his lap like a child.

  He had wanted to push Jamie away. To lay Tuck down and put a pillow beneath his head. He wanted to lie beside him and sleep—just sleep, neither of them stirring until the storm had ended and rescuers were on their way.

  Brendan's head hurt, his mouth tasted sour and his bladder was full. He hauled himself up from the cot and went into the bathroom to relieve himself.

  When he retur
ned to the sleeping quarters, neither man had moved, both still caught in the net of an alcohol-induced stupor. Brendan, though shorter and slighter than either of them, obviously could hold his liquor better. This thought amused him and at the same time made him feel old. Not that he was much older than Tuck. Yet sometimes Brendan felt like an old man already—set in his ways, a lonely guy who never took risks. At least not risks of the heart.

  With a sigh, he left the two sleeping beauties and sat in the kitchen to work on some reports. He closed the door between the two rooms so his typing wouldn't disturb them, realizing belatedly that this was rather silly, as the wind still whined and moaned outside, coupled with the sound of hail tapping insistently on the roof and buffeting the walls.

  He'd actually managed to distract himself with his work, even forgetting for stretches at a time where they were and what was happening outside their snug abode. After a while he'd heard Tuck and Jamie stirring and talking quietly. He expected them to poke their heads into the kitchen. When that didn't happen right away, he forced himself to continue with his work.

  In time he did become involved again in what he was doing. When he finished a thought, he realized the murmuring had stopped. The silence made him wonder if they'd fallen back asleep.

  He stood and moved toward the door that separated them. He turned the knob, opening the door only a few inches when he heard them—the sound of the sofa springs creaking, a muffled moan, rapid breathing and then a small, animal cry of lust.

  He felt in his bones what he was hearing even before his brain caught up. Feeling as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head, he jerked the door shut and sagged heavily against it, his heart hammering painfully.

  He wasn't sure how long he leaned there, his mind blank, his heart thudding. All he knew was he felt more alone than at any other time in his life.

  After a minute, an hour, a lifetime, he heard the sound of Tuck's open, sunny laugh and was seized with an overwhelming desire to see Tuck, even if he were naked in Jamie's arms. Without giving himself a chance to fully consider what he was doing, he pushed the door open. To his immense relief, he saw Tuck was alone.

  At the sound of the opening door, Tuck looked up to see Brendan leaning against the doorframe. “Tuck. We have to talk."

  Any number of scenarios passed through Tuck's mind, running the gamut from het outrage to the admission of secret love and jealous longing. Brendan remained in the door so Tuck stood, glad his lingering erection was hidden beneath his flannel shirt. He moved to follow Brendan into the kitchen, Jamie all but forgotten.

  Sitting caddy-corner from Brendan at the head of the long table, he waited for whatever it was Brendan had to say. Beside Brendan's laptop was the nearly empty bottle of whiskey and a small juice glass.

  "May I?"

  Brendan nodded, pushing the bottle toward him. “I'll join you.” He went to the cabinet and returned a moment later with a second glass. Tuck poured a few fingers for each of them, lifted his own and drank it in a single burning gulp.

  Brendan sipped his and set it back on the table. “I've checked the supply logs.” His tone was brisk and businesslike. Was it only Tuck's imagination, or did something more urgent lurk just beneath it? “I did a few calculations, based on our discussion about shutting down the labs and supplying heat and electricity only to the living quarters. If we set the temperature at sixty, limit the use of the propane stove and keep water usage to a minimum, we can easily survive for two to three weeks. We have enough food and water for longer than that."

  Thoughts of any amorous admission on Brendan's part rapidly receded in the face of his words. “Two to three weeks. Do you really think this storm's going to last that long?"

  "No. I hope not. The only thing that worries me"—Brendan lowered his voice, glancing toward the sleeping quarters—"is how close we are to the winter season. If the winds keep up, it won't be safe to land a plane. There's a possibility, though an unlikely one, that we could be stuck here through the winter. But even if that did happen, they'd more than likely be able to parachute supplies to us. We aren't going to starve. We aren't going to die. We just have to conserve energy and supplies and be sensible."

  Tuck swallowed, absorbing the possibility of spending the winter stranded in an Antarctic wasteland, with only wood, steel and insulated fabric between them and the harsh elements. He knew the temperature outside could drop as low as -50 degreed C, the blizzards reducing the visibility to just a few meters, with the added specter of twenty-four-hour darkness for one hundred and five days when the sun dipped permanently below the horizon.

  He'd read of the terror that could overcome men trapped in this kind of situation, blackness falling over an outer world of icy desolation, an inner world of despair. He picked up the bottle, horrified to see his hand shaking as he poured.

  Brendan placed his hand over Tuck's and squeezed. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “It's okay, Tuck. We're gonna be okay. I promise."

  Tuck looked gratefully at Brendan, desperately wanting to believe him. His heart clutched as he lost himself in those gray green eyes. He looked down at Brendan's hand, the fingers long and slender over his own larger hand, the skin pale in contrast to his.

  Brendan, following his gaze, snatched his hand away, his face flushing to a dull red. He drank the rest of his whiskey in a gulp and set the glass down with a thunk against the wood.

  Is this how it'll always be? Tuck wondered with something near despair. Each of us dancing on the edge of our emotions, neither with the courage to confront the other or even our own feelings?

  Maybe if he said something, anything, to let Brendan know how much he cared. Maybe all Brendan needed was an opening, some gentle coaxing, to rekindle the magic they'd once shared, however briefly.

  Tuck poured himself another inch of whiskey and drank half. In a strange way he was grateful for the blizzard, grateful for the reprieve from the very real probability of losing Brendan again. Now at least he had a chance to make his feelings known, something he should have done at the outset of the project.

  And then there was Jamie. What the hell had just happened back there? They couldn't seem to be alone for more than a minute without groping each other. Where did Jamie fit into this erotic stew of confusion?

  He stared down at the amber liquid, trying to frame what he wanted to say to Brendan. He didn't want to pressure him, or embarrass him any more than he already seemed to be. He just wanted Brendan to know how he felt. He needed him to know.

  "Brendan, I have something to—” he began.

  "It's okay,” Brendan cut him off, jumping up from the table. “It's none of my business."

  Momentarily confused by the unexpected response, Tuck paused. A noise behind them distracted him and he turned to see.

  "Hey, there you are.” Jamie, in fresh jeans, wearing a grin on his handsome face, looked from Brendan to Tuck and then at the bottle of whiskey sitting between them on the table. “Am I missing the party?"

  Brendan stared down at his hands, realizing he was holding the back of the chair in a white-knuckled grip. Letting go, he sat, forcing himself to be calm and rational. He surveyed the two men, wondering if this was when they'd tell him they were involved in a homosexual affair. How would he react? Nonchalant? Outraged? Jealous? He honestly didn't know. Seeing Jamie eye the bottle, he rose and retrieved another juice glass from the cabinet.

  "If we're going to be here more than a few days,” Tuck observed, “maybe we better ration what's left.” There were only a few inches of liquor left in the bottle.

  Jamie smiled slyly. “Happily, that won't be necessary."

  "Why's that?” Tuck turned toward him. Brendan saw something flash between them—the secret understanding of ... no, he refused to even think it. He looked away.

  Jamie continued. “On the bottom shelf of the pantry in the far right corner there's a box. Inside that box is a special stash. Gordon told me about it—ten bottles of liquor—scotch, vodka, gin, tequil
a, all kinds of stuff. Said he was leaving it for next spring, when the project resumes. He swore me to secrecy. But I think, under the circumstances, he would forgive us if we, uh, borrowed a bit. We can always buy more later, when we get back to the States..."

  The last words seemed to catch and die in Jamie's throat. The roar of the gale outside, which until that moment had almost faded into white noise, seemed to magnify, its howl menacing.

  They were all quiet, listening to the sounds of a tempest raging. Both Tuck and Jamie looked tense. Jamie especially had a wild look in his eyes. Brendan forgot his self-absorbed pondering. He was the lab team leader, the oldest and the most experienced field scientist of the three. Whatever his own personal longings and confusion, he needed to rise to the occasion and offer what support and comfort he could to the others.

  "I'm sure he'll forgive us.” Brendan smiled at Jamie. “Why don't you select our next bottle of poison?” Turning to Tuck, he added, “How about a game of cards?"

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Four

  Jamie found a bottle of vodka and brought it to the table. He was grateful to Brendan for pulling him back from the brink. Faced with the stark realization they might not make it back to the States, he'd very nearly lost it.

  If he'd had his choice, he would rather climb into the one of the beds with Tuck and just have sex until they were rescued, but with Brendan around that wasn't much of a possibility.

  Or was it?

  He wiped out the juice glasses with a paper towel and set them in a neat row beside the bottle. He watched Brendan shutting down his laptop and sliding it into its case and recalled the look of longing he'd seen Tuck flash Brendan's way the night before. Was something there? Was it only on Tuck's side, or was it returned? Was Brendan one of those bi-curious guys, the type who could be drawn out with some liquor and patience?

  The thought intrigued him. Imagine the fun they could have if two became three. He could barely suppress an evil grin at the thought of all the delicious possibilities and combinations.