Chapter Text
Thunder crashed and lightning flashed as Rainsford ran. He had been running for who knows how long, all he knew was that Zaroff had been injured by him, and that he had a limited amount of time to get as far away from Zaroff´s residence as he could until he would be stalked once more. He now had a bit of an advantage, the harsh rain covering up his footprints, and if Zaroff decided to take out his hounds, his scent would be washed away by the rain beating down on him like bullets.
But he knew with a sickening certainty, that would not stop the deranged General. Zaroff was inhumane, and if he thought about it, perhaps inhuman as well. With dead eyes and sharp teeth, he looked vampiric.
His boots stomped against the ground as he ran at a break-neck pace, his heart thudding against his chest and beating in his ears as sharp tangles of briers latched onto him like nets one would use to capture a fleeing animal. He resisted against their hold, watching as they snapped and tore.
It was as if the very forest itself resented him, sharp branches tore at him as he sprinted, large leaves blinding his way, his only guiding light being the sharp flashes that shot through the sky, giving him less than a second to memorize his surroundings lest he fall into another pit of skin-shredding thorns.
His feet had gone numb hours ago, and his calves burned from his incessant running. Thank gods for the small mercy Zaroff had shown him by giving him proper hunting clothes, for if he had gone out in the crisp suit he had started in, he would be in pieces.
There was greenery everywhere, not even a glimpse of something different managed to penetrate through the lush foliage. Perhaps a blooming flower would appear once in a while, though it wasn´t like he could enjoy its beauty now.
The adrenaline that had once sung through his veins had given way to an aching exhaustion, every bone in his body feeling like it would crumble if he took another step. He tried to persist, to resist the tiredness that darkened his vision, but he could not go on anymore, and his body slumped against a winding tree as his fatigue claimed him.
✧✧✧
Rainsford woke with a start; as thunder crashed outside. The room was pitch black, he couldn´t even see his hand which was mere inches from his face.
He let out a shrill scream as another bout of thunder crashed. He could feel his fear deep in his bones, but he couldn´t tell memory from reality. Was he still hidden beneath a tree like he had been when he collapsed? No, that couldn´t be. He was sitting on a plush bed, pillows cushioning his sides when he had sprung up from his sleep. Could it be that Zaroff had found him, and this was a new game he was playing? His hands clutched his face as he began to sob loudly.
His breath hitched and sputtered as he tried to bury himself into his hands, tears pooling in his eyes like raindrops, and falling just as quickly. He was a grown man sobbing like a little boy, but he was too drained to even care at this point. Who cares if he cried a little? He wasn't going to last long on that god-foresaken island---
He was snapped out of his spiraling when a pair of hands gripped his wrists, making his overworked brain stammer. His unhinged cries faltered when he felt the bed dip by his side, the added weight of another human bearing down on the soft mattress. Tears still streamed like a river with a broken dam, sliding down his skin and soaking the soft blanket in his lap.
¨RAINSFORD--¨
Whitney´s voice pierced through the ringing in his ears, clear and stark against the tempest of emotions swirling inside of him. The weight of Whitney´s hands grounded him as he tore his own away and wrapped them around his neck, burying his face into Whitney´s chest.
If he was in the right state of mind, he would have never dared to even let the other man see tears prick in his eyes, let alone sob into his chest. But after going through much in only the span of a few days, he had no pride left to protect his already substantially depleted supply of dignity.
Whitney froze for a moment, though as soon as another crash of thunder made Rainsford tense again he quickly wrapped his own arms around Rainsford's shoulders.
¨Rainsford…¨ Whitney sighed, he had been woken up by Rainsford´s cry, then risen by Rainsford´s sobbing. He had not a clue what had happened, and he was still in the dark. But he had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with Ship-Trap Island.
¨Rainsford, you have never been scared to tears by a storm in your life.¨ Whitney said, though it was more to himself than anything. Rainsford was still clinging, his blunt fingertips dug into the back of Whitney´s neck, but he paid that no mind as he rubbed the disturbed man's back, his other hand migrating up to hold the back of Rainsford´s head to his chest.
Whitney´s soft breath rustled Rainsford´s now dry hair, the almost unnoticeable sensation a balm to Rainsford´s battered soul.
Thunder still clapped in the distance, but Whitney´s weight and warmth quieted the choked sobs.
¨Rainsford, tell me, what exactly happened on that island?¨ Whitney said after getting Rainsford to calm to some degree, still stroking his back. Rainsford froze, heart stilling in his chest. Though, why shouldn´t Whitney know? The man had tended to his wounds without a second thought, the man who had gone searching for him as soon as he noticed his disappearance.
The man who had stuck with him through thick and thin, the man that had hunted with him, and now the man who consoled him in his hysteria.
Whitney had a right to know, even if it hurt Rainsford to say it out loud.
¨I…¨ He stuttered, throat raw and raspy from crying into Whitney´s bare chest. He couldn´t have slept long, for as soon as he terror left his body, that dreadful feeling of weariness crept back into his skull, the pressure of it behind his eyes making them droop.
¨He hunted me.¨ He said simply, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, as if admitting what had happened to him didn´t hurt him on the inside. He tightened his arms around Whitney´s neck a pinch, praying he would not notice.
Whitney did not have time to notice, for as soon as Rainsford uttered those words, Whitney felt his blood run cold.
¨Who…!?¨ Whitney demanded, the chill in his veins turning to hot magma as rage soon filled him.
¨Tell me who it is so I can tear out his throat! I´ll!--¨
¨He´s already dead. I gutted him like a fish.¨ Rainsford was quick to interject, though no pride shone in his voice, only a cold acknowledgement.
Whitney did not speak after that, but his grip on Rainsford tightened.
They stayed like that for a while, tangled in each other´s arms. Neither the broken man nor his savior slept until sunrise that night, they were unable to. So they did what they did best, stayed quiet in each other's presence.
✧✧✧
Pale strips of light stirred Rainsford from his dreamless slumber, his body comfortable and pliant for the first time in nearly five days. The room was fairly warm on its own, but whatever he was pressed against radiated heat deliciously. It was pressed against his right, an arm wrapped around his back cradling his left, it was delightful, though that delight soured into terror when he finally opened his contented eyes and lying beside him was not a heater—but Whitney himself.
Rainsford tensed at the realization, his breath seizing in his throat as he turned towards the man pressed against his body, his face pale as a wave of dread crashed over him.
Not only had the night prior not been a dream, but it had been the most egregious moment in his life.
His face turned a dark shade of crimson when he looked down at himself. Not only has he comforted by another man, but he had been comforted by another man whilst in nothing more than a towel!
Shame pooled deep in his belly as he quickly clutched the soft fabric in his palm, keeping the flimsy thing from slipping down any further, his dastardly gaze creeping back over Whitney’s form, his unseemly condition doing nothing to help their situation, but it did churn Rainsford’s stomach, and spread the heat in his cheeks down his neck.
He had clearly startled Whitney with his night terrors, the poor fellow was still half curled around him when he had awoken. Whitney always had a habit of waking before the sun, and now as beams of soft light infiltrated their shared space, it was clear he had slept naught.
Rainsford’s body creaked as he stood, his joints protesting the movement, and his legs still ached from the night prior. He didn’t know what to do with his body for quite some time as he stood at the foot of the bed, attempting to will the burning emotion from his features.
This day was going to be absolutely dreadful. How was he possibly going to explain what had happened? What—was he supposed to tell Whitney that he, the infamous hunter Sanger Rainsford, had foolishly fallen off the yacht to then wash up on a psychotic man-killers island and inevitably have to slaughter him to survive and now he could not even bear to look into the eyes of a mountain lion he had mounted on his wall himself? Obviously not.
Even now, as he laid in bed with the soft expression he wore when he was asleep, his lips parted faintly, the slow rise and fall of his chest barely noticeable, he looked peaceful. As if none of the world’s horrors could touch him at that moment. Rainsford would not ruin that tranquility with the horrors he had experienced on that god forsaken island.
The red on his cheeks did not leave.
Rainsford kept his head down as he walked down the hall, both hands now fisted in the soft white towel. He didn't look up, even as the door to his room opened by his own hand. His stomach still churned faintly at the thought of the taxidermy high on the wall, but his determination to clothe himself powered through. He didn´t bother dressing up, there was no occasion to be at. Instead, he donned a pair of simple cream trousers, a plain dress shirt, a pair of slippers, and a wine colored robe, grabbed a few extra pairs of clothing to put by the door, and stepped out.
Before he could reach the bathroom after he exited into the hallway, he was stopped dead in his tracks by the man he now dreaded most, Whitney. Like Rainsford, he was dressed down for the morning, likely also having risen moments ago.
Whitney´s face was calm, not a trace of discontent on his brow, but just because Whitney´s expression held no malice, did not mean that was what he held in his heart.
Rainsford was at a loss for words when he looked at Whitney, his usual greeting stuck deep in his throat as he stared blankly into Whitney´s eyes. He only snapped out of it when Whitney spoke.
¨Breakfast is out, I hope that you will join me.¨ Whitney asked, voice measured. When Rainsford stayed silent, Whitney fixed his collar, and made his way towards the dining room. It didnt take long for him to make his way down as well, for he´d rather get the incoming torture over with than lengthen his agony.
✧✧✧
The dining room was by no means cramped, but it did not compare to any of the men´s estates. The table was not terribly long, it could fit a large family comfortably. As per usual, both Rainsford and Whitney were seated across from each other, which on any other day would make the men´s conversations easier to articulate, but today, the thought of speaking to Whitney like they had only a week or so ago made his appetite shrivel up and die.
Neither man spoke while Whitney pushed his food about on his plate, doing his best to make it seem like he found his breakfast appetizing. The food itself was tasteful, bread, a plate of fluffy buttermilk pancakes, a mushroom spinach omelet for Whitney, and bacon eggs benedict for Rainsford.
Finally, someone spoke.
¨Did you rest well?¨ Whitney asked, fork in hand. His soft, curly hair had been tied back into a lazy pony, giving off an air of laxity. The question made the bite of egg in his mouth sour further. Did he sleep well? Of course he slept well! It was probably the best damn sleep he´d had in months. The warmth of Whitney´s body against his cheek had put him to sleep like a baby, and the shame he felt for it was immeasurable.
¨I slept fine.¨ He said, jaw tense. He made a show of being full even though his plate was still covered in food, dusting the imaginary dust off his lap as he stood.
¨I´m going to head up to the deck.¨ his slippers patted away as he made his way out of the room, and up the stairs.
The sun was shining when Rainsford stepped out onto the dock, the tropical breeze blowing his hair back. The waves were calmer than usual, the lack of clouds meaning Rainsford was being perpetually pelted by the sun's rays. It was a nice morning, but unfortunately for Rainsford, that didn´t matter.
His choice of seat was at the front of the ship, no shade to cover him. He had to squint when he looked at the water, the reflection blinding him for a moment before he decided to lay back and close his eyes.