He could hardly walk in the howling wind. The shabby fur wrapped around his chest did something to alleviate the cutting cold of the constant blizzard, though it hardly reached his hip and left his forearms entirely dependent on the light Kimono he'd been favouring before being drafted to this asinine key hunt. He hoped the skins provided to Altos were better, at the very least - since the trapper had decided the girls would have no need of his precious skins.
Ian's boiling blood urged him forwards.
He was horrified, once the white blur of snow permitted it, to see Altos wrapped in a fur no much better than his, his legs still bare. Ian ran to the young man and dropped to his knees besides him - his stomach churned once again when he saw the restraints. Wordlessly, after he managed to sit up, Altos held his hands up to Ian, who immediately got to work on cutting them off.
Ian rested his hand on Altos's knee when he was done. His skin was ice.
"We're going to need to warm up your legs, first of all," he said, already rubbing Altos's right thigh. Altos nodded, stone faced, starting on his left. "Not so fast. Rub it, slowly," he corrected, watching Altos's hands slow down and mimic his own.
He entertained a thought, then, that he would not oppose (or hesitate) touching the young man like this without the pressing need for it, either. Immediately, he wanted to squash it. He would never pervert simple survivalist need for his own gain. He didn't seem to be alone in it; whenever his hands reached the inside of Altos's thigh, it twitched, and the young man, with his face flushed, doubled his attention on the other leg. But Altos couldn't be blamed for this, it was just a pleasurable contact generating a pleased reaction, regardless of the context - simple biological fact.
Ian, however, felt his end to be uncomfortably premeditated. Yes, he had noticed Altos. And his legs, damned be that ridiculous loincloth he wore up and down. He was younger than what Ian would have considered his type (male-er, too) but something about Altos had captivated Ian from the moment they broke free from hypnosis all those days ago.
Absorbed in his thoughts, Ian didn't realise how low his hands had got until they were at the very base of Altos's thigh. When Ian glanced up, Altos was staring at him intensely, his other leg abandoned. He had been uncharacteristically quiet, perhaps...? Ian couldn't help but look at his lips. Their hot breaths intermingled in condensation. Their faces were so close now.
Altos inched closer one, two times. Then he locked their mouths together.
Everything was hot all of a sudden. His chest, Altos's meaty thigh under his hand, their tongues, gently, slowly, deliberately swirling around each other, Altos's hand on his wrist and the half-mast cock it lead Ian's hand to, still covered by that dreadful rag. If he had lost his last shred of sanity, Ian might have taken off all his clothes then and there - as it were, he merely let his hand fall to the icy ground between Altos's thighs and pulled away from the kiss.
"I believe..." he began, panting. He felt the icy cold beneath his hand - and the sheer body heat radiating off of Altos's crotch beside it. There always seemed to be a choice between the unpleasant and the inappropriate. "There will be time for this later."
"I- Yes," said Altos, seemingly regaining himself. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, of course."
"You haven't yet told me who tied you up."