Page 7 of Designation: Null

Stop. If he knows what will happen, why is it so difficult?

He stops.

The need is riding him so damned hard he gags with sudden nausea.

Isn’t this just fucking typical? Just his goddamned life. He’s over the middle of the fucking ocean with Dominants all around him and he can’t fucking keep it together.

It’s just pathetic.

Heis pathetic. He’s got drugs in case of emergency, and he goes through his pockets until he finds the hormone suppository. He presses it inside his hole while keeping his mind very carefully blank, and then washes his hands.

This is because of Robert.

He’ll stay away from him, he decides, a pang of longing stabbing through his gut. Logan gets food and something to drink, chats to Felix for a few minutes, but he has the sensation of ants crawling all over his skin.

Hank keeps making eye contact and it’s making Logan uncomfortable. He is the definition of Dominant asshole. Logan wants to look down or away, wants to go elsewhere and wrap himself in a blanket, protect himself.

Where’s Logan’s faithful and reliable anger? His one and only friend?

His nipples are pebbled and his chest aches, swollen and heavy. Even the fabric against his skin is unpleasant. And it’s getting worse. The area behind his balls is swollen and hot. There’s an unfamiliar ache in his gut, a bizarre weight that lurches through him when he moves.

The suppository was useless.

At the moment, everything he’s feeling is almost manageable, but he’d like to be left alone now. He’d like to be in his apartment and in his bed and have time to just get his emotional armor back on.

He isn’t reacting in the same negatively charged-up way he usually does to Dominants, and he thinks Hank might notice.

Logan grabs his book and sits back where he was, across from Robert. It just feels like the right place to be. He sighs in relief and presses back into the seat. He very intentionally doesn’t clench his hole. The urge to clench, just grind a little into the seat, is growing. He’s anxious with the strain of not giving in. It’s less than a minute before he finally does give in, clenching hard, frustratingly empty, and shifts around like he’s getting comfortable, getting absolutely nothing against his hole.

This is why submissives have plugs. Now he understands. The back of Logan’s neck is damp with sweat.

Hank stalks over to him a few minutes later, as if he can sense Logan’s weakness. The sort of submissive who would like Hank is one who likes to be hurt, likes to not be in control, and doesn’t have a handle on their own weaknesses.

Stupid.

Logan wishes he could stand up, but that’s beyond him. Hank looming over him is upsetting. In order for Logan to stand, Hank would need to back up and give him some space.

He isn’t positive he can make Hank back up right at this moment.

Logan isn’t angry at all. He’s needy, lonely, and scared. Not helpful for maintaining his null persona. Even worse is that Hank seems a little riled up from the lack of fight, too.

Logan meets Hank’s gaze. It’s so hard to look up and lock gazes. Fuck. Panic explodes inside him. Panic is a good enough emotion to work with.

“What?” Logan demands harshly.

“Nothing. You’re the team leader and the mission went off without a hitch. Maybe I’m here to say good job,” he says, watching Logan closely.

Logan growls at him but it cuts out and he looks away, gaze on the floor and to the side.

To Robert.

Who’s also watching Logan. His expression is calm.

Logan is like one of those stupid wild animals on the nature shows that are always on TV. Peacefully living his life and then savagely and quickly eaten by a pack of hyenas.

Two Dominants watching him. Another in the seat up front. Would Felix help him?

Hank is waiting. Watching. It’s not a leer—not yet—but Logan thinks he’s suspicious. What had Hank said? He’s here to tell Logan good job on the mission. Then… Logan should say thank you. Right?

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