"Alex found the temple."

It comes out louder than I intended. I stare at the campfire's flames, watching the lights bounce off of Conner's hair, letting the incessant flicker keep the visions of jaguars at bay. But I can feel the heat from his fire-warmed face on the chilled skin of my neck, and I know he's turned to watch me.

"How do you know?"

I meet that penetrating look with flame-dulled eyes. "I saw it."

"Man, that's incredible!" he cries, and I know there are a thousand questions he wants to ask. "How are you feeling about Alex?"

Of course, he'd pick that one. He wants to hear truths about the woman who killed him. And I can't lie, not in the middle of this goddamn jungle where I see murders I've never witnessed and hear the growl of cats that aren't there.

"I... know I need to stop her, but... I also feel like I have to protect her somehow."

He's not looking at me anymore. I don't blame you, kid. I don't like what I see, either.

"Which is stronger?"

God, Chief, don't ask me that. Especially not in the whisper of someone who doesn't want to hear the answer. I'm stretched between two worlds, here, and my balance is comparable to that of a day-old colt.

"I don't know."

Then the steel is back in his voice, and his hands are slicing through the smoke in the air like honed blades. "Well, you need something that you can focus on. Something that you can control. Because what happened at the river bank today can not happen again, Jim."

"Control." Sure, Chief. If I hadn't used up my weekly quota about five days ago, I'd be right on it. Simon'd rattle off the list of charges against her, and I'd take her down. Take her right there. Take her...

Damn. I'd squeeze my eyelids shut if I didn't think I'd see her behind them.

Blair's hand finally comes to rest on my thigh, ostensibly still, but sending his pulse through the cotton like a hammer beating time to his words. "Jim, I know you're dealing with some primal shit, here. I mean, we forget how quickly the trappings of societal mores can be shed when basic emotions like hunger and fear and lust come into play..."

Great, Sandburg. My anatomy is fully aware of all that primal shit. So give me a clue on how to deal with it.

"... but *you're* the original emotional rock, here. This wasn't exactly covered in my last course syllabus. I wish I knew what to say, man."

I trade in the twisting flames to watch the thoughts fly across his face as he runs through that internal miracle Rolodex of "Things To Tell Your Horny Sentinel." I'm the rock, Chief? You're the one who just looked at Death and told him to take a flying fuck. It was all I could do to look at a blond-haired woman and tell her "no" as she held a gun on you.

Then his pursed lips relax and he tilts his head to the side and I'm sure he knows exactly the right thing to do and exactly the right thing to say...

"Maybe you should stop trying to control it."

That wasn't it.

Those two worlds are starting to break apart, and I can't hold on. "Do you think I really want to fuck her?"

It's a harsh snarl, but he actually gives me a patient, lopsided smile. "No, Jim," he says, and his voice is as gentle as the hand he slides up that extra few inches to rest on the half-hard length between my legs. "Not her."

The nearly full mug is abandoned, and his coffee-warmed hand grips the back of my neck as he moves to face me. I tense up. This is not something to plunge into at full-throttle, Chief, not when I've been thinking with my dick all day. I can fight her because she's just gone sense-crazy and I've got a job to do here, but you should know better by now.

"Knock off the analysis, Jim. I'm the brains of this operation, so let me work, here."

That's my Blair. Rushing in where Sentinels fear to tread. His fingers start kneading my cock through my pants and all I can do is stare at him and wonder if he had all those little lines around the sides of his eyes before he met me.

I don't know what Sandburg put in the fire, but the smoke is filling my nose and making my head throb. His face starts to fade away, and for a moment I think I hear that damn cat growling, but then I realize it's the sound of my zipper opening under his hand.

"Focus, Jim. Focus on me."

He's out of his mind. "We can't, Chief." That's weak, Ellison. Think Sandburg's gonna buy that?

"Why not? I could use a little life affirmation, man. So could you."

"Because Conner's ten feet away!" The words come out in a hiss, then dissolve into a gasp as he peels away my briefs and the night air hits my freed cock.

"Conner's asleep. I checked."

"What if she's not?" I fight for a thread of concentration to listen for her heartbeat, but all I can hear is Blair's low snicker.

"Since we're dragging her through the jungle, least we can do is give her a show."

Exhibitionism as community service. Like I can argue with that logic.

Then his lips touch mine they're warm and moving, so different from the last time I felt them. When they part I can feel his breath curling along my tongue and down my throat until I'm breathing pure Blair. His tongue asks to be let in, but I break off the kiss to shake my head no, then pounce again on his smile. He knows. I just want his air.

I'm trying to free his hair from that damned band without ripping too much of it out. He grunts as my clumsy fingers get tangled, but it must not hurt that bad, because now he's got one hand around my balls, and his other thumb has found that spot on the underside of my dick where the head meets the shaft. Coarse curls finally spill free over my hands, releasing this perfume of shampoo, woodsmoke, and sweat. I'm making fists in his long hair and he's got this amazing look in his eyes as I pull his head back and bare his neck.

I lay a quick kiss on his pulse, then he rubs his palm over the head of my cock lightly, gathering up the precome, and it's my turn to throw my head back. Strong fingers tighten around the shaft, and I trace the whorls of his fingertips, wondering if this is how he holds himself when he's lying in his own bed.

Move your hand, Sandburg. Make me come.

"Look at me."

What? No, Blair, I can't, just let me drift here, and I'll dodge the jaguars while you tell me about the legend of the temple...

"Look at me!"

So I do. The fire at his back gives him a pale orange halo and his shadow spills over me like a blanket.

"Listen to me, man. You're going to keep your eyes open. You're gonna know whose hand it is on your dick. You're gonna know who's making you come."

Then he starts pumping in a punishing rhythm so damn smooth that I'd swear he's been doing this to me every night since we met. His other hand has unerringly found the perfect spot of skin right behind my balls, and I know there's no way that woman's hands could ever be doing this.

The minutes drag by as the jungle surrounding us fades to black. At one point my eyes nearly drift shut, but a tug on my balls brings me back with a groan. My throat hurts from swallowing screams, I can feel every writing callus on Sandburg's hands, and for the first time in weeks I'm completely fucking happy.

I think I'm smiling.

"Let it go, Jim," he whispers, and I come so hard over his hands I can see light.

I take the first deep, shuddering breath I can manage, and Sandburg's tossing our blankets behind me, pressing a hand on my chest until I lean back. His eyes are wild and his nostrils are flared and I'm wondering if I'm really the one who's the primative throwback tonight. Then he's on his knees between my spread thighs, freeing a thick, ruddy cock from his jeans.

"Watch me, Jim. Focus."

I am, Sandburg, I am, but even I can't take in your eyes and hands and cock all at once. Especially when you're rubbing my come over you like it's lube and your fingers are tracing patterns that I want to learn and I can't believe you got so damn hard just from touching me.

And I watch. I'd say he looks like an angel, but I don't want some ephemeral spirit vision when I've got this rough, solid man jacking off above me. I watch the beads of sweat as they follow each other out of his curls and over the sweep of his cheekbones. It looks so good that I bring my hands up to frame his face, and use a thumb to part those pale lips. His cheeks hollow under my palms as he sucks it in.

If my heart gives out, Sandburg, it's your turn to dive in and drag me back.

Then he breaks his own rule and closes his eyes, his strokes getting ragged and short, and he comes in absolute, perfect silence. I keep watching, until his eyes finally open again, and he's kneeling there with his lips curved in a grin.

Then I stop watching and kiss the smile off his face.

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