Honor Bound

"Not exactly the Savoy, eh, Panther-san."

Glancing over, his automatic weapon at the ready, the big mercenary just gave the man who spoke a cold look.

"I was surprised to see a fancy-man like you here for this one." short, with broad flat features and a broad thick body, Hikaru Ford - called Hik by everyone who knew him - was loud, rude, and made an art out of being unpleasant. Having grown up an outcast in one of the shack cities of Hong Kong in brutal poverty, his mixed Japanese and black parentage made him an untouchable there. He'd learned the first lesson young, and learned it well.

Take what you can get and fight for what you have.

Panther thought he was disgusting.

Hik returned the favor.

If either had known that the other had accepted this assignment, neither would have taken it.

"No running water, no clean clothes, no soft bed for you and your geisha-boy."

A tremor ran through Panther's body, and the muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Keep it quiet, some of us need to sleep." an angry rough voice called from one of the bedrolls spread upon the ground. In the one nearest Panther's post, Chief slept fitfully, the atmosphere of the renegade camp disturbing even his rest.

Turning his back on Hik, Panther deliberately stepped over to crouch beside his love. Stroking his cheek with the back of his hand, he continued until the younger man settled.

Then he watched him. The others all knew better than to comment on his apparent dereliction of duty - he'd proven himself too many times for that.

'When the Panther is not looking is when he watches'; in times past, early missions where they had had to prove themselves, he had earned that reputation. Now newcomers, young and old, were warned with these words.

He couldn't remember the first time he had heard it. It had been in a mercenary company like this one....Chief stirred and curled tighter into himself.

Panther just stared at him for a long time.

He looked so young.

Although he knew intellectually that his partner was almost forty , Chief still looked about twenty-five. Like the day they had met. One would think the white hair would age him, or that their experiences would show on his face, but it was as pretty and smooth today as it had been then, when he was full of piss and vinegar, sassy and smart and alive.

Sometimes he missed that man so much....it would be better if everything showed on his face.

To remind him that this was not that man, no matter how he prayed for him to be again.

"All clear." he said quietly, not turning as the leader of the motley crew walked up behind him. Unsurprised that he'd been heard although he was the most silent of men, Foxmoor stood over him, hands on hips.

"I don't know how you get anything done, coddling him." the words were harsh but the tone just barely friendly.

Turning and standing in one fluid motion, Panther shifted his weapon and met the other man's eyes.

"You wanted me. You knew the rules."

"Aye, I'm not complaining." as tall as Jim but not as broad, maybe twenty years younger. "But the rest of us leave our wives t'home, Panther."

Without a quick, hard glare, Panther began walking the perimeter area he was assigned.

"So why did ye come?" falling into step, Foxmoor ran a hand through his brush-cut red hair and kept pace.

Listening to the faint burr that still tainted the man's voice, Panther thought about him for a minute. London-born, Oxford educated, noble by birth, with a lineage that could be traced back before Henry V.

"I owe you." he shrugged gracefully. "I don't forget debts."

"Too right."

They continued to walk, back and forth, back and forth, neither man making a sound as he paced.

Foxmoor threw the occasional curious glance at the man beside him, but said nothing more.

When the watch changed he went to his bedroll and watched as Panther went to his. Rolling himself in around his odd partner, the American fell right to sleep, with the ease of a soldier.

* * * * * * *

The next day was spent tramping through heavy underbrush. Both Panther and Chief took a turn with a machete, the smaller man again startling those who did not know him or who underestimated him. With an eerie rhythm he lifted and cut, lifted and cut, one arm reaching and pushing branches aside while the other hacked. When his two hours were up he was as sweaty and hot as any of them, but no other sign of exertion showed on his pretty face, mostly hidden by the dark glasses and a bandanna tied around lower half to keep insects from his mouth as he breathed deeply, smoothly.

Hik was gasping for air when he handed off his blade, and he caught the unreadable look Chief ran over him as the younger man returned to Panther's side.

"Good job, mate." Foxmoor told Chief briefly. He had no love for protocol and spoke to whom he would. "The two of you take the rear."

Falling back with a brief, grateful smile, Panther tucked Chief to his side and took their places there.

"What is he doing?" a nudge distracted Foxmoor from his ongoing study of the terrain. Beside him was the only female he'd ever allowed in a company. Jenny May was as hard as tough as they came, and she looked it. Foxmoor had always figured that being raped after a capture would probably be doing her a favor. But she was good, and he liked her...more than he would ever admit.

Glancing back at the two she was staring at, he registered the sight with no surprise.

Panther was stalking the trail, weapon at the ready.

Chief walked behind him, his empty arms close to his body, head bobbing with each quick, careful step.

Backwards.

The smaller man was walking backwards, with as much speed and efficiency as anyone else with a modicum of grace would move forward.

With a grunt Foxmoor shrugged. He'd seen it before. It was why he'd given them the rear.

"Walking?" sarcastic, cold.

"Why doesn't he stumble, or fall?"

"Ask him." with a wide, mocking grin, he warned Jenny May that she'd probably better not.

"That man is fucking strange." with that final pronouncement she fell silent again.

"Aren't we all, m'love?" ignoring her grimace, Foxmoor moved ahead to take his own turn beating the underbrush.

* * * * * * *

That night, after the cold meal of hard rations and water - Foxmoor allowed no alcohol on a mission - Panther stood and began gathering up the bedroll he shared with Chief.

"Where d'ya think you're going?" Hik sneered. "Gotta stay in camp, it's not safe in the jungle."

"It is for us." with Chief close Panther looked to Foxmoor.

The rest of the team waited, curious.

There were five men besides Fox and Hik and Jenny May. Five hardened, violent, clever men, well-armed, eager for confrontation.

Meeting Panther's cold cold eyes, Fox finally nodded.

"Stay near me?" he phrased it as a request, not an order.

A nod.

Then Panther and Chief disappeared into the darkness, melting into it like his namesake. No light, not even moonlight, lit the camp beyond the small fire.

"Hope they don't make too much noise." someone said softly.

"I bet Chief's a screamer." Jenny said with a flash of unflattering smile.

"Any man that quiet would have to be." another scoffed.

"He can hear you." Foxmoor said quietly, matter-of-factly.

"Oh, *right*. 'When the Panther can't you him he's listening'. You are so full of shit, Foxmoor."

Letting the insult pass, the mercenary leader turned into his own bed. Watches were already assigned, and tonight Panther wasn't standing one.

"Shh. Shh. Shh. Easy, Chief. I'm trying to be quiet."

Turning over in his bag, Foxmoor glanced around the camp.

Hik and another man, David Jazz, were on watch. Standing still and silent beneath the trees, Jazz smoking a clove cigarette.

There was amusement in the low, rich voice that floated to the Scotsman as he turned back over.

"No, I'm not telling you to be quiet, that would be a waste of breath, wouldn't it?"

A small sound, low and harsh, perhaps of pleasure. Foxmoor felt himself growing hard. They would do this to him, wouldn't they. Talk about your moral dilemmas.

"Yes, I'm going to take you. Nice and slow and easy, we've had plenty of sleep. We need a night spent making love, to balance all the negative crap you've been picking up."

Pulling the flap of his bag over his head and muffling a groan biting on a corner, Foxmoor shifted uncomfortably until he was lying on his stomach. *Why* had he asked them to camp close to him?

So he could hear this. Though he would have died before admitting it, Lord Aladale Foxmoor had a thing for men.

Especially these two men. The bare-bones friendship he'd built with Panther, the rescue that the older merc was repaying him for, the rough way he protected them in his camp - it all stemmed from a very basic attraction.

"Yes, he's listening. I can hear him." Panther said softly.

Feeling heat rush him, Foxmoor stilled his increasingly rhythmic movements.

"I don't mind if you don't, caro."

A soft, sweet moan, too sweet for the voice that roughened it, came from them. Knowing it was Chief making the noise just made Fox hotter.

Panther was still speaking, quiet and sure, panting slightly. For his benefit, Foxmoor thought dimly.

"Yes, caro. We can share with someone else this way. He's been a good friend, saved us more than once. I know, being here hasn't been good for you, but you know why we had to come...yes. Oh, *yes*, Chief, touch me just like that. Lick around...oh, god. Fuck me with your tongue, Chief. Taste all of me... ohhhh..."

The words became a thick moan, just barely muffled. Foxmoor bit harder on the cloth that filled his mouth, the nylon tasting metallic.

"enough." Panther whispered. "Come up here. Turn over. Give yourself to me."

Shuffling noises, the rustling of blankets. Not as warm as an insulated bag, but what Panther always brought.

They had worked five missions together over the years. This would be the sixth. And, Foxmoor thought as he heard a low moan from Chief, a moan filled with unholy satisfaction that told him the younger man was being filled with Panther cock, this would be the last. He couldn't stand to be around them anymore.

They made him want too much.

Want what they had.

Unfortunately, he had some small idea of the price they'd paid to get it. And he would never put anyone he loved through even that, not even for the bond he yearned for.

"Feel so good, Chief." a sigh of replete pleasure from Panther. "You take all of me, surround me, hold me tight...it's perfect."

There were fewer words now, more panting and moaning. Trying to be discrete, Foxmoor reached under himself and stroked lightly in time with Chief's little grunts. He couldn't tell if they were pain or pleasure and he didn't care.

Caught up in sharing their lovemaking, the merc leader didn't notice Hik staring over at him with disgust. Eyes closed, body tense, even in the bag it was obvious what he was doing.

Although camp manners required that the younger man ignore it politely, instead he made a face and turned his back on his jacking-off boss.

"Almost there, Chief. Almost there. You want to move? Now?! Anything you want, caro, anything you want. Kiss me, touch me, taste me...yes, let me hold you close. This way, sit *here*..."

Sounds of movements, then a deeper, rougher, more plaintive moan.

"So deep inside you. I love having you like this, in my lap, wrapped around me. Hold on, caro, hold on to me and I'll make you feel so good..."

The vision of them danced behind Foxmoor's closed eyelids and he stifled another, louder moan.

Panther, sitting straight, legs braced...Chief, small and wiry and naked, in his lap, straddling him, Panther's cock - it had to be huge - impaling him, holding him in place as surely as the man's arms did.

Chief's strong arms and legs wrapped around the large hard body, pale in the dark night.

His head, that wondrous fall of hair tumbling over his shoulders, sticking to the sides of his face and his back as he sweated in the cool jungle night...Foxmoor had only seen the hair once but thought he might kill to touch it...

"*Sooo* good. So good. Oh, god." Panther moaned and panted.

Fox envisioned Chief riding him slowly, rising up and sinking down again, his perfect round ass, smooth pale globes splitting to take that shaft in, again and again. Panther's hands holding him apart to get all the way inside him.

With a muffled shriek Aladale Foxmoor came all over himself.

"Harder." Panther was begging. "Faster. Yes, I know what you want..."

Who was begging who? Fox asked himself as he lay lethargic in the aftermath.

"Know what you want. Know what you want...Ah, Chief. Caro. Mausi. I'm gonna come. Can you feel it? I'm so deep inside you I'm gonna come up your throat...oh, god..."

Listening closely, Foxmoor was mildly surprised to hear no words as they reached completion.

Panting, a long low moan, then a thin wail that sounded less than human.

Minutes later, hours for the listening man.

"Always, caro. Don't be afraid. Always."

And then the natural silence of the rainforest was returned. It was as if the forest itself had been listening too and enjoying the primal mating that had filled it so beautifully.

Turning back to his back. Foxmoor glanced around him.

On his left Jenny May opened her eyes and smirked at him knowingly. He shrugged and settled in to sleep.

In all likelihood Panther and Chief would not be making love again on this mission, so it was good that he had enjoyed it while he could. Tomorrow night they would reach the outskirts of the refugee town, built by criminals for criminals, and they would find the stolen emeralds, and Panther would recover them.

It was liable to be a dirty, bloody job, but they were being well-paid by an important man to bring them, and the scalp of the thief, back.

Foxmoor always fulfilled his mission.

The rainforest was never quiet. Beneath the buzzing of the insects, the cries of the monkeys and the rustling of the trees, Foxmoor just barely heard Panther speak. He was so close to the edge of sleep that it seemed a dream.

"No, caro. He will always be alone. It's in his nature. Yes, I feel sorry for him too...now sleep."

The words brought tears to Foxmoor's eyes, tears that he couldn't let himself shed.

* * * * * * *

"This is it?" Panther asked almost cheerfully. He was leaning on a tree, arms crossed over his chest, Chief beside him still and silent, one hand clinging to a revealed muscled bicep.

In the rising heat of the day the big mercenary had shed all but a crop-sleeved grey t-shirt worn under his battered Kevlar vest. To wear the protection so openly, not bothering to hide it, he would be practically shouting his arrogance in this town.

"This is it."

The rest of the group was settling in around them, preparing to get comfortable for the wait they knew was coming.

Panther nodded, watching with sharp eyes while Foxmoor pulled a small, sealed plastic baggie from his backpack. It held a scrap of fabric, barely two inches across.

"Couldn't make it easy." he grinned as the cold blue eyes widened and then narrowed with anger.

Holding the bag out, Foxmoor spoke again.

"Chief will be safer here with me."

The small head, hair concealed under the battered fedora, jerked up, and the mouth worked, but no sounds came out.

"Chief stays with me." saying it casually, looping one arm over his partner's shoulders, Panther didn't even bother to snarl.

Foxmoor's eyes were hard, the warm brown almost mocking. "Of course. What was I thinking?" he scoffed, but regretted the levity when it became clear from the look on Panther's face that he knew *exactly* what his acquaintance had been thinking.

That he would have a chance to talk to Chief. Maybe even touch him, just a little bit. Foxmoor was no rapist, but he had never really accepted the rules concerning the smaller man.

Taking one long stride, the bigger man snatched the baggie from Foxmoor's aristocratic hand.

"Give me three days."

"Three days?!" Hik protested while the others groaned. "I'm not camping out here, only a couple of miles from hot food and good beer for three days, waiting for him!" he gestured expansively and Panther's eyes flickered.

"You take orders from me." the friendly, easy-going man was gone and Foxmoor was threat personified. "We stay put."

Then he turned and spoke to Panther while the group muttered angrily.

"I'll walk you halfway."

Giving the camp a long once-over, Panther nodded. With no more fanfare than that, he turned, Chief in tow, and walked between the trees, Fox following.

They were out of sight in minutes.

Foxmoor had to walk quickly to keep up with them. Once again he was aware that he had underestimated Chief. The man *was* frail, that was all too obvious. But the determined way he ignored that, he moved on and overcame, that was admirable.

Just another reason to want him.

"He would be safer with me." he said quietly, to Panther, speaking as if Chief were not there.

"For some reason I doubt that." the dry amusement in the bigger man's voice startled the younger noble.

"There aren't a lot of women in these tent cities...watch out for him.

"You might as well tell me to breathe." Panther stopped and turned, Chief slipping around behind him. Gun held loosely in one hand, he looked Foxmoor up and down, once. "Look. We're not quite friends, but we're as close as I get. I know how you feel, and I'm sorry. Sorry you can't live your life the way you want to and sorry that you want something you can't have. But you need to back off now, Fox. I'll bring back your emeralds and take my cut and then we'll be splits. It's better that way."

Staring stupidly, Foxmoor just watched as Panther pulled Chief closer to him and the two of them vanished into the rainforest.

He didn't even get a chance to voice the lies of protest that filled his mouth.

* * * * * * *

The tent city was packed, with dirty, angry, desperate and sometimes crazy people. Crazy in the way of sociopaths, sadists, megalomaniacs without the charisma to pull off their own little coups.

Panther slipped in under the cover of darkness.

He left Chief settled in a large tree two miles outside the city. In the space created by three large branches forking off a huge trunk, tethered to it in case he rolled or fell in his sleep.

Walking calmly down the strip of land left as a road, he spoke under his breath, more to hear himself than because he needed to.

"I've got the scent, caro. I wish you were here with me. But Foxmoor, damn him, was right. You'd be helpless in a place like this, though not for the reasons he thinks. So much negative energy *I* can feel it...you'd be on your knees in minutes. I hope you're resting well. I'll be back as soon as I can..."

Following the faint scent trail of the man he sought, Panther walked through the raggedy town, looking for a raggedy man.

"I miss you." soft words directed to a silent mind, miles away.

In the tree, twenty feet above the earth, safe from any jungle cat who would intrude upon Panther's territory, Chief lay in a state closer to coma than sleep. Curled into the tightest ball humanly possible, he looked far too small.

His skin was pale, his breathing slow. Without Panther beside him he seemed to have shrunken and aged, more lines on his face than previously visible.

He made a small sound that ached with some inner pain, and then lay quiet again.

So many scents. So many people. Most left him alone. Panther looked completely in his element here, among the hard, ready men.

Tracking the scent led to backtracking, led to doubling back and then, finally, to the cantina beneath the shade of the one huge tree that had created the clearing, where his prey sat and drank cheap whiskey.

It was good enough. Now all he had to do was wait.

A bird landed on the pale face and pecked experimentally at the mirrored glasses that protected the blue, blue eyes. Thwarted there, it tried the brown fedora, still clamped firmly to a sleeping head. After several minutes of determined effort, the hat fell away, and the coiled braid of hair was exposed.

Chittering with pleasure, the large, brightly colored dinosaur descendant plucked out a few strands for its new nest and flew away, the prize trailing from its purple beak.

"Damn."

Swearing didn't help.

The target was a careful man. After a day and a half, Panther had been unable to catch him alone or undefended. He even took his people to the latrines with him. Not that Panther could go there - the stench was so bad there was no way he could control his reaction without Chief's presence.

There were rules in places like this. The rough-and-ready code of justice -- honor among thieves was more than a concept here -- made an outright murder a bad idea, especially with Chief to worry about. The solo partner couldn't afford to make a fuss that would get him noticed, get him hurt, get him killed.

He would have to do something tonight. Have to reach inside himself and pull out something a little more dangerous, something primal.

Something he had only called upon three times in the last ten years.

He would need that something to kill this man.

As he did every minute or so, he expanded his mind to check on his partner. Usually he didn't have to make that effort, because Chief was right there with him, an unmistakable presence in his head. Chief maintained that contact effortlessly, but by himself Panther had to work at it.

He never quite understood how it worked. Was he using Chief's abilities the way the younger man used his, or was Chief actually the one doing it, but through Panther's mind, the way he used Panther's senses?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Chief was sleeping very deeply. His body was making no complaints, save for a bit of stiffness, and he was warm enough in the extra layers of clothing he'd put on, most of his body sunk into the rolled blankets.

"He'll be cold for days when he wakes up...I'll have to remember to get him warm." matter-of-fact the big man considered the results of such a long separation. Chief would be cold and disoriented when he first woke. Then he would be frightened and need the reassurance of physical contact to bolster the mental.

Eventually his mind and body would regain clarity and he would appear to return to normal, but the after affects would linger for weeks, perhaps months.

The last time they had separated for this long was when Panther had had elective surgery two years ago, to remove painful bone spurs from both feet, the results of too many hours of heavy lifting, running and pressure. There had been plenty of notice and Chief had spent the days in their bed at the beach house, under Simon's watchful eyes.

Not like this at all. This had been a sudden choice and they'd had only a few hours to prepare.

He hoped it was enough. As long as Chief rested safely, he could concentrate on what he had to do here.

* * * * * * *

"Hello." taking a seat at the cantina tale, Panther greeted his prey casually, and received a grunt in reply. "Nice weather lately?"

Glancing up from his paperback novel, the man who called himself Bogus glared.

"You've been here long enough to decide that for yourself." he snorted, not impressed with the man before him. Bogus surveyed him quickly, his conclusions clear on his face; balanced on that edge, getting too old to do this anymore but apparently not willing to admit it yet. He'd seen other men like him. The ones who were destined to die in battle, when their reflexes or their strength or stamina finally failed them. And the men they were with. That's why his crew was filled with young, healthy men with bloodlust in their eyes. Age often brought a conscience to those who'd never before been troubled with one. "I'm not looking for men." he said flatly, thinking that could be the big man's interest.

"I think I should introduce myself." not extending a hand, the man smiled, but it was a baring of teeth, not a friendly grimace. "I'm Panther."

"Sure you are." Bogus scoffed. "Panther never travels alone. Even I know that."

"You don't know everything."

Deciding that keeping the peace was more profitable than starting a battle - this camp could erupt into violence in seconds, most would join the fray just for something to do, and medical supplies were running dangerously low - Bogus stood.

"Take some advice, Obi-Wan. Keep your head down and your mouth shut around here. There're people who'd take offense at what you just said."

He let, heading for his tent, several of his men following.

He felt the man's eyes on him all the way there.

There were now several nests in the nearby trees that sported beautiful white accents, and a couple of basket finches had dangling homes of spun silver. The fedora had been pushed to the ground, and tested for edibility by at least three creatures before a howler monkey decided it would be more fun to tear it to shreds than eat it. Food was plentiful, new toys were a rarity here.

The soft skin was covered with layers of clothing, frustrating a Macaw that would take a bite. The slow, even rise-and-fall of his chest had spooked them at first, but when that was the only movement present they grew bolder.

Now his scalp was visible in a couple of places, inch-wide sections where the skin was torn and bloody and the hair around it turned pink.

There were still thousands of birds with nests to build.

Lying on his cot, tucked tight in his sleeping bag, Bogus shifted his feet until the small bag that lay between them was comfortable, a heavy weight resting on his heels.

Two of his men slept on the other side of the main pole, the area taken up with gear, stacked neatly and packed.

Another man sat before the zippered doorflap, gun cradled at the ready. Feeling safe, Bogus turned over and faced the wall.

And stared.

In the two-foot space between his cot and the side of the tent, lay a huge black jungle cat, half beneath the aluminum frame of the bed.

A panther? In his *tent*?!

Before he could move, could even gasp a warning, the animal rose and lunged, powerful jaws closing around Bogus' throat, cutting off his air. He struggled silently, and the animal draped his upper body over the man, one paw on his shoulder, the other his thighs, three-inch claws digging deep to hold him.

A wheezing hiss of air escaped the throttling jaws and the grip tightened...eyes wide, fighting for breath, for his life, Bogus -- once Jimmy Havier Sanchez -- was killed with the same casual ease as any small antelope.

A roommate grunted and turned over, but the death had occurred in near-silence. When the body at last relaxed the jungle cat lay still over it, a shadowed lump in the dark, and held his position for many minutes longer. Just to be sure.

If anyone had been watching, and been able to see as well in the dark as, say, a panther, they would have seen the animal release its prey.

They would have seen the animal lie back down beside the cot.

And they would have seen a man slip a hand around to the end of the cot, cut a hole in the sleeping bag, and lift the bag of emeralds from it.

Then he cut off the index finger as well, tucking it into a deep velcro-sealed pocket, and settled back to the floor before vanishing through the slit he'd cut in the tent.

* * * * * * *

Panther had gotten out of camp in the dark of the night, worried that someone would notice the body, which would soon void itself as the muscles relaxed for the last time. Walking past a couple of younger men drinking and smoking, he turned in the direction of the latrines, then detoured around them to avoid the stench.

Then he was in the safety of the forest, hidden by the underbrush that welcomed him as one of its own.

Every nerve in his body screamed at him to run, to get back to Blair as fast as he could, but he had to be careful. He had to be clever.

He couldn't leave a trail for Bogus' men to follow, which they undoubtedly would as soon as they discovered their boss dead. His crew was devoted, to him and each other, they wouldn't take this lying down. Not to mention the loss of the emeralds which would have bought leisure for them all. It wouldn't take long for them to discover who was missing from the camp. The stranger no-one there had ever met before, the man who claimed to be the legendary Panther.

He snorted, the sound loud in the quiet of the night. Not that it was really quiet, there were small animals and insects and all the other normal sounds. *His* presence didn't disturb them.

He was a part of them, and the forest herself recognized that.

The forest would hide them as well.

Going carefully, being clever, Panther made his way oh-so-slowly through the heavy brush, working his circuitous way back to his not-really-there partner.

* * * * * * *

"Aw, shit, Chief..." perched precariously on the branch straddling the still-sleeping Chief, Panther ran big delicate hands over the raw patches on his head. Coming away with a thin coating of yellow pus, his heart faltered as he sniffed it, and then wiped both hands on his sturdy camo pants.

The wounds were infected, as happens quickly in the warm moist jungle air, filled as it was with so many living things.

"I never even thought about this..." working slowly, Panther got his partner over his shoulders and climbed down the tree, one hand holding the younger man's limp body in place while the other did slap-and-grab for holds as his feet dug into the soft bark of the trunk. On the ground he carried him to the camp he'd already built, the small shelter made of tied bent branches, well-hidden but offering protection from the rain he knew was coming. Inside the small space he'd spread his sleeping bag and gear, stashed before he went into the town, and started a small fire in a pit dug to one side. It offered light for Chief, although neither of them really needed it, and warmth that both did.

Unrolling the blankets, stripping his lover, Panther was relieved to find no other signs of injury. Using some of the water from his canteen, he cleaned the head wound, disinfected it, and covered it with antibiotic salve and a thick protective bandage.

Then he stripped himself, and lay down with Chief, in the still of the forest night, and cradled him close. It would take a few more hours for the younger man to wake up. Panther's presence had to soak into him, he had to become aware of the older man again. When that happened his body would respond and then his mind would follow.

It was no hardship for Panther to lie there, in quiet peace, and hold the man he loved. Without speaking, just warm and comfortable, Chief's weight a living thing, pressed to him, gradually becoming a part of him again.

If anything ever happened to Panther, this is what would happen to Chief. If he didn't manage to kill himself before the separation was complete, he would spend the rest of his life in this comatose state.

One of the things Panther truly feared - there were many - was that he would *die*...Chief would kill himself...and Panther himself would be somehow brought back. Sometimes he could see it as some sort of horrific never-ending circle: at the hospital; Panther dies, Chief cuts his wrists, they revive Panther, but then Chief dies, so Panther shoots himself, and then they revive Chief...he snorted softly. That was a ridiculous scenario, an laughable extreme, but it only heightened his awareness that time was growing short for them.

He simply wouldn't be ale to keep up this level of fitness many more years. Then they had two choices: take on younger, stronger partners, or retire.

Chief stirred in his arms, making a small, pained sound. He often made little noises as he woke, unaware, and Panther enjoyed them tremendously. Every sound he could beg from his partner's lips was ambrosia for his soul.

"Shhh, caro. I'm here. I've got you. Feel my arms around you, feel my body behind yours, my leg over yours...my mouth on your neck." he whispered the words against the back of Chief's neck, face buried in that exquisite hair, all other concerns fading to the background to be worried over another day.

"Everything is good. Everything is fine. We're alone, there's no one near..." he'd been listening closely for sounds of pursuit.

This time taken to re-establish their connection was dangerous, but so necessary. Otherwise Panther would be carrying Chief through the forest only to have him wake desperate and frightened. Unable to defend himself.

Kissing gently, Panther ran one hand down Chief's bare front. The soft curly hair that covered his chest and abdomen was sill dark, with only a few scattered strands of gray. It felt silky to a heightened sense of touch. Of course, silk felt slippery and rough.

Finding an erection waiting for him, he slipped his fingertips over it, then repeated the motion and waited.

"Jim." just the single word, croaked in a voice so harsh it made angels cry. Panther winced, then stiffened as full contact was restored and his mind was flooded with images and sensations.

"I know it hurts." he said, petting openly now. "The birds got to your hair. I guess they thought it was pretty. Yeah, like that piece of yarn. That was a long time ago, wasn't it."

Shifting, he turned Chief over and pulled him even closer. "Yeah, you're still the one going up the tree. But I had to go up after you this time." he protested, smiling. "Did you dream about me?"

Nestling close, his face hidden between Panther neck and shoulder, Chief shivered. Flipping Chief's sleeping bag over both of them, Panther commented on his lover's thoughts.

"It worked, just like it always has. It feels so strange to be doing that, but strange more like it's so damn normal. Like the way it feels to make love to you. It should be strange, but it isn't."

Sighing, Chief tightened his arms around the bigger man, who smiled again and rolled them both over, turning Chief in his arms, sliding a knee between his legs. The smaller man pressed back with his whole body, offering, accepting, needing. As gently as he could, long practice making it possible to skip niceties like lubricant and preparation, Panther slid his engorged cock into his partner's body until his balls were pressed to Chief's ass and they were one again.

Chief's hand reached back to settle on Panther's hip, the other went up to wrap around Panther's neck. Covering the hand on his hip completely with one of his own, Panther's free hand crawled around the slender body and caressed the weeping erection that waited for him.

They lay for a long time, not moving, thoughts flying between them too fast for mere words to join.

Finally moving, after more than a hour of silent communication, all boundaries successfully re-established, Panther allowed himself one long, low groan of satisfaction.

It wasn't earth-shattering, or even remarkable, as lovemaking went. Just a slow, deep bonding that washed through them. When they did this, when they separated and then came together again, it was like the first time. The incredible knowledge of what they were together. All of it too powerful for mortals, it made them feel something so much more than love.

"Chief. Caro. We have to go. They're coming into the forest now."

Rising from the soft warm nest they'd created with the blankets, Panther reached first to douse the fire with the remaining water from his canteen. They would reach the main camp by nightfall, they could go that long without it.

His body pulled free of Chief's with a sucking sound that made the younger man wince, but then he was up, eyes wide, pupils dilated, and reaching for his clothing.

"They have a scout, they've found my trail. We'll have to lose them, they're sure to find this place." Panther continued, dressing as well. They were ready and out of the shelter within minutes. Panther cut the rope that bound the protective limbs together with one sure swipe and they sprang back to their original shapes. It would take an expert scout to catch the evidence of them here after they buried the remains of the fire and covered it with a layer of the leaves that coated the area.

"That looks good." Panther nodded to Chief when the younger man finished hiding the fire. "Ready?"

Coming to his side, Chief stood on his toes to give him a hard, hungry kiss, then his hands went to his hair. A look of distress crossed his face.

"Let me." going behind him, Panther took the length of it, doubled it over, and stuffed it down the collar of Chief's jacket, then reached around him to button said collar tight.

"We'll find something to hide it before we rejoin Foxmoor's crew." he said. Neither of them wanted this most distinguishing feature seen by any of those people.

He took Chief's hand, raised it to his lips, kissed the palm tenderly, and then they began working their way through the trees, as fast and as quietly as they could.

* * * * * * *

"Not far ahead of us. Thirty minutes, maybe less." the scout rose from the ashes of the dead fire. Three men listened to him.

All young and strong and hard.

"We'll move faster."

"There was more than one person here, I think." the youngest of them said. He was searching the ground beneath the large tree near the site. Rising and coming over, he held out a hand, displaying several small chunks of dark brown felt.

"What's that?"

The scout took the piece, held them up, sniffed them.

"It was a hat?" he made it a question, and the new leader of the group - a man who wanted Bogus' name as well as his crew - eyed him speculatively.

"That man in the camp, who claimed to be Panther...doesn't his partner -"

"Chief." another man supplied

"- doesn't he always wear a hat? A brown hat, with his hair under it?"

"He does."

"Damn. Maybe it was the Panther after all." the younger one sounded awed. In ten years that particular mercenary team had gained a reputation that bordered on mythical. The young man looked almost frightened.

"I don't believe all that hocus-pocus crap." Bogus the second snarled and spit. "He killed my man Bogus. We're gonna take him down. And if everything I've heard about 'Chief' is true, we can have some fun with him before we sell him to someone that'll appreciate 'im."

They started off again, the scout leading the way, the youngest trailing behind.

"You get lost we ain't coming back for ya." Bogus II shouted back.

Picking up his pace, he wondered how he was going to get out of this one alive.

"They're on us." Panther said evenly as they loped through the forest. The thick underbrush grabbed at them, tore at their clothes, but seemed to actually be making way for them, giving them room to pass, albeit with ill grace. Behind him Chief nodded. His mouth was closed, his nostrils flaring as he drew in great draughts of air, beautiful face lined with concentration.

The youthful appearance that had faded as he slept was back again with a vengeance, much to Panther's pleasure. He liked to see his love like this. The way he remembered him.

"You okay?" he asked, knowing he was.

A nod from behind, unseen, and a small, grim smile crossed the big man's face. Then a bark of laughter frightened a bird that had already been startled by their movements.

"You always want a vacation." Still loping, a steady, even pace, arms at his sides, giving the branches a smaller target, Panther spoke more quietly, as if to himself. Not that he could speak to himself privately, that was something they'd lost, but he'd never missed it. "Maybe you're trying to tell me something?"

Chief snorted and ran on.

"Foxmoor! Here they come!"

Standing watch halfway up a tree, Jenny May shouted to the cap below. They barely had time to register her words when Panther and Chief burst through the trees and staggered to a stop. Immediately Foxmoor was beside Chief, offering support, but the smaller man leaned on Panther, who held him upright.

"Crimey, how long have you been running?" the Englishman asked.

"Ten hours. We lost the pursuit, they couldn't keep up. But they'll be here in the next five or so."

Dragging in deep gulping breaths, Chief shivered. Panther drew him tighter to his body.

"Did you get them?" seeing that he wasn't going to be allowed to indulge his fascination with Chief, Foxmoor switched to business.

Fishing in his pants, Panther pulled out the bag and tossed it to him. Foxmoor caught it and weighed it in his hand.

"The scalp?"

"Wasn't possible. I brought something better." handing over the severed finger, Panther bared his teeth, warning.

"Well, we can prove it was 'im, can't we?" holding up the gory little trophy, Foxmoor smiled.

Chief shuddered and hid his face in Panther's side.

"Split it now." Panther said suddenly. "We'll leave on our own, draw the hounds off you."

"You're not going back with us?" injured surprise.

A slow shrug and Panther's eyes grew colder.

"I don't think it's the best idea."

"We agreed, Panther." now the Englishman spoke slowly. "We split up at the border. Not before."

The rest of the men fell back, wary, anticipating a fight. Panther held Chief tightly to his side, both brawny arms wrapped around the smaller man. He spoke quietly, in a calm, almost friendly voice.

"Foxmoor. We were friends once, a long time ago. You did some things for us that we really needed done. Saved us. But things are different now. We've all changed."

"Not you. You haven't changed, neither has he." both accusing and sad, Fox's voice was as quiet as Panther's. "It's not fair, mate. Why can you have that and I can't?"

"Because this is the way it is."

Chief tilted his head to peek at the leader. Without a word being spoken Panther plucked the sunglasses from his face and Foxmoor stared at the vivid blue of his eyes.

"If we leave now..." Panther said slowly. "There will be no hard feelings. No unpleasant memories to muddle the mind. If we stay..."

Stepping closer, Foxmoor reached one hand - half curled, trembling, filthy - toward that haunting face.

Panther caught it halfway.

"I'm sorry." the words and voice were sincere. "I can't let you. You'll hurt him."

Dropping the hand and turning away, the Englishman opened the bag and pulled out a handful of the glittering stones, counting them silently. He turned back and gestured at Chief.

"I'll give them to him." he said firmly, and added insistently; "I won't touch him."

Panther looked at Chief. Chief looked from him to Fox, wide-eyed and afraid.

"Go on." Panther urged in a whisper. "Give him this much, caro."

The hand, when it finally pried itself from Panther's shirt, was steady. Small, slender, long fingers, elegant, Chief reached and held it in midair, palm up, cupped. The heavy steel band slid down to rest against the protruding knob of his wrist.

"I remember when you got that. The blacksmith on my estate did it for you, after I brought you to my home to protect you while he healed. When I saved you." speaking gently, Foxmoor extended one finger from his clasped hand and barely touched the metal. "He said -" a nod toward Panther, "- that it was a reminder of what made you the way you are."

His handsome face sad, the English lord lifted his hand away, well-aware of Panther's sigh of relief.

"If I were you, I wouldn't want to remember...no matter what it led to."

One at a time, his eyes on the wide blue ones he'd seldom seen before, Foxmoor dropped the emeralds into the waiting palm.

When he was done Chief closed his hand around them. He stared, and then, with a twisted half-grin, raised the fist to brush just past Foxmoor's own. The air that passed with it was cool as it caressed him and the Englishman closed his eyes in pain.

He kept them closed for the eight minutes it took Panther and Chief to grab their bags and make their escape.

The rising grumbles of complaint from the others was cut off sharply by his shout; "Enough! *I'm* in charge here, *I* decide who goes, and when. They'll draw the trackers away and we'll be safe partying in London before they know who has the loot."

"Thanks for everything." Panther's voice was low and strong. "We wish you well, Aladale Foxmoor."

It was a ritual goodbye from a man he knew he would never see again. Panther and Chief melted back into the forest before he had a chance to respond.

"Jenny May." he said, opening his eyes. "Come down from that tree. Come talk to me. Hik, you take her place."

Blinking with surprise, she did. Hikaru climbed up, still complaining under his breath. His anger was obvious and unimportant to Foxmoor.

* * * * * * *

Running through the forest again, the partners kept up the pace long into the dark forest night. The treetops blocked what star or moonlight there might be. Only Sentinel eyes could lead them safely through this.

Chief ran behind Panther, one hand lightly touching his partner's back as their legs rose and fell in sync.

No words disrupted the flow of their breathing. Chief's feet hit the ground with the same soundless ease as Panther's. His body moved with the same boundless grace.

In the dark, animals watching their passage drew back into burrows and hidey-holes, sank deeper into the cover on underbrush.

Enclosed in a bubble of peace, they ran not with the moon, or with magic. They ran with the past and the future combined.

Seeing, the animals watched where man would have turned away.

A level of connection, a magic never before achieved, was emanated from Sentinel and Shaman. Here. In the depths of the rainforest.

Far from man and the evils that had made them.

* * * * * * *

Looking up from the counter, the hotel maitre'd frowned when the open door admitted two men.

It was just past four a.m, the party-goers had all returned, this was the quiet time for a city in the running as the party capital of the world. Not the time the maitre'd wanted to deal with a couple of filthy, drunken bums off the street.

He reached for the phone and lifted it, gesturing to the security guard that was eyeing the pair speculatively as they walked slowly through the lobby. The smaller one staggered and the larger supported him with an arm around his waist, the shorter clinging to him with something like desperation.

"We're booked up." the man said haughtily. Four-star hotels didn't play games with street-scum.

The security guard positioned himself behind them, ready.

Pale blue eyes stared from a tight, hard, face caked with days-old mud.

A large, soiled hand splayed itself on the imported marble counter-top.

"We have a *reservation*." the words were bitten off sharply.

He offered no name and the maitre'd smirked.

"I'm sure you do. Let me just check the computer..." he waited to see if a name was given, then the smirk widened as one wasn't. "As I thought. We have *no* rooms available." 'Especially to the likes of you' -- the words echoed in the space between them.

With a lunge that was faster than the maitre'd could deflect, the large grubby man snatched the thumbpad and pulled it in front of himself. The guard took a step forward and the big man swiftly tucked the smaller in front of himself, between his body and the counter, one arm brace before him protectively.

Raising a finger, the maitre'd held the security guard off.

A hint of curiosity crossed his strong features.

The big man raised his hand to his mouth and sucked on the dirty thumb, then wiped it inside his tattered jacket to dry it, before pressing it to the thumbpad.

The computer screen imbedded in the countertop chirped, a friendly welcoming noise.

The maitre'd stared.

There were two things on the top of his screen. Just two short sentences that told him he'd screwed up *badly*.

Suite 5001 on demand.

He breathed a silent prayer of thanks -- the seldom-used suite was currently empty. If it hadn't been he would have had ten minutes or so to relocate the occupants.

Customer class Prime.

That last meant there would be no name, no identification.

And that they were to give him anything -- *anything* -- he asked for.

Beneath that was a list of things that *must* be waiting in the room before he got there.

"You will have your suite for as long as you wish, sirs." as he spoke, the maitre'd pressed the emergency button to housekeeping.

A nod, quick, sharp.

"Welcome to the Four Seasons Rio DeJanero, gentlemen." typing rapidly, he got the maids on duty moving, taking the items on the list to the room. "Would you like to order anything from room service now? It will be delivered to your room within the half-hour."

"Champagne. A steak dinner. Pasta primavera. A basket of cheese biscuits and garlic bread. Chocolate cheesecake. Ninety minutes." the man revised the delivery time.

These things were on the list of preferred foods, which included the method of preparation. This man, of course, was familiar with how these things worked.

"Very good, sir. Do you have any bags?"

"No."

The maitre'd nodded, as if this were to be expected.

"Shall I have Saks make a delivery?" there was a clothing list as well. Styles, sizes, fabrics...right down to the shoes.

Recently updated, probably when he made the reservation.

"We won't need it until noon."

"Will that be all, sir?"

Another nod. Then, without a glance, the big man stepped away from the counter, his jacket sleeve leaving a smear of mud across the glistening gold-veined whiteness.

The smaller man staggered as the support was withdrawn and the larger one bent and swung him into his arms.

Close enough to hear the words, the maitre'd suppressed a shiver at the emotion in them.

"Rest, caro. I have you."

"Get the doors." the maitre'd told the security guard. The man had worked there long enough to understand all of this, had, in fact, grown up here, his own father a guard in this lobby until his retirement. Moving quickly -- he was neither fat nor unhealthy -- he beat the two men to the VIP elevator and opened it with his key for them, letting them step in before he joined them.

As soon as the ornately scrolled doors closed on them the maitre'd was on the phone. Silently he thanked the gods that the prime customer packages had only recently been checked up updated.

Housekeeping kept a package -- a box, really, for each of the three hundred or so customers designated as Prime. Packed with the non-perishable items off each prime customer's list, it allowed them to stock the room appropriately even when they had little or no notice of the customer's arrival.

Glancing over the list, the maitre'd smothered a kinder smirk.

They hadn't looked like they were up to using some of the items on their list. Specifically the lubricant...

Ah, love. It always found a way.

Picking up the phone, he ordered the food, making sure the kitchen knew the importance of the guests they were cooking for.

"So, you managed it."

"It was *easy*. He's not as smart as he thinks he is." the young voice was arrogant and cruel.

Setting aside the newspaper he was reading -- the society headline screamed "Lord Foxmoor Commits Suicide After Eloping With Lady Mercenary" -- the older man ran fingers through his beard and nodded at the younger.

Hikaru Ford put the tape into the player and sat in the wingchair.

"I hope this is what you wanted. I could only leave it the one night, and I was almost caught retrieving it the next day."

"The identity I set up for you held up, didn't it."

"Yeah. But it's not like I'd ever be a maintenance man in a *hotel*."

"You were made for better things, Mr.Ford." Greg agreed quietly. "This is their first night there?"

"They stayed a week, and then flew out of the International Airport. I couldn't track the flight." he shrugged.

"They took a private jet owned by a small multi-million dollar corporation, BAD<3. They've taken it before, but I've never identified the connection." the man waved the mercenary to quiet as the tape cleared and began.

Panther stepped through the bathroom door, still carrying Chief, who was very still and small in his arms.

"This is disgusting." Hik said suddenly. "Mind if I get a drink?"

"Help yourself." Greg waved casually in the direction of the large, well-lit kitchen.

The bathroom they entered was elegance defined. Dark marble, grey and green patterned, made up the floors and counters and the dividing wall between the luxurious bathing area and the more mundane parts. The sunken tub, large enough for three men Panther's size, was reached by a series of marble platforms.

Huge, ridiculously expensive towels of imported cotton trimmed with French lace hung on warmers.

The tub was already full, the water steaming slightly.

Panther set his burden down on the chaise lounge, covered with a brocade that matched the marble, and undressed him efficiently, throwing away the filthy tattered clothing. Chief lay unmoving while the big man stripped himself and then picked the smaller back up.

Carefully he stepped into the deep water, Chief cradled in his arms.

They sank in to their necks, and Panther sighed in appreciation.

The camera Hik had so painstakingly hidden caught them from the side now, and the man looked old in profile. Old and tired.

The water was automatically recycled, fresh running in from the silver-plated taps and old being sucked out from below, so there was no need for Panther to fiddle with anything. He just lay back and closed his eyes and appeared to nap.

After about thirty minutes of this he roused, and began washing his partner with the thick shower gel and a fluffy cloth.

It wasn't until he began working shampoo into the mane of hair he freed that Chief stirred and Panther spoke.

"Welcome back, caro. That was a long run. I'm glad you kept up so well."

Tilting his head back, Chief opened his mouth and Panther obligingly dipped his tongue into it, meeting Chief's. The two agile organs twisted and danced and twined together between them. releasing it at last, Panther, whose hands had not stopped scrubbing gently at the hair, spoke again.

"Four days without a stop. The way you do that -- draw energy from the very earth -- it amazes me, Blair."

Sitting up straight, Greg hit the stop button and stared at the screen, amazed.

A name. Chief had a *name*..."Blair"!

It was far more than he'd hoped to get from this. Starting the tape again, he rewound to hear the words again.

"-- it amazes me, Blair." working his lathered hands down the length of the hair, urging the smaller man to lean forward, Panther continued to speak. "Is that a part of what Incacha gave you? Even after all this time I can barely believe it. It's as hard to accept, in its way, as what I can do with my spirit guide."

He rinsed the hair, laying Chief back over his arms and pouring water cupped in his hand over it many many times, getting caught in the repetitive motion. When Chief spluttered a laugh he stopped and wrapped his arms around the smaller, now clean body.

Turning over Chief pressed his body to Panther's and smiled up at him. The big man pulled them both up, sitting himself on the ledge built into the side for sitting. This brought the water to just covering his groin.

"You want it, caro? Want it bad?" he was teasing, the gentle grin an expression the watching man had never seen.

In answer Chief grasped his shoulders and surged up, straddling him eagerly, his mouth covering Panther's in a hungry kiss. Leaning his head back Panther allowed himself to be plundered, his hands dropping to caress Chief's ass, held up out of the water.

It was an intimate, telling moment. To Greg it demonstrated again the levels these men were capable of. The teasing, the humor, he hadn't expected these. Or to see Chief taking the aggressive part, pulling back to grin at his bigger partner before taking his mouth again.

Greg wished he could hear their thoughts. What were they saying to each other now, as they played in the water, thinking themselves safe, thinking themselves protected by money and anonymity.

Another grin split Chief's face and he made a choking sound.

It took Greg a few seconds to identify it as laughter. He stared down into Panther face, the large hands coming up to frame the smaller one and Panther spoke, low and *happy*.

"Oh, you think so, do you. Why don't I just show you..." teasing again, he slid his hands down the thin face, caressing the neck, over the shoulders, and then under the arms, where he gripped and lifted, turning Chief away from him. A tiny, recognizable moan escaped Chief's lips as he was lowered, carefully, onto the iron rod Panther's erection, now jutting from the water.

A groan pulled from Panther's stomach. Then a sigh as Chief settled completely around him, his ass firm in Panther's lap, and the younger man leaned back, giving Panther his weight and his trust.

It was an awkward position for Chief. His feet didn't touch the bottom of the tub and his hands could only barely reach the edge of the tub behind him. Trusting Panther to hold him, to move him, he relaxed against the older man and closed his eyes, hands going around his lover's neck. A small smile played on his lips, making Greg think that this was a favorite position for him.

His hair, more silver than white now, soaked through, covered Panther's chest and shoulders like a magic cloak. The big man wrapped a thick strand of it around first one hand and then the other, the length leaving plenty of slack and then he gripped Chief's sides tightly, using his great strength to provide the friction they both craved, lifting and lowering his hundred and twenty or twenty-five pounds almost effortlessly.

Panther might be getting older, but he wasn't getting weaker.

The movement picked up. Chief's mouth was open and his head fell back to Panther's shoulder as he gasped for air, the thin body tightening, arching. One hand snaked away from Panther's neck and down to the engorged cock that bobbed with Panther's motions. Grasping it tightly, Chief began to stroke himself in time with the lifts...up when Panther lifted, down when he lowered.

He began to make small garbled noises. Panther leaned forward and nuzzled his ear, lips moving. Greg couldn't make out what he said. Not wanting to interrupt the flow, he didn't stop to rewind and watch it again.

The noises became louder, then became fragmentary words, barely coherent, torn by the remains of that voice and the passion that flowed through them.

"Har...oh, go-...harder, fast -...love, ungh, love...rea- J-Ji-I, I, I, I...Ayeyiyiyiyiyiiiiiiiiiii.............!!!" before the voyeur could make any sense of them the slender, beautiful body was arching violently backwards, white fluid spilling from his cock, clenched in a white-knuckled fist, dripping over the hand and landing in the water to sink. Panther's hands dug into the visible ribs, fingers dug deep, and he shoved up, it seemed as hard as he could, and tilted his head to bite the nearest shoulder, jaw locking as he stiffened and then thrashed helplessly, legs churning the water, throwing it out to puddle on the marble floor.

Relaxing suddenly, completely, he slid back beneath the surface, taking Chief with him, and they sank entirely under. The surface rolled with their hidden movements.

Sitting up nervously, wiping his damp palms on his khaki slacks, Greg watched, holding his breath as they didn't come up immediately.

They had been under for at least two minutes when Panther surged to his feet, Chief wrapped around him like a symbiot, their mouths fused together.

Neither opened their eyes as Panther rose from the tub and carried him out of the room, letting the door slide shut behind them, dripping all the way.

He didn't miss a step, didn't even slip a teeny bit on the slick wet patches.

Calming his breathing and repeating to himself that he was just excited because he had new information, Greg stopped the tape, rewound it, and watched it again.

Halfway through Hik came back in, carrying a generous roast beef sandwich and a beer bottle.

He glanced at the screen, then at Greg, and then made a disgusted face.

Picking up the envelope Greg had laid on the table for him, he left without another word.

The man knew how to reach him.

There would be more to do for him later.

Seldom sure of anything, Hik was certain of that. It was all over the guy's face.

~ ~ ~ fini ~ ~ ~

saraid@wf.net