Stokes, Sanders and the Lost Tribe of Samartia

Title: Stokes, Sanders and the Lost Tribe of Samartia
By: kennedy
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: NC-17
Note: Written for the LJ Gay Pulp Challenge. Beta'd by the invaluable Catlover2x.
Summary: Nick Stokes and Greg Sanders are rival treasure-hunters who team up to share costs going up the Amazon in search of the fabled Samartian Diadem. Together they will face caimans, treacherous guides, native tribes, fearsome Amazonian warriors, and revelations of forbidden love!
***
PROLOGUE

At least it's not the fucking pygmies again, Nick Stokes thought as he hung by his ankles above the jungle floor, but this is still Greg Sanders' fault.

Greg fucking Sanders.

He willed time to stand still as he closed his eyes to recall the image of the other man as he had last seen him, his khaki shirt with the top two buttons undone, giving a tantalizing invitation to peek at the exposed skin he had already seen and delighted over and wanted to see again. How his brown eyes had flashed with fury and anxiety, and Nick had known with an ever-increasing sense of dread that he always wanted to look at those eyes, and have those eyes look upon him, but forces were working against them. Then Greg had been taken away from him, led behind a curtain of tundra into a cave beyond, into almost certain doom. Before Nick had had the chance to cry out Greg's name, he had been cut free from his pole and he crashed to the ground. And then his arms and legs had been bound again, new ropes stained with the blood from his previous wounds. Nick thrashed about, trying to release himself, his arms were quickly secured in order to inhibit him from doing so. He was trussed up, and ready for slaughter.

All he could see was the dense carpet of moss and soil below him as he was hoisted upwards to hang from the tree as some bizarre decoration. This was it. Nothing was going to save him now.

He closed his eyes, and hoped that their ends would come quickly.

NEW ADVENTURES

It had all started innocently enough.

Nick had just finished teaching a class when his boss, Gil Grissom, knocked on his office door and entered without invitation. He threw a manila folder upon the desk; almost hitting Nick's feet, which were resting there comfortably.

Nick sighed, pulled his feet down, and picked up the folder. "Already?" he asked.

"I know you just got back from Borneo," Gil said, "but we need our best man on this job."

Nick studied the folder's content. "The Samartian Diadem?" He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure there was more than one."

Gil rolled his eyes. "It's all just boobytrapped tombs and running for your life to you, isn't it? Have you no idea of the romance involved in legend?"

A small smile played over Nick's lips. "There's no time for romance in my line of work, Grissom," he lied, knowing that both he and Grissom were aware that he was just as much a sucker for the tales behind the treasure. "I'll leave that up to the academics."

"Do I have to remind you that you're an academic yourself?" Gil pointed out gently.

"Part time," Nick stressed.

"I thought you were just complaining about getting another job already?"

"Just working my natural charm on you, boss."

"Save your natural charm, you're going to need it," Gil said sourly. "Greg Sanders has been hired by the Museum of Natural History to track down the treasure and bring it back."

Nick stiffened.

Grissom smiled. "Yes, your old nemesis."

"He would have to have gotten the better of me to be my nemesis," Nick said coldly.

"He did get the Spartan spear right out from under your nose."

"He had help!" Nick protested.

"Yes," Gil tapped his finger against his chin, then used it to cover his smile. "His old granny, wasn't it?"

"Nana Olaf taught me everything I know," came a voice from the doorway.

Nick stood, to find Greg Sanders revealed above Gil's shoulder. His lips thinned with displeasure.

"She would still be my faithful companion," Greg continued, "if the doctors would give her clearance to travel abroad."

"What are you doing here?" Nick asked between gritted teeth.

"I came with a proposition," Greg sat opposite him, even though Nick's stance made it more than clear that he didn't want Greg to be there long enough to make himself comfortable.

Nick looked at Gil, who shrugged.

"And what would that be?" Nick asked, the disdain heavy in his voice as he found refuge in his seat once more.

"We're both after the same thing."

Nick looked stony-faced at him, not giving anything away.

Greg sighed. "Don't treat me like I'm stupid, just because I'm younger and prettier than you, Stokes. The Samartian Diadem?"

"What do you know about it?" Gil asked.

Greg turned his attention to the older man. "Just that it's pretty strange that a rumor about an Ancient European tribe and its most treasured artifact is surfacing in the Amazonian basin."

"The Samartians were nomads," Nick pointed out.

"Pretty long fucking distance to swim, if you ask me," Greg shrugged.

"Funny," Nick glowered. "I don't recall asking you."

"Now, now, boys," Gil interrupted. "What would your bosses say if they knew you were here, Mr. Sanders?"

"What they don't know won't hurt them." Greg waved his hand dismissively. "All I'm here to suggest is that we split costs in the travel up the Amazon. Once we reach the jungle, it's fair game."

"Why on earth would you want to split travel arrangements?" Nick asked in disbelief. "I bet the museum is paying through the nose for the chance to get the diadem."

"Through me," Greg grinned. "This way, I get to increase my profit margin."

Gil and Nick both groaned at the same time.

"Money," Gil said with disgust. "We're talking about treasures beyond price, and you want to save a few dollars on boat fare."

"It's a long way to fall from that high horse of yours, Mr. Grissom," Greg retaliated. "But unlike Mr. Stokes here, I don't have a cushy teaching job to fall back on. I have to make sure I earn my keep."

If Nick could have reached across and strangled the smug look off Sanders' face, he would have done it right there and then. But the smirk the other man was displaying revealed that he would have loved nothing more.

"What do you say, Mr. Stokes?" Greg teased, looking far too comfortable in his chair. "Or are you not up for a little healthy competition?"

"I'm more than up for it," Nick shot back.

Greg's smirk became more pronounced. "I bet you are."

Nick flushed slightly, but his embarrassment was overcome by his natural annoyance of the presumption of the other man. "So, if you came here today with this proposal, I take it you already have the details planned?"

Greg nodded, still smiling, and reached into his coat pocket to produce a padded envelope. "Charter flight, leaving Tuesday morning at 7am. It'll take us to Manaus, and then we'll be on steamer from there on as we go up the river without a paddle."

"Very amusing," Nick said, his tone implying that it was anything but.

Greg stood up, knowing his time was done. "Don't be late. I hate being stood up." He gave Nick a small wink, which made him freeze once again; then he turned and gave a small, surprisingly respectful bow in Gil's direction. "Mr. Grissom."

"Mr. Sanders," Gil said, with surprise. He waited for Greg to disappear down the hallway before looking at his protÃ©gÃ©, who was still sitting with a stunned expression on his face. "Well, well, well. Life's full of surprises."

"You think this is a good idea?" Nick asked, finally discovering he still had a voice. Although his mind was preoccupied with that wink.

"Not at all," Gil shrugged, "but, you forget I am also an administrator, and although I was happy to tell Mr. Sanders that such treasures shouldn't have a price, at the end of the day I still have to balance the books."

Nick stared at the scarred surface of his desk, as if it could give him some kind of answer about how to handle this new and alarming situation.

"But I still expect that once you get to the Basin it will be our college that comes away with the Samartian Diadem," Grissom continued, unaware of the inner turmoil within his colleague.

"Don't worry," Nick said grimly. "Greg Sanders won't get the better of me."

How wrong he was.

THE ADVENTURE BEGINS

Nick tossed and turned the entire night before he was due to leave for Brazil. He finally gave up any attempt to sleep at four in the morning, pulled himself out of bed and enjoyed what would probably be the last proper shower he could have before he eventually returned home.

He always had a self-imposed uniform for when he went out in the field. Thick socks to withstand the torture of his hiking boots, khaki pants with many pockets in which to hide and hold essential items, a white button-down shirt, his trusty hat, and his even trustier pistol and holster. If the natives weren't dangerous enough, he would also have Greg Sanders to contend with. He should pack extra bullets, to be on the safe side.

Slinging his lightweight bag over his shoulder, he gave a cursory look over the comfort of his home, drinking it all in until he returned once more, and locked the front door behind him.

At the airport he drove his car into the private hanger which had been hired by Sanders. Greg was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs that led to the interior of the twin-propeller plane. "I thought I told you not to be late," he grumbled reproachfully, as Nick approached him.

"Morning, sunshine." Nick was glad that he seemed to have the upper hand. Greg looked decidedly rumpled, as if he had just rolled out of bed and happened to put on the first things he had picked up off the floor.

"I'll be okay once I get some coffee in me," Greg replied, taking in Nick's freshly-pressed appearance and wondering how long that look was going to last when they were trekking through the jungle. But he also suspected that Nick would look good in anything. And out of it, too.

Especially out of it.

He shook his head, to snap himself out of his increasingly dirty thoughts and tried to concentrate on the promise of coffee once they were seated.

Greg motioned for Nick to embark before him, and shivered as Nick brushed past him to take the first step. The man smelled good, too: freshly soaped, and a hint of spicy aftershave that once again began servicing lascivious thoughts. Greg took a deep breath, and began to follow Nick up the stairs, uncomfortably aware that the burgeoning wood in his pants was straining against his zipper. He put his hands in his jacket pockets and drew them over his groin so it wouldn't be noticeable.

Nick threw himself into one of the seats, his bag acting as a footrest. He drew his hat down over his face and rested his hands over his stomach. Greg sat in the seat next to him, and twiddled his thumbs. When Nick gave no indication of starting friendly conversation, Greg cleared his throat as an obvious lead-in.

"So, are you planning not to speak to me for the whole flight, then?"

Nick gave a muffled moan from under his hat, and lifted it slightly to peek out from under it. "I wasn't aware I was meant to be the in-flight entertainment."

Thankful that being able to concentrate on banter meant the blood would finally be leaving his groin for his brain, Greg gave him a cheeky smile. "I dunno, I bet you would do a good job of it."

Nick sat up fully as the plane began to back out of its hanger. "Why am I here, Sanders? The last time I saw you, in the Andes, you tried to kill me!"

"I was bluffing!"

"You pulled a gun on me!"

Greg looked bashful. "The chamber was empty."

Now Nick looked embarrassed. "Well, how was I meant to know that?"

"You wrestled it off me, anyway. And threw it into a crevice," Greg complained. "That was my lucky gun!"

Nick couldn't contain himself. He broke into laughter as the plane began to taxi down the runway. "Couldn't have been that lucky."

"It was a lucky gun, up until then," Greg reminded him. "It was Papa Olaf's. Nana was pissed that I lost it."

The scowl on his face was genuine, and Nick couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for him.

"If you hadn't been playing dirty, maybe you wouldn't have lost it."

"Me?" Greg squeaked. "Me, playing dirty? Who hired that guide to take me in the wrong direction to Falankir's Tomb so that you would get there and be away with The Key of Life before I even realized?"

"So we've both screwed each other over at certain points," Nick shrugged. "Probably won't be the last time."

Tension, both identifiable and unexplored, hung in the air between them.

Greg finally spoke. "It's a screwy business."

"That it is. But you still haven't answered my question."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "I've forgotten it."

Exasperated, Nick slouched back into his seat. "Why did you ask me along?"

Greg was also thrown back into his seat as the small plane thrust itself into the air, and the comforting sense of ground below them was taken away. He gritted his teeth, along with the arms of his seat. "I told you before, to save money."

Nick took in the way the other man's knuckles were turning white. "Is that the only reason?"

Greg slightly faltered, then composed himself again. "What other reason would there be?"

Nick didn't reply. He just tore his gaze away from Greg, and stared out the window, watching as the ground dropped further and further away from him.

Greg decided that this wasn't exactly the safest conversation to be pursuing. Now that the plane had leveled out, he was able to steady his breathing again. Unfortunately, Nick's questioning of his motives and the way he had looked at him had caused a new flood to his groin. He unbuckled his seatbelt and fled to the bathroom again, unaware that Nick was watching him leave.

Slamming and locking the door behind him, Greg rested his head against the mirror. It wasn't that far to lean in to it. He couldn't believe that he was letting Nick get to him in such a way already, and was slowly starting to think that this was a really bad idea. But maybe if he... took care of things... at this juncture, he might be spared further embarrassment.

He opened his zipper, and took himself in hand. He swelled to full length under his own feathery touch. He began rubbing at his hard cock, wanting to get this over and done with as quickly as possible so he could feel in control once again. Greg Sanders hated being out of control, and unfortunately the presence of Nick Stokes was corrupting his ability to be so. Greg coldly and methodically jacked himself off, stubbornly refusing to think of the object of his desire... until the last possible second when his warm seed spilled over his hand. His mind, freed from the tight reins he was unable to hold over it at that moment, allowed the image of Nick to fill him and a slight moan escaped from his lips. Satiated, but still unsatisfied, he opened his eyes and came back to reality ' a desperate man in a cramped space, in a tin can thousands of meters up in the air, with his own cum covering his hand. Feeling seedy, he wiped himself clean, washed his hands, and leaned once more against the mirror as he tried to will himself into assuming the guise of the strong adventurer he knew he usually was.

When he emerged from the stall and returned to his seat, the man he secretly desired was asleep and snoring. Greg smiled slightly, then inwardly cursed himself and allowed his usual impassive mask to fall over his features once again.

ARRIVAL AT MANAUS

When Nick awoke, he found his face buried in Greg's shoulder. What happened next surprised him, as he was fully conscious and still chose to burrow his nose in further to Greg's warmth. He found himself delighting in the scent of another man; the musky smell of deodorant, what could have been the remnants of a coal tar soap and a mingling of sandalwood aftershave. He could almost have moaned with happiness, but his commonsense was starting to get the better of him and he realized that it would be best to pull away now before he entirely lost control of himself. Regretfully he sat up, and he should have known it would be perfectly predictable for Greg to be awake and staring unabashedly at him with his dark brown, unfathomably kind eyes. He hadn't realized just how kind Greg's eyes were, especially as when they usually locked eyes they were in competition and trying to get the better of one another.

"Why, hello there," Greg said dryly.

"Sorry," Nick stammered, unconsciously checking his mouth for drool.

"It's alright," Greg shrugged. "I enjoy being used as a pillow. I take it I was more comfortable than the window?"

"I... I don't know," Nick said stupidly.

"Gee, don't go giving me an ego, Stokes," Greg cricked his neck and rubbed at it gently. "If it makes you feel better, I woke up only seconds before you did, and I was about to throw you off."

Strangely enough, that quip didn't make Nick feel any better. He tried to scoot over as close to the window as he could, to put as much space between them as was humanly possible.

Greg noticed this, and felt insulted. And a little hurt.

Nick realized that what had awakened them was the increasing pressure in the plane as they started their descent into Manaus. He tried to make out landmarks in the inky darkness below them, but there were none discernable. He shivered slightly, hoping that the pilot was experienced.

"You cold?" Greg asked.

"No," Nick lied.

"I told you to relax, didn't I? That wasn't an invitation to cuddle."

Nick's mouth opened in protestation, but Greg was ignoring him as he scrabbled around in his bag and produced a thermos. "I don't know how warm this will be, after all these hours," he shrugged, "but it might warm us up a little."

He shook the thermos rigorously, and then poured caramel-colored liquid into the attachable cup. "I hope you like cream and sugar, because it's already added."

Nick was already starting to feel heartened by the smell of the coffee and the anticipation of caffeine hitting his system. "I would have guessed you as liking it black."

Greg had to drink straight from the thermos as there wasn't a second cup. "I think cream adds to the flavor." A little coffee spilled over from the lip of the vial, and he caught it on the back of his hand. Nick looked away as the tip of a pale pink tongue flicked out to wipe the hand clean, and gulped at his own cup.

Greg watched Nick's adam's apple dance while he took a mouthful from the thermos cup, and briefly wondered what it would feel like underneath his tongue.

"Do you think we're going to land okay?" Nick asked, staring out into the darkness.

"You're not nervous are you, Nicky?"

It had slipped out before he realized, and Nick turned to him.

"What on earth did you just call me?"

"Sorry," Greg said, his face flushing. He tried to think up a convincing lie. "An old family friend is called Nick, and we call him that. Slip of the tongue."

"Oh." Nick appeared convinced, and he looked back out the window.

Greg resisted the urge to slap himself for being so careless, and for the hundredth time wondered why he had suggested this cost-splitting enterprise. Well, besides the obvious.

"And by the way, I'm not nervous," Nick mumbled.

"I am," Greg admitted.

Nick's gaze fell upon him again. "You are?"

"Fuck, yes! I hate flying."

A genuine smile ghosted over Nick's lips. "Me too."

"Common ground!" Greg crowed. "We just may not kill each other yet."

Nick laughed. "Don't get ahead of yourself there, boss."

The plane began to shake as they hit an airpocket, and both of their knuckles turned white on their armrests.

"No offence taken," Greg tried to keep it light. "If I'm going to die with someone, I'd much rather it was someone else."

Nick gritted his teeth as another shake of the cabin almost threw his head against the window. "Now you are hurting my feelings."

Greg nudged him with the shoulder he had been sleeping on only moments before. "Look."

Nick glanced out the window again, and this time was rewarded with the lights of Manaus. It was no thriving citadel, but it reminded him that they were back in civilization... at least, temporarily, before they were to cruise up the Amazon.

Both men breathed with relief, and sucked in their breaths again when the plane sucker-punched the runway and immediately sprang up again. When the plane hit the asphalt a second time it was for keeps, and they could feel the brakes catch.

"Well, we made it in one piece," Greg said jovially.

"Through sheer luck," Nick handed the thermos cup back to him.

Greg screwed it back onto the flask as Nick bent down to retrieve his bag. His neatly-tucked shirt strained against the muscles of his back and scooped down invitingly to where they disappeared into his pants. Greg couldn't help but admire, and wish the fabric would pull out a little so he could see some secret skin.

The door to the cockpit flew open, and the pilot stared out from his seat. "Welcome to Manaus," he announced briefly. "We hope you enjoy your stay."

Nick and Greg exchanged glances; they were here for business. And the business part of the trip was just beginning.

THE INCREDIBLY ANNOYING DAVID HODGES

"I have a guide arranged for us," Greg said, as they climbed down the steps of the plane to the battered jeep that was waiting for them.

"Already?" Nick asked, surprised that as he climbed into the car and sank against the soft leather that he was almost ready to sleep again despite resting on the plane for most of the journey.

"I've worked with him before," Greg explained, rubbing at his knees. As his legs were so lanky, he felt the ache of folding them into cramped seats on long plane rides. All he wanted to do at the moment was to stretch them out and try to regain some feeling in them.

"Trustworthy?"

"Yes." But something in his tone of voice made Nick open his eyes fully and face him.

"I hear the â€˜but' coming."

Greg gave him a sheepish smile. "He's... different."

"What, he has two heads?"

"I wish," Greg grinned. "One of them might actually be likable."

"A real people person, huh?"

"To put it bluntly, he's a prick. But he's good at what he does. He's been up the river more times than any other English speaker here."

"What, you don't want to hire a local?"

"He works in conjunction with the locals. It just makes it easier to co-ordinate with someone who speaks English."

Nick frowned. "You never thought of learning the language?"

Greg stiffened, not liking being judged. "You fluent in Portuguese, Nick?"

"A little."

"A little, as in enough for us to bypass Hodges and continue on up the river without a guide?"

Nick held up his hands. "Hey, I wasn't judging you."

"Sure sounded like it," Greg said irritably.

"Hey," Nick said.

Greg looked at him, to see a hand being offered in apology.

"Peace?" Nick asked. He smiled, showing his dazzling grin and fine-cut dimples.

That smile is as dangerous as it is charming, Greg thought, recognizing that the danger actually lay in the charm itself.

More for the thrill of touching Nick than a genuine peace brokering, Greg shook his hand but dropped it as soon as was possible without looking uncivil. Best not to arouse suspicions for holding on longer than he should, no matter how much he wanted to. His hand continued to tingle from the other man's grip as he buried it by his side.

"Peace," he croaked.

Nick nodded, satisfied, and sat back. They continued on in silence, watching the city at night pass them by, reflected in the windows of the jeep.

The driver dropped them off at the docks. They slung their bags over their shoulders, and Greg led the way to a dilapidated old steamer called The Bloody Mary.

"Charming," was all Nick could say, feeling slightly superstitious and then silly for feeling so.

"Nothing's happened to her yet," Greg shrugged nonchalantly.

"She looks like she's ready for retirement," Nick grimaced, coming to the conclusion that she couldn't even be used for scrap metal. "Smells like it too."

"She should have been retired years ago," said a nasal voice from the shadows.

Nick's hand automatically went for his concealed pistol, but he felt the warmth of Greg's palm stilling him.

"Relax, it's just Hodges," Greg said. This time he let his hand linger a little longer than necessary. Nick didn't feel like objecting.

The sallow-faced man stepped out from the shadow he had been lounging in. "Relax, it's just Hodges," he mimicked. "In spite of the many times you've told me that you couldn't let your guard down around me, Sanders?"

Greg snorted. "Only because I thought if I did you would plunge a dagger into it."

"I thought you said he was trustworthy?" Nick muttered aside to Greg, not liking the tone of the conversation between the two.

Greg gave him a placating look.

Hodges gave Nick a cursory once-over, and the man felt as if he were a specimen under a microscope. "Teaming up with your main competition, Sanders? That makes sense."

"Only to the tombs," Greg pointed out. "After that, it's fair play."

"I'd watch out for his dagger if I were you," Hodges sneered.

Nick's eyes narrowed. "I prefer a pistol."

Hodges barked with laughter. "Hey, isn't he the one who lost your lucky gun for you, Sanders?"

"Don't be bringing that up again, Hodges," Greg warned.

"Necessity makes strange bedfellows," Hodges murmured.

Nick and Greg both stared ahead of them, refusing to even glance at each other. Greg was itching to sneak a peek at the man next to him, though, as he could feel the discomfort rolling off him in waves. After a suitable period of uncomfortable silence had passed, he slyly looked to his left. The muscles were twitching in Nick's square jaw as he tried to stare Hodges down.

Hodges smirked, the teeth of a shark peering out from between thin lips. "Are you going to get on this fucking boat, or what?"

He stomped on ahead of them, dismissive to the extreme.

"What, you're not going to help us with our bags?" Greg called after him.

"Not your bellboy, Sanders!" came back the reply.

"Oh yeah," Nick murmured. "He's a real charmer."

Greg gave him a strange look. "Well, they can't all be like you can they, Stokes?"

Before Nick could even ask the other man what he meant, Greg slung his bag over his shoulder and ran up the ramp that led to the ship's interior.

Nick whistled slightly, his shoulders sagging as he followed.
***
BUNK MATES

If Nick thought The Bloody Mary looked ready for the scrap heap from the outside, it was nothing compared to what it looked like from the inside.

"I'm helping pay you for this heap?" he asked, a touch of anger creeping into his voice.

Greg turned back to him. "Nick, this is one of the better ships going up the Amazon, believe me."

"Believe you?" Nick snorted. "Yeah, you've given me so much reason to in the past."

"That worked both ways, so's you know," Greg said, slightly miffed. "Shall we go and look for another boat, then?"

"Good luck!" Hodges yelled out from further in the bowels of the ship.

"He has ears like a hawk," Greg whispered, cupping his ears exaggeratedly.

Nick couldn't help but grin.

Greg frowned. "Hawks do have good hearing, right?"

Nick nodded. "They have amazing visual and hearing acuity. It's why they're such exceptional predators."

"Do you like birds or something, Nick?" Greg asked.

"I like a lot of things," Nick replied.

"Really?" Greg pondered.

Nick opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Hodges appearing before them. "Are you two going to stand here gasbagging all day, or are you going to let me show you to your room?"

"Rooms," Nick corrected him.

Hodges raised an eyebrow. "Do we look like a grand hotel? Everybody has to share here."

"Except you," Greg pointed out.

"It's in my contract, Sanders," Hodges rolled his eyes.

"You have a contract?" Nick's incredulity was evident in his tone.

"Get everything in writing, Stokes," Hodges said. "That's my motto in life."

"I thought your motto in life was to screw everybody over that crossed your path," Greg reminded him.

Hodges nodded. "That too and your day is coming, Sanders."

Greg didn't look all that concerned; Nick was beginning to get impatient, and he wanted to put some distance between himself and Hodges as soon as possible. The man seemed to seep under your skin like oil, and he desperately wanted to clean himself. "So who am I bunking with?"

Greg sheepishly raised his hand. "Me."

"You?" Nick asked, feeling the tensing of his stomach start yet again.

"First come, first served basis." The shark's grin had returned to Hodges' features. "You two are the last to come on board. Purely coincidental system."

"Don't worry," Greg said jovially, trying to defuse the situation. "I don't snore."

"How do you know?" Hodges asked. "You would always be asleep at the time."

Greg glowered at him. "I've been told."

"By many, I'm sure."

"Hodges," Nick said impatiently, "Show us the damn room."

Hodges sighed melodramatically. "He's feisty. You've got your hands full with this one, Sanders."

Greg glanced over to see Nick's hands unconsciously balling into fists. "Uh, I'm sure he'll be fine as long as he remains unprovoked."

"And time's running out on that option," Nick growled.

Greg nodded at Hodges, who for all his bluff had paled slightly at the unmistakable import of Nick's comment.

"So, your accommodations!" Hodges announced a shade too brightly. "This way, sirs." He turned his back on them and started moving down the passageway.

Nick moved to follow him, but Greg held him back. "It might be wiser if I'm directly behind Hodges."

"Do you really want to protect him?"

"Don't tempt me into not doing it," Greg shrugged.

"I heard that!" Hodges called back.

"See?" Greg asked. "A hawk."

"A chicken hawk," Nick muttered, as he motioned for him to go first, and Greg gave him a lopsided smile before following Hodges further into the bowels of the ship.

The hallways were claustrophobic, and the deeper they went the more unsettled Nick felt. It was ironic, seeing as his job ensured an increasing number of jobs that involved tombs and underground passages; and especially in the air and on the water in man-made vessels he couldn't help but feel vulnerable. At the moment he felt like he was in the belly of the beast. A great big iron beast, which shuddered and groaned with the pressure straining against its hull. A slight sweat broke out on his brow, and he sagged against the wall. His breathing became strained, and his senses dulled as everything became one monotonous drone.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and a voice spoke through the blunted roar. "Are you okay?"

He looked up to see Greg standing over him, looking concerned. Nick pushed him away almost effortlessly, and Greg fell back the short distance to the other wall. "I'm fine!" he spat, and squeezed past him to catch up with David Hodges further down the passageway.

Feeling wounded, but also angry, Greg took a second to compose himself and then continued the short journey to their cabin.

"Sweet dreams, boys," Hodges drawled, unaware of the drama, and then left them to stand in the darkened end of the corridor before their door.

Although he didn't feel at ease, Greg strained for it. "Home sweet home."

Nick didn't look at him, he just pushed the door open and stepped inside. As Greg followed, he almost collided with the other man's solid frame as there really wasn't room for Nick to go far.

"Uh, this is a little more cramped than I remember," Greg mused.

Nick's hands were on his hips, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth. He looked very much as if he was trying not to lose his cool. "Really?"

"But then, I never had to share before," Greg tried to clear the air.

"Well, lucky me." Nick's tone still had an edge to it. He still wasn't feeling safe from his near-panic attack in the passageway. In fact, in this confined space he felt even more trapped. The roar was returning to his ears, and to try and stave it off he kicked the small table in the room. "Goddammit!"

Once again, the hand on his shoulder. "Nick, calm downâ€”"

"Calm down? Don't you fucking tell me to calm down!" Nick rudely shook off the arm which was offered in comfort. "I don't know why the hell I'm here, paying a small fortune to be stuck in a leaking piece of shit with you!"

Greg took a deep breath, and released it slowly. "Wow. You know how to hurt a man, Stokes." He wished there was enough room for him to walk around and face the man who obviously had more bothering him than merely the size of the room, and he didn't want to risk trying to turn Nick so that they would be looking at each other. He stared at the obviously dirty floor with distaste, and shuddered inwardly. "Look, you take the bed. My way to try and make it up to you."

Nick still didn't turn. "Don't be stupid. You can't sleep on the floor."

"I've slept on worse."

Nick looked at the grime at his feet. "You know, I seriously doubt that."

Greg was relieved to hear the slight tone of humor in Nick's voice. "You may be right on that one."

Nick cleared his throat slightly. "We can share the bed. It's no big deal."

"Just try to resist cuddling me during the night." Greg couldn't help but needle him.

"I think I'll be able to control myself." Nick finally turned, and gave him a slight smile.

"I don't know. I'm pretty irresistible."

Nick stared him down. "Don't believe your own hype."

Greg shrugged. "Whatever you say."

Nick stared down at his feet, and gave a slight sigh. "Look, about before... I'm sorry."

Greg cupped his ear, and leaned in. "Sorry, I'm not Hodges. What did you say?"

"You know I said sorry, don't push it."

Greg nodded. "Okay. I guess I should start unpacking."

Nick scratched self-consciously at his temple. "Look, can I ask you one thing?"

"Sure."

"Do you mind taking the side against the wall? Just... I'd prefer to have the open side."

Greg knew it wasn't the time to tease the information out of him. "No problem."

Nick nodded, relieved. "Thanks."

The two men began to unpack, side by side, in silence.

NOCTURNAL ADMISSIONS

Greg normally slept in the nude, but he knew he would have to change his ways for the nights that lay ahead. Nick had gone to try and clean himself up, and Greg had undressed down to his buttonless drawers and undershirt. He crawled into the bed that was far too narrow for two tall, fully-grown men to share, and flattened himself against the wall as much as he could.

He opened his eyes when the door opened, and Nick re-entered. He also was in drawers and undershirt, a towel slung over his shoulder.

"Feeling better?" Greg asked.

"As much as I can, I guess," Nick shrugged. "It's hot in here."

"I've cranked open the window as far as it will go."

Nick crossed over to it, and stared out. He couldn't make any sense out of the darkness beyond. "I guess we've left civilization behind once again."

"Once more unto the breach," Greg murmured.

Nick turned to him. "You like Shakespeare?"

"He's only the greatest writer of human history," Greg replied, as if appalled by the suggestion that someone might say otherwise. "I prefer the comedies to the tragedies, though."

Nick smiled somewhat bitterly. "There's always enough tragedy, isn't there?"

Greg observed the return of that strange look in his eyes. After a moment of awkward silence between them, he asked, "Do you enjoy your job, Nick?"

Nick hung his towel neatly upon the small rack attached to the wall. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Greg said quickly.

Nick balanced precariously on the small table and looked at him intently. "Something on your mind, Sanders?"

"No," Greg replied, and flipped onto his back to stare at the ceiling. This period of self-imposed silence only lasted four seconds before he rolled back over to look at Nick. "Okay, you can hit me for bringing this up, or tell me to shut up... or maybe even both. But the last couple of times I've seen you... you haven't seemed to be enjoying it as much as you used to."

He could see Nick's muscles tense, although he tried to keep his tone light. "Maybe I'm just getting old."

"I don't think that's it." Greg chewed the inside of his lip nervously before working up the courage to ask. "Did something happen to you?"

No matter what Nick would say next, his body language gave it away. He rubbed at the back of his neck, and wouldn't meet Greg's eyes. "Nope. Like I said, probably just getting old."

He stood up and stretched. "I'm tired. I'm going to get some shut eye. You would think I had gotten enough on the plane, huh?"

Greg nodded, he didn't trust himself to open his mouth and not say something stupid.

Nick pulled his undershirt over his head, and Greg's eyes glazed over. Not even the golden idol of the B'rorbi tribe that Greg had stolen two summers before had anything on this man before him. His caramel tan was even; strong shoulders gave way to perfectly formed pecs, and perfectly suckable nipples. His stomach was flat but there was a slight hint of a pooch forming, which Greg found endearing. A small trail of hair around his navel acted as an arrow to what could be found beneath the drawers. It took all of Greg's strength to tear his lascivious gaze away, and to try and distract all the blood currently rushing to his groin.

Totally oblivious to the short-circuiting he was causing in Greg's brain, Nick turned off the light and crawled into bed. "I hope you don't mind... I'm just really hot."

Yes you are... no, Greg, don't say that! Just nod! So he did. He was aware of the heat rolling off Nick's body, and they lay back in the sweltering confines of the cabin.

They were both aware of their thighs touching, but under the cover of darkness, and the circumstances combined with the fact that there was really nothing they could do about it, all they could do was both close their eyes and slip into sleep without another word to each other.

The tomb was magnificent, one of the most detailed that Nick had ever been in. He had run his hands over the walls, delighting in the hieroglyphics that told a story he had yet to decipher. He looked up the shaft above him and shouted instructions to the local guides who had brought them here. They threw another rope down, and Devon Smith had swung himself down with ease to join Nick.

"Point me to the treasure, sir," he had grinned.

Nick had shaken his head. "We have to be careful." He hadn't wanted to bring Smith along, but Grissom had persuaded him. Smith was one of the college's most promising students, and Grissom had wanted Nick to train him to one day be his replacement. Nick was secretly insulted ' he was a long way from retirement, and he hated Grissom for already grooming someone to take over from him. But there was nothing he could do about it.

Smith, being younger and inexperienced, of course listened to nothing Nick told him. He treated their expedition as if it was a cheesy serial showing at the local theatre house. Danger was a foreign concept to him. So of course when he found a knob sticking out from one of the walls it didn't occur to him to call Nick over to inspect it. He simply pulled it.

The rumbling alerted Nick before Smith's panicked cry.

"What did you do?" he yelled.

"Nothing!" Smith protested.

Nick wasn't prepared to take any chances. "Get over here!" He looked up the shaft, to where the guides were staring down with concern. "Pull us up!" he yelled to them, grabbing hold of one of the ropes, and looking back to where Smith was.

He was still standing against the wall.

"Smith!" Nick screamed. "Get your ass over here, now!"

The younger man began to run, falteringly.

That was when all hell broke loose. Panels fell from the top of the walls, and sand began flooding out as easily as water would have. It only took seconds for Nick to be buried up to his knees. He tightened his grip on the rope and screamed, "Get me out! Now!"

He looked back to Smith; he had stumbled and fallen, and was trying to get back to his feet.

"Smith!"

Smith looked up at him, sand falling over the brim of his hat. It was weighing him down, and cascading faster than ever before. Nick yelled out hoarsely as he was jerked free of the sand now mid-thigh. Because he was under the shaft, he was free of the force of the sand ' Smith was in the thick of it. Nick had to make that awful decision to live, or die a certain death along with his colleague. Human preservation kicked in.

But he wasn't safe yet. The sand was piling up faster than the guides could pull him. Nick tried shimmying up the rope, but when he did so his fingers skidded, the rough texture of the rope abrading his palms, and he slipped further down again. He had to remain limp and hope their strength would suffice to rescue him. The sand swallowed his feet again. He looked up, the edge of the shaft was within reach. He stretched his hand out, feeling fingers of one of the guide's touch them---

---and he was swallowed whole.

Entombed. Sand in his eyes, his nose, in his mouth. He was suffocating. His lungs tried to draw in air but only sucked in the fine grains. He began to choke, and he felt bile begin to rise as it tried to expel the foreign invader from his system.

This was it. So close and yet so far, and this was how his life would end. Not forty years from now, with a long and happy existence behind him. But here, in a foreign tomb that should probably have never been breached in the first place. Maybe it was karma.

Nick resigned himself to his fate, and began to succumb to the darkness. That was when he felt something brushing his hand, and then he was being yanked into the light and life. He vomited a dark, grainy mass until he could heave no more. His vision was blurred and full of stars. He could hear the guides talking to him, but he had no idea what they were saying. A flask of water was pressed into his hand, and Nick gratefully drank from it. He immediately vomited again, but it was clearer this time. He rinsed his eyes, and looked gratefully at the guides. He shook their hands, and they were happy to have saved him, but they also mourned the life they had lost.

Sometimes Nick felt like he was still in there. When he closed his eyes, he was back under all that suffocating weight, unable to breathe. He had never left. That was his punishment for leaving Smith to dieâ€”

Greg was rudely awakened by a fist hitting him in the gut. His eyes flew open as he gasped for breath. Thinking he was under attack, he sat up and tried to reach for his gun, when he remembered he was pinned in byâ€”

Nick.

In the faint moonlight he could see the other man twisting and turning in a pool of his own sweat. His features were contorted, and he was mumbling incomprehensibly in the throes of a nightmare. Concerned, Greg shook him. His grip was strong so that Nick wouldn't thrash around and fall off the narrow bed. The man's eyes opened, his pupils wide in shock, and he cried out.

"Shh," Greg said soothingly. "You're okay."

He tried to hold him down, but Nick threw him off and shakily sat up.

"Nick, what's wrong?" Greg asked.

In the dark, protected from visible vulnerability, Nick almost crumbled from the naked kindness in Greg's voice. When he had returned home with Smith's body, Grissom had been almost dismissive. It's over, Nick.

But it wasn't over. It wasn't something you could forget so easily. And if Grissom had been there, been through it, it wouldn't have been over for him either.

Greg repeated his name again, and then there was a tentative hand resting upon his shoulder.

"I watched a colleague die," Nick said, shakily. Finally. His voice had never sounded so out of control. "He was just a kid, really. Twenty-three, and as green as anything. He set off a booby-trap in a tomb, and we were both buried alive. They managed to drag me out. It took us hours to get to his body."

He wondered if Greg's hand would drop away, disgusted at his cowardice. It remained.

"I know you, Nick," Greg finally said. "I've seen you out in the field enough times to know that if there was anything you could have done, you would have braved the fires of hell itself."

He said it so simply that Nick knew he believed it to be the truth, and in that sentence Greg had done more to help him than Grissom had in all the months following the accident. He wasn't magically cured, the death of Smith would always be something to be dealt with. But Greg had been the only person to say such a thing to him. And it surprised him, their line of work wasn't known for sensitive dealings. Grissom was the epitome of that. He could run his department better than anybody else in the country, but he couldn't empathize or personally deal with the emotions of the people who worked for him.

Greg managed to scoot around him, and search through his bag. He pushed a silver hipflask into Nick's hand. "Have a swig."

Nick didn't argue. He untwisted the cap, and took a healthy gulp. The whiskey burned down his throat and erupted through his veins, bringing a smile to his face. He handed the flask to Greg, who chugged down a couple of mouthfuls.

"Thanks," Nick said softly.

"You're welcome," Greg twisted the cap back on and gave the flask back to him. "You might want to hang onto that. Do you have the nightmares often?"

Nick rubbed at his face tiredly. "Nah. Not anymore. It was just on my mind, I guess." He lay back down, staring up at the ceiling and holding onto the flask in case he needed it. He could tell Greg was staring at him. He could feel the warmth emanating off the other man's skin, and took comfort in it.

"Just letting you know," Greg said. "If we weren't enemies and all, I would have no trouble trusting you with my life."

He was heartened to hear Nick laugh.

"Thanks, Sanders. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

But Nick felt oddly at peace as he fell asleep again.

He's chasing Greg through the jungle. He is always a fair distance ahead of him, his machete chopping wildly at overhanging branches and vines. Nick feels a sense of desperation to catch him, but the distance seems to increase between them. Nick calls out his name, but there is no reply. Just Greg's back, a blur what seems like miles away. And then he stops running.

Nick speeds up, crying out to him. But something makes him pause just as he is within reach. Greg is standing still, but his back is to him. Nick begins to reach for him, when Greg suddenly turns around.

He pounces like a natural predator. Nick falls back, but is supported by a tree. Greg is pressing against him, they are chest to chest, and his arms are encircling him as if he will never let him go. His mouth smacks against his, hard, masculine, his tongue probing past his teeth for entry. There is the delicious taste of skin against skin, Greg's mouth is warm and inviting, his tongue teasing. Nick moans, wanting more, his hands ripping Greg's shirt open. He likes what he sees, and he is laughing. Greg laughs along with him, and paws at Nick's clothing. Their chests, now bare, rub against each other. Then there is the electricity of their groins meeting, even though they are still covered by the material of their pants. They can't even wait to pull them down, they are bucking against each other, hard bulges meeting for tantalizingly short moments before they contacted empty air again.

Greg's eyes are wide open as they grind into each other, and Nick can't tear his own away either. They watch each other, delighting in each other, each thrust bringing them closerâ€”

Nick awoke, his groin feeling full and tight, realizing he was thrusting in his sleep. Embarrassed, he became aware that he wasn't thrusting into empty air either... Greg, asleep, was lying facing him, and Nick was thrusting against him. Nick moaned with a mixture of fear and desire, his last thrust telling him that he was pounding against something equally hard. Greg then uttered a low moan that told Nick he was caught up in some dream of erotic dalliance as well, his head thrown back, sweat upon his forehead.

And Nick could not stop. He was so close... he knew he should stop, that this was wrong. Not because of the usual reasons that people would probably find this wrong, but because he was taking advantage of the other man. He was grinding against him, getting off. Nick gritted his teeth, knowing he was moments from the edge. This time he let his cock rest against Greg's and rubbed against the hot hardness until he felt himself spurting into his drawers. Shamed, he felt his cock throbbing through the final seconds of release, when Greg suddenly groaned and Nick felt extra dampness spreading against his own. He was struck by the realization that Greg's cum was now mingling with his, and damn if it almost didn't make him hard again. He lay there, sweat running off him and before he could stop himself he swiped a finger between them and tasted the wetness upon it. He savored the taste of the other man and himself, then froze as Greg's breathing changed and he smacked his lips as he began to wake.

Nick rolled over onto his side turned away from Greg and pretended to be asleep. He felt Greg stir beside him, and his hand move to his groin with a muttered curse. Then Greg also lay still, daring not to ask Nick if he was awake.

The two men lay with their backs to each other, and it was a long time before either could fall asleep again.

THE MORNING AFTER

When Greg awoke again, Nick was gone. Greg groaned, and threw an arm over his eyes as if that simple action could erase the events of the early hours of the morning.

He couldn't believe that he had had a wet dream while lying next to Nick Stokes. He was well past adolescence, his body shouldn't be betraying him like that! He stared down at his drawers and the tell-tale crusty stain. He scratched at it and it flaked away onto the bed. Even worse. He flicked the remnants onto the floor, where they mingled with the grime, and then raised an eyebrow as he noticed yet another tell tale patch... on Nick's side of the bed.

Greg stared at it in wonder. There was no way it was his... it couldn't be. But there was no other explanation. He found himself touching it, then chided himself for acting like a lovelorn girl. The thought occurred to him that Nick would be mortified if he knew Greg knew, so he scraped at it until the most visible evidence was gone. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and reached for his pants and shirt. Once he had them on, he padded barefoot out into the passageway. He stopped to use the bathroom, and then went in search of food.

Hodges and a number of his assistants were on deck, eating breakfast. Greg's stomach rumbled. Hodges rolled his eyes.

"Breakfast's on the other side of the deck. That's where you'll find your cohort as well."

"I'm not looking for him," Greg said distinctly.

Hodges was silent, but he seemed very amused by his tea.

Greg cursed him under his breath, then began to follow the railing around to the other side of The Bloody Mary. The sun was already out in full force, and he was thankful for the awnings that rippled above his head in the slight wind.

Nick was sitting at a small table set up on the deck by the fantail. A plate of toast and a cup of coffee were before him, but he was distracted, watching the churning of the waters of the Amazon as the steamer sliced through them.

"Morning," Greg called out.

Nick visibly flinched. Ouch. That was not a good sign.

"Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump."

Nick recovered by taking a sip of his coffee. "I was just daydreaming."

Greg moved to the larger table that was set up with breakfast foods and an urn for tea and coffee. "How's the joe?"

Nick made a face. "Awful. But it's caffeine."

Greg speedily made himself a cup, and blanched at the taste of the bitter coffee that even the tinned milk couldn't improve. "Fucking Hodges! I pay him well enough that he could get something other than this shit."

Nick gave a small smile.

Greg continued to drink. "Oh, fuck it. It's caffeine."

"That it is."

Greg piled a plate with toast, bacon and eggs; he wondered if he should grab the other table or just bite the bullet.

"Do you mind?" he asked Nick.

Nick kicked out the other chair at his table with his foot. "Be my guest."

Greg dropped his plate onto the table, but remained standing, staring out at the river as he sipped his coffee. He loved the Amazon, even though it was dangerous. Probably because it was dangerous.

"It's a sight," Nick said amiably.

"It sure is," Greg replied wistfully. He laughed as he noticed a monkey cavorting along a branch that jutted out over the water.

Nick found himself distracted by the crooked curve of Greg's smile, and was also surprised about how it actually made him feel a little warm as if he was a schoolgirl nursing a crush. He clamped down on that thought, and bit savagely into his toast.

The sound of crunching made Greg's stomach rumble again, and he reluctantly sat down to start eating. He managed to get down his first mouthful before sputtering, "Did you sleep okay?"

Nick flushed, and Greg remembered that normal small talk could be fraught with subconscious jabs that he didn't even intend. He swallowed quickly, and continued, "I mean, after your nightmare."

"Yeah, okay, thanks," Nick mumbled as he started spreading jelly onto his second slice.

"Yeah, me too," Greg lied. "Slept like a baby. No dreams. No dreams whatsoever." He tried not to think about the desperate fucking of Nick Stokes in his dream, which had made him cum in his sleep as if he was fourteen again with his secret stash of tissues for mopping up in the morning.

"Me neither." Nick didn't look up.

"Good, good." Greg viciously skewered bacon, egg and toast together and jammed it into his mouth. "Excellent," he mumbled with his mouth full.

Nick watched him eat. His movements were angry, and Nick could only guess that Greg knew what had happened in the bed they'd shared. He didn't even know how to broach the subject, it was just better to pretend nothing had happened. And then try to think of a way to get out of sharing the bed tonight.

As Greg continued chewing, Nick looked around him. The deck on this side was pretty small. The port side seemed to be mainly used for a dining area, while starboard was for idling and socializing. But stacked in the corner, there were some fold-out deck chairs that he could stretch out on.

"I was thinking..." he said falteringly.

"Dangerous thing," Greg said, his mouth full.

"I might sleep out here tonight."

Greg stopped chewing. "Here? On the deck?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Nick cleared his throat nervously. "I just find it too hot in that cabin. I'd rather be out in the fresh air."

Greg swallowed, his adam's apple bouncing uncomfortably. "Uh huh."

"You're not offended?" Nick asked, incredulously.

Greg pushed his chair out, got to his feet, and headed back for a refill of coffee. "Of course not. Why should I be?"

Nick tried to lighten the mood, which had suddenly gotten dark. "Hey, at least this way, you won't be punched during the night."

"Yeah, sure, great," Greg busied himself with the urn, his back to the other man.

Nick frowned, not knowing what the hell was going on. He turned to say something, but at the moment there was a thump above his head as something hit the awning. He looked up to see the shape of a large snake in shadow on the canvas backlit by the bright sunlight, slowly sliding down over the edge, until it fell unceremoniously onto the deck a couple of feet from where Nick sat. It immediately coiled into a defensive posture, rearing up slightly and directly scoping out Nick.

Greg had turned at the sound of the wallop on the wooden deck. His eyes widened as he immediately identified it as a Bushmaster, one of the many venomous reptiles of the Brazilian region of the Amazon.

"Sanders..." Nick hissed.

"Don't move!" Greg instructed him, his voice calmer than he actually felt.

"There's nowhere to go," Nick murmured.

The snake swayed slightly towards him, then decided to stay back as it weighed up its options. If he hadn't been to the bathroom mere moments before, Nick was sure he would have pissed himself without dignity by now.

Greg looked around him wildly. He spotted a broom resting against the wall next to him. He took in some air, breathing slowly and deeply, knowing this would all have to be one fluid and speedy motion.

While the snake was still focused on Nick, Greg lunged for the broom. He grabbed it and was still moving as he changed direction, the broom crunching the ground as if he were a curling champion going for gold. The snake reared up, but Greg was upon it before it could lunge. The broom swept it up, and Greg continued running, shoving the snake to the edge of the deck where it flew through the air, meeting the water with a resounding smack.

Greg trembled slightly with the aftermath of his adrenaline and fear as he used the broom to prop himself up. Then he remembered Nick, and turned to find the man pale-faced and still immobile.

"You still want to sleep out here tonight?" Greg asked.

Nick licked his lips, trying to return moisture to them. Unable to find his voice, he shook his head.

"You'll be safer with me," Greg said cheerfully.

Nick sipped at his coffee with a somewhat shaky hand, unable to tell Greg that he was the one who needed protection from Nick. Not the other way around, if the events of their first night together were any indication.
***
THE BEAST WITHIN

Nick's nerves were still shot to hell after the experience with the Bushmaster snake. He and Greg had finished breakfast, mostly in silence, and afterwards Nick wished that he smoked because that's what most people would do to calm themselves at a moment like this. He noted with interest that Greg didn't smoke either. It was strange that both of them didn't, especially in this field of work, where it seemed every two-bit adventurer in search of long-forgotten treasure seemed to do it with a fag hanging out of their mouth.

"You look like you could use a drink," Greg said suddenly.

"It's eight in the morning, Sanders," Nick pointed out. Although now that he thought about it, a drink sure did sound good.

"We're in the jungle," Greg gestured around them. "We can live by an entirely different set of rules here."

Nick licked his lips. "But it should be me who buys you a drink. It's the least I can do, after you saved my life and all. I owe you a beer."

"Only one?" Greg raised an eyebrow. "Is that how little a value you place on your own life?"

Nick shrugged. "I guess I could stretch it to two."

"Last of the big spenders." Greg stretched his arms above his head, and his shirt stretched along with them. Nick was delighted by a fleeting glimpse of his navel, visible above the waistband of his pants, small and deep with a fine line of dark hair running down from it. Greg rested his hands behind his head. "I hate to tell you this, Stokes, but the nearest bar is probably in Colombia. And we're a hell of a long way from Colombia."

"Well, I guess we'll have to wait until then."

"It's a date." Greg's teeth gleamed as he smiled at the thought.

Nick glanced once more at the band of flesh on display, and then back out over the water. Greg had told the captain of the dangerous stowaway that boarded the vessel uninvited earlier, and Hodges had steered The Bloody Mary back to the center of the river and away from any overhanging trees which could release any number of unknown predators upon them.

"Do you have any idea how we're going to do... this, once we reach the temples?"

Greg knew what he was talking about immediately. "Gentleman's agreement. First one to touch the Diadem gets to take it back home to glory."

"It just doesn't seem right," Nick said in a low voice. "Working together up to a point, and then only one becomes the victor."

"We're not working together," Greg said, and he was surprised at his own tone of voice. He didn't really mean it, but a defense mechanism had been tripped in him. He had always been aware of his attraction to his rugged colleague, but it was becoming far more than an attraction now. He had to protect himself before he ended up in danger. "We're just traveling together. Going Dutch, as it were."

Nick continued staring out at the water. "Yeah. I know. Just thinking aloud." He cursed at the way he had exposed himself just then, giving Greg an Achilles heel he could exploit at some point. He was becoming soft, letting the younger man get to him just because he was attractive and laidback, and had a habit of sneaking under his radar. It was ridiculous. He had been single for three years now, and it was obviously starting to affect him in extremely adverse ways when someone like Greg Sanders could start to look good to him.

They sat in awkward silence, Greg wishing he could take the last couple of minutes back. It was a bad habit of his, always fucking up the moment.

He cleared his throat. "As I said, Colombia's a long way away. But I know where there's beer less than a hundred feet from here."

Nick perked up. "Yeah?"

Greg nodded. "Leave it to me. You need a drink, and I'm more than happy to partake in one myself. I'll be back in a minute."

Nick watched him leave, regret hanging heavily in his heart.

It was about equal to that within Greg, who was berating himself under his breath as he made his way starboard. Good going, Sanders. Act like a bastard to try and convince the guy you have no interest in him whatsoever. What are you going to do next, dunk his pigtails in the inkwell?

He was still muttering to himself when he reached Hodges, who was lying on a deck chair with his hat over his face.

"You stink, Sanders," he said, by way of greeting with his voice muffled by his hat. "Are you not planning to shower today?"

"How could you tell it was me?" Greg asked, puzzled.

"By your stench."

Greg rolled his eyes.

"I saw that."

Greg gave him the bird.

"And that."

"Must be pretty lightweight fabric on that hat." Greg leant in and snatched it off him before he could react. He peered through, and was satisfied to see he was right ' it was just like looking through a soft camera lens. "I pay you enough that you could get a real Panama hat. And decent coffee, too."

"Stop your whining." Hodges grappled with him to get his hat back. Greg was already bored with that little game, so he gave it up without much of a fight. Besides, if he wanted to play at wrestling, Hodges would not be his opponent of choice.

"What do you want?" Hodges lay back in the deck chair.

"Beer. And don't say you don't have any."

"I'm not your butler, Sanders. Go down to the galley if you want some." He smiled evilly. "Trying to get Stokes drunk, are you? I suppose that is the only way you could land one like him."

Greg stiffened, his hands flexing. He flattened them, with great effort. "You're talking out your ass as usual, Hodges."

"I've seen you mooning around after him like a tomcat in heat. It's pathetic."

"I would shut up if I were you, David." Using his first name should have given Hodges ample warning.

"I heard that you rescued him from a Bushmaster this morning," Hodges continued, merrily unconcerned by all the danger signs ahead. "Too bad he doesn't know that the most dangerous snake he needs rescuing from is in your pants."

It was lucky that he was sitting down, so he didn't have far to fall. Greg's fist made a meaty thump as it impacted his jaw. Hodges let out a strangled cry as Greg towered over him with his fist raised for another strike. Hodges cowered as he realized that Greg's eyes were now as dark and as dangerous as a jungle cat's. He held up both his hands in defeat, and moaned thankfully as Greg honored it and lowered his hand.

"I told you to shut up, Hodges," he muttered, and headed down to the galley.

DRINKING BUDDIES

Greg's hand was aching as he opened the door to the galley, and he headed for the icebox to plunge his hand within it. He sighed heavily, and tried to keep his hand submerged in the ice for as long as his body could stand it. Maybe he would have to try that trick on his cock the next time he thought about Nick in a lascivious manner. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of one of the staff coming in to start dinner and finding one of the bosses plastered up against one of the appliances looking as if they were fucking it.

Hmm, fucking.

It was best not to think of that right now. Hadn't he done enough this morning? But the thought of sharing a bed with Nick again made his cock sing with delight. Greg shuddered, and once again thought of sticking his groin in the ice to cool himself down.

His thoughts drifted again as he remembered Nick stripping down to his drawers and crawling into bed. His imagination took over and his fake Nick now hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his drawers and slid them down slowly to reveal his perfectly appealing cock, swaying heavily between his legs.

Greg could feel his own harden again, and he jammed his fist further down into the ice. It wasn't helping. He was now imagining Nick, still naked, coming up behind him. His strong hands were now cupping Greg's ass through his pants, then stroking them as if the heat of his palms could melt the material away.

He raised his ass slightly, as if Nick was really there. Imaginary Nick was now sliding his hands beneath the khaki, his warm hands burning the cool skin of Greg's cheeks. Greg's lips parted, his breathing getting heavier'

"Can I help you with something, sir?"

Greg almost hit his head on the shelf hanging over his head as he jumped at the strange voice. Keeping his hardness out of plain view by pressing it into the edge of the sink, he looked over his shoulder. "I just needed ice for my hand, and I wanted to get some beer."

The cook nodded, and turned his attention to the benches in the middle of the room as he hauled a sack of potatoes upon it. "Keep digging, you'll find them eventually."

"Thanks," Greg said, huffing the now-sweaty lock of hair that had fallen across his eyes away.

The cook was distracted by the small mountain of tubers he had to peel and cut, so Greg scrabbled around in the ice and managed to find some bottles buried at the very bottom. With his cock subsiding, he was now able to walk away without too much embarrassment. He tipped his hat at the cook, who didn't even notice, and made his way back to the deck.

Hodges was still lying on the deck chair. "Don't hit me again!" he cried mockingly.

Greg shook his head as he passed him. "You weren't so tough five minutes ago, Hodges."

"And you're not as cocky as you were five minutes ago," Hodges shot back.

You have no idea, Greg thought to himself. Despite himself, he had to smile.

Nick was staring out into the water again as he made his way back to his side. Greg clinked the bottles together as if they were heralding his appearance. Nick turned, and smiled.

"I still can't believe we're drinking beer at this time in the morning," he said as he took one of the proffered bottles.

"If it makes you feel better, it's night-time in Australia," Greg twisted off the cap to his beer.

Nick mirrored his actions. "Aah, but we're not in Australia."

Greg held out his bottle as if he were making a toast. "Maybe one day."

Laughing, Nick clinked his bottle against his. "Dream on, Sanders."

"You never know."

"No, you never do."

For one moment Greg burned under the intense scrutiny of Nick Stokes, and then he broke eye contact to look back out onto the waters of the Amazon churning below them.

They polished off four bottles between them in record time. They had to, as Nick pointed out, because the sun was so warm that the beer would be hot before they could drink it at a more leisurely pace. Greg then made his way back below deck for more, giggling to himself as he passed by Hodges again and imagined tilting the deck chair until he slid into the water, never to be heard from again. Hodges just shook his head, and continued reading his book.

The cook once again was disinterested in Greg's activities, as his mountain of potatoes hadn't even seemed to have diminished. Greg loaded his arms with as much beer as they could carry.

"Rations!" Hodges barked as Greg stumbled past him.

"Kiss my ass, Hodges!" Greg laughed, while thinking of Imaginary Nick's hands on his own again.

"You wish!" Hodges scowled at his own lame comeback. He should really have some witty repartÃ©e prepared for every type of social situation and insult, he decided. He had a reputation to maintain.

Nick had been busy while Greg was away. He was securing a length of rope to a mailbag, threading it through some holes he had slashed in the fabric.

"What are you doing?" Greg asked, neatly lining up their stash of bottles on their table.

Nick looked up at him and smiled unabashedly, his dimples and laugh-lines prominently displayed. The type of smile that could make a heart stop beating. "Just solving the warm beer problem."

Greg sat down, a bottle at his lips and his feet on the table, as Nick began carefully placing the other bottles into the bag. He left a beer for himself on the table, and Greg thoughtfully opened it for him while Nick went to the railing and tied the end of the rope to it by passing the loop through itself. He then gently lowered the bag into the water, where it served as an alcoholic non-anchor. Greg crowed with delight.

"A portable ice-box! You're a genius, Stokes!"

Nick flushed, then scampered back to his chair and raised his beer high. "I am!" he agreed. They clinked their bottles together again, their tipsy giggles making musical notes as their lips hovered over the mouth of the glass.

"I just hope the caimans don't get them," Greg murmured.

"Yeah, they can get rowdy when they've had a drink," Nick laughed.

"They can't hold their liquor."

They were starting to reach the stage where everything they said was hilarious, and pretty soon they devolved to the stage where even the effort of opening one's mouth and trying to form a sentence was enough to send the other one into hysterics. Nick's invention, however, worked a treat; every time they brought the bag back up the beer was ice-cold.

The deck chairs were unfolded, and they stretched lazily in the sunshine with their beers balanced on their bellies.

"Nicky, Nicky, Nicky," Greg murmured as he began to doze.

Nick smiled at his name being turned into an incantation. He was drunk, and he knew it. With Greg asleep, he reached over and ran his hand over Greg's toned bare forearm. He brushed his knuckles over the back of Greg's hand and ran a finger between Greg's index and middle fingers as if it were an act of penetration. Greg's lips opened and a slight moan emerged. Nick's hand froze, and he reluctantly pulled away. He swigged the last mouthful of his beer, and allowed lethargy to take him over as well; unaware that Hodges had been watching his every move.

THE BEAST WITHOUT

Nick and Greg were awakened by the sound of the boat's engines coming to a stop. The deck rumbled beneath them as the engines wheezed one last gasp of life, and then were stilled. They looked around groggily.

"Shit," Greg yawned. "What time is it?"

Nick looked at the scarred surface of his watch, which had been banged-up too many times on his adventures. "It's three in the afternoon."

"Why have we stopped?" Greg stumbled to his feet.

They could hear yelling and laughing from the starboard side. Greg looked back at Nick, who shrugged, and they both made their way to the opposite side of the steamer. The voices got louder as they approached, and the sounds of splashing became apparent.

Hodges was standing at the railing, looking down upon the water. He turned at the sound of their feet upon the deck. "Last chance for a swim before the sun starts to sink," he explained, rattling the ice in his glass before downing the last of his gin and tonic.

"They're in the water?" Nick asked incredulously.

"Uh huh," Hodges reached for his hip flask to refresh his drink.

"In the Amazon?" Greg stressed the last word, as if that explained everything.

"Yes, that would be the Amazon, last time I checked," Hodges repeated snottily, as if he was speaking to a pair of five year olds. "Natives swim in the water all the time, boys."

Nick looked over the railing, where approximately ten naked men were splashing each other as if they were an advertisement for a resort. "Natives also know what they're dealing with in the water," he said dryly.

Greg nervously searched the murky depths below them. "You wouldn't even see a caiman in that until you were actually in its mouth."

Nick turned to face him. "Actually, the caiman are the least of their worries at the moment. They usually don't start to hunt until night. But you can never be too sure. There's always one that wants to be an individual."

Greg smiled wryly at him. "A loner."

Hodges rolled his eyes, dying to break their momentary rapport. "Thanks for that erudite tidbit, Mr Encyclopedia."

Trying to engage Nick in further conversation, Greg turned on his best charming smile. "So what is it that they have to be wary of, Mr Encyclopedia?"

Nick had wanted to deck Hodges when the sorry excuse for a man called him that, but when it came from Greg it was strangely endearing. He smiled back, ensuring excessive dimplage.

At which Hodges choked on the ice-cube he had been sucking on, his mouth puckered like a cat's bum.

Greg laughed softly, his attention on Nick. Hodges could have been asphyxiating only four feet away from him, and he would have been blissfully oblivious.

Nick continued, "People fear the stories of the piranha the most. All those tales of people seeing humans and cows being eaten alive, and their bones stripped of their flesh..."

Greg shivered.

"But there's not that many documented sources."

"I saw it happen once," Hodges said.

Nick raised an eyebrow. "And of those, many of them are unreliable."

Hodges scowled, and stormed away.

"That was dramatic," Greg said dismissively of the other man's retreat.

"Anyway, there is a much scarier predator in the Amazon. The candiru."

"The what now?"

Nick's teeth gleamed. All he needed was a campfire spookily casting shadows upward under his features to make him appear like a ghost-story narrator, frightening the kids before bedtime. "The candiru. It's a tiny, tiny fish."

"How tiny?"

"Smaller than your pinky fingernail."

Greg instantly looked at his for comparison. "Ooh, scary."

"Oh, you should be scared," Nick warned him. "It's parasitic. It has microscopic little spines that it uses to attach itself to the gills of other fish and drink the blood."

"So it's a Dracula fish? But how's that scary?"

"Because it's been known to attack humans."

"No way!"

Nick moved to one of the deck chairs and stretched out upon it. "No shit. Dr Gudger of the American Museum of Natural History wrote a book on it. The worst thing about the candiru, is that it's attracted to the scent of blood and urine."

Greg paled slightly, and lowered himself into the chair beside him.

"Don't piss in the water, Sanders," Nick teased.

"I don't go in the water," Greg said grimly.

"Oh?"

"I'm not a good swimmer."

Nick looked over the railing again. "We better hope this tin can doesn't wreck then."

"Don't even joke about things like that!" Greg thumped the wooden arm of his chair three times in a superstitious mantra. Lost in thought, his brow furrowed. "Urine?"

"They're small enough to swim up your urethra, attach themselves in there all nice and cozy like, and then eat you from the inside out," Nick said with a ghoulish relish.

"It can... go up your dick?" Greg involuntarily crossed his legs as if there were an army of candiru that had suddenly grown wings and were making their way for little Greg.

"Well, I did say urethra, didn't I?"

Greg gave an involuntary whimper, suppressing the urge to shield his dick with his hand.

"Jesus, Sanders, don't you ever do any research about where you're going?"

Greg shrugged. "I think if I researched the places I had to go to beforehand, I would probably be too terrified to ever leave."

He had a point there.

"Still," Nick said, "It's nice to be prepared."

"What, were you a Boy Scout?" Greg snorted.

The wounded silence from Nick told Greg that he was.

"Oh, wow, but Boy Scouts are cool, you know?" he said quickly.

"Scouting is what gave me the passion to do this for a living. I could never get enough out of being in the outdoors."

"I'm trying to picture you in the uniform," Greg teased, although privately he thought it painted a rather sexy picture.

"Shut it," Nick growled.

"No, really, Nick, it's cool."

Lost in memory, Nick murmured, "A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent."

Greg looked at him with wonder, trying to imagine Nick as a young boy, reciting that with earnest honesty.

Nick continued, "On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law; to help other people at all times; to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight."

Greg wrinkled his nose. "Morally straight? That means they probably would have kicked me out."

More to himself, Nick whispered, "You have no idea."

Wondering if Nick was trying to divulge himself, Greg opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the men emerging from the water and climbing over the railing. The moment between him and Nick was broken, and Nick made his escape before Greg could say anything else.

HODGES IN LOVE AND WAR

Greg wondered whether he should try and hunt Nick down, just to see if he was okay. He wasn't going to push him to find out what was wrong, unless Nick wanted to talk about it, but he had to admit he was concerned.

Searching the ship proved fruitless, however. Their room was empty ' he shivered at the delight he felt in thinking of it as their room - and it seemed like he discovered every nook and cranny in The Bloody Mary but Nick was not to be found in any of them.

I bet he earned a badge in hide and seek, Greg thought as he reluctantly climbed above deck again.

He didn't know that while he was chasing Nick, someone else was chasing him. With his eyes narrowed, Hodges had watched Greg doggedly search the decks with determination, looking in the slightest cranny where a man could hide.

"Looking for Stokes," Hodges speculated in a rage. Then he smiled, a sudden idea coming to him.

When Greg emerged from the bowels of the ship again, Hodges called out to him. "Sanders! Water's ready for your shower!"

Greg turned to eye Hodges dubiously. "I can take a shower any time," he said dismissively.

"I had the boys heat the water," Hodges said, temptingly. He might as well have been standing in Eden with an apple in his hand.

"Why now?" Greg asked suspiciously. "You're the only one who's ever scored a hot shower on this tub."

Hodges wrinkled his nose, tapping it with one finger. "You stink.
Figured hot water was the only way to get rid of the stench."

Ignoring this gratuitous insult so typical of Hodges, because Greg was quite sure he didn't stink; maybe a little scent of stale beer but that was all, he was tempted by the unusual offer of warm water. Once they reached the jungle and the race was on, Greg knew he probably wouldn't even have time to sluice off until the Samartian Diadem was safely in his hands.

"As long as I'm putting you out," Greg said with a grin, "I'll take you up on the offer. Even though I don't smell."

"The nose knows," Hodges said with a smirk.

"Whatever." Greg decided a short time out for a shower would be just what he needed. Besides, where was Nick going to go? It's not like he could get off the boat in the middle of the river. Suppressing a shiver when he thought about the caimans, Greg started unbuttoning his shirt as he went back down to grab his bag.

Hodges licked his lips nervously. Perhaps this brilliant idea would pay off in more ways than one.

Greg entered the room he shared with Nick - their room, he shivered again - picked up his bag, and headed back above deck to the rude and elementary enclosure that served as a showering area for passengers and crew.

As Greg stomped back up the stairs, Nick emerged from his hiding spot, which was only meters from their room. This is obviously why I usually end up with the treasure, Nick thought with a slight smile. If Greg had opened his eyes a bit more he would have found Nick straightaway. He was glad that Greg hadn't, but if Nick had to admit it to himself he was also slightly disappointed. It's not like he really wanted to talk about the memory that had resurfaced and bit him on the ass so vividly before, but Greg had a unique way of making him relax and feel better. And he would give anything to be feeling that way now, rather than the pain caused in his shoulders by knotting and the headache that was forming from the tension in his temples. Maybe he should take the initiative and approach Greg himself.

He unfolded himself from the tight space. Thanks to the porthole above his head he hadn't really felt that claustrophobic, in fact, it had seemed strangely welcoming.

He followed Greg's wake up the stairs. The decks were empty; it seemed as if everybody was resting below before dinner.

Greg wasn't port, nor starboard. Nick walked around to the back of the ship, and that was where he found him.

He was in the sad excuse of a shower, which was little more than a screen set up beneath a bucket and run-off system. Nick ducked back behind shelter of the awnings so Greg couldn't see him. The most private parts were hidden from display, but Greg could be seen from his calves down and from his waist upwards. Nick licked his lips, which had gone dry. Even though he had seen Greg in his drawers and singlet the night before, it had been in the dim lighting of the cabin. He hadn't been able to see how toned Greg was. Although he had the appearance of being skinny and lanky, his shoulders were broad; his legs strong and lean. They shone in the late afternoon sun, the golden brown hairs on his legs gleamed as if they were a painting come to life. Greg was soaping his hair, his eyes closed, and he was singing softly to himself.

"The royal set sans regret did it
and they considered it fun
Marie Antoinette did it
with or without Napoloeon
And that's why birds do it
bees do it
even educated fleas do it
let's do it, let's fall in love."

Nick bit his lip, suppressing a laugh. The song was pure Greg, slightly ribald, witty and fun. And he was thoroughly enjoying himself as he was singing it. Take away the shower (and at the moment Nick wished fervently that someone would so he could get an unfettered look at Greg) and he could almost be on stage. His voice wasn't the best, but it was strong; the pleasure in the listening came from the joy and energy emanating from the singer.

Greg reached for the dangling rope above his head that was attached to the bucket. He gave it a quick yank, and a volley of water fell heavily upon him. Nick was treated to a view of his dusky nipples, which pebbled as soon as the water touched them, the way Nick imagined they would were they to fall victim beneath his tongue.

"Like what you see?" a nasal voice inquired.

Nick knew who it was before he turned. Only one person could personify the personality of a weasel with so few words in such a snide tone. "What, Hodges?"

"I wasn't aware Sanders was putting on a show. I would have sold tickets. Never pass up a business opportunity." Hodges was royally pissed that his plan to spy upon Greg had been crashed by the one man who would probably get the real thing unless Hodges managed to stop him.

Nick didn't bother to deny it, he just stared Hodges down.

For once, Hodges didn't flinch. "Cat got your tongue, Stokes?"

"Nope."

"So what are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing."

"What does it look like to you, Hodges?"

"Like you were salivating over my boss."

"Well, you're wrong." Nick turned to move away, but Hodges grabbed him by the upper arm.

"You're wasting your time, Stokes. You may be a fairy, but Sanders is as straight as they come."

Nick's eyes turned to steel, and there was no mistaking the tone in his voice. "I would get that hand off me if I were you, Hodges. Right now, in fact."

Hodges did so, but didn't move away, as if he couldn't bear to let it drop.

Nick continued. "And if I ever hear you use that word again, you'll be asking your grandmother if you can borrow her spare teeth."

"I know it must upset you that Sanders won't be falling at your feet any time soon, but there's no need to resort to violence." Hodges' resorting to faux pleasantry was even worse than his blatant assholery.

Nick recoiled in disgust, but realized he was already up against the wall. "How do you know so much about Greg's personal life, anyway?"

Hodges relaxed as he knew that the fact he hadn't been hit yet meant he was safe for a while longer. "I've worked with him enough times to know he has a girl in every port. He's a real ladies' man. He ain't looking for a lady-man."

He had let down his guard too soon. Nick's fist thumped into his jaw in almost exactly the same place that Greg's had earlier. Hodges hit the floor and moaned as Nick leant over him and murmured, "So, how many times has he rejected you, Hodges?"

Hodges couldn't even make a reply.

Satisfied that he had struck the right nerve, Nick stepped deliberately over Hodges' prone body and made his way back down below decks.

Still blinded by shampoo that had gotten in his eyes, Greg tried to wipe them clean while alerted by the sounds happening not that far from him. "Is someone there?" he asked, feeling vulnerable. Which he could not be blamed for, seeing he was blind and naked on a deck upon which he had battled a poisonous snake only hours before.

Hodges scuttled away quietly, holding his aching jaw.

Greg managed to pry his eyes open and ascertain that he was alone on the deck. He reached for his towel, and started drying himself, anxious to be dressed and find Nick once and for all.

SECOND NIGHT ON THE AMAZON

Greg felt much better for finally having had a shower and a change into fresh clothes. Back on his game, he hunted for Nick again.

This time, the other man wasn't too difficult to find. He was on the stern, silhouetted against the dusk. Once more, his manly form took Greg's breath away.

Somehow, he managed to speak. "Hey, I've been looking for you."

Nick turned. "You found me."

Greg sidled up to him at the railing. "Were you hiding?"

Nick shook his head.

"You took off in a hurry."

"I had to take a leak."

"Oh, an urgent piss," Greg nodded sagely, hiding his smile. "But you were nowhere to be found afterwards. Do you have a urinary problem?"

Nick turned to stare at him, his mouth agape and his brown furrowed. "You really want to talk about my piss?"

"Only if your piss is the issue." Greg gave a small laugh. "Piss, issue. Oh, come on!"

But Nick didn't laugh.

Greg leaned his back against the railing. "Okay, I'll drop the subject."

"Thank you," Nick said gratefully, looking back upon the water.

Greg counted to five, then asked, "So, what's really the problem?"

"Greg! Drop it!"

The other man held up his hands in laconic defeat. "Fine, fine. But I know you're lying. And you acted before like you wanted to say something."

"You have a vivid imagination." Nick stiffened, as he made out some dark shapes moving along with the boat. He poked Greg in the ribs, and when he turned, pointed out to their left. "See them?"

Greg reached for a lantern, and swung it out over the water. Tiny pinpoints of light suddenly shone in the darkening river, illuminated eyes that were telltale signs they were not alone. "Caimans."

"I guess it's the right time of day for them. The river belongs to them now."

Greg couldn't restrain his shiver. "It always belongs to them."

Nick looked at him, his expression softening as he realised he was not the only man with a secret dread. "Now you're the one with the problem."

Greg stared at his feet, his voice small. "I've seen a man ripped apart by caimans. He fell overboard, and they killed him before we even could reach out to drag him back into the boat."

"I'm sorry," Nick said.

Greg shrugged. "It's a sound I'll never forget. He sounded like an animal as he screamed for help that we couldn't give. And yet, we could still hear the teeth ripping the flesh, and the clinking sound they made as they hit bone. There wasn't enough left of him to even recover to take back home to his family. Whatever shreds there were just sank to the bottom of the river."

Nick reached out and placed his hand on Greg's arm. "I guess we've both watched colleagues die. Why didn't you say anything the other night?"

"Yeah, try to match your pain," Greg scoffed. "It wasn't time to one-up you, Nick."

Nick found himself oddly touched by that sentiment, as he realized once again that he didn't know Greg Sanders as well as he thought he did. He held his breath, keeping his hand in place. Greg didn't move away, but remained where he stood, relishing the warmth of Nick's touch.

"Do you know what?" Nick asked.

"What?"

"I think we could use another beer."

Greg grinned. "Or two. Hell yeah."

And so it was that the drinking continued again. They nursed their beers throughout dinner; and as the sky continued to darken, beer was shared amongst the rest of the crew. Hodges had not even emerged for the meal, and he didn't for the party either. Both Nick and Greg wondered separately if their punches had anything to do with it, and just as quickly dismissed it as they didn't even really care. Hodges not being around made things more comfortable for everybody, themselves included.

By the time the other men started throwing their empty bottles at the caimans, laughing uproariously whenever one struck their target, Nick and Greg had long tired of the extra company. Nick tried vainly to persuade the men from polluting the river and antagonizing the wildlife, but he didn't get very far with them as they simply laughed at his earnest proselytizing. It took Greg's stepping in as bossman to get them to stop, although he guessed they would probably start up again as soon as he left the deck.

Neither of them realized how drunk they were until they stood to make their way back to their room. They fell against each other, laughing like schoolboys who were scared of being caught out by their parents. They tried to assist each other down the stairs, but by being equally intoxicated they only succeeded in tripping each other up. Nick held onto the railing for dear life, while Greg fell heavily on his ass and wiped the tears from his eyes. His ribs hurt from laughing, and they pulled slightly as Nick's hands closed over his to hoist him back up again.

"You okay?" Nick giggled.

"Fine," was all Greg could formulate by way of response.

Greg kicked their door open, tossing off his shoes as he entered. He crawled onto their bed, practically asleep already.

"You can't sleep dressed like that," Nick protested, his drunken sense of decorum offended.

"Yes I can," Greg murmured, as his head hit the pillow and he closed his eyes.

"You'll be too hot."

"I am hot."

"Yes, Sanders, yes, you are," Nick made a level of sarcasm filter through his tone so Greg wouldn't realise how seriously he meant that.

Greg opened one eye. "You're doubting my hotness?"

"Not at all," Nick began unlacing his boots.

Greg sat up, his eyes half-lidded still, as he unbuttoned his shirt. Nick cursed the presence of an undershirt beneath it, then his eyes widened as Greg yanked that over his head too and lay back on the bed bare-chested. Nick was treated to the full view that he had been denied earlier that afternoon, and he felt his hands start to twitch as they yearned to move of their own accord and rub over the smooth skin of the pecs and up to the light golden fuzz on Greg's shoulders. Nick's cock twitched, and he busied himself by unbuttoning his own shirt.

"Do you like what you see?" Greg asked drunkenly, unbuttoning his pants, and pulling them past his hips, exposing the hem of his drawers. His eyes rolled back, his hands went limp, and a drunken snore began to issue from his lips.

Nick began to feel he could breathe again. Not sure if he was doing the right thing, he began to pull Greg's pants free from his body. When they came loose he folded them up neatly along with the discarded shirt and singlet, and placed them on the small table. Greg continued to snore as Nick undressed down to his drawers, and snuck one more glance at the beautiful man in his bed, before he dimmed the lantern and crawled in beside Greg.

The fire of the alcohol in his system gave Nick the confidence to reach out to Greg, and pull him into his arms. Nick shivered with forbidden pleasure as he felt the warm skin of another man's chest against his own. But when Greg's snoring suddenly ceased, Nick's blood turned to ice. He wasn't sure how much time passed; but after what seemed like a lifetime Greg's arms wrapped around him, and he rolled deeper into Nick's embrace, his snoring starting up again. Nick smiled in the dark, and gently stroked the skin on Greg's back. Greg's head burrowed into his shoulder, and his hair ticked Nick's chin. Nick drifted off to sleep, happier than he had been in a long time.

A couple of hours later, the door to their bedroom opened, and Hodges peered in. He surveyed the two men lying completely entwined in one another, and his lips thinned with displeasure. He backed out, and closed the door quietly behind him.
***
Next part of Stokes, Sanders and the Lost Tribe of Samartia.

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