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Wasting no time, Smith holstered his rifle, grabbed his radio off the tree, and started climbing. When he was halfway to Fal’ran’s position, Fal’ran caught a flash of movement behind him. In the time it took Fal’ran to aim down sights and move his finger to the trigger, two klah’eel shot out from behind a tree.
Fal’ran tagged them each three times in the chest before they fired a shot. “Dead!”
“Good work.” Smith pulled up to Fal’ran’s branch and stuck his radio to it. “Bar’in—”
“I see ‘em,” Bar’in replied in a steady, business-like voice. Someone was settling into their sniper role with uncanny comfort. “They were Squad J. Means there should only be one more left.”
Smith jerked his radio back up and tossed his head up the tree. “Keep climbing, Fal’ran. All the way up this time.”
Fal’ran hated to leave Smith so exposed, but he had the totem, so he raced up into the canopy. He called back as soon as he clambered onto the top branch. “Get your ass up here, Smith.”
Bar’in’s voice came through the radio as soon as Fal’ran stuck it to the tree. “I have a visual on Smith. And—oh fuck, the last man.”
“Where?” Fal’ran cursed the damn leaves blocking his view of anything but Smith climbing toward him.
“You don’t have an angle, shit, I don’t have—” Bar’in didn’t finish his sentence.
“Bar’in.” Fal’ran throttled his snarl to a hiss before he gave away his position. “Where the fuck did you go?” His fist shook on the radio as he stared at Smith and willed him faster.
“Okay, I got it, get Smith up, get him up, get him up, Fal’ran.” Bar’in’s voice crackled back through with a tight note of urgency. “Fal’ran, get him—”
Smith was still out of reach, so Fal’ran grabbed a rope and swung off the branch toward him. He crashed into Smith, hooked an arm around his waist, and ripped him off the ladder. The short slack of the rope wrapped them around the trunk and smashed them into its other side. Gunshots thundered across the jungle, and fake bullets slammed into the bark where Smith had been half a moment ago.
“Holy fuck, Fal’ran.” Smith caught Fal’ran’s sides before they over-balanced, shock and anger spiking out of his scent.
“Stay down.” Fal’ran crowded him against the rough bark and curled his body around him as gunshots fired off all around them. He felt the moment Smith realized what was happening. His hand on Fal’ran’s side clutched him closer to the cover of the tree and his other went for his sidearm.
After a handful of seconds that stretched for hours, the gunshots stopped, and Bar’in crowed from an unseen place far from where he’d originally set up. “Dead!”
Fal’ran blew a relieved breath, and his body loosened. “That’s Squad J done.”
“Two more to go.” Smith’s grip on Fal’ran’s side jerked as though he’d tried to both push and pull Fal’ran.
Fal’ran lifted his head from its protective curl and looked down at his captain. He felt Smith’s heart pounding through his own chest and saw in Smith’s clear blue eyes that he was just as suddenly and overwhelmingly aware of the press of their bodies as Fal’ran was. They both still shook with the adrenaline of the near miss, and Fal’ran’s blood pumped in his veins.
Rain and leather filled Fal’ran’s nostrils and Fal’ran dropped his forehead to Smith’s and growled in the back of his throat.
“Fal—” Smith clamped his teeth down on Fal’ran’s name as Fal’ran felt the unmistakable pressure of Smith’s cock hardening behind his uniform pants.
“Smith.” Fal’ran turned his nose into the human’s hair and inhaled again—breathing in the metallic tang of gunpowder with the sweet scent of rain. He rolled his hips on an instinct that overpowered how much he fucking knew this was not the time.
“Oh god.” Smith’s hand spasmed against him as he thrusted up against Fal’ran. “Fuck—stop.” Smith splayed a palm across the center of Fal’ran’s chest and pushed him away. “This is not—”
“Tar, get him out!” Bar’in shouted through the radio. A second later, an explosion ripped through the copse.
“Shit.” Fal’ran backed off Smith and grabbed for the branch above their head.
Smith popped onto it behind him and grabbed the radio. “Sound off!”
Fal’ran braced himself against the trunk to stand and scan their surroundings. Smoke and dust billowed from the far side of the copse. Or rather, from where the copse had been. Where Sazahk had been. “Fuck!”
“Fal’ran! Ground!” Fal’ran followed Smith’s finger to the jungle floor. He glimpsed Sazahk’s pale hair streaking past their tree, then Tar backed into his field of view, firing controlled bursts into the jungle. “Help them, I’ll find Bar’in.”
Fal’ran didn’t question him. He grabbed the rope and dropped like a stone. Three of them. All klah’eel. Two behind a tree. One out in the open. That was all Fal’ran identified in the split second it took to slide down the rope, the rough texture burning his palms.
He landed his boots on the shoulders of the klah’eel out in the open and the man crumpled beneath him with a yell. Tar peppered the man with bullets that burst into sprays of red paint and Fal’ran wrote him off as dead. He threw himself behind a tree, realizing too late he’d picked the wrong one.
The bladeless end of a gatlung caught him under the chin and cracked his head back.
