Owen

Owen

Chapter 11

By Roy Reinikainen

Sam looked up, his attention drawn away from his textbook by the sound of crunching gravel in the drive. It was Jonah, his ever present red cap casting a shadow across his face. Sam would have sworn his heart skipped a beat as Jonah held up a hand in greeting. The easy smile seemed so carefree, but Sam knew better. Until recently, he had never seen Owen's younger brother smile. During the past few months, as they had grown closer, he found out why. 'The story of his life is enough to break my heart,' Sam thought, trying to school his expression to hide his thoughts. It was a tale of a young man who had turned himself inside out, trying to be everything his abusive father demanded. There was no way he was ever going to be what his father wanted. No one could. His father had driven Owen away. 'It's only a matter of time before he does the same to Jonah.'

"Hi'ya, Sam." Jonah leaned on the porch railing, almost chest-high, from where he stood, two steps below the wooden floor of the porch, and tilted his cap back, freeing his grey eyes from the shadow cast by the cap's brim. "Ya busy?" His tentative smile displayed both perfect teeth, and dimples on the smooth skin of his cheeks.

'He still smiles as if he's going to be shouted at because of it,' Sam thought, returning the greeting. 'But at least he's smiling, and ohhhh those lips.'

Sam slipped a strip of paper between the pages of his book to mark his place, and set the book aside. It was wonderful to have Jonah as a visitor. He had always considered himself something of a loner, but being alone day in and day out was too much, even for him. He'd been troubled by his reaction to holding Jonah weeks earlier. Initially, he felt as if he were betraying Owen . . . but the look of loneliness on Jonah's face was too much to bear. Even now, every time Sam recalled Jonah's pain as he confessed that no one had ever told him that they loved him, he would choke up and his eyes would become watery.

Now, the man he had fantasized about was standing before him, his perfect complexion highlighting his rosy cheeks, his light brown hair curling out from beneath his red cap. The dark yellow shirt stretched across his shoulders and clung to his chest and belly. The shirt's sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms. His smooth chest was visible at the open collar. Jonah grinned, bending a knee and resting a booted foot on the edge of the porch, causing his low-slung jeans to display the prominent mound at his groin.

'Damn.' Sam couldn't help staring. The clean, but well-worn, jeans hung low on Jonah's hips, clinging to his buttocks, calves, and thighs.

He cleared his throat and returned his visitor's shy grin. "Never too busy for you." Sam gestured to the adjoining chair. "Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? A beer?"

Jonah's eyes lit. "Pops'd kill me, but sure." He climbed the steps, giving Sam a shy smile as they passed one another, his eyes following Sam into the house. He took off his hat and hung it on the back of a wooden rocking chair, and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he paced to the edge of the porch and absently ruffled his hair. The autumn sun cast long shadows which draped themselves across the gravel drive. There was only a faintest breath of breeze, in a silence broken only by the occasional lonely chirp of a bird. He leaned his shoulder against one of the posts supporting the porch roof, and crossed his arms, absorbing the peacefulness of the scene.

"I'm contributing to the delinquency of a minor, you know?" Jonah turned at Sam's words, accepting the frosty bottle. "Of course, if one is a stickler for rules, I'm underage too." Sam shrugged and grinned.

'Something is different,' he thought, as he gestured to the nearby chair while retaking his own seat. 'Jonah's got something on his mind.'

"Do all the corrupting you want." Jonah laughed, nervously. "I think I could do with a little bit." He flicked a glance in Sam's direction before turning his gaze out to the deeply shaded drive and sinking onto the rocking chair's cushion in contented silence. He raised the bottle to his lips, took two long swallows, and sighed, extending his legs out in front of him, leaning back and slowly rocking the chair. He turned to Sam, rolling his head to the side on the chair back, wearing a shy smile.

"This is a really nice place." Jonah spoke as if to himself. "So quiet, compared with home."

He hesitated. "Sam . . . would you . . .? Would you give me another hug . . . like you did a while back? I've not been able to get the good feelin' out of my mind." He shifted his position, moving the beer bottle from one hand to the other. "I find I've been dreamin' about what it felt like to be held tight, and to feel your warmth." The shy smile returned. He took another swallow of the beer and ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture Sam had come to associate with Jonah nervously trying to voice his feelings.

"In fact, bein' held by you is about all I do think about lately. At first, I tried to analyze what I was feelin', but finally gave up. I don't know anything for a fact, other than I like you holdin' me, makin' me feel like someone cares." His smile grew. "Course, I'm thinkin' it's pretty awesome holding you, too." He looked away, unable to meet Sam's eyes and learn the reaction to his comment.

He cleared his throat, flicking a glance to the man who sat close by. "Like I've already said, I don't want to do anything to hurt your and Owen's friendship, but . . ." The fingers of his free hand opened and closed, as if trying to hold on to an idea. Another flick of his eyes. "I don't know how to say it other than straight out." Sam nodded once, showing his understanding.

Jonah wet his lips. "I . . . I'd . . . like to be with you. You know . . . naked and stuff." He bit his lip. "I'd like to know what being naked with another guy is like."

"You're really asking for more'n just getting naked, aren't you?" Sam asked, setting his empty bottle aside and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers intertwined.

Jonah bit his lower lip and jerked a short nod. "Yeah, I guess I am. I don't know what I want . . . really, other'n feeling you in my arms, skin-to-skin." He shifted position, making an attempt to adjust himself, his mouth twitching lopsidedly. "Every time I think of . . . the . . . two of us naked, hugging and kissing . . . and stuff. I get all hard." He gave Sam an embarrassed grin. "The only way I can get any relief is to beat off, wank." He looked up, as if he feared Sam might laugh at his poor choice of words. "Whatever you want to call it. Masturbate?"

Sam reached out and took one of Jonah's hands, squeezing gently. "Stop bein' so nervous," he urged. "Take a deep breath. You're gonna hyperventilate, or something, breathing like you are."

Jonah returned the pressure on his fingers as he took a steadying breath. "I don't want to ask you to do anything that will make you feel bad . . . because of what you and Owen have." He gave Sam a crooked smile. "It's just that I'm so damned horned up, I can't stand it. I've been imaginin' what being with you . . . naked . . . skin-to-skin . . . would be like. I'm tired of dreaming about it. I want to feel you in my arms. I want to hold you tight. I want to feel you when you're hard. I want to taste your tongue, again." He blushed. "And I'd like to do things to make both of us feel good." He focused on Sam. "Would you teach me? Please? Teach me those things."

Before Sam had a chance to respond, Jonah continued. "I know what you said about not allowing myself to develop feelings for you." He heaved a breath. "I'm just so damned horny, I don't know what to do."

Sam squeezed Jonah's hand. "Shhhh," he urged, regarding Jonah with what he hoped was understanding sympathy.

"Ah geez." Jonah seemed to deflate. "I've gone and said more'n I should have. Here I am, askin' the man my brother loves to fool around with me!" He abruptly stood and leaned against the porch railing, his back to Sam. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Sam asked, pushing himself out of his chair and wrapping Jonah in a loose embrace, resting his head on his shoulder. "You told me what you want. What's wrong with that? I want the same thing." He tenderly kissed the back of Jonah's neck, burying his nose in his thick hair. He felt the sharp indrawn breath, and then the gradual relaxation.

"But, what about you and Owen?"

"Shhh. Owen'd understand; I'm sure of it."

"But . . ." Jonah turned around.

"No buts, my friend. Owen would understand our needs. I'm sure of it. So . . ." He gently kissed Jonah's lips. "No worrying, okay?" Jonah studied him a moment and then nodded, a tentative smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

"What?"

"You're hard," he said. "I can feel it."

Sam pushed himself against Jonah. "So're you."

"Yeah, I have been since I got here." He leaned back slightly and ran a finger over Sam's bare chest, pausing first at one nipple, then the other, teasing them to firmness. "You really should dress properly when I'm around, you know? Seein' you like this . . ." He shuddered an indrawn breath. "It's soooo exciting."

"You don't always talk this much. Is it because you're nervous?"

Jonah jerked a nod. "Yeah, some . . . I guess."

"I know how to stop that."

Jonah raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah?" He pushed himself against Sam. "Why don't you . . ." Before he could continue, Sam leaned close and touched his lips to Jonah's, silently asking for Owen's understanding as Jonah melted around him. It was a long, lingering kiss . . . accompanied by a whimper, the perfect beginning to an erotic dream.

"Ohhhh, Sam," Jonah exhaled. His mouth seemed to caress the name before reluctantly parting with it. "You have no idea . . ." He rested his head on Sam's shoulder, unwilling to let him go, detecting the lingering scent of aftershave on the warm skin of Sam's bare shoulder. He inhaled deeply in a moment of spontaneous sensuality.

"You finished your beer?" Sam asked, knowing the answer. At the answering nod, he motioned for Jonah to join him. "Get your cap and let's go inside." He held the screen door open and spoke as Jonah stepped into the house.

"Do your folks expect you home soon?"

"Naw. I told Mama I was going out for a walk. I feel bad not tellin' her the truth, but . . . Dad's not feelin' good, so he's gone to bed. Why?" Jonah's lips twitched. "You got somethin' in mind?" His dimples made a brief, hesitant appearance.

"Maybe." Sam held the screen door for Jonah to pass. The squeaky door sounded especially loud as he slowly closed it, asking himself for the last time if he was doing the right thing, or merely being influenced by his hormones. "I'm doing the right thing." He hoped Jonah hadn't seen whatever indecision might have been reflected in his face. He closed the heavy wooden front door, shutting out the puff of breeze carrying the sound of a distant dog barking, and turned to Jonah who stood nervously shifting his cap from hand to hand in the dimly lit room.

When Jonah realized how easily his nervousness was showing, he folded the cap and slipped it into his back pocket . . . leaving his hands free. A mistake. He brushed an unruly shock of hair away from his forehead and licked his lips.

"Take it easy," Sam murmured. Jonah nodded once and perched on the arm of an easy chair, his nervousness displayed by his anxiously swinging leg.

"You're sure about this?" Sam asked, standing at Jonah's side and resting a hand on his shoulder. He could feel the muscles flex beneath the thin fabric of the dark yellow shirt.

Jonah bit his lip and nodded once. "Yes . . . I think so." He reached for Sam's hand, looking into his eyes from where he sat.

"Then c'mere." Sam pulled Jonah into a standing position, and wrapped him in a tight embrace. He could feel Jonah's body tremble, but a moment later he was returning the hug, his large hands caressing Sam's bare back as he held Sam, seeking out his mouth . . . and tongue.

When they breathlessly separated, he continued to hold Sam close, kissing his cheek, his neck, an ear, then back to his mouth. "Ohhh, thank you," he murmured, his breath warm against Sam's ear. He huffed a small silent laugh, interspersing his words with tender kisses. "This is so . . . so, special . . . I could stay here like this for . . . a . . . long time."

Sam backed away, reaching for Jonah's hand, and, on bare feet, led the way to the bedroom. "You said you dreamt of being skin to skin?" Jonah nodded, moistening his lips.

They stood at the foot of the bed, in the room lit only by the light spilling into the room from the hallway. Sam curled his toes in the thick bedside rug as Jonah ran a hand over his bare chest, and down his sides, pausing at the waist to his jeans. He tenderly squeezed the mound at Sam's groin, pleased to be leaving his hesitancy and nervousness behind. "You're liking the idea of being with me?" He asked, cupping Sam's erection through his jeans. His grey eyes sought confirmation. "Truly?"

Sam grinned. "You don't need to ask, my friend. You're feeling the answer." Jonah seemed to hesitate, all his earlier nervousness reappearing.

"I . . . I don't know what to do," he murmured in an uneasy voice. His eyes shifted around the dimly lit room, the single lamp on Sam's desk producing barely enough light to fill the small space. "I'm afraid . . ." He gulped, his hands opening and closing at his side. "I'm afraid," he repeated, after moistening his lips, "that I'll do something wrong . . . something I shouldn't." He gave Sam a pleading look. "I don't want you to laugh at something I do wrong. Pops always laughs when I make a mistake." His voice caught. "I . . . I don't think . . . I could handle that. You laughing."

"Oh, Jonah." Sam embraced the younger man, marveling at how much holding him was like holding his older brother. "I would never laugh at you." Jonah seemed to relax slightly. He wanted to believe what Sam was telling him, but he had never experienced that sort of honesty from another man. A derisive laugh always seemed to be the reward he received from his father for his efforts. A laugh accompanied by a rude comment. He hoped Sam was different. He felt vulnerable, exposing himself to the possibility of ridicule.

"There are no right or wrong ways to be with another person," Sam murmured, trying to comfort Jonah. "Each of us does what we feel is right. There aren't any rules, other than to respect one another's boundaries and feelings." He backed up slightly and grinned. "I know you. You'll never intentionally do something to hurt another person, either emotionally . . . or physically. If you do something I would rather you not, I'll tell you. You do the same with me . . . okay?" He gave Jonah an encouraging grin and received a nod of acknowledgment, along with a relieved smile.

"So, I'm going to get naked," Sam teased, "and you'll be able to see for yourself exactly how much I like the idea of being with you." He held his arms out to his sides in a silent invitation for Jonah to make the next move. "Now, Jonah," he urged. "The definition of being naked means that neither of us should be wearing any clothes." Jonah's lips twitched a response at the dry humor. He cursed his trembling fingers as he reached for Sam's belt. A moment later he pushed Sam's jeans and underwear to the floor.

Sam watched as Jonah explored him, his touch gentle yet demanding, similar to Owen's . . . yet different as he explored Sam's bare pubes.

"Do you shave?" he asked, running his fingertips over the smooth skin.

Sam inhaled a ragged breath, silently urging Jonah to move faster. "Owen likes it that way."

"S'do I." Jonah grinned, the corners of his lips quirking as his eyes sparkled. "So cool," he murmured to himself, holding Sam's penis with one hand while rubbing across the piss slit with a forefinger, gathering up the clear pre-cum.

"You want it?" he murmured, his eyes questioning, glancing from his finger tip to Sam's passion-filled eyes.

"I want yours more," Sam murmured. "I'm 'bout goin' crazy here."

Jonah chuckled. "First . . ." He extend his forefinger and wiped it over Sam's lower lip, leaving behind a shiny trail. "Taste it," he ordered. "You can taste mine next."

He watched, entranced, as Sam extended the tip of his tongue . . . the tongue he'd been sucking on only moments earlier . . . and licked across his lower lip.

"Oh geez," Jonah murmured, almost tearing off his shirt. He threw it aside, tugged off his boots, and shucked out of his tight jeans and underwear, kicking them in the direction of his shirt.

"There," he said, standing tall, his erection straight in front of him. "Naked at last." He held his arms out to his sides and turned slightly from side to side, wearing an anxious expression. "Am I okay?" he asked with a pleading puppy-eyes look.

"Ohhh yes," Sam answered, holding his arms wide in a silent invitation. "You are waaay better'n okay." He pulled Jonah close, trapping his erection next to his own. "You are perfect." And he was. His skin was flawless, totally unexpected in someone who worked so hard out of doors. His chest and belly were defined without being overly muscled. His long legs were almost as smooth as his chest. His groin sported a thick growth of brown hair, made all the more prominent by his general lack of hair on the rest of his body. Jonah's cock was, if possible, more perfect than perfect. It was thick and long, standing straight above a firm scrotum and curly brown pubes. Sam took all this in in the moment it took for Jonah to choke back a breath.

He backed up, holding Jonah at arm's length, his eyebrows raised in query.

"You . . ." Jonah worked an arm free and swiped at his eyes. "You said I was perfect." His lower lip trembled on the last word.

"Oh yes," Sam murmured, pulling Jonah close and running his fingers through his thick hair. "That describes you exactly." He kissed a trail over Jonah's cheek. "You are perfect."

Jonah's mouth moved as he tried to find his voice. "I . . . I didn't have to do anything." He sank to the edge of the bed. "At home, no matter what I do, or how hard I try, Pops never has a kind word, and Mama can't say anything for fear of startin' an argument or something." He looked up at Sam, holding out a hand, inviting him to sit. They linked fingers, their legs touching.

"I'm sorry." He gave Sam an embarrassed smile. "You just have no idea how special you are to me." He leaned against Sam, laying his head on his shoulder. "You make me feel . . ." He exhaled a sigh. "You make me feel so good."

'Damn his parents,' Sam grumbled to himself. 'They've scarred him. People like that have no reason to have children.'

"I haven't even started to make you feel good, Mr. Carver. When I'm done with you, you're gonna be feelin' so good you won't be able to walk. You're going to be drained dry, and your knees will be all wobbly."

"Ooooh," Jonah cooed, falling into Sam's playful mood. "Is that a threat, or a promise?" He chuckled at Sam's exasperated expression. "I guess it's a good thing then that I'm naked, don't you think?" He spread his legs, cradling his scrotum, running his fingers between his legs, arching his back slightly as he did so, grinning at Sam's open-mouthed expression.

"Here," Jonah said, his eyes flashing a mischievous glint as he held out his hand. "Smell," he ordered. Sam grabbed the proffered hand, burying his nose in the palm, inhaling the slight scent of a naked man. His own erection pulsed in recognition. It was Owen. It was the scent of Jonah.

"Damn," Sam mumbled. He scrambled into a position where he could straddle Jonah, and buried his face in the younger man's pubes, inhaling deeply, his own cock and balls hanging over Jonah's face. The scent transported him back to the sun dappled meadow, when he had done the same thing to Owen. But, the man beneath him wasn't Owen. He was a man who deserved more than to be a mere comparison with someone else. He was an exciting man in his own right; stimulating in so many ways.

Sam took another deep breath of the intoxicating scent and grinned to himself as Jonah's whimpers had become pleas for release. 'You're gonna love this, my friend,' he thought, as he swallowed Jonah's long cock, massaging it with the muscles of his throat.

The result was instantaneous. Jonah grasped at Sam's legs from where they straddled his chest. "Holy shiii . . . ," he hissed, as he thrust himself deeper into Sam's mouth. "So good," he moaned, as he began to massage the back of Sam's thighs and buttocks. "So good."

Sam jumped when Jonah ran his fingertips over his pucker, pausing a moment to press. It was almost as if he was making a promise to return later. "Lemme suck you," Jonah begged.

When he didn't move fast enough, Jonah smacked an ass cheek with the flat of his hand, a sharp sound in the quiet room. "Now," Jonah insisted. "I'm 'bout ready to shoot, and I want to be suckin' you when I do." He tugged Sam into a new position and swallowed as much of Sam's erection as he could, while slowly pumping his cock down Sam's throat.

"Gonna shoot," he managed to mumble. "You gonna swallow?"

No sooner than he had asked the question, his cock thickened. He took a deep breath and held it as he slowed his movements even further. He wanted everything to last . . . the sensations . . . the sense of rightness of being with another man. He wanted desperately to shoot his load, yet he wanted almost as desperately not to. Once he did, it would all be nothing more than a memory, something which would fade over time. He tried to hold Sam's cock in his mouth, as he'd planned, but the sensations were too overwhelming, and he was gasping for breath. Instead of sucking on Sam, the underside of his cock rubbed against his chin, Sam's testicles teasing his nose and mouth with each movement Sam made.

Sam's tongue massaged the underside of Jonah's cock, slowly lapping over the most sensitive spot. Jonah took another deep breath. He could delay no longer. His whole body jerked as his first jet of sperm slammed against the back of Sam's throat. He could hear Sam's startled gurgle, followed by a hurried gulp of a swallow, as a second stream followed the first, and then a third.

"Oh geez," he gasped, twitching when Sam continued to milk his cock. "Oh geez." He fumbled to get Sam's erection back into his mouth.

"Not gonna take long," Sam said in a breathless voice, jumping in surprise at the sharp smack of Jonah's hand on his bare butt. The first slap was followed by a second.

"Ohhh." An erotic shudder coursed through his body. "I'm gonna drown you for doing that."

Jonah seemed to chuckle, responding with a sing-song sound, almost daring Sam to carry out his threat.

He smacked his ass cheek again, and immediately Sam unleashed the pent up sexual frustrations of the last five months, directly into his mouth.

He recalled Sam saying something about Owen spanking him, and how excited it made him. He was prepared for Sam to be excited, but was definitely not prepared for the flood of sperm filling his mouth. It was too much . . . way more than he expected. He gulped a swallow, but felt Sam's penis throb as it shot out two more streams of cum.

"Holy sh. . . ," Jonah laughed on a burst of expelled breath as Sam slipped free. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry or . . . what. Nothing he had ever dreamt of could have prepared him for what he had just experienced. "I had no idea."

"Neither did I," Sam chuckled, rolling onto his back. Jonah scrambled to his knees and then gently rested the full length of his body on top of Sam's, his mouth seeking Sam's. Their earlier kisses, though deep, were nothing like the kisses they now shared. These were kisses of passion realized.

Owen caught a glimpse of his and Lucas' dim reflection in the bedroom mirror as he tilted Lucas' chin up and grinned. The light cast by a lamp on one of the bedside tables was not much more than a dim glow, a small pool of yellow to one side of the bed, doing little to illuminate the room. Outside, the wind driven snow caused the light from the streetlights to waver. He and Lucas, finally warm from their prolonged shower, wore heavy white robes, extending to their knees. Lucas returned a hesitant grin and linked fingers with Owen, seemingly reluctant to release him, as if holding on to a dream. Their entire relationship had changed, and neither knew quite how to behave. It was as if they had only just met.

"You okay?" Owen asked, his voice low. Lucas nodded.

"I'm fine." He glanced to his right. His mouth twitched lopsidedly. "Really." Owen tightened his fingers in silent understanding of Lucas' feelings.

"I know," Owen murmured, as he drew Lucas close with an arm around the waist, speaking into the dimness. "I feel the same way." He chuckled as if a thought had occurred to him. "Nothing a good dinner wouldn't cure." Lucas reacted in just the way he expected, drawing back to look at him with an unbelieving look on his face.

"Just checking."

"I'm listening," Lucas murmured, snuggling close. "I'm just thinking."

"About us . . . you'n me?" He could feel the answering nod.

They stood in front of the large windows overlooking the park, the white fabric of the robes caressing their legs with each movement. Owen studied Lucas' reflection. He was a slender man who, under normal circumstances, readily smiled. 'If he ate more, he wouldn't be so slender,' Owen thought. The man he held seemed almost fragile. The reflection showed sensitive hands and lean, athletic legs, while the robe's opening at the neck revealed his closely cropped chest hair. So different from Sam.

Owen felt his penis stir with the thought of being intimate with the man he'd dreamt of for months. At the same time, he was afraid of what that intimacy could possibly do to his relationship with Sam.

"I do love you, Lucas," he murmured, holding him in a loose embrace, his arm moving to Lucas' shoulders. "If that means anything to you. I've not allowed myself to explore the depths of my feelings, yet. . . but I do have them. I've been afraid to . . . imagine us, together . . . because I was afraid of losing you as a friend . . ." He bowed his head for a moment before meeting Lucas' eyes. "I've also been afraid because I wasn't sure what my feelings for you meant toward my feelings for Sam."

He ran his fingers over the nubby fabric of the robe covering Lucas' back, feeling the muscles shift. His fingers worked their way up his neck to the tangles of short, uncombed hair. Lucas' sigh of contentment was hidden by the moan of the wind outside the apartment, and the waves of snow and sleet beating against the windows. He gently pulled Lucas closer. This night, and the man in his arms, had become precious. Now that his fantasies had become reality, he did not want to move quickly. He wanted to experience Lucas' body, to taste him, to inhale his scent, and store the memory away as he would something of great value. He wanted sex, but more than anything, he wanted Lucas' love.

'Oh, Sam,' he thought. 'I hope you're findin' someone t'share your love with.'

"I'm sorry for making you think that I wouldn't want you as a friend if you were gay," Lucas apologized, as he absently rubbed a hand over Owen's back, staring at some point beyond the confines of the room. He hesitated, waiting for Owen to respond. "I was just so angry with Bailey for how he was treating you, and how he had been treating me, that I didn't think how what I said might be construed by someone else. As loud as I was talking, you couldn't have helped but overhear everything."

"Shhh." Owen tenderly kissed Lucas' neck. "You've not done anything wrong. I shoulda asked you about Bailey. I just . . ." He shrugged. "Assumed. That was dumb of me to do. Everything was so new. I didn't know how to behave or what to think, so I thought it best to not say anything. I guess . . ." The sentence was abruptly cut short. Lucas glanced up as Owen turned toward the living room.

"What?" he asked, wondering what could possibly have caused the sudden change in Owen's behavior.

Without saying anything, Owen gently disengaged himself, touching a light switch as he entered the living room, with Lucas trailing three steps behind. "I have to check something." Owen spoke over his shoulder as he stooped to pick up Lucas' sodden coat and scarf and lay them on the kitchen island counter top before reaching for his bag. "I wanna make sure my computer didn't get wet from the snow." He fanned himself with his hand.

"Hot in here, don't you think?"

Lucas laughed. "You're either too cold or too hot; never able to make up your mind."

"Yeah, I'm a lot like that," Owen agreed, as he dug into his soggy backpack and dragged out his laptop, brushing away a stray drop of water from the silvery exterior with his hand. "I just bought this thing, so I can't have it ruined," he said, handing the machine to Lucas, who automatically extended a hand to take it.

Owen returned his attention to the bag and gave Lucas a slightly embarrassed smile as he removed one last item.

He reverently rubbed a thumb over the photograph. When he looked up, he was wearing one of the loneliest expressions Lucas had ever seen. It was enough to break his heart. He set the laptop on a nearby table and stepped to Owen's side, wanting nothing more than to offer comfort.

"This is more important to me than my computer," Owen mumbled, his glance shifting from the photograph to Lucas. "This is Sam."

Owen and Sam, both shirtless and smiling, were posing for the camera, Owen's arm around his friend's waist. In the background, people milled around a white bandstand in a shaded green park.

"It's all I have of him, Owen mumbled, his voice barely audible. "He gave this to me as I was about to leave for college." Owen looked toward Lucas with a tight-lipped grin, blinking a couple times at the memories the photograph brought back. "I carry it everywhere."

"Would he be bothered by you being here with me . . . like this?" Lucas gestured to their robe-clad bodies. Owen shrugged slightly.

"No, I'm sure not. Like you said about yourself and Bailey; he and I don't own one another. There's no commitment, other than an emotional one. Still . . . for me at least, that's pretty strong. It is for Sam too, I'm thinkin'."

Owen laid the photograph on top of the computer, after once more making sure the surface was dry. He then snaked his left arm around Lucas' waist, pulling him close, welcoming the warmth of another human being.

"Lucas?" He took a ragged breath as he looked up from a bowed head.

From his position, Lucas could see the photograph lying on the counter, the reason for Owen's attachment to his book bag revealed at last.

"Hmm?" He casually rubbed a hand over Owen's back, tearing his eyes away from the two smiling faces in the photo.

"Even though I love Sam . . . more'n I can say . . . I love you too. I don't understand my feelings . . . exactly, but I would really like to stay here with you . . . tonight. I'd like to . . . explore what I feel, now that the two of us know about one another." Owen gave him a crooked grin. "In other words, I wanna taste all of you . . . your tongue, your sperm, your," he hesitated as a blush washed over his fair skin. "I want to taste . . . to . . . do . . . everything."

Lucas felt a thrill surge through his body as Owen continued.

"Would you . . . hold me?" He made a tentative gesture. "May I hold you?"

An especially strong gust of wind rattled the apartment's windows as the two men walked back to the bedroom, hand in hand.

Beatrice Carver heaved herself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed she shared with her husband. She yawned as she silently found her way to the living room on bare feet. Jonathan wasn't feeling well and his tossing, turning, his snores and incessant grumbling, made it impossible for her to sleep.

'It's not only Jonathan who's keeping me awake,' she thought, as she eased herself into an easy chair and propped her feet on an ottoman, with a tired sigh. 'I'm worried how long it'll be before Jonah and his father have the fight Owen always managed to avoid.' She saw the growing frustration reflected in her son's eyes each time Jonathan began making unreasonable demands.

'It'll be soon,' she thought, wishing her efforts to make her husband see reason had been more fruitful. 'The man can't see what he's doing . . . to Jonah . . ." She brushed her hair away from her forehead and sank back into the comfort of the chair, her husband's snores diminished by the closed door of their bedroom. 'He can't see what he's doing to all of us.'

A sign of her son's rebellion Jonathan was still not aware of was the frequency of Jonah's late night absences from the house. She closed her eyes, the disadvantages of living in a small town foremost in her mind. 'I hope Jonah and Sam are discreet.'

She thought of Maxine, the proprietor of the Riverton's small grocery store. Most people ignored her gossip. It was those who didn't ignore her ramblings which concerned Beatrice. She'd always worried about what people would say about Sam and Owen. Now, she found herself worrying about Sam and Jonah.

"My poor boy," she murmured. "My poor, poor boy."

'He's like his brother. They're both sensitive souls and are easily wounded.' Her thoughts turned to Owen.

'Jonathan swears he hasn't been destroying Owen's letters.' She squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position, thinking of how her husband would not meet her eyes whenever he made those claims.

"He's lying," she said aloud. 'I know it. She was certain Owen would write, no matter how busy he was.

Jonathan's lying.' She'd asked old man Martin, the sole postal worker, if he could recall seeing any letters from Owen. The man's vacant expression had become even more pronounced as he considered her question. She remembered wanting to take him by the shoulders and shake, hoping the man's random thoughts would settle into a coherent whole, but resisted. He was not the person to take her frustrations out on. 'Besides,' she remembered considering as she stepped out of the post office, feeling less than charitable. 'I'm not sure any amount of shaking would produce one coherent thought in that man.

'If I want to blame someone,' she thought, as she walked home, hoping Jonathan wouldn't ask where she had been. 'If I want to blame someone, I should blame myself. But . . .' Her anger resurfaced. 'I can't see why I shouldn't be allowed to have a key to the post office box!' She hated old man Martin's whine, telling her she couldn't have a key because Jonathan had ordered it.

"Men!" She kicked a small stone in frustration, sending it skidding across the street. The action gave her little satisfaction.

She looked up as someone called her name. It was the doctor . . . Daniel. Her anger vanished as he waved a greeting and smiled. She returned the wave feeling like a silly school girl responding to a greeting by the most handsome boy in the school. 'What a wonderful man,' she thought to herself. 'He's going to make some woman very happy.'

Beatrice tiredly rubbed her eyes, irritated at the increasing volume of her husband's snoring, her thoughts drawn back to Jonah.

'I'm pleased Jonah's found Sam.' She smiled to herself, thinking what a nice person Sam was. 'I love his smile,' she thought, 'and his boyish laugh. He always could coax Owen into a better frame of mind. I'm hoping he's able to do the same for Jonah.'

The sound of Jonathan's snoring seemed to fade as she relaxed and sleep overtook her. In her dream, she and Daniel laughed as they walked along the river hand-in-hand, the golden sunlight sparkling off the slowly moving water. She relaxed, surrendering herself to ghost-like images of Daniel running his fingers through her hair . . . a tender kiss, and a loving caress.

Jonah rolled onto an elbow, continuing to lie on his side. Sam lay next to him, the back of his head cradled in his folded hands. He chuckled, drawing Sam's attention. "Isn't this where I'm supposed to light a cigarette and ask in a low macho voice? Well . . . sweetheart," he said, lowering his voice as he imitated an actor from a vintage movie. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?" He pretended to remove the cigarette from his mouth, balancing it between two fingers as he blew an imaginary stream of smoke into the air over Sam's head before breaking into giggles, rolling onto his stomach, collapsing face-first onto the bed, and draping an arm over Sam's chest.

This was a behavior unlike anything Sam would have expected from Jonah, who was perpetually reserved. He tenderly touched Jonah's perpetually unruly hair, surprised at its softness. "It's wonderful to hear you laugh," he said, when Jonah propped himself up on his elbows and looked at him. "I can't recall ever hearing you laugh before."

"And, I love having a reason to laugh," Jonah grinned. "It's as if I've stumbled onto something which has been hidden from me, and I can't get enough of it. A weight's been removed, that I didn't even realize I was holdin'. I'm almost giddy with the feeling of it all." He propped himself up on his elbows. "Since I met you, I seem to be doing a lot of smiling and laughing, and, after tonight, I'm afraid I'm gonna be doin' a lot more. It's gonna drive Pops crazy," he concluded with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He looked toward the ceiling and shouted. "I love it!"

He leaned close and nipped at Sam's ear. "Now that I know what your sperm tastes like, I wanna taste it often." He raised his eyebrows as a smile toyed with the corners of his mouth. "Or, maybe you could just shoot everywhere and I could lick you clean." He trailed a finger over Sam's mouth. "I could lick your face . . ." The finger moved to Sam's chest. "Your chest," Jonah continued. "Your belly, your cock . . ." He teased the head of the limp organ. "I could lick your balls, your legs . . . your feet." He ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. "I'm really lookin' forward to it all. Besides, I'm thinkin' there is lots you haven't taught me."

"Oooh, suddenly adventurous, are we?" Sam teased. "I don't think we have time tonight to do much more than we already have. Besides, I don't think either of us have reloaded enough for a second round."

"Wanna bet?" Jonah chuckled. He glanced at the bedside clock and then collapsed on his back and threw an arm over his eyes as he groaned.

"Oh, hell. I've been having such a good time, I'd forgotten about having to go home!" He rolled his head to the side and uncovered one eye. "I guess I can't do too much fun stuff in one evening, or I'll never stop smilin'. As it is, everyone's gonna know something special happened. There's no way I can hide it." He turned to Sam and winked.

"I'd better get moving. I told Mama to expect me home a half hour ago!" He scrambled out of bed and began searching the room for his discarded clothing, hopping as he tried to maintain his balance while slipping his socks on. "She's gonna leave my bedroom window ajar so I can climb in without being seen." In only a few moments, he was dressed. He checked himself in the mirror over the dresser and then leaned forward and gave Sam a thorough kiss.

"You are one hell'a good teacher," he murmured. "I expect to have many more lessons, though," he teased. "Just so I know I'm doin' things right." He wiggled his eyebrows and then kissed Sam once more before he jogged from the room, with another, "thanks" floating on the air a moment before the living room screen door squeaked shut.

~ to be continued ~

Thank you for taking the time to read my work I welcome your email and enjoy hearing your thoughts. If you would like me to send you a pic of the character(s), please ask.