Owen

Owen

by Roy Reinikainen

"I'm gonna miss you," Jonah murmured, nuzzling one of Sam's ears. The room smelled of perspiration and sex. In two days time, Sam was leaving to visit Owen, and Jonah found himself with mixed feelings. He envied Sam because he would be seeing Owen; yet at the same time, he was bothered by exactly the same thing . . . Sam would be seeing Owen, the man who seemed to hover in the background of his thoughts, just as he did Sam's.

Sam turned his head and met Jonah's waiting lips. "I'm going to miss you too, my handsome friend."

'I love my brother,' Jonah thought, even as his tongue met Sam's. 'I love Sam, yet he calls me a friend. Am I no more to him?' He sighed, snuggling closer, soaking in the warmth of the man who lay next to him, knowing the bed would seem empty and cold once Sam left. 'I knew it was going to be difficult when Sam and Owen reconnected, but here I am feeling like this and he hasn't even left yet.'

"How are we going to handle what has happened between us, Sam?" Jonah murmured, his face buried in the crook of Sam's neck. "I never intended for things to go as far as they have."

Sam's soft voice silenced him. "Shhhh." His voice was barely more than a whisper, surely as much a caress as his touch. "I know." There was a lengthy pause. "I know."

"Sam?" The single word hung in the darkened room.

"Hmm?"

"I don't know what to think . . . what's gonna happen." came the response. Sam could hear the man lying at his side, swallow. "When you come back . . . I don't know if anything'll be the same." He sniffed. "I'm feelin' like I just found you, and now," he swallowed. "It's like I'm losing you, all at the same time."

Sam urged Jonah to lie on top of him. Somehow, the weight of the man and his scent were as comforting as the taste of his tongue and breath against his sweaty skin. "You'll never lose me, Jonah." He tenderly kissed the younger man's lips as he tenderly ran his hands over Jonah's bare back and buttocks. "No matter what, I will always love you."

Jonah propped himself up, Sam's face only a grey shadow in the darkness. "You . . . you just said you love me," he choked. "You've never said that before. So I . . ." He hesitated, trying to regain control of his voice. "So, I am more than just a friend to you?"

Sam pulled Jonah close, feeling a hot tear drop from above. "Of course you are. I have loved you since the first time we hugged and you cried on my shoulder." He nuzzled Jonah's ear, inhaled the clean scent of hishair, and planted a row of kisses from his collarbone to his earlobe, where he murmured. "I always have, and I always will."

"But . . ."

"Shhh." He tightened his embrace. "There are no buts."

"There are," Jonah insisted, regaining control of his voice. "I will not come between you and my brother." There was a long pause. "Though, I guess laying here with you, like this, means I already have."

"Things will work out. Don't go fretting about things that may never happen."

"I'll miss you," Jonah murmured, sounding like his youngest sister. "Come back to me, Sam. With all the stuff goin' on at home with Pops n'all, bein' around you makes me feel secure. Without you, I'd feel . . . all adrift." He gave Sam a lingering kiss, then slid to Sam's side.

"Things'll work out." Sam reached for Jonah's hand and tenderly kissed it. "We're both going to be happy. I can feel it."

Corey opened one eye and grinned when he saw Bailey watching him. "G'morning, handsome," he said, as he languorously stretched, before scooting closer, to kiss Bailey's neck. The white sheet clung to both mounds of Corey's buttocks, tucked slightly between the two mounds of muscle. "I'm glad you could stay the night."

Bailey turned his head to face the man with the tousled hair at his side, and grinned, still not quite believing his good fortune. Corey naked, had proved to be everything . . . and more, than his tight polo shirt and slacks would have suggested. His chest, composed of slabs of tanned muscle, highlighted by two small nipples, rose, fell, and rippled its way to a slender waist. A narrow trail of hair began at his navel, crossed a small expanse of tanned skin, then spread as it became a mass of thick pubic hair surrounding, what was now, a limp penis. Last night though, the penis was anything but limp, as it filled Bailey's mouth, both with itself, but also the constant flow of pre-cum and thick sperm. "Thanks for inviting me to stay," Bailey murmured, "and for all the lessons." He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "When you told me you were going to give me lessons, I thought they'd include only how to dance. I never imagined . . .

Corey made an amused sound deep in his throat as he rolled onto Bailey and began to give him a tender kiss. "You sure are fun," he murmured, moving his hips slightly to stimulate both his and Bailey's cocks, as he nuzzled the crook of Bailey's neck.

"Me?" Bailey couldn't help himself. No one had ever called him fun. He'd been called obnoxious, repulsive, revolting, and intolerable, but never fun. No one had ever stayed around him any longer than absolutely necessary, and here this man, one of the most stunning men he had ever met, had called him fun.

'Thank you, Owen,' he thought to himself. 'Thank you. Thank you.'

"Of course, you're fun. You're also incredibly sexy. You're an excellent kisser." He nuzzled one of Bailey's armpits. "You also smell hot as hell."

"I smell like some overworked horse," Bailey countered, momentarily wondering if that was a correct allusion.

"Hmmmm," Corey chuckled, rubbing his nose through the hair of Bailey's armpit. "I love horses," he murmured, licking a trail across the hair, then up the side of Bailey's neck, where he paused and murmured. "They smell good, and . . ." He teased, thrusting himself against Bailey's thickening penis. "And," he continued. "They've got dicks just like yours.

"Didn't know I was a farm boy, did you?" Corey asked, a laugh in his voice, as he continued moving his hips and leaving rows of small kisses over Bailey's neck, cheeks, and mouth.

Bailey's cock thickened to a full erection, as he found Corey's open mouth, and waiting tongue. "I believe I do like farm boys."

"You've got to, Jonah!" Sam was one step away from being angry. "You've got to let your mother know you're okay. She'll be worrying herself sick about you, not knowing what's happened to you, or where you are."

"But what if he answers the phone?"

"Then hang up!" Sam held his arms out; then dropped them to his sides. "I don't think it's likely for him to answer. He's probably trying to figure out how to get you back. He probably threw you out before he had a chance to think about the results of his actions."

The silence lengthened, as both men looked at one another, each unwilling to give up. Finally, Jonah gave in. "Oh, all right. I'll call . . . but I'm not gonna visit, and stuff," he quickly added. I'm just gonna let her know that I'm okay, and that I'm stayin' over here." His eyes widened. "I'm gonna ask her not to let him know where I am. Otherwise, he'll be over here trying to drag me back."

Sam held up his hands in surrender. "I'm not asking for you to do more than call your mother."

Jonah grinned. "You're not askin' at all, Sam. You're ordering me to call her." It was Jonah's turn to ask for surrender. "I know. I know," he added, holding up his hands to prevent any more discussion. "It's the right thing to do." He watched as Sam stepped through the living room door, onto the porch, and into the darkness, giving him privacy to speak with his mother.

Jonah slowly dialed the number, steeling himself to hear his father's voice.

"Hello. Mama?" he asked, wondering at the catch in his voice. He waited a moment while his mother tried to compose herself. "I'm callin' to let you know that I'm doing okay. I'm over at Sam's. I don't want anyone else to know, so please don't tell him."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," his mother said, her voice rough with emotion. "I've failed you, just like I failed your brother. If only I'd stood up to him earlier, but now . . ." Her voice trailed off. "I've always thought that . . . somehow . . . I'd be able to make him see what he was doing to the family." She took a shuddering breath. "I was wrong. I don't think he wants to see."

"You've done nothin' wrong, Mama. Don't go feelin' bad because of me or Owen. I want you to let me know if there's anything I can do for you or the girls. I'm gonna be working with the McKenzie's after school and stuff, to be able to pay my way, over here."

His voice brightened. "Oh, I've not had a chance to tell you, but Sam's gonna go visit Owen for Christmas. Owen's roommate, Lucas, has sent Sam a ticket, as a Christmas gift to both Owen and Sam. I thought you'd want to know, and I'll make sure'n let you know everything about Owen, when Sam gets back. Maybe we could meet over at the doctor's or something.

"Well," he continued, missing his mother's presence. "I'd better go." He swallowed. "I love you, Mama, more'n I can say. Now, you take care, okay?"

"This is all new to you isn't it?" Corey asked, walking into the bedroom, carrying two cups of coffee, to find Bailey, standing naked before a dresser, attempting to smooth the wrinkles out of his trousers, which had been dropped unceremoniously on the floor the night before. Bailey flinched, then turned, wearing an apologetic smile.

"I'm not talking about the sex," Corey continued, glancing to where the slacks lay, as he handed Bailey a cup of steaming coffee, then scooted to the bed's center, where he sat cross-legged and patted the rumpled sheets, inviting Bailey to join him. "I'm talking about slumming it with someone like me." He nodded toward the slacks. "Everything about you says that's what you're doing; the way you talk, how you dress." He compressed his lips into a thin line. "You're accustomed to better, aren't you?"

Bailey quickly crossed the room, joining the naked man who suddenly seemed so vulnerable. It was a side of Corey he had not imagined existed. In the short time they'd known one another, Corey had infallibly been happy, full of laughter and stories about his wacky relatives. "Don't believe for a minute that I feel as if I'm slumming it." He put an arm around Corey's waist, wanting nothing more than to comfort him.

'It's strange,' Bailey thought, as he scooted closer to Corey, welcoming the warmth of his body. 'Suddenly, it's extremely important to me to not let this man feel sad.' He turned to kiss Corey's bare shoulder.

"I'm not accustomed to better, as you claim." He sighed. "I'm not accustomed to any." He returned Corey's startled expression with a twisted smile. "You see, I'm trying to create a new person . . . from scratch. The old one was a person who . . ." He shrugged, at a loss for words. "Let's just say, he behaved badly, all of the time." Bailey seemed to focus on a past which still haunted him, before turning back to Corey. "That person keeps surfacing though." He tilted his head in the direction of the dresser, and the wrinkled trousers. "That sort of behavior was normal for me. I want to change . . . desperately. I'm doing my best, but everything is so . . . difficult. I don't know what to wear, how to act." He huffed a silent laugh. "I'm like some guy who has been dropped into an alien culture and been told to sink or swim." He felt Corey lean into him, lending his support. "That old version of Bailey wasn't a nice enough guy to even have a guy speak with him. He was so rotten he wouldn't have attracted a fly if he'd been smeared with honey." Corey smiled at an example of how successfully Bailey was reinventing himself. Bailey however, didn't notice. His mouth twitched into a sad grin before he looked away.

"You put up with a lot from me, Corey. I . . . I appreciate your efforts."

"Is this gonna be a good-bye speech, Bailey? 'Cause if it is, I'm gonna wrestle you and twist your arm, or something, until you change your mind. I like you too much to let you go so easily."

Bailey turned to him, expecting to see the ridicule he'd become accustomed to. Instead, he saw a man who clearly meant what he had said. "You do?" Bailey couldn't help asking. "I mean, really? Even with me being so . . . me?" He paused, seeming to finally realize what Corey had said. "No, I wasn't planning on any sort of good-bye speech." He lowered his voice, as well as his eyes. "I like you too. I'm just surprised you like me." He sighed. "I guess I don't have much self confidence, do I? I mean, no one ever has . . . liked me, that is. They've liked my money or my car, or whatever, and I've never had the courage to find out if I am worthy of being liked for myself, and nothing else. Just me, Bailey Wilkins. Until . . . recently . . . I thought having people attracted to my possessions was enough." His voice trailed off.

"Well, I do like you, Bailey. I like you a lot." Corey's eyes sparkled. "Not just because you're a great kisser." He squirmed slightly, as he continued. "You know exactly how to probe me deep enough to rub my special spot and send me up the wall with excitement." He focused on the far wall of the room, momentarily lost in thought, then shook his head.

"Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. I also like you because you're a good guy. I love your smile, and your laugh, though you seem afraid to do either. You're afraid of letting go." He sat up, as if struck by a sudden thought.

"Do you like mud wrestling?"

"Ugh!" Bailey couldn't help himself. "No!"

"You should try it! Once you've writhed around in the red Georgia mud, as you wrestle another naked man, you will never worry about getting dirty again."

"You're not serious!" Bailey laughed, setting his empty coffee cup aside and lying back, amid pillows and wrinkled sheets, spreading his arms in an invitation. Corey smiled in anticipation as he scrambled to straddle Bailey's groin and began to slowly rock his hips, feeling wiry pubic hair tickling his scrotum with each movement. Bailey wrapped a hand around Corey's stiffening cock, letting Corey masturbate himself as he moved.

"I don't know why you're trying to become someone different," Corey said, finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. He slowly rocked back and forth as he felt Bailey's cock stiffen, working its way between his ass cheeks. "I like the one you already are." He couldn't figure out why Bailey's eyes seemed to suddenly become misty. "I have no intention of letting the most exciting man I've met in ages, slip away," he added, before his attention was captured by the sound of an especially strong gust of wind outside the small bedroom's windows.

"Ah hell," he cursed, as he rolled off Bailey and onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows, a frown creasing his forehead as he looked out the bedroom window to the clouds, heavy with snow, all thoughts of sex forgotten. "Damn, I don't want to go out in that!" The lightweight sheet stretched across his buttocks, leaving his back and bare legs, exposed to the warmth of the bedroom. Outside, it was below freezing and windy.

"Huh?" Bailey asked, looking out the window to the dark, low-hanging clouds and the first flakes of yet another snowstorm. "Why do you have to go out?" He trailed fingertips over Corey's back, receiving a smile in return. "I'd like to stay in bed and cuddle." He held onto the base of his erection and waved it. "I was thinking that maybe you'd like to sit on this." Bailey's raised eyebrows lowered as he realized Corey's mind was on the weather.

Corey glanced longingly at the thick erection, before tearing his attention away. "Of course I have to go out in that miserable excuse for weather." When Bailey still didn't seem to comprehend, Corey explained. "I'm from the South!"

"I know that. So?"

Corey heaved himself out of bed, stretched and ran his fingers through his short hair in an attempt to coax it into place as he began searching for his discarded clothing. "So . . . in the South," he explained, "if there's a prediction of the slightest chance of even the most miniscule accumulation of snow, everyone's presence is required at the nearest grocery store. It doesn't matter if we don't need anything from the store. It is just something you're supposed to do, like going to church, or to the home improvement center to buy plywood to cover your house's windows, whenever there's a hurricane approaching." He looked up as he stepped into his jeans and made hurry-up motions with a hand, urging Bailey to get dressed before the snow got any worse.

"Now, get a move on. We need to hurry up and get some food and stuff, before it's all gone!"

"Hello Jonathan." Maxine paused on the steps leading to the front door of the town post office. Jonathan Carver looked up, appearing as if he were going to walk past her, then seemed to reconsider.

"What is it, Maxine?"

She blinked, surprised by his response. Normally, Jonathan at least, was civil.

"Is one of the kids sick," she asked. "No, why?"

She shrugged. "Just wonderin', what with seeing Bea and Doc. Johnson in one another's company so often. I figured maybe one of the girls had come down with somethin'."

Sam stepped into the airport, overwhelmed at the number of people. "Oh, geez," he said aloud. "How am I gonna find Lucas in all these people?" He nodded apologetically to someone, and moved aside so they could pass, then squared his shoulders and stood straight. 'If Owen got this far, I can do the same,' he told himself, pleased at least that he'd gotten himself some new clothes. Everyone seemed to be so well dressed, he would have felt very out of place if he'd arrived wearing his worn jeans and work boots. Al, the barber, had even given him a special haircut, telling him he now looked like one of the guys in a magazine advertisement.

He'd given Al an unsure grin, looking at himself in the barbershop mirror. His hair was cut short, and held in place with a generous dollop of some sort of sticky jell. "Y'sure you did this right?" he asked, trying not to offend the affable barber, as he glanced at the tufts of black hair scattered about on the floor. Al laughed and patted him on the back, telling him to hurry along and to give Owen his best wishes, but not, under any circumstances, to touch his hair. He'd walked out of the barbershop shaking his head.

Sam didn't like leaving his parents behind, but both his mother and father had urged him to accept Lucas' offer. So, here he was. "We'll be okay," his father had said, sitting up in bed, for the first time in months. "You have a good trip, and give Owen a hug for us."

"And a kiss," his mother had added, teasing him, her words causing his blush to deepen.

So, here he was, trying not to appear nervous, surrounded by crowds in the vast airport building, with no idea where to go or what to do. He looked up, his attention caught by a handmade sign on a stick. The sign was pumping up and down, a bright yellow piece of cardboard with black letters spelling his name. He couldn't see the person who was holding the sign, but headed in that direction, his coat draped over one arm and his bag grasped tightly in the other.

'Ooooh, what a nice looking man,' he thought, catching sight of Lucas for the first time. Owen's friend was a slender man, about his and Owen's height. He was wearing a pair of black pants, and black turtleneck sweater, which heightened the effect of his pale skin. His black hair was cut short, and was artfully arranged to look a mess.

'Well, at least I don't feel so weird about the strange haircut,' he thought, recalling how he'd been wanting to run a comb through the short stiffness ever since Al had finished his handiwork.

Lucas continued to pump the sign as he scanned the stream of people emerging from the airplane Sam had been on. 'I wonder if he and Owen . . .' Sam thought to himself. 'What am I saying? I hope he and Owen have been intimate.' The sweater clung to Lucas' slender frame, as did the black jeans. 'Damn handsome,' Sam thought to himself as he approached.

"Excuse me," he said, barely able to stifle a laugh as Lucas turned to face him, acting as if he'd been caught by surprise. "I think you'd better stop pumpin' that sign up and down. You're gonna wear out your arm, 'n you might need it for . . . other things." An expectant smile lit Lucas' face, his eyes twinkling.

"Sam?"

"That's me," he answered, smiling. "I'm guessin' you're Lucas?"

Lucas nodded, holding out a hand, lowering the sign and smiling. Sam ignored the offered hand and embraced him in a brief hug. "Thank you for all you've done for Owen," he blurted, then added. "And good to meet you." He smiled. "Maybe I should have twisted those around the other way, but . . ." he shrugged.

"You're exactly as Owen has described you," Lucas said, as he ushered Sam through the thick crowds. Sam raised his eyebrows when Lucas turned to him.

"You mean, he described a gangly country boy with messy black hair, and a winning personality?" he added, with a mischievous expression.

"He didn't mention gangly." Lucas fell into the same playful mood, as he loaded Sam's bag into the trunk of his car, while Sam stood at his side, taking in his surroundings with a curiosity startlingly reminiscent of Owen's. "Nor, did he mention your new hairstyle. I think he's going to be surprised at the haircut. I was looking for someone who looked like the picture you gave him of the two of you."

"He still has that picture?"

"Has it? He practically sleeps with it! He's going to wear it out, rubbing his finger over it like he does." He reached out and gently squeezed Sam's shoulder, noticing the sudden quiet. "He misses you more than I think he even realizes."

Lucas busied himself with something in the car's trunk, pretending not to see Sam take a gulp of air, and wipe away the moisture from his eyes.

By the time Lucas had settled himself behind the steering wheel, Sam had composed himself and was fastening his seatbelt. "He did mention your winning personality though," Lucas grinned, continuing their earlier conversation. "He also said you look really good when the two of you go skinny dipping in the river, and . . . a few other things which caused him to have to go into the bathroom for a few minutes to take care of something. Funny thing is," Lucas teased. "Whenever he leaves the bathroom, he always has a big smile on his face."

Sam burst out laughing. "Skinny dipping, eh? Owen never was much for swimming. He preferred to lay around and soak up the sun and stuff."

Lucas laughed. "So that's how he got such a good tan." Sam's smile faded slightly.

"Ooh, I'm sorry." Lucas realized Sam was studiously not meeting his gaze. "There's no need to be jealous, or to think what I think you're thinking."

"You think?" Sam tried to grin.

"Sometimes. At least, I try to." Lucas continued. "Though, after making a comment like I did about Owen's tan, one could easily question whether I do or not." The icy streets took much of his concentration, though he could see Sam striving to see everything at once.

"I never saw ice on the street before," Sam said, turning to Lucas, and wearing a genuine smile. "Or snow," he added. "Sorta dirty-looking, isn't it?"

Lucas laughed. "Immediately after a snow fall, it is pristine. That's when it's beautiful. You'll have to ask Owen about his first snow storm."

Sam's laugh was almost carefree. "He sent me an entire letter, describing the ordeal in vivid detail. Thanks for looking out after him. I've worried about him." Sam snorted a soft laugh. "Sometimes, I think that he's all I think about."

Lucas made an inquiring sound, inviting Sam to continue.

Sam shifted in his seat, turning slightly to face Lucas. "Owen's one of those people who . . ." he paused, searching for the right word. "He personalizes anything that happens to him, and takes responsibility for it. He's always been like that. He wants so much, to stand on his own, yet he seems to think that he'll never be able to do that, basically because of all the shit his father has thrown at him. It all weighs him down in ways I don't think he's ever realized." Sam stared out of the window, seeing Owen, not the city streets, reflecting the skyscrapers on either side.

"I knew some of what I know now when Owen left for school. His leaving was pretty rough on both of us, but probably more on me, I guess. I learned a lot more after becoming friends with Jonah, Owen's brother."

"I gather his family leaves a lot to be desired," Lucas ventured.

Another snort. "You could say that, but, basically, it's his father. His mother sees herself as a peacemaker, but I'm thinking that she's realizing that there is no way to make peace, the way she hopes.

"The trouble is, Owen wants his father to love him. He'll do almost anything to make that happen. He thinks that his father's behavior is a direct result of somethin' he did when he was a child." Sam glanced toward Lucas, noticing the glistening of imminent tears in his eyes. "I've often been afraid," Sam continued, "that he'd break his heart hoping that . . . someday . . . somehow, his father would come to love him." Sam gazed thoughtfully out the car window, not seeing the trees laden with snow, their thin branches, drooping under the weight.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be carryin' on, talking about his family. It's just that he, just like his brother, is the product of that environment. They're both hurting, though Jonah at least, sees his father for what he really is. Owen never has."

"He misses you . . . terribly," Lucas ventured, when the silence had stretched. "He tries to hide it, but I often find him sitting in the living room, a textbook on his lap, staring out of the windows into the darkness. I've asked him a couple times what he's thinking about, and he always says, "Sam." He'll smile and say. "I think about him all the time, wonderin' how he is, what he's doing. No matter how many times you hear from one another, he tells me, it's never enough."

Sam's voice caught. "You'd better stop it or you're gonna have me cryin'."

Doctor Johnson tooted his car horn and slowed to a stop next to Jonah at the side of the dirt road leading from the bus stop. "Care for a lift?" he asked, reaching across the car to open the door, and smiling as Jonah slid into the car and closed the door.

"To yours and Sam's place?"

"Hey Doc. Yeah, that'd be great. I was taking my time getting home. With Sam gone to visit Owen, I'm sorta rattling around in that house. I'm not accustomed to havin' things so quiet. Y'know?" The doctor nodded and turned into the gravel drive.

"How're things with you guys?"

"Sam n'me?" The doctor nodded. "Things're fine. He spends a lot of his time missing his folks, and Owen. I spend a lot of my time missing Owen, the girls, and Mama. At least I'm able to get letters from Owen now, and he can get mine." Jonah gave the doctor a sheepish grin. "I write him a lot."

"I understood that your father basically kicked you out."

"Yeah well. There was that." He turned to the doctor. "So, now I'm able to hear from my brother, but not from the rest of the family. I don't know which is worse. I'm feeling so cut off from information. Have you seen Mama or the girls? I've been askin' around, but no one seems to know anything."

The doctor slowed the car to a stop in front of the house. "Care to come in, Doc? I'd like the company, if you've the time. I can make some coffee," he added as an enticement. "I'll bring you up to date on what's going on with Owen." He smiled his prize-winning smile, a slight blush lighting his pale-skinned cheeks, and his eyes sparkling in the shadow cast by the brim of his cap.

"I'd love to."

While the coffee brewed, Jonah sat across from the doctor, looking serious. "You've mentioned Sam and me a couple times, Doc." He hesitated then decided to plunge on. "You know about us, don't you?" He looked up under hooded eyes.

"About you . . . being more'n just good friends?" the doctor asked. When Jonah nodded, the doctor continued. "Yes, I figured it out, just as I knew about Sam and Owen." He hastened to add. "You're not doing anything wrong, Jonah, so don't get all withdrawn on me, okay? I'm not going to condemn you, and I imagine there would be very few in town who would. Everyone knows you, Sam and Owen are good guys. You put a face on a subject some of them may not have thought of before. Once they know someone who is attracted to another man . . . and they like and respect that person . . . it'll make things much easier for them. So, don't worry about people finding out. Your mama already knows, doesn't she?"

Jonah nodded. "She's not said, but I expect she does. Pops, too, I imagine. That's probably why he hates Sam so much. I can imagine he's convinced himself that Sam has somehow corrupted both Owen and me, when all Sam ever did was show both of us that we are good people, and that there is such a thing as love."

"I wouldn't worry about your father, Jonah. You're living on your own now."

"I'm not worried about what he can do to me, Doc. I'm worried about how he'll take out his anger on Mama, Abigail, and Opie. With Christmas coming up, they're all gonna be feeling like Owen and I have abandoned them." Jonah handed the doctor a cup of coffee, then poured himself a glass of orange juice.

"You're feeling a little abandoned, too, aren't you?" the doctor asked, as Jonah rejoined him at the dining table.

Jonah shrugged. "Some, I guess. Yeah, a little. But, whenever I begin feelin' sorry for myself, thinking that maybe things back with Pops weren't as bad as I remember, I just think about how now I can study. No one's yellin' all the time, callin' people names n'stuff. I can laugh, and talk, and . . . laugh." He grinned. "I said that twice, didn't I?" He grinned, shuffling slightly in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him, slowly rotating the empty glass.

"Well, I couldn't do any of those things back there, so what's a little loneliness? I can handle it. The rewards of being here are too great."

"May I ask a personal question, Jonah? You don't have to answer if you don't want."

"Oh . . . okay, Doc. I'll answer whatever."

"Have you and Sam thought about what's going to happen when Owen returns? What are your feelings toward one another . . . Yours and Sam's, that is."

"Yeah, we've talked about it. I know that Sam has thought about it a lot. So've I. He's told me to not fall in love with him, that no matter what, his heart belongs to Owen and he will not hurt him." Jonah heaved a sigh. "I know all that, of course. Still, it's easy to say not to fall in love. It's another thing entirely to not fall in love."

The doctor seemed to consider Jonah's words, retreating into a silence which lengthened until Jonah felt as if he needed to say something.

"You know what it's like to love someone who can't love you back, don't you, Doc? I mean, with the way you're looking, you must."

The doctor slowly nodded. "I do, Jonah, so I know how rough it can be."

"Sam tells me that what I feel for him isn't love, but how does he know? Oh, I won't do anything to hurt my brother . . . or Sam, but I'm thinkin' that I am in love, whether Sam thinks so or not." He looked up with a crooked grin.

"Still haven't answered your question, have I?" He sighed, leaning back in his chair, idly tracing designs on the wooden table top with a finger. "I don't know what I'm going to do . . . or feel . . . when Owen returns. That's a long time off though, so maybe by then things will have sorted themselves out." He looked around the room. "I hope."

The doctor set his empty coffee cup down, gently slapped the tabletop and stood. "Well, I best be heading out." He held out a hand and gave Jonah a firm handshake. "Thank you for the coffee, and for the candid conversation." They left the house, walking onto the porch, when the doctor added, "I'll see what I can do to find out about your mother and sisters. If I'm able, I'll relay a message to them that they're in your thoughts and that you're hoping they're okay."

"That'd be wonderful, Doc. I'd really appreciate it. Wish 'em a Merry Christmas for me too, will you? In fact, if it's okay with you, I'll deliver a card to your office which you can give to Mama, if you see her." He grimaced. "Maybe the coming year will be better than the one we're finishing."

"I hope so, Jonah." The doctor patted him on the shoulder and got into his car and drove off. "I certainly hope so," he muttered to himself as he drove down the gravel drive back to the dirt road leading to town.

The parking garage beneath Lucas' apartment building seemed huge. It was cold, but at least the fierce wind was blocked, and there wasn't any snow. Sam followed Lucas from the garage into the brightly lit lobby, trying to see everything at once. 'So this is where Owen lives,' he thought, comparing the building with its shiny floors, high ceilings, and enormous paintings on the walls, with his home in Riverton.

'Flowers!' He gaped at the tall arrangement gracing a large table in the elevator lobby. 'In the middle of winter!' He swallowed as the elevator doors opened, attempting to return Lucas' smile of encouragement.

"Doing okay?" Lucas asked, as the elevator smoothly delivered them to the correct floor, and another flower arrangement, almost luminous beneath small spotlights. Jonah held out a hand, asking Lucas to stop.

"This is so much more than I ever expected," he murmured, gesturing to the flowers, and leather seating arrangement, set beneath an enormous painting of the city skyline, and the adjacent lake. "I've never even seen pictures of a place like this. It's so different from where anyone I know lives." He tried to swallow in a throat gone suddenly dry.

"I'm wonderin' if the Owen I'm about to see will be anything like the man I remember." He scanned the surroundings. "After all this, he's bound to have changed."

Lucas rested a comforting arm over Sam's shoulders. "He's the same man, Sam. It's everyone who has come in contact with him who have changed." Sam returned a wavering smile.

"Ready?" Lucas asked.

He nodded. "Yes. I'm ready." He reached for Lucas' hand; then drew him into a tight embrace. "Thank you for doin' this, Lucas," he murmured. "I'm feeling that callin' me out to visit Owen was one of the toughest things you've ever done. Yet, you did it." He tightened his embrace. "Thank you."

Lucas backed up, blinking away the sudden moisture in his eyes. "You better get in there," he said, in a voice, rough with emotion, "or I'm going to be crying on your shoulder."

"We both love him, don't we?"

Lucas bowed his head and nodded once. "I'm sorry, Sam. I hope you understand."

"Shhh. There's nothing to be sorry for." He grinned. "Owen's pretty easy to love."

Lucas tried to laugh, relief coloring his voice. "I'm thinking that Sam is much the same; a sensitive man who can capture any heart he wishes to."

Sam twisted his lips. "That's not necessarily a good thing. Sometimes . . . things happen without one intending them to." He reached up to run his fingers through his hair, then stopped.

"Damned hair," he groused. "If I was supposed to have this kind of hair, I wouldn't have to force it into place with tubes of sticky goo." He wrinkled his nose, ignoring Lucas' unsympathetic grin.

"Just be glad it's not raining."

Sam appeared about to ask why, then thought better of it. "I don't think I want to know."

"Ready?"

Sam nodded, and followed Lucas down the dimly lit corridor, lined with widely spaced doors.

They paused. Lucas held a finger to his lips, asking for Sam to remain quiet while he went into the apartment. He opened the door and glanced inside.

"Owen," Lucas called. "I'm home!"

Sam could see Owen's back through the open door. He was sitting on a sofa, his stocking feet resting on the coffee table. The navy blue sweater caused his fair skin and blond hair to appear even lighter. He raised an arm in greeting, but didn't turn around.

"Welcome home! Why are you shouting?" Owen asked, a chuckle in his voice, a voice which caused Sam's breath to catch. Had Owen's voice always been so . . . rich, his hair so blond, his shoulders so broad? When they faced one another, would they still have anything in common?

Sam bit his lip as Lucas backed out of the apartment and motioned for him to enter. He gave Lucas a silent grin of thanks as he stepped inside, quietly setting his bag on the floor and dropping his coat on top of the bag in a heap as the apartment door quietly closed behind him.

"Why so silent?" Owen asked, still not turning around.

"Hiya Owen," Sam said, in a quavering voice, still wondering whether the man on the sofa would be the same one he grew up with.

Owen's head snapped up. He looked over his shoulder, dropped his book, and vaulted over the back of the sofa, all in one move, crossing the living room in two large steps. His expression of joy was overwhelming in its intensity.

"Sam!" He pulled his friend into an embrace. He stepped back and held Sam's face between both hands, ignoring the tears running down Sam's cheeks as much as he ignored his own. He drank in Sam with his eyes, like a man given a drink of cool water after spending months in a hot desert.

"How . . ." he began, before tightening his embrace and smashing his lips against Sam's. He opened his mouth and met Sam's tongue, tasting the salt from their combined tears. "How," he repeated, stepping back and holding Sam at arm's length before kissing him again. It felt so . . . right . . . to hold Sam. It felt good to hold Lucas, but his body seemed to melt against Sam's, something that never happened with Lucas. 'This is the man I belong with,' he thought to himself.

"Oh, you're lookin' so good," he choked. "You have no idea how much I've missed you." He ran his fingers over Sam's cheeks, as if trying to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Next, he touched Sam's hair and raised an inquiring brow, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

"You look like one of those guys from a magazine. "Your hair's all messed up, and we haven't even been to bed . . . yet," he added.

Sam snorted his reaction, then sniffed, and wiped his eyes. He had never felt as wonderful as he felt at the moment.

He pulled the man he loved close, resting his head on his shoulder and inhaled deeply, in a moment of spontaneous sensuality. 'It's funny,' he thought, 'how a person can miss something as simple as someone's scent.'

"What are you chuckling about?" Owen asked, looking Sam in the eyes.

"I was thinkin' how much I missed your smell," Sam admitted, smiling, and then began playfully nosing around Owen, working his way to his armpits. Owen obediently held up an arm and Sam sniffed, playfully licking and groaning across the nubbly fabric of Owen's sweater, wishing he had been nuzzling the hair of Owen's armpit instead of a sweater.

He made a face and pretended to pick sweater fibers out of his mouth. "I think I like your hair better 'n that," he grinned, before pulling Owen close.

"I've missed you so much. I wanna hold on and never let go." He looked into Owen's eyes. "I know what living without you is like, and I don't enjoy it one bit." Another tear slid over his cheek.

"How'd you get here?" Owen asked, a murmur, close to Sam's ear, interspersed with kisses.

"On a bus, in a taxi; on an airplane, and finally in a car," Sam teased, "and I'm exhausted!"

"Saaam . . ." Owen drew out the word, waiting for an explanation.

"I'm Lucas' Christmas present to you," Sam answered. "He knew you were lonely, so he wrote and asked if he could bring me out here for a visit during Holiday break."

"Lucas did this? For me? For you and me?"

Sam nodded. "He's a wonderful person, Owen. He was a little nervous being around me because he was afraid of what I'd think about you and him, but . . ."

"And, what do you think?"

Sam shrugged. "Whatever I might've thought was proven wrong when you vaulted over the back of the couch." He grinned. "Where'd you learn to do that, by the way?"

"I vaulted over the couch?" Owen asked, in disbelief as Sam nodded. "Truly?"

"You don't remember?"

Owen shook his head. "I just wanted to get to you. I guess I should be happy there wasn't a solid wall in the way, otherwise there'd be an Owen-shaped hole in the thing." He pulled Sam close for another embrace.

"Oh, Sam, I love you so much. There have been times I've wanted to hold you so bad that I ached. Lucas has tried to help. He's wonderful, but he's not the man who owns my heart."

Sam held Owen at arm's length. "He loves you, you know."

"Yes, I know. And . . . and I love him. He's such a wonderful person. But . . . and it took me a while to come to this conclusion. A man can love more than one person at a time. And," he added, kissing Sam's nose. "There is love, and there is love. I love Lucas. I love you."

Doctor Johnson swallowed, in a mouth suddenly gone dry, and resolutely knocked on the wooden screen door of the Carver house. He heard a child's voice call out, "I'll get it," and a moment later little Opie tugged the door open.

"Hello, Opie. It's Doctor Johnson."

"Hi. Did you wanna talk to Mama? I'll get her." Opie turned away from the door and disappeared into the house. A moment later Beatrice Carver approached from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Hello, Mrs. Carver," he said, being ultra formal, in case Jonathan Carver was within earshot.

She opened the screen door, wearing a stricken look, not moving aside to admit him to the house. "Please don't tell me something's happened to one of my boys," she managed, in a tight voice. The doctor extended a comforting hand and touched her arm, catching the flick of her eyes at the touch as he did so.

"No, nothing's wrong, at least with Jonah. I saw him a few days ago." He snatched a glance to either side. "Am I free to talk for a moment?" Beatrice jerked a relieved nod, and tried to control her shaking voice. "He's in the shed, though we shouldn't visit for long." The doctor nodded his understanding, and began speaking in a low voice.

"Jonah asked me to tell you that he's doing well. He's going to school every day; his grades are as good as always, and that he loves you and the girls with all his heart, and misses you terribly."

Beatrice bit her lip and ignored the sudden tears. "And Owen?" she asked. "Do you know how he's doing?"

"According to Jonah, he's doing well, too. He's staying with a friend, since his apartment burned down. He also asked Jonah to relay his love." The doctor lowered his voice. "Jonah hasn't told him about moving out of the house. He didn't see that Owen knowing would do any good, though I can't be sure if Sam won't tell him.

"That's the other news. Sam's gone to see Owen for Christmas as a Christmas gift to them both from Owen's good friend. The two boys care for one another a great deal."

She nodded. "I know. Sam's a good boy. I worry 'bout him and Jonah being together though." She held up a hand. "Not because they're together. I'm happy about that, but about what's going to happen . . . later."

"I've spoken with Jonah about the same thing. He tells me he and Sam have discussed that eventuality, and that things are in hand."

"Oh, good." Beatrice seemed relieved. "I hope he's right. I would hate to see any of them hurt, and I don't really see a way that one of them won't end up being hurt."

"I do have two cards to give you, one from Owen, the other from Jonah. May I give them to you now, or should I wait?" She looked at him hungrily.

"Now, please. I find I'm missing them so much it hurts. They were an anchor for me." She glanced at him. "I hope you don't mind my saying so, Daniel, but you've become something of the same anchor. Your presence lets me know that the entire world isn't made up of angry men, that there is some goodness still remaining."

She glanced over her shoulder to where Opie was standing in the door to the kitchen, possibly as a person to call an early warning.

"Beatrice," the doctor spoke. "I'm also here to ask how you and the girls are doing. I'm asking for Jonah's sake, but also for . . . mine. Are you okay? Are you being treated any differently than before Jonah left?"

"Thank you . . . Daniel . . . for asking. Things have not changed. Sometimes though . . ." She glanced over her shoulder. Opie remained in the doorway, looking one direction and then toward her mother. "Sometimes, I believe Jonathan's grip on reality is . . . slipping. He goes for days without speaking, and then shouts, wondering where Jonah is. He blames Owen for everything he doesn't like. It's too dry. Owen made it so. Things like that." She paused. "Then, there are times he seems almost normal . . . like he wants to apologize or something, but doesn't know how to begin. He seems to get all frustrated, then slams around the house before disappearing out to the shed, or the fields or somethin'.

"The girls are doing as well as can be expected. I've called my sister and she's willing to take the girls in until things are . . ." Bea paused. "Resolved. I guess that would be the correct term. I'm trying to figure out a way to get them to my sister's, but I haven't thought of one yet."

"That would leave you . . ." She nodded and sighed.

"At least all of the children would be out of the way. I don't think he'd hurt me, but . . . I don't know." She swallowed uncomfortably, contemplating her husband's temper.

Opie made a noise, which instantly drew her mother's attention. She stuffed the two cards in her apron pocket and gave the doctor a panicked look. Having prepared for just such an occasion, he handed her a copy of her children's immunization records from his office, and spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard by anyone who might be eavesdropping.

"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Carver. I'm distributing these sorts of records to every parent in town. It's always good for parents to be aware of exactly how their children stand in regards to their shots." He winked at her relieved expression. "If you have any questions, or need help with anything, please don't hesitate to give me a call. I think everything you need to know has been included, but sometimes it's a good idea to talk things over. Remember, I'm more than willing to help out in any way I can."

"Thank you, Doctor." She looked over her shoulder and tried to smile at her husband as he approached the door.

"The doctor has delivered the children's medical records, Jonathan, just so we can review them and make sure they're caught up on their immunization shots n'all." Doctor Johnson nodded a pleasant greeting to Jonathan.

"Thanks Doc," Jonathan managed, surprising both his wife and the doctor by his polite response.

"Well, I'd better be going on to my next appointment. G'day to you both. Say hi to Opie and Abigail for me, will you?" He waved once then strode to his car, wondering why he felt as if someone had a rifle aimed at his back.

Lucas felt bad about it, but he listened at the door for a few moments after closing it and leaving Sam inside. When he heard Owen's joyous shout he knew he had done the right thing. Still . . . it was . . . difficult.

Sam seemed like a wonderful man, just as Lucas thought he would be. Owen deserved only the best. He'd been prepared to dislike Sam, to find him wanting in some way, to not be good enough for Owen. Sam however, was none of those things.

Lucas took the elevator down to the parking garage and got into his car, calling his sister as he left the building and headed out onto the slick streets. The sun was setting and soon the streets would freeze, and one would be taking one's life into one's own hands by venturing out into the night. He wanted to be at his parents' house before that. "What's wrong?" Allison met him at the front door, one step ahead of his mother, concern written on their faces. He gave both women a peck on the cheek and hugged his mother as his sister swung the heavy door closed, shutting out the bitter cold.

"I heard Allison ask if something is wrong," Olivia said, a gentle hint for an explanation.

"Nothing's wrong, ladies," he sighed, shedding his coat and woolen scarf, laying them over the back of a chair in the entry, before walking into the living room, his mother and sister following. "I've just done a good deed for Owen, and I'm feeling very content." He sat down and glanced at his mother, who had taken her customary seat, her hands resting on her lap. Allison, ever the tomboy, perched on a chair arm nearby, studying her brother.

"You don't look content," she observed. "You look as if you've just lost your best friend and are about to cry." Lucas' sister glanced toward her mother's sound of exasperation at her daughter's bluntness.

"I can be both content and feel as if I would like to cry," Lucas sighed, realizing for the first time how close he actually was, to tears. He turned to his mother with the explanation for which she was patiently waiting. "I brought a friend of Owen's out to surprise him, sort of as a Christmas present. They grew up together, and Owen's been missing him a lot, especially since the fire."

"That was a wonderful thing to do, sweetheart," his mother said. Even his cynical sister seemed satisfied.

"You have yet to come to grips with your emotions, have you?" his mother asked, ignoring her daughter's questioning glance.

"We don't see nearly enough of Owen, dear," Olivia added. "He's a very likable young man. It's so seldom one sees such good manners in someone not bred to them. It's a pleasure to be in his company."

"I think you'd enjoy Sam, his friend, as much as Owen, Mother. I've only known him long enough to give him a ride to the apartment from the airport, but I can see why they're such good friends."

"I wonder if either of them have a nice available brother," Allison sighed. "It seems as if all the good men are taken." She sadly shook her head. "They're either involved with another woman, or they're gay."

"Sam's an only child," Lucas responded, but "Owen has a younger brother. I think he's seventeen, or something." He laughed when Allison's face took on a calculating look. "He may already be taken too, for all I know," Lucas laughed. "Besides, he'd probably think of you as an old lady." His crooked grin took the sting out of his words.

"Both of you will find a good match, Olivia Horton said, aiming her comment at both of her children. "One has to keep one's eyes open to all possibilities, that's all." She got a mischievous look on her face. "Then, when a possibility presents himself or herself, you have to tackle them and not let them get up until they've seen things your way." She sank back into her chair, resting her hands on her lap in a very prim pose while both Lucas and Allison looked at her in surprise.

"How do you think I hooked your father?" she asked, with a twinkle in her eyes.

"It wasn't your cooking, that's for sure," Allison muttered, ignoring her mother's stern expression.

Olivia cleared her throat, pointedly ignoring her daughter, and turning toward her son who was doing his best to control an incipient smile, as his mother continued. "Actually, I asked your father to marry me, then, when he was trying to recover from his surprise, I backed him into a nearby closet and locked the door. I told him I'd let him out when he said yes to my proposal." Allison guffawed a laugh, and Lucas' smile finally won out.

"I sat on the floor, my prom dress ballooning out around me and waited. I wanted to make sure no other girl harbored similar ideas about Neil, and might snatch him up if I gave up guard duty for even an instant." She glanced at both of her children, the corners of her mouth twitching upward as she recalled her determination to capture the boy she loved.

"I was prepared to wait . . . for quite a long time," she added, primly. "Thankfully, your father is a very bright man. After about an hour of thoughtful silence interrupted by an attempt to get me to open the closet door, claiming there wasn't enough oxygen in the small room, which I, of course, ignored, despite the choking noises he was making, he meekly knocked on the door and accepted my proposal."

Olivia smiled in recollection. "My parents were quite . . . shocked at my behavior, to say nothing about the state of my prom dress. Apparently, eighteen year-old girls just don't propose, even to a gentleman their own age. It's just not done!" Lucas could hear his grandmother's voice. Olivia dismissed her own mother's criticism with a flick of her fingers.

"So, remember what I've said. When the right one comes along, tackle them. And, if you're tackled first . . . really examine your feelings. That's what your father did in that dark closet. I already knew he wanted the same thing as I; but I also realized he was too shy to take the first step. I took it upon myself to force the issue. Of course," she added, in a slightly confiding tone of voice, "I would never have done such a thing if I had not been convinced of his feelings beforehand."

Lucas stood and walked across the room to his mother, leaning down and embracing her.

"Thank you Mother. I sincerely hope I encounter someone I wish to lock in a closet very soon."

"He's horny," Allison murmured, ignoring her mother's disapproving expression.

"And you, dear sister. What are you?"

Olivia turned a questioning look on her daughter, who had the good grace to blush.

"I'm going to spend the night here, ladies," Lucas said, picking up his bag. "I'm leaving the apartment to the guys tonight, so they can get . . . reacquainted."

"You've done a very good thing, Lucas," Olivia said, as her son turned toward the sweep of the curving staircase. "I'm pleased. Such acts will be repaid, I am sure of it."

"Yeah, well . . ." Lucas paused, turning to face his mother and sister. "A closet worked to get Dad. You already knew you had his heart. Locking Owen in a closet wouldn't have done any good. His heart was already elsewhere." He compressed his lips, picked up his bag, and turned toward the stairs, not seeing the looks his sister and mother exchanged.

"Since knowing Owen, he's changed," Olivia murmured, staring into the distance. "I must say, it is a welcome change, though I do wish he would come to grips with his feelings."

"He really does want to meet someone special, Mother. I'm sorry Owen wasn't the one. He's such a good man."

~ to be continued ~

My stories on Nifty include: Phalen (located in the Gay College Section) Phalen - Finding Happiness (Gay College Section) Phalen - Reputation and Honor (Coming Soon) Chris (Gay College Section) Leith (Gay College Section) (Unfinished) Owen (Gay College Section) Wesley (Adult Relationships Section) Jess (Gay Incest Section) Travis (Gay Incest Section) I hope you enjoy them all.

If you would like a photo of the characters, please email me. I may be reached at roynm@mac.com. I welcome all email messages, and appreciate hearing your thoughts.