Owen

Owen

Chapter twenty-three

By Roy Reinikainen

"He's home from school!" Sam beamed, as the doctor slowed the car to a stop in front of Sam's house. "Jonah!" Sam shouted, flinging the door open and bounding out of the car to meet the young man who had leaped over the home's porch railing, and was running to greet him, his long legs covering the distance to the house in a flash. Daniel heard Jonah make some sort of inarticulate sound of joy a moment before the two men hugged, oblivious to the doctor's presence.

"Oh dear," Daniel murmured, chewing his lower lip. "Oh dear, indeed." He smiled, trying to hide his unease, as both men turned to him, radiant smiles lighting their faces, an arm around one another's waist.

"Thanks for the ride, Doc." Sam reluctantly left Jonah's grasp and reached into the car to shake Daniel's hand. "He's happy to see me," Sam laughingly said, as the doctor watched Jonah, who was standing close by, tenderly rub a hand over Sam's back, as if needing to assure himself of Sam's presence.

"Damn right," Jonah agreed, his voice carrying into the car. "If it was up to me, I'd never let him out of my sight again." Sam's smile faltered. He licked his lips as he blushed, and made himself busy by reaching into the back seat to grab his bag.

'So,' the doctor thought, as Sam heaved his bag to the front seat, relinquishing it to Jonah, who effortlessly hefted it to his shoulder. 'Sam's aware of the problems, too.' Daniel shook his head as Sam closed the car door and returned to Jonah's possessive embrace. 'Too many currents and cross-currents for my liking,' the doctor thought to himself, waving farewell to the two men who continued to hold one another.

"You're back!" Jonah cried, the moment the doctor's car turned onto the main road and disappeared. He pulled Sam to him, meeting both Sam's lips and tongue in a kiss, which he'd postponed due to the doctor's presence. "I missed you so much," he crooned, nuzzling the hair at the nape of Sam's neck and running his hands up and down Sam's back. "So much. I hate bein' alone, especially after knowing what it's like to have you to hug . . . and stuff." He grinned, pulling Sam close for another kiss.

"Let's go inside," Sam urged, backing away far enough to pick up his bag from where it'd been dropped. "I've got a couple things for you; one from Owen, the other from me."

"What? Owen sent me a gift? And you? Why?"

"Y'know," Sam laughed, taking Jonah's hand. "Gifts, as in Christmas."

Jonah stopped. "Oh." He took a deep breath, looking down and to the side. "This is rough."

"What is?" Sam tenderly rested a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"This business of receiving gifts I don't feel as if I've earned."

"You earn a salary, Jonah. Someone gives you a gift because they care for you. You don't have to do anything to earn it, and you don't have to give anything in return; so stop worrying."

They turned toward the house, holding hands. "The doctor gave me a baseball cap for Christmas!" Jonah announced with pride. "It was my first Christmas present." He seemed to blush. "I'm thinkin' I'll get it all dirty if I wear it. It's special . . . y'know?"

Sam smiled and pulled Jonah closer. "You should wear it. He'll appreciate it if you do."

Jonah turned as they climbed the porch steps. "I haven't asked about Owen. Is he doin' okay? He sounded good when we spoke on the phone, but. . ." Sam held the door open for Jonah to pass.

"He's doing fine. In fact, he seems happier than I've ever seen him. The guy he's living with is really nice." Sam wiggled his eyebrows and smiled. "Nice looking, too. I'll tell you all about them later." Sam unzipped his bag and dug around. "Right now, I want you to open this. It's from me, and I've been dying to see you wear it since I bought it."

Jonah took the bag and looked inside, then back at Sam, with a puzzled expression. "Go ahead," Sam urged, making a hurry-up motion with a hand. "Take it out of the bag."

"It's a jockstrap!" Jonah laughed, a smile blooming on his face as he held up the yellow bit of fabric to study. "I've heard of these," Jonah commented, as he began to strip, "but since we don't have gym classes, I never had one." He skinned out of his t-shirt and dropped his jeans and underwear, then held up the jock, untangling the straps.

Sam tried not to laugh, and managed not to reach out to fondle Jonah's erection. "You're not supposed to be hard when you're wearing one of those, y'know." Jonah grinned, and made a dismissive gesture as he tried to stuff himself into the mesh pouch. The erection stretched the yellow fabric away from Jonah's groin, allowing some of his pubic hair to show, along with an enticing glimpse of his scrotum.

"Well?" he asked, turning his back to Sam and looking over his shoulder for Sam's reaction. "What'cha think?" he asked, grinning at Sam's appreciative whistle. "Good?"

"I'll say!"

Jonah bent forward and swayed his butt from side to side. "Does seein' me like this give you any ideas?" he asked, once again looking over his shoulder. He knelt on the large wooden coffee table and leaned forward, resting his head and folded arms on the tabletop, his butt in the air.

"Hey, sexy butt!" Sam slapped the pale white skin, leaving a pink imprint of his hand as a souvenir. "You love showin' off, don't you?" Jonah grunted a response, and spread his knees further apart, inviting Sam's exploration. "Yeah, that's it," he groaned. "M'ass is yours, just like the rest of me."

The yellow straps of the swimmer's jock stretched across the mounds of his buttocks, meeting between Jonah's legs, at the base of the mesh pouch cradling his balls. His cock had escaped and was now sticking out of the side of the jock, already beginning to produce its usual steady stream of pre-cum, which dangled and swayed with each of his movements. Jonah reached back and spread his cheeks, displaying his hole in invitation. The flawless white skin of his butt cheeks darkened slightly as it approached the dark pink pucker of his anus, which rhythmically tightened, then relaxed.

Sam hesitated, thinking how much Jonah resembled his brother. 'Damn,' he thought to himself. 'What am I doing?' He bit his lip. 'More importantly . . . why?'

"C'mon, Sam," Jonah urged, in a husky voice, unaware of Sam's internal struggle, as he slapped one of his own cheeks. "Since you've been gone I've had nothing up my hole but my fingers." He reached between his legs as he continued to kneel on the coffee table, and ran a forefinger over the pulsing opening; then sank the finger up to the second knuckle before withdrawing it and continuing to massage the perimeter of the muscular opening. "I need you in me . . . to cum in me."

"Holy fuck!" Sam tenderly ran the open palm of one hand over Jonah's back, then over his buttocks, and breathed in the scent of the jockstrap-clad man. He hurriedly stripped out of his clothes and tossed them aside. It was as if an animal part of his brain was stimulated each time Jonah got close. Even when they were both dressed, all Jonah had to do was hug him, allow him to inhale once, and Sam began to respond.

He wiped the head of his erection across Jonah's butt hole, pressing it against the opening, toying with Jonah as the head penetrated, then was removed . . . once . . . twice . . . three times. Each time Sam withdrew, the whimpers increased, and the sphincter closed more slowly.

Jonah was once again cradling his head in his folded arms, allowing Sam free access. He jumped in surprise, then groaned at Sam's flat-handed smack with his hand, followed by more gentle smacks directly over his hole.

"Y'want my load up your butt, do you?" Sam murmured, straddling Jonah, supporting himself on an extended arm, either side of Jonah's body. At the same time, he ran the length of his cock back and forth between Jonah's cheeks. "Seein' you wearing the jock and fuckin' you is about all I thought about on the way home," Sam murmured. He licked a broad swath across the bare skin of Jonah's back, and the sheen of perspiration. He leaned forward and nuzzled the hair at the back of Jonah's neck and inhaled, feeling a tingle run through his body. "I'm findin' the reality exceeds the dreams."

"C'mon," Jonah begged, interrupting Sam's teasing. "Stop playin' around and either finger me, lick me, or fuck me. My asshole has been beggin' for some attention."

"You mean you don't want me suckin' on your dick?" Sam squatted behind Jonah's spread cheeks and cradled the large scrotum, confined by the jockstrap's pouch, feeling the testicles move within; then fondled the thick penis bobbing between Jonah's legs. At the first touch, Jonah began humping Sam's hand.

"C'mon, Sam," he begged. "I'm burning up here."

Sam gave another loud smack, followed by more gentle pats of the flat withf his hand over Jonah's hole. "So, you've been playing with your asshole while I've been gone, have you? Y'like havin' something up your hole?"

"Ohhh, yes!" Jonah shuddered, relaxing as Sam buried a finger and sought out his prostate. The shudder turned to a gasp of pleasure as Sam found the swollen organ and began to massage it, feeling it swell further beneath his finger. "You keep that up and I'll shoot without touching myself," Jonah groaned, fucking himself on Sam's finger. "C'mon," Jonah whimpered, "fuck me. I need somethin' bigger than your finger in me."

Sam slowly withdrew his finger. "Lube?" he asked. Jonah shook his head.

"Fuck me!" he ordered. "Knowin' you, you've made enough pre-cum to slide in without any lube. Just do it!"

Sam paused a moment to admire the jock-strap-framed cheeks and the pink hole. 'Damn,' he thought to himself. 'Once I get my dick up that, I'm not gonna last but a minute. That's always been the case when I'm with Jonah . . . or Owen,' he added. 'Let's face it,' he smiled to himself, 'I just love to shoot a load inside someone. Or,' he added, as an afterthought, 'have a load shot inside me.'

His cock twitched as he held the butt cheeks apart with both hands, while aiming his cock at the opening, overwhelmed with excitement at Jonah's whimpering. 'Once, I was the one doing the begging,' he thought. 'When did I become a top-guy?' He pressed harder. The sphincter resisted at first but, as Jonah relaxed, Sam was able to push inside to his full length, his pre-cum easing the penetration.

"Ah geez," Jonah sighed, after an initial sharp intake of breath. "I'll take this over my fingers any day." He tightened his muscles with each downward stroke, milking Sam.

'T'think that Jonah never had sex with anyone until a couple months ago,' Sam thought, grinning at Jonah's enthusiastic response to being penetrated. He could feel the swell of Jonah's prostate on the underside of his penis, stimulating him further and bringing him closer to his orgasm.

"Ohhhh, Jonah" Sam sighed, on an exhaled breath. "This is so good." He rubbed his splayed fingers over the faint sheen of perspiration on Jonah's back. The muscles of Jonah's sphincter bulged outward with each outward stroke; then were stretched even further as the flare of Sam's cock-head was exposed. Though he never quite pulled free, he loved watching as the ridge of his cock-head was exposed, glistening with his own pre-cum.

Both men shuddered at the sensations. 'I'm 'bout there,' Sam thought, as he slowly slid his full length into the hot surroundings. One short stroke, then another. He felt his penis expand, and the tingling of his impending orgasm spread from his own prostate throughout his groin. He gasped a deep breath, grabbed onto Jonah's flanks, and thrust hard as his cock began to pulse. He could feel the slipperiness of his own jiz surround him, and see its evidence coating his penis on each outward stroke as he continued the slow thrusts.

"Ohhh geez," Jonah groaned in an unsteady voice. Sam heard him take a gulp of air, then swallow. "That was so awesome."

"I'm not finished yet," Sam murmured, catching his breath and reluctantly slipping free. He wiped his own sperm off his cock; then swiped a hand over the still-gaping anus, gathering up some of the escaping cum, and knelt behind Jonah, beginning to masturbate him using the sperm as lube. 'Fuck, this is hot,' he thought, as Jonah's sphincter relaxed, releasing another large drop of sperm, which began to run down the back of his leg.

Sam licked up the back of Jonah's leg, slurping up his own sperm; then pulled Jonah's erection back with one hand and began licking and sucking. As more sperm escaped, he licked it up; then returned to bringing Jonah to orgasm.

"C'mon," he urged, slowly masturbating Jonah's erection. "Gimmie your load."

Jonah nodded, taking deep breaths. His sphincter convulsively tightened, as he spoke in a rough voice, when Sam swallowed as much of Jonah's cock as he could, working the underside with his tongue. "Take it, Sam. Swallow it all."

With those words, Jonah tensed, and his sperm exploded into Sam's waiting mouth, slamming past his tongue to the back of his throat. He barely had time to swallow before Jonah shot a second thick stream to coat Sam's tongue, followed by a third, less forceful surge. Jonah tightened his muscles, forcing out a last dollop onto Sam's waiting tongue.

"Holy shit," Sam laughed, smacking his lips, wearing a broad smile, as Jonah rolled off the coffee table onto the living room rug. "You musta been saving that up. You've never shot that much before." Jonah only laughed and opened his arms, inviting Sam to lie on top of him.

"I only shoot like that when I'm with you, lover," he murmured in Sam's ear. "Only with you."

As Jonah slowly sank into a peaceful slumber, Sam snuggled closer. His skin remembered Jonah's touch; his nose, Jonah's scent. His ears reveled in the soft sound of Jonah's voice, the sound of his breathing as he slept, and the beat of his heart as he rested his head on Jonah's chest.

'What am I doing?' Sam asked himself, as Jonah shifted position and laid an arm over his shoulders, drawing him closer in his sleep. 'Why am I having these thoughts?' He lay in silence for a long while, listening to the evening stirrings of Cat as it curled up, sinking into its favorite cushion.

'Why am I having these thoughts?' he asked himself again, unwilling to acknowledge the answer which hovered before his eyes, scaring him breathless.

'I hate my family,' Corey thought, both fists clinched in frustration, as he trudged through the snow-covered campus, heading for his apartment. 'But they're not a bunch of axe-murderers or something. No one's ever committed a crime . . . that I'm aware of,' he amended his thought. "So," he spoke aloud, into the muffled silence. "Why was I so insistent that Owen not breathe a hint of my past to Bailey? Why do I want to keep it all a secret?

"You're running away, boy," he chided himself, aloud, his breath hanging like a cloud in the icy air. 'Just like Owen, you're running away. In fact, Bailey's the only person around here who's facing things head-on.' Corey shook his head. 'He doesn't know how brave he is, doing what he's doing.

'What would I do if I found out Bailey had the same sort of deep dark secret I do, and didn't trust me enough to tell me? How would I feel?' Corey shook his head, wearing an amused smile.

'Poor Bailey . . . I don't think he's capable of hiding anything very monumental. He's too busy trying to overcome . . . everything.' There was another shake of his head. 'All I have to do is sit down and tell him about my childhood; then it'll be over. Fifteen minutes and poof, it's done. Poor Bailey has a long road ahead of him. The funny thing is though, that, while I understand . . . and agree . . . with his reasons for wanting to remake himself, I hope he doesn't want to be like everyone else. He's special, just the way he is.'

Corey smiled. 'He really does have a beautiful smile. Whenever I'm able to make him laugh, I feel all good inside. He's had so few opportunities to laugh, it's like he's afraid he'll do it wrong, or do it at the wrong time. He's just . . . afraid.' Corey shook his head. 'And I'm not?

'I'm sure Owen has experienced something which would make him understand. I don't believe Bailey has ever experienced anything so . . . hurtful. Would he understand if I told him? Did Owen understand, or was he just being polite and is even now thinking that I was presumptuous in assuming things about his life that may never have happened? Am I needing to talk about my past? Is that why I sought Owen out? If I need to talk about it, why now? Why'd I choose to him . . . basically, a stranger? Is it because he isn't yet a friend? Is that why I'm afraid to talk to Bailey? Because I want him to be way more than a friend, and I'm afraid of how he'll respond?'

Corey shuddered, whether from the cold breeze, or cold memories, he couldn't tell. 'Hell,' he thought, climbing the steps to his apartment. 'I get the heebie jeebies,' just thinking about losing Bailey and bein' alone again.'

"Man, I'm glad to be back," Sam sighed, idly running his fingers through Jonah's hair as he rested his head on Sam's chest. "It was great to see Owen, and meet Lucas, but this is home. Besides," he said, rubbing a hand over Jonah's back. "I missed you."

"You said earlier that Owen's doin' okay?" Jonah rolled to his side, propping himself up on an elbow and looking at Sam in the dim light coming through the bedroom door from a small living room table lamp.

Sam smiled. "Yes, he's doing great. He's the same . . . yet he's different, at the same time. I've never seen him look so good. Most of his stuff was burned up when his apartment was destroyed, so he's wearing lots of Lucas' stuff. They're about the same height, though Lucas is sorta slim, like you. Owen's got more muscles, so some of the stuff is kinda tight." Sam paused. "Looks good though. 'Course, Owen looks good, no matter what. He's more confident, too. I guess hanging around Lucas could do that to a guy." There was another pause.

"Damn, I almost forgot!" He rolled out of bed and padded, barefoot, to the living room, returning a minute later with his bag. "I forgot to give you Owen's gift. He told me to tell you that it's the answer to your dreams. Now, all you've gotta do is figure out a way to make them a reality." Sam turned on the room's overhead light and handed Jonah the heavy package, plainly wrapped in white paper. Owen had written a brief note on the package's wrapper:

"To Jonah . . . May all your wishes be fulfilled. Love, Owen"

Jonah traced a finger over Owen's carefully formed letters, then looked at Sam through a watery blur. "He said he loves me." The words seemed to stick in his throat. Sam ran a hand over Jonah's forearm, where it rested on the package.

'All my wishes, Owen?' Jonah asked himself, flicking a glance at Sam's look of understanding. 'If you knew what I was wishin', I'm not so sure you'd be writing what you did.'

"Open it," Sam urged, as Jonah began to carefully unwrap the package.

"A book!" Jonah laughed, setting the wrapping aside. "Wouldn't you know Owen would give me a book!" He looked at the cover, remembering the message Sam had delivered.

"The answer to my dreams?" he murmured. Then it dawned on him. The book was all about greenhouses. Owen was telling him that the answer to his dreams of growing things year-round was to have a greenhouse! But, the ones shown in the book were enormous, covering acres!

Jonah looked up to find Sam watching him. "It's the answer to my wishes, alright," Jonah sighed, with a twisted smile. "But, I have no idea how I'd ever be able to afford something like this." He pointed to a structure housing, what must have been a couple acres of tomato plants, all heavily laden with red ripe fruit.

Lucas never tired of the view from his father's office. Far below, he could see the university, spread out before him, the cupola of the bell tower glinting in the late afternoon sun; the park, its denuded trees casting spider-web thin shadows over the thick blanket of snow; his apartment building. Slowly walking, lonely-looking figures crossed the park, using trails of tamped-down snow. He shuddered; glad he wasn't outside.

'I wonder if Owen's home,' he idly thought, while his father finished the telephone call which had interrupted their visit. Neil Horton, his father, and CEO of one of the largest real estate development firms in the city, had asked Lucas to lunch with him in his office. The remnants of a fine meal, delivered to the office by a stiff-necked young man in an equally stiff uniform, still sat on the conference table.

He returned his attention to his father, who was instructing his secretary that he would accept no more calls until Lucas had left.

'Uh oh,' Lucas frowned. 'Something serious is up.' He struggled to remain at ease as his father swiveled his chair and studied him. 'He hardly ever refuses to accept a telephone call.' Lucas steeled himself, racking his brain, searching for something he might have done wrong. He came up with . . . nothing. 'I've been too preoccupied with Owen to get into mischief,' he thought, as his father hung up the phone.

"You can relax," Neil laughed. "I'm not going to chew you out or lecture you. Your mother and I have just not been seeing much of you. I miss your company." Neil Horton leaned forward, resting his forearms on his expansive desk. "You and Owen have been spending a great deal of time together. Then, there was Sam's visit.

"Are you happy, Lucas?" Neil's lips twisted into a rueful grin. "I promised your mother I'd ask that, first thing."

Lucas laughed. "I can hear Mother herself, asking the question." He stopped to consider his answer, while his father patiently waited. "Overall, yes, I'm . . . content."

"Hmm." Neil ran a forefinger from left to right over the shiny surface of the desk. "That's a somewhat evasive answer. Content does not necessarily mean happy." A dry shrug, and a little hand-gesture from his son, was the only reply he got.

"We were pleased Sam was able to join us for Christmas dinner, and sorry that we were only able to visit with him such a short time. He seems like a very nice young man, very much like Owen."

Lucas was not sure what his father was searching for. "Dad, do you have a specific question? If so, just ask it. Of course, Sam is a wonderful person. He, Owen, and I had a very good time during his visit." He grinned. "Of course, I would imagine he and Owen had a better time, but you'd have to ask one of them for the details. I can only speak to what I experienced. Things were a little . . . tense . . . between us, at first, but we got over that."

"What are your plans, Lucas?" Neil held up an admonitory finger. "Remember, you asked me to be blunt."

Lucas sighed. "You mean in relation to the Company, or my more immediate plans?" He held up a placating hand. "I don't mean immediate, as in, I plan to go home and study before I go to the gym."

"Your plans, as you see them," Neil added.

"Dad, I really don't know. I've always figured that I would go to college, get a degree; then come to work for the Company, doing essentially the same thing you do. All my life, that seems to have been the course that was set out for me to follow."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, not at all."

"But?"

"But . . . I don't know. I'm thinking that don't want to get lost in Neil Horton's shadow. I'm afraid that, before I've even begun to test my own limits, I'll be . . . subsumed by the Company . . . by you." He made a sweeping gesture. "By all this.

"I don't want that to happen. I want to find out what Lucas Horton is all about, what he's capable of, not as Neil Horton's son, but as his own man. I want to do something . . . worthwhile, something that'll help people and have a meaning. That's not to say that what you do doesn't have a meaning; it's just that I think I want to do something different. I, at least, want to try." He shook his head. "I don't have any plans; just vague ideas of things I might try."

He grinned. "I want to be introduced as Lucas Horton, not Neil Horton's son, Lucas." He grinned. "Perhaps, someday, someone might even introduce you as Neil, Lucas Horton's father." He huffed a small laugh. "Does that make sense?" Neil slowly nodded, amazed, pleased beyond measure, at his son's growth during the past months.

"Yes, it makes sense." Neil idly rotated a fountain pen to the left, then right, as he seemed to think. "You've obviously been giving your needs a great deal of thought. I thought you might be feeling constrained by me, just as I felt constrained by the expectations of my father." Neil grinned, taking any sting out of his comments. "That's one of the reasons I wanted to lay things out on the table, so-to-speak. I want you to know that you are free to find yourself.

"You need to know that there are no expectations, on either your mother's or my part, regarding what role you play in the Company, if any. You are free to choose your own path, son, knowing that you have your parents' blessing in whatever you choose."

He waited a moment, to give Lucas a moment to absorb what he'd just said. "I do want to tell you how proud I am of you. You are a wonderful son, and I'm sure you'll be a success at whatever you attempt." He held up a finger.

"I would ask one thing though." Lucas nodded.

"Whenever you decide what it is you're going to do to fulfill your dreams, I want in, as an investor." He smiled. "I bet whatever it is will be great."

"Watch out world!" Lucas laughed.

"The Horton men mean business!" Neil finished, reaching across his desk to take his son's hand. "Make your own luck, Lucas. Make your dreams come true. I'd say, 'make us proud,' but I'm so proud of you already, that I don't think that phrase would mean much. Do whatever it is you need to do, knowing you have your mother's and my blessing, and our love."

'I shouldn't have yelled at Opie.' Jonathan leaned against the workbench where he'd been sharpening some work tools. "She's just a little girl. She didn't mean anything.' Jonathan grinned. 'She even stood up to me. The girl's got a backbone.' His thoughts drifted, the image of his youngest daughter supplanted by that of his oldest son.

'Not like him,' Jonathan seethed, gripping a shovel handle. 'He . . . Owen . . . has no backbone. All he does is let his mother think for him. He's either sittin' at her side talkin' 'bout the wild blue yonder, or some such nonsense, or has his nose in a book or magazine, or something. Always readin', always dreaming, always doing anything but what he's told to do! I hate him for that . . . and for defying me.'

"Bastards!" he hissed. "That's what both boys are . . . bastards!"

Jonathan leaned the shovel against the workbench and leaned over, feeling sick. 'Why am I thinking like that?' he asked himself, shaking his head from side to side. 'I love Bea. I know the boys aren't bastards.'

"They are," he hissed, his earlier anger returning in full force. "They're Bea's sons, but they're still bastards, never listenin' to me, never workin' like they should. That's why the farm's not doin' as good as it should. Hell, I work hard enough, but it's too much for one person."

He rubbed his eyes with his fists, his thoughts swirling in black and white streaks behind his eyes. "Bea," he choked. "What have I done to deserve feelin' like I do?"

The swirls seemed to solidify into a black shape, which descended over him, cloaking him in anger. He slammed a fist onto the surface of the workbench, causing everything on the bench to jump and tremble. "I hate . . . everyone. No one defies me. First Owen, then Jonah and Bea, now Opie!" He gasped for breath, a different voice interrupting his thoughts.

'You fool!' the voice screamed, echoing within his roiling mind. 'Just 'cause someone doesn't agree with you doesn't mean they're defying you!' He clinched his fist.

'It does!' he screamed within his mind. He grabbed his head with both hands. "I can't have things both ways. I'm goin' crazy. I know I am," he cried.

"You doin' okay?" Owen asked, snuggling closer to Lucas, laying an arm over his chest and nuzzling his tousled hair. "You're seeming kinda quiet."

Lucas turned and smiled, kissing the tip of Owen's nose. "I'm fine, Cowboy. I'm just having a bout of serious thoughts." Owen responded with a small noise of encouragement, resting his head in the crook of Lucas' neck, and waited. "I had lunch with my father today."

"It's funny," Lucas began, speaking into the silence of the darkened bedroom. "I've always worried that I'd disappoint Dad if I chose not to go into business with him. He told me this afternoon that he has no such expectations; that I'm free to develop whatever business plans I choose." Lucas huffed a brief laugh, causing Owen to make an inquiring sound.

"Dad made me promise that I'd let him invest in whatever I choose to do. I've got quite a bit of my own money, from my grandparents' estate, as well as investments my folks made for me years ago, so I don't think Dad's offer was a means of controlling me by funneling money in my direction. I think it was a genuine offer."

"Does that surprise you? It shouldn't." Owen shifted position, rolling onto an elbow.

There was a pause while Lucas considered the question. Meanwhile, Owen slowly ran a hand over Lucas' chest. "Some, I guess," Lucas finally said. "I want to be taken seriously. I shouldn't be surprised when he does exactly as I wish. It's a little daunting, though."

"Do you have plans beyond school?"

The moment's silence stretched to stretch unbearably. "No," Lucas finally murmured. "I just know that I want to do something that'll help . . ." He sighed. "Help, what, whom, where . . . I have no idea."

"I want to be done with serious thoughts for today," Owen murmured, nuzzling Lucas' ear. "You're feeling a little overwhelmed with your father's comments. I'm feeling something like that with Corey's." He snuggled closer, throwing a leg over Lucas. "Tonight, I want nothing more than to be with you, City Boy, in our warm bed." He kissed Lucas' neck. "You're mine." Lucas grinned to himself, reveling in Owen's warmth, in a moment of wishful thinking.

"Are you homesick, Owen? Do you wish you were home instead of here?"

"Here? As in bed with you, or going to school, here?"

"Whichever."

"Yeah, I'm homesick some, but if bein' home means being away from you, I'll stay right where I am."

"What about Sam?"

"Sam's not planning on leaving Riverton," Owen murmured. "He told me so when he was here. He and Jonah have been talking over ideas on how to grow crops year-round. He's excited by what he's learning in the junior college in Evanston. He's not gonna leave."

"And, are you going to stay here?" Lucas asked, already knowing the answer.

"I . . . I don't know. I want to, then a moment later, I don't. I hate the cold, and snow, and wind, and all that stuff. I like the city. I love bein' with you, 'cause I . . . Well, you know my feelings. Still . . ." Owen's voice trailed off.

"Have you thought about going back to Riverton?"

Owen snorted. "Daily . . . hourly! At times, I wonder if I made a big mistake by ever leavin, but if I hadn't left I'd never have met you, and your folks, and Bailey, and Corey, and everyone at the library. There's nothin' for me in Riverton, though, other than Mama, Jonah, Abigail, Opie, and Sam."

"That seems like quite a few reasons to return, if you ask me," Lucas observed. He could feel Owen's slight shrug. "The place seems to be sort of an information vacuum," Owen continued. "The people haven't moved into the late 20th century, much less the 21st. They seem content, yet that was one of the main reasons I wanted out. I wanted access to . . . the world." Owen rolled onto his back, his voice becoming animated.

"The people in Riverton don't have that access. They don't seem to want it. If I go back, I'm afraid I'll be going back to being dissatisfied, maybe even more so since I've seen and experienced some of the world. Those people . . . most of 'em at least, don't know they're stagnating. I don't want to languish like that, livin' in the past like they do. That's why I love the library so much. I have access to everything. I feel like I've begun to grow, Lucas. I don't want to be shoved back into a box, tryin' to conform to what others think I should be. I want to do something, to be something." He snorted. "I just don't think Riverton is a place where I can make those things happen.

"Besides, I'm not sure a person can ever go back to where they began and expect things to be the same. Things will have changed. The person will have changed . . . grown. I might return to Riverton, but things'd never be the same. I'm not sayin' I would like for them to be, the same, that is. It's just . . ." He shrugged.

"At one time, Riverton had a dream. Now, it doesn't. It's slowly giving up. I hate to see that happen. It's a beautiful place, really; the fields in the summer, the huge oaks, the river and wide-open blue sky with the towering summer clouds." He paused. "The fireflies, the sound of the frogs at the river's edge, the yellow flowers of the meadow . . . the silence at night, the sound of a rooster at daybreak, or the birds singin' in the trees. Those are all things that make it a beautiful place. I just never appreciated any of them when I was there.

"The problem is all in my mind. I'm all messed up inside; not really knowin' what I want any more. I want you . . . and Riverton . . . and Sam . . . and everything I have here." Owen spoke into the darkness, warmed by Lucas, lying close-by.

"Then, there's Pops." He sighed. "Lucas, somethin' must be wrong with me, but I just can't give up on him. He's sick . . . in the mind, or something. He needs help. If he'd stop hating everyone for just a minute, maybe I . . . someone . . . could do something to help him." He huffed a soft snort.

"Y'know, I think I could forgive him everything he's done to me if I could just reach him . . . if he'd let me in . . . just once. If he'd let me in, I'd tell him how much I love him. He's afraid of me as much as I'm afraid of him though, just for different reasons." The silence lengthened as Lucas let Owen examine his feelings.

"I," Owen began, then stopped. A moment later, he began once again. "I just don't know. "It's sorta like I can't allow myself to love anyone completely . . . Sam . . . you . . . anyone, until this thing with Pops is resolved. I know he's sick, but on some level I wonder . . . if I caused it, and if I did, if I might do the same thing to Sam, or you."

"Owennnn," Lucas began, hoping to cut off this line of thinking before it had a chance to take root and blossom.

Owen snorted. "I know thinkin' like that is silly, but . . . there it is. That's how I sometimes feel."

He turned his head and kissed Lucas on the cheek. "I love you, you know. But . . . I'm a mess." He sighed, staring into the darkened room.

"Mama's health is botherin' me a lot, too," he said, after a few moments. "She means more to me than I can express. We used to sit out on the porch late at night and talk about all sorts of things. She encouraged me to dream, to think about . . . things, beyond Riverton. I know she did the same thing with Jonah." Owen snorted a bemused laugh. "I sometimes wondered when she got any sleep, she was so busy cultivatin' our minds.

"Considering all that, the best place for me to be is here." He rolled onto his side, once again draping a leg over Lucas', and snuggling close. "Yep," he said, kissing Lucas' neck, then his jaw, and finally licking over his lips. "I'm thinkin' being here in bed with you is exactly where I want to be."

"You old fool!"

The voices were laughing at him, calling him names. The bedroom was stifling hot, the voices swooping near, but retreating as he reached out to grab them. They were taunting him, teasing him about not being smart, for not making a profit from his puny farm, like ol' Scott McKenzie did from his. "Your fault!" they called in his sleep. "Everything's all your fault."

"No!" he shouted, gasping for breath, and sitting up in bed, as the blankets slid to the floor. The room was dark. There were no laughing ghosts taunting him with his failures. He jumped out of bed and rushed to the window, only to find more silence and darkness. There was no one outside . . . no one to laugh at him and make him feel small.

He picked up the blankets and laid back down, dragging the covers over his head. 'Maybe if I hide,' he thought.

Corey lay at Bailey's side, the laughter from the party in the next-door apartment finally fading to silence.

"Mmmm, quiet," Bailey murmured. "At last."

Corey snorted. "At least, with all the noise they were making, they couldn't hear us." He nudged Bailey. "We get sorta loud, y'know."

"Fuck me, Bail," Bailey cried in a playful voice, imitating Corey. "Stick it in deeper. Oooo," he laughed. "I'm gonna shoot!" His voice rose in pitch, then he laughed. "If they did hear us, I can't imagine what they thought we were doing," Bailey chuckled.

"At least they didn't ask to join us," Corey chuckled; then turned to Bailey. "Do I really sound like that, all high-pitched and stuff? Geez, I sound like my grandmama."

Bailey smiled and made a sound deep in his throat as he got to his knees, straddled Corey, and began to lick an exposed armpit. The sound changed from amused to aroused, as he lapped across the patch of dark hair with his tongue.

Corey chuckled, caught between a feeling of being tickled, and aroused by Bailey's initiative. It was seldom Bailey made the first move in anything, fearful of doing something wrong. "Oh, Bail," Corey cooed, "where'd you learn to do that?"

Bailey moved away from Corey's armpit so quickly, one might think he'd been burned. It looked at Corey with a stung expression, then rolled to the lying man's side. "Did I do something wrong?" Bailey asked, covering his eyes with his forearm. "I thought both of us might like it . . . what I was doing." Without waiting for a response, Bailey rolled onto his side, his back facing Corey. "I'm sorry," he said, in a voice full of confusion and hurt. "I just . . . just don't know what to do . . . under any situation."

He turned onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. "I sometimes wish I could go back to my old self," he continued, in a muffled voice. "That way I wouldn't hurt so much all the time."

"What?" Corey asked, stunned by the sudden change in Bailey's behavior. "What're you talking about? Of course I loved what you were doing. I love anything you do."

Bailey's response was a snort of disbelief, it, like his voice, muffled by the pillow.

Corey sat cross legged at Bailey's side and began running the open palm of a hand down the small of Bailey's back, over the swell of his naked buttocks. "In fact," Corey continued, when it became clear Bailey wouldn't be saying anything more. "In fact, I was telling myself recently how I brave I thought you are for setting out to make the changes to your life that you think are necessary." Corey softly snorted in amusement. "I was also hoping that you'd not toss out all of the old Bailey . . . because you're unique. You wouldn't be nearly as interesting if you behave like everyone else. I care for the man, Bailey, not for Bailey, the man who's trying to be like a second hand copy of someone else. Let them be themselves. I'll take the real thing." He gently slapped Bailey's butt. "Y'understand, handsome?"

Bailey shrugged, still not turning to meet Corey's eyes.

"I know I couldn't do what you're doing," Corey continued. "You're the brave one. You've taken the bull by the horns and are, at least, trying to do something." Corey took a deep breath, knowing that this was the time he'd been dreading. It was an opportunity to tell Bailey about his childhood. "You're doing something. Unlike me."

The words, and the accompanying tone caught Bailey's attention. He rolled to his side, then propped himself up on an elbow. "What are you saying? What do you need to change? You're so self-confident. You're everyone's friend. You fit in everywhere." Bailey snorted. "Look how well you fit in over at my folks' during Christmas. Not everyone could have done what you did. I was impressed, knowing how squirmy you were inside, like I did."

Bailey moved to a cross-legged position opposite Corey, and took one of his hands. "Now, tell me what's on your mind. Something's troubling you."

"Bailey, I need to talk to you about me . . . my past . . . things you need to know. I don't want to be keeping secrets from you." Corey looked up, attempting to grin. "Maybe me telling you will help you not feel like everyone else is perfect and it's only you who's struggling with . . . with . . . life."

"Oh, okay. Whatever it is you're going to tell me, though, won't change how I feel about you," Bailey murmured, tightening his and Corey's linked fingers. "Any guy who can put up with all my foibles and insecurities for these past few months is as close to a saint as one can get."

"I'm no saint, Bail. I'm just a poor scared country boy who is treading water just to keep from drowning in my memories."

"What memories? Was your childhood that bad?" He felt, more than saw, Corey's shrug.

Bailey listened in silence as the story of Corey's childhood seemed to be torn from his soul. There was nothing he could say that might be interpreted wrongly. He knew Corey did not want his sympathy, but as Corey spoke of being ignored and told how much he was hated, sympathy was all he could feel. At first, he wondered how anyone's parents could treat their own son so badly. Then, he realized that his parents had ignored him, too. 'But,' he thought, 'that was all my doing. I'm surprised they didn't throw me out on my tail, since I made life so miserable for them.'

At last, Corey's story wound to its conclusion, and the room became silent. The next-door party had finally broken up, the winter winds had chosen not to howl . . . and Bailey was left with no idea how to respond.

"Thank you," he managed to say, his throat dry. "For telling me your story. I can tell how much it's cost you.

"What are you going to do? Are you . . . are you . . ." He interrupted himself. "Forgive me if I seem uncaring. Believe me, that's not the case. But, are you doing something to change how you feel, or are you going to let your past determine your future? Our future?" he added. He could feel Corey begin to withdraw. He rested his other hand atop their clasped fingers, preventing Corey from moving away.

"Listen to me Corey. I . . . I . . . love you." He swallowed. "I want you . . . us . . . to be happy." He took a deep breath. "But, that's not going to be possible if you . . . if both of us don't jettison all the old, worn out baggage we're carrying around. I'm not asking you to forgive your folks, but I am asking you to do your best to grow . . . beyond . . . the pain they inflicted on you. I'm here. I'll do whatever I can to help, but as long as you're carrying all that . . . weight . . . on your back, you'll never be able to stand tall. Those people have their own set of problems. There is no reason for you to accept their troubles as yours. You need to take some positive steps to . . . overcome . . . all that."

"I am doing something!" Corey pulled his hand away. "I left home when I was a kid. I came here . . . to college. I didn't let them rule my life."

"And you showed great courage to do those things, but you're still allowing your folks to have an impact on your life." He paused, then asked, in a matter-of-fact voice. "Why?"

Corey rolled off the bed. "You don't know what you're talking about," he murmured, angrily crossing the room to stand before the window overlooking the apartment's parking lot, with crossed arms. "You've never had to worry about what your folks thought of you. You've never had them tell you that they hate you; that they wish you'd never been born. Your parents have always been good."

Bailey's snort caused Corey to turn around.

"Well?" he asked, holding his arms out to his sides; then dropping them. "They have been . . . good, haven't they?"

"Come on, lover." Bailey patted the rumpled sheets. "Come back to bed. You'll get all cold and shriveled standing out there, naked."

"Answer me, Bail. Your parents have always been good, haven't they?"

"You're right; they've never been as bad as yours. I had plenty of money, they never told me they hated me, they never tortured me like yours did, with their behavior, but I knew . . . every minute of every day . . . that I was not the son they wanted. I was their only child, but I was a constant disappointment. I was an embarrassment. Unlike your grandmother, Luella . . . whatever, they would not have complained if I'd never been seen by their friends." Bailey held out a hand to prevent Corey from continuing. "Of course, much, if not all, of this was my fault, unlike you, who had no input in the matter. Still, being ignored is being ignored."

Corey slowly returned to the bed and crawled beneath the covers, snuggling close to Bailey. "Are you telling me that I need to recreate myself like you're recreating yourself?"

"No, I'm not telling you that you should do anything; just that there is no reason to allow your parents to govern whether you're happy or not. If they choose to be unhappy and bitter, let them. You can do better than them. Don't dwell on your unhappy past, letting them ruin what you've created for yourself. All that unhappiness is what happened to a young child. It's over with. Move on. You're stronger than them. I'm amazed by what you were able to do to help yourself," Bailey continued. "I couldn't have done what you did, that's for sure. So . . . you're strong. Now, use that strength to make peace with your past. You don't have to forgive them, just . . . make peace within your own mind."

Bailey laughed. "Besides, I need all the help I can get." He nuzzled Corey's neck. "You're a great teacher, you know."

"And you're a sex-obsessed pervert," Corey teased back, leaning into Bailey's nuzzle.

"And . . . that's a bad thing?" Bailey chuckled, pulling Corey on top of him; then reached for the blanket to cover them both.

"Oh, I do love you, my handsome friend," Bailey murmured, welcoming Corey's warmth and weight. "I love you so much."

~ to be continued ~

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

Roy Reinikainen roynm@mac.com