Owen

Owen

Chapter 27

By Roy Reinikainen

Owen glanced into the dimly lit living room as he and Sam walked down the hallway hand-in-hand, and saw Lucas, sprawled on the armchair breathing slowly, his eyes closed, presumably asleep. 'He shouldn't sleep in that position,' Owen couldn't help thinking, a slight frown creasing his forehead. 'Every time he does, he ends up with a headache.' He looked away from Lucas as he felt Sam's hand on the bare skin of his buttocks, urging him into the bedroom. Sam quietly closed the door and turned to Owen, each man unsure of what to do next.

Sam moved first, an indication of the increased self confidence he'd developed since Owen's departure for school. He tenderly ran the fingertips of both hands over either side of Owen's face, barely touching the smooth skin. "I've missed you," he murmured, looking into Owen's grey eyes. "More'n you can know, I missed you." Before Sam could lower his hands, Owen captured them between both of his, and raised them to his lips, his eyes never leaving Sam's.

"As I have you." The single bedside lamp lit the bedroom in a golden glow, reflecting off the room's old wooden furniture polished over the years by Sam's mother, who was still at her husband's side as his health continued to improve. The touch of Owen's lips was feather-light as they brushed against Sam's hands. "I've wanted to be with you . . . like this . . . since I first saw you, today," Owen murmured. "I've wanted to hold you close and feel your warmth against my bare skin." As Sam's arms encircled Owen's waist, Owen slowly kissed across Sam's jaw, ending with a tender kiss against Sam's barely-parted lips. "I've wanted to be with you . . . just the two of us . . . so I could listen to you talk . . . and laugh."

"But . . .?" Sam murmured, kissing Owen in turn. He felt, more than saw, Owen's shrug.

"I've been afraid." Sam could feel Owen begin to pull away. He tightened what had been a loose embrace.

"Of?" Sam asked.

"Of you." Owen lowered his eyes as he paused. "Of us." He frowned, pressing his lips together. "I don't know. I'm tired, and I'm not thinkin' straight." He melted into Sam's embrace, their bodies touching down their whole length. "I love you so much, Sam. Sometimes I hurt with how much I love you."

"And, I love you, my handsome friend," Sam grinned. "I love you as much as I always have, if not more."

Owen's lips twisted into a crooked grin as he looked into Sam's dark eyes. "Why are both of us thinking that there's a lot bein' left unsaid?"

Sam returned a rueful smile. "There's always much left unsaid in any conversation. Ours are no different. We're just . . ." He shrugged, giving Owen a tender kiss, inhaling the scent of Owen's still-damp hair, and nuzzled his neck. "We've been apart. We've both changed . . . grown up. We're having to become really comfortable with one another." Sam hesitated. "It'll take time, but we'll do it."

"There didn't used to be things left unsaid." Owen couldn't help himself. 'Had there been?' he wondered.

A slight movement of Sam's shoulders hinted at a shrug. "Conversations are for tomorrow, or the next day." He grinned, as he ran his hands down Owen's bare back, then over the swell of his buttocks.

"Tonight . . ." He kissed the tip of Owen's nose, grinning at the same response he'd always received. "Tonight isn't for conversations, or wonderin' about the future, or anything else. Tonight . . ." Sam touched his lips to Owen's. "Tonight is for Owen and Sam, two men who love one another, and who have been apart for too long are finally together again." This time, Sam's lips met Owen's, open-mouthed, the two men's breath mixing as their boyhood love rekindled.

"C'mon over here," Sam urged, holding Owen's hand. He crawled onto the bed and sat against a stack of pillows piled against the bed's headboard, his legs stretched out before him. When he looked up, Owen was giving him a puzzled look. "C'mere, lover," Sam urged, reaching out with both arms. "Face me. Straddle me."

Owen crawled to Sam's side, then raised one leg, intending to straddle Sam's legs, as instructed. "Hold that position," Sam smiled, as he reached out and fondled Owen's flaccid cock and low-hanging scrotum, pleased with the open-mouth, closed-eyed, expression of pleasure on Owen's face, as his cock began to thicken. "I'd 'bout forgotten what a beautiful dick you have."

"Not too small?" Owen quirked an eyebrow, his lips moving quickly from a bemused smile to an open-mouthed gasp of pleasure at the sensations he was experiencing. Sam encircled Owen's penis with his hand and stroked its length, pausing to run a thumb over the head, gathering up the first drop of pre-cum. Owen's body jerked slightly with the sensation.

"Nope," Sam grinned, bringing the finger to his mouth and licking it clean. "It's not too small. It's absolutely perfect. And," he added, "it and everything it produces, tastes great." He indicated with a motion for Owen to finish straddling him.

"It's not as big as Jonah's," Owen couldn't help saying. At one time, he'd bemoaned the fact that his younger brother was larger than he, and had been pleased with himself, thinking he'd grown out of the fears of inadequacy. Knowing that Sam and Jonah had been intimate though, had rekindled the old worries.

Sam slowly rolled his head from side to side, wearing a crooked smile. "That may be so, but you are perfect." Sam pulled Owen close, their lips meeting for another lingering, deep kiss. "If there was somethin' better'n perfect, you'd be it," Sam added, when they'd broken their kiss. He shook his head in disbelief, running his tongue over his own lips. "Damn, but you taste good too." Owen sat back on his haunches and wrapped a hand around both his and Sam's erections, and slowly began masturbating them both as he rocked his hips back and forth.

Sam sighed with pleasure. Owen knew exactly what to do to make him shiver with excitement. His touch was like a remembered kiss, the intensity only to be duplicated by the same person, the same hands. His laugh was . . . comforting . . . like a heavy blanket on a cold night. His sparkling eyes, his voice, his . . . scent. Everything seemed so . . . right, when Owen was in his arms.

Sam's fingers caressed the slabs of Owen's chest, pausing at the small nipples. He ran each of the nubs between a thumb and forefinger, knowing precisely how Owen would respond to the touch. The slight tremor proved him correct.

"Kiss me," he urged. "Lemme taste your tongue. Gimme some of your spit."

Owen made a laughing sound, deep in his chest, as he leaned forward, bracing himself with outstretched hands against the headboard, pleased more than he could say by Sam's assertiveness.

"I'm gonna fuck you tonight, Owen," Sam continued, his lips moist from the most recent kiss. "I'm gonna stretch that butt hole of yours." He grinned when Owen squirmed, as if already feeling Sam inside him. "I'm gonna tease your prostate till you're begging to shoot. Then, I'm gonna spray my sperm inside you." Sam pulled Owen's face forward, meeting Owen's lips with his own. Their tongues met in a kiss, which began slowly, and built in passion, until it extended beyond their lips, to cover their cheeks, their jaws, their ears, and necks.

"Oh, Sammy," Owen managed, struggling for breath. "You are so good."

As if they both were following a script, Sam stretched out on the bed. Owen continued to straddle him, only this time he held Sam's erection with one hand as he positioned the head of the cock at his anus. "Y'want it, Owen?" Sam murmured, teasing Owen with the talk he knew Owen loved. "Y'want me inside you?" Owen's response was a loose nod of his head. Sam thrust his hips upward, the head of his cock kissing Owen's pucker. "I've been saving up my jiz, so I'd be able to fill your hole," Sam continued, arching his back and hissing with pleasure as Owen sat back, allowing Sam's penis to penetrate him in one continuous move.

"Geez," Owen hissed, his eyes widening. "I feel like I'm giving birth, or somethin'." He squirmed slightly, a smile replacing the look of discomfort as he caught sight of his and Sam's reflection in the glass of the bedroom window; him, on his knees, astride his friend; Sam alternatively grasping at the bed sheets and masturbating Owen's bobbing erection. "Oh Sammy," he groaned, squirming slightly, and rocking his hips, his own scrotum dragging over Sam's belly with each forward movement.

"Y'gonna wanna fuck me, when we finish here, Owen?" Sam asked, grasping Owen's cock and balls, allowing Owen to masturbate himself with each thrust he took on Sam's dick. Both men were becoming breathless. "Y'know what I've been dreamin' of?" Owen shook his head, but didn't answer, intent on deriving every bit of pleasure possible from Sam's penetration.

"I've been thinking that I'd like to roll back, so my knees are against my shoulders, and suck myself off as you slide that thick cock of yours into me." Owen's groans grew louder, as the speed of his rocking motions increased. "I always love it when you fuck me like that," Sam continued, feeling his orgasm begin to build. "I like watching your dick stretch my hole as you fuck me. When you shoot, and I'm suckin' myself, it's almost like your sperm is shooting through my body into my mouth."

"Y'ready to shoot?" Owen murmured, tightening his sphincter and rocking faster.

"Oh yesssss," Sam groaned, rocking his head first to the right, then to the left. "I've been savin' it for you," he murmured, adding his thrusting motions to Owen's rocking. He tightly shut his eyes and bit his lip as his orgasm swept over him, spreading in an instant from his prostate throughout his belly and testicles, pumping Owen full. He could feel each contraction, and knew that with each, he was shooting another spray of thick sperm into Owen's hole.

"Oh geez," he groaned, as his orgasm subsided, to be replaced by an afterglow which was unique to being with Owen. The words, "being with Owen," caused him to think of Jonah, and the completely different feeling he had when they were making love. The thoughts of Jonah lasted only an instant, pushed aside in the immediacy of the moment. Thoughts of Jonah were for another day. Tonight he was with Owen . . . the man he'd loved since he was a boy.

'It's just Owen'n me,' he told himself. 'Only, Owen'n me. No one else; not Jonah, or Lucas, or family problems, just Owen'n me.'

"Ohhhh Sammy," Owen sighed, as he leaned forward and kissed a trail over Sam's neck, cheek, eyes, and finally his lips. "That was more wonderful'n I remembered.

'Everyone thinks that I've changed . . . that I'm sooo strong,' Bailey huffed to himself, stretching his bare legs out and resting his heels on the edge of the coffee table. He grinned. 'I have changed,' he thought, wondering what his mother would think if she'd see him with his feet on the coffee table, anyone's coffee table.

'Look Mother!' He held his arms wide, imagining his mother in the room with him. 'No clothes, either! How do you like your little boy?' He gripped his flaccid penis and wagged it, grinning as he imagined his mother's irritated scowl. The moment of levity passed as he recalled a recent conversation with his father.

'The man is positively determined to give Owen something for kick-starting my metamorphosis.' Bailey resignedly shook his head. 'He doesn't understand Owen.' The headshake turned into a soft snort. 'How should Father be expected to, when I don't understand him. Lucas doesn't understand him. Hell, I don't think Owen understands himself!'

"As far as I know," Bailey had responded to his father's question . . . "Owen is perfectly happy. He's not the type of person to ask for anything, so I wouldn't count on him ever coming to you to make good on your Christmas Eve promise to him."

Bailey thought of the man who had become so important to him. His earlier infatuation had grown to a deep friendship. Bailey shook his head, disgusted with his early behavior toward Owen. 'I behaved so badly! I'm surprised he'd even talk to me, much less help me to realize how my behavior was at the root of my troubles.' Owen had given so much, without even realizing it. Owen seemed so self-confident. 'No one can be that trouble-free,' Bailey thought to himself. 'Maybe Corey is right, and all of that self-confidence is nothing more than a facade, hiding the real Owen.' Bailey's mouth twisted slightly. 'Whatever's the case, I wish I was able to paint such a pretty picture.'

Bailey closed his eyes. 'Sometimes, I feel like there isn't really any such person as Bailey only a collection of half-realized possibilities, none of which have been deemed worth keeping. 'Sometimes, the old Bailey surfaces, as if wanting to be heard.' He shook his head. 'Somehow, I'm going to have to come to terms with that person and the one I'm hoping to become.

'Ah, Owen,' Bailey sighed. 'I think I'm needing some of the self-confidence that only you seem to be able to provide. Corey tries,' Bailey grinned. 'In truth, he works wonders, making me feel like I can accomplish anything, and I must admit that I have made progress . . . but,' Bailey sighed, 'somehow, it's not the same to hear the words from Corey as it is to hear them from you.'

Bailey glanced over his shoulder to the bedroom where he'd left Corey asleep, sprawled on his stomach. He'd felt guilty leaving, but was afraid his restlessness would convey itself to Corey, and would leave them both unable to sleep.

'Lucas' mother says that you and Lucas have left town.' Bailey frowned, continuing to think about Owen. 'In the middle of a semester? Why? What could be so important? That, she wouldn't . . . or . . . couldn't, say.'

Something brushed past as it flew overhead. Jonathan's eyes widened in terror, his mouth forming a silent inarticulate scream as he saw the size of the great black shape which seemed to hover before him. The sight . . . the smell . . . his own fear . . . caused his stomach to twist, and acid rise into his throat.

The . . . thing seemed to assume faces of people he knew . . . people who had tormented him throughout his entire life. One laughing face would taunt him for a few moments only to be replaced by another, and another, in an endless display of ridicule. They were all laughing at him, mocking him with his inadequacies.

"You're a failure," he heard his mother say. "You can't farm. You've driven your lovely wife away, and my grandsons!" She shook her head. "What am I going to do with you, Jonathan? You don't seem to be good for much of anything." His father was less kind, merely sneering before turning away.

'There's a man who knew how to farm,' Jonathan couldn't help thinking.

Something . . . wet . . . dripped onto his hand. He flinched and drew back against the wall, covering his eyes. The monster had floated closer. It was only inches away, its fetid breath enveloping Jonathan in a burning cloud, which caused him to gasp for breath.

Jonathan jerked and blinked in puzzlement, wondering why he was covering his eyes with his hands and cowering in the corner of the cell, like a girl. He sniffed the air and made a face. 'Maybe Bea'll show up soon and get me out of here so I can take a shower, and get a decent meal. I wonder what's keeping her.

Bea eased herself onto one of the rocking chairs on the front porch of her house, feeling happier than she could ever remember being, even though she felt every bruise as well as every blow which caused them. She thought of the concerned looks of both Owen and his friend Lucas, as they saw her injuries for the first time. 'Owen ground his teeth in suppressed anger, while Lucas tried to make both Owen and me feel better by smoothing things over with his good humor. What a wonderful young man, Lucas is,' she thought to herself. It was a pleasure watching him give orders to Owen, Jonah, and Sam, telling them exactly how to do things in the kitchen. She was sure, given what Owen had told her about Lucas, that he'd never washed a dish by hand in his life; yet there he was, scrubbing away and acting like he and kitchen work were old friends.

Lucas would wash each dish, happily humming an off-key tune, his arms elbow-deep in overly sudsy water. While teasing Lucas on his lack of vocal skills, Owen would then dry each item and pass it along to Jonah, who followed Abigail's giggling instructions on where each dish should be placed. All the while, Sam bustled about clearing the dining table and straightening the room, making faces at little Opie, who giggled in response and stayed close to Lucas' side.

It was so wonderful to have a house filled with laughter. Bea almost felt . . . normal. Even Opie felt it, begging to stay up past her bedtime so she could say goodbye to Lucas. Hearing Opie's request, Lucas snagged a dishtowel from Jonah, dried his hands, then knelt in front of her and gave her a hug.

"There," he said, giving her another hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, "now, you do what your Mama asks. I'm not going anyplace. You'll be seeing lots of me."

"Promise you and Owen won't leave soon?" Opie whimpered, already almost asleep. "When you're here, we can laugh."

Lucas ignored Bea's sharp breath in a room suddenly gone quiet. "I promise," he'd said, drawing the little girl into a close hug. "I wouldn't want to run off and not see any more of my favorite little girl, now would I?" He kissed her again; then relinquished her to her mother, who took her unresisting little girl off to bed.

The four men finished the dishes, said their good-byes, then headed out to Sam's, but not before each of them hugged Bea and thanked her for dinner. She'd never been at such a loss for words as when the squeaky screen door closed and she'd been left to contemplate exactly what had happened.

'So, this is what happiness feels like,' she thought to herself. 'I think I could come to enjoy the feeling.'

Now, an hour later, and with the house silent, she sat on the porch and stared into the moonlit darkness, wondering what sort of resolution her sons and their friends would arrive at that would leave everyone happy. 'I'm not sure such a thing is possible.' She bit her lower lip, hoping Jonah and Owen would still be friends in the morning. She shook her head. 'I don't see why the four of them can't see that things are fine the way they are. There's no need to go shiftin' around, just because that's the way things have always been. Times have changed. The boys have changed! The old rules and expectations no longer apply!'

She would catch an unguarded look Owen would give Lucas, then see his features cloud, as if wondering what Sam would think. The same was true of Jonah. 'He's been so happy,' Bea sighed, slowly shaking her head. 'Then, there's poor Lucas, who's caught in the middle of things. He tries to act as if there's nothing wrong, but when he looks at Owen, there's a yearning in his eyes . . . a hunger.' Bea's lips compressed. 'I hope that Lucas isn't so committed to Owen that he'd rather starve himself than allow himself to care for someone else.' She closed her eyes, recalling the four men who were now probably arriving at Sam's place.

Bea raked her fingers through her hair. 'Wishin' for things that may not be possible,' she silently told herself, 'is not the way to achieve happiness. I should know.' She sighed, 'I just want my boys and the men they love to be happy.'

She gingerly shifted position and winced as she ran a hand over her face, still swollen from the blows her husband had inflicted. 'I feel like I'm nothin' but bruises,' she thought to herself. 'I'm glad Daniel . . . the Doctor . . . no . . . Daniel, intervened or I might be lying in a hospital bed . . . or worse. I don't think I could have managed to pull myself up off the floor one more time. Then . . .' She grinned to herself. 'Then, I almost collapsed in relief when Daniel burst into the house with the shout of a wild man, practically tearing the screen door off its hinges.'

Bea grinned, thinking of the doctor as the fairy tale knight coming to her rescue. 'Of course, fairy tale rescues never were accompanied by sound. Daniel was screaming like a banshee as he flew through the air in a fair imitation of Superman, slamming Jonathan into the dining table and landing on top of him with a loud oomph of expelled air.' Her smile faded.

'Poor man . . . getting a broken arm to protect me, trippin' over that upturned chair like he did.' She felt warm all over. 'Daniel's actions are like something one would read of in a book. I never expected to actually see such a thing happen.' Her grin widened to a smile. 'It was really quite spectacular! And that shout of his!' Her laugh caused her to grimace, as she seemed to feel each bruise. 'Daniel's always been so mild mannered, it was exciting to see another side of him. And the way he held me with his good arm, all the way to the hospital over in Evanston! No one's ever done something like that before.

'I wonder what's happening to Jonathan.' Bea's smile faded, recalling how her husband was twisting and shouting in the grasp of the two Evanston police officers as he was carried from the house and unceremoniously dumped into the backseat of a police car. 'They sent almost their entire police force!' Bea laughed. 'Must have realized they were going to be dealing with a crazy man.'

Bea inhaled a deep breath of the cool air, and exhaled slowly, feeling as if a weight she had borne for over eighteen years had been suddenly removed. She felt free. A world of possibilities had suddenly opened before her. Jonathan was gone and her sons were free to visit. Things couldn't get much better.

She looked to her right, as the screen door creaked loudly in the still night air. One of the upper corners of screen fabric hung limply and swayed as the door jerkily protested being opened. One hinge had been torn free of the frame; the remaining two were loose, while the door handle hung by one screw. 'I'm surprised Daniel didn't just rip the door off the frame.' She grinned as Abigail pushed the screen door closed with a firm shove, then stepped onto the porch, her nightgown showing off the figure of a young woman; not the girl who wore the same gown less than a year earlier.

"Are you okay, Mama?" she asked, in a voice full of concern. She pulled a chair close and sat, drawing her feet beneath her. Bea reached out and took her daughter's hand and squeezed. She'd always loved sitting on the porch, visiting with her children.

"I've never been better, dear."

Her daughter chuckled, resting a hand on top of her mother's. "Me too."

They sat in companionable silence, holding hands, listening to the sounds of the night, until Abigail broke the silence.

"I'm glad Owen's back."

The slight tightening of her mother's fingers signaled her unspoken agreement.

"He's the same . . . yet different."

"I'm glad he's back for Sam's sake," Bea responded. "Sam's been missin' him so." She lapsed into silence. "So has Jonah."

"For different reasons though," Abigail added, turning to her mother. "It's okay, Mama. I know what's going on. I always have. There just was never any reason to say anything. Now, things are different. It's okay to talk about stuff we've never mentioned before." She snorted softly. "So much has changed in only a couple days. It's almost like I'm waking from a nightmare.

"His friend, Lucas, seems to be really nice," Abigail observed neutrally, then sighed. "I guess I shouldn't be startin' any fantasies with him as the star though. I'm thinking that his and Owen's relationship is going to be facing a few rough days, what with Sam and Jonah in the same house."

Bea smiled and nodded into the darkness. "I'm glad Owen and Lucas are friends. Even growing up with Sam, and caring about him like he does, Owen, has essentially been alone his whole life. I imagine he's probably suffering from his father's mistreatment in ways perhaps even he doesn't understand."

"He's not well, is he? Pops, I mean," Abigail asked. "Looking back on things, I realize it all started with Owen, but something has changed. I mean, Pops has always had a mean streak, but now, it's grown into something more." Abigail lapsed into silence.

"Sometimes . . . for a few moments, he seems like the Pops I remember when I was real little, although I'm not really sure if Pops ever acted the way I remember . . . it's been so long. During those moments, he seems frightened of himself . . . of how he's behaving." Bea sensed her daughter's frustration. "It's like he can't control his behavior, or doesn't want to control it." Abigail turned to her mother.

"He's become dangerous, Mama, not only because of what he did to you and the doctor, but I'm thinking things could get a whole lot worse." Abigail's fingers tightened. "What are we gonna do? None of us will be safe if he comes back."

Bea tried not to stiffen at the mention of her husband and the thought of his possible return. "You're right, sweetheart, but you and I are not the people responsible for seeing that he gets professional attention. I . . . I . . . hope he's able to get the help he needs, though I don't really believe anyone will be able to break through the wall he's built around himself. He's living in a different world than you and me. He's creating his own reality. It's a place where he's always right, and everyone blindly does whatever he demands.

"I'm going to get a divorce," she told her daughter, feeling as if she had taken another step toward freedom. "I . . . I hope the court decides not to release him until he gets help, but if they do let him go, you and Opie and I will leave. I can return to teaching." She grinned into the darkness and tightened her grasp of her daughter's hand. "We'll get by, probably better than we have been.

"I don't know what will happen to the farm, but I can't let that worry me. At least, we'll be rid of him," Bea continued.

"He's not one to stay gone," Abigail warned. "That's what's scarin' me. He's so angry, there's no tellin' what he might do, and if he knows Owen is back, I'm afraid he'll lose whatever of his sanity remains."

Bea squeezed her daughter's hand. "I know, dear. The thought of him being free frightens me, too. But, we'll deal with things as they happen. Right now, I intend to sit out here and enjoy the peace and quiet."

Abigail spoke into the darkness, surprising her mother with her observations. "Owen still loves him, doesn't he? Even with all the things Pops has done to him, Owen continues to hope that he'll be able to do or say something, and Pops will change." Abigail wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a chill having nothing to do with the weather. "It'll never happen, Mama." When the silence stretched, Bea looked toward her daughter, who was staring, unseeing, into the distance.

"Someday Owen's gonna have to admit to himself that wanting Pops to love him is like livin' in a dream-world. I don't know what Pops wants. I'm not sure he even knows. But, Owen wants love. More'n anything, he wants to be loved by his father." Abigail sighed. "I wish that, just once, Pops could find it within himself, to tell Owen he's sorry for how he's treated him. A couple words. That's all Owen needs.

Bea silently nodded her agreement, allowing her daughter to continue.

"Owen'll never be able to give either Sam or Lucas the love he's holding back for Pops, until he admits a couple things."

"What's that sweetheart?" Bea coaxed.

"Mama, I think, deep down, that Owen somehow believes he is the reason Pops behaves like he does. I think Owen has, in some weird twist of logic, convinced himself that he deserves being treated badly by Pops, and what's even stranger, I'm thinking that Owen . . . somehow . . . sees himself as . . . Pops' savior.

"I'm thinkin' that Owen first needs to start loving himself, admitting that he's not the cause of his father's behavior. Then, maybe, he'll see that Pops can't give him the love he wants." Abigail sighed, and sadly shook her head.

"I feel bad for Owen, Mama. I feel bad for all the guys over at Sam's. They're all lookin' for something, just like Owen, but I don't think any of 'em really know what it is they're needing." She huffed an amused breath.

"Listen to me! Here I am, analyzing everyone's troubles . . . like I have a clue what those guys are needing." Bea could sense her daughter's smile. "I always was free with my advice."

Abigail leaned over and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. "The doctor'll be okay?" she asked. "Someone should check on him just to make sure he's not needin' anything."

Bea tenderly smiled. "Yes dear. I'm sure he's going to be fine. I'll make sure he's taken care of. If it hadn't been for him, no telling what shape I'd be in."

The warm water of the shower splashed against Lucas' neck. The room remained full of the steam from Owen and Sam's shower, and the scent of soap and shave cream. Two damp towels were neatly folded and draped over the edge of the vanity, next to a fresh towel for him and another, presumably for Jonah. 'What a day!' he thought, as he tried to quickly shave and finish his shower, so some hot water would remain for Jonah. 'There are so many emotional currents and cross currents in the air, it makes my head spin. That entire family is in pain!'

"When you're here, we can laugh," Opie had told him in all innocence. She might as well have said, "When you're here, we don't feel the pain quite so badly."

Lucas shook his head, thinking of Bea. 'Tonight at least, she was nothing like the sad, harried, haggard woman Owen always described,' Lucas thought, as he shut off the shower, opened the glass door, and reached for the towel, recalling Bea's bubbling laughter during dinner and comforting hand on his shoulder as he left, along with her accompanying murmur of, "are you going to be okay?" 'She's asking me if I'm going to be okay.' He shook his head. 'Suffering as she has, her question speaks volumes about what sort of person she is.'

He'd tried to grin as he nodded and embraced her. 'How could Owen have not realized how well everyone understands him,' he wondered, hugging Abigail, then following Sam, Owen, and Jonah into the soft evening air, for the drive home.

'Ah yes . . . Jonah . . .' Lucas stopped drying his hair and leaned against the vanity counter. Jonah of the sexy lips,' he thought, 'and the downcast, slightly sad eyes.'

Jonah had done his best to be sociable, especially when he teased about wanting to hear embarrassing stories about Owen at school, but the surface good humor did little to hide the sadness beneath.

'The poor boy,' Lucas thought to himself. 'Owen is the crux of the problem. Sam loves Owen; I love Owen. Owen loves both Sam and me. So where does that leave Jonah?' He softly snorted. 'It leaves Jonah sleeping alone tonight, just as it does me.'

He thought of Jonah, in the bedroom across the hallway, wondering what he was doing. 'I've never seen anyone blush so easily at the slightest praise. It's almost as if he's never been complimented in his life. Then again, that might be the case.

'What wonderful hands he has,' Lucas thought, remaining motionless, the towel draped over his shoulders. The few times he'd emerged from his shell, he'd spoken as much with his hands as he did with his voice, a voice so similar to Owen's as to be indistinguishable. He would become excited by something, only to shut down a few moments later, his eyes seeking out his lifelong tormentor. His guilty expression spoke volumes about how the boy had been abused by his overbearing father. It was the same guilty look everyone in the family had . . . a flick of the eyes to see if they might be chastised for laughing . . . or talking . . . or voicing an opinion. On the surface, they all laughed, seemingly enjoying their newfound freedom. Beneath the surface . . . they were traumatized, recalling their father's behavior . . . and fearing his return.

It seemed worse with Jonah though. He was dealing with the loss of Sam.

Lucas ran his fingers through his still-damp hair, and pulled on a pair of baggy shorts, feeling a moment of sensual pleasure the fabric gave him as it rubbed against his exposed penis.

The door to Sam's bedroom was closed, as was the door to the only other bedroom in the house, the one Jonah was currently using.

From inside Sam's bedroom, he could hear Owen's voice and an answering chuckle.

'Jonah's not the only person around here who needs some companionship,' he thought, as he made his way through the living room, the hallway ceiling light fixture doing little to illuminate his path. The front door stood open, with only the screen door separating the house from the night.

'Very strange,' he thought to himself. 'Back home, we'd have locked things up and turned on an alarm system.'

In the background, he heard the bathroom door close and the shower start. 'Jonah,' Lucas thought to himself, as he slowly opened the protesting screen door and stepped out onto the wooden porch. The air was calm and pleasantly cool, a contrast to the blustery early springtime temperatures and winds of home.

In the stillness, a dog barked once; then quieted, while far overhead, an airplane droned, trailing a thin line of water vapor, which stretched across the black sky. Lucas stood for a moment, inhaling deeply, savoring the simple act of breathing and the fragrances, so unlike those of home; then eased himself onto the rocking chair and propped his bare feet on the porch railing, smiling to himself. 'I've never sat in a rocking chair before,' he mused, running his fingers over the wooden arms worn smooth with what must have been generations of use.

It was the first moment of peace he'd enjoyed since Owen received Jonah's telephone call telling him of his father's . . . craziness. Lucas was sure that was not a strong enough description for what the man had done, but . . . it was all he could think of. In fact, he didn't want to think. All he wanted to do was . . . absolutely nothing.

He sighed, feeling unbelievably weary. 'I'm not accustomed to so much sustained high drama. I should be inside, trying to get some sleep.' He snorted a silent laugh. 'That's why I'm outside! I'm doing everything I can to avoid hearing any noise coming from Sam's bedroom.'

'I wonder how Jonah's doing.'

The soothing motion of the rocking chair and the overwhelming quiet of the night began to work its magic. He yawned, relaxing into the cushion of the chair, and surrendered himself to the stillness; the pale moonlight painting the surroundings in a fairy-like, silvery-white light. Owen often spoke of the fireflies, and their nighttime dances, but it was not yet summer, and the trees remained dark, waiting for their summer visitors. 'I'd like to experience fireflies,' he mused, comparing the quiet of Riverton's surroundings to the constant background drone of home. 'I could become accustomed to this.' He wiggled his bare toes and inhaled deeply. 'Yes, indeed.'

He looked over his shoulder, his attention attracted by the creak of the screen door opening. Jonah gave him an uncertain grin and a slight bob of his head, barely visible in the moonlight. The grin was a brave contrast to the smudges of weariness beneath his eyes, the dark shadows on his pale skin, visible even in the dim light. He experimentally smiled as he walked to the porch railing.

"You mind me joining you?" Jonah asked. "Porches are great places for sitting and thinking." He seemed to hesitate, unsure of his welcome. "They're also pretty good places to escape thinkin' about things." Jonah ran his fingertips over one of the porch's wooden posts, turning a sad grin in Lucas' direction.

"Of course, you're welcome. I'm the guest here, not you." Jonah's hand-rocking motion spoke volumes about how he thought of his presence in Sam's house. Lucas cleared his throat, aware of Jonah's discomfort. "Feel better after your shower?" he asked, admiring the man wearing nothing more than a pair of skintight, white briefs, which hung low on his waist. A narrow trail of dark hair led from his navel to the waistband of the underwear; then disappeared. His legs and chest appeared hairless. Jonah grinned and nodded, in response to Lucas' question, as he hitched one hip onto the railing and slowly swung one bare foot. He rubbed the back of his neck, the action of an inherently shy young man unsure of what to say.

"Yes, I'm feelin' much better, thanks." The voice was Owen's, coming from a different person. Jonah inhaled deeply, shifting his position as he perched on the porch railing, his body a symphony of musculature in motion. He seemed totally unaware of the intense sensuality, which cloaked his every move.

Jonah stared into the sky, the arch of the Milky Way, vying with the light of the half moon. He looked over his shoulder and grinned, seeming much younger than his seventeen years, then turned back to the sky. "They're beautiful, aren't they? The stars, I mean. You should see 'em on a night when there's no moonlight to interfere. They're spectacular."

Lucas sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to look at ease, though in reality he was stunned by the effect of Jonah's grin. It had lit his face like the sun for that brief instant. 'Oh, do that again,' Lucas thought. He tried to collect his thoughts, profoundly moved by Jonah's presence, and followed the younger man's gaze, as they both looked into the darkness. "They are beautiful," he murmured, speaking low, lest he disturb the peace of the scene. "We can hardly see any stars back home; there's so much light from the buildings and things. I'm more taken though, by the quiet. I've never experienced this kind of tranquility." He paused a moment as Jonah shifted position, still perched on the porch railing, still slowly swinging one bare foot, while the other rested on the lower rail.

Lucas continued. "I can understand why Owen complained about the constant noise of the city. It's difficult to imagine a place as peaceful as this." He looked up to find Jonah studying him. "I love it, just like your family."

Jonah studied him a few moments longer; then huffed a silent laugh. "It's funny," he murmured, smiling a little wistfully.

"Funny?" Lucas prompted, when it seemed as if Jonah might not finish his thought.

Jonah's answer was a single, slow nod. "Owen always wanted to get away from Riverton." He held out a hand, gesturing to the world beyond the porch. "He wanted to get away from all this: the stars, the quiet, the smells, the land, everything." Jonah shook his head, not understanding Owen's wishes. "I have always loved it here. I never could understand him wanting to be anyplace else. When we would lie in bed at night, speaking quietly, so Pops wouldn't hear, he always talked about needin' to get away and see the world. He said he needed to find something." Jonah paused. "I wonder if he's found it.' He shook his head and turned to stare into the darkness, his leg continuing to slowly move back and forth.

"I . . . ," Lucas began. "I think many of his views about Riverton have changed since he left. Seeing someplace new can help us focus our opinions." 'I'm finding that out, for myself,' Lucas silently told himself.

"I understand you've been living here, with Sam," he ventured. Jonah stood and leaned a shoulder against a column, gazing in the direction of the distant trees. He rested a bare foot on the bottom rail, the white fabric of his already tight underwear stretching tighter over the swell of his buttocks, his shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. His longer-than-average hair, now dry from the recent shower, hung in disarray.

"A subtle form of protest against our father," Owen had told Lucas, when he described his brother for the first time. On Jonah, the longer hair looked good. On Owen, it would have seemed out of place.

"Yeah, Sam'n I've been livin' together," Jonah admitted, his voice low. "When Pops threw me out, Sam took me in. When Owen left . . . I was pretty much a mess . . . emotionally," he added, glancing over his shoulder to where Lucas sat, watching him. "I never knew exactly how much having Owen nearby meant to me. When he was gone, I felt . . . adrift. 'Course, things weren't too good at home either, so that didn't help how I was feeling.

"Pops had always pretty much directed his anger at Owen, leavin' me and the girls alone. But, with Owen gone, I became the focus. I'm different than Owen though."

Lucas made an inquiring sound, deep in his throat.

"I don't hold any illusions about Pops. I don't need his love to know that I'm a good person. But . . . I found that I do need to feel loved by someone other than my mother. When Owen was at home, I knew he loved me, just as I love him, but when he was gone . . ." Jonah shrugged.

"Sam helped me." Jonah snorted a bemused laugh. "You know? Before Sam and I . . . got together, I had never had sex with anyone. Oh, Owen and I had jerked off, but there wasn't any emotion involved. No . . . touching, I mean. No hugging. No kissing." Jonah's voice trailed off until it was barely audible, even in the intense quiet. "I found that I need . . . those things . . . touching n'all."

Jonah strangled a laugh. "Owen and I are very much alike in one way. I guess you could say both of us are starved for affection." He huffed a silent laugh, slowly shaking his head from side to side. "You know something of what Owen and I endured. What surprises me is that we're as normal as we are." He lapsed into a silence Lucas was loath to interrupt.

"I want . . . so badly . . . to have what Sam and Owen have," he finally murmured, before he flicked a glance over his shoulder, his lips twisted into a crooked grin.

"I'm sorry, Lucas. Here, I've only just met you and I'm tellin' you all this stuff." He shrugged, a slight movement of his shoulders before raking his fingers through his hair. "It's just, with Sam and Owen locked away in the bedroom, I'm feeling sorta lonely." He sighed, bowing his head. "It'll pass."

Lucas pushed himself out of the seat, ignoring the slight squeaking of the old wood, and stepped close to Jonah. He opened and closed his hands, where they hung at his sides, wondering what to do. 'Taking in another stray,' he thought, recalling his sister's words for everything he brought home, other than Owen. 'The thing is,' Lucas wondered. 'Am I taking him in, or has he already taken me?'

"May I?" he hesitated. "May I . . . touch you?" He cleared his throat. "I'm finding that I'm feeling pretty lonely too." He licked his lips. "May I?" he asked, moving close enough that he would have sworn he felt the heat from Jonah's body.

"Ohhh, yes, please," Jonah murmured on an expelled puff of breath, never turning his head.

Lucas stepped close enough for his chest to touch Jonah's bare back, and loosely wrapped his arms around the younger man's waist, gently pulling him closer. As Jonah melted into his embrace, Lucas felt a slight shudder, whether from a released breath, or released emotions, he couldn't tell.

"Okay?" he murmured, close to Jonah's ear, as the younger man leaned against him, another slight tremor coursing through his body. Lucas pulled him closer still, intensely aware of his own penis pressing against the cleft of Jonah's buttocks, and cursing himself for even thinking of his thickening cock. 'Touching Jonah like this,' he chided himself, 'isn't about sex, it's about the two of us needing someone, tonight.'

"Ohhh, yes," Jonah exhaled, responding to the question. "I'm suddenly doin' way better'n okay." He placed a hand over Lucas'; then seemed to hesitate, his voice becoming uncertain. "You're not holdin' me like this because of my hard-luck story, are you? I don't want sympathy."

Lucas nuzzled Jonah's neck, burying his nose in the hair at the back of the younger man's head, while tightening his embrace, inhaling the scent of the man, so different from his older brother's. "No, my friend," he murmured, close to Jonah's ear. "I'm holding you because I want to, and because you said it was okay. Besides," he continued, tenderly kissing the side of Jonah's neck, then his earlobe. "Besides, I'm feeling like it'd be good to be held too."

Jonah turned to face Lucas, pleased when Lucas resumed his loose embrace. He couldn't help his slight smile. It felt so good to be held by another man. Lucas's touch was tentative . . . light . . . as if he was unsure what to do next. 'I'm afraid of you, Lucas," Jonah murmured. "I'm afraid I'm lettin' my need to be . . . touched . . . cloud my judgment, and that . . . soon, you'll be gone, and I'll be left with nothing but a pleasant memory. He tilted his head back and sighed, as Lucas slowly nuzzled his neck while running his spread fingers over the bare skin of Jonah's back. When Lucas cupped both of his buttocks, he hissed an indrawn breath.

"Lucas," he began, but abandoned the sentence as he tenderly kissed Lucas' cheek. The touch of his lips against Lucas' skin was brief . . . electrifying, sending signals directly from his lips to his penis, which thickened with the sheer sensuality of the moment. He kissed Lucas' cheek a second time, and a third, approaching Lucas' mouth.

"Oh, Jonah," Lucas exhaled, a moment before their lips met for the first time. In the instant they touched, Jonah knew that he wanted more than to be tenderly kissed. He wanted to do battle with Lucas' tongue. He wanted to feel Lucas' weight on top of him. He wanted to feel Lucas' perspiration drip onto him as they made love. He wanted to feel Lucas' cock thicken and pulse as it pumped out its load, filling his hole to overflowing. Then . . . lastly . . . he wanted to lie at Lucas' side as they slept.

'I'm thinkin' Lucas needs me as much as I'm needing him.'

With that thought, he opened his mouth and pressed his lips against Lucas', seeking entrance to his mouth. "Oh, this is so nice," Jonah murmured, when they finally separated. "Soooo nice," he exhaled, against Lucas' neck.

Jonah seemed to shudder, and spoke into the darkness. "I'm afraid of you, Lucas," he murmured, feeling the muscles of Lucas' buttocks flex beneath his fingers. "I'm afraid of what developing feelings for you could do to me." He paused. "I don't want to be left alone, thinking we had a good time, but knowin' I'll never see you again." He huffed a ragged laugh. "When I saw you . . . for the first time . . ." He seemed to mentally shrug in embarrassment, unwilling to continue his thought.

"I'm afraid of doin' something wrong, whenever I'm around you. I mean, you've been around so many people. You know so much, about . . . so much. I feel like a stupid country-boy, next to you." He bowed his head. "I want to be close to you, yet I'm afraid you'll laugh at me . . . for not knowin' things." There was another pause, this one longer. "I'm afraid you'll go back home, and all I'll have left are some memories." He took a shuddering breath. "I'd rather neither of us got close, than to be left with only memories."

"Shhh," Lucas urged, tilting Jonah's chin up with an extended forefinger. "We can never protect ourselves from all the what ifs that face us, y'know? All we can do is do what we think best at any particular moment." Jonah nodded once, seeing Lucas through a watery blur.

Lucas was so unlike anyone Jonah had ever met. He moved with as much confidence, as when he spoke. His smile was bright and his laugh contagious. Jonah grinned to himself, intensely conscious of Lucas' erection. 'I've never heard Opie and Abigail laugh as much as they did at dinner. Even Mama relaxed enough to laugh . . . all because of Lucas and his outrageous stories. Now,' Jonah thought, as he closed his eyes and his lips touched Lucas'. 'Now, he's working the same magic on me.'

"Lucas?" Jonah murmured, nuzzling Lucas' neck, as they parted, slightly breathless from their prolonged kiss.

"Hmmm?" Lucas playfully rubbed the tip of his nose against Jonah's.

"Would you sleep with me tonight?"

"Missing Sam?"

Jonah shrugged. "Some. Probably about as much as you're missin' Owen. But that's not why I'm asking. I would like to feel you next to me. Sam and Owen have always had one another. I'm thinkin' maybe you need to be with me as much as I need to be with you."

Lucas pulled Jonah closer.

"I would love to sleep with you, Jonah." Lucas looked aside for a moment, causing Jonah's brows to quirk. "I was just asking myself if my dick was in control of my brain." His lips compressed. "You're aware of my feelings for Owen." Jonah nodded once. "I don't want to do anything which will end up hurting you. If we sleep together, I don't want you to feel I'd rather be with your brother. I've always known that . . . eventually . . . he would return to Sam. Being with you does not mean that I think of you as some sort of . . . consolation prize. So, having said all that, if you'd still like to, I'd love to sleep with you."

"Well, ah . . ." Jonah moved back, holding Lucas away from him and looking into his sparkling eyes with a sheepish expression Lucas could see, even in the dim light. "I was actually hoping we might do a little more than sleep . . . y'know? His smile widened, reflecting Lucas' own. "And, remember that you are not forcin' me to do anything I don't want to do. If your dick is acting as your brain, it must be communicating with mine, 'cause, right now, I'd like nothing better than to be naked, at your side."

"I would love it too," Lucas murmured, as he tenderly ran his fingers through Jonah's hair. "I'm yours to command."

"Really? You think I'm okay?" Jonah searched Lucas' face. "Sam didn't tell you to say that, did he?"

Lucas moved back to study the young man in his arms. "What? Sam?" He shook his head in wonder. "You haven't had very many people tell you what a good, conscientious, handsome and sexy person you are, have you?"

"Sexy? Really? Me?" Jonah's voice rose with each word. "You're not just saying those things to make me feel good, are you?" The sentence was more a revelation than a question.

Lucas smiled. "You are sexy, but that's not what I find so wonderful about you."

"Wonderful?" Jonah seemed overwhelmed with the compliments.

Lucas nodded. "Owen has told me about you holding him when he cried after being beaten, and how you were always there for him, sneaking him food and doctoring him. Those things are way more wonderful than being sexy."

"I think sexy is cool too," Jonah grinned, thrusting his groin against Lucas', causing both men to laugh.

'The man is hideously vulnerable to the slightest flattery,' Lucas thought to himself; even more so than Owen. "You bet, sexy is cool," Lucas teased, pulling Jonah closer by grasping his buttocks, "but there is more to you than merely a handsome man . . . who has a wonderful chest, and is able to fill out his underwear admirably." Lucas trailed his hands over Jonah's buttocks, but paused, unsure whether he should go further.

"Don't stop there," Jonah moaned. Other'n Sam, you're the first person to touch me out of love. I'm findin' it tough to believe what you're saying about me. I mean, Sam said the same things, but I figured . . . you know . . . we were friends n'all."

"Both Sam and I are telling you the truth. Believe me."

"Oh . . ." Jonah lapsed into a contemplative silence, his arms around Lucas' waist not slackening.

"Jonah? Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm just feeling very good." He huffed a chuckle. "It's all so new to me; feeling this way. I've spent all my life in fear . . . of my father, never being told anything good about myself. It's just . . ." His voice cracked. "It's going to take some getting used to . . . Truly."

Lucas stepped back, extending a hand in invitation. "Well, let's go to bed and I will try to show you just how wonderful I think you are." He gave Jonah an encouraging smile.

"You will?" Jonah allowed himself to be led inside.

The two men walked hand-in-hand through the darkened house, the only sounds coming from the creaks of the wooden floor and the muffled sounds coming from Sam's room.

Jonah tried to ignore his shaking hand as his bedroom door clicked shut.

"Nervous?" Lucas asked. Jonah gave him a brief nod.

"Some." He grinned uncertainly. "I'm feelin' like a homely virgin bride on her wedding night. The poor woman still has her wedding veil on, and is worried sick that when her new husband lifts it, he's going to realize that instead of the beautiful person he thought he was marryin', he's ended up with the ugly step-sister."

Lucas placed a finger over Jonah's mouth. "Shhh." Jonah watched Lucas wide-eyed. "The person I saw when Owen and I arrived, earlier today, was the gentle and caring man Owen often spoke of. Even if you weren't already one of the handsomest men I've ever seen, I would still find you enormously attractive, if only for the kind of person you are."

He playfully rubbed his nose against Jonah's, grinning when Jonah's eyes crossed as he followed the movement.

Lucas' last words were barely more than a warm breath against Jonah's lips, experienced a moment before the touch of Lucas' soft lips. The first touch was not much more than a promise. The second, longer, more insistent, saw Jonah relax into Lucas' embrace with a soft moan of pleasure. The third released the pent-up passion they'd both been feeling. Jonah opened his mouth and welcomed Lucas' tongue, just as his open arms pulled Lucas closer, their erections pushing against each other's.

They separated open-mouthed, and breathing heavily.

"Holy . . ." Jonah muttered, in breathless disbelief.

~ 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