Date: Sun, 10 Aug 2008 18:51:30 -0600
From: Roy <roynm@mac.com>
Subject: Owen chapter 13 - Gay College Section

Owen

Chapter 13

by Roy Reinikainen


Owen leaned against the dark wooden desk in Lucas' father's office,
steadying himself.  At last he knew why he hadn't gotten any letters from
home.  They had never gotten *his*.  He grasped the edge of the desk until
his fingers turned white from the pressure, imagining what his mother,
brother, and sisters must have been thinking of him.  'So much for hoping
Jonah could be a good friend to Sam,' he thought.  'Surely, if they saw one
another, Jonah would have asked Sam if *he* had heard about me.'  Owen
bowed his head, the familiar feeling of defeat once again weighing him
down, his father's influence ruining his life, even here.

"Why's Pops doing this to me?" he asked the room, unsure whether he felt
more angry or hurt.  'It *has* to be Pops.  No one else has a reason to
intercept my mail.  *He's* doing it, not only to hurt me, but to hurt the
rest of the family, making them think I've abandoned them.'  He sighed.  'I
shouldn't have waited so long to speak to Mama.  Not wanting to chance
having Pops answer the phone has caused this.  If I'd taken that chance,
and called earlier, everyone wouldn't be thinkin' bad things about me, and
*I* wouldn't be feeling so troubled.'

He reached for the telephone, hesitating only a moment before lifting the
receiver and dialing another number.  'Sam'll know what's going on,' he
thought as he waited for an answer.  Four rings.  Five.  He gave up, slowly
replacing the receiver.  'He's probably visiting his father in the
hospital.'

Owen stared into the distance, feeling more alone than he had since
arriving at the beginning of the school year.  His father had threatened to
cut him off from the family if he abandoned them to go to school.  'I've
been a fool to think he wouldn't be true to his word.'


And Sam.  The almost-daily letters, and less frequent telephone
conversations were not the same as holding him.  He felt as if he and Sam
were slowly growing apart.  Sam's life at the nearby community college, and
his at the university, were different enough that soon, memories of their
afternoons in their meadow by the river's edge would be just that
. . . fading memories, insubstantial as smoke.  After four years of school,
he and Sam would be different people, so different they would never be able
to recapture the love they felt for one another on the day he left for
school.

'I'm trapped,' Owen thought.  'Trapped by my own dreams of getting away
from Riverton to go to the fancy university.  I'm trapped by my
unwillingness to let Pops control every move of my life.  I've gotten
exactly what I've dreamt of all my life.'  He looked around the fancy room,
then down at his equally impressive clothing.  'This is nothing.  Before
coming to school, true long-lasting happiness was within my reach, and I
didn't reach out to grab it.'

He knew that was an oversimplification of what his life had truly been
like.  His and Sam's relationship would never be accepted in the
tightly-knit community.  His father's demands would, if anything, have
become stronger.  He sighed.  'Eventually, I would have given in and done
as Pops insisted.  Then, the beatings and shouting would have stopped.
But, I would be a slave to a man who thinks of nothing and no one but
himself.  I would be in Riverton, but I wouldn't have Sam. I wouldn't be
happy.'

'Then, there's Lucas.'  Owen sighed, taking a couple steps toward the door
to the study.  'Being with Lucas makes me feel as if I'm being unfaithful
to Sam.  I feel as if I'm giving Lucas false expectations.  No matter what
I do, whichever way I turn, I'm going to hurt one of them.  Yet, if I do
nothing, I'm hurting myself.  I can't go on as I have been . . . not since
Lucas and I have . . . discovered . . . one another.  I can't exist without
the touch of another man, without companionship and laughter.

'What would you have me do, Sam?'  He stared around the study: the leather
chairs on the oriental rugs; the walls of books.  The room was designed to
provide a sense of security.  'That's what Lucas is,' Owen thought.  'He's
as much an anchor for me as I seem to be for him.  Without one another,
we're adrift.'

He rubbed both hands over his face in an attempt to school his appearance,
hoping to avoid upsetting Lucas or his parents.  They'd been so kind,
opening their house to him and treating him almost as a second son.  When
he thought he had himself under control he quietly opened the door, but
paused a moment, one hand still on the door handle, unable to dispel the
feeling of loneliness enveloping him.

Olivia looked up at the slight sound and saw him standing with bowed head.
The gentle light of the entry chandelier cast faint highlights on his short
blond hair, and did nothing to hide the vulnerability which seemed to hover
about his shoulders.

'What could possibly have happened?' she wondered, sensing her son and
husband's attention upon her.  She stood, inviting her husband with an
extended hand to join her, while directing her son's attention to the entry
with a slight incline of her head.  "We'll leave you alone for a bit," she
murmured, as she and Neil left the room.

Lucas barely noticed his parents' departure.  He had seen his mother's
smile fade a moment after hearing the study door open.  In only seconds,
she had gathered her husband and departed, murmuring a few soft-spoken
words.  He was almost afraid of what he would see when he turned.

'Damn his family,' was Lucas thought, as he saw Owen's forlorn expression.
'He has nothing but love for them, and in less than ten minutes, look what
they've done to him!'

Owen had silently closed the study door and was now standing next to the
table in the foyer, his head bowed, his left hand absently moving too and
fro against the carving on the table's side.

"Were you able to get in touch with your mother?"  Lucas asked, from where
he stood, holding on to one of the columns in the doorway to the living
room.  He remembered touching the same column as a child.  It was a source
of strength.  Now, the column held him back, preventing him from rushing to
Owen's side.  Owen would have hated that overt display of concern.  He
always made such a point of being self reliant, but barely beneath the
surface, he was a child longing to be held.

'Damn his parents,' Lucas thought again.  'They've created an emotional
cripple in a man's body.'

"Is everything okay?"  Owen nodded as he passed Lucas, slowly crossing the
dimly lit living room to stand in front of the large fireplace, holding his
hands out to the fire for warmth.  He turned slightly, extending an arm, a
silent invitation for Lucas to join him.

"Mama's fine."  His voice trailed off into silence as Lucas stepped into
the warmth of the embrace.  He remained silent as Owen heaved a deep breath
and rested his head against Lucas'.  The small, unselfconscious act made
the breath catch in Lucas' throat.  "Want to talk about it?" he murmured,
inhaling Owen's scent.  "Is everyone okay back home?"

"There's nothing to talk about, really.  Just a little homesick is all."
He snuggled closer.  "I never would have thought it, but I'm missin'
Riverton more'n I thought possible."  He glanced around the room.  "This is
all so beautiful, and your family has been so welcoming, but I still feel
out of place."  His smile turned wry.  "Like I said earlier, just 'cause
you dress a country boy up in fancy clothes, doesn't mean he isn't still a
country boy."  Lucas made an inquiring noise at a slight chuckle.

"I guess I'll never be a biscuit."

"Biscuit?"

"Yeah."  Owen's brief spark of humor faded as he explained.  "The old
saying goes that a Northerner is never gonna fit in when he moves to the
South.  Even his children, born in the South, will never fit in.  A
Southerner would no more call one of the Northerner's new-born children a
Southerner, than they would call a litter of kittens who happened to be
born in an oven, biscuits."

He snorted a dry laugh.  "I'm never gonna fit in here.  I want to
. . . badly, but I'm thinking that I'm always gonna feel like I'm
impersonating someone else.  I don't act like anyone here, or speak like
them, or anything.  I'm a country boy."  He tightened his embrace.

"I guess I should admit it.  I always will be.  It's bred in my bones."  He
made a vague gesture with his free hand.  "Just as all this is bred in
yours.  Me goin' to a fancy school won't change what I am any more'n the
clothes I'm wearing will."

"I find that I love country-boys," Lucas murmured, nuzzling Owen's
hair. "At least the one country boy I've met.  He's the most genuine,
loving person I've ever known."

"Thank you.  I feel the same about you, city-boy."  Owen turned his head
and met Lucas' kiss, closing his eyes and surrendering himself to the
sensations; to the taste of Lucas; the smell of Lucas; and to the feeling
of being immersed in Lucas' love.


__________



Olivia watched in silence as Lucas hefted a large platter; to the upper
shelf of a cabinet.  He had grown into a handsome young man and, since
meeting Owen, his priorities had been revised.  He no longer hung out with
the young people with whom he had graduated from one of the city's
prestigious private schools.  Instead, he seemed to concentrate on his
school work.  He no longer seemed interested in owning the latest,
greatest, and most fashionable of . . . everything.  He had settled down.
If he didn't seem so lonely, she would have been pleased.

At times, she had despaired of her son ever acting like an adult.
Everything changed the moment he met Owen.  For no other reason, she could
love Owen.  Now, after meeting him, she had fallen under his charismatic
charm, just as her son and daughter had before her.  Still, there was an
underlying sense of melancholy about the young man.  He would laugh and
smile, but whenever he didn't realize anyone was watching, the melancholy
cloaked him.  Only when Lucas was touching him, did a sparkle return to his
eyes, and he seemed to relax.

The look on the two boys' faces at even the most casual touch, was
. . . intimate beyond description.  They seemed to seek out ways in which
to touch one another, but when those brief moments passed, they appeared
bereft.

She knew, of course, of her son's sexual orientation, but it had been
something of a shock for her and her husband to see Lucas and Owen kissing
earlier in the afternoon.  It had been unexpected, especially because Owen
had looked so distraught after having called his parents.  She and Neil had
left the room, hoping Lucas would be able to sort things out.  When she and
her Neil checked to see if it might be okay for them to return, Lucas and
Owen were in one another's arms.

'That's not a kiss of passion,' she immediately thought.  'It's a kiss
exchanged between two desperately lonely people.'  The thought of both
young men feeling so isolated was what disturbed her, not the kiss.

Some time later, Lucas had come into the dining room where she and Neil
were sitting and had told them everything seemed to be in hand.  Owen, he
said, was feeling homesick after speaking to his mother.

'There's more to what's going on than *that*,' Olivia thought, seeing her
own questions reflected in her husband's expression.  'I wonder if either
of the boys is aware of how . . . exposed . . . and vulnerable they appear
to an outsider.'

She took her son's hand as he finished closing the cabinet door and led him
to a table, suddenly reaching a decision.

At Lucas' polite raising of eyebrows, she asked the question she had been
longing to know the answer to.  "Is Owen the one you've been searching for,
dear?"  Lucas' gaze grew distant.  His mouth soundlessly opened and closed.
Finally, he nodded and bowed his head.

"Then, why so glum?  He's a wonderful young man."

Lucas puffed a sigh, accompanied by an almost silent bark of a laugh.  "I
wish things were that simple, Mother."  The look his mother gave him
invited an explanation.  Lucas moistened his lips.  "He loves someone else,
Mother.  Someone back where he came from.  They grew up together.  Owen
carries his photo with him wherever he goes.  In fact, he's got it in the
breast pocket of the sport coat he's wearing."  Lucas lapsed into silence
but refused to relinquish his mother's hand.

"I love him, Mother.  He hasn't said as much, but I believe his feelings
for me are causing him to question everything.  His feelings are pulling
him in two directions.  He's devoted to Sam, yet he feels something for me
as well.  Those conflicting emotions, plus being away from home for the
first time, and a few other things, are tearing him up.  He's holding
himself together by strength of will alone.  I don't think he can take one
more thing without breaking."

Lucas heaved a tired sigh and gave his mother a wan smile.  "I was worried
that something about his phone call back home was going to be the thing
which would bring him to his knees."

A moment's silence seemed to stretch unbearably.  "Your father and I . . ."
Olivia met her son's gaze.  "We saw you kissing . . . in front of the
fireplace.  I thought, perhaps . . ."

"Oh . . ."  Lucas seemed to stare at a point over her shoulder.  "Don't
think less of Owen, Mother . . . for kissing me, now that you know he and I
can never be partners.  He's discussed his feelings for Sam with me.  Both
of us understand exactly where we stand.  We love one another, but we
aren't *for* one another.  Does that make sense?"  Olivia compressed her
lips and gave her son an understanding nod.  Owen was not the only man in
pain.  Her son was carrying more than his share.

"We're both lonely, Mother.  We both want physical contact . . . we need it
. . . desperately, Owen probably even more so than I.  That's why we've
grown close; that's why we were kissing.  Both of us need the kind of
affection the other can provide.  But . . ."  Lucas hesitated, his voice
becoming hollow.  "When school's over, he'll go back to Sam."

"And what will you do, sweetheart . . . when that unhappy moment arrives?"

Lucas shrugged.  "Honestly, I don't know.  The only thing I *do* know is
that I need to be with him . . . as long as possible.  I don't know why.  I
can't explain it.  I just do."  Lucas hesitated, searching for words
adequate to express his feelings.  "He considers himself poor, but he's got
so much of . . . everything that's important."  Lucas smiled at his mother,
his eyes alight.  "Things like good cheer, infectious enthusiasm, empathy
. . . "  His voice lowered.  "Sanity."  Olivia watched as her son looked
away, as if embarrassed.  "It's . . . it's as if being around him brings
out the best in me, a best I never realized I had.  He never gives less
than his all, and I find I strive to be worthy of his attention."  He
focused on his mother.  "Does that make sense?"  Olivia noted the faint
blush coloring her son's cheeks.

'He realizes that there have been changes in him,' she thought.  'I'm so
pleased.'

"I understand what you're saying, dear.  Both your father and I think Owen
is a wonderful man, but no matter what you may feel for him, you have to be
good to yourself as well.  Don't base your future happiness on Owen's
continued friendship.  Don't limit your vision of happiness to include only
Owen."  She gently squeezed his hand.  "I would hate to see one of my
children hurt, and I fear that's what will happen if you don't . . ."  She
shrugged.  "If you don't plan."

Olivia watched a muscle jump in her son's jaw as he frowned into the
distance and tried to control his voice.  His mouth soundlessly opened.
The fingers of one hand slowly closed, as if grasping at something.  When
he did speak, his voice was rough with emotions, barely held at bay.

"I want to hold on to what I have until I have to say goodbye."  He gave
her a sad smile and swallowed around the lump in his throat.  "I'm going to
enjoy every moment I have with him."

Lucas seemed to focus on the large painting on the opposite wall, bold
splashes of different colors, twisting and writhing across the canvas.
'Just like my emotions,' he thought, returning his attention to his mother.

"Thanks for the advice, Mother . . . really."  He squeezed her hand.  "I
know what the score is.  I don't like it, but I *do* know what to expect.
Even though Owen and I may be . . . intimate . . . and we may love one
another, I am not trying to take him away from the person he loves.  As for
Owen, he hasn't led me to expect anything more from him than what I already
have.  If I am eventually . . . hurt, as you fear, it will not be because
of him."  He smiled.

Olivia gave him a sad nod.  "I could grow to love him too, dear," she said.
"He's a fine man, whom I would be proud to call part of our family.  As
things stand, I shall be proud to call him a good friend."  She leaned
forward and kissed her son's forehead.

"Now, let's go see what your father and Owen are up to," she grinned.
"It's entirely too quiet for my tastes.  I learned early on, when boys are
quiet, watch out.  Something is afoot."  She laughed as she linked her arm
with her son and patted his hand, conveying her understanding and support.


----------




The springs of the large bed squeaked a chorus of complaints as Jonah
flopped backward, ignoring the mess he was making of his carefully made
bed.  "Snow . . ."  He exhaled the word on an almost-reverent breath.  When
they were younger, he and Owen had often fantasized about snow, trying to
stifle their boyish laughter at the thought of snowball fights, and
slipping and sliding on the ice.  The darkened bedroom and their nearness
made anything seem possible.  When they were alone at night, thoughts of
their father seemed far away, and their imaginations could fly.  It was no
wonder that seeing snow was one of the first things Owen had mentioned to
his mother.  'I wonder if it looks anything like those Christmas cards
Mother receives from her sister.'  He heaved a contented breath and linked
his fingers behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

'Owen . . .'  It felt as if his brother had been gone for ages.

'I wonder how he's doing, and if he's found someone to confide in and hold
him, like Sam and I did.  We're pretty fragile, Owen and I, no matter the
image we cultivate.'

The thought of Sam caused his smile to fade.  'What would Owen think 'bout
Sam'n me?  Sam says not to worry, but I can't help it.'  Jonah rolled onto
his stomach, cradling his head in his folded arms, not seeing the dancing
shadows of tree leaves cast by the setting sun against the bedroom wall.
'I don't want Owen to be hurt.  But, now that I know what it's like to be
cared for, I could no more give that up than I could stop breathing.'


----------


Sam bit his lip and swallowed as he watched his mother lean over the side
of his father's bed, adjusting her husband's pillow.

Henry Bridgers reached up and brushed a tear away from his wife's cheek.
"A little good news doesn't mean I'm cured, now, does it?"  Annie Bridgers
sniffed and shook her head.

"No, but it's the first good news we've had in months.  It means the
treatments are working.  Now, all we have to do is continue doing the same
thing and, pretty soon, we'll be back home."

"Home," Henry said, in a voice almost reverent.  "I never would have
imagined how much I'd miss the old place."  He gestured to Sam, patting the
bed in an invitation for his son to join him.

I've got an apology to make, Sam."  The words seemed difficult to say, for
a man who rarely spoke from his emotions.  He reached for Sam's hand, the
once muscular forearms, thin, the long-fingered hands, trembling.  "I've
been meaning to tell you, but it never seemed to be the right time.  Now,
it is."

"What is it, Dad?"  Sam felt his father's grip tighten, a feeble touch not
much stronger than the older man's voice.

"I want to apologize to you for thinkin' the things I did about you'n Owen,
and for shouting at you when Owen left.  I knew you were upset and I didn't
want to face the reason why.  I didn't want you to be upset, and somehow I
musta thought that I could force you not to be by yellin'.  I didn't want
to face the fact 'bout you and Owen.  I know now that I was not facing
reality."  He puffed a shadow of a laugh.  "Sitting here in bed day after
day, has taught me how to face reality, and to realize how much you mean to
me.  You're a good son, Sam.  Annie and I are lucky parents, just as Owen
is lucky to be your friend."  His grin was crooked.

"What you and Owen feel for one another . . . it's the same love as Annie
and I feel for you.  I'm an old man, but not so old, I hope, that I can't
admit when I've been wrong, and to apologize for my behavior.  I apologize
for not letting you know sooner.  I don't want you to feel as if you've got
to hide your feelings from your mom'n me any more."  He glanced in his
wife's direction.  She nodded, her eyes shining, her cheeks blotched.

"Yes, sweetie.  I hope you already know how much your father and I love
you, but even we weren't aware how difficult being away from you would be.
Our being away from you is much like you being away from Owen.  It hurts.
Your father isn't the only one who needs to apologize.  We've known how you
feel for Owen for years.  We should have, somehow, told you, long ago, that
no matter who you love, we will love you."

"Don't bring home a goat though."  Henry's voice was rough as he made an
effort to tease his son.  "I'm not sure how I could handle introducing
Billy Goat as my son's boyfriend."  Henry winked and gave his son a weak
slap on the knee as he tried to stifle a cough.  "Gotcha, didn't I?"

Sam swiped at his watery eyes, and reached for his parents' hands.  "Thanks
guys.  I wish Owen and Jonah's parents were as understanding as you are.
Mr. Carver is a mean old stick.  He's going to drive all the children off,
the moment they're old enough to leave."


----------



"Thank you for being part of our Thanksgiving."  Lucas' father, Neil, took
Owen's hand in a firm handshake before turning to his son, giving Owen over
to his wife to say *her* farewells.

Olivia adjusted Owen's scarf then gave him a brief kiss on the cheek, a
mirror to the one she'd already given her son.  "It has been a privilege,"
she murmured.  "I neglected to ask if you were able to speak to your
parents."

Owen ducked his head, overwhelmed with the outpouring of generosity and
love.  "Yes ma'am.  I spoke with m'mother."  He grinned.  "She was pleased
to know I wasn't spendin' the day alone, but was with good friends."  He
took her hands in both of his.  "That's what you and Neil have become
. . . good friends.  Thank you for opening your home t'me . . . and for
your kindness."  He swallowed and grinned, wondering at the sudden surge of
emotions he was experiencing.

'I'm accepted here.  It doesn't matter that Lucas and I share a bed.  In
this house . . . with these people, I don't have to hide what I am.'  He
exchanged a smile of thanks with Olivia.  Her return smile conveyed a depth
of understanding he had never experienced.  She *knew* what he was feeling,
he was sure of it.

'This is what I want,' he told himself.  'I'm tired of hiding . . . of not
being myself.  From now on, no matter where I am, or who I'm with
. . . even Mama . . . I'm not gonna change my behavior to be what they
expect.'
	"And for the food."  Lucas jumped into the silence, patting him on
the back.

"And the desserts!"  Allison snickered from close-by.

"Don't you go laughin' at me, Allison," Owen teased.  "I noticed you ate as
much dessert as I did."  He reached out and gave her a hug.

"Thank you, too," he added, tightening his embrace.  "For bein' a good
friend . . . since the day I arrived."  He kissed her on the cheek.
"You're the best, Allison."  She blushed as he released her, something she
very rarely did.

Olivia cleared her throat, interrupting the emotion-charged silence.  It
appeared both her children had fallen under Owen's spell.  "Well, you boys
had better hurry on, unless you're going to spend the night here.  It's
snowing again."

Owen made a face as he stepped out into the slowly falling flakes, through
the open door.  "I'm really hating the snow," Neil heard Owen grouse as he
and Lucas gingerly crossed the snowy cobblestone drive to Lucas' car.  "I
truly do."


----------



'Damned woman!'  Jonathan thought as he slammed the kitchen door and
stepped out onto the dark porch, knowing how much his wife hated the sound
of a banging screen door.  'What friend does *she* have that'd be calling
her to wish her a happy Thanksgiving?'  He hated it when she said things
which caused him to wonder at their meanings.  'She always looks so smug,
knowin' I'm not as smart as she is.'  He took a deep breath of the cool
night air, hoping it would calm him down.  'Always thinkin' she's better'n
everyone.  Always puttin' fancy ideas in the kids' heads, makin' 'em want
something they don't have . . . be someplace they shouldn't be.'

He stomped down the porch steps and headed for the tool shed.  "It's all
that boy's fault!"  The wooden door to the shed screeched loudly then
slammed against the wall, it's rusty hinges and old wood protesting their
treatment.  'The boy never was one to know his place.  I shoulda put my
foot down right at the beginning and ended all this nonsense about
*schools* and learning things.  I taught him all he needed to know, but was
that enough?'  Jonathan huffed a disgusted snort.

'Just like his mother, he was.  All full of big headed ideas which have no
business around here.'  He looked around, anxious to find something to take
his frustrations and anger out upon.  'I hope he rots in the darkest,
hottest, depths of Hell!'  He grabbed the nearest object, a hammer, and
flung it at the opposite wall.  It thudded against the wood, narrowly
missing the window, and fell to the floor with a thump, taunting him, for
having lost his temper . . . or missing the window . . . Jonathan wasn't
sure.  'The boy had no business challenging me.'  Jonathan looked around
the small room, cluttered with equipment used on his small farm, but
refrained from taking his anger out on something else.

"Gotta get one of the girls to clean this place up."  He stood in the
middle of the dusty room, its single, bare, light bulb, imparting a harsh
glare to everything.  It's mirror-like windows reflected a balding man in a
plaid flannel shirt and dusty jeans, his hands on his hips.  He turned away
from the reflection, rubbing a hand across his sweaty forehead, barely
noticing the motes of dust floating in the still air.

"Now, there's Jonah.  He's got that same far away look as the other one.
I'm gonna have to find a way to keep him away from his mother, otherwise
he'll get all infected . . . just like the other one."  Jonathan leaned
back against the workbench and crossed his arms, a satisfied smile creating
unfamiliar creases on his sun-toughened skin.

'Great idea I had, to have old man Martin at the post office snatch the
boy's letters so the woman wouldn't see them.  She's got things to tend to
here.  She's got no business thinking about the ingrate who soaked up
more'n his share of everything we had, then shot out of here at the first
chance without even a word of thanks.  Not that I would have accepted
anything the bastard would have said.  No respect.'  His hands clenched as
his anger and frustration threatened to explode.

Jonathan chuckled, recalling Owen's many letters, addressed to his mother.
'The boy's carryin' on, asking Bea, why she or the other kids aren't
writin'.'  He barked a satisfied laugh.  'Let him worry what they're
thinking of him.  A little worryin' will do him a world of good.'  Jonathan
looked over his shoulder at a slight sound, wondering if it was one of the
children spying on him.

'Jonah's got to help out more.  I need a strong back to lend a hand, now
that the other one's gone.  The girls are too young to help out much.'  He
snorted a disgusted puff of air.  "*Girls*!  Good for nothin' but making
sons to help with the chores."

His head snapped up, the half-whispered hints he'd heard for years,
suddenly leaping into focus.  Maxine, the owner of the town's grocery store
had tried to worn him, as had others.  'How have I been so blind?' he asked
himself.  'Everyone else has known what was goin' on, and I haven't seen
it!'

His expression grew distant as he invented an alternate reality in which
his world-view made sense.  'Those boys are nothin' like me.  Maybe that's
what Maxine'n the others have hinted at.'  He looked over his shoulder to
the house, the germ of his earlier idea growing, flowering, and bearing
fruit in the space of a few moments.

"I knew it!" he hissed, snippets of information falling into place.

'The woman's been sleepin' around with strangers.  Has been for years and
years.  Those boys aren't mine.  That's why they've got no sense!'  He
flung himself away from the workbench, crossing the shed in only a few
steps.

"I've been supporting someone else's bastards!"  He spun, the grit on the
floor grinding beneath the heels of his boots.  'They've been sopping up
everything I've worked so hard to give 'em, and what have they given back?'
He slammed the palm of his hand against the workbench, sending a shudder
through the nearby tools.  "What have they done?  *Nothing*!"

"Damned woman."


----------




Lucas and Owen walked hand-in-hand down the dimly lit corridor leading to
Lucas' apartment.  Even the snow flurries had not distracted Owen during
their drive home.  He would answer any question Lucas asked, but was
otherwise withdrawn.

"Things are not good, back home, are they?" Lucas asked, closing the
apartment door.  He took Owen's coat and scarf and hung them in the closet,
next to his own, while Owen silently rummaged about in the kitchen,
starting a pot of coffee brewing.  Lucas leaned on the counter and watched
until Owen turned to him with a hint of a crooked smile.

"Things are about what I expected," he responded, linking fingers with
Lucas as he leaned his elbows on the island countertop opposite Lucas.
"It's just that it's not nice to find out that your worst expectations are
real."

"I'm here to listen.  If you need to talk, that is."

Owen's fingers tightened as he smiled his thanks and then lapsed into
silence.  "I know."  His lips compressed, frowning into the distance as a
muscle jumped in his jaw..

"M'father has been destroying my letters to the rest of the family."  He
looked away.  "I can't imagine what Jonah and m'sisters are thinking about
me.  Mama would have said more when we were on the phone, but Pops must
have come into the room.  I heard his voice.  Mama was going to have enough
to explain, being on the phone."  Owen sighed.  "He doesn't like anything
to happen that he doesn't somehow control."

Lucas bit back his angry response to Owen's father's actions, through sheer
strength of will.  "There's more, isn't there?"

Owen nodded his bowed head.  "I love you, Lucas.  More'n I can say.  I get
this empty feeling when I'm not with you.  All I want to do is be with
you."

"But?"  Lucas asked, already knowing the answer.

"I love Sam too.  I can't say if I love him more'n you.  One minute I'm
sure I do.  The next, I don't know.  I don't want to hurt either of you,
and I feel like that's what I'm gonna do."

"Have you told Sam about me?"

"Yes.  He knows you're my good friend.  Until yesterday, that's all you
were . . . a friend.  I tried callin' Sam after I spoke with Mama, just so
I could hear his voice.  He wasn't home.  Most likely he was visiting his
sick father in the hospital, being it's Thanksgiving n'all."

Owen released Lucas' hand and turned his back, leaning against the counter.
"I don't want to hurt anyone!"  The words seemed almost torn from his
throat.

Lucas rushed around the counter and pulled Owen close.  "Listen to me,
Owen.  "You should not be feeling torn between Sam and me.  Sam is the man
you love.  You've grown up with him.  He's the man whose picture you carry
next to your heart."  He held Owen at arm's length.  "Don't try and tell me
you don't have his picture in your breast pocket."  Owen lowered his eyes.
"You may love me, but you *love* Sam.  There is a difference."

"I want to be with you, Lucas . . . while I can.  I want to hold and kiss
you, and sleep naked at your side.  I want to have sex, and laugh."  He
turned to face Lucas.  "Won't that hurt you . . . knowing that . . . it
can't be permanent?"

Lucas sighed.  "We've been over this, Owen.  Of course, it'll hurt, but
it'll hurt me a lot more if you do something that will harm Sam.  So."
Lucas playfully punched Owen's shoulder.  "No more talk of hurting someone.
I know how you feel about me.  You know how I feel about you.  We both know
that what we have can't last, and both of us want to be with one another as
long as possible.  So, that's where things stand.  You can get rid of all
those feelings of guilt."  Lucas raised his eyebrows.  "Is it a deal?"

Owen nodded once.  "I'll try."

"Good.  Now, I'm missing my laughing country boy."  Lucas reached for the
one spot he knew Owen was ticklish, causing Owen to jump away, his boyish
laughter bubbling up in one of his abrupt mood changes.

"You always were slow, city boy," he laughed, dodging another of Lucas'
lunges and running for the bedroom, the coffee forgotten.

"C'mon," he shouted as Lucas turned out the lights and shut down the coffee
maker.  "I'm about naked.  I'm going to freeze my fanny off if you don't
strip and join me in that big bed of yours."

'The question is,' Lucas thought to himself as he turned towards the
bedroom.  'Can I live by the same rules I've asked Owen to follow?  Is it
possible for me to be with him and not, in some small way, do something
that would cause Owen's feelings of guilt to return.  Will I do something
unintentionally that will cause Sam to suffer?'
	Owen stepped into the open doorway, naked and half-way aroused.  He
looked over his shoulder as he rubbed the palm of one hand over his own
butt cheek.  "Since you're so slow, I thought I'd give you some incentive
to strip, so we can play."  He grasped the muscle of his butt and squeezed.
"It's all yours, but not until you're nekkid as a jay-bird."

He laughed, wiggling his hips from side to side in invitation.

'Is this the same man who was almost in tears only minutes ago?' Lucas
wondered, as he hurried toward the bedroom.  He gave Owen one mighty swat
as he passed, causing him to yelp in surprise.

"Step aside, country boy, unless you want me to take you over my knee for a
good and proper spanking."  Lucas was about to drop his slacks onto the
floor when he realized Owen had neatly folded and hung up all the clothes
he'd worn earlier.  He followed Owen's lead, folding everything and hanging
his slacks and sport coat over the back of a chair.

When he turned back, Owen whooped a loud yell and tackled him, picking him
up and carrying him to the bed, dropping him unceremoniously in the middle
of the white expanse.

"Wha . . .?"  Was all he managed to say before Owen was on him.

"C'mon, city boy," he said breathlessly, as he grappled Lucas onto his
back.  "If you want me you're gonna have to work for it."

"High opinion of yourself," Lucas shouted, pushing Owen off his chest.
"What makes you think I want it?"  He lunged for Owen, who was kneeling
less than a foot away, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling.
For some reason, Lucas was drawn to the faint dusting of freckles on Owen's
nose.  That is, he was until Owen grabbed his own thickening cock and
wiggled it back and forth.

"You're hard, Mr. Horton," Owen snickered.  "My sexy body has got you all
hot and bothered."

"Sexy body, *ha*!"  Lucas lunged, wrapped his arms around Owen, as they
both rolled off the bed, landing on the thick carpet with an umph of
expelled breath.  Without losing a beat, Lucas rolled Owen onto his back
and straddled his belly, Owen's erection pressed against the cleft of his
butt.

"I win!" Lucas shouted, inordinately pleased with himself for having bested
Owen.  He leaned forward, pinning Owen's shoulders to the carpet, and
looked into his eyes.

"That means I get three wishes."

"Huh?"

Lucas leaned forward until he was laying full length on top of Owen.  "My
first wish is that you kiss me for a . . . very . . . long . . . time."
Each word was interrupted by a short kiss, and the sound of pleasure Owen
was making deep in his throat.

"The second wish," Lucas continued, "is that you fuck me all night long.  I
want you to fill me up until I can't hold it all, and your sperm runs down
my leg."  He thrust his erection against Owen's interrupting the list of
wishes with a frantic and sloppy kiss.

"And your third wish?" Owen asked, his breath warm against Lucas' face.

"I want you to lick up all your own sperm from wherever you find it, then
share it with me."

Owen groaned loudly, and arched his back, thrusting himself against Lucas
while burying his tongue in Lucas' mouth.  They writhed on the floor,
parting only to take a few hurried breaths before returning to the
interrupted kiss.

"I love kissin' and sharing sperm," Owen breathed, his fair cheeks flushed
with excitement.  "D'you think you can handle all that I'm planning on
pumping into you?  I shoot lots, y'know."

"Then there'll be more for you to clean up and feed me," Lucas teased.

"So, let's get started!"  With surprising ease, Owen pushed Lucas off him,
spun to his knees, and bodily lifted Lucas onto the bed.

"You let me win," Lucas accused, as Owen pulled him to the edge of the bed,
pushed his knees back to his shoulders, and buried his face in the sparse
hair surrounding Lucas' hole.  Owen shook his head, and made a negative
sound as he forcefully licked back and forth over the length of Lucas'
prominent perineum.

"You didn't win.  *I* won, city boy."  Owen plunged his tongue into Lucas'
hole.  "'Cause I won, I get to suck my own sperm outta your hole."  He
renewed his attack on Lucas' anus.  "I get to fuck you, and kiss you with
my sperm-covered tongue."

He nuzzled Lucas' scrotum, licking back and forth over the hole.  "Then,
the best part happens," Owen mumbled, still within tongue's-reach of Lucas'
hole.  His breath was a warm puff against Lucas' spit-wet skin.

"What's that?" Lucas asked.

Owen answered with an evil chuckle.  He looked up, his face and chin shiny
with saliva.  "When I'm finished with you, the best part is, you get to do
me."  He paused only long enough to suck down the length of Lucas'
erection.  Once, twice, three times, it rubbed the back of Owen's throat.
"I'm not plannin' on getting any sleep tonight, mister sexy man."  He
nipped at Lucas' scrotum with his lips, fascinated by the testicles
shifting in the sac.  "When we're through, the whole apartment's gonna
smell of sex, and you and I are gonna be soooo sweaty."

He licked a long swath, beginning at Lucas' perineum and extending half-way
down the length of the back side of the thigh of one of his flexed legs.
"Hmmm," he murmured.  "I bet you didn't know how much I love lickin' a
sweaty man."  He licked over Lucas' scrotum.  "No shower for you m'man.
Owen's gonna clean you good."


----------



Riverton came into view as Sam drove over the hill, west of town.  It was
late and the three streetlights offered scant greeting as he drove down
Main Street.  The lights in the doctor's office still shone, casting a
diffused yellow puddle of light across the narrow sidewalk, but otherwise
the town might have been abandoned.  'Quite a change from the lights and
traffic of the hospital, and the city,' he thought.

Only one light was on at Owen and Jonah's house, the same yellow as the
doctor's, but somehow colder, more aloof.  He compressed his lips,
wondering what Jonathan Carver was up to.  'Nothing good.  That's for
certain.'

'Poor Jonah,' he thought to himself.  "Poor Owen," he added, aloud, as he
turned down the lane leading to his house.  The ancient oak trees arching
over the gravel drive were black silhouettes against the starry sky.

'This is home, not some place with thousands of cars, and an equal number
of people.'  Sam stepped out of the car, listening to the gravel crunch
beneath him, and savored the silence of his surroundings.  To the person
who was unaccustomed to no more sound than the slight movement of the tree
leaves, the background noise of the city could almost be painful.  'This is
where I belong.  Someplace that's quiet, where I can think.'

He lovingly trailed his fingers over the porch railing.  "Oh, Owen," he
murmured, his hushed voice seeming loud in quiet.  "Oh, Owen," he repeated.
"How I miss you."  The texture of the wooden porch rail was rough beneath
his fingers, so unlike Owen's smooth skin.  With only the slightest
imagination, Sam could feel the muscles shift as Owen moved, lying on top
of him.  He could hear Owen's boyish laugh in the still night air.  The
sound was real enough that he opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder.
His blossoming smile of welcome faded.  "What are you doing?  Are you
happy?"  Sam bit his lower lip, closing his eyes.  "Do you miss me?"


~ to be continued ~

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enjoy hearing your thoughts.  If you would like me to send you a pic of the
character(s), please ask.