Although Father Michaels' anger had not diminished, the priest warmed a can of tomato soup for Jordan and laid out fresh bedding for the couch, before retreating to his bed. Once in the seclusion of his room, he paced the floor. Hands trembling with rage and tangled emotion. Torn between his desire to fight or fuck. Stunned by the other man's audacity. His persistence. Did Jordan take this for a game? Why was his offer of friendship not enough for the other man? Surely, a homeless young thing like Jordan would benefit from the camaraderie?

The priest undressed, scattering his clothes about the room furiously, as he searched his dresser drawers for a pair of heavy flannel pajamas. Even with the heat turned up, the old building remained chilly. He could feel the draft, seeping in through the poorly insulated windows as he slipped his flannels on.

Father Michaels folded back his thick comforter, and reached to click on the small reading lamp beside his bed. As he was about to slide between the sheets he paused, glancing up at the crucifix adorning his bedroom wall. The priest's stomach churned. Hestitantly, he turned and walked over to where the relic hung, then lifted it off the nail on which it was suspended. He carried it back to his bed, and perched on the edge of his mattress, running his fingers lightly over the fine old wood, a prayer of apology on his lips.

He no longer knew who he was, or what he was capable of. Didn't understand what God expected of him. Would he want the priest to live a lie? The concept was difficult to believe, bizarre even.

With a heavy heart, the priest reached over and set the crucifix down on his nightstand, grabbing up the book that laid there, before climbing beneath his comforter and blankets. Trying to concentrate on his novel, Father Michaels found himself straining to hear the noises coming from the living room, the faint footsteps, the laugh track of a television sitcom, the loud rattle of Jordan's cough. An eternity seemed to pass before Father Michaels grew tired enough to close his eyes, but even when he drifted off, his sleep was restless. He tossed and turned. Interrupted by dreams. Noise. Discomfort.

It was still dark, when a loud cry roused Father Michaels from his slumber. He groaned and rubbed at his heavy eyelids, blinking until his eyes adjusted to the soft light radiating from the lamp beside his bed. The priest stretched, and scratched his head in weary bewilderment. Another loud noise emanated from the living room. Someone was sobbing. Several more disoriented moments passed, before the priest remembered that Jordan was there, sleeping on his couch. Crying? Yes. He was definitely weeping. Concern overriding all other emotion, Father Michaels threw his blankets back and sprang out of bed, the sudden rush of nippy air sending shivers through his body.

The priest pattered barefoot down the hallway, the hardwood floors icy beneath his feet. The muffled crying becoming clearer as he neared the living room, until finally he could make out the words Jordan muttered between sobs, "fuckingbastard, I hate you, you fuckingbastard..."

Father Michaels' brow furrowed, as obscenities continued to spew forth from the young man's mouth. By now, he had assumed nothing Jordan said could shock him, but he'd been wrong. There was something in the passionate profession of hatred that chilled him to the bone. The priest inched his way carefully through the dim room, stepping closer and closer to the couch, uncertain whether the young man was awake or babbling in his sleep. When at last, he was standing beside the couch, he peered down at Jordan, sleeping on his stomach, his thin legs raveled in the blankets, his face pressing into his pillow.

"Jordan?" Father Michaels whispered and crouched beside Jordan, smoothing his hand over the other man's bare shoulder. Jordan jerked at the sudden touch and bolted upright, twisting his body around, as he gasped for air and stared up at the priest, "ohgod...Jesus...I...was dreaming."

"So I gathered. Must have been quite a dream?"

"It was..." Jordan rolled over on to his back and lounged against the arm of the couch, pressing the palm of his hand against his chest, as if to feel the rapid beat of his own heart, "it scared the shit out of me."

Father Micheals nodded, struggling to conceal his lusty gaze. Yet try as he might, he couldn't tear his eyes away. There was something about Jordan's fleeting vulnerability that he found intoxicating...something in the man's wide gray eyes, in the way his longish hair lay touseled around his gaunt face. He looked like a small child. Frightened. Fragile. The priest's bleary eyes trailed down over Jordan's chest, resting on the man's small dark nipples, taking note of the inviting way they peaked in the brisk air. Father Michaels felt his cock twitch between his legs. He wanted. God. How he wanted... He was only human, after all. The prolonged torture was gnawing away at him, and he was sick of it. Sick of denying himself what he most wanted. Maybe, just this once, he could give in? Maybe he'd get the young man out of his system, if he finally had him, in the true sense of the word? "How are you feeling? Warm? I've heard it said that a high fever can contribute to bad dreams."

"No. I don't think so...I have them often." Regaining his composure, Jordan studied the priest for a moment, then narrowed his glacial eyes, "What are you looking at?"

"Just you," the priest fought to keep his face void of emotion as he reached out and felt Jordan's forehead with the palm of his hand, "hmmm....you're not burning up, but you still feel a little feverish." Then, in a moment of weakness, Father Michaels brushed his fingertips over Jordan's pale, tear-dampened cheek, then traced along his sharp jaw line.

"Mmmm...nice," Jordan moaned hoarsely, tilting his head backward, as the priest's knuckles slid lower to caress the length of his neck. This was how he wanted Jordan. Passive, yet responsive to his touch. It wasn't nearly as overwhelming as the young man's crude attempts at seduction. Not as emasculating.

"Who were you dreaming about, Jordan? Was it your father?" Father Michaels slid his hand lower, grazing the younger man's collar bone with his fingers, "you mentioned him in your sleep, that very first day we met...in the church." He could feel Jordan's body tense at the mention of his father, see his jaw clench indignantly as he gave a slight nod. The priest had known his presumption was accurate, even before the younger man confirmed it for him. Father Michaels had suspected as much since the day he first found the younger man, sleeping in the church pew, though he hadn't wanted to jump to such a hasty conclusion then.

"He hurt you, didn't he?" Father Michaels' throat felt raw as he spoke, his fingers dropping even further, down over Jordan's chest, where they dared to trace one of the man's rose colored nipples, "tell me Jordan, what did he make you do?"

"Why the fuck are you asking me these questions? Why do you wanna know?" The young man glowered at the priest, but Father Michaels was undaunted. He plucked at Jordan's stiff nipple and rolled it between his thumb and index finger, giving it a sharp pinch as he spoke, "tell me what you did with your father."

Father Micheals barely recognized the timbre of his own voice, it was as if someone other than himself had stepped in, and he was merely a puppet, allowing that other person to control his words and actions. Yet he was experiencing the excitement distinctly. Could feel his stomach tremble...the heat rushing to his cock.

Coaxing Jordan to speak about his father was similar to hearing a dirty secret in the confessional, only it was much more thrilling. Much more arousing. Crouching beside Jordan, the priest's hands were free to roam over the young man's body, as if he were reliving the past sin along with him. He knew he should stop. Knew touching the other man was wrong. But his willpower was spent. And Jordan had teased him without mercy. Now, it was his turn.

"I...he made me...suck his cock," Jordan's eyes blazed angrily as he stammered, but the rest of his face registered no emotion. It was blank, like an empty canvass. Revealing no embarrassment, no shame. Holding the young man's eyes intently, the priest drew one of his own fingers into his mouth, wetting the tip generousy with saliva, before returning it to the younger man's nipple, "look, Father...I don't..." "Did you like it?" The priest glanced down at the crotch of Jordan's borrowed pajama bottoms. The man's cock was jutting obscenely against the cotton fabric, a small wet spot beginning to darken the flimsy material where the head of his dick pressed. Father Micheals' reached for the drawstring and gave a firm tug, loosening the waist considerably. Enough to slip his hand inside, enough to stroke the hollowed space between Jordan's hips.

"No....and yes...fuck...I just don't know." Jordan groaned, his lips parting slightly at the feather light touch against his senstive skin, "can we please not talk about him?"

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" Reaching down lower, the priest ran one finger along the other man's dribbling cockhead, smearing precum over the swollen tip.

"Y-yes..." Jordan closed his eyes and let his head roll back against the cushions, the rise and fall of his chest quickening, "ohhh....god..."

"Good, because you make me uncomfortable too," he wrapped his fingers around the girth of Jordan's cock and gave it a few hard tugs, milking strings of cum up to the slit, urging the fluid out over his fingers, until they were good and wet, "you feel...so hot... Here..." Father Michaels lifted his slick fingers to Jordan's lips, "I want you to taste yourself for me."

Before Jordan had the opportunity to fully grasp his words, the priest plunged two of his fingers into the other man's mouth, catching him off guard. Jordan gagged involuntarily, his eyes jolting open with surprise. "Go on Jordan...."

Obediently, the younger man closed his full pink lips around the priest's fingers and began to suck at his own precum. A low guttural moan caught in Father Micheals' throat as he drew his fingers in and out of Jordan's hot mouth, feeling every thrust of his fingers in his cock.

By the time Father Michaels withdrew his digits, Jordan was panting heavily, a wanton statement on his face, "Father...please...don't run away from me again? I want you. And I know you could help me forget."

"Tell me what you want, Jordan? I need to hear you say it."

"I want you to stop playing games...want you to fuck me...fuck me so hard that you're the only one I can remember inside me." The younger man reached out and twined his fingers in the priest's wavy hair, yanking him upward toward his own face, "kiss me, Father."

At the feel of Jordan's sharp, insistent tug, Father Michaels' arm shot out rapidly, his hand clasping firmly around Jordan's slender neck, as he allowed himself to be pulled closer. When he was drawn near enough, the priest crushed his lips ruggedly over Jordan's, thrusting his tongue into the other man's mouth. Teasing and sucking, his hold on Jordan's throat tightening. Both men battling for dominance as their tongues thrashed together. The younger man released his grip on the other's hair as they kissed, his nimble fingers traveling down the priest's chest, where he tore at the buttons of Father Michaels' top. Swiftly pulling it open, and slipping the shirt down off Father Michaels' shoulders.

Jordan stifled a moan against the priest's open mouth, then broke away from the ardent kiss, his breath coming in raspy spurts, full lips bruised. "You're so fucking beautiful, Father. God. I want you so badly, I'd do anything for you. Give you anything you want." He combed his fingers through Father Michaels' blond chest hairs, and glanced up into the priest's face, his gray eyes locking with Father Michaels' as he snaked his hand lower, down over the priest's taut stomach to the waistband of his pajama bottoms. The younger man fumbled with the snaps, ripping them apart, before he shoved the flannel down over Father Michaels' slim, muscular hips. As soon as the priest's cock sprang free, Jordan dropped his eyes, staring at it hungrily as he slid his hands over the priest's firm ass, and dug his fingers into Father Michaels' skin, "Father...please..."

"Show me, show me how much you want me," Father Michaels' voice was raspy, his throat tight. Dry. He reached for Jordan's hand, and guided it to his own cock, pressing his swollen organ into the palm of the younger man's hand, "touch me, before I change my mind." Compliantly, Jordan cupped the priest's weighty balls in his hand, feeling their damp heat, as he rolled them gently between his fingers. Father Michaels didn't force Jordan away this time. Instead, he let himself be fondled and explored - found himself relishing every sensation Jordan's fingers had to offer, every stroke, every light tug. By the time Jordan fisted his dick, the priest's only fear was that he'd cum before he could shove himself deep inside the other man.

"Ohhhh...you feel good...so good. Wait. Jordan, wait. Slower...go slower," feeling the pressure build in his cock, the priest grew anxious. He didn't want to cum in Jordan's hand, he wanted to cum in his ass. Wanted to feel him, what it was like to be inside him, the way he suspected many men before him had, even Jordan's own father, "Okay, okay...enough...stop." Father Michaels slapped Jordan's hand away abruptly, and reached for the waist of the young man's pants, ripping them down over his skinny legs.

As soon as his pajama bottoms where discarded, Jordan bent his knees and spread his legs wide, giving the priest full access to what he most wanted. Father Michaels' heart pounded in his chest, his body trembled with arousal, as he gaped at the sight before him. He ran his hand slowly down over Jordan's thigh, until his fingers brushed against the shadowed crack of the other man's ass. Watching intently, the priest worked a finger between the warm folds of skin, and rested it against Jordan's pucker, rubbing it lightly with his fingertip. At the priest's touch, Jordan moaned and tossed his head to the side, his lips open. He drew his legs further upward, pinning them against the sides of his chest, "yeah...that's it...push your fingers inside, make me ready for your cock."

Father Michaels glanced at Jordan's flushed face. Fuck, he was beautiful. His lids at half mast, eyes glassy, lush mouth open... The priest continued to stare at Jordan as he shoved the tip of his finger through the boy's constrained ring of muscle, working it slowly inside, until it was buried up to the knuckle. Once enveloped by the moist tissue, Father Michaels stroked at the hot walls, then drew his finger all the way out, only to stab back inside with greater force. Jordan whimpered, his cock jerking lightly against his stomach.

"You want more, Jordan? Want me to use two fingers?" Father Michaels could feel the precum trickling out from the head of his cock, smearing against the couch as he leaned over the cushions to fuck Jordan with his finger.

"Yeah, more..." Jordan squeezed his eyes shut, as the priest worked a second finger inside, "deeper put'em in deeper...yeah..oh..ohgod yeah...just like that." Father Michaels speared inside as far as he could manage, nudging the man's the smooth gland, surprised at the response it elicited from Jordan. The younger man's body tensed, his ass clenched tighter around the priest's finger, as he cried out, "oh...God...fuck me, fuck me hard. Please...now..."

Hearing Jordan's plea, while he watched his two fingers thrusting in and out of Jordan's stretched hole, was almost more than Father Michaels could bear. He swallowed hard, his own cock so swollen it ached. "Get on your hands and knees, Jordan."

"Why don't you just climb between my legs...I wanna watch your face when you cum." Jordan's statement was dreamy, his voice breathy as he spoke. His smallish hand was already wrapped around his dick, rubbing it as he struggled to keep his legs bent back.

"No, I said on your hands and knees," the priest stood suddenly, grasping Jordan's forearm, and ripping him off the couch. The younger man's legs tangled in the sheets as he was jerked from his make-shift bed. Unable to untwine himself from the blankets fast enough, he tumbled to the floor with a dull thud. There, he crawled to his hands and knees, where a fit of coughing wracked his bony form, the muscles in his back tensing with each incessant hack. Yet he didn't utter a complaint. Instead, Jordan remained in position, his head lowered, dark hair falling around his face like a shroud. Father Michaels knelt behind him, running his hands over Jordan's smooth young ass. He appeared so vulnerable this way. Exposed and open. Waiting.

Another moment of indecision passed through Father Michaels. There was still time to stop. Still time to resist, and return to his room. But he didn't want that. He wanted this. The priest gripped the cheeks of Jordan's ass and spread them apart, wanting to peer at the small dark pucker inside. He inched closer, almost close enough to touch his lips to the other man's hidden mouth. Could he do this? Allow himself to taste a man? Yes. God, yes. He'd dreamt of such a moment, for more years than he cared to remember. With his heart in his throat, Father Michaels pressed his face between the folds of sweaty skin, the musky scent nearly driving him mad, as he flicked his tongue out over the other man's pucker, feeling the roughness of the wrinkled skin on his tongue. The priest grasped Jordan's bony hips, holding him firmly in place as he lapped at the boy's warm hole. Easily losing himself in Jordan's texture. His flavor. Licking and sucking. Pressing closer. His tongue darting between the tight ring. Wanting more. Wanting to eat his way deep inside.

"I want your cock. Oh fuck...I want it," Jordan fought to move against the priest, moaning and arching, wriggling his ass back further on Father Michaels' face, "Ahhh...ohyeah...come on, ram your big hard dick in my ass. Do it, Father. You wanna play daddy? Come on and fuck me."

Pooling saliva in his mouth, the priest drew back slightly, letting a gob of thick spit roll off his tongue, out onto Jordan's glistening pucker. He gave the wet mouth one last lick, smearing the fluid over Jordan's hole, before reaching to grab his own dick. "Hold yourself open for me, I want to see this..."

The younger man bent lower, resting his forehead against the worn carpet, his ass elevated, as he reached back with both hands and held his cheeks apart. Holding his sticky, cum-slick cock by the base, Father Michaels guided it between Jordan's ass cheeks, pushing the spongy head firmly against Jordan's exposed pucker. The priest peered down, his blue eyes riveted on his own dick, as Jordan's hungry little mouth gave up resistance, and swallowed his fat cockhead. He pressed his hips harder against Jordan, sinking his dick inside, until it was completely encased in the man's hot canal.

Jordan gasped loudly, making an immediate attempt to press back against the priest's dick, "Jordan...ohgod...don't move...j-just hold still." Father Michaels remained motionless for a moment, afraid to move, afraid of cuming instantly in the grip of Jordan's ass. Hot. Fuck. His asshole was so hot. He wondered if it was always this good and warm, or if the heat was caused by Jordan's fever. While he remained poised, the priest felt Jordan flexing his muscles around his shaft, squeezing his cock tight. Oh God, it was good. There was nothing quite like this...

"Ohhyeah, ohhhyeah...Father. Fuck me, give it to me," Jordan groaned and turned his face to the side, laying his cheek against the floor, his words coming out in a mad rush, between gasps for air. The priest drew his length out slowly, his own mouth open wide as he watched his dick glide. Once he had withdrawn completely, he slammed back inside Jordan's hole, hard and deep, listening to the other man whimper.

His hands smoothing over Jordan's pale back, Father Michaels began to set his own rhythm, lunging his cock into the other man's ass in shallow thrusts at first, then moving deeper and harder as he increased his pace, until his balls were slapping against Jordan's ass. The younger man's body rocked forward beneath each forceful drive. Grunting hoarsely, Jordan reached between his thighs to jerk his dick, "tell me...priest...how's it feel? It's good, ain't it?"

Jordan's question stung Father Micheals. It was the way the younger man emphasized the word, 'priest' when he spoke, as if he didn't want to let him forget, even for a minute, who he was. "Yeah, it's good... But then, you know that don't you? How many men have you fucked, Jordan? I'll bet you give yourself to everyone, don't you? Bet you whore your ass out there on the street..." The priest had wanted his words to wound the other man, wanted a small bit of retribution for the way Jordan continually hurt him. Yet, after having muttered his insults out loud, he immediately regretted it.

"Oh. Fuck you. Fuck you, Father...." Jordan sobbed quietly, his body tensing. Stilling. The priest knew, at once, that he'd injured the other man with his cruel words. Pushed things too far.

Instead of apologizing, he reached over Jordan's back, and grabbed him by the hair, pulling the smaller man upward off the floor, until he was raised on all fours again. The priest leaned over Jordan's sweaty, feverish back, fucking him slower, brushing his lips against the boy's shoulder, as he reached for Jordan's cock, his voice gentle against the younger man's neck when he spoke, "here, let me help you."

Father Michaels' gave Jordan's dick a squeeze, then pumped it up and down, his fingers sliding over the thick, wet cock in cadence with his own thrusts. Their damp skin slapping as they ground their bodies together, the intensity mounting, until Father Michaels felt his balls tighten and lift, "Jordan. Jordan, I'm gonna cum. Do it with me, cum with me." The priest cried out, blinded by a seizure of violent pleasure. His breath halting, as his dick pulsed inside Jordan's ass, each fierce spasm spitting thick jets of cum deep into the man's gut. Spent, fighting to catch his breath, Father Michaels collapsed on the younger man's back, still stroking Jordan's engorged cock.

"Ahhhhhh...oh...fuck...y-yes, gonna cum," Jordan's dick throbbed within the priest's grasp seconds later, his ass muscles contracting around the other man's dick as he came, shooting ropes of hot cum out over Father Michaels' fingers. The last of his energy depleted, Jordan's arms and legs gave out beneath the priest's weight. Together, they toppled down to the floor, both drenched with mingled sweat, and both breathing hard.

Exhausted, Father Michaels rolled off Jordan's back, onto his side, and stretched his arm across the distance that separated them, pushing damp strands of hair back off Jordan's face, just as his eyes fluttered open.

"God, Jordan...what the hell am I going to do with you," the priest sighed, running his fingers through the other man's dark hair, studying his angular face. What now? What would he do? Tomorrow, could he carry on as usual, and bury the knowledge of what he'd just done somewhere deep down in his soul? And what about Jordan, would he never see him after this? So many questions spun though his weary mind. Rest. That's what he needed. There was no point in trying to sort everything out right now, when he could hardly think straight.

"You could let me sleep in your bed tonight, with you...for starters."

Father Michaels nodded, watching a slow, hesitant smile break out across Jordan's face. "Why not. Come on, let's go to bed...before I fall asleep on the floor." The priest stood, his legs trembling, as he reached for Jordan's hand. Father Michaels pulled Jordan to his feet, all too aware of his nudity, as he led the other man down the hall toward his bedroom.

Once they were in the priest's bed, their bodies tucked away beneath the plush comforter, Jordan snuggled close against Father Michaels' side, "thank you, Father, for everything..."

"Don't thank me. I haven't treated you very well, and...I never should've touched you. You know that, Jordan." The priest shuddered at the feel of the younger man's fingers, raking through his golden chest hairs, rubbing lightly at his nipples.

"Oh, bullshit. There's nothing wrong with what we just did," he nuzzled against the priest's neck, brushing his full lips over Father Michaels' salty skin. Licking his way up to the priest's ear, he whispered, "think you can go again?"

"What? Jordan...I'm tired," even as he said the words, the priest could feel his dick twinge.

"Mmmm...come on...let me suck you off. I'll let you cum in my face," the younger man snickered faintly, kissing his way along Father Michaels' jaw, until their lips met. When their mouths opened, their movements were gentle this time, their tongues dancing together languidly. Jordan's mouth sucked and nibbled, working its way downward over the priest's chin, his chest, until finally he ducked beneath the covers to swallow Father Micheals' cock.

**************************************

The bright rays of early morning sun light filtered through the blinds on Father Michaels' bedroom window, waking him reluctantly from his brief but restful nap. He yawned contentedly, rolling over onto his side, hoping to watch Jordan sleep for a few minutes, before he showered and ran off to perform morning mass. Panic seized him, when he realized there was no one beside him. Suddenly wide awake, the priest threw the covers back, and fumbled his way into his robe, as he hurried down the hallway, calling Jordan's name.

"Father. In here..."

The priest followed the sound of Jordan's voice into the kitchen. There, the younger man stood, fully dressed, stuffing his bottle of cough syrup, and a vial of antibiotics into his backpack.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm putting my meds away. You know...I was thinking, I should probably be on my way now," Jordan shrugged nonchalantly, lifting his cool gray eyes to meet the priest's.

Father Michaels' searched the younger man's face. Nothing. There was nothing there. No regret. No affection. The priest felt as if someone had just knocked the wind out of him. "Why? Why leave so soon? You're not feeling well... You could stay for awhile. A few days, at least."

Jordan's lips curled into a sneer, and he laughed sarcastically, as he shouldered his weighty bag, "and what then Father Michaels? When you finish playing with me, I'll just be back on the street...and you'll still be singing hallelujah at the pulpit."

"Don't go," the priest grabbed for the other man's hand, lacing his fingers through Jordan's, "I...I...God...this is so confusing. I LIKE you. I mean, last night...it wasn't just about sex. I think...I have feelings for you," Father Michaels gulped nervously, overwhelmed, knowing that what he was proposing was hardly fair.

"Yeah right. Listen, you fucked me. That's ALL that happened last night. Now, if you'll excuse me, Father..." Jordan yanked his hand out of the priest's clasp, and pushed past him, headed for the foyer. Following behind the young man, his mind racing, Father Michaels' desperation turned to anger, "so, you were just toying with me all this time? And now...that's it? I won't see you again?"

"I'll be around."

"Jordan, don't be a ridiculous! I can help you, you know I can. Your mother's gone, your father's a pedophile... You have no one else to turn to. You NEED me, damn it!" The priest's voice was shrill, his eyes pleading with Jordan, beseeching him not to leave.

Calmly, Jordan dropped his backpack onto the tiled, foyer floor, and slipped into his mangy fur coat. Seizing the opportunity, the priest snatched up his bag. The younger man stared coldly into Father Michaels' face, "I don't need anyone. Certainly not some half-ass priest, who doesn't know what he wants. Gimme my fucking bag. NOW." Stunned, the priest handed the bag over.

"Be careful. If you need anything..." Father Michaels' voice cracked and trailed off. He could barely look into Jordan's face.

"I'll be fine. And if you ever make up your mind about what you need, let me know, I'm not usually hard to find," Jordan reached for the door knob and paused, glancing back over his shoulder, grinning shrewdly, "did you really believe all the shit I said about my father? That he fucked me?"

"It was a lie?"

"Let's just say, I gave you what you wanted. You needed to believe that, needed the sex to be emotional, needed to feel in control," Jordan tossed his head, flipping his straggly hair back out of his eyes, "I told you not to threaten, didn't I? Told you that you were weak, that I'd find an angle..."

A strangled noise caught in the priest's throat, as he blinked back his tears, and nodded, "Okay, Jordan...yeah...you were right. You win. You fucking win...."

With that, the younger man opened the front door, allowing a gust of frigid wind to blow through the foyer, as he stepped out into the icy morning air. He never looked back.

EPILOGUE:

The late March sky was overcast, a dismal shade of gray, as William walked through the deserted park, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his khaki pants. Despite the dreary skies, the air felt warm against his face. It was pleasant enough outside, that he hadn't even needed a jacket. Instead, he'd opted for a light blue sweater. Maybe to make up for the lack of blue in the sky? He wondered what his shrink would say? Surely, it couldn't be coincidence. His nasty subconscious was always alluding to something. William smiled to himself at the thought, and then glanced around at the trees in the park. The sight of tree branches, beginning to bud along the sidewalk, seemed promising. Perhaps, Spring would come early this year? He thought the change of season would probably do him a world of good.

Up ahead, William caught a glimpse of a street person, bent over a garbage pail, gathering up returnable bottles. He thought nothing of it. Not until he stepped closer. Not until he saw the matted fur coat the tramp wore. For weeks after their encounter, he'd searched for Jordan, to no avail. The pain of his rejection still sent a sharp pang straight to his heart. Jordan had screwed with with his head, but he'd also done him a favor. One he hadn't seen, until he'd distanced himself from the situation.

When he came up alongside the trash can, William stopped unnoticed, watching Jordan toss cans over his shoulder onto the grass. He couldn't help but grin foolishly, his pulse rate still quickened at the mere sight of Jordan.

When the younger man pulled his torso out of the garbage, he crouched to the ground and began gathering up the cans, throwing them into a large plastic bag. Realizing he was being watched, the young man lifted his head and peered out from under his tangled mane of hair, a scowl on his face, as if he was about to curse the spectator.

"Father..." Jordan's jaw dropped, his gray eyes widening, as he stood upright, and trailed his gaze down over William's body, "I...never...I didn't expect to see you again. I hoped, but..."

"Hey, call me, William."

Slowly, as he grasped the meaning of William's words, Jordan broke into a generous smile. He let the edge of the plastic bag fall from his grasp and stepped closer, tilting his head to the side curiously, "Oh? Okay...William, it is then."

THE END