In the house next to the river, where it enters the Gulf, Clay and Ivan have arrived home. It wasn't a long flight, and after dropping Popov off, they were soon getting out of the car at Ivan's house. It's a site for sore eyes for Ivan. When he left, he was almost convinced he'd never see the house or the cove again, but Ivan was home.

They'd held hands for most of the flight. In spite of his size, Popov opted to ride in the rear seat in the Apache, because he calculated that Ivan and Clay needed to be as close as possible on the final leg of a journey that ended with Ivan coming home.

Popov went to get Ivan, not knowing what he was walking into, and he'd done just that. It wasn't his doing as much as it was the doing of the general and John Carl, but he was there to make sure that Ivan was the main consideration in this drama.

Clay and Ivan stood inside the kitchen door kissing for a long time. They were both thinking about the big feather bed in the bedroom, one floor above them, but they couldn't let go. It had been too long, and neither of them was sure this moment would ever come. They'd be in the bed already, if they could figure out a way to get up the stairs while kissing.

"I missed you so much," Ivan managed.

Clay kissed his face all over, holding Ivan's face in his hands.

The clothes started coming off on the first stair. One shoe, a sock, another shoe, more socks, and a shirt, another shirt, and by the time they reached the top step they stood naked, embracing, kissing, loving each other.

Somehow, they were in the bed and they kissed, rolled, kissed, rolled some more. As the loving making went on, the comforter, the top sheet, a pillow, another pillow hit the floor as they got lost in each other, in the kisses, and in a physical contact, come hell or very high water, went unbroken for hour after hour.

It was the end of July in Florida, and it was hot, but the heat they generated was equal to any July heat they were accustomed to.

The heat, the sweat and the soft breeze coming off the Gulf during the night, had the white curtains billowing out into the bedroom in the house next to the river that flowed into the Gulf.

There was so much to say. There was so much to reveal, there was so much love, it was an incredible display of joy, togetherness, intensity, and the love making was stupendous. They kissed, touched, examined, stroked, investigated, and made love.

"You've lost weight," Clay managed sometime after it got dark, and sometime before first light came.

"Uh huh," Ivan said, as the last pillow hit the floor.

Both bodies remained pressed together as the temperature in the room peaked, began to come down, and there was an hour, maybe two, when the breeze reached the bed, but neither of the boys realized there was any change.

The intensity of loving closed off any worldly consideration. Each was lost in the other, the touching, the being together, the momentousness of the occasion. It was the greatest love either of them would ever know. They were in love, together, and making love, which was as great a love as two lovers had ever shared.

Clay and Ivan were in love, making love, without time or space being able to penetrate the love surrounding them, but Clay broke the spell as first light seemed to be threatening the darkness.

"I got to pee," Clay said.

"Me too," Ivan said.

They stood across the bowl from each other. They peed, and peed, and peed.

"I would make a racehorse proud," Ivan said, as he peed for a long me.

"In more ways than one," Clay suggested as he finished and watched Ivan finish.

"My dick is sore. I haven't done this in a while, and never so much. It's like we're trying to make up for lost time."

"Lay back, Secretariat, I know what to do about that."

Clay made it all gone with Ivan's happy meal, and he had to grab one of the fallen pillows to have something to lean back on as Clay started with the head, and working his way down before coming back up. Ivan was speechless before his sounds told Clay he had reached ecstasy and he kept going.

Clay knew how Ivan liked it and he understood that backing off, once Ivan's back began to arch, and he teased and felt his joystick until Ivan's breathing slowed, and that was when the real pleasure came. Slowly, but steadily, Clay gave the object of his affection more and more attention until Ivan's back arched, and Clay backed off.

"You're killing me. You had me on the ragged edge, babe."

"I know," Clay said in his sultry voice.

"You're evil," Ivan said.

"I know," Clay answered.

As Ivan lost the ability to speak, his senses were tuned into the power pleasure had over him. He rode the wave until it crashed against the shore with a great force that took him away as he achieved lift off, hanging above the big feather bed before finding himself back in it as he gasped for enough air.

"What do you have to say about that, Buster?" Clay asked.

Ivan giggled.

It was too delicious for words, but Clay knew what he was doing, because he'd been doing it to the same man since they were teens.

They were turned on to each other. If there was an off switch, by Monday morning, it hadn't been located. Two lovers in love didn't need to read the instruction manual. Both were capable of becoming lost in that love. It happened before. It was what was happening now, and it would happen again, because the love they shared was the same stuff dreams were made of.

Ivan was home.

Clay took advantage of that fact.

It wasn't all love making. They had minds that worked fine, even if they could lose contact with the world around them on days like this. It wasn't the first time they were lost in love and it wouldn't be the last. It was almost twenty years since they fell in love.

Neither knew how they hadn't made love on the runway, in the plane or in the car. There was too much respect for the big Russian fisherman to embarrass him by letting their passion get out of control.

Waiting, being so close and unable to do more than hold hands on the flight home might have made the love making more intense, but their love making already had an minimalistic intensity built into it because of how much they loved each other.

Somehow they endured long separations more than once. Neither could say how they managed to survive long separations, but their love wouldn't and couldn't end. It would endure whatever the ages brought their way. The love they shared would never die. Even at the end of life, their love would endure.

That was the power of love.

The first time Clay saw Ivan, he flew. From Sunday before dark, until Monday at first light, Clay flew with Ivan. They were lost in love.

As light came to the bedroom in the house next to the river, Clay had satisfied his lover, and after a pee, he sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back until his head was against Ivan's chest. Ivan's arm fell across Clay's chest.

The last time Ivan returned home, after a long separation, there was no love making. There was anger, distrust, jealousy, and a long, long period of healing. The only thing holding them together, was Dylan.

No one needed to tell Ivan. He needed to prove he was home to stay. No one needed to tell him how stupid he was for leaving in the first place, and no one needed to explain to Ivan who Dylan was.

Ivan felt like he was looking into a mirror. How could he not know the son who looked just like him. It was confusing at first.

That's when Ivan got a new name. Dylan christened the father he had no memory of seeing, Daddy-O. No one needed to tell Ivan it wasn't a term of endearment, and to this day, when Dylan was displeased with his biologic, another name he had for Ivan, he went back to calling him Daddy-O.

Dylan knew exactly who Ivan was. When he saw his natural father's confusion, he hit him with, "Cat got your tongue, Daddy-O?"

The name stuck, although Dylan's contempt for Ivan dissipated almost as soon as it surfaced. His father had finally come home.

While Dylan took to Ivan on the first day, after coming home, Clay wasn't so easy. He didn't know how long Ivan would stay, or what might carry him away the next time. No, Clay couldn't forgive or forget the pain that had been living inside his heart for years. The man he loved left him, leaving him with nearly unbearable pain. He wasn't likely to give him a second chance to break his heart.

Sometime Monday, after Clay got up to pee, he sat on the bed, leaning back so his head was against Ivan's chest. Ivan's arm was draped across Clay's chest, and Clay held his lover's hand.

"You do know I was jealous of you when you first came home?"

"Jealous of me? Why? You were a famous environmentalist. You were Harry's man in the Gulf. What was there to be jealous about?"

"Our kid. I never heard him say a kind word about his missing old man, and then, there you were, and he was enthralled by you."

"He wasn't," Ivan said, remembering Dylan showing him the SCUBA gear his real father bought him.

"You bought him that first camera. He was beguiled. It's like you had a connection to your son that I never had. Each new camera got an even more enthusiastic reception. He was growing right in front of me. I did my best to discourage him from following in my footsteps."

"Why?" Ivan asked. "He liked taking pictures. What he likes taking pictures of is you. He respects you and what you do, Clay."

"He called you Daddy-O. You were his "biologic.' That was no complimentary name, you know?"

"I knew it when he said it the first time. He was almost as cold as you those first few minutes, but he bonded with me. He knows he looks just like me. That's no secret," Ivan said.

"Yes, but you left me behind and you came home and I saw you taking my son away from me. I didn't know you. You didn't know me. When you left me, we were teenagers. You came back a full grown man capable of all the treachery and evil grown men are capable of. I saw you claiming your biological issue. I hated you for it."

"I'd never do anything that low. You raised my son, Clay. You were his father. I was merely his biologic, but that was obvious."

"It's why I took so long warming back up to you," Clay said, turning to get his lips on Ivan's.

Ivan's arms were immediately holding him as Clay turned and put his entire body in the bed. One kiss became two, three, and four. The love making started anew. There was only joy over Ivan's return this time. There was no reluctance, anger, or fear. There was only love.

Over the past five years, their love had been signed, sealed, and delivered. Clay was hopelessly in love with Ivan. Ivan felt as passionate about Clay as Clay felt about him. His heart ached while he was in Cambodia. He wasn't sure he'd live to see Clay again, but their love was never questioned by either of them.

They were mature men who decided they belonged together. Their love only grew stronger. Being apart was no less painful, but the reunion was oh so sweet. The love making all the more sweeter.

They kissed, and touched, rolling in ecstasy, ending up on the floor at some point in the morning.

They both became hysterical. They laughed from joy. They laughed from relief. They laughed because they'd never fallen on the floor while making love before, and that was funny.

They got up and started all over again.

As the day passed, there was sleep, until the heat drove them awake. It was hot, as it is in July. Their sweat, cum, and hot bodies mingled together to prove this was no passing fancy.

In mid-afternoon Monday, seeking to escape the hot bedroom, they stepped out onto the deck and experienced what almost felt like cool air, almost cool air. It wasn't as hot as it could of been. It was cooler than in the bedroom, which was something.

They held hands and stood looking out at the beautiful Gulf. They sat side by side in the wicker chairs, holding hands. If this wasn't heaven, it would pass for the time being. They were home. They were together, and life was good.

"Do you think Harry knows I'm home?"

"I don't know what Harry knows. We haven't been speaking."

"You were busting his balls over doing something to get me home," Ivan said, knowing that's what Clay would have been doing.

"He's the only one I know who could do something," Clay said.

"Popov?"

"That was a new development. I'm not sure how it came about, but he wanted you home running the business. The business Taggart has been running by himself for months on end, might I add."

"I'll take care of Tag. Don't you worry about that."

"You going to give him a raise?"

"I'm going to give him a piece of the business. He's earned a share. I wouldn't have a business if he hadn't kept it running."

"That is true. I stopped by as often as I could. All I could do was give moral support and buy him a lot of JK's fried clams."

Ivan laughed.

"I had no idea what I was doing, or how I'd get it done, when Tag walked into the shop and asked for the job I was trying to fill. I asked him if he was Twila's kid. He said he was. That's all I needed to know. Twila is aces in my book. Her kid had to be a good worker. I've sure got my money's worth out of Tag."

They held hands and nothing more for fifteen or twenty minutes, and then they went back in the bedroom to finish what they started the day before. It was no cooler in the bedroom than when they left it, but there's one nice thing about heat, once you get so hot, you can't get any hotter, and being hot hadn't changed.

In spite of the heat, they fell asleep after a while. They didn't let go of each other however. The sleep and the sweat mingled together to offer an experience that had them more tired when they woke up.

"What time is it?" Ivan asked.

"I don't know. Where'd the clock go. It was on the nightstand," Clay remembered.

I think it is under the comforter and pillows on the floor. As I recall, almost everything in the bedroom is on the floor. Makes more room for us in the bed," Ivan said.

"It's almost six," Clay said, leaning off the bed to find the clock.

"What would you say if I suggest a nice cool shower?"

"It has possibilities," Clay said.

"What would you say to a shower and we get dressed and go to your house and have one of your mother's magnificent meals?"

"I think I could go for that. My stomach feels like my throat was cut," Clay said. "I didn't want to be the one to say uncle."