I know that I should update more frequently, and I really hope that you'll forgive when I don't … college is a big piece of crap … seriously.

And NYU wonders why all the kids here have mad urges to jump from the damn buildings (I don't wonder; I know).

So I'm typing this chapter as fast as I can and then it's back to Aristotle and St. Augustine … yeah.

Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.

The New York Americans

FOURTH INNING: AGAIN

He was sitting on the bench, self-conscious, watching with intense, amplified interest the people passing through the streets. The smell of the river hung in the air.

The letter was folded in his pocket, the chain around his neck. He had not anticipated the terrible nerves in his stomach or the bruising pace of his own mind, but he had made a deal and could not break it. Besides, after four years, he was morbidly curious. What had become of Snitch?

A few young men and women asked Michael for his signature, and he gladly obliged. Snitch could not mistake him; Michael had chosen to wear his New York Americans uniform shirt and a pair of brown trousers. Not many people owned the shirt, and his face was still his own.

As he scanned the crowd, his eyes came to rest on a tall, nervous young man. Immediately, a sense of awareness and panic flooded him. This young man could not be the wrong young man; there was only one name to which he could answer.

Snitch certainly had gotten taller, and broader. His lean, boyish body had filled out into that of a man's strong figure, his chest showing wonderfully through the dipping, unbuttoned collar of his shirt. For a moment Michael's breath caught in his throat at the older, more rugged beauty of his childhood friend's mature face. Snitch's eyes were still green. Michael was still infatuated.

He almost didn't want to break the omnipotent silence, but in the quiet distance he found his voice and called, "Daniel Murphy!" Somehow the nickname of the past no longer seemed suitable for the boy who was now a man. And then Daniel turned, and the past four years seemed to fade away.

"Michael Smith," came the reply and any words would have seemed trivial and empty. Daniel's long strides were bringing him closer and closer to the boy from his past. Suddenly, stoic Michael felt panicked. He had not felt true, honest feelings in four years.

For a moment they stood, awkward, unsure of what to say. After a wordless four years, what syllable could possibly break the icy silence? Then, Daniel broke it, saying,

"Oh, God, look at you!"

Michael's posture straightened before his old friend's roving eyes. "And you," he returned. "You're much taller."

Daniel's face broke into a wide, relieved grin. "So here's the big baseball player," he said, looking at the words stitched across Michael's chest. "Michael, I wish we had never been separated."

In spite of himself and Daniel's forward manner, Michael began to relax. "It's no one's fault," he said, smiling slightly. "But how did you find me?"

Daniel's face suddenly went ashen. "I saw you in the papers, an' I went to City Hall. I kept all our old pictures," he said, and bit his lip, barely able to meet his old friend's eyes.

But Michael agreed. "I did, too," he replied softly, and suddenly, at Daniel's eyes, he could not contain himself. "Listen, my apartment's just uptown a bit. We could have lunch …?"

And at the frank eagerness in Daniel's eyes, he felt a little afraid, and a lot excited.

-------------------------

The door had barely been closed before roving hands covered hot bodies. For a moment, there was an awkward fumbling because Michael had forgotten what to say, and could no longer clearly remember what to do. Then he was afraid of disappointment, of forgetting how it all worked. But then Daniel's hot mouth was on his neck, and Michael forgot the tension as uncontrollable desire cursed through his veins.

They were tumbling around in his bed, Daniel above, Michael below, and all the longing of the lonely past four years came back in one brutal act of searing passion. Daniel's hands grabbed at Michael's hips, their bodies heaving together in one great swell as painful moaning filled the room. The bed creaked, but neither heard. Their meeting had been barely an hour ago, perhaps one-hundred words total. Old habits die hard, it was said.

Michael thought, They did not know how right they were.

Hands pinioned shoulders, fingers gripped rolling hips, eager mouths explored crevasses of bodies. Michael groaned, the thought of guilt coming and going as Daniel made him forget all else. For the best part of a half-hour, there was no need for conversation.

Michael really had forgotten all else.

The release came just minutes apart for both. Daniel rolled over and stood, pulling on his pants.

"Sorry," he said, but did not sound so regretful after all.

"For what?" Michael's voice was hoarse, shaking.

"We don't even know each other anymore," Daniel answered. He was facing the wall and Michael was suddenly stricken with a throat-tightening fear.

"It doesn't matter."

"Please don't hate me now, for taking advantage of you. You're obviously very lonely."

"Advantage?" Michael's brows furrowed. "Daniel, even if I tried, even when I tried, I couldn't hate you."

Pausing for a moment, Daniel sat down on the edge of the bed. He turned slowly to Michael.

"Maybe things haven't changed too much," he said then, reaching over to stroke Michael's face. His fingers strayed up to Michael's hair, feeling the soft, shaggy strands, then went down to Michael's strong, smooth chest. Daniel seemed to study his old friend as if from an unhappy distance.

"Maybe not," Michael said. The sheets tangled around him were damp from the sweat of his clammy, pale body. He reached for Daniel's hands. "Come back to bed. There's no one to see us this time."

Daniel's face tightened with the smallest of smiles. "We could stay in bed all day, if we wanted to."

"All day," Michael repeated. Ashamed, he realised how desperate he was for this simple human connection. It was entirely a new side of his character.

Daniel's body tensed. "We'll have to talk at some point, I think," he said, resolve breaking.

Michael smiled. "But not yet, not yet."

And before Daniel knew it, Michael's hands had pried the waistband of his boxer shorts away from his body, and all was sweet ecstasy again.