"Will you stay or is Daphne expecting you home by teatime?"

Justin still had his arms around Brian and was resting his head against Brian's back.

"Do you want me to?" he asked, not entirely sure that he, himself, did.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you to stay. Christ, Justin, you should know by now that I don't do or say anything I don't want to do or say."

"Yeah, along with ‘no apologies, no regrets.'"

Brian snorted. "That's Lindsay. She's the one who came up with that. Kind of like Michael coming up with the whole ‘you're Brian Kinney, for fuck sake; you will always be young and you will always be beautiful.' Fuck, I should make fucking t-shirts saying all the shit people have invented for me. The ‘Big Bad.' ‘God's Gift to Gay PA.' Although the last two I'm rather fond of . . ."

"You also have the t-shirt Lindsay gave you: ‘I'm Gus's Dad.'"

Brian laughed a sour laugh. "Never wore it," he said. "It's too small. Fucking perfect, isn't it. Quite the illustration for your colorful monologue on how shitty a father I'll be if I'm not kept a sufficient distance from my children. Mel doesn't make a secret of how she feels about me and Gus."

Justin kissed Brian's back through his shirt and took a deep breath before speaking. "You haven't exactly given her any reason to think differently. The one time you had Gus overnight was pretty much a disaster."

"Yeah, because you almost scalded him! Good job, World's Greatest Daddy."

"That's because someone was playing a different kind of ‘Daddy' at the fucking leather ball." Justin let go of Brian and went to the kitchen to make a sandwich. Jesus fucking Christ! Why were they doing this to each other? What was the fucking point? But the stone had started to roll downhill, and neither of them had ever been able to stop a rolling stone.

"And what have you done since then except sign over your parental rights?"

"I've told you a thousand times that I signed over my parental rights because it was in Gus's best interest!" Brian yelled. "I was thinking of Gus, not me. Isn't that what you want me to do with the twins? Bow to the audience and exit stage right as soon as they've been carved out of my stomach?"

Justin flinched as though Brian's words were a physical blow. The image was so terrifying and heartbreaking that Justin knew he had to put an end to the conversation.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said. "And you know it."

"Do I?"

"Brian, please. Let's stop this."

Brian sighed and walked to the kitchen with his hand still on his brow.

"You okay?" Justin asked worriedly.

"Headache," Brian mumbled. "I'm going to lie down."

"You should eat something first. Want half of my sandwich?"

Brian just nodded and sat on a barstool. Justin put the halves of the turkey sandwich he'd made on two plates. He'd made the sandwich with full-fat mayonnaise and white bread. Shit. If he'd known he'd be sharing the sandwich with Brian, he would've used wheat bread and a healthier condiment. He'd been wanted for a while to talk to Brian about eating better than he had been, but now seemed the wrong time for that conversation, to say the least. Brian would take the suggestion as another attack on his fatherhood - another way he was bad for the babies.

"I bet you wish you could take them away right now and put them in some kind of tank or something where they'll be safe from me," Brian said as though reading Justin's mind. "Well, you can't. For the next the six months they're mine."

Justin threw half of his half of the sandwich away. He wasn't hungry anymore. Why the hell did Brian want him to stay if they were just going to snip at each other, lobbing one low blow after another?

"Let's fuck," Brian said.

Justin merely looked at him. Was it that Brian was shallow? Or did he just seem shallow because he was, in fact, an unknowable enigma? Were the words he spoke the entirety of his thoughts, or were they merely the surface? The fact that Justin didn't know, despite their having "been together" for almost two years, was seriously disconcerting. Was Brian a puzzle Justin had completed and thus no longer found interesting? Or was Brian a Gordian Knot immune to Hercules sword? Was Brian crass and predictable? Or was he a riddle Justin could ponder for the rest of his life and still never fully grasp? Was Brian a tedious slut? Or was he an ineffable mystery? Everything hung on the answer to those questions, everything that was or could be between them. Because if Brian was, in fact, as boring as Justin had come to believe he was, Justin wanted out - a nice, neat, clean break. But if Brian had the potential to be endlessly fascinating, leaving him would be a mistake that Justin would regret for the rest of his life.

There was no doubt that Justin had become cynical and jaded. Babylon was boring. Woody's was boring. The baths were boring. The diner was boring. The Loft was boring. Even though he'd never been told one way or another, Justin was also sure Brian's job was boring - he certainly complained about it enough. Brian didn't read or go to movies. He didn't interact with new people (tricks didn't count). As far as Justin had been told, the only place outside of the United States he'd ever visited was Mexico. Yes, he went to the gym and ran on his treadmill, but as far as Justin knew, Brian played no sports. He had no hobbies (except shopping, surfing the web for porn, dancing, doing drugs and tricking, if those things could even be called "hobbies). He didn't cook. Yes, he knew photography through his job, but Brian was no artist. He wasn't spiritual; he wasn't charitable (unless there was something in it for him). His interest in politics didn't extend much beyond Pittsburgh, unless he was reading magazines and newspapers at work that Justin didn't know about. Beyond Armani suits, Prada shoes and sex toys, he wasn't a collector or a connoisseur of anything. He didn't like pets. He didn't like children. He didn't like the country or the suburbs. He didn't like anything that smacked of romance or the mainstream.

By all rights, Brian should be the most boring, shallow, predictable, vain, provincial and unremarkable man in Pittsburgh. Yes, he was beautiful and could give you an orgasm that made you black-out. Yes, he could dance (well, sort of). Yes, he was peerless when it came to advertising. Yes, he was funny (sometimes). Yes, he was intelligent, and he'd had a solid college liberal arts education. Yes, he was ambitious (at least when it came to money and sex).

Justin knew all of this. It was the main reason he'd wanted to leave Brian - well, that and the fact that Brian treated him like shit. It was inevitable that he would fall for someone else, and Ethan was the right guy at the right time . . .

. . . so why was he hesitating on the threshold? Was it lust? Was it the challenge of trying to make Brian love him? Was it inertia? Was it a lack of imagination or will? Was he a masochist but just didn't know it?

Or was he hesitating on the threshold because he'd glimpsed Brian's soul and found it so complex and so beautiful that all of his complaints seemed trivial in comparison?

His life's happiness hinged on that single question, and he had to find the answer before he decided to leave. Because once he left, he had a feeling that he'd never be able to return.

And add on top of everything Brian's pregnancy and the promise of two miraculous children . . .

"You're still standing there looking at me," Brian said. "Do you want to fuck or not?"

There was more to that seemingly simple question than met the eye. Justin took a deep breath.

"Okay," he said.

Brian's eyebrows shot up; he'd clearly expected Justin to turn him down in a righteous snit and ride his high horse out the door.

"Bed or floor?" Justin asked.

Brian blinked that new stunned-looking blink he'd seemed to develop when the pregnancy hormones kicked in.

"Bed," he replied. He turned to go up the stairs, and Justin followed him, but when he started undressing, Justin didn't follow suit. Brian stopped unbuttoning his shirt. Justin realized with alarm it was the same shirt Brian had worn to the gala at the gallery last night! Had Brian not slept? But Justin knew this was not the time to ask a question like that. Brian would see it as a judgment on his character.

"What?" Brian asked.

"This isn't . . . I don't want to have an angry fuck," Justin replied. "This wasn't that kind of discussion. This is not the time for make-up sex, and besides does either of us believe that we need to apologize for anything? I know I certainly don't, do you?"

Brian thought for a moment. "No," he said eventually. "But if you want to think this'll be ‘make-up' sex, then what can I do about that? It's your interpretation that wins out; it's like a book, the only thing it's about is what the reader believes it is. The author can't hover over a reader's shoulder saying, ‘No, you stupid dumb-fuck! That's not what that paragraph means!' Meaning and interpretation leaves the author's control while the ink is still drying on the page. Similarly, I can try to communicate one thing while I'm fucking you, but you could interpret it totally different from what I'd intended. Who's right? But like an author's ink drying on the page, the meaning of a fuck leaves my control as soon as the come fills the condom and dries on the sheets. Now are you coming to bed or aren't you?"

Justin started getting undressed. "But I thought you've always said fucking means nothing - that it's simply about a means to an end?"

"It is," Brian replied. "But I fuck different people for different reasons: the fucking I do with a tricks does, in fact, mean nothing. Nothing at all except getting off. But I haven't fucked you like a trick since the second time we fucked - actually looking back, I probably didn't even fuck you like a trick the first time either. I didn't just fuck you that first time just because I wanted to get off; I also fucked you because I wanted you to enjoy losing your virginity - not like it would be with a fumbling kid or some creepy pedophile. If you hadn't come back wanting more, you would've always remembered that night fondly. But then you had to go and fuck it up by talking about love." He laughed. "Oh the irony. You stupid twat; you've never updated your interpretation of me and the way I fuck you. I'm still Brian 1.0. When it comes to you, I believe . . . I believe in fucking and love. Now get on the fucking bed and spread your legs."

Justin was too blown-away by Brian's words to be offended by Brian's bossiness. He stripped off the last of his clothes and lay down. Brian lay down on top of him.

"Now open your fucking mind as well as your ass," Brian whispered against his ear. "And for once hear what I'm fucking saying. If you still don't get it, then fine. Walk out the door. But before you do, fucking listen to me for a change - listen to our bodies, not my words. And definitely not your fucking anger."

Justin expected Brian to fuck him hard and long, putting everything he had into each thrust, but he was totally and utterly wrong.

Brian wasn't even half hard and it took him a long time to put on a condom. Justin had assumed he'd be frustrated and turn into a jerk, but he didn't. In fact, he seemed perfectly fine with his soft cock.

Once the condom was as secure as possible, Brian proceeded to thoroughly lube him up. "Wrap your legs around my waist," Brian said and then, when Justin complied, Brian pressed the head of his soft cock against Justin's opening and pushed.

It took forever, and Brian kept slipping out, but still there was no sign of frustration or embarrassment. Finally, with the help of both hands, Brian got inside. He took a deep breath and released it slowly . . .

. . . and then Brian started kissing him.

Of course, they'd kissed a billion times in all kinds of ways and in all kinds of moods. This kiss was different somehow. It was soft and without tongues, but it was intensely intimate and powerfully erotic. Justin cupped the back of Brian's head, trying to prevent him from stopping, but he didn't need to; Brian seemed intent on kissing him like that forever. Neither of them moaned; everything was silent except for the sounds their mouths were making. Brian held Justin's head carefully between his hands.

All that time as they kissed and kissed and kissed, Brian's cock started to swell and stiffen. It was a unique and amazing feeling. Justin felt Brian's body move through every stage of arousal, and still they did nothing more than kiss. Brian didn't move his hips, but he nonetheless achieved a rock-hard erection. Maybe because Justin had experienced the process with him, Brian's cock felt bigger than it was. It seemed to fill Justin more fully than it ever had.

Brian trembled as he struggled not to thrust or deepen the kiss, but he did moan into Justin's mouth. It was the sexiest sound Justin had ever heard, and he answered it. After several minutes, Brian licked Justin's bottom lip with just the tip of his tongue. The new sensation snapped inside him like a bullwhip, and he whimpered, wanting more. But Brian didn't push his tongue into Justin's mouth or let Justin do the same. All the time, Brian's cock throbbed and lurched, but still Brian did not move his hips, not even by a fraction.

Justin had never been so aware of the touch of Brian's tongue. It was such a simple pleasure, but it pulsed through every nerve in his body. He wasn't even consciously trying to, but he felt himself squeeze Brian's cock in time with his heartbeat. Brian was sweating; Justin could feel it on Brian's scalp and taste it on his lips and feel it on his sides, making his legs slip and causing him to strengthen his grip. Still Brian did not move any part of his body except his lips and tongue. And then . . .

. . . suddenly, unexpectedly, Brian thrust his tongue into Justin's mouth and came with a soft moan that was so primal that it seemed to Justin that he could taste it as well as hear it.

Justin had never experienced anything like it or even imagined it. Brian had achieved his orgasm with nothing more than a kiss and the sensation of being inside Justin's body, even though he wasn't moving.

It was mind-blowing!

Justin wrapped his legs as tight around Brian's waist as possible. He felt like he couldn't bear it if Brian pulled out - he felt he'd lose something necessary for his survival. Brian kept kissing him with increasing softness until their lips were merely touching. Brian pulled out as slowly as he could, and Justin felt each fraction of an inch leave him. He ached with awe and pleasure, and when Brian pulled the head of his cock free, he felt tears fill his eyes.

There was simply no way he could've misinterpreted what Brian had told him. Brian had told him, more intimately and unambiguously than any words ever could, that Justin didn't have to be anyone else than who he was to make Brian happy - to give him pleasure both physically and emotionally. Justin's body had been the sole source of his release. It'd been unnecessary to move any other muscle than his tongue. Justin would've never thought such a thing was possible if he hadn't just experienced it.

Brian rose to his knees between Justin's spread legs and peeled off the condom. Justin stared up at him, unwilling to speak of even move.

"Ready for your own orgasm?" Brian murmured, moving to position himself for a blowjob, but Justin shook his head. Yes, he was hard, and his balls were screaming for relief, but somehow it didn't feel right after what they'd just done. What they'd done felt sacred. He'd jerk off in the bathroom in a couple minutes, but right now he wanted Brian to hold him so close and so tight that Justin could feel his taut, rounded belly move with each breath.

He brushed the sweaty hair off of Brian's forehead. "You're going to really start showing soon," he whispered.

Brian smiled. "Yup," he replied sounding totally unfazed.

Justin smiled back. If ever there was a glimpse into the enigma that was Brian, it was this new fearlessness. Shallow Brian wouldn't be able to bearthe prospect of getting big. In fact, shallow Brian would've probably had an abortion rather than get big and have to deal with all the repercussions of a visible pregnancy.

Shallow Brian was fearful - his persona was a fortress that required defending to the death. But mystery Brian was marching alone onto the battlefield with eyes forward and chin up. Would he falter at some point? Who could say, but that day was not this day.

"I love you," Justin said, and meant it as more than a declaration of "I will always love you because you were my first." It was simply meant to convey that he loved Brian, in that moment, utterly and completely and with all of his heart and soul. If Brian was fearless, then Justin was going to be too. And if he wavered? If he wavered, it would be him, not Brian, who didn't deserve the twins.

He knew that now . . . but all the same, he was still unsettled. Brian had surrendered them to Justin so easily . . . It was him, Justin, who Brian was fighting to keep, not the babies. At least it seemed that way.