If you had asked Justin a year ago what it was like to go clothes shopping with Brian, he would've compared it to a really long, really slow, really boring parade. Brian didn't shop like Justin did: Justin went into a store, grabbed everything he liked off the racks, tried it all on as quickly as humanly possible, decided he wanted everything, and then told his mom to whip out her credit card. The fact that he often ended up hating half the stuff he'd bought seemed a small price to pay for efficiency. Brian, on the other hand, went to every store he wanted to shop in and browsed without trying anything on. He'd start at Saks then move on to Nordstrom; after that it was the boutiques: Luis Vuitton, Armani, Gucci and Prada. And then, when Justin started to wish he was dead, Brian went back to Saks and tried things on; then to Nordstrom; then to the boutique stores . . . without making purchases. In fact, Brian made no purchases at all until he'd tried everything on in every store - only then would the Gold Card come out. It was an all-day affair that Justin had only tolerated in the early, heady days of his Brian Kinney Obsession. Now, Brian couldn't even drag him to Rose Park Mall.

This, however, was what it was like shopping with Brain before he was eighteen-weeks, three-days, and fourteen hours pregnant (and, yes, Justin really was keeping track of hours). Now, shopping had stopped being coma-inducing drudgery and instead become an honest-to-God Sisyphean task. Pittsburgh and the Rose Park Mall were no longer a high enough mountain. Brian needed the Kangchenjunga, K2 and Everest of all department stores, namely Bergdorf Goodman, Saks' flagship store on (where else?) Fifth Avenue, and Barney's on Madison. Brian no longer required a twelve-hour day of shopping - he required an entire weekend.

In other words, Brian and Justin and the twins were New York City bound.

The decision was made one evening when Brian encountered the first gay man ever in the history of the world to look at Brian's face with awe, sweep his hungry eyes downward, pause at Brian's middle, and then . . . look away.

They'd been on the way to Babylon (a decision Justin wasn't crazy about because the babies' ears had developed sufficiently to hear noises other than Brian's gurgly stomach and guttural orgasmic moans) when it happened. Brian froze as the man walked past and said . . . .

"You've got the face of a god; too bad you've got the body of a Sumo wrestler. Do something about that gut, bro."

"Bro?" Emmett said, his mouth hanging open as they all turned to watch the guy walk away. "Did I hear that correctly? Brian, did that hunkilicious guy just call you ‘bro'? Because, if so, he needs a good, hard, spanking from a nelly bottom, which I will be happy to administer. What self-respecting gay man uses the word ‘bro,' let alone uses it to refer to another gay man? What is this world - and by world, I mean Liberty Avenue - coming to?"

"Em," Ted said, taking Emmett's arm when Emmett looked like he might run after the guy and dole out his fifty whacks right then and there. "I don't think Brian's freaking out right now because the guy called him ‘bro.' I think it was the reference to Sumo wrestling that stunned him into an uncustomary silence."

They were right. Brian had frozen mid-step. Shit.

Justin went to him, put his arms around him, covering his baby bump, and gave him a tender kiss. "Ignore him," he said.

"Yeah, Bri," Ted added. "Shake it off. That guy's obviously an asshole."

"Not to mention brain dead," Emmett said. "Bump or no bump, you're still the hottest guy in Pittsburgh, Brian . . . hey, where'd Michael go? He was just here . . . Oh shit."

"HEY, ASSHOLE! COME BACK HERE! YOU CAN'T TALK TO HIM THAT WAY! HE'S BRIAN KINNEY, FOR FUCK SAKE!!"

Brian snapped out of his shock-induced trance and covered his face with his hands.

"Is this really happening?" he asked. "Because if not, someone needs to wake me from a very very bad dream . . ."

"Nope, I'm afraid it's real," Emmett said. "You three go on; I'll take care of Tonto."

They started walking, but every few feet, Brian stopped. He was clearly afraid the guy's taunt wouldn't be the last of the night. Part of Justin cheered - he wanted to go home or at least to the diner - but a bigger part knew that Brian had to face things head-on and chin-up. Brian had been dealing with his pregnancy frankly and honestly from the moment he'd decided to keep the babies. Everything about him, from his gait to his posture to the way he looked people right in the eyes, said "deal with it or fuck off."

But this had been different. It'd been a complete stranger who was immune to the Brian Kinney treatment. Brian was not used to strangers giving him shit - shunned would-be tricks, cast-offs and competitors, yes, but not random guys just walking down the sidewalk. Justin was just about to give Brian a pep talk when Ted stepped in. Thank God. Brian did not respond well to Justin's pep talks; he always reminded Justin that his misery was due entirely to Justin's dick and its condom-ruining attributes.

"Hey," Ted said when Brian stopped for the third time. "You don't have to do this, but if you asked my advice . . ."

". . . which I didn't," Brian said with a scowl.

" . . . I'd say ‘fuck ‘em all.' I doubt that ‘bro'-guy would have the balls to do what you're doing."

"Easy for you to say; you're not the one who looks like he swallowed a football for dinner. Also, they've been kicking me in the bladder all evening . . ."

It was Justin's turn to freeze. Brian and Ted stopped and looked back at him.

"What?" Brian snapped. "I'm going, okay? Get off my back."

"No," Justin all but whispered. "That's not it . . . you just said the babies have been kicking you in the bladder . . ."

"Yeah, and it's currently my guess that the little fuckers are going to be rugby players . . ."

"Brian! They're kicking you and you haven't told me? What the hell? That's huge! I didn't know you'd felt them move!"

Brian tried to make his answering shrug appear dismissive, but the look of pride and amusement gave him away. Justin approached him slowly as though the twins were aliens and not little avocado-sized human beings.

"Can I touch?" he asked.

"Go ahead," Brian replied. "But I doubt you'll feel anything. I haven't been able to. I was being a drama queen. They're not actually kicking me; they're just kind of moving around. Hopefully they're not kicking each other . . ."

"Did you know that baby sharks fight each other to the death while they're still in utero?" Emmett asked breathlessly. He had a very indignant Michael in tow. "It's true. These fishermen caught a pregnant shark and cut her open. There was the little baby shark surrounded by bits and pieces of its siblings."

"Cool," Ted said.

"Not ‘cool,'" Michael grumbled. "Brian's babies are not eating each other."

Justin turned so that no one could see his expression and rolled his eyes. Michael always referred to the twins as "Brian's babies" or "Brian's twins." Not once had Michael even acknowledged that Justin had been involved. As far as Michael was concerned, Brian had undergone an immaculate conception. Hell, Michael probably even imagined that somehow he, himself, was the father. Justin wouldn't be surprised; Michael had spent half his life pining for a role in Brian's life that he would never fill. Why not add the role of the twins' baby-daddy? Justin would've loved to say something, but he knew he shouldn't. Brian, as usual, was basking in Michael's worshipful attention like a seal in the sun, which, in turn, made Michael blissfully happy. It was a weird, years-old symbiotic relationship - kind of like an anemone and a clown fish: The anemone provides protection and safety to the clownfish, and the clownfish in turn grooms the anemone and eats noxious parasites. (And, God knows, Michael probably considered him, Justin, to be one such parasite - actually probably the most noxious of them all.)

Justin placed his hand on Brian's belly under his shirt, and felt a jolt of arousal course through him. Sometimes he wondered if his sexual response to Brian's baby bump was normal - after all, there were babies in there! Was he some kind of pedophile? When he'd once asked Brian about it, Brian had laughed and called him a silly twat . . . and then fucked his brains out.

"Can you feel anything?" Brian asked.

"No," Justin replied disappointedly.

"I told you; they're just moving around, probably stretching. I imagine it's more claustrophobic in there than flying coach on Continental."

Justin laughed and kissed him.

"So, are we going to Babylon or not?" Emmett asked. "It's fine with me if we're not. We could just go to Woody's or the diner." Emmett made the suggestions because both locations had tables where Brian could sit and hide his belly from curious eyes.

"Nope," Brian said. "We're going to Babylon. I feel like dancing."

Emmett clapped excitedly. "I was hoping you'd say that. I need a little of the ol' thumpa-thumpa."

Michael scrunched up his face in an I-don't-know-I'm-worried-about-Brian look.

"C'mon, Mikey," Brian said, throwing his arm over Michael's shoulders. "Don't worry - I'll let you cut in for a song or two."

Michael glowered at a lamppost and then at a mailbox - in fact he glowered at everyone and everything except Brian, of course. "I'm counting on it being more than just two," he grumbled. "You and . . . him . . ." He gestured with his chin in Justin's direction ". . . live together. You don't have to dance together too. It used to me and you who danced."

"We'll let you dance only if you cheer-up, sourpuss," Emmett said.

"And stop peeing on Brian's leg," Ted added.

Justin couldn't help it - he cracked up and then trotted ahead of them so he wouldn't get an ALL!CAPS lecture from Michael. Jesus, Michael was hilarious. Clearly, Brian agreed because he was smiling and laughing and giving Michael a sloppy kiss on the forehead. Justin didn't care; whatever made Brian laugh was fine with him.

It was a Friday night, and Babylon was packed. The night's go-go boy theme was "farmhands ready for a roll in the hay." There were a lot overalls and cowboy hats and straw all over the place.

"Shit," Brian said, turning to Justin. "Are you going to have allergy problems?"

Justin bent over and picked up a piece of straw. ""No, it's not hay. Plus it's probably a million years old. Doesn't matter, though. I brought my inhaler."

"And hopefully some of your super-size-me condoms too," Brian purred in his ear. "I want to watch you fuck a guy in the backroom."

Justin made a face. He wasn't really in the mood, but if it was a choice between him fucking someone or Brian doing it, Justin wanted it to be the former.

They made their way to the bar, and Justin was relieved to see that Brian didn't even glance at the bottles on display behind the bartender. He ordered a diet Coke for himself, beers for Justin, Ted and Michael, and an extravagant looking cocktail for Emmett.

At first Brian started out with his back to the dance floor and his belly tucked under the bar top. It'd been awhile since they'd been out anywhere other than the diner or the mini-golf range where they'd taken Gus the weekend before. Since they'd last been to Babylon, Brian's belly had pretty much doubled in size, and he was clearly embarrassed, even though Justin was sure he didn't want to be and was fighting against it.

Then gradually, after about an hour, Brian started turning around until he was in his bar-counter pose - back against the bar, hips thrust forward slightly, and his foot propped up behind him.

Fuck, he looked hot!

He was dressed all in black. The sleeves of his untucked, shimmery, silk shirt were rolled up pass his elbows and his black jeans were skin-tight (thank you, Belly Band!). His eyes roamed around the room like they always did - noticed everything either with interest or disdain.

"Looking good," Emmett said, giving Brian the once over.

Michael moved to stand in front of Brian, blocking any view of him from the dance floor. His look was fierce and grim as though he was on a battlefield. People started giving him wary glances.

"Jesus Christ, Mikey," Brian said. "You're fucking up my debut. Move over."

"Your debut?" Michael said, sounding alarmed.

"Yeah, well, not just my debut. It's the twins' too. This is the first time they're noticeable even in a mostly dark room. See?" Brian thrust his hips forward even more, making his belly look positively huge.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Ted said anxiously. "I doubt you have a particularly friendly audience here. You've sneered and laughed mockingly at about three-quarters of the people here at one time or another."

Brian shrugged. "Fuck ‘em." He turned to the bartender. "Another Coke, and less ice this time. That's the cheapest trick in the book, and it's only pop, for Christ sake, not Chivas Regal. You're already making ninety-nine cents to every dollar."

The bartender handed Brian another Coke, and when Brian turned away, he rolled his eyes behind Brian's back and mouthed "asshole." Justin cringed inside. He often wondered: did Brian act like a jerk on-purpose? Or had he just been a jerk for so long that he didn't even notice anymore? Was he aware of how much he annoyed people? Justin hoped fervently that this aspect of Brian would change along with all the other changes. He didn't want the twins going through life having to apologize for their dick of a father.

"What about him?" Brian asked, nodding in the direction of a hot guy neither of them had seen before. He was more Brian's type than Justin's

"Too beefy," he said.

"What about him?"

"He looks like the kind of guy who waxes his balls."

Brian laughed. "Not everyone has pubes as aesthetically pleasing as mine."

"Not everyone has pubes," Emmett cut in. "What's with the hairless look? I like my men to look and feel and smell like men, not Ken dolls."

Brian tapped Emmett's glass in agreement.

"Oh shit," Michael hissed. "Here comes Sapperstein." He tried to huddle in front of Brian again.

"Mikey," Brian said, sounding amused. "The Sap isn't an evil sorcerer, and I am not a damsel in distress."

Ted laughed. "Thanks, Bri. Now I'll never get that image out of my mind."

Brian rolled his eyes at him and opened his mouth, probably to say something mean and cutting, when they heard a pleased chuckle.

"Well, well, well, Kinney," the Sap said. "No wonder we haven't seen HRH around for a while. You've developed quite a gut there."

Brian turned a chagrined bright red, and Michael started hopping around like a lit firecracker on the Fourth of July. Justin merely took a deep breath and held it.

"Jesus," the Sap continued. "You must be putting away the beer twenty-four seven. It takes years for us mere mortals to achieve a beer belly like that."

Justin could feel Brian start to shake beside him, and he was just about ready to jump in when Brian's expression went from looking like the hunted to the hunter.

"I always find it touching when you notice I've been away for a few days, Sap. But then again your revenue's probably cut in half due to my absence, and a brilliant business man like you surely has a thumb on his books . . . or should I say, a dick in his boys."

Brian smirked, but Justin suddenly wanted to bolt for the bathroom.

"Ha ha," Sapperstein replied. "I miss your lame insults about as much as I miss your fucking attitude. Now, c'mon, Kinney, take your shirt off and go do your thang on the dance floor."

"I never take my shirt off," Brian said. "Never have never will unless you charge for it at the door and give me ninety percent of the resulting profit. And as for ‘shaking my thang,' as you so eloquently put it, I may dance later. It'll depend . . ."

"On what? Whether you're drunk enough to make a fool out of yourself?"

"No," Brian said smoothly. "It'll depend on whether these two . . ." he paused to place his hand on his belly ". . . stop kicking around my gall bladder like a soccer ball. You see, they just started moving about three days ago, and I'm still getting used to the sensation. I find it somewhat distracting, and I wouldn't want to mess up my dance steps."

The Sap burst out laughing. "Brilliant, Kinney," he said. "Not bad. When are you going to start growing tits?"

Brian maintained his completely sober, earnest expression. "Actually, I already have tits, but they're mostly muscle, so yeah, they're getting a bit bigger, right, Sunshine?" He pretended to whisper in Sapperstein's ear even though everyone could hear him. "Sucking my tits gets Justin horny as hell."

"Jesus, Kinney," the Sap said, drying his eyes. "That's worth a free drink. Beam or beer?"

"Neither," Brian replied holding up his glass of Coke. "I'm not drinking while I'm pregnant, and not while I'm nursing either. But you can buy me another glass of pop and my friends here shots of Tequila."

This time, the Sap paused for a moment . . . Kinney on the wagon?? When could they expect the locusts? But then he laughed again. "Why the fuck not?" He signaled to the bartender for the shots and Brian's Coke. "By the way, I'm sure you can convince some fine, upstanding patron with a pregnancy fetish to give your baby bump a little lovin'. You never know; there are weirder things. ‘Night, Kinney, sidekicks." He wandered off still chuckling.

"Did you hear that, Sunshine," Brian said. "He just called you weird."

"Oh my God!" Emmett shrieked, clapping and jumping up and down. "That was brilliant!"

Ted chuckled. "Yeah, that was amusing, alright. Truth is definitely stranger than fiction in your case, Bri."

Brian sipped his Coke and shrugged. "Not my fault he doesn't believe me. Asshole. I hope you washed his spit off your cock, Sunshine. ‘Coz the thought of backwashing the Sap's sap makes me want to heave."

"Jesus, Brian," Michael tittered. "Why do you always have to be so crass?"

"What?" Brian replied with feigned outrage. "I'm not being crass, I'm just stating a preference - the preference being that I don't want sloppy seconds even if it's the father of my babies I'm talking about."

Brian probably could say something so crass that it would melt the steel platform above them, and it would distress Michael less than Brian's reference to Justin's role in impregnating him.

Speaking of paternity . . .

"Brian, I'm not trying to be a jerk," Michael said tentatively. "But have you considered the possibility that someone other than Justin might be the father . . ."

Brian turned to look at him. "I'm pretty sure you didn't fuck me," he drawled. "I'd probably remember if you had . . . but then maybe not. How big is your dick again?"

"Ouch," Emmett said. "Brian."

Brian held up his hands in a silencing gesture. "All I am saying is that nobody's fucked my ass since I was nineteen, except Sunshine here. Any insinuation to the contrary is going to get the tip of my boot up theirs. I may be pregnant, but I don't bottom."

"Right, because Justin came in a turkey baster and squirted it up your ass like a couple of lesbians," Ted said.

"Does a come-filled turkey baster, due to its function, become a de facto dick?" Emmett asked. "Because if it does, you got fucked by a turkey, Brian."

Everyone, even Michael, cracked up.

"Okay, no more drinks for you guys," Brian said. "C'mon, Mikey, let's dance."

Michael beamed. He had a very short memory when it came to Brian's insults. It was clearly a crucial survival mechanism for anyone who wanted to be Brian's best friend.

Ted shook his head. "God, he can be such a dick sometimes."

Emmett frowned. "But imagine if we woke up one day to find he was no longer a dick? I'd find that alarming. Brian's dickishness is like a guiding star in my life. I'd be lost without it."

Justin laughed. "I'm off to the loo," he said.

Miraculously, there was a free stall, and Justin snagged it. He hated using the urinals. Everyone stared at his dick and start pestering him with propositions. It was irritating. Sometimes a guy just wants to pee without having people trying to hump his leg.

He'd just gotten his jeans open when he heard a voice right outside his stall door.

"Hey there, little boy. Want some company?"

Justin rolled his eyes and smiled.

"Get in here," he said and opened the door so Brian could squeeze in.

"Jesus, I have to piss," Brian said. "I think my bladder's half the size it should be. And don't you dare piss on my boots."

"I haven't had that much to drink," Justin replied. "Christ, you really did have to pee!"

"You would too if you'd drunk a gallon of pop."

They were just zipping themselves up when Justin heard it:

"Fuck, have you seen Kinney?" a voice said. "What the hell happened to him? He's turned into a fucking whale!"

"Thanks for the confirmation," another voice said. "I thought I'd done too much E and was hallucinating."

"Fucking Karma is what it is," said a third voice. "The guy's a fucking asshole."

Someone laughed. "Guess you hit on him and he looked at you like you're a piece of wet garbage."

"No, he fucked me. Or rather I blew him."

"Good thing you took advantage of the opportunity. Now, I bet you couldn't even find his dick."

"You think it's ‘roids?"

"Steroids give you muscle. Kinney's sporting fat . . ."

"And a hell of a lot of it."

"Did you see him on the dance floor? Jesus, I was afraid to get too close and get hit by his gut."

"Serves him right. I hope he drops dead of a fucking heart attack."

"Maybe it's gas. That stick up his ass won't let it escape."

"All I know is that the son of a bitch thinks he's the greatest thing since sliced bread . . ."

"Dude, has he fucked you? He's got an amazing cock, it's like magic or something. I came five fucking times in one night. He's a Fuck Genius."

"Well, all I can say is that those days are over and done with. With a gut like that, there's no way he can get full penetration."

"God really does exist."

"You guys are assholes. It's tragic is what it is. He may be the biggest dick in Pennsylvania, but he was fucking beautiful. That face, that body. Jesus, he was a work of art. Now he's a fatso. Yes, he deserves if, but it's like someone knocking over the statue of David. We're the ones who end up suffering. I used to come here just to watch him. Now he looks like shit. It sucks."

"Whatever. So Kinney's off the market. Just means more for the rest of us."

"Maybe he'll be a mark-down. If he's on his hands and knees you won't be able to see his gut and lose your hard-on."

"Brian Kinney on his hands and knees! What would I give to see that . . . although not now. Ugh! It'd be like fucking Jabba the Hutt."

"Thanks a lot for that image. I just threw up in my mouth a little bit."

"Kinney's gonna have to bottom now, or he's not gonna get anything. Hope that kid of his dumps his fat ass. He's too hot to stoop to being a charity fuck for anyone - even Kinney."

"Especially, Kinney."

And then they were gone, laughing all the way through the door.

Justin had been staring at his feet the whole fucking endless eternity of time. He knew he had to look at Brian, but he couldn't.

They stood there frozen and silent for at least five minutes if not longer. Neither of them even moved a muscle. Finally Justin cleared his throat.

"You know that trip to New York you've been badgering me about?" he asked very quietly, his voice as soft and gentle and kind as he could make it. "I think we should go this weekend."

Brian didn't say anything for the longest time.

"Yeah," he said, the words scratchy. "I'd like that."

Very slowly, Justin raised his head and sought out Brian's eyes - terrified of what he might find there.

Brian's worst nightmare had just come to pass.

Brian didn't meet his eyes. He seemed to be staring at the piece of dried chewing gum stuck to the wall.

"How about we go home?" Justin said, placing his hand on the middle of Brian's chest.

Brian nodded.

"I'm going to open the door now, okay?"

Brian nodded.

"And then were just going to leave. We can call the others when we get home."

Brian nodded.

Justin opened the door slowly. Thankfully, they were alone. He took Brian's hand and led him back outside. He'd expected Brian would pull away, but he didn't. In fact, his fingers tightened.

"We walked," Justin said when they were on the sidewalk. "Do you want to catch a cab?"

Brian shook his head.

They walked in silence, hand-in-hand. When they got back to the loft, they showered and went to bed. Brian still hadn't said a word. He turned his back when they got under the duvet but melted into Justin's arms when Justin spooned him. After a while, Justin slowly moved his arms from Brian's waist to his belly, praying that Brian wouldn't stop him.

He didn't.

Justin spread his fingers apart, trying to cover as much of the babies' bump as he could. He kissed Brian's shoulders and then closed his eyes.

And then he felt it.

Movement. Movement in Brian's belly. It was so small and light that Justin thought he'd dreamed it, but then it happened again.

"Feel that?" Brian whispered.

"Yeah," Justin whispered in reply. It was like the babies would be startled into stillness if they spoke too loudly.

They lay like that for hours, both of them dozing on and off, as the babies moved around.

"They're definitely your children," Justin said as dawn started to glow through the windows' gauzy curtains. "They're night owls."

Brian huffed out a tiny, little laugh.

"Next week they're going to be the size of onions," he said. "Bernstein told me that at some point we'll be able to see little hand and foot prints."

Justin kissed his shoulders. He wanted so much to tell Brian how amazing and brave and beautiful he is and how proud Justin felt to be with him. But he knew he couldn't. In fact, he knew they'd never even discuss what they'd overheard. But it didn't feel like a lack of communication; in fact it felt like the exact opposite. It felt like the kind of communication that thrums like a heartbeat, that doesn't need words because it transcends them.

"They're settling down a bit," Brian said. "I'm going to try to get some sleep. . . Stay with me, okay?"

"There's no place I'd rather be," Justin replied.

Brian snorted. "You're such a sap," he said.

He was asleep within five minutes.

In the end, Brian had to call Cynthia on Monday and tell her that he was sick and couldn't come to the office.

"You are such a fibber!" Justin said when Brian hung up his phone.

"Couldn't be helped," Brian said dismissively. "We've still got Bergdorf and Goodman. Did you actually think I was going to leave New York without stopping there? Sometimes I fear that my babies' daddy is a cretin."

"I have a great idea," Justin said as they climbed into the limo Brian had rented for the weekend.

"Do tell," Brian said indulgently.

"We are going to have everyone over to the loft for sparkling grape juice and hors d'oeuvres, and you're going to put on a fashion show."

Brian didn't answer right away. Justin was curious how he'd eventually respond. If this was pre-pregnancy, Brian would've been all over it. He loved to show off his new clothes . . . but now?

"Will they be jealous?" Brian asked.

"They will definitely be jealous."

"Will they drool over the priceless fabrics?"

"Without a doubt."

"Will they admire the way that everything by Armani makes me look like a young god?"

"You can count on it."

"Will they oh-and-ah over the miraculous tailoring that takes weeks off my bump?"

"They will . . . and actually I mean that with complete sincerity. Those people can work magic!"

Brian beamed. Yes, of course, Justin was biased, but he thought Brian looked stunning. The spa afternoon with its facials and skin-brightening sea-salt massages made his skin glow. His haircut was the sexiest he'd ever had, and his new clothes . . . holy shit! Brian had spent ten thousand dollars, but it was worth every penny to watch him try on a suit and admire himself approvingly from every angle. And, of course, he'd bought club clothes.

"Fuck the fuckers," Brian had said while trying on the zillionth leather jacket. "They only wish they could kiss my new, hideous, outie belly button, and even if I let them, the twins would probably give them a good, sound kick in the nose. They aren't their daddies' babies for nothing. Bastards. I'm going to go to Babylon until I'm ready to pop. Shit, it sucks that I don't have a snatch; if I did I could give birth on the dance floor."

He laughed, and then froze. Justin looked at him with alarm.

"Did I just say it sucks that I don't have a snatch??"

Justin grinned. "Yes, I believe that is what I heard you say."

Brian shook his head. "These hormones," he said. "What'll it be next? A craving for floral upholstery and a Subaru? Where will it end?"

"Hopefully short of lesbian night at Babylon."

Brian shuddered. When they arrived at Bergdorf and Goodman, the driver came around and opened their doors. Brian had to struggle a little bit to get out, and Justin held out his hand as though he were assisting a starlet. Brian slapped it away with a scowl, and Justin gave him one of his faux-innocent grins.

Luckily, for Justin, Brian did have his limits. When his feet and back got sore, they made their way to the café where Brian bored the living shit out of him by analyzing at length the influence of the new designers at Bontoni on the world of men's footwear. Unfortunately, Justin's eyes must've glazed over because Brian assumed a malicious air and switched to the subjects of hemorrhoids, stretch marks, heartburn, swollen ankles, gas, frequent urination, his much-reviled outie belly-button, and the also much-reviled back acne.

"Why would pregnancy give someone pimples?" Brian pissed and moaned. "That's just stupid. Hey, flag down the waiter; I want another one of those flakey pastry thingamajiggies with the raspberry jam inside."

By Monday night, our intrepid shoppers had returned to the Siberian hinterland that is Pittsburgh. Justin unpacked all their purchases and hung them up while Brian lay on his back in the middle of the bed looking not unlike a very tired, very handsome, but alas hopelessly beached, walrus.

Justin stood regarding him as he wheezed and grumbled . . . and got so incredably turned-on he thought he might spontaneously explode with lust. Brian turned to look at him with mischief in his eyes.

"Careful there. You're gonna wreck the zipper of your new jeans. God, you're a pervert. The babies are doing the tango, and you want to fuck?"

Justin felt his eyes roll back ever so slightly. Brian was right. He really was a pervert. Brian smirked at him; Justin's desire was obviously written all over his face . . . and elsewhere.

"Alright, get over here," Brian said, sitting up to undress which was not exactly the sexy display it used to be. It involved some rolling and squirming and grunted obscenities.

They didn't discuss it - it just came naturally. Brian got on his knees and forearms and canted his ass in the air. Justin could tell he was dying to be fucked; he didn't usually cant his ass like that until he was ready to come. It was an unambiguous invitation that Justin's body immediately responded to as pre-come, almost in the volume of ejaculate, flowed out of him. When Brian's hole pulsed open in an even more unambiguous invitation, the pre-come gushed again.

Oh, God! Had he ever wanted Brian so much before?

"Condom?" Justin gasped. They'd asked Dr. Bernstein if they had to keep using them, and he'd told him he'd actually prefer it if they didn't because of uncertainty surrounding the safety of the lube for the babies.

"Fuck that," Brian gasped in reply. "Stick it in me already!"

Justin laughed as he lined up the head of his cock with Brian's opening and pushed in all the way with a grateful moan. There was no question of needing any kind of lubricant; Justin was still leaking pre-come all over the place.

"Fuck," Brian groaned. "What's up with the primer? My ass is as squishy as though you squirted a whole tube of K-Y up there."

"Can't . . . help . . . it," Justin panted as he latched onto the rhythm he wanted. "You . . . are . . . so . . . fucking . . . hot!"

Brian purred happily like a giant, wanton cat on a sunny windowsill. While he was distracted, Justin reached beneath Brian and splayed his hand on Brian's belly. The babies were indeed dancing the tango! The realization (a realization that would never stop feeling like an epiphany) that he'd made those little moving creatures inside Brian's body shoved him hard over the edge.

"Holy shit!" he gasped. "I wasn't ready for that!"

Brian laughed. "Keep going," he said. "I bet you can have another one. Don't think about it too hard and don't lose your rhythm. Just find a grove and go with it."

Brian was right; Justin did come again, and the second time felt even stronger than the first.

"God," he moaned, his body shuddering all over. "I think I can have another."

Brian laughed breathlessly. "I wouldn't doubt it - you were horny as hell. But one's all I have in me tonight . . ."

"Shit," Justin said. "I forgot about you! I'm so sorry . . ."

"No need to fret, young grasshopper," Brian said. "I came. All over my fucking duvet, I might add."

Justin laughed and slowly pulled out. Was it the absence of a condom? Was it the eroticism of Brian's pregnancy? Who cared. All Justin knew was that he'd give Brian a long enough break that he wouldn't be pissed when Justin woke him for another round.