"What's up?"

"Justin?"

"What the fuck?"

Brian rolled over when Justin didn't reply, but Justin couldn't tear his gaze away from what little remained of the condom he'd been wearing.

"The condom broke," he said in the flat tone of shock. "The condom broke."

Brian remained on his back looking up at him. "Okay," he said calmly.

"Brian! Did you hear me? The. Condom. Broke!"

"I heard you," Brian replied. "The condom broke. It happens; there's no reason to freak out."

Justin opened and closed his mouth, but no words escaped. No reason to freak out?? Of course there was a fucking reason to freak the fuck out!

"What if I'm positive?" he asked, his voice quavering slightly.

Brian sat up. "Damn, I'm stuck to this sheep. Will you go get me a wet washcloth?"

A washcloth??? They were going to die, and Brian wanted a fucking washcloth?

"Bri. . .an," Justin said, the word cracking in half between its two syllables. "I'm dying of a heart attack right now." He started to hyperventilate.

"Shit," Brian said. He got up and went to the kitchen where he rummaged through the drawers. At last he returned with a paper lunch bag.

"Lie down," he said evenly. "And breathe into this." He handed Justin the paper bag. "Slow deep breaths. In, out, in out."

Justin was surprised by how serene Brian seemed about everything, but then he remembered that Lindsay suffered from panic attacks. Brian had probably been present during a few . . . maybe even more than a few given Lindsay's vibrating intensity whenever she was in Brian's vicinity.

"Better?" Brian asked after a few minutes. Justin nodded, his mouth still covered by the bag. "Listen," he continued. "Condoms break."

"You've had condoms break?" Justin said in a little voice.

"A couple of times," Brian replied. "The guys and I got tested. Everyone was negative. The odds favor negative results. Look, when was your last test?"

"Three weeks ago," Justin answered without hesitation. He religiously got tested every month.

"And you were negative?"

Justin nodded.

"Have you been fucked - as in penetration - by anyone but me since then?"

Justin shook his head.

"Okay, then the chance that you've infected me is pretty fucking small. I just got a negative result last week. Since then I've fucked only four guys other than you."

Only four guys. Jesus. Brian was such a slut.

"Do the math. About 1.2 million people in the U.S., including non-homosexuals have HIV, and there are more than three billion people in the entire population. There are only four guys in the mix, and one of them - Brown's personal assistant - told me he hadn't been fucked in a year . . ."

"You fucked your client's personal assistant??"

"How else would I be able to crash Brown's lunch at his swanky, private club? Anyway, my point is that you and I are clean. Stop stressing. Believe me, if I thought there was a reason for stress, I'd let you know. I may fuck around, but I don't fuck around when it comes to The Virus. Now chill out, and let's go take another shower. You just shot one of your impressive loads in my ass. I don't want to be leaking your come all over the place."

Brian's calm disinterest helped to lessen Justin's terror, but he was still uneasy. He supposed he'd remain so until they both got tested again and learned their results. Fuck. He was never going to let something like that happen again.

Brian stood up and pulled Justin to his feet. "Come on, shake it off," he said. "Let's take a shower, eat something and go to bed. I'm sticky, hungry and tired as hell." He kissed Justin in a way that was intended to comfort, not arouse. Justin melted against Brian's chest, and Brian put his arms around him. For the moment, Justin forgot anything was wrong. When they went to bed, he fell asleep quickly and slept soundly with Brian wheezing softly beside him.

The next morning, however, was a very very different story.

Justin awoke to the sound of Brian pacing in the living room and muttering to himself. Shit! Had his serenity evaporated with the rising of the sun? Justin put on a robe and went downstairs.

"Hey," he said, hoping his voice sounded nonchalant. "What's wrong? Do you feel okay?"

"I'm fine," Brian snapped. He'd stopped muttering - probably out of embarrassment - but he was still pacing.

"Alright," Justin said. "Did Cynthia call with bad news?"

"No."

"Are you worried about the HIV thing?"

"No."

"Are you hungry? We can order anything off the menu."

"I'm not hungry."

"You need coffee and you don't like the kind they provided us with."

"No. The coffee was marginally acceptable."

"Okay," Justin said with exasperation. "What's your problem?"

Brian didn't answer. He didn't even look at Justin.

And then it hit him. Brian was flipping out over the prospect of snowboarding! He bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"You know," he said cautiously. "You can take a class."

Brian wheeled around and fixed him with a withering glare. "I do not take lessons. In anything. Never have, never will."

Justin bit his lip harder. "Alright, then I'll teach you."

Brian collapsed in defeat on one of the squashy couches. "I don't want to go," he said petulantly.

"You're being a baby."

"I don't care."

"C'mon! That's the whole reason we're here!"

Brian crossed his arms and sank almost to the point of invisibility into the couch's beguiling maw.

"Just try it," Justin wheedled. "Maybe you'll be a natural. After all, you're a natural at everything else."

Brian tried to pretend he wasn't preening over Justin's compliment. "I think I could relax if we fuck first . . . and then eat breakfast. Or the other way around. I'm not fussy."

Justin cocked an eyebrow. Brian not fussy? It was like saying Emmett isn't light in the loafers.

Brian ignored him. "Where's that menu?" he asked. "We'll fuck after we order. Ah, here it is. What do you want? Isn't Vermont famous for its maple syrup? Let's get a giant stack of pancakes . . ."

". . . and bacon."

"Of course. How ‘bout hash browns?"

"Cubed or shredded?"

"How the fuck should I know."

"Ask them when you call. I hate the cubes. They're too potato-y."

"Anything else? Shall I order you a cow so you can milk it for your coffee?"

"Cows are gross. I had to milk one once when my sixth grade class visited an Amish farm. Their milk-squirting things are all warm and rubbery." Justin shuddered at the memory.

"Teats. They're called teats. So that's where your hand job skills came from? God bless your teacher. You could've gone to a swamp instead. My sixth grade class went to a swamp. It stunk . . . and there were frogs."

"Frogs? Who doesn't like frogs?"

"Me. I hate them. They're slimy. I don't like slimy things, hence my aversion to pussy."

"Ah, I see. So if you hadn't gone on that fieldtrip to the swamp, you might've grown into a heterosexual?"

Brian laughed. "Where's the fucking phone? I'm hungry and horny."

"I'll call in the order," Justin replied. "Go find a creative place to fuck and I'll join you in a minute."

The "creative place" turned out to be the patio in the back. Justin leaned against the railing while Brian fucked him standing up. They positioned themselves so that no key bits were on display, although Justin was pretty sure that Brian's loud grunts gave them away, and if not that, then Justin's expression of ecstasy was an unambiguous clue. The skiers passing them didn't stop for a rest or pause to take in the cloudless view of the Green Mountains.

Brian was a master at the stand-up fuck. He bent his knees slightly to achieve full penetration and thrust upward with carefully calculated force as he held onto Justin's hips with bruising strength. Brian might not be an athlete in the ordinary sense, but he was an unbeatable champion at finding Justin's prostate and having his wicked way with it.

"That feel good?" he growled. "Want more?" He reached around and started pumping Justin's cock in a controlled rhythm designed to provide the maximum amount of pleasure without triggering an orgasm.

"Fuucckk," Justin groaned. "Brian . . ."

"Jesus, your dick is huge. Clearly you were first in line when God was handing out cocks. Don't you feel guilty for taking more than your fair share?"

Brian was talking - Justin could hear his voice somewhere in the distant background - but he had no clue what Brian was saying. He figured if it was important, Brian would repeat it after they'd come. Regardless, right at that moment, Justin didn't give a flying fuck if Brian was revealing the secret of the universe.

Brian finally lost his control when they were spotted by a group of frat boys who couldn't not stare at them despite their obvious chagrin.

‘Want some?" Brian shouted. "Get in line, boys!"

"Faggots!" one of them yelled back. Brian must've flipped him the bird because the guy flipped one right back.

"Stick around for another couple seconds," Brian shouted, "and you'll hear what a real orgasm sounds like, you dickless twats!"

And with that, he twisted his hand around the head of Justin's cock as though he was twisting a cap off a bottle. Justin came hard and noisily, not giving a shit who heard or what they thought. Brian followed right behind, grunting and swearing. When his climax receded, he pulled out of Justin's body and leisurely went through the whole rubber-removing ritual, making sure that when he held it up to measure the amount of come, the frat boys saw exactly what he was doing.

"A cup!" Brian said loudly. "Not bad for the fourth fuck of the day!"

Justin laughed when the guys, clearly vexed, skied off . . . and badly at that.

"You are incorrigible," he said. He turned in Brian's arms and gave him a kiss.

"Of course, I am," Brian replied. "Where the fuck is our breakfast? Shameless exhibitionism and taunting breeders makes me hungry."

Brian's levity lasted until it was time for him to strap his boots to his board. Justin had been amused to discover that Brian, at some unknown point in time, had bought himself the most expensive ski pants, jacket and googles available. KJUS. His hat alone was cashmere and worth at least $200.

"C'mon," he said. "You're the hottest man at this whole resort. You're dressed like you should be skiing the Alps. Even if you fall down, you'll fall down beautifully."

Brian looked neither amused nor placated.

"Remain me again," he said. "Why aren't we in the Caribbean?"

"Because we're in Vermont," Justin replied. "Here, give me your hand."

It wasn't exactly easy hauling a man more than six-feet-tall and one hundred and seventy-five pounds to his feet. It took Justin a couple tries, which did not improve Brian's attitude.

"Great," he said when he was finally "standing." "That was graceful. I can't wait to fall down on a busy trail and have to get up in front of everybody . . . Fuck! What if we see those breeders? I can't go. It's settled. There is no way I'm giving those boneheads a show. I'll be like a walrus trying to climb onto a rock. No way, Sunshine. This ain't happening."

It wasn't for nothing that Justin had being studying the rare, bad-tempered creature known to non-scientists by the common name of "Brian Kinney." He shrugged. "Okay. I'll meet you back here around four-thirty. Have a good day," he said insouciantly.

Brian was still clutching Justin's arm for balance with a vice-like grip.

"Is there a town nearby?" he asked.

"Sure," Justin replied chirpily. "It's called Warren. Ask the person at the reception desk to tell you where the best shopping is."

"Shopping?" Brian looked like a winter-weary bear sniffing gratefully at the first whiff of spring.

"Yeah, of course. Did you think people don't shop in Vermont?"

"Given some of the outfits I've seen pass by this morning, I'd say ‘yes.' But enough about them. What about me? What kind of shops are there?"

"Well, there's a place called ‘The Warren Store.' There's information in the binder on the counter. It sounds quaint and fun . . ."

"Quaint," Brian said. "Fun." He sounded like he'd never heard the words before even though the tone he used to say them suggested impending doom.

"Yeah, there's a cute little bakery, and they sell hand-knit sweaters and probably even some fashionable but functional footwear. Vermonters are all about ‘functional.'"

Brian's expression was slack as though he'd lost all muscle tone in his face. His eyes were dull and seemed to look out at an uncaring world that existed merely to thwart the fulfillment of his most cherished dreams. Justin turned away and pretended to be squinting sun-watery eyes at the blinding snow. In fact he was desperately trying not to laugh his ass off.

"After you check out The Warren Store, you could drive to Waitsfield and check out the Local Artisan Gallery. My mom loves stopping there to buy handmade Christmas tree ornaments. Everything is made by local craftspeople . . ."

"Local craftspeople," Brian said. "Tree ornaments."

"And there are a couple outlet stores in Manchester, which is only about an hour away."

Brian visibly perked up. Some of the color even returned to his cheeks.

"Outlets?" he said, sounding full of a hope that Justin was about to crush under his merciless heel.

"Oh yeah, there are some great stores! Let me see, if I'm remembering correctly, there's Brooks Brothers . . ."

Brian's hopeful expression morphed into one of utter contempt. "Brooks Brothers??"

"Yup, although I've never shopped there. Everything's too expensive and Nantucket-y. But hey, there's also a Bass Shoe store . . . Oh, and I almost forgot - there's even The Gap!"

"I'm in hell," Brian said, sagging against Justin in defeat. The funniest thing about it all wasn't just his words, but the way he said them, his voice full of moral weight and resignation.

"And there's a really nice bookstore in town . . ."

Brian perked up again. "Bookstore?"

Justin couldn't take it another second. He started laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

"Yes," he gasped. "A bookstore. It sells books. Regular books, not marginally legal imported porn. There's no ‘adult' to qualify it. Just ‘bookstore.'"

"Just a store. A store that sells books."

"Yup."

"Books distributed by reputable publishers."

"Yup."

"Books written by people who don't use pseudonyms so as to avoid prosecution."

"Yup."

"Books that don't have to be packaged in opaque plastic."

"Yup."

"Books that don't have boring, misleading covers so you can keep them on your coffee table when you have guests."

"Yup."

"Books whose sale does not implicate important constitutional rights?"

"Yup."

"Books without pictures."

"Yup. Unless you want to shop the kids' section."

"Kids' section."

"Yup."

"There will be kids there."

"Probably."

"They'll have damp parkas and runny noses."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"And maybe even those mittens that are attached by a yarn thread so they can't lose them."

"Possibly."

"I hate kids."

Justin sighed. They'd left the fun, magical realm of Taunting Brian Land and entered the bleak World of Repetitive Sucky Conversations.

"You don't hate kids."

"Yes, I do."

"Do you hate Gus?"

"No, but Gus is different. He's mine."

Justin couldn't help it. He had to pick at the scab. It was practically a compulsion.

"So you wouldn't like a kid who was yours in all ways but genetics?"

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Because I just wouldn't. I don't like rug rats, even one I'd signed a bunch of paperwork and paid a shit load of money to procure. Why the fuck are we talking about this again? I'm sick of this fucking conversation. I didn't drive a fucking million miles to discuss changing diapers and organic fucking baby food. I came here to snowboard and fuck. Don't ruin my good mood. Now where the fuck is that chair lift-thing."

Despite Brian's customary bitching about any and every thing that smacked of domesticity, Justin couldn't help laughing again. Did Brian even realize how predictable he was? How easy to manipulate?

"Are you sure you don't want to try a lesson?" he asked.

"Yup."

"Okay, well, then how about we start out on the bunny slope?"

Brian froze. "The what slope? Did you just say ‘bunny slope'? Is that what you said? Sunshine, tell me truthfully: do you want to get laid again today? Because if you do, you will not let me be seen on anything that deserves the name ‘bunny slope.' Fuck that bullshit. I'm paying a metric fuck-ton of money to be here, and I'm going to damn well see the top of this motherfucking mountain!"

Justin cringed inside but was careful not to let his dismay show on his face. This was a disaster waiting to happen. A train looking for an icy track. He took a deep breath.

"Okay. We'll take the gondola," he said. "Unstrap your board and follow me." He knew Brian would take his words as an attempt to "boss him around," but it didn't matter. Someone was going to have to have his shit in a pile or neither of them would survive past lunch.

Brian was not a natural at snowboarding, but neither was he worse than half bad. His biggest problem was his high center of gravity, and Justin saw right away that he'd do better on skis, which he suggested they rent for him tomorrow. Fortunately for Brian, he was so fucking hot in his form-fitting black ski pants and sleek KJUS Blade jacket that he looked good even when he was ass-over-tea-kettle and stuck in-between moguls so high that only the top of his cashmere-clad head was visible.

"We don't have to ski bump trails, you know," Justin said while they rode back up the mountain on a chairlift. "In fact, not many boarders do. Why don't we stick to the flat . . . ?"

"I told you," Brian said. "No bunny slope."

"I was going to say, before you interrupted me, that we should stick to the flat but steep trails. Let me choose our route this time. I hate moguls." Which was true; he did.

As he'd predicted, Brian did better on the groomed trails. They tried out a couple and then went back to their condo at lunchtime to fuck and eat and then fuck again. The afternoon was warmer than the others had been, and Justin was able to take off his sweater and ski in nothing but a long-sleeved cotton shirt. He predicted - correctly as it turned out - that his winter-pale face would get sunburned. Brian's did too, although not as much - just enough to make his cheeks glow and the tip of his nose blister slightly.

"We're buying sunscreen," Brian said. "And I'm switching these goggles for glasses. I refuse to have a goggle-shaped tan."

"And there I was thinking it was because you were worried about skin cancer," Justin replied. "Silly me."

Every time that were parted when Brian fell and Justin didn't stop until he noticed Brian wasn't with him, Brian got hit on by men and women alike - and even a giggly gaggle of teenaged girls. People helped him up and brushed the snow off his ass even though Brian was perfectly capable of doing it himself. By four-thirty, Brian had enlisted a grateful couple from South Africa, and the four of them fucked in front of the fire until everyone was spent and hungry. Justin noted that Brian didn't fuck, as in penetration, either of the guys, sticking instead to sucking and hand-jobs.

So he was concerned about the HIV thing after all. The realization made Justin lose his hard-on, and he excused himself to the bathroom to take a shower. He emerged just in time to hear Brian's famous response to topping requests.

"Sure," he said. "When the oceans dry up and the earth stops rotating around the sun."

He always said the same thing although sometimes the impossibilities varied. Justin's favorite was "when God farts daisies."

The couple joined them for a few drinks down at the lodge, but Brian fled when one of the guys tried to hold his hand under the table.

"I felt so violated," Brian said when they got in the gondola to return to the condo. He shuddered.

Justin laughed. The guy had rimmed Brian and let him come all over his face, but hand-to-hand contact was tantamount to rape.

When they got to the condo, they turned on the Jacuzzi and jerked each other off in it.

"Do you think they change the water in-between renters?" Justin asked.

Brian's sudden look of alarm made Justin's stomach drop. Could the virus survive the heat?

"Jesus, I hope so," Brian said, horror in his voice. "What if we're soaking in pussy juice?"

Both of them leaped out of the Jacuzzi with twin shrieks. They never used it again.

The next day, they rented skis for Brian and the results were all but miraculous. It turned out that Brian was far from a natural at snowboarding, but he was a fucking prodigy at skiing. Asshole.

They skied the living fuck out of the mountain every day, including the day they had to checkout. Justin would've had the best time of his entire life but for the fear of infection that never fully disappeared even when he was able to shove it to the back of his mind.

He brought it up again in the Jeep on their ride home.

"We'll both go to my doctor tomorrow," Brian said. "He's an actual professional unlike those medical school dropouts at the clinic. He does an entire blood screen. We can finally find out if you have reptilian genes in your DNA."

Justin rolled his eyes, tipped his chair back and went to sleep. By the time Brian woke him up so they could switch, they were already in Pennsylvania.

As soon as it'd gotten dark, the light rain they'd encountered in New York turned to snow. Brian hated driving in snow. Justin glanced at him, but he was still wheezing peacefully. He was using Justin's parka as a blanket and Justin's bulky sweater as a pillow. His eyes moved under his eyelids. What was he dreaming about? Justin was curious, but part of him didn't want to know. His forays into Brian's head had so far been shallow and brief, but the things Justin had learned from the experiences were often disturbing and left him shaken. Just beneath the beautiful exterior lurked rage-filled ecstasy and suicidal ideations. Yes, there was also happiness and fleeting wonder, but they seemed like candle flames in a perpetual storm.

Tears filled Justin's eyes, and he looked away, keeping his gaze glued to the road for the rest of the trip.

Brian was exhausted after their vacation, and Justin gently mocked him about being old and creaky, but when the exhaustion didn't lift after a few days, Justin started to worry. He, himself, had been sore for a while but any tiredness he'd felt was cured after one night of ten hours of good, solid, uninterrupted sleep. Brian, however, lingered in a fog of fatigue. Justin tried hard not to freak out. They'd gone to Brian's doctor to be tested for everything from HIV to Lyme Disease.

Brian was at work when Justin picked up the mail to find two envelopes with return addresses for Brian's doctor's office. One was plain and unremarkable, but the other, the one addressed to Brian, was stamped and read in capital red-inked letters "Come See Me Immediately!"

Justin breakfast flooded his mouth, and he had to spit in the kitchen sink. He tore open his envelope and scanned it frantically until he found the negative result for the HIV test. Part of him sagged with relief, but the other was panic-stricken. Something was clearly wrong with Brian. Justin would die of stress if he had to wait until Brian came home to find out. He dialed Brian's cell number with quaking hands.

"Yup," Brian said when he answered. "What's up? I've got a presentation in less than half an hour. Out with it."

Justin was speechless. What should he do? Whatever was contained in that envelope was bad news. What if it freaked Brian out so much that he fucked up his presentation - his first one as a new partner?"

"Justin," Brian said. "Spit it out. I don't have all day here."

Justin cleared his throat. "Uhm, there's a letter. I . . . I picked up the mail, and there were two letters from your doctor's office."

"Let me guess," Brian said. "You're afraid to open them. Come on, I've told we're fine. Just get over it and read your letter."

Justin swallowed. "I did," he replied. "And I'm fine." He giggled nervously. "I don't even have lizard genes."

Brian snorted with amusement. "Okay," he said. "You've got your good news. What's the problem?"

"Uhm . . ." Justin paused to clear his throat again. "Brian, there's a stamp on your envelope that says you should go to your doctor's office immediately. The 'immediately' is even underlined."

He was answered by nothing but a long silence.

"Brian?"

"Huh?" he said as though he'd been shaken out of a dream.

"Did you hear me? The stamp is red and in capital letters."

"Yeah," Brian said vaguely. "I heard you."

"Brian, I am seriously fucking scared."

"It's probably nothing," Brian replied with a dismissive tone that Justin knew was feigned. "Just open it and read it to me. Maybe I have dangerously high blood pressure. It wouldn't surprise me."

"Are you sure?" Justin asked in a hoarse whisper as though the bad news was a monster that would only be dangerous if it was awakened. "What about your presentation?"

"I'm more likely to fuck up the presentation if I don't know what's up than if I do. Let's just say I have it. I'll deal - we'll deal. It's no longer a death sentence, and I'm otherwise healthy. Just open the Goddamn letter and read it to me."

Justin took a deep breath, and then another. He felt light-headed and wondered if he was on the verge of fainting. He was shaking so hard that it took forever to open the envelope. He could practically feel the vibration of fear coming from Brian's end. At last he had it open. It was different than his had been. Whereas he'd received nothing but paperwork containing the results of all his tests, there was a letter in Brian's envelope that'd obviously been hand-signed. He swallowed.

"There's a letter," he said.

"Read it," Brian replied.

Justin willed his hands to stop shaking so that the words were actual words and not just blurred smudges.

Then he saw it. One word. One bizarre word. One impossible word. Clearly Brian's blood sample had gotten mixed up with some woman's because the letter said that he was pregnant.

Justin started to giggle and then to laugh. All of the other test results were good news. Brian hadn't been infected. His blood pressure and cholesterol were fine. There was nothing amiss. Every indicator showed that Brian was healthy in every way.

"What the fuck are you laughing about?" Brian asked angrily. "What are my results? If I'm positive I don't see how it's a laughing matter."

"You're not positive," Justin replied when he recovered enough to speak. "In fact you're healthier than you should be considering how much you drink and how much you smoke and how many drugs you do."

"Great," Brian replied. "Good. You can stop flipping out now. No need for panic . . . or to suffocate with laughter."

"There's a letter, too," Justin said. "It's hilarious. That was why I was laughing."

"Okay, what does it say, and hurry up because I have some preparation to do."

"The letter says that you're pregnant."

Brian busted out laughing. "Okay, I can see what's so funny. Haha. Alright, now that this little drama has played out, I'm going to get back to work, and you're going to get back to doing whatever the hell it is you do."

"I do homework," Justin replied irritably. "It's not like I'm sitting around on my ass all day."

"Alright, then go do your homework. Later."

Brian hung up. Dick. Why couldn't he just say "good-bye" like a normal person?

Justin went to the kitchen and made himself a giant sandwich in honor of their negative results. Maybe he'd be able to talk Brian into taking him out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate. Justin was busy thinking about which one he'd chose while inhaling his sandwich when the landline phone rang.

"Hello?" he said with a mouthful of ham, turkey and thick-sliced bread.

"Hello, this is Dr. Bernstein. I need to speak with Brian immediately. Is he home?"

"Nope, sorry," Justin replied. "I can give him a message or you could call his cell phone. He's in the middle of a presentation though, so you should wait until later this afternoon."

The doctor sighed with obvious exasperation. "Please tell him to call me the second he's done with the presentation. It's imperative that I speak to him as soon as possible. You're his partner, right? Please do me - and Brian - a favor and don't let him drink tonight our take any drugs of any kind. Even aspirin."

Justin bit his lip. The doctor was obviously in distress, and it would be shitty to start laughing. "Does this have something to do with the letter you sent?" he asked.

"You opened his mail?"

"Of course, I did! There was a giant red stamp saying to contact you immediately. I freaked out and called Brian. He told me to go ahead and open it, so I did. I can't say for sure, but when he does contact you, he's going to be miffed that your office mixed up the blood samples."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Justin felt guilty. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation," he said. "I'll try to talk Brian off the ledge if he's really upset about it."

More silence. Justin started to sweat a little bit. When he and Brian had gone in for their tests, Justin had been impressed by the high level of professionalism and discreetness that they'd been treated with. It was weird, to say the least, that this unflappable, highly skilled and educated man would be rendered speechless over something so relatively inconsequential as a screwed up blood screening. When he still didn't speak, Justin wondered if the connection had been broken.

"Hello?" he said. "Dr. Bernstein?"

He heard someone clear their throat.

"There was no mix-up," Dr. Bernstein said.

"Of course there was a mix-up," Justin replied.

"I'm afraid not."

Now it was Justin's turn for silence. It was weird to say the least that a doctor would wish he'd screwed up.

"Your letter says Brian is pregnant," Justin said, biting his cheek to keep from laughing.

"Yes, it does," the doctor said with dead seriousness. "That's because it's true. He is."

Justin couldn't hold back his laughter any longer. Either this was an amusing fuck-up that for some reason the doctor was treating as an actual finding or he'd lost his marbles.

"Uhm," he said. "Brian is a man. He has a penis. I imagine you've noticed that yourself when he's come in for check-ups."

"Men can get pregnant," the Dr. Bernstein replied. "It's rare, but it does happen."

"I've never heard of it," Justin said. He was starting to get a bit annoyed. He really did have homework to do.

"That's because you haven't been reading medical journals."

"I'm pretty sure the news would've made the tabloid muckrakers' day - if not the rest of their professional lives."

"That's because the last case of male pregnancy was in the early nineteen-hundreds."

Justin huffed in exasperation. "I'm sure I would've heard about it in some way," he said.

"I don't know why you haven't," the doctor replied. "It's rather common knowledge. I will not be surprised if Brian's heard of it."

"Look, this has been entertaining, and I'm sure Brian will appreciate your concern," Justin said, knowing full well that Brian won't. "But I've got to get back to my homework."

Dr. Bernstein sighed heavily. "I'm not surprised you don't believe me," he said. "Brian won't either. He probably won't until the first signs of his pregnancy appear. All the same, it is an absolute imperative that he not drink or smoke or do drugs. Even at this very early stage, the fetus is affected by everything from one cocktail to one cigarette."

That seemed a little extreme, Justin thought. Jesus, no wonder pregnant women were so bitchy.

"I think the likelihood of me being able to stop Brian from doing any of those things is infinitesimally small."

"You must try. If he decides to keep the baby and not have an abortion, then it needs to have a chance to be healthy. Surely you - and he can understand that."

"Fine," Justin said. "I'll do what I can. He's not going to like it though."

"I don't care what Brian would like or wouldn't like. This is not a mistake, and it certainly isn't a ploy to get Brian to live a healthier lifestyle. This is a viable pregnancy I'm talking about for heaven's sake!"

Justin was stunned into silence. He thought he might've heard the Dr. Bernstein's voice crack with either agitation or tears or both.

Jesus fucking Christ. What if it was true?

"Am I getting through to you?" Dr. Bernstein yelled.

"Brian doesn't bottom."

"Well, obviously he did and recently at that."

The broken condom.

Jesus, the broken condom.

"There's a man walking around out there somewhere. A man who is a father," Dr. Bernstein said, his voice raspy with emotion. "A father who has the right to know he's produced a child."

A father.

The broken condom.

Oh my God. Oh my fucking God!

Justin cleared his throat. "We'll obviously need a second - and probably even a third and fourth opinion, maybe even a hundred opinions. You must understand how fucking bat-shit this sounds."

"I do understand," DR. Bernstein replied. "And I definitely agree there should be more tests performed by completely independent doctors. When I received the results, I requested a second screening. When those results came back and were the same as the first set, I called a blood work specialist and an OB/GYN - actually two OB/GYNs. They all reached the same conclusion that Brian is pregnant."

Justin couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't even think.

"Listen," Dr. Bernstein said. "I will do what needs to be done. I'll give you my personal cell phone number. If Brian wants to see me in person tonight - no matter how late - I will meet him at my office or even make a house call. I'm sure I've been able to impress upon you how urgent the situation is. I have concerns not only for the fetus, but for Brian himself. His body is not designed to carry a child . . ."

"No shit!" Justin said, interrupting him.

Dr. Bernstein ignored his outburst. "There are countless things that can go wrong. If the fetus dies, Brian will have necrotic tissue in close vicinity to all of his vital organs. There's a possibility of serious infection capable of leading to death. I need - and an OB/GYN needs - to examine him. Right now, the pregnancy is normal . . ."

"Normal?" Justin squeaked. "Did you just say the word ‘normal'?"

Again, the doctor ignored the interruption. "Normal as in viable," he said. "The proper hormones are in his blood stream, and there's been an increase in the production of red blood cells. These are good signs . . ."

"Good signs?!"

". . . but a more thorough exam must be performed as soon as possible. Just as with women, the fetus is contained, nourished and protected by the placenta, but male bodies are incapable of producing placentas as thick and durable as women's. In fact they're quite fragile. In addition to not drinking, smoking or doing drugs, Brian must significantly cut back on all strenuous physical activity . . ."

"You mean he has to be on bed rest or something??"

"No, that isn't necessary, at least not yet. But he should stay away from aerobic exercise - which actually might happen naturally. His body is undergoing an extraordinary process, and he'll be noticeably fatigued."

"Fatigued," Justin repeated, his voice flat with shock.

"Has it already manifested?" Dr. Bernstein asked, and when Justin said Brian had seemed unusually tired recently, the doctor replied with a very unprofessional "See? I told you! Now do you believe me?"

"But we just got back from a skiing trip," Justin replied. "I've been tired too . . ."

The good doctor freaked out. Justin seriously considered hanging up and calling a psychiatric hospital.

"He was skiing??? As in snow skiing? On mountains? Please don't also tell me he was in a hot tub!"

"Uhm," Justin replied. "Once, but only once."

"Oh shit . . . But it might not matter," Dr. Bernstein continued in a way that suggested he was babbling to himself. "It all depends on when conception occurred. We need to pin-point the time as closely as possible. We know it has to have been quite recently . . ."

"The condom broke," Justin said dully. His voice sounded distant even to himself. "It broke while I was fucking him . . . er, having penetrative sexual activity early last week. I didn't realize it until I pulled out. There was come . . . er, semen inside him. I was buried as deep as possible and just kind of froze that way when I . . . uhm, ejaculated. It felt like buckets. He's only ever let me fuck . . . have sex with him once before, and I wanted it so much. It's a fantasy come to life. I came so hard. So long."

Now it was he who was talking to himself, reliving in vivid detail every minute of that fuck. "That's when it must've happened," he said vaguely.

"It fits the time-frame," Dr. Bernstein said. "Sounds like it's you who's the father, although we'll want to confirm that with a blood test when the fetus is a bit larger."

Justin was silent for a long, long time. His mind was whirling with what-ifs? and what-can-I-do? At last he settled on an idea. Brian was going to hate it, but it was the only way.

"Can you come here?" he asked. "Can you be here when he gets home this evening? I simply can't be the one who tells him all of this crazy shit. He'll flip out at me, and no offense intended, I'd much rather he flip out at you. I'll go stay with my friend for a while. He might not want to see me for a long time . . ." Justin's voice broke as the various realities began to sink in. "He might hate me. He . . . he might get rid of the baby, and I . . . I don't want him to. But he'll never consult me. He'll just go ahead and do it. And if he decided to keep it, who will take care of him? He won't even let me take care of him when he has the flu! No one must know that Brian Kinney is sick. What if he really is pregnant and he shuts me out of his life? Who's going to be there for him? What if he tries to induce a miscarriage by drinking himself into black-outs every night? What happens if he even shuts you out? He could die! And it would my fault!"

That's when he started to cry . . . no, not cry, sob. This was a slowly unfolding nightmare of boundless proportions whose horrific details no one yet could foresee.

"Please, please come here," he said. "I'll do anything; I'll find the money somehow and pay whatever you ask . . ."

"Money isn't the issue here," Dr. Bernstein said. "In fact it's the farthest thing from my mind. What matters now is that Brian remains healthy and stays safe. When will he be home?"

"Probably around six. It's Friday and he likes to go out . . . Oh God," Justin moaned when his own words ricocheted back to him across an infinity of space and time.

"Then I'll be there at five-thirty," Dr. Bernstein said. "If you hear he'll be coming home sooner, call me immediately."

He gave Justin the number for his personal phone. "Try to stay calm," he said. "Nothing good can happen if you start getting panicky."

"Don't worry," Justin replied. "As soon as you arrive, I intend to get the fuck out of Dodge."