The first time he felt like he wanted to shake the babies, Justin knew he wasn't fit to be a father. When they finally fell asleep after crying for a fucking eternity, he emailed Mr. Hamilton to officially accept the scholarship.

He was sitting in the dark when Brian came home from an evening of playing pool at Woody's. It was the first time he'd been away from the twins for longer than an hour, and he was barely in the door before he started stripping off his sweater and t-shirt and pulling off the tape securing the gauze he'd used to cover his nipples. Just what I need, he'd said before going out. Nothing says "hot" like chapped, leaky tits. Damn babies. He'd sounded carefree, but in reality, the boys had had to threaten and cajole and finally plead to get him to go out. Even Deb had said it was a good idea to practice being apart from the twins for even just a little while. But it'd been a close call. The twins had been fussy, and Justin had had to pull the phone out of Brian's hand so he couldn't call Michael and tell him he couldn't come.

What? he'd snapped when Brian had glared at him. You don't think I can handle taking care of them for one Goddamn fucking evening?! They'll probably sleep the entire time anyway. I'm pretty sure I can handle it.

But it turned out he couldn't. He had homework - actually a final exam - he had to complete for the following day, and the twins had cried and cried and cried. There was nothing he could do to get them to go to sleep. He tried picking them up and walking around, but he could only hold one at a time, and being parted from each other only made them scream harder. How could Brian stand it? But then again, they didn't cry like that when Brian was with them. How long was this going to go on? How long was he going to have to feel unwanted by his children and unneeded by his partner? Well, not entirely unneeded; Brian still used him for his daily fuck.

As soon as Brian had his chest bare, he went to the babies. One woke and made a sound that Justin had learned to interpret as "Dad. Now. Food. Give Me." Brian carried her (fuck, which one was she???) into the living room, embedded himself in his nest and started feeding her. Justin wasn't so enchanted by the nursing anymore. In fact, it was starting to grate on his nerves. Every slurp and coo and burble set his teeth on edge. He was sure it wouldn't be that way if Brian would let him bottle feed the babies even if only just once in a while. But nope. Brian always refused. Was it a control thing?

Brian picked up the remote and turned on the T.V. "So," he said. "How'd it go?"

Justin didn't reply. How could he? Oh, fine. I only wanted to shake the babies to death once, although truthful, was not an option.

"Well? Did they sleep the whole time?"

Justin just stared at the T.V. "I accepted the scholarship," he said.

Brian didn't reply. Some fucking reality show was on, and a girl was crying about something or other with mascara streaking her cheeks. If it was really reality, Justin thought distractedly, someone would've slapped her and told her to get the fuck over whatever it was she was blubbering about.

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," Brian replied.

"Well?"

Brian switched the twin to his other nipple. She fussed for a moment before she latched on again.

"I don't know why," Brian said. "My left tit always dries up quicker than my right."

Justin sighed. Were they really not going to discuss the scholarship?

"Are you pissed at me?" he asked.

"Why should I be pissed at you?" Brian replied. "You made the right choice. For a while there, I thought you weren't going to find the balls to do it. You've pleasantly surprised me."

"I pleasantly surprised you."

"Well, I guess I should qualify my remark; you didn't ‘surprise' me because I know you're not a fucking moron. You merely reminded me why I love you."

Justin's jaw dropped. He turned to look at Brian, but he was staring at the T.V. His expression was unreadable.

It wasn't that Brian hadn't said the three magic words before - in fact, he'd said them twice since he'd gotten pregnant - but it was always off-set by an inevitable "but." Not this time. It was just a frank assertion. No prompting or fanfare or approaching orgasms, just a statement of fact.

"What made you change your mind?" Brian asked, still without looking at him.

Justin took a deep breath. How honest should he be? Brian had just told him that he loved him - Justin didn't want to jeopardize that in any way.

"I guess . . . I guess I've come to realize that I might not be a . . . a good father." His voice caught on the last two words as they barely escaped around the lump in his throat.

Brian didn't say anything right away. Was he thinking what Justin was thinking? How ironic that Justin was saying he wasn't a good father when all along he'd thought that it was Brian who wouldn't be? If he was, he didn't say it.

"You're young," was all Brain said.

"Teenagers have kids all the time," Justin replied.

"Sure. But if they're smart they put the kid up for adoption or stash it with their parents at least until they grow up - and by ‘growing up' I don't mean ‘getting more mature' or some shit like that. By ‘growing up' I mean having a fucking life."

"But ‘having a fucking life' could mean raising a family."

Brian laughed. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to? That's bullshit. ‘Having a fucking life' means doing whatever the hell you want and grabbing as many opportunities by the balls as you possibly can. C'mon, did you honestly think I wouldn't make your life hell until you did what's good for you? Appears I didn't need to; it looks like the little screamers did. Good girls," he said patting the twin he was feeding (which one???) on the back.

"You are a fucking manipulative asshole," Justin said. He couldn't tell if he was mad or grateful.

"Not as manipulative as Lindsay," Brian replied. "Holy shit! She reminded me again why I should never forget what a sly, cunning bitch she can be, even if part of the reason she wrangled that scholarship for you was because she wants you out of the way so she can have me all to herself. Problem is she doesn't have a cock. It's a big hurdle to clear, especially seeing as the cock she'd try to replace is a fucking ten-inch mouthful."

Was that a compliment? Or was it an assertion that all he, Justin, was good for was being Brian's (replaceable) fuck toy?

"I wasn't going to go," he said. "What would you have done if I didn't?"

Brian shrugged. "Probably push you off a cliff. I was already in the process of building one. When . . . no, scratch that . . . if you come back, you can bottle feed the babies all you want and give them baths and take them out. Do you think I actually like being the sole caregiver? It's fucking tiring; I'm bored as shit half the time, and my tits are going to fall off."

"You are a fucking asshole," Justin said and meant it. "That's all I've wanted - a chance to be a meaningful part of their lives."

"And give up your life in the process? Screw that. Go to fucking London, Sunshine. Draw or paint or whatever the hell else. Make friends. Go to clubs. Fuck hot guys. And send me a postcard now and then. And if the chance arises to spend the summer in Paris or some other artsy-fartsy city, then snap it up. If I were in your shoes, I certainly would."

"But I thought you said you don't like being a sole caretaker? That's what you'll be when I leave."

Brian shrugged and wiped milk off the twin's (Helen?? Maeve??) chin with his thumb. "I don't do things I don't want to do. I didn't get an abortion because I didn't want to. I'd stick the kids in a daycare in a nanosecond if I didn't want to take care of them myself . . ."

"Brian."

"Yeah?"

"I could've killed them tonight. I was so angry and they wouldn't stop crying and I knew it was because they missed you . . ."

The other twin started to fuss, and Brian went to get her. He came back with both babies.

"Just forget about it," he said.

"But . . ."

"No ‘but's. Forget about it."

Justin looked at him. They held each other's eyes for a long time.

"When will you leave?" Brian asked after a while.

"Wednesday next week."

Brian nodded.

"Brian . . ."

"Don't say it. Don't even think it."

Justin swallowed and nodded in return.

"I'll be back," he said. "And you could come there. We'll see each other all the time."

Brian snorted. "You don't know that, and neither do I. Even the prospect of fucking your sweet ass doesn't override the horrifying prospect of taking two babies on an overnight, trans-Atlantic flight."

Tears welled in Justin's eyes. Brian was refusing to let him make promises - promises that he, Justin, might not be able to keep or maybe ultimately won't want to. Brian was fortifying his heart. When you've set a lover free without an expectation they'll return, it'll hurt less when they don't.

On Tuesday evening, they gave the twins to Deb for the night (Brian had not been thrilled about having to use the breast pump for "a million fucking years" in order to insure they had enough milk). When they returned to the loft, they shared a bottle of sparkling grape juice and talked about nothing at all of substance - no babies, no new houses, no tricking, no London, no job, no school. Nothing but random stupid shit that popped into their heads. They laughed a lot and only slowly let themselves become aroused. They kissed and touched each other through their clothes, rubbing and dry humping until they felt like they'd lose their minds.

Brian was beautiful . . . duh. Of course, he was! It was frustrating that the English language didn't have as many words for "beauty" as the Eskimos have for "snow." If it did, every one of them would apply to Brian. He'd worn the deep red shirt Justin loved so much, and when Justin unbuttoned it and slipped it off Brian's shoulders, he realized for the first time that he was going to study painting in London - if for no other reason than to acquire the skills necessary to capture all the colors and subtle hues that made Brian so stunning - from the crushed cranberry of his mouth to the chestnut sheen of his hair, to the pink sex-blush on his cheeks, throat and chest to the blue veins in his wrists and the tops of his feet to the dusky, wine-red of his hard cock and the areolas of his nipples to the changeable hazel of his eyes and the pale circle around his wrist where he wore his bracelet.

"God," he whispered in Brian's ear making him shiver. "What am I going to do if I can't devour you to the last bone in your littlest toe?"

Brian laughed breathlessly. "Should I get out the condiments?"

"No, I want you without ketchup or mustard or even mayonnaise despite the fact I love to put it on everything else."

Brian kissed him, letting his mouth take them from playful to passionate. Justin pressed the palm of his hand against Brian's cock where it strained, aching to be touched, against the buttons of his fly, but they moved to the bed before they got undressed.

They fucked face to face, their eyes never leaving each other's. Justin wrapped his legs around Brian's waist and relaxed for what Brian promised him would be a "long ride." Only once before - when they'd fucked for the first time after the bashing - had Brian made love to him. The focus wasn't on their orgasms until just moments before they hit; instead it was of the sensation of being joined together. Brian rose to his knees and held onto Justin's calves as he thrust his hips hard, but slow, burying his cock as deep as possible and then gradually pulling back.

Sometime during their love-making, Justin realized that Brian was saying good-bye. He wanted to say something - he wanted to tell Brian he was wrong, to plead with him not to believe the worst case scenario - but not only would it not make a difference, he would cause Brian to withdraw into himself, into the long, quiet corridors of his mind lined with rooms with rusted locks that only required a kick to break - if someone could even find them to begin with. Justin didn't want that. He wanted Brian to be present - to be there with him - and he knew Brian did too.

In the end, after they both came, Brian buried his face in Justin's hair and cried silently - or at least that's what Justin thought. Maybe the grimace on his face as he came was just that. Maybe the wetness on his cheeks was sweat. Maybe his uneven breathing was the aftermath of exertion. He didn't know, and he knew Brian didn't want him to ask.

In the morning, Justin left before it was light. There were no more words to exchange with Brian, and he didn't want to see the twins again. He'd already said his good-byes, kissing their plump cheeks and smelling that sweet baby smell on the tops of their heads. They'd grabbed at his ears and nose and then started fussing when they realized neither appendage was capable of giving them lunch. He'd laughed and handed them to Brian, who was getting adept at carrying them both at the same time.

Brian didn't move when Justin squirmed out from underneath him, and neither of them said good-bye. Even though Justin knew Brian was awake, he opened and closed the loft door as quietly as possible.

And then that was it. Twenty-four hours later, he awoke to dawn glinting off the wing of a plane and the feeling of wheels touching down on a runway. He wished with all his heart that he didn't feel relieved, that he didn't feel free, but he did.

Brian would be proud.