"What the fuck's up with you?" Brian asked after they left the diner and got in the Jeep. "Food poisoning? I'm the one who should be puking his guts out, not you."

Justin was looking out the side window as they drove, trying to figure out how to raise the possibility of moving out - just for a little while - and letting Michael take his place. He was all but certain that when Brian started to show, he'd stop tricking, but until then . . .

"Out with it," Brian said.

"Out with it?"

"That's what I said. C'mon, man-up."

Justin took a deep breath. Why pussy-foot around and leave things vague and open for misinterpretation?

"So, you're going to start tricking again." It wasn't a question.

They were stopped at a red light. Brian turned to look at him.

"Remind me," he said evenly. "When did I stop? Because I don't remember." The light turned green. "I recall agreeing to get sober, but I don't recall saying I'd stop fucking. What? Are you worried I'll pick up an STD or something? I never have before, and I've been fucking since I was fourteen."

Justin continued looking out the window. They were silent all the way to the loft. Brian parked the Jeep in his spot and got out. Justin didn't follow him. After a minute, Brian got back in.

"I think we better get something straight," Brian said. "I may be carrying a fetus . . ."

"A ‘baby,'" Justin interrupted him.

"Okay, a baby, but that does not mean you have some kind of say - beyond the purposes of health and sobriety - about what I can and cannot do with my body. It's still mine and mine alone, and I'm going to use it to fuck as much as I can until . . . Christ, I can't believe I'm actually going to say this . . . until I get a baby bump. Got it?"

Justin tried to suppress his anger, but the effort only made it more evident. "Loud and clear," he snarled.

"Good. Now, I'm going up to the loft. Are you coming or are you going to sit out here sulking?"

Justin wrapped his arms around himself as though he was about to fly apart. "I'll come up," he replied, "but only so I can pack my things."

He glanced at Brian. He looked dumbfounded.

"What?" Justin snapped. "You thought I was going to just sit on my ass twiddling my thumbs while you go around fucking everything that moves with our baby inside of you?"

Brian ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. "I cannot believe we're having this conversation," he said, his voice full of stunned bewilderment. "Are you saying you're leaving me?"

The question was enough to jolt Justin out of his surly slump. "Fuck, no!" he said. "I'm not breaking up with you! In fact, that's exactly what I'm trying to prevent! If we're living apart for your first trimester, I won't be constantly having to cope day and night with your fucking around . . ."

"Correction," Brian said. "I'm not ‘fucking around,' I'm fucking. There's a difference."

Justin laughed ruefully. "I'm sure there is," he said. "In your head at least."

They sat in silence, both of them staring ahead through the film of April dirt on the windshield. Maybe, Justin thought, maybe this would be enough to get Brian to change his ways . . .

"Fine," Brian said, opening the door and getting out. "Pack your shit. I'll drive you to wherever the hell it is that you'll be living." He slammed the door behind him and began walking to the back entrance to his building. Justin ran after him, suddenly panicking.

"This isn't going to make you start drinking again?" he asked. "Because if it is . . ."

Brian didn't look at him. "Don't go worrying your pretty little head about me," he said nastily. "Just concentrate on school and being a total, fucking twat. Meanwhile, I'll work on growing a baby and trying to get as much of my shit in a pile as possible so I can disappear for God only knows how long - oh, and fuck of course. Don't wanna forget about that."

They didn't speak as the rode the elevator to the top floor. Justin had never before been so grateful for the racket it made. When they got out, Brian wrenched the door open and then slammed it behind him with impressive force.

"You're angry," Justin said.

Brian dropped his bags and wheeled around to face him. "You're Goddamn right I'm angry!" he shouted. "Now get your shit together and get out. Fuck driving you; I'm calling you a cab."

"Fuck me?" Justin yelled right back. "You're the one who doesn't give a shit about my feelings - hell, you don't even take them into consideration. You never have! I have to ask myself: why would that change now that you're pregnant . . . ?"

"Yes, you should ask yourself that," Brian replied. "What? You thought the only reason I fuck is because I was an alcoholic drug addict?"

Justin looked at him, his chest heaving. It was actually a good question. Is that indeed what he'd always assumed?

"Well, it's not. And why are you just standing here trying to burn two smoldering holes through me with your eyes? Get packing."

Probably acting on autopilot, Brian went to kitchen and opened the cabinet where he'd kept his Jim Beam. "Fuck!" he yelled, slamming it shut.

Justin felt his heart stop. Someone needed to be with Brian - at least for the night. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Deb's number, chiding himself for not having Michael on his list of contacts.

"What do you want?" Michael barked.

Asshole.

"I want you to come over to the loft," Justin replied. "I . . . I can't stay with Brian, and I think someone should."

Brian turned to him with an flabbergasted expression. Michael hadn't yet responded, but Justin could hear him putting on his coat.

"I'll be there in ten," he said and hung up.

Justin flipped his phone closed.

"I can't believe you just did that," Brian said incredulously. "I literally cannot believe it. You called a fucking babysitter for me?"

Justin went to him, but Brian backed away, mouth open with appalled astonishment, until he hit the fridge.

"That was Michael," Justin said. "I didn't call a ‘babysitter,' I called your best friend."

Brian just boggled at him as though Justin had spoken to him in Mandarin.

"What happened to us being ‘partners'?" he shouted. "Where did all your boyfriend bullshit go? You're sticking me with a friend? If anyone should - or needs to - be here, it's you. What the fuck am I going to tell Michael when I develop morning sickness, which Bernstein has told me is pretty much a given? What'll happen when I wake up in the middle of the night fucking freaking out over the fact that my life is going to change beyond recognition and I'm going to have to figure out how to be a father when my own was such a shitty role model?"

"Then you call me," Justin said, trying to be soothing. "It's not like I'm moving to Altoona or something."

"You might as fucking well be," Brian said angrily. "You're being a fucking coward!"

"And you're being a fucking dick! Literally! I simply cannot be present when you're fucking someone else! I can't do it, Brian!"

"But you still haven't sufficiently explained why I should stop. I'm not going to do something I never did before. I'm not going to fall in fucking love with some backroom ass-licker. I'm just going to get my fucking rocks off like I always have. Are you telling me that you've spent every minute of the past one and a half years stewing in bile? Because if you have, you've never said anything to me about it."

"I thought I have explained it to you! Do you want me to write it down so you don't have to rely on just my voice alone to understand? Brian, there is a baby inside of you! A tiny, innocent, miraculous life!"

"So?!"

"So, I don't want it tainted! I don't want you tainted! I don't want some guy shoving a dildo up your ass and sucking on your tits! I don't want you sitting on some guy's face while you jerk off! I don't want you coming because someone else has made you horny! I want that person to be me and me alone! After the baby's born, you can do whatever the fuck you want. I won't give a shit, but right now you're sharing your body with another person who happens to be half me . . . !"

Suddenly the door clanged open, and both of them jumped. Michael entered carrying a shitload of greasy take-out food.

Great. Just fucking great. Just what the baby needed. Burger King and KFC.

"Hey," Michael said fondly to Brian and then turned a withering gaze on Justin. "What are you still doing here?"

Brian's mouth twisted in an ugly smirk. "He was just leaving, weren't you, Sunshine?"

Justin stared at him, suddenly worried that he'd made a very big fucking mistake. He was about to temporarily lose any influence he may have had over Brian's life.

"I can stay for dinner," he said with a friendly shrug.

"No, you can't," Brian replied, his voice icy.

Justin looked at him, pleading with his eyes for him to understand, to forgive him for not being strong enough to stay.

Brian's cell phone was on the island counter. He picked it up, flipped it open and dialed.

"Hello," he said to whoever was on the other end. "I want to order a cab for a Mr. Justin Taylor."

Daphne opened her door, took one look at him and pulled him inside. Probably intuiting that this wasn't the time to talk, she merely picked up the phone.

"Carolyn?" she said into the receiver. "Hi, it's Daphne. Are you home? Good. Remember the friend I told you about? Well, he'd like to take you up on the offer to stay at your place. Yes, of course you can meet him. We can come over right now if you have time. Great. We'll be there soon."

He was hot in his parka and the close, humid warmth of Daphne's apartment was stifling, but all the same he was shivering all over as though he'd just disembarked from a plane onto the frozen Alaskan tundra.

"How'd he take it?" Daphne asked carefully, but Justin could only hold up his hand and shake his head. He couldn't even think about Brian, let alone discuss him and their fallout.

Daphne nodded with understanding. "Just assure me that he's not alone," she said. "Is someone there with him?"

Justin nodded.

"Good." She gave him a tentative smile. "Okay, let's go to Carolyn's. She lives only two blocks from here."

He followed her out the door, down the stairs and into the street, his mind nothing more than an empty vessel sitting on top of his neck. When they came to a three-story house painted an unfortunate yellowish hue, Daphne's friend met them on the porch crowded with bicycles and skis. She had long light brown hair that was tied in a loose knot, and she was wearing a hippy skirt and a ratty John Hopkins sweatshirt. She hugged Daphne and shook Justin's hand.

"This is Mr. Barkley," she said when they walked into her apartment. Mr. Barkley was the muttliest mutt Justin had ever seen, and he would have laughed if he'd been capable of making any sound except an agonized moan.

"And here's the spare bedroom. Sorry it's full of shit, but at least there's a bed and a closet and all the light fixtures work."

Justin dropped his bags and looked around. The room was small, but there were two windows that looked out on what was once presumably a backyard but now was a grass lot full of battered student cars with out-of-state plates.

"I won't be around much," Carolyn said, "so if you could take care of Mr. Barkley - you know, give him walks and stuff and make sure he has food and water - you can stay as long as you want as long as you pay your half of the utilities and buy your own food."

Justin nodded distractedly. Carolyn cocked her head and gave him a funny look. Daphne intuited her question.

"Just left his boyfriend," she said sadly, rubbing Justin's back with a pink-mittened hand.

"Ugh," Carolyn said. "Sorry to hear it. Well, I gotta run. Make yourself comfortable - oh and Mr. Barkley will need to go out right before you go to bed."

She disappeared somewhere in the labyrinth of narrow hallways with their uneven hardwood floors. He sat down heavily on the bed. He was pretty sure that he was not going to be okay, but he just smiled and shook his head at Daphne when she told him she had to meet a study group and asked if he wanted to come along for the company.

And then she was gone. Mr. Barkley clicked into the room on long-toenailed feet, sniffed at Justin's bags and then casually lifted his hind leg and peed on them.

Days passed, but all Justin was really aware of was the sickening ache in his stomach that no amount of Pepto-Bismol could alleviate. People called and left messages, but not Brian - or Michael. He couldn't eat more than a bowl of cereal in the morning and half a sandwich for dinner. No one knew where he was living, and he'd made Daphne swear not to tell anyone. He was pretty sure that if Deb found out, she'd hunt down the address and give him a metric fuck-ton of shit. He would too if he was her.

Mr. Barkley was a dick, but walking him was a relief. It gave Justin a chance to get out and walk around a bit. The weather was slowly getting warmer. When April 26th rolled around, Justin bought a cupcake and put a candle in it. His and Brian's baby was officially one month old. God knows; Brian probably wasn't even aware of it and was fucking his brains out somewhere.

When he could no longer stand it, he called Emmett to ask him how Brian was doing but only after making him first promise that he wouldn't tell anyone he'd called. Emmett told him that Brian had started going to Woody's and Babylon again, but that as far as he knew, Brian wasn't drinking or doing drugs. Justin was relieved, but still a masochistic part of him needed to know whether Brian was fucking. When he asked, Emmett just laughed. "Does the earth circle the sun? Does Liza Minnelli have a weight problem?" he asked. To him it was amusing. To Justin, it was an arrow through the heart.

"Did you know Michael's living at the loft?" Emmett asked. "It's totally weird. Ben seems okay with it, but Teddy and I think it's a really bad idea. Michael had started detoxing from Brian, but now it seems he's back to panting over Brian like a cute but horny little puppydog. By the way - why'd you move out or is that all hush-hushedy?"

"It's just temporary," Justin replied.

"Good," Emmett said. "Brian needs more than one person looking out for him. He's sick a lot. He claims it's the flu, but none of us believe it. I'm beginning to think he's bulimic or something. They say a lot of times when someone kicks a substance addiction, they develop other compulsive behaviors. . . . Justin?

"Yeah, I'm still here," Justin replied. "But I gotta go. Thanks for the update, Em."

"You're welcome, sweetie. Don't be gone too long."

Don't be gone too long.

Justin hung up and called Dr. Bernstein. The doctor didn't even try to disguise his anger.

"I'm just going to assume that your poor judgment is due to your young age and leave it at that," he said. "What can I help you with?"

Justin swallowed the lump that had lodged in his throat at the doctor's words. "How's he doing?" he asked.

"There is such a thing as patient confidentiality," Dr. Bernstein replied. "And Brian has told me to strictly respect it - even when it comes to you."

Well, that answered that question. Brian was still angry.

Justin cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded rough when he spoke. "Okay, I won't ask anything specific. I just want to know how soon a male pregnancy will start to show. Is it at twelve to sixteen weeks like it is in women?"

"It generally doesn't take that long," Dr. Bernstein replied. "There's less space - for lack of a better term - in a man's body, and if we're hypothetically talking about Brian, then I'm expecting it'll be more like eight weeks."

Justin sat down before he could fall down. Thank God! That meant Brian had only one more month of fucking left, and Justin could move back in. He felt faint with relief.

Dr. Bernstein sighed loudly. "He hasn't told me why you left him . . ."

"I didn't leave him," Justin interrupted. "I just needed to move out for a little while. I still love him. I'm still going to help him carry our baby . . ."

Was that a snort he heard? Did Dr. Bernstein just snort at him? What the fuck?

"What's going on?" Justin asked warily. "Is there something I should know about?"

Was that another snort??

"Why are you laughing at me?"

"I'm not laughing at you," Dr. Bernstein replied. "I'm laughing (ruefully, by the way) at the situation, not you."

"And why's that?" Justin asked. "Fuck HIPPA. Tell me. This isn't only about Brian - this is about me too; the baby he is carrying is both of ours."

Dr. Bernstein snorted again. Justin was about to hang up on him when the doctor spoke.

"The baby?" he said.

Justin's heart plummeted. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Then he had an abortion," Justin said as a part of him wilted, decayed and turned to dust.

"No, he did not have an abortion," Dr. Bernstein said. "But he is having twins."

Justin opened seven cans of dog food, filled two bowls with water, laid newspaper all over the kitchen floor and locked Mr. Barkley inside. Carolyn would come home before the asshole died. Justin didn't need to worry.

He left a hundred dollars and note to Carolyn apologizing for leaving so abruptly. Something, he wrote, had come up and he needed to move back home right away.

Then he called Daphne on his cell as he ran down the sidewalk, his bags bumping against his legs and almost sending him sprawling.

"Hey," she said. "How're you doing?"

"Twins!" Justin shouted. "Twins! Brian's having twins!"

There was a stunned silence on Daphne's end, and then she screeched a screech that would've made Debbie proud.

"Oh my God! Twins? Holy shit! How'd you find out? Have you talked to Brian?"

"His doctor told me," Justin said, breathless from running so hard. "And, no, I haven't talked to Brian yet, but I'm headed to the loft right now! Can you fucking believe it?" He laughed manically like a crazy person; passersby gave him a wide berth.

"Are you . . . are you happy about this?" Daphne asked. "Is this a good thing?"

"Are you kidding me?" he replied. "I'm deliriously happy!"

"But won't this make the pregnancy more dangerous?" she asked. "I mean, Brian's body isn't designed to carry even one baby, let alone two."

Justin stopped as though he'd slammed into an invisible wall.

"Justin? Are you still there?"

"Yeah," he said faintly. "I'm still here."

"Are . . . are you okay? Did you just get hit by a car or something?"

No, he thought. More like a sledgehammer.

"I have to go," he said. "I need to catch a cab."

"Justin?"

He hung up without replying.

He had no idea what he'd encounter when he entered the loft, but a purple-faced, batshit Michael hadn't even been on the list.

"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" Michael yelled. "I SHOULD KILL YOU RATHER THAN LET YOU SET FOOT IN HERE!"

Justin stepped back in surprise, but then he quickly gathered his wits.

"Where's Brian?" he asked.

"WHERE'S BRIAN . . . WHERE'S BRIAN! WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK?!"

Justin frowned. "Um, I honestly don't know," he replied.

"WELL, LET ME FILL YOU IN: HE'S WHERE HE ALWAYS IS - IN THE BATHROOM PUKING HIS GUTS OUT!"

Ah, now he understood.

"Okay," Justin said gently as though he was talking to a crazy homeless zombie-person. "There's no need to freak out . . ."

"NO NEED TO FREAK OUT??!! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!"

"I'm sure there's an explanation," Justin said.

"OF COURSE, THERE'S A FUCKING EXPLANATION; HE'S FUCKING PREGNANT . . . WITH TWINS, NONETHELESS, AND YOU'RE THE FUCKING FATHER! I HATE YOU!"

Justin just stared at him. So Michael knew. Who'd fucking told him? Deb? Brian? And when? Was this a recent discovery? And why the fuck did Michael hate him? Sure, Justin had never thought Michael would be thrilled, but hating him?

"What for?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"‘WHAT FOR?!' BECAUSE IT SHOULD'VE BEEN ME, YOU ASSHOLE! IF BRIAN WAS GOING TO GET PREGNANT, I, NOT YOU, SHOULD'VE BEEN THE FATHER! I LOVE HIM! I'D TAKE CARE OF HIM! WHERE THE LIVING FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!"

Ah. It wasn't a bad question, but the answer was private - something between him and Brian alone. Justin put his hands out in a calming gesture - the same gesture he'd been using with Mr. Barkley when something snapped in the crazy mutt's chickpea-sized brain and made him go momentarily postal.

"I'm going to go see Brian," he said soothingly. "I want him to know I'm here. After I see him, we can discuss this further."

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THERE TO DISCUSS? I HAVE NOTHING TO DISCUSS WITH YOU! I ONLY HAVE SOME VERY CHOICE WORDS I WANT TO SAY . . ."

"Okay, that's fine," Justin said, slowly inching around Michael without taking his eyes off him. Who knew when he might pounce? "How about you share them with me a little later. I'm sure you won't have trouble remembering them."

Finally, he was around Michael Cerberus Novotny. He ran up the stairs, calling Brian's name.

"In here," he heard through the bathroom door, followed by a retch.

Slowly, not knowing what to expect, Justin opened the door and went in. Brian was sitting with his arms wrapped around the toilet bowl, wearing nothing but jeans with the fly only half zippered. His hair was lank and the room stank of sweat and vomit.

Justin dropped to his knees.

"Hey," he said shakily.

Brian retched again before he said "hey" back.

Justin reached out tentatively and gently cupped the back of Brian's head with his hand.

"So, you made it past the gatekeeper," Brian said with a weak chuckle.

"Barely," Justin replied, brushing Brian's clammy cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"If there was ever any doubt he was Deb's son, it's been expelled. You can hear him screech from a mile away. He's making me crazy. Please tell me you're moving back in, so I can send him back to the professor and vomit my guts out in peace."

Justin wasn't even aware he was crying until he felt the tear tracks growing cool on his face. "I'm so sorry," he choked. "There are no words for how sorry I am."

Brian snorted. "Sorry's bullshit," he said.

"Not in this case," Justin replied. "My place was by your side, and if fucking made things easier in some way, even if it only made you happy, I should've been glad for you."

Brian shrugged and then retched.

"Hear about Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum?"

Justin smiled and kissed his temple. "At least it's not Larry, Curly and Moe."

Brian laughed. "Well, if you're back, make yourself useful and get me a Goddamn glass of ginger ale and some fucking oyster crackers."

Justin wiped his tears away and blew his nose. "Are you ever able to leave the bathroom?" he asked.

"Sometimes," Brian replied, "but only if I stay near the kitchen sink."

"Oh, baby," Justin murmured against Brian's hair, squeezing his eyes shut on more tears.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Brian said. "Now go get me my ginger ale, and while you're at it, tell Mikey to come here. He and I need to have a little heart-to-heart before he leaves. So far, at least as far as I know, he hasn't told anyone else. I'm pretty sure his mother doesn't know about the twins. God, help me when she finds out. I'll probably need cochlear replacement surgery. All I can say is that she better like changing diapers."

"I love you," Justin said. "I love you so much."

"Oh for God's sake, will you just get me some fucking crackers?"

Justin laughed the first real laugh he's laughed in weeks and kissed Brian's cheek. "As always," he said. "Your wish is my command."

"Damn well better be," Brian replied. "Hop to, Sunshine."

The blue light gleamed on Brian's sweat-slicked chest as he arched his back while all the time moaning encouragement to the man nosily sucking his cock. His legs were spread wide, knees up, toes curling and uncurling.

"Do you want him to stick his finger in your ass?" Justin asked, his lips brushing Brian's ear.

Brian answered with a sex-drenched hum of affirmance. His eyes were closed, but he laid his head back against Justin's chest and smiled at him. Justin was seated behind him, cradling Brian's body between his bent legs.

"Put a finger in his ass," Justin told the guy. "Use lube. He likes things wet."

The man let Brian's rigid cock slip from his mouth for a moment. "My pleasure," he said. He was beautiful. Justin gave him a bright, sunshiny smile. He'd fucked the guy earlier while the guy buried his face in Brian's ass and rimmed him with delicious sloppiness. The whole time Justin was fucking him, he watched Brian on his knees and forearms, his perfect ass canted at just the right angle for the deepest penetration possible.

"Ah!" Brian gasped as he was breached. He spread his legs even wider and began moving his hips, fucking himself on the guy's finger. Justin watched his belly, turned on beyond measure by the knowledge that their two little ones were in there - that he'd put them there when he came inside Brian's body.

The solution seemed so obvious that both of them had marveled that they hadn't thought of it before. Justin wasn't jealous (a jealousy that both of them agreed was probably innate and instinctual and thus unamenable to reason) when he was present while Brian fucked other men. In fact, he loved helping the men make love to Brian's body in a way that gave Brian the most pleasure - it was hotter than a hundred fiery hells.

"Tell him to use the beads," Brian said. "Not the crazy Thai ones, just the regular ones."

The man, of course, could hear Brian's words and didn't need Justin to direct him, but that was part of their play. It was Justin's commands that mattered. Justin reached for the beads on the nightstand and slicked them generously with lube before handing them to the man between Brian's legs.

"Put these in his ass and then pull them out again slowly as you suck him. Just . . . be careful."

Brian laughed breathlessly as he arched his back while the man slid the beads inside him. "You're something else, Sunshine," he said. "It's not like were using the pool-ball-sized beads."

Justin groaned at the pre-pregnancy memory. God, that'd been fucking hot! It was amazing what Brian's body was capable of.

"I need to come," Brian said. "My balls are gonna explode."

"Make him come," Justin told the guy. "Deep throat his cock and start pulling the beads out."

The guy did as directed. Brian arched his back and cried out. "Oh, Fuck!" he panted and then sat up as he came. Justin kept his arms around Brian's waist and pressed his face against Brian's back. He placed one of his palms on Brian's belly and felt Brian's abdominal muscles contract.

"I wonder if they can feel that?" he whispered in Brian's ear when he collapsed bonelessly against Justin's chest.

"Would it upset you if they can?"

Justin thought for a moment as Brian's aftershocks subsided.

"No," he replied. "It's part of what it's all about - they're inside your body. They're going to experience things because of that. It's . . . it's kind of weirdly sexy actually."

Brian huffed out a laugh and sat up. "Time for me to blow this guy and then go to sleep. I'm beat. No second round for me tonight."

He turned to the guy. "I'm going to suck you off," he said, "but I'm not going to swallow so let me know well ahead of time when you're about to shoot."

The guy didn't complain and lay back with legs spread wide in invitation.

"Thanks," Justin murmured before Brian left his arms to position himself for cock sucking. They'd agreed Brian wouldn't swallow while he was pregnant. It just crossed a line for Justin. He didn't want the babies absorbing some random guy's semen. His, of course, was a different story. It was part of what had made them in the first place.

While Brian sucked the guy off, Justin traced little patterns on Brian's back with his finger, making Brian hum with pleasure and the guy gasp. And then he traced the letters of two names:

Brytin and Justine.