"I know he loves me," Justin said, twirling the fork right and then left again. "It's not about that anymore. He's fully committed to this relationship — as committed as he can be. Which is what worries me, I guess. I'm not sure he can be— We're great, it's great. The loft is as much mine as his now. He doesn't trick that much anymore." Justin paused and added with a wry smile, "probably because he's slept with every gay man in Pittsburgh between the ages of sixteen and sixty."

"Mm hmm." Emmett was only half listening, but the half was enough to agree with that. Underneath the table he was studying the new Abercrombie catalog.

The pancake was soggy now, fully soaked in maple syrup and twisting to bits as Justin fidgeted with his fork and plate. The smile dropped away as he continued. "It's not like he's perfect. We have stupid fights all the time. He's a complete control freak. And he enjoys being an asshole sometimes. We're not like some scary pod couple, we have problems. But they're normal problems. It's not amazing all the time — well the sex, maybe —" Emmett snorted, and held up his hands to ward off more information.

A brilliant grin and Justin continued, "Sorry — but it's…oh yeah, it's not perfect, but it's my life. Our life. Which is what's scary. I can't imagine my life without him anymore. Not like when we first met and I was so melodramatic, I'd-rather-die-than-live-without-you and all that bullshit. This is different." The fork was abruptly set down, for emphasis, or because the pancake had now been completely destroyed. "I mean, I love him, but it's even more than that, somehow, like deeper. I really can't separate my life from his. Sometimes I think what if — not what if we broke up, but what if something horrible happened, what if the cancer came back, or he got hit by a car, or lightning or something, I don't know, and I had to go on without him. But I can't get any farther than the horrible thing, because I don't know what I would do. At all. I don't know who I'd be. It's not about him being Brian Kinney anymore, it's just about him being him, and me being me, and us being… us. And how those things aren't separate anymore. They're not discrete entities. They're all mixed up."

Justin picked the fork up again, pushed the scattered fragments of his breakfast around the plate. Two days since they'd fought. Justin had gone to Daphne's for a while, had come back to go to bed. They didn't talk. In the morning, Brian left for work early and stayed late. They exchanged words that evening, because Lindsay had called and left a message about that weekend, and plans needed to be solidified and there was a business dinner next Wednesday and Justin's suit needed to be cleaned. Nothing real, nothing important. Justin was crawling out of his skin with the need to exchange real words.

"The thing is, I'm not sure it's the same for Brian," Justin admitted. "Like I said, he loves me. But I think if I — if something happened to me — he would keep going. I'd want him to keep going, of course. And in reality, I guess I would too. But it's different somehow. I'm not sure I'm as essential to his reality as he is to mine. And that scares me. And I'm not sure I can be. Which is what I was trying to say before. I don't know if Brian is capable of that kind of commitment. Not that he's holding something back from me — but I've been reading a lot of psychology in the last year, and you know, if you're not responded to when you're a baby, not even a kid, but a really little baby, if you don't have a parent that picks you up when you cry and makes stupid baby noises at you — well, you might not even be able to connect to yourself when you grow up, much less other people. And Brian's family — well, there was not a lot of love in that household. So that's just the foundation. He might not be psychologically capable of the kind of intimacy that I exist on. And then on top of that, he's spent the whole rest of his life building up walls and making himself self-sufficient and perfect. When he was a kid, he knew that the only way to get out of his hellhole of a life was to be perfect — get good grades, be athletic, be beautiful. That's how he escaped. And I think some part of him believes that if he's not perfect, he'll go back to that. He'll be rejected, returned to sender. And the times when we need each other the most, when one person is not enough on their own, are the times when no one can be perfect. And as many times as I tell him and show him that it doesn't matter, I'm not going to reject him, I'm not sure he believes it. I don't know if he ever will, or can. And I know that I can't lose him, and I can't go through something like the bashing, or his cancer, without him again. I rely on him too much. He's too much a part of me now."

Emmett knew that a pause meant he should say something, and he'd heard Justin say Brian was a part of him. He responded in the only way possible: "Oh well, that's nice honey."

"Daddy, where's Justin?" The question was innocent, but it still made Brian twitch.

"Fu—uh, I don't know Sonny Boy. Are you really going to eat that?" In answer Gus grinned and took a huge bite of his corn dog. Brian rolled his eyes to see Gus smile even bigger, exaggerating his chewing.

Mouth still full of god knows what, Gus said firmly, "Justin said we—"

"That's disgusting. Don't talk with your mouth full." Gus's eye roll was almost identical to his father's and Brian turned his attention to the baseball game to avoid noting the comparison.

Gus swallowed with a big gulping sound and said very clearly, "Justin said we would all go out together."

"He said that, huh?" Fuck Justin and his stupid promises. He'd taken off that morning muttering something about going to the diner. Brian studied the ass of the third baseman and lied. Fuck Justin for making him lie to his son. "Well, turned out he had to work. Sorry kiddo."

"But you said you don't know where he is."

Dammit, he hated it when people called him on shit. Especially his son. When had Gus gotten smart? "He's working — painting. I don't know where he went to do that. What, am I not enough for you?"

"Nooooo. But you and Justin are fun together too. And you're grumpy."

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Why don't you just eat your corndog Gus?"

"I will. But you are grumpy. Is it because Justin had to work?"

"No."

"Justin's art is very important," Gus said seriously, causing Brian to blink and re-evaluate.

"It is?"

"I want to be an artist just like Justin when I grow up. And a baseball player. And a race car driver."

"And you can be all three Sonny Boy. At the same time," Brian assured him blithely. He had this parent thing down — just tell the kid they could do whatever they wanted if they worked hard enough, and sit back and relax while they got to it. Or something like that. At least they were off the subject of Justin.

"Justin said he would teach me about art, and let me use his good brushes and stuff when I'm older. And I was thinking Mel could teach me baseball, and you could teach me to drive." Gus was all innocent enthusiasm, and Brian had to wonder how he'd got stuck with teaching the kid to drive.

"Sonny Boy, much as I love you, you're not driving the 'Vette."

"But Dad, if I want to be a race car driver, I'll need something really fast. And you drive really good!"

"Huh. Flattery will get you… well, everywhere." Shit, Gus was already talking about driving. Even though he had a good ten years to go, the fact that he was old enough to consider it now meant that Brian was — no, better not to think about it. Brian squinted at the field and tried to change the subject. "Why don't you get your mom to let you use her brushes or whatever?"

"Well I figured if Justin teaches me, then I'll have something to learn with all of my Other Parents. I see Mom all the time." The blasé tone of this final statement was irresistible, and Brian smiled, trying not to be worried by the Other Parent comment. Since when was Justin one of Gus's parents? "Dad, do you ever want to spend time with people besides Justin?"

What a fucking question. Brian considered it from all lights — the backroom light, those florescent lights they always put in bathrooms, the light in the alley behind— Maybe not the best way to answer this question. Annoyed as he was by the whole conversation, Brian decided diplomacy was the best policy. "I like spending time with you, Sonny Boy. With or without Justin. And look, here we are, beautiful day, beautiful baseball players—"

"Dad!"

"I mean, really good baseball players to, uh, cheer on, and just me and my son. What more could I want?" Brian took a sip of his beer, the aftertaste drawing a groan.

"Jim Bean?" Gus suggested.

"That's my boy." Brian grinned tightly and ruffled his son's hair. Disaster averted. Felt like he was always averting disasters recently. Or not averting them and suffering the consequences. He and Justin hadn't fucked in two days. Granted, he had gone and got his dick sucked at Babylon the night before, but it was not the same. And Justin was pouting like a muncher who'd been deprived of pussy. What the fuck did he want? Brian to get on his knees and swear to god that next time one of them got fucked up, he'd be a good and faithful partner who would live at the hospital beside Justin's bed? That was pointless and stupid. Brian preferred not to imagine the possibility at all, but even if he did — it was just imagination. He wasn't promising anything he didn't know for sure he could do. Justin should know by now that it wasn't about the words anyway, they were bullshit. It was about actions. So okay, Brian's actions in the past had been kind of shitty, but things were different now. He was fucking different. Justin, of all people, should know that. Justin did know that. So what the fuck was the problem?

"Are you okay Daddy?" Gus asked. Brian's fingers were closed above the bridge of his nose, trying to fend off his oncoming headache. He hadn't even noticed. The fingers dropped.

"I'm fine Sonny Boy."

"Are you sure? We can go home if you need to."

"You really do have two lesbians for parents," Brian muttered under his breath. "No, no, we just got here. What's the score again?"

"3 to 1." Gus's tone was so condescending that Brian had to smile. Genes were obviously telling, regardless of upbringing.

The sound of water attacking tile greeted Justin when he entered the loft. A familiar sound, slightly off because only one body was there as a blockade. He smiled, remembering when he bragged to Daphne that they took showers together, to conserve water. And then walked in to find Brian fucking someone else on the couch. Well he was the only one that had been fucked on the new couch he thought with grim amusement. Kind of an accomplishment, if you examined it in a certain light.

Justin deposited his bag on the floor by the kitchen and drifted over to poke at the papers spread across the table. Brian was such a neat freak, he rarely left things lying around, it must be work — no, there was Justin's name. He frowned, scanning the first page. Amid all the legal jargon, the papers contained a guarantee: if anything happened to Brian, Justin would be the first person notified. A letter to a doctor, signed by Brian, requesting that the doctor notify Justin of any developments with Brian's health. An offer of peace, of security.

Justin didn't notice the shower ending. "Well, are you going to sign it?" Brian asked, scrubbing a hand through his wet hair.

"No." Justin was almost surprised to hear his own answer, but he understood the second after, looking up to see Brian's expression. Surprised, vulnerable for a second. A rejected offer.

"Why the hell not?" Brian's towel was slipping off his hips, and Justin abruptly remembered that they hadn't had sex in two days. An eternity. He attempted to school his thoughts, remember why not.

"Because we don't have locks on our doors," Justin said. Brian cocked an eyebrow and Justin ran a hand up the back of his neck, tugged at hair to remind him that he was a self, with a body, a separate being. "Brian, I am… touched, to be incredibly sappy, that you would do this for me." A snort of derision greeted his words, but Justin ignored it. "I appreciate the offer. A lot. But I don't want to force myself into your hospital room. I don't want your doctor to call and tell me something's wrong. I want you to call and tell me. This," he waved the paper in his hand, "is placing restrictions on us, its saying we'll be there for each other because we have to be. This binds us to each other by law. I want us to be bound by — everything else." Justin set the paper down and looked up, catching Brian's eyes. His partner gazed back, not attempting escape. "I think we are. Signing this is like saying what we have isn't enough. It's — I'm sorry, but it's true — sort of a cop out. You don't have to make the decision to tell me if something's wrong, you've delegated that responsibility. And I don't want our relationship to be delegated."

"You're really fucking hard to please," Brian commented. Justin shook his head slowly, smile spreading.

"You happen to know that's not factually true." The tongue went into the cheek, and Justin felt a rush of relief, though he wasn't sure why. He hadn't actually won any assurance of anything — but at least Brian wasn't taking his refusal to sign as a rejection.

"I'm having trouble remembering," Brian said. "It's been a while."

"What would you say… 44 hours? 46?" Justin guessed, head tilted to the side. Brian did not look amused. Then Brian dropped his towel and Justin stopped looking at his face.

"Come here," Brian ordered huskily. Justin did not hesitate, closing the distance between them in a split second. His hand slid down Brian's faintly moist hip, slipping across his pelvic bone as Brian tilted his chin up. Their mouths crashed, a sharp reclamation. Brian's hips thrust forward, his rising cock meeting the front of Justin's jeans. A small sigh slipped from Justin's mouth to Brian's tongue and then their lips parted, Justin pulling downward. Brian grabbed him, fingers around his arm. Surprised, Justin looked up and met Brian's eyes, their intensity startling and welcome.

Brian didn't say anything, merely slipped his hand up to grip the back of Justin's neck and drew him back for another kiss, soft and deep, one of his love-kisses — that was how Justin thought of them. The ones that meant what Brian could not say. Justin returned the kiss wholeheartedly, his body warming, desperate to be naked with Brian, to exist skin to skin, one entity. It had been a long time since they'd gone 46, or even 44, hours without having sex. Since L.A.? That weekend when Gus came to stay? No, in the middle of the night, Brian had rolled onto him, one hand slipping over his mouth as he drove inside, silent and inescapable.

"Hey, pay attention," Brian said, tugging at Justin's hair. Justin smiled, his hand traveling downward to cup Brian's balls.

"I'm paying attention. I was just thinking — it's been so long, I almost feel like a virgin again. Scared—"

"You weren't scared."

Justin allowed that with a widening of smile, shift into a grin. "—unsure, naïve, stupid—"

"—hot as hell," Brian finished, head falling back a little as Justin's expert fingers stroked his balls, fingertips feather soft.

"Yeah. That's how I feel right now," Justin stated. The hot as hell part was true — the rest of it was far from. He barely remembered who that kid was, who he had been. All he remembered was Brian. Brian showing off with the water. Brian offering him drugs. Brian claiming him. Inside him.

"So are you cumming, or going, or cumming and then going?"

"Cumming and staying, thanks for the offer," Justin replied, only a little snappily. He released Brian's balls, bringing his arms up around his partner's neck, hanging on him. He wasn't going anywhere, despite the last few days. Despite the offer he'd just refused. Because of it. He knew something like that would chafe Brian — just a little, but it might grow over time. And everything Justin said was true. They didn't need documents. Or they shouldn't.

"You are thinking way too fucking much," Brian said.

"So stop me."

A demand Brian was more than willing to comply with. He was on his knees in seconds, his fingers nimbly unbuckling Justin's pants as he caressed his dick through the fabric. The obstacle was quickly gone, followed by Justin's underwear, a pile on the floor, and Brian was claiming again, his perfect lips following his tongue across the head of Justin's cock. Thought was certainly far away. Justin clutched at Brian's hair to stay upright, fingers sliding over the short silk. This was a rare treat; Brian was happy to reciprocate, but never on his knees, and usually just fucked. Justin tried to remember why this didn't happen more as the expert took a moment to wet a finger with a mixture of spit and pre-cum and slid it between Justin's legs. How did Brian get so fucking good at this when he did it so rarely — never in public anymore, or with anyone but Justin. The question came and went quickly as Brian swallowed his cock while simultaneously thrusting a finger into his ass. "Fuck!" Justin yelled, eyes squeezing closed as his body shook with the sensation. In and out, deep into an unbelievable warmth, contracting tight tunnel. Justin forced his eyes open as Brian's finger hit its spot. His cock spasmed in response, as Brian pulled back from his mouth and hand. The sight was almost as breathtaking as the electric shocks shooting up through Justin's body. Brian was completely intent on his chosen task, no room for pretense, a nakedness as compelling as his uncovered limbs. How could he doubt this man? Justin thought, and flew into pieces.