All this week, upon waking, Justin had been going outside (it was getting cooler, but wasn't yet cold), laying out a little mat Brian had purchased him at the General Goods store on Main Street in town (no lie; there really was such a store), and stretching on it in full view of the lake and the surrounding mountains. Justin was worried that he would get varicose veins and was hoping that regular stretching and exercise would help prevent them. He had also been propping up his legs as often as possible and sleeping on his left side. According to a pregnancy Web site Justin had found (Justin and Brian made regular visits to the library in town to use its computers to surf the Internet), the largest vein in his body was on his right side, so sleeping on his left decreased pressure on this vein. Brian was quick to point out that, according to a medical study he'd read, regular stretching and exercise did nothing to prevent or treat varicose veins. Yet he had still bought Justin the mat, knowing what Justin wanted it for. That was so Brian. He'd said the nurse's prediction (about the baby's sex) and Marilyn's tarot reading were crap, but then, he'd helped Justin's pick out a girl's name and had even started referring to the baby by it and had moved them up to Vermont immediately after Marilyn suggested that they get out of town. Every day, Justin thanked all that's good that they had listened to Mysterious Marilyn. He'd never been happier. He loved their little cabin with its picturesque view. And as much as Brian grumbled, Justin knew Brian loved it, too.

So every morning this week, immediately after waking, Justin had been stretching for 15 minutes. That is, until the last. On Sunday, Justin woke up crying. Sobbing would actually be a more accurate description. At the time, Brian was using the prehistoric method of making coffee.

[Justin had found an old camping percolator and, after trying it out on a fire in the fireplace, decided that that was the only way to drink coffee. So despite Brian's deep desire to purchase a plug-in Mr. Coffee or the like, he begrudgingly made coffee the prehistoric way every morning, since Justin always slept later. Brian had started to think that Justin did so to avoid the hassle of making a fire, but Justin hotly denied it.]

So when Justin awoke, Brian was just reaching for the percolator, which was hanging on an iron hook at the top of the fireplace. He was so startled by Justin's sudden sobbing jag (and, though he'd probably rather not admit it, so desperate to get to Justin's side) that he nearly dropped it. Thankfully, he managed to set it on the kitchen table before heading toward the bed, oven mitts still on his hands.

Upon reaching the bed, Brian asked, his voice all urgency and concern, "Sunshine, what's wrong?"

Justin cracked a little smile when he saw the oven mitts. Brian followed the line of his gaze, and, then, his eyes falling on the pink checked oven mitts (which, he'd be quick to point out, had come with the cabin), Brian frowned and pulled them off, tossing the offensive items onto a nearby chair (and even pulling a flowery blue towel over them; the towel wasn't much better, but at least it wasn't pink. Brian loathed pink).

Once the distraction was gone, Justin started sniffling again. Brian resumed his questioning. "Are you hurt? Is Cleo okay?"

Justin nodded, but continued to sniffle. Brian clenched a fist and counted to ten (he was working on his patience. The pregnancy, more particularly the pregnancy hormones, had been testing it at every turn for just over five months). Then he asked, his voice even now, "Then what's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?"

More nodding and sniffling.

More clenching and counting.

"What was it about?"

Brian smiled a little. The look of pure misery on Justin's face as he recalled the dream (as cruel as it might sound to think that) was fucking adorable. In the last few weeks, Brian had become increasingly certain that a little girl, perhaps with Justin's eyes or hair and most definitely with his Sunshine smile, would soon control him, as Justin did, with a smile or a frown, or damp eyes and a look of abject misery. As it was, Brian would make coffee using the prehistoric method for the rest of his life (okay, maybe a year or two), if it would mean that Justin would flash him a genuine smile (and stop crying; he really hated to see the little twat cry; it always made his chest unbearably tight).

Through more tears and sniffles, Justin managed to relate, "We had just gotten sort of married. I was so happy. We were walking and holding hands and then you pulled me into your arms and kissed me." Justin sighed. "It was such an incredible kiss. And it felt so real! I can still remember." Justin's face clouded over, and he started sniffling again. "But then suddenly we were in a little cabin, smaller than this one, with no furniture or anything. Some guy, I think the one from the park that day, he was lying on the floor. He looked sick. You kneeled down. It looked like you were checking on him, but then…then…"

More sniffling.

"You started sucking his dick! Right in front of me!"

Brian looked down and closed his eyes for a moment. He was trying so desperately not to laugh. Unfortunately, Justin was watching Brian very closely, with eagle eyes. So he saw his smile before Brian could hide it. He pushed Brian, hard. "You asshole! It's not funny!"

Brian looked up, this time not even trying to hide his laughter. "Are you talking about that grubby violinist?"

Justin, eyes still dark with anger, nodded.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me! I wouldn't suck his dick with Mikey's mouth, let alone mine. He was filthy and wearing thrift-store clothes…and what the fuck was up with that critter on his face? It looked like a drowned rat."

Justin was trying to stay mad (Brian fooling around with someone else in front of him was seriously fucked up), but by the time Brian got to asking about the goti, he was laughing so hard he could barely form words, so Justin couldn't help but laugh, too.

When Brian recovered, he looked at Justin coldly and said, "In fact, I should be pissed at you."

Justin's eyes widened. "Me? What did I do?"

"Picturing me with a troll, and not just any troll, but a hairy smelly beggar? That's some fucked up shit, Sunshine."

"I…uh…"

"See…indefensible. Not to mention that you clearly think I'm a liar."

Justin just gaped at Brian. "What?"

"I promised not to trick. If you're dreaming about me breaking that promise, which you should know I would never do…"

Justin cut him off with a searing kiss. After a few moments, Justin pulled back, breathless, and whispered huskily, "I know you would never break a promise. I'm sorry."

Brian bit back a smile. He was pretty impressed with himself (getting Justin to apologize for something he couldn't help). Unfortunately, eagle-eyed Justin caught the smile. He shook his head and blushed a little. He pushed Brian again. "You asshole."

Brian chuckled. He leaned in, nudged Justin's nose, and kissed his lips gently. Then he breathed, "But I'm your asshole and you love me."

Justin smiled. Then he replied softly, "Yeah, I really do" and pulled him down for another searing kiss.