Some nights, he woke with a sudden craving for ice cream, or a bagel with cream cheese, or cereal. Usually cereal. He’d chew as quietly as he could, but sometimes he’d look up to see Brian making his way down to the kitchen, and then he’d fill a second bowl with Cheerios or Special K or sometimes even Count Chocula, if they’d been feeling particularly playful last shopping day, and they’d eat together, standing up at the island. Sometimes, afterwards, in bed, they’d kiss, and touch, and fuck, slow and smooth, their bodies just outlines in the dark. But most times, Brian would flop onto his back and close his eyes, already halfway asleep, and Justin would kiss his shoulder or his elbow or whatever body part was closest, and quickly follow him.

Some nights, it was the nightmares that woke him. Vague images that flashed through his mind. Chris Hobbes, leering in the shadows. Blood swirling down a concrete drain. A white room, humming with unfamiliar bleeps and blips, and Justin, searching for the door, knowing that something was coming for him, some thing, and he had to get out, get away. He’d wake then, twitching and moaning, and there would be Brian, pulling him into the circle of his arms, stroking his hair, murmuring words of comfort until he could sleep again.

Some nights, like this night, Justin woke because he has a bladder the size of a snow pea.

Justin carefully disentangled himself from Brian, inwardly cursing the four beers he’d drank earlier, and padded softly to the bathroom to take care of business. Crept quietly back into bed, and settled on his back, staring at the ceiling. Wide awake, he lay in the dark, and let his mind replay the events of the night like a movie he had seen and loved.

“I want you safe,” Brian had said. With all the implications that entailed. Justin remembered the discussions they’d had all too well. Lectures on who to fuck, when to fuck, when not to fuck. Reminders never to go with anyone he didn’t know -- a rule he’d broken only once, with Kip. And condoms. Always condoms. Justin had only to look on his own doorstep, remember the medicine chest crammed with pill bottles, close his eyes and see the look on Vic’s face as he downed pill number 23 of the day with many more to come, to know why Brian was so adamant about condoms.

“I want you around for a long time,” Brian had said. Justin smiled in the dark. Brian had filled him then, the sharp bite of entry, and his breath had caught in his throat as Brian pushed inside, as it always did, as it always would. The sex had been slow and gentle, Brian’s body covering his until it felt like Brian’s flesh was his flesh, Brian’s heartbeat his heartbeat, Brian’s breath his own.

Justin had grasped Brian’s thigh when he tried to separate their bodies. Asked him to stay. Stay inside. Justin needed them to stay together.

The last thing he remembered was the press of Brian’s hand against his underneath the pillow.

Justin drew in a breath. He knew that Brian was right. Now, now, they needed the condoms. But he was going to be around for a long time. He wasn’t going anywhere. And he knew that someday, when all of Brian’s wild oats were sown, and his as well, there would be no barriers between them.

“Justin,” Brian mumbled, “stop thinking.”

Justin turned his head, grinning sheepishly, but Brian’s eyes were closed. So he slithered across the bed and pressed his lips to Brian’s chest, and ducked beneath the arm Brian raised, and felt the steady beat of Brian’s heart against his cheek.