At noon on a Wednesday afternoon in June, I stood in the cereal aisle of a grocery store in Pittsburgh, trying to make my selection from the vast array of options, while simultaneously trying to ignore the loud sighs that were occasionally coming from my husband. He idly rolled himself back and forth -- fidgeting -- also occasionally bumping into me, completely on purpose, I was sure.

“Would you just stop?” I said, exasperated, after about the sixth time the toe of his shoe hit my calf.

“Hurry the fuck up and I will. It seriously doesn't take this long to choose a cereal.”

“It does when there are this many options. I knew we should have gone to Trader Joe's.”

“It's across town. Although with the time it's taking you to just choose a fucking cereal, we probably could have already been there and back.”

“Hardy har har. You're hilarious,” I deadpanned, rolling my eyes.

“Seriously, you have about thirty more seconds and then I'm picking for you. Is this a brain injury thing, or are you just being a pain in the ass?”

I knew Brian was joking, but I was also sure that anyone else within earshot probably thought he was the worst person in the world, even before I looked up to see a woman watching us out of the corner of her eye, her hand pausing briefly mid-reach. And it kind of was a brain injury thing, but not completely. We were on vacation; I wanted a good cereal.

I grabbed a box of Peanut Butter Crunch and stuck it in the shopping basket Brian had sitting on his lap, which already contained all of his fruits and vegetables, a dozen eggs, a block of cheddar cheese and a carton of almond milk, along with coffee and creamer. We mostly just needed breakfast food, as we usually ordered takeout for lunch and dinner, if we weren't eating out. Over the past couple of years, since Brian bought me a house in Pittsburgh for our anniversary, we'd been coming home a little more often, and we had a pretty good system worked out. It was comfortable, and it worked well for us.

“Finally,” Brian said, already turning to leave the aisle.

“I'll remember that the next time you spend five minutes picking the perfect green apples,” I teased, catching up to him and giving him a light shove.

“It takes time to find perfection,” he smirked, rounding the corner to go toward the cash registers.

Once he’d chosen a line and placed the basket on the conveyor belt, I reached out and placed my hands on his shoulders, massaging them briefly. “I guess that explains why it took us so long to finally get married, huh?”

Brian didn’t say anything; he just looked over his shoulder at me and smiled -- a genuine smile this time, not a smirk -- then laid his left hand over my right. In a way, my right hand was a reminder of so much of what we’d been through together, between the bashing and my accident. Of course, that didn’t count Brian’s cancer and his own car accident, or any of the other small events in our lives that had tried to tear us apart but only served to bring us closer together. For some reason, being in Pittsburgh always got me thinking about all of the ways in which our lives had changed over the years, and all of the things that added up to make us into who we eventually became -- the version of us that has been married for close to twelve years now.

We finished checking out, picked up our bags and went out to the car -- some sporty Infiniti thing Brian had bought a few months back so he wouldn’t have to deal with car rental counters and inconsistent policies every time we came to the Pitts. He decided to keep it in the garage, and “assigned” Michael to drive it to the comic book store once a week so it wouldn’t just be sitting there unused. However, he’d still teased Michael a fair amount about making sure no one spray painted “faggot” on the side. I put the groceries in the trunk while Brian got himself into the car, then we drove back “home” -- to our Pittsburgh home.

When we got back to the house, I stocked our empty fridge with our purchases while Brian turned on the television and started looking for something to watch on Netflix. Normally, my mom would stock our fridge for us before we ever arrived, except that the last few times we'd visited, we had taken to arriving a day or two early without telling anyone. It turned into our quiet time to spend with each other, away from the pressures of work and the hustle and bustle of the city.

It was kind of nice to order some shrimp pad thai and way too many spring rolls via an app and let someone else take care of bringing it to us, while we lounged in the living room, just enjoying each other's company. And that was exactly what we did that night -- eating too much takeout and lying on the sofa, our bodies always touching in some way. We’d always been physical -- tactile -- and that was one aspect of our relationship that had not changed at all.

“You think we can make it another day before anyone knows we’re here?” Brian said softly, his voice still just a touch raspy from the cold he’d caught that turned into bronchitis last month and almost refused to let go. It finally had though, without any impact to our plans to travel to Toronto for Gus’ graduation, although we did have to alter our plans for my birthday, mostly at my insistence, because he was way too sick to go out dancing at a jazz club, even though he claimed he was fine. That was another thing that hadn’t changed -- Brian’s refusal to be anything but “fine.” I didn’t mind the change of plans though. So long as I was with Brian, I didn’t care where we were or what we did.

“Maybe,” I said, enjoying the feeling of his fingers playing with my hair.

“Good. I could use more of this quiet.”

I let a few seconds pass, just feeling his breath move in and out in the silence, before I said, “Me too,” and let my head come to rest on Brian’s shoulder as my eyes slipped closed.

Brian woke me up a little while later with a kiss, whispering in my ear, “Let’s go to bed.”

Of course, going to bed meant taking a shower -- a shared one that involved a blowjob and a whole lot of kissing, our tongues pushing into one another’s mouths and sucking on each other’s lips, and trails of softer, gentler kisses down our jaws, necks, and collarbones. But our physical intimacy didn’t end when we turned the water off -- we kept going, all the way into our bedroom and our bed, where we ultimately fell asleep in each other’s arms.

I woke Brian up in the morning by kissing my way up his spine, causing him to stir and let out a soft moan as his eyes fluttered open and he looked at me and smiled.

“Morning,” I whispered, continuing to run my fingers lightly over his back.

Brian pressed his hand into the mattress to push himself over onto his side, and I moved to trailing my fingers lightly over his bicep instead. “Morning,” he replied, his hazel eyes studying mine at close distance. What I noticed most, though, was that his eyes were smiling.

“Sleep well?”

“I always do when I’m with you.”

I could think of more than a few times when he hadn’t slept well with me, but I appreciated the sentiment nonetheless, so I didn’t argue. It took us a while to force ourselves out of bed, but eventually we had to -- nature calling, and all. While Brian was in the bathroom doing everything he needed to do, I went into the kitchen and started making us breakfast. I made his omelet a little bit fancier by grating some of the cheddar cheese I’d bought for myself to have as a snack, now that I’d finally gotten him over his irrational fear of fat. He’d even let me use whole eggs now on a regular basis, and he did too when he made his own breakfast. Overall, his food rules now were a little less obsessive and a little more sensible -- centering more on keeping his body healthy, rather than on looking good on the dance floor at Babylon.

He came into the kitchen just as I was putting the plates on the table -- his omelet with veggies and cheese, and my plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit.

"Looks good," he said, giving me a kiss as I sat down in my chair, before he took his own place at the table. Then, after he'd taken a bite, he added, "My compliments to the chef."

I could feel myself blushing, and I brought my left hand up to scratch nervously behind my ear. How Brian still has the power to make me blush like a schoolgirl with a crush after all these years, I'll never know. "It's nothing fancy," I said.

"Doesn't have to be." Brian shrugged.

And wasn't that the truth when it came to so much of our lives now? Sure, there have always been plenty of fancy things and there always will be -- I am married to Brian Kinney, after all -- but so much of what the two of us enjoy now is just simple. Subtle and understated, but more than enough to keep us both satisfied.

Once we'd finished our breakfast, we took our coffee out to the front porch -- one of our favorite things to do when we’re in town and the weather's nice. Of course, Brian would have been smoking pot if I would have let him, but doing it on the front porch seemed a little too risky, even for Brian, given that we weren't in New York, where Brian's right to use cannabis was protected and totally legal. It's not that I wouldn't let him use it in Pittsburgh -- I know how much it helps him -- but smoking on the front porch was just asking for trouble.

So, he'd have to make do with coffee for now.

He reached over and played with my hair as we sat and just enjoyed the sounds of the suburbs, which were so much different from the sounds of the city.

"It's so quiet out here," Brian said, as if he could read my thoughts. "I kind of like it."

I laughed because I couldn't help myself. "Didn't you once tell me that if you ever wanted to move out of the city, I should just shoot you right then and put you out of your misery because you'd lost your mind? That the laid-back country life would never be for you?"

"Like you're one to talk," he chuckled. "You're the one of us who never sits down. And I wouldn’t exactly call this ‘country life.’”

“Hey, Ted told me all about your little soliloquy, railing against buying a house in the suburbs and having barbecues in the backyard. I seem to remember that marriage was also included on the list of things you’d never do,” I teased.

“Well, things change.” Brian’s voice was suddenly quiet, and he stared into his coffee cup. Shit, I thought to myself. I hadn’t meant it that way.

“I know,” I said, reaching over to link my fingers with his, hoping I could turn it around and get back the light mood we’d both had earlier. “I’m glad they did.”

Brian looked up at me for a second, long enough for me to see that his eyes were dark, which confirmed I’d hit a nerve, but before I could apologize, he was.

“Sorry,” he said, looking down again.

“Don’t be. I know this is a hard time for you.” There was only about a week to go before the anniversary of Brian’s accident, which was always a time when his mood could be strange and he might take things personally that he wouldn’t at any other time. I squeezed his hand and let it go. “I’m sorry; I was just teasing.”

Brian stared into his mug for a few more seconds, then looked up at me and pulled his lips into his mouth briefly. “I know.” He paused and looked past our small front lawn, toward the house across the street where a nice lesbian couple lived with their three children and two dogs. “You’d think after thirteen years it’d get easier, but it really doesn’t. It still makes me wonder what if. And I know where that road leads, but still, I wonder.”

“What’s that you’re always telling me? That you can’t do that because nothing will change? Your birthday’s in a few days -- let’s concentrate on that.”

“If you’re trying to cheer me up by reminding me I’m about to turn another year older, maybe you don’t know me as well as I thought.” Now, Brian was smirking, and I knew we were in the clear.

“Hey, at least you’re not turning 50 yet.” I grinned, fully expecting the playful shove that came next.

“Twat,” Brian muttered, grinning back at me as he drained the last drops of coffee from his mug. “I told Michael if he wanted to have cake at dinner on Sunday, it was fine, but nothing else. It’s not a fucking birthday party.”

I was well-acquainted enough with Michael to know that I would be surprised if he held up his end of that bargain, but that was between him and Brian. I had just leaned over to place my own empty mug on the porch railing when I saw Ben’s car come around the corner and pull up in front of our house, with Michael in the passenger seat.

“Shit,” I said. “I think we’ve been found out.”

"What are you two doing here already?" Michael called as he opened the door and stepped out of the car. "I didn't think you were coming in until tomorrow."

Brian shrugged. "Had some extra time," he said. "Thought we'd go ahead and come in early." Actually, it had been planned that way, but I knew he'd never tell Michael that.

"Well, I was coming by to make sure the air conditioning was on, since it's been so hot already," Michael said, as he and Ben made their way up our front walk. "And I thought I'd check on your plants." He gestured toward the flowers that surrounded the single tree in our small front yard.

"Michael Novotny, master gardener," Brian said, his voice dripping with that ever-so-familiar note of sarcasm.

"Hey, some of us like that kind of thing. More than just planting seed in some hole." Michael rolled his eyes, obviously remembering Brian's uncouth commentary at their dinner party years ago, when they'd first moved to the neighborhood. "Anyway, since you're already here, do you two have plans tonight? Ben and I were going to have some of the neighbors over to play cards--"

"I'm not so sure that's Brian's thing," Ben interrupted, laying his hand on Michael's shoulder. He wasn't wrong, and I was sure Brian was thankful Ben had cut Michael off before he could babble on anymore about their imitation heterosexual neighbors and their card games and dinner parties. Clearly, nothing had changed in gay suburbia in the past decade and a half.

"As titillating as the idea of playing bridge with Eli and Monty is," Brian said, "Justin and I will be otherwise… indisposed."

"I'm sure you will be," Michael laughed. "Christ, you two never do get enough, do you?"

"Try to contain your jealousy, Mikey." Brian smirked at Michael.

"Who said I was jealous? Ben and I happen to have a very satisfying--"

"Please, spare me the details of your and the professor's many rolls in the hay," Brian interrupted, already gathering up our coffee mugs and turning to go back in the house, leaving me on the porch with Ben and Michael, who was shaking his head and smiling.

“He never did like hearing about my sex life,” Michael said, chuckling. “Nevermind the fact that he’d brag to me about his every night of the week.”

When Brian came back out a few seconds later, the topic of conversation had shifted to art and the fledgling idea Michael and I had to revive “Rage,” though I wasn’t sure when I was going to find time to work on it, between my teaching job and my artwork. I did still have two months of summer break left, though, and with all that had been going on in the world for the past couple of years, Michael and I felt like we had plenty of important stories to tell.

Not long after that, Ben started to gently tug Michael back in the direction of the car, saying he needed to get to campus, and reminding Michael that he needed to get to the comic book store because it was almost time to open.

“We’ll see you Sunday,” Michael said, after he’d given Brian a hug and a kiss. “And if you change your mind about tonight--”

“I promise to let you know if I’m stricken with the sudden urge to play cards and eat canapes with the Stepford Fags.”

Michael rolled his eyes again and said, “Okay, you do that,” as Ben waved goodbye to Brian and I and they both got back into the car and pulled away.

“It might be fun, you know,” I said innocently. Personally, I didn’t have anything against being social with the neighbors, but I knew that wasn’t what we came to town early for, so I was really just messing with Brian.

“What, discussing kids and baseball practice and dance lessons and a shitload of other crap that will never, ever be our lives?”

“I’m sure that’s not all they talk about.”

“Trust me, it’s all they talk about. I went to one of their dinner parties a few months ago when I was in town for a meeting, and I wanted to slit my fucking wrists.”

“That would have been a tad dramatic, don’t you think?”

“It’s like they don’t have lives outside of their fucking offspring,” Brian said, totally ignoring my question. “I mean, Rob and Adam have kids, but they also have lives.”

I also thought Brian was a little bit prejudiced against Eli and Monty and the other gay couples on Ben and Michael’s block, even though we’d basically joined them when he bought this house. I’ve often wondered if, on some level, he blames them for the year or so Brian and Michael spent fighting about marriage and imitation heterosexuality. But I let it go, chalking it up to the strange mood I’d put Brian in a few minutes earlier and not really wanting to push his buttons any more.

For the next couple of days, Brian’s odd behavior continued, with his mood swinging from basically normal to almost dark from one moment to the next. That part wasn’t unusual; it happened around this time of year, pretty much every year, and I knew that. But he also couldn’t keep his hands off of me -- playing with my hair and running his hands over my arm and my shoulder as we sat together and watched Netflix, and seeming like he had to be touching me all the time. He was almost… clingy, which wasn’t Brian-like at all, so I hesitated to even think of it that way, but that was really what it seemed like at the time. I also kept getting the feeling there was something going on inside his head that he wasn’t sharing with me. I wanted to know what it was, but I didn’t want to ask, because I knew that if he wanted me to know or if I needed to know, he’d tell me, and I had to trust that. I had to let him navigate this time in his own way and just follow his lead, because trying to push him in any particular direction would likely end badly. I was just along for the ride.

So on Saturday night, when Brian suddenly said he wanted to go to Babylon, that was exactly what we did, even though I had no idea why he wanted to go. We hadn’t been to the club just to go dancing in a couple of years; it wasn’t our scene anymore. In fact, it was so far from our scene that neither of us really had “club clothes” anymore, but jeans and a close-fitting top seemed to be an okay way to go, since it wasn’t like we were trolling for men anyhow.

But when we got there, I started wondering if perhaps we were trolling for men, or if Brian was, at least, because it didn’t seem like he was there to dance, but rather that he was just there to drink and watch the crowd. I felt like I saw a shadow of the old Brian as he sat by the bar, surveying his kingdom much like he used to do from the catwalk above our heads. I kept noticing his gaze repeatedly falling on a 20-something man with dark hair and tight, black jeans that made his ass look delicious, who spent a lot of time in the middle of the dance floor with at least two or three different guys courting him at a time, each one every bit as hot as he was. He had this swagger about him that looked so familiar, and he oozed confidence from every pore. He was in and out of the back room several times throughout the evening, just like Brian always was back when we first got together.

Brian kept watching him, then I noticed his gaze turn upward for a few seconds, toward the corner above the back hallway where his office was, then back down to the dance floor and the object of his scrutiny. He did that at least a couple more times, looking back and forth, before asking the bartender for another shot of Jim Beam and downing it. All the while, I kept trying to read Brian -- trying to figure out what was really going on beneath the surface -- although I felt like I was failing miserably at it. I wasn’t sure what he’d come here for or what he wanted to do, but I did see him keep glancing up at the dark-tinted one-way windows of his office with a strange look in his eyes. Maybe he was tired, I thought. Maybe he needed a break and didn’t want to be the one to say it.

So I leaned down and practically shouted into his ear to be heard over the thumpa-thumpa, “Do you want to go up to your office?”

He nodded and almost immediately began working his way toward the back hallway, with me trailing along behind. The hallway was lined with guys making out and giving and receiving blowjobs, and just passing through that scene gave me a sense of deja vu, remembering all of the times in the past when I’d followed Brian to the back room for a little fun of our own. Not that I mind the fact that we don’t do things like that anymore -- I like the way our lives are now. Still, it brought back a lot of memories. When we got to the end of the hallway, Brian used his key to unlock the elevator and led the way inside, turning back around to face the door before I stepped in alongside him. As soon as the doors slid shut, though, my previous assumption that he’d wanted some quiet rest (at least, as quiet as was possible at Babylon, where the thumpa-thumpa could still be felt even in his soundproofed office) went out the window entirely when he reached up and grabbed the collar of my shirt, using it to pull me down for a bruising kiss that didn’t end until the elevator opened on the second level of the club. I still wasn’t sure what was going on, but I went along with it.

Besides, Brian was making it impossible to object, particularly when he practically pushed me down onto the black leather sofa in his office before shifting his own body onto it and locking our lips together once again, barely pausing to lift my shirt up and over my head, before doing the same for himself. He had his hand down my pants, rubbing his palm over my quickly-hardening cock and simultaneously fondling my balls with his fingers. Soon, he had my pants off and was sucking me off, bringing me to one of the most intense orgasms I’d had in a while. I don’t know what it was that made it so hot -- if it was the environment or Brian’s aggressiveness, but as I sat there on the couch, breathless and still trying to come back down to earth, I didn’t really care. All I wanted to do was bring Brian the same pleasure, and he let me. I kissed him all over and worked his nipples with my tongue and my teeth and scraped my fingernails over his waist until I could feel his breath coming in quick gasps, culminating in him squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and moaning into my mouth as he reached his own peak, which was more mental than physical, but seemed to leave him with the same floaty feeling as I was experiencing.

I could still barely hear the thumpa-thumpa coming from the dance floor below us, and the colored LED lights that lined the ceiling kept occasionally casting their colors across the floor and the walls of Brian’s office, their intensity dimmed by the window tint, as we lay together on the leather sofa, our bodies sweaty and sticky. I felt Brian’s fingers carding through my hair again, and I wondered what his sudden obsession was with my hair, but I wasn’t complaining because it felt good. I leaned back against his bare chest, my body rising and falling slightly with his breath as it slowed back to its normal pace. No sooner had he caught his breath than he was kissing me again, and telling me he wanted to take me home and fuck me -- something I definitely wasn’t going to object to.

We went back downstairs and snuck out the emergency exit -- again, with Brian’s key -- and made our way to Brian’s car, which was parked in a designated spot with his name on it, alongside the one reserved for the club manager, Todd. As soon as we got on the highway and Brian was able to put the car in cruise to free up a hand, said hand was on my thigh and suggestively working its way toward my crotch, as I tried to figure out what on earth had gotten into my husband that suddenly had him channeling some previous iteration of himself -- the hard-and-fast, fuck-of-your-life Brian Kinney who had been the unofficial king of Babylon for so many years. But I definitely wasn’t complaining.

We’d invested in a second glider chair for the house in Pittsburgh several months back, keeping it in our private, locked walk-in closet whenever we weren’t there. We took a break from making out for long enough to take turns pissing when we got home, and by the time I was out of the bathroom, Brian had already dragged the chair out of the closet himself and had it set up next to the chaise lounge in the corner. He pulled me over to the corner and sat me down on the chaise lounge, leaning forward to kiss me -- hard -- and I could taste more alcohol on his tongue than had been present when we’d first come in the house. He’d already had quite a bit of beer and whiskey at the club, and I wondered why he was getting drunk, but I didn’t have much time to entertain that thought before my more prurient senses took over as Brian started touching me and taking my clothes off, preparing me with his fingers while he stroked himself to his own erection, using a silicone ring to help his body hold it, then pushed in with a grunt that I could barely hear over my own moans of pleasure as he hit my prostate directly with his first thrust.

My senses were immediately overwhelmed, and each thrust only drove me closer and closer to the edge. I wanted to stay back and enjoy it -- savor it -- but I couldn’t, and soon I was tipping over that edge into oblivion. Even though this was my second orgasm of the night, it was just as hard and just as satisfying as the first. I laid back into the stack of pillows we kept on the chair, which were more for utility than for decoration, if we were being honest, while Brian joined me and pulled my body in close to his. I could practically feel his entire body humming with the reverberation of the energy he’d just exerted as he held me, using his fingers to trace random patterns over my stomach, which was covered in come.

Once I’d recovered enough to be able to stand, we cleaned each other up in the shower. I could tell Brian was more than a little bit tipsy, but he didn’t really seem to be drunk, which was a good thing, because after two orgasms in a couple of hours’ time, I wasn’t sure I had the strength left to help him in or out of his chair or into bed. I still felt shaky as I put my own pajamas on and crawled into bed alongside him, welcoming the feel of his arm around me, pulling us close once again, before he reached up to turn off the light and kissed me goodnight.

I woke up early the next morning to Brian's body writhing alongside mine, and soft moans coming from his lips. Right as I fluttered my eyes open, he murmured my name, though it was nearly unintelligible. Was he having a nightmare? He hadn’t had one in a long time -- at least not that I had noticed or recalled -- but I supposed that given the time of year, plus the amount of alcohol he’d had the night before, it might not be that unusual for him to have one out of the blue. He said my name again, a little louder this time, but still breathy and hard to discern, then let out another groan, this one louder as well. His breath was unsteady, and I could tell he was getting agitated, and by the time he said my name a third time, I’d already made the decision to wake him up, and had laid my left hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him.

“Brian,” I said, softly because I didn’t want to startle him. “Wake up... I think you’re having a nightmare.”

He moaned again and squeezed his eyes closed more tightly, so I pushed on his shoulder a little bit harder and said his name a little louder too, until he blinked his eyes open, looking at me with an unfocused gaze that quickly flitted through a full range of emotions -- disappointment, frustration, and doubt -- before settling on what looked like sadness and resentment, which confused me. That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting, and it wasn’t his usual reaction to a nightmare at all, which was typically shame and fear -- two emotions he’d never willingly admit to -- often culminating in Brian holding me and not wanting to let me go.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, propping himself up a little, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he breathed.

“Hey,” I said softly, rubbing his back. “Are you alright?”

But Brian didn’t respond, and he didn’t move, save for his chest moving up and down with his still-unsteady breath. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, then pushed himself up into a sitting position and slid his body from the bed to his wheelchair without saying a word to me. He went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, leaving me lying in bed alone, still just as confused as I had been a few moments before.

He stayed in the bathroom for a long time, and the longer he was in there, the more I started to wonder if maybe he was sick. I wasn’t sure how much he’d had to drink the night before, but I knew it was more than he typically had now, and sometimes the medications he took every day could cause some strange side effects if he had too much alcohol. I flipped over onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, watching as the soft morning light slowly morphed into bright beams of sunlight being cast onto the walls, filtered through the blinds. Brian stayed in the bathroom for more than thirty minutes, coming out just as I’d started to get concerned, then immediately getting back in bed and settling back against the pillows and staring up at the ceiling himself, with the entire left side of his body touching mine.

I rolled onto my side without breaking contact, propping myself up onto my elbow and studying Brian’s face, trying to determine what was going on, and still feeling every bit as lost as I had for the previous few days.

“Are you okay? Are you sick?”

Brian coming back to bed after he’d already gotten up was unusual, and typically something he only did if he wasn’t feeling well, so that was the next logical conclusion I came to, though the look on his face read more as upset and out-of-sorts than physically ill. He reached an arm out and wrapped it around my body, tugging me in even closer to him than I already was, until I was practically on top of him. He didn’t say anything for a while, giving me quite a bit of time to wonder why he was being so touchy-feely. Like I said before, our relationship has always been tactile, but the near-constant touching Brian had been doing over the previous few days wasn’t our usual -- casual, soft touches, holding hands. This was Brian needing to have me practically attached to him any time we were next to each other, and I still wasn’t sure how to read it or what it meant.

So I just laid there and let him hold me until he felt like talking, perfectly okay with just lying there in silence if that time never came. His eyes were dark, and he was blinking slowly as he continued staring up at the ceiling, though I could tell he wasn’t truly focused on it -- he was lost somewhere inside his mind. When he finally spoke, I’d gotten so used to the silence that his voice almost startled me, even though it was soft.

“I had a dream,” he said, still not looking at me. “We were having sex, and I could feel it. I could feel all of it. I was fucking you, in our bed, on my knees… And it felt so fucking real, that when I woke up, I felt like it should have been. Like I should be able to feel… something… down there. But it was the same old shit. Nothing -- like it’s not even there.”

I reached across his body and took his other hand in mine, bringing them both to rest on his stomach. His eyes flicked downward briefly, toward our hands, before moving back upward toward the ceiling as he continued to speak.

“I want to feel something,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need to feel something. I want to feel you inside me…” He paused for a moment and swallowed. “I want to see if I can feel it.”

I shifted so that I could look him in the eye, and was surprised at the raw emotion I could see there when he finally made eye contact with me -- the openness, and the need. “But… isn’t there…” I let my voice trail off as I tried to think of how to say what I was thinking -- wouldn’t this be risky for Brian? Couldn’t it cause some problems? I couldn’t say I’d never thought about it, because I had, but I’d never brought it up, because the last thing I would have ever wanted to do was make Brian feel uncomfortable about anything related to his disability.

“I want to try it, Sunshine. I think…” He paused again and took a deep breath. “I think I’m ready.”

I knew the possibility existed that this could be messy, but that was the risk we took any time we had sex, so that was really no different. And any time it happened, it always bothered Brian much more than it bothered me. To me, it was just part of what came along with Brian’s injury, and it wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it, so it was just best to try to laugh it off and move on.

Brian disengaged his hand from mine and reached over to open the drawer of the bedside table, taking out the lube he’d stashed there the previous night and handing it to me. It felt strange -- like he was making an offering. We’d only done this a handful of times before, and each time, it had always felt like a big deal -- like Brian was showing me a side of himself that he wasn’t willing to show to anyone else. A vulnerable side. It had always been different -- special -- on the rare occasions when he’d let me put myself inside him, rather than seeking his prostate stimulation via his large collection of sex toys. But that was a long time ago, and things were very, very different now.

“Are you sure?” I asked nervously, rolling the tube around in my hand, looking at it, then back at Brian, who closed his eyes and nodded. He didn’t exactly look sure, and that was only adding to my apprehension. My dick, however, was anything but apprehensive, and seemed to be all-in for Brian’s plan, regardless of what my brain had to say. I pushed myself up to a sitting position and studied Brian’s face, desperately trying to read it but getting absolutely nothing.

“Put my legs on your shoulders,” he said, opening his eyes long enough for me to see that the deep sense of need was still there, and that helped me feel at least a little more confident, because he didn’t look nervous at all. He looked almost desperate. “You’ll have to hold them.”

I nodded. “I know.” My hands shaking, I moved his legs so that they were spread apart, then brought myself to kneeling in between them before carefully placing his legs atop my shoulders, with my hands wrapped around his ankles. I wondered how long I’d be able to hold his left leg with my right hand before it gave out, but I would try. I let go of his legs for long enough to flip open the lube and squeeze it out into my palm, and they did stay on my shoulders, but I knew once we started moving, that wasn’t likely to happen unless I was holding on. I paused and looked down at my cock, realizing what we were about to do for the first time, ever. We’d stopped using condoms a long time ago because Brian’s injury keeps his body from being able to ejaculate, but that aspect of my body was in full, working order, and I wasn’t sure if Brian would want to do it 100% raw, even with me. “Do you want me to… Shit, I don’t think we even have any condoms…”

“It’s okay,” Brian said, his voice suddenly shifting to a more guttural tone with his next words. “Fuck me. Come inside me. I want you to.”

“Okay,” I said, still not quite sure about this whole plan, but also really wanting to give Brian what he wanted -- what he seemed desperate for. I tried to push my anxious thoughts out of my brain as I wrapped my hand around my dick and stroked it a few times, until it was fully hard and slick with lube. Then I started working my fingers inside Brian, starting with one, watching his face for any sign of pain or discomfort. When I didn’t see any, I added a second finger, then carefully started to scissor them open, feeling how tight Brian was, which reminded me of exactly how long it had been since we’d last done this. “Is this okay? Can you feel anything?”

Brian didn’t say anything, but his eyes were closed, and I thought I could see the tiniest ghost of a smile on his lips, though his brow was furrowed.

“Should I keep going?” I asked, trying a different question, in hopes Brian would answer me.

He did, though not verbally, but with a slight nod of his head, still not opening his eyes.

“I need you to talk to me,” I said. “I want to make sure you’re okay. If you want me to stop, tell me, and I’ll stop.”

“Keep going,” Brian grunted, opening his eyes for just a moment, and the look they held in that moment made me wonder if he was, indeed, feeling something. He looked like he might have been. I hoped he was, because I wanted that for him.

I continued fingering him until I felt I’d be able to slide my cock in relatively easily, then paused, letting go of his legs and carefully placing them back on the bed so I could lean forward and kiss him -- a kiss that he returned with fervor. I tried to push down any lingering apprehension I was feeling so I wouldn’t sound nervous when I asked him, “Are you ready?” This was big. This was so fucking big -- even bigger than the first time we’d made love after the bashing. And, just like back then, this wasn’t about getting off -- this was about making a connection. One of us giving something back to the other.

“I’m ready,” he breathed, reaching up and taking my hands in his, giving them a squeeze before letting them go. I picked up his legs again and put them back on my shoulders, having to steady one of them through a brief spasm this time, though I don’t think Brian noticed because he’d closed his eyes again, the look on his face one of anticipation. I took a deep breath, positioned myself, and pushed in. My mind was instantly overtaken by the sense of pleasure I felt at being inside Brian -- feeling his body around me, enveloping me. I wrapped my fingers around Brian’s ankles to hold his legs steady as I started to move -- slowly and carefully allowing myself to slide in and out of Brian, watching his face for any perceptible change but not really seeing much of one, though it was all I could do to keep enough presence of mind to be able to do that.

I tried to keep things slow and gentle -- just as Brian had done with me all of those years ago -- focusing on being in the moment with my partner, hoping that I was bringing him the pleasure he was seeking. I felt myself hit his prostate, though not with the same speed or intensity with which he’d hit mine the previous night, and I watched as his facial expression changed and his lips parted to let out a moan that was unmistakably one of pleasure. He’d felt it -- he’d fucking felt something -- and my excitement in that moment made it hard to keep my movements slow and gentle, but I managed it the best I could. I kept repeating that same stroke, touching his prostate each time, taking as much pleasure in the sounds coming from my partner as I was from what I was feeling in my own body.

I watched as his breathing sped up, becoming more of a pant, as I tried to hold myself back for as long as I possibly could, just because I wanted to prolong the moment for Brian. The look on his face was a look I hadn’t seen in years -- not since the night we’d made love on our last night together in the loft. My tears had clouded my vision back then, but I'd still been able to see the look on his face -- one of love and passion and desperation mixed with pure bliss -- and that was exactly what I saw in that moment, right before Brian threw his head back and groaned, and I felt his body tense around mine. It wasn’t as strong as it once had been, but it was there, and it was enough to cause my own body to spasm and my vision to fade out momentarily as I came inside of Brian, his legs falling from my shoulders as I collapsed on top of him, both of us panting and sweating -- more satisfied than we both had been in a long, long time. Not that what we'd had for the past twelve years wasn't great -- it was, for both of us, and I knew that -- but this was different.

“Thank you,” Brian whispered, after a few moments had passed in silence, save for the sound of our breath. I looked up at him just in time to see a tear start to make its way down his cheek, before he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I asked, his tears having caused my anxiety to take over again before I could stop it.

“No,” he breathed. “You gave me something I didn’t think I was ever going to feel again. You gave me back a part of me.” Brian closed his eyes and another tear fell, but he didn’t wipe this one away. “You made me feel whole, for the first time in a long time,” he said, his voice so soft I could barely hear it, though it was thick with emotion. “I know I’m not broken, but... things are missing.”

“I know,” I said quietly, tracing my fingertips across his forearm in a soothing pattern.

“I wasn't filling in the gaps with memories. It was actually happening. It wasn’t the same, but it was something.”

I wrapped my arms around Brian, hugging him tightly as I buried my face in his shoulder, trying to hold back my own tears as his body started to tremble with silent sobs. I felt myself slide out of him, and I wondered if he felt the loss, the way I always did when we finished making love. I knew we were probably making a mess all over the sheets, but I didn’t care. I would deal with that later -- for right now, all I wanted was to hold my husband. I could tell he was overwhelmed, but at the same time, I knew Brian’s tears weren’t necessarily a bad thing. In a way, they were happy tears, and I was happy for him -- that he’d gotten what he wanted. What he needed.

We laid there for a long time, just holding each other in the early morning light, our faces damp with tears. When Brian’s breath had slowed down and smoothed out, I lifted my head and kissed him lovingly, relishing the feeling of one of the many ways Brian and I could make a connection with each other, and feeling grateful that we’d found another one.

I wanted to ask what he’d felt, but at the same time I didn’t want to intrude. This was another one of those things where if he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. While it was a moment we’d both shared, I knew it was also deeply personal for Brian. He’d lost so much that he was never going to get back, but over the years, he’d accepted that -- gotten comfortable, just as we had in so many aspects of our lives now that were so different from how they were before. Now, it felt like there was a new frontier on the horizon, and I wondered what it might bring.

I knew this wouldn’t be something we could do very often, because I hadn’t been wrong when my brain was running through all of the risks earlier. Brian’s body depended on routine to function properly, and this was a deviation from his routine that could certainly cause some problems if it happened too often. But every now and then, maybe it would be okay. Regardless, that ball was in Brian’s court, and that decision was his to make.

We showered together and got ready for the day -- not much was on the schedule, thankfully, so we kept things pretty low-key. Gus called Brian around lunchtime to wish him a happy Father’s Day, but other than that, we just hung out around the house enjoying each other and the quiet, before going to the monthly family dinner at Michael and Ben’s. It still felt strange not having dinner at Debbie’s, even after a few months of the new location, but I was thankful that we all still got together as much as we could. I knew Debbie would have wanted that, too.

Just as I expected, Michael had not kept his promise to limit the birthday-related items to cake only, as there was a banner too, and a few balloons. He definitely hadn’t gone all-out, but I knew he was making a bigger deal out of Brian’s birthday than Brian would prefer.

“Michael,” Brian sighed, the moment we entered the house and he saw the way Michael had decorated the dining room. “I said you could do cake… that’s it.”

“Sorry,” Michael said, shrugging as he carried a bowl of salad over to the table. “I couldn’t help myself.” Once he’d divested himself of the salad, he walked over to where Brian and I were and leaned down to give Brian a hug and a kiss. “Your best friend only turns 48 once. And I didn't get to see you on your birthday the last couple of years.”

“I’m not even 48 yet. My birthday’s tomorrow,” Brian protested.

“And I’m still older than you, so be quiet. I promise you won’t die because I put up a banner and bought a few balloons. Besides, 48 really isn’t that bad, I promise.”

“Speak for yourself,” Brian muttered.

I put my hand on Brian’s shoulder, hoping I’d be able to keep him from descending back into the dark mood he’d been displaying intermittently since we’d arrived in Pittsburgh. He’d seemed fairly content ever since our… “discovery”… earlier that morning, and I wanted that to continue.

Michael went back into the kitchen, where Ben was stirring something in a skillet -- probably some sort of tofu stir fry. I actually liked Ben’s cooking, even though Brian still made fun of it, and I was pretty sure Michael probably had to get used to it, given that he grew up in a household where lasagna and garlic bread were staples. It was definitely a shift in theme from the heavy Italian fare we’d always enjoyed at Debbie’s, but change wasn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes it was just… different.

Emmett and Drew were out of town, so it was just going to be six of us for dinner -- Brian and I, Michael and Ben, plus Ted and Blake, who showed up late, looking harried, with the newborn baby they'd just adopted asleep in her carseat. Even though they looked tired, I could tell they were both positively smitten with her, and so were Michael and Ben. That, I'd expected. What I didn't expect was for Brian to spend most of the night playing with her, but that was exactly what he did.

After we'd finished dinner and I was helping Ben and Michael clean up, Michael gestured with his head toward the living room, where Brian was sitting on one end of their sofa, holding baby Charlotte, just looking at her. Studying her. Thinking about something, and making me wish I knew what he was thinking about. Her tiny hand was wrapped around one of his fingers, and he kept absently running the thumb of his other hand over her arm. She was sound asleep in his arms, and it made me wish I remembered more of what Brian had been like with Gus when he was a baby. But some of that had been lost to brain injury, and a lot of it hadn't happened at all, which I knew Brian regretted, looking back.

“You look good holding a baby,” I said, as I crossed from the kitchen into the living room and sat down next to Brian.

He looked up at me, having been startled out of whatever zone he'd been in, and smirked. “I hope you're not getting any ideas,” he said. “We can give this one back to her dads -- that's key.”

“Maybe we could babysit sometime, while we're in town. Give Ted and Blake a night off. We can be the cool uncles. Although she's probably a little young yet to truly appreciate our coolness.”

“Maybe,” Brian said softly, obviously still a little lost in his thoughts. He stayed in that state -- his body present in the living room, but his mind elsewhere -- for the rest of the evening, through all of the cocktails and conversation and even the birthday cake. He was still pretty zoned out for the first hour or two we were back at our house, and it made me wonder how stoned he was about to get when he said he was going to the backyard to smoke and invited me to join him.

Pain management, I supposed, with mere minutes to go until it was officially his birthday.

I was surprised when Brian immediately got himself out of his chair and laid down on the ground, gesturing for me to come closer. I laid down next to him, and he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me in close to his side, exactly as he'd already done so many times over the past several days. He lit the joint and took a long drag, then offered it to me. I accepted, which I didn't usually do nowadays, but for some reason, that night I felt like sharing the moment with Brian a little more fully -- just like old times.

I looked up at the sky as I exhaled a thin wisp of smoke, feeling Brian's fingers gently brushing my arm. There were a few clouds, and it was hazy, but I could still see some stars, and I tried to imagine which one was Debbie, watching over us.

Mostly, though, I was focused on being with Brian -- his body next to mine, the soft rise and fall of his chest with his breath, and the gratitude that I felt at the knowledge that we'd always be there for each other, as partners. Comfortable in our relationship, and with each other.

“I love it when you hold me like this,” I said, snuggling in closer to Brian's chest, as I started to feel the beginnings of a slight buzz.

He was quiet for a few moments, taking another drag off the joint and blowing smoke rings into the air before he spoke. “Sometimes I just need to remind myself of everything I can feel… so I'm not so dragged down by everything I can't. I need to remember that I'm lucky.”

“We're both lucky. We have each other.” I paused and turned my head to look up at Brian's face. “We get to grow old together.”

I expected Brian to object, or to make some smartassed remark in response, but he didn't. “Yeah,” he said softly, pulling his lips into his mouth. “I guess we do.”

I kissed his cheek and glanced at my watch -- 12:01 a.m.

“Happy birthday,” I said. “Let's make 48 the best year yet.”