slid one hand between North’s legs; a thread of pre swung from the tip of North’s dick, and Shaw let it coat his knuckles before running the back of his hand down North’s shaft. Once.
North groaned and tried to rut into Shaw’s hand, and Shaw caught his hip one-handed, stilling him. When he released North, livid spots lingered on the pale skin, and Shaw guessed he might have left bruises. “What the fuck don’t you understand about don’t move?”
North’s breath was reedy. He made a noise that Shaw didn’t even know how to describe.
Flipping the cap on the lube, Shaw applied a generous amount to his hand and to North’s ass. Then he worked slowly: teasing, then just the tip of one finger, then breaching North. He knew he’d found what he wanted when North’s head whipped up from the table and came back down hard enough that the whole table shook. One of North’s legs began to tremble.
With his free hand, Shaw petted the trembling leg and stroked that spot again.
The muffled noise might have been a word, but Shaw let it slide. He took his time, spacing out the touches, not wanting to desensitize North too early. He added a second finger and spent his time stretching North. North gasped. Once, he gurgled and sounded like he might have choked on his own spit. When Shaw risked a glance, he saw North white-knuckling the table, the muscles in his arms corded as he fought to keep himself from reacting.
Two fingers, when he pressed down hard on North’s prostate, made North scream, “Oh my fucking God.”
Shaw withdrew the two fingers. “What did I say about talking?”
North panted.
“That was a question,” Shaw said.
“You said—” North seemed to have trouble finding words. “You said—”
“I said don’t talk unless I ask you a direct question. Now, you said four words, and you’re twenty-six, so that would be a hundred and four licks. I’m going to be very nice and not make you count them. This time.”
He delivered the first blow harder than he intended; his palm caught fire, and the shock ran all the way to his elbow.
North didn’t make a noise. It was so much worse. He jerked off the table, and the wooden legs skittered over the floor. North stumbled sideways, rounding the table, and grabbed a chair. His eyes were huge. His face bloodless. He stumbled again like his legs might not hold him up, but he kept hold of the chair, interposing it between him and Shaw.
“What the fuck?” he shouted.
“Oh my God, North, I’m so sorry, I—”
“What the fuck?” North screamed.
And then Shaw remembered: Tucker, and the years that North had shown up with bruises, black eyes, split lips, weals broken open on his arms and legs.
“No, I didn’t—it was just supposed to be—North, I didn’t mean—” Shaw took a step.
North skittered back. The only noises were his rapid breathing and the chair’s legs clicking against the floorboards.
“Oh my God,” Shaw said, hands tented over his mouth. “Oh my God.”
For another moment, North kept his body turned. Shaw understood why: to minimize his outline, to keep as much of himself as possible out of reach. Then, shaking himself like a dog, he nodded. His voice was a bad copy of North McKinney when he said, “Ok. Well, I guess we figured out I don’t like spanking.”
Shaw started to cry. He turned away from North, away from the look of pain and betrayal etched into his features that, no matter how hard North was trying, he couldn’t completely disguise. Shaw had the brilliant plan to run, but he couldn’t seem to get his feet to work. He couldn’t seem to do anything except stand there, hiding his face in his hands, and sob.
“All right,” North said, pulling him against his chest. That only made Shaw cry harder: huge, racking sobs that he was vaguely aware were resulting in a lot of snot and tears in North’s chest hair. “Come on, it’s ok. You just—you know, you startled me. I know you were just trying something.”
But Shaw could feel North’s heartbeat going a mile a minute.
“I didn’t think—” Frantic gulps for air interrupted Shaw’s attempts to explain. “I forgot—Tucker—I never wanted to—it was supposed to be fun!” The last was a wail.
North just shushed him, stroking his hair and pressing Shaw’s face to his shoulder. When the worst of the storm had passed, North turned Shaw toward the bedroom, steering him by the shoulders. He sat Shaw on the