North and Shaw Out of Office - Gregory Ashe Page 0,37

his hands above his head where Shaw had put them and to pretend that he still worked construction. But it was getting harder and harder to do both those things.

The throb in North’s neck told him he’d be wearing the hickeys for a few days, and when Shaw pulled back, a ripple ran up from North’s belly to his sternum, arousal mixed with uncertainty.

“You do,” Shaw said. “You like the idea of being out there on the street, catcalling with your buddies, and having my marks all over you.”

“Jesus,” North whispered.

“Maybe they’d even ask you about them. And what would you say to all those guys, all of them looking at you, waiting for an answer?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

Shaw twisted open the button on North’s jeans, jerked the zipper down, and freed North’s throbbing dick. He bent over North again, his teeth raking along North’s collarbone, and North heard the thin, shrill noise of air escaping his lungs. Shaw’s hand closed over North, the grip sure and steady, setting a pace that would finish things quickly.

“No,” North said, the word thick. “Hold on, I want you—”

“Be. Quiet.” Shaw punctuated the words with sharp nips of his teeth. Then he went back, nibbling and sucking at North’s neck, his hand flying.

North panted for air. He thrust up into Shaw’s touch. And then he came like a neutron star, everything turning white, Shaw working him through it until he shuddered and Shaw pulled his hand away.

“Oh fuck,” North muttered, dropping an arm over his eyes. “Oh fuck.”

Shaw laughed quietly, rubbing slow circles on North’s stomach. Then he left and came back with a wet washcloth and cleaned him up, and then he stretched out alongside North on the sofa, kissing North’s bicep from time to time, nuzzling into North’s shoulder. North still had an arm over his eyes, was still trying to pull himself together, but he managed to get an arm under Shaw, run his hand over the bristles of Shaw’s buzzed hair.

“How’s your back?” Shaw asked.

Laughing, North said, “Who the hell are you?”

“Your very awesome boyfriend.”

North dragged his arm back, blinked his eyes clear, and looked at Shaw. “Fuck yeah, you are.”

“How about some pizza?”

Boneless on the sofa, not quite sure he could sit up, North managed to wobble his head. “Uh huh.”

While Shaw went to get plates, North dragged himself upright and opened the box.

“Shaw, what in the seven fucking hells is this?”

“That box?” Shaw called back from the kitchen. “The one that says pizza on it?”

“I’m not joking, Shaw. This is pizza; this is fucking serious.”

“Oh, it’s this new place in the Loop. All cauliflower crusts.” Shaw appeared in the doorway, smiling beatifically. “It’s much healthier.”

3

SHAW SLUMPED ON the sofa while North flipped channels; on a doggie bed next to them, the puppy was sleeping. It seemed like North couldn’t find anything he wanted to watch, and Shaw was observing the whole thing like a field researcher stumbling onto an undiscovered civilization. North flipped through seven channels in a row: one of those home design shows, something on Bravo, a show about cooking on a budget, a show about cooking steaks, an action movie from the late 90s, a sitcom about families, and a sitcom about single people. He hesitated once, on the action movie, and then kept clicking.

“I think you can press this button,” Shaw said, “and it’ll show you everything that’s on.”

North grunted and flipped past three channels in quick succession: a show about hair styles, a show about wedding dresses, and something with guys who had huge beards.

“It’s faster. You can see a lot of channels all at once.”

“Uh huh.” A show about cakes that were supposed to look like other cakes. A show about Hitler. A show about the history of aliens.

Shaw looked out the front window of North’s duplex, where October had really settled in, and a brisk wind skipped red and orange leaves down the street.

“You know what’s fun?” Shaw asked. “Playing in the leaves. I haven’t played in the leaves for ages, but remember that leaf fight we had senior year?”

“Leaf fight,” North mumbled, his glazed eyes fixed on the TV.

“Or we could go for a walk,” Shaw said. “We could wear the matching sweaters I got us. Or we could take the puppy to the dog park. Or we could drive to Belleville and pick apples at Eckert’s orchard.”

North flipped back to the cakes that were supposed to look like other cakes.

“Here,” Shaw said, reaching for the button on the remote.