North and Shaw Out of Office - Gregory Ashe Page 0,41
wrong.
He scrambled up off the mat and crouched next to North.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you look like you’re going to pass out.”
“I’m fine.” North huffed a few breaths; his face looked like chalk. “It’s just hot.”
“Your shoulder—”
“I’m fine, Shaw.”
The instructor was staring over at them. Shaw waved, and she nodded and continued to move through her practice.
“Just tell me how to get into the fucking pretzel that everybody else is doing and I’ll be fine. Shit, why are they moving again?”
“Let’s go, North. We’ll get some ice on your shoulder and—”
“No. I promised you I’d do this, and I’m going to do it.”
“Um, that’s not exactly—”
“Either tell me how to do it right or get back on your fucking mat.”
“Language,” said a woman with a severe bob and a librarian’s glower.
“Bitch fuck shit hell damn,” North hissed at her. Then, to Shaw, “Well?”
“You don’t need to—”
“Fine. I’ll figure it out myself.”
He tried to brace his weight on his good arm, and Shaw caught him by the hips. “No, hold on. You’re going to hurt yourself.” He was suddenly very aware of the thin cotton under his fingers, of the way the sweat slicked North’s skin, of the hollows of his hips where Shaw’s fingers fit when they made love.
“Oh shit,” Shaw muttered.
“Shaw?”
“Oh shit.”
“What’s the matter? Why are you—oh.”
“Just be quiet.”
North started to laugh.
“North, please.”
North started to laugh harder. The intense heat of the room seemed to gather in North’s skin, and Shaw’s hands felt like they were on fire from cradling North’s hips, trying to correct his pose. But Shaw couldn’t let go; if he let go, he’d have to step back, and then everybody would see.
People were starting to look.
“Stop laughing,” he whispered harshly.
“I didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I thought this kind of spontaneous stuff stopped in sixth grade.”
“I hate you. I hate you so much.”
“That’s what your mouth says, but your—”
“North!”
With what looked like a massive effort, North swallowed his chuckles. He glanced around the room and looked up at Shaw. “Let me fall.”
“What?”
“I’ll hit the ground. Everybody’ll look at me for a minute, and while they’re distracted, you grab your towel. And my towel. And just, you know, hold them in front of yourself so nobody realizes you’re a pervert.”
“I’m not a pervert.”
“A sex addict.”
“I’m not—North, stop it.”
“Maybe you just have an exhibitionist streak.”
“I’m never touching you again. Are you happy?”
“Not as happy as your little guy.”
Shaw shoved, and North rolled into the fall, tumbling across the floor until he came to a stop inches from the glowering librarian. She made a cat noise, arching her back like an alley tom wanting a fight, and North smiled and waved up at her. Then he got to his feet.
Lunging, Shaw grabbed the towels and dangled them in front of himself like a bullfighter. He stared miserably at North.
“Sorry,” North said, touching his shoulder. “Still healing. I guess I tried this too soon.”
“Are you all right?” the instructor asked, in a tone that made it clear that North had confirmed some unspoken opinion she held about him.
“Just going home. I’ll put some ice on it.”
North looked like he felt like riffing on this—he probably had a few things to say about the heat, about all these women sweating through their Lululemons, about the best way to stop a raging boner—but Shaw grabbed him and hustled him out the door.
“All right, all right,” North said as they stumbled out onto the sidewalk and the October chill. “Stop shoving.”
Shaw slunk towards the car.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?”
“No.”
“I wasn’t trying to be sexy.”
“I know.”
When they reached the Mercedes, North caught Shaw’s arm. “Nobody saw.”
“It’s not that. I just . . . I’ve wanted to do that with you for a long time, and I messed it up.”
North stared at Shaw. He was close, and the heat from the studio still burned off him, a fire in the October air. Then he rapped his knuckles on Shaw’s sternum, dragging them down Shaw’s belly, dimpling the fabric.
“I probably need some practice before we go again.”
Shaw bit his lip. A bead of sweat hung on North’s eyebrow, and Shaw suddenly was fighting the urge to stretch up and lick it away.
“I probably need somebody to show me,” North’s voice dropped into a husky heat that was warmer than the studio had ever been. He took Shaw’s hands and placed them on his waist. “How to do it.”
Shaw tried to swallow. “You do?”
North cocked an eyebrow; the bead of