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Emery said nothing, amber eyes glittering as he studied them. John-Henry cracked a smile, though. “I’d appreciate it, if only so I don’t lose my job.” He was quiet a moment, and then he said, “Thank God you’re all ok.”
A false dawn turned the sky to pewter as North drove them back to their motel. They could have piled into the Hazard and Somerset household again—they’d done it before, on and off over the course of the last few insane weeks—but the house was already overcrowded, and, more importantly, every time North turned around, Colt was there. Literally. One time, he’d opened the refrigerator to get something to drink, and he’d hit the boy in the face with the door. Worse, Colt had apologized to him. Unless Shaw had been right, and he’d been apologizing to the refrigerator.
The Bridal Veil Motor Court was full of long shadows, and the glass-block accents winked as the headlights swept over them. North parked in front of their room—the motor court wasn’t exactly burdened with an abundance of guests—and they went inside. They fumbled their clothes off in the pre-dawn gloom, and North pulled Shaw’s back to his chest in bed. The mini-split couldn’t keep up, and skin on skin was sticky, but he wanted him close. He wondered if what felt like the start of a raging boner was going to mean putting off sleep for another hour, and he was vaguely aware of his brain explaining the hormones still working their way through his body after a brush with death. And then he was asleep.
He woke to sunlight. Too much sun. And Shaw taking off his underwear.
“Guh,” North muttered.
Shaw laughed quietly. He smelled like soap, and when he bent to kiss North, he tasted like toothpaste, and his hair was wet where it tickled North’s chest and shoulder. North hardened quickly—first in Shaw’s hand, then in his mouth. Shaw was already hard, of course, his dick brushing wet lines onto North’s thigh. North heard his own uneven breaths, the sounds of Shaw’s mouth, the rattle of the mini-split like coins tumbling in a dryer. Too much sun, his brain reminded him, and that’s when he realized the curtains were only partially closed.
He was going to say something, and then Shaw pulled back, a lube-slick hand pumping North once before Shaw straddled him and seated himself. The first hot, gripping inches forced a noise out of North, and his hands bit into Shaw’s thighs. Shaw whimpered as he settled himself slowly. Too slowly. And then he was there, all of him and all of North joined together. A flush ran across his thin chest. He was breathing in a way North recognized.
“Shit, baby,” North muttered, and he manhandled Shaw until Shaw keened. “Already?”
Shaw nodded wildly and began to move, and North moved with him. It might have been thirty seconds, but North thanked God nobody had a stopwatch. Shaw first, then North, his hands tightening until he knew he’d leave bruises. When it was over, it was as though something had swept through North, hollowing his bones, scouring his insides. He felt light and empty and clean, and maybe it wasn’t all that much sun, because as Shaw lay next to him, damp hair pillowing his head on North’s chest, North realized he was about to fall asleep.
He woke the second time to “Oh shit, they’re naked!”
And then a door slammed.
“Fuck me,” North groaned.
Shaw laughed sleepily into his chest.
“Not like that,” North said and slapped his ass.
“I wasn’t trying to look, Theo.” The voice was unmistakably Auggie’s. “I’m just saying, I’ve never seen yours look all red and smushed like that. Well, I don’t know, maybe because he’s so white.”
“How old is he?” North muttered. “Twelve? Is it legal to kill twelve-year-olds if they’re complete and total twerps?”
“This seems like a good stopping point for our one and only conversation about North’s dick,” Theo said. Then he hammered on the door.
“Like Twinky Twerp,” Shaw murmured. “That sounds like something Lars would say.”
North pulled his hair until Shaw yelled, and then he sent him into the bathroom.
“They’re definitely awake,” Auggie said as he opened the door a crack. “I heard Shaw yell.”
“I’m not saying they’re not awake,” Theo said, “I said let’s not go in until we’re sure—”
“For fuck’s sake,” North said, pulling the sheet over himself. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”
“Are you, uh, decent?” Auggie asked.
“Decent. You already barged in here like a couple of cockhounds. I hope that was educational for you, Tiny-tot. In another ten or fifteen years, your body will go through some dramatic changes.”
Auggie and Theo pressed into the room. Auggie wore a partial smirk, but the bandage couldn’t dim his amusement. Theo’s mouth was set in that tiny frown that was like crack for North. It was too easy to push the older man’s buttons, especially when it came to Auggie. They were dressed like they had somewhere to go that involved a lot of bros slapping five and giving each other handies under the table—polos, slacks, shoes that were too nice to be called sneakers. Theo was carrying two paper cups, and Auggie held a bag that, unless North’s nose misled him, contained something remarkably delicious.
“Changes like what?” Auggie asked. “You know, I didn’t realize your stomach could look like that while you were lying down.”
“Make it through your twenties, dickbreath. Talk to me when your metabolism gives up the holy fucking ghost.”
“Aren’t you in your twenties?” Theo asked.
North gave him the bird. But he did sit up. And pulled the sheet higher.
“Theo’s stomach definitely doesn’t look like that,” Auggie said.
