Declination

by Gregory Ashe

  “Will you deal the damn cards already?”

  Shaw dealt, leaving a stack in the middle.

  “What are we playing?” North said, examining the cards.

  “Go Fish.”

  So they played Go Fish.

  “Do you have any queens?”

  “Go fish.”

  “Do you have any sevens?”

  “Go fish.”

  “Do you have any eights?”

  And then Shaw would pass over a card, and North would crow a little and lay down his catch. At first, the game played out fairly evenly, but then North started to lay down more and more catches.

  “Do you have any jacks?”

  “Go fish.”

  “Do you have any twos?”

  “Go fish.”

  “Do you have any threes?” North asked, knowing Shaw had a three that he’d taken a few rounds before.

  “Go fish,” Shaw said, his eyes fixed on his cards.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Go fish.”

  “Double check, Shaw.”

  “They’re my cards, North.” The sharp symmetry of his face was stained red, though. “I know what I’ve got.”

  “I don’t think you do. Check again.”

  “I don’t have any threes. I know how to count to three. One, two, three. And I don’t have any threes.”

  “Are you sure? It looks like this.” North traced a three on the bedding. “Three. You don’t have any threes?”

  “First of all, that looks like an E. You drew it backward.”

  “Don’t change the subject. Threes, Shaw. I want your threes.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “Show me your cards.”

  “No way.”

  “You’re fucking cheating. Show me your cards.”

  “I’m not showing you my cards.”

  “I don’t play cards with cheaters, Shaw.”

  Shaw fixed him with a glare and bit off two words. “Go. Fish.”

  North leaned forward, reaching, and Shaw shoved him back. North flopped back, his shoulder igniting, and let out a grunt. His hand flew up to the injury.

  “Oh my God,” Shaw said. “North, oh my God. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Did I rupture the stitches? Do you need me to take you to the hospital? Oh my God, I’m so stupid.”

  “It’s fine, Shaw.”

  “Let me look, ok? If you’re bleeding—”

  North lay still while Shaw crawled up the mattress. Some animals could lie still for hours. Totally motionless. Fish, for example, impersonating the bottom of the ocean. And then—

  When Shaw was within reach, North flipped both of them. It was easy. Shaw rolled into his touch, doing most of the work, and North swung his own body over. In less than a heartbeat, they had switched positions: Shaw on his back on the bed, North straddling him.

  “What are you doing? North, this is stupid. You’re going to hurt your shoulder, and—hey, get off me.”

  Ignoring him, North scooted up Shaw’s torso and leaned forward until they were face to face. He propped himself on his elbows, his body caging Shaw. The spiky musk of hair product was stronger now. The tic of the pulse in Shaw’s neck was like the rhythm of a song North wanted to play again and again.

  “I told you to get off.”

  “No.”

  Shaw huffed. He tried to force North off, but North let out a pained noise—seventy percent fake—and Shaw immediately gave up. Instead, Shaw turned his head to the side. North let his own head rest against Shaw’s, his nose mashed into Shaw’s cheek, his forehead resting on Shaw’s temple.

  “You’re like a pillow,” North said.

  “You’re like an idiot,” Shaw said.

  “Down here,” North traced a hand over Shaw’s chest, “you’re all bony. But up here,” he nuzzled into Shaw’s cheek, “you’re all soft and squishy.”

  “Did you hit your head last night? The doctors didn’t say anything about a concussion.”

  “Oh, you talked to my doctors?”

  “Um, I just meant, you didn’t say anything about the doctors saying anything about a concussion.”

  “I thought I had patient confidentiality.”

  “I might have, um—”

  “Bribed them?”

  “It’s not a bribe if you’re doing it for a good reason.”

  North didn’t bother responding. He just lay there, enjoying the feel of Shaw’s body under his, the smell of him, the whisper of his breath. Outside, the kids from next door were bitching about Mrs. Armentrout, and North guessed she was either a teacher or a principal. Then glass exploded, and the kids shrieked with laughter.

  Shaw flinched at the sudden noise. “I don’t like this. Will you please get off?”

  North made a considering noise in his throat.

  “North, please?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “This is so stupid.”

  “That’s ok. I do a lot of stupid things.”

  “I don’t even know what you want.”

  “Maybe I just want this.”

  “No,” Shaw said, wriggling again until North let out another of his stage-gasps of pain. “No, you’re—I know what you’re doing. And I don’t want to do this, North. I want you to get off of me.”

  “Sure.”

  “Thank you.”

  “In a couple of hours.”

  “North!”

  “I’m going to take a quick nap. I was up late last night. I was worried about someone. I drove all over looking for him. And before that, I was busy getting stabbed.”

  Shaw’s body went taut under North. He jerked once, as though fighting a spasm, and then his breathing thickened. A tear, hot where it slid past the tip of North’s nose, ran down Shaw’s cheek. North used one finger, just one, to turn Shaw’s face toward him, their foreheads meeting, Shaw’s breath, hot and smelling like honey as he struggled to keep himself under control.

  “You want me to let you go, baby?”

  Shaw nodded jerkily; he was crying harder, but silently still.

  “Easy peasy. Just tell me you know last night wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was my fault, North. It was. If I hadn’t been so stupid and stubborn, if I hadn’t kept looking for the Slasher, if I hadn’t ignored you when you told me I was risking everything, it wouldn’t have happened. You almost died, North. He could have killed you, and then what would I have—what would I have—”

  He dissolved into sobs before he could finish, trying to turn away, but North held him gently in place.

  “Please, North,” Shaw said between gasps, “I just want to go. Please get off me. I won’t bother you again. I’ll buy whatever food you want me to buy. I won’t make you do hot yoga. Just let me go home, please.”

  “Easy peasy, baby. I already told you.”

  “Get off, North. Get off. Get the fuck off me.” Shaw drove the heel of his hand up into North’s belly.

  “Yeah, all right. You want to hit me? Go ahead. Get wild, baby. Get fucking crazy right now.”

  “He stabbed you. I watched the knife go into you, North. And you were on the ground, you were bleeding, and he kept hitting you, hurting you, and all I wanted to do was kill him. I was going to kill him. I was going to put that fucking knife into his fucking throat. He took everything from me, and I wanted him to pay for it.”

  Fear compressed North’s chest, and he struggled to pull in enough air. He felt dizzy with the memory of the knife, the kicks, the disorienting panic. Black spots ate at the edges of his vision.

  “You hated him,” North prompted, yelling now, not caring that they were inches apart. “Say it: you hated him.”

  “I hated him.”

  “You wanted to kill him.”

  “I wanted to murder him.”

  “You wanted to stick that knife in him and watch him bleed out.”

  �
��I did. I wanted him to die slowly. I wanted him to die the way Carl died.”

  “And you would have given anything for that.”

  “Anything.”

  “Even me.”

  Shaw froze. Then a shudder ran through him. His eyes closed.

  “Even me, baby. Is that it?”

  “No,” Shaw whispered, his hazel eyes flicking open, flooding now as he looked up at North.

  “So, last night. That wasn’t an elaborate plan? You didn’t lure him there, expose him, and draw him into a confrontation? You didn’t plan on him chasing you out into the parking garage, where I just happened to be, and letting him stab me for a distraction?”

  Shaw’s jaw trembled. He blinked rapidly.

  “Well, baby?”

  “No.” He sucked in a wet breath. “No.”

  “Easy peasy.”

  Shaw closed his eyes again, shaking so badly that North wondered, for a moment, if he had pushed Shaw too far. Then, the words so soft that North had to strain to hear them, Shaw said, “Last night wasn’t my fault.”

  “None of it, baby.”

  “None of it.”

  North kissed Shaw’s eyes. He kissed his cheeks. He kissed him lightly on the lips, and then up the curve of his jaw. He kissed him on the earlobe, with Shaw’s breath hot and thick and still as sweet as honey on the side of North’s neck.

  “And all this crazy bullshit,” North whispered, “the food, the nurse, all that, it’s done, right? No more beating yourself up?”

  Shaw nodded, eyes still closed, but all he said was, “The food.”

  “And the nurse. And the hot yoga. And—”

  “Just the food.”

  “Shaw, I don’t need—”

  Eyes opening, Shaw set his jaw. North recognized that look; it was the same look Shaw had worn the first time North had tried to convince him to change out of a sequined jacket before they went to the dining hall freshman year.

  “Ok,” North said. “We can talk about it.”

  Shaw raised one hand and traced the side of North’s face.

  “Hi,” North said, surprised at how thick the word was.

  “Hi,” Shaw said. His eyes closed again.

  Outside, a truck lumbered past the duplex, and the shouting from the kids rose in intensity. They were talking about McKay Donahue’s breasts. C or D. North knew what he had to do next, and his mouth was dry. It felt a little like walking on stage. Naked. To sing a song he’d never heard before. And a part of him thought that this was how Shaw felt every time they were together.

  “I was wondering,” North tried.

  Shaw made a little noise, but he didn’t open his eyes.

  North tried again. “Netflix just released this new . . . this new show.”

  “Oh yeah?” Eyes still closed.

  “Yeah.”

  Shaw’s hand came up to rest on the side of North’s neck, his touch warm.

  “It’s stupid, I know,” North said. “But I thought maybe—I thought maybe you’d like to watch it. With me.”

  “What is it?” Shaw asked, sounding almost sleepy with his eyes shut.

  “Last Hope.”

  “That sounds like anime.”

  North swallowed; he nodded, which was a jackass response to someone with his eyes shut, and then managed to say, “Yeah.”

  When Shaw opened his eyes, they were full and bright like the sea.

  “If you don’t like it, we can turn it off,” North said.

  Shaw ran his hand up the side of North’s face, his fingers combing North’s hair.

  “If you don’t want to, I get it.”

  “Maybe I want to.”

  “It might be really, really dumb.”

  “Sometimes I like things that are really, really dumb.”

  “Maybe we should just watch Supernatural. All the seasons are streaming—”

  Shaw kissed him.

  North breathed again, his elbows wonky now, and tried to keep focused. “Maybe we should watch Buffy. Something we both like. We can order pizza and—”

  Shaw kissed him again. When he fell back against the pillow, he stared up at North, wiping the corners of his eyes. “I want to watch Last Hope. With you.”

  “If it’s stupid, we’re turning it off.”

  North eased back until he was resting on his haunches, and Shaw sat up slowly.

  “If you hate it, you have to say something. I don’t want you pretending to like it just because I like it.”

  Shaw caught the hem of North’s shirt, running his thumbs inside it, his hands brushing North’s thighs. Then his hands slid up, his fingers warm against North’s belly. Then down; they tugged at the thick mat of blond hair between North’s legs. North could hear his own breath like steam.

  “I’m worried about your shoulder,” Shaw whispered, the hazel of his eyes almost swallowed by his pupils.

  “My shoulder will be just fucking fine. I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to push yourself too fast. I don’t want you to—”

  Shaw’s pulse beat in his throat, and his hands shook. But he said, “You came and found me in that corn maze.”

  Nodding slowly, North said, “I did.” Shaw’s fingers twisted, and North shuddered at the pleasure skating over the top of his thoughts. “Help me take off my shirt.”

  On his knees now, Shaw gently rucked up North’s shirt, easing it over his wounded shoulder. In that position, his head was higher than North’s, and he caught a handful of North’s hair and tugged his head back, kissing him.

  They were inches apart when Shaw said, “When I got trapped in my head, when I couldn’t get out, you carried me out.” He swallowed, and the shaking was worse, but North didn’t move. “You kicked down my door and carried me out of my room.”

  North’s chest rose and fell as Shaw’s fingertips danced over his chest. When Shaw shifted forward, his nails scratching in that insanely hot way across North’s shoulders and upper back, North whimpered. His words broke when he said, “I did.”

  “You came for me when Matty tried to kill me.”

  North was struggling to keep from sounding like a kid on the edge of puberty, struggling to bring his voice down to a normal range. “You handled that pretty well yourself, I think.”

  “But you were there.”

  North nodded. Spasms moved through him, involuntary jerks and shudders as Shaw teased the ultra-sensitive spot between his shoulder blades, as Shaw’s mouth descended, wet and hot, on his collar bone, his chest, a nipple. “I was—ah, Christ. I was there. Yes, fuck yes. I was there. Shaw, please, I . . .” He reached out to touch and then stopped himself.

  “Yeah,” Shaw whispered.

  “Are you sure?”

  “God, yes.”

  North didn’t wait to ask a second time. He peeled that ridiculous sweatshirt over Shaw’s head, relishing each inch of pale, smooth skin, and then he planted a hand on Shaw’s chest and forced him back onto the bed. He threw the slippers aside. He tugged off the pink Juicy sweatpants. He cuffed Shaw’s ankles with his hands, and his eyes roved up and down Shaw: the slender musculature of arms and legs, the reddish-brown fur that tapered into a dusting of hair across his chest and belly, so sparse it was almost invisible. Shaw was so thin that every rib, every muscle was exposed, revealing a strength that nobody else ever got to see. Goosebumps pebbled Shaw’s skin, and he was clutching handfuls of the sheets.

  “Too much?” North asked.

  “You told me—” Shaw hesitated, a wave of some emotion breaking over him. “You told me you like me like this. Yours.”

  A hundred answers jostled in North’s mind. Then he said, “Mine.”

  Shaw seemed to consider this; he nodded once.

  North leaned forward, his hands gliding up Shaw’s legs, rounding his knees, teasing that tender skin on the inside of his thighs. Shaw whimpered, alternately spreading his legs and trying to pull them closed, but North was already there,
holding him. He bent, and he licked a stripe from the base of Shaw’s dick to the tip.

  Shaw whipped his head to one side, muttering, “Fuck.”

  “I want you inside me,” North whispered.

  Shaw raised himself on his elbows. The hazel eyes were somewhere North could get lost.

  “Please?” North said.

  “Yeah. Yes. Yes.”

  Shaw shifted, but before he could rise, North planted a hand on Shaw’s belly and went down on him. He went slowly, using his mouth until Shaw was panting, fisting the sheets, furrowing the bedding with his heels. When his cries became low and sharp and close together, North pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Shaw stared at him, his face wiped of everything but a demand: why? Why had North stopped?

  Grinning, North slapped Shaw’s ass. “Time for you to do some work.”

  They switched places, although Shaw still had the dazed look of a man staggering away from a car crash. North tried to get out of his jeans, but his shoulder pinged with pain, and Shaw had to drag the denim down and toss it to the side. North felt a flicker of fear, like fool’s gold flashing under lamplight.

  But Shaw went slowly. Something shifted in Shaw’s posture, and his touches and fumbles grew in confidence. North’s little gasps of surprise changed, becoming louder. The shakes worked their way down one of his legs. Shaw’s name was a chant, the only word he seemed to remember, and then, as Shaw worked longer on him, please and God and fuck came back, a cycle of demands that were barely conscious. He just knew he needed Shaw, needed whatever Shaw would give him, needed that supernova behind his eyes that Shaw could ignite.

  When Shaw entered him, North arched his back, and then Shaw set a brutal pace. His hips snapped forward, fast and then slow, teasing at first, and then North felt the fuse burn down and his world went white. He could hear his pants merge into a hoarse scream as he came, and Shaw followed a moment later, grunting with a savagery that went to dark places in North’s mind, promising something that, even in North’s daze, he could dream about for the future.