“Ok. Just put something on before I have to stare at your weiner for another minute.”

“You don’t have to stare. You like staring.”

“Now, Shaw.”

It took Shaw five minutes to produce a pair of tiny lycra shorts from his bag. It took almost another five minutes for him to put them on. North rubbed his eyes and tried not to admit to himself that yes, he liked looking. Quite a bit, in fact. And he had liked it back in college, too. Instead, he focused on one very simple fact: his life had been easier before Matty had helped Shaw get over his hangups about total nudity. The scar on Shaw’s thigh and balls, that had been the one obstacle standing between North and having to work in the equivalent of a nudist colony. It looked like those days were gone.

Still, it was a long time before North trusted himself—a certain part of himself—enough to strip down to his boxers and climb into bed.

A scream woke him, and for one disoriented moment, North thought he was hearing that shrill bleating in the barn again. Then the scream came again, dragging North out from the warm haze, and his brain worked through the dark room, the unfamiliar bed. Then a third scream.

North stumbled out of bed. “Ouch.” A belt buckle. “Ouch.” A Lego? Was that even possible? “Aww, fuck.” His big toe on the bedpost. Then his knees hit the mattress, and he leaned down.

Moonlight fanned across the bed, picking out Shaw’s features in monochrome relief. His face was scrunched up, and his arm flopped against the mattress, his fingers trying to hook something. Or, North thought, to ward something off.

“Shaw. Come on, hey. Shaw.”

Sweat gleamed on Shaw’s forehead. His hair wrapped around his neck, the ends curling at the hollow of his throat. When his eyes opened, the pupils were so dilated that the whole eye looked black. Suddenly, North was aware of the heat pouring off Shaw, of the other man’s proximity, of the flat chest dimpled with more sweat, of the flush—just another shade of gray in the moonlight—climbing Shaw’s throats and cheeks.

“Hey,” Shaw said softly. His eyes filled, and he closed them and turned his head into the pillow. “Sorry. Did I—was I making a lot of noise?”

Right then, if North McKinney had to boil down his list of wants in life, he could have done it. He could have narrowed that list down to one thing: he wanted to thumb away the strand of hair sticking to Shaw’s sweaty forehead. Then he wanted to kiss him. Ok, two things. Then he wanted to take him in his arms and make love to him all night, maybe for eternity. Ok, three things. It was hard to boil down a long list.