Of course, looking up at the Shaw’s own personal barbell helped take North’s mind off it. A little.

The first lift was the hardest, his muscles stiff and protesting, but North had carefully chosen a weight well within his safety range. Shaw kept his hands under the bar, just in case, but North was fine. He pumped cleanly and steadily until sweat bloomed across his chest and shoulders, until the dull heat had spread throughout his upper body. It felt good. It would hurt like a bitch tomorrow, but it felt damn good.

“Shaw,” North grunted.

In an instant, Shaw’s hands were there, catching the bar. “Are you ok? Your shoulder, are you—”

“Fine. Just need a minute. Can you hold it? I want to put my arms down.”

“Let’s bring it back up.”

“No, just hold it. Can you?”

Uncertainty marked Shaw’s voice. “I think.”

North eased back until he wasn’t supporting any of the weight. “Got it?”

“Yeah. I don’t understand why we couldn’t just put it back—oh Christ.”

North reached back, his hands finding where the Princess Mononoke socks ended and Shaw’s flesh began—soft, warm flesh dusted with chestnut-colored hairs. North only made contact with his fingertips, tracing up Shaw’s thighs, just the outside and the backs at first, then sliding in, his thumbs working friction-hot circles onto the sensitive skin on the inside of Shaw’s legs.

“Oh, fuck, North,” Shaw was saying over and over again. The weights chimed softly as he struggled to support the bar. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

“North.” That single word, his name, was a wail.

North ran his fingertips up, under the nylon shell of the running shorts, where Shaw’s skin was fever hot. He found him hard and wet, took him in one hand.

“Oh fuck,” Shaw was whimpering, hingeing at the waist now, the plates on the bar ringing like Christmas bells. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck, North.”

North stripped his other hand away from Shaw’s balls and caught the barbell in the center, adding some of his strength to Shaw’s. His other hand kept up its work.

“Oh fuck. Oh, North. North, I can’t, I’m—”

A strained cry ripped out of Shaw’s throat, and he threw his head back, thrusting into North’s touch. He started to slump.

“Not so fast,” North said, laughing softly. “You gotta help me get this bar into place.”

To his credit, Shaw did try, but his arms looked like rubber now, and North, still laughing, did most of the lifting. Once clear of the bar, North sat up on the bench. Shaw stumbled around and collapsed onto his lap.

“Oh. My. Fuck,” Shaw managed to say before burying his face in North’s chest.