“Not steel,” was all he said. “Tucker likes how warm they are.”

Then, gaining his footing, North navigated the darkness toward the door, his hand groping blindly over the wall for the switch. “Let’s hope they didn’t hear us. Thank God he bought cages designed for dogs and not for humans—those things had shit reinforcement, but they probably worked really well for guys that just wanted the fantasy of being locked up.” His hand found the plastic face plate, and he thumbed the lights on. “Just a second, I’ll get you—”

When he turned around, Shaw was sitting on top of the crate, his legs tucked up against his chest. Below him, the gate to his crate hung open.

“What—” North tried to rein himself in, but it was too late.

Shaw was grinning. “You just sounded so proud of yourself. The huffing. The grunting. The powerful explosions of breath when you kicked.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“It was very impressive.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“I think it’s great how tough you are.”

“Oh fuck me Jesus.”

“You’re right: they’re made for dogs. So you can unhook this—” Shaw tapped a metal joint. “And the whole thing starts to come apart.”

“Stand up,” North said, his boots slapping the wet cement as he crossed toward Shaw. He took Shaw’s face in his hands, turning his head, studying those hazel eyes, the pupils, the sharp symmetry of his face, his neck, palpating Shaw’s throat for damage, tracing his ribcage. “Did that fucker hurt you?”

Shaw gave a bare shake of his head but didn’t move.

Moments like these—very rare, very few—were like catching fireflies. North had to be so careful. So gentle. And for a few heartbeats, when he got to touch Shaw like this, feel the reddish stubble on his chin, smell the spiky musk of whatever he combed through his hair, the micro-tremors of Shaw’s pulse—faster now, his pupils dilating, his breath stirring a tendril of chestnut hair that hung over his face—for these few heartbeats when North could allow himself this, even knowing he shouldn’t, it was like he held glowbursts of light in his hands and the rest of the world had dropped away to darkness.

It had gone on too long. North knew that; he had trained himself with Shaw, a very long time ago, never to let the touching go on too long, never to let the looking go on too long, never to let all the thoughts he had chained to the bottom of his mind break free and float to the surface. But North wasn’t ready, not yet. So he pulled Shaw into a hug. “Fuck.” And some emotion North couldn’t name caught him by the throat, strangled him. “Fuck, that was so fucking terrible.”

And he waited for Shaw to laugh. To make a joke. To tease. He might say something about playing doctor, that was low-hanging fruit. That was how they’d always done this, skating so close to the line that, fuck, they’d probably blurred the line out of existence. But Shaw didn’t say anything, and after a moment, his arms wrapped around North, pulling him tight, and his head dropped into North’s shoulder, and his body shook once. Then he twisted free and left North’s arms hanging in the air, left North’s body growing cold where Shaw should have been.