Work Text:
i.
just got my bags! c u soon :)
Hudson glances at the notification right as it pops up on his screen, types out a quick OK! before hastily pocketing his phone. He leans against the barricade, ankles sore from standing up for the last half hour. He’d spent the hour before that strategically parking his car just outside the airport entrance, then strolling idly through the duty-free stores, before deciding to just wait it out at the arrivals hall. Something buzzes under his skin; he can’t even stand still, constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he works his lower lip between his teeth.
It’s normal, he thinks to himself, since you’re meeting him for the first time. Sure, he’s met Connor before, but that was only over Zoom meetings and that one frantic FaceTime call they shared after they both got confirmation of their casting. He only knows Connor from the waist-up—not including the photos he’d found online that night he’d drunk a little too much and dug around a little too deep. He remembers, briefly, of seeing a longer-haired version of Connor, with nipple piercings to boot, before clicking his phone off and deciding That’s enough Internet for today.
It’s sensible though, practical, to want to know more about your colleague-to-be. And even though they were both at similar points in their careers, Hudson still felt the unmistakable tinge of mediocrity at times, especially seeing the projects that Connor had booked. Each one felt bizarrely different from the last—different hair, different accent, almost an entirely different person.
And so, it makes sense that Hudson’s eager—and a little nervous, perhaps—to meet his fellow co-star and the person behind it all.
Several people stream out of the arrival doors. Hudson cranes his neck, eyes sweeping across the crowd. It’s hard not to notice Connor, not when Hudson catches sight of a curly-haired man wearing a massive grin on his face and too few layers stride down the hallway. When Connor eventually spots him, his smile grows impossibly wider. He practically bounds down the corridor, his luggage clattering behind him in tow, until he slows to a halt before the latter.
The buzz only intensifies—there’s a ringing in his ears. He swallows the nerves down to demolition.
“Hey there, co-star,” Connor greets, voice higher-pitched than Hudson remembers from their calls. He tugs off his baseball cap, curls falling over his forehead like he’s in a fucking commercial and not straight out of a six-hour flight. Fuck, he’s even more gorgeous up close. “How long have you been waiting for me?”
It takes a moment for Hudson to reel himself back to his senses. “Not long,” he lies. “Do you need help with your bags?”
“Oh, I’m good,” Connor nods. “Thanks for offering to meet me here, by the way. I would’ve gotten so lost by myself.”
“It’s nothing, really.” Past the exchange of courtesies, Hudson guides them towards the airport entrance, not once letting his stare leave Connor’s face. There’s a smattering of moles all along the side of his face, his neck, one peeking out from under the collar of his shirt—and then Hudson looks away. “I drove here, by the way. You can leave your bags in the trunk.”
“You sweet, sweet man.”
The compliment rolls off of Connor’s tongue easily, a simple nicety and nothing more. Heat flushes across Hudson’s chest nonetheless. “It’s only right,” Hudson says, before cheekily adding, “being Canadian and all.”
That earns him a laugh. “Not you perpetuating your own stereotypes,” Connor teases. “Should I be expecting a horse-drawn carriage outside?”
“Nope,” Hudson snorts. “Just my good ‘ol trusty Toyota.”
“Have to admit, that’s better than a carriage,” Connor says. “Also, if it’s not too much to ask—can we stop by the grocery store?”
Turns out Connor had been awake for the last twenty-six hours, too busy stowing a month’s worth of clothes and toiletries into his bag to think about sleep, save for the half-hour nap he’d convinced himself to take on the plane. That, Hudson figures, is probably why he’s been talking a mile a minute, half-weary, half-delirious, even throughout their pitstop at the grocery store. He let Connor lead the way, trailing behind as Connor zoomed from one aisle to the next in search of “coconut cream, why the hell is it not in the dairy section?!”
And the whole time, Hudson was… he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He keeps quiet for most of it, only chiming in with the occasional “uh huh” and “mm hm” and “that’s crazy, man”, because what do you talk about with your co-star an hour into meeting them in-person for the first time? He wonders if the chatter is something innately Connor Storrie, or if he’s just as nervous as Hudson is right now. He figures it’s not the latter, not with his sleek composure, or the way he had casually flirted with the store cashier, or the way he gently nudges Hudson’s elbow mid-drive to ask “Can I hook up to your AUX?”
He puts on IC3PEAK. Of course he does.
“And then, I was like fuck, but my yoghurt!” Connor continues, even as they both walk towards their residence. “I literally just bought the tub, like, two days ago! Which was lowkey dumb of me because by then I knew I would be flown out to Toronto, but anyways, I told my sister to have it instead, but she doesn’t—and I quote, ‘want to eat my plain ass Greek yoghurt’, and then–”
He’s cut off mid-way through his soliloquy, though, when a group of pre-teens saunter past them. One of them pokes his tongue out at the both of them, another making fart sounds with his hand over his mouth. They all snicker away like it’s the most hilarious fucking thing in the world.
Hudson curses under his breath. He’s about to mutter something about kids these days, amirite? under his breath when, to his bewilderment, Connor stops in his tracks. He turns, faces the kids head-on, and curves his fingers around the corners of his mouth to go “BLEHHHH!”
What the everloving fuck.
One of the kids squeaks, immediately backing away from them. Another one, visibly older than the rest of the lot, returns Connor’s attack with an equally loud “YAAAARGH!”, all wide eyes and waggling tongue.
“BLEHHHH!” Connor growls, hunched over, fingers curled into claws.
Before Hudson knows it, he’s sticking his tongue out, shaking his head so hard his necklace rattles against his chest, and making garbled noises back at the kids. “AWAWAWAAA–”
For a split second, Hudson realises how awkward of a scene this would look like with any passers-by—oops, spoke too soon, he thinks, as an elderly lady strolls past them with a concerned look on her face. When he turns briefly to look at Connor, though, the fear of being perceived evaporates into thin air, and he returns to pulling the stupidest faces at the kids.
He sees their faces slowly contort from taunting, to concerned, then distraught, and eventually, they begin to take a few tentative steps backwards. One of them yells something about “dude, let’s just go, they’re crazy,” before running off into the distance. Once their figures disappear past the corner, the pair exchange a knowing look—before bursting into a fit of giggles.
“What the fuck,” Hudson laughs, “was that?”
“I don’t know!” Connor shrieks. He doubles over onto his knees, gasping for breath. “I don’t know what came over me. I hate kids like that, I guess it just evoked something in me.”
Hudson shakes his head in disbelief. “Dude. I can’t believe we scared off a bunch of random children.”
“We’re definitely going to appear in their dreams tonight,” Connor says, reaching down to grab the grocery bags he’d dropped in his antics, “as their sleep paralysis demons.” He offers a sleazy wink, one Hudson hadn’t been expecting. The shock of it sends a swoop to his stomach. “Now come on, I need to eat something or I’ll throw an absolute fit.”
They order Chinese takeout. While Hudson phones in, he watches Connor lift himself up to the kitchen island, the muscles under his arms rippling at the movement. Hudson almost gawks at the sight.
It’s impressive. You know, since they’re acting as hockey players and all. That’s all. He makes a mental note to ask Connor about his workout routine later.
When the food comes, the aroma of sesame oil and fried dumplings wafts through the apartment. Hudson can barely hold himself back from moaning into his food, already lamenting the loss of salt-and-pepper chicken and black bean noodles for the next month and a half. Connor seems to read his mind; between bites of fried rice, he mumbles, “I am so going to miss this.”
“You can say that again.”
Connor smirks. “I am so going to miss this.”
“...You little shit.”
“Oh, you love it,” Connor laughs. He grabs the TV remote, lowering the volume of the film playing on the television, letting the crickets outside take over the silence.
The flats they’d been given are wide, generous, decked out with a fully-fitted kitchen and balcony. They’re even staying next to each other. Before this, Hudson had never booked anything big enough to offer him a bed and breakfast. It all seems a bit too good, too surreal, and if he thinks too hard he might start to spiral. He wonders, instead, about how many nights will be spent like this—hanging out at each other’s flats, practising their lines together, eating dinner, debriefing about their days spent on-set.
They ease into conversation, talking about the projects they were in, the places they grew up. Connor seems more relaxed now, head resting on his hand as he nods along to Hudson’s stories. Hudson, too, can sense his own relief. After that run-in with the kids, he can feel the muscles in his shoulders looser than before, the tense line of his arms less rigid.
This is fine, Hudson thinks. This is totally going to be fine.
As they finish the last of their food, Connor digs around his shorts for something. “Ah, shit,” he mumbles. He peers up at Hudson. “You got a light?”
“Hm?” Hudson blinks. “Oh, yeah. Should be in my coat pocket.”
“Cool.” Connor shuffles over to the balcony doors, sliding them open. “You smoke? Wait, don’t answer that, actually—I’m so dumb, you literally have a lighter on you.”
Hudson chuckles. “All good. I’m not in the mood for it right now, though, but go ham.”
He drops the lighter into Connor’s palm, before walking out to the balcony. From the twenty-second floor, they overlook the scenic view of the Toronto skyline. It’s quiet up here, save for the honks and sirens in the far distance, and their breaths mingling in the space between them.
Hudson sets their cans of beer down on the glass tabletop. He watches on in rapt attention as Connor balances a cigarette between his teeth, flicking on the lighter until a flame casts shadows across his face. He takes a slow drag, letting the smoke curl up into wisps, framing the lines of his face. Moonlight gleams against the slope of his neck, his arms, accentuating each dip and curve.
Hudson swallows, turns away. He forces his heartbeat to slow down to a dull pulse.
“It’s crazy,” Connor whispers, smoke slipping past his lips, “that I’m here.”
“Agreed,” Hudson says. He presses his arms against the cool metal of the railing, sighing. “It’s kind of the biggest thing yet, for me.”
“Same.”
“I mean, you were in Joker with Joaquin Phoenix.”
“Like, one scene,” Connor insists. “It was big being in the same room with him, but obviously that’s different from being a co-lead for a whole show.”
“Right. Yeah.”
Connor lifts the cigarette back to his lips, but not before saying, “I watched your short films, by the way, the ones on YouTube.” He exhales, smoke fanning over Hudson’s face. “You’re good.”
“What–” Warmth caresses the back of his neck. “Shut up, you didn’t.”
“Of course I did!” Connor huffs. “I was curious to see who I’m acting with. Weren’t you curious?”
“Yeah, I was,” Hudson admits. He does not, however, admit to watching everything he could find with Connor in it at least twice or three times. “You’re good, too. Like, ridiculously good. The accent you had for our chemistry read was really impressive.”
Amused, Connor quirks an eyebrow at him. “And you look ridiculously good in leopard print.”
“Oh, fuck off–”
Connor laughs at this, loud and hearty, tossing his head back with the weight of his laughter. A mental snapshot of it etches itself into Hudson’s memory. How genuine, how present Connor is, it’s striking. Hudson keeps his smile imprisoned behind his teeth as he shoves at Connor’s arm. “Ah, damn it. Pass me a cig?”
He expects Connor to toss him his pack of Marlboros. Instead, Connor stretches out a hand, half-cigarette dangling between his fingers.
A peace offering. A challenge. Hudson tries to guess it from Connor’s face, but nothing gives it away.
Fuck.
Daringly, Hudson takes it from him, fingertips grazing against each other. He brings the cigarette to his lips slowly, agonisingly slow, leaving his gaze on Connor as he inhales, exhales. Smoke clouds his vision, and when it clears, he catches the silhouette of a knowing smile on Connor’s lips.
He passes it back, and this time, he anticipates the touch of their hands. A shot of adrenaline courses through his veins all the same. He wants to say Thanks but knows the wobble of his voice will betray him.
Connor licks his lips, tongue darting out to lap at the corner of his mouth. “Well.” He nods, lifting his beer can up. Condensation leaks from the surface, drips past his fingers. “To a crazy month ahead.”
Hudson takes up his own, too. He clinks their cans together, tries not to look at Connor’s mouth. He only manages the first.
“To a crazy month ahead.”
ii.
“Alright, everyone, I think that’s a wrap for today! Thank you, team!”
A round of applause resounds in the room, though quieter than the day before. It’s a small crew this afternoon, what with the scene they’re shooting. The Vegas skyline behind them shutters off, camera lights dimming and boom mics lowering down to the ground. Someone throws a towel in Hudson’s direction, which he gratefully catches and wraps around his waist. The bite of the air-conditioning had left gooseflesh all along his arms, and in between takes he kept having to rub his palms over his skin.
Connor slips off of the bed, nodding at Hudson. “You good?” he asks, in his normal voice.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Though my stomach is so fucking sore, he almost adds. He tucks it away, not wanting to worry Connor. If there’s anything he’s learned in the last couple days of rehearsals, it’s that Connor is observant—annoyingly observant. That, paired with his heart of gold, only adds to the eggshells for Hudson to walk around. “You heading to the gym after?”
“Mhm.” He stares at Hudson now, almost the same way as he did not even twenty minutes ago, except there’s less intensity in his eyes, less performativity. More concern. “I think I might head out for a bit first, but don’t wait up on me.”
“Cool, cool.” He swallows. “I need to settle something first, too, so no rush.”
“Okay.” Doubt lingers in Connor’s voice, but thankfully, he doesn’t press on. “I’ll see you soon, then.”
It takes effort, too much effort, for Hudson to pull himself out of it. Everything passes by in a seamless blur as he dresses himself and waves goodbye to the crew members and stalks out of the studio fast, not fast enough. He clambers into the van which takes him back to their residence, and he takes the elevator up to his floor, and he can barely jangle his key into the doorknob, hand shaking, and then he finally gets the door open, and then–
Hudson leans back against the mahogany door. He screws his eyes shut, hard enough to block out the light—but still not hard enough to block out the obvious strain in his jeans.
“Fuck.”
He blames everyone in the world, including himself, but most of all, he blames Connor. Connor, with his low Russian accent and his styled hair and his open shirt flapping against his sculpted torso. Connor, with his high-pitched laughter as Hudson tried and failed and tried again to land those boxers right in Connor’s lap. Connor, with his kind eyes glazing over Hudson, his hands scraping against Hudson’s back, his mouth curling prettily around every syllable he spoke. You good?
He thought he could avoid it, that simmer in his blood each time he looked at Connor. After all, they had rehearsed that scene, blocking every movement over and over again, to the point where Hudson could probably walk around the set with his eyes closed while reciting his lines. And they had done great, everyone had said so. He even remembers overhearing Jacob in the corridor, muttering to someone about how “thank fuck that worked out well, I’d hate for that scene to be awkward between the two of them.”
And here he still is, hard-on pressing against the fabric of his jeans.
Hudson balances up his options. Option 1: Take a long, cold shower. Option 2: Ignore it. It goes away eventually, right? It always does.
Option 3: Just deal with it right then and there—and never think about it again.
“Fuck it,” he grumbles. He unzips his jeans, cursing as the zip catches onto his skin. He shoves them down, then his boxers, before squeezing around his cock with an exasperated sigh of relief.
It’s fine, he thinks. I’ll just think of something else. It’s totally fine.
He closes his eyes. He thinks of a faceless person—a woman, to be on the safer side. He thinks of heart-shaped lips and luscious locks draping over shoulders and a mole on her cheek—wait, no, Connor has a mole there. Okay, no moles. He thinks of sliding his hand down a long, sculpted back, butt pressed against his cock. He thinks of fucking up in abandon, gasping into a hot mouth, everything around him hot, hot, hot, heatwaves rolling off of his skin.
He strokes himself faster now, precome dripping over his fingers. He presses his back against the door, groaning aloud. He thinks of blue eyes staring back at him, rough hands sliding over his chest, his hips. Of a tongue licking into his mouth, hot and tender all at once. Of Connor, his curls matted against his forehead, sweat dripping past his chin the same way it does when he works out a little too hard, when he–
Stop thinking about him! Hudson begs. Think about anyone, literally anyone else but him. But how can he not, when the coil in his stomach only tightens at the thought of Connor, of him smiling into a kiss, of him moaning against his skin, Hudson, Huddie, baby, please let me come–
Hudson comes so hard he can almost see stars in the back of his eyes, the relief washing over him in waves as he strokes himself through his release. He pants, hand still wrapped around his cock with bated breath.
And then, well. The realisation dawns upon him, and he sinks to the floor with aching knees. A hand—the clean one—comes up to drag over his face.
“Fuuuuck.”
iii.
“Huddie!” Connor shouts from below. “Smile for the camera!”
Hudson pitches forward against the railing to see their social media manager aim her phone camera at him. They’re in between takes for the club scene, otherwise an opportunity to force the cast members to mouth along to a half dozen TikToks, and then some more. He grins, offering a small wave, before glancing over at Connor and Ksenia leaning against the “bar”. Connor grins back at him boyishly before returning to his conversation with Ksenia.
“Here’s a tip for you, champ,” a voice from behind him says. “Number one rule: Never fuck your co-workers.”
Startled, Hudson swivels around to see Sophie walk up to him. “Fucking hell, Soph,” he mutters, hand coming up to clutch at his chest. “What are you talking about?”
Sophie raises an eyebrow. “Um, I think we both know what I’m talking about.”
When Hudson doesn’t say anything else, Sophie nods in their colleagues’ direction. “Don’t pretend I haven’t seen you make fuck me eyes at Connor over there.”
Hudson sucks in a sharp breath. “I do not make… fuck me eyes, or whatever.”
“Oh, sorry,” Sophie says, feigning remorse. “I should’ve said, please stop making those let me fuck you eyes at our poor boy Con–”
“–I am not making any eyes whatsoever at him!” Hudson insists. He maintains his gaze with Sophie, and after a beat, groans into his hands. “Fuuuuck. That obvious, huh?”
A hand comes up to pat sympathetically on his shoulder. “There, there. You poor, horny soul.”
“Fuck off,” Hudson grumbles, but there’s no spite in his tone. He can only cast a sideways glance at Connor, who’s now animatedly chatting away with a background actor. “It’s not like that.” He chews on his lower lip. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“I mean,” Sophie says, leaning against the railing, “I’m not saying it’s impossible. It is possible to fuck your co-workers and move on with your day–”
“–Why do I feel like you’re speaking from experience–”
“–But it’s not the wisest choice, is all I’m saying,” Sophie finishes. “Do whatever you want, but be prepared to face the consequences.”
Hudson snorts. “Like that’s not the most ominous ending ever.”
“I’m serious,” Sophie says, crossing her arms over her chest. “We don’t know yet what kind of reception this show’s going to get, but I’d stay in the safe zone.” She exchanges a quick glance between Connor then back at Hudson, her lips pressed together into a thin line. “For both you and Connor’s sanity.”
“It’s sensible,” Hudson agrees. And then, stupidly, he adds, “And I mean, it’s not like I’m expecting anything to happen. We’re best friends. We hang out all the time. We’re, like, bros now, or whatever.”
Sophie gives him a knowing look. “I think you should open your eyes a little more, Huddie,” she says forlornly. Before Hudson can ask her The hell do you mean? someone from downstairs calls for her name. “That’s my cue. Think about what I said, okay?”
“Okay…?”
Hudson sneaks a glance back at Connor. A shiver rushes down his spine, though, when he catches Connor looking right at him. He turns, cowardly, his pulse quickening under his skin. He thinks about what Sophie said, turns her words over in torturous deliberation. He hates to admit it, but she’s right. He can clasp his hands together and make a wish upon a lone star, but none of it would matter. He can’t do anything with all this—whatever this is—in his hands.
With crushed hopes and a pack of cigarettes in his coat, Hudson descends from the floor above.
iv.
The press tour is, to say the least, a whirlwind of emotions.
Ever since the announcement of the show’s international release, Hudson’s calendar has been stacking up with event after event. A pitstop at his alma mater this week, flight to LA next week. Photoshoots. Interviews, so many interviews. Fancy dinners with very, very famous people. He’s already racked up fifty thousand followers on Instagram. It’s so much, so fast. If it weren’t for his agent, Hudson thinks he’d rather the ground engorge him whole.
As they stumble off the set of yet another talk show, Connor worries his lower lip between his teeth. “Tired?”
“Talk about it,” Hudson yawns. He clambers into the van, waiting to whisk them off to their next interview. “I barely got any sleep last night.”
“Me too,” Connor says. “Oh, well, I did get six hours.”
“Babe, that’s good enough sleep. I slept for, like, two.”
“Oh, god.” Connor lets out an embarrassed groan. “Now I feel bad.”
“Please don’t be.” Hudson sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You can make it up to me with a coffee later.”
Just as the engine rumbles to a start, Connor leans over the console. “Sorry, Josh, could you give me, like, five minutes?”
“What–” Hudson watches as Connor throws the car door open. “–Dude, where are you going?”
“I’ll be back in a jiffy!” is all Connor says while throwing him a wink, before disappearing out of sight.
A few minutes later, Connor pokes his head back into view. When he slides the door open, Hudson immediately squeezes his eyes shut in mortification. “Con, you– I didn’t actually mean it. You could’ve gotten it later–”
“–Shh, no complaints!” Connor chirps. He settles into the seat next to Hudson, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. “You can’t take it back now, and I mean it. I paid for it already.”
Hudson can’t help but let out a choked laugh. This man, and his impossibly big smile, and his impossibly bigger heart. This man will be the death of me. “Well, thank you. Also, why are you sat next to me? You can just put the coffee on the cup holder in the middle seat–”
Connor shushes him again. A hand comes up to the nape of his neck, dragging Hudson to lay his head on Connor’s shoulder. Oh. Oh. The sturdy line of Connor’s shoulder presses against his ear, and he prays to the heavens that Connor can’t hear his short breathing, or his heart jackhammering underneath his chest. “Sleep. I’ll tell you when we get there,” Connor says, voice low, affectionate.
“Yeah,” Hudson says. What an embarrassment of riches that Hudson lavishes from him—and yet, greedily, he only wants more. He wants Connor to press his lips against his forehead, to whisper sweet nothings against his lips, to close the last of the distance between themselves, crossing that faint line between friendship and something more, and yet–
He drifts off to sleep, a steady heartbeat in tandem with his.
v.
When Connor invites him to stay over at his place in LA, Hudson can hardly believe his luck.
“Nice place,” Hudson says, polite. He slips his shoes off at the doorway, drops his backpack and duffel bag to the floor. “Where’s your sister?”
“Oh, she’s out of town,” Connor says. He drags a hand through his curls, the muscle of his arm visible against his shirt sleeve. No, bad. Bad, bad Hudson. “And she told me she’s happy to have you in her room. I quote, ‘I’d rather die than let Hudson fucking Williams sleep on our dusty couch’.”
“That’s… nice of her?”
Connor chuckles. “Come on. You must’ve had a long day. I’ll take your bags and we can order something to have in.”
“Oh, no,” Hudson protests. He lugs a grocery bag up to the kitchen island, and from it spills an assortment of vegetables and other ingredients. “I’m cooking dinner for us.”
“What– Hudson, you can’t just do that!” Connor gasps. Hudson chuckles. He knew Connor would react exactly like this. “You’re literally my guest. I can’t just let you make me food!”
“And my mother would kill me and feed me to the pigeons if she found out I didn’t offer something in return for your kindness, you know, what with you having me over,” Hudson retorts. He sifts through the ingredients: carrots, beef, shiitake mushrooms, courgettes, noodles. He glances around at the kitchen. “Say, you do have soy sauce in here, right?”
“I do, but–” Connor sighs, a look of pained exasperation on his face. Hudson can barely contain his glee. “Let me help you, please. I cannot stand here and watch you cook by yourself.”
With a roll of his eyes, Hudson relents. “Fine, fine. Can you boil some water, then?”
They fall into a quiet tandem. As Hudson chops the vegetables, he keeps a watchful eye over Connor as the latter stirs a pot of bubbling sweet potato noodles. Once he’s done prepping, Hudson heats up a saucepan, drizzling a dollop of oil before frying the vegetables, each kind in turn.
Curious, Connor rests his chin on Hudson’s shoulder, taking a quick whiff. “What are you cooking, actually? I think I should’ve asked you this earlier.”
“What, scared I’ll poison you?” Hudson teases. He flicks the vegetables over with the spatula. “It’s japchae. My mum makes it for me sometimes.”
“Nice. Any reason?”
When Hudson turns slightly, he’s met with a dazed look on Connor’s face. He thinks he should be used to it now, every touch, every look, but somehow Hudson still finds himself hanging onto the other’s words each time, without fail. That glimmer of hope, so close within reach, only for it to die in his throat with the rest of the words he wants to say.
He thinks back to what his mother had said once while cooking the same dish for him. It’s a long, arduous task, she hummed, because you have to cook each ingredient separately, to preserve its taste.
Then why cook it at all?
His mother had pressed a warm hand to his forehead, smiling. Because we make the effort for the ones we love.
“No reason,” Hudson quips. “Now go sit down somewhere. I swear it’s almost done.”
The presentation is… something else. Hudson is nowhere close to being a cook; the courgettes chopped too short, the carrots julienned into too-large chunks. When he sets a bowl down in front of Connor, though, all worries wash out as Connor takes his first bite with a delighted hum. “Shit, Huddie, this is so good.”
“What can I say?” Hudson beams. He takes up a pair of chopsticks and tries his own cooking. It’s a little too salty, the carrots a tad undercooked, but clearly Connor is either pretending or doesn’t mind at all. He bites down on a grin as he slurps down his noodles.
After almost engaging in a fist fight with Connor over who washes the dishes (“What do you mean you’re washing up after cooking me a whole fucking dinner? You psycho!”) and subsequently being banished from the kitchen, Hudson decides to take a shower to rinse the airport grime off of him. When he emerges from the bathroom, he accidentally takes a wrong turn and walks into what is likely Connor’s bedroom.
It’s homey, lived-in. Band posters and polaroids line along the walls, surrounding the double bed with its checkered bedsheets. Hudson grazes a hand along the bookshelf, comics and self-help books almost bursting out of it. He scans the photographs, some of them of Connor and his family, his high school friends, and—
Hudson grins at the last one. It’s a film polaroid of them in their hockey jerseys, one privy to them only. Hudson remembers grinning at the camera, trying to keep his eyes wide open to fight against that intense flash after one too many failed snapshots. And Connor… Connor was looking at him unabashedly, that adoring look in his eyes, smiling so wide, too wide.
Hudson thinks back to what Sophie told him all those months ago. I think you should open your eyes a little more, Huddie.
“This isn’t where you’re sleeping.”
It takes all of him not to jump ten feet into the air. “Jesus, you guys need to stop sneaking up to me like that,” Hudson grunts.
Connor furrows his eyebrows. “Hm?”
“Nothing,” Hudson bristles. He gestures to the bed. “And also, I beg to differ. This bed looks big enough for the both of us,” he says, adding a playful lilt in his voice.
“Uh, no,” Connor snorts. “I can barely fit into this bed now.”
“Come on,” Hudson drawls. He takes ahold of Connor’s hand—a movement he would’ve hesitated a few months ago, but now comes all too naturally—and pulls the other down to the bed with him. Connor lets out a squeak, thumping against the mattress right next to Hudson, their legs flung over one another. “Let me stay here. Pleeeease.”
“Babe, you can’t just–” Hudson softens his eyes, purses his lips into a pout. “–god, fine, you win.”
“Yessss,” Hudson grins. He maneuvers himself on the bed, which in Connor’s respect, is certainly too small to host them both. Hudson knows they will make do. He ends up with an arm snaked around Connor’s waist, lips pressed against Connor’s ear. He brazenly lets out a loud sigh, hot breath against skin, earning him a groan.
“I regret this already.”
“Shh,” Hudson whispers. He strokes Connor’s hair, smooth curls brushing over his calloused palm. “Let it pass.”
He lets his eyelids slide shut. He relishes in the moment, the heat of Connor’s body flush against his own. Amidst the landslide success of the show and the commotion of the press tour and everything else in between, Hudson can only imagine that this is one of very few moments he can call his own.
As if he can read his mind, Connor murmurs, “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Hm?”
“Like in my room,” Connor says. He drags himself further up the bed, until he’s eye-to-eye with Hudson. “Think about it. A couple months ago, I didn’t even know you existed. And here you are now, both of us, in this show that somehow became some overnight success.”
“Not overnight,” Hudson corrects. “It’s been a long time coming for you. For us.”
Connor smiles, before burying his nose into the space between Hudson’s jaw and neck. The unexpected contact makes Hudson’s breath hitch. “Mm. You’re right.”
“Well, I’m always right.”
“Now you’re ruining the moment,” Connor says, but Hudson can feel the curve of his smile against his skin. There’s a press of an open-mouthed kiss along his clavicle, and Hudson swears his brain almost short-circuits. “Stop it.”
“Hm.” A swell of emotions—pride, delight, and a drop of regret—rises up his lungs. He tries to swallow it down, but the prickling of his throat constricts around it all. “I’ll try.”
They stay like that, for a long, long time. The next time Hudson opens his eyes, it’s morning—and just like that, the moment is long gone.
+
A week goes by too long and too fast, all at once. Before Hudson even registers it, he’s tossing the last of his clothes into his duffel bag, where it lays against the couch in Connor’s living room.
“When will I see you next?” Connor asks. He leans against the kitchen island, a small smile on his face, though it barely masks his lethargy. Both of them are dog-tired, Hudson knows. Between the magazine photoshoots and the interviews and their futile attempts to re-word the same answers over and over again, Hudson can hardly remember what he had for lunch that day.
“I think they mentioned something about a potential press tour in the UK next month,” says Hudson, as he drags the zip over his bag. “You know, for the release of the show there.”
“Right.”
A tepid silence hangs over them. Hudson stands back upright, hand on his hip, and he finally gives in to the temptation. “Oh, come on now, don’t look at me like that,” he says, teasing, as he takes the two long strides to close the distance between them. “I still have another night here.”
“Yeah, I know,” says Connor. His voice is still flat, unconvinced.
Hudson frowns. “Is there—Is there something going on? You okay, Con?”
“No, I’m fine,” Connor says, waving a dismissive hand in the air. He swivels on his heel and walks towards the sink, piled up with the plates from dinner earlier. “Ignore me! Go shower or something, you’ve had a long day.”
“You, too.” Hudson shuffles over to his friend’s slumped figure, a hand coming up to splay against his back. “Come on. You can leave them there for now.”
“God, no, I’m just going to forget about them.”
“Well, that’s dishes for you.”
That pulls a chuckle out of Connor, at least. “Babe, I am terrified to know what you’re like when you live alone.”
“I did live alone, technically,” Hudson counters. “When we were filming, remember?”
“No, no, that doesn’t count. I know you were only trying to impress me back then.”
Pause. “Impress you?” Hudson forces out a bark of laughter. “Now you’ve got it all wrong.”
“Mm, I don’t think so,” says Connor. Since when did his face get so close? And since when did he back Hudson up against the kitchen counter? “I think you were definitely trying to impress me. Remember when I saw your search history?”
“Oh, god,” Hudson keens. A shiver runs down his spine at the memory of it, at Connor flicking through Hudson’s phone during hair and makeup, at him going, Why did you search up ‘Connor Storrie foot tattoo’? You freak, at him launching himself at Connor with a curler still in his hair. “You promised you wouldn’t bring it up!”
Connor only lets out a chuckle, all innocent and child-like. It only makes Hudson mirror his laughter, and they stand there, giggling like a pair of schoolboys.
When the last of their laughter leaves the space between them, though, Hudson becomes acutely aware of the hand sweeping over his own, the fervour in Connor’s eyes. Hudson swallows so loud that the pressure reverberates in his ear. Instinctively, his eyes fall to Connor’s lips—plump, heart-shaped lips—before he realises what he’s doing. He forces his gaze back up, and he feels his knees buckle underneath him at the sight before him:
Connor blinks in trepidation, eyelashes fluttering. “Tell me this is a bad idea,” he whispers, so quietly Hudson almost can’t make out the words. “Tell me, and I’ll back off.”
It takes a fraction of a second too long for Hudson to process the words, to come up with a coherent reply. The moment he senses the pressure on his waist lifting, he blurts, “No!”
Connor freezes. He looks at Hudson like a deer in headlights. “No, as in, it’s a bad idea?”
“No! Not that!” Hudson blabbers. Shit. Oh, shit. It’s real, it’s happening, and he needs to calm the fuck down, but the hand that reaches out to graze Connor’s cheek keeps trembling under the weight of his surprise, his affection. “No, as in, I won’t tell you that.”
“...Then what will you tell me?”
Hudson lets go of the breath he'd been holding in. “I’ll tell you to kiss me.”
It’s familiar, the sensation of Connor's lips against his, but different all the same. Hudson sighs into the kiss, eyelids shuttering as he mouths along the curve of Connor’s smile. A buzz of exhilaration thrums underneath his skin. Connor licks into his mouth, hot and fervent, and Hudson can’t hold back his groan. He bites down on Connor’s lip, eliciting a delighted hum, before softening it into a nibble.
“Come on,” Connor pants, forehead pressing against Hudson’s. “Bedroom.”
“Wow, what a romantic,” Hudson teases. Connor elbows him hard, but Hudson figures that the pain is nothing compared to the past few months of harboured feelings.
They stumble into Connor’s room, Hudson almost crushing the other against the bed as they practically topple onto the mattress. With unfettered affection, Hudson presses small kisses all over Connor’s forehead, his cheeks. The scrape of his stubble almost makes Hudson swoon. “Now this is a whole meal,” Hudson murmurs.
Connor lets out a chortle. “Your sexy talk is as un-sexy as I imagined it to be.”
“Oh, so you have been imagining this happening.”
“Mm, says you,” Connor says. He leans forward to kiss Hudson again, tongue lapping along the corners of his mouth. “Tell me,” he whispers, warm breath sinking into Hudson’s skin, “how long have you wanted to fuck me, hm?”
“I–” Hudson tilts backwards in poorly-concealed surprise. “How did you–”
“–Sweetheart,” Connor sighs, “you always look at me like you’re thinking about fucking me in four different positions at once.”
“I do not think about that,” Hudson protests, but it falls upon unconvinced ears. He buries his face in his hands and groans. “Fuck. Me.”
“Uh, I think I should be saying that,” Connor laughs. He tugs Hudson by the hem of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. “Come on, show me what you’ve been thinking about, Huddie.”
Hudson shakes his head. “Oh, you are about to regret ever saying that, lover boy.”
They make quick work of their clothes, chucking them all to the floor. Hudson drags a hand down his boxers, letting his cock flop against his hip. He watches, gleeful, as Connor stares longingly at him. He can’t help but say, “Like what you see?”
Connor leans back against his elbows. “I do,” he says, voice low, even.
Fuck. As he maintains his gaze on Connor, Hudson reaches down to tug the waistband of Connor’s briefs down to his thigh. His cock grazes against his knuckles, the tip wet with precome. Hudson almost drools over it, like a fucking Pavlovian dog. “Con, you have to let me suck you off.”
“That is, uh, weirdly enthusiastic?”
“Like if I don’t,” Hudson whispers, shifting his body backwards until his mouth hovers over Connor’s dick, “I will actually die, like fully die.”
“Well now, don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Hudson smirks. He wraps a hand around Connor’s cock, leans forward, presses a light kiss on the tip. He hears a breathless gasp, and before Connor can regain his composure, Hudson takes him into his mouth. Both of them moan at the contact, Hudson from the hefty pressure of Connor’s cock against his jaw. Saliva gathers around the corners of his lips. He slides a hand up Connor’s chest, squeezing mindlessly at his pectoral, fingers rough against his nipple. Hudson licks all along the length of his cock, making exaggerated noises and hums, pleasure coursing through him at the sight of Connor’s thighs quivering under his spell.
“Hudson,” Connor whimpers. When Hudson glances up, his heart stammers at the look of Connor’s eyes glazing over with tears. “Fuck, baby, you’re so good at this, how are you so good?”
As expected, his cock twitches at the praise. A flush of warmth rises to his cheeks. “Mm,” is all Hudson manages, before he reaches out a hand to cup Connor’s balls, fondling the skin there. He tries almost everything he can think of, trying to see which button to press, which one would have Connor unraveling before him the most.
Above him, Connor drifts his hand over Hudson’s head, fingers curling around the tendrils of his hair. “Fuck, Hudson, you’re so fucking hot, fuck.”
Hudson moans. He grinds against the mattress, desperately chasing after his own relief. He lets Connor’s dick slip out of his mouth, spits into his hand and stroking his cock recklessly. He looks back up at Connor, wanting, eager. “Come on, Connie. Come for me. I know you can.”
Connor bites down on his lip, his face contorted with heady pleasure. “Ah, fuck!” he gasps. He comes with a shout, spurting over Hudson’s hand and chin, some of it landing on his lips. Hudson licks it off, then leans down to lap at what’s leftover, dribbling over the tip of his cock. Connor shudders, the stimulation too much, too soon. “Fuck, that was so good, baby.”
“Yeah?” Hudson asks, almost shy. It’s embarrassing, really, how worked up he got over giving a blowjob and a handful of compliments.
“Yeah,” Connor says. He shifts until he’s leaning over Hudson, caging him against the bed, a lazy grin on his face as he comes down from his high. “Let me return the favour?”
Hudson learns, very quickly, that returning the favour to Connor does not mean a blowjob, or a handjob, or a whatever job. Within minutes, he watches, jaw slack, as Connor opens himself up with his fingers.
“Fuck,” Connor whispers. He hides his face in the crook of Hudson’s neck, leaving kisses all over the skin there. It’s a testament to his ability to multi-task, Hudson figures. On the other hand, he can barely even think right now, his mind only focused on the wet sounds of Connor’s lubed fingers pressing in and out. “It’s been a while.”
“Then let me help–”
“–No, ah,” Connor whimpers. “Just—oh, fuck—just stay there.”
Hudson gulps, like a fucking cartoon character, and tries to push past the haze of thoughts to kiss each mole on Connor’s face. “Look at you,” he mumbles. “So gorgeous.”
Connor laughs. “Says you,” he says into another kiss. Their tongues meld around each other tenderly, adoringly. “My turn to make a request.” He smacks loudly on Hudson’s lips. “Let me ride you?”
“Wow,” Hudson breathes. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard hotter words in my life.”
He can barely rip open the condom packet with how shaky his fingers are. When he eventually rolls the condom on, slathering it with an egregious amount of lube, Hudson places a hand on Connor’s hip to steady him. He lets Connor slide down in his own time, and when he does, the pressure of it almost sends him into overdrive, almost instantly.
“Fuck, fucking fuck,” Hudson curses. “Fuck, Connor, you’re gonna kill me.”
Connor giggles, fucking giggles, while he’s still halfway down Hudson’s cock. “What if I told you that that’s the plan?”
“Well, then, fuck you.”
“We’re working on that, yes.”
Hudson flips him off. Connor just laughs, before sinking down onto Hudson’s cock without warning.
A catena of curses leaves Hudson’s mouth. It’s swallowed up by Connor’s kiss, obscene with too much saliva, as Connor slowly grinds down against Hudson’s cock. Hudson groans, hands reaching out to grab at something, anything, before he loses all abandon and snaps his hips up recklessly, torturously.
“Shit, baby,” Connor gasps. “Your cock is so—fuck, I can’t think, it’s too good.”
Hudson, god forbid, lets out a whine. “Don’t say that, please. I don’t think I can survive this.”
The rest of the moment is dragged out in sloppy kisses and the sound of skin against skin, echoing off of the walls. Everything else dissolves in Hudson’s periphery; the only thing that matters is Connor, fucking up and down on his cock, groaning and whining into the crevices of his teeth. He can’t hold back anymore, every sense amplified tenthfold as he grips onto Connor’s waist and grinds back up against his ass.
“I’m not gonna last long,” Hudson says, sheepish in his admission.
“Me neither,” Connor confesses. “Come on, baby, come for me, come for me already.”
The pool of warmth in his stomach deepens, rushing down south even more. “Connie, baby, I can’t—”
“—Come for me, Hudson,” Connor says, before leaning dangerously close to his ear, “come for me like a good boy.”
Everything happens all at once, too much, too soon. Hudson comes into the condom with an agonising groan, pressing his lips against Connor’s neck in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. He shivers, overstimulated, as Connor grinds down against his cock until he, too, eventually comes. They rub their foreheads together, their noses nuzzling against each other, before Hudson pitches forward to kiss him again.
“Was that why you were sad?” Hudson asks, a hand dragging up and down Connor’s arm. There are moles here, too, each one like a little star embedded along the curvature of his skin. He kisses the one on his elbow. “That I was leaving?”
“I guess,” Connor admits. “Though I was sadder at the fact that we, uh.” He frowns. “You know.”
Hudson nods, understanding. “Like if this were some small Canadian show with ten fans–”
“–It would be different,” Connor finishes. “Yeah.”
“Well, unluckily for us both, about half a million people have probably seen our naked butts by now.”
“And I don’t regret that, obviously,” Connor says. He lifts himself up, both of them wincing at the loss of contact. He settles down into the space next to Hudson, rests his head on the other’s shoulder. “I guess it would just be a little harder.”
Hudson nods. “I have to say,” he murmurs, “anything is easier than what I’ve had to endure the last couple of months.”
“Ah hah!” Connor grins. “So you do admit that you’ve thought about fucking me.”
“Kind of hard to not admit that when I just had my dick up your ass,” Hudson bites back. He drops his voice to a stage whisper. “That, and also, apparently Sophie caught on to it.”
Connor visibly tries and fails to hide his snicker. “She’s not the only one. Ksenia mentioned it to me. Hell, even Jacob asked me about it.”
“No, he didn’t.” Could this day get any more embarrassing for Hudson? “What the actual fuck.”
With a burst of laughter, Connor rubs a soothing hand across Hudson’s back. “It’s whatever–”
“–It’s not whatever, dude, that’s our fucking director–”
“–Because what matters more is this,” Connor gestures to the both of them. “Yeah?”
And he’s got such an earnest smile on his face, so similar to the one Hudson had first caught sight of the day they met, that even though it’s easier said than done, Hudson decides to let it go. “Yeah,” he says. He presses a quiet kiss against Connor’s lips. “Yeah, you’re absolutely right.”
“Well,” Connor grins. “I’m always right.”