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You loved me holy with your cross and your disease.
Did you feel that close to god when you had me on my knees?
You got into my head and now I’ll never be the same.
My trigger finger twitches every time I hear your name.
Maybe I won’t, maybe I will run back to you.
—
The first time Connor feels it, they’re at the Heated Rivalry wrap party and Hudson is, for lack of a better, less crude phrasing, straddling his face. They’re twisted into a strange sort of interpretive dance, one not out of the ordinary for them, sprawled out on the hardwood floor. Connor rolls them over so he’s on top of Hudson, who pushes him up and backwards, backwards, backwards, until Connor is bent practically in half, kneeling with his back arched so far his hair nearly brushes the floor. Hudson shimmies forward with a devilish glint in his eye so his crotch is positioned directly over Connor’s face.
Connor forgets how to breathe for a handful of seconds. He’s basically making direct eye contact with Hudson’s balls, and even though that’s not actually that weird for them, he’s caught off guard. But the moment passes and Hudson climbs off of him, squealing something high-pitched and adorable, and Connor scrambles to his feet as his body tries to process a rush of heat.
He’s drunk, his brain reasons. He’s drunk and emotional about wrapping and Hudson is objectively beautiful and it’s so fucking hot in this room.
Connor rushes to the bathroom before anything embarrassing can happen.
Later that night, against his better judgement, Connor lets Hudson follow him back to his apartment. The gravity of wrapping has hit them both and they’re not quite ready to separate. It’s a strange feeling, really, to end something so monumental for the two of them so abruptly. It resonates like a tiny black hole in Connor’s stomach, gravity beginning to collapse in on itself. He feels empty; he feels the weight of every decision he’s ever made and how it’s led to this moment, this singularity. It all presses on his back, his chest, threatening to consume him whole.
He wonders how much of that is mourning the end of his favorite project he’s ever been a part of and how much of it is mourning his time with Hudson.
He tries to remember how much he’s had to drink. His memory goes blurry after five or six. Then he stops worrying about that because Hudson is pressed up against him, hugging him from behind. He feels solid and warm against Connor’s back.
“I’m proud of you, Connie,” he says quietly, reverently, like a confession. "You’re gonna be a star.”
Connor shivers despite the heat of Hudson’s breath on his neck.
“We’re gonna be stars,” he corrects, voice coming out weaker than he intends it to. Hudson kisses him softly on the shoulder, just below the strap of his tank top. His lips are warm and gentle, and although the kiss is light, Connor feels it burn from his shoulder down to his fingertips. Hudson is in his veins, pumping slowly through his bloodstream up to his heart.
Hudson nuzzles into his neck, sighing contentedly, and it is only as Connor shivers against him that he realizes that he’s hard, pressing insistently against the front of his jeans. He detangles himself from Hudson’s grasp, avoiding eye contact.
“Hud, I gotta go to bed.”
“Can I come with you?” Hudson asks, eyes big and dark and pleading. “Please?”
Oh. Connor feels himself throb. He knows if he says yes to this, he won’t ever be able to say no again. He doesn’t know if he can afford that.
He nods weakly. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say no to Hudson.
When they lay together in Connor’s bed, they face away from each other, because Connor got in first and he doesn’t think he can bear looking Hudson in the eye. He doesn’t move when Hudson gets into bed, back to him. It’s quiet for a long minute.
The bed creaks as Hudson rolls over, his gaze boring holes in Connor’s back. There’s the rustling of blankets and the shifting of weight, and then Hudson’s pressed up against his back, arms wrapped around him just like before, although the gesture is far more intimate now. Hudson feels like a brick wall behind Connor, strong and solid. His breath is loud in Connor’s ear and Connor can feel his arousal pressing at his ass. They’re venturing into dangerous territory, yet it feels so normal. He almost sobs.
He wonders if he should roll over and address him. His sluggish, drunken brain floats the idea that he could help Hudson out, touch him with careful hands and feel him come undone. An image of Hudson beneath him, flushed and desperate, bare and on display, flashes through his mind. But he’s exhausted, and sleep overtakes him before he can register how badly he wants it or how dangerous it would be.
And the next morning, when they wake up, they both pretend not to notice the way their legs are tangled together.
—
They’re separated for a bit after that, and Connor thinks that maybe distance and time will dull his feelings. As it turns out, it doesn’t work like that.
Hudson is always in his head. He haunts his dreams and his waking hours alike. It’s like his face is permanently burned onto the inside of Connor’s eyelids. When Hudson facetimes him one afternoon, it’s embarrassing how quickly Connor answers when he sees his phone light up. Hudson’s sprawled out on his bed, shirtless, phone propped against what Connor assumes to be a pillow, and he looks so beautiful on the screen that it’s nauseating.
“Hi babydoll,” he says, unable to stop the smile that splits his face. Hudson grins back.
“Hi Connie.” His voice is gravelly, like he’s getting over a cold. Connor feels the rumble of it in his bones. “Miss you.”
The words turn Connor into liquid. He’s a puddle on his couch, Hudson’s eyes boring into his soul from a thousand miles away. He manages to pick himself up.
They chat for a while, catching up, before Hudson starts talking about a recent photoshoot. He pulls up some pictures and shares them to Connor’s screen.
“...and they won’t tell me when they’re gonna be done editing, but these are the initial shots…” Hudson is saying, but Connor doesn’t hear him over the roaring of his pulse in his ears. His mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls. Blood rushes south so quickly he goes lightheaded.
Hudson’s in a little white tank top that’s so see through, Connor can clearly see his nipples. He’s got one arm up, exposing his underarm and emphasizing his massive bicep, as he stares darkly into the camera like he’s just waiting for someone to come and take him. Connor can barely breathe, he’s so hard.
His brain comes back online just in time to hear Hudson ask, “whaddya think?”
“Hoooooly shit,” he says, purposefully dramatic to see Hudson’s pretty smile. “You look sexy. This is, like, insane.”
Hudson blushes. “I’m really happy with how they came out. It was soooo fun to shoot…” he drags out the ‘o’ and then pauses momentarily. “Oh shit, my mom is calling me. I’ve gotta go, Con, talk to you later?”
“Later,” Connor says, but Hudson’s already hung up by the time he gets the word out.
Connor drops his phone on the couch next to him and buries his face in his hands. He can’t help the effect Hudson has on him, but he has the presence of mind to feel a vague sense of shame beneath the arousal. He sits like that for a moment, trying to will away his boner, but it’s futile. He can’t get that fucking picture out of his brain no matter how hard he tries. But it’s hard to even want to try when Hudson looks like that, obscene and basically half-naked for the whole internet to see.
He needs to get it out of his system. Just this once, he tells himself as he makes his way to his bedroom. It’s wrong on so many levels, but mostly: Hudson has a girlfriend. Hudson has a lovely girlfriend who Connor has had the pleasure of meeting. He can’t think of him this way.
Just this once, he tells himself again once he’s retrieved his lube and is touching himself to the thought of his best friend. Then all shame leaves him and he loses himself to the pleasure.
—
It is not just this once. Connor gets off to the thought of Hudson more times than he would like to admit before they’re reunited again. He’s like a more pathetic version of Pavlov’s dog, conditioned to get hard at the mere sound of Hudson’s voice.
This means that recording for Quinn comes with some difficulty. They get to record in separate booths, thankfully, but the script is sinful and Hudson’s moaning like his life depends on it, and even though it’s the most unsexy environment Connor could possibly dream up, he’s half-hard by the time they’re two thirds of the way into the first episode. He’d been anxious beforehand, which had helped to suppress any unwanted arousal, but there’s only so much of Hudson moaning and whining that he can take.
He jerks off in the bathroom during a break. It doesn’t help very much.
And later, when they’re back at Connor’s place, he’s ready to end the thoroughly humiliating day and just go to bed, but Hudson has other plans. He follows Connor wordlessly into his bedroom, and it’s only when Connor looks back at him in confusion that he asks, “were you hard while we were recording?”
Connor can’t do anything but stare at him in shock and make an embarrassing sort of sputtering sound. Hudson saves him—or condemns him—by continuing.
“Because I was. I was so fucking hard, Con. You sounded so pretty in there, it was insane.”
Connor continues to stare at him, mouth slightly open, while his brain processes whatever the hell just happened. He doesn’t have much time to think about it, though, as Hudson backs him towards the bed until Connor can’t move any farther.
“Tell me you liked it, too,” Hudson says, voice low and dark. Their faces are only a few inches apart. Connor can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
Connor opens his mouth to say something like what are you talking about? or maybe are you insane?
“I did,” is what comes out of Connor’s mouth. Hudson is looking at him like he wants to eat him. “I felt like I was going crazy in there, Huddy.”
Hudson’s hands begin to climb his chest. He can’t help the way his own hands reach for Hudson’s arms, feeling the muscles that bulge beneath the skin. But despite his body’s obvious desire to continue whatever this is, warning bells are going off in his head.
“Wait, Hud, what about…” he trails off as lips momentarily connect to his jaw.
“Don’t worry about her,” comes the whispered response. Connor isn’t sure whether that means she’s okay with it or she doesn’t have to know, but he’s too scared to ask. So he doesn’t fight it when Hudson connects their lips. They’ve kissed countless times, of course, but in Connor’s mind, he thinks that this feels like the first time it’s ever mattered.
Hudson’s lips are soft but he kisses with a quiet sort of confidence, more in control than he ever kissed as Shane, but he whines when their tongues meet, and suddenly Connor is overcome with the need to devour him whole. He guides them to the bed, barely separating their lips—“Do people actually do this?” He remembers asking once upon a time—and lets himself be pulled down onto the mattress by Hudson.
It feels like his months of obsessing over his co-star are coming to a head. Hudson’s kisses have turned hungry, and Connor can’t help but give in to the animalistic desire to feel. He runs his hands all over Hudson’s chest, his arms, his hair.
“Pull,” Hudson whispers. Connor pulls back to look at him questioningly. “Pull my hair.”
“Shameless,” he chuckles, obliging. His hands wind tightly into Hudson’s hair and give a gentle tug, testing the waters. Hudson groans and arches up into him, pressing their bodies together. Connor takes it as a good sign and pulls a little harder. The sound Hudson makes is obscene. For what feels like the hundredth time that day, Connor suddenly becomes aware how hard he is. And if the way Hudson is grinding up against him is any indication, he’s not the only one.
Connor’s lips find Hudson’s collarbone as his hips increase in speed, sucking a mean mark that he secretly hopes the whole world will see. Hudson’s whining in earnest now, and Connor knows he’s going to be haunted by these sounds for the rest of his life.
“Connie, I’m close,” Hudson gasps out, and that’s all the encouragement Connor needs to unzip his own pants and push them down his thighs, followed by his boxers.
Hudson’s eyes are the size of saucers.
“Take off your pants, baby,” Connor prompts. Hudson does so in a flash before pulling Connor back on top of him and arching into him once again. Connor holds out his hand under Hudson’s chin. He spits, and Connor wraps his hand around both of them. The glide of skin on skin is sinful and so, so good, and neither of them hold back the mindless, incomprehensible ramblings that come with this sort of pleasure. Connor is vaguely aware of the fact that he’s repeating fuck, Huddy, over and over, and Hudson’s responding with I’m gonna come, and his hands are gripping at the hair on the back of Connor’s neck, and then he’s coming all over Connor’s knuckles.
Hudson whimpers as he comes down, a desperate, broken sound that sends Connor right over the edge. His vision whites out and he comes onto Hudson’s abs, pooling just above his belly button. He floats for a moment before coming back to his body, registering the stickiness on his hand.
Before he can second-guess himself, Connor raises his hand to his lips and tastes Hudson’s release. It’s salty on his tongue, not particularly enjoyable, but the fact that it’s Hudson’s does it for him and he finds himself licking it up while his co-star watches with an expression of uninhibited desire. Then, he collapses onto the bed beside Hudson, who pulls him close and kisses him on the top of the head.
That, somehow, is too intimate for Connor; it feels like a gesture that should be reserved for Hudson’s girlfriend. The thought makes him nauseous. He pulls away from Hudson’s embrace and makes his way to the en-suite to get a wet cloth. When he returns, he finds Hudson half-asleep. He wipes him down with shaking hands before sitting on the edge of the bed, guilt wracking his body.
“Huddy, can we talk?”
“Mmm, no. In the morning.”
Hudson makes grabby hands at him and Connor rolls his eyes but he can’t even pretend he doesn’t find it incredibly endearing. He lays back down and forces himself to relax. Hudson’s the one with the girlfriend, yet he’s a picture of serenity beside Connor, chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. Connor wonders idly how someone can look so beautiful on the cusp of sleep, but he doesn’t have much time to ponder it as he’s overcome by an overwhelming exhaustion. His last thought before he falls asleep is that maybe, in some twisted way, he’s gotten his desire for Hudson out of his system.
They don’t talk about it the next morning. Hudson leaves for the airport and Connor says goodbye like it’s any other day and he hadn’t just had the best orgasm of his life the night before, but he can feel the way Hudson’s eyes linger on him as he gets into his car after dropping him at the airport.
—
The next two months are a whirlwind. They’re famous. They’re the type of famous that most can only fantasize about, the type of famous where they’re presenting at the Golden Globes and walking on runways in countries they’d only dreamed of visiting and on late-night talk shows for audiences that scream their names. And then comes the cherry on top of the insane cake that is Connor Storrie’s life: he’s invited to be a torchbearer at the winter olympics along with Hudson.
They’d seen each other since that fateful evening in Connor’s apartment, but not for any meaningful amount of time, and Hudson hadn’t so much as mentioned it. Connor chooses not to bring it up. It’s easier that way, pretending it’d never happened; pretending that it’s not eating away at him.
He would like to say it hurts his conscience, not knowing whether or not Hudson’s girlfriend knows they hooked up, but the part that weighs on him is his curiosity about whether Hudson regrets it. It keeps him up at night. His team has to put more makeup beneath his eyes than should be necessary, and he pretends not to notice the concerned glances thrown his way as his concentration breaks far more easily than it used to. The memory of being with Hudson is all-consuming, like a parasite in his brain, digging in and draining his rationality.
So he decides to find out.
When they’re in the car together, both wearing those ugly white suits, finally out of earshot of the massive crowds, Connor takes a risk. Despite the cameras that are everywhere, he puts one hand on Hudson’s strong thigh, feeling the muscle tense under his fingers. When Hudson looks at him, surprise written all over his gorgeous face, Connor whispers the number of his hotel room and follows it with, “come at ten.”
He sounds a little bit more like Ilya than he intends.
Later that night, at exactly eight minutes past ten, there’s a knock on Connor’s door. He opens it slowly, hit by a sudden wave of deja vu: this feels exactly like they’re filming, but instead of Shane and Ilya’s illicit hotel affairs, it’s his and Hudson’s.
As always, Hudson seems to read his mind.
“Feels like filming again, huh?”
Connor nods, suddenly nervous. He’s never been nervous around Hudson, not even when they first met. They’d clicked since day one, when he answered a facetime and found Hudson’s sweet smile on the other end of the phone.
“Huddy, I think we should talk.”
Hudson has the audacity to look surprised.
“Why do you look so shocked?” Connor asked, unable to keep some of the bitterness out of his voice. Months of obsession and longing morph into resentment, cold and painful. “Did you think I invited you here to fucking jerk off together?”
“Kind of,” Hudson admits. “I was kinda hoping that was why.”
He’s so easy, Connor can’t help it. He kisses him, but unlike the last time they did this, there’s no hesitance, no tenderness. Their teeth clack together a few times and Hudson bites down on Connor’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood, which he licks up with a desperate little sound.
Connor pushes Hudson against the wall, pressing their chests together. He can feel every breath Hudson takes against his body, and it’s suddenly so intimate that Connor has to stop for a moment. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until a gentle hand finds his jaw and he hears Hudson whisper, “Con, Con, you okay?”
He can’t meet Hudson’s eyes.
“We can’t be doing this,” he says, monotone. Hudson guides his face so he’s looking him straight in the eye.
“Connie, baby, I know you want this,” Hudson says, grinding their hips together. Connor groans low in his chest as stars burst behind his eyes. “I want this, too. Let me give it to you?”
“You don’t understand, Hud. You’re never gonna want this the way I want it.”
Hudson kisses him in response, deep and passionate like he wants to prove Connor wrong. His tongue probes the roof of Connor’s mouth as he swallows every sound that slips out.
Connor’s tired of trying to keep his feelings in check. He wants this so, so badly, and no despite his conscience screaming for him to stop, he pulls Hudson toward the bed, where they become a pile of tangled limbs and they struggle to undress. Connor is filled with a familiar sense of relief when they’re skin to skin, like their souls are connected in some sick, twisted way.
He lets Hudson push him onto his back and makes a mortifyingly high-pitched noise when he wraps a hand around them both. Hudson kisses him again as Connor begins to thrust up into his hand. It’s hot and slick and his dick is pulsing out pre at an embarrassing rate, but Hudson is just as wet, if not more, so he doesn’t mind.
Hudson licks a drop of sweat out of the divot of Connor’s collarbone. He’s whimpering now, the sound that has haunted Connor for months.
“Getting close,” Hudson grunts, wrist moving fast enough that Connor would imagine he’s going to get a cramp. “You’re so fucking hot, Connie.”
The words are like a shock to Connor’s nervous system. He bites down hard on the soft skin where Hudson’s neck meets his shoulder as he comes, spilling over Hudson’s hand and onto his stomach. He hears Hudson whine brokenly and meets his eyes just in time to see them roll back as he finishes, too, adding to the mess on Connor’s skin. The spot where Connor bit him is bleeding slightly, two little drops of blood smearing with the sweat running in rivulets down his skin.
Connor feels a little bit primal, a little bit insane. They hold each other for a while.
“Is it always gonna be like this?” Connor asks after a few silent minutes.
“Like what?” Hudson’s voice is muffled by Connor’s hair.
“We hook up and then you go back to your girlfriend?” He feels Hudson tense up, but he doesn’t back down.
“Is that what you want it to be?”
Not in a million years, Connor thinks. There is no universe where I wouldn’t want you in every way possible. There is no world where I wouldn’t want to love you completely.
“This is the only way I can have you,” Connor says instead. Hudson doesn’t disagree.
—
Hudson’s flight leaves early the next morning. They hug goodbye, and Hudson promises to call him soon. Connor’s heart twists painfully. As Hudson leaves, Connor can see the bite mark from the night before on his shoulder.