Chapter Text
Hudson keeps touching him.
Sure, he’s a tactile guy. He’s affectionate with everyone on set. A kiss on the cheek for Jenna in Wardrobe, morning hugs for David in Craft Services, even high-fives for the gaffer whose name Connor can’t recall at the moment.
But the way he touches Connor is different. The lingering splay of his hand on Connor’s low back, the warmth of a cupped palm on Connor’s shoulder, the brush of his knuckles across Connor’s cheek. It’s different, and it’s driving Connor insane.
He’s got to get it together. Not just because it’s generally inconvenient to sprout a boner on set, but also because the shooting schedule has laid out closed-set intimate scenes for four days starting tomorrow, and Connor is certain those little modesty garments will do nothing to hide his increasingly problematic visceral reaction to physical contact with Hudson.
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“You gonna come for me, Hollander?” Connor whispered, obsessing over the first line he’d speak on set today, slowing down to enunciate Hollander. Hollander. Hollander. Hollander. Not Hudson. Fuck, why’d they have to start with the same letter?
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Hudson can’t stop touching him.
Sure, he’s a tactile guy. He’s always enjoyed physical affection, platonic or otherwise. Like how he greets Jenna with a kiss on the cheek each time, just to make her giggle and remind him how he isn’t her type. Or how he always opens his arms for David in Craft Services, because he knows David’s family is clear across the country in BC, and he appreciates the perpetually-refilled cache of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups on set. And he’s always been a giver of high-fives, and well, Guy the gaffer deserves every single one.
But the way he touches Connor is different. He lets his fingers splay wide, pressing his whole hand into Connor’s low back, feeling the flex of the tight cords of muscle underneath. He wraps an arm around Connor’s warm upper body, pulling him close with a cupped palm on his shoulder. And he can’t resist the opportunity for a tender brush of his knuckles across Connor’s cheek, his thumb swiping at cheekbones so sharp they could cut diamonds. It’s deliberately different. And Hudson would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit how much he was looking forward to the next four days on set, when the script demanded near constant physical contact between the two of them.
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Hudson heard it. He’s certain. Even if Connor tried to cough to cover it up, triggering the director to yell cut and call for another take. Connor’s breath, hot on his ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin behind.
“You gonna come for me, Hud - *cough cough* - sorry.”
“Cut! Reset!”
///
Connor slipped up. Maybe, in another lifetime, he’d be embarrassed. Maybe he’d try to minimize interactions with Hudson, play it off as a rookie mistake, until the heat of shame on his cheeks cooled.
But not this time. Not when Hudson followed him, hot on his heels, up the three steps and into Connor’s trailer, closing and locking the door with a definitive *click*, before turning around, eyes wild, chest heaving.
There hadn’t been many words, other than a breathless “yeah?” from Hudson, and a “fuck yeah” from Connor before they finally kissed as themselves, stripping down to absolutely nothing, and falling onto the trailer bed.
So, yeah, Connor doesn’t care one bit that he flubbed Hollander’s name on set, but he makes sure he gets Hudson’s name right when he leans in behind him, tight to his back, pelvis pressed to Hudson’s ass, fully inside him, his lips brushing the skin behind Hudson’s ear.
“You gonna come for me, Hudson?”