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As with most things about his identity, Hudson is bisexual in his own special way. He knows, at a base level, that men can be hot. He sometimes fantasizes about them when he’s getting himself off, and he licks his lips when he sees a particularly hot guy out and about. Sure, he’s really only dated girls, but he’s definitely kissed his fair share of guys, had his hand and mouth on a few of them, too. He wouldn’t call himself a pro or anything but also not a novice.
Hudson happens to get with guys in the same way he accidentally smokes—he’ll go sober for months, and then something jolts his mind and he succumbs over and over again until he’s satiated. Sometimes that means making out with guy after guy in a club, sometimes that means a man he keeps ringing up, sometimes that means a monogamous(ish) girlfriend. He doesn’t let it stress him out, doesn’t give a shit about the Kinsey scale or percentages. He just likes girls, just likes boys, just likes to have fun.
And, now, he likes his costar.
- - -
The chemistry read with Connor feels like lightning in a bottle that keeps zapping the same spot. Beyond how well they immediately understand each other and jump on the same page, Hudson can tell Connor is an accidental cigarette he’ll want to keep returning to. And it does not, in any way, help that Connor is a fucking chimney.
Connor is smoking the first time they meet in person, after they’ve both booked the roles and are rushed to Toronto to start filming. Hudson’s immediately pulled in by the smell of the smoke trailing off him and also the mesmerizing color of his eyes, the thrilling electricity behind his smile. He bums a cig just to give his mouth something to do and to hide how jittery he suddenly is.
They chat on a patio on Wellesley Street, and it feels like they’re immediately bonded to each other over Connor’s pack and a few beverages between them. Hudson knows he has a tendency to latch on to people quickly and never want to let them go (something he attributes to his unmedicated ADHD and also possibly his parents’ divorce), but he can tell that Connor feels that way, too. Mostly because he says as much.
“This feels fucking right, doesn’t it? Like, not to scare you off, but this is soulmate shit,” Connor says before taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out of the side of his mouth. They only met in person three hours ago, but he’s not wrong.
Hudson responds, “Not a single thing you could say right now would scare me off.”
Connor smiles, his lips pursing with a perfect cupid bow, and the only thing scaring Hudson is how badly he wants to kiss it.
- - -
They have a few days before shooting starts, and both of them are acutely aware that there’s about to be a high-definition camera trained on their bodies—specifically, their butts—very, very soon. The production doesn’t have a huge budget, but there are enough pennies to get them access to Equinox for the duration of their stay in the city. The two of them agree to head over the morning after they meet, which is the first time Hudson gets a look at Connor without the long-sleeve henley and tight jeans he was wearing the day before.
“You look like a fucking Greek god,” Hudson says as Connor strips off his hoodie and shimmies down his sweatpants.
Wearing just a cut-off tank and shorts, he’s fucking huge and chiseled in all the best ways. Hudson’s always been active and always known that he’s hot; he’s even been training extra hard ever since he knew he had even the slightest chance of actually booking the role. He’s been shoveling ground beef and eggs in his mouth like a vacuum cleaner, for Christ’s sake. But still, no matter how much his body has toned up in the past few weeks, Hudson feels like it’s nothing compared to Connor.
“I’d try to act all bashful, but I’ve worked god damn hard for it, so I’ll just say ‘I know, right?’”
Connor had mentioned being in gymnastics when he was younger as well as having body builder parents. That combination has apparently spit out strong shoulders, a tiny waist, a fucking huge ass. It’s almost obscene.
“I have to admit,” he says as he starts stretching in front of a wall of mirrors, “There is no better incentive to look hot than living in WeHo. It’s like a body dysmorphia nightmare everywhere you turn.”
Hudson falls in line next to him, suddenly feeling like a beached jellyfish, “Well, I’d say a pretty great incentive is your bare ass getting its first close-up.”
Connor turns to him, a wide smile spreading across his face. And, shit, that’s somehow even hotter.
- - -
Their first days together go like this: wake up, work out, eat whatever protein they can get their hands on, run lines together, meet with the crew, have a smoke out on the balcony, say good night.
And they just talk and talk and talk the entire time. Connor tells him stories of growing up in Texas, his lovely sister, booking a role for a Joker movie. And Hudson tells him about Langara, his parents’ long-awaited divorce, all of his short films. Connor talks about clowning. Hudson talks about MMA. Connor talks about Los Angeles. Hudson talks about Vancouver. They compare their tattoos. They compare their muscles. Hudson compliments Connor’s ass. Connor compliments Hudson’s thighs.
Talk, talk, talk; they can’t shut the fuck up.
“I don’t even know if you can say I ever came out to my parents,” Connor says on one of their smoke breaks (Hudson won’t admit how much they’re becoming less and less accidental), “Like… it was obvious. And I know we were in Texas and everything, but it wasn’t very dramatic. They’re not like that.”
Hudson nods, “Yeah, me neither, though I guess it’s more like… I don’t even know what I’d tell my parents. There’s been a line of girlfriends but not any guys. Do I really need to tell them I’m bi just because I hook up with guys sometimes? They don’t need to know that. I don’t care if I point out a guy is hot or anything, but I think they just assume it’s some stupid shit I say. I mean my dad’s autistic, for God’s sake. He’s not gonna pick up a flag.”
“Never feel pressured to do that for anyone, baby. Like, all this labeling shit is meaningless. Just kiss who you want to kiss. Fuck who you wants to fuck. It’s not a problem.”
Hudson nods, but he doesn’t think it’s that easy. It is a bit of a problem, depending on who it is you want to kiss and/or fuck.
- - -
As filming nears, they start meeting with Jacob and Chala to go over the sex scenes. Hudson’s never worked with an intimacy coordinator before, but he’s completely fascinated by how much easier it’s making this all feel. It’s less like actual sex and more like a choreographed dance, like art. Put your leg here to hide your penis from the camera, only pull your head back this much to act out fellatio, hold each others’ hands here to get across the fact that your characters are too stupid to realize they’re in love. They take notes in big binders, writing down steps to perform and sensations they’re supposed to be getting across.
“Connor, Ilya’s surprised at how good of a blow job this boring hockey player is giving him.”
“Hudson, Shane’s a tense guy who’s experiencing a penis up his ass for the first time.”
The whole ordeal relaxes him. It’s much less scary now that the scenes are actual performances and not just the idea of miming sex with someone who’s objectively this goddamn appealing.
- - -
Then, Connor has the stupidest idea. Hudson loves the idea, but that’s only more evidence it’s stupid.
They meet at Connor’s rental the night before shooting starts, strip down to their birthday suits, and stare at each other with their cock socks on. They just stand a few paces apart and let their eyes roam over each others’ bodies as they alternate turning. Hudson concentrates on Connor’s ass—obviously, there’s hardly anywhere else to look—but also notes the collection of moles along his back, his strong biceps, the deep V that points toward his barely hidden dick. He wonders what Connor is concentrating on for him.
After his turn at spinning, and a few extra seconds for their eyes to linger, Connor raises a finger.
“And now the final step.”
Hudson doesn’t know what he means until Connor’s hand moves to his dick and he’s peeling off his cover. Without even thinking, Hudson copies him. And then they’re standing there together, buck naked, just staring. Neither of them say anything, but Hudson’s mind is racing with a jumble of words. Connor’s dick is thick, sizable, somehow pretty. Soon enough, without another word, Connor reaches over and grabs his tiny navy gym shorts, pulling them on and flopping onto the bed. Hudson pulls on his clothes, too; he’s not gonna be the only one naked, at least not right now.
“There, that’s the hard part done,” Connor says.
“Fuck, being an actor’s a tough gig. No one tells you how tortuous it’ll be to stare at your coworker’s dick," Hudson says back.
Connor laughs and kicks out a leg to try and hit him, missing by a foot. Hudson playfully swats him away and stays standing there as Connor relaxes back into his bed. He’s not sure if he should stay or go, so he decides to do the thing they do best: just keep fuckin’ talking.
“Plus, it’s weird. I’m not that worried about the sex scenes, really. Like Chala’s running that shit like a drill sergeant. I’m good with that.”
Connor hums in agreement; Hudson keeps talking.
“What really is making me nervous is the kissing. I don’t know why. I guess it’s kind of like… we won’t actually be fucking, but we will actually be making out. Makes me feel like one of those religious weirdos who saves their first kiss for their wedding day for all their extended family to watch.”
Connor props himself up on his forearms and stares down the entire length of his body to where Hudson is standing. “So let’s make out, then.”
Hudson can’t tell if he’s being serious. It’s so far out of left field, so far away from where he thought this evening would go, which is kind of stupid considering he came here for the express purpose of staring at Connor’s naked body.
“Like practice a scene?” Hudson finally says. He praises himself for coming up with a thought that isn’t terrible or just plain smutty.
“Yeah, sure, maybe one we have coming up tomorrow.”
Hudson thinks it over, “Well, it can’t be Vegas because we don’t kiss in that one. It’s like the whole point. And I know you’re shooting one in Moscow, which I’m not in, and also I definitely can’t be kissing you there.”
So they settle on the scene after the All Star Game, where Shane has just come out as gay to his top of eight years in Florida, of all places. They’ve blocked the scene before, so they both sit at the bottom of Connor’s bed just like Jacob has planned.
“Action,” Connor whispers before turning his face away. Hudson immediately melts into his role.
“Hey… hey,” he says, trying to get a look at Connor-as-Ilya’s face. When that doesn’t work, he stands and swings a leg over his lap, kneeling over him.
Connor puts on his Ilya voice, “Sorry.”
Hudson doesn’t have any lines after that, just has to press his hand against the side of Connor’s face, caress him carefully, then lean down and kiss him. It’s quick, not quite chaste but nothing insane, either. Then comes the second kiss, when Connor licks into his mouth in comfort. Hudson relishes in how hot it is, how hungry Connor’s tongue feels; he tastes like cigarettes and breath mints.
Finally, Hudson pulls back, looking down at Connor from his perch.
“That’s that, then. We’re no longer little religious kissing virgins,” he says, trying to get a laugh. Hudson expects Connor to have a wide smile like normal, maybe a little giggle, but instead there’s something different to his face. He looks almost unrecognizable, not as bubbly and carefree. Hudson’s about to ask what’s wrong when Connor speaks.
“Wanna do it again? Just… to be sure.”
Hudson doesn’t say anything for a moment, just keeps trying to read Connor’s face. He decides it really couldn’t hurt.
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
Hudson leans down to kiss him again, swiping a hand through Connor’s hair. Next is the kiss with tongue and that familiar smoke and mint mixture. And then… then Connor doesn’t let go. He keeps at it, kissing Hudson deeper, barely taking a second to breathe. Hudson’s mind spins half in confusion, half in unbridled excitement, and somehow a third half in hypoxia as he can barely come up for air. Finally, Connor breaks away and rubs circles on Hudson's back, where Hudson's only just realized he's been holding him under his shirt.
“Is this okay?” Connor asks, his face flushed and voice so soft, no Russian left in it.
Hudson nods before it fully hits him. Connor’s asking because they’re not practicing anymore, not performing. They’re just making out. Not Ilya and Shane but Connor and Hudson making out, just for the hell of it. Just because they’re two hot dudes who like making out with other hot dudes.
“Yeah, all good,” he finally answers, “But I need to move or something or else my knee’s going to be killing me tomorrow.”
Connor smiles at him then taps Hudson’s hip for him to stand. Connor scoots back on the bed and then pats the spot next to him, where Hudson crawls up and joins him. They lie next to each other, both breathing way, way too hard.
“I don’t want this to be weird. It just…” Connor starts.
“No, no. I get it,” Hudson says quickly, “But if you still want to…”
Connor doesn’t answer, just pushes Hudson onto his back and starts kissing him again. Just like talking with him, kissing Connor is easy. He leads without hesitation and doesn’t get bogged down by wondering if he’s doing the right thing, and Hudson just lets him lick past his lips and suck the life out of him. He lets Connor press him into the bed, cradle his head, and sigh peacefully into his mouth with every kiss.
Hudson doesn’t even want anything more out of it. Maybe with some other guy he’d try to reach a hand down and fuss with the insistent line of a dick, or maybe he’d cant his hips up to try and find some friction. But that’s not what this is about. Hudson doesn’t really know what this is about, but it’s definitely not that. He just wants to kiss Connor, and Connor just wants to kiss him back. They just want to get acquainted with each others’ mouths, understand what can draw out a slight catch in their breath or faint whimper.
Eventually, Connor starts to slow down and level out. His kisses grow slower, softer, until he finally pulls away. Hudson stares up at him. He can’t comprehend how long they’ve been at it. Two minutes? An hour? Maybe he’s always existed here, held firmly against Connor’s rental’s mattress.
“So there we go,” Connor says as he holds himself about Hudson, “We’ve made out.”
“I think we passed that milestone about…” Hudson squints at the clock, “twenty minutes ago. Now we’ve escalated to a base they haven’t even formally discovered yet.”
Kissing Connor is easy, talking with Connor is easy, joking with Connor is easy.
Connor smiles wide and rolls off, allowing Hudson to rise from the bed. He starts to look for his shoes around the unit, but he can’t remember where he kicked them off. His brain is still catching up to this new non-kissing reality he’s suddenly found himself in.
“You think this is gonna fuck up our chemistry?” he asks with a grin that he hopes gets across that it’s a joke.
“Yeah, for sure it will. It’ll just fuck up this whole production. They’re gonna fire us. Jacob’ll sue us, probably. My mom will cry. But what can we do? What’s done is done.”
Connor gets up off the bed and kicks Hudson’s shoes to him from where they’d been sitting the entire time, just by the door. He quickly slips his shoes on and has his hand hovering above the doorknob when he stops with Connor right next to him.
“Before, when we were staring at each other, what did you look at on me? Like really look at? Have a nice little stare at?” he asks.
“Your big juicy thighs.” Connor says quickly, not even having to think, “And you? For me?”
“I think you already know.”
Connor swats his ass and sends him out the door.
- - -
It was a joke, but there is a part of Hudson that was genuinely concerned the night’s events could fuck up their chemistry or ability to perform. Except, they get to set, and there’s so much to worry about that it doesn’t even come to his mind at all. Instead, he anxiously runs his lines and practices blocking with Jacob. He chats with Rachel to get last-minute ideas on delivery choices he could make. He sits in a make-up chair and gets his freckles put on. That all takes precedence in his mind.
And then there’s Connor, cool as a cucumber as he always is, already sheathed in his Russian accent. It blows Hudson’s mind every time he hears it, that his little bestie from Odessa could sound like this. Even better, it further separates Connor and Ilya in his mind. It was Connor whose tongue was down his throat the night before. Ilya was off somewhere else blowing the mind of a different Wasian. In their next scene, when Hudson rips off his briefs and throws them, it will be Ilya—not Connor—who catches them.
When the two of them get to the scene they’d practiced the night before, Hudson and Connor fit together like two very horny and yearning hockey players should. It’s not awkward at all; it feels right. They can have their kissing. They can have their chemistry. No need to worry about how the two shall mix.
- - -
And mix they do. In the immediate days that follow, Hudson wonders if the events of that night would be a one-off. He’s okay if they are; it’s not like he’s addicted to Connor’s mouth or anything. But he wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. Apparently, Connor agrees.
In addition to running lines and blocking scenes and practicing intimacy (and, for one of them, learning Russian), Connor and Hudson now need to dedicate time to learning to skate. Both of them are like little fawns slipping on a woodland pond. There are small children who share the ice with them who skate circles around these two 20-somethings, sometimes literally. And though it looks easy, every practice session leaves Hudson feeling like he’s dying.
“I’m dying,” he says from the locker room floor. It’s just the two of them in there now that the kiddy class has been shuffled off to lunch.
“We don’t have time in our day to die,” Connor says as he rifles through his gym bag.
“I can’t go to the gym today, Connie. I think my legs will fall off. We can’t shoot a show when I don’t got legs.”
Connor rolls his eyes and stands over Hudson on the floor, a foot on either side of his chest. Hudson can see up the leg of his shorts to where his thigh melds into his ass.
“I’ll give you a reward if you go to the gym with me.”
“Is it a new pair of legs?”
Connor lightly taps him with his foot then smacks his own butt, “You’re not gonna get an ass like this by skipping the gym, Huddy.”
Hudson relents, holding his hand up for Connor to help him to his feet.
“So what do I get if I go?”
Connor doesn’t answer, just smiles wide and pushes him back into the locker. He leans in and kisses Hudson quickly, a chaste peck.
Hudson dons his most shit-eating grin, “Sorry, I think I missed that. What’s my reward?”
Connor braces a hand on the locker and leans in, sighing contentedly as he licks into Hudson’s mouth His lips are soft and insistent, and Hudson doesn’t even understand how he still has the energy left to drink him up like this. They relish in it for a few minutes, chasing kiss after kiss from each other’s mouths.
Finally, Connor leans back to let Hudson catch his breath.
“Good enough of an incentive?”
Hudson swats him away to trade his skating attire for his gym clothes. He doesn’t understand how Connor can keep up this tempo and this determination with the grueling schedule they’ve been following. He’s grateful for him, though; without Connor, Hudson knows he’d have suffered burnout or a breakdown by now. Someone else walking alongside him—step by step, through every crazy thing they go through—is the only thing keeping his feet on the ground.
“At least tell me it’s not leg day!” he yells at the same time as Connor yells, “Leg day, baby!”
- - -
Connor got the vape pen from someone on the crew, someone Hudson doesn’t even remember meeting. Usually they stick to tobacco, but Canada’s been a sort of hellscape lately, quite literally. They’re just getting over a heatwave that was only abated by the burning smoke of a wildfire somewhere out west. The city is hazy, their heads are hazy, they need some THC.
They stay in Hudson’s room for a change, lounging on the bed. Hudson can’t remember where they started, but Connor’s head is resting on his stomach now as he waxes on and on about the art form of clowning. Hudson has heard this dissertation many times before, and he knows he will hear it again someday soon. He slips his hand down to cover Connor’s mouth, still so full of words about clowns. Hudson can hear Connor’s muffled complaints, but he can also feel small giggles forming under his hand.
Hudson pushes his back off the bed, Connor’s head shifting into his lap as he does so.
“Very rude, Papi,” Connor says with a pout. He takes another hit off the pen and hands it over.
Hudson’s head always seems to be spinning these days, between memorized lines and growing nerves about what the future holds. The weed isn’t helping, obviously, and neither is Connor’s head nestled in his lap.
Connor looks up with unfocused eyes, licking his lips with a hum, and Hudson reaches down and brushes his fingertips where Connor’s just had his tongue. They stare at each other for too long, neither of them ready to make the first move. That is, until both of them do.
Hudson leans down as Connor stretches up, their mouths meeting sloppily somewhere in the middle. Both of them are uncoordinated as fuck now, sleepy and high as they are, but Connor still manages to get to his knees and settle himself over Hudson’s legs. Hudson leans back and props himself up with straight arms.
“You’re so pretty, Huddy,” Connor says quietly. He brushes a hand over Hudson’s forehead, pushing the hair out of his face, then lets his hand skim down his side. It comes to rest under Hudson’s muscle tee.
“Thank you, baby,” Hudson says back quickly and with a blissful smile. He tries to keep his face soft and stoic to tamp down the need to lean forward and chase a kiss.
Connor moves his hand again, brushing up the side of Hudson’s torso and over his arms. He stops over Hobbes.
“Ah, didn’t even notice you got your ink back.”
“Yeah, the coverup was fading, so they removed it today. Gonna add it again tomorrow.”
Connor presses his nail into Hobbes’s stripes, just hard enough to throw Hudson off; Connor seizes the opportunity to push him back into the bed. He presses his mouth to the tiger then the tattoo on Hudson’s wrist before he traces his mouth over to the other side, kissing the bomb and running his tongue over the snake. Hudson sticks his neck out and purses his lips, almost begging Connor to come and kiss him properly. And Connor does.
Hudson sighs happily as Connor’s tongue licks between his lips, kissing him back with a frenzy he didn’t realize was trapped in him. He doesn’t even register Connor hiking his shirt up until he feels hands over his chest, whining when their mouths separate. Connor trails kisses down Hudson’s chest, licking along the midline of his abs.
Hudson wonders how much further Connor will go, if he’ll find his way to the gun on his hip.
- - -
In their last days of filming in Toronto, Hudson and Connor are rewarded for their hard work with a rare day off. They sleep in, skip the gym, still manage to fit in some time to run lines, and don’t even think about putting on ice skates. In a few short days they’ll be heading out to Muskoka for the cottage scenes, and even though they’ve been in the city for damn near a month now, Hudson realizes they’ve barely seen any of it. They’ve been shuttled from sound stage to Equinox to skating rink to rental unit. A few times they’ve managed to catch some off hours at a restaurant or bar, but it’s been a rare occurrence. A special treat.
“Fuck, we should get out there,” Hudson says, nodding toward the window. They’re sitting in his rental running lines from their binders, but outside is a gorgeous day with clear blue skies, a warm breeze, hardly any humidity.
Connor smiles, shutting his notes, “You know what, Pookie, I think you’re right.”
They hurriedly change out of their lazy clothes and into something somewhat put-together to match the locals. When they exit the lobby, Hudson breathes a sigh of relief at the fresh(ish) air around them and the relatively quiet street they’ve been living on. He’s looking forward to being at the lake, he really is, but it’s going to be a jam-packed few days of filming with their set condensed to a single house as opposed to the giant studio they’ve been occupying. There’s going to be so many people around at all times to get everything just perfect, so this may be the last bit of calm the two of them get to themselves for some time.
Hudson leads them to a cafe he’d marked on Maps, and then they wander the streets with their iced black coffees, enjoying the blissfully warm day. Connor prattles on about lake logistics: what the weather will be like, who’s sleeping in which rental, who’s riding in which car. Hudson doesn’t really care, just knows he’ll always be with Connor. He’d never want to be put anywhere else, and everyone knows it.
They reach a wide open green space with old statues and large, leafy trees. A bunch of locals have picked it as a spot to enjoy, too. There are families playing and dogs sniffing and groups of friends hanging out. Connor finds a nice grassy spot removed from the walking paths and lays down in the sun. He rolls down his waist band so he can tan, and Hudson sits in the nearby shade of a tree. He desperately wants a smoke for some reason, but he knows it’d be a dick move to light up with everyone trying to enjoy some fresh air.
The two of them relax there in silence for a few minutes, scrolling through their phones to see what random real world news they’ve been missing the past few weeks. Of course they’re not in a bubble, but the minutiae of life outside their little set has been deafened. Now that their time left shooting is winding down, the volume of the real world is seeping back in.
“I wonder how successful this show will be,” Hudson says out of nowhere, surprising even himself. It’s something he thinks about a lot, which makes sense considering he was waiting tables at the Old Spaghetti Factory not even two months ago. He’d hate to have to return; he wasn’t very good.
It’s not something they talk about, though. Not really. It almost feels like they could curse themselves by admitting they want this to succeed, like saying “Macbeth” in a theatre.
“I think we’ll blow the fuck up,” Connor says with a big smile, "Talk of the town. Hollywood's most wanted."
Hudson can tell he’s kidding, at least mostly.
“You think it’ll like… change how we can show up in public? Like, I guess it doesn’t take much to have fans asking for a selfie with you or sneaking candids when you’re not looking.”
“Yeah, our quiet provincial life will be no more.”
“I’m serious, Con. Like… it’d be one thing if it just stays on Crave. But Jacob mentioned that HBO was considering it. If it gets even semi-popular on there, shit could change real quick. We might not be able to hang out like this as easily, you know? There’d always be someone trying to sell a pic to Deuxmoi or some shit.”
“And does that scare you?” Connor asks.
Hudson shrugs, “I guess. It’s like… I want to be an actor. I want to be in things that people go and see and love. But I also want to retain the control over my life I have now. I don’t think those two ideas always mesh well.”
Connor sits up and pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head.
“Only a few more weeks of relative anonymity, then,” he says before starting to crawl toward Hudson, “Shall we take advantage while we still have it?”
Hudson smiles and lets himself fall easily back into the grass, Connor crawling next to him and kissing him deep. This is the first time they’ve done anything like this outside, away from the relative privacy afforded by sturdy walls and locked doors. It feels better this way, freer. Connor slips a hand along his back, under his shirt where it has come untucked from his shorts, and Hudson grabs a handful of Connor’s hair at the back of his head.
They kiss for what feels like forever; Hudson can’t keep track of time even on the best of days. It’s just so nice to be intertwined with Connor like this, taking breaks to catch their breath and rib each other before returning to having their tongues down each other’s throats. And now, after weeks of experience of kissing “Ilya,” he finally feels like he can tell the difference. Connor is softer, gigglier, and sometimes even lets Hudson take control and set the pace. It’s an addicting thrill; it has been the entire time. Soon, he’ll have to quit cold turkey.
- - -
Summer is in full force by the time they make it to the lake. The sun is hot, the days are long, and the mosquitos are out with a vengeance.
Everyone on the crew is buzzing with excitement as they run around to set up the first of the day’s shots. Word is spreading quickly that a second season is all but confirmed. Only a few short weeks ago Hudson was praying that the whole thing wouldn’t be pulled out from underneath him in the middle of filming. Now, there’s a real shot that the party will keep roaring on. It’s not something he could have imagined then; he can barely imagine it now.
Hudson finds Connor sitting on a large rock by the water. They still have a few minutes to themselves before the next scene. It’ll involve kissing, so of course Connor has a box of cigarettes in his hands.
“Getting nice and fresh for me?” Hudson says as he approaches.
“Ah, yes, my favorite breath mint. In stick form,” Connor says back, still in his Ilya voice. He won’t get rid of it until Jacob calls cut on the last scene of the day, sometimes even after that.
“It’s been my companion for the past two months," Hudson notes, "And I’m thinking it’ll make another appearance next year, by the sounds of it.”
Connor glances over and gives Hudson a closed-lip smile, nice and wide. Hudson has been cataloging the different smiles Connor creates and what they mean. This one usually means Connor’s been thinking, maybe a little too much.
Both of them sit there and relax by the edge of the lake, listening to the sounds of the waves lapping against the shore as well as the chaos of the crew setting up the next scene inside the house. The pace of the past few days of shooting has been crazy quick. The two of them haven’t had a chance to do much of anything except prep and shoot. No time for relaxing or deep conversation or… anything else, really.
Connor opens his carton, one he had to buy in Canada once he (and Hudson, to be fair) burned through his stash of Natural American Spirits too quickly. He holds a cigarette in front of his face, running his thumb over the text printed on the paper in all caps.
“La cigarette cause le cancer,” he says, his perfect Ilya accent dropped for a perfect French one.
“Smoking causes cancer,” Hudson says quickly.
“Ah, so you didn’t sleep through all of your high school French classes?”
Connor bumps his shoulder against Hudson’s then lights up his cig. Hudson can tell that he relaxes with the first exhale.
“Smoking causes many things,” Connor says before holding up another one for Hudson to take, but he just shakes his head.
“Nah, I think I’m good today, Connie.” He hasn’t had a smoke in a week; it just hasn’t felt appealing. The knock-knock on his brain that makes him want to succumb just hasn’t materialized.
Connor closes the box, takes another drag, and blows out; there's more tension in his exhale now.
Hudson rests his head against Connor’s shoulder, trying to offer something he can’t quite put into words: comfort, reassurance, apology. Connor bumps his head against Hudson’s, enough of a reply.
“Next year,” Hudson says, tapping a finger on the carton, “I’ll take you up on it, then.”