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Hudson Williams arrived in New York on Wednesday, but he didn’t head into Studio 8H until the day after. He ordered room service to his hotel room all on his lonesome, under strict instructions from Leilani and the rest of his team not to be spotted out and about in the city.
He ordered an oyster platter, a shrimp caesar salad, Thai coconut soup, salmon, and New York cheesecake, and then he washed it all down with a green detox smoothie that mostly just tasted like celery and lemon.
He had eaten and drank almost all of that in bed with a Mandarin Oriental branded bathrobe and Jouer undereye patches, all while thinking about Connor.
He and Connor had been facetiming less regularly. There was just so much chaos — with the scripts being read between the both of them, with Hudson filming Yaga, with Connor in meetings with a few big names. Connor was bad at texting, and Hudson was fine with it. He was just as busy as him. But it was like his absence left a Connor shaped hole in his heart, only suitable for him to fill back up.
So when Connor couldn’t text or call, and Hudson was free, he’d either watercolor or he’d get on his bike and go around Vancouver. Hudson, being left to his own devices, was also occasionally very irresponsible. And he was hiding a bit of a secret.
He got a new tattoo a few weeks ago.
His regular artist had sketched up the design for him based on the ideas he relayed to her, and Hudson was more than happy with the finished product despite the impulsivity of the decision. See, it’s not the tattoo itself that’s shocking at all; Hudson has so many of them that even he can’t keep count, his body practically a sketchbook. It’s moreso… the nature of the placement.
He doesn’t know how Connor will react to it, and he’s unprepared to face the fact that he’s gonna see it eventually over the weekend. As long as his pants aren’t too low, it can’t be seen— but he and Connor have a habit of exploring each other’s bodies, and settled right above his ass right now is a freshly healed tramp stamp.
It was a pain for Hudson while the tattoo healed. His friend said to keep the wrap on for a day or two then rub in Aquaphor. People on Reddit said the same, but they also said not to wear tight shirts. And to always hike down his waistband. And to keep a soft cloth in between his lower back and his underwear. And to grab some pants from the maternity section. Hudson didn’t want to spend a week looking like an expecting mother when he had so many engagements to get to, especially not when his usual style can be most kindly described as ‘slut’.
So he didn’t listen to most of the advice he was given, obviously. And in the first week, the tattoo was irritated as hell. His Mom had to come over and rub his back while he cried from frustration, smiling at him and letting him know that his new tattoo is probably her favorite besides Hobbes. That made him feel a little bit better.
Hudson’s engagements were, actually, his biggest concern when deciding to get this piece done. Actors with secret tattoos aren’t able to keep it secret for much longer. And in Hudson’s circumstances — with his comfort getting naked on camera, and his contract for Heated Rivalry — everyone’s gonna know about it. It won’t just be Connor— it’ll be Jacob, Chala, all the girls who work hard to cover up his tattoos for the show. Everyone. And, God, even just having his pants a little too low in front of a camera or reaching up and pulling his shirt up with him is enough for the whole internet to learn about it, too.
He really considered this, even with how impulsive the tattoo was. He doesn’t want to ruin any opportunities for himself just because of the placement of a tattoo. In the end, he decided to get it anyway, but he suspects that the existence of it won’t stay exclusive to him for much longer. Realistically, people will probably brush it off and move on. But he’s still a little anxious.
He thinks, again, of how Connor might react. He knows his best friend must be buzzing with anticipation to see it. Maybe he even suspects that the tattoo is related to him somehow, much like the script on Hudson’s thigh. But a second tattoo dedicated to Connor is for another time.
Hudson arrived at Studio 8H a little bit before 5:45 on Thursday evening. He and Connor didn’t have time to grab lunch due to Connor’s morning engagements. The staff snuck him in through the back like a dirty secret, and he got to meet the crew and watch a small part of one of Connor’s sketch rehearsals until he was pulled aside and shoved into a foldable chair. When he saw Connor he had teared up, and they just held each other for a short moment, unconvinced that any of this is even real and that they’re able to do it all side by side. Afterwards backstage, Hudson’s agent stood nearby and watched as some of the SNL Hair and Makeup crew messed around with his hair with Aika. Anastasia fitted him into a warm H&M jacket, and then he was being fitted with rollerblades.
He’d spent the plane ride reading and reciting the script for this sketch, same with the other one he’s meant to cameo in. He fantasized about how it’d feel to rush into Connor’s embrace in front of a live studio audience. He’d allowed himself to smile at those thoughts. He was warned that they make constant tweaks and changes, but it’s not like he’s going on a monologue. It should go well.
Hudson isn’t good at ice skating whatsoever— embarrassingly so, considering he’s a Canadian. And considering this, he’s certainly not good on rollerblades either. Even if they require similar skillsets, rollerskating is a whole different thing, and the useless ice skating lessons he spent months on remain useless. One of the SNL producers suggests to him to maybe move around as little as possible for what’s required of him, which makes his cheeks flush in embarrassment.
It was a tiny bit awkward getting settled into the feel of things. For Connor, his clowning means that he’s gone through rehearsals like this countless times. On Hudson’s end, he’s never quite done anything like it. The most similar thing to it is reading lines in character with his costars outside of a filming block. It’s weird to perform without a camera in his face for once.
“Hudson!” Connor exclaims in surprise, according to the script. Hudson tries his best not to penguin waddle as he rushes over into his arms, grinning. They then go through the rest of the sketch, and the producer gives him a little bit of feedback for him to apply through the second run. Hudson was so wary of coming off as unfunny, so he actually repeatedly asked Connor if he was doing okay. Connor said he was doing perfect.
Hudson sits on the edge of the set with a huff, allowing someone he doesn’t know the name of to thread a straw through his mouth and get him to drink some water. Connor and the rest of the cast are now off on a different set somewhere in the studio, rehearsing a new sketch according to the schedule. Hudson’s getting extremely excited for his cameo now, actually. It hits him all at once while he’s sitting down that he’s gonna be on SNL, which both mildly terrifies him and rouses him all at once.
Connor ends up sneaking away from the cast for a second during the rehearsal of the next sketch and finds Hudson in the back of the studio, superhero-in-disguise esque cap and sunglasses on, ready to get back to his hotel.
“Hud,” Connor catches his breath, still checking his watch. He looks absolutely ridiculous, dressed in a huge blazer, fitted with a bland looking wig. It’s uncanny seeing Connor attached to straight hair.
“This is horrifying.”
Connor startles and looks down at his own getup. Then laughs breathily. “Ah. Yeah, quite.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be…” Hudson has one hand on the door of the back exit, his free hand pointing somewhere behind Connor.
“Just wanted a moment alone with you.” Connor smiles, then takes Hudson’s hand in his, lips brushing against his knuckles. “I’m so fucking happy that you’re here.”
Hudson pouts, eyebrows furrowed. There’s a certain expression he adopts whenever he tries to process a compliment or any emotional confrontation, frowning from affection and his inability to wrap his head around how much Connor truly loves him. “I’m so proud of you, papi. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
They hug, and Hudson lets go of the door. Connor wraps him up so tightly in his arms that Hudson feels like they might fuse together, and he realizes that he wouldn’t sacrifice this feeling for absolutely anything else. How lucky is he to have such a beautiful soul intertwined with his. How lucky is he to be able to witness Connor shine.
Connor brushes his bangs out of his face and kisses Hudson smack-bang on the forehead. Hudson is sure that no one is around to witness this, but he honestly wouldn’t even care if anyone did.
His and Connor’s situation is sort of inexplainable, but their bond is truly on an astral level. They love showing each other affection. Physically, verbally, sexually, all the like. Hudson has never felt more safe in his life to be vulnerable like this, and he’s aware that Connor feels the same— because he tells him every chance he gets. That’s his beautiful best friend, his life partner, his soulmate. He just feels so fucking overcome with pride and emotion that they finally made it here after so much hard work, that Connor is living his childhood dream.
Connor leans his head on Hudson’s shoulder and checks his watch again. “I really have to go,” he says, mildly hurried. He lifts his head and plants a kiss on the corner of Hudson’s mouth.
“Wait.” Hudson perks up, then reaches a hand into the pocket of his coat. It’s a spare keycard to his room at the Mandarin Oriental, branded and decorated with some gorgeous abstract artwork. Even without reading the label, Connor knew this, because he’s staying at the same hotel. “Come, when you’re done with rehearsals. I’ll text you my room number.”
Hudson hopes to order room service with him, share a seafood platter while half naked and spread out on his king sized bed, and watch a Hitchcock film. Then, maybe, he can bend over and show Connor his new tattoo.
“It’ll be late,” Connor looks mildly guilty, but he pockets the keycard anyway.
“Don’t care, come whenever, I’ll be up watching trash TV. Just check your texts, I know how you like to stay on DND.”
When Hudson told him that he had a surprise, Connor first expected a birthday present. When Hudson told him that it was a tattoo, Connor didn’t know what to expect anymore. But he knows that Hudson wouldn’t be teasing the reveal of it like this if it wasn’t something that would entice Connor, so he spent the entire night in his hotel dreaming of what it might be, and then he spent the next day fantasizing about it. He was sure someone had clicked their fingers in his face to capture his attention at least three times now, because his mind was elsewhere. Thinking about the tattoos all over Hudson’s big arms, the sex sells one on his muscular thigh.
Surely Hudson wouldn’t get another tattoo related to Connor without consulting him prior. Surely not. Even if the idea of a second tattoo for Connor is pretty sexy. Hudson jests, but he’s not truly that irresponsible. So the possibility of that was immediately eliminated.
His mind jumps next to placement. He wouldn’t put it past him to get something provocative. And if Hudson said that Connor will enjoy it, so much so that he’s going as far as to keep it a surprise, that’s clearly the most realistic thing.
But what could it possibly be? It can’t be something so provocative that it’d be unreasonable for his career to have it. He’s nude on camera all the time, for Christ’s sake. So Connor can’t come to a proper conclusion.
Connor bids his goodbyes to the SNL crew close to midnight when his driver lets him know that he’s outside. Tomorrow is dress, and then it’s time for the live show. The real deal. Connor slides into the back seat with his agent and immediately slumps back, letting out a loud sigh. He greets his driver as to not be rude, but right now, he’s exhausted and sick of talking. It’s nice and warm in the car, the heating turned all the way up in late New York winter. It smells like vanilla. He turns his phone off silent and flicks Hudson a message.
Connor pockets his phone and stares out the window. New York City is still so alive, all cars honking and neon blurs through the car tint. It’s a clear night, with late winter melting away and making way for spring. He hopes the weather will stay this way for anyone lining up to see him on Friday, though it will remain relatively cold. His agent and the driver are chatting in hushed murmurs, as if they’re careful not to wake someone up. It’s extremely reminiscent of long road trips with his family, trying not to fall asleep in the back seat. It makes him feel slightly melancholic.
It takes a good 12 minutes to get to the hotel, the traffic still bustling, bike riders weaving in and about through cars. He grins at his driver and gives him a pat on the shoulder before climbing out with his bag. Him and his agent part in the elevator when his agent gets off at a lower level, wishing him goodnight in a whisper. Connor immediately presses the button for Hudson’s floor the second that the elevator doors close behind him.
By the time Connor reaches Hudson’s hotel room, he remembers the keycard he was given. He hauls his bag over his shoulder and swipes until it beeps him through, the lock unlatching automatically.
Hudson’s room is really fucking nice. Connor’s staying in one of the suites, but Hudson just treated himself to one of the regular premium rooms. The sheets on the king bed are messed up, telling him that Hudson must’ve been under the covers just moments ago. The TV is on, quietly playing Psycho. Anthony Perkins is on screen looking as sexy as Connor last remembers him. Hudson’s suitcase and some of his clothes are strewn across the floor, and his phone is plugged into the wall. Hudson must’ve ordered the room service before they closed orders at twelve, but it hasn’t arrived yet. The lights are down low, creating a sensual ambiance. Connor sets his bag down on the floor with a loud thump.
“Connie baby?” Hudson pokes his head out from the bathroom. He’s rubbing something into his skin, a headband keeping his hair out of his face, Mandarin Oriental branded bathrobe on.
“Did you not hear the keycard?” Connor asks, genuinely concerned.
Hudson shrugs him off, washing product off in the sink. He turns the tap off, and Connor can hear him drying off with a face towel. “I have a second bathrobe if you want it.”
Connor considers the offer, then accepts how fucking good the softness of it would feel on his skin. He hasn’t slept well all week, and his muscles are so sore. He unbuckles his belt and throws off his shirt, stripping down to his underwear and slipping into the spare bathrobe hanging by the bathroom door. God, they look so… coupley like this, all dressed down and matching.
Hudson leaves the bathroom, headband now off, hair all crazy and making him look like the kid from Meet The Robinsons. He rubs his hands together and licks his teeth like a crazed animal. “Your chest is insane. What are you benching?”
“Okay, let’s not.” Connor shuts him down.
Hudson unplugs his phone and chucks it onto the bed, falling on the mattress dramatically. He pats the spot next to him, and Connor slides in beside him.
Hudson spends a few moments scrolling on his phone. Connor lays back into the pillows, purposefully avoiding being nosey, watching the TV as Anothony Perkins is sitting in a jail cell and hallucinating the voice of his Mother. The credits roll and Hudson puts his phone down when there’s a knock at the door.
Hudson shoots Connor an excited grin and puts on his slippers to go collect the tray left outside by hotel staff. “Whoooo, it’s hefty!” He exclaims, placing the tray at the end of the bed and crawling back up to Connor.
Connor does the honors of lifting the lid. It looks absolutely incredible, there’s oysters, king prawns, crab legs, two grilled lobsters garnished in herbs, and sides of lemon. “Woooow,” Connor drags out. He grabs one of the fancy two-pronged forks and digs some of the lobster meat out of the shell, moaning at the taste. He squeezes a lemon on the rest of the meat and he can’t stop taking bites.
“And to think I used to drive a two thousand dollar car,” Hudson remarks, slurping an oyster. “Fuck, that’s good.”
There’s a minute or two where the only noises are slurping, chewing, and excited hums of approval. For two former kinda broke boys, this is crazy.
“My Mom and my Sister are gonna be here tomorrow,” Connor says, muffled by a bite of prawn. He covers his mouth to maintain some semblance of politeness. “We’re gonna get breakfast downstairs.”
“That’s not a good idea. They’re gonna get too used to the hoity-toitiness of the menu and demand fancy breakfasts from you for life.”
“I want to provide for my family,” Connor shrugs, speaking genuinely. “They’re really excited for me.”
“Aw.”
“I’m, like…” Connor slows his chewing, “nervous. I feel like I’m not the same person anymore and it scares me. And this time in my life is where I feel really grown up, and like, I barely see anyone I love anymore. I’ve lived on my own for years obviously. But it’s so scary having this. Like, this is huge. And I don’t want anyone to treat me differently now. I constantly get scared of that.”
“That’s your family,” Hudson pouts, getting emotional for him. “They’re not gonna treat you any different. This is big, obviously. But they’ve been with you through the rest of all of this already, nothing’s gonna change now that you’re on SNL, or whatever.”
“I’m not scared of people gold digging or something!” Connor defends, just in case that was what Hudson was getting at. “Jesus, no, you just get that feeling too, don’t you? That people you knew before… like, all of this, view you as something untouchable now?”
Hudson licks his lips free of sweet chili dip and lemon juice. “Yeah. But there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Hudson runs a hand through Connor’s curls, tilting his head and chewing his food, loving the way that his curls feel so free and soft in their own time, hating the way hairstylists douse them in gel and pat them down. “I don’t think you genuinely believe that about your family,” Hudson says. “I think you’re just really nervous about Saturday.”
“I’m probably just projecting that onto everything else,” Connor stabs a two-pronged fork into an oyster, plucking it out and eating it.
“…Yes,” Hudson watches in concern, heavily judging the psychotic manner in which Connor just ate that oyster.
“Anyways,” Connor shrugs it all off. “How’s your Mom?”
“She’s great. We stayed here during Lunar New Year. She also came over a few times this month.”
Hudson is such a Mama’s boy, it’s so cute how he smiles when he thinks about his Mother, how he gushes about how much he loves her. He takes after her, through and through. Connor remembers when he met Hudson’s Mother at the premiere for Heated Rivalry last year. She absolutely loved Connor, and loved his friendship with her son. His first thought while talking to her was that Hudson looked and acted so much like her, and he accidentally spat it out to her verbally. She laughed, and said that everyone else at the premiere had said the same.
“Any special occasions?" Connor asks.
The seafood platter is maybe three quarters finished and now abandoned. Hudson and Connor both lay back in the pile of soft hotel pillows, resting hands on their full bellies.
“Nah. She helped me with my tattoo aftercare.”
Fuck, the tattoo. That’s right.
Connor suddenly remembers it— he hates that he got so busy today that he couldn’t think about it anymore. He’s bursting at the seams with curiosity. Connor turns his head and looks at Hudson expectantly, quirking his eyebrows.
Hudson suddenly gets up, and Connor is… weirdly offended and confused. He lies there silently, watching as Hudson walks off. His heart sinks to his stomach. But something clicks when Connor notices how fucking smug he looks. It’s how he looks every time he does something stupid or cheeky, every time he manages to make Connor blush, every time he manages to make Connor cum.
Hudson unties and shrugs his robe off, feigning nonchalance. Connor sits up slightly on the bed, intrigue piqued. The man knows how to keep an audience so effortlessly that Connor almost envies how he channels his charisma. He’s half naked now, just down to his hotel slippers and his underwear. He folds the waistband of his boxers over at the back and pretends to stretch, raising his arms out wide and making an exaggerated sound.
Oh.
Oh my God.
It’s right at the base of his spine, right below his back dimples. It looks so similar to the tattoo on Hudson’s elbow, to the one on Connor’s foot.
It’s a fucking tramp stamp.
Hudson Williams got a fucking tramp stamp. It’s fucking permanent.
Connor can’t decide in the moment if this is idiotic or arousing. He settles for both.
Connor sits up completely, body frozen, chest heaving, his eyes locked on Hudson’s lower back. Two twin snakes, right above the cleft of his ass, hugging the dip of his back. It’s so fucking provocative. So fucking slutty. Connor can’t fucking believe this, even with Hudson’s track record. It’s in the same style as all his other tattoos, shaded carefully in gradient. The snakes are in tight coils, meeting each other at the head. And Hudson dared to call tramp stamps trashy in October.
“Holy shit,” Connor manages, breathless. He pushes the tray of leftover seafood on the floor by the bed, sitting up completely. Hudson tilts his head and looks behind himself to examine Connor’s reaction, and shifts his hips a little. He’s smiling, the little bastard. “Come here.” Connor demands, enamoured.
Hudson sits on the edge of the bed and crawls over to him. He climbs into Connor’s lap, and he realizes immediately that Connor is rock hard. The bulge of his painfully erect cock is pressing right against his shin.
“Jesus, that fast?” Hudson furrows his eyebrows. Connor then kisses him breathlessly, sliding his hands up and down Hudson’s sides. Hudson tangles his hands in Connor’s hair, leaning in deep and moaning. Their lips connect and separate repeatedly in wet, desperate moments, like Connor is a second away from absolutely ravaging him. He tries his best to be soft yet commanding, but sometimes, Hudson just makes him too fucking hungry to be patient.
“Wait,” Connor separates, panting, lips damp. He ignores the fact that when he pulls away, Hudson automatically chases his lips in tandem. It makes his heart ache. “I’m thinking about all of this harder now.”
“Yeah papi?”
“You do realize that everyone’s gonna see this tattoo, right?”
Hudson shrugs, then tries to lean in for another kiss. Connor dodges it and resists the urge to scold him. “Huddy, I’m serious. You take your shirt off all the time!”
“My pants will cover it up.”
“Your pants ride down low!” Connor retorts. “And all those makeup artists— they’re gonna have to cover it up eventually, right? You love getting naked for people! No offense.”
“None taken,” Hudson smirks. His gaze softens, placing his palm on Connor’s chest. “Connor, genuinely. It’s okay. I promise you, I didn’t just run to the studio and get it right away. I really did think about it.”
“Okay, good,” Connor gives him a peck on the lips. “And just for the record, I didn’t think you were being completely irresponsible about it. I just needed the confirmation.”
Hudson smiles, and then they’re back to making out. Connor’s hands work their way down above the cleft of Hudson’s ass, large fingers tracing his back dimples and tickling him where his tattoo must be. He caresses the spot possessively, practically shoving his tongue down Hudson’s throat. Hudson lets out a strained moan, and Connor tilts him off his lap, hands supporting Hudson’s back as he lands on the mattress softly.
It’s just so lovely, loving someone like this. Being so close that you can cross this line together. Being so much more than just platonic. Trusting each other, not denying attraction or desire despite being friends, knowing each other’s bodies, ravaging each other. It’s a connection that Hudson almost doesn’t think anyone else in the world has but them.
Connor wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling down at Hudson. His huge frame covers the dimmed light in the hotel room, isolating Hudson from everything that isn’t him. Hudson’s lips are swollen and glossy, and Connor finds it incredibly tempting, planting another chaste kiss on him. Hudson takes initiative, the demanding brat that he is, to untie Connor’s bathrobe and chuck it across the room. Connor flinches, eyes widening in surprise.
And suddenly, there’s hands running all over Connor’s bare chest, feeling his abs, grabbing greedily at his pecs. Connor grabs Hudson by the shoulders and flips them both over. “On your stomach,” he commands gently.
Hudson obeys almost immediately. Connor has to resist the urge to fucking lick his tramp stamp because it looks so fucking delectable. It’s just so Hudson.
“Your tattoo is fucking beautiful,” he whispers onto Hudson’s tanned skin, planting kisses that trail down his spine. Connor sheds himself of his boxers, heavy cock slapping wetly against his stomach. He leans back and strokes himself to the sight of Hudson on his stomach, showing off his new tattoo, waistband low. He gives himself a squeeze of the shaft, a little dribble of precum escaping his tip. He pants softly, exerting himself as he can’t help but speed up. Connor feels like a fucking pervert. “I can’t even tell you in English how much I love it. I fucking love it. God, Hudson. It’s so perfect for you. You’re mine.”
“Don’t cum so soon,” Hudson whines, hearing the schlick of Connor’s movements on his cock. Connor’s getting so into it that his hips are bucking him into his fist, groaning. He’s imagining coming all over Hudson’s tramp stamp, putting the tattoo to use. He knows that Hudson, as slutty as he is, would fucking love that. “Fuck me, shit, please fuck me, Con. I’ve waited so fucking long. Like— a month, fuck. I fucking need you.”
Connor lets go of his cock. He almost feels bad about how eagerly Hudson begs, how red his face is getting. He taps Hudson on the hip twice, getting him to lift his lower body so he can take his underwear off for him. It lands somewhere in the building pile of their other shit, and Connor can’t believe how fucking gorgeous Hudson’s tattoo when he’s fully nude. He’s flawless.
“So pretty,” Connor melts. He spreads Hudson’s cheeks open, admiring the way his hole clenches around nothing, and Hudson shifts with embarrassment.
“Please.”
He’s usually such a brat. But Connor is always so soft with him that his resolve breaks in the end anyways. Connor presses his thumb to Hudson’s hole, watching it twitch. He rubs lightly in circles, so it’s just tickling, and Hudson squirms so hard that he could’ve flung Connor off if he tried. “Fuck,” Hudson sobs.
“Do you have lube?”
Hudson’s still on his stomach, but he turns his head to look at Connor, cheeks flushed. “In my bag,” he answers breathily. Connor picks up one of his bags from the floor, only to find a huge 355 mL bottle of astroglide. Connor shoots him a look, and Hudson at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed.
Connor gets back on the bed, crawling up to Hudson and caging him in with his arms. “How many times did you think we’d be fucking, huh?” He teases softly. He loves when Hudson squirms and gets all mushy like this, all uncharacteristically shy. “You bought all this just for me? How much did you pay for your luggage weight?”
“And look at that slutty little tattoo.” Connor continues, raking his nails down Hudson’s spine, watching him shiver. It’s so much more cruel than slapping him around and being rough ever could be. He leans down, and he begins kissing the scales of the inked snakes one by one. It’s already obsessive for him. “This has to be my new favorite by far, fuck, Huddy. Besides the one you got for me, of course.”
Something that Hudson has noticed about Connor over the past few months they’ve been sleeping together is that when he’s really aroused, his voice gets so thick with that old, mild southern drawl he must’ve grown up with. There’s always just a twinge of it whenever Connor talks normally— it’s not something that you’re necessarily looking out for, but when you notice it, you can’t really unhear it. His voice gets so all-American. And it’s so fucking hot. It’s even hotter when Connor has just the most unapologetically filthiest things to say.
“I bet you got excited thinking about how people might react,” Connor continues again. “Your fans, your costars, the people you work with…” Connor trails off, then nibbles at Hudson’s earlobe, feeling the texture of one of his earrings against his tongue. “And me.”
“I couldn’t wait for you to see it,” Hudson admits. He’s practically shivering at this point, poor thing, his hole trembling. “Fuck, enough. Fuck me.”
Connor lifts Hudson up by the arms off of his belly, maneuvering him up against the pillows. Hudson spreads his legs automatically, and Connor has to bite his tongue so as to not call him a whore. Hudson’s cock is leaking like a faucet against his stomach. His cock is just so thick and enticing, and Connor was surprised, the first time they slept together, how hung he is. Connor loves his balls, especially. Loves playing with them, loves having them in his mouth. Everything about Hudson’s body is perfect.
Connor uncaps the disturbingly heavy bottle of astroglide, drizzling a generous amount over Hudson’s hole and his own fingers. Hudson has a full body shiver. “Cold!”
“Sorry, baby.”
Connor grabs Hudson by the hips, forcing Hudson to wrap his legs around Connor’s waist. Connor finds a nice angle then begins rubbing the flat of his thumb right against Hudson’s hole once more, pressing hard into his perineum and making Hudson groan. The lube is a more appropriate temperature now, so Connor lets his index finger take over. The tip of it traces around in circles, just barely breaching, successfully making Hudson want to cry. He worms the tip of his index in just a little, then pulls it right back out. Now, Hudson is crying.
“I need you so fucking bad,” Hudson’s voice cracks, suddenly distressed with how much pure fucking arousal he feels, his entire body in tremours. This must be torture for him. His hips keep chasing Connor’s fingers whenever he pulls them away, desperate for just something inside of him. He’s never felt more empty in his life, not even in the weeks where he and Connor were separated by hectic schedules and distance.
Connor scoops up a drip of lube with his index finger and works it inside of Hudson’s hole, his free hand gripping Hudson’s thigh. “You’re so fucking tight,” Connor groans, looking up to observe Hudson’s reaction. Hudson’s face is scrunched up at first, but then he looks relieved, sighing.
“Yeah, you haven’t fucked me in like, a month,” Hudson retorts, laying back farther in the pillows with a satisfied hum. He’s so satiated with something inside of him. What a whore.
Connor twists his finger, then quirks it. Hudson’s hole is so warm, his whole body flushed pink. Hudson sighs lowly, closing his eyes and leaning further into Connor’s touch, encouraging him to do more. Connor moves it in and out, continually flicking his eyes up to see how Hudson reacts, then flicking them back down to see how beautifully Hudson’s hole stretches over his finger. His thumb rubs at the rim, then he’s working his lubed up middle finger in alongside his index, and Hudson moans.
Connor takes his thumb back and focuses on scissoring Hudson open. Hudson opens his eyes and squints, mouth hanging open slightly as he begins to pant, body sweating. He can never get enough of seeing the hunger in Hudson’s dark brown eyes whenever they have sex. It’s the most beautiful, intoxicating sight in the world.
When Hudson gets nice and warmed up, he just gets so excited. He grabs at Connor’s forearm, moaning. Connor understands what he’s communicating. “Just one more,” he promises softly. It takes a bit of work to get in a third finger, and then he’s crooking them back, and Hudson’s eyes glaze over.
It’s then when Connor decides that he’s ready. Hudson sighs when the fingers leave him, feeling so fucking empty. He sees Hudson’s hole twitches so enticingly, and Connor quickly drizzles his cock in more lube, stroking himself as Hudson watches longingly.
“Condom?”
“No,” Hudson pants, “no condom. I haven’t fucked anyone else in ages. No one but you, please. Want it raw.”
Fuck, that’s hot. Connor presses the head of his cock to Hudson’s hole, making Hudson moan in complete satisfaction. “Fucking finally,” he sobs, tilting his head right back again, back arching naturally. Connor grabs himself and rubs his tip around in circles, lighting Hudson’s nerves on fire, until he grabs Hudson by the hips and shoves himself right into homebase.
“Connor,” he mewls. “Yeah, thats fucking it baby. That’s it. Exactly what I needed, Jesus Christ.”
“God, you’re amazing,” Connor groans, Hudson still so tight despite the prepping, his velvety hole gripping him like a vice. He brushes sweaty strands of Hudson’s hair from his face. His face gets so hot and flushed during sex, and the only downside of his haircut is that his bangs get so fucking annoying and just cling right to his forehead. It’s rewarding, though, when Connor so affectionately pins them back. Hudson leans into his touch until Connor’s hand returns to his hip, and he thrusts in just once, head hung low.
The both of them are panting so hard now, and Connor leans down to kiss the corner of Hudson’s mouth, thrusting in again. Hudson’s clenching around him, and they groan simultaneously. He rocks back and forth, warmth spreading through his body, throwing his head back and tightening his grip so hard against Hudson’s hips that he’ll probably leave suspiciously finger-shaped bruises. His pace keeps increasing, and Hudson’s spreading his legs even further now, keeping his hands on his ass to balance himself when Connor gets more frantic.
“Nnh,” Hudson moans, his throat getting dry now. His body is trembling again. Connor keeps sinking in and out, and it’s hitting everything, right off his prostate and rubbing so closely against his walls. He feels extra sensitive with how long they’ve spent apart, and his cock is throbbing so fucking hard and literally begging to be touched.
But right when Hudson’s about to touch himself, Connor pulls out completely. Hudson is about to cry, but then Connor flips him over and slides right back in. From this angle, he’s hitting his sweet spot dead on, and when Connor starts bucking his hips straight away, Hudson is absolutely wailing. He has to press his head and arms against the sheets to balance himself, and Connor is pawing at his hips again.
“Holy fuck, Connor, Jesus,” and a moan is punched right out of him when his best friend thrusts in brutally, and now he’s really being fucked.
In doggy, Connor tilts his gaze down, and now he can see Hudson’s tramp stamp while his cock is pumping in and out of him. He hates to overuse the word, but this takes the cake for the sluttiest vision of Hudson he’s ever been graced with. His cock pulses, and the sight alone brings him right into the cusp of climax, and he can’t cum before Hudson, but holy shit, Hudson seriously has a fucking tramp stamp, and Connor is fucking him so hard and Hudson looks so fucking incredible as he thrusts right back against him and fuck—
The headboard is literally slamming against the wall. It’s in this moment that Connor wishes Hudson had a suite as well, because there’s no way that the person occupying the room next door can’t hear them clear as day. But he doesn’t care enough to tell Hudson to be quiet, and he doesn’t care nearly enough to be quiet at all himself. In fact, they’re both getting louder, Hudson quite literally shouting Connor’s name, fisting his cock at the speed of light. He has to be dripping all over the expensive hotel bedsheets, and Connor sort of hates adding to the stereotype of a hotel room under a blacklight.
He’s so close. He’s so close, that he literally can’t even say it out loud. His throat is closed up. Hudson is clearly the same, and he sobs and comes all over his hand, shooting right out onto the bed. Hudson’s eyes roll back and it’s so much, it’s so heady as Connor just keeps thrusting in so brutally against his prostate. That spot is so sensitive as Hudson just keeps squeezing his cock and keeps milking his cum right out of himself, and his hole is quite literally spasming around Connor’s cock, and then Connor can’t take it anymore either.
“Hudson, ah, Hudson—“ is all Connor can say when his orgasm hits. He squints his eyes and stares right at Hudson’s tramp stamp as he cums, it’s all he can fucking think about. And at this moment, it looks like a target to hit.
Connor pulls out fast, right as his orgasm begins, and his hand flies to his cock. He’s jerking it at the speed of light, movements blurry, and he moans so loudly as he comes all over Hudson’s lower back, officially christening his tramp stamp. The flow of cum won’t stop, and it’s probably the hardest Connor’s ever came in his life. He can feel his orgasm right in his bones, so fucking powerful that he’s fucking himself into his fist and he’s squeezing the cum right out of himself. He won’t stop until the last drop is right on Hudson’s tattoo, too.
Connor would love to come inside of Hudson. But this is fucking incredible.
And Hudson feels so amazing in the moment, too. His red, sweaty face pressed against the bed, limbs completely limp, panting like he just ran a marathon. Connor’s thick sperm is dripping down his ass and sticking right to his skin. He can hear Connor collapse beside him, and then Hudson can’t hold his hips up anymore.
There’s a moment where they’re both closing their eyes, panting exhaustedly. Connor’s mouth is so dry. Until the silence is interrupted.
“…Fuck, my back is gonna break out now!” Hudson realizes.
Connor flips over onto his other side and laughs. Hudson cranes his head back to look at him with furrowed eyebrows, still panting. “I’m serious! And this isn’t good for healing, like, at all!”
“Yeah, but you liked it. Didn’t you, baby?”
And then Connor is leaning over Hudson’s shoulder, peppering his sweaty face with kisses. Hudson can never stay mad at him, moving to meet his lips. They stay there kissing slowly for a few moments. Then Connor pats him on the butt and gets up.
Connor’s body makes him look like an Adonis. Hudson just loves watching him whenever they’re finished fucking, the way his abs glisten at this point, his gorgeous ass whenever he walks away to grab a cloth. He’s definitely been losing a bit of muscle lately, but it’s not dramatic at all. He’s still fucking buff.
Connor returns and rubs Hudson’s back down with a wet towel, kissing his shoulder. Then he wipes the drying cum off of Hudson’s hand and the bedspread. Hudson loves this part of sex, too. It makes him feel so loved. Connor uses the part of the towel that isn’t soaked in their cum to wipe down Hudson’s sweaty face as well.
“Maybe I should redo my skincare,” he sighs. He knows he’s not gonna bother.
Neither of them bother with getting redressed. Connor moves the seafood tray back to the bed, and gets Hudson some cold water from the minibar. Neither of them bother with the fact the seafood might be spoiled, either. They toast oyster shells and finish the rest of the platter while talking about sweet nothings and watching Buffy reruns on the hotel TV.
At some point, Hudson dozes off against Connor’s shoulder. Connor switches off the TV and the lamp at the bedside table before he falls asleep, as well, holding Hudson tight against his naked body.
SNL went really well. Connor got to see his Mom and his Sister, and they both cried during goodnights. Hudson held Connor in his arms on stage while he reached out to his family in the audience, mouthing to them. He’s so fucking grateful, and he can’t possibly wrap his head around any of this. He thinks that if his schedule ever gave him any room to properly think about it all, he’d have a breakdown. And he’s so happy to have Hudson by his side through it all.
He tries not to read anything online, but when he’s exhausted in his dressing room, one of the ladies crowding him tells him that everyone online thinks he was incredible. Connor leaves Studio 8H with the most genuine, biggest smile on his face, and he’s never felt more alive.
At the afterparty, Connor talks to so many big names that he can’t even keep up. He shakes so many hands, takes so many compliments, hugs so many people, pokes his head in so many selfies. He feels like a superstar. And he has his eyecandy, too, Hudson in his tight little compression shirt and his black leather pants.
And when they’re well into the A.Ms, Hudson has to hug him goodbye and fly right back to Victoria. He has a very busy schedule of filming, and his flight is right at the crack of dawn. Connor tries not to cry when he sees him walk out the door with his agent, calming himself down with a sip of Chardonnay.
He loves that boy.