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Hudson wasn’t sleeping. Okay, part of that was just due to his schedule; he hadn’t had more than three hours to himself in what felt like two years. His body was still catching up from constantly being shuffled from party to press event to show to interview, and even now, finally back in his own bed, he couldn’t manage to settle down.
But he also wasn’t sleeping because he hadn’t spoken to Connor in nearly a week.
The moment he had left Venice, the minty glow of dawn just barely visible in the sky, Hudson had gone home, and Connor had flown to Paris. It was the right thing, to stay apart for now, to let their careers grow without being tied to each other.
But fuck, Hudson missed him.
He had thought that, being home, he would at least be able to sleep. Instead, he would lay awake most nights, staring up at the ceiling fan, and wondering what Connor was doing.
Luckily for him, he only had to open any social media app on his phone in the morning to figure it out.
He looked fantastic, born to be in exactly where he was, even when he was just walking from his hotel to a car, cameras flashing all around him.
Hudson would text him every day, usually multiple times, not caring about time zones or if he was waking him. He knew Connor wouldn’t respond right away, he never did anyway, but now it had been almost four agonizing days with nothing.
He knew that he was busy, that Hudson himself had barely had time to look at his phone in the last few weeks, but it made his chest hurt every time he looked at the little “delivered” in the corner of his last text.
Hudson stuck to his routine as much as he could. He saw his friends, went to the gym, read the metric ton of scripts his agent was sending him, and tried not to think about it.
The problem was, Connor lingered at the edges of his mind, like he was just out of sight, only visible out of the corner of his eye.
Finally, on the fifth day, Hudson’s screen lit up with Connor’s face, a stupid photo that Hudson had taken one night when he was in LA, Connor sprawled out on the couch, relaxed and beautiful.
He scrambled to answer, completely forgetting about his morning plans for the gym.
“Hey,” he couldn’t conceal the relief in his tone or on his face as he looked at him, pretty and smiling as ever, “How are you?”
“Good, good!” Connor’s bright voice was like a balm, and his mouth tilted up involuntarily, reflexively, “You know I love Paris. It’s beautiful here.”
“Yeah,” he sank down on his bed, rubbing his eyes, “How’s the weather?”
“You’re seriously asking me about the weather?”
Hudson laughed, his heart lightening by degrees.
“I guess so,” Connor looked like he was dressed up his curls replaced with the longer, looser waves, jewelry at his throat, “Another show tonight?”
“Yeah,” he turned his head from side to side, so Hudson could see every angle, “How do I look?”
So gorgeous that Hudson wanted to crawl through the screen.
“Great, really great. Love that yellow.”
“Apparently it’s my color.”
“Understatement, I think,” he couldn’t manage to keep the exhaustion out of his voice. Speaking to Connor had relaxed him enough that he couldn’t hide it anymore.
“You okay?” he asked anxiously, “Gotten any sleep?”
“Not really,” he shrugged, lying easily, “It’s probably just all the travel. I’m not used to it. It’ll even out, maybe tonight I’ll go to bed early.”
“No you won’t,” he said fondly, “Even if you should. You could use it.”
“Are you insulting me?”
“You know I’d never,” his eyes left the screen, flicking up to someone else in the room. He nodded, and gave one of those blinding smiles, the ones that Hudson sometimes wished were a secret, just for him, “I have to go, we have dinner plans.”
“Oh,” he tried to ignore the sinking in his stomach, “Right yeah, I know you’re so busy-”
“I’ll call you later, when I’m free.”
“Okay.”
They stared at each other, mirroring smiles on their faces, and Hudson could look at him forever and never get enough.
“I really have to go,” he said regretfully, “But I’m back in LA early next week, and hopefully-”
Hudson heard someone clear their throat, and Connor smiled again,
“I really gotta go, I’ll talk to you later!”
“Right, yeah,” Hudson’s chest was empty, aching, “Have a good dinner, love you.”
“Love you!” he chirped, and the call ended abruptly.
Hudson let out a long, slow breath, laying back against his mattress, his eyes fluttering closed.
He knew he had no right to be jealous, but the truth of it was that he had never felt anything with anyone like he felt when he was with Connor, and even the idea of him going out to dinner with other people in Paris made him seethe with anger.
“Fuck,” he pushed out the word on a breath, sat up, and determined that he had to just go about his day, and not think about the nebulous promise of “later” from Connor.
It worked pretty well at first. Hudson went to the gym, went to lunch with a friend, had a call with his agent, and read most of a really bad script by a prolific director that he would have died to work with six months ago. Overall, it was fine, a good enough day. He didn’t even think about Connor that much.
Until, of course, like the fucking idiot he was, he opened Instagram, and was bombarded by photos of him, looking so beautiful it made his heart stop, in the city of love with other people.
And not with Hudson.
He swallowed down the jealousy and resentment that burned in his chest, and checked his watch. It was nearly five, and much, much later than that in Paris.
Connor was definitely not calling him tonight.
He was furious at himself for feeling like this, for feeling out of control, and not in the fun, exciting way that he usually liked. This just made him feel sick.
He kneaded his forehead in his hands, and paced up and down his apartment, trying to get a handle on himself.
He was being ridiculous. Of course Connor could see whoever he liked. Hudson could see whoever he wanted to.
The problem was, the only person he wanted to see anymore was Connor, and he had been to fucking slow on the uptake to realize that, and now it was too late.
It wasn’t like they had ever done anything serious, they had just kissed a few times, slow and languid when they were sharing a bed. It wasn’t anything more than that, Hudson had just thought about asking Connor to fuck him at least once a week since they met.
In the early days, when they were just getting to know each other, when the hours were long and their time in bed was short, Hudson had known that the way Connor looked at him was more than what he had with his other friends. But Hudson had been so afraid of letting the professional opportunity pass him by that he had pretended not to notice, and had shoved his own feelings down, hoping that they would disappear with time.
And now, when he couldn’t shove them down anymore, and it was obvious that they would not be disappearing with time, Connor had moved on, and Hudson couldn’t do anything other than watch.
He needed to get over this.
They had at least three more years of working together, and that had to come first.
It should be enough to just be Connor’s friend, his best friend. Hudson was being greedy, wishing and wanting for more.
In the days that followed, Hudson had decided that he needed space. He was never going to move past this whole stupid thing if he kept checking his phone every ten seconds, hoping for a missed call or a text from Connor.
So when he had texted him, telling him that he had made it safely back to LA, he had just sent a couple of words, instead of the paragraph his fingers itched to type.
He still wasn’t sleeping well, but that would have to change soon enough. Eventually, his body would give out, and he would be able to finally sleep without that heavy weight against his heart.
That’s what he told himself, anyway.
He was trying to sleep late one sunny Saturday, the February cold tapping at his bedroom window, when there was a loud, repetitive knocking at his door.
He sat up, his blankets falling around him, his head listing to the side. Had he forgotten something? Some meeting, some appointment?
Hudson padded to the door, wondering somewhat bitterly when he’d be treated to a good, or even mediocre night of sleep. He pulled open the door without looking through the peephole.
“What-” he was lost for words, and Hudson was very rarely lost for words, “What are you doing here?”
Connor shouldered by him, an overnight bag in his hands, which he promptly dropped onto Hudson’s couch. Like he lived there. Like this was his home, and not LA. And not-
“You wouldn’t answer me,” he shrugged, “So I figured something was wrong.”
He looked so good, relaxed and soft in a hoodie that Hudson had definitely stolen at one point, his shorter hair hidden under a baseball cap, and his eyes full of concern.
“But you’re in- Shouldn’t you be in New York?” he stuttered, “Or like- I don’t know, something?”
Connor raised his eyebrows, hurt crossing his face.
“Did you not- Sorry, I just assumed that you would have wanted me to-”
Think, Hudson screamed at his brain, Don’t fucking let him walk out the door.
“No it-” he forced himself to speak, “Of course not, I’m just- You just surprised me, that’s all.”
They fell into an awkward silence, and Hudson and Connor were never awkward.
“Well,” Hudson swung his arms back and forth, “Come on in.”
Connor watched him with open anxiety as Hudson moved towards his kitchen, the weight of the presence behind him heavy in the space.
“You hungry?” he tried for casual, nonchalance, as though Connor coming here and walking through the door wasn’t everything that he had been dreaming of when he had been barely sleeping, “I haven’t eaten yet so-”
There was a pause, and Hudson busied himself with his French press, the rich smell of coffee a welcome distraction to Connor, who had slid into one of the chairs at Hudson’s kitchen island.
“Okay,” he finally said, “What are you making?”
“What do you want?”
“Whatever you’re having, baby.”
Hudson closed his eyes at the endearment, letting it fill him up against his better judgement.
He made them eggs and toast, over easy, exactly the way Connor always liked it. He took his plate with a murmured word of thanks, and they ate in silence, forks scraping against the ceramic.
“So,” Connor sat back in his chair, his plate clean, and a determined sort of look on his face, “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” he avoided his gaze, setting their dishes in the sink instead.
“I mean you won’t answer my calls, you barely text me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” he tried to will it to be true, “It’s just- I don’t know, I’m tired, Connor. It’s a been a- A long few weeks and it’s catching up with me.”
“Right,” he could tell he didn’t believe him.
“I’m happy you’re here,” and that was the most honest thing he’d said so far, “I- We can go out, walk around, meet a few people for dinner. They’ll be excited, they want to hear all about SNL.”
All in all, Hudson thought he should be commended on how normal he was. He couldn’t help but lose himself in the familiarity of being around Connor. Even in spite of everything, there was nothing that brought him more happiness than walking with him, talking to him, soaking in the rays of light that constantly emanated from him.
Hudson’s friends, who had adopted Connor into their group as though he were a missing piece, as though he had always meant to be there in their lives, in Hudson’s life, kept them out late, so that it was almost two in the morning by the time Hudson was fumbling with his keys, Connor’s chin on his shoulder, loose and relaxed.
“You can have the first shower,” he muttered, flipping on a few lights to avoid looking at him.
“Okay,” by the time he had turned around, Connor was gone, disappeared into the bathroom.
Hudson wrapped his arms around himself, swaying slightly from side to side. He glanced from the couch, to the dark outline of his bedroom. He and Connor had shared a bed more times than he could count, but now…it probably wouldn’t be the best thing.
Feeling nauseous, he dug out some spare bedding and grabbed a couple of pillows from his bed.
He was fussing over the blankets when Connor reappeared, a pair of Hudson’s sweatpants hung low on his hips.
He stopped dead.
“I’m sleeping on the couch?” that wounded tone was back, and Hudson still couldn’t turn around and face him.
“I figured that’s better since-” he didn’t want to talk about it, talking about it made it real, and Hudson definitely didn’t want that to be real, “Since- I mean, we shouldn’t be sharing a bed since- Yeah.”
“Since when?”
“Since,” don’t make me fucking say it, “Since you’re- You know, since you’re with someone. I figured it would be better to- Better.”
Connor’s eyebrows contracted, and Hudson was struck again by how beautifully expressive he was.
“What do you mean? Tell me what’s going on, please. I wanna- I need to know if I did something wrong-”
“No!” he said forcefully. The last thing he wanted was for Connor to think any of this was his fault, “This is- It’s all me. I just- Yeah.”
“Just tell me,” he stepped towards him, water from the shower still glistening on his shoulders, “Please.”
And Hudson couldn’t deny him anything.
“I,” he took a deep breath, preparing to take the plunge, “I love you, Connor.”
“I love you too,” he said it automatically, and it rolled off his tongue so easily that Hudson couldn’t help but believe it.
“But I- I think I love you, like, more than that. More than- More than you love me.”
Connor stopped, blinking rapidly, like he had never seen him before.
“And I know this is- Is horrible timing,” he felt the need to defend himself, “And I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you this now and I promise I won’t- I won’t make things weird with you and- Like I want- I’ll still be your best friend, no matter what- Yeah- I- Please say something.”
It was agonizing, the wait for Connor to speak. It felt like a million years, like the world had dissolved to dust, like humanity had fallen, like nature had reclaimed the earth.
“I’m not- I’m not seeing anyone.”
Hudson felt like someone had doused his brain in gasoline and set it on fire.
“What?”
“I don’t know where you got that but- I’m not.”
What was he supposed to say? Instagram? Fucking Twitter? The recesses of his own terrified brain? None of those answers would paint him in a particularly good light.
“Oh,” was all he managed.
“And I don’t know where you’re getting this idea that I don’t love you like that too.”
Hudson’s breath was catching in his throat, coming in painful stabs. Connor stepped towards him, reaching out a hand, skating his fingers down his arm. Hudson shuddered, the warmth of his skin leeching through, burying itself in his heart.
“Don’t say that,” he shook his head jerkily, “Seriously.”
“Why not?” he was much too close now, too close for comfort, too close for Hudson to convince himself to back away, “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because-” he felt absurdly like he wanted to cry, “It’s not- Smart.”
“Since when do you care about being smart about shit like this?” his warm breath fanned across Hudson’s face, and it smelled like his own toothpaste.
Since my life would end if we ever broke up, he wanted to say, since you are the beginning and the end of it all for me.
“Since- Now,” his brain wasn’t working properly, and his heart was straining in his chest, as though it could burst out of him and crawl inside Connor, where it wanted to be.
“But I do,” Connor whispered, so close, so warm, “I do love you like that.”
He caught Hudson’s face in his hands, and pulled him forward.
The moment they kissed, any and all doubts left Hudson’s brain. He fully disconnected, and allowed himself to kiss Connor back with a voracity that bordered on indecent.
He was such a good kisser, Hudson managed to think, his brain fuzzy and static about everything other than the lips moving with practiced ease against his. He had been lying when someone had asked who the better kisser was; it was Connor all the time, forever.
But Hudson knew he wasn’t a bad kisser himself, and he used all his skills, pouring himself into it, determined and maybe desperate to make this good for Connor, make it worth his time.
Make it so he never wanted to leave.
Connor smiled against his mouth, and allowed Hudson to walk him back, weaving back and forth, to his bedroom.
His bed was still unmade from that morning, sheets twisted and pulled up at one corner from his constant tossing and turning, but he didn’t care. He pushed Connor down onto it, crawling on top of him, and worshiping him the way he had always wanted to.
He kissed across his jaw, down his neck, to every mole, mouthing down the line of hair that disappeared behind the waistband of his sweatpants, the object of at least seventy percent of his fantasies at night.
“Hud- Fuck-” Connor arched back as Hudson stripped him naked, eyes glittering as he finally, finally laid eyes on his cock.
Look, he had pretty much seen it before, and he had definitely felt it before, pressed against his back in the morning, but those had been fleeting things, never with the promise of more.
It was heavy on his stomach, curved slightly to the left, and glistening at the tip.
It made Hudson’s mouth water.
“Can I blow you?” he asked, his fingers trailing up his stomach, eyes on his.
“You can do whatever to me, baby,” Connor said, “You already know that.”
Hudson had always liked giving head, but it had been a while since he had done it to another man. And he wanted, no, he needed this to be perfect, he had to be perfect for Connor.
He settled himself between his legs, and took him in hand, gathering saliva in his mouth and swirling his tongue along the head, already tasting the tang of precum there.
He kept his eyes up, watching Connor, whose hands were fisting in the sheets, his head thrown back, so that he looked like a subject of a priceless painting, one where people would wait hours for a blurry photo that could ever really do him justice.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” Hudson said, swiping his thumb across his slit, pushing in, smirking a little when he arched off the bed.
“You’re one to talk,” he gasped, “You almost made me come in my pants just answering the door.”
Hudson wavered, his heart wobbling in his chest, and did the only thing that made sense, taking as much of Connor down his throat as he could.
“Jesus,” he said it like it he had been punched in the solar plexus, “Fuck, your mouth.”
Hudson hummed, breathing through his nose, hollowing his cheeks as he pulled almost all the way off.
He had dreamed of this so many times, sometimes when he would listen to Connor’s slow, even breathing next to him, and he would slip off to the bathroom, stuffing his fist in his mouth to stop himself from making a noise as he jerked himself off. But nothing in his fantasies could have ever prepared him for the reality of having Connor like this, of the soft little noises slipping from his mouth, of the way his hand felt tangled in Hudson’s hair.
“Fuck Huddy, stop,” the word had Hudson pulling off of him immediately, heart stuttering in his chest, “You were about to make me come.”
“Oh.”
Connor laughed, his mouth stretching into one of those smiles that Hudson saved in a little box inside his heart.
His fingers tripped down, closing around him, wet from Hudson’s spit, and he jerked him loosely, just enough to get him to gasp.
“Let me fuck you,” Connor said, eyes wide as Hudson’s hands still lazily worked his cock, “Please.”
Hudson whined, the sound torn from deep within him. Connor would never know how much he wanted that, how much he had thought about him being pinned down, crushed under Connor’s weight as he fucked into him.
That wasn’t going to be what this was, but he still craved it all the same.
“You can do whatever you want to me, baby,” he grinned, echoing Connor’s words back to him, and they shared a laugh, private and intimate and just theirs.
“It’s been awhile,” Hudson said, flushing so that he hoped the room was dark enough that Connor wouldn’t notice, “I haven’t- Not for a while.”
“That’s okay, I’m not in a rush.”
“Well I am,” he said impatiently, “I need it.”
Connor kissed him. It was slow, without any urgency or heat, but made Hudson’s insides bubble all the same.
Connor took his time with him, splaying Hudson across his lap, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his shoulders as he worked him open.
“I always knew you were a romantic,” Hudson gasped, trying his best for casual and missing by at least a mile, “Fuck, right there.”
“And I should have known you’d be a talker even like this.”
“Shit that’s good, you’re fucking good at this.”
Connor did not answer, but kissed between his shoulder blades.
“Think you’re ready?”
“Yeah,” his voice sounded distant and dreamy, “I am.”
Hudson listened to the sounds of Connor tearing open a condom. He found himself hoping that, maybe next time, they wouldn’t use one. He couldn’t think of anything better than Connor fucking him without anything between them.
Connor positioned him so that he was on his back, and they both paused breathing heavily, staring at each other.
“You’re sure?” Connor asked, his neck straining as he clearly fought to keep himself under control.
In answer, Hudson pulled him down and kissed him, trying to put every single word he had ever thought about him into it.
This seemed to be answer enough, and Connor pushed into him, their lips never parting.
“Shit,” Hudson squeezed his eyes shut, his stomach turning molten, “Fuck, fuck honey.”
“Honey,” Connor breathed, “I like that.”
“I’ll call you anything you want,” he said, his voice caught as Connor thrusted experimentally, “Anything.”
The moment that Connor started a steady pace, it was evident that neither of them were going to last long. Connor’s hand came up to squeeze at his pectoral, and his breathing started to go ragged.
They met each other halfway, already losing control, and Connor was murmuring something, lost in their breathing and Hudson’s own hammering heart.
Hudson toppled first, his hand wrapped around his own cock, jerking in time to Connor’s thrusts, and he kept his eyes wide open, taking in the man above him, his chest aching with just how much he loved him.
It should be impossible, really, to love someone this much. But he did, and he would for the rest of his life.
“Fuck baby,” Connor’s words spread across his skin like the caress of a cool breeze, “I’m coming, fuck, I love you.”
His hips stuttered, then stilled.
Hudson’s eyes closed as he pulled out, coming back with a washcloth and swiping it across his stomach, his lips following, and Hudson hummed, boneless and content. He reached his arms out for him blindly, and heard Connor chuckle, sliding back into bed and allowing him to wrap himself completely around him.
They were quiet for a while, Connor’s fingers dragging along his spine, Hudson’s cheek pressed into his chest.
Hudson stared out the window into the dark sky, stars hidden by the muted orange glow of light pollution.
“Were you serious?” he asked quietly, tracing a line down Connor’s chest, their breathing matched in the low light, “About- Loving me?”
“Of course I was. I always have, probably since I first saw you. I thought it was you that wasn’t interested in me.”
Hudson buried his face in his chest, smiling.
“I was slow on the uptake.”
“I’ll say.”
“I wish-” he broke off, but then, if they were being so honest tonight, “I wish we didn’t have to be separate so much.”
“Me too,” he pressed a kiss into his hair, “But it’s just a few months. This summer we’ll be together.”
“That’s not enough,” he said the words before he could even think to keep them in, “I want to be with you all the time.”
I want to live inside you, inside your skin, your guts, your soul.
“Me too,” he sounded wistful almost, maybe a little sad, “Literally all the fucking time.”
“I don’t care if people see us,” he didn’t look up at him, afraid of what he might see, “I want to go to LA and for you to come here.”
“Then let’s do it.”
“Yeah?” he tilted his head, and Connor’s eyes reflected the light outside, so that they sparkled.
“Yeah.”
“I love you,” he said it evenly, with all the reverence of a book of holy rites.
“I love you,” Connor repeated, his fingers tracing his features in the dark, committing Hudson to his memory, just as Hudson was committing Connor to his own.
One day, neither of them said, one day we’ll tell the whole world that.
Hudson kissed him instead, hoping that, for now, that would be enough.
That night, for the first time in nearly two months, Hudson slept long and deep and uninterrupted, settled in Connor’s arms, and finally at peace.