Chapter Text
Hudson’s story on the press tour is that “things got a little crazy at the Season Two wrap party,” which is cooler than admitting he tripped over his untied shoe lace and ate shit. Sober.
“It’s lucky you were done filming!”
“Very lucky, and luckier that I had Connor there with me,” Hudson says as he offers the interviewer a sharpie to sign his cast.
“Connor’s name is the biggest one on here,” the interviewer, Britney, points out as she signs it.
Sure enough, “Connor Storrie” dominates the white bandage, written in cute, loopy letters and with a heart on the “i” in Storrie.
“Yeah, Connor got first signature dibs cause he ordered the Uber to take me to the hospital,” Hudson says with a sheepish grin.
He’s not going to admit how hard he had been sobbing when he broke his arm or that Connor had been there to pick him up. It was awful and embarrassing (and also the best feeling ever to have Connor’s arms wrapped around him, rubbing soothing circles into his back with a “come on, you’re okay, it’s okay, I’m right here.”) But confessing all that is a humiliation ritual.
“Mhm,” Connor says from Hudson’s side. “Among other costar-ly duties.”
“Oh? What duties?” Britney asks and suggestively wiggles her eyebrows at the camera like she’s a character in the Office.
“Well, it’s my right hand that’s broken, so, use your imagination,” Hudson says and winks at her because it’s funny and fan service-y, which is his brand.
What he doesn’t say is- no, for real, Connor’s been taking care of me in ways I actually can’t admit on camera.
It’s not even a sexual thing. Somehow it would be less weird if it was a sex thing.
But no, it’s more humiliating than that. It looks like…
Well, first of all it looks like Connor insisting on paying for all their Ubers. And that’s fine. Cute, Hudson supposes that Connor wants to take care of him financially, especially since Hudson is going to be paying those stupid hospital bills.
And then, it…well, it looks kind of like Connor leaning over to seatbelt Hudson in like he’s a little kid and not a fully grown fucking man. He’s in his twenties for fucks sake. It should not make his whole body get warm and tingly when Connor straps him into the car.
“So I was thinking I could make us steak dinner tonight. I ordered some groceries to your place,” Connor says as the Uber takes them back to Hudson’s LA apartment, where Connor has been staying over since he broke his arm. Hudson looks down at where his leg is pressed up against Connor’s.
“Sure, yeah, sounds good,” Hudson says, voice tight, embarrassed at the way that he’s allowing himself to be babied— seat belt-ed in, cooked for, comforted. Connor’s treating him like he is in fact his little baby, and Hudson is just…letting him. (Worse than just letting him, Hudson’s leaning into it, aching for more).
Connor stretches to rest his strong arm around his shoulder, and he absently rubs Hudson’s skin with his thumb. It’s hypnotic and warm, and Hudson, after a long day of being ‘on’ for the camera, melts into Connor’s natural dominance.
And it would be one thing if it stopped there. But oh no, it gets weirder. Not even with a gun to Hudson’s fucking head could he ever admit what the fuck their dynamic has become.
Because there’s no way he could tell a single interviewer that when their door closes, Connor drops to his knees, and…starts to undo Hudson’s shoes with a “come on, let me help you, baby,” and it makes Hudson’s chest tight and his cheeks flush and his heart pound. He never tells Connor to back off or stop because…? Well, he’s not sure why. It just feels so, so good to be taken care of, to not have to think anymore the second he enters his apartment, to just let Connor take care of it, take care of him.
Hudson watches Connor unlacing his shoes with heated cheeks: “Um, could I have a drink before dinner?”
Connor grins up at him and asks, “Sure, we got beer, spiked lemonade, or just water.”
“…just water. I got a headache.”
“Really? Why didn’t you say anything? I’ll get you some Advil,” Connor says, immediately fussing when he hears that Hudson has a headache. “Go sit, come on, dude, you should be resting.”
And he’s not sure if it makes it better or worse the way that Connor looks absolutely delighted to be taking care of him, as if he has nothing better to do as a twenty five year old fucking dude besides babysitting his co-star. Maybe it would make sense if they were having sex or dating, but two normal men in their twenties don’t just drop everything to play house together.
It doesn’t mean anything, we’re just bros, practically brothers, Hudson tries to convince himself as he plops down on the couch and Connor immediately leans over to put a hand on his forehead, trying to see if he has a temperature.
But it feels more motherly than brotherly the way that Connor drops a kiss to his forehead and murmurs “let me go get you an Advil and some water.” It’s absolutely ridiculous being doted on like this. Because it’s not like Hudson’s other hand is broken. He could conceivably get up, fill a cup of water with his left hand and shake out an Advil. There’s no reason why he needs to be allowing Connor to play his hunky nurse.
Maybe it just scratches a dark itch inside of Hudson that he’s not willing to admit when Connor comes back with a cold glass and makes him take a drink and then watches patiently as he swallows the two Advils before putting his cool hand back to his forehead with a soft “I think you might just be stressed out but stay here until dinner is ready, anyways, okay?”
“Okay,” Hudson says, voice small, as if he could ever disobey Connor, as if he would ever want to do anything but be good for Connor. His cheeks are flushed red because Connor is still there, looking at him with those light, caring eyes, as if Hudson is the center of his world and asking-
“Do you need anything else?”
Hudson’s stupid dick twitches in response. And that’s almost a relief. Makes it less weird to him that a very normal, manly part of him is checking out Connor’s lips and idly imagining them stretched around his cock.
“Um, I’m good, actually, can you grab my charger and plug my phone in? It’s almost dead.”
“Of course,” Connor says happily.
If this was just a sexual thing, Hudson could understand it, but his heart flutters -like, yes, actually flutters!- when Connor’s hand brushes against his to take his phone from him. And then Connor goes to grab him a blanket, unprompted, and tucks him in, and it very much feels like Connor’s his boyfriend or something ridiculous which doesn’t even make sense because they’re not dating. They’re costars.
And Hudson doesn’t even protest, not at the blanket, not at the forehead kisses, but finally when Connor starts to cut his steak into pieces for him, Hudson has to say something.
“This is ridiculous, dude.”
“Why? How are you going to eat steak with a broken hand?” Connor asks like this is totally normal as he stabs one of the little pieces with a fork.
“Dude, I’m not- I’m not a baby. I just have a broken arm,” Hudson finally says, flushing red as he realizes that Connor was planning to feed him.
“Of course you’re not a baby, Huddy,” Connor says, sounding almost offended.
“Okay, good-“
“You’re my baby.”
“Con, please,” Hudson takes to protest as his co-star drops a hand down to his knee and squeezes, firm and unyielding in his grip.
“Let me, I like taking care of you,” Connor says and Hudson can’t fight against that, not when Connor’s telling him that he likes this. He likes baby-ing Hudson.
Fuck.
I need to get laid, Hudson thinks, both flustered and a little bit angry at the way his cock is chubbing up as he submits to letting Connor feed him. And of course Connor’s ridiculous about the whole feeding him thing, praising Hudson as he obediently opens up (“That’s it, good”). Hudson thinks it’s just his praise kink acting up which makes sense at least and explains the way by the time that he’s finished his steak, he’s straining against his pants. He’s grateful for the table, hiding his obvious erection. Connor looks extremely pleased, leaning in to wipe Hudson’s mouth with a napkin with a “here let me,” and he can’t believe they just…
Hudson squirms, cock pressed up uncomfortably hard against his jeans, and he wonders what BDSM category this goes under. He’s sure someone on Reddit would tell him, but he’s not going to confess that this ever happened.
And that should be the end of it. Hudson should just go the fuck to bed and send Connor home and pretend none of this ever happened. They shouldn’t continue. It’s not like they have a routine going or anything. It’s not like Hudson is patiently waiting for Connor to finish his meal and ask him-
“Ready for bed?”
“Yeah,” Hudson sighs, happy for more of Connor’s attention, for more of….this, whatever this is.
He’s pretty sure if he checked the clock it’s probably only eight o clock, which is a ridiculous time to start getting ready for bed unless you’re five years old, but they’ve been doing this for the past week and Hudson’s been sleeping like a baby.
Hudson does not actually think he’s ever let his ex-girlfriend or even his mom do this for him. He’s a fiercely independent guy. But somehow Connor’s got him wrapped around his finger, aching to be taken care of.
Connor has to notice his erection, but he does not comment as he unzips Hudson from his jeans and shimmies them down his thighs, as if that’s too weird for him. Hudson’s heart hammers as they both don’t comment on how Hudson’s tenting in his Calvin’s. Maybe they should just keep this a platonic thing (…right?)
But then Connor’s tucking him, and asking, again, “Do you need anything else?”
It’s almost flirtatious.
And Hudson goes, shy: “Yeah, can you stay, Connie?”
Then Connor crawls into bed with him, and he’s wrapped around him, and Hudson shivers as he feels Connor’s hand resting on his waist, thumbing at the elastic of his pajamas. It makes Hudson feel warm, owned.
“You want me to take care of it?” Connor asks, softly, like he would be okay if Hudson said no, as if there was any way that Hudson could say no.
“Yeah, please,” Hudson whimpers, and it’s a relief when Connor’s hand slides down to cup him through his pajamas, and he presses a kiss to his neck, and it’s just Connor, it’s Connor, taking care of him, in this new, weird way, and Hudson feels like he has permission to turn off his brain, to let Connor do whatever he wants to him.
“How long has it been?” Connor asks as he gropes him, rubbing Hudson intimately.
“Like a week, since I broke my hand,” Hudson confesses.
“A whole week, and how long is it usually?” Connor asks and then Hudson can feel where he’s hard against Hudson’s ass.
“Usually everyday.”
“Mh, poor baby, all pent up,” Connor teases as he leans in to kiss Hudson’s flushed cheek while he slips his hand under Hudson’s boxers.
Hudson helplessly bucks his throbbing cock into Connor’s hand. It really has been building up. This feels perfect under the dim glow of just his one lamp, and Hudson is completely and utterly off the deep end because this feels almost romantic to him, being gently jerked off by his costar.
Connor slides his hand down Hudson’s cock: “That’s it, good boy, Hudson, been so good all day. Doing interviews. Now let me take care of you.”
Hudson intimately twitches in his best friend's hand. He knows this goes past friendship, past coworkers, past anything he can label, but it makes sense somehow. It makes sense that Connor’s taking care of him like this, allowing Hudson to submit to him.
And Hudson makes a pained noise of arousal, and Connor gently laughs at that. Of course he does. Fucking control freak probably loves that, having Hudson completely dependent on him.
Connor keeps stroking him and says, “You just wanted my attention, didn’t you? Well, you got it now, Hud. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Then Connor moves his hand to get a better grip on Hudson, tighter, and Hudson whines and arches back into Connor.
“Come on,” Connor teases into his neck, kissing up and down the curve of it. “That’s a good boy, like that I’m taking care of you, huh?”
Hudson exhales a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding, nonverbal from the pleasure of it, bucks his hips one last time and finishes as Connor strokes him through it.
“I’m going to be the one to take care of you, whatever you need; I’m going to give it to you. Even when your hands better, ‘m not going anywhere,” Connor talks Hudson through his orgasm, riding the curve of Hudson’s ass while he milks him with his wrist.
Oh, yeah, they’re both so fucked up.
Because Connor’s still hard and grinding into Hudson’s ass, confessing, “I love taking care of you, baby, don’t want to stop.”
And Hudson’s spent, but his cock twitches as he feels the warmth and wetness of Connor finishing behind him in the panting silence.
“We should talk, Con,” Hudson finally says as he comes back to himself. “We should talk about this.”
Because what in the actual fuck is wrong with them?
“Sure, talking, tomorrow,” Connor says and snuggles up into the warmth of Hudson, curling into him like an oversized puppy. God, Hudson wishes he could be upset but that was hot as hell, and they both wanted it, so…technically, nothing is wrong. He just can’t verbalize how much he loved it or ask if it’s going to continue.
So instead he falls asleep, content to be held in Connor’s arms like his little baby.