Chapter 9 #2
"So you're here to prove something?" Shaw asked.
"Aren't you?"
"Yeah. I guess I am."
"What happens if you don't make top twenty?" Hudson asked, genuine curiosity overriding the usual competitive edge.
"I make top twenty."
"But hypothetically—"
"There is no hypothetically. My father doesn't accept excuses. Either I'm the best or I'm a disappointment. Those are the only two options."
Hudson turned his head to stare at him, but there was nothing to read—just Shaw’s outline in the dark. "Jesus, Shaw. That's... that's a lot of pressure."
"You get used to it."
Hudson let it go. He rearranged himself in the tiny space, trying to find a position that wouldn't result in his elbow in Shaw's ribs. It was impossible. They ended up pressed together from shoulder to knee, sharing body heat whether they wanted to or not.
He tried very hard not to think about how warm Shaw was. He noticed anyway—the feel of him against his side, the relaxed rhythm of his breathing. Hudson stared at the shelter ceiling and told himself this was purely practical. Body heat. Survival basics. Completely standard.
He almost believed it.
"Night, Shaw," he said in a low voice, deliberately using the last name because first names felt too intimate for whatever this was.
"Night, Hale."
Hudson woke to gray light filtering through the shelter and Shaw awake beside him.
“Morning,” Shaw said.
“Morning.” Hudson’s entire body protested as he moved. “Fuck, I hate the cold.”
They broke camp quickly, both of them stiff and miserable. The second day was harder than the first—longer distances, more difficult terrain, objectives that required actual problem-solving instead of only navigation.
But they moved together smoothly. Hudson realized at some point that they’d stopped trying to one-up each other. They just… worked. Anticipating each other’s movements, covering each other’s weaknesses, communicating with looks more than words.
By late afternoon they’d hit all three checkpoints and headed toward the final objective. The temperature dropped again, faster this time.
“We’re making good time,” Hudson said.
Shaw checked the map. "We'll hit the last checkpoint before dark. Then camp."
Hudson nodded. He knew extraction wasn't until 0800 tomorrow, but somehow facing another night out here felt worse now that they were so close to being done.
"One more night." Hudson exhaled.
"Could be worse."
"Yeah? How’s that?"
"Could be three."
Hudson snorted as Shaw passed him. His first joke. About fucking time.
They reached the final checkpoint as the sun set, completed the objective, and found another sheltered spot to make camp.
After having built the fire and divided the rations, they did an extremely cold wash up and brushed their teeth, settling in for a long, cold, miserable night.
The tension between them had shifted. Hudson knew Shaw's first name. Some of his family history. The weight of being General Shaw's son. Whatever had been building for weeks had nowhere left to go.
They sat shoulder to shoulder in the shelter, angled toward the fire, letting it do what it could against the low temperatures. The wind had picked up, rattling the fabric around them.
"Fuck, marry, kill," Hudson said suddenly.
Shaw turned to look at him. "What?"
"Fuck, marry, kill. You know the game."
"I know the game. Why are we playing it?"
"Because I'm bored and cold and this is what people do when they're stuck in tents together." Hudson grinned. “Come on. Briggs, Reed, and Novak.”
Shaw shot him a look. "Seriously?"
"Okay, I'll go first." Hudson thought for a second. "Kill Briggs, obviously. Guy's an asshole. Marry Reed—he's solid, good guy. And fuck..." He trailed off, suddenly aware of Shaw watching him. "Novak, I guess."
"You guess?"
"Well, I don't actually want to fuck Novak. It's hypothetical."
"That's the whole point of the game, Hale."
Hudson laughed. "Fine. Then I’ll fuck Novak. Your turn."
"Pass."
"You can't pass."
"I just did."
"Come on, Shaw. Don't be boring."
Shaw sighed. "Kill Briggs. The rest doesn't matter."
"That's not how the game works."
"Then I'm playing it wrong."
Hudson leaned forward, annoyed now. "You know what your problem is? You take everything so seriously. It's a stupid game."
"You’re being immature."
"It's fun. You remember fun, right? Or did daddy decide fun wasn't part of the curriculum either?"
The second the words left his mouth, he knew he'd crossed a line. Shit.
"Fuck you, Hale."
"Oh yeah?" Hudson knew he should back off, but something in him wanted to push. Wanted to get a reaction. "You can dish it out but you can't take it?"
"I'm not doing this with you."
"Doing what? Having an actual conversation? God forbid you show some personality."
Shaw's mouth flattened into a line. "At least I don't run my mouth constantly to cover up the fact that I have nothing interesting to say."
"Wow." A grin spread across Hudson’s face despite—or maybe because of—the insult. "See? You can be fun when you try."
"I'm not trying to be fun. I'm telling you to shut up."
"Make me."
Childish as fuck. Hudson knew it even as the words left his mouth. But something about Shaw's controlled calm made him want to crack it open, see what was underneath.
Shaw moved fast. He grabbed Hudson's jacket and shoved him. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt but hard enough to make a point. Hudson shoved back, harder, and suddenly they grappled, not quite fighting, but definitely not being friendly either.
They rolled. Hudson tried to pin Shaw's arms, as Shaw used his weight to twist them over. It was stupid. It was aggressive.
"You're such an asshole," Shaw growled, managing to get Hudson flat on his back.
"Yeah? You're so fucking uptight—" He got a hand free and shoved at Shaw's chest, but Shaw caught his wrist and pinned it above his head.
They both breathed hard. Shaw was right there—too close, too warm, the heat coming off him in waves against Hudson’s cool skin.
His pulse was loud in his ears. Shaw's pupils were blown wide, dark eating into the green, and Hudson was aware—acutely, inconveniently—that he had stopped caring about the argument.
"You don't know anything about me," Shaw said, voice low and rough.
"Yeah, well, whose fault is that?" Hudson shot back. "You won't even play a stupid fucking game without making it weird."
"I make it weird? You're the one talking about fucking your teammates."
The words hung between them. Shaw's expression darkened—intense in a way that made Hudson's stomach flip.
"You really want to do this?" Shaw asked.
Hudson's brain screamed at him that everything about this was a bad idea, but his mouth apparently operated independently.
"Do what?" He knew what. He could see it in Shaw’s eyes.
"You know what I’m talking about. Either do something about it or shut the fuck up."
Hudson's pulse kicked into overdrive.
Shaw was looking, waiting.
"Scared?" Shaw asked, pushing his buttons.
"Fuck you.”
Hudson couldn't move. His eyes dropped to Shaw’s mouth for half a second before coming back up. But it was all the confirmation Shaw needed.
Shaw kissed him. Hard and aggressive and nothing like Hudson had imagined a kiss could be. There was no softness to it, no exploration, only Shaw's mouth on his, demanding and possessive and holy shit Hudson's brain was short-circuiting.
He kissed back just as hard, trying to prove… something. He wasn’t quite sure what. They were still half-wrestling, hands grabbing at clothing. When he bit Shaw's bottom lip, mostly on accident, the sound that escaped him made Hudson’s body light up like this was the best fucking idea ever.
He was kissing a man. Couldn’t stop kissing a man, apparently. Something he had never once imagined doing.
Okay, that was a lie. He'd been thinking about it for weeks without admitting it, and now that it was happening his brain couldn't decide if it was freaking out or just… not.
Shaw pulled away slightly. "Wanna back out?"
Every rational part of Hudson's brain screamed yes. This was crazy. They were in the middle of nowhere, they still had to work together for weeks, and what the fuck did it mean that he was hard just from Shaw's mouth on his?
But Shaw gave him that challenging look, and Hudson had never backed down from a challenge in his entire life.
“I’m not backing out.” His voice came out more uncertain than he intended.
Shaw searched his face for a long moment. “You sure about that?”
No. He looked at Shaw's mouth and something hot and desperate coiled in his gut. “Yeah… I’m sure.”
Shaw kissed him again, slower this time but no less intense. He tried to keep up, tried to match that confidence, but his hands shook as they found Shaw's jacket. This was new territory. The rough scratch of Shaw's jaw. His calloused hands on Hudson’s chest. The solid weight of him.
His brain tried to catalog it all, make sense of it, but when Shaw's tongue entered his mouth, rational thought became impossible.
“Relax,” Shaw murmured against his lips.
“I am.”
“You’re tense as hell.” His hand slid down Hudson’s chest, deliberate and sure. “Just… let me.”
Hudson wanted to argue, to say something, but Shaw’s hand kept moving lower and he forgot how to form words. When Shaw’s fingers worked open his belt, Hudson’s breath caught.
“This okay?” Shaw asked, voice low.
He nodded because he didn’t trust his voice. His heart hammered so hard Shaw must have felt it. This was actually happening. He didn’t know what he was doing or what it meant or—
Shaw’s hand slipped inside his pants and Hudson’s hips jerked involuntarily.
“Fuck,” Hudson breathed.
Shaw's hand was in his boxers and—shit. This felt good. Really fucking good. Wasn't that information he should've known?
Completely different than anything he’d tried before, Shaw’s hand was rough and sure and nothing like the many female hands he’d had around his cock. This was a man’s hand. And Hudson’s body responded in ways that made his entire understanding of himself tilt sideways.
“That good?” Shaw smirked, cocky as hell.
“Don’t—” Hudson’s breath hitched. “Don’t be smug about it.”