Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
HUDSON
Three years after Selection
Nine minutes, according to the GPS. Hudson was committed to using every single one of them to outline exactly what he was about to do to Shaw. In graphic detail, on a loop.
Turns out, Shaw behind a wheel was exactly the same as Shaw in a military setting. He used his turn signal in an empty parking lot at midnight for crying out loud. Hudson bit down on the inside of his cheek.
He sat in the passenger seat trying to appear equally calm and collected. Shoulders back, palms resting on his knees. It would have been more convincing if his heart wasn’t about to break out of his chest. Or if he wasn’t already half-hard from anticipation.
"You good?" Shaw asked, glancing over.
"Yeah. Fine."
"You haven't said anything in two minutes. That might be a record."
Hudson snorted. "Fuck off. I'm—" He stopped, trying to find words that didn't make him sound like a teenager. "It's been three years."
"What—you haven’t had sex in three years?"
He rolled his eyes. "I didn’t say that.”
"Having second thoughts?" Shaw's mouth curved.
"No." It came out almost desperate. "Just making sure this is real and not some elaborate stress dream where I wake up alone in my hotel room feeling like an idiot."
"It's real."
Hudson shifted in his seat. “Good.”
They pulled into the parking lot of a mid-range hotel. The fluorescent light made Hudson squint. Shaw parked and killed the engine. They sat there for a second, neither saying anything.
"Last chance to back out," Shaw said, turning towards him. His eyes gave very little away as usual, but Hudson noted the tension in his jaw and the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles pale against the leather.
"After everything it took to get here? Please." Hudson said and got out.
The lobby was empty, just the two of them and the low hum of the vending machine around the corner. Shaw hit the button and they stood there, shoulder to shoulder, the air between them electric.
Hudson didn’t look at Shaw. Shaw didn’t look at him.
Their hands were approximately half an inch from each other.
The display above the elevator read 7. Then 6.
“This is taking forever,” Hudson said.
“It’s been twelve seconds.”
Guess Hudson wasn’t the only one counting.
“Feels like forever.” He glanced sideways at him. “Third floor, right?”
Shaw’s eyes cut to him. “Don’t.”
Hudson grinned. “On three—”
He went on two.
He hit the stairwell door at a dead sprint, Shaw half a step behind him already, and then it was just the pound of footfalls echoing off concrete and Hudson’s lungs burning. Hudson heard Shaw’s breath right at his shoulder, refusing to let him pull ahead.
Hudson lunged for the third floor landing, threw his arms in the air and turned around. “Yes, take th—“
His back hit the wall. Shaw’s mouth was on his—desperate and anything but careful.
Fuck.
Hudson cupped Shaw’s face in his hands, his jaw smooth under his touch. When he dragged a thumb over the bottom lip, Shaw closed his mouth around it and sucked hard. The low growl escaping him went straight down Hudson’s spine.
Then they were back to kissing.
Shaw’s hands were everywhere. Hudson’s hair, his neck, sliding down his back and then onto his ass. He hauled him closer, and Hudson couldn’t help but laugh against his mouth.
“Shut up,” Shaw muttered.
“I didn’t say anything.”
Somehow they made it through the stairwell door, still tangled together. Hudson walked backwards down the corridor with Shaw’s mouth on his jawline, finding the spot below his ear that made Hudson’s knees threaten to give out.
“Key,” Hudson panted.
Shaw reached for his pocket. Missed. Tried again. The keycard hit the floor and they both glanced at it.
“Let me,” Hudson said, grinning. He picked it up and swiped. The door clicked open and they fell through it together.
The hotel room was generic and impersonal—queen bed, cheap artwork on the walls, mini fridge thrumming in the corner. Hudson barely registered any of it because Shaw was already pulling off Hudson’s jacket, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.
"Fuck," Hudson breathed when Shaw's mouth moved to his earlobe. "You have no idea—"
"I have some idea." Shaw's teeth scraped over his pulse point and Hudson's hips jerked.
He had Hudson’s shirt off in four seconds, which Hudson felt was showing off, so he removed Shaw’s in three.
“God, you’re competitive,” Shaw said.
Hudson shrugged.
Backing them toward the bed, Shaw pushed Hudson down onto the mattress. He followed, settling between his legs.
Pants hit the floor. Socks. Boxers shoved down and kicked away. Finally, they were skin to skin.
Hudson had forgotten—had somehow fucking forgotten—how good this felt. Shaw's body against his, all lean muscle and ink and heat. Hudson ran his hands down his back, relearning the terrain, tracing the tattoos that had been hidden under his dress uniforms.
There were more than Hudson remembered. Scars too.
Shaw's mouth was back on his neck, kissing down his throat, and Hudson arched into him. Shaw's hand slid down his chest, over his ribs, tracing the cut of muscle at his hips. It made Hudson whimper.
"Shaw—"
"What?" His breath was hot against Hudson’s skin.
"Stop fucking around."
Shaw's hand finally wrapped around Hudson's dick. A breath punched out of him, his hips rocking into the touch.
“Yes—”
His grip was firm and sure, working him at a steady pace.
Hudson wrapped his own hand around Shaw’s cock, wanting to give as good as he got. Shaw's breath hitched. Hudson had forgotten how much Shaw losing control unravelled him.
They worked each other until Hudson's eyes fluttered closed and he had to concentrate on not coming. It was way too soon. He wanted this to last all night.
He reached down and grabbed Shaw’s wrist. “Stop. Just—”
Shaw’s eyes were dark and hungry. "What do you want, Hale?"
Hudson's brain supplied various answers, all of them explicit and probably a little desperate. "You. Inside me. Like before."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Hudson pulled him down into another kiss. "Unless—" he stopped, suddenly aware that maybe things had changed, maybe Shaw didn't want that anymore, maybe—
"Unless what?" Shaw asked.
"Unless you want something different." Hudson hesitated. "I'm not—I mean, I've tried things. With guys. The past few years. So if you wanted to—"
"You've been with other guys?"
"Yeah. Not a lot, but yeah. Is that a problem?"
"No." His voice was rough. "Not a problem. Guess I just assumed you might still be figuring things out."
"I did. Definitively bi, which honestly just doubles my chances of getting laid, so that's worked out well for me."
Shaw laughed. "Of course that's how you’d frame it."
"What? It's true."
"You're ridiculous."
"And you're stalling." Hudson ran his hands down Shaw's sides, feeling him shiver. "So what do you want?"
Shaw studied his face. "What have you tried?"
"Almost everything, I guess." Hudson tried to sound casual. "Topped a few times. Bottomed more. Liked both."
Shaw's eyes darkened. "You topped?"
"Yeah. Why? You want—" Hudson stopped, reading Shaw's expression. "You want me to fuck you?"
"Would you want to?"
Hudson's mouth went dry. Shaw had always topped, being the one with experience, the one in control. But Shaw looked at him like he needed someone else to be in control for once, and Hudson was very much on board with this development.
"Yes," he said. "Very much."
"Good." Shaw kissed him again. "Then fuck me."
Turned out, fucking Shaw was entirely different from being fucked by Shaw.
Shaw on his back, legs wrapped around Hudson's waist, head tipped back against the pillow.
His jaw went slack and his composure finally cracked around the edges.
Hudson saw every reaction, heard every small sound Shaw couldn't quite hold back.
The way his hands gripped the sheets when Hudson found the right angle almost undid him on the spot.
"Fuck. Don't—" Shaw's breath hitched when Hudson moved. "Don’t stop."
Hudson grinned despite being completely wrecked himself. "Not a chance."
He'd forgotten how intense this was. Shaw devastating like this, all that careful control stripped away, and Hudson wanted to memorize every second of it.
He wondered if Shaw ever let himself be on the receiving end.
"Harder," he said, and Hudson obliged, changing his angle until Shaw's back arched off the bed.
"There?"
"Yeah—fuck… there."
He kept the rhythm, watching Shaw fall apart underneath him. It was more intense than it had ever been. Shaw’s hands grasped the headboard, his entire body going taut as he moaned Hudson’s name.
Hudson followed seconds later, burying his face in Shaw's neck.
His hand came up to rest on Hudson's back, fingers stroking lazy circles between his shoulder blades. "That was—” He paused. “You’ve got skills.”
Hudson huffed out a laugh against his neck.
“Three years of practice.”
“Shows.”
They lay there, both breathing hard. Their bodies were still tangled together. Hudson should probably pull out and clean up. Put some much-needed distance between them before this got complicated. He just wanted to enjoy the moment for a second longer.
When he finally did, the loss of contact felt bigger than it should have.
"I'm gonna—" Hudson gestured vaguely toward the bathroom. "Shower. Quick."
Shaw nodded, already reaching for tissues to clean himself up. "Okay."
Hudson escaped to the bathroom and turned the shower on hot, standing under the spray trying to process the evening.
Was he supposed to leave or—?
He showered fast, threw on his boxers, and came back out to find Shaw already cleaned up, sitting on the bed in his briefs looking like he was trying to figure out the same thing.
They eyed each other.
"So," Hudson said. "Should I—do you want me to go, or—"
"No." Shaw said quickly, then seemed to catch himself. "I mean. You don't have to. Unless you want to."
He swallowed hard. "I don't want to."
"Then stay." Shaw shifted over on the bed, making room. "We should probably talk about—"
"Tomorrow." Hudson surprised himself by saying. "Can we talk tomorrow?"
Shaw studied his face for a moment, then nodded. “Sure. Tomorrow."
Hudson crossed to the bed and lay down beside Shaw, hyperaware of every inch of space between them. Shaw turned off the light and Hudson felt him shift closer, their sides pressing together. His hand found Shaw’s and Hudson immediately laced their fingers.
Hudson's throat tightened. "This okay?"
Shaw's thumb traced a slow circle on the back of Hudson's hand. "It’s more than okay."
He closed his eyes and let himself have this—Shaw's warmth beside him, their hands linked, the intimacy of being here together. Tomorrow they'd have to figure out what this meant. Tomorrow they'd have reality and distance and all the reasons this couldn't work.
But tonight they had this.