Chapter 27 #2
Shaw pushed back his chair. Hudson grabbed his jacket and said nothing, because some victories you just had to let breathe.
The bass moved through the floor and up Hudson’s feet. He swayed his hips to the music, arms up, head back. A bottle of wine and Hudson had no issues giving it his all on a dance floor.
Apparently, Shaw didn’t feel the same way. He had planted himself with his back against the exposed brick wall, drink in hand, eyes fixated on Hudson.
The crowd around him huddled close but wasn’t suffocating. The DJ was good enough that Hudson didn’t have to work hard. He danced with a woman in a red dress for half a song until she drifted off, then with a guy in a button-down floral shirt.
Shaw’s eyes never left him.
Then hands landed on his hips from behind. Hudson didn’t pull away. He kept moving to the beat of the music, never breaking eye contact with Shaw.
Shaw had put his drink down. His fists clenched at his side, jaw working. He ran a hand through his hair.
The stranger’s hands stayed on Hudson’s hips the entire song and Hudson let them.
It was like pulling a pin and waiting.
When the song shifted into something slower, heavier, Shaw pushed off the wall and strode toward him.
It was measured, deliberate, the crowd parting without him seeming to notice it. He stopped in front of Hudson, looked once at the stranger behind him, and the hands disappeared.
Shaw’s palms slid up Hudson’s arms until they came to a rest on his shoulders. He turned him, so Hudson’s back was against his front. His hands settled on Hudson’s hips—the right hands this time—and Hudson exhaled.
Shaw could dance. Of course he could. His body found the rhythm instantly and Hudson followed. He felt Shaw against his back, all of him. He was hard, and Hudson’s body responded by pushing into him.
They stayed like that through one song and into the next, the crowd moving at the edges of Hudson’s awareness. Shaw’s breath warm against his neck.
Then, quiet enough that Hudson almost missed it under the music, “Hudson.”
He stilled.
Shaw’s lips brushed his ear. “You are so fucking hot.”
Hudson’s eyes closed.
“I want you,” he continued.
His mouth was on Shaw’s before he’d fully turned around. It wasn’t subtle. Far from it, actually.
Shaw’s hands were on his face, in his hair, cupping his ass.
Neither of them seemed to care about the crowd.
When they broke apart Shaw’s eyes were pitch black, his breathing shallow.
Hudson felt absolutely no obligation to be cool about any of it. “We should go. Now.”
They didn’t quite make it to the door before his hand found the back of Shaw’s neck and they had to stop walking for a moment. “Elliot—” Hudson murmured against his lips.
Shaw closed his eyes and let out a low growl. “I know. Let’s go.”
They made it approximately one block before Shaw pushed Hudson into a doorway and kissed him again, unhurried this time, one hand braced against the wall beside his head.
“You did that on purpose,” Shaw said against his mouth.
“Did what?”
“Letting that guy touch you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Shaw pulled back enough to look at Hudson’s smug face. “You’re insufferable.”
“You seem pretty into it.”
Shaw kissed him again.
They walked the rest of the way back trading shoves and half-kisses at crosswalks, Shaw’s hands finding a new body part to explore, Hudson’s fingers twisting in Shaw’s jacket.
Inside Hudson’s apartment, the door had barely closed before he had Shaw pinned against the wall, mouth on his throat, hands working his jacket off his shoulders.
“Bedroom,” Shaw managed.
Hudson pulled him toward the bedroom. They hit the mattress already half undressed, Hudson pulling Shaw’s shirt the rest of the way off. Hudson put a hand on his chest and tried to push him down on his back.
He didn’t budge.
Hudson pushed again.
“What are you doing?” Shaw asked.
“Lie down.”
He eyed him. “Why?”
“Shaw—”
“Elliot,” he corrected.
Hudson smirked.
“Elliot,” he repeated, slower. “Lie down.”
Shaw’s expression shifted from wary to unguarded. Then he laid down.
Hudson climbed over him, knees on either side of his hips, and Shaw’s hands went immediately to his thighs, fingers digging into his skin.
Hudson leaned over and grabbed the lube from the nightstand. He sat back on Shaw's thighs and looked down at him. He felt powerful. "I want to ride you. That okay?"
Shaw blinked up at him, nodding slowly.
“Good.” Hudson settled his weight. “Tell me if you don’t like it.”
Hudson took his time preparing them both, watching Shaw’s face the whole time. He lay still underneath him, tracking his every move with a curious look in his eyes.
When they were both ready, Hudson positioned himself and sank down slowly.
“Oh, Jesus Christ—” Shaw’s head dropped back against the pillow. His hands tightened on Hudson’s hips, a low sound escaping his lips.
His eyes closed.
“Hi,” Hudson said softly.
Shaw opened them again.
“Keep looking at me.”
Hudson set the pace, slow at first. Shaw's hands slid up and down his body—restless, like he didn't know where to put them. Hudson grabbed one and pressed it flat against his sternum, letting Shaw feel his heartbeat.
Shaw's breath caught.
Hudson kept going, his eyes never leaving Shaw’s. When he rolled his hips, Shaw's head pressed back into the pillow, exposing his throat. Hudson leaned down and put his mouth there, kissing the sensitive skin, sucking his soft earlobe. Shaw’s pulse jumped under his lips.
"Hudson—"
"Yeah," Hudson said against his neck. "Say my name."
“Hudson.” A warning now, breathless. “This is—”
When Hudson moved faster, they both moaned incoherent words.
Shaw closed his hand around Hudson’s cock, making him come in a rush, spilling onto Shaw’s chest. Shaw followed seconds later, gripping Hudson’s thighs so hard he was sure it left a mark.
He collapsed forward onto Shaw’s chest and Shaw closed his arms around him.
They lay there, breathing hard.
“Well, that worked,” Hudson said finally.
“Mhm.” Shaw’s hand moved up and down his back. “Adequately.”
Hudson lifted his head. “Adequately?”
“Satisfactorily.”
“Shaw—”
“Elliot,” he corrected again.
Hudson dropped his head back onto his chest. “Elliot.”
Shaw’s hand kept moving, grounding him.
His stomach coiled. He hadn’t told Shaw that he was leaving in two weeks to do another tour in Afghanistan. He hadn’t thought it mattered to be honest. But something had changed over the course of the weekend. Leaving suddenly felt significant in a way it didn’t use to.
Still, he didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t ruin this.