Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
HUDSON
Hudson knew patience wasn’t his strong suit. Taylor had been telling him that his entire life. It was undeniable and occasionally inconvenient.
But ten days of no flight ops with nothing to do but watch other people work had pushed him to a new personal frontier of insufferable. At least he was self-aware enough to recognize it.
He’d reorganized his gear twice. Done more pull-ups than was probably advisable on a wrist that was technically still healing.
Helped three different people with tasks even if they hadn’t technically asked for it.
Read the same three pages of the same book four times without retaining a single word.
Elliot shot him a look—the one that said you are testing the absolute limits of my patience—for the sixth time today. Hudson found it deeply attractive, which was not helping anyone.
“You don’t have to walk me to work,” Elliot said, without looking at him.
“I’m not walking you to work. I just happen to be going in the same direction.”
Hudson fell into step beside him. The base was already moving at full pace despite the early hour—vehicles, personnel, the distant thrum of something mechanical Hudson’s hands itched to be near. The air smelled of dust, diesel, and dry heat. A very Syrian-operating-base kind of odor.
“I could come in,” Hudson said. “Help out. I have a very broad skill set.”
“You’re banned from operational duties.”
“I could make coffee.”
Elliot stopped walking and turned to look at him. “Hudson.”
“All I’m saying—”
“I know what you’re saying.” Elliot’s voice was patient but also annoyingly stern. “Find something to do that doesn’t involve my mission.”
“Our mission.”
“My mission for the next four days.” Elliot held the door open, letting Hudson peek in. Hudson chose to interpret that as affectionate. “Now. Go away.”
The door closed.
Hudson stayed outside the operations room for a moment, hands in his pockets, surveying the base like a man who had nowhere to be but was very uncomfortable with the lack of purpose. His hands twitched.
He was about to do something truly desperate like volunteer for kitchen duty, when he spotted Martinez by the far side of the equipment building.
He was working through what seemed like a solo circuit in the narrow strip of shade the building threw across the ground, shirt dark with sweat.
Hudson steered toward him.
“You look like you’re having fun,” Hudson said, dropping onto a crate nearby. He picked up a weight and tested his wrist. Not that bad, if he had to say so himself.
“Thought you were banned from working out.” Martinez didn’t break his rep.
“Okay, Mom.” He swapped the weight for a heavier one to prove his point. “Elliot just told me I was banned from the mission, too.”
“Elliot?” Martinez raised an eyebrow.
Hudson blinked. He hadn’t even noticed he called Elliot by his first name. His shoulders tensed. “Shaw, I mean.”
“Ah, yes. Shaw. What's the deal with him anyway? You keep following him around like a little puppy.”
“Shut up.”
“No, really. I wanna know. People say he’s crazy good. Is that true?”
“Yeah.” Butterflies swarmed his stomach. Jeez. “He is.”
Martinez studied his face, making Hudson’s cheeks burn. “Damn, Cap. You’ve got it bad.”
Hudson snorted—probably unconvincingly. “What? He’s cool. We’re friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yeah, friends. We met at Selection six years ago, and have kept in touch since. That’s all.”
“Right.” Martinez crouched down in search of the right weight. He had a stupid smile on his stupid face. “And tell me—where have you been sleeping for the last ten nights? I seem to have our quarters completely to myself.”
Hudson nearly dropped the weight he was turning around in his hands.
“I—” He caught Martinez’s gaze and realized there was nothing but genuine interest and friendly amusement in his eyes. He sighed. “Fine. Yeah. It’s like that.”
Martinez’s stupid smile got wider. “Cool. Is he as intense in person as he seems?”
“More,” Hudson said. “So much more.”
“And that’s your thing?” Martinez smirked.
Hudson thought about the day Elliot had come back from Okafor’s office. Something had changed. Elliot’s shoulders were relaxed for the first time in forever and he seemed slightly less braced. After that, Hudson had been more sure about this than he’d ever been about anything.
“Yeah,” he said. “Appears so.”
Martinez clapped him on the shoulder once and went back to his weights. “Good for you, Cap.”
And that was it. No follow-up questions, no loaded silence. Just back to work, like Hudson had said something completely ordinary.
Hudson trusted Martinez with his life on a daily basis. Weird to think he hadn't thought he could trust him with this too.
The rest of the day passed slowly. Nine more hours. Not that he was counting.
Hudson ran the perimeter twice in the afternoon heat until his calves burned and his wrist throbbed.
But at least he got a ten-minute break from his thoughts.
He ate with Martinez and didn’t talk about anything important.
He watched two guys from the ground team play cards for an hour and resisted the urge to join—mostly because he was pretty sure he would have kicked both their asses and that seemed like bad manners.
At 1900 he wandered past the operations room. Through the small window he saw Elliot at the central table, leaning over a map with Okafor, one hand flat on the table and the other pointing at something specific in the northern grid. His face was doing that calculating, three-steps ahead thing.
Hudson lingered there longer than was strictly dignified.
At 2100 he went back to his quarters and grabbed his wash kit. Martinez looked up from his bed with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Night, Cap. See you in the morning.”
Hudson rolled his eyes, but still said goodnight. He wasn’t coming back and they both knew it.
He stood in the corridor outside Elliot’s door for a minute before letting himself in. Sitting on the bed in the dark, he waited.
Ten nights in a row and his stomach still tensed with anticipation when he heard Elliot’s footsteps in the corridor.
Elliot stopped in the doorway and took in the sight of Hudson, sitting on his bed, back against the headboard, naked. He closed the door behind him.
Even though the room was dim, Hudson registered the exact second Elliot’s pupils dilated.
“I watched you work tonight,” Hudson said.
“I’m aware. I saw you lurking outside the window.”
“I didn’t lurk. It was five minutes.”
“Twenty-five.” Elliot put his notes on the desk.
“Well. I wasn’t counting.”
“I was.” Elliot shrugged off his jacket. “You had nothing better to do than stand outside a window for twenty-five minutes?”
“Nah.” Hudson watched him move through the room, slowly—boots off, gear set aside. “That was as good as it got.”
Elliot turned to look at him. The light from the lamp post outside the window caught the line of his shoulder, the dark ink of the tattoos disappearing under his shirt sleeve.
“Is that right,” Elliot said.
“Come here.” Hudson patted the empty space beside him on the bed.
“I just finished a twelve-hour shift.” He backed away with his hands up. “Give me five minutes.”
Before Hudson could protest, Elliot was out the door with his wash-kit in his hands.
He grunted.
Seven minutes later, Elliot returned. Hudson had to hand it to him—that was one quick shower.
Elliot crossed the room. Hudson grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled him down. He followed without resistance, which was new and significant. Hudson ran his hands up Elliot’s body and settled in his damp hair, drawing him in for a kiss.
When they were both breathless, they broke apart. Elliot’s forearms were bracketed on either side of Hudson’s head. “So… you watched me work.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And, you had your serious face on.” Hudson’s hand found the hem of Elliot’s shirt. “I like your serious face.”
Elliot kissed his neck. “I always have my serious face on.”
“No, this is a specific one. The one where you’re three steps ahead of everyone.” He pulled the shirt over Elliot’s head. “It’s a good face.”
“You’ve been sitting in my room in the dark thinking about my face?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?” Elliot asked in a low voice.
Hudson grinned. “Well. I was thinking—” Hudson slid his hands down Elliot’s back, feeling the shift of muscle “—that I’ve been very patient this week.”
Elliot snorted. “You’ve been the opposite of patient.”
“Professionally. I’ve been very professionally patient.” His hands reached Elliot’s boxer briefs. “Personally, I’ve been suffering.”
“Suffering,” Elliot said flatly.
“Tremendously.” Hudson slid a hand into Elliot’s briefs. “I think you should do something about that.”
“Is that right?”
“As my—” Hudson paused, fingers stilling deliberately on Elliot’s dick. “What do you call it? The person I’m doing. Repeatedly. We’re—” He gestured vaguely between them with his free hand.
Elliot narrowed his eyes.
“I’m only asking. What’s the word?”
“Hudson—”
“Because I really want to make sure I’m using the right terminology.” He resumed stroking Elliot with great innocence. “When I talk to Taylor for instance. What do I say we are?”
“This is not the time.”
“Seems like a great time to me.” He smirked up at Elliot.
“I’m not doing this here.”
“Okay.” Hudson pulled out his hand. Patiently waiting.
The silence stretched.
Elliot closed his eyes briefly. “You are genuinely the most—”
“The most what?”
“Aggravating—”
“Say the word, Elliot.”
“Quel enfer.”
“That’s not the word.”
Elliot focused on a spot above Hudson’s head. Exasperation moved through his expression—and underneath it, so far underneath it, something that wasn’t exasperation at all.
“My boyfriend,” he said, through what appeared to be significant personal effort. “You’re my boyfriend. Are you happy now?”
Hudson smiled so wide his face hurt. “Very.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
“I really—”
Hudson pulled him back down and kissed him before he could finish. Elliot made a sound against his mouth that was not even slightly consistent with hating anyone.
Hudson rolled them over.
“My turn,” he said.
Elliot glanced up at him from the pillow, his damp hair slightly tousled, eyes dark. “Your turn for what?”
“To be in charge.” Hudson pinned Elliot’s wrists above his head, lightly. “You good with that?”
Elliot’s breath hitched. “Yes.”
Hudson took his time. He had nowhere to be and for once he was on board with that. He kissed Elliot’s throat, feeling his pulse jump under his lips, then his collarbone, then his right nipple. Elliot arched off the bed.
“Hudson…”
“Patience,” Hudson said against his skin, which was rich coming from him.
He worked his way further down—Elliot’s stomach, his hip, the inside of his thigh. Elliot’s muscles tightened everywhere his mouth touched. By the time Hudson got his briefs off, Elliot’s hands were gripping the sheets.
He pushed Elliot’s thighs apart, trailing kisses down his cock, over his balls, then settled on the sensitive skin below.
“Hudson—” Elliot said, voice rough. “You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to.” He smiled. “But I want to. Can I?”
Elliot’s head dropped back against the pillow. “Yes. God, yes.”
That was a flashing green light.
He took his time, learning what made Elliot lose control. When he swirled his tongue, Elliot’s hips rolled. When he licked, slowly, Elliot’s hands found the back of his head. When he pushed his tongue in a fraction, Elliot swore in French.
“Putain, c’est bon, Hudson—”
Hudson pulled back. “Good?”
“Oui.” Barely a word. “Don’t stop.”
Hudson reached up and wrapped a hand around Elliot’s cock. Elliot tried to stay still but his hips stuttered and his grip in Hudson’s hair tightened past the point of politeness.
“Merde. Hud— I’m gonna come.”
Hudson’s hand picked up the pace, his tongue pressing deeper.
Elliot came apart with a broken exhale, spilling over Hudson’s fist, his whole body shuddering.
He tentatively kissed his way back up, giving Elliot time to recover. When he reached his mouth, Elliot kissed him back immediately. His hand slid between them, closing around Hudson.
Hudson’s breath left him in a rush.
He’d been so focused on Elliot, so wound up from the sounds he’d been making, that it didn't take much. A few strokes and Hudson was done, groaning against Elliot's mouth, forehead dropping to his shoulder.
He stayed there, not moving, while his heart rate made its way back down.
Hudson had kissed a lot of people in his life. Had wanted a lot of things with varying degrees of urgency. But it was nothing like this.
Had told himself, on more than one occasion over the last six years, that he had the situation completely under control.
He didn’t. And he never had. He was undeniably, irrevocably in love with Elliot Shaw. And there was not a damn thing he could do about it.
After a moment Elliot reached for some tissues, cleaned them both up and pulled the sheets over them. Hudson’s head rested on Elliot’s chest.
“I can’t believe I have a boyfriend.” Hudson grinned into the dark. He swore he heard Elliot’s heart skip a beat at the word.
“Don’t make me regret it.” Elliot feigned annoyance, but he didn’t fool Hudson.
“Oh, I’m totally gonna make you regret it.”
Elliot’s hand settled in his hair, fingers circling his scalp. Hudson closed his eyes, sleep washing over him.
Three quick raps on the door startled them both. Elliot was up before the third one landed—alert and professional in an instant.
“Captain Shaw.” Okafor’s voice sounded behind the door.
Elliot moved toward it, pulling on pants as he went. Hudson sat up.
When the door opened, Okafor’s eyes moved to Hudson. Then back to Elliot. “Good. This concerns both of you,” he said gravely.
Hudson pulled the sheet around his body and joined Elliot at the door. “What is it, Major?”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news. It’s about Captain Matthew Reed.”
Blood drained from Hudson’s face. He turned his head to look at Elliot, but Elliot had his gaze set on Okafor.
“Killed in action?” Elliot asked. His voice was unrecognizable, completely devoid of any emotion.
The room was spinning. Hudson gripped the sheet tight to his chest. No. No that couldn’t be.
“No,” Okafor looked between them. “But he’s MIA.”
The words hit Hudson somewhere below his ribs. Reed, who’d made Selection bearable just by existing in the same space. Who’d slow-danced with Sarah at their wedding with his whole heart on his sleeve.
Reed, who had a daughter named Mae who wasn’t even two years old.
Elliot moved, searching for clothes, boots, gear, whatever. Hudson stood pinned to the ground.
“When?” Elliot asked somewhere behind him.
“Since 1600. His patrol didn’t return to the base in Amman. Search team is out.”
“I want in,” Elliot responded.
“I know. Ops room. Now.” Okafor turned to leave.
Elliot grabbed his jacket. At the door he stopped and turned. “Hudson.” He didn’t respond. He tried again. “Hudson—hey.”
Hudson finally snapped out of it and met his eyes.
“You coming?”