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 sliddown 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."
