Chapter Text
Filming Heated Rivalry had been going better than expected.
At the start, Hudson had made his anxieties known about being a beta playing an omega character on screen—especially one with so many sex scenes. The crew had assured him he’d do great, that he’d done phenomenally in his audition, and his chemistry read with Connor had the entire room pitching up in temperature. Everyone loved him for the part.
Still, it wasn’t enough to settle Hudson’s nerves. He studied, practiced, rehearsed in the mirror a thousand times. Omegas were naturally more sensitive than betas. What would he look like in the throes of passion, losing his mind to the motions of a dominant Russian alpha? Was it even stereotypical to assume he’d act like that? Was that a cliché, or something out of porn, or would audiences want it? Was he overthinking this role for a small network in a show that no one outside of Canada would ever likely see?
That’s the thing: Hudson could never think like that. He always threw himself into a role as though it were the most important thing. You never know who’s watching; never know where the role could lead. Major Hollywood superstars had been discovered for far less.
Connor knew the game, too. He'd been acting for several years, his talent and dedication were remarkable, and he was a creative inspiration. In the online table read, digitally coordinated over a video call, Hudson had felt as though Connor was going to climb right through the screen and fuck him. As though the pixels were thin enough and the miles between their locations were nothing to an alpha who would do anything to touch his omega. Hudson knew he was working with someone who shared his commitment.
It was a reassuring place to be, considering how vulnerable this show had forced them to be.
Acting with Connor, in both dramatic and sexual scenes, felt strangely natural. He hadn’t known Connor before filming, but Hudson was so drawn to him from the jump like he’d never been without him, like they’d grown up together, like he could fully be himself. Becoming friends was easier than breathing. Connor exuded a comforting, kind energy that wasn’t typical of an alpha, much less the one he played in the show.
They worked together just as much as they goofed around. Hudson had lost count of the times Connor had made him laugh between takes, stumbling over the occasional Russian phrase or giggling when their bodies awkwardly bumped together in bed. They kissed each other on the cheeks, hugged and danced and showed off for the camera. Both total nerdy cinephiles, they exchanged dozens of movie recs. Connor did the occasional impression or accent between takes that once made Hudson snort ginger ale up his nose. Sweet, funny, he put Hudson at ease. Hudson never knew he could feel so close to someone before, much less someone he’d only met a couple of months ago. Connor was as close as he thought he ever might come to a soulmate.
For the scene in Ilya’s Boston house, they’d been prepping for a whole day. The intimacy coordinator choreographed the kiss on the kitchen island, the riding, flipping over in bed, frotting on the couch. Hudson taste-tested the tuna melts (fake, to avoid both mercury poisoning and the horror of performing sex scenes with tuna mouth). In his trailer, he rehearsed endlessly all his microexpressions, the thoughts Shane would be having as he confronted the possibility that his relationship with Ilya had become more than they’d both realized.
This bit would be short and sweet, the crew said. Shane would sit in Ilya’s lap, all desperate and hungry and fast, until Ilya grabbed him and turned them over. All of Shane’s gym work on his glutes and abs had led to this moment. It was a fun change of pace, in a way, Shane on top for once. Yet Hudson felt hot under the collar for this one. The way it was written in the script... it felt so intimate that it shouldn’t even be filmed. Like it should stay a private between Shane and Ilya, two characters who didn’t even exist.
This was far from the first sex scene they’d done. They’d become comfortable. Connor had now grabbed Hudson’s body in so many places that his touch was an expectation rather than a shock. Beyond considerate, Connor constantly checked in to make sure Hudson was fine, ran any improv by him first, and asked the intimacy coordinator so many questions that he’d probably learned enough to become one himself.
Once they were ready, clothes off and intimates on, Hudson straddled Connor. His warm thighs, dusted with hair, opened to perfectly cradle Hudson’s ass. A shiver crawled up Hudson’s spine, his cock admittedly throbbed just slightly, and a sheepish smile played across his face as the crew positioned pillows under Connor’s head.
“Comfy?” Connor asked.
“As I’ll get,” Hudson snorted. “You?”
“Mhmm.” Connor stared up at him. “You smell nice. And they did your freckles extra pretty today.” He said it with the Russian accent, often preferring to keep it even while the camera’s weren’t rolling so he could stay in it. But the words, the sweetness, were all Connor—a contrast to Ilya’s often guarded, intense demeanor.
Hudson felt fuzzy inside. “Kinda makes me wish I really had ‘em.”
“Then you would be even more dangerous.”
PAs and grips milled about. Sound and lighting went to work now that everyone was in position. Hudson stayed where he was—and as usually happened in moments like these, he flushed, hyperaware of how close they were. Connor started touching Hudson’s thighs, getting him accustomed to his touch, soothing him. It only made his skin burn and prickle. He’d worried today that he was getting sick, feeling uneasy and flushed, and he prayed Connor didn't catch whatever he had.
“Kinda nervous,” Hudson admitted. When Connor looked at him curiously, he flushed. “I think this is the first time we’re filming in daylight. Camera’s gonna pick up my stretch marks.”
“I like them,” Connor said. He squeezed his thighs. “Did you practice?”
“Practice what?”
“The riding.” He raised a brow. “Have you ever done it before?”
Hudson shook his head. Now that he faced it, the thought of riding Connor seemed a little embarrassing. Exposed. Which was bizarre, because a few times now Connor had pinned him down and pretend-fucked him from behind, hard and fast like both their lives depended on it. The sensation had lit small fires in Hudson’s gut, but as with everything these last few weeks, he’d shoved them down.
He also wanted to do a damn good job, or the omegas across Canada would tear him apart in comments. Fuck the Canadian stereotype, omegas could be ruthless no matter their nationality.
“Any tips?”
Connor shrugged. “Move on instinct. Shane will be desperate for it. Pretend you are, too, cowboy.”
As Hudson’s flush deepened, a PA called out, “You boys ready?” Connor offered a thumbs-up, and Hudson’s voice cracked when he said, “Yep!”
And then they yelled Action! and the scene began and Connor disappeared. Ilya Rozanov lay in his wake, all straight brow and hungry green eyes, and Hudson’s breath stuttered. Something sharp and warm coiled in the pit of his stomach, and that was normal, right?
(That’s totally how Shane Hollander would react. Wow, Hudson, you’re such a good actor, going method.)
Hudson lowered down to kiss him, settling into the scene. Connor’s mouth tasted like the pesto pasta they’d had for lunch at crafty. (He’d already known, as he’d made sure nothing lingered in their teeth.) Connor’s palms slid to Hudson’s ass and started to move him. Hudson shuddered but rolled his hips obediently. Through the garments, pleasure stirred in Hudson’s gut, but he tried to let it strictly fuel the scene. He grabbed the sheets beneath Connor and panted into his mouth.
They cut. Sound issue.
“How was that?” Hudson asked, breathless. To the director and Connor both.
“A little stiff,” the director said. “Relax. Let it flow.”
“Like you’re riding a mechanical bull,” Connor offered.
Hudson chuckled. “Do I look like someone who’s done that?”
“Maybe.”
As they waited for sound to be fixed, Hudson practiced. He rolled his hips a few times, testing the movement, searching for what felt natural. Warmth traveled from Hudson’s cheeks down his neck. He felt strangely lightheaded, but maybe it was the high altitude. He’d gotten so used to being under Connor, letting him lead.
“That,” Connor said, clipped. “Yeah. Like that.”
Hudson repeated the motion. Okay. He could do that. He catalogued which muscles he used, how it made his body feel. As he molded himself to the move, his body began to feel more and more liquid.
“Let’s go again!” the crew called, and they were back at it.
Hudson didn’t even pause his movements—just kept at it as he lowered down to accept Connor’s tongue into his mouth. He moaned, without even meaning to. One of his hands shot out to grab the headboard behind Connor. As he rode, their bellies softly smacked together, and Connor rolled his hips up to meet Hudson’s.
“Connor—” Hudson gasped.
“Cut!”
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Hudson groaned. “Fuck.”
The director laughed. “Easy slip. Okay, movements looked great. Love the grab at the headboard, do that again.”
As he stepped away, Hudson dropped his face into his hands. “Sorry, Con. That was...”
“It’s okay,” Connor said below him. His voice sounded a little rough. His eyes looked dark. His pupils had blown a little, Hudson realized. Damn, he’s good.
“Take three!”
With the next two takes, the energy began to shift. Connor’s kisses grew hungrier, Hudson’s ride more urgent. His hands squeezed Hudson’s ass and his thrusts from below had become harder than before.
On take five, Connor finally gripped Hudson’s back and hip and turned them over, panting and moaning. Hudson grew dizzy. An intoxicating patchouli scent hit his nose, spiced with tobacco and florals. Ilya’s cross necklace swung above Hudson’s chest as Connor’s thrusts resumed. They breathed and gasped and groaned thickly into the space between them, Connor’s mouth wide open, and the wild look in his eyes—Hudson had no idea how he did that. He looked gone.
Their foreheads touched, their hips met, and Hudson yelped.
He felt hot. So hot. Sweat shone across his skin. His cock stirred with each shove of Connor’s hips. Hudson fought his body’s sudden urge to pull Connor closer and wrap his legs around the alpha’s waist and let him take him let him thrust inside and carve him open fuck the damn script—
fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me
Hudson arched and moaned sharply, shocked at his own thoughts. Holy shit. That had felt so real for a moment.
“Cut!”
Connor didn’t stop immediately, but he did slow. His brows bunched together in confusion as he dropped to Hudson’s forehead. For a little while, they breathed together. They didn’t move from their position, even though in a minute they’d have to go back to one.
Hudson swallowed. “Sorry, Con. That got, um. Intense.”
“Hudson,” Connor whispered, coarse as though he were speaking through sandpaper. He’d dropped the accent. “I thought you said you were a beta.”
He blinked. “Uh. Yeah, dude. Why?”
“You smell like you’re in heat.”
Pause.
Hold the fuck up.
Re-fucking-wind.
Hudson’s skull nearly collided with Connor’s when he shot up, and Connor narrowly reared back to dodge him.
“What the fuck?”
“Shh!” Connor grabbed his shoulders and kept his voice low. “I just. Well. You smell different, and I...” He shot his gaze to the ceiling to avoid looking Hudson in the eyes. “Not to blame you but I think it’s affecting me.”
Hudson couldn’t help it. He glanced down to the space where their hips joined. The intimacy garments (cock sock, as Hudson still liked to call it) were designed to disguise an erection, but he could still see—under the thatch of light brown hair at his navel was a bulge peeking through, bigger than usual.
Hudson’s ears burned. “Oh my god.”
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
Jesus goddamn Christ this is not happening.
“We need a break!” Connor declared.
“Everybody take five!” On Connor’s look, the PA corrected, “Uh, fifteen!”
Connor quickly scrambled off of Hudson and stepped away from the bed. He grabbed the attention of the intimacy coordinator, who provided him with a robe, and then gestured for Hudson to follow. Hudson was given his own robe.
He moved somewhat on autopilot. Heat. Heat. He’d been a beta for twenty-four fucking years, how the fuck could he be in heat? How the fuck—Was he suddenly an omega? Could that even happen?
Not even the late bloomers bloomed this goddamn late.
The coordinator led them to a walk-in closet. They weren’t using this part of the house for filming, so it had not been set-dressed and there were no cameras or crew.
Hudson tightened the robe around himself. Now that the idea had been presented to him, he couldn’t deny that he felt something similar to what omegas often described as heat. A syrupy sensation thickened between the ears. A slight dizziness hit as he trailed behind Connor, hovering close. Cramping and nausea stirred in his lower belly. He was burning up a little, and the robe suddenly felt scratchy and stifling against his skin despite how soft and luxurious it had felt just hours before, but he didn’t dare take it off because he had nothing else underneath. Between his legs felt strangely sticky and wet.
As they closed the door to the closet, Hudson caught the latter half of Connor and the coordinator’s conversation.
“I think us doing that scene triggered it.”
“Boys, it’s okay,” she reassured them. “This kind of thing happens a lot on set. Alphas and omegas, even alphas and alphas, omegas and omegas. Especially with the intensity of intimate scenes you’ve been doing. I’m surprised it didn’t happen earlier.”
“No, I mean—” Connor’s jaw clenched. “Not just his heat. I think I triggered his damn presentation.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “That’s right, Hudson, you’re a beta.”
“I thought I was,” Hudson answered. The words came out hoarse and slow. The burning and discomfort had turned feverish. He felt sick, like he had a cold. He needed soup and tea and blankets. Surely that’s all this was.
“Secondary sex usually doesn’t present later than seventeen,” she said, frowning. “But stranger things have happened. I have heat tests, we can make sure it’s not a fluke. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
The intimacy coordinator slipped out, closing the closet door behind herself. And suddenly it was just Connor and Hudson alone in a closed room. No cameras, no prying eyes, nothing and no one else.
“Fuck,” Hudson muttered. He paced. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Hey, hey,” Connor whispered. He placed a hand on Hudson’s arm, then thought better of it and took his hand back. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not, it’s—I’ve been this way my whole damn life, Con. I’ve had sex, and I’ve always been a beta. I don’t know the first thing about heats or nesting or—” Hudson sank to the floor and held his head. “Oh god, pregnancy, I can get fucking pregnant.”
Connor lowered himself to the floor next to Hudson. “Huddy. Hudson. Look at me.”
Hudson took a few deep breaths. Connor’s voice soothed his nerves like a thin balm. Itching all over, uncomfortable and scared and anxious and pained, he lifted his gaze.
Connor was so fucking beautiful.
Especially when he was concerned. His brows tight, his eyes open and soft and so big. He seemed so firm, so sure. If he said the sky was purple today, Hudson could believe it. His gaze mapped the moles on Connor’s skin. Connor placed his hand on the nape of Hudson’s neck, and thank god the intimacy coordinator wasn’t here, she’d probably be stepping in with how quickly his bones melted.
“You’re gonna be okay,” Connor said. “Say it.”
Hudson couldn’t take his eyes off of Connor.
“I’m gonna be okay,” he parroted.
His tongue wasn’t working right. It didn’t belong in his mouth. It belonged in Connor’s—who said that?
“I’m safe.”
“I’m safe.”
“It’s not the end of the world.”
“It’s not the end of the world.”
“The show will survive a brief hiatus.”
“The show will survive—wait, what?” Hudson’s eyes bugged out. “No, hold on. We can’t go on hiatus. We’ve got a schedule, and set days, and oh god this is so unprofessional, Jacob’s gonna hate me—”
“No one hates you, Huddy,” Connor said with a tiny smile. “This happens. All that’s the crew’s job to figure out. They can shoot B-roll and pickups at the rink with doubles or knock out François and Robbie’s episode early. If we’re really dealing with your heat, we’re gonna need a few days off. At least.”
Hudson tilted his head. “We?”
Connor’s face colored. “You. Sorry. Um—”
The coordinator returned with a small plastic package. She found a shelf, ripped the pack open, and laid everything out. Test strips, testing solution, and instructions. Hudson stood, and she took strip samples of the sweat on his skin and the saliva inside of his cheek. If the solution turns blue, he’s in heat. Yellow or clear, he’s in the clear.
The minute Hudson saw the soft shade of blue tinting the solution, he went back to burning a hole in the floor with his pacing.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Hudson, breathe.” He switched to Ilya’s accent. “Hollander, you are having panic attack.”
Hudson laughed despite himself. “God, don’t even joke, I kind of am.”
“Sorry. C’mere.”
Hudson was sure that Connor must have been avoiding touching him, not wanting to activate or intensify his heat. But it was fucking happening now, and Hudson needed comfort, so he chose to be grateful for the arms that slid around his body and squeezed. Hudson let out a long, shuddering breath. Tension leaked out of his muscles and nerves. The pain, the itching, the unbearable fever, all faded to a low simmer. He sank into Connor’s hold. Connor, who was strong and firm but also gentle and pretty and I need you inside me right now
Hudson squirmed out of Connor’s hold and cleared his throat. He nearly forgot that the intimacy coordinator was still in the room. He glanced at her, but she only smiled sympathetically.
“I’m so sorry,” Connor offered. When Hudson looked at him, he appeared almost heartbroken, as though he shared some of his pain. “This is my fault. I must’ve triggered it.”
“We didn’t know,” Hudson said.
“I should’ve been—”
“What, careful? Connor, you didn’t know. I didn’t know. It was an accident.”
“We got so close, I just thought—”
“I hate to interrupt,” the intimacy coordinator stepped in. “But we’re on a time crunch now. Hudson’s never been on suppressants. And it’s not just heat, it’s his first heat.”
Connor blanched. He stepped away and now it was his turn to pace. Hudson’s eyes went wide as he glanced between the two of them. “What? What’s that mean?”
“First heats for an omega are often longer. And much more intense.” She winced. “And if you’re alone, it won’t be a fun week.” She pulled out her phone. “We can set you up with a heat service—”
“No,” Hudson answered quickly. He shook his head, laced his fingers behind his neck, feeling suddenly so uncomfortable at the thought of some unknown stranger alpha fucking him for the first time. “No, I don’t want that.” He looked to Connor, who still seemed to be in his own head, dazed and panicked. “Connor...”
Connor blinked out of his trance. “What?” Then it seemed to click in his head, eyes wide, and he straightened. “Hudson, no.”
Hudson felt such a sudden, sharp pang of rejection in his chest that it threw him for a loop. What the fuck? He doesn’t want me he hates me
“Huddy, I...” Connor approached him again, put a hand on his shoulder. Hudson was shocked by how much he sank into that one touch, and he wished the robe were gone. “I know we’ve done a lot, but that was all acting. This is...” He searched for the words. Like it was difficult for him to say. “Real. It gets tricky, doesn’t it? Professionally. Lines blurred. And we still have more sex scenes to film. I don’t think I should be the one to help you through this. As much as I...”
As much as I what?
“Connor,” the coordinator said. “You’re actually the exact person who should stay with him.”
Connor squeaked. “Huh?”
“With the scenes you’ve done together, now one activating his heat... Hudson has practically imprinted on you. His heat will respond best to you. Might even end quicker.” On Connor’s complicated expression, she added, “Look, you don’t actually don’t have to cross those boundaries if you don’t want to. Just being in the room can be enough. You can stay close, you can cuddle, make sure he eats and sleeps. Using the toys might get awkward, but at this point with you two it’s a little moot.”
Hudson blinked. “Toys?”
“Knot toys.”
Someone call the fire department. Hudson Williams had just burst into flames. The walk-in closet was completely scorched and the fire was spreading to the rest of the house. There would be no survivors.
Hudson hid his red-hot face in his hands. “I’m gonna fucking die.”
“You’re not gonna die,” Connor sighed. Hudson peeked, seeing the red splotch staining the alpha’s cheeks. He was thinking about it too. About how he’d take toys, how deep he could get them how the silicone knot would stretch him wide and plug him full and maybe Connor would replace it with
“Let’s get you two a hotel room,” the intimacy coordinator said. At least she could remain fully professional: a real, proper beta. “I’ll talk to the crew and get it sorted out, and I’ll come back for you when we’re ready. For now, I advise a safe distance.”
The boys carefully inched apart. But Hudson could feel it now—tension in the air, thick and cloudy and humid with the growing smell of his heat like a damn hotbox in this closet. Connor kept trying to look away. But he was staring. He was giving off something too, some kind of responsive alpha pheromone reaching out across the room. The vein in his neck protruded with strain and Hudson wanted to lick it
Holy shit, man. Get it together.