Chapter Text
“Fuck. Shit.” Connor’s voice was sharp as he leaned forward to look at his finger. It was too dark where he was to see much, but he knew there was a splinter in there. Rubbing the tip of his index finger with his thumb, Connor whined, “Ouch.”
The day was complete and Connor had taken advantage of having nothing to do until the vans arrived to sneak outside. To smoke, but really to be alone for a few minutes.
It was probably one of the reasons he kept the bad habit. It was a great excuse to leave whatever situation without anyone questioning it.
One reason among several others.
Their call time had been at seven that morning and the twilight from the evening was disappearing when Connor had walked outside.
Releasing the smoke from his last drag, Connor stubbed out his cigarette on the tree with his left hand and said out of spite, “How does that feel?”
"Well, how would you like to have someone come along and pick something off of you?"
The voice made Connor drop the cigarette out of his hand and press his injured hand against his chest. “The fuck!”
“Sorry.” The voice was laughing behind him. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It was too good not to. Are you okay?”
Reaching down for the cigarette butt, Connor took in a deep breath and kept his face facing away from whoever thought it was a good idea to scare the shit out of someone near a forest with a line from a sentient tree.
Maybe if his heart wasn’t in his throat, and his finger was not throbbing in pain, Connor would have laughed at the line.
Or recognized the voice.
He wished there was more light where he was standing, because all he was finding was dead leaves and what he told himself was something wet from whenever it had rained last.
Standing up without finding the cigarette butt, his face still warm but the panic gone, Connor found François looking proud but also somehow bashful.
They were starting to film the hockey bits tomorrow. Connor knew that François would arrive that night, but he had not seen him yet.
“Are you okay?” François gestured toward Connor’s hand still on his chest. Connor kept his eyes on François’s hand so he didn’t have to monitor his face. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“The tree.” Connor looked over his shoulder and then down to his own hand. Releasing the tight fist, Connor narrowed his eyes on his finger and tried again to see the splinter. “The tree got me.”
Connor had rubbed his finger over an interesting part of the tree while thinking about the stress that was going to come the next day. He only realized what he was doing when he felt the pinch and the pain radiating through his finger.
Connor blinked his eyes a few times as a light shined on his finger.
Before he could adjust to the light, Connor startled as François took Connor’s finger with his own fingers. François's warmth contrasted the chill on Connor's skin.
There was a dark line near the red mark where the splinter had entered him, but there was no sign of it sticking out.
François asked him to hold his phone and he took Connor’s hand closer to him once he had both hands free. Resting Connor’s hand on François’s palm, which only seemed to be getting warmer despite the cold air, François raised it closer to his face.
Connor focused on François's breath on his skin and tried to keep the light still as he hand fought the stillness.
“Something seems to be inside there.” François ran his finger over the red spot and let out a quick laugh as Connor jerked his hand toward his own body. “Easy. I won’t hurt you.”
“It’s not-” Connor forced himself to relax his hand and took a quick breath as François moved it back toward him. Moving the hand with François’s phone, Connor rested it against his upper chest so the light shone between them. Shifting his feet, Connor took another quick breath and finally looked up. “It hurts, but it is stuck. I’ll deal with it back at the apartments.”
Connor’s eyes tracked François’s finger as he ran it up Connor’s palm and then his wrist before reaching for his phone. “You might need to have someone look at it. Someone that has tools to get it out. I think I packed tweezers in my bag.”
François rubbed his thumb along Connor’s little finger and Connor’s eyes went to the movement.
It had been long enough that one of them should have stepped away from each other. But neither of them moved.
It had been a few weeks since they had seen each other. They only had a few scenes together and they had not been filmed yet.
François had visited the set when they started filming and introduced himself to everyone.
From their limited interactions, Connor had assumed that François was just a natural flirt. It was Hudson that had told him afterward that François’s eyes seemed to linger the longest on Connor.
Thankfully, François had left after that day and Connor had been too focused on preparing and filming to think more on it.
But now he was back.
And already appearing to be flirting with him again.
Connor shivered as François’s thumb reached the tip of his little finger and rubbed there.
The pleasant sensation moving through his finger to his chest made Connor take back his hand from François.
He wondered if he had not taken it back, how long François was going to hold it.
Or whatever else he would have tried to do with him.
Without Connor’s finger to inspect, François turned off the light on his phone and only the dim outside light from the building near them was left.
François stayed close to him. Without the harsh light on them, Connor was able to take in the clean scent of his cologne and the dark shadows on his tall frame.
“I forgot the sound of your voice.” François’s voice dropped into a lower range as he moved his hand down Connor’s arm. Connor’s eyes stayed looking at François's hand on him. “I was watching the dailies. This is going to be good. Prepare yourself now.”
“Prepare yourself now.” Connor leaned into François’s hand on his elbow and shifted his feet before stepping out from the space between the tree and François. “Yes. I will do that. Tomorrow. I will see you tomorrow.”
Connor shook his hands out and kept walking toward the sound of the voice shouting that the vans had arrived.
He was ready to get the splinter out of his finger and be alone for the rest of the night.
In the van, Connor all but sat in Hudson’s lap and leaned his head onto his shoulder as he showed him his finger.
“Do you have tweezers?” Connor watched Hudson’s finger move over the red spot like François had done. The sensation was similar and Connor told himself that it was natural that it felt nice. It didn’t matter who was doing it to him. “Do you have-”
“Yeah.” Hudson raised Connor’s hand and kissed the back of it before resting it on Connor's leg. “We will perform surgery on your finger. We can numb it with alcohol.”
“No drinking the night before filming.” Connor briefly closed his eyes and then moved his head off of Hudson. “The rink is already going to mess with me. I don’t need a hangover on top of that.”
Hudson leaned over and kissed Connor’s cheek as he squeezed his hand.
“Ouch.” Connor took his hand away as he looked out the window and hid it from Hudson’s hands. “Be careful.
“Sorry.” Hudson reached for his hand but laughed as Connor kept moving it away from him. “Let me love you.”
“Never.” Connor tensed his stomach and shifted away from Hudson’s hand tickling his waist. “You are the worst.”
“I know.” Hudson squeezed Connor’s thigh and rested his hand there. “But you love it.”
“Love it.” Connor turned to look out the window, pressing his side against Hudson’s arm, and saw the headlights of the van behind them reflected in the side mirror.
“Can I come to your room tonight?” Connor kept his head forward but leaned in closer to Hudson. “Not all night. But for a little bit. Because of the splinter.”
“Oh, yes.” Hudson moved his arm around Connor’s lower back and squeezed him in closer. “Because of that splinter.”
The headlights turned away and Connor wondered if maybe it was not their second van.
Yawning, Connor scratched at the back of his head and lowered his head down away from the traffic lights. His eyes were tired, making the lights even brighter than they were.
Taking in a quick breath, Connor’s mind went back to François holding his hand.
The soft touch he used on him.
His fresh scent bold against the harsh smell of his cigarette.
How his heart had been racing from the shock of François interrupting his solitude.
A few minutes later, Connor said, “Thank you.”
“Maybe we should talk more about that splinter.” Hudson leaned his forehead against Connor’s shoulder and then moved back to speak lower. “Before it turns into a bigger concern.”
“That is probably a good idea.” Connor slipped into his Russian accent for the first few words but came back to his own accent at the end.
That was probably a good idea.