Work Text:
As Hugh launched the quarter at Mads' ass, he told himself:
This is for posterity. Posterior posterity.
He'd only a few seconds of self-satisfaction over his own pun before the quarter hit Mads' ass. It bounced at a rather acute angle, then clattered to the floor of Mads' trailer.
"What was that?" Mads frowned, rubbing the spot where the quarter had struck.
Ten years of enjoying that ass in all manner of states: clothed, nude, reddened by Hugh's handprints, with the word BITCH paddled into it, flushed with arousal -- and Hugh still found himself entranced by it. And by how firm it was, though Mads was verging on 50. Even Hugh had to admit that his own ass was perhaps not as pert as Mads', though, to be fair, he had a rather flat ass to begin with, and had never been a professional dancer.
But when Mads wore his Hannibal clothes, as he currently was, his ass -- and the devastating jauntiness of it -- were displayed to full effect. Hugh wondered how the editors managed to cut all the takes of him sliding out of character and openly goggling Mads' ass. Now that ass, in chocolate brown pants, seemed to mock Hugh and his impishness.
Ha, you thought you had seen all the wonders of this ass, but you were wrong. That quarter bounced like it had bounced off the ass of an 18 year old male stripper.
"Hugh?" Mads looked over his shoulder.
"Uhm," Hugh said. "I threw a quarter at your ass."
Mads seemed amused.
Hugh explained: "I wanted to see if it bounced."
"Did my ass pass muster, then?"
Mads flexed his butt thoughtfully.
Cheeky fuck.
"I suppose," Hugh hummed, and gave that cheeky ass and its owner a slap. "But I think I should repeat the experiment."
"Oh, do you?"
"Absolutely," Hugh, despite his talents, struggled to keep a straight face. "For posterity."
Mads actually laughed, which was another reason, among many, that Hugh was still in love with the man. He laughed at Hugh's stupid jokes.
He also encouraged his incorrigible behavior.
"Hit me with your best shot, then," Mads declared.
Not long after, Claire and Hanne, visiting the set with Cyrus, discovered their husbands: Mads bent over and displaying his ass, Hugh flinging quarters, dimes, and even a few loonies at Mads, the pair of them whooping and laughing like boys.
It took a few moments for the men to notice their wives, staring rather patiently but pointedly.
"We can't leave your dad alone ever, can we?" Claire asked Cyrus, who seemed as underwhelmed as the two women.
Hanne just laughed, and Mads and Hugh stopped pretending they were even a little chagrined.
"We should leave them to it, I think," Hanne said.
"Play nice," Claire warned Hugh, as she and Hanne walked away.
"I always play nice," Hugh objected.
Mads snorted.
"What?" Hugh said.
Mads made a face at Hugh. The "you are so full of shit, but I love you, you idiot" face.
Their shenanigans were cut short again when they were called back to set. Hugh spent a gleeful two hours watching Mads-as-Hannibal sitting and trying not to squirm from the bruises the coins must have left.
"You should kiss it and make it better," Mads said later, as they returned to his trailer.
Hugh waggled his eyebrows. "If you insist."