"Perfection," Don Juan purred in response as he moved towards Hudson's open arms. "Bliss." Alright was insufficient. The buildup had been slower than usual, but tantalizing. Hudson had already gotten him off earlier tonight — he always did, before they moved on to the main event — but between the pause while they'd talked and the novelty of this Don Juan had been in very real danger of coming again and making a mess of Dean's sheets.
He curled into Dean's arms and almost asked whether he'd enjoyed it as much, but he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. Obviously Hudson had liked it enough to climax, but — well, if this was the way he'd wanted to do things, they would have just done them that way to begin with, wouldn't they? This had to be something Hudson was willing to do for Don Juan, not something he was excited by. The gentleness of all this. It was enough that he was willing to do it; Don Juan didn't need to make him lie about it afterwards, too.
"I know I'm not easy to be with," he said, small and apologetic. He pulled Hudson's arm more tightly around him.
The way Hudson's arms tightened around him was more satisfying and comforting than he could have put into words. If he'd been a better writer there could have been a poem in that feeling. Hudson loved him just the way he was, he said, but Don Juan could only assume this was a sentiment born of the afterglow; the sort of affectionate thing one said but didn't mean. He didn't think it was very likely that Hudson really meant it, whatever he said. Don Juan didn't love himself just the way he was, and he didn't expect anyone else to, either.
He was going to get better, though. Someday he'd make all of this trouble worth Hudson's while — he hoped, anyway.
"I wouldn't still be here if you were anyone else," he said. "You know that, right?" He wouldn't have tried to negotiate this for anyone else; wouldn't have forced his way through the admission he hadn't wanted to make earlier. He would have cut and run when it had happened the first time, dropped out of the relationship and tried again with someone else another time — probably with something else in his bloodstream. This was how he'd always faced things he didn't want to look at directly: he ran away and he came back when he was numb.
Don Juan knew this was a sentiment with layers: glad he'd stuck with it this time around, glad he'd come back last month; glad he was still alive. He nestled in closer to Dean's chest, agreed on all counts but not sure anything needed to be said.
"I'm sorry it took me so long," he mumbled, closing his eyes and preparing to surrender to sleep. "Sorry I couldn't do it on my own."
He hadn't gotten sober on his own, and he didn't think he ever would have, even if given a million years to try. He hoped Dean knew that it hadn't been a matter of not wanting it enough — if Don Juan was the kind of person who was capable of getting himself sober, he would have done it two years ago, rather than trying to compromise by cutting back and keeping his habit out of sight.
Don Juan hadn't expected the question. He'd forgotten that they hadn't already discussed the specifics. The details had gotten lost in the shuffle when he'd had to contend with the woman at Hudson's house, perhaps. He'd certainly never intended to hide it, and he thought even without having specified Hudson would have probably assumed something along these lines. He'd been there with a front row seat when Don Juan had tried and failed to stop before, after all. He knew firsthand the limitations of Don Juan's self control.
"It never sticks when I try to myself," he said, though Dean knew this. "And I wouldn't've come back if I didn't think it would stick. It's magic," he explained. "I can't get high. I tested it."
Don Juan was so entirely unperturbed by the series of events that he didn't register Hudson's apprehension, or at least didn't recognize it for what it was. It didn't occur to him that there was anything to worry about, when this charm had done for him in a month what he'd been unable to do himself for years.
"It was in the paper," he explained. "New Year. What do you want to change about yourself. A bunch of people did it. I didn't know what it was at the time. I don't know exactly what she did," he admitted, with a movement that would have been a shrug if he hadn't still been nestled again Dean's chest. "But I told her I wanted to be sober and now I am."
"As long as I don't try to take anything," he said. "It makes me sick if I try. Throwing up," he explained. He didn't really intend for Dean to ever see that in action, because hopefully he was able to just stop buying it, but it was a huge relief for him that if someone gave him something at a party or even accidentally that it wouldn't throw him right back where he'd been. He was aware that some of the people who'd been affected by the booth had side effects they didn't like from the magic, but Don Juan would have taken this a hundred times over if it meant being reliably clean. It was the only reason he'd had the confidence to come back here in the first place; he wouldn't have tried to get back into Hudson's life on the strength of a few weeks where he'd managed to personally abstain (nevermind that he hadn't managed that much in five years).
"You don't have to worry about me," he continued; Hudson relaxing back was the clue he'd needed to finally realize that Hudson was worrying. "I'm getting better."