Charming

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February 3rd, 1895 — Hudson's House, Bartonburg

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"Can you — sorry," Don Juan said in a rush. His cheeks were red with embarrassment, but he had interrupted and couldn't walk it back now. Hudson was going to know something was wrong even if he tried to insist there was nothing to worry about. He probably would have anyway; the first time this had happened Don Juan hadn't said anything and had determined to just grin and bear it, and Hudson had picked up on his discomfort and slowed down, adjusted seamlessly and tenderly. He was probably going to do the same again today, without question or complaint, but Don Juan still felt mortified. "Can you just — just don't push like that?"

Hudson was going to start taking this personally, he worried. Don Juan had determined to be more upfront with communication this time around and this was starting to feel like something he should have talked to Hudson about before — sometime when they weren't in the middle of sex — but he hadn't realized it was going to be a thing. It was all in his head, he knew that. Nothing Dean was doing, now or on either of the other occasions where Don Juan had needed to demure, was hurting him. None of it was far removed from the sort of sex they'd been having before. Hudson had often been rough, but always caring and attentive. Don Juan liked the way Hudson fucked him, honestly. So it wasn't a physical problem at all, it was just a hangup that Don Juan had to get over, and he kept thinking that he would get over it and then it wouldn't need to be discussed. They were nothing alike, nothing alike in any way whatsoever — but occasionally when Dean pushed him into a position instead of asking him or coaxing him Don Juan would find himself momentarily back in Whitechapel. No matter how brief the memory was it always left him steeped in shame, and nothing killed the mood faster than shame.

"Sorry," he mumbled again. "I just — you can keep going," he insisted. "Sorry."

Dean liked to think he paid attention, sometimes a little too much attention, if that was possible. So when there was ever even a noise of hesitation or discomfort, he pulled his hands off from wherever they were and paused. This wasn't the first time something had come up and though nothing had been explicitly expressed, Dean thought he'd made himself aware of whatever it was that gave Don Juan pause and avoided it. He hadn't done anything that had been a problem in the past, but this time he thought that he was missing something and he didn't want to do anything that wasn't what was wanted.

This time was no different, so Dean eased back, preferring not to have this conversation from this position. "Can't now," he chuckled, trying to keep things light. There was nothing to his tone or his expression to say that he was upset or disappointed or frustrated. "And don't be sorry," there was nothing to be sorry for. Maybe he'd gotten a little too caught up in the moment, maybe it had nothing to do with him at all. Still, he would rather know if it was something he'd done, so he could not do it again. "Tell me what's not working." He added, more gently. Dean did not screw around with miscommunication in the bedroom and he would always put his partner's satisfaction above his own.

He'd ruined the mood for Dean now, too. He'd been worried about this. Don Juan rolled onto his back on the bed, arms out, and sighed heavily. "It's not you," he insisted, looking at the ceiling so he wouldn't have to look at Hudson. He didn't want to talk about this, but he couldn't blame Hudson for asking. Don Juan had gone and made it his problem when he'd disrupted their sex life with it. He couldn't expect Hudson to just figure out where the boundaries were on his own, either, because Don Juan realized they were nonsensical. Nothing that they'd done tonight was something they hadn't done before.

Hudson cared about him. When he was a little rough in bed it was from enthusiasm and passion, notfrom carelessness. This wasn't cheap and transactional. It wasn't anything like Whitechapel. Don Juan knew all of this.

He didn't know how to tell Hudson what the problem was.

"I just — it's not you," he said again. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to ruin it."

Brows furrowed in concern, Dean sank down next to Don Juan on the bed, curling toward him, but still giving space if needed. "Stop apologizing, you're not ruining anything." Sex between them had long ago moved on from just getting off. It was more intimate, more sentimental, it was just more and if Don Juan wasn't enjoying it, then something needed to change. This mattered and Dean wasn't about to just gloss over it.

"And it may not be me, I believe you, but something I'm doing is making you uncomfortable for whatever reason and I would like to stop doing it." Dean could adapt to just about anything to meet his partner's needs. If something had happened in their time apart that was causing this, Dean at least wanted to know what to avoid. He didn't need to know the reason why, he just needed to know what was and was not what Don Juan wanted right now.

"I don't want you to stop," Don Juan protested, in the way that a child might complain that he didn't want it to be raining. Railing against the unfairness of the universe. He didn't want this to be following him. He didn't want to be thinking about it. He didn't want Dean to treat him like he was fragile, or broken... and he didn't want to feel like he was, either. He was supposed to be better.

He huffed, feeling disappointed in himself. He still didn't know what to say. He didn't know exactly what it was that was going to set him off until it happened. It was like his body had been riddled with traps while he was too high to pay attention. One of the brief flashbacks he'd had before wasn't even something he'd consciously remembered until Hudson had reminded him of it. Maybe it hadn't even happened. Maybe he was haunted by the possibilities of the past just as much as he was by the past itself.

He swallowed. He'd been quiet for a long moment, visibly wrestling with how to say this and trying to pretend he couldn't feel Hudson's eyes on him while he did. "Before I got sober, I got hooked on something new," he eventually admitted. He wasn't sure if this was the right thing to say. He knew Hudson didn't want to know about his substance habits, and never had, but he didn't know how else to explain what was happening now. But he also didn't know how to connect this back to sex, without giving Dean far more information than he'd asked for, and far more than Don Juan was comfortable sharing.

Dean propped himself up on one elbow, trying to see if he could discern anything from Don Juan's expression, but all he could see was some sort of internal struggle. He waited for an explanation, but when he didn't get much, Dean supposed that might be for the better. His track record with handling Don Juan's substance abuse was poor and if something had happened while under the influence, Dean couldn't say with one hundred percent certainty he would handle it well.

"You don't have to tell me what happened, if you don't want to." Maybe that was the reluctance. Maybe there had been someone associated with whatever drug he'd tried. Dean didn't need the specifics unless Don Juan really wanted him to have them. "I just need you to know how you want me to handle it now, so you can relax and enjoy yourself." That was what mattered to Dean the most.

That was good, because Don Juan had no desire to tell Dean anything about what had happened... but this still didn't solve the problem he was having of trying to explain to Dean what it was that was setting him off. He had to figure out what the pattern was between these things if he wanted to avoid them, if there even was one. Tonight it had been Hudson pushing his hips into the position he wanted them in. It was something they'd done countless times before, and nothing that should have set him off. Nothing that should have been out of bounds. Once before it was Hudson pressing him towards the bed too firmly. It was never anything that should have given them pause.

"Something keeps dragging me back there," he said with a frown. He turned his head towards Dean. "And I just can't go back."

This was still insufficient, he knew, because he still hadn't found a way to articulate what he needed Dean to avoid, just why. But he thought the why had been the only place to start, because otherwise there was no way to say what came next without Hudson being hurt by it.

"It's — it's the pushing without saying anything first," he said. His cheeks flushed again as he struggled to find the words. "It's — when it doesn't matter what I want. I know that's wrong, I know that's not — I know you're not. I just — I just can't —"

He just couldn't stop his mind from jumping there, and it dragged him back to Whitechapel, and it didn't matter that Hudson cared and that Don Juan knew it.

"I'm sorry," he said again, moving closer to Hudson.

Dean registered that this was much bigger than he'd anticipated and so he adjusted, his whole demeanor shifting. "Alright," He leaned back, making more space for Don Juan as he scooted closer. Dean tucked his arm under Don Juan's head and pulled him flush against him. If that was what he needed right now, that was what he would get. "I'll be gentle then— and we don't have to, either." He could ease up on the pushiness. Dean was used to taking control and in his previous experience, Don Juan had always liked it, but if something had changed that, then he would change his approach. If he needed to slow down and check in more often, he could do that, now that he knew that was what was necessary.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," he reiterated. "It's not your fault." Whatever it was, Dean suspected that Don Juan might not have done it if it wasn't for the drugs. If it was something traumatic, there would be a lot to unpack over time and that was something Dean would be patient with. He ran his fingertips up and down Don Juan's arm slowly, trying to get the both centered back here and now. If he didn't, his mind might start wandering too far and that wouldn't do him any good. The guilt and the anger with himself would start to fester if he let it. Right now his priority was making sure Don Juan didn't slip under whatever it was that kept dragging him down.

"Yes, it is," he mumbled mournfully. His conviction in this fact hadn't stopped him from crawling eagerly into Dean's arms and sinking his head down against his neck. He may have felt guilty and ashamed and all the rest of it, but that didn't stop him from being a sponge eager to soak up Hudson's tenderness. He didn't deserve it, but he needed it. There were so many levels on which this was no one's fault except his. He'd invited the sexual act he kept flashing back to. He'd begged Griffith for the drug, the first time and on every subsequent occasion. No one had forced him to get into substances to begin with, and most of the people who had started with him in his adolescence had the self-control to stop, which he'd lacked. He had no one to blame except himself, and Hudson didn't deserve this.

"I know you're not like that," he insisted. This was partly why he hadn't wanted to talk about it on either of the previous occasions; he didn't want Hudson to feel like he was demonizing him, or misunderstanding him. They were so recently reconnected and the last thing he wanted was to send the message that he could have easily confused Hudson with someone he would have only slept with in a drug-induced fugue.

Dean didn't want to argue about it. He likely wouldn't be able to convince Don Juan otherwise and it would dredge up more of whatever incident was haunting him. It was unnecessary. All Dean had to do was be patient and slow down, both of which he could easily do. "I'm one of a kind." Dean teased lightly, resting the his cheek on top of Don Juan's head, sighing softly as he settled into the contact fully.

"But if something I'm doing isn't working, I won't do it until you tell me otherwise." He wasn't worried about Don Juan comparing him to someone else. It was obvious Don Juan wasn't exactly enjoying these flash backs, which had absolutely nothing to do with Dean, but if he was being too rough and it was making things harder, he simply wouldn't. "I want you here with me, not stuck in some nightmare, so we can just take it slow." Dean assured him, hoping he was making himself clear.

The weight and warmth of Dean's cheek resting against his hair was a welcome addition to the embrace. He was feeling more grounded, especially when Hudson made a joke. He knew he'd ruined the moment, but it was a relief to think he hadn't cast a dark shadow on the entire night.

"You're the love of my life," he mumbled back, in the same teasing tone Hudson had used because this was the only way he thought it was reasonable to use the word love given that they had been back together less than a month. But beneath the light tone he was thinking quite seriously that he didn't deserve how understanding and caring and perfect Hudson was being about the whole thing, and that it would have been impossible to weather this with anyone else. And also that he couldn't let Hudson ever leave him again, because he simply couldn't go on without him any more.

"We can start over," he offered, shifting so that he could pull his head back enough to meet Hudson's eyes. "Tonight. I don't want to ruin your birthday."

Dean chuckled again, choosing not to comment because he would just get mushy about it. He'd made it clear for a while now how he he felt, how he'd always felt, about Don Juan. It had never been conditional or faded, even if they hadn't always been able to make things work. Still, it gave him a pleased little flutter in his chest to hear it after so long.

"Nothing's ruined," the night wasn't over yet. "I'm just happy to have you here." At the root of it, he was. Last year's birthday hadn't been all that bad, certainly better than it could have been, given his state of mind at the time. He'd enjoyed Evangeline's company and causing mild mischief at the charity event, but this was already leagues better. They could lay here and talk or slip downstairs for a drink and a snack, could fall asleep just like this and see what tomorrow brought, whatever worked.

He leaned back a little as Don Juan did, meeting his gaze thoughtfully. He wouldn't push for anything, not knowing what he did now. "It's up to you. You're in control." He said, leaving it up to Don Juan entirely.

Don Juan was in control. This was a sentiment Griffith had expressed to him, too, but then it had always felt like a mockery. I'll give you what you want. You only have to ask. Don Juan was an addict and Griffith held the substance he was addicted to; Don Juan wasn't meaningfully in control of anything. Choice was an illusion when all the paths converged sooner or later on the same ending. That woman with the bonbons was the best thing that could have happened to him, because there was no chance of his breaking the cycle himself. It hadn't happened after the overdose, and if ever there was a time when he should have had the self-control that was it.

When Hudson said it he meant it. Don Juan leaned in to kiss him. It wasn't fair for Hudson to be the one cleaning up a mess Don Juan had made without him, but if he wanted Don Juan here he certainly wasn't going to complain. He pulled one leg up over Hudson's and wriggled closer to him once again. The warmth he felt from Hudson's reaction and the wealth of bare skin contact was doing an excellent job of getting his mind off the past, at least for now.

"I want you to fuck me from the front," he said when he broke off the kiss. "I want to be able to touch you."

Following Don Juan's lead, Dean kept his movements deliberately slow, controlled and soft. Just the skin contact was enough to put him back into the mood and the kiss served its purpose too. He had an idea and while he was more than happy to do exactly what it was Don Juan wanted, he had meant it when he said that he could let go of the control.

"Why don't you really take the reins," he suggested lightly, his free hand resting gently against Don Juan's waist. The roles wouldn't be reversed exactly, but if a face-to-face experience was desired, it might also work better if Dean wasn't the one setting the pace. "And put yourself right up here." He ran that same hand gently down the leg across his and rolled onto his back a little more, so message was clearer; Don Juan on top, in complete control of everything and Dean was just along for the ride.

Don Juan stifled a whimper of desire as Hudson shifted. Don Juan had moved with him and was half-straddling Dean's naked waist at this point, so it was clear what he was suggesting. They hadn't done this before. It seemed silly in the abstract because it wasn't especially daring, but they had a rhythm that had always worked for them — exceptionally well, really — and they both slept with other people for the sake of variety. Experimentation hadn't been particularly high on their list of needs. This felt exciting, though... and more than that, Don Juan was touched by the gesture. He'd interrupted what was meant to be an intimate moment and implied he couldn't trust Hudson (— Hudson wasn't like that, he knew that and he'd said it continuously, but he was still worried that beneath Hudson's gracious, gentle response that was how this must come across —) and rather than being put out by it he was willing to adjust... and not even just adjust to what Don Juan had suggested, but elevating it with a suggestion of his own.

"Dean." His voice was full of sentiment as he slid up to fully straddle Hudson and put his hands on the firm muscles of Hudson's chest. "Thank you."

Dean's expression softened even further at the look and the tone to Don Juan's voice. "Anything for you," he breathed out, caught up in the intimacy of the moment. He leaned up slowly, hands drifting lightly over skin, so there was no surprises, pulling Don Juan down for a kiss. It was easy from there for things to move naturally, to find a new rhythm; every touch and movement was intentional, a little more meaningful.

When everything was said and done, Dean felt as though the air in the room had changed and it was a little easier to breathe.

He'd made sure keep his hands in sight, no pressure to them throughout and after. Dean had purposefully put more attention to his normal after care routine this time, too. He was intent on finding a balance between what had once been their normal and this new, tentative situation. Even now as he rolled toward Don Juan and reached out, he was moving slower, looking at him carefully to assess the results. "Alright?"

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Don Juan Dempsey

Dean Hudson

Don Juan Dempsey

Dean Hudson

Don Juan Dempsey

Dean Hudson

Don Juan Dempsey

Dean Hudson

Don Juan Dempsey

Dean Hudson

Don Juan Dempsey

Dean Hudson

Don Juan Dempsey

Dean Hudson

Don Juan Dempsey

Dean Hudson