Summer 1886 — Hudson's Flat

Don Juan had started the night in an opium den — or — it depended on one's definition of night. Before the opium den he had been at a fellow's house, lingering in the entryway while he fetched something from upstairs that had never been properly specified but was supposedly going to elevate the night for all the rest of them. (Had he had any of it? He couldn't remember. Maybe it was something that had been slipped into a drink and passed around; maybe they'd smoked it; maybe he'd knocked it back like a shot. Don Juan was having a hard time keeping track of the things he'd consumed tonight. Anything was possible. It was also possible that they'd spent all that time loitering and then there hadn't actually been anything fetched and shared at all; who was to say? Don Juan couldn't even remember whose house they'd been at). Before the fellow's house he'd been at a party of some variety. There had been cards, with some stakes; someone who kept pressing drinks in his hands to try and get him to wager high and play poorly. Had he lost a lot of money tonight, or had he come out on top at the end? He couldn't remember; it probably didn't really matter. His day job was entirely uninspiring; why was he bothering with it at all if not to have large sums of money he could afford to lose on cards? Before the party he'd been at Excalibur, and that for several hours. He'd acquired something there from a friend of a friend — supposedly the best hangover cure in the world, something that would have him wide awake at the uninspiring day job the next day no matter what he did with the rest of his evening. He'd tucked it into his breast pocket, under his handkerchief. It wasn't there now. Maybe he'd dropped it at some point in the evening; maybe he'd taken it. Maybe that was the reason that he was still awake, when the rest of the party had succumbed to the languid haze of opium mixed with bellies full of alcohol. They'd all dropped off into inactivity — not precisely sleep — but he was still bright. He felt more awake than he had all evening, actually — no chance at all of falling asleep like this. (Was it time to fall asleep? He had no conception at all of what time it was, and wasn't pausing to ask on his way out of the opium den).

He flooed to the Leaky Cauldron, not directly to the flat — on the off chance that anyone else was lucid enough to try and follow him out. Once he got to Hudson's flat he intended to be entirely and immediately indecent. After a long beat while he sorted out the floo fare for a second time and paid at the counter, he went from the Cauldron to Hudson's room. Fortunately it was open; it had never occurred to Don Juan that it might not be, so he had no backup plan at all if the floo failed him. He was certainly in no fit state to go wandering London, though the flat was easily within walking distance on a normal night.

He staggered out of Hudson's fireplace, shaking soot from his coat shamelessly onto the floor. "Hudson!" he called, sweeping his eyes around the single room searching him out. "Surprise," he said, with a flourish that nearly had him losing his balance.

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Dean Hudson
*M for implied drug use, probably discussion of sex, they're just pretty M generally and if I don't do it now I'll forget ;P

  

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MJ made this <3

Dean was on a rare night in, feeling a little under the weather and for once, simply in the mood for a deep glass of whiskey and a book. As much as he enjoyed spending the evenings out, it was a work night and he wanted to get a decent night's sleep so as to maybe get ahead of whatever bug was trying to take him down. It wasn't much, just a scratch in his throat, and he was more tired than usual, but Dean had little to no patience for such things. He hoped taking a night off and the whiskey would cure it before it truly started.

It was a little later than he'd intended to go to bed, having downed a second glass of whiskey and thoroughly enjoying the adventure novel he'd started, lounging on the couch in half of his pajamas. Even with company, Dean rarely exhibited any sort of modesty, especially in his own flat. He'd reached a good stopping point and was about to toss himself into bed to sleep off the rest of this gross feeling when the floo lit up, announcing someone's arrival. It was a surprise, as he hadn't invited anyone over specifically, but became less of a surprise to see Dempsey stepping out, that adorably goofy grin on his face. Dempsey didn't need an invitation, just a whim. Dean had admittedly been enjoying their continued arrangement and as he got to know Dempsey better, found he thoroughly enjoyed the man's company as much as he enjoyed his body. It was nice to have a friend that he also go to take to bed. It hadn't been something he'd considered before, but also wasn't so sure he'd be willing to try with anyone else. Dempsey kept him on his toes, which was good, Dean hated to be bored.

Noting the wobble in Dempsey's step from the fireplace, Dean eyed him carefully. "Dempsey," he greeted with a smile. He could probably drum up the energy for a quickie, if Dempsey was so inclined.

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Don Juan beamed, as if simply being recognized was an enormous compliment. He gave up on shaking shoot off his overcoat and simply peeled it off instead, tossing it onto the nearest piece of furniture before waltzing towards Hudson. Well, his intention was to waltz, and he certainly had the confidence of it; he seemed to have left his gracefulness somewhere along the way tonight, and the result was more of a stumble than a swagger. He noticed that Hudson was only half dressed (with no lack of appreciation), and also that he was wearing pajama bottoms (with a faint note of guilt). It hadn't occurred to him that he would have woken Hudson up by bursting into his flat, just as it hadn't occurred to him that the floo might be locked or that Hudson might have been out or might have had company — he had simply had a whim to see Hudson and had followed it through.

"Glad I didn't wake you," he said, with an irrepressible giggle as though the very notion of someone being asleep seemed silly to him. "Don't mind if I keep you up a bit, do you?" He wasn't waiting for an answer, but already stepping out of his shoes; as soon as he kicked them off he fully intended to climb right into Hudson's lap and stop talking about what he wanted to do in favor of doing it.

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MJ made this <3

Dean bristled a little at Dempsey's demeanor. He'd seen the other man drunk before, and they'd been drunk together, but Dean never, ever got sloppy with another person around. He never got sloppy ever. Dean liked being in control of himself and the situations he found himself in far too much to let go. Besides, things just got messy when you were too far gone and there could be very real, very serious consequences if anything got out of hand.

"What have you been up to this evening thus far?" He questioned without answering the one posed to him. Dean couldn't make the decision about entertaining Dempsey's whims until he knew he was in a good place to make up his own mind. Casually placing a marker in his book, Dean set it aside and set his feet on the floor, facing Dempsey as he stripped out of the unnecessary layers they both found infuriating in the process of getting them off. It was sort of endearing, but also slightly annoying. If Dempsey was just a little drunk, fine, but if it was something else, Dean was going to have to let him down gently, he was in no mood, and frankly feeling just crappy enough, not to want to deal with that tonight.

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"Oh, you know. Little of everything," he said with a shrug. He wished he was undressed enough that he could have shrugged off his shirt, but he was still caught in the heel of one shoe and having to wobble on one foot to work it off.

He wasn't being evasive. The answer was honest, since he'd been bouncing around locations this evening. It was also as detailed as he could be without a specific question to answer, since he'd forgotten at least half of the night. He was aware of this and unbothered by it; whatever had happened along the way, he'd survived it and ended up at Hudson's flat, which was never a bad place to be.

"Nothing as exciting as what I hope to be up to soon," he said suggestively, as he managed to get his shoe clear of his foot. He dropped down onto the sofa besides Hudson and leaned towards him.

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MJ made this <3

It was admittedly difficult to be annoyed with Dempsey being all over the place. Mostly it was amusing, but Dean had a bad feeling about it nevertheless. Though none of what he got up to was all that responsible in the grand scheme of things, Dean had always taken responsibility for himself and those he bedded pretty seriously. He had never once gone to bed with anyone who thought incapable of truly making the decision for themselves and had probably walked away from situations that would be fine in the end because of it, but he did not want to have anything weighing on his conscience. Just because he got around, didn't mean he had to be a dick about it.

"Sort of feels like you should get some sleep instead." Dean suggested lightly, pressing his shoulder into Dempsey's, mostly because he was starting to lean out of having any sort of sex tonight. He still didn't feel that well and if Dempsey had been in his right mind, Dean might have mustered the enthusiasm, but right about now he was a little turned off. Whatever it was that Dempsey was on, Dean didn't want any part of it.

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Hudson was mothering him. Don Juan found this entirely adorable. He felt a surge of fondness for the other man, inexplicably charmed by the mental image of Hudson tucking him into bed with a cup of tea (and nevermind that Hudson had probably meant Don Juan ought to go to bed at his own house). It was almost tempting enough to agree, but he hadn't taken two floos here so that someone could send him to bed.

"I'm not tired," he insisted, tone like an insistent child. He leaned in further, putting one hand on the couch cushion to Hudson's other side so that he was entirely leaning through his space. "You could tire me out."

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   Dean Hudson

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There was, of course, a natural reaction to having Dempsey in his space like that; the smell of him, the heat radiating off him, it only brought up memories of their time together and under normal circumstances, it would have been all Dean needed to take the invitation. He couldn't deny the involuntary twitch in his trousers at the thought of it. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but Dempsey had been the best fuck he'd ever had. Still, Dean had already consciously crossed it off the agenda tonight.

The more he breathed in, the more Dean recognized the smell; opium, or something like it, not those vanilla cigarettes Dempsey was so fond of. He had never partaken himself, didn't like the smell or the way people were when they were on it. "You're high," he stated rather blandly, now thoroughly turned off at the prospect of this night going anywhere fun. Dean didn't experiment with things like that, he didn't like the unpredictability, didn't know the limits like he did with alcohol, and while he didn't begrudge anyone their vices, obviously, that didn't mean he was about to play along either.

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Don Juan didn't really understand the statement. Well, he did on one level, because he knew what words meant. He didn't understand why Hudson was saying it, though. It wasn't like this was some big revelation. He was often high on nights like these — it might have even been fair to say that lately if he was awake at this time of night he was high more often than not. He couldn't really say for certain, since he still didn't know what time it was.

"Yes," he agreed. No use denying the obvious. He also still didn't understand exactly how this was relevant. He was certainly still present enough to let Hudson have his way with him. No danger of throwing up on his shoes, or anything. He didn't even feel nauseous, he didn't think.

"Are you going to fuck me or not?" he asked. It wasn't a real question; it was the tone you would use to tease a friend for being slow to get their coat on when everyone else was already waiting at the door. The sex seemed an inevitability; he wanted Hudson to hurry up and kiss him.

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MJ made this <3

"Not tonight," Dean sighed. It was the first time he'd turned somebody down in a while; the first time he'd said no to Dempsey ever. "Maybe in the morning when you sober up and I feel less shitty." He said, no issues with Dempsey staying and sleeping, even if it wasn't something he normally did. Dean had sort of given up on keeping Dempsey in the same category as his other lovers. He didn't keep a pack of favorite cigarettes in a drawer for anybody else; nobody else had an open invitation to show up whenever they wanted; nobody else slept in his bed for multiple nights in a row. It was the longest sort-of-not-really-relationship he'd ever had.

However that didn't mean Dean was going to bend on this. He had morals and he was sticking to them, whether Dempsey liked it or not, whether he agreed or not. Dean could be a rake and still do it right.

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Don Juan frowned, not only at the rejection. Hudson had never turned him down before — it had never even been a question of how the night was going to end, when Don Juan showed up to his flat. He had come here tonight craving and expecting sex. So he was surprised, and disappointed, but also concerned — he had not yet conceptualized the idea that Hudson wouldn't want to sleep with him while he was high, so he presumed his answer had more to do with the second thing he'd said.

"You're feeling shitty?" he asked. He hadn't noticed anything, but now he shifted back into his own space on the couch and let his eyes sweep over Hudson with keen concern, as though the source of his malaise would be written somewhere on his bare chest for Don Juan to read. "Can I help?"

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MJ made this <3

Dean hadn't had a headache before, but now he was starting to feel one creeping in at his temples. "Coming down with something minor, I assume." Maybe he'd had enough whiskey to dink it away. That would be nice. A good night's sleep at he might be back to normal. Under regular circumstances, he might have even thought a good shag would do the trick, help get the blood flowing better, but he wasn't in the mood to test the theory now.

Despite Dempsey having moved back, Dean stood from the couch and took his glass to the sink, pajama pants hanging low on his hips as he made his way back toward the bed. He needed real space to get that smell out of his nose. Maybe that was where the headache was coming from. "I was going to sleep it off and you're too high for me to take seriously right now, so you can either come with me and sleep or find somewhere else to land for tonight." It came out a little more harsh than he intended, but Dean needed to set the boundary; he would not entertain this now or in the future.

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Don Juan almost wanted to protest when Hudson stood up, but of course that was silly. He didn't know anything about health, really, and certainly didn't know what to do about some unspecified minor illness. Where would he get off trying to prevent Hudson walking around in his own house? He was clearly quite capable, however he was feeling. A demonstration of Don Juan's little surge of helpless, hapless protectiveness that had surged up when Hudson said he wasn't well wasn't gong to cure him of whatever was wrong.

He shifted on the couch so that he could face Hudson as he walked away, eyes still eager and attentive — until Hudson said he couldn't take Don Juan seriously. It was the sort of comment that wouldn't have meant anything coming from a stranger — Don Juan might have brashly replied good or grinned and joked that he didn't take himself seriously, either. But from Hudson, who had let him drink and lounge and complain about his job (three distinct jobs, actually, in series), Hudson who had let him borrow a scarf which he'd never returned and which had quickly become one of his favorites, Hudson who didn't just fall into bed with him on occasion, but actually invited him... from Hudson, that remark stung.

"Yeah, fine," he said, suddenly brusque. He reached for his shoes and attempted to jam his foot into one without bothering to unlace it first. "I'll find someone else."

He wouldn't — he'd probably go to the club and get a room for the night, or maybe go home if it was late enough that he wouldn't have to risk talking to his parents — but Hudson didn't need to know that he had been the only one on Don Juan's list of people he wanted to spend time with tonight. Not if Hudson couldn't take him seriously.

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MJ made this <3

There was a sense of guilt that welled up in his chest, but Dean shoved it down. He didn't need this sort of trouble tonight. He hadn't really intended to kick Dempsey out; probably shouldn't have said that last part, just invited him into bed. He'd meant it when he said probably in the morning after they'd both slept off what ailed them. Dean was all about a little morning tumble to get the day started right.

Still, he couldn't quite bring himself to say any of that, especially when Dempsey said someone and not somewhere. That struck harder than he would admit to.

Dean barely contained the scoff that threatened to fall from his lips. "Good luck," he intoned flatly instead, trying to keep the emotion from his words and his face as he watched Dempsey try to put his shoe back on.

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He hadn't realized he'd been hoping that Hudson would fight him on find someone else until he didn't. He really didn't care one way or another, which was... exactly what Don Juan should have expected, under the circumstances. They'd never had any kind of spoken agreement between the two of them. He hadn't asked Hudson to stop sleeping with other people, and neither had Don Juan done so himself (though there was no one else in the last year he'd seen with any sort of regularity the way he saw Hudson). Casual indifference was exactly what he should have anticipated... but it stung, too, because it confirmed that they were in the end just two people who sometimes slept together, where Don Juan had come to believe they were friends.

"Sure," he said as he lurched to his feet. His shoes were on, and one of the heels was bent in and digging at his ankle but he had decided to ignore it in service of a hastier departure. His fingers were clumsier than he'd realized; it would take too long to fix, and he didn't want to look foolish and fumbling. He forced a smile at Hudson and careened off in the direction of the floo, forgetting his coat.

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MJ made this <3

Dean had flopped onto the edge of his bed sort of haphazardly, watching Dempsey try to get his shit together. It was a good indication he'd made the right choice if putting on shoes was too hard. Still, he didn't like the feeling sitting in his chest as Dempsey left as quickly as he'd come. This was exactly why he didn't get entangled like this. Getting attached always led to situations like this. He wouldn't admit to his fondness for Dempsey aloud to anyone, but had thought that the sentiment was mutual, if unspoken.

Fuck, he hated to be wrong.

Falling all of the way back onto the bed, Dean hauled himself up to the pillows, letting out a string of curses in French under his breath and reaching for his wand on the nightstand to extinguish the lamps. Maybe he should have taken something to knock him out; something told him he wasn't going to be getting a good night's sleep after all. Never mind that he hadn't noticed the forgotten coat. That could haunt him tomorrow, just when he'd thought he'd talked himself into being over the whole thing.

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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