Three Weeks Later — London Party

Don Juan had woken up the morning after their argument with a bad taste in his mouth and no specific recollection of what had been said. He remembered that he'd gone to Hudson's flat with the intention of spending the night there, and maybe most of the next day as well if Hudson didn't already have plans. Instead he'd ended up tossing and turning in his bed at home and catastrophizing: Hudson didn't want him around; didn't enjoy his company as much as Don Juan had believed; was in fact only ambivalent about the sex when he wasn't in the act of having it; was perhaps even annoyed that their arrangement had gone on as long as it had. Probably at least half of these conclusions were baseless speculation borne of his late-night spiraling, but if even one of them was half-true it was enough to dissuade him from seeking Hudson's company out again. He didn't need to go where he wasn't wanted.

The party tonight was one of those crowded London house parties; too many people crammed into too little space. There was a dance floor, but Don Juan had so far avoided it in favor of drinks and conversation, which were activities he considered better condensed than dancing. The air was close and he was thinking of going out to the garden for a cigarette... until he sighed Hudson, and was suddenly very invested in having a visibly good time.

He laughed at something his conversation partner had said, loud. It hadn't even been particularly funny. He didn't look over his shoulder to see if Hudson had noticed. He nodded eagerly at the man he was talking to, encouraging him to continue, and took a hearty sip of his drink.

---

Dean Hudson

  

---

MJ made this <3

In the weeks after the derailment with Dempsey, Dean was determined not to pout about it. He'd given himself the day after to be broody, but he didn't sulk and he didn't chase. Finding the coat the next morning had been a little unexpected punch to the gut, but after he'd had it cleaned of the opium smell, it had simply been hanging in his wardrobe waiting for Dempsey to come collect it. It was slowly driving him a little desperate, but he would only admit to that under veritaserum.

Other than that, it was business as usual. A week away for the ministry in France, spent in the bed of a favorite courtesan had at least sort of (read; not at all) taken his mind off things. He attended tonight's event on a whim, something to occupy himself in pursuit of maybe finding company for later.

It had taken less than five minutes to see that Dempsey was also there and Dean had steered himself toward the dance floor to flirt with debutantes instead. Two could very well play the game of avoidance.

---

  

---

Don Juan watched the man he was talking to for a moment longer, focusing in on a pimple below his lip and watching it move so that he could feign attentiveness without actually listening. He didn't have the spare brainpower to process words and muster up thoughtful responses; he was busy imagining everything Dean Hudson might be doing in the room behind him. He imagined Hudson scowling as he noticed him and heading off to get a drink. He imagined him skulking over to interrupt — so vividly that he was almost surprised when he didn't feel Hudson's hand on his shoulder. What was he doing? After enough time had passed as to be inconspicuous, he dared a glance back to see... and noticed Hudson near the dance floor, in conversation with a young woman. He looked like he was having fun. It was immediately very important to Don Juan that Hudson see him having more fun. Should he go find a young woman to talk with? Would that present better? One could certainly flirt much more openly with young women than with men.

On the other hand, he didn't want to be too transparent. The only thing worse than giving the impression he was disappointed by Hudson's rebuff was to give the impression he was desperate about it. He would not pine.

He shifted his weight, a casual gesture that he used as a cover to sidle closer to the gentleman he'd been talking with. He refocused, trying to pay at least a modicum of actual attention this time, and laughed again — the kind of gratuitous laugh you only used to communicate interest. And the fellow wasn't hideous, anyway; maybe if this didn't serve to make Hudson jealous it could at least give him some consolation at the end of the night.

---

  

---

MJ made this <3

It was a game to be played, that Dean wasn't sure he knew what it meant to win. He did know that the young lady he'd found spoke flawless French and so therefore that was a bit of a distraction, as he'd always been a sucker for a lilting voice speaking in his favorite language. He procured both himself and his company a drink (champagne for her and of course good whiskey for him) so they could continue to converse before their dance started in a few moment's time.

Fortunately for Dean, he was good at multitasking. He could certainty not pay attention to Dempsey's laugh floating through the room toward him and miss what his lovely young companion said at the same time. This was unexpected. Normally Dean could listen to two distinct conversations in two different languages at the same time and hardly miss a beat. This was... perplexing and slightly unwelcome. To make up for his slip, he leaned in, one hand at her back, toward the pretty blonde and said something that elicited a glorious laugh out of her, causing him to pass her a charming smile in return.

He had to focus or this might be a disaster. It took more willpower than he was ready to admit to keep from looking in Dempsey's direction, but he managed, focused on what the young woman was saying about the south of France.

---

  

---

The man Don Juan was talking to had noticed the way he laughed — it was rather impossible not to have — and paused for a moment, seemingly unsure what to make of it. Usually this was the sort of thing Don Juan would take as a sign to disengage — but usually he would have been building off of some clues about interest, anyway, not just taking shots in the dark. And he liked the spot he was in — he could glance Hudson's direction to see if he was looking without being too obvious. (Hudson wasn't looking). So if he wanted to smooth things over with the fellow he was talking to rather than scaring him off, and not have to find a new conversation partner, he needed to be charming.

(Hudson had his hand on the girl's waist; playing the game on easy. Don Juan would have to make it clear he was having fun without such gratuitous displays of public affection).

"You know that does remind me," he started, conjuring up one of his best crowd-pleasing antics: the time he'd gone sailing (during his two-month obsession on sailing) and been becalmed in the midst of what had turned out to be a mer colony. Hudson had heard this story already. Hudson had heard most of his well-trodden stories already. The story's connection to the conversation that had preceded it was tenuous at best, but it was a lively tale and well-rehearsed, so the bloke hardly minded.

"Do you want to step outside?" he asked, leaning in just slightly and hoping hoping hoping Hudson was noticing the body language. "For a cigarette?"

The man agreed. Don Juan, triumphant, led the way towards the garden door — which Hudson and his blond stood in the way of.

---

  

---

MJ made this <3

It was hard to miss Dempsey as he came in their direction and Dean had to make a decision. Completely ignoring him felt like an option, but Dean really wasn't even sure what had caused the rift, other than the rebuff for a shag that night Dempsey had shown up high. If he couldn't handle that without letting Dean explain, maybe it was better they'd cut ties. That was a little too dramatic for his taste. Still, it had been admittedly hard to let the matter settle in his brain. It was stupid. Dean didn't get attached, but he had been enjoying Dempsey more than anticipated. He almost... missed him.

That thought almost had him visibly reeling. ugh, this might be worse than he thought now that he was faced with having Dempsey within arm's reach.

His split second decision was upon him and Dean made two moves. One, he stepped in closely toward the pretty blonde who was now blushing. Normally, if he wasn't waging a silent war, Dean would have used this to his advantage. Two, he leaned toward her even further, but raised his voice just a tick, spilling out a spicy little Italian phrase he'd already taught Dempsey that roughly translated to an inquiry about what the rest of the evening looked like. She didn't know what he'd said and his translation was entirely different to what he'd said, but she chuckled, oblivious. The ball was in Dempsey's court now.

---

  

---

Don Juan recognized the phrase. Hudson mistranslated it for the blonde... or he'd lied to Don Juan about it before, one of the two. It had never occurred to Don Juan to verify anything Hudson had told him about languages; he'd trusted him implicitly for no discernable reason. But he thought Hudson was lying to the blond, now; he didn't speak Italian well but knew enough of a smattering of other romance languages to pick out familiar words, and he knew what Hudson told him was at least closer to correct than what he'd just told her.

So: he'd said the phrase for Don Juan's benefit, and timed it so that he was sure to hear, even though he'd ostensibly said it to her. What did the night have in store? If he hadn't known better, he would have thought it was a pickup line. The first time Hudson had taught it to him it certainly had that ring to it.

Since Hudson hadn't spoken until Don Juan was nearly passing him, he didn't have much time to think. "Hudson," he said, as though he had just now noticed him. He offered a lazy smile. "Join us for a cigarette?"

---

  

---

MJ made this <3

His shot in the dark had hit its mark and Dean couldn't help but feel the little swell of satisfaction in his chest. Despite Dempsey playing it off as an offhand comment, Dean found himself wondering how to now go about this new dilemma. He was also sort of tired of dancing around this already. Dean wasn't normally so straightforward; normally he enjoyed a good game of cat and mouse, but the shitty part was he'd already caught this mouse before and didn't want to chase twice.

Draining his whiskey, Dean hesitated for a moment, looking at his conversation partner, who did look a little put out at the thought of him abandoning her. And while he did feel a little bad about it, Dean tried to placate her with a few choice words in French; a promise for a dance, maybe two later, once he'd gotten the boys stuff out of the way. "Only if I can have my own and not those vanilla things you smoke." The same ones he still had a pack of in a drawer at home. Dean agreed finally with a nod, hand lingering on the blonde's back for a moment before he moved away. She really had been lovely, but was unfortunately just a means to an end tonight. "Allons-y." He motioned for Dempsey to lead the way, echoing a very memorable night when he'd said that to the other man for the first time.

---

  

---

A flicker of an expression crossed Don Juan's face when Hudson made the comment about his cigarettes. A flicker of a memory — not of anything specific that had been said, but of a feeling deep in his gut. Derision. He felt sick. Had he misread Hudson's Italian? No, because he'd agreed to the invitation, and he hadn't had to. By all appearances, things were going perfectly smoothly with the blond. So then what was it? Probably just that even if you seduced a debutante, you usually didn't get to sleep with them. If Hudson wanted sex, it was in his interest to dangle a line out to Don Juan. But he was only doing it because Don Juan was easy. He didn't respect him, or like him, probably.

"Sure," he responded with a shrug. He didn't echo the Allons-y; he felt stupid for having once found it charming.

They made it to the garden. Don Juan fished out one of his silly cigarettes. He introduced Hudson and the other man; he said nothing about Hudson except his name, and made a point to say that the other man had been telling him the most charming stories all night about his work. He bantered a bit, and then took the first opportunity to get rid of the fellow — empty drinks, what a shame, would he mind getting Dempsey one too while he was in? Don Juan was only halfway through his cigarette; he'd wait here. Thanks so much.

And then they were alone in the garden.

---

  

---

MJ made this <3

Dean watched in silent amusement as Dempsey dithered on about the other man who looked about as charming as an eel. Dean was dragging out his own cigarette, taking slow puffs and blowing smoke rings into the night air of the garden while Dempsey dispatched with him as easily as Dean had lied to the pretty debutante inside. Two sides of the same coin or some nonsense, however the phrase went. (Dean was a linguist at heart, but he was feeling ambiguous tonight.)

"Great lengths to get me alone," Dean leaned back against the railing of the terrace behind him, still holding his cigarette aloft as he eyed Dempsey carefully. This was a precarious place to have this conversation, but they were both good enough at coding conversations that hopefully nobody was paying to close attention to a couple of gents having a smoke in the garden. He wasn't nearly as relaxed as he was trying to exude, but hopefully Dempsey didn't know that. "I had your coat cleaned, it's hanging in my closet."

---

  

---

Don Juan shrugged, affecting nonchalance he didn't really feel. "I smoke slowly," he said. He didn't, usually; he'd been drawing this out long enough to get the other man to finish first. And of course all the rest of it had been very intentional, and Hudson would know that whether Don Juan admitted to it or not. He couldn't pretend he hadn't orchestrated this, so the best he could do was pretend it had been no effort at all.

"Ah. I had wondered where it went," he said. He took a drag of the cigarette and looked out towards the garden. Had it cleaned, had he said? That was an odd gesture. Don Juan didn't know what to make of it. "I suppose I ought to come get it?"

---

  

---

MJ made this <3

Well, this was progressing in a manner that Dean hadn't quite anticipated. Three weeks spending wondering if he'd even wanted this to go anywhere and he wasn't sure it was going to end well, but at least he could say he'd tried to at least sort it out. Dean was many disreputable things, but he wasn't careless with people, especially people like Dempsey.

"Invitation's still open." Dean shrugged, finishing off his butt and snuffing it in the stone of the terrace. He had that weird sort of knot in his stomach again, same as the night he'd last seen Dempsey. It was annoying and frustrating and impossible to ignore. It was setting his teeth on edge. Dean didn't do attachments, he didn't get involved, but looking back, that's exactly what he'd done with Dempsey under the pretense that it was all superficial and superfluous, until it had crumbled. Still, he tried to remain unaffected, like he would do it for anyone, even if he wasn't sure what was going to happen next.

Dean hated not knowing.

---

  

---

Don Juan looked at him with a sudden intensity. He had lost the will to put up the pretense of apathy; he wanted to know what Hudson meant by that. The invitation. They had never established explicitly what that meant. Sex at first, but Hudson had turned him away last time without sleeping with him. Don Juan had come to think they shared more than just physicality; he'd come to think they were friends. But Hudson made that dismissive remark about his cigarettes, and it echoed something from the night they'd argued. So maybe that had never been part of it. But the invitation — not respect, not sex, whatever else was left — was open.

"I've got other coats," he said, vaguely defiant. "So no hurry."

---

  

---

MJ made this <3

That was his answer then.

"I'll have it sent over," he said after a moment of floundering, his facade slipping briefly. He hadn't really known what to expect and this had certainly been a viable option if Dempsey was no longer interested in whatever it was they'd had going. It had been a good run, months longer than Dean had ever expected. Months longer than he'd ever actually kept up with someone. Just another tally for the fact that he really wasn't cut out for that sort of thing, even if he had sometimes thought otherwise. It was different anyway, not really possible and so he was probably better off in the long run.

He'd reached down for another cigarette from his pocket, just for something to do with his empty hands, but realized that would just prolong the moment, his hand involuntarily flexing by his side.

Saved from having to say anything else, as the gent from earlier had returned with drinks for two, not three, Dean took it as his cue to bow out, making an excuse about owing someone a dance he didn't actually intend to cash in.

---

The following 1 user Likes Dean Hudson's post:1 user Likes Dean Hudson's post
   Don Juan Dempsey

---

Even expecting that Hudson wouldn't argue, it still stung that he didn't. Don Juan kept smoking and watching him for a minute, trying to figure out what his game was. The invitation was open for what? Why drop the hint inside? Why have the coat cleaned? Things didn't add up. He could rationalize one piece, but failed to incorporate the others. If this was just about sex and had never been about anything more: sure, abandon the blond for someone who was available tonight, extend an invitation — but why have the coat cleaned? If they were friends, but only that: the coat being cleaned was a nice gesture, thoughtful, but why interrupt an apparently productive conversation with a young woman to get his attention just to tell him about it? He could have sent the coat any time, or an owl.

As he tried to dissect Hudson with his eyes he told himself he only wanted to know which it was, but that was a lie. There was a right answer; something he was hoping for. He just hadn't been honest enough with himself to know what it was.

He was just weighing whether it would seem desperate to volunteer a goodbye kiss — and whether he cared if it seemed desperate — when they were interrupted. Don Juan had a drink again, and Hudson was leaving, and it seemed he'd missed his chance to untangle this.

There was another twist in the knot, one that didn't fit anywhere either: Don Juan knew Hudson well enough by now to read his body language. He wasn't happy with this turn of events. They had that in common, then.

---

  

---

MJ made this <3