Well, he'd been willing to do anything, but the command Hudson gave him was impossible. Relax, here? Relax, while Hudson had his hands on Don Juan's body? No, there was no chance at all of that. So he couldn't take it as a directive, but he did accept it as a gentle reproof; Hudson acknowledging that Don Juan was too eager and that they both knew it. He rocked back on his heels, chagrinned, and that was all he had time to do before Hudson made it clear where things were going next.

Don Juan hadn't been expecting this; he'd thought at this point nothing was going to slow their progress towards the main event, as it were. Hudson going down to his knees made him nervous. He was going to come too soon and leave Hudson disappointed. He absolutely couldn't do that — he couldn't bear to be forgettable. But oh, as soon as Hudson had him in his mouth he felt ready to melt right there on the spot. He'd already been hard, obviously. Now every swish of Hudson's tongue felt like it pulled blood from elsewhere in his body. His cock was throbbing, over-ready; his extremities were tingling and he was starting to feel light headed. He wrapped his fingers in Hudson's hair, partially to keep his balance. The mental image of what was happening at the moment — a beautiful man kneeling in front of him, with Don Juan breathing heavy and holding his head — made him weak in the knees.

"Ah, fuck," he muttered. "Fuck, that's — fuck." Not particularly articulate, for the son of poets, but he'd managed not to come yet and he was calling that a win.

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