Hudson swore — it was too fast and low for Don Juan to recognize the word or translate it, but with the context and the tone it was impossible to mistake it for anything else — and closed the distance rapidly. Don Juan's head swam. There was such sudden intensity in Hudson's eyes and Don Juan thought kiss me kiss me kiss me, already forgetting that a moment ago he'd weighed whether they had enough privacy to allow him to touch Hudson's back and decided against it. Don Juan didn't back down from whatever was coming... but Hudson didn't kiss him.

What he said made no sense. Don Juan might have attributed some confusion to the way his head was spinning, but this was more than that. Hudson said he had been high, and there was no arguing that — but he failed to see how it was relevant to anything. Maybe if he'd been sloppy enough to show up at Hudson's house and vomit all over him, but he was fairly certain that hadn't been the case. He could always tell if he'd thrown up, the next morning. There was a smell that clung until one took a bath. He would have known if he'd made that much of an idiot of himself, and Hudson would have had a right to be annoyed by it. As it stood, he didn't see why Hudson would care one way or another whether he was high. It certainly didn't connect to the second point, at least in Don Juan's mind. Consent. What was that supposed to mean? As though they hadn't already been sleeping together for months... it wasn't the sort of thing that needed to be re-established , he didn't think. Not when he had shown up that evening with one express purpose in mind and not been remotely shy in communicating it.

He scoffed. The wrong emotion for the moment, probably, but he couldn't help it — even with Hudson's intensity Don Juan was having trouble conceiving of this as anything other than a weird and elaborate joke. "Yeah, I'm sure you had a hell of a time trying to work out what I wanted," he said, fully sarcastic. "How could you possibly have guessed."

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