He wants me, Don Juan thought with a degree of decadence as Hudson pulled his head back. Of course he had gambled on that being the case from the very beginning of their conversation tonight, and there had been signs of it before now — but after not having even spoken to him in months it was electrifying to feel the desire so plainly, made manifest in the pressure of Hudson's mouth and fingers. Don Juan leaned in to every kiss, even when they hurt. He let his skin become putty in Hudson's hands, entirely malleable.

Then Hudson peeled back and Don Juan fell back onto his own feet, not entirely pleased to have lost the contact. But there were worse reasons for Hudson to have stepped back. He could have been launching into their argument again. The command to strip was far preferable to that.

Don Juan rolled his head back so that he could fix Hudson with another stare. His expression hadn't changed: intense, daring, defiant. As if the sex were just the next phase of the argument they were still having, and Don Juan was determined to win it. He slipped his coat off and let it crumple carelessly on the floor. He undid the cuffs of his shirtsleeves, then the buttons; he took the vest and shirt off in the same movement, deliberate and charged. He took a step towards Hudson as he started on the waist of his trousers, then another. Eventually he stopped, standing as close as he could to Hudson and his pants held up with nothing more than his hands. He glanced to Hudson's hands, then his mouth, then back to his eyes, expression still serious. Your move.

---