Don Juan still had the feeling in the pit of his stomach as Hudson turned him around, but it was hard to hang on to when the other man turned to touching him. By the time Hudson sank to the floor Don Juan was weak in the knees and his mouth had gone dry. The directive was a nonsensical one, but Don Juan was starting to realize that was half the point. He wasn't meant to be considering the requests and deciding whether they were reasonable to follow or not; the only thing that was meant to matter was that Hudson had demanded it, and Hudson was the one calling the shots.

"Alright," he agreed — he would have agreed to anything, he thought, with Hudson on his knees looking at him like that. "I will." He had an impulse to tousle Hudson's hair, something that he'd done dozens of times before, but stopped himself, cautious of ending up pressed up against the door again.

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