Hudson had his hand in Don Juan's hair now; it was hard to believe this was the same hand that had tugged his head back by the roots of his hair not twenty minutes ago. He met Hudson's eyes, searching. There was no lie he could find in Hudson's expression. Not trying to chase him away — then what? This was really what he wanted? They'd slept together on and off for months; it had never been like this. Maybe something had changed in the time he'd been away, or maybe coming back had changed something. Maybe he didn't have the patience for pretending any more.

"Okay," he said. Okay, I believe you, not It's okay or I'm okay. He still felt unbalanced by the entire experience. Nothing Hudson had done had hurt him physically, and that was probably intentional — he was sure Hudson could have hurt him if he'd wanted to. But there were elements of it that Don Juan had never dealt with before, and that left him feeling... he didn't even know how to describe the feeling that had been growing in his gut. It was like — like everything was impersonal, like it didn't matter that it was him in the room as opposed to anyone else. Hudson didn't want him to take any agency in what they did, only wanted him to listen and do as he was told. Then he'd covered his eyes — it was the sort of thing one did with animals. Falconers hooding their hawks, huntsmen shuttering their horses. I'll let you know when you need to see again. And maybe that wasn't the way Hudson was thinking of it, but it felt dehumanizing all the same.

Don Juan had held Hudson's eyes for another moment, heat rising to his cheeks as he tried to think what to say. He didn't know why it was different now; he couldn't find the words to ask. Eventually he unwrapped his arms from Hudson's chest. "I'm going to go," he announced, face still deeply flushed.

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