Hudson replied too easily, again like it was nothing. Don Juan wondered if Hudson knew how serious he was. This was more than just enjoying each other's company, or finding each other witty and clever. There was legitimately no one else Don Juan ever wanted to be around, if he had the option to be around Hudson instead. Everyone felt tedious by comparison. His whole life had become chasing highs and killing time until their next night together.

He followed Hudson to the bedroom, feet clumsy. His eyes watched Hudson's every move as he undressed, and longing crept out across him from a fire stoked deep inside his belly. He curled his arms around himself while he waited on the bed to curb the impulse to reach for him. By now he knew quite well that there were lines around this sort of thing — if he was high and reached a step too far, Hudson's mood could sour in an instant. He also knew that he'd never really made sense of where those lines were, and was a bad judge of Hudson's baseline when he was high. So he waited for Hudson to touch him, and then curled himself around Hudson in response, burrowing in close beside him. He was quite content there — blissful, one could say — and was very nearly back to sleep when Hudson spoke again.

He frowned faintly. "I don't usually throw up," he said, tone apologetic. "Apparition, I guess."

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