Fuck me, Don Juan thought as Hudson pressed him up against the wall. Not a request but a lamentation. He wasn't going to muster up the wherewithal to pull back when Hudson had his hands on Don Juan's thighs, or when he'd started rolling his hips like that. Kissing men was always different than seducing women; there was an energy of pursuit on both sides, rather than one yielding to another. But even within this, no one kissed him like Dean Hudson did. There was such a hunger in him; enough heat to start a fire. God, but how he'd missed this when they'd ended things.

Hudson did the thing with his hips again and Don Juan whimpered pleadingly into his mouth. He tucked his leg around Dean's waist to improve the angle between their hips. He slid his hands to Hudson's shoulders, pressed his back against the wall, and moved his other leg off the ground to mirror the first.

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