God, was there any bottom to the well of feeling inside Dean Hudson? Don Juan had just thrown him something sharp, something intended to sting, and he had absorbed it like it was nothing. He was the fucking sun: immense, constant, blinding, incomprehensible. Don Juan looked at him for a moment, then nodded as his shoulders drooped; resigned, like a child whose tantrum hadn't worked out as anticipated.
I'm never going to be good enough for him, he thought despairingly — but he had already ruined him forever regardless, so maybe what did it matter? Hudson had even told him that before, but Don Juan had brushed the remark off as idle romanticism. He ought to have known better. Perhaps Hudson was a romantic, but he wasn't an idle one.
"Take me to bed," he suggested softly, suddenly exhausted by the idea of doing anything except curling into Hudson's chest.
I'm never going to be good enough for him, he thought despairingly — but he had already ruined him forever regardless, so maybe what did it matter? Hudson had even told him that before, but Don Juan had brushed the remark off as idle romanticism. He ought to have known better. Perhaps Hudson was a romantic, but he wasn't an idle one.
"Take me to bed," he suggested softly, suddenly exhausted by the idea of doing anything except curling into Hudson's chest.
![[Image: 0hYxCaj.png]](https://i.imgur.com/0hYxCaj.png)
MJ made this <3