"Well, I didn't know you had plans," he huffed, as though this would have changed anything. He still would have had to go tonight, and he likely still would have gotten distracted the same way. And partly he still felt this was Hudson's fault; if he'd wanted him to be early because he was canceling other plans, why hadn't he said anything about it? If he'd asked for a specific time and Don Juan had agreed to it and he was showing up hours late maybe he would have had a credible claim to the anger, but none of that had happened.

Hudson was peeling off layers, though, and even in spite of his irritation Don Juan felt a rush of longing. It was fine, really, whatever — he'd been late and Hudson had gone out but they were both here now, so what was the problem? This was one of the very rare occasions in which they both had transgressions to be swept under the rug; falling into bed to avoid them should have been that much easier.

"Anyway," he said lamely; the transition between argument and physicality was always awkward, no matter how many times they rehearsed it. "Lucky I caught you then?"

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