Early February 1887 - Dean's place

A little over a week moping in the house was a little ridiculous, but it didn't change the truth of it. One of his more memorable birthdays and not for a good reason. Dean didn't often make mistakes, but he wasn't infallible either and he wasn't afraid to admit when he fucked up. He'd fucked up bigtime. He was normally so careful and controlled and it hadn't worked when it mattered.

Reading three books in a week was probably good for him, even if he'd never been this reclusive in his entire adulthood. Part of him didn't expect Dempsey to come back, but there was a small, hopeful part that kept him home on the sofa with another adventure novel and a glass of whiskey just in case. The urge would fade eventually, or so he kept telling himself anyway. This was worse than last time, at the root of it. Last time Dean hadn't quite known what had caused Dempsey to leave, but the attachment hadn't quite been so obvious either. He still didn't know what to do about that, didn't know how to reconcile what was different about Dempsey or what had changed;he was still stuck in the unknown and that might be the worst part.

Tonight he was lounging on the sofa in the sitting room in nothing but pajama pants, half of a glass of whiskey left, a book in the other hand, looking a little rumpled, hair tousled from running his fingers through it. He'd dismissed the staff early because they kept looking at him like he'd lost his mind and frankly, they deserved some paid time off. He was just self-sabotaging, nothing worse than that.

He eased himself down on the sofa, setting his book down as he held the rocks glass in one hand, dangling from his fingertips, wondering if he should just go upstairs for the night. Which if course was when the floo lit up green, causing him to sit up quickly, just barely managing not to slosh any booze from the glass. "I wondered if I would actually see you again," he admitted as he set the whiskey on the table, but didn't move any more than that.

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Don Juan Dempsey

  

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Don Juan had spent days trying to figure out what it was he wanted to say about the last night they'd spent together, and kept coming up blank. Except blank wasn't the right word for it — he was coming up with far too much, all of it contradictory. He refused to come back to Hudson's flat only to become an inarticulate mess. But he also knew the window wouldn't be open forever, whatever Hudson said; if he spent too long trying to work out what to say about it, he might as well be starting from scratch trying to kindle up any sort of sustained interaction. Which he did want — he'd approached Hudson on the third because he wanted that, because he missed the way things had been.

The way that Hudson had described how the evening would have gone, when Don Juan asked him, had a ring of intimacy to it. Not sex, although that was obviously a part of it — intimacy. It was shocking in part because Don Juan had come into the evening believing that Hudson didn't want that, and that was what had driven them apart the last time. Now he was being forced to wrestle with the idea that perhaps they both wanted it, but that for Hudson and Don Juan intimacy meant very different things. He wasn't sure that was a difference that could be reconciled, and he wasn't sure that the safer route — just sex, no strings attached — was open to them anymore. Not if internally they were both pulling in the direction of more.

He had still not worked out the right way to say any of this, and so eventually he had decided to simply say nothing about it at all. He flooed to Hudson's new house, dressed sharply and holding a bottle of liquor adorned with a large, floppy bow in his hand.

"I said I'd come," he replied, carefully sidestepping any further interrogation of how they'd left things last time. "Figured I owed you a better birthday gift."

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MJ made this <3

Dean fixed Dempsey with a knowing look. Just because he'd said so, didn't mean he would. There had been no guarantee either way. Dempsey had asked him if he'd intended to scare him away and it hadn't been what he'd wanted, but may have been the result anyway. It wouldn't be the first time someone had decided he wasn't what they wanted. Dean rarely took it personally, but this was already personal in ways he hadn't expected.

The discrepancy between their current states of dress had Dean chuckling. He appreciated the sentiment, was honestly a little surprised Dempsey had remembered last time had been his birthday after everything that had happened. "I think you're a little overdressed." The teasing felt a little foreign on his tongue as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, surveying Dempsey carefully. After last time he wasn't going to make any first moves.

For once, Dempsey was entirely at the helm.

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Don Juan raised his eyebrows and glanced down at his attire, as though he were just now noticing it (as though he had not changed twice when considering how to dress tonight; he ought to have known if things went well it wouldn't matter for long).

"So I am," he agreed. Unfortunately he was wearing far too many clothes to take them off with the excruciating slowness of a strip tease. Instead he settled for business like efficiency. He set the bottle on the end table by Hudson and crossed to a chair on the opposite end of the room. He took off his jacket before he sat down, then dispensed with his shoes and cravat and started unbuttoning his sleeves.

"New job," he said conversationally. "Probably not surprising in the least, is it? Given how the last one was going. This one's better. Salesman, technically, but it's really just talking to people. I can do that, you know? But so could anyone. It's not difficult in the slightest. But they're also not especially picky about early mornings."

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MJ made this <3

The nonchalance tone of Dempsey's musings had dean quirking an eyebrow. The loss of some layers put them on a little more even playing field, but Dean still hadn't moved. He wasn't absorbing most of what Dempsey was actually saying, too focused on on his body language. He seemed at ease in the room, but had chosen a chair across the room. The bottle in front of him was a good one, something Dean would like, which was strange still. If anyone was supposed to be groveling or making amends it was supposed to be him.

Dean laced his fingers together before him, waiting Dempsey out. "I hope it works out." Was all he could come up with. It felt like a superfluous train of thought, considering Dean had heavier things weighing on his mind at the moment and he was curious to know what Dempsey's thought process was here.

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He wasn't sure Hudson was listening to him. He didn't much mind; it was just something to say while he worked his layers off. "Mm. It will or it won't," he said brightly. He'd never cared much about any of his various occupations, which was probably a contributing factor to his never spending more than nine months at one to date. It was easy to not care when one had more interesting things to do (parties, women, sudden obsessive hobbies) and his parent's apparently infinite supply of patience, love, and money to fall back on.

He'd gotten as much of his clothing off as he could without taking off his pants. He slid one thumb along the strap of his suspenders, considering it, but left them on. His wand was in his trouser pocket; he wasn't sure he was ready to part with it yet. Not enough information yet about which direction this evening was going.

Time to get some of that information, then. Don Juan stood and crossed to Hudson, brushing his arms back off of his knees so that he could make room for himself. He straddled Hudson's lap in a fluid motion and offered a silky smile. "You ever thought about getting tattoos?"

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MJ made this <3

Dean was enjoying the show, that much was obvious, but he still couldn't make heads nor tails about whatever it was Dempsey was rambling on about. He leaned back easily, back against the sofa cushions, hands landing gently on Dempsey's thighs, but that was it. There was an itch in his palm to press down, to wander, but he knew better.

"No." He'd seen plenty in his life, but had never considered them for himself. "Nothing against them, I prefer to be a blank canvas." Fluid, whatever or whoever he wanted to be, as memorable or as forgetful as suited his purposes. He knew Dempsey didn't either, was almost as familiar with the body under his hands as his own. The conversation and questions seemed to be coming from far afield and it was giving him pause. "Was that really what you came here for tonight, to talk about your new job and tattoos?" Were they not going to talk about last week? Dean couldn't forget that look on Dempsey's face before he'd left last time and had been beating himself up about it all week and this was where they were today?

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Don Juan paused and glanced up at the ceiling, as though he needed to sort through his mental agenda. He moved his eyebrows once, twice; ticking items off the list, then looked back down at Hudson with a goofy grin. "Yep. That and the necking." He scooted in closer to Hudson's hips and leaned his head down towards the other man's neck, though didn't actually kiss him yet. "I admit I didn't think to prepare much in the way of conversation. I was expecting my tongue would be busy enough as it was."

He assumed the subtext was obvious: So shut up and kiss me. He wasn't entirely sure he was onboard for the evening — he wanted to think he was, and had been telling himself there wouldn't be trouble going straight back to how things had been half a year ago, but he'd had the chance to remove his pants before coming over here and hadn't taken it. He might have still needed a little convincing... but talking about it certainly wasn't going to help. He needed Hudson to touch him, to kiss him, to show him that everything was going to be alright.

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MJ made this <3

There was of course, an immediate physical reaction to Dempsey scooting closer in his lap that had Dean snapping his mouth shut. Dean's hands flexed as they slide more toward Dempsey's hips, but he still hadn't moved them of his own accord. It would be real easy to just give in, to let Dempsey have what he wanted and Dean was seriously considering it. Would they even get anywhere if they talked about it? Would he just leave again? Dean wasn't so sure he could handle that.

Still, he was not the kind to just brush something that important under the rug. He'd tried that once, then the distance had continued until he was sure he'd sort of imagined the whole thing and had talked himself out of it. Emotions were not his strong suit, but they were almost impossible to ignore. It wouldn't feel this important if there wasn't more to it. "Are we going to talk about last week before or after?" Dean decided the order of events was probably not quite so open; he wasn't sure exactly how to handle Dempsey at the moment and the indecision was not something he was used to, or wanted to continue.

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Don Juan sighed, disappointed and not taking great pains to hide it. He had obviously been hoping not to talk about it at all, but that wasn't one of the options that Hudson had presented. Just before or after. This sort of a conversation seemed like a mood-killer either way, but... well. He still hadn't taken his pants off. It felt like the sort of conversation he didn't want to have while naked. It was the sort of conversation he might end up having to leave during, and he'd already had an experience once this month killing the rest of the evening and then having to loiter awkwardly while he dressed. Better be before, then.

"Kiss me first," he asked, rocking back so that there was enough space between them for Hudson to do so — however he liked. "Then we can."

Last week Hudson had said that whole thing was just a small part of him, and that it didn't have to be a part of this — Don Juan needed to see. He was gratified when Hudson didn't argue — and moreso when the kiss he received was tender, gentle. Hudson pulled back and Don Juan took a breath, collecting himself.

"You said we could go back to how it used to be," he ventured — though now it was difficult to remember if that was exactly what Hudson had said after all. "And I'm — I mean, I'm sorry, or whatever. For not — you know." His cheeks were starting to heat up. He hated this, but hopefully if he managed to say it he'd only have to say it once, and then he could go right back to never thinking about it again. "But if you're — I mean if you still want to — do what we used to. I want to do that." Terribly articulate, wasn't he? He might as well lean into it. He offered Hudson a playfully overblown grimace, as if to convey don't you find me entirely adorable when I'm tongue-tied? "...With you."

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MJ made this <3

Dean obliged, thinking there wasn't any harm in that. Things couldn't be that bad if Dempsey was still interested, right? Maybe Dean hadn't managed to make himself out to be this horrible monster if Dempsey was here, in his lap, warm and willing.

The kiss was soft and slow, not entirely like what they'd shared in the past, but more the right speed at the moment, if Dean had to define it. His hands rested gently on Dempsey's waist, still unsure of what the right thing to do was. Right now he felt like everything, including Dempsey, was too fragile, even for what used to be their normal. He was going to keep letting Dempsey call the shots for as long as seemed necessary.

When he pulled back, he stayed still, trying to adjust his expectations for whatever it was Dempsey had to say. It felt... almost incomplete, what he was saying, but Dean had said they could get back to how things had been. That was not an issue. He'd always been good at being a chameleon, of being what somebody wanted, but for some reason he kept fucking it up here. "Alright, on one condition." Dean had to make the one thing perfectly clear otherwise they'd just go around in circles. "You can't show up here, too far gone under the influence of anything, and expect me to do anything but tuck you into bed to sleep it off." Whatever it was that Dempsey got up to in his free time was obviously none of Dean's business, but Dean couldn't be responsible for anything after that either.

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Don Juan was watching Hudson's reaction for any sign of disappointment. When he saw none, he almost didn't believe it. Had that actually... gone well? Or as well as it could have gone, given that he still wasn't entirely sure of either what he'd wanted to say or what he'd actually conveyed in his scattered phrases? One condition gave him pause, but then what Hudson said seemed to be entirely unrelated. Now that they'd established they weren't doing that, what did it matter whether or not he was sober? — but at the moment his faith in Hudson's restraint was far too fragile to want to press the issue, anyway. He likely wasn't going to even be drinking over here for a while, anyways, much less showing up already halfway gone.

"You'll tuck me in?" he echoed, charmed by the mental image in spite of everything else. "How delightfully domestic. But," he leaned forward again and placed one hand on the back of Hudson's neck. "I'm not under the influence of anything presently."

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MJ made this <3

It wasn't exactly the agreement Dean was looking for, but he'd set the boundary and now all he could do was hope Dempsey respected it. A more genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips at the thought of anything domestic. Frankly the thought terrified him; any sense of traditional domesticity, but that would never apply here anyway. Marriage, a family, all of that seemed like a long way off, if ever a thing Dean decided he wanted to do, so it wasn't something he needed to think about now.

"Mmm," Dean agreed, both to the tucking-in and the current sobriety. Both far more pleasant than the other option. Dean tightened his grip, tugging Dempsey closer again. He wanted a more in depth conversation about the other night, but maybe that was his own insecurities at play. He didn't want Dempsey to think of him like some out of control prick who didn't understand limits. It also felt like the time had passed tonight; they had a tentative, tenuous agreement on what they wanted and it was going to have to be good enough if they wanted to get back to how things were.

Because of that, Dean thought tonight might be a good time to take the night slowly, ease back into their before. It was a little out of his comfort zone, but not out of his realm of capability. Dean skimmed his hands up Dempsey's sides, using the back of his fingers; no open palms, no pressure, just light skin to skin to start off. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss right below Dempsey's jaw, working his way down as his hands worked their way up. He was testing the waters, both for himself and to see Dempsey's reaction to he could gauge where to go next.

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As things started to move Don Juan still had the nagging feeling that maybe the conversation hadn't gone as splendidly as he'd gathered. He'd been so expecting that Hudson would be disappointed, or maybe even derisive of Don Juan's inability to keep up; not having seen either of these, he still worried they'd been there and he'd overlooked them, or failed to uncover them. A side effect of not having prepared for this conversation properly; he hadn't known what he was going to say, and hadn't known what to look for. And Hudson was disappointed in him, he could sense. It took him a while to pinpoint what it was that lead to the conclusion, and finally realized: the way Hudson touched him was so slow.

He was doing it on purpose, Don Juan realized. Last week Don Juan had asked if Hudson was trying to scare him away; now he was deliberately trying not to.

I'm not going to break, he considered saying, but — maybe that was the sort of thing Hudson would enjoy, if they were going about things the other way. Maybe he would relish pushing Don Juan up until he broke. Maybe that was what their relationship before had always been building up to — pushing within reason at first, but then growing a tolerance towards more. Maybe now that they'd removed the destination, Hudson had defaulted back to... this.

So Don Juan didn't say anything; he didn't know what to say, or what to ask. Instead he pushed farther into Hudson's lap and snuck his tongue a little deeper into Hudson's mouth, to see if he would respond in kind.

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MJ made this <3

Things felt like they were sliding back into something reminiscent of when this was easier and Dean adapted easily, meeting the change in intensity with the same amount of enthusiasm. He had full control of himself, even if the feeling of Dempsey sliding closer still undid him a little. That hadn't changed at least, no matter what else had happened.

He rolled his hips against Dempsey's, an instinctual reaction if nothing else. Dean was trying to respond in turn, keeping up with whatever it was Dempsey wanted out of the night. He changed his grip, hands pulling down, increasing the pressure between them. Dean's goal was always the same; meet his partner's needs, whatever they may be. His own satisfaction came from getting other people off. He was trying not to get too caught up in his own head, because that certainly wasn't what they needed tonight. Finding the balance was the important part and he hoped if he overstepped again somehow, accidentally, that Dempsey would call him on it. He had always been perfectly capable of keeping the two parts of himself separate though.

His hands drifted upward again coming to rest between Dempsey's collarbone and jaw, no pressure, hopefully to show the contrast, as he plunged into the kiss with a little more fervor. He had an idea where he wanted to take the night, but it would remain to see if they got there.

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Don Juan sighed into Hudson and did his best to melt into the other man's chest. This only brought into stark relief that he was still overdressed for the occasion, though; he'd unbuttoned his shirt but had left it on so as not to have to obviously skirt removing his suspenders. Now he peeled himself away from Hudson long enough to shrug both off, then shimmy out of his pants. He had been planning on crawling right back into Hudson's lap, but now that he was up he caught sight of the bulge in the other man's pajamas and had a different idea.

Hudson had more often been the one on his knees, before, but that hardly meant Don Juan lacked experience in that area, or that he didn't know what Hudson liked. Don Juan shot him a wicked grin as he reached for the waist of Hudson's pajama pants and lowered himself to the floor between Hudson's knees.

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MJ made this <3