May 3rd, 1895 - Benoît Family Cottage, outside Paris

He'd stewed for over a week, sulking. It wasn't like him, but after thinking he'd royally screwing everything up, only to find out it was bigger than that, well, he'd been indignant at the rejection.

It turned out Don Juan was probably right, a little space to think had been good for him. It had taken him far too long to realize, but he'd been purposefully stubborn about the whole thing. With that time to think, he had several bottles of whiskey, stripped down all of his hesitations and his thoughts and tried to parse through whatever it was he was hung up on. He supposed he hadn't learned anything knew in their last conversation, aside from the fact that December had been worse than he'd originally thought. Still, he'd always known that their entire relationship depended on Don Juan's sobriety.

And he was alright with that, it turned out.

They were here for a good time, not a long time, and he was going to stick to that. Dean was going to have to be satisfied by whatever time he got. It wasn't ideal, but it was their reality. Maybe with time, if it was on their side, things would even out, but until then, he was going to make the most of it.

Mrs. Rutherford had sent him with a few days worth of provisions, but Dean had also come to town early. He'd stocked up on good wine and chocolate and everything else Paris had to offer. He still felt like he owed a better apology for the night of the potion and well, he wanted to make it clear that he wasn't going anywhere. Don Juan's ready agreement helped ease the last of his worries, so he'd run around trying to get everything set up. He would have to work the weekdays, but they had tonight, and all day tomorrow and the evenings to do whatever they wanted. Last time they'd been here felt like a lifetime ago, so Dean was eager to catch the feeling and hold onto it. He'd been given clear instructions on how to heat everything up and he had no idea what she even thought of his request (he didn't often ask for her help when leaving the country) but Dean rather thought if they never even got to the food, they'd be alright.

He was setting out snacks and had poured wine, was lighting candles, when the floo on the cottage lit up. Was it a little much? Yes, absolutely. Did he think they needed it? Also, yes, unequivocally. "Hi," he greeted with a softer sort of smile.

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Don Juan Dempsey

  

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He would have preferred to have come over to Dean's the night before, for dinner — or even to have dashed over immediately on receiving the first letter, suitcase be damned — but even to Don Juan, renowned for his devil-may-care approach to most matters, leaving the country without a wand felt like a colossally stupid idea. He had been getting by without one since the night of the house party where the unfortunate woman in the upstairs bedroom had nearly overdosed. His wand had been left behind when he fled the place, along with most of his clothing. He hadn't had the fortitude to go back the next morning, when he wasn't entirely sure what had happened in the rest of the night or whether anyone had yet noticed his absence. He'd slept the better part of a day, and then the longer it had been the more conspicuous it felt to show up to reclaim his things — not to mention the growing knot of anxiety in his stomach as each day passed without word from Hudson. He didn't actually need a wand much in his day to day life; he primarily traveled by floo, and relied on servants to do most menial things. The biggest inconvenience had been the loss of accio — he'd had to actually look for things in his room this week — and that he'd relied on his Muggle lighter for his cigarettes. But he couldn't go to Paris without a wand, so he had to drag himself back, more than a week after the fact, looking for it. Writing to arrange a time and meeting up to get it and then filling the obligatory hour or two with small talk he didn't want to make had claimed his Friday, when he ought to have been having dinner with Dean — but now that was done and he was here, in Paris.

He couldn't even see the cottage when he arrived; as soon as his eyes lit on Dean they could travel nowhere else. Hi, he said. Hudson looked sheepish. Don Juan could tell he didn't — he was smiling so wide it hurt.

"Kiss me," he begged, already crossing the room to him, but he didn't wait for Hudson to take the cue before he did himself. He put both hands on Dean's cheeks and practically threw himself at Dean's mouth.

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MJ made this <3

Dean barely had time to set down what was in his hands before they were full of Don Juan. That had to be a good sign. Maybe? At least for their relationship, judging by the grin Dean had caught sight of right before being crashed into.

He softened into it easily, meeting the fervor with his own touch of desperation. They didn't often go so long apart these days and it had been somewhat of an emotional upheaval when they'd last left one another, so Dean could understand the underlying sense of urgency. There had been a worry that he had screwed things up too much or that maybe they realized they were playing with fire, but right now he was too warm from it to care. Dean had made his decision and he was sticking to it.

Seeking more contact, Dean slid his hands from where they'd landed on Don Juan's hips, up under the jacket, pulling at his shirt. Once he found skin, Dean pressed his fingers in, pulling Don Juan closer, relishing in the relief at being here again. There was no reason to let go now and though he was in no rush, he wasn't going to argue this point either.

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Ten days of no word from Dean had given Don Juan the growing supposition that the answer he was looking for would never come at all, and that he would have to accept the implied answer of no, not anymore. He had been more listless with each passing day. What was the point of being sober if he couldn't keep this? Why bother? Now, with Dean's hands on the skin below his shirt, it was as though all the mental and emotional energy he hadn't bothered to expend in the past week was bouncing around in his head all at once. It was good that they were kissing, because if his mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied he would doubtless have said something phenomenally stupid. Let's move in together. Let's take a crazy holiday somewhere far away. Pack me in your suitcase any time you travel for work.

He pulled his hands off of Dean long enough to undo his shirt buttons, all the while leaning in to every point of contact.

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MJ made this <3

All of his carefully laid preparations had disintegrated slowly in the time after Don Juan's arrival. Clothes were scattered from the fireplace to the little back bedroom, the wine was getting far too much ample time to breathe and Dean didn't particularly care very much. He hadn't really expected how this was going to go, though he had his hopes, they'd been far too impatient from the time apart to give waiting any sort of chance.

Even now, sprawled together on the bed, tangled up in the afterglow, he was hesitant to bring up anything that would ruin the mood. Dean knew they had to talk about it, though he hoped his decision was clear now, he didn't want there to be any misinterpretation. "I think I could stay right here forever," he sighed as he traced lazy circles with his fingertips on Don Juan's shoulder. Their last conversation had been weighing on his mind a little too heavily and it had taken a couple bottles of whiskey and a good long look in the metaphorical mirror to sort out his feelings on the matter, despite what his initial reaction had been. Dean wanted to be realistic about this, but the romantic in him didn't want to acknowledge what felt like the inevitable. Somehow he'd managed to get himself to land somewhere in the middle and the plan was to hope for the best.

"I'm glad you came." He added after a moment.

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Of course he'd come; he'd told Dean during their last conversation that he would, as soon as Dean asked, and he had meant that. Before Don Juan could say as much in response, though, it occurred to him that maybe Dean didn't mean it so seriously; maybe he meant glad you came to Paris instead of glad you came back. Presumably some people didn't have the kind of lifestyle where they could drop everything and leave the country for a week with nothing more than a day's notice. So maybe this wasn't the start of a capital-c Conversation, and if Dean hadn't intended it that way Don Juan didn't want to ruin the afterglow by turning it into one.

"Me, too," he said instead. He nestled in against Dean's chest, and nevermind that both of them were slick with sweat by this point. "Ruined your dinner plans, though, didn't I?"

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MJ made this <3

Dean chuckled. "Thoroughly, but it's easily fixed." There was nothing stopping them from picking up where he'd left off. He doubted there would be anything much in the way of formal meals, more like pick and choose their way through what he'd brought when they needed it. There was no itinerary to the weekend, his only obligation was work during the weekdays, but even then, they weren't the same long ministry days he put in at home. Here, and most places he traveled, life was a little slower, a little easier. Maybe they ought to do this more often, get away from the real world for a couple of days and leave everything behind.

It was that thought process that kept Dean from circling back to the conversation they should have. He was getting hungry, but it was a tough battle between that and the contentment of the moment. One hunger had been satiated, now he should probably eat something. Still, he didn't quite feel ready to move yet. "Are you hungry?"

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"No," Don Juan answered. He probably ought to be, given how long it had been since his last meal, and he probably would be in another twenty minutes, but for the moment food was the farthest thing from his mind. He was more chagrined about having ruined the romance aspect of it than the food. He'd seen the lit candles and the wine, though they hadn't slowed him and Dean on their way to the bedroom. It was a significant gesture given how long they'd gone without talking before this. Dean had always been something of a romantic, and Don Juan never tired of being on the receiving end of romance. He wasn't feeling hungry right now, but he might have been enticed back to the dining room to sit and stare into Dean's eyes for the length of a dinner while devoting just enough attention to his wine to ensure he didn't spill it.

"Bubble bath?" he mused, having taken the fact that Dean asked if Don Juan was hungry as a sign that he probably wasn't, and was open to suggestion for the rest of the evening. "Mm... massage? Erotic massage?"

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MJ made this <3

"Whatever you want," Dean shrugged. He could wait a little while to eat. There hadn't really been much of an itinerary, he was content to go with the flow of whatever they wanted to do. Mostly he just wanted the opportunity to reconnect and get back on the same page. Dean didn't mind putting in the effort to make sure they were back on solid footing after a conversation like they'd had last time. It was hard not to recognize the pattern that they sometimes slid into, but he'd learned to accept that was the ebb and flow of things.

"I wasn't sure what tonight was going to look like," he admitted quietly, chancing a peek at Don Juan out of the corner of his eye. "So didn't have anything really set." Sure, he'd planned for a couple different outcomes, but still had been left in the limbo of wondering what it was that would actually happen. He wasn't disappointed, not in the slightest, but he'd been trying to reign in the romanticism and be more realistic.

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The words themselves were easy, but Don Juan caught a hint of something beneath them. Of course Dean hadn't known what to expect, because Don Juan had told him two weeks ago that he was utterly unreliable, that aspects of his life were wildly outside of anyone's control. Don Juan would have loved to smoothed those anxieties away, but that would have been disingenuous. He'd told Dean in the first place because Dean deserved to know. No use trying to hide it away again now that he'd dug the ugly truth up and showed it to the light.

"I want whatever you want," he insisted. A pittance; he couldn't offer Dean any meaningful promises about the future but he could give him his entirety while they were here in the present moment. He shuffled his body up more tightly against Dean's as if for emphasis.

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MJ made this <3

Sighing softly, Dean hadn't meant it like that. He knew they were sort of skirting around whatever it was they should talk about, but kept avoiding. He wasn't helping and he knew it, but was still struggling to pop their little bubble for the moment. This nice little hazy "I've got what I want," he promised, knowing it was a loaded statement, but felt compelled to say it anyway. Dean always wanted to be the kind of person who could say what he was feeling, was terrible at hiding his feelings anyway, but he thought it especially prudent tonight. Whatever this was going to be, he was good with it and he wanted to make sure Don Juan knew that.

Dean tightened his hold on Don Juan gently as he scooted closer. He wasn't sure how best to break the tension without diving into what they weren't talking about. He thought about cracking a joke about being hungry, hoping to lighten it just a little bit, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. The silence stretched on for a couple of minutes while he wrestled with his thoughts. If they could just get it all out in the open then they could relax, maybe take the bubble bath and see where the rest of the night took them. "Tell me what you're thinking," he came out with finally, sidestepping being more direct. He'd base whatever came next on Don Juan's reply.

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It was the romantic response, and that was why Dean said it. He was forever saying the sweetest things and Don Juan loved him for it, but there was a certain irony in having been raised by poets and somehow ending up the practical, cynical one in moments like these. Dean uncorked wine and lit candles and Don Juan could let himself be swept away by it, but only for a time. Coming up for air on the other side, Dean was insisting he had everything he wanted while Don Juan was remembering the look on Dean's face when he'd mentioned learning Dutch for Kaatjie, or his expression when he'd walked out the first time. There was a certain kind of clutter that only came from Hudson having spent hours at home, agitated, waiting for Don Juan to show or not to; Don Juan had seen it often enough to recognize it immediately and he remembered it now. He was entirely too aware of how much Dean lost by being with him, and of how little he gained.

A better person would have ended things two weeks ago; a better person wouldn't have tried to come back in January in the first place. But Don Juan was selfish, and so here he was — in Paris, ruining the man who loved him a little more every minute, because he couldn't bear the thought of letting go.

Hudson wanted to know what he was thinking. Don Juan took a breath and traced the outlines of Hudson's tattoo with his eyes. Did it make anything better that Don Juan could not fathom living past thirty-five, or did that only make it worse? Dean would in all probability have a very long life after his; maybe he could make something of it, if he didn't spend too much of it haunted by shadows of the past.

If I knew how to be better for you, I would be, he was thinking. Don Juan knew better than to say it. This kind of self-deprecating talk always forced Hudson into the position of comforting him, reassuring him, telling him he was enough, which never made him feel any better because they both knew it was a lie.

"Maybe I am hungry," he answered eventually.

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   Dean Hudson

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MJ made this <3

It was an answer that at least gave Dean a direction. Clearly neither one of them could figure out how to broach the subject, but it wasn't their last opportunity. It would come up eventually and they could talk about it then. Eventually Dean might have to force the issue, but it didn't have to be tonight. He had made up his mind and was sticking to his conviction, that was all that mattered in his head; he was here for as long as Don Juan wanted him to be.

"I might have brought too much food," Dean took the lead and followed the change of subject. "But there's plenty and there's chardonnay in the other room." He could go for a glass of wine at the very least, even if his appetite might have fallen a little with the burgeoning tension. They could enjoy the night and the rest of the weekend and see where it left them. Dean was determined to do that much at least.

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