kingdomsofrain | tfln open post

That's not fair.

About the bunny costume.

I made a cool five hundred off of that one. Maybe 'ridiculous' is the word I'm looking for, there.

We'll begin working out that interpretation when you arrive; an endeavor I avidly anticipate.

An endeavor liable to span— Oh, weeks. Months. Time untracked beyond its bounds? Time in which I mean to interpret every inch of you. 😌

And learn the measure of all your party tricks.

The drift of which I mean to convey to Mayor Mills. It will do her good - don't you think? - to know what happiness blooms within her town. To know that even in this sorry pocket of nowhere, joy may find its hold.

In spite of ill-advised, badly made plans. In spite of efforts to meddle that will not be forgotten. In spite of crimes against a young man whose heart burns truer than any our mayor has ever known.

[ ... ]

She's won't reach you again, Puppy.

I won't allow it.

A rabb

What were you doing in a

Oh no, no, I see.

An odd thought experiment, to envision that costume. You'll see the problem, though: I consider you more puppy than bunny, and find it impossible to imagine a cotton tail upon you.

Well. Puppy you may be, but I expect you made a better-than-passable rabbit. ;)

Are you happy?

I like that. I like going through my day thinking you're happy because of me.

[...]

Because you're with me. This 'thing'.

I don't think anyone's ever put me down as the cause of their joy. [...] Unless you're just going to say that to get under her skin.

Shit.

[...]

The obscenity itself isn't much of a party trick. ~~More of an add-on package.~~ I'm bringing honey.

You have my blessing to tell her I was willing to lick it off anything you put in my mouth.

No specifics necessary.

There's the trick. ;) Fun, right?

Question.

Not that I mind being considered your puppy.

It's pretty clear I don't mind that at all. 🐕

[...]

But why are you imagining any kind of tail on me? If you want something to tug on ~~reach around to the f~~ there's always a leash.

No; no leashes for you.

Never.

You are [ ... ] dearer to me than that.

And I believe we can both think of something else that might do with a tug. 😌

A ~~caress~~ ~~deft touch~~ stroke?

Both, I think.

A collar might be a different matter entirely. More freedom of movement, with a claim equally clear. [ ... ] If my Puppy weren't opposed.

As for the tail, you've caught me in a bind: I confess I hadn't considered the actuality of any tail, rabbit, puppy, or otherwise. And I think we both know that your assets are perfectly pleasing without any additions. ;)

Shall I visit the mayor scenting of honey?

I like this plan better and better. 😌

And I am happy, Jack. With or without honey, the thought of you sustains my day. I find myself grinning at odd moments; I find my eyes caught upon my fingers, where still your kisses burn. I feel the linger of your touch across me, and am at once utterly satisfied and in dire, dire need for more.

~~Tease tease tease TEASE TEASE~~

A tug and a stroke. What could that be?

[...]

My hair.

[...]

Your hair.

[...]

Your hand in both of mine.

[...]

My ego? No, you've stroked that pretty well.

I won't say I haven't been asked to wear a collar before.

People can ask.

People are often on the wrong end of disappointment.

[...]

You might not be.

[...]

I don't

The thing is

I'm scar

[...]

Ask me again in a week or two?

The thing is.

You've only known me a few days, in very specific circumstances. Maybe outside of those circumstances, something will come up. You talk about long-term ideas without considering how shitty I can be, or whether you'll still find something worthwhile in me when the novelty wears off.

Maybe I won't be so [...] dear to you.

~~Am I?~~

My longest relationship, either in days counted consecutively or non-consecutively, was one week.

A week isn't very long, generally, but for me and [...] men who are not so dear to me as present company, it's the best I've been able to do [...] get.

If you can make it past the seven-day mark with me, I'll wear any collar you can get your beautiful hands on.

Happily.

Assuming it's tasteful if it's not expressly for private use.

Jack. It’s no fault of yours that this town belongs to lapsing moralists, their imaginations constrained within white-picket banality.

None of them, Puppy, are worthy of what you are.

None of them have seen what you are, or else they never could have given you over.

This town is rotten with myopia.

Jack. I don’t believe there’s a circumstance in the world that could take my interest from you. (I don’t take to surface shine. I don’t pursue what lacks lasting potential.) And as for any potential or hypothetical ‘shittiness’ on your part— Don’t forget, Puppy, that I’ve seen some measure of the brat that you can be. I’ve sensed flashes of your fangs. And as it happens, I believe both rather suit you.

Or in any case, it suits me. I don’t trust a person who won’t let loose at least a little trouble, hm?

I speak all of this because I know my own mind, and my own habits. But if, Jack, I chase too far ahead of myself, if I chase too far ahead of you, know that I am a man possessed of infinite patience, even in regards to what I most would like.

Certainly, I can wait seven days, or fourteen days, or three times as many for the asking of that collar.

Between this day and then, I have plenty of ways to show you that you're mine.

~~Do I mistake you, or~~

At the risk of exposing some measure of ignorance, or of a failure in myself to catch hold of a joke—

It hadn’t occurred to me that you might [ … ] wear any such thing publicly.

I think I’d like that.

Would you care to

[ ... ]

I find I like the thought of it.

In seven days, or seventy.

[ There's a delay, followed by a link to a photo of a day collar. ]

For the sake of clarity, I meant this for public wear. Discrete, identifiable by anyone in the know, and not likely to chafe.

(Perfect for a brat.)

No, I'm not likely to wear a big studded dog collar while going about my everyday business.

[...]

Here's an interesting question to consider: assuming we make it past seven days (or however long your patience holds), and you manage to get a collar around my neck, what do I get?

Or rather, what will you wear, to show my claim? A collar doesn't seem appropriate at all.

[...]

But I like the thought of a show of [...] [...] commitment, maybe.

To your Puppy, I mean.

No, I mean 'to me'

But this is all just hypothetical. I'm

It's

You're getting carried away, and it's hard not to let myself get caught up in it

I'm

Edited 2021-12-22 03:34 (UTC)

It's all hypothetical. You don't have to answer.

Don't worry; I'm not asking for anything more than what you've given already. I'm happy, Desmond.

And I'm leaving now - sorry for the delay there. Ten minutes. :)

Ask whatever you like.

Ask always for more; Jack, you may always ask for more, and speak whatever wish possesses you. This is the right of my Puppy; the right of my brat.

Regarding the question at hand, it’s no less than fair play that I should wear a sign in kind.

And it is another proposition I find pleasing. (Shall I tell you? You spoke of what you'll get, of what I might display, and I knew a shock along my spine. Remarkable, the things you do to me.) My inexperience prevents certainty of suggestion, but do you think a ring? A bracelet? Cufflinks, perhaps.

We'll find something suitable, Puppy. I insist on it.

 When we make it past those seven days. 😌

Studs wouldn’t suit you in the least. You’re subtler than that, I think.

You’d look well in a silver chain. A permanence of moonlight caught upon you.

(Silver for me, as well, I think. Why should we not be forever joined in moonlight?)

I await your arrival - and your pleading eyes - eagerly.

And I tell you again: Never fear to ask anything of me. There is precious little I wouldn't give.

[ 1:31 p.m.]

[...]

So, how did it go? :)

Edited 2021-12-23 03:49 (UTC)

[ 1:40 p.m. ]

My Honey Pup.

Forgive my delay, won't you? I've only just arrived back at the shop.

And as it happens, I come bearing news. It won't surprise you to hear that Mayor Mills was— Hm. Let's say she wasn't particularly thrilled to see me.

I believe she expected a longer face. Less spring in my step? (Perhaps it was the lingering scent of honey that threw her.

Perhaps it was the revelation of where that honey came from— And why its scent lingered on my throat.)

Toothless threats were endeavored. Claims of foul play - an absurd feint, given the hole she dug herself, and into which she would gladly have tossed you and I alike - were fired.

But I'm pleased to report that I've been put into possession of a substantial sum of money. You may consider your business with the mayor closed. She had no choice but to accede to the contract.

Congratulations, Jack: You eliminated half the farm's debt in one deftly managed swoop.

You've done very well, my Puppy.

Do you know what words played out in my head, over and over, as soon as I set foot in that office?

'Low end porno.'

🙄

Well. That constituted one set of words.

I confess it was rather drowned out by the far more pleasing repetitions of 'I'm bringing honey,' and 'My Desmond.' 😌

It really was a pleasure doing business with you, Desmond. One of the most enjoyable experiences of my life, as a matter of fact.

Not that I'm done with you.

[...]

I am far, far from done with you. My Desmond.

:)

'Low end porno' for her, low budget horror for that office. I don't know who told her that enlarged swarms of dragonflies made for any kind of bipartisan-friendly artwork, but it looks like the kind of thing Hitchcock would reject.

The whole office is just distracting.

1:51.

[...]

1:52.

1:52:13.

I thought seeing you for lunch would help, but we've got four hours and change now, plus the memory of your hand. And your throat.

I'm not going to survive.

[...]

How long do you suppose the 'new romance' honeymoon period lasts?

1:56.

That's fortunate, Jack - my Jack - for I have only just begun with you. ;)

Nor are you so far from me, even in this period - four entire hours! (plus change!) - of absence. We are crowded by memories, are we not? Of touch rescinded too soon. (To be fair, there isn’t time enough in the world to touch you as I should like.) Of a stolen lunch spent in warming arms, time at once stretching endless and blinking past in mere moments.

Puppy, Puppy; in the shop, I see your image still. I turn, and I expect to meet your honeyed eyes. I blink, and mistake some shadow for a peripheral glance of you.

Here I stand, and dream on you.

My throat recalls your lips.

My hand traces the ghost-form of you, even in your absence.

My hands drifts along the desk that held us near.

You must, my Puppy, survive these hours ahead. For I demand your persistence, I require your persistence: I must replace these ghosts with the fact of you. (A truth in this newness of romance. A truth that I expect will accompany ~~romance~~ ~~our romance?~~ ~~this romance~~ our romance through its every stage.

New, established, and venerable; I expect our eagerness will shake us all the same.)

And I’m quite certain I owe you a kiss. Would you dare to expire, when still that hope awaits?

Four hours. A bit of loose change. And I will meet you with that kiss.

If only you can endure!

2/2

1/2

2/2

1/2

2/2

1/2

2/2

1/3

2/3

3/3

1/2

2/2

1/3

2/3

3/3

1/2

2/2

Later

1/2

2/3

3/3

1/?

2/?

3/3

1/2