kingdomsofrain | tfln open post

[...]

Thank you, Desmond.

[...]

For understanding.

[...]

For being you.

[...]

For being here, and home.

Until Tuesday. They will remain safe, untouched, together.

While I am at your side, and in your care.

[ ... ]

Thank you, Puppy.

That you should offer a heart's simulacrum to accompany my own, that you've joined me in this act and not left my heart to dangle in a vulnerable solitude—

What am I to do with you. How am I so lucky?

You've a candor, a clear-speaking veracity that few can match, and fewer still would dare. It does you credit.

You are a remarkable man. And my fortune is in knowing you— Or beginning to know you, with the chance of more to come.

I find that you get what you want out of people if you're clear with them. And with yourself.

What I want is you, and for that to last. If we can keep having what we did last night (and this morning) (and at lunch), I think all those forevers you keep dropping might be attainable.

Just have to make it past that one week mark.

[...]

You are in my care. I care for you; the rest is only natural.

[...]

Well. And I like seeing you happy.

There are times no amount of clarity will induce a person toward reason or accordance. I find a judicious bit of obfuscation can serve toward success—

But I am speaking, of course, of business.

Not of you. Not of anything to do with you.

You, Puppy, are all the inducement I need toward explicit honesty, and all the proof of both its issue and its worth. I have nothing for you that breaches beyond bounds of truth. I have no word that speaks apart from my soul, or from its wanting.

And you make me tremendously happy.

What I knew of happiness - or of its more startling coruscant kindred, joy - has come wholly in the knowledge of you— And in what you've called from me. I've known amusement, yes, and gratification. I've known wild vindication like a flash of teeth. But the warmth you give to me - this overwhelming lightness in my chest, my throat - is entirely new, a form of the divine.

For the record, I didn't say anything about reason or accordance. Just that you get what you want if you're clear with people.

You can be just as clear about consequences as you can about desires. 'If you don't park your gods-damned truck elsewhere, I will beat you within an inch of your life with a blunt object' would have been tremendously effective with someone else.

Possibly with me, had I wanted to avoid a conflict.

I might have been trying to antagonize you. I got the little love letters you kept leaving on my windshield.

[...]

It was a bad day u

I

Things

It wasn't about you. The antagonizing.

It was a bad day in a very - very - long string of bad days until that moment, to tell the truth. I think the universe might have been apologizing to me by putting me in your path.

[...]

I told you last night that you're my fortune; I was being clear and straightforward then, too.

I'm very glad I met you. I'd forgotten [...] how beautiful the world could be.

Or the people in it.

You.

Make no mistake, there: you are breathtaking.

What were we talking about? I got sidetracked with romantic daydreaming.

Mm. Veracity and clarity.

I generally don't lie. I don't have any compunctions about doing it, but I rarely see the point.

Funny how honesty gets you in far more trouble than a judicious bit of obfuscation, though.

My Puppy? Antagonistic? Never!

You and your fangs; how I do adore you. 😌

You and your fangs, your daydreams, your candor. The perfect Puppy package, indeed!

Regarding honesty, I doubt I need to tell you that this town thrives on soft-told lies and shrouded truths. Shine stark light upon their actions, and their sensibilities wither, shriek. Spew denial and spit rancor until the light is set aside.

It's a tool that has its place, certainly. And it's a quality these empty-addled clods could stand to cultivate. Though I doubt they'd wield or wear it half so well as you.

Also. You make a fair point: I find a clarity of threat efficacious in most instances.

You were a stubborn case. Flouting my notes, persistent in audacity. Standing your ground. Not an eye batted; not a nerve stammered. Your hand claiming hold of my cane.

Your grasp - your unceasing eyes - claiming hold of my cognition.

You were on my mind, Puppy, before you left your number.

My restless dreams the night before were haunted in amber.

[ … ]

I regret, my Puppy, that your day and days were so badly beset.

And I’ll count it as my honor to make amends for all the wretchedness they gave you. To keep the buzzards of malfortune forever from your door.

Oh, and! A supposition: Perhaps next time your truck plants itself before my shop, you’ll find a note of a new tone tucked against the windshield. 😌

Edited 2021-12-30 04:37 (UTC)

You should tell me all about your dreams when we get together tonight. I’m very interested in hearing what got you so restless, but kept you from texting me for seven hours.

Another point of interest:

Gave you a little thrill for lunch. Dropped a lot of money in your lap. Left you a heart to reflect on for a week. Promised to discuss wearing a collar for you.

If I could get you going with a little obscenity like that stunt with your cane, how are you holding up now?

Your adored and adoring Puppy is holding up well enough, but his boyfriend is a goddamned tease.

And also.

I know how lucky I am to have you, tease or not. I’d cherish any note you left on my windshield.

You are a complicated man. All the things people see.

A lot of bite, a lot smooth.

A lot of dork.

But you’re kind of a sweetheart, too, aren’t you?

Privately. Directed at me in exclusivity, probably.

Yeah. I adore you, too, Desmond. :)

~~Oh, Puppy. If you knew the first thing about my heart~~

The quality of my heart has been described at various turns as ‘dark,’ ‘cold,’ ‘hollow.’ ‘Rotten.’ ~~’Craven.’~~ ‘Vindictive.’ I won’t deny the breath of truth in that last depiction. I won’t pretend that any fly far off the mark. What I’ve known of myself has [ … ] largely been devoid of tenderness.

What, then, am I to do, when you claim ‘sweet,’ and I feel not a twinge of doubt?

What am I to do, when you say ‘sweet,’ and I feel its truth within myself?

It’s an effect of you, my Puppy. A long-dormant thing, this [ … ] tenderness, this truth I’ve been without inclination toward expression; a quality now crying to be known and to speak itself. It whispers, in texts, in little truck-tucked love notes.

It’s what sustains me in my dizziness; the world careens upon the thought of you, and it is sweetness that melts me pliant, turning brittleness to tensility. If I am buffeted each moment by this world turned new - buffeted wonderfully; this storm (composed of thrills, of a heart, of every glimpse from honeyed eyes) is warming and welcome - still I find my feet again, careen on every thought of you and find my anchor in your promise.

My adored, my adoring porvocateur: You may consider the dork and the sweetheart in me entirely your own, given life through your calling.

Puppy, Puppy; it was in part the ardor of my dreams that both kept my mind fixed on your number, and kept my wariness alert. No one had sparked my interest as you did, and do. And I am [ ... ] sensitive regarding any potential of my own exposed weakness.

It isn't a weakness in the least; I know that now. What have you been if not a cause for ardent strength?

I regret I didn't let that strength speak sooner. It would have been better, more to you deserving, to have messaged you just as soon as I discovered your note. I would rather I hadn't left you waiting. What's done is done, but just think what we might have shared across the hours of that day. (The positive side: That we have all the time we like now; that we may chase our hearts' content in sharing.)

I doubted my fortune; I doubted my feeling, and its reciprocation.

Never again, my brave, my beautiful Puppy. Never again will I doubt my feelings, or your own.

[...]

[...]

Damn it.

Sweet as you are, and as much as I want to carry on texting you, making up for all those missed hours of sharing, my 3:30 is here half an hour early. I'd ignore them, but they'll just stand around the stables and watch me. ~~Entitled pricks~~

I'm going to go find some busywork while I make them wait.

Don't worry. It'll leave me with a substantial buildup of longing. (That was the accomplishment of seven hours of waiting, as well: desperate desire for you.)

Bring your cold, dark, vindictive, rotten heart with you tonight. Bring all your ardor and adoration. I'll take all of it, because it all composes you, and you are the loveliest composition I've ever known.

I'll be waiting.

Sweetheart. ;)

For you, my Puppy, I'll be patient all these impending hours.

And spend my time in thought of you, and longing.

Know this, Puppy: You are on your sweetheart's mind, and in electric memory upon his fingertips, his lips, his throat.

My Honey Pup; I'll soon be with you.

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