[ Something’s off. Something off (something’s missing) here and with this man, and Desmond’s too focused on the puzzle of it to notice the shift in music, the departure of his Puppy from the stage. So it takes a moment to register what Benny’s indicating. So Desmond’s caught between trying, trying to discern who this man was in another world - receiving for this effort a sharpening pain and an absence of answer - and recalling where he is, what in fuck’s name Benny means by ‘the entertainment.’
He understands the meaning, and coils toward snapping that this man has no right to call Jack any such thing.
Almost immediately, his tension disperses, replaced by warmth and certainty: Finally, finally he can be with his mate.
Desmond needs no further impetus. Yes, yes, he’s curious about this barman, but there will be time for questions. For deciding what to make of this Benny: What he remembers, what he knows about Jack. How little he meets Desmond’s eyes, and the tumult flickering at the mention of his was-rival, as well as his silence on Reynolds. How he seems a beat out of step with this world Regina’s chosen, and—
Yes. How he speaks of ‘your Jack’ as if of a transformed being. (And didn’t those words trill pleasantly through Desmond? Doesn’t he glow with the thought that he’s brought something positive to Jack’s existence, just as Jack has done for him? There’s nothing he wants more than Puppy’s happiness.)
Notable as well: How Benny speaks of Jack with casual familiarity and without disdain. This man has been, Desmond thinks, at least some small manner of support to Jack’s existence here. Prone to nattering he may be, but Desmond can’t feel particularly ill toward a man who managed to bring something other than misery into his Puppy’s life.
He taps his finger against the glass, takes another drink and speaks by way of parting— ]
You’d do well to contact them, you know. At the least, you’d have our thanks for sparing us playing audience to their agonies.
[ He doesn’t specify which ‘they’ he means. He suspects he doesn’t need to. And now he acts swiftly. Sets down the glass beside a pair of twenties. Turns his focus to the indicated door, and moves toward it. Gives a soft, staccato pair of knocks before inching the door open and slipping into the room.
Clearing his throat, speaking in a tone faux-aloof, as if oh dear, he’s terribly concerned that he may have interrupted something and of course he doesn’t wish to trouble anyone this room might hold— ]
I’m told somebody here wishes to see me?
[ The feigned aloofness, this brief game, doesn’t last long; as soon as he sets eyes on Jack - as soon as he sees that yes, yes, he’s found his Puppy, here and waiting for Daddy! - his smile goes warmed and giddy, lip caught between his teeth.
Gods, any amount of time away from Jack is harrowing.
Gods, but his love is beautiful, shines in body and soul alike.
Instantly, Desmond’s forgotten any discomfort this bar and it’s odd publican brought him. Instantly, there’s nothing in this bar and nothing in existence beyond himself and the man half-bared before him.
He lets his head cant. Spares himself a moment - perhaps two or three - to take in the sight of Puppy.
Then moves, one hand extended, an invitation to and way of asking for a kiss, just there upon his hand, please! (This will, of course, almost certainly be followed by a shift of his hand to cup his love’s cheek, then a kiss claimed to Puppy’s lips; ah, he won’t be satisfied with one kiss.)
As he moves, he speaks, voice now brimming with pride in his love, with joy at his sight— ]
There’s my Puppy. My skillful, my beautiful wolf.
I’ve missed you so. Forgive my intrusion, won’t you?
no subject
He understands the meaning, and coils toward snapping that this man has no right to call Jack any such thing.
Almost immediately, his tension disperses, replaced by warmth and certainty: Finally, finally he can be with his mate.
Desmond needs no further impetus. Yes, yes, he’s curious about this barman, but there will be time for questions. For deciding what to make of this Benny: What he remembers, what he knows about Jack. How little he meets Desmond’s eyes, and the tumult flickering at the mention of his was-rival, as well as his silence on Reynolds. How he seems a beat out of step with this world Regina’s chosen, and—
Yes. How he speaks of ‘your Jack’ as if of a transformed being. (And didn’t those words trill pleasantly through Desmond? Doesn’t he glow with the thought that he’s brought something positive to Jack’s existence, just as Jack has done for him? There’s nothing he wants more than Puppy’s happiness.)
Notable as well: How Benny speaks of Jack with casual familiarity and without disdain. This man has been, Desmond thinks, at least some small manner of support to Jack’s existence here. Prone to nattering he may be, but Desmond can’t feel particularly ill toward a man who managed to bring something other than misery into his Puppy’s life.
He taps his finger against the glass, takes another drink and speaks by way of parting— ]
You’d do well to contact them, you know. At the least, you’d have our thanks for sparing us playing audience to their agonies.
[ He doesn’t specify which ‘they’ he means. He suspects he doesn’t need to. And now he acts swiftly. Sets down the glass beside a pair of twenties. Turns his focus to the indicated door, and moves toward it. Gives a soft, staccato pair of knocks before inching the door open and slipping into the room.
Clearing his throat, speaking in a tone faux-aloof, as if oh dear, he’s terribly concerned that he may have interrupted something and of course he doesn’t wish to trouble anyone this room might hold— ]
I’m told somebody here wishes to see me?
[ The feigned aloofness, this brief game, doesn’t last long; as soon as he sets eyes on Jack - as soon as he sees that yes, yes, he’s found his Puppy, here and waiting for Daddy! - his smile goes warmed and giddy, lip caught between his teeth.
Gods, any amount of time away from Jack is harrowing.
Gods, but his love is beautiful, shines in body and soul alike.
Instantly, Desmond’s forgotten any discomfort this bar and it’s odd publican brought him. Instantly, there’s nothing in this bar and nothing in existence beyond himself and the man half-bared before him.
He lets his head cant. Spares himself a moment - perhaps two or three - to take in the sight of Puppy.
Then moves, one hand extended, an invitation to and way of asking for a kiss, just there upon his hand, please! (This will, of course, almost certainly be followed by a shift of his hand to cup his love’s cheek, then a kiss claimed to Puppy’s lips; ah, he won’t be satisfied with one kiss.)
As he moves, he speaks, voice now brimming with pride in his love, with joy at his sight— ]
There’s my Puppy. My skillful, my beautiful wolf.
I’ve missed you so. Forgive my intrusion, won’t you?