7s_prompts Choices we make.
emerald_ollie used with permission and affection.
prompt 1. "In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility." - Eleanor Roosevelt
"Hey."
Carol hangs in the doorway, waiting for him to indicate in or out, if she should join him or he'll join her. It's late by some people's reckoning. Not their's. But the seconds go on with no answer. She straightens and walks over, touches a finger to his shoulder.
"Hey."
"Hm?" He looks up, finally, still distracted. "Hey."
Her eyes narrow. "What's up?"
"What?"
"What's wrong?"
Ollie frowns. "Nothing's wrong."
"Something's wrong."
He doesn't answer.
"You're not trying to undress me."
A small smile crosses Ollie's face and he places his hands on her hips and pulls her closer.
"Sorry, Kid."
"You'll make it up to me."
The smile grows. "Absolutely."
Carol leans in, her hair framing her own smile. "Tell me what's wrong." Her voice is low, sensual really, but firm.
Ollie huffs. He's always better at listening to her than talking to her. About this stuff. Whatever this stuff is, but she assumes. Serious stuff. They're not very serious just like it's not very late. But sometimes she needs to be serious and he's good at listening. And she's always been good at talking. Doesn't mean she can't be good at listening, however.
Carol sits on his lap, his arms move naturally from her waist to hold her closer. She tucks her hair back behind an ear and looks directly in his eyes. "Please?"
Ollie holds her gaze. Her hair falls from behind her ear again. He wants to push it back but if he lets go she might fall off; instead he smiles at it. "There's nothing wrong. I was thinking. It happens every now and again."
"What were you thinking about?"
He sighs. "I talked to Connor earlier. About nothing ... dinner Friday. But it got me thinking." Carol waits. He shrugs, pulling her with him. "Sometimes I wish I was a better person."
Carol nods in understanding but her answer contradicts it. "I don't." Ollie huffs again. "I don't think there are better people," she elaborates. "Just better choices."
His expression says it all; semantics, too glib. "I wish I made better choices."
She raises her hands to his face. "You are." Her voice is soft and her breath tickles; he crushes her with a sudden, deep kiss. It is returned with equal fervor and only her supernatural strength keeps them from falling. When they break for air he stands, pulling her with him and holding her close with one arm. With the other he pushes the recalcitrant lock of hair back behind her ear.
"So I can undress you now?"
"Your choice."
prompt 1. "In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility." - Eleanor Roosevelt
"Hey."
Carol hangs in the doorway, waiting for him to indicate in or out, if she should join him or he'll join her. It's late by some people's reckoning. Not their's. But the seconds go on with no answer. She straightens and walks over, touches a finger to his shoulder.
"Hey."
"Hm?" He looks up, finally, still distracted. "Hey."
Her eyes narrow. "What's up?"
"What?"
"What's wrong?"
Ollie frowns. "Nothing's wrong."
"Something's wrong."
He doesn't answer.
"You're not trying to undress me."
A small smile crosses Ollie's face and he places his hands on her hips and pulls her closer.
"Sorry, Kid."
"You'll make it up to me."
The smile grows. "Absolutely."
Carol leans in, her hair framing her own smile. "Tell me what's wrong." Her voice is low, sensual really, but firm.
Ollie huffs. He's always better at listening to her than talking to her. About this stuff. Whatever this stuff is, but she assumes. Serious stuff. They're not very serious just like it's not very late. But sometimes she needs to be serious and he's good at listening. And she's always been good at talking. Doesn't mean she can't be good at listening, however.
Carol sits on his lap, his arms move naturally from her waist to hold her closer. She tucks her hair back behind an ear and looks directly in his eyes. "Please?"
Ollie holds her gaze. Her hair falls from behind her ear again. He wants to push it back but if he lets go she might fall off; instead he smiles at it. "There's nothing wrong. I was thinking. It happens every now and again."
"What were you thinking about?"
He sighs. "I talked to Connor earlier. About nothing ... dinner Friday. But it got me thinking." Carol waits. He shrugs, pulling her with him. "Sometimes I wish I was a better person."
Carol nods in understanding but her answer contradicts it. "I don't." Ollie huffs again. "I don't think there are better people," she elaborates. "Just better choices."
His expression says it all; semantics, too glib. "I wish I made better choices."
She raises her hands to his face. "You are." Her voice is soft and her breath tickles; he crushes her with a sudden, deep kiss. It is returned with equal fervor and only her supernatural strength keeps them from falling. When they break for air he stands, pulling her with him and holding her close with one arm. With the other he pushes the recalcitrant lock of hair back behind her ear.
"So I can undress you now?"
"Your choice."