Prompt 101 - Entice - "Through A Thin Wire" - ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikespetslayer -
Jun. 28th, 2008 11:59 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
dedra.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tamingthemuseTitle: Through A Thin Wire
Fandom: None
Pairing: Implied
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: He fell in love with her voice.
She was just a voice, just vocal cords and breath across electric and digital processors and slivers of molded plastic.
“What do you want to talk about?”
They always started the conversation with that question. At least, she did. He sat there, waiting for the soft velvet tones to slither sensuously over his taut eardrum, his breathing deep but his mind frozen until she started to talk.
His mind would fly open and she enticed the beast from the box, the monster from the man with all his wounds and ravages bare for her to see.
She never flinched. Not that he could tell, at least.
He called her at least once or twice a week, for about an hour each time. It was stretching his budget but it was worth it. With no wife or children to occupy the hours spent not working, he had little to do and no one to do it with. She filled the gaps perfectly like a sponge, listening to him and asking him questions and just being interested in his thoughts and life that he found himself falling in love.
His fantasies turned more romantic in nature and it was noticeable in his interactions with her how he felt. She remained cool in the light of such ardor, never withdrawing fully but staying professional. It frustrated him to think that she didn’t let herself go with him; he knew that she thought he was special, she told him so. She just wouldn’t relax and let herself love him.
Over time, his calls were more possessive. He wanted to know how many other men she counseled and how long they had sessions. He asked her how he compared to others. He stopped smiling during their calls and frowned more, leaning forward on the couch with the phone in a death grip, knuckles white. She still listened to all his vituperative vulgarities and remained on the line, her sweet voice never changing or rising in pitch or volume.
In his mind, he pictured her as petite and dark with eyes that could pierce the strongest armor with their honesty and candor. Her lips would be full and luscious and taste of honey; her cheeks marred only by the addition of a tiny dimple at the corner of her mouth.
He was in love and he knew it. So did she.
It didn’t seem very sudden or very surprising when she stopped their conversation one night. “Warren, I sense that you have developed feelings that are not conducive to a productive relationship.”
He stumbled over his words for a moment, then took a deep breath and plunged on. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Michelle,” he said, crossing his fingers and hoping that he would hear what he needed to hear.
“That is a natural reaction, Warren. How does that make you feel?”
“How do you think that it makes me feel? You act like a therapist, not someone that has any connection to me! I feel like you’re avoiding the situation. I wish that you would just meet with me in person—I think that I’ve been with you long enough that we could take it to the next level.”
“Warren, if we do then you can never contact me again. Is that what you want? You chose this. You called me. You continue to call me.”
“I love you, Michelle. I can tell when you’re happy or when you’re thinking, I know when you’re feeling ill or not. I can tell everything about you from your voice and that’s all I need.”
She softened. “And if you and I meet, it will be the end of listening to my voice. Is that what you want, Warren? Never to hear me again?”
“You couldn’t do that to me.”
“I would have to. You would be matched with another and we would not have any contact again.”
He sighed, leaning his head on the back of the couch and covering his eyes with his free hand. “I didn’t think that it would apply to me.”
“It applies to everyone, Warren. I’m sorry.”
“I can still call you if we don’t meet?”
“Yes.”
“Can we make it every other day?”
“If you like. It costs more.”
“But you make more from it, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Ok. We don’t have to meet then. I’ll just call you a little more.”
“All right. Now that we have that taken care of, what would you like to talk about, Warren?”
It consoled him that she could forgive him and took a deep breath. Feeling deceptively lighter, he began to talk to her.
Fandom: None
Pairing: Implied
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: He fell in love with her voice.
She was just a voice, just vocal cords and breath across electric and digital processors and slivers of molded plastic.
“What do you want to talk about?”
They always started the conversation with that question. At least, she did. He sat there, waiting for the soft velvet tones to slither sensuously over his taut eardrum, his breathing deep but his mind frozen until she started to talk.
His mind would fly open and she enticed the beast from the box, the monster from the man with all his wounds and ravages bare for her to see.
She never flinched. Not that he could tell, at least.
He called her at least once or twice a week, for about an hour each time. It was stretching his budget but it was worth it. With no wife or children to occupy the hours spent not working, he had little to do and no one to do it with. She filled the gaps perfectly like a sponge, listening to him and asking him questions and just being interested in his thoughts and life that he found himself falling in love.
His fantasies turned more romantic in nature and it was noticeable in his interactions with her how he felt. She remained cool in the light of such ardor, never withdrawing fully but staying professional. It frustrated him to think that she didn’t let herself go with him; he knew that she thought he was special, she told him so. She just wouldn’t relax and let herself love him.
Over time, his calls were more possessive. He wanted to know how many other men she counseled and how long they had sessions. He asked her how he compared to others. He stopped smiling during their calls and frowned more, leaning forward on the couch with the phone in a death grip, knuckles white. She still listened to all his vituperative vulgarities and remained on the line, her sweet voice never changing or rising in pitch or volume.
In his mind, he pictured her as petite and dark with eyes that could pierce the strongest armor with their honesty and candor. Her lips would be full and luscious and taste of honey; her cheeks marred only by the addition of a tiny dimple at the corner of her mouth.
He was in love and he knew it. So did she.
It didn’t seem very sudden or very surprising when she stopped their conversation one night. “Warren, I sense that you have developed feelings that are not conducive to a productive relationship.”
He stumbled over his words for a moment, then took a deep breath and plunged on. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Michelle,” he said, crossing his fingers and hoping that he would hear what he needed to hear.
“That is a natural reaction, Warren. How does that make you feel?”
“How do you think that it makes me feel? You act like a therapist, not someone that has any connection to me! I feel like you’re avoiding the situation. I wish that you would just meet with me in person—I think that I’ve been with you long enough that we could take it to the next level.”
“Warren, if we do then you can never contact me again. Is that what you want? You chose this. You called me. You continue to call me.”
“I love you, Michelle. I can tell when you’re happy or when you’re thinking, I know when you’re feeling ill or not. I can tell everything about you from your voice and that’s all I need.”
She softened. “And if you and I meet, it will be the end of listening to my voice. Is that what you want, Warren? Never to hear me again?”
“You couldn’t do that to me.”
“I would have to. You would be matched with another and we would not have any contact again.”
He sighed, leaning his head on the back of the couch and covering his eyes with his free hand. “I didn’t think that it would apply to me.”
“It applies to everyone, Warren. I’m sorry.”
“I can still call you if we don’t meet?”
“Yes.”
“Can we make it every other day?”
“If you like. It costs more.”
“But you make more from it, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Ok. We don’t have to meet then. I’ll just call you a little more.”
“All right. Now that we have that taken care of, what would you like to talk about, Warren?”
It consoled him that she could forgive him and took a deep breath. Feeling deceptively lighter, he began to talk to her.
