#itsdollyparton

[francisalberts]

"Say it. Tell it like it is."

"I think we should.." He trailed off. He had not been this coy or anxious in quite awhile. It was not even that, but rather the problem seemed to be that he was speechless as how to word himself and whether or not it was appropriate to inform her of how he felt towards the woman. How he yearned for her and pined for her constantly, how he liked her presence far too much than he possibly should because despite her not being in the same class as him or elegance, he found her absolutely charming - there was something about her that pulled their two very different worlds together. "I love ya, Dolly." Frank forced out of his vocals; it sounded peculiar as soon as he said it…but comfortable. “‘N none of that damn platonic, kissin’-on-cheek, I-can-bare-a-week-without-you love, I mean, real goddamn love.”

[francisalberts]

♔

He had not expected the sight he saw when he walked into the kitchen that morning, acknowledging Dolly, who was often a familiar guest in his home ever since their intimate night together that had been prolonged for reasons he was uncertain of. His eyes rested upon her, noticing she was wearing his clothes. He wasn’t entirely sure what to think - everything looked too big on her petite frame - not matching. He rose his eyebrow a little, before he mused a warm; “I was wonderin’ where that shirt went. What’cha doin’ wearin’ my clothes, lady?”

[francisalberts]

"Is this you?" //sORRY I nEED ALL THE THINGS I NEED THEM

At the sight of the woman spotting a photograph that was specifically framed and given to him by his mother before she had passed away, the man folded his arms across his chest slightly before approaching her to get a closer examination; “Yeah, that’s me at age five.” He began. “I was a ring boy at a weddin’ of one of my aunts, my father’s sister. And it was a long - long wedding service, high miss, ya know, 12:00 to 1:00.” Frank recalled easily, rubbing the back of his neck with the palm of his hand - he remembered why he remembered that day, because soon he was saying; “I wee-weed in my pants. I swear to God. I was only a kid, I couldn’t hold it that long, one hour!” He frowned at the picture. “I didn’t change much.”

[francisalberts]

[ Desk meme~ ] She wasn't sure she'd ever seen a man so tired in all her life; she'd even considered tossing a pillow to him before the inevitable finally happened and he went down right there at the desk, but she was too late. Dolly paused briefly in the doorway then crept up behind him, setting her hands on his shoulders and going for a gentle massage in an attempt to wake him. "Rise and shine; you can't be comfortable."

The specs of his reading glasses used for searching through his financial business as well as scheduling were now evidently tilted on his face which had its cheek pressed against the wooden surface of his desk. Who knows how long he had been asleep there, but nonetheless he had found himself to be relaxed ultimately whilst he found his bright eyes to be slowly blinking open as he asserted his consciousness. "Hm?" He murmurs gently in a sleeping tone, trying to comprehend the moment with pure acknowledgement. "Id be more comfortable if y'slipped into bed with me instead." He murmurs automatically once giving acknowledgement of knowing whom she is.

[francisalberts]

👄

The man had been in his own world at the time, standing in his dressing room whilst fixing his tuxedo tie in front of the mirror, attempting to angle it at such a degree that it was utterly straight and made him look even more immaculately presentable as he already was seen as. He had not heard the knock to the door, but the moment a hand tapped his shoulder, he was forced to turn around in trying to acknowledge the presence in which, he gained the ultimate pleasure of the feeling of a woman kissing his lips. No other woman than Dolly. Naturally, his response was instinctive, causing his hands to move down to her waist and draw her closer to him: chest to chest. Forcing the kiss to be elongated...deeper...until he finally let his lips part from hers in order for a breath of air as he whispered a low, husky, delighted: "Hello, baby."

[poetofthe20thcentury-blog]

"Ohhh, but you’re so cute when you’re flustered!"

      Jim brought a hand to his cheek, lips set in a straight line.

            "I'm cute all the time, babe, not just when I'm flustered."

[francisalberts]

"How do you live with yourself?"

He is Sinatra. The boss. The Il Padrone. He has everything a man could want. He is the American Dream and yet, he has nothing. He feels how loneliness creeps within the shadows that surround him, smothering him distastefully with the awareness that he is at a loss. He is alone. He is the same boy he was at six years old. Sitting on street curbs watching other children play whilst he would be declared as 'Scarface' too ugly to play. Too peculiar. His scars had been evident then, as much as they are now as they rest on the left side of his face. Beyond this insecurity, he becomes vividly insecure about his body...his eyes...his thoughts of forever being alone with nobody to understand. He feels trapped in this world. Suffocating slowly. "I'm insecure 'bout how I look 'n not feelin' wanted." It is the common insecurities, yet the reasons have depth. They cause his unhappiness, particularly the latter. He yearns for deep love. True love. He is a romantic. He pines for it. "Truly wanted. Like a lover...true love though." He insists. "I want company. Not t'feel lonely...I hate when its quiet. That's when I have time t'think." And his thoughts are never pleasant.

[poetofthe20thcentury-blog]

"That's dirty!" //OOP

32. Don’t stop.

      Jim's head lolled back against the couch, experienced fingers running through his hair, crushing lips staining his own a deep red. He moaned between kisses,

                        " Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."