Viggo
It’s a bright, clear morning in early Fall and I am taking my first coffee and cigarette of the day on the balcony of my one bed Antilles Bay apartment, looking over the water to the towers of Canary Wharf.
The oily surface of the river lies below me, lapping moodily at the quays, reluctant to get up and go to work. Standing here and watching the water, it is hard to believe these were once the busiest docks in the world, serving huge industrial areas of East London.
In those days the wharves would have been a hive of activity by this hour, with working men, boats, cranes and trucks – not time for a leisurely white-collar start to the day with time pencilled in for corporate lunches.
Heavily bombed in World War II, the area revived in the fifties, only to decline again as British manufacturing industry declined. Now it has been rejuvenated and some people see it as a mighty symbol of the changes, which have taken place in this country and the move to service industries.
Here you will find the tallest buildings in the UK and award-winning developments of office blocks and luxury apartments, which have transformed this area.
Sure there was local opposition at first, because existing residents felt that they hadn’t been consulted and couldn’t see that this development would benefit them. They organised and were effective, gaining many concessions and over the course of the development relations have improved, partly because jobs for local people have been provided and partly because if you can’t beat ‘em, you have to live alongside ‘em and be neighbourly.
I have a lot of sympathy for those protesters, but you can’t hold back ‘progress’. Now it’s a year until the Millennium and this area is booming, after a small stumble over the property collapse a few years back.
I am part of the boom, hence my occupation of this very desirable apartment. My company does interior design for businesses keen on impressing their clients. My wife and I came over from the States to live and work here, but as our business succeeded, the marriage failed and we finally called it quits.
Chris returned to the US with our son, but we remain good friends and business partners. I stayed here and buried myself in work, pretty much living like a monk until a couple of weeks ago. I had married Chris, because she was pregnant, in spite of the fact that we both knew I was bi. There was, and still is, deep affection there, though and we both worked at it. Having to finally give up on us as a couple knocked my confidence a lot.
I finish dressing and make my way over to the block, where I am currently working on the 10th floor. It’s getting colder, so I am wearing a warm fleece and a long knitted scarf in rainbow colours.
As I move among the office workers, picking my way across the landscaped gardens, I am looking for my mystery lady.
It was here that I met her by chance two weeks ago, when she followed me out of the building on my way to get lunch. My scarf got caught in the revolving door and she rescued me. We laughed together and she let me buy her a coffee and sandwich.
She was tall, but confidently wore high heels and her figure was what you might describe as statuesque – very womanly with a full bosom and curving hips. It’s was figure that was currently out of fashion, as women seemed to be pursuing a skeletal cat-walk model skinniness, yet most men, if asked to vote would go for the curves every time.
Her hair was unashamedly bottle blonde, but expensively cut and without a hint of dark roots and her clothes and make-up were very much in her own style, with no concessions to transient fashions.
I was fascinated as her scarlet lips enveloped her chicken salad wrap and her sharp, white teeth bit into the food with a refreshing lack of inhibition. My sex-life had just been through a period of drought after living with someone for ten years and the drowning man in me couldn’t help but wonder if she was as confident and uninhibited, when she made love.
She had thrown her head back and laughed at me, as if reading my thoughts and asked me if I lived nearby. I had nodded dumbly and before I knew it, she had taken my arm and we were walking to my apartment.
It wasn’t until we were naked and I was poised to enter her, that it occurred to me that I didn’t even know her name, which turned out to be Terry. She was indeed as wild and passionate as I had hoped and afterwards, I felt as if I had been turned inside out and yet also, somehow empty.
She had left immediately, with no exchange of telephone numbers or arrangements to meet again and I knew nothing about her, except that her teeth and fingernails were sharp and had left their marks all over my body.
It hadn’t been just the one-off, cathartic experience I had expected, though, because she had accosted me four times since, near my building and we had repeated the experience, but she wouldn’t tell me anything about her and she wouldn’t agree to any dinner dates.
She’s not here today, in fact she never is in the mornings, but I can’t help looking for her. She kind of bowls me over and leaves me breathless, but wanting.
As I step into the elevator, I coincide with another person I see around regularly, but this guy obviously works in this block, practically on the roof.
He is of a similar age to me and very attractive, in fact even more so than my mystery lady, but so far we are only on nodding and “Good Morning” terms. Just hearing him say “Good Morning” makes my toes curl with pleasure and I would love to take him for a coffee and a sandwich some time, but I suppose I have a girlfriend and he seems solidly het. Shame on both counts!
Sean
I am awake before the alarm goes off, and I move carefully to turn it off so as to not wake my girlfriend, who’s still fast asleep, her hair a tangled mass on the pillow. She’s naked - she always sleeps naked - and I slowly peel down the sheet to have a better look at her gorgeous body.
I would love to curl my hand around a breast, get my mouth around one of those rosy nipples. I like having sex in the morning and as for her, she likes having sex, period. No time for that now though, I have to get up and going, as a busy day lies ahead of me.
Reluctantly I leave the warm cocoon of the bed and pad through to the bathroom to get ready for the day. It’s nearly the end of the month and my accountant will pay his monthly visit, going over the books with me.
I own a shipping company, and business is doing fairly well. I have built up the firm to what it is right now and I am proud of it. I have made some major mistakes in life, hence my failed marriage, but at least I have managed to be successful in business.
I have it all now; a nice car, a great penthouse flat, a lovely woman in my bed. My heart swells with pride when I look at my flat. The sheer size of the bedroom makes me laugh, as it is larger than the house I used to live in when still married. It is a shame that I have to spend more time every day in the office to keep things going, but I am planning on employing more staff, so I can be home more often.
What’s the use of money when you don’t have time to spend it?
I love looking out over my awakening city and I can’t see it from the kitchen, so I take my tea and toast to the living room and eat my breakfast there, sitting on the armrest of my favourite chair.
Before leaving, I go back to the bedroom, just to see if she’s awake now, but she hasn’t stirred since I stepped out of bed. I grab my briefcase and close the door behind me softly. I wait for the lift, eager to get outside. I quit smoking now almost three weeks ago and it isn’t too bad really, but I do need those few secretive ones each day, especially the morning one.
I sit in my car, dragging on the cigarette I took from the packet hidden under my seat. When I almost burn my fingers, I open my window and shoot it out. Sucking on a mint, I drive away, the windows of the car opened to let the chilly wind blow out the cigarette smoke. *Next week*. I make a solemn oath to stop completely next week, the same one I made last week, I guess.
I park my car in the parking garage underneath my office block and then walk quickly to the lift. I haven’t put on an overcoat, but it’s getting too cold for that, especially when you’re driving with the windows open. The lift stops on the ground floor and that American bloke I’ve seen here a few times before steps in. We exchange a “good morning,” and I look at the fleece he’s wearing and the blinding colours of his scarf.
I grin to myself, but don’t let this show, because he seems a nice enough bloke really, “Chilly morning,” I say, and he agrees and eagerly puts out his hand which I shake. “Viggo,” he says, “I am Sean,” I reply. He looks as if he would like to say more, but then the elevator stops at the 10th floor, and he shrugs apologetically, wishes me a good day and steps out.
He must have business with the redesigning of the 10th. Maybe he is the architect or something like that. He’s yuppie-like, but there’s still something slightly different to him - interesting face, too.
As soon as I am on the 18th floor where I have my offices, I forget about him. I greet Judy, my secretary for half days, and sit behind my desk while she brings me coffee and today’s mail. I sign a few bills, and scribble a few notes, so that Judy can respond to the mail. I am almost done when Frank, my accountant steps in.
He is a tall skinny man and he always looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. In reality he’s quite a character and fun to be with. Even though his occupation seems deadly boring to me – I hate bookkeeping – he absolutely is not, and we usually end these mornings once a month with a nice lunch after a nice banter about who’s to pay this time.
This day is no different to others and as we leave the building at lunchtime, we run into this bloke Viggo again who is standing outside, like he’s waiting for something or someone. He looks a bit lost and if I had been alone I would have asked him to join me for lunch, which I can’t do, as Frank and I just have settled on Alfredo’s, his treat.
I nearly never take time for lunch. Most of the time I order sandwiches in, or ask Judy to bring me something from the cafeteria they have on the 5th floor. Alfredo’s is a very nice Italian restaurant, though and I enjoy my pasta, two glasses of red wine and Frank’s company.
Later, back in the office I call home but there’s no reply so I throw myself into my work again.
Viggo
I see Sean - he introduced himself in the elevator this morning - again at midday. He’s obviously on his way to lunch with a tall, thin, round-shouldered guy in a grey suit. *Accountant!*
Guessing what people do is kind of a game for me. I am rarely wrong. Sean is fairly easy, the archetypal self-made businessman. I can tell from his accent that he’s originally from the north and working class, but from the quality of his suits and his general bearing, he is obviously successful and he’s definitely the boss.
The only person, who has me confused, is Terry and if I’m honest, she’s the reason I am standing here, hoping that she’ll put in an appearance. She’s like a drug and she has me hooked, but I am not exactly an idiot and I know that there has to be a reason for her mystery, unless she just gets off on playing games.
I can’t work out what she does for a living, if she does work. She seems such a free spirit that I can’t imagine her being pinned down to a desk. Maybe she’s an actress or a model, although she’s too voluptuous for a fashion model and too classy for a glamour model.
What I need to do is stop being led by my dick and ask her some searching questions, but she doesn’t show today, nor for the next two days.
I am just thinking that she’s not going to appear again and that maybe she was a figment of my imagination, when I am sitting in the park one lunchtime, sharing my sandwich with the birds. Suddenly gloved hands cover my eyes and my nostrils flare at the heavy scent of an expensive perfume and hot, pulsating femininity. “Terry”, I whisper, before her peal of laughter rings out and she is pulling me up from my bench and practically dragging me to my place.
As before, we barely get inside the apartment, before we are on our way to bed, leaving a trail of clothes all the way. We couple with the same wild, desperate passion and afterwards, we lounge amid the tangled sheets and share a cigarette. Terry says,
“I quit three weeks ago and I’ve been good, mostly, but I still crave the post coital fag – and the one after a meal, of course.”
I try and compose my thoughts, now that my body is satiated and have the courage to voice my thoughts,
“Terry, will you please level with me? Are you married?”
She sits up fully and looks me straight in the eye,
“No, Viggo, I’m not married. What prompted that question?”
I sit up and stub out the cigarette end in the ashtray on the nightstand. She is looking at me guilelessly and her voice was very firm, but I am unsure,
“You appear from nowhere, we have mind-blowing sex and then you disappear immediately. You won’t arrange to meet or let me take you to dinner and you won’t give me a phone number. I know nothing about you at all. There’s got to be a reason for the secrecy.”
“And you waited until we had a relationship to raise these burning questions instead of asking me three weeks ago, when we first met?”
“Each time we’ve met I’ve felt like I was swept away by an elemental force. You are very addictive, but wait, a relationship? Is that what we have? It seems to me we’ve fucked, what… six times? We’ve never even had a conversation!”
“We’re having a conversation now and yes, I feel we have a relationship. I was drawn to you the first time I saw you. Do you really think I regularly pounce on strange men and ravage them within minutes of meeting them?”
“I don’t know, Terry, “I reply honestly. “All I know is that you are beautiful and passionate, but you frustrate me, because I can’t begin to get to know the real you. Any minute now, you’ll up and run again.”
“Not so. Can you play truant this afternoon?”
“Yes, if I make a couple of calls first.”
“Well you put some coffee on and make those calls, while I shower and then we’ll talk. I am at your disposal all afternoon.”
So she showers and so do I, then we sit, wrapped in thick towels and we talk.
Terry tells me her last name is Weaver and that she’s an actress and a part-time artist’s model. Her wealthy family, she says, disapproved of her choice of career and there was an estrangement, but recently, she heard from her widowed father that he was terminally ill and wanted to make peace, while there was still time.
She visited him and they made up, with him asking her to move in and spend his last few months with him. There’s a live in-nurse and a cook/housekeeper, but her father is very demanding of her attention. He likes her to sit with him and read to him and frets if she’s away too long. He doesn’t allow visitors to the house and becomes distressed at telephone calls.
I point out to her that it sounds as if she’s almost a prisoner. It’s a little like a Victorian melodrama.
“But it’s only for a short time and I’m partly doing it because my mum died during the estrangement and I didn’t know until I received notification of the funeral. I was so angry that I didn’t attend, but I have regretted that ever since. And also, I’ll be honest, I am an only child and there’s a large legacy to inherit. Dad had changed his will after he fell out with me, but he’s changed it back and I feel I’m a worthier recipient of his estate than Battersea Dogs Home, although I will make the pooches a donation.”
She laughs again and I start to laugh with her, but her mouth comes down on mine and my body surrenders to her charms again.
Sean
I am about to leave for home when Fred calls. Fred runs a small shipping company in the Netherlands, quite similar to mine and for years we have had a business association that has proved beneficial for both of us.
A few times a year I go over to Rotterdam and he comes over here. We talk business in the daytime and in the evenings we usually have a bit of fun. Fred is a mate and it’s always nice to see him. He’s divorced and ‘not planning on ever repeating the experience’, he says. Instead he goes to private clubs to find female company.
I used to go with him when I was there and took him to such places when he was here, but of course now that I am in a relationship I can’t go with it all the way. I remember a few years ago, not finding just one, but even two blondes in my bed and it had been great fun. I do miss it sometimes, if I am honest.
Last time I went there I took Caroline with me, as she really wanted to go. She never had the chance to travel, as her parents didn’t have much money and had to struggle to make a living. As a young girl she was determined to get herself an education and she worked pretty hard to pay for it. By the time her parents died, she was able to take care of herself. Being a self made man, I totally respect that and I am more than glad to take her with me anywhere I go.
Still, that particular visit wasn’t really a success. Fred did his utmost to be a charming host and Caroline was lovely and charming as always, but it was clear they didn’t like each other. Fred never said so to me, but I did notice. Caroline being very straightforward about it, however, called Fred ‘a creep who thinks he knows all about women’ which pissed me off, because maybe the latter is true, but he’s no creep. Anyway, she doesn’t want to go with me this time and it’s only for a few days, so that’s fine with me.
Fred and I talk about my flight and at what time he will pick me up at the airport. There are quite a few meetings we will have to attend on business and then he says he’s got this nice place to visit at night, and would I like to go and see it?
Well, going there doesn’t need to include cheating, so I say, “Yes sure, why not?” but decide not to let Caroline know, so she has nothing to worry about.
On my way home, I stop the car and buy her a large bouquet of red roses and decide to take her out for dinner. Not because I feel guilty, I tell myself, as I have nothing to feel guilty about, but because she will be alone when I am gone.
Both the roses and the dinner offer are a big success. Caroline may not be much of a cook, but she sure knows how to delight a man in other ways, as I find out again when I recover after a long session of steamy sex on the couch.
Later, we shower and dress up nicely, as I am taking her to one of these fancy places she likes so much. She looks gorgeous in her red dress, and I remind myself to bring her back a pair of matching earrings from my trip. Caroline loves surprises.
I am not really hungry – Frank and I had a copious lunch – and I would settle for a bag of crisps and a beer, but luckily Caroline picks ‘Chez Olivier” which is more renowned for being seen there than for the food they serve and the portions are too small to feed even a canary properly. Caroline loves it there, even though she has a healthy appetite and will go for a snack when we are home. I will never understand women.
The coming days are rather busy, as I want to leave things in good order even though Judy has agreed to work a few hours extra a day. I never see my new friend Viggo during that time and I wonder if his work is done already, which would be a shame, because I really liked the bloke.
I have a really early flight and I have packed my small suitcase the evening before. I tiptoe through the bathroom to collect a few toiletries, as I am trying not to wake Caroline. We are really like a married couple, because only a few months ago she couldn’t sleep when I was about to go away, clung to me and tried to go with me to the airport, but she sleeps like a baby now. I am in a bit of a hurry, so I really don’t mind, but lean over to kiss her. It’s enough to make her stir, and she puts her arms around my neck like a child, kissing me back, until I tell her to go back to sleep.
The flight is unadventurous and short; we land before I even have the chance of finishing my second cup of coffee. Fred is already waiting for me and soon we drive off to his office. There’s a really tight schedule today and we talk mostly business in the car, so I will be prepared for the meetings.
Only by the end of the day, when I settle into Fred’s large guestroom am I able to relax a little. We’ve already had dinner, and I take a little nap as we won’t be going out until ten. I never managed to call Caroline, but I am too tired now, and I tell myself I will do it first thing in the morning.
I fall asleep almost immediately.
Viggo
It’s a real treat to have the whole afternoon with Terry and after our second session of lovemaking, she says it’s my turn to tell her about myself, so I do.
She strokes my shoulder, when I talk about the pain of my divorce and asks to see pictures of my son, which I eagerly show her. She seems genuinely interested in Henry’s life, too and I am always happy to talk about him.
Things are going so well that I hope she will agree to have dinner with me, but she says that she really has to get back to her father. She was only able to leave him this afternoon, because her aunt, his sister, is visiting from Cambridge.
The aunt is an elderly maiden lady and like Dad, didn’t approve of her niece’s career choice. They have now adopted a kind of cease-fire out of respect for the dying man, but Aunt Hyacinth has made it very clear that any money she has to leave will definitely be divided amongst her favourite charities.
If Terry doesn’t put in an appearance this evening, her father will become agitated and her Aunt will be mad. She doesn’t like the old bat, but there’s no point in antagonising her. She still won’t give me a number, but takes mine and promises to call me. Soon.
Then she is gone in a whirlwind of hugs, kisses, a cloud of perfume and a clattering of high heels down the stairwell.
I lean over the rail and watch her go, then hurry back onto the balcony to watch her as she leaves the building and finally disappears from my sight.
Lighting a cigarette, I try to sort my thoughts. Do we really have a relationship now? When I am with her, she is as physical and tenacious as a lioness and uses her teeth and claws in much the same way. I have the marks to prove it.
And yet, she is somehow as ethereal and insubstantial as the morning mist on the river. Just when I feel as if I am actually getting to know her, she is gone.
The phone rings and although she has only just left, I hope that she has somehow changed her mind and is calling to say she will have dinner. To my disappointment, it’s my assistant, Paula, telling me of some issues which have come up over our current project and I resign myself to having to spend the next few days in our London office, troubleshooting, which will inevitably delay things. The client will not be happy.
I don’t hear from Terry and as I’m not at Canary Wharf, I don’t run into her, like I used to. I miss working over there and strangely, I also miss my daily elevator encounters with that guy, Sean, and find myself drifting into daydreams. That I really am losing it, is proven, when I find myself wondering if he may be missing me at all. *You meet the guy in passing. Get a grip, you jerk! Anyhow, you have a girl.*
But do I have a girl? I have started to give up on her, when after four days, she calls me on my cell,
“Viggo, darling, I have wonderful news. I managed to persuade Auntie to come and stay for a couple of days and nights, to give me respite. Do you still want to have dinner?”
A few hours later, we are enjoying a romantic, candlelit dinner in a discreet little Italian restaurant I know and sharing an excellent bottle of Barolo.
Terry is dressed in a plunging black silk shirt and a tight pencil slim skirt, slit nearly up to her hip on one side with her trademark “fuck me” towering heels. The waiters are particularly attentive, suggestively manipulating their unfeasibly enormous peppermills and winking at me, before slipping away into the shadows.
“I hope this isn’t too quiet for you. I come here often and the food is really good.”
“Not at all. I like it here and it’s within walking distance of your flat.”
“You’re coming back with me?” I am hopeful, if surprised.
“Yes. Auntie has agreed to go to Dad if he calls in the night, ‘to give me a good night’s rest’. Nobody will know I’m not in my room as long as I get back early in the morning. You’ve been so good and patient with me. I think you deserve my company all night – if you want it, that is.”
I take her hand in both of mine and turn it over, kissing her wrist, which makes her shiver and giggle. She slips off one shoe and I feel her toes slide up the inside of my leg,
“Oh yes, I want it!”
We forego dessert and get the bill.
Back in my apartment, we undress each other slowly and Terry is different tonight, somehow softer and less predatory, letting me take the lead. Her uncharacteristic submission brings out my dominant streak and I take her aggressively, making her purr and arch up beneath me. We climax together and this seems to unleash her feral side.
She bites me on my neck so fiercely that she actually draws blood and laps it up like a female vampire. When I withdraw, she pushes me onto my back and straddles me like a Valkyrie, her eyes glittering in the darkness.
Now she is in charge and she teases and torments me, sliding down my body and taking my spent cock into her mouth, coaxing it back to life and once she has it hard again, impaling herself and riding me in a frenzy.
Afterwards, she curls up softly in my arms, with the innocence of a child and goes to sleep, but although she has worn me out, I lie awake for a while, marvelling at the rapid change in personalities I have just experienced.
When I wake, she is gone and again it is as if she was never here. Only the blonde hairs on her pillow, the scent of her and the encrusted blood on my neck, when I look in the bathroom mirror, convince me that she really exists.
Summary: The boys are working at Canary Wharf in late 1998, some het elements at the start as both of them have girlfriends.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: AU, HetChallenges:
Series: .Chapters: 5 Completed: Yes
Word count: 25677 Read: 5183
Published: 05 Aug 2009 Updated: 05 Aug 2009