Sean
I am in the radio studio early, but then I almost always am. In a way, it feels more like home than my house, which basically means I haven’t got much of a life, I guess.
I took over the Mellow Midnight slot about a month ago, after Sally Murdoch left the radio station. She announced it at our staff meeting, two months before that. She and her husband were moving up north, and she wanted to leave as soon as possible.
We all reacted with shock to the news. The show was very popular with a lot of people, and we all knew Sally was very much responsible for that. She was all you could ask for on a show like that, where people can call in the hours around midnight and talk about the sort of stuff that kept them awake in the first place. It would be very hard to find a replacement only half as good as Sally.
My mouth dropped open when Sally, sitting next to me, suddenly laid her hand on my arm. “Why don’t you give it a try, Sean?”
I stared at her for a moment. “Me?” I asked. “Why me?”
“Because I think you’re perfect for the job, Sean,” she replied. “You have a great voice, and the right attitude.
I looked at her, still stunned. At that time I had only worked for the radio station for 5 months, and finally made it to having my own hourly show three times a week. I was a beginner, had no experience in the business at all when I started, so I already considered myself lucky enough as it was.
Bob, our producer looked at me thoughtfully.
“Don’t you think people will prefer a woman, Sally? My wife always tells me we men are insensitive bastards.”
Then Paul, one of the technicians stepped in. “I think it would be a lot better than trying desperately to bring another Sally to the show. And Sally is right; I think Sean would be very good at it.”
All in all, by the end of the meeting I got the job, even though only for a trial period of three months. It would bring great changes in my life, because I would now have to work 5 days a week during the night, if only for three hours, in addition to my other show. But I didn’t care about that, as sleep evaded me most of the time anyway. It was a great opportunity and I grabbed the offer with both hands. Of course it meant a lot of more money too, which was a nice bonus.
Now after doing it for one month, I feel like I’ve never done anything else. There’s something enticing, sitting in that studio at night, listening to all sorts of people telling their stories, true or false. There are so many out there, funny, sad, witty, sometimes stupid and it’s really fascinating. In between the calls I play mostly mellow jazz music, and occasionally ballads.
According to the fan mail I get, mostly by email nowadays, they really seem to like me, and Bob said to me earlier this week that he will give me a contract, so my trial period never lasted those three months. Suzanne, the radio station’s secretary, teases me with the amount of mail I receive from women. She calls them”Sean’s Fan Club,” and warns me about jealous husbands.
She is really very nice, and I just smile when she’s at it again.
Of course the whole thing has its downside too. Those working hours aren’t fit to keep up an already unstable relationship, and so it didn’t work out. Again. And maybe the accusation of me taking that job, just because of those working hours was right. I don’t know. It still hurts, and I am alone again.
It makes me reluctant to go home in the early hours, without someone waiting for me; just the cold, dark apartment. In bed, I fret, and when I finally sleep I am haunted by dreams that make me upset.
But now that I am here, at work I am fine. I’ve learned there are a lot of lonely people in the world, and I am better off than most of them. Some call a few times a week, and have become a bit like friends.
When Mike, who does the show before mine leaves and claps my back I sit down behind the panel, adjusting the chair to the right height. While listening to the callers last night I made a music selection for tonight, and I go briefly through them during the commercials and news.
Then I put on my headset, and turn down the music to greet the listeners. I play some music, and then the first callers start coming in. By the end of the first hour, I manage to drink some coffee during the break, while listening to Dizzy Gillespie.
I see the small red button glowing, a sign that there’s a caller waiting, and when the music ends I press the switch,
“Good Evening, welcome to Mellow Midnight, this is Sean.”
There’s a silence for a short period and then a hesitant voice answers in an American accent.
“Hi Sean, this is Viggo.”
Viggo
An ex of mine once said that I have the soul of a tramp, always needing to be on the move. There have been quite a few exes over the years, probably because she was right.
The ex was female on that occasion, but there have been males too, probably about 50/50 on balance. It always seemed kind of – limiting – to have to confine yourself to falling in love with only one half of the human race.
When I was young I fell in love fairly easily and then the wandering tended to be in pursuit of the latest heart’s desire. I can’t say exactly when things turned around and the pursuing became escaping, but nothing ever seemed to work out, no matter how much of myself I put into each fledgling relationship, until gradually I kept more and more of myself back.
Now I feel as if I’ve given up on the whole thing. I am tired of falling, trying, failing, fighting, apologising and it’s so much easier to present a moving target.
That’s why this job suits me. I am based in California, working for a successful company, which specialises in valuing and auctioning art collections, but my work takes me all round the world, most frequently to London, where we have an office.
I work long hours and during the daytime, I am always busy, but night time finds me back in my hotel room, sketching or writing in my journal, usually accompanied by a bottle of wine.
Sure I could find company if I really wanted, but like I said, I’ve given up on relationships and I don’t have the temperament for one night stands. Being alone never used to bother me, but lately, I haven’t been sleeping too well and my solitary hotel room has echoed with silence.
I’m in London again, for a month this time and the other night, I was idly turning the knobs on the radio around one am, trying to find some laid back jazz to soothe me to sleep. TV has never appealed to me and the porn channels available smack of desperation, but some nice Miles Davies, I thought. That would be a treat.
As if I had spoken aloud and filled out an order, I hit the right channel and was wrapped in Kind of Blue. It made me purr like a kitten and curl up ready for more.
When the music ended, I certainly wasn’t ready for the voice that followed. It was male, had an interesting northern accent, and was deep and as sexy as hell. I sat up. I had happened upon this station before and I recalled a woman used to have this spot. She was good, but this guy was good.
I listened, absorbed as a caller came on the line and talked about the death of her dog. She was clearly old and lonely and the dog been her only friend. She was also clearly a regular caller. The guy - she called him Sean- was so gentle and patient with her, never hurrying her along. He even got her laughing, reminding her to remember the cute things the dog used to do. After she hung up, he said something kind, which I don’t remember and then played Billie Holiday singing They Can’t Take That Away From Me.
I shook my head thinking that this guy had the same CD collection as me.
Every night after that, I have listened to the show between midnight and three am. I was right, this Sean does have the same taste in music as me, but if I’m honest, it’s the voice that has me hooked. It’s like lying naked on a beach in warm sunshine and being brushed with liquid honey or like being coated in melted chocolate and having somebody slowly lick it off.
Somehow, lying here listening to him talking to the sad, the lonely and the insomniacs, makes me feel a little less lonely, yet at the same time, yearn for company.
I admit that I have found myself being aroused nightly by that voice, trying to picture the man behind it, my hand stealthily moving down in circles across my stomach, as if trying to fool my brain as to its intentions, before firmly taking hold of my swollen flesh.
Tonight, having listened for an hour, I can barely suppress the urge to call and have that voice speak personally to me. The number is repeated regularly in a jingle and imprinted on my brain.
This time, my wayward hand is diverted from its regular path and with an apparent will of its own, lifts the telephone from the nightstand and my fingers begin to dial, desperate to make a connection.
“Good Evening, welcome to Mellow Midnight, this is Sean.”
I am trembling, as I realise that I do not have the remotest clue what I want to say to him ‘Hi, there, I jerk off nightly to your voice’ seems somehow inappropriate. *Say something, you idiot.*
“Hi, Sean, this is Viggo.”
Sean
“Hi, Sean, this is Viggo.”
The voice sounds nice, though slightly nervous. Well, there are a lot of people who get nervous the first time they are on the air. Fuck, I remember the first time I did a show here; I was shaking like a leaf. So I try to sound reassuring,
“Hi Viggo, how are you doing, mate? I’ve never heard that name before.”
That seems to settle him down a bit, and he answers as if he has to explain the same thing all the time, which is probably the case. Well, I wasn’t going for original, just for reassuring, Viggo.
“It’s a Danish name.”
Danish? I could have sworn that accent was American, and I am usually good at accents.
“So, are you from Denmark?” I say, trying to open him up a little more.
“No, I am American really.” Back to silence again.
This one is not going to be easy, but he is still different, and I am determined to get a bit more out of him.
“So Viggo, are you on holiday here?”
“No, on business,” he says. “In fact, I am here quite regularly.”
*Progress! Good for me!*
“What made you call in Viggo?” I ask. “And where are you staying?”
“I am in a hotel room, and what made me call was that I was looking for some jazz music a few days ago, I love jazz, and I found this station. I have been listening to your programme since then, every night. I just wanted to let you know, I guess.
This bloke certainly makes a change from dead dogs and Englishmen. He sounds more at ease now, and I like his voice, so I nudge him a bit more.
“And are you here all alone?”
“Yes, I am all alone, just sitting on my hotel room, enjoying the music.”
“So you like jazz? Anything special you’d like me to play for you? What’s your favourite piece, Viggo?”
Another long silence. “That would be I Fall in Love Too Easily by Chet Baker, Sean. Do you have that one?”
“I don’t think I have it here, but I will bring it from home tomorrow night if you like.”
“That’s very nice of you Sean, I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome mate, sleep well.”
The rest of the night is uneventful, but the voice of that shy American bloke keeps playing inside my head somehow. The first thing I do when I get home is look up that particular Chet Baker CD, which isn’t as easy as it sounds. I’ve got an extensive music collection, and it isn’t very well organized. I put it on top of the dresser, so I won’t forget to take it with me tomorrow, strangely excited to have found it.
Later in bed my elation fades. I don’t even know this guy Viggo. As far as I know he was just bored and couldn’t sleep tonight. He probably won’t even listen to the show tomorrow night. I don’t understand what I got all worked up about. But still, I will take it with me and give it a try.
I turn around in my bed, which seems much too large nowadays. I hate sleeping alone, I miss the reassuring heat of another body close to mine, and I even miss the soft snoring. Perhaps he was right when he said I wasn't in it for a relationship, I just wanted a bed warmer.
When he moved in I found out pretty soon I had mistaken lust for love, but it was still good to have him here. For a few months life was fine, until small things started irritating me and more and more he became subject to my increasing bad temper.
I will probably have to resign myself to living alone. Since I am not the “occasional fuck” type, I will have to take matters into my own hand again, so to speak, and that’s exactly what I do.
Another almost sleepless night later, I spend my day cleaning up my apartment and do some food shopping. Today is not one of my afternoon show days, so I am in no hurry, and finally manage to doze off in front of the television.
That evening I go to the pub for a beer - just one - as I can’t afford to show up drunk at work. At least that is a good side effect. I keep my eyes open, but there’s no one I am really interested in, and I leave for the studio early.
When I am on air again, after some music and two callers, I make my announcement.
“Yesterday I made a promise. Viggo, if you are listening somewhere in England, this one is for you. *I Fall in Love Too Easily by Chet Baker.”
I sit back in my chair, enjoying the music, playing with the words in my head. My eye falls on the flashing red button, and when the music fades, I press the switch. There it is, the now almost familiar American drawl.
“Good Evening, welcome to Mellow Midnight, this is Sean.”
“Hi Sean, this is Viggo.”
*I fall in love too easily
I fall in love too fast
I fall in love too terribly hard
For love to ever last
My heart should be well-schooled
'Cause I've been burned in the past
And still I fall in love too easily
I fall in love too fast
I fall in love too easily
I fall in love too fast
I fall in love too terribly hard
For love to ever last
Lyrics by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne
Viggo
*Well you managed a sentence! Congratulations!*
Sean’s voice comes back to me, husky and reassuring, telling me he’s never heard my name before. I answer on automatic pilot, as I have been doing all my life.
He continues, friendly and encouraging, asking me if I am from Denmark and still I keep answering like an inarticulate dork, saying that I am American, really.
*Christ, Sean, you’ll be begging for another suicidal caller or old lady with a deceased pet in a minute.*
He doesn’t give up on me. I knew he was kind and he perseveres with this idiot, asking me whether I am on holiday and when I say that I am here on business, he asks me what made me call and where I am staying.
I actually manage to say that I am alone in a hotel room and once I begin to talk about the music, I feel myself relax.
When he replies and asks me if there’s a piece I’d like him to play, I can hear the corresponding warmth in his voice. I have to think for a while about a favourite piece of music. There are many, depending on my mood, but finally I ask for Chet Baker I Fall in Love Too Easily.
He sounds genuinely regretful, when he tells me he doesn’t have it, but offers to bring it from home and play it for me tomorrow night. It doesn’t surprise me at all that he would have it in his own collection and I am touched by his offer.
I thank him and he wishes me a good night, telling me to sleep well. The line clicks and Ella Fitzgerald’s voice replaces Sean’s, singing Someone to Watch Over me.
The choice of song is obviously coincidental, as he must plan the show in advance, but I find it strangely comforting, as if he meant it for me and I do sleep well, for the first night in the longest time. For the first time since I stumbled across it, I don’t even hear the rest of Sean’s show.
I wake in the morning feeling refreshed and raring to go. If truth be told, I want the day and evening to pass quickly, so that I can tune in tonight and see if Sean remembers my request.
I even laugh at myself, thinking how pathetic it is that a man my age, educated, experienced, successful in his career should have fallen for a voice over the radio. It’s hard to believe that I actually called the show and that now I am anticipating the next one with the excitement of a teenage girl waiting for her request to be played.
My colleagues in the London office would be astonished and the thought amuses me, as we travel out to Buckinghamshire to an opulent, stately home and spend the day valuing and cataloguing an art collection worth millions.
In the evening, it’s back to London for a business dinner and I find myself anxiously watching the clock, breathing a sigh of relief, when our host takes his leave at 11.30, giving me time to get a cab back to my hotel, exchange a few friendly words with the night porter and arrive in my room in time to hear the news and weather forecast before Sean’s slot.
I toe off my shoes, throw my jacket on a chair and lie back on the bed, loosening my tie and waiting for the voice.
There he is, soothing and arousing at the same time. I take off my tie and slowly unbutton my shirt. He introduces the show and plays Sarah Vaughan singing Misty then some Nat King Cole. He takes a couple of calls, the Dog Lady again and one from a very young-sounding girl trying to decide whether to break up with her boyfriend, who is pressuring her to do things she doesn’t want to do.
Sean talks to her like a caring father, except that I can’t imagine a teenager talking to her father about these particular things, which make me raise my eyebrows, although I’ve been around.
Then he makes the announcement I am waiting to hear. He talks about the promise he made and he plays my song. I have the phone in my hand after the first line.
“Good Evening, welcome to Mellow Midnight, this is Sean.”
“Hi Sean, this is Viggo.”
I can hear the smile in his voice,
“Viggo! How are you doing?”
Tonight I am determined not to be reduced to idiocy, so I reply decisively,
“I’m fine. I wanted to say thank you for playing the song. And thank you for bringing it in from your own collection – for remembering.”
“A promise is a promise, mate! Thank you for tuning into the show again.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it. You know, we share the same taste in music.”
“That’s good to hear. I appreciate your calling to let me know you enjoy the show.”
I really want to keep this conversation going, keep connecting with him and suddenly I have a brainwave,
“I was thinking that your collection and mine must be pretty similar, Sean. How about a challenge?”
“That sounds interesting. Tell me more.”
“How about you and I both make up a playlist for tomorrow night, of our favourite tracks and then I challenge you with three tracks and you play them, if you have them ready?”
“Oho, I could never resist a challenge. You’re on, mate!”
Sean
I am very pleased that Viggo has called again. Obviously he appreciated me playing that song for him very much, and I glad I did it. He seems a lot more relaxed than yesterday night, and even dares me to a challenge.
As I tell him, I never could resist one, and this one seems fun. In my mind I am already trying to come up with a track list, but of course I don’t really know anything about him, so I start asking him a few questions.
“So Viggo, you have a slight advantage here. It seems only fair to me that you tell me a bit more about the music you like. What is it exactly that makes I Fall in Love Too Easily one of your favourites?”
There is another one of these unnerving long silences, before he answers me.
“Well, of course I love Chet Baker, but most of all it’s the lyrics I think. I can very well relate to these words. Like I’ve been there, done that, you know?”
For a moment I am stunned by the honesty, and then I realize it’s what I like about the song most too, and for the same reason. But of course I can’t say so here, this show is not about me, so I just clear my throat before replying.
“It’s a very moving lyric, I agree with you there mate, simple but moving. I am sure a lot of people can relate to it. I am looking forward to our little challenge tomorrow night!”
I don’t want to end the conversation really, but Paul, the technician is giving me a sign through the glass window that separates his working space from mine, letting me know it’s time for a commercial break. I say “good night” to Viggo, and then go on with the show.
It’s a busy night, with a lot of callers, and the three hours are over before I know it. Paul, who has worked from 07.00 p.m., is off now too, and he offers me a ride. Since I live really close by, I almost always go on foot, but it’s drizzling, so I gladly accept.
Paul’s a nice guy, he has a good sense of humour, and I enjoy working with him. In the car, he turns his head to look at me, his eyes gleaming in the dark.
“So Sean, what’s with this American bloke? Have you worked your way through the English boys?”
Paul is one of the few people at work that know anything about my personal life, and he’s totally fine with it, so I don’t mind the teasing. I still blush though, and I am glad it’s dark.
“He seems nice, and he’s alone in a strange country, that’s all.” I know I sound defensive, and Paul looks at me a bit surprised.
“Hey mate, I am only having a bit of fun here. I just never saw you talking so animatedly on the show before.”
“I know you are. Thanks for the ride, Paul” I say, clapping him on his shoulder, as the car has stopped in front of my block of flats. “Good night.”
“Pleasant dreams Sean,” he says, and I smirk.
Later in bed, I think about the American, Viggo. His voice sounds nice, and there’s something in it that has woken my interest. Of course it is nonsense, because I don’t know a thing about him. But in the meantime, my hand is still stroking my cock, and before too long I arch up and come. For the first time in weeks I sleep really well after that.
I wake up quite late, and feel well rested. Today I have my afternoon show, and I plan on going early so I can make a careful choice for tonight’s play list. I am eager to find out whether I will be able to answer to Viggo’s challenge. There’s an awful lot of jazz music in the world, and I think Viggo probably has a bit of an acquired taste, but then again so do I. I take a few of my more interesting CDs with me, those I know are not on the studio’s collection, just in case.
The afternoon radio show I present is nice, but far less demanding, and I am almost glad when it’s over. Afterwards I sit down and make up a track list of the music that really does something for me.
When I have finished, I go back home to eat and watch some football. Dinner usually means micro waving something since I am alone again, cooking just doesn’t seem worth the effort. *Tomorrow night I will go to my favourite Italian restaurant*, I promise myself.
When I return to work that night, I have a brief look over the play list with Paul, and then I wait until it’s time for me to start. I can’t help feeling a tingle of anticipation, hoping I can live up to Viggo’s expectations.
I don’t have to wait long; he’s the first one calling in. I glance up to look into Paul’s grinning face, and I flick up my middle finger to him. Cheeky bastard he is.
“So Viggo, how’s about it? Did you make your choice?”
He chuckles. “Yes I did, Sean, and I can’t wait to find out what you can do. Here we go, number one: Cool Blues by Charlie Parker, number two: All Blues by Miles Davis, number three: It’s Easy To Remember (But So Hard To Forget) by John Coltrane.”
This time I stay silent for a few seconds,
“Interesting choice, Viggo! It’s nice to know I can indulge you, all three are on my list too.”
There’s a triumphant yell on the other side of the line and I grin.
His voice definitely husky, he replies,
“But I am not surprised at all Sean.”
Summary: Sean is a radio presenter, and Viggo is in the UK for business.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: AUChallenges:
Series: Mellow MidnightChapters: 4 Completed: Yes
Word count: 18582 Read: 3810
Published: 05 Aug 2009 Updated: 05 Aug 2009