Angel takes on Wimbledon.
Warnings: smut, a little public (?) (18+).
A/n: Because @kennaskorner sent this idea and I needed to write to keep the juices flowing but I was too lazy to create other characters I thought it’d be fun to use Angel. Enjoy?
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“Stop pouting, you’ll have fun.”
“Your definition of fun and mine are clearly different, Virgil.” Angel reaches under her white pleated a-line mini dress to adjust her black underwear with a frown. The dress is from Chanel she thinks, she has long stopped keeping up with the designer stuff he gets her because “he thinks she’d look good in it.”
Virgil eyes her like he’s trying to contain a secret. A little mischief mingled with concern. “You enjoyed that musical I took you to.”
Even though annoyed, she adjusts his tie that’s a little crooked. He looks so good in his white Versace suit and yellow bamboo AP watch that Angel is sure is worth the GDP of a small island.
“Yeah, because I love music. I don’t give a fuck about tennis, Virgil. When you said we were taking a trip to London, I expected you to be doing your stupid business meetings while I lounged in hotel rooms or went jewelry shopping.”
“It is a part of work, it was a special invite. Good for networking too.” He presses a kiss to the shell of her ear.
Angel scratches her eyebrow that’s free of her signature metal barbell. He never asked her to remove it, Virgil never asks her to change her appearance no matter the occasion and she’s so fond of him for it. But she also understands time and place.
“You look beautiful.” He says softly.
She almost melts. Almost. “It’s like a hundred degrees outside, Virgil. This better not last longer than an hour.” Angel smoothes a hand over her shoulder length sew-in.
He presses a hand to the small of her back and leads her towards the elevator.
“The car is waiting outside, you won’t be in the heat long.”
She huffs again; she thought the heels on her feet would be the pain in her ass, but she thought wrong.
“Where the fuck did you get these panties? They’re uncomfortable.”
Virgil’s gaze turns tender at her petulance. Angel has been noticing that look lately. Their… arrangement has been going for almost a year now. At first, it was Angel taking him everywhere: clubs, the movies, house parties. Then, he slowly started introducing her to his world. Dinners, galas, recitals, musicals, business trips. Truthfully, she’s still adjusting, but he takes it all in stride— educating without over-correcting, showing her off proudly as his girlfriend though she never agreed to it; but Angel understands it’s more appropriate than calling her his sugar baby.
Virgil tips her chin up to press a chaste kiss on her lips. Her lipgloss leaves a sticky sheen on his mouth. Angel reaches to wipe it away with her thumb.
“Stop looking at me like that, it’s gay.” She teases with a smirk.
He grasps her hand in a loose hold and presses a kiss to her wrist.
“You’ll have fun, I promise.”
Angel is sweating from every pore of her body before Virgil is even done greeting people. She tries her best to keep her expression pleasant, truly, but the heat and humidity are too much to bear. Even with all the familiar celebrity faces at Wimbledon, Angel is miserable. He leads her into a lounge with a few colleagues. Angel takes advantage of free flowing champagne and some pastry that’s stuffed with strawberries and cream. Virgil’s smile is almost tender when he looks over at her; he uses his thumb to wipe the corner of her lips and brings it to his mouth without shame. A few men in the circle formed visibly startle but don’t comment. Her face burns.
By the time they get to their seats, her expression is sour. Her brows are furrowed, mouth downturned at the sides.
“You said I’d have fun. Not off to a good start.”
“You haven’t even waited for-”
“I don’t care.” She folds her hands over her chest, eyes on the court. A few uneventful minutes pass between them. Virgil is roped into conversation with a man sitting to his left— some investor if she remembers correctly. Middle aged with a haughty laugh that makes her roll her eyes every time.
At first, Angel thinks she’s imagining it. It takes her brain about three seconds to process that she’s actually feeling vibrations. She whips her head in Virgil’s direction sharply, eyes wide, a whimper caught in her throat. He’s already staring. Their gazes clash; his eyes are smoldering, gauging her reaction.
“Virgil?” She clutches his hand for dear life.
And Angel, for all her claimed expertise in debauchery, wants to chastise herself for not taking the time to properly assess why the underwear he begged her to wear feels the way it does. She can only offer a small nod while her pulse flutters in excitement. His hand shifts subtly in the pocket of his slacks. The vibrations increase. Angel almost doubles over. Her nails dig into his wrist but Virgil continues his conversation with the man like she isn’t even there. There’s some announcement of the men taking the court for the doubles. Angel has no idea what that means she can’t even pretend to care. Because she has to grit her teeth so she doesn’t cry out; because she has to focus on keeping every muscle in her body still so she doesn’t rock her hips like she desperately wants to. The muscles in her lower belly clench almost painfully while her clit throbs in wild abandon. She can feel herself almost soaking through the panties. The men on the pitch serve and an intense battle ensues. She hears the crowd react to every swing: loud cheers, tense gasps. Whatever is happening, it’s all lost on her.
“Are you alright, love?” The older man beside Virgil suddenly calls out to her. His thick brows are furrowed in concern. Virgil feigns concern but his eyes are raw.
Angel blinks several times, mouth gaping but words fail to come. Instead she squeaks, folding over and clutching her lower belly as the vibrations grow more powerful.
“Oh my, I think she might be feeling unwell.” He comments in concern.
“Probably flushed from the heat.” Virgil comments. It’s almost cruel. And she has always been somewhat of a masochist. Angel won’t say it, but she has been enjoying Virgil coming out of his shell these past couple of months. So after he speaks, she moans: long, low and unrestrained. Luckily, the sound gets swallowed up by the excitement rippling through the crowd. Virgil hears it though. He responds by gripping her thigh slick from sweat and her moisturizer.
This time, when she looks up in his darkened eyes, tears are blurring her vision. She’s so wound up— she needs him inside. She needs to come, and preferably with a crowd of strangers bearing witness as she screams bloody murder. Angel shakes her desperately.
“I think you’re right, Wilson. Let me take her to the bathroom.”
Virgil hauls her up on her feet as soon as the words leave his mouth. Angel expects him to cut the vibrations to give her some respite, but he doesn’t.
“Don’t you dare, Angel. Not yet.” He smiles at someone he spoke with earlier as he leads her through the rows.
Her legs feel like jelly but she keeps up with his strides, biting her lower lip until she tastes metal.
Angel presses herself to his back the second they enter the lounge. Virgil’s grip on her hand tightens but he doesn’t slow his pace until they’re inside the spacious, clean private bathroom. His fingers fumble in his haste to lock the door.
Angel’s sobs echo through the room and it makes him pause a little. Virgil has never seen her so riled up— it throws him for a loop.
“Baby?” He touches her waist firmly with both hands as if to ground her.
“Need them off, please? Wanna come-”
He hoists her up onto the sink, reaching under her dress to drag the panties down her legs. They both moan.
He groans. “You’re absolutely soaking, Angel.”
“Inside? Inside, please.”
They’re a mess of harsh breaths and desperation as they claw at the buckle of his belt.
Virgil finally gets his pants loose, he barely gets his underwear down before Angel has his cock in a firm grip. She guides him where she needs him until she’s physically panting for it. Virgil takes over, pressing inside until her eyes roll to the back of her head. Shivers wrack her entire body when he bottoms out.
“So big, so full.” She sobs.
Virgil slaps a palm over her mouth. “Too loud, baby.”
The urgency is felt without either of them saying a word. It gives her a rush. Angel hikes her knees to her chest after kicking her shoes off. Virgil sets the perfect pace for the situation. It’s not erratic, but quick, hard and deep. A strangled sound leaves her mouth but it’s muffled by his hand. She’s so wet that every thrust inside rings around in the bathroom. Her heartbeat picks up, sweat trickling down the nape of her neck.
“So good, Angel. So fucking perfect.” His voice breaks somewhere in the middle.
“Make me come, Virgil. Make me come.” She chants under his palm until she’s chasing her high until her hips are hanging off the counter.
He thumbs her clit in tight circles until her legs quiver. She reaches down to grip at one of his muscular glutes, forcing him deeper until it hurts. But that’s exactly what she loves— she loves it so much until she breaks apart around his dick still hammering inside until she’s screaming. Virgil doubles over to bury his face in the crook of her neck to muffle his groans as he throbs. They rut against each other as they come; distantly, Angel prays she doesn’t hear a knock on the door. Not now. Not when she’s still riding the high that’s so delicious that it rattles every bone in her body.
Virgil presses their mouths together; the kiss is breathless and more tongue than lips.
“I might need to start taking birth control. You’ve been doing that often, lately.” She manages through heavy breathing.
“Sorry, it’s just… you make logic…” he waves his hand flippantly.
Angel sighs at the gentle way he pulls out of her body. “So fucking good. You've been so chaotic recently and I love it.”
Virgil’s neck gets redder and she knows it isn’t from exertion. She smirks.
“We need to hurry and get decent.”
He picks her panties up. Angel eyes it in disdain.
“I’m not putting those back on, they’re gonna be uncomfortable.”
“Sorry.” He mumbles bashfully.
“Hmm, could’ve warned me so I would’ve come prepared but I can’t say I regret it.”
They move quickly to clean up as much as they’re able to. Angel wraps her panties in hand towels and stuffs them in her designer purse.
“Do I look like you just fucked my brains out?” She questions after re-touching her make up and running her fingers through her hair.
Virgil chokes, but shakes his head with a smile.
“Okay.” She re-adjusts his tie.
“And again, stop looking at me like that.”
“I just… like you a lot.” He clears his throat awkwardly.
She smirks. “I know, that’s why it’s gay. Let’s go.”
They sit in the heat another two hours until they declare winners Angel doesn’t even care about. She sat quietly throughout, flustered every time the wind would send her dress fluttering up her legs. Virgil noticed, and after laughing at her a little, he placed a big hand on her thigh. Onlookers would think it an act of possession, but he was merely keeping the hem of her dress in place.
“It was nice meeting you, Angel. Glad you’re feeling better.” Wilson smiles softly at her.
“Well, apart from that incident, I hope you enjoyed yourself?”
She hesitates for only a second. “I did.” Her smile is genuine.
Virgil’s smirk is subtle.
“Good, that means you wouldn’t mind tagging along with us to go golfing tomorrow then, yes?”
Angel turns her attention to Virgil and cocks a brow, asking the question only they know.
Swiping a thumb across his lips, he nods with a glint in his eyes.
She faces the man with a smile; “I’d love to join you.”
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