Warnings: mentions of drugs, smut, mature themes (18+)
A/n: I had this almost complete and sitting in my docs a while and decided to just finish and post. I wanted to try characterizing Virg a little differently here so here we are and idkđ
enjoy?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bustling streets of Manhattan is something Virgil loves and hates equally. The city breathes life; people of every race, every backgroundâ a melting pot of multicultural heaven that forms something so beautiful when he sits and ruminates on it for a while. A guy shouting in Arabic here, then an older, mature woman responding in some English creole that he uses context and tone to make sense of. Itâs truly wonderful to be reminded of how different we all areâ of how welcoming the city is. On the other hand, the fact that the big apple opens its loving arms to everyone, means the population is extremely large. Especially during peak hours on Wall Street. Traffic is always at a stand still on his way to the office. He even tried leaving home a little earlier every morning; today, he left home 25 minutes earlier than he usually does. Yet, he finds himself tapping at his steering in annoyance five minutes late while still being minutes away. He has a feeling he wouldâve probably been fired by now if he wasnât COO. It takes another fifteen minutes of slow progression and huffing until he finally parks along the curb reserved in front of the grand office. His eyes flicker to the expensive watch sitting on his wristâ twenty minutes late. With a frustrated huff, he hurries to gather his things from the passenger seat then exits the vehicle. In his haste, he whirls around and immediately starts marching in the direction of the building with his eyes still focused on his watch. Virgil takes three steps before colliding into a much smaller figure. Time seems to stand still at the feel of something warm and very wet soaking into the material of white shirt.
The woman in front of him rubs at her forehead, fixing him with an annoyed glare. She stands at about 5â7 with glowy brown skin and almond shaped mocha brown eyes. Her plump, pink lips are set in a petulant pout with pink lipgloss smudged around them. Matter of fact, all her makeup is smudgedâ eyeliner streaks below her eyes, eyeshadow messy like she rubbed at it for hours. To top it all off, sheâs wearing the tiniest, black dress he has ever seen. It leaves so little to the imagination that he shamefully takes a few seconds to admire her body.
âWhat the fuck are you made of? Bricks?â Her palm still rubs at her forehead.
Belatedly, he finally looks down the length of his body. Thereâs a huge, brown patch on his shirt and the smell of coffee is prominent. A cup with a logo he doesnât recognize sways uselessly at his feet on its side. Virgil takes an inhale through his nose, rolling the building tension from his neck.
âYou ruined my shirt.â He says calmly.
Her brows furrow; âYou were the one who wasnât paying attention! That was my coffee for my hangover!â She stomps her right foot petulantly.
âYou need to buy that back! I have no coffee at home and I spent my last $8 on that.â
He canât help but blink in bewilderment; âYouâre complaining about $8 when you just ruined my Armani shirt?â
âI didnât do shit!â
âLook at you, youâre drunk at 8:25 am in the morning. You couldâve easily walked right into me because you donât know up from down right now.â
She gasps; âHey! Iâm not drunk! Well, I sobered up like 2 hours ago I think⊠Also, donât sound so judgmental about people having fun because you have a stick up your ass.â
Virgil chuckles in disbelief.
âYeah, I donât have time for this.â Virgil rounds her sputtering figure and strides straight into the building. Heâll send his secretary on a run for a new shirt later.
Virgil feels dead on his feet as he stumbles out of the office at 6:30 pm. Heâs pretty sure he saw bags under his eyes when he caught a brief glance of himself in the glass windows on his way down to the lobby. Thereâs a little warning voice ringing in the back of his mind that he has been ignoring: âyouâre working too much.â But what else is he supposed to do? His job is his life, literally. His movements halt suddenly, eyes widening slightly at what he finds outside. Leaning against his car, though sheâs now free of makeup and looks more rested, is unmistakably the woman he bumped into this morning. The cheetah printed dress is even more risquĂ© than the black one he saw her in earlier. The boots on her feet are chunky and black. Uncrossing her arms, she eases away from his car to stride towards him. Her expression is hardened with determination.
âYouâre fucking jokingâŠâ
âNope! I want my coffee.â She blows an obnoxious bubble with the watermelon scented gum sheâs chomping at.
Virgil roots around for his wallet in the pocket of his slacks. He pulls out a crisp $100 bill and shoves it in her direction.
âHere. This should cover coffee for a few days, hm?â
Her brown eyes twinkle with something mischievous as she snatches the note from his hand.
âThanks, but this still isnât coffee.â
Virgil sputters incredulously; âWhat?â
Cocking a hip, her eyes do a slow perusal of him from head to toe; âWhatâs your name?â
Virgil wills his neck to not go pink under her intense gaze. Heâs used to being the center of attention in meetings, but getting attention from an obviously younger woman whoâs as bold and looks so stunning is something else entirely.
âNice to meet you, Virgil. Iâm Angel, and youâre coming with me.â
Angel cocks a brow then grasps his wrist in her delicate hand before tugging him along. For whatever reason, Virgil doesnât resist.
âMy car⊠I canât just leave it here.â
âYouâre a New Yorker who drives?â She folds her lips to contain her laugh.
âI have a garage.â He mutters uselessly with a shrug, because for some strange reason he feels embarrassed.
âOf course you do, give me the keys.â Angel stretches an open palm in his direction.
He shouldnât, but heâs attracted. Heâs so attracted and really wants her to spend time with him. So though he hesitates, Virgil presses the fob to his Volvo XC90.
âA VolvoâŠdo you wear a helmet when you ride a bicycle?â She cackles at his nonplussed expression before strutting over to the lone car still parked along the curb.
Virgil tries not to let his eyes stay glued to the assured sway of her hips and the plump curve of her ass. He gulps, wiping his sweaty palms along the length of his slacks. He rounds the vehicle just as she gets into the driverâs seat and his car comes to life with a gentle purr. Virgil scrambles with his seatbelt just as she pulls onto the street with tires screeching.
Angel rolls her eyes with an endeared smile;
âWhere do you live? Lemme guess, Brooklyn Heights?â
Virgil feels almost disappointed at how easy he is to read.
âYes. But why do you want to go to my house?â
âCause Iâm taking you out with me and you canât wear a suit.â She pops her gum absentmindedly, swerving unnecessarily.
âBut IâŠâ he trails off as she cocks a brow at him.
Virgil swallows his protest;
âTurn left after the stop sign.â
Angel whistles appreciatively as she pulls into his garage.
âYou know, Iâve never really had a lot of aspirations, but owning a Brownstone house? Thatâs something I want eventually.â
Virgil tries not to show much of a reaction to that.
âYou can, you just hav-â
âPlease donât say work hard.â Angel rolls her eyes in exasperation.
âOh⊠sorry.â He clears his throat loudly, the sound of the garage door closing behind amplifying the awkward air tenfold.
âAre you gonna give me a tour of your house? Or are we gonna die in this fucking garage?â Angel smirks at him while he fumbles with the seatbelt.
He leads her inside his living room thatâs sparsely decorated: a tv that spans almost the entire length of the wall with a console beneath with a few figurines. She recognizes them as characters from Dragon Ball Z. A coffee table and a coach. Thatâs it.
âVery⊠minimal.â She drags her index finger along his console while walking further into his home without permission.
âI⊠uh⊠my wi- ex- wife handled most of the decorations so itâsâŠâ He shrugs carelessly but avoids eye contact with her.
His words bring her attention to the lighter circular line cutting through the rest of his tan fingers.
âUh⊠almost two years.â
âJust recently stopped wearing your ring to keep up appearances at the office?â Her voice is sickly sweet. Virgil pauses, scratching at the back of his neck thatâs starting to grow red.
Angel hums contemplatively before speaking;
âTake me to your bedroom.â She blinks up at him in an exaggerated way that she knows will make him fall apart. Sheâs right. His Adamâs apple bobs heavily, eyes almost bulging from his head.
âBedroom, for your clothes, silly.â
He fidgets in place for a few seconds then turns to stride down the narrow hallway. Not before she hears him cursing himself under his breath. Angel bites her lip to keep her laughter at bay.
His bedroom is just as minimal but his scent is concentrated here. It makes something in her lower belly shift. Virgil opens his walk- in closet and steps aside for her to do her perusal.
âSo, where are we⊠whatâs the vibe of the occasion?â
She waves him off in dismissal, eyes glued to rows of clothing inside. âGo freshen up, Iâll take care of it.â
By the time he emerges from the bathroom, Angel is holding a black knitted Polo shirt, a pair of jeans and a pair of black suede Clarks.
âWell, this was the best I could do and woah! You have tattoos.â Angelâs eyes are comically wide at the revelation. Heâs only wrapped a towel around his lower half; whatever she expected him to look like under his suit, he surpasses her expectations. Virgil clearly stays active, sheâd even say heâs religious with his visits to the gym. But the swirling dark ink that occupies the entire length of his left hand steals her attention.
Virgil, flustered under her gaze, eyes his arm then shrugs impassively; âYeah.â
âYou might be the most uncool person with tattoos ever.â
He frowns bitterly; âYouâre really mean.â
She cackles without remorse, shoving the clothes in his face. âPut these on, and I advise you donât wear any of your watches that cost thousands.â
Angel waits for him in the kitchen, making herself comfortable by pouring a glass of orange juice and snacking on a protein bar she found in his cupboard. He re-emerges after she freshens her makeup and draws harsh, black lines around her eyes in his kitchen using her phone camera as a mirror.
âReady, pretty boy?â She eyes from head to toe, pleased but keeping it a secret. His clothes look almost custom made the way they mold on to his big frame. His man bun looks refreshed and his cologne permeates the air around them.
âPlease donât call me that.â
âWhy? You like it too much?â Angel teases.
âWhere are we going?â He asks just to change the subject. Angel notices and smirks but decides not to torment him further.
âA club; and weâre taking the train like real New Yorkers.â
Angel takes him to Grayâs Papaya before they make it to the club. Virgil sticks out like a sore thumb as she greets the cashier she has now grown familiar with.
âLemme get two Franks, ketchup, mustard, onions and two medium papaya drinks.â
Virgil stays close, surveying the space as if heâs afraid some rodent will suddenly jump at him from behind the counter. Angel pays from the same $100 bill he handed her earlier. They stay by the counter as they wait for their order. Turning to face him, Angel eyes him with amusement.
âI promise they wonât poison our food.â
âI just⊠why here? I could take you somewhere be-â
âI want a hotdog.â She says with finality.
âDo you miss your wife?â Her tone is conversational despite the weight of the question. Virgilâs eyes widen; Angelâs expression remains neutral.
âUh⊠I donât know. I miss the company, she was my first and only love and I havenât been with anyone else so itâs a little difficult to date.â He clears his throat in a gesture that clearly shows discomfort.
âYou didnât answer my question.â Angel wipes a small smear of aftershave cream from his goatee with her index. Virgil looks down at her with lidded eyes.
âI donât. Iâve just been lonely.â He finally admits.
Angel gives a pleased hum just as their orders arrive. Unsurprisingly, Virgil loves the hotdog. He devours it in three big bites, humming after every one. Angel only gloats a little as they walk side by side sipping from styrofoam cups while the city awakens for the nightlife around them.
They get swallowed up in a crowd of bodies in the humid heat of the underground club. Crimson lights set the atmosphere for depravityâ for drugs, liquor and lust. Virgil keeps an ironclad grip around her waist, eyes alert and body tense. The bass from a rock song shakes her chest so hard but instead of discomfort, it makes her blood sing in excitement. She lives for scenes like this.
âYou already look like I plucked you right off a golf course, loosen up so people donât think Iâm holding you hostage.â Angel yells at him over the music.
âI⊠this is a lot!â He says with furrowed brows.
With a roll of her eyes, Angel roots around in her purse and pulls out two carefully packaged gummies. One she pops in her mouth, the other she unwraps and stretches towards him. Virgilâs head recoils.
âItâs just an edible. Itâll help you loosen up and have fun.â
He eyes it skeptically for a few seconds before he dips his head lower for her to feed him the gummy. He chews thoughtfully.
âIt does taste good. Iâve never been high before, just a heads up.â
She giggles at his somber expression; âItâs not a high enough dose to really fuck you up, youâll just feel good. Youâll see.â Angel throws her arms around his neck, pulling his body closer.
âWhy me?â He asks as he tries to follow her swaying movements.
âWhat do you mean?â She inquires in faux innocence.
Virgil gives her an exasperated look. With a giggle, Angel laughs freely and concedes.
âYouâre handsome. I wanna fuck you.â She says with a nonchalant shrug.
Virgil chokes around nothing, grip on her waist tightening.
âWhy are you surprised? Have you seen yourself?â
Virgil gapes like a fish, words seemingly lost to him.
âWant me to prove it?â Angel suddenly steps out of his embrace, whispering something to a woman who looks to be about her age thatâs standing next to them. Sheâs decked from head to toe in black, jet black bang falling into her eyes. Her lips painted with a dark blue lipstick stretch into a smirk and before Virgil can make sense of it, she replaces Angel in front of him.
She introduces herself as Raven, and is just as bold as Angel. She turns to press her back to his front and begins a steady grind against his crotch. Virgil thinks it must be the edible, but heâs suddenly aware of the very blood pumping through his veins. The temperature in the room rises, but he feels immune. He feels emboldened. His hands find Ravenâs hips, moving as best as heâs able to with her unsteady rhythm. His eyes cut over to Angel a few feet away. Sheâs in a similar position as Raven with a different guy; unlike Raven, she flows with the beat. They make steady eye contact across the room while they dance with different partners; for whatever reason, it builds the tension between them despite the distance. Angel pushes her ass back into the guy harder, mouth popping open slightly. Virgil feels the front of his jeans tighten as his blood roars in his ears. He needs Angel. He manages to restrain himself through three more songs before he steps away from Raven with a quick smile of appreciation. Angel smirks as he approaches, as if she was expecting it. Virgil doesnât acknowledge the guy behind her as he pulls her into his body. Angel smiles up at him, eyes glinting with mischief.
âDid you mean that? What you said earlier?â
Angel grasps one of his hands thatâs around her waist and trails it between her legs until his finger tips graze her bare pussy under her dress.
âI didnât wear underwear, just for you.â She stands on the tips of her toes to whisper against his mouth.
Angel isnât sure who moves first before they start devouring each other as the club pulses around them. Itâs wet, itâs hurried, itâs passionate. Angel lowers from tipping but Virgil folds his body to follow her downward. She suckles on his tongue that tastes like him and the faintest hint of papaya juice and the watermelon flavoured edible. Angel moans at the feel of his chest rumbling.
âBack to your place?â
Virgil thinks heâs dreaming. He must be. He chances a glance at the woman kneeling on his bed between his legs again. The perfect arch showing her narrow waist and round ass, but most importantly, the part thatâs making him feel like he has to be gripping at his sanity so it doesnât completely slip away, is the way sheâs staring at him with her mouth stretched around his length. Angel slurps her way upward like she has all the time in the world, eyes locked on his own. Virgilâs toes curl until he gets a cramp in his foot.
âAngel, baby, I-â he can only moan helplessly, mouth agape and eyes disbelieving.
âHm?â She pulls off him with an audible pop, but keeps her mouth around his tip, spitting and slurping over and over.
Virgil feels his eyes roll to the back of his head, belly spasming. He wants to stop the embarrassing sounds that keep tumbling out of his mouth, but Angel, fucking Angel. Sheâs so good. Too good. She teased him with her words, her eyes, with subtle touches during the entire train ride back to his side of town. He has been on edge for what feels like hours; hiding his erection was a real pain and she laughed at him for it, though she did promise to make it up to him. Now he knows what she meant.
âVirgil?â She calls him sweetly.
It takes a few seconds for his vision to focus, when it does, Angel sticks her tongue out and slaps the weight of his dick against it.
âAngel, what the fu-â he suddenly chokes because she sinks all the way down his length while her fingers touch at sacs delicately. Heâs sure she feels them pull taut under her touch.
Angel hurries to pull her mouth off him and tightens a fist around the base of his dick when she feels him starting to throb.
She tuts softly; âNot before you fuck me.â
Angel crawls up the length of his body to press their mouths together sloppily. She moans in his mouth, pulls away an inch and puckers her lips. Virgil opens his mouth for every drop without complaint, diving back in to attack her soft, plump lips. His breath hitches as she fully straddles his lap and takes his drenched dick in her hand. She doesnât tease, seemingly as impatient as he feels. Virgil tenses in anticipation as she positions his dick at her entrance and begins sliding down the length of him. They gasp simultaneously.
âSo fucking big and perfect, Virgil.â She moans from the pit of her belly, quivering above him when sheâs almost seated fully on his lap.
Virgil squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the sweat trailing down his temples so he doesnât come prematurely and ruin her night. It has been almost three years since he last had sex. And Angel feels too wet, too tight, too warm. Too much. Her hands settle in the middle of his chest and she raises herself to the tips of her toes.
âYou better not come before I get mine, Virgil.â Itâs too whiny to be a command but it sticks anyway. Angel wastes no time in riding him with abandon. She bounces along his length, head thrown back and moans pitched high. Her black nails are a perfect contrast against his skin.
With sweat trickling into his eyes, Virgil plants his feet and starts meeting every downward bounce with a harsh thrust of his hips. Angel screams, nails biting into his chest.
âYes! Just like that, Virg. Big, fucking di-â Angel grunts as he angles his hips just right.
âAngel, Iâm gonna-â
âNot yet.â She whines, bouncing harder, eyes squeezed shut.
Virgil reaches for her breasts, thumb and index lightly squeezing her taut nipples. Angel stiffens with a small cry. Virgil snaps his hips faster, harder.
Virgilâs vision goes white. His entire body tingles as Angel milks him for everything heâs worth. He thinks heâs probably crying out, he canât be sure with all the ringing in his ear. His hips donât still. He canât. It feels so good he thinks he might actually pass out or fucking die. Who knows? Who cares? If this is his last experience on earth he couldnât ever be mad. What a way to go, actually. When he regains his senses, Angel is lying against his chest. Breaths heavy and heartbeat erraticâ like his own.
âAngel?â His hand rubs the length of her back.
She snorts; âNo. itâs big but Iâm a size queen.â
âI donât know what that means.â He admits truthfully.
This time, she giggles; âYouâre adorable, I almost want to keep you.â
He goes quiet, contemplating if he wants to risk shattering his pride. But he decides that he wants to see her again. He needs to see her again. He canât remember the last time he had this much fun, or tried something new and exciting.
Tense silence follows for almost a minute before Angel lifts her head to face him with a smile.
Virgil feigns nonchalance; âYeah. Iâd take care of you and we could see each other like, a few times a week and Iâd buy you things-â
âSo you wanna be my sugar daddy?â She smirks.
âNo! Iâd take you to dinner and maybe give you an allowance and⊠yeah, a sugar daddy for fuckâs sake.â He admits with a frown.
Angel cackles like a maniac; âHm, well, I already called you daddy so might as well reap the benefits. Also, youâre taking the day off of work tomorrow, you have dark circles under your eyes.â She says around a yawn. He knows better than to argue.
Angel gets comfortable on his chest again, uncaring of his dick softening inside her. In fact, she seems to relish it as she subtly rocks against him with a pleased little moan.
And Virgil? Virgil could really get used to it.