#vvd4

wc: 3.8k

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 idk😅 enjoy?

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The bustling streets of Manhattan is something Virgil loves and hates equally. The city breathes life; people of every race, every background— 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. It’s truly wonderful to be reminded of how different we all are— 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 would’ve probably been fired by now if he wasn’t 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 wrist— 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.

“Owww.”

The woman in front of him rubs at her forehead, fixing him with an annoyed glare. She stands at about 5’7 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 smudged— eyeliner streaks below her eyes, eyeshadow messy like she rubbed at it for hours. To top it all off, she’s 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.

“What the fuck are you made of? Bricks?” Her palm still rubs at her forehead.

Belatedly, he finally looks down the length of his body. There’s a huge, brown patch on his shirt and the smell of coffee is prominent. A cup with a logo he doesn’t recognize sways uselessly at his feet on its side. Virgil takes an inhale through his nose, rolling the building tension from his neck.

“You ruined my shirt.” He says calmly.

Her brows furrow; “You were the one who wasn’t paying attention! That was my coffee for my hangover!” She stomps her right foot petulantly.

“You need to buy that back! I have no coffee at home and I spent my last $8 on that.”

He can’t help but blink in bewilderment; “You’re complaining about $8 when you just ruined my Armani shirt?”

“I didn’t do shit!”

“Look at you, you’re drunk at 8:25 am in the morning. You could’ve easily walked right into me because you don’t know up from down right now.”

She gasps; “Hey! I’m not drunk! Well, I sobered up like 2 hours ago I think… Also, don’t sound so judgmental about people having fun because you have a stick up your ass.”

Virgil chuckles in disbelief.

“Yeah, I don’t have time for this.” Virgil rounds her sputtering figure and strides straight into the building. He’ll 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. He’s 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. There’s a little warning voice ringing in the back of his mind that he has been ignoring: ‘you’re working too much.’ 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 she’s now free of makeup and looks more rested, is unmistakably the woman he bumped into this morning. The cheetah printed dress is even more risqué 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.

“You owe me coffee.”

“You’re fucking joking…”

“Nope! I want my coffee.” She blows an obnoxious bubble with the watermelon scented gum she’s chomping at.

“You know what?”

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.

“Here. This should cover coffee for a few days, hm?”

Her brown eyes twinkle with something mischievous as she snatches the note from his hand.

“Thanks, but this still isn’t coffee.”

Virgil sputters incredulously; “What?”

Cocking a hip, her eyes do a slow perusal of him from head to toe; “What’s your name?”

Virgil wills his neck to not go pink under her intense gaze. He’s used to being the center of attention in meetings, but getting attention from an obviously younger woman who’s as bold and looks so stunning is something else entirely.

“Virgil.”

“Nice to meet you, Virgil. I’m Angel, and you’re coming with me.”

His brain blanks.

“Uh….”

Angel cocks a brow then grasps his wrist in her delicate hand before tugging him along. For whatever reason, Virgil doesn’t resist.

“My car… I can’t just leave it here.”

“You’re a New Yorker who drives?” She folds her lips to contain her laugh.

“I have a garage.” He mutters uselessly with a shrug, because for some strange reason he feels embarrassed.

“Of course you do, give me the keys.” Angel stretches an open palm in his direction.

He shouldn’t, but he’s attracted. He’s so attracted and really wants her to spend time with him. So though he hesitates, Virgil presses the fob to his Volvo XC90.

“A Volvo…do you wear a helmet when you ride a bicycle?” 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 driver’s 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.

“Please slow down.”

Angel rolls her eyes with an endeared smile;

“Where do you live? Lemme guess, Brooklyn Heights?”

Virgil feels almost disappointed at how easy he is to read.

“Yes. But why do you want to go to my house?”

“Cause I’m taking you out with me and you can’t wear a suit.” She pops her gum absentmindedly, swerving unnecessarily.

“But I…” he trails off as she cocks a brow at him.

Virgil swallows his protest;

“Turn left after the stop sign.”

**************

Angel whistles appreciatively as she pulls into his garage.

“You know, I’ve never really had a lot of aspirations, but owning a Brownstone house? That’s something I want eventually.”

Virgil tries not to show much of a reaction to that.

“You can, you just hav-”

“Please don’t say work hard.” Angel rolls her eyes in exasperation.

“Oh… sorry.” He clears his throat loudly, the sound of the garage door closing behind amplifying the awkward air tenfold.

“Are you gonna give me a tour of your house? Or are we gonna die in this fucking garage?” Angel smirks at him while he fumbles with the seatbelt.

He leads her inside his living room that’s 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. That’s it.

“Very… minimal.” She drags her index finger along his console while walking further into his home without permission.

“I… uh… my wi- ex- wife handled most of the decorations so it’s…” 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.

“How long?”

“Uh… almost two years.”

“Just recently stopped wearing your ring to keep up appearances at the office?” Her voice is sickly sweet. Virgil pauses, scratching at the back of his neck that’s starting to grow red.

“Uh… yes.”

Angel hums contemplatively before speaking;

“Take me to your bedroom.” She blinks up at him in an exaggerated way that she knows will make him fall apart. She’s right. His Adam’s apple bobs heavily, eyes almost bulging from his head.

“What?”

“Bedroom, for your clothes, silly.”

“Oh! Right…”

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.

“So, where are we… what’s the vibe of the occasion?”

She waves him off in dismissal, eyes glued to rows of clothing inside. “Go freshen up, I’ll take care of it.”

He doesn’t protest.

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.

“Well, this was the best I could do and woah! You have tattoos.” Angel’s eyes are comically wide at the revelation. He’s 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, she’d even say he’s 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; “Yeah.”

“You might be the most uncool person with tattoos ever.”

He frowns bitterly; “You’re really mean.”

She cackles without remorse, shoving the clothes in his face. “Put these on, and I advise you don’t wear any of your watches that cost thousands.”

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.

“Ready, pretty boy?” 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.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Why? You like it too much?” Angel teases.

“Where are we going?” He asks just to change the subject. Angel notices and smirks but decides not to torment him further.

“A club; and we’re taking the train like real New Yorkers.”

*******************

Angel takes him to Gray’s 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.

“Lemme get two Franks, ketchup, mustard, onions and two medium papaya drinks.”

Virgil stays close, surveying the space as if he’s 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.

“I promise they won’t poison our food.”

“I just… why here? I could take you somewhere be-”

“I want a hotdog.” She says with finality.

“Do you miss your wife?” Her tone is conversational despite the weight of the question. Virgil’s eyes widen; Angel’s expression remains neutral.

“Uh… I don’t know. I miss the company, she was my first and only love and I haven’t been with anyone else so it’s a little difficult to date.” He clears his throat in a gesture that clearly shows discomfort.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Angel wipes a small smear of aftershave cream from his goatee with her index. Virgil looks down at her with lidded eyes.

“I don’t. I’ve just been lonely.” 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 depravity— 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.

“You already look like I plucked you right off a golf course, loosen up so people don’t think I’m holding you hostage.” Angel yells at him over the music.

“I… this is a lot!” 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. Virgil’s head recoils.

“It’s just an edible. It’ll help you loosen up and have fun.”

He eyes it skeptically for a few seconds before he dips his head lower for her to feed him the gummy. He chews thoughtfully.

“Good, huh?”

“It does taste good. I’ve never been high before, just a heads up.”

She giggles at his somber expression; “It’s not a high enough dose to really fuck you up, you’ll just feel good. You’ll see.” Angel throws her arms around his neck, pulling his body closer.

“Why me?” He asks as he tries to follow her swaying movements.

“What do you mean?” She inquires in faux innocence.

Virgil gives her an exasperated look. With a giggle, Angel laughs freely and concedes.

“You’re handsome. I wanna fuck you.” She says with a nonchalant shrug.

Virgil chokes around nothing, grip on her waist tightening.

“Why are you surprised? Have you seen yourself?”

Virgil gapes like a fish, words seemingly lost to him.

“Want me to prove it?” Angel suddenly steps out of his embrace, whispering something to a woman who looks to be about her age that’s standing next to them. She’s 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 he’s 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 Raven’s hips, moving as best as he’s able to with her unsteady rhythm. His eyes cut over to Angel a few feet away. She’s 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 doesn’t acknowledge the guy behind her as he pulls her into his body. Angel smiles up at him, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Did you mean that? What you said earlier?”

Angel grasps one of his hands that’s around her waist and trails it between her legs until his finger tips graze her bare pussy under her dress.

“I didn’t wear underwear, just for you.” She stands on the tips of her toes to whisper against his mouth.

Angel isn’t sure who moves first before they start devouring each other as the club pulses around them. It’s wet, it’s hurried, it’s 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.

“Back to your place?”

Virgil nods eagerly.

***************

Virgil thinks he’s 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 that’s making him feel like he has to be gripping at his sanity so it doesn’t completely slip away, is the way she’s 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. Virgil’s toes curl until he gets a cramp in his foot.

“Angel, baby, I-” he can only moan helplessly, mouth agape and eyes disbelieving.

“Hm?” 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. She’s 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.

“Virgil?” 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.

“Angel, what the fu-” he suddenly chokes because she sinks all the way down his length while her fingers touch at sacs delicately. He’s 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; “Not before you fuck me.”

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 doesn’t 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.

“So fucking big and perfect, Virgil.” She moans from the pit of her belly, quivering above him when she’s almost seated fully on his lap.

Virgil squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the sweat trailing down his temples so he doesn’t 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.

“You better not come before I get mine, Virgil.” It’s 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.

“Fuck- I-”

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.

“Yes! Just like that, Virg. Big, fucking di-” Angel grunts as he angles his hips just right.

“Angel, I’m gonna-”

“Not yet.” 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.

“Yes, daddy!”

Virgil’s vision goes white. His entire body tingles as Angel milks him for everything he’s worth. He thinks he’s probably crying out, he can’t be sure with all the ringing in his ear. His hips don’t still. He can’t. 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 couldn’t ever be mad. What a way to go, actually. When he regains his senses, Angel is lying against his chest. Breaths heavy and heartbeat erratic— like his own.

“Angel?” His hand rubs the length of her back.

“Hm?”

“Did I hurt you?”

She snorts; “No. it’s big but I’m a size queen.”

“I don’t know what that means.” He admits truthfully.

This time, she giggles; “You’re adorable, I almost want to keep you.”

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 can’t remember the last time he had this much fun, or tried something new and exciting.

“So keep me.”

Tense silence follows for almost a minute before Angel lifts her head to face him with a smile.

“Yeah?”

Virgil feigns nonchalance; “Yeah. I’d take care of you and we could see each other like, a few times a week and I’d buy you things-”

“So you wanna be my sugar daddy?” She smirks.

“No! I’d take you to dinner and maybe give you an allowance and… yeah, a sugar daddy for fuck’s sake.” He admits with a frown.

Angel cackles like a maniac; “Hm, well, I already called you daddy so might as well reap the benefits. Also, you’re taking the day off of work tomorrow, you have dark circles under your eyes.” She says around a yawn. He knows better than to argue.

“Okay.”

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.

too fine😝 my man

He loves mirror selfies now 🩷