Can you hear me?
Can you feel me inside?
Show your love, love
Take it in right (take it in right)
Take it in right (take it in right)
*David Bowie, “Golden Years” 1975
The room was very small. It contained a bed, a cupboard, a creaky wicker chair and a tiny sink. The communal bathroom was at the other end of the corridor. Still, it was cheap and Viggo was grateful to have it, if for only two weeks.
He had been to Denmark for a few months and had decided to stay a little longer in Europe than originally planned. Making some money doing whatever odd job had come his way, he had finally decided on travelling to London. The city was nice enough and Viggo easily made friends, still it was also very expensive and no matter how economically he lived, his money seemed to disappear rapidly.
In the third week, Viggo met this girl, Jean, who seemed to be really well off. Jean took him to a weird living room restaurant, a jazz club and then to bed. The jazz club had certainly been the best of the three; as much as he had liked Jean, there didn’t really seem to be a physical click between them and the food had been horrible, but Viggo loved jazz. When the sex part was over, they’d had a real good time in Jean’s twin bed, talking about jazz. That’s when she told him about her cousin, who owned two clubs in Newcastle. Jean assured Viggo he would like Newcastle and his money would last a lot longer there. They dozed off together and in the morning Viggo took a long hot shower, kissed Jean goodbye, picked up his stuff and bought a train ticket to Newcastle.
On the train he met Jim, returning home from London, who told him about the American week and how difficult it would be to find a place to stay. In the same breath, he spoke about this mate of his, whose Dad rented rooms per week and Viggo gladly accepted the address scribbled on a piece of paper.
Jim didn’t like jazz that much, but had heard about The Key Club and its owner, Finney. Only the day before they had talked about it on the local radio, he said. It seemed there was some sort of Russian, or maybe Polish, band playing there the coming week. He couldn’t remember the name, but they had played a song on the radio and he had hated it, stating it sounded like a train crash to his unwelcoming ears, awful and disturbing.
Viggo grinned, but didn’t comment, already pretty sure he would love the band. Jim was nice enough, but seemed a little narrow minded. He was also very married, which was a shame, as he was kind of attractive, so they just shook hands when they stepped out of the train and Viggo started walking into the direction pointed out by Jim.
It was raining, but Viggo wasn’t bothered and didn’t button up his shirt, large strands of bleached hair contradicting the dark pelt on his chest, carrying nothing more than his modest backpack, ready to meet whatever it was that would come his way.
The Key Club was within walking distance. Viggo took a long nap on the not so clean bed and late in the evening he got up, showered and dressed. It had stopped raining, but the cobbled street was still wet and a tad slippery under his cowboy boots. For a short while he stood on the large bridge over the Tyne and watched the city lights.
The club was located in one of those crooked streets and he could hear the music blocks away. There was a big poster outside, announcing the Krakow Jazz Ensemble for tomorrow, Saturday night. The live music playing now was conventional jazz, but still nice enough and long winding stairs led Viggo into the crowded club. The air was heavy with tobacco smoke and he lit himself a cigarette. ‘Bottled Guinness’ was advertised on the bar, but he couldn’t stand that shit and ordered a lager. Slowly making his way through the crowd, he stood close to the podium, where the band was playing. He sipped his beer, foot tapping with the rhythm when his eye fell upon a young guy standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall. He wore tight jeans and an even tighter white t-shirt, his blond hair shiny underneath the spotlight. He seemed to work here, as he handed the pianist a tray with full glasses, taking away another tray with empty ones.
Viggo admired the prominent nose, the stubborn set of the kid’s jaw, the play of muscles underneath white fabric and he started moving into that direction.
“Hi,” he said, “I’m Viggo.” Up close the guy was not as young as he had thought, but probably near Viggo’s age. He had remarkable eyes, and an open face and Viggo’s gaze fixed upon the gold earring that dangled from a delicate looking earlobe.
“I’m Brendan,” the other said, offering a shy smile.
“Hi, Brendan. Do you work here?”
“Yeah, I do,” the smile deepening into something quite dazzling that was impossible not to answer to.
“Are you the manager?”
“No, actually I am the cleaner, but Mr. Finney, the owner, has asked me to take care of the bands playing here on the side, just trying to keep them happy you know.”
Viggo leaned against the wall next to Brendan, their bodies nearly touching.
“I actually came here for that Polish band; I heard some nice things about them.”
Again that dazzling smile. “The Krakow Jazz Ensemble? They'll be playing here tomorrow night and they are really pretty good. Different, but good.”
“I hope I’ll get to see them tomorrow night.”
Brendan leaned in closer, so he could be heard over the rather hard trumpet solo, “You’re American?”
“Yeah.”
“How did you end up in Newcastle?”
“Long story and not very interesting,” Viggo replied, almost shouting, accepting the offered cigarette.
The music stopped and they grinned at each other. “Look,” Brendan said, “the Krakow Ensemble are playing at the Polish club here tonight, and Andrej, the leader, invited me to come. I was planning on going there with a girlfriend, but she has to work. Would you like to come with me?”
“That would be great, yeah sure.”
“After this lot have finished then, okay?”
“Okay.”
Viggo whistled when they stopped near the sleek car, “Is this yours? Man, I should go into the cleaning business.”
Brendan looked at him and grimaced. “I only got her today. It’s… well, Mr. Finney got me a really good discount.”
*I bet he did and I wonder what he expects in return?* “That’s cool. He must be a really nice guy.”
“Yeah, he’s okay.”
The Polish club was even more crowded than the Key Club had been, but that’s where the resemblance stopped. Brendan introduced Viggo to Andrej, who steered them to two empty seats at one of the large wooden tables. Within minutes they were offered small glasses of vodka and a large plate of food each. It was noisy, band and people both competing to be heard. The food was delicious, the people friendly and Viggo loved it all.
An hour later things were kind of hazy and he knew he would have to stop drinking before he was totally drunk. Normally Viggo wouldn’t mind getting drunk at all, but right now he was more interested in Brendan sitting so close to him, Brendan who’d had had only two vodkas and seemed sober, but didn’t pull back when Viggo’s leg pressed into his.
A whisk of cool air suddenly struck him and Viggo looked over Brendan’s head, noticing the big sliding doors with a large balcony behind them. “Must be some view,” he said to Brendan, pointing at the sliding doors, “I am going to have a look, are you coming?”
It was true; it was a really nice view even though Viggo could not care less, not now there was just him and Brendan and a few stars in the dark sky. Taking an experimental step closer, he watched Brendan’s face. Again, Brendan didn’t pull back and Viggo breathed in deeply.
“Look,” he said, “this girlfriend...”
Brendan smiled at him. “I’ve only just met her. She seems great and she’s pretty, but we’re not buying china together and I’m not whistling the Wedding March yet.”
Well aware of the open doors behind them, Viggo carefully reached out and slid his hand over Brendan’s chest in a slow caress. “You wanna go somewhere?”
Inside the car Viggo pulled Brendan closer, did what he had wanted to do all evening and kissed him. He hadn’t known what to expect, perhaps a struggle because of the kiss, but there was none. Brendan kissed like a dream and it was Viggo who had to pull back to get some air.
“Oof.., you English are quite a surprise.”
Brendan chuckled. “I am Irish,” and then they kissed again, slow and deep while Viggo’s finger crept under the hem of Brendan’s shirt, exploring hard muscles and soft, heated skin underneath. He left his hand there as Brendan straightened up and started the car, all the way to Brendan’s apartment.
The apartment was quite small, but huge compared to Viggo’s rented room. There was a living room, dominated by a blue couch. A huge picture of a man in a grey suit was the only decoration on the walls and Viggo stepped closer and grinned.
“Ah…. Bowie, I reckoned your haircut looked somehow familiar.”
“Hey, I had it way before he did,” and now they both grinned, until Viggo’s hand cupped Brendan’s face, thumb pressing down his bottom lip, until the pink tip of a tongue peeked out, wetting it.
“The things I want to do to you...”
Summary: Viggo loves jazz..
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Crossovers Pairing: Brendan/ Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 2 Completed: Yes
Word count: 3615 Read: 2231
Published: 13 May 2010 Updated: 13 May 2010