The flight from London to Los Angeles had been smooth and rather uneventful. Most of the crew had sixteen hours to rest before their next flight, but Marcus, the co-pilot Brian and purser John had a thirty-six hour break. Instead of going straight to the hotel like the others, they decided to have a few drinks first at the bar they always frequented when here. They didn’t care about changing clothes, as it was the kind of place where you could go wearing swimming trunks in the winter without anyone even blinking an eye.
They put their travel trolleys in one of the cabs taking the rest of the crew to a hotel and then took the last cab for themselves. Marcus sat on the back seat with John and squinted against the still brightly shining sun, despite the hour of the day, while their cabbie made his way out of LAX.
A little less than an hour later the cab stopped in front of the 'The Dark Side'. Every time they had been here before there had been something going on; a quiz, a parody on line dancing, live music or a drag show, and tonight was no exception. A big poster on the door proudly announced ‘Jazz Night tonight’ and Marcus winced at what sounded to him like two trains hitting each other at full speed. Not that he had anything against jazz, but this seemed to be much more experimental than he liked. He hesitated for a moment, thinking how maybe he would be better off in his hotel room, but then he followed Brian inside, deciding a beer or two would take off the sharp edges.
It wasn’t very crowded, so maybe he wasn’t the only one not too keen on the music he thought wryly, but at least they was a nice table free in the farthest corner, away from the big speakers. Brian went to the bar to get them some drinks and Marcus sat down, putting his fingers behind the knot of his tie in an effort to loosen it.
“You shouldn’t do that,” a voice said very close to his left ear and he startled, then looked over his shoulder into the grinning face of the guy on the table next to him. He looked a bit unruly, especially compared to Marcus who was still in full pilot mode, but he seemed friendly enough and Marcus lifted his brow. He had to lean backwards to answer or his words would be lost in the noise.
“I shouldn’t?”
“No, it suits you. The complete outfit I mean. Are you a real pilot, or do you and your friends have some party to attend?”
Marcus chuckled, “No; it’s the real thing.”
The other man tucked long strands of hair behind his ears and grinned again. He had an interesting face with chiselled cheek bones and a deep cleft in his chin. “I am Viggo,” he said.
“Marcus.”
“So that would be Captain Marcus?”
Marcus laughed, “Actually no, it’s Captain Rich, but you can call me Marcus, or Marc.”
Certainly a good looking guy, this Viggo, and it was a shame being here only for a short while; too short to know him a bit better and maybe have some fun. It seemed the American approach was a bit different to the English, but he could still recognise somebody coming on to him.
At that moment a deafening sound rolled from the speakers and there was a sudden silence. Marcus heaved a sigh and looked at the ceiling in mock gratefulness. “Thank god!” The respite was only short, as the bartender pressed a button and new, horrible sounds filled the space. He accepted the glass of beer that Brian handed him and clinked with him.
“So Marcus, don’t you like the music?”
He turned back to look at Viggo apologetically, “Not really no, it’s giving me a headache.”
“So what music do you like then?”
‘I like all sorts of music, but to be honest I love classical music best. How about you, what do you like best?”
“Let me be honest too, Captain Rich,” and Viggo came so close that his lips almost touched Marcus’ ears and made him shiver, ” I have this thing about men in uniform, especially British men in uniform.”
Marcus pulled back as if he had burned himself and looked at Viggo incredulously, “Say what?”
“I say I have a small apartment only a few blocks away, nothing fancy, but nice enough. You don’t like the music here and maybe you could teach me how to fly. So how about it, Captain?”
Viggo’s hand landed on Marcus’ back and slowly made its way down. Marcus stared at the other man, wracking his brain for an answer. He didn’t do this, well not any more at least; he was too old and sensible now to pick up some bloke in the pub and go home with him.
The hand now rested on his arse and it felt like it was burning a hole through his uniform pants. Viggo looked at him expectantly and Marcus slowly licked his lips. He turned to glance at Brian and John, but they were engaged in a lively conversation with two blonde girls.
A little more pressure on his backside and he looked at Viggo again. The whole idea of leaving with this good looking stranger and fuck the consequences, made him horny as hell.
“How about it?” Viggo asked, and this time his lips did touch Marcus’ ear and he could swear he felt the tip of a tongue slipping in and that did it.
“Wait for me outside, I’ll be there in five minutes or so.” He turned back to his own table without waiting for an answer, but the hand on his arse was gone and so probably was its owner. He took his time drinking his beer, and then bent over the table to tell John he was leaving, that he had a headache, as Brian had only eyes for the girl sitting next to him. John nodded, mouthing a "see you tomorrow" and Marcus rose from his chair and left.
Making his way outside, he wondered what the hell he was doing. He must be crazy to agree to a stupid thing like this and he should take a cab back to the hotel. He took a deep breath when he stepped outside; it was wonderful to hear the jazz fall back to a muffled version. It was almost dark, but Viggo stood leaning against a lamp post and the hard planes of his faces were brightly lit. He walked over to Marcus, grabbing him by the elbow and steering him into the right direction.
Marcus freed his arm from Viggo’s grip, not willing to give himself over completely. *If his place is a rat hole, I won’t go in.* It wasn’t though; they stopped in front of a newly renovated building. “What do you do for a living?” Marcus asked in the elevator taking them up to the eighth floor.
“Actor,” Viggo said curtly.
The moment they stepped into the apartment Viggo laid a hand on Marcus’ back and smoothly pushed him into the first room on his left, which was the kitchen. Viggo pressed a switch making soft yellow light flood from behind the cabinets.
Marcus wanted to say something, but gulped instead when Viggo grabbed his tie, reeling him in and then licking a broad stripe from neck to ear. He gasped and then Viggo’s mouth was on his and they were kissing, wet and messy and wonderful.
Marcus stumbled against the counter as Viggo pushed him backwards, panting as Viggo broke the kiss and slowly slid down to his knees. Clever fingers unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants and then Viggo’s mouth was on him as if he was starving. Hands clutching the countertop, Marcus looked down on Viggo’s bobbing head. He was good, knowing exactly where to put pressure, licking and sucking Marcus into a brainless, desperately begging state.
He grabbed for Viggo’s head, wanting to keep him in place, but his hands were batted away.
Marcus whimpered when Viggo suddenly let go of his cock and rose to his feet, turning him around almost roughly, so he now faced the glass door of the kitchen cabinet. His pants slid down his legs, bunched up at his ankles and he tried to shake them off but couldn’t because of his shoes.
Viggo’s hand on his back made Marcus bend down even more, and he spread his legs as far as his pants allowed him.
“Don’t move,” Viggo warned him and then he was gone, but Marcus could hear him in one of the other rooms. He didn’t move, just stared at his own reflection in the glass door until Viggo was back, throwing a cellophane wrapped condom on the counter, just a few inches from Marcus’ nose. *At least one of them still had a functioning brain.* Slick fingers worked themselves inside of him and he moved on them, pleading for more. He tried to spread his legs wider when he felt the blunt head of Viggo’s cock nudging his entrance. Viggo’s, “Ready for take-off Captain?” pissed him off and he growled at him.
“Shut the fuck up and just fuck me.”
“Tsk… did they teach you language like that at Eton?”
“I never went to fucking Eton, now get on with it or I am out!”
Then finally, finally Viggo slid in. He didn’t waste any time on slow or careful, just grabbed Marcus’ hips and fucked him. He felt trapped in the uniform jacket, the pants restricting almost every movement of his legs and it was great, the counter providing a marvellous friction. He cried out when Viggo shifted, sliding in even deeper, prodding his prostate with every trust. Viggo’s hand worked itself between Marcus’ body and the counter and grabbed his cock, stroking it twice, three times until Marcus climaxed, dragging Viggo down with him.
It took them a while to regain their breath, and then Viggo helped Marcus to straighten up. Now that the rush was over, his body hurt in all sort of places, but in a very pleasant way. He felt a bit shy, but Viggo smiled at him and offered him a drink.
“Thanks, but I have to go now; I need to sleep.”
“You could sleep here,” Viggo suggested, but Marcus shook his head, knowing very well that wasn’t a good idea.
“Perhaps some other time. Have you seen my belt?”
The other man grinned widely. “I took it, can I keep it for a while?”
“You want to keep my belt? Why?”
Viggo shrugged. “Maybe the next time you come to L.A. you’ll drop by to pick it up. It looks expensive.”
“So what if I lose my pants on the way back to London?”
“I’ll lend you one of mine, okay?”
“Okay then.”
“Will you return it next time you’re here?”
Marcus smiled, while smoothing his uniform.
“Maybe I will Viggo.”
Summary: What do you do when you're in L.A.for thirty-six hours?
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Crossovers Pairing: Marcus Rich/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: StopoverChapters: 4 Completed: Yes
Word count: 6148 Read: 3850
Published: 03 Aug 2009 Updated: 03 Aug 2009