The City is not at War
Title : The City is not at War
Author: dalehead
Pairing : Greta Salpeter/Vicky-T
Rating : NC-17
Summary : There are more things on heaven and earth Horatio than are dreamt off in your philosophy.
Disclaimer: This is entirely made up.
Author’s Note: This is for f_lexi_ble who I love more than words can say *g*
Vicky-T looked in the mirror. For a moment she didn’t recognise herself; dressed in a straight skirt, a silk blouse and a little box jacket, coupled with high black shoes and sheer stocking, well she looked like she’d stepped out of the pages of a 1940s magazine. The red lipstick added to the look and her hair was piled artfully on top of her head. It had taken Geno, the hairdresser, hours to achieve the look she was going for.
”A fancy dress party?” she had rolled her eyes when the boys mentioned it. What the fuck? But they had been insistent that she go, after all it was for charity. Gabe was going and so was Greta who she’d always got on with. Because there was so little time they had all decided on a 1940s theme which fitted right in with the venue, the disused tube station at Aldwych. Rumour was that Mark Ronson was dj-ing, rumour was there was gonna be some cool people there.
In the end Vicky was way later than she meant to be but fuck, it was worth it, she went down to the hotel lobby where her driver was waiting.
A short cab ride later, she was outside Aldwych Tube Station, it was strangely quiet. There was very little traffic and hardly a soul to be seen. The wind whistled down the wide street and Vicky shivered.
When a strange wailing noise could be heard, she shivered again, thinking maybe she’d made a mistake, this didn’t look like a party…
“Are you going in or what,” a uniformed guy bustled up to her. “Safer in than out, love,” he took her elbow.
What the fuck? “Hey, who do you think…”
“Oh you’re a Yank are you?” the guy had the cheek to sound almost disapproving. “Took you long enough to bleeding well get stuck in"
“What the fuck are you talking about…” Vicky stared at him like he was mad.
“Language,” the man admonished, hurrying her through the doors into what appeared to be a ticket hall.
“Victoria….” to her surprise Greta who was wearing an outfit similar to hers, hurried over. “Victoria, I thought … “ to Vicky’s surprise, she appeared to be weeping. “Victoria …” she reached out and hugged Vicky tight. “They said …”
“Bleeding hell, will you get this lady down to the platform,” the man was losing patience. “They should never have given you lot the vote…”
Vicky turned to Greta. “What the fuck is going on here?”
Greta blinked. “Language Victoria, look we better get downstairs, I can’t believe you’re here dear, they said you got caught by that doodlebug, I …” she led the way down the steps. Vicky was beginning to panic. There were posters, posters that looked like they belonged in a history book.
Coughs and sneezes spread diseases.
“Greta?” Vicky reached for her friend’s hand. “What’s the date today, sweetie?”
“January 23rd,” they arrived at the platform. It was full of people, people of all ages, dressed in what looked to Vicky like fancy dress. There was no music though, no flashing lights and Vicky was terrified. “What year?” she added urgently.
“Excuse us please, Yanks coming through…” Greta picked a path through the sea of legs. “1943 of course,” she sounded almost impatient. She spotted an empty place right at the other end of the platform and when they finally arrived, she pulled Vicky down next to her, sliding her arm around Vicky’s waist.
“Kiss me,” she demanded. “I thought you were dead, you’ve been listed as missing,” there were tears in Greta’s eyes and she leaned in for a long gentle kiss. Automatically Vicky responded, opening her mouth letting her tongue dance with Greta’s.
“They’ve sent a telegram to your momma,” Greta whispered, she unbuttoned Vicky’s blouse, slipped her hand inside. “You left me before you’d said good bye, I’ve been breaking my heart thinking you’d died without me telling you how much I love you…”
“I’m sorry…” Vicky didn’t know what else to say. This was too weird and her body, despite the weirdness of the situation, was responding. She wanted Greta. Even if this was sixty five years earlier than she thought, she still wanted Greta.
“Won’t they see,” she indicated the platform which was steadily filling up.
“Dearest Victoria,” Greta smiled. “They will all be looking in the other direction,” her hand pushed back the flimsy fabric of the brassiere that Vicky realised was not the one she had put on earlier. She moaned when Greta’s clever fingers found her nipple.
“I want you,” she whispered.
“Wait until they start the singsong, dear.” Greta sounded amused. “You’re always in such a hurry,” she took Vicky’s mouth in a hungry kiss, it felt like Greta was trying to tell her something, like she was playing a tune that Vicky couldn’t follow.
There’ll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover
Tomorrow
Just you wait and see.
Someone was playing a mouth organ and Vicky’s eye welled with tears as every man, woman and child begun to sing. Greta took her coat off and spread it over them, Vicky followed suit.
“Remember to keep quiet,” Greta murmured. Then she was helping Vicky hitch up her skirt, so she could slide her hand down over smooth soft skin, burrow beneath Vicky's panties, dipping her finger inside the wet warmth of Vicky's pussy. "Oh god," Greta's voice was full of emotion. "I don't know why you didn't let me know you were okay but Victoria, oh my love, you feel so good.
Vicky was squirming. Greta's fingers had found her clit and were now expertly rubbing it, twisting it between finger and thumb, squeezing it and making Vicky feel like she was about to spontaneously combust.
"I love you Victoria, come for me and stay with me, you have to promise you won't go off like that again," the love and urgency in Greta's voice was making Vicky weep a little. No one had ever loved her with that intensity of feeling and she wanted to keep it. She never wanted to let it go. Not again.
Not again. Where did that thought come from? The need to come overcame the need to ask questions or begin to seriously freak out. She could hear Gabe calling her.
"Viiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiicky................."
"I love you too..." she gasped as she came, her gasps silenced by Greta's wet fingers stuffed inside her mouth. Fingers she sucked ondesperately, wanting to taste them together.
The sound of Gabe's call became another siren wailing insistently. "All clear ... All clear..."
People were beginning to get up and Vicky stood too, grabbing her coat. She felt herself propelled along the platform, leaving Greta behind.
"Don't forget me Victoria," Greta called. "Remember what you said..."
She couldn't have turned back, not even if she wanted to. There was a force pushing her up the stairs and out into the ticket hall. The siren was so loud, she put her fingers to her ears and the world begun to spin.
"Hey babe, are you okay?" it was Gabe, dressed as a Spiv, a row of imitation nylons tacked to the inside of his jacket. "Vicky? Are you okay? he sounded worried. "You're as white as a sheet."
There was the steady insistent thud of a bass, there were people everywhere, people who were clearly in fancy dress. Vicky looked around and tried not to cry. "I don't understand," she said, clinging to Gabe's arm.
"Hey..." Greta walked up to them. She was wearing exactly the same outfit as she been, what? Ten minutes ago? Or 65 years ago? "Victoria, or should I say, Vicky..." to Gabe's surprise Vicky walked into Greta's arms.
"Sssh, don't worry dear, I've got you," Greta's voice was so loving; Vicky felt safe, she remembered what she said, spoke quietly in Greta's ear. "I won't leave you again,"
Taking her hand once more, Greta smiled. "I know dear, you're mine now."
Waving her free hand to Gabe, Vicky leaned over. "I still owe you don't I?" she needed to know they were in this together.
"You most certainly do, baby..."
Author: dalehead
Pairing : Greta Salpeter/Vicky-T
Rating : NC-17
Summary : There are more things on heaven and earth Horatio than are dreamt off in your philosophy.
Disclaimer: This is entirely made up.
Author’s Note: This is for f_lexi_ble who I love more than words can say *g*
Vicky-T looked in the mirror. For a moment she didn’t recognise herself; dressed in a straight skirt, a silk blouse and a little box jacket, coupled with high black shoes and sheer stocking, well she looked like she’d stepped out of the pages of a 1940s magazine. The red lipstick added to the look and her hair was piled artfully on top of her head. It had taken Geno, the hairdresser, hours to achieve the look she was going for.
”A fancy dress party?” she had rolled her eyes when the boys mentioned it. What the fuck? But they had been insistent that she go, after all it was for charity. Gabe was going and so was Greta who she’d always got on with. Because there was so little time they had all decided on a 1940s theme which fitted right in with the venue, the disused tube station at Aldwych. Rumour was that Mark Ronson was dj-ing, rumour was there was gonna be some cool people there.
In the end Vicky was way later than she meant to be but fuck, it was worth it, she went down to the hotel lobby where her driver was waiting.
A short cab ride later, she was outside Aldwych Tube Station, it was strangely quiet. There was very little traffic and hardly a soul to be seen. The wind whistled down the wide street and Vicky shivered.
When a strange wailing noise could be heard, she shivered again, thinking maybe she’d made a mistake, this didn’t look like a party…
“Are you going in or what,” a uniformed guy bustled up to her. “Safer in than out, love,” he took her elbow.
What the fuck? “Hey, who do you think…”
“Oh you’re a Yank are you?” the guy had the cheek to sound almost disapproving. “Took you long enough to bleeding well get stuck in"
“What the fuck are you talking about…” Vicky stared at him like he was mad.
“Language,” the man admonished, hurrying her through the doors into what appeared to be a ticket hall.
“Victoria….” to her surprise Greta who was wearing an outfit similar to hers, hurried over. “Victoria, I thought … “ to Vicky’s surprise, she appeared to be weeping. “Victoria …” she reached out and hugged Vicky tight. “They said …”
“Bleeding hell, will you get this lady down to the platform,” the man was losing patience. “They should never have given you lot the vote…”
Vicky turned to Greta. “What the fuck is going on here?”
Greta blinked. “Language Victoria, look we better get downstairs, I can’t believe you’re here dear, they said you got caught by that doodlebug, I …” she led the way down the steps. Vicky was beginning to panic. There were posters, posters that looked like they belonged in a history book.
Coughs and sneezes spread diseases.
“Greta?” Vicky reached for her friend’s hand. “What’s the date today, sweetie?”
“January 23rd,” they arrived at the platform. It was full of people, people of all ages, dressed in what looked to Vicky like fancy dress. There was no music though, no flashing lights and Vicky was terrified. “What year?” she added urgently.
“Excuse us please, Yanks coming through…” Greta picked a path through the sea of legs. “1943 of course,” she sounded almost impatient. She spotted an empty place right at the other end of the platform and when they finally arrived, she pulled Vicky down next to her, sliding her arm around Vicky’s waist.
“Kiss me,” she demanded. “I thought you were dead, you’ve been listed as missing,” there were tears in Greta’s eyes and she leaned in for a long gentle kiss. Automatically Vicky responded, opening her mouth letting her tongue dance with Greta’s.
“They’ve sent a telegram to your momma,” Greta whispered, she unbuttoned Vicky’s blouse, slipped her hand inside. “You left me before you’d said good bye, I’ve been breaking my heart thinking you’d died without me telling you how much I love you…”
“I’m sorry…” Vicky didn’t know what else to say. This was too weird and her body, despite the weirdness of the situation, was responding. She wanted Greta. Even if this was sixty five years earlier than she thought, she still wanted Greta.
“Won’t they see,” she indicated the platform which was steadily filling up.
“Dearest Victoria,” Greta smiled. “They will all be looking in the other direction,” her hand pushed back the flimsy fabric of the brassiere that Vicky realised was not the one she had put on earlier. She moaned when Greta’s clever fingers found her nipple.
“I want you,” she whispered.
“Wait until they start the singsong, dear.” Greta sounded amused. “You’re always in such a hurry,” she took Vicky’s mouth in a hungry kiss, it felt like Greta was trying to tell her something, like she was playing a tune that Vicky couldn’t follow.
There’ll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover
Tomorrow
Just you wait and see.
Someone was playing a mouth organ and Vicky’s eye welled with tears as every man, woman and child begun to sing. Greta took her coat off and spread it over them, Vicky followed suit.
“Remember to keep quiet,” Greta murmured. Then she was helping Vicky hitch up her skirt, so she could slide her hand down over smooth soft skin, burrow beneath Vicky's panties, dipping her finger inside the wet warmth of Vicky's pussy. "Oh god," Greta's voice was full of emotion. "I don't know why you didn't let me know you were okay but Victoria, oh my love, you feel so good.
Vicky was squirming. Greta's fingers had found her clit and were now expertly rubbing it, twisting it between finger and thumb, squeezing it and making Vicky feel like she was about to spontaneously combust.
"I love you Victoria, come for me and stay with me, you have to promise you won't go off like that again," the love and urgency in Greta's voice was making Vicky weep a little. No one had ever loved her with that intensity of feeling and she wanted to keep it. She never wanted to let it go. Not again.
Not again. Where did that thought come from? The need to come overcame the need to ask questions or begin to seriously freak out. She could hear Gabe calling her.
"Viiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiicky................."
"I love you too..." she gasped as she came, her gasps silenced by Greta's wet fingers stuffed inside her mouth. Fingers she sucked ondesperately, wanting to taste them together.
The sound of Gabe's call became another siren wailing insistently. "All clear ... All clear..."
People were beginning to get up and Vicky stood too, grabbing her coat. She felt herself propelled along the platform, leaving Greta behind.
"Don't forget me Victoria," Greta called. "Remember what you said..."
She couldn't have turned back, not even if she wanted to. There was a force pushing her up the stairs and out into the ticket hall. The siren was so loud, she put her fingers to her ears and the world begun to spin.
"Hey babe, are you okay?" it was Gabe, dressed as a Spiv, a row of imitation nylons tacked to the inside of his jacket. "Vicky? Are you okay? he sounded worried. "You're as white as a sheet."
There was the steady insistent thud of a bass, there were people everywhere, people who were clearly in fancy dress. Vicky looked around and tried not to cry. "I don't understand," she said, clinging to Gabe's arm.
"Hey..." Greta walked up to them. She was wearing exactly the same outfit as she been, what? Ten minutes ago? Or 65 years ago? "Victoria, or should I say, Vicky..." to Gabe's surprise Vicky walked into Greta's arms.
"Sssh, don't worry dear, I've got you," Greta's voice was so loving; Vicky felt safe, she remembered what she said, spoke quietly in Greta's ear. "I won't leave you again,"
Taking her hand once more, Greta smiled. "I know dear, you're mine now."
Waving her free hand to Gabe, Vicky leaned over. "I still owe you don't I?" she needed to know they were in this together.
"You most certainly do, baby..."