Fic: Three Months (1/1), brown cortina, dak
Title: Three Months (1/1)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2686
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: heavy swearing, sexual situations, angst, mention of character death
Pairings: implied Sam/Gene, Gene/Cecil
A/N: This is a crossover with the 1994 TV film "Meat" that starred John Simm as an actual rent boy named Cecil. You don't have to have seen that to understand this fic. I'm just borrowing the character for angst purposes. (I've included a pic of Cecil at the bottom of the fic.) This is for
culfwho asked yesterday for a Gene/Cecil fic and who is currently working on her own. Please enjoy!
Three months on the game and Cecil had seen it all. Hand jobs. Blow jobs. Back alley fucks. Cheap hotel rooms. Mini cabs. Lifts. Public toilets. Men he called “daddy.” Men that called him “daddy.” Men that called him “mummy.” You name it, he’d fucked there, been fucked there, and called any name you could think of while doing it. The money wasn’t the best. He’d never be one of those high class boys with the tailored suits and fancy shoes, sipping Bolly in the Savoy after a night at the theatre. But, that didn’t matter. That shite wasn’t for him. It wasn’t his style. It wasn’t who he was.
His cozy, semi-detached life in Leeds described both his house and his childhood. And, though that comfortable suburban life was a far cry from the dark, seedy Soho streets, it were those streets that were more of a home to him than anything he’d had in the country.
Money didn’t matter. Frank took sixty percent of the meagre scraps he did make. Cecil knew it was a lot but he quickly convinced himself it was no big deal. It wasn’t as if he had any bills. Had to pay rent. All spent cash on was food and E and condoms, when he couldn’t get his hands on the freebies at the clinic.
Three months and he’d adjusted quickly. Finally, he was able to channel all that energy that had made his mum and teachers call him a “devil child.” Finally, he was able to be good at something. Oh, and he was good, if he did say so himself. And, if anything started to bother him, he forgot about it. He wasn’t going to let anything get to him, not when he had such a good thing going. Nothing like feeling was going to get in the way.
It had been three and a half months of good, steady work, when Cecil first spotted him. Or, rather, he spotted Cecil. Or, rather, he grabbed Cecil’s arm. It was the middle of the day and Cecil had just bought a hot dog from his local street vendor. Frank was in a foul mood and Ces had decided to avoid the diner at all costs. Well, he had just purchased this nice, plump hot dog, smothered in ketchup, of course, when his arm was wrenched away and his sadly uneaten lunch fell the ground.
“Oi! Hope you’re going to pay for that, mate,” he yelled, wriggling out of the Man’s grasp. The Man said nothing. Simply stared at him. And stared. And stared. It was more than a bit unnerving. “What? Like what you see?” he grinned, stepping closer. The man didn’t answer, but shoved some shrapnel in Ces’ hand and disappeared around the corner. Cecil watched him with great amusement, then bought a new hot dog.
He saw him again the next night. Cecil was working, leaning against the pavement rails, flashing his grin at any bloke who’d spare him a glance. It was a slow night and Frank would be pissed if he came back skint. As more and more potential punters passed him by, he chomped his gum in great frustration. What would it take to get a little action tonight? Then, he spotted him.
The Man was older, but large, and hard to miss and Cecil knew he was watching. Almost like he was waiting for something. So, Cecil decided to flirt a little more than usual. Flaunting his body just a little more than necessary. Stretching his arms above his head so his shirt would lift and his stomach would be exposed. It was when he got bored and took off his beanie, itching a hand through his curls, that the man finally crossed the street and came over.
“Alright?” Cecil grinned broadly.
“What’s your name?” The Man rasped, his voice damaged by too many fags.
“What do you want it to be?” he continued to grin, closing the gap between them. The Man’s face clouded for the briefest of moments, as if he was actually giving the question great thought. Once the pain entered his eyes, however, his stare turned cold once again.
“I asked you a question, son. I expect an answer,” he growled. Cecil could tell the Man wanted to grab him. Wanted to take his arm and twist it or shove him against the nearby building, but he didn’t. He kept his hands to himself.
“Cecil. It’s Cecil, okay? No need to get all uppity ‘bout it,” he shrugged and backed off. Maybe the Man wasn’t looking for what Cecil thought. He couldn’t help but notice the disappointed look on the Man’s face, though. “What? You expecting something else?” he crossed his arms in a pout.
“How much?” The Man suddenly asked. Cecil should have known better than to doubt himself.
“Why sir, what do you take me for?” he teased, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I know exactly what you are, you little tart. Don’t play games with me. How much?” he ordered, and something about his tone made Ces’ stomach drop. This was exactly the sort of punter he typically tried to avoid. The unpredictable kind. The unpredictable, large kind. For although the Man must have been in his sixties, Cecil had no doubt he could break his skinny legs in two.
“Depends what you want, sir,” Cecil spoke calmly, trying to maintain his nonchalant air.
“But I’ll get what I pay for, yeah?” he asked, and Cecil finally began to see how nervous the Man was. “I pay you to do summit, you’ll do it?”
“Within reason,” Cecil nodded. “But if I agree to it, and you pay for it, yeah. I’ll do it. We off then?” he asked, checking the street for coppers. He and the Man had already spoken in the open street much longer than was usual. The Man nodded, then motioned for Cecil to follow him down the street. Cecil obediently followed, hoping the pay would be good. It didn’t look like he’d be getting many other offers tonight. The Man led him through a maze of dark alleys even Cecil hadn’t even known existed, before following him into a dingy flat above an vacant store front.
“This your place?” Cecil asked, strolling around the sparsely furnished bedsit.
“No,” the Man answered briefly.
“Good. Cos it’s shite,” he laughed rolling his gum around on his tongue.
“Spit it out,” the Man ordered.
“Wha?” Cecil asked, spinning round to face him.
“I’m not having you do anything with...to me if you’ve got that gum in your gob. Spit it out.”
“Alright. Alright,” he agreed, taking the gum out and depositing it in an overflowing bin. When he faced the Man again, he saw a large wad of cash sitting on the wobbly bedside table. Although he couldn’t count it, it was definitely more than Cecil had ever been paid for one job. “So, what’ll it be then, sir?”
“Take off that stupid hat,” he grumbled.
“As you wish,” Cecil grinned, and he flung it off and to the floor.
“And that jacket.”
“Yes, sir,” he slowly stripped himself of his coat, trying his best to do it seductively. The Man watched him from the other side of the room, analyzing him. It was slightly uncomfortable but Cecil forgot about that. This was his job after all. After what seemed like hours, the Man finally approached him. They stood eye to eye, but still he would not touch Cecil.
“Hair’s too long. Don’t you ever cut it?” the Man spoke, and his voice had somehow changed. It was still gruff but sounded almost concerned now.
“Most blokes like it. Like to...”
“Don’t talk about other men,” the Man ordered. Cecil should have figured he was the jealous type.
“Okay. Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again,” he tried to move closer, but the Man stepped back.
“And don’t call me sir,” he snapped.
“What do you want me to call you?” Cecil asked. Most times he was able to figure out exactly what the punter wanted. This fellow was certainly proving a challenge. The Man hesitated, of course he wouldn’t give his real name, then finally came up with an answer.
“Stu. Call me Stu.”
“Okay, Stu,” Cecil smiled and waited. “You can touch me, you know. I’m clean. Just got tested last we--” Cecil’s encouragement was cut off as the Man finally lunged at him, kissing him fiercely as he backed him against the wall. “Bloody hell...” Ces managed to groan as the man began to nibble at his neck. Punters didn’t kiss him. Punters never kissed him. The Man’s lips reached Cecil’s shirt collar, and he grabbed at the hem, pulling it up and off, exposing his bare chest.
Cecil had always been somewhat embarrassed of his chest. It was all bones and skin. Oh, he ate plenty when he could, but he could never seem to put on any weight. The Man seemed to love his chest, however, and ran his fingers down it, along with his tongue.
“Talk,” the man gasped.
“Huh?” Cecil asked, remembering he was supposed to be working.
“You’re too quiet,” he said between kisses to the abdomen. “I want to hear you talk.”
“About?” he asked again, trying to get his brain to work.
“Anything. Just don’t stop talking,” the Man’s rough fingers were on Cecil’s zip, slowly dragging it down.
“Alright. Alright, er...” Cecil was usually quite good at talking. Normally, no one could ever get him to shut up. Now, somehow, he was nervous. He had no idea what to say. No idea what this man wanted. He pushed the worry from his mind as his pants and trousers were pushed down around his ankles and his semi-erect cock was in placed in the Man’s warm mouth.
“Oh, God, oh Jesus. Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re bloody good at that you are,” Cecil bucked involuntarily. It was so much better when he didn’t have to bother to fake it. “Yeah, just like that Stu. God, you’re gorgeous.” Men sometimes wanted him to fuck them, but hardly ever did they want to suck him off. Maybe tonight wasn’t going to be as bad as he thought.
“Gene,” the Man broke off briefly. “It’s Gene.”
“Gene,” Cecil rolled the word over his tongue as Gene’s tongue rolled over his penis. “Ohhh, I like that, Gene. ‘S good name, that. Strong,” he gasped as teeth grazed his soft skin. “An’ smart,” Gene’s tongue swirled around the head. “And so...” Cecil couldn’t help but thrust. “Fucking...” And thrust. “Hot,” and come. He closed his eyes as he emptied himself into Gene’s mouth, vaguely aware of his surroundings but surprised that the Man was actually swallowing.
“Bloody hell, man,’ Cecil gasped as Gene finally rose to his feet. “That was pro quality, that was,” he added smiling.
“Take off your shoes. Socks. I want you completely naked,” Gene ordered, slightly out of breath but still demanding. “And you can call me sir,” he added, looking away.
“Yes, sir, Gene, sir,” Cecil nodded and quickly threw off the rest of his clothes. He was slightly disappointed that the job wasn’t over, but he shouldn’t have expected it to be, not with that amount of cash. Whatever shyness the Man had possessed, it seemed to be gone now as he, too, started shedding his clothes.
“On the bed. Face up.”
“I’ve got some lube in my--”
“Brought me own,” the Man pulled a small tube from his pocket and tossed it Cecil. “Grease yourself up.”
“Quite the romantic, you are, Gene,” he quipped sarcastically, and he swore he saw the man smile, if just for a second. Cecil smiled back and spread the lube on his fingers, then laid back and slowly began prodding himself as the Man removed his snakeskin boots. “Ohhh,” he moaned as writhed, knowing all the right spots to touch himself. “Yeah, I’m so excited, Gene,” he spoke, remembering what the bloke said about talking. “I can’t wait for you to fuck me, sir.”
“Guv.”
“Hmm?” Cecil hadn’t quite heard as his fingers brushed his prostate.
“Call me Guv. Or Gene.”
“Yes, sir, Guv,” Cecil moaned as he continued to stroke inside himself. “Ohh, please fuck me now, I can’t bear it., Guv please..” Suddenly a large weight was on top of him, but not hurting him. The Man surrounded him, covering all his senses. The Man gently pulled Cecil’s fingers away, then leant down to whisper in his ear.
“I’m going to call you Sam, son. I know your name’s Cecil but, I’m calling you Sam. I’ll pay you enough not to say otherwise.”
“Anything you want, Guv,” Cecil grinned and, already knowing kissing was allowed, pushed forward and covered the Man’s mouth with his own, feeling the odd taste of himself on the stranger’s tongue. The Man moaned into the kiss, then broke it off as he lifted Cecil’s legs up and carefully forced himself inside. Cecil had always known he was flexible.
“Shit, Sam,” Gene moaned. “Christ...”
“Oh yeah,” Cecil encouraged. He didn’t know how much encouragement this old man needed. Fuck but this bloke was hard. “That’s it Gene. You know how I like it Guv. Oh fuck...” Gene kept pounding into him, slowly picking up pace.
“Sam...Sammy...” he moaned, working himself into a frenzy. “Why...why’d you...”
Hear it came. The poor Man lusting over a straight mate. Or, the poor straight Man lusting over a gay mate. Cecil had seen it all before.
“Why’d you...have to...fucking...die, Sammy?”
Oh. Cecil’s mind snapped away from the pleasure he was meant to be experiencing.
“You promised...said we’d....shit...” Gene gasped, still pumping away. “See...the future. The fucking...future...”
Cecil didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t talking anymore but the Man didn’t seem to notice.
“You...you and your...future...bollocks...” the Man argued.
Cecil swallowed hard. Was the Man beginning to cry? He’d never had a punter cry before. Men like this Man shouldn’t cry. It wasn’t right. He had to do something. He had to say something.
“I’m sorry, Gene,” he whispered. “I...I didn’t want to,” he hoped he was saying the right things.
“Left me...on me own...Sammy-boy,” the Man’s thrusts were slowly.
“It wasn’t my choice.”
“What...sort of...future is it...without you..” he was even slower now. Soon. Soon, it would all be over and Cecil could get out of this very uncomfortable situation.
“I’m sorry, Guv.”
With that, the Man came with a harsh cry of “Sam,” and collapsed onto Cecil’s lithe body. The weight wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the Man’s tears which were bothering him.
“I’m so sorry, Guv. Christ, I’m sorry,” Cecil whispered and stroked his hair. He didn’t want to say that he was sorry for him. He wasn’t sure when the role play was meant to end.
After a few minutes of silence, the Man finally rose from the bed. Cecil had never felt so cold.
“That, uhm, that it then?” he asked uncertainly. The Man didn’t answer at first. “You, er, want anything...”
“You can go. That enough cash?” The Man was still naked, but already lighting a ciggie.
Cecil stared at the wad. It was more than enough.
“Yeah. Yeah, ‘s alright. Er, can I bum one?” he asked, as he slipped on his pants and trousers.
“What?”
“A fag.” Cecil didn’t know why it felt so bad to ask. Maybe it was because the man looked so utterly heartbroken when he did.
“Yeah. Sure,” he tossed the pack over.
“Cheers, mate.”
“These things’ll kill you,” the Man told him, as Cecil lit up.
“So can lots of things,” he shrugged and grabbed his shirt. “Not that scared of cancer,” he scrunched up his nose.
“Neither was he,” Gene spoke in a whisper.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll be going then, yeah?”
The Man said nothing and Cecil slowly began to leave the room.
“Can I see you next week?” Gene suddenly called out.
“Sure. You know where to find me,” he answered and left the man to himself.
Three months and he’d thought he’d seen it all. Three and a half, and he had.
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