Fic: Now Hiring (1/1), brown cortina, dakfinv

[dakfinv]

Title: Now Hiring 
Author: dak
Word Count: 2446 words
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: some smut
Pairings: implied Sam/Gene, Gene/Cecil
Summary: Cecil's fully recovered. Now if he only needn't work for a living...
A/N: This is the 7th in my LoM/Meat crossover series. Previous fics can be found here. Please enjoy!

“I told yeh to put on a nice shirt.”
“This is the nicest shirt I have!”

“There’s a mustard stain right there!”

“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t wash out. Still a nice shirt, though. Has buttons and everything.”

“ ‘M not takin’ you anywhere ‘til you change.”

“Since when are you Mr. Neat ‘n Tidy?”

“Since I agreed to put my reputation on the line to get your scrawny arse a job. Now go change.”

Cecil sighed dramatically as he stomped up the stairs. He knew Gene would make him change. It was why he wore that shirt in the first place. He’d been dreading this day ever since Gene had brought him home from hospital. Today, he would be interviewing for a job. Today, he was terrified. Today, he was going to stall as much as possible. He had a feeling Gene already knew this.

“C’mon then!” he shouted from below. “Chop, chop. Ain’t got all day!”

Cecil reached into his closet and grabbed the first decent-looking shirt he saw.

“Shift it, Ces!”

“Fine,” he muttered, and ran out of the room, still throwing on the shirt. Gene was standing by the door with arms crossed, his impatience obvious.

“Ready, Princess?”

“Yes, Queenie,” Cecil taunted.

“Out the door with yeh, smart arse,” Gene grumbled, shoving him outside.

Cecil fumbled with his seat belt as Gene started the car.

“Word to the wise, Mr. Saxon,” he said after lighting up a fag. “May want to do that up ‘fore we get there.”

Cecil looked down to see that he’d forgotten to button his shirt.

“Shit,” he cursed, forgetting about the seat belt as his fingers hurried to his shirt. Gene only laughed.

“Bit nervous, are yeh?”

“Shut up.”

“You ever done this before?”

“What? Sit in a car with an old bloke who wants to fuck me? Course, yeah.”

Gene smacked him in the ear.

“Ow!”

“Teach you to watch your mouth. Now, do you want this job or not?” Gene asked.

“Depends what it is,” he replied.

“The correct answer was, ‘Absolutely, Mr. Hunt, sir.”

“Guess I failed then,” Cecil finally secured his seat belt.

“Quitting already?”

“Don’t think you’ll let me.”

“Now that is the right answer.”

They drove in silence for the next few minutes. Cecil stared out the window and watched the blur of passing brick buildings. He wondered how much the city had changed since Gene was a copper. It looked like it could still use some work.

“So, where we headed?” he finally asked.

“It’s a surprise,” Gene kept his expression neutral.

“ ‘S not a butcher’s is it? Me uncle was a butcher. I can’t stand butchers,” he crossed his arms and pouted.

“And what if I told yeh it were a butcher’s?”

“I’d tell you to find something else.”

“Think you can be choosey then, do yeh?”

“I think I don’t want me hands all covered in blood everyday,” he argued. Gene said nothing. “ ‘S not a Tesco, is it?”

Gene rolled is eyes.

“What? I don’t want to work at Tesco.”

“Should I just drop you off at Canal Street, now?”

“Shit. It is Tesco, isn’t it?” Cecil groaned.

“You’re not going to a bloody Tesco, alright?” Gene shouted. “Chrissakes.”

“They have to wear those ugly, little vests...”

Gene punched him in the arm.

“Ow! Stop hitting me.”

“Stop being a prat.”

“Can’t. It’s in me blood,” Cecil grinned.

“Cheeky sod,” Gene shook his head.

“You love it,” he snorted. The car suddenly became very quiet. Cecil began chewing nervously on his thumbnail.

“Stop it,” Gene ordered.

“Can’t.”

Gene slapped his hand away.

“I said stop hitting in me! Shouldn’t you be focusing on the road, or something?”

“It’s called multitasking. And you’ll need it for this job of yours.”

Cecil’s stomach dropped. This was really happening. Shit. He shouldn’t be this nervous. He needed a job. He almost, sort of, wanted a job. Now, he was getting job. Now, he wanted to run away in the other direction. He knew it wasn’t practical. He had nowhere else to go. Of course, that had never stopped him before. He knew what was stopping him now, and it was sitting in the driver’s seat. He didn’t know if that thought made him more nervous or less. Probably more.

“You nervous?”

“No.”

“Good. Shouldn’t be anyhow. We’re going to see an old friend of mine. Long as you keep that shirt closed, I think he’ll like you.”

“Yeah. People just adore me,” he quipped, and went back to gnawing on his thumb. It was only another minute until they reached their destination. Gene parked the Quattro directly outside the building, ignoring the double yellow line.

“Remember,” Gene said as they climbed out of the car. “Behave yourself.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Exactly,” Gene pushed open the doors. Cecil followed closely behind.

“Mr. Hunt, mon brave! Long time, no see!”

The cheery Jamaican man behind the bar immediately walked around the counter and gave Gene a firm handshake.

“How’ve you been, Nelson?”

“Good, Gene. Good. Back’s been a bit stiff, lately, but what do you expect, men our age,” he smiled and shook his head.

“Speak for yourself. I’m in the best shape of me life.”

“That’s sad, Mr. Hunt. But, probably true. So, what I can do for you? Pint of bitter?”

“Absolutely. What d’you want, Cecil?”

For the first time, the barman noticed Gene’s companion. Nelson did the same double-take all of Gene’s old mates did when they first met him. This man must have known Sam, too.

“Erm,” Cecil checked is watch. His grandad had always told him “drink as much as you want, but never before noon. People would talk.” It was just gone eleven. “I’ll have a coke, thanks.”

The barman nearly dropped Gene’s pint. Both men stared in shock.

“Pepsi?”

Nelson slowly moved towards the small, drinks fridge.

“Nelson, this is my friend Cecil Saxon. Cecil, this is the best publican there ever was.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” he responded politely, knowing Gene would thump him if he acted otherwise.

“Nice to meet you, too, young man,” he smiled as he handed over a can of Coke. “Have a seat, gentlemen. I don’t open for another hour, yet. Plenty of time for a chat,” he motioned to the table in the far corner and Cecil followed the elder men to their seats.

For awhile, Ces sat there awkwardly as the men recounted old stories involving people he’d never heard of. Words like Warren, Red Rum, Phyllis, and Litton popped up and Cecil did his best to follow along. The one word which he expected to hear never was spoken: Sam. After a good fifteen minutes, Gene finally brought the conversation round to something Cecil actually understood.

“So, Nelson, I’ve heard it from a very reliable source that you’re in search of a new barman.”

Cecil’s mouth went dry. He knew this was where the conversations had been heading, but he was hoping against hope that the subject would never arise. This Nelson seemed nice enough, but even if he was Gene’s mate, he would never higher Cecil. He had no experience, no references. He’d seen plenty of pump-action, but he didn’t think that’s what this barman had in mind.

“Cecil!”

“Huh?” He shook his head to see both Gene and Nelson staring at him.

“Nelson asked you a question.”

“He did?” Cecil swallowed nervously, darting his eyes between the two older men.

“How old are you, Mr. Saxon?” Nelson asked.

“Er, nineteen, sir.”

Gene shot him a look.

“I mean, twenty. I’ll be twenty-one later this year.”

“And have you ever worked a bar before?”

“Uhm, no, sir. I haven’t,” he lowered his eyes. Gene should have known better than to bring him here. Tesco was looking better and better.

“Well, if I could teach Mr. Hunt how to work a bar in just one night, you should be no trouble at all,” he smiled.

“What?”

Was he just offered a job? But, that was impossible. He must have looked as stunned as he felt because Gene was smirking over his pint. Nelson began to explain.

“See, I’m not as young as I once was, and running a pub is a hard business. I need someone with a nice, strong pair of legs and a good back to help keep this place up. Would you be interested?”

“I, I, uhm,” he looked to Gene for help, but was given none. “I don’t have any experience, sir.”

“And I told you that’s no trouble. Now, it is hard work. Long hours, sometimes. Early mornings, late nights. Think you could handle that?”

“I guess,” he shrugged. Cecil had had his fair share of late nights.

“And, just to assure you, it can also be a lot of fun. You get to know your customers. Some even stay with you for life. And, no two days are ever the same. So, do you like to keep busy?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. Usually, he never had enough to do.

“Are you good at chatting away?”

“I think so,” he agreed. You need to be at conversation in his...previous line of work.

“Well, then, since you have a solid reference in Mr. Hunt, I think you’re the perfect man for the job,” Nelson held out his hand.

“Really?” he asked in astonishment. No one had ever offered him a legal job before.

“Absolutely. Could even start you tonight, if you’re ready.”

“Tonight?” Cecil didn’t have to think hard. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah, sure, alright,” he eagerly took Nelson’s hand and shook it. He couldn’t see it, but he knew he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Alright! Well, Mr. Hunt, looks like you better run along, then. I’ve got meself a new barman to train,” Nelson and Gene rose from the table.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” he shook Nelson’s hand. “See you tonight,” he pat Cecil on the arm, finished his pint and ducked out of the pub.

Nelson draped an arm around Ces’ shoulder and spun him round to face the bar.

“Welcome to the Railway Arms, mon brave.”

*

It was half-past midnight when Cecil finally stumbled into the house. Gene appeared in the kitchen doorway, sipping a glass of whisky and chuckling at Cecil’s condition.

“So, how was it?”

“Ugh, my feet are killing me, man. I was standing for, like, twelve hours,” he griped as he lumbered up the stairs. “Me back hurts, I smell like booze and fags, and I can’t feel me right arm. And I don’t your mate’s really Jamaican.”

“Course he ain’t. Want summat to eat?”

“I want to sleep. Sleep forever, and ever, and ever. And never wake up, ever again,” he grumbled as he reached the top of the stairs. He was already flat on his back, on his bed, when he realized Gene had followed him.

“It’ll get easier.”

“That’s what they always say.”

“What who always say?”

“I don’t know. Everyone,” he pouted. He heard Gene laugh, then felt the bed dip. A warm hand placed itself on his calf, and slowly began to stroke up and down.

“Poor baby, eh? Living so rough now, ain’t yeh?”

Cecil made a whining noise somewhere between a groan and a purr. The hand move slowly up his thigh and was joined by another, sliding up his other leg. As soon as they were close, the hands pulled back and began removing his shoes.

His shoes gone, the hands traced their way back up to his waist, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Thought you said, I was supposed to keep this buttoned?” Cecil asked, refusing to open his eyes.

“That were only for the interview. Have the job, don’t yeh?”

The fingers kept moving until Cecil’s chest was fully exposed.

“Thanks to you,” Cecil sighed as Gene’s hands slowly began to peel off the rest of his shirt.

“Well, you’re welcome. Hm, you do smell like booze and fags.”

Cecil arched up so Gene could pull the shirt off his shoulders.

“Question is: do you taste like booze and fags?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

He finally opened his eyes and grinned wickedly. He pulled Gene close and kissed him fiercely as Gene’s hands moved to his trousers, deftly undoing the button and zip. There was little talking as Cecil kept Gene’s mouth covered with his own. Sliding out of his trousers and pants, he pressed himself against Gene, relishing the feel of fabric against his bare skin.

“How do you want me?” Cecil whispered breathlessly into Gene’s cheek.

“I’m not paying,” Gene answered as he continued to run his hands over every inch of Cecil’s smooth skin.

“No,” Cecil began fumbling with Gene’s trousers, “but it’s your thank you, after all.”

Gene gently pushed Cecil back down.

“Hands and knees,” he whispered urgently, and Ces quickly obliged. One hand disappeared from his back, and he heard Gene rummaging through the nightstand drawer. A minute later, a slick finger was slid inside him. Cecil arched into the touch, desperately needing more. With his mouth no longer occupied, he tilted his head to the right, desperate for a taste of the hand that was on his shoulder.

“This what you want?” Gene adjusted himself and pushed a second finger inside Cecil as he inched his left hand closer to the lad’s mouth. Cecil began sucking greedily on the fingers that were available to him. He hollowed his cheeks and gently nibbled on the tips, swirling his tongue and giving those fingers the best damn blowjob of their life. He heard Gene moan, and pushed back hard on the other hand.

“You ready then?” Gene withdraw his fingers from all fronts.

“Yes, sir,” Cecil panted. “Christ, Guv. Fuck me, please.”

He didn’t have to wait long. Gene was soon thrusting inside him, gripping his hips tightly and pounding him into the mattress. Cecil was so tired, he didn’t have his normal, youthful stamina. As soon as Gene began stroking his cock, Cecil couldn’t contain himself and came all over his sheets and stomach.

“Good boy,” Gene muttered as he continued to pump his hips. “Good.”

Moments later, Gene stilled and swelled and emptied himself inside Cecil. He said nothing as he came. Cecil knew it was because Gene was afraid of whose name he might say. Some things hadn’t changed between them. Somewhat composed, the two exhausted men stumbled down the hall, barely able to support each other, and collapsed into Gene’s clean bed. Cecil fell asleep with Gene’s arm tucked around his waist and his breath on the back of his neck. Other things, however, had certainly improved for the better.
_________

A/N: A special thank you goes to

fawsley for mentioning the phrase "pump-action" in a comment on another fic, else I would have never thought to use it here.