Work Text
Travis wasn't entirely sure how he'd reached the conclusion that life as a waiter might be sort of fun, actually. On the plus side, it was true he didn't get shot at nearly as often - although, of course, it hadn't bothered him much before, either. He was smart; he was tough; he could handle a couple of goons with guns no problem.
On the minus side, he felt the outfit didn't really bring out his eyes. The pay wasn't as good either; little chance at fame and fortune by balancing plates and advising people on what sort of wine would go best with a nice bit of fish. For starters.
"Damn, that looks good," Beck said, which was cute of him - big guy who was all gooey-gooey on the inside, really, that was Beck, or at least the Beck Travis knew and maybe sort of loved, in a bros before hoes kind of way.
Any moment now, Beck would decide to close the restaurant up early and call it a night, so to speak. It'd be a good thing, too; Travis had spent most of his life running away from hard work as fast as he could (well, at least the kind of hard work that came with bosses and regular hours attached to it) and this past week had definitely reminded him of why he'd made that particular choice in life.
Sure, the sex had been great - the food, too, it went without saying, but still.
Right about now, Travis figured he deserved a bit more relaxation and a little less -
"Travis, order's done for table six," Beck said, in that unpleasant, impatient voice of his that he used when he felt like Travis wasn't listening to him. (He used it in bed, too, but somehow, it was kind of a turn-on there. Like, the only reason Travis didn't worry about maybe being the kind of guy who got off on people ordering him around was the fact that he knew he wasn't. Besides, he did plenty of ordering Beck around, too. Sometimes.)
"Whaddaya say we close up early, huh?" Travis asked.
Beck gave him a Look. It was not his Happy Fun Sexy Times Ahead look. (Travis strongly suspected Beck didn't have one of those - he hadn't seen it yet, at any rate.)
"Why would I close up early, Travis?" Slight emphasis on the 'I' - big guy had to be fretting about the rent again, except that he owned the place, so nope. Not the rent. "There's customers out there, aren't there?"
"Are there?" Travis deflected, like a boss. "Are there, really?"
Beck scowled at him. Travis considered telling him it wasn't scary. At all. "I hired you to wait tables, not to argue with me."
"Is that so? I thought you were paying me for the mind-blowing sex," Travis said, more by way of a hint than because he really imagined Beck to be the kind of guy who had paid anyone for sex ever. Guy was big, after all. Big and cuddly. Giant teddy bear.
Beck scowled at him a bit more.
Travis sighed and picked up the plates. "One order for table six, coming right up."
"Tell them to go easy on the sauce - it's hot," Beck said.
"Will do, yes, sirree," Travis said, intending nothing of the kind. You ordered the hotness, you had to be prepared to get your mouth burnt. He wasn't their mother or something.
It was a pity the plates kept him from being able to salute, really; sometimes, he felt Beck wasn't noticing when he was being sarcastic at all. A very literal kind of guy, was Beck. Straightforward.
"And hurry back, will you? Got something for you to do in the supply closet."
Taking inventory again, probably - joy of joys. Not the usual sort of thing on a Friday night, especially not with customers still around, but oh well. Work was work. It all sucked just as hard.
Plates delivered safely to table six along with a glowing recommendation of the sauce, Travis headed for the supply closet, which somewhat true to its name did in fact contain supplies, albeit not of the edible kind. 'Broom closet' might be more appropriate.
Small and cramped, it was pretty much a symbol of the life Travis didn't want for himself. Except that right now, it had Beck in it, who did, in fact, feature somewhat prominently in Travis's ideal life, even though he generally wasn't wearing an apron in it. Or much of anything at all, really.
"What's up - we out of soap again or something? Invaded by rats?" He'd be surprised, but then, rats weren't known for their intelligence. Too dumb to realize they should pick Option A.
Beck looked at him, and whoa - not Happy Fun Sexy Times Ahead, no. "We got ten minutes. Nine, if you go on talking." Better. Much, much better.
"You seriously think you can get into my pants in ten minutes?" Travis asked, which yeah - a stupid question. Beck had become a whole lot less shy about unzipping other people's pants these days, at least when those pants belonged to Travis.
"I don't think I need ten minutes for that. Ten seconds, maybe," Beck said, which sounded about right, yeah. Bit on the long side, actually.
"You think I'm that easy?" Travis asked, pushing it and well aware of it. "Making me feel a bit cheap here, big guy."
"Give me eight minutes and I'm pretty sure I can fix that," Beck said.
"Eight? I thought you said nine. In fact, I'm very sure you said nine."
"Yeah," Beck said, reaching for Travis's zipper - and yup, there you had it: not shy at all. "I just realized I'd underestimated how long you'd keep talking. My bad."
"So what's so damn important that happens in eight minutes, huh?" Travis asked, closing his eyes as he felt Beck's big hand wrap itself around his dick, all nice and warm.
"My new mushroom sauce," Beck said. "You make me burn it, I'll kill you."
"Sweet, sweet nothings," Travis said, trying to decide whether or not it was a point of honor to prove to Beck he was a hell of a lot more interesting and important than food.
Unfortunately, before he could quite make up his mind, Beck unzipped his own pants, and Travis figured he'd just shelve the thought for later, as he had ... bigger things to think of right now.