Work Text:
Jeremy Clarkson turned out to be unexpectedly charming, when he bothered to exert himself.
Charlie decided it was the surprise of it that had such an effect. He'd been expecting Clarkson to be rude and brash and offensive. He'd had entirely the wrong set of defences up.
And that was the only reason he was on his knees with Clarkson's dick in his mouth.
"I don't want to do Top Gear," he'd told his agent. "I can't drive and I don't know anything about cars."
"They're willing to have you on," his agent had said, "and it's good exposure. You do want to keep getting work, don't you?"
And, yes, he did, because being on television was a lot less tedious than working in a shop.
So he'd dutifully trundled off to Godalming and the Stig had taught him enough to get round the track in one, very slow, piece and then he'd sat down opposite Clarkson, expecting to be excoriated and - Clarkson was nice.
Okay, he mocked the fact that Charlie had never learned to drive but he seemed to accept, "I've spent most of my adult life in London - why the hell would I drive?" as a valid excuse. When Charlie confessed that there were so many lunatics on the road that he preferred to stay off it, Clarkson even agreed, while admitting that he was one of the lunatics. And when Charlie had finally sat through the utter humiliation of his lap, Clarkson congratulated him on being the fastest ever non-driver around the track.
"The only non-driver," Charlie had said.
"Well, the only non-driver in this car. We had Johnny Vegas in the Liana."
And Charlie'd actually felt quite good about that. Which was possibly why, now that filming was safely over, he was giving Clarkson a blowjob.
He'd changed his mind. He didn't want to be on television any more. This had never happened when he worked in a video shop.