101 Fic: Project Hell
Title Project Hell
Author Bruttimabuoni
Rating PG-13
Word Count 1100
Prompt 101 (Mad Men)
Characters/Pairing Andrew/Xander
A/N: Human AU. Originally written for maleslashminis. This is a slightly cut-for-adult-content version for this community, as it fits the prompt and we're short of entries for the round. Apologies to those who have read it already elsewhere!
The Macmillan Beaver account had no redeeming features. None. The name was ridiculous. The product was unnecessary, and more expensive yet less effective than better-selling competitors. There was virtually no design budget; barely any budget at all in fact. Freeman Goodbody only took the job because, and this was the best bit, the senior partner was an old frat buddy of Mr Macmillan Beaver and Took A Personal Interest in the project‘s success. High stress, low prestige, zero hope.
Every year, when the Beaver campaign renewal rolled around, account execs across the building took to lunching under their desks. Tiptoeing into the bathrooms. Contributing nothing in vital meetings. Anything but catching the senior partner’s eye and landing the Beaver. In 2007, Andrew Wells didn’t duck fast enough. Or maybe he said the right thing at the wrong time during the hugely successful Neato! launch. Something, anyway, got him a job on the project team.
*
So here was Andrew, entering the small and uninspiring conference room of doom and finding…oh no. Mr Floppy Haired Loser from block Q. Harris, that was it. Harris the loser. Harris who’d been here forever, done nothing, and already had the Beaver three times, for gods’ sakes. They said he didn’t even really like marketing. No company for Going Places Andrew, winner of the 2006 Shaky Award for Creative Camerawork.
“Well, Harris, what’s it gonna be this year?” Got to stamp your authority on a meeting from the start.
Harris looked up, weary eyes baggy and despairing.
“I can’t do it. Not again. I have nothing more to say about the Beaver.”
“Come on. We need to brainstorm! Get Post Its! Make pie-charts! Create!”
“It’s Andrew, right? Andrew, the first thing you need to know about the Beaver, is that there’s nothing to know about the Beaver. Everything you could think about this has already been thought. Brains have stormed right out of the window. We’ve made it bigger. Smaller. Greener. More techno-savvy. More butch. More femme. More exotic. More down-home. Last year we gave away apple pies with iced flags. It tanked. We’re doomed.”
Andrew was made of sterner stuff. The next days passed in a blizzard of SWOT analyses, product reviews, name research, competitor research, stakeholder research. And many, many were the Post Its thereof. Xander (it turned out Loser Harris had a real name) tolerated it. He even refrained from smirking when Andrew, at 15.26 on the fifth Beaver Account day, started banging his head against the flimsy conference room wall and whimpering like a thwarted child. “Nothing. There’s nothing. This is impossible.”
Eventually, he even went over and put a cushion between Andrew’s skull and the wall. It became a lot quieter.
“Finished?”
“I guess. My head hurts.”
“Yeah, people get there in the end. You lasted longer than most. I did it myself, my first year.”
“How did you get out of it?”
“Well, in the end, Jeff let me in on the great Beaver secret.”
“Do I get to hear it?”
“I guess, since you finally asked. Thing is, you can’t win with the Beaver; it is never going to make your career. But it won’t break you. Too many others have gone before, all failing too. So there’s no point getting too worked up. Pick a strategy, work it up for a couple of hours, sell it hard, spend the rest of the time goofing off. Helps if you do what Jeff did that year.”
“Which was?”
“Pick a cute young piece of ass to work with you and spend the creative time screwing instead.”
Andrew became aware of how close Xander suddenly was. Those tired brown eyes were staring at him very directly. Up close, they were warm and humorous. Eyes of a human being, not a broken corporate robot.
“Uh… You..?” Suddenly, not only the Beaver but the whole damn corporate world seemed faraway and insignificant. He was talking to an actual guy. An actual interested guy. A warm, kinda goofy but cute guy. Andrew was deeply, deeply aware of not having had sex in eight months. You don’t win awards by having a successful personal life.
“Not offended, are you?” Xander was slowly tugging off Andrew’s tie, then his jacket. “Loved what you did on the Neato!, by the way. But I love even more the way you hitch up your jackets so I can admire your ass as you walk. Thought you might… enjoy… getting to know me …a little more.”
Those pauses represent slow, soft kisses. Xander’s warm, wide mouth teasing Andrew’s lips, enticing between his low, relaxed comments. His hands were busy too, tugging Andrew closer, curving solidly round his butt to drag their hips together. If Xander had been in any doubt about Andrew’s feelings, the eager response he met would have cleared up those doubts instantly.
*
No one bothered them. You don’t interfere with the Beaver. Those moaning noises could be anything.
*
“You know,” said Xander, resting his head in the small of Andrew‘s back, on the seventh and last Beaver Account day. “There is one old advertising trick we haven’t tried with the Beaver for a while.”
“Whassat?” Andrew was way past caring about the account, but they had to come up with something for the next day.
“Total, blatant lying. We’ll just sell the same damn thing and call it a revolution. Make it shiny. What the hell. They‘ll love it.”
*
And that, boys and girls, is why 2008 greeted the New, Improved Super-Beaver ™. It was gold. It had luminous dials and seven additional functions, none of them worthwhile.
Andrew won another Shaky. He and Xander have an apartment in TriBeCa now, and Xander has finally left Freeman Goodbody to set up his dream woodworking shop.
Beaver sales plateau-ed. Marketing can only do so much. It was still a piece of crap.
Author Bruttimabuoni
Rating PG-13
Word Count 1100
Prompt 101 (Mad Men)
Characters/Pairing Andrew/Xander
A/N: Human AU. Originally written for maleslashminis. This is a slightly cut-for-adult-content version for this community, as it fits the prompt and we're short of entries for the round. Apologies to those who have read it already elsewhere!
The Macmillan Beaver account had no redeeming features. None. The name was ridiculous. The product was unnecessary, and more expensive yet less effective than better-selling competitors. There was virtually no design budget; barely any budget at all in fact. Freeman Goodbody only took the job because, and this was the best bit, the senior partner was an old frat buddy of Mr Macmillan Beaver and Took A Personal Interest in the project‘s success. High stress, low prestige, zero hope.
Every year, when the Beaver campaign renewal rolled around, account execs across the building took to lunching under their desks. Tiptoeing into the bathrooms. Contributing nothing in vital meetings. Anything but catching the senior partner’s eye and landing the Beaver. In 2007, Andrew Wells didn’t duck fast enough. Or maybe he said the right thing at the wrong time during the hugely successful Neato! launch. Something, anyway, got him a job on the project team.
*
So here was Andrew, entering the small and uninspiring conference room of doom and finding…oh no. Mr Floppy Haired Loser from block Q. Harris, that was it. Harris the loser. Harris who’d been here forever, done nothing, and already had the Beaver three times, for gods’ sakes. They said he didn’t even really like marketing. No company for Going Places Andrew, winner of the 2006 Shaky Award for Creative Camerawork.
“Well, Harris, what’s it gonna be this year?” Got to stamp your authority on a meeting from the start.
Harris looked up, weary eyes baggy and despairing.
“I can’t do it. Not again. I have nothing more to say about the Beaver.”
“Come on. We need to brainstorm! Get Post Its! Make pie-charts! Create!”
“It’s Andrew, right? Andrew, the first thing you need to know about the Beaver, is that there’s nothing to know about the Beaver. Everything you could think about this has already been thought. Brains have stormed right out of the window. We’ve made it bigger. Smaller. Greener. More techno-savvy. More butch. More femme. More exotic. More down-home. Last year we gave away apple pies with iced flags. It tanked. We’re doomed.”
Andrew was made of sterner stuff. The next days passed in a blizzard of SWOT analyses, product reviews, name research, competitor research, stakeholder research. And many, many were the Post Its thereof. Xander (it turned out Loser Harris had a real name) tolerated it. He even refrained from smirking when Andrew, at 15.26 on the fifth Beaver Account day, started banging his head against the flimsy conference room wall and whimpering like a thwarted child. “Nothing. There’s nothing. This is impossible.”
Eventually, he even went over and put a cushion between Andrew’s skull and the wall. It became a lot quieter.
“Finished?”
“I guess. My head hurts.”
“Yeah, people get there in the end. You lasted longer than most. I did it myself, my first year.”
“How did you get out of it?”
“Well, in the end, Jeff let me in on the great Beaver secret.”
“Do I get to hear it?”
“I guess, since you finally asked. Thing is, you can’t win with the Beaver; it is never going to make your career. But it won’t break you. Too many others have gone before, all failing too. So there’s no point getting too worked up. Pick a strategy, work it up for a couple of hours, sell it hard, spend the rest of the time goofing off. Helps if you do what Jeff did that year.”
“Which was?”
“Pick a cute young piece of ass to work with you and spend the creative time screwing instead.”
Andrew became aware of how close Xander suddenly was. Those tired brown eyes were staring at him very directly. Up close, they were warm and humorous. Eyes of a human being, not a broken corporate robot.
“Uh… You..?” Suddenly, not only the Beaver but the whole damn corporate world seemed faraway and insignificant. He was talking to an actual guy. An actual interested guy. A warm, kinda goofy but cute guy. Andrew was deeply, deeply aware of not having had sex in eight months. You don’t win awards by having a successful personal life.
“Not offended, are you?” Xander was slowly tugging off Andrew’s tie, then his jacket. “Loved what you did on the Neato!, by the way. But I love even more the way you hitch up your jackets so I can admire your ass as you walk. Thought you might… enjoy… getting to know me …a little more.”
Those pauses represent slow, soft kisses. Xander’s warm, wide mouth teasing Andrew’s lips, enticing between his low, relaxed comments. His hands were busy too, tugging Andrew closer, curving solidly round his butt to drag their hips together. If Xander had been in any doubt about Andrew’s feelings, the eager response he met would have cleared up those doubts instantly.
*
No one bothered them. You don’t interfere with the Beaver. Those moaning noises could be anything.
*
“You know,” said Xander, resting his head in the small of Andrew‘s back, on the seventh and last Beaver Account day. “There is one old advertising trick we haven’t tried with the Beaver for a while.”
“Whassat?” Andrew was way past caring about the account, but they had to come up with something for the next day.
“Total, blatant lying. We’ll just sell the same damn thing and call it a revolution. Make it shiny. What the hell. They‘ll love it.”
*
And that, boys and girls, is why 2008 greeted the New, Improved Super-Beaver ™. It was gold. It had luminous dials and seven additional functions, none of them worthwhile.
Andrew won another Shaky. He and Xander have an apartment in TriBeCa now, and Xander has finally left Freeman Goodbody to set up his dream woodworking shop.
Beaver sales plateau-ed. Marketing can only do so much. It was still a piece of crap.