#it's the tired disgruntled mcdonald's boy that i wrote a solo thing for first

[thelighttasteslikelasagna]

archiveofourown.org/works/46869589

word count: 1940

pairing: Brian Wilcox (Fast Food Nation)/Reader

summary: Brian thinks you're such a prude. Always flinching when he spits into the burgers. Not just a prude, you're a coward for not telling him to stop.

OR

Reader has an obvious spit kink, and Brian's perspective is hard to work with.

Brian thinks you're a prude for flinching and looking away every time he spits in a burger. Not just a prude, a coward for also not telling him to stop. It's like you disapprove, but you don't have the guts to tell him to stop.

You continue to quietly work alongside him, looking away whenever he spits onto a burger and rubs the bun over the patty to get an even layer of spit all over it. He grins as he does so- it's his one point of pride against every stuck up asshole customer that raises their voice against the cashier. Whenever he looks at you and snaps, asking if you're judging him, you quickly look away and mumble an apology, and he continues to glare at you, before shoving the order out and letting the cashier on shift know that the order is ready.

Brian is inattentive, but he's not slow. He notices that you only flinch when he spits in the burgers. When he doesn't wash his hands while handling food, you barely bat an eyelid. When a frozen beef patty falls on the ground and he tosses it onto the grill, you continue working without giving it a second look. When he accidentally squirts mayonnaise on the counter and swipes it up with a finger to slather it under the bun (arguably a worse infraction than the spitting), you simply continue working. It confuses him at first. How come you only get nervous with the spitting?

Realizations do not dawn upon Brian. They do not come to him in slow puzzle pieces of recognition and a singular answer. They come like starfall and the hot oil from the deep fryer, and an all-encompassing roar in the jumble of his mind.

To his credit, it hits him when he spits in a burger, and you look away with a sharp inhale. He's about to ask you what the hell your problem is, when his glance lowers, and he sees your legs awkwardly crossed together, along with an uncomfortable look on your face. It leads to him realizing that this whole time, you were-

"What?" he snaps, though the question is addressed more to himself, as if in disbelief that he did not notice it sooner.

"Nothing- nothing! Go on!" you shakily say, and abandon your station, off to do another mundane task at breakneck speed.

Brian smirks to himself, an awful, wide smile that rarely shows on his face. He was rarely offered the upper hand, and now that he had it, he would abuse it until it was rubbed raw. It's ridiculous in hindsight, how he did not notice it sooner. What he perceived as your judgment wasn't actually judgment at all, you were staring in yearning. His disgusting little act, an act he saw as defiance, was one you perceived as dominance in a more carnal aspect.

The rest of the shift passes by normally, and you eventually drift back to his side, appearing to forget the earlier incident. You continue to slap meals together and push them out at a languid pace, and he keeps an eye on you.

You're not very good at hiding your skittish nature around him. You're nervous around Brian that would indicate that you thought he was going to kill you if you misstepped around him, or, well, had a crush on him. Brian always assumed it was the former, he knew how intimidating he could be, even in the silly yellows and reds of his shitty condiment-stained customer service outfit. He's still tall, imposing, with dry-from-dye black hair and an indifferent look on his face. But you try to be innocently affable around him, an attitude he normally dismissed as you being friendly. The spitting, however, hints at a more perverse side that you're hiding.

A side he does not mind coaxing out.

He spends the rest of the shift wondering if you're thinking about him. Are you hoping he spits on your cheek? On your face? Even in a burger? Brian allows himself to get lost in that fantasy. Making a burger just for you. Bun, lettuce, tomato, patty- ahh. He would make a disgusting noise at the back of his throat, and hock a large glob of spit, right onto the bland patty. A viscous seasoning of his own. His train of thought gets the better of him, and he imagines what other bodily fluids you'll happily eat on that burger, why doesn't he just drop his pants and add a healthy dose of-

"Brian?" a voice snaps him from his thoughts, and startled, he turns to his side, to see you. You look hesitant, as if you didn't want to interrupt what he was thinking about, and oh, it's a good thing you interrupted him, he didn't trust where his thoughts were about to lead him.

"End of the shift already?" he asks hoarsely, and you nod.

Brian shrugs off his uniform in the locker room with ease, an annoying second layer that presses over his dark clothes. The smell of the fryer clings to his casual clothes, and he scoffs to himself, and digs through his locker for some gum. The end of a shift always leaves the taste of the kitchen in his mouth, and gum helps him get rid of it.

You're the one with a bit more difficulty with the uniform. You're trying to get the strings on your apron to cooperate with you. You nearly ask Brian for help with the strings, but you keep your mouth shut, you don't want it to come off as a coy suggestion. So you struggle with the strings as Brian pops some gum in his mouth, chewing and watching you.

At last, you manage to squirm out of the uniform, and you shed it off to reveal your own clothes with a satisfied sigh. Your own clothes are a touch brighter than his, he notes, trying to not think about how your sigh sounded, what other sounds he could eke from your throat. He chews his own gum thoughtfully, before realizing he's staring at you.

"Gum?" he asks, deceptively casual. He holds up his box of gum, showing he has a few sticks of gum left. You turn to him with a noise of surprise, and nod with excitement.

"Open up." he says, a slight command to his tone, and he revels with the mindless obedience you display, opening your mouth and slightly sticking out your tongue with an 'aaaah'. There's a curl to the edge of your lips, a smile as you wait for him to unwrap a stick of gum and toss it into your mouth. Brian is inadvertently reminded of a dog waiting for a treat, with you in complete obedience, or a pornstar, in those magazines he keeps under his bed.

Brian smiles, while chewing his own gum. If he had any shred of decency, he would have asked for permission, he would have apologized for what he was about to do, hell, he wouldn't have done it at all.

But Brian Wilcox is not a boy with a shred of decency.

Brian takes a step closer to you, and you falter slightly, but keep your mouth open. Obedience keeps you rooted to the spot, keeps your mouth open. He doesn't have a shred of decency or obedience in him.

An annoyingly sentimental side of him wants to cup your cheek, to make this moment a little more special, but he risks you ruining the intimate moment and pulling away, and he's testing his boundaries as is by simply stepping closer to you. Whatever he's going to do, he has to do it fast.

So in one quick motion, Brian spits his chewed-gum into your mouth, along with a generous amount of spit. To anybody that came up behind him, it would have looked like a tender kiss shared between coworkers after a tense shift, but it is anything but.

You feel Brian's spit and gum hit your tongue, and immediately, you recoil, and your face flusters, going into a deep red.

You cry out as you look up at Brian, and it looks like you're about to scream, so Brian immediately reacts by slapping his palm over your mouth. He allows himself a moment of uncertainty, that maybe he misinterpreted the signs from earlier, that maybe you think he's a complete fucking freak, and that you're definitely going to report him for harassment and assault, and that he accidentally ruined what was a good mutual respect between you and him.

But he swallows that down, and lets a veneer of confidence wash over him- the same kind of confidence that lets him spit into each burger. He looks into your eyes, and starts to talk. He can't tell what you're feeling, your eyes are wide in surprise from his gesture, but your lashes are fluttering, and he's not sure if that's a flirtation, or if you're blinking in Morse code to tell him to go fuck himself.

"Hey, hey, ssh. Seen the way you look at me." he whispers, and he feels like one of those animal tamers, trying to soothe a wild animal.

"You're gonna be good for me and keep my gum in your mouth, right?" he continues, and uses his thumb to stroke the side of your cheek, a placating gesture. He's seen couples in school do this, so it's gotta work on you, right? And it does, like magic. Even under his greasy fingers, you seem to nearly go limp, your eyelids grow heavy, even with his palm over your mouth. You give a slow nod.

"Not gonna scream or do any of that shit?" he asks, and tries to negate any panic in his tone by asking it like an order. You shake your head, and it's sickening, how Brian feels this power over you. He's just spat in your mouth, and you let him. Your pupils are blown wide, looking at him, and some primal aspect of Brian recognizes it as lust, an emotion he's never had directed towards him.

He pats the side of your cheek in a condescending gesture, and lets go of his hand over your mouth. True to your word, you don't scream. Even better, your jaw slowly moves, chewing the gum he spat into your mouth. Brian finds that he likes it.

You're far- very far from the prude he initially imagined you as. If you were, you would have spat out his gum and the spitglob onto the floor the second he let go of your mouth, dainty hands splayed over your mouth and trying to get his taste out of your mouth. You make a small face, he recognizes your tongue swirling at the side of your cheek- and his eyes widen, realizing that you're actually chasing the taste of his spit over the flavored gum, swirling it around your mouth.

You make a small swallowing motion- Brian greedily imagines that it's his spit going down your throat. You continue to chew his gum, and look up at him in silence.

"Good job, doll." Brian mumbles, looking at you. He heard it once from a porno, with a macho buff guy complimenting a buxom girl after she'd performed a sexual act and swallowed something of his. Brian doesn't think he's a macho guy, but with the way you're looking at him, he feels like you see him as one. A heady rush comes over him, a much more intimate sense of power than the first time he spat in a burger as defiance.

"Good job."