More headcanons. Have some barely edited AUs that probably won’t get fics anytime soon, but are great ideas nonetheless. If anyone wants to add on/chime in/create something, feel free.
Trott works at a gay bar, Smith and Ross are interested.
This is actually the second gay bar AU I’ve created. I should copy over the other one, too, and get it out of my docs.
cw: drinking; drunk people being assholes. tattoos. innuendos, language.
If I need to tag something, let me know.
90s-2000s style gay bar/club, like a Hooters, only twink type gay men as the servers. Those exist somewhere.
High tables, which the shorter servers have to crane/lean over to serve people on the far sides.
Smith dares Ross to go in. Ross dares him to go in back.
“What are you, chicken?” Smith teases, making clucking noises.
“Too a-fraid of the big, bad cock! Bawk, bawk, bawk!” Smith sing-songs.
“Fine! Fine. Let’s go.”
They get seated at a table, and take the place in. Looking around at the neon decor reminiscent of a roller-rink. There are pole dancers at the back, by a small stage which is currently empty. According to the signs on the wall, they had karaoke and quiz game nights every weekend, and sometimes drag or special shows hosted each month.
Smith spins the laminated menu around with his fingertips. The place was busy tonight. Young-looking servers cut between the crowds, carrying large platters of appetizers and drinks. The servers are dressed in mid rise black jean shorts, and pastel long-sleeved button-down shirts.
Their server approaches the table, wearing mint green.
“Hey, my name’s Chris, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening,” He introduced himself quickly, “Can I start you off with anything to drink?”
Ross and Smith simultaneously watch Chris take a notepad and pen off of the belt around his waist, both thinking the same thing.
Shit, he’s cute.
Smith would like to be taken care of, yes, thanks. All night, please, if you would.
Ross wouldn’t mind getting off. With him. Preferably with less clothes on, and with nothing between them.
“So…drinks? Can I get you anything?” Chris asks again, looking between the two of them.
Smith stammers embarrassingly as he orders his drinks.
Ross orders too, and gets a side of mozzarella sticks to split between the two of them.
Chris takes their orders, jotting it down quickly in his notebook before leaving to fill them.
Ross and Smith watch him disappear into the crowd, tracking his brunette, lithe form by the color shirt he’s wearing. All the servers look the same, but Chris is cutest by far.
“Is it too creepy that we’re staring?” Ross asks Smith. He watches Chris take orders for a group full of dude-bro types, and disappear behind the bar.
“I’m not staring, your staring.” Smith replies unconvincingly.
Chris comes back with their drinks, and the side of mozzarella sticks, and drops them off.
Smith and Ross drink. And eat mozzarella sticks. And flirt with Chris as he periodically returns to fill their drinks and take away their plates and glasses.
Chris plays it off, because drunk flirting is normal here. Even if Smith and Ross aren’t plastered like most people are.
But he thinks Smith and Ross are genuinely funny. Better customers than he’s had in weeks. Most people aren’t this nice and polite and not creepy.
As the night goes on, Chris rolls up his sleeves, revealing tattoos hidden under his shirt.
“Fuck, your arms are gorgeous.” Smith compliments, not just talking about the art on Chris’ skin. He may not be able to resist accidentally brushing Chris’ hand as he passes him an empty glass.
“Thank you.” Trott replies. He mentions what they are as he collects up their plates. A hummingbird on one forearm, surrounded by baby blue orchids and pink lilies. On the other is a purple chrysanthemum with it’s petals falling off, a dove, and pink carnations.
Smith’s dying to know what they mean, if anything. (dying to ask if he has any other tattoos and where they are and if he can see them). He holds himself back. “Where’d you get them done?” He asks instead.
“Flux Ink. It’s a little place across town. My friend runs it.”
((I just picked these randomly, but. symbolism:
hummingbird- courage, determination
orchid- strength, innocence, love
lilies- humility, devotion, an innocent soul
chrysanthemum- honesty, optimism
dove- peace, love, hope, promise
carnation- affection, admiration, love))
Another customer stops Chris half-way back to the table, to complain about his order. Smith and Ross watch Chris shift his feet, vague annoyance crossing his expression as he converses with the man. He’s not even his server- they can hear snippets of the conversation over the music. The man is obviously wasted.
“Sir, I’m sorry about your order-”
“I’m fucking disappointed in the service here, my food is cold, and-”
“-I’m sorry, sir. I can get you a refund and a fresh order-”
The other man interrupts him again, slurring his words. Chris’ arms are laden with hot plates, and yet he’s straight-faced. His arms must be burning. The man’s cussing him out, and Chris didn’t even do anything.
“Figures pretty fuck-boys like you don’t know how to treat your customers right.” The man slurs.
“Hey, asshole, why don’t you take your cold food and shove it where the sun don’t shine.” Smith interrupts him loudly. “If you have a problem, take it up with the manager, not the server who didn’t even bring you your food in the first place.”
The man scowls at them and hefts himself out of the chair to drunkenly stumble in search of said manager.
Chris visibly sighs.
“I’m sorry about that.” He apologizes towards their table.
“That guy was a dick.” Ross adds in. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Can I get you another round of drinks?” Chris asks.
“Coming right up.” He hustles off, still carrying hot plates in his arms.
“Dare you to leave your number on the bill.” Ross tells Smith.
“Mate, if you’re not leaving your number, I most certainly will. He’s fucking stunner.”