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.
The lads play actually-gay gay chicken while they work at a fast food restaurant over the summer.
If I need to tag something, let me know.
Quite Literally Gay Chicken
Hats work at a fried chicken restaurant, and proceed to dance around each other without realizing they’re all attracted to one another.
just a shack off the interstate with a walk-in counter and a drive through. The manager doesn’t even come in after the first day, just hands them the instruction manuals, the keys to building, and a set of uniforms. He tells them not to burn themselves alive or let the building go down in flames before he drives off. very reassuring.
a summer job was a summer job, working in the kitchen, heat of the fryers, aprons and polo shirts.
Ross works the fryer, cooking mountains of chicken and fries.
Trott works the drive thru and completes orders.
Smith works the front counter, and when customers are low he goes out to the interstate sign and dances in a chicken suit to draw in business (so much pelvic thrusting). If they don’t get customers, they don’t make money, their manager, Sips says. And if they don’t make money, they don’t get paid. “I’ll know. I watch the cameras.”
Smith in a fucking chicken costume, sign spinning outside in the summer heat.
“It’s like fucking gay chicken.” Ross says in a Northern accent.
nearly slipping in grease and breaking something (jokes about greasy fuck)
they keep the floor clean constantly
Ross and Trott blasting the chicken dance music over the loudspeaker on a stormy day and annoying the fuck out of Smith.
increasingly sexual touches, that all are actually quite comfortable with but aren’t sure of the other’s sexuality.
hands trailing hips, groping asses
(Turps going through the drive thru saying they should sell jerk chicken and giving the shpeal
Trott like, mate, we don’t own the franchise, we just work here. tell that to our manager if he ever shows up again.
Smith teases him as he’s trying to place Turps’ massive order for his company luncheon)
“FUCKING. CHICKEN. GAAAH.” Ross screams from the fryer as he throws in two more bags of drumsticks and wings.
Ross was losing, and he had to get the other two back. But how? Trott was a safer bet, as it’d be easier to out-chicken him if Smith was going after him too. Except wait a minute, were they even keeping score? Were their scores individual or combined? Because that would mean-
A hand brushes down Ross’ spine and he shudders. He turns to his right.
Trott winks at him over his shoulder as he goes to the freezer to get more fries.
Dammit. Now he was even more behind.
game turns to flirting as summer continues
Ross wiping sweat off forehead with t-shirt, Trott/Smith get caught staring blatantly
end of summer, the three sit outside in the cool breeze, eating a bucket of chicken. The shop was locked up for the night. The crickets chirped in the field and rarely a car was heard travelling down the interstate. Bugs buzzed against the fluorescent light over their heads, and the three friends sigh at the peaceful night.
“Hard to believe our summer went by so quick.” Trott says.
“I know it. Never gonna wear that fucking chicken suit again.” Smith takes a large bite out of a thigh. “N’ver ‘gain.”
“Who won our game of gay chicken, by the way?” Trott asks, throwing his chicken bones towards the trash can by the door and missing.
Ross shrugs. “No idea, mate. Lost track of the points. All three of us were neck and neck for awhile.”
“Wow.” Trott remarks. “Can’t believe that was an actual thing we did.”
Ross hums in agreement.
“Pity you guys are actually straight.” Smith jokes quietly.
“Who said I was.” Trott says, licking his fingers clean.
“Wait a minute.” Ross slowly chews the bite he took from a wing. “You mean you two aren’t…secretly together or something?”
“Are you fucking kidding me.” Smith balks, looking between the other two. “This entire time we’ve been…”
“Huh.” Trott mutters succinctly.
Smith throws the remainder of the chicken in his hands across the parking lot. He crawls across the asphalt and grabs Ross by the front of his apron.
“Come here you fucking wanker.” He growls, kissing him furiously.
Ross makes a surprised squeak, while Trott stares blankly.
A moment later, Smith pulls back and reaches out for Trott. “You too, you twat.” He says assuredly, yanking Trott by the arm and melding his mouth to Trott’s.
Trott hums and catches himself before he falls over. Ross traces his lips with his thumb like he can’t believe what just occurred.
“Alright. Here’s what’s going to happen.” Smith says, pulling away and reaching into the bucket for another piece of chicken. “You are going to kiss him-” He points to Trott and then Ross with the drumstick in his hand. “-And then we’re getting in my truck, going back to my place, and fucking.” Smith takes a bite out of the chicken as smirks start to form on his friend’s features. “Got it?”
Ross laughs, and Trott shakes his head with a smile. “Got it.” He tugs Ross down to kiss him and complete the group of three.