Work Text:
The overhead bell jingled as the door to Burgers Burgers Burgers swung open. As lunch rushes go, the dining room was relatively calm, with maybe a third of the tables occupied and leaving Randy more than enough room to mop. “Watch your step, the floor is wet.” The words left his mouth before he even lifted his head, making it even harder for his voice to be heard over the chatter in the dining room and his generally soft-spoken demeanor. When he did look up, he recognized the customers that had walked in: two girls from the local high school, as evidenced by their matching cheerleading uniforms emblazoned with the school’s initials across the front. He plopped the mop back into the plastic yellow bucket, some of the water sloshing out and splashing onto one of the girls’s bright white sneakers. She didn’t notice, however, too distracted by the hushed conversation she was having with her friend between giggles and snaps of her chewing gum.
“Oh my God, he’s working! Look, he’s on the register.” The girls looped their arms together at the elbow before moving again, their stride perfectly in sync as they giggled their way to the counter.
Yes, Randy definitely recognized them. This was the third time they’d been in this week, on top of the two times they’d come in last week and a couple of times the week before that. And while Randy could admit that he wasn’t always the most observant, there was no doubt in his mind that it wasn’t the middling burgers or thin milkshakes bringing the girls in on a regular basis. “How can I help you girls?” Benson was far and beyond the most charming person working at the restaurant, and the girls had certainly noticed.
At first, Randy wasn’t sure why he found himself irritable when they’d come in and go straight to Benson. Even on days he was wiping down tables or running out orders, they somehow gravitated immediately toward him, a simultaneous, sing-song “Hi, Benson” ringing out to get his attention without fail every time, today being no exception in response to his greeting. Randy rolled the mop bucket closer to the register, cleaning the same patch of floor he’d mopped at least three times already since Benson took over the counter for the day. It was a strange feeling, the way the skin on the nape of his neck would burn and his belly would ache with bubbling stomach acid, surging upward like magma and burning into his chest and throat, a wretched discomfort nestled somewhere between anxiety and anger.
Initially he’d convinced himself it was the shrillness of their voices. Not that they could help it, he told himself, but there was something about the clashing pitches that felt like sandpaper on his eardrums and sent painful jolts of electricity through his molars. Later he decided it was how long they took to order, knowing how much of a numbers guy Hardy could be and not wanting Benson’s transaction times to suffer because of unnecessarily drawn-out orders. It wasn’t until he woke up from a new and unusual dream a couple of nights prior and could swear he still felt Benson’s lips on his own that he finally admitted to himself what it really was: jealousy. His twitterpated subconscious had finally made its grand entrance during a melatonin-induced sleep, and Randy was left to face the fact that he was deeply, undeniably infatuated with Benson.
By the time the first girl was placing her order, Randy had stopped cleaning altogether, instead leaning on the handle of the mop and blatantly listening in. He’d gotten into the habit of inserting himself into Benson’s interactions with them; at first he didn’t even consciously notice himself doing it, squeezing between them when Benson was bussing tables, or days like today, simply hovering near the register while they ordered. “Um, could I get the cheeseburger meal, but no onions.” She looked over to the other girl before looking back up to Benson, blowing a bubble with her gum while cheerleader number two spoke.
“Yeah, just, like, a large order of fries and a vanilla shake.”
Benson furrowed his brow at the register for a moment before tossing a look over his shoulder at Randy, who was already looking at him. “Hey Randy, you mind giving me a hand for a second?”
“Uh, yeah, sure thing.” Randy moved over quickly, accidentally catching the mop bucket with his toe in his rush and sending another splash of water to the floor.
“Randy?” Girl one snapped her gum as she looked at the younger man’s name tag. “Why’s your name badge say Bradley?”
“Randy’s just what I call him. Isn’t that right, Randy?” Benson shuffled the younger man into place in front of him at the register. One large hand rested on the countertop as he stepped up behind him, so close that Randy could feel the older man’s breath on his neck. “A special name for a special boy.” Randy turned to look at him, face red and flushed and a nervous smile on his lips as Benson reached past him with his free hand and started pressing buttons on the register, his body practically wrapped around the blonde’s. “So, silly me, I completely forgot how to ring in special orders.” The girls couldn’t see the buttons Benson was pushing, but Randy could, and he watched as Benson entered it into the register flawlessly, ‘no onion’ clearly dictated under the burger portion of the order on the screen. Benson was easily the most efficient at the register, so much so that he was in charge of training new hires, and had even been the one to train Randy. He’d never stood this close during Randy’s training, though. He’d never stood this close ever . “See the problem?” Benson dropped his hand to his side with a dramatic sigh.
“Uh, yeah. So you want to, um…” Randy pressed a button, clearing out the order before beginning to re-enter it. He tensed suddenly as Benson brought his free hand up, resting it on Randy’s hip. Their bodies were obscuring it, hiding the gentle sweeping of his thumb from the view of the girls as he slid it up under Randy’s shirt, dragging it along the soft skin just above his waistband. “And then just…” Benson leaned in closer, resting his chin on Randy’s shoulder as he re-entered the order just the way Benson had. “So see there where it says no onion?” Suddenly Benson’s chest was flush with his back as the older man leaned in closer still, looking at the screen.
“Sure do.” He turned his head to face Randy just as Randy did the same, and their faces were close enough that their noses nearly brushed. Randy sucked in a breath, focusing as he exhaled on not letting his breath hitch and shudder the way he knew it would. Benson’s breath was warm and smelled like coffee and Marlboros as he exhaled, the breeze of it ghosting over Randy’s lips, and Randy inhaled again, quickly, as if trying to pull the older man’s breath into his own lungs. “Thank you, Randy.” The hand on his hip squeezed just shy of painful. Randy wished it hurt, wished that Benson would hold him tight enough to leave blue-black impressions of his fingerprints on his skin that he could press his own fingertips to later. Benson dropped his hand and turned his body slightly, giving Randy room to step away. “I’ll let you get back to your cleaning. Seems like you’ve got a trouble spot there. You’ve been back to it there a few times now.” He flashed Randy a quick wink before turning back to the girls to finish up their transaction.
When Randy walked out to his car after work, Benson was leaned against his own car, parked next to Randy’s like it usually was, a cigarette between his lips and his work shirt long since discarded in the passenger’s seat. Randy couldn’t help but let his eyes fall to Benson’s arms, muscular and slightly tanned and fully exposed in the black ribbed tank top he wore. “Hey Benson.”
“Randy.” Benson took a final drag off of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stubbing it out with his boot. He grabbed another and lit it, letting it hang between his lips as he spoke while he tossed the pack of cigarettes onto the dashboard through the open window. “What are you doin’ tonight?”
“Tonight? Like, right now or…?”
“Dinnertime.” He took a long drag before reaching his arms up and stretching, and Randy found himself holding his breath as his eyes fell to the exposed strip of skin at Benson’s waist where his shirt lifted. He made a quick assessment -pale skin, defined v-line, dark hair, boxers peeking out above his work pants- and committed it to memory, tucking it away in his mind next to the feel of Benson’s body pressed against his own and the smell of cigarettes and gas station coffee lingering on his lips, and Randy could swear his heart skipped a beat or three.
“Um, I think Mom’s making meatloaf, so probably, you know…” He sighed. “Probably eating meatloaf.”
“You like meatloaf, Randy?”
He shrugged and pulled off his cap to ruffle his hair, fluffing it under his palm. “It’s fine I guess.”
“So no?” Randy shook his head. “What kinda food do you like, Randy?” He shrugged, tossing his cap into his own car through the passenger side window, if only for the sake of giving himself something to do with his nervous hands. “C’mon, you know what kinda fuckin’ food you like.”
Randy shifted his weight between his feet awkwardly before forcing himself to shove his hands into his pockets and lean against the door of his car to hold his body still. “I really like Indian food.”
“Look at you!” Benson smiled and took another drag off of his cigarette. “Cultured!”
Their increasingly easy banter had Randy relaxing, and he found his shoulders moving away from his ears and smiled warmly, still propping himself up against the car, albeit less awkwardly than he had been. “There’s a place downtown that’s really good.”
“What’s your address?” No sooner did he ask did Benson turn around, leaning in through the driver’s side window of the Chrysler and beginning to rummage through the center console.
“I- My address? It’s-”
“Write it down.” Benson was facing him again, handing him a pen. When Randy took it, Benson held his hand out, his bare palm outstretched. “Go on. Write it down.”
Randy wrote his address across Benson’s palm, trying to keep it legible despite his own trembling hands. “Why do you need my address?”
“So I can pick you up for dinner.” He looked at his hand and read the address back to Randy to confirm it. Randy nodded back affirmatively in response. “I’ll be there at six. It’s a date, so make yourself look pretty for me.”
“A date?” Randy’s eyes were blown wide, and he dropped his car keys, leaning down to pick them up as he continued. “You can’t just tell me we’re going on a date, you-”
“I just did, Randy.”
“I’m not gay.” He blurted the words out so suddenly that Benson jerked his head upward in surprise, immediately quirking an eyebrow before chuckling, low and rumbling in his chest.
“You’re not straight, either.” Benson dropped his cigarette and ground it under his heel as he stepped toward Randy, pinning him between his own body and Randy’s car. His palms were flat against the vehicle on either side of the blonde’s shoulders, and Benson’s eyes dropped to his lips as he spoke. “You’re really gonna try an’ stand there and tell me you’ve not been checking me out for weeks now? Getting jealous of a couple little girls coming in to flirt with me?” He leaned forward and hovered his lips over the blonde’s ear. “They’re kids, Randy, you got nothin’ to worry about.”
“Benson, I-”
Benson tutted his tongue, and his breathing seemed to infiltrate and consume all of the younger man’s senses, swallowing him whole from the inside out. “It’s okay, Randy. I like you, too. And I’m a gentleman, so I’m not expectin’ you to put out on the first date. Wouldn’t say no to you, though.” He allowed one hand to go to Randy’s waist, and he hooked his finger through a belt loop, tugging their hips closer together. “You do like me, right, Randy? I’m not seeing something that’s not there?”
“I… Yeah. Yeah, I-I like you, Benson. I’ve just never, you know…”
“Had the hots for a guy before?” Randy nodded, stopping when he felt Benson press their temples together. “I’m flattered to be your first. Got any more firsts in ya for me?” Randy nodded again, their cheeks brushing together as he did, and he felt Benson’s lips curl into a smile against his jaw. “You alright with me takin’ you out tonight?”
“Yeah.” Randy hated how small his voice sounded in his ears. He swallowed hard, lubricating his dry, nervous throat, and spoke again. “Yeah, I’d like that. I’d really like that. A lot.”
Benson’s free hand came up, roughly patting the cheek his own wasn’t currently pressed against before resting it there. He pressed a kiss to Randy’s jaw, soft and delicate, a stark contrast to the roughness on the other side of his face. “See you at six, Princess.” Benson patted his cheek again, much softer this time, and walked backward to his own car, climbing in the driver’s seat and starting the ignition. A loud, frantic-sounding song suddenly burst forth from the speakers, all heavy drums and screaming vocals, and Benson looked to Randy again, winking at him with a grin as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “Six o’clock.”
“Six o’clock.” Randy waited until Benson’s car was nearly out of sight before quickly scrambling to his own. He looked at himself in the rear view mirror, taking in the flush of his cheeks and the broadness of his own smile and ruffling his hair under his palm again.
Make yourself look pretty for me.
He started the ignition and pulled out of the dusty, gravel parking lot. Six o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.