Pairing: Chicken Twirling Bob Reynolds x Fem!Reader!
Warnings: Use of first person. Reader works at a burger restaurant. Bob is a stoner (not mentioned, but you know he is). Mentions of drugs. Sexual content and explicit sexual scenes. Consensual but also mildly dubious consent (because of the use of drugs)?
Author’s Note: English is not my first language. Please enjoy and let me know what you think? I was horny when I did this. No beta read, we die like men.
This one is also in AO3
The first time Bob entered the restaurant, he was sweating. A lot. The kind of sweat that lingers on the forehead and makes your skin look shinier throughout the day. Oiled skin. That salty, colorless liquid that was dripping down the skin. Salty.
He looked confused and could not concentrate on the task ahead. Bob moved around the restaurant without paying attention to what he was doing: a dish would go to the wrong table, or an order would be forgotten. He was kind, sarcastic, and, deep down, profoundly decent. But lacked responsibility and a good work ethic.
So, our boss decided that the best job for him was becoming the chicken-twirling guy.
Every day, he would come in late. Every day, he would sneak into the back closet and snort drugs to get him through the day. Every day, I found myself looking at him outside the window, twirling around, jumping, blasting some punk rock music on the speakers to encourage customers to buy the offers of thche month.
Mesmerized by him. Infatuated by him.
Because Bob was a handsome man. Long legs, six feet tall, wrapped in a chicken suit that was always too baggy. His hair, an indefinite brown, fell to his jawline in unruly locks —long enough to give him an air of abandonment, but not enough to conceal the intense contradiction in his eyes. Deep blue eyes. The pupil sometimes dilated into a black abyss of a worn-out galaxy from the weed he smoked. Hyper-focused, hard, cold, and fast, scrutinizing every shadow with the distrust of a person who has seen too much.
He was always damp, whether from the suit, the anxiety of the substances, or the effort of spinning the sign under the summer sun. But to my surprise, he never seemed too affected by this job. To everyone’s shock, he stayed and survived the first month.
︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧ ₊˚・︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧ ₊˚・︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧ ₊˚・
One day, after he had smoked all the meth pills he always snorts right before lunch, he walked to the back. To the same little room where all the packaging and storage are. I went into the closet to find some bread for the kitchen, and I saw him panting and whimpering, so high that he couldn't think straight.
I opened my eyes, surprised when I saw him take out a joint from his back pocket, a new one. Already rolled, which leaves me wondering, how many is he carrying? He is always hot boxing this place like he owns it.
He has just taken off the chicken hat, and he has a boner that every time he scrapes against the fabric of the costume, it looks like it becomes more unbearable with each passing time.
I choke on the saliva that's filled my mouth as my mind short-circuits.
But he sees me there, with pleading eyes, and who am I to say no? A blowjob is just a blowjob, right?
“Need help?” I whispered, closing the door behind me.
So, what if I had been harboring a secret crush on him for weeks? It had been harmless, just looking at him while he orders the same burger every day. What if I were trying to make small talk while he skates in the parking lot, smoking red Marlboros —it was innocent up until now.
This was the chance. Maybe he could look at me more than just the girl behind the counter every day. More like someone he could desire. Someone he could trust or kiss…
He nodded eagerly and stood up. Quickly and clumsily, he took off the chicken suit. Tossing it to the side. He sat on a bench near the wall, in just a shirt and jeans. Panting. And he was sweating—more than I could have imagined. The shirt was pressed against his torso, showing the abs on his chest.
With butterfingers, he tossed his jeans away and sat only in his black boxers.
And he started to stroke himself over his boxers. There was a wet spot on the fabric, and that made me drool for a second. I was transfixed. It looked big. My eyes could only see his hands and fingers wrapping around his bulge while he whimpered with closed eyes. I saw him slump against the wall, roughly hitting his head against it.
I couldn’t wait. I licked my lips, slowly and a bit nervously— I kneeled in front of him.
My hands kneaded his thighs. He opened his eyes, and for a moment, he looked as shocked as I was. He let out a gasp when my nails brushed up against his skin.
“Please, please, please,” he begged while his hands found my chin, then his thumb started to caress my lower lip. I opened my lips to let him rub his thumb over my lower lip and press it a bit.
I spread his legs far apart. The wider his legs are spread, the easier it is for me to access.
Bob was moaning loudly while his hands were trying to make my mouth closer to his bulge. It sounded downright pornographic, though I was sure any sound he made at this point would sound like that.
But I spent some time kissing his thighs, getting closer and closer as I did this. I made sure he could hear the kissing noises —loudly. His brown hair, damp on his forehead and the nape of his neck, clung to his collar, framing that face with sky-blue eyes.
“You like this?” I ask, murmuring on his skin as I press my cheek on the inside of his thigh. I can see his chest coming up and down.
“So good,” he replies, and that makes me smile for a bit.
His hand found my wrist and made me stroke him. His eyes were still closed, and when my fingertip touched him over the fabric, I could tell he was on the edge.
He removes his boxers fast, not thinking about it for a moment. His cock sprang free–thick and flushed, the head glistening with beads of pre-cum. He is big. Lengthier, veined, resting heavily against his stomach as it stiffens more. His skin is prickling with goosebumps.
Out of curiosity, I brought my fingers toward the wet spot, collecting the slick on the tips, before bringing them to my lips, slowly licking, tasting him.
“Nice,” I whisper, looking at him over my lashes.
He then grabbed my head and pressed me further until my cheek was next to the base of his dick. “Do it.” He panted–voice cracking.
His head tips back, hands clenching into my hair. His hair is sticking to his forehead, and his face is flushed with sweat. His hands guide me until the tip is on my lips. I gave that area some licks, my hands gripping his tights as I lick up and down the shaft.
With no time to think, he guides himself, so my lips were around the whole head of his cock and started to gently put it in and out of my mouth, with a ‘pop’ sound.
It made it all seem too sinful for this small place.
I slowly lowered my mouth over his entire organ, getting it deep inside my mouth. He began to buck his hips up and down; I stroked the root of his shaft with my hands and swallowed his shaft again.
I swirl my tongue wildly around the underside of the head of his girth. I was sweating too. The polo shirt of the uniform made me feel uncomfortable in some way. He kept groaning and moaning with pleasure as I became firmer with my sucking.
He bit his lip, pulling me closer, yanking my hair in the process. He sobbed, his thighs tensing beneath me. “Oh my God, oh fuck…”
I tried to swish his cock inside my cheeks, getting it as deep into my throat as possible while breathing through my nose. I was buried in his lap; his cock was completely inside my mouth.
I looked up; his eyes were tightly shut, and his hands were still on my hair. I hollowed my cheeks and took him a little deeper. I tried not to cough at the feeling, trying to breathe through my nose.
“Is it good?” I barely asked when he pulled me away just to stare at me —yanking me by the hair.
“Fuck, yes,” he managed to rasp out, his hips twitching slightly as he fought the urge to thrust up.
My hands slid under his thighs to keep him still. He started to move his hips, slow and shallow thrust. His hips rolling, his cock going deeper over my tongue until it hit the back of my throat.
I tried to look at him over my eyelashes. My hands are pinching a bit of his thighs. My eyes were wet, spit pooling, moaning around him.
“A-Ah…Fuck…” He whimpered, gripping my hair.
He looks flushed and sweating, gasping and moaning for breath he can't quite catch. Maybe it was the drug's effect, or perhaps he had a lot built up. I bobbed my head up and down and forced myself to quickly swallow it up, not wanting to lose a drop.
His back arched against the wall. His shaft was pulsing, panting. Spurt after spurt of hot cum shot down my throat. He didn’t let me go, burying my face into him. His own cum mixed with my saliva as I licked the tip of his shaft, trying to swallow it all down.
I gasped for air when he finally let go. I panted a bit, licking my lips. Innocently, I looked up at him. Just when I thought it was over, his cock quivered with some involuntary aftershocks, and yet more creamy juice came, getting my face dirty. I closed my eyes, sighing.
His hands were resting on his sides. I coughed a bit and tried to catch some air. My hands are resting on his thighs as I look at him while I lick my lips, then I clean the remaining on my face and chin with my fingers and lick that too.
I slowly let him withdraw. He looked so serene. He tilted his head; his mouth parted like he was struggling to breathe.
I gasped, doe eyes meeting his gaze. “Feeling better?”
“You,” he breathed, his voice raw and wrecked. “That was… fuck. That was incredible. You made me feel so good.”
He brought his hand down to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lower lip, smearing a bit of his release there. Turning my head as he admired the erotic masterpiece I had made of myself.
