Title: Afternoon Delight

Author: Scribe

Fandom: Commercials

Pairing: The two male office workers in the Wendy's chicken strips commercial (I call them Aaron and Corey).

Rating: R

Summary: How fast food can lead to romance, if you're bold and creative.

Archive: Mailing lists and WWOMB, otherwise, ask

Feedback: poet77665@catlover.com

Status: Finished

Sequel/Series: The Commercial Sex Series

Disclaimer: I did not create the characters here, I don't own them. I derive no profit from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors and actresses who portray them. Lyrics for 'Cheek to Cheek' by Irving Berlin. Certain food item names are probably trademarked by Wendy's. Hopefully no one will sue me, but when they came up with the names, surely they knew they'd be a target for stand up comics everywhere.

Websites: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles and http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver

Notes: You don't hear all the lyrics to Cheek to Cheek, of course, since they just wanted a phrase or two for the commercial (I hope Irving Berlin's estate stuck them for plenty). Once again there were no names provided, so I'm naming them. Corey for the dancer, Aaron for the on-looker. I only specifically remember four employees from this (the two men, the blonde woman watching the dance at the end, and a female co-worker who gets spun around in a chair). I'm sticking with them.

Format: //singing//

Afternoon Delight
By Scribe

Aaron's POV

It probably wouldn't have happened if the boss hadn't decided to take a long weekend. Since it's our slow time of year, he gifted himself with Friday off, headed out to Vegas. Y'see, we aren't SUPPOSED to eat at our desks. If we don't go out to eat, we're supposed to take out lunches and snacks out on the benches, or in the break room.

Well, it was drizzling, and the break room is in the basement, depressing as hell, and smells about as good as a pre-health regulations pub after a rowdy bachelor party. Not very appetizing. That's why it was agreed all the way around that anyone who wanted to could bring their meal to their desk. Hell, there were only four of us, and the trash would be picked up long before the boss got back. No problem.

It also probably wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been Corey who took the first break. We wanted at least two of us to be in the office at all times, so it was decided he'd go, then Tess and Marjorie (since they shared a ride), then me.

So he goes. I figured he'd probably come back with a salad, or maybe one of those Subway low fat sandwiches. He's pretty health conscious--keeps himself in good shape. He's not BIG, you know, but he's sort of... lithe. *harumph* I mean, he's not like me. I played ball in college, but I'm starting to get a soft layer. I've been told I'm sort of teddy bearish. By who? None of your business.

Anyway, he brings back a bag from Wendy's. That doesn't surprise me. They're always advertising their healthy salads or baked potatoes, right? Wrong. What does he pull out? Wendy's Chicken Strips--CHICKEN FRIED chicken strips--with Ranch dipping sauce. When he saw me gaping, he knew what I was thinking, and just shrugged, smiling. He said, "Hey, I like to indulge occasionally." I'm not going to tell you what crossed my mind when he said that.

So Tess and Marjorie are finishing up their work before the take off, and he's got his lunch (he HAD to go and get french fries, too. At least he was honest enough not to get a diet drink) spread out on a newspaper on his desk. He starts eating. We've never taken lunch break at the same time, and now I'm both glad, and sad about that. Sad, because hot DAMN that man can eat sexy! Glad because if I'd sprung a boner around him watching him lick the remains of a chilidog off his fingers, I'd probably have gotten a busted nose and then canned.

But there's no escape this time. He... Boy, he really believes in SAVORING his food. He dips each strip in the Ranch sauce, but does he just pop 'em in his mouth and munch? He does not. He LICKS the sauce off, then re-dips. Yeah, there's no worry about spreading germs with the double-dip, since it's his own personal cup of sauce, but... But seeing his tongue chase creamy white drips on a strip is NOT good for my blood pressure. I didn't think the ketchup on the fries was going to be a problem, but he did the same with them, except that he SUCKED the ketchup off. That's right--he felated some of Idaho's best, right in front of me.

He looked up after finishing another couple of bites of chicken, and noticed me stare. I was glad that I was at my desk, and he couldn't get a good look at my fly. He didn't have a clue as to what was going on, though, because his eyes darted down to the remains of his lunch, and I guess he decided I was lusting after his fast food. Hey, I can't blame him. A guy my size, most people would assume that I could orgasm over a pizza.

What does he do? He looks back at me, and he WINKS. And then he starts singing. You heard me right--singing. A show tune. Cheek to Cheek, specifically.

//Heaven, I'm in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. And I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek.// He started off gazing dramatically at the chicken strips, as if they were his greatest desire in this world. He knows Irving Berlin. Is there ANYTHING this man can't do?

Apparently not, because he stands up, still singing, //Heaven, I'm in heaven, and the cares that hung around me through the week, seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak...// and he starts DANCING! I seem to recall him mentioning that he took dancing lessons, but I thought Foxtrot, rumba... Okay, I imagined him learning how to dance the Lambada... then I imagined him offering to teach ME to dance the Lambada. But this is, like, SHOW dancing. Like he should be in the dance troupe for some stage show like, maybe, Grease, or How to Succeed In Business Without Really Trying.

By now Tess and Marjorie are looking, too. He sees he has an audience, and really starts selling it. //Oh I love to climb a mountain, and reach the highest peak. But it doesn't thrill me half as much as dancing cheek to cheek.// He playfully grabbed Marjorie's desk chair and pulled it out, spinning her around. I'll pray to God later to forgive me for wanting to pull her hair.

THEN he went up on one of the desks. //Oh I love to go out fishing, in a river or a creek. But I don't enjoy it half as much as dancing cheek to cheek.// By now Tess has come over from the far side of the room to also gape at the wonder that is Corey dancing on the desk, and I go to stand beside her. He lightly steps up on a big file cabinet and continues.

//Dance with me. I want my arm about you, those charms about you will carry me through.// He steps on top of the copier, and his toe brushes the controls. It starts working as he spins and sways. The light of the photocopy process is flashing under him, like the lights on a lighted go-go stage. My jaw is hanging open. It feels like my pants are going to pretty soon, too, because I'm pretty sure my hard-on is about to rip the zipper out. I'm pretending that he's singing to ME, he's dancing for ME. Hey, I can dream. This will give me jerk off fodder for MONTHS.

Tess doesn't look away from him. Just murmurs, "Wow."

And the cock suddenly ambushes the brain and takes control of the speech center, and I hear myself saying, "I know what I want for lunch." My mouth snaps shut, my eyes go wide with dismay, but she doesn't react. Corey does, though.

He grins at me--at me SPECIFICALLY, and croons, //To heaven, I'm in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. And I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek.// Another spin, a flourish, and he lightly hops down. The girls applaud as he bows. It takes me a minute for my brain to catch on, and I applaud, too, a little late. He doesn't seem offended. He just bows and says, "Girls, you'd better go if you want lunch." He's eyeing me as they gather their purses. "Take your time. Aaron and I can handle things around here."

They left, and I went back to my desk, fast. I wanted to get that boner in my pants under cover before anyone noticed it. Aaron waved them to the door, reminding them to lock up after themselves. This is not an 'open door policy' office. You want to come in, you make an APPOINTMENT. I got busy trying to read a report I'd finished reading about twenty minutes ago.

I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickling as Corey moved up behind me. Then suddenly his hands moved around in front of my face, so that I was bracketed by his arms. He was holding the chicken strip in one hand, and the cup of sauce in the other. "Want a taste, Aaron?" he purred, close to my ear.

I managed not to have a heart attack, and cleared my throat. "That's your lunch, Corey. I couldn't take it."

He wiggled the strip seductively. "Oh, come on. I heard what you said. You said 'I know what I want for lunch.' You meant chicken strips, right? Well, it'll be almost an hour before the girls get back, and I HATE to think of having to wait so long to... satisfy your cravings." He paused. "You meant the chicken, right?"

I'm going to hell for lying, but what could I say? "Uh, yeah. Yeah. Looks good." He CHUCKLED, damn it! I tried to cover. "But I couldn't take your last one."

"Oh, that's all right." He'd dipped the strip in the sauce, and was stirring it around. "We can share." He pulled it out, the tip coated in creamy white, and started to bring it toward my mouth. I was salivating, and it wasn't from the thought of U.S.D.A. prime chicken breast meat, I can tell you. Then he paused, the tease, and said thoughtfully, "Unless you're worried about germs? I promise you I don't have cooties, Aaron." He brought the strip up so that it barely brushed my lips and crooned, "C'mon... open up for me."

I honest to God CANNOT tell you what the damn chicken tasted like. My brain was shutting down. I DO remember wondering if Corey's come would taste salty/tangy, like the Ranch sauce. "Goood boy. Now my turn." He dipped the strip again, swirling it. "I think that things like this should be even-Steven, don't you?" Instead of bringing the strip back, he LEANED OVER me and took a bite, a couple of inches from my eyes. I got to watch those beautiful white teeth sinking slowly through the crust, then the flex of his jaw as he chewed, the pulse of his throat as he swallowed, and the way he used his tongue to chase down and remove every smear of white from that luscious looking mouth. I was cursing myself for not keeping a change of underwear in my car, because I was pretty sure that if this went on, I was going to be coming in my pants. It took us another bite apiece for the strip to be finished. I was breathing hard by then.

"Oh," he sighed. He leaned forward to set the empty plastic sauce cup down on my desk. This made him end up with his arms laying on my shoulders, and his face right beside mine. Instead of standing back up and pulling away, he rested there, then clasped his hands in front of my chest and said quietly. "That was nice, but I'm still hungry. I guess I should have gone for the Biggie size on the fries." He cocked his head, eyeing me slyly, and said, "Aaron, do you have any suggestions on something hot and fresh I could fill up on?"

"I..." Yes, higher brain functions were shutting down. I felt a little disappointed when he stood up, pulling back.

The he turned my chair around and dropped to his knees in front of me. He grinned up at me as he unzipped my fly and reached inside. Then his eyes got wide and he cooed, "Oo, my lucky day! I get the GREAT Biggie size!"

Ya know, I don't care WHAT other fast food chain uses the slogan--I DESERVED a break today, and I got it!

END