Notes: First, this is going to have both silly and serious moments. Second, although this fic is technically a collection of oneshots, there is going to be a connecting theme/plot-thing tying the whole thing together, and a few mini-arcs that persist over the course of a few chapters. I hope anyone who reads this enjoys the quirky antics of the BTT as much as I do, and if I get anything wrong (or confuse anyone with my author's notes) or if anyone reading this has any interesting ideas about new directions I could take these guys in, drop me a review or a PM and I'll give it some thought!
And one final note, this is an AU in which the BTT is living in America together. Just as some context.
Gilbert and the Vending Machine
Working in a firm as a janitor wasn't the worst a guy could do, Gilbert reminded himself as he wheeled his trusty garbage can out of the hot chick's office. Come on, he had a legitimate excuse to get down on his knees and look up sexy office chicks' skirts, that wasn't so bad, was it? Individual office trash bins that went up to his shins. Genius. Motherfucking genius.
Gilbert snickered to himself as he moved down the hall to the super-secret janitor base. Super-secret because no one really cared to look there. He'd entertained thoughts of banging some hottie there, but the office fantasy really was more suited to the actual office rooms… Places with desks instead of shelves of cleaning fluid and mops. And he didn't want to lose his job. One-third of the rent wasn't going to pay itself. Gilbert let out a long-suffering sigh as he wheeled his garbage can into the janitor's closet. Eight hour day with only one hour to go. The final lap.
Stretching his back, Gilbert patted down his pocket, grinning in satisfaction when he felt his wallet. Snack time.
He didn't know where Antonio was, and Francis had left them early at lunch complaining about all the hard work his boss—"Co-worker," Francis had snapped angrily before storming off—was having him do. Gilbert snickered. Hard work? Yeah, try mopping up little-girl-vomit on bring-your-fucking-kids-to-work day, Franny. The pansy was probably just carrying a few more files than he normally handled or something prissy and stupid like that.
He put it out of his mind and made his way to the staff room, or break room, or whatever the fuck it was called. The room with the vending machines.
"Aha!" he declared as he made his way over to the solitary machines, pulling out a few bills and some change. "I will have my Cheetos today, you little son of a bitch." He gave the vending machine a very determined glare before turning his attention to the cash in his hands and counting out one dollar and twenty-five cents.
The 'out of order' sign from the previous day was gone. Fucking out of order… Couldn't get my damn Cheetos for a friggin' week!
Gilbert fed the dollar to the machine, glaring at the 'insert here' sign as the machine processed its tribute. Once that was done, he carefully yet determinedly fed the quarter into the coin slot. It fell to the machine's floor with a clunk. The numbers on the vending machine flashed and changed to '$1:25'. Gilbert smiled smugly and reached out to punch in his preferred snack's number code. B3.
Gilbert watched as the rings entrapping the Cheetos slowly rotated, releasing his prize, giving the bag up to gravity and allowing it to fall to the floor, where Gilbert would reach in and—
The bag's corner caught on the rings. Gilbert froze. The rings stopped, clearly believing to the very core of their being that they had released the Cheetos completely, and that their job was done. Gilbert glared at his snagged Cheetos and then at the rings holding them in place. With no hesitation, he reached out and gave the side of the vending machine a sound smack. Nothing happened. His eyes narrowed and he tried again, this time curling his hand into a fist and packing some more force into the blow. Still nothing.
"Fucking piece of…" Gilbert's angry mutter tapered off as he gave the machine a kick, which yielded no better results than he'd gotten a moment ago. His glower was poisonous as his muttering grew louder and his blows became more forceful.
"Oh, really, so you're going to be like this?" he demanded loudly as he drove his shoulder into the machine. The Cheetos shuddered but were not shaken free. Gilbert swore.
"Come on, you fucking little—fuck!" He turned away from the vending machine in frustration, running a hand through his hair. A second later he was charging the vending machine again.
"You don't want me to have my Cheetos, is that it? Huh!?" he yelled as he delivered a powerful roundhouse kick to the machine. "You just want to keep them all to yourself, huh!? Well, wrong fucking customer, bitchface! I swear to fucking fuck I am going to beat!" Punch. "The shit!" Kick. "Outta you!" Ram. "If I have to!" Smack.
"Goddammit, give me my fucking food!" Running out of creative martial arts moves—and patience—Gilbert jumped onto the vending machine angrily, yelling profanities and kicking against the glass.
This wasn't fucking fair, he'd paid the money, he should get his damn snacks! In that moment, Gilbert could swear the vending machine was laughing at him. Chester the Cheetah was laughing at him. The whole damn world was laughing at him, and he wanted to pound all of their faces off. Just punch them all to the ground and fucking take his bag of factory-made, orange-plastic-shavings-covered Styrofoam!
"I will put a fucking axe to your face if you don't—Agh, you stupid little—!"
"What are you doing?" The voice barely penetrated the fog of war that had clouded Gilbert's mind. With a quick glance to the doorway, he saw that it was full of Frenchman, and quickly dismissed the newcomer as unimportant. Unfortunately, the Frenchman didn't quite see it that way.
"Gilbert?" Had he not been so very busy trying to pulverize the vending machine, Gilbert might have noticed that Francis sounded quite amused. Bastard wasn't even trying to hide it. But right then, Gilbert would not be distracted from his vendetta against the Vending Machine from Hell.
"Stupid son of a bitch won't give me my fucking Cheetos!" he declared, pushing off the vending machine, only to start his attack anew a moment later. Francis watched in perplexity for a moment before letting out a laugh. He crossed his arms and crossed the room to where Gilbert and the vending machine were doing battle, careful to give his friend ample room to maneuver without catching him in the crossfire.
"So… hence the…" Francis trailed off and gestured toward the besieged vending machine, a smile tugging at his lips. Gilbert let out a furious sigh and turned to Francis, an annoyed expression lighting up his face.
"Yes, Francis, hence the," Gilbert snapped. "And if you don't have anything helpful to say, I'll thank you to keep your fucking yap shut!" With that, he turned back to the vending machine. Francis held his hands up in teasing acquiescence, grin firmly settled on his face. Gilbert ignored him. Gilbert ignored the fuck out of him because if he didn't, if Francis kept grinning like that, then someone—cough FRANCIS cough—would be losing some teeth!
But dammit, it was friggin' hard with Francis's stupid grin slicing into his back like that! Gilbert swore, Francis was the only person who could grin and make other people feel, hear, taste, smell, and see it. The whole shebang.
Giving up, Gilbert whirled around angrily to glare at Francis.
"Do you mind?" he growled, throwing his hand in Francis's face. Francis gave him a look of perfect innocence.
"I'm not saying anything," he said, not even trying to pretend he wasn't amused, the bastard. Gilbert punched his shoulder. Francis yelped and for a minute, the smile fell from his face, to be replaced by a look of indignation. And damn, that felt good. So Gilbert did it again. Francis yelped again, this time with a bit of a girlier edge than before. Gilbert snickered, mouth twisting upward. He punched Francis again. His friend's grin was completely gone now. Gilbert waited for Francis to explode with some indignant rant in French or whine at him or something wussy like that.
He was surprised when Francis just yelled a short two-word phrase at him in French, and then launched himself forward. He managed to get one shove in before Gilbert pushed him away, and thus was started a scuffle between them, the likes of which Gilbert was going to laugh at once they all got back to their apartment, and one which he was never going to let Francis live down. Guy's not even drunk, and we're having it out at work!
But for now, they both were simply content to let out some pent up aggression on one another—Gilbert, rage at having his snacks kept from him by the vending machine, and Francis, indignation at having been overworked (his words) by his grouchy co-worker.
They managed to get away with rough-housing like children on a school playground for all of thirty seconds before a familiar voice carried over to them.
"Hey guys, what's going on?"
Gilbert turned to look at the intruder, and almost called out an automatic greeting when he saw that it was Antonio. Then he remembered he couldn't afford distractions because Franny fought dirty.
"Toni, hold on a sec, I gotta—Oof!"
"Ha!"
Francis straightened and removed his elbow from Gilbert's stomach, reaching a hand up to smooth down his hair as he walked smugly over to Antonio. Gilbert glared after him, protectively cradling his stomach, and not missing the fact that Francis was standing slightly behind Antonio. Fucking pussy.
Antonio was looking between them, his usual chipper smile a little dulled by confusion. But there was amusement and laughter behind his eyes as he watched. He must have found the sight of Gilbert and Francis having a wussy baby fight funny as hell.
"Hey, is there some new thing going on that I should know about?" Toni asked. "Like… I don't know, are you guys fighting over a girl or something?" Gilbert sniffed, insulted.
"Oh, please," he sneered. "Like I would be attracted to the same bimbo Franny over there wanted to bang. I have better fucking taste than that, Toni, you should know that by now." Francis turned to Gilbert with a glower.
"Hey—"
"Zip it, Franny, this is my show!" Gilbert pointed a menacing finger at Francis, eyes widening threateningly. Francis took another moment to glare at him, but soon backed off and waved his hand in a sissy 'go ahead' gesture. Gilbert did so. Taking in a breath, he turned to the vending machine, redirecting his ire yet again.
"It's the fucking vending machine, Toni, it's not giving me my damn snacks!" he declared angrily. "I was trying to get my Cheetos, and then Franny here decided to interrupt me, so I had to teach him a little lesson about timing, and then—"
"Oh, please, Gilbert, you weren't getting anywhere with your little temper tantrum," Francis cut in, waving his hand as though swatting a fly. "You weren't even denting the machine."
"Hey, I'll have you know, Franny, that I was getting somewhere with that piece of shit, and if you hadn't barged in like you did—"
"You would still be pounding and screaming like a little girl who—"
"Watch it, Franny, you're on thin ice, man—"
"Oh, so this is just about the vending machine, right?"
Two heads turned to look at Antonio in mild surprise, as though the owners of said heads had forgotten he was there. Antonio grinned.
"Ah, don't worry, Gilbert, this happens all the time to me," he said. "Here, let me just…" He walked over to the vending machine and gave it a sound smack on the side.
The bag of Cheetos shook, then fell to the bottom with a thunk. Still smiling, Antonio went over to the machine and fished out the Cheetos.
"Here you go, Gil," he said cheerily, handing the bag over to Gilbert. "Nothing to it, amigo."
For a moment, Gilbert simply stared at the bag in Antonio's hand. Stared and stared at it until even Antonio began to feel slightly awkward. Before the Spaniard could ask if everything was alright, however, Gilbert reached out and wordlessly took the bag.
"…Thanks," he said in a rough voice. Antonio's brow furrowed and he looked at Gilbert, concerned.
"No problem," he replied slowly. "Hey, man, are you okay? That wasn't—that wasn't the wrong snack or anything, right?" Gilbert didn't answer. He just continued to look at the bag in his hand, eerily silent.
Then, before anyone could so much as blink, he abruptly hurled the bag at Francis's head, turned, and stalked out of the room.
Fuck the Cheetos, he was getting Doritos from now on.