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[RPF] Golden Arches
Cult Kevin
Summary: Chris and Tom enjoy chicken McNuggets.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 728

A/N: Saw a tumblr prompt that basically asked for Chris and Tom to be eating McDonalds. It made me go get McDonalds and then I wrote this.

“I thought the point of coming out was to shake up your eating regimen,” comments Tom before sucking down on his overly sweet sweet tea. “And doubling up on the 20 piece nugget deal, nonetheless? Enjoy that physique while you can,” he teases as he prods Chris’ side.

The younger man snorts and smacks Tom’s hand away while stuffing two nuggets slathered in BBQ sauce into his mouth. He chews contentedly all the while smiling at Tom.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Hiddleston,” remarks Chris after he has swallowed. “These beauties,” he says as he picks up another nugget and holds it between them, “are nothing like those things I’ve had to scarf down to maintain this.” He knocks a knuckle against his stomach, and Tom follows the motion appreciatively while nibbling on a fry.

“Is that so?”

“Verily,” jokes Chris as he nods his head. “Because these are gloriously deep fried processed leftovers. Molded together and sheathed in a beautiful golden shell.” He dips it slowly in the sauce and makes a show of licking it off before popping the whole thing in his mouth and chewing in an exaggerated fashion.

Tom misses his mouth, and his straw sharply pokes him in the cheek. Chris gives him a lopsided grin and eats another two nuggets.

The Brit hides his sulk by furiously sucking down on the rest of his drink. “You’re completely insufferable, Hemsworth. Do you know that?”

“Isn’t that why you love me?” asks Chris as he scoots closer on the hood of their rental car.

Tom tilts his head away and sucks in a breath through gritted teeth. “Sorry to break it to you, but I’m just in it for your washboard abs.” He extends a hand to slowly pat said abs and reaches for a handful of the fried chicken leftovers with the other.

“But I’m afraid you’re not going to have those anymore if you keep stuffing your face with these.” He glances down at the golden nuggets. “In fact, let me help wean you off these.”

As he pops one in and savors its admittedly tasty flavor, Chris acts affronted.

“Hey! Get your own!”

“Really, Chris?” asks Tom as he inspects another nugget to eat. “You have 40 nuggets, and you can’t be bothered to share?”

In retaliation, Chris makes a grab for Tom’s remaining fries, but his hand is slapped away. Not to be deterred, he reaches for the drink and happily drains the remaining contents. His eyebrows practically shoot into his hairline as he yanks the straw out and sticks out his tongue.

“Ugh. How do you stand that much sugar?”

Tom pouts at Chris’ disapproval. “This coming from the man who is a self-proclaimed lover of fried chicken leftovers?”

Chris slings an arm across the Brit’s shoulder so as to huddle closer. “Ah, come on, Tom. You know that I know about your incurable sweet tooth.” He gives him a peck on the cheek. “Though nothing’s ever quite as sweet as you.”

Tom rolls his eyes yet scoots closer to Chris. He gently pats his thigh while knocking his head against Chris’. “I’m a fan of the saccharine not the cheese.”

Chris laughs while trying to draw him even closer. “If they sold onion rings, I’d get down on one knee and make an honest man out of you.”

Tom titters before responding. “Just what I’ve always envisioned. Being proposed to in the back lot of America’s most popular fast food franchise. Imagine it. They could cater our wedding, and you could have all the chicken nuggets your heart desired. And then said heart would soon give out, and I would be left a very distressed widower.”

“Well now, we can’t have that,” remarks Chris in faux seriousness. “What if I swear off the stuff after today?”

“You would do that for me?” asks Tom as he nuzzles his head into Chris’ neck.

“I’d do anything for you, Tom,” replies Chris with a tinge more sincerity than the tone of their conversation deserves.

“Well then I guess I could let you have one more,” says Tom as he takes the remaining nugget in his hand and dips into the BBQ sauce. He holds it up against Chris’ mouth. “Make it count,” he drawls.

Chris’ tongue laps out past the nugget slathered in sauce to the fingers below, and he does.