Hunger in My Heart
Author’s Note: I claim the first Mature-rated slash fic in the Fighting Foodons fandom! Enjoy the story and R&R.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of Fighting Foodons.
Pairing: Non-romantic Chase x Albert + Chet. Referenced non-romantic Chase x Coco.
Three years after the fall of King Gorge, Chase and his allies are still travelling. On a relaxing getaway to Banana Island, Albert and Chet serve Chase a scrumdiddlyumptious breakfast in bed.
“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.”
“Mrff, fwuh, shrp…” Chase grumbled groggily, an Applegator fermented from his hibernation.
If he wanted an early morning tip-off, he’d have borrowed Gorgeous Gorge’s Fowligator and let it squawk its two heads silly.
In the twelve seasons since the rebel movement destroyed Devouron and dethroned King Gorge, ending the despot’s evil reign of terror, Chase and his pals had continued their adventures across land and sea, bringing good eating to folks of all palates.
These past four days, the group set up shop on Banana Island, every Foodon chef’s dream. A tropical paradise. Home to the finest ingredients imaginable. Rooming here reminded Chase of his and Coco’s curry cookoff in the core of Mt. Spice, and his covert ops mission with the Hot Peppers’ impressionist co-founder, Jambalydia.
Coco graciously volunteered her hut, where Chase, Albert, and Chet bunked. She, Kayla, Dia, and Omelet slept in the neighbouring cabana. Pie Tin hammocked between palm trees on the beach.
Finally up, Chase fumbled for his belt and red shorts. “I’ll go make us some breakfast! How does that sound?”
Albert trussed his wrists to the bedside brick wall, startling the teen and savouring the way his feet hyperactively braced against the mattress.
“Hold your horseradish, Your Highness,” the smarmy blond joked. “We serve you, remember?”
While Chase generally disliked his royal title, he couldn’t deny being King of Food came with some pretty peachy perks. People revered him and lined up everywhere just to wish him well. He had the world in his bowls. And none loved teasing him about the undue attention more than his two rival chefs.
Chase was introduced to the vice of self-gratification on the eve of his thirteenth year during a layover at Gruel Academy. A nocturnal trip to the bathroom led him to chance upon Albert and Chet fondue-ing it. The pair invited the young zen master to join their weenie roast, showing him what he’d been missing out on.
To their dismay, Chase decreed they keep their cutlery to themselves. No cross-contamination.
After his first experience choking the chicken, however, that short-sighted “no touching” house rule fizzled rather quickly.
It was only a matter of time before they took their kinky kitchen conduct on the road. They weren’t excessively shy about it, either. Chase would be whipping up meals for customers, and both Albert and Chet would be kneading his dough behind the MAC Cart, necessitating that Chase never leave the grill, lest bystanders catch wind of the second knife stashed under his apron.
Chase preferred not to slap a label on it. He didn’t consider the celebrity cuisinier or Chef Crock Pop’s grandson his “boyfriend.” When not buttering their toast, he mostly polished his own silverware to saucy soupçons of Coco and her Ham Scam-Witch.
Not caring a lick for the Dish Wizard’s personal space, Chet licked his earlobe. “You’re one tasty snack! I wanna eat you raw, Chase!”
“Aw, come on guys! Really, I’m full!”
It wasn’t a lie. He could still feel last night’s leftovers inside him.
Chet sneered that feline sneer of his. “Sorry, I got the hunger in my heart!”
“So do I! Say the words, Chase!” Albert mewled.
“You know which!”
“Th-the kitchen is open?”
“Mmm…It certainly is!” Chet feasted on his neck.
“This should spice things up! Gooey cheese, activate!”
Albert’s chosen Power Topping exploded in a shower of sparks, covering Chase’s naked body in piping-hot melted cheese, thicker than gumbo.
“Auughhh! That stings!” he cried. Need. Iceberg. Lettuce!
Voracious, the cooks got cooking, spreading the gratin in equal parts between Chase and themselves. The cheese adhered like gum, infusing the meat beneath with an exotic range of flavours. They dry humped one another through layers of stringy cheddar. Tongued mozzarella off each other’s sticky chests and provolone-dipped nips. Kissed starvingly, the pungent stench of gorgonzola overwhelming their nostrils.
Then, the pièce de résistance: Albert’s bratwurst, drooling parmesan pleasure.
Chase fell to his hands and knees, swallowing the wiener in a single gulp. Albert was an acquired taste. He slurped greedily, playing with his side order of tater tots.
As Chase sucked the prime beef sausage, Chet brought up the rear. The rapscallion lapped the donut hole of Chase’s Cupid buns, blending swiss and saliva.
Spatchcocking him, Chet reached in using ungloved fingers.
“ACCHH!” Chase choked on Albert’s salami, his mouth dripping salty additives.
“Who’s your Shrimp Daddy?” Chet replaced his digits, shoved his frankfurter in, pulled back, and dove in again. A glutton with a small “g,” tenderizing Chase’s rump.
Albert and Chet made shashlik out of him.
“Yeah! Eat it, Chase! Eat it all up!”
Chet grabbed Chase’s hot dog whilst thrusting, glazing his ham.
His friends were Dim-Sumthin’ Else! When you couldn’t take the heat, you were supposed to get out of the oven. But Albert and Chet held him to the fire, intent on seeing their tomfoolery through.
They transcended the boiling point, filling him. At the same instant, Chase also basted the hardened cheese in his chowder.
“Oh…Five stars, man. Five stars.”
“More like Deluxe!”
“Ahaha, you just blew me away!” A thoroughly marinated Chase gave a cream-lined smile.
Holy Palator! Icing on the cake!
“Now serving Chase à la Mode!” Albert chuckled. “A flawless, free-roaming specimen of boyhood, drizzled in sweet and sour sauce – Albert-style! – stuffed with a generous dose of Chet chutney!”
“Seconds?” Chet snickered.
“Is pilaf delicious?” Albert sniped rhetorically. “Nothing can stop us now! Right, King Chase?”
“Yup! Keep cookin’! We’re mixin’ it up to win!”