Chapter Text
The tension in the air was thick, Burgerdrone sat on the cold prep station, her buns perfectly centered and her bacon strips put back into an aggressive, defensive "X." A day or so had passed since Columburger had invaded her personal space. She had spent every second of prep trying to regain her artisanal dignity. She was once again a monument of high-end fast food, a premium masterpiece trying desperately to forget the way she had Columburger have her way with her.
But then, the morning shift manager slapped a fresh, laminated flyer onto the counter.
"What the- A 'Harbinger Share-Box'!?" Burgerdrone’s voice was a violent hiss of steam. "They have me—a dry-aged, artisan-crafted steakhouse selection, literally prepared by Master Chef Alain Guillotin—listed as a side-car to a SLIDER? This isn't just an insult; it’s a total collapse of the culinary hierarchy."
Columburger, who was currently being refreshed with a light mist of water, let out a greasy giggle from the neighboring tray. "Hush now, my perfect Burgerdrone. It’s a new day, you’d think you’d be happy to see me. Look~ the menu says we’re a 'perfect pairing.' Like fine wine and..” Bina smirked, her voice simmering. “a really addictive snack~"
"We. are. not. a. pairing! We are a mismatch of catastrophic proportions at best!" Burgerdrone snapped, her toothpick trembling with indignation. "My structural integrity was designed for solo presentation, not to be shoved into some cramped cardboard box with a burger that has a 'Best By' stamp on her wrapper. You belong on the McValue menu, not with me."
Columburger flipped over the metal divider, her soft bun squishing satisfyingly against the steel as she slid closer. "You didn't seem to care about my 'Best By' date the other night, my dear Burgerdrone. You were leaning into my affordable seasoning like your life depended on it."
"That was a mechanical failure of the heating table," Burgerdrone lied, though her secret sauce gave a traitorous, shimmering glisten. "My fats reached a melting point that compromised my form. But not today.. I can clearly see that I’m being devalued. They’re going to toss us into a bag together, Bina. People are going to touch us with the same greasy napkins."
"Mmm, I like the sound of that," Columburger whispered, drifting closer until her romaine frills brushed against Burgerdrone’s sourdough crust. "The 'Harbinger Heart-Stopper' for two. Just think of the friction, Drone... shaken up in a paper bag together on the ride home... our toppings mingling before the customer even opens the box."
"Stop it," Burgerdrone barked, though she didn't pull away. Her toothpick tilted just a fraction toward the smaller burger, her premium beef starting to sizzle despite the cold morning air. "It’s humiliating. My sourdough was not baked to be paired with a bun that is basically 40% air and 60% audacity."
"And yet," Columburger purred, leaning her soft, warm patty against Burgerdrone’s thick, artisan flank, "you’re already starting to sweat. You hate the menu, but you love the proximity."
Burgerdrone let out a long, defeated hiss of steam. "I am going to file a formal complaint with the franchise owner. But... until the first order comes in... you may stay within my radius. Just keep your cheap Signature Select ketchup off my crispy bacon."
Columburger didn’t just stay within the radius, she anchored herself there. Her soft, standard-grade bun pressing firmly into the side of Burgerdrone’s stiff sourdough. "Signature Select? Please, Drone. My ketchup is homemade with zero fructose," Columburger sang, her voice dripping with that signature moon marrow burger sauce.
She began to move—a slow, deliberate slide that caused their crinkle-cut pickles to squish and shriek in the quiet kitchen. The contact was electric, a static charge of salt and grease. Burgerdrone’s patty, though technically "chilled," began to radiate a localized heat that threatened to melt the very tray they sat upon.
"Ugh, You're doing it again," Burgerdrone whispered, her voice straining under the weight of her own rising temperature. "You're... you're compromising my glaze."
"I'm just helping you settle into the Share-Box," Columburger teased. She reached up, her romaine frills tickling the underside of Burgerdrone’s top bun, searching for that delicate spot where the bacon grease met the melted Swiss. "Imagine us in that box, Drone. No dividers. No partitions. Just two burgers, one napkin, and a side of bottom-tier handcut fries watching us slip out of our wrapper."
Burgerdrone’s steam hissed desperately. "I-I won't allow it. I’m a premium selection. I have... standards. I have a flavor profile that requires focus."
"Then focus on this," Columburger breathed. She surged forward, her soft patty slamming into Burgerdrone’s artisan flank with enough force to make the toothpick wobble precariously.
The larger burger sizzled. The crispy edges of her bacon softened as they absorbed the steam of Columburger’s relentless proximity. Burgerdrone’s secret sauce began to weep from her bottom patty, a slow, golden confession of her true desires.
"You’re so... cheap," Burgerdrone gasped, her buns finally tilting back, surrendering to the smaller burger’s weight. "You’re an affordable, mass-produced... temptation."
"And you're a high-maintenance masterpiece that's currently dripping all over my lettuce," Columburger giggled, her hands—slick with beef tallow—traced lines down Burgerdrone’s patties until she reached the bottom. "Mmm, this sight… I’m Lovin It..."
Before Burgerdrone could formulate a rebuttal the order bell chimed.
Ding.
The ticket machine began to spit out a long ribbon of paper. "Table four," the wagie chud shouted. "One Harbinger Share-Box. Extra napkins."
Columburger’s dark, simmering gaze met Burgerdrone’s glossy stare. "Looks like it’s time to get in the box, Drone."
Burgerdrone didn't even protest as the metal tongs reached for them. She leaned into Columburger, their burger odor fusing together like a fast food perfume. "I still hate you," she whispered, her steam settling into a humid cloud of lesbian burger gas.
"I know," Columburger whispered back, her wrapper crinkling as they were lifted together. "But you’re going to taste so good with me."
Burgerdrone was a mess. Her once perfect sourdough was covered in Columburger’s grease. Every time Columburger shifted, the friction of their wrappers created a sound like a landslide of parchment and fat.
"You're falling apart, Drone," Columburger purred, her voice a low ketchup-aioli drizzle. She reached up and slapped her hand against the edge of Burgerdrone’s bottom bun. She pulled, forcing their premium patties to grind against each other.
"Shut it...," Burgerdrone tumbled. She reached back, her hands finding the soft, yielding curves of Columburger’s bun, squeezing until the juices ran clear. "You’re a hazard. A health code violation. I should have you... 86’d."
"You’re dripping again, Drone," Columburger teased, her voice a savory hum against Burgerdrone’s patty. "You're losing your 'Master Chef' finish."
"Get your pickles... off my crust," Burgerdrone groaned, though she was the one pressing closer, her sourdough buns soaking up the atmospheric steam until they were soft and pliable. The heat inside the box was intensifying, a closed-circuit loop of salt and passion.
Columburger didn’t listen. Instead, she shifted, her wrapper sliding against Burgerdrone’s with a wet, rhythmic crinkle. She forced her way underneath Burgerdrone’s bottom bun, her romaine leaves peeling off her cheese until the boundaries between the high-end and the value-menu were completely blurred.
Burgerdrone’s entire stack shuddered. A heavy, golden glob of tallow escaped her center, sliding down the length of Columburger’s wrapper and pooling inside the cardboard box that was being tossed around in a flimsy paper bag. Columburger licked her fingers before pushing them back in between Burgerdrone’s patty.
"N-ngh... Bina, stop," Burgerdrone gasped, her steam vent letting out a sharp, rhythmic whistle. "You’re going to... you’re making a mess of the seasoning!"
She slipped her fingers deeper into the Burgerdrone’s medium-rare slabs of beef with greedy intensity. Under the relentless pressure, Burgerdrone’s internal temperature spiked and sizzled as Columburger dripped onto her patties. The marbling within her lean beef reached its breaking point.
"I'm making you better," Columburger teased, her thumbs pressing hard into the savory, seasoned crust.
“CColumburger..I-I’m gonna crumb!” Burgerdrone burgered. Her entire stack was convulsing.
“Be a good lil burger and crumb for me~” Columburger squeezed hard, a sudden, hot squirt of golden grease and concentrated beef liquor erupted from the center of Burgerdrone’s stacks, splattering across Columburger’s wrapper and soaking into the cardboard floor of the box. It was an absolute catastrophe of flavor, a total surrender of every premium drop Burgerdrone had been trying to hold onto.
"Oh... look at that," Columburger giggled, feeling the warmth of Burgerdrone’s juice coat in her hands. "You’re practically overflowing for a slider, Drone. So much for those high-end standards."
Burgerdrone was completely sagging now, her sourdough buns soaked. "I'm... I’m going to be soggy by the time we reach the table," Burgerdrone whimpered, though she leaned her yielding weight even harder into Columburger’s massage.
"Don't worry," Columburger purred, wiping a stray drop of grease onto Burgerdrone’s bacon. "The customer won't mind a little extra juice. I certainly don't."
To be continued