Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Wha!!!”

Fiddleford yelled as he felt an arm brush his, jerking awake from his six beer stupor. No! He had almost been able to sleep!

“Relax buddy, not gonna take your drink… -signals bartender- make it double.”

He stared horrified at the man who had sat down next to him in the crowded bar, not minding his stench – probably because he did not smell much better.

“What are you doing here!”

The tired man blinked and turned to muster him slowly, not the slightest upset by who sat next to him. Munching peanuts, he mumbled, “Drinking?”, before turning back to face the bar.

“How can you – why?! Do you not remember me?” Fiddleford yelled at him, shocked by the deep betrayal of the man who was to blame for all of his misery. Had he built his own memory gun? After excoriate him? Hypocrite!

“Nope buddy. Never met you and I don’t plan on learning your name.”

“Why- What did you do!? You must take responsibility- my memories- you-”

The man grabbed Fiddleford’s coat and held him in place, his fist cold as ice.

“Want something to remember?”

Fiddleford suddenly realized that he had angered a tired, drunken stranger whose bloodshot eyes looked nothing like Stanford’s close up. But- his face- it was so familiar- how?!

“No! No! Please don’t hi-“ he whined, trying to get away from the man, deeply regretting his mistake. He should not have tried to drown his memories; the gun was safer!

The stranger knocked back his drink, pulled the struggling man into a bear hug and gave him the most intense tongue kiss he had ever gotten, scratching his chin with his stubble, the sharp warmth of whiskey spreading in his mouth. When he let go, the man had gone limp in his arms, his eyes huge with astonishment.

Stanley patted his shoulder as he let go, and turned to leave.

“Drinks on me, buddy. To new memories.”

Fiddleford did not move for the next two hours, his mind lagging, unable to compute.

“New… Memories…” he mumbled over and over until he found himself out on the street at closing time, the cold wind and snowfall bringing him back to his senses finally.

“Yes… I must make new memories… To erase the old ones!” he giggled hysterical as he ran down the street, searching for an open liquor store.  New memories - and he knew just the stranger to help him.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

After showering & shaving, Fiddleford offered/begged to do Stanley's hair...

“You done? What’s it looking like?”

Fiddle, horny af, red as a beet (#newfetish un’lock’ed), clutching brush for dear life, stammering,

“Goodgoodgoodverygoodgood!”

Stanley nearly dies from laughter from poor Fiddleford getting turned on by doing his hair.

Chapter Text

“EUREKA! IT’S A HOLE!”  

“– Yes, and a very nice one-“ Stanley laughed, enjoying their regular sleep hygiene ritual to the fullest.

“The portal, it is a hole- it does not need to be powered to be opened! We designed it wrong! I need to write this down- NOW!”

Stanley tried to keep his lover pinned down, but the blond man elbowed him in the ribs and managed to scramble off the mattress in a flash, mumbling frantically as he picked up pen and paper.

“Wha- ouch! Fiddle! What the fresh fucking hell?”

“We need much less of- and then- but if this- yes yes yes this works better but only-“

“Don’t you think this can wait?” Stanley panted, annoyed, his cock throbbing impatiently; he had been this close to coming!

“Let me finish this sentence!” Fiddleford demanded, papers piling up next to him.

Patiently Stanley waited; but his frustration grew with each passing minute. He poked Fiddleford again and again, trying to get his attention to the urgent task left on hold.

“Hey, dick’s getting cold-”

“Just a moment.”

“I also need to finish something.”

“Not NOW STANLEY!”  

“Fine…”

Stanley took masturbating seriously, trying to last as long and be as noisy as possible, practically moaning right into Fiddleford’s ear- but all to no avail.

This pissed him off the most- putting on a show and still losing to an equation – this meant it was personal!

-Much, much later-

“Done! This should cover the basics- oh Stanley, this is revolutionizing our approach to traveling through the portal! …  Stanley? Oh… Oh… Hehehe.. Sorry, I got carried away, hu?... Uhm… we could… continue now, if you -?”

Stanley raised his arm and gave him the middle finger, mumbling sleepily (still seething with rage), “You can go fuck yourself buddy.”

“Oh no, Stanley, I’m so sorry… but… if you want to take a look at the papers-”

“Roll’em up and shove em up your asshole... might make you cum, 'cause I'm ain't gonna do you.”

Chapter Text

Some nights, you save me. Some nights, I save you.

"Hey Buddy, wake up... shsss, it's just a dream, okay? You're safe here."

"But- what if the demon comes into this world?"

"I'll punch it's ugly eye out, promise."

"I'm a failure... if it weren't for me, none of this would have happened to Stanford. I can't do shit right."

"No, Stanley. You saved me. I'm glad you are here. I need you. And Stanford would have built that portal anyway- you care enough to try and get him back."

Chapter Text

Since they had their eyes closed, neither of them saw the electrical discharge happening.

Fiddle is convinced that they only need to fuck each other back into their bodies, but Stanley disagrees, thinking it is a curse* placed on them.

(Plus, he can’t get hard for his own body, being a twin and all.)

Fiddle’s suggestion of wanking back-to-back does not work out, neither does using Dildos to fuck themselves (the Stanley2000 does see the light of day again; Fiddle built it when Stanley went full celibate on him for the ‘hair Stanley’ incident).

Fiddle enjoys their experimental fucking to the fullest, whilst Stanley is moody and more and more unwilling.

Stanley tries doing exorcisms on them and draws magic runes all over the house, trying to lift the curse*.

(*Since it has been two months with little to no progress on the portal, Stanley thinks Ford caused this mess to punish them for doing each other instead of saving him.)

Bonus: The mattress is finally too ruined to sleep on and they buy a new one, plus a decent bed.

- After the switch- 

“I can’t see! Your face is all blurry!”

“Put them glasses on, ya dummy! Ya think I wear 'em fer kicks or sumthin?

“Still can’t see you!”

“Hand them over!” – furious cleaning- “Here! Don' go put yer fingers on them lenses, now!”

“Hell! I never knew how annoying glasses are- they get dirty? And this thing hurts my nose! Damn, I got a lot of nose in this face…”

“Well now, this here’s muscle, not no fat. Ain’t that somethin’?” Fiddle flexes his new arms, nodding approvingly.

Stanley returns the favor, sarcastic, “And you’re not as wimpy as you look.”

“Most kindly!”

Fiddle could wrestle a sow to the ground but is humble, as he thinks anybody can do that. He got no fighting instincts like Stanley, but is not weak.

- Routines, 1- 

“Y'all oughta brush yer teeth at least twice a day! Or ya lookin’ to be wearin’ dentures by the time yer 50?! Quit chowin’ down on them awful Toffee Peanuts like a hog!”

Fiddle forcing Stanley into his bathroom routine, which is time saving and brutally effective- he is an early riser and has no time to lose. Stanley likes to bumble 30-60 minutes round and forget half the things he ought to do, cracking jokes at the mirror, etc. It is his way to get ready for the day, a mix between pep talk and playtime; he is cranky when he is turbo-washed, shaved and out of the door in 5.

- Changes- 

“Ya sportin' more fur than a wild hog!”

“Thank you.”

“That was less of a compliment than ya think.”

“Wow- buddy, what do you think you’re doing with that razor?”

“Shavin’.”

“No, that is family property- no shaving the Pines’ fur! That’s a national treasure!”

“Ya’d make a mighty fine bear rug, no doubt 'bout it. Now let go, I’m sick of shedding all over my work! Them machines don't take kindly to dirt!”

Stanley is deeply hurt by Fiddle calling his body ‘dirty’, the trauma of being considered the useless twin raising it’s head; Fiddle thinks everybody knows how electronics work and is clueless.

- Routines, 2- 

“Why does yer back hurt so much?!”

“Try sleeping in a car in your late 20ties.”

“Ya ever do yoga?”

“Yo-ba? What’s that?”

“Look here and follow my lead!”

Fiddleford doing yoga and stretching in Stanley’s body, forcing him to take part as to not fuck up his posture; Stanley claims to hate it, but does pick up the habit in secret.

- Heat - 

Stanley walking round the shack bundled up in five layers, still shivering, “Why am I so cold!”

Fiddle shrugs, wearing shorts and no shirt, enjoying his body warmth. “I got lil' bodyfat and no hair, and my metabolism's kinda slow… But I’m too busy ta notice when workin’. We could be cuddlin' up fer practical reasons, how about it?”

Stanley side-eyes him, wary, “No fucking?”

-sad noise- “Aw, shoot! If ya insist… I tell you, this must be the key to switch us back.”

“No, forget it - I’m so not fucking me… That would be like fucking my brother, yikes!”

- Body memory -

Fiddle pushing his glasses, Stanley scratching parts that don’t itch; both are madly irritated watching the other move round in their body ‘wrong’.

Fiddle bumps into things, Stanley is tripping over everything.

Stanley wears Fiddle’s clothes sloppily, Fiddle is horrified by the state of Stanley’s ‘best’ clothes.
(Bonus: Clothes shopping, Fiddle buying ‘nice’ things for his temporary body; will Stanley wear them?)

- Inner workings- 

Stanley frowning at the plate in front of Fiddle.

“What do you call this? Is that supposed to be food?”

“It’s called eating like Steve Jobs. And don’ go messin' up my body with all that junk food! Ya gotta eat way more fruits 'n veggies.”

“And you go eat some real food, you scrawny nerd!” Stanley yells, munching on a burger, “Because if you don’t, you’ll find you regret that, buddy. “-haunting voice- “Have fun clogging the shitter later. My body is not doing animal food. No, no señor - imposible!”

Later – Fiddle on the toilet, hollering & praying

“Lordy, I’m a-pleadin' fer mercy an' fer givin'. What in tarnation's wrong with yer body Stanley!”

- Autonomy- 

“No touching!”

Stanley is strangely upset by Fiddle absentmindedly playing with his body; the first time he showers he is watching him, ready to slap his hand if he does do something indecent.

“Stanley, how I’m 'sposed to be washin' my privates without touchin'?!”

“…” he blushes, looks away, “Okay, but make it quick! And light as a feather!”

Fiddle soon realizes why he was supposed to not touch ‘himself’; Stanley’s body is ridiculously sensitive to being touched when wet.

“Well, shoot, I'm all worked up... I mean, I swear I only laid a finger on it once... Can I- do – finish the ‘business’? Please?”

Stanley leaves the bathroom, concealing an inconvenient boner he plans on walking off in the cold night air (failure ahead, wanking in the wild). Fiddle showers until the hot water tank is empty, studying Stanley’s body to the fullest, taking advantage of being unsupervised.

Stanley has unpleasant memories of prison & showers; getting favors and giving them to survive is not something he likes to remember. He hated it, but his body ... did not?

- Offerings -

Stanley finally gives in after two weeks, agreeing to get on top of Fiddle to ride it out; Fiddle gets hard in no time being sucked off for a quick start, fully content with his body’s reactions. When his dick is still ‘lacking’, Stanley licks his armpits and nipples, getting him hard so fast Fiddle starts seeing stars and uses special curse words reserved for occasions like murder, the British or family dishonor.

Fiddle tries to figure out what Stanley is doing in his body to make him feel so good- he did not know that his mouth was this good at sucking dick, or leaving big hickeys on thighs, nor that his anal passage could be clenched hard and milk a dick like a teatcup. 

Fiddle breaks his promise to keep his eyes closed whilst Stanley is on top of him; seeing that he is flaccid he uses his personal cheat codes to get his partner to fully enjoy their fucking too and let go. Nibbling on his ear, working his way down his neck and massaging his ass cheeks, thumbs kneading the skin around the sphincter gently; Stanley moans and protests but can’t help cumming hard being fucked.

Seeing how they are still in the wrong bodies, Fiddle loses faith in science, and Stanley is frustrated that even his biggest sacrifice was not enough to appease the curse/Ford's wrath.

They try to adjust to their new lives, hoping Stanford might help them switch back eventually.

- Finally -

Fiddle and Stanley search Ford’s room for anything helpful to get the portal running; as they walk round the room arguing, they send sparks flying!

“I’m back!! Oh, my sweet Jesus, I’m back!! Sweet hairless ass crack!”

“Ah, my belly! I missed you!“ – Stanley fondly patting his body – “No more veggies for you, I promise.”

The carpet is immediately burned and it’s ashes thrown into the bottomless pitch.

(Note: Fiddle kept a tiny sample of the rug, for scientific progress only.)

Chapter Text

-At the break of dawn, outside the shack, subzero temperatures -

Knock

Knock

Knock – louder-

KNOCK-

-Door creaks open-

“Fuck off, tours ain’t startin before ten…” Stanley had not slept much that night, and having his 3 hours drop-dead exhaustion nap interrupted at this ungodly hour did do nothing to lift his spirits.

A scrawny frostbitten guy held up a bottle of moonshine whiskey and a bag of toffee peanuts, his eerie smile creeping him out instantly.

Fiddleford beamed at the stranger, glad to find his assumption correct that he was not Stanford, seeing his perfectly normal five fingers balled into a fist.

Well, who cared why the guy lived in the cursed shack he had sworn to never return to, or had almost the face of Stanford or what had happened to his former friend- this man was going to do something for him!

“Hello! Sir, can make me forget some more?”

Stanley stared at the stranger- what the fresh hell was going on? He vaguely remembered he had met him before- oh, yes, the joke and kiss the evening before, at the bar … What was wrong with him? Who would show up and demand more?

“Are you - kooky?”

The blond man cackled and nodded eagerly, his eyes shining bright with madness. “Oh yes, more than you can imagine- mind if we continue our talk and subsequent negotiations inside, it’s freezing my balls off here. Hey, I shaved by the way - everything, one never knows! Pardon me!”

Stanley was about to tell him to fuck off again and slam the door shut, but Fiddleford had sneaked past him in a second and headed for the kitchen, humming happily as he hung his coat.

“I’m making coffee! We need lost of coffee mymymymy- How strong do you like yours? Industry strength?”

“Yeah…”

Seeing how the guy knew his way round the shack, Stanley felt the tiniest sliver of hope rise – had the maniac known Stanford? Could he give him a hint where his brother had hidden the other two journals he needed to get him back?

Chapter Text

Fiddleford added a generous shot of whiskey to their cups, his coffee diluted to transparency.

“So, you might wonder why I am here.”

“Good guess, buddy.”

“The name’s Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. I’m a former friend and assistant to Stanford Pines and used to work with him on a – erh- dangerous project. I abandoned everything after an accident and since tried to undo the damage I sustained working with Stanford and living in this cursed town has done to me. Nothing really did help- until you.”

Stanley took a sip of his coffee, winced and added more coffee to the cup.

“So- you know about the portal in the basement?”

Fiddleford spat on the dirty floor.

“Yes, I helped building that cursed thing. Let me guess, that crazy fool Stanford waltzed through it to be with the horrible demon?”

Stanley wanted to punch Fiddleford for insulting his brother, but he was in desperate need of the man’s help if he had indeed built the machine.

“Stanford did do nothing wrong! It was an accident. So, can you fix the portal to get him back?”

Fiddleford emptied his cup and slowly refilled it with booze, eyeing the other man – he looked like a fatter, unhealthier version of Stanford, but otherwise the resemblance was uncanny. Except – this guy fucked. A mullet? Damn, he was oozing confidence.

Sexy.

Fiddleford shook his head; he needed to be careful now to not spook him.

“Yes I can. But - not for free.”

Stanley looked at the kitchen clock, reading 7:05. It was way too early to haggle with the local lunatic on how to get his brother back. Oh, the things he did for the family.

“So… what is your deal?”

“Okay, listen-  I want you to kiss me hard and long, like last night. And hug me. Hard.“

“That’s all?” Stanley was relieved and amused; he had expected much worse to come.

The blond man smiled, slyly. “No. That’s for me taking a look at the portal, to see how bad the damage is. Nothing more.”

Stanley slammed his fist on the table, yelling at him, “Fucker!”

“I’m not cheap.”

“You are filthy.”

They stared at each other, waiting for the other man to give in; Fiddleford knew he had the upper hand but was cautious to not blow his chances for a good deal.

“If you were willing to do more for me, I could do more for you.”

Stanley added a shot of whiskey to his cup, paused for a moment, then took a big gulp from the bottle before pushing it into the middle of the table.

“What do you want. Full details.”

“You make me forge - every day -  what I’ve seen here and over there – as in, you suck me off, fuck me - fingers, hands, fists, dick – whatever - the whole package.”

The auburn-haired man hid his relief, sounding nonchalant as he clarified, “You don’t want to do me? Go that correct?”

“Of course not! I’m not a pervert!”

Fiddleford sounded highly indignant, as if being the active partner was the outrageous part about the deal he proposed. Stanley blinked, confused by the level of crazy sitting across the table of him.

“Okay… So I fuck you. And you tell me what is wrong with the portal and how I fix it. Then you fucking leave and never come back into my life.”

“Do you have 4 Ph.Ds. in physics and mechanic?”

“Hu? Of course not!”

“Then good luck achieving anything on your own- what is your name anyway?”

“Stanley.”

“Stan-ley? … Your parents were-“

“Creative? Yeah, get lost… What would it take to get you to fix the stupid portal?”

“Blow jobs and fingering my ass every night. We do share a bed.”

“Nah. I fuck you so hard you fall asleep immediately and sleep in another room. If you snore, I sleep in the car.”

Fiddleford took a swig from the bottle and shook his head.

“You stay in the room- after fucking me. Cuddling until I fall asleep; if I have a nightmare, you wake me up and lie next to me until I am fast asleep again. Fucking me back to sleep is okay -occasionally.”

“That’s too much service for too little goods buddy! You better fix the portal NOW and get Stanford back alive for asking for that much – that’s like half a marriage!”

“No! Fixing it now would include fucking bareback twice a day, until the portal is fixed. If or in what state your brother comes back is nothing I can fix per se, so that is not part of the deal. And after your Stanford situation is resolved - it’s kissing daily, and fucking twice a week, until my nightmares subside. If they don’t, it’s a deal until I die.”

Stanley snorted, taking the bottle from Fiddleford and wiping it off before chugging it.

“What? I kill you off for free! Now! You fucking rip-off! No! Until the portal works, it’s maximum fucking four times a week, and with condom only – bareback is a dealbreaker. Blow jobs once a month after I get Stanford back, one way or the other. If I have to go and get him, you’re in it until we get back- no leaving! If the portal is not running within a year, we’re down to fucking once a week to keep you motivated buddy. If it takes even longer- you do the math.”

Fiddleford whined at Stanley’s threat, “But – no!! That’s too cruel! What if it takes decades to get him back!”

“Work hard, get fucked hard.”

Fiddleford pouted and tried to reach for the last drop in the bottle, but Stanley would not let him have it.

But - he had still one card up his sleeve!

“Besides- the portal would release a demon beyond all horrors comprehensible - I can’t just ‘fix’ it and let that happen.”

“So?” Stanley was not the slightest impressed.

“Rim jobs on top of the previous agreement. For life.”

“Out of the question.“

“You’re impossible to haggle with… Might as well I built a time machine and to stop Stanford from ever building the portal.”

“You can do that?!”

Fiddleford felt guilty seeing the man’s brown eyes light up, his unshaven face looking years younger.

“No… I was just kidding. Sorry. See, this would most likely break the structure of our time reality, even if when it were feasible. Though worth to calculate the –“

“Stay on topic buddy!” Stanley was frustrated, feeling backed into a corner. Was the crazy guy pulling his leg? Maybe he was just scamming him for some free sex… But what other options did he have left? Physics for dummies?

He sighed, and suggested, “Okay, you fix the portal in a way that does not release demons into this world. Either Stanford comes back, or I can go and get him - AND we get back together to this world. Spill it, what is your final offer?”

Fiddleford could barely contain his excitement and took a few deep breaths to calm down. “Well, see - we live together, sleep together and I get sucked off or fucked anytime I feel like it.” he held up his hand to stop Stanley from interrupting him “with condom. If there is no sufficient progress by - let’s be fair – uhm, October-“

Stanley was quick to add, “This year!”

“-this year, yes, then” – he sighed – “you get to choose when and how often we fuck.”

“And?”

Stanley was a tough adversary to negotiate with, so Fiddleford conceded, “And … how many blow jobs, fingering, and so on I get. BUT - kissing and one blow job before bedtime is nonnegotiable! I need that much to sleep- without sleep I can’t function!”

“Hm… Quite a lot you ask for.”

He stared Fiddleford down, hoping to knock down the services he needed to provide down to kissing daily; but the blond man showed no signs of caving in. He finally gave in.

“Well, sounds right by me. Hey - if you get the portal to work before June, you get one hell of a reward, how bout that? I add one for motivation! So - do we have a deal, buddy? “

Fiddleford pretended to ponder his options, despite being rock-hard just by their bantering; he was getting way more than he had hoped for. Finally, he nodded and held out his hand, smiling generously.

“We have got a deal, Stanley.”

Stanley shook his hand and frowned when Fiddleford leaned over the table, closing the distance between them.

“How about we seal the deal, the proper w-”

Stanley pinched Fiddlefords lips shut, laughing at his befuddled expression.

“Gotta get up earlier to scam me- first, you follow me to basement. Better show me your brain still works, crazy guy.”

He patted his shoulder has he passed him, adding, “I doubt your brain will be good for any thinking for some time when I’m done with you.”

Fiddleford smile was beatific as he hurried after him, rearranging his pants as to not pinch his boner.

Oh, he was so fucked. So fucked!

Chapter Text

"What ya doing, still up?" Fiddle yawned, finding Stanley at the kitchen table, frowning as he went through a stack of papers.

"Oh, looky here, these are mine?" the blond man picked the top note from the huge stack, dimly remembering writing it; it seemed rather bold back then, but useless in the day of light.

"Hey buddy, does that stuff work?" Stanley handed him three notes he had stuck together with duct tape. "Pardon me French, but it looks less gibberish than the others."

Fiddle did not bother to decipher his scrawl; he was not interested in any of these things currently, as he had come downstairs looking for something way better.

"Well, it's gettin' late and chilly out here... reckon we could find somethin' to heat us up a bit? Hm?"

Stanley pointed to the stack, accusing him, "Progress buddy- you ain't making any, are you?"

Fiddle huffed annoyed, wrapping his arms round the other man's shoulders and snuggling up against him.

"Well, what do ya expect...Ah'm cold an' feelin' mighty lonely. Plus, I'd need me a laptop fer runnin' them simulations."

"Hu? What is a laptop?"

"A laptop's jest a lil' portable puter with a heap o' power fer doin' calculations. It can figure stuff out in seconds, while it takes us folks days to do it." Fiddle sighed, remembering his dream of becoming a multi-millionaire inventing laptops. That was a lifetime ago to him.

"Like this stuff? So if you could do the physics and maths and curves with it? You can get the portal running if you have a lap-dance - erh, I mean laptop?"

Fiddle laughed at Stanley's blooper, sneaking his hands down his chest. Oh, he liked this big dumb bear of a guy- he was so much fun. "Let’s wrap it up fer today, alright? Ya bein tired and silly. Don't bother with my notes... They’re way too complicated fer ya, ya wouldn’t catch on anyhow."

Stanley was offended by his words, the old shame of being the called the dumb twin flaring up. "I'm not stupid!"

Fiddle leaned over Stanley's shoulder to give him a kiss on the cheek, his tone soothing as he told him, "Nah, you ain't stupid. Ain't nothin' but normal. Unlike Stanford."

Stanley froze, a hatred towards Fiddle rising up like bile; why was he acting like a bully all of a sudden? "Hey! Cut the crap! Stanford and me are just the same! He is not some kind of freak!"

Fiddle rolled his eyes behind Stanley's back, but for the sake of getting anywhere near that dick did not say what was on his mind. 

"If ya say so... Now, reckon we can hit the hay?"

Stanley would not let go off the topic, insisting, "This laptop -  where do we get one?"

The blond man did not like were this was going- stubborn mule! Stanley was getting more and more excited, but for the wrong thing. He should be getting excited for him! It was 2 am after all!

"Ya cain't buy one! I built one fer Stanford to speed up the progress of building the dang portal. Took me 4 months and a heap of pricey and shady stuff - ah, it was such a beauty! But since it ain't nowhere 'round the shack …… Let's leave it at that."

Fiddle tried again to seduce Stanley, licking his ear, hoping to distract him from making progress on anything but the mattress.

"Okay, where is it? Can you get it? Now?" The brown-haired man proved immune to his attempts, hope shining bright in his tired eyes. 

Fiddle was tired and became increasingly defensive, snapping at him, "No!" 

"Why not? Do you not know where you lost it?"

Fiddle squirmed, "… It's likely in mah bunker."

"Great! Then let’s go get it!" Stanley jumped up to get his boots and jacket, frantic to get going despite the ungodly hour and brutal weather. "Hurry up buddy!!"

"Ya lost yer mind? We got a blizzard blowin' out here. Even at a mile away, it'd be pure foolishness to head that-a-way. You ain't findin' that fake tree without a powerful magnet and I'm not giving you one. And I sure ain't  riskin' my hide to fetch that dang laptop!" Fiddle hugged himself, feeling cold just thinking of the icy woods and all the horrors awaiting him there.

"What are you talking about? You need it!" Stanley rummaged through the kitchen drawers, cursing his brother's lack of sharp knifes - why did he not have any weapons in the house? Even that crossbow was just a fake!

"Nope! Stanley, ya gotta listen now - there’s a monster down there, stuck in cryogenic stasis – but  it might have freed itself!! This shape shifter is a real horror!! It done mimicked me after it'd tied me up and tricked even Stanford!" 

"Well, then we kill that monster together, get the laptop and that's that!"

Fiddle shook his head, frightened by Stanley's enthusiasm. He was so naive - he had no idea of the monsters that lurked in Gravity Falls!

"Will a shotgun kill it? Or do we need something bigger?"

"Ya make it sound all simple-like— that thing’s way too smart for ya. Argh! Why on earth'd Stanford let it live! Getting all cozy with a beast!"

Stanley remembered how crazy and out of it his brother was when he last saw him, so Fiddle probably had good reason to be mad with him - but still! This was the first real step forward towards saving him!

"Come on- aren’t you my brother’s friend?"

Fiddle tried to defend himself, Stanley's soft tone making him feel guilty. "I used to be yer brother's friend - 'fore he ruined my life. He's dangerous."

Stanley shrugged it off, trying to downplay Fiddle's resentment, "My brother is weird, but not dangerous-"

Fiddle spat on the floor,"He was about to destroy our world! He put my life on the line for them dang manic ideas!"

He crossed the distance between the two of them and took Stanley's hand in his, pleading, "We ain't needin' that laptop, nor to open up that portal. Look, you are perfectly normal and we have this-" he matched his hand with Stanley's, "Why ruin us!"

Stanley withdrew his hand angry, suddenly realizing,"You- you never wanted to help me get him back- you selfish prick!"

"Stanley, no- please, I-I swear I’ll git him back later- but he near ‘bout killed me!"

"But he didn't! You are still here- and he is not!" Stanley grabbed him the shirt, pulled him in and hissed, "If you won't do what it takes to get back Ford, I will! And you will not stop me!"

He let go off Fiddleford and pushed him onto the floor, cursing as he grabbed his jacket and keys and left the shack. "Motherfucker! Wasting my time!!"

"Stanley- wait! Stanley, please!! C'mon back here, please!!" Fiddle stood in the open door, desperately shouting against the freezing wind; if Stanley went to the bunker he would get killed!

Chapter Text

Fiddle waited for Stanley to come back; he surely had not found the bunker and figured out how to get into it- right? Only he himself and Stanford had known about the branch activating the stairs... But what if Stanford had told his brother? Or maybe- Stanley knew Stanford well enough to guess?

The blond man wore circles in the carpet, pacing the living room again and again. The storm had finally subsided, and there still was no sign of the stubborn Pines guy... He pulled his hair, feeling torn apart by the need for his own safety and his need for Stanley's safety- he had not meant to anger him! But- Stanford was so out of his mind, and really had not given a hoot about him before he walked out on him.

He had never been considering himself a coward- but  horrors he had been forced to witness because of Stanford were too much for anybody- anybody but Stanford. No, he had never been normal, not being scared by the creatures they encountered! Even building a portal to a demon's realm! He had been right to abandon him! 

Fiddle stopped, horrified at realizing that now he had been abandoned for being a coward. How fitting. 

He took as long as he could to get dressed, listening hard for any noise indicating that Stanley might be on his way back. His hands were shaking as he tied his shoes; standing in the doorway, feeling cold, still no sign of him... 

"This lit' piggy went to market... this lil' piggy just wanted to stay put at home..." he sang to himself softly as he stumbled forward through the frozen woods, jumping out of his skin each time a branch snap under the heavy fresh snow.

One mile was dreadful long in the middle of a winter night in the woods of Gravity Falls!

“He is trying to kill me!!! HELP!” 

Stanley grabbed the screaming man’s hand and pulled him up, grinning broadly.

“Thanks for the hint!”

He placed the barrel of the sawed-off shotgun in the middle of the forehead, and pulled the trigger.

The creature tried to shape-shift to heal the damage, blubbering and disintegrating as it sank to the ground.

Stanley spit on its lifeless carcass. “Fiddle would never call a monster ‘he’, you dumb asshole… Doppelganger my ass! More like stupidganger.”

Fiddle laughed, swaying on his feet.

“Ya knew… ya knew…”

Stanley grinned and tapped his head. “Being a twin makes you notice details- try prank your own mother- now that’s now real double-shit to pull!”

“Haha… Oh my…” Fiddle was still smiling as he fainted, falling backwards into the snow.

“Oi! Buddy!”

Stanley hurried over and checked if Fiddle was still breathing, wincing at the gashing wound on his leg. Damn, that hospital bill was gonna be costly - at LOT of tourists to scam for him. He lifted him up and put him over his shoulders, huffing as he rebalanced himself.

"Here we go! Damn buddy, why'd you not wait for me to come home?"

(Lore: nobody asks question in the Gravity Falls ER when you show up like you fell into a wood chipper; everybody is happier to not know the details.

After the Bill incident Stanford kept no function weapons in the house, and nobody is selling guns in Gravity Falls as the suicide / murder rate is too high; headcanon: Whilst Fiddle's memory gun did fuck up the town, it lowered the mortality rate below national average)

Fiddleford had been awake for some time when Stanley was finally allowed to see him; a fat wad of cash solved the problem of not being next of kin.

The ward was empty except for the current patient, so the curtains had not been drawn shut for privacy.

"Hi buddy! Looking-" Stanley's smile froze as he tried to come up with polite word for 'like shit', "worn. Want some snacks?"

He held up a bag filled to the brim with unhealthy treats, all his own favorites; whenever he wound up in hospital this was the best part! Unlimited snacks!

Fiddle sighed and laughed, "You tryin' to finish me off, huh? ...Much obliged."

Stanley pulled up a chair and took a close look at the blond man, nodding approvingly. "Yup, that will heal well- surprised they are no quacks here. How's that leg coming along?"

"Still attached!" Fiddle knocked on the cast, laughing at little bit too long. The silence became more and more uncomfortable as they stared down at the bag on his bed, avoiding each other's eyes.

"So..."

"So-"

"You first."

"Dang." Stanley grimaced, feeling uneasy being serious for once, "So, why did you go into that bunker without me?"

"... I thought- you might be in trouble." Fiddle blushed; in the light of day his line of thought seemed silly- the bunker had still been sealed, and there were not foot prints leading up to it. He had no reason to risk his life going into it.

"Hu? Why? You told me I could not find that dumb bunker on my own. I had to drive 2 hours to buy a shotgun, nobody in this town sells any! Is this America or Canada! Besides, I know shit what this laptop thing looks like- fat chance of me finding it on my own."

The blond man twisted his fingers, ashamed of admitting the truth, "I... wanted to be brave, y'know? Ain't no use runnin' away from stuff forever. Didn't want ya to hate me."

He looked up, shocked to see Stanley blubbering, trying hard to hold back tears. 

"Damn Fiddle! Stop acting crazy- if you die, that will be on my fucking mind too! I have ruined Stanford's life already, so- cut the crap, okay?"

Fiddle placed his hand against the other man's bristly cheek, tears welling up in his eyes too, "You care for me?"

Stanley looked at him surprised for a moment, as if caught red-handed; then he smiled, closing his eyes and rested his face against Fiddle's hand, "Yes, you crazy nut... I do."

(Stanley sneaking Fiddleford out of the hospital)

"This little piggy had Stanley, this little piggy cried "Wee! Wee! Wee!" all the way home!"

"Shhh buddy! If they find us they'll stitch our assholes shut!"

"Naw! What 'bout their Hippocratic oath?"

"Got none- I think they operate on coffee and insanity only here!"

when heading back for the Laptop, they also find the Journal #3;
picture "Pull the lever Stanley! wrong lever!!"

Chapter Text

Fiddleford is constantly horny – either for inventions or Stanley;  worst case is when both align and he invents a new way to fuck! crazyMcGucket!heatstroke™

-hot summer day, way too hot to work on anything-

Stanley sitting on the floor in front of the TV, drinking cold beer, eating popcorn

"No dummy, don't go in there- ahahaha!!!"

-shadow of horny!Fiddle falling onto him; naked beneath his welding gear, sweaty from welding downstairs for hours- dehydrated - voice husky-

"Say Stanley, y'know how sows are being breed?"

Stanley, scared af, pleading, “Erhm, No? … Please, Buddy, don't you have some fixing to do?”

Fiddle's eyes wide and dark, giggling hysterical, “Y’a gonna need a bit o’ fixin’ when I’m through. Now, be ay good little piggy an' squeal for me!”

Stanley, being dragged off, "HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!!!!"

- mad McGucket cackle- "That'll do, Pig. That'll do!"

Bonus: 

-at the Gravity Falls Spring Fair -

 
 "Hu, you'd think a place run over by monsters every second week would have people not turn heads at two guys holding hands."
 "Yeah... this place is weird."
 
(Guys... it's not you holding hands.... it's the shirts)

 Fiddle had made the 'I'm a pig' shirt for himself; when Stanley broke down laughing seeing it he let him keep it, wearing the big one himself (feelin' slightly self-conscious).

Chapter Text

Love them ❤️

Chapter Text

Hot day naptime; after a long day of tours Stanley wanted to relax the proper way - balls out to dry! Peace, quiet, the van is on, he snores away....

JOLT!

Years of sleeping in the car = strong instinct to wake up instantly when being watched

Waking to #Fiddle!MAXhorny, incapable of speech, staring down at him is not exactly a first, but still makes him jump and try cover himself.

"Buddy, knock first! Were you raised in a barn!?"

Fiddle nods and begins to hastily undress; Stanley sighs in defeat, "One round only! And you get me beer afterwards!"

Chapter Text

"Underwear, socks, dish towels... Anything missing?" Stanley's hands were aching from the heavy bags he carried; their haul was impressive - just how much stuff did fit in a home! And Stanford really needed to get his priorities straight- hoarding toilet paper and coffee but owning no chopping board? What had he lived on?! 

Fiddle suddenly stopped, staring mesmerized at a father pass them by carrying his daughter on his shoulders, both laughing. He mumbled agitated, "Well now... Oh! Reckon I orta find a gift fer my boy! I'll be right back. It bein' May, his birthday's a-comin' up--the 28th? The 29th, yeah, the 29th. Or was thet Grandpa's?"

Stanley was shocked to the core and dropped the bags, shouting after him, "What?! You got a child?!"

But the blond man did not even register his outrage and hastily steered towards a random store, muttering to himself, "Ain't seen him in a year? Shoot, it's '83, he's 'bout... seven year old? What kinda stuff do boys that age care for? I jest had my banjo 'n' the hawgs, weren't much. Hmm-"

"Hey! Fiddle - what the hell- you you abandoned your child?" Stanley had grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to finally turn round and face him. Fiddle brushed his hand off his shoulder, angry and confused.

"No, I- I did not - it's complicated," stammered, not willing to talk about his past. Yes, he remembered them- but-  ... Emma... Tate... He had not thought about them much after the divorce papers arrived. Fiddleford had signed the papers and continued working like a maniac with Stanford, knowing he had not home to return to anymore. And the memory gun had taken care of the rest. Once he gave it some thought, a birthday gift seemed pointless after all this time- would Tate even be remembering him?

Stanley was getting more and more upset with him."How could you leave your family! Why did you never tell me- I thought you were just some random single fucker!"

Fiddle laughed hysterical and picked up the bags as he hurried for the exit, wanting to flee from his feelings of guilt and panic.
"'Leave', now that's a mighty big word there, reckon - did I really go? Emma divorced ME! Oh, I get it- But don't you fret though - I'd never leave ya fer other folks-"
"What are you-  don't say something like that! You left your kid and never went back?! Are you even listening to me?!"
"Well now, reckon maybe, maybe I did do leave, but look what I found- who could blame me choosing you- we could stop on the way home to- you know?"
Fiddle tried to change the subject, aware of people looking at them in the shopping mall as their argument got out of hand. What Stanley getting upset about even? It was not like he knew his family-
"I am NOT A GODDAMN HOME WRECKER!" Stanley balled his fists, shaking with anger, "I will not ruin another family!"
He stormed off, giving him the finger without turning round when Fiddle called after him.
"Stanley? Stanley, wait!!"
Fiddle looked after him baffled, confused by the turn off events as he watched him drive away.  Leaving him behind at the mall with their stuff - well that was inconvenient!

Was he supposed to take a taxi home? Why did Stanley just drive off!! Talk about leaving people behind... hypocrite! 

It took quite long to find a taxi driver willing to take him to the Mystery Shack, given his colorful personality during the memory gun months. Stanley was sitting on the porch stair, awaiting him; Fiddle paid the driver and slowly walked towards him, not able to make out his face against the setting sun. Was he angry? He would not beat him up, would he?
"Hey...."
Fiddle stopped just short outside of the range of Stanley fists, putting the shopping bags down between them as if to serve as a barrier. Close up he could tell that the other man had been crying, but the look on his face was one of anger as he stared at him.
"Hey..."
Stanley grumbled, "I owe you an explanation, but not an apology."
"I see... Okay?"
Fiddle shifted nervously from one foot to the other; god, how he hated relationship trouble! Could they not just be- easy? Why did they need to TALK! Talk ruined good things! Like fucking each other's brains out and laughing and being silly...

Stanley sighed and after a pause started, "So, buddy ... You see, I ruined my family-  well, it was an accident, okay? - and have tried everything to get them to take me back since then. So, you just- throwing your family away... that is something that does not sit right me."
They stared each other in the eyes for a long time, both feeling too righteous in their position of hurt to talk about what was going on between them.

"Move it."
Fiddle sat down next to Stanley so he could avoid looking him in the face.
"Yer sayin' I done ruint yer family, how come?"
The brown-haired man hesitated, feeling deep same and anger burning in his heart. He did not want to revisit the worst evening of his life.
"There was - this thing at our school, fancy science stuff fair - like, show your smarts and get a college funding type. And Stanford wanted to win, and go to college and leave behind and- I was... angry. We had agreed to go on adventures together, just the two of us- and he was going to leave me! So... I got angry with the stupid machine and - hit the table and, ... I did not mean to break it. I swear Stanford's stupid machine looked fine after I fixed it! Just fine! But it was not- and he did not get picked for college and Dad kicked me out and told I could come back once I made a lot of money. Well, you know how well that worked hahaha.... Did Stanford never tell you about that?"
Fiddle blinked, the story too much for him to wrap his head around and shook his head, "No, he did not even tell me he had a twin. Seeing you at the bar threw me."
Stanley snorted, "Yeah, I bet it did... But he really never mentioned me?"
He sounded heartbroken and Fiddle felt guilty, as if it were his fault he never learned about Stanley; but Stanford never spoke about his past, he was obsessed with his future.
"I'm sorry...But my story, it's a tad different, ya see." Fiddle tried to explain himself, "Stanley, my marriage was done 'fore I ever got to Gravity Falls, an' yeah, it's kinda my doin'. Yer right, I up an' left 'em, an'... I felt plumb relieved, I have to admit."
Stanley's eye went huge but he managed to not interrupt the other man, letting him finish.
"When me and Emma got hitched, it was a real hoot – and I didn't mind 'bout her havin' a baby, figured family life be jest like back home – Momma wranglin' the house and babes and Poppa workin' hard. But raisin' a kid, bein' a husband, and makin' money fer the family – life jest weren't no fun no more. I aimed to build computers, git myself a pile o' money, and head back to where the real fun's at. You probably hate my guts now, but... that's jest who I am. A feller what lit out when things quit bein' fun." Fiddle took off his glasses and started polishing them, not wanting to see the world around him, nervously awaiting the other man's response.

Stanley stared at the bags in front of him, an onslaught of  emotions confusing him. Rage, anger, pity, sadness, understanding - could he judge Fiddleford for running? He had made many a babe deliberately so mad she walked out on him, and then went on claiming she was the one splittin' ... A life that was no fun, no adventure, running when it got though? Good luck to him there never was a kid in the picture... He would not have run if there was a kid, right? He would not have been that guy? Stanley felt uncomfortable to admit to himself he did not know if he was not also that type of guy who would have run.
"I don't hate you...  But- can't you at least try and be there for your kid? I mean, it's none of my business..." 
Catching Stanley's puppy eye look Fiddle started laughing, the absurdity of his situation hitting him hard, "Lawd have mercy, ya killin' me... The feller reamin' me so's I git his brother back from some hell-fired dimension scoldin' me to be a better dad? Shore 'nuff... But ya best come with me to see Tate, I ain't doin' this by myself!"
"You can't bring you shiksa over to your ex-wife! Are you crazy?!"
Fiddle cackled and slapped Stanley's back to hard he almost send him of the stair, "Sure I am crazy!! Now let's haul our stuff inside and heat up some dinner!"
"By dinner, you mean-"
"Sure do!!!"
Stanley sighed and smiled, following him inside; the scrawny guy was nuts beyond saving!

Three days later, on the road

Visiting Emma and Tate, Stanley driving, wearing his suit; Fiddle nervous as hell with flowers and gift in his shaking hands.
Stanley joked, "Relax! What's the worst your ex could do!"Fiddle went pale and immediately started ruminating and spiraling HARD, "She could try to kill me. Sue me. Torture me. Burn my banjo. Fuck you in front of me. Make me eat bananas. Cut off my blue jeans. Turn Tate into a vegan. She-"
"Okay, I think  that's enough. Buddy, how about we listen to some music and ... How about we stop talking for a little while." 

Palo Alto, California 

(lore: Fiddleford talks without his accent when he is round people that scare him or do not know his unbridled self yet)

Emma leaned against the kitchen island, drinking espresso and watching her guest play with her son. Her ex-husband stood right next to her out of habit, sipping chamomile tea, still as nervous as when she had opened the door.
"So Fiddy... Who's your handsome friend? And- is he single?" she teased him, trying to break the ice, already guessing what their relationship status was. Her strap-on had not seen much action since they parted.
Fiddle shook his head and insisted indignant, "No! You can't have Stanley!"
"Oh... I see... Too bad."
The chubby man whacked himself in the eye with Tate's new toy, causing them both to holler.

Fiddle and Emma sighed deeply affectionate and said in unison, "Ah, he is so dumb."
The looked at each other and smiled, sadly. This had been them once - young, dumb and happy to have fun with each other.

"... You're one lucky bastard, Fiddy."
"I know Emma."
"Don't fuck this up like us."
Fiddle hesitated, still wishing to forget all that pained him; but he understood he needed to fix himself if he did not want to destroy people he loved ever again.
"Emma, I'm sorry. I- I do not understand why we turned out like this."
She frowned and looked into her empty cup, trying to not sound bitter, "You... stopped caring. That's what it felt like. When Tate was born, you became more and more withdrawn. Computers this, stuff here... You just- you left us."
He protested halfheartedly, "But- I was working! For us!"
"You were working for yourself. You did not come home to us- even when you were just over in the garage. Your mind was always somewhere else."
Fiddleford was at a loss what to say; he knew Emma was right, and he could not undo his past self's bad decisions. But ... He had not felt at home, and being a father felt- alien. Tate was a difficult baby, and ... He was ashamed, but he just could not cope. He was different now- or at least he hoped he was. 
"I'm sorry I was an ass."
Emma ruffled his hair and laughed softly, "Being an ass was always the best thing about you. You guys are staying for lunch?"
Tate and Stanley perked up at the mention of food yelled, "We want pizza!"
Fiddle laughed and fought his flight instinct, wanting to trust Emma again. "I guess we are. Thanks for having us, Emma."
"You're welcome."
"Have not heard that in a long time, haha..."

Two weeks later , Gravity Falls

"Move it!" Fiddle was aggressively cleaning the house, scrubbing on his knees; Stanley looked up from Stanford's journal #3, whistling, enjoying the view of his fuck buddy's wiggling behind and suggested,"How about taking a little - break?"
The blond man for once did not jump at the suggestion of a quickie but snapped at him, "Tate comes over tomorrow- do you know how filthy the shack is! We can't have a kid here!"
"Relax, it seems fine to me." Stanley looked at the room; it was clean, wasn't it? Swept floors, everything in place, no garbage that could not double as decoration- yeah, clean!
"Kids can handle dirt, why are you so upset? There are not even dust bunnies round, it's squeaky clean!"
"It is not!"
Fiddle got up angry, pulled of his rubber gloves and threw them at Stanley's chest; he left and returned shortly holding a weird lamp and turned off the main light.
"SEE!"
As he turned it on, blue spots appeared everywhere- on the floor, walls, table, bed, even on the ceiling.
"Wow... is that ...?"
"Yes, it is."
Stanley whistled, impressed, "Damn, we really did fuck like pigs, hu."
Fiddle put on his gloves again, sounding cross as he told him, "Yes! And now help me clean up!"

Stanley rolled his eyes and put the journal down to turn on the main light again but stopped, seeing the pages were also shimmering, "What? Did we get- Oh. OH! Fiddle, look at that!! FUCK!"
He beamed, shoving the book right into Fiddle's face, "Look!! There's secret messages in there! The light reveals them!!"
"What now?"
Fiddle thought he just tried to sidetrack their cleaning mission and sighed as he started reading the notes on the page. Soon he was intrigued reading page after page, and before long both men had sat down, cleaning all forgotten.
"Oh! So that is what he thought that switch should do-"
"Hey, look - we can dig up the second journal!"
"And fix the portal!!"
"YAAAAAAAAAY!"
-kissing-

They take Tate camping on the lawn; instead of deep-cleaning the Shack they ended up adding to the artwork that night, to celebrate finding Stanford's hidden messages.

Fiddle is kinda useless at first playing with Tate, but seeing how Stanley is just being childish with his son he joins in; three boys having a blast in the woods of Gravity Falls!
(They send Tate to dig up the second journal, figuring the two local lunatics spending time close to the Elementary School would get them instantly locked up for life.)

Emma is not amused when Tate returns with a broken arm*, front tooth missing and happy as can be, proclaiming 'the tooth fairy IS Bigfoot**!'

*He broke his arm on the swings of the play ground.
** A monster got into the tent whilst they were camping; Stanley came up with this explanation to sooth terrified Tate after him and Fiddle beat the monster up.

Chapter Text

- set in February, soon after they met & started fuckin  - 

Stanley cracked open an eye, looking up at Fiddle who was mumbling, "So soft... Oh, it's so good... so soft....."
He had a look of enchantment on his face and Stanley felt proud of his skills - his mouth had never been called soft before, but he gladly took the compliment. 

Little that he know Fiddle was more turned on by digging his hands into his mane than getting sucked off. Since brushing his locks for the first time, Fiddleford had got rewired was hardcore turned on by touching the silky smooth long auburn hair. 

As their days together passed by, Fiddleford ran out of excuses to touch Stanley's hair - oh let me get that out there, what is this, let me smooth it out...  He was catching onto him, and would soon forbid him patting or stroking his locks... He needed a plan b!

"That fringe o' your'n's gettin' a mite long, ain't it? I could jest snip 'em fer ya, save ya some money an' time, I reckon." Fiddle shamelessly offered his services, not feeling guilty the slightest for deceiving Stanley.
Stanley looked up at him through his long bangs, agreeing his hair was getting out of hand.
"Thanks buddy - maybe I should just go for a buzz cut again, the spring weather is getting brutal hot-""Naw naw, le's jes' give ya a right nice trim, ain't no need to be loppin' off too much, not ya end up like Samson," Fiddle insisted, quickly setting his victim up with a hairdressing cape he had prepared in advance- he needed to waste not a single strand!!

About a week later, Stanley finally snapped.
"If you sniff my hair once more I am gonna shave it off!!" he yelled, holding an electric razor close to his head. He had enough from waking up with the lunatic's nose buried in his hair, giggling madly. 
Fiddle screamed, tearing at his own hair frantically, "NO! Don't! Don't- I beg you! Not the hair!!"
"Hands OFF- or else!" Stanley waved the humming razor dramatically as if to ward the other man off.
"Yes yes, I will not touch your hair," Fiddle promised, but had a strange look on his face as he mumbled to himself, "the one attached to your head, that is...."

"Yo Buddy, you've been down here for hours, wanna grab a bite-"
Stanley stopped in the door way, flabbergasted. Fiddleford had been hard at work- but not at fixing the portal.
"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL!!"

Fiddleford shrieked and tried to hide Stanley2.0 behind his naked body, noticing too late he had not turned on the alarm system again. 
"SHOOOT!! Ah ain't lettin' ya take 'im from me!!! Get lost!!!"
He tried to run but stumbled on the uneven dirt floor, wailing when Stanley grabbed the dummy and ripped off its neck. The face was crude and the clown's nose was an insult to his shapely Pine nose - and how long had he been collecting his hair? The dummy was covered from head to toe!
"You're so done for... Don't you think I'll ever fuck you again, you creep!!"
The blond man did even try to defend himself but wordlessly watched Stanley drag the dummy off behind him to burn it with a huge helping of gasoline, tears streaming down his face. His lovely Stanley2.0!! His masterpiece!

Three days later

Fiddle had taken to sleeping on the porch, and often was heard in the night howling, to the tune of Jolene, "flaming locks of auburn hair’ … 'Take me back my man, Stanleeeey – Stanleeeey'".
Said Stanley lay awake listening to Fiddle, desperate as he had run out of things to hurl at him. 

He opened the window and hollered into the darkness, “I’ll turn it into the murder shack for real if you don’t stop right now!!”

The banjo stopped, but not for long before accompanying Fiddle to his version of 'Stan(d) by your man'.
"Doin' things that you don't understand... But if you love him, you'll forgive him- Even though he's hard to understand-"
Stanley tried to not give in, but felt is resentment fade away- nobody had ever sang a song to him- or about him... It was kinda sweet, in a deranged way.
"... You're an idiot, Buddy... Come in you dumb guy. But- my hair is off limits, got that?"
The voice answering him from the dark porch sounded so cheerful he instantly regretted forgiving him. 
"Loud and clear!! say- how 'bout we whip up some make-up sex? It's ma favorite!"
"FUCK OFF! You're not sorry at all, are you!!"

Chapter Text

Stanley sat in the kitchen and mumbled to himself as he read journal #2, "Mystic Amulet, now that would be perfect for Mr. Mystery! ... Heck, Stanford really was out of his mind.... Damn, what were you smoking to try that?.... Alien Adhesive? How cool is that! Fuck, you could prank people so hard, hahaha! ... Oh- that sound good- under 3 floorboard next to the bathroom door is secret stash hidden? Woooohoo, Stanford! You're sly- should I take a look? ... Hm, nah, better not, might be really weird... But would explain A LOT of shit if he was on drugs writing his..."
He bookmarked the page with an empty candy wrapper and went upstairs to take a peak if there really was something hidden beneath the floorboard. Of course, he would not open it, or check the quality of the stuff, or sell it!

He was only checking if the journal was giving them real hints!

Fiddle yawned and stretched, tired and frustrated after not making much progress on the new portal frame. He made his way upstairs, hoping some good dicking down would refresh his mind, but the wielder of the good dick was nowhere to be found in the shack.
Finally the only room left was... Stanford's.

"Stanley?"
He hesitated, hand resting on the door knob, half expecting to find his lost friend on the other side, hunched over paperwork as he had always been. He sighed in relief on finding Stanley instead, sitting on the couch slouched. 

"I thought we agreed to not come in here anymore- Hu- are you - crying?"
The other man shook his head and wiped his eyes, sounding shaky as he lied, "No- the dust - sniff- got me. Was just looked for a clue, thought there was something in the journal... Turns out it was nothing."
"Nothing? Show me," Fiddle demanded, angry about what Stanford had done now to hurt his little brother. 
"It's nothing-"
"Show me!!"
Stanley quietly handed him the box he had been cradling, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands, trying to stop more tears from falling.

"Oh..." Once he saw the contents of the box, Fiddle felt bad for prying.  

It was chock-full with random bits and pieces and photos, the topmost showing two little boys grinning next to each other, like two peas in a pod but for their clothes and glasses.
The lid of the box read 'Stanley's + Stanford's threasure not touch' in scrawly kids writing, making Fiddle feel like crying too. Stanford had acted so cold and egoistic in the end he had all but forgot he also had this side to him.

Had losing Stanley turned him into the obsessed man Fiddleford had known? Crazy enough to build a portal to hell? But despite all, he had kept his treasure with him all those years...

Fiddle closed the box and hugged Stanley who desperately clung to him as if he were drowning, howling, "I'm sorry, Stanford... I'm so sorry..."
"Yeh... shhhh, we will get him back, we will..."
He held him close and swore he would get Stanford back - he could not stand to see his Stanley cry like this!

"Well now, here's the list o' stuff we need, what we could swap it fer, and how much it's gonna set us back." 
They high-fived, feeling proud of making progress - even if only on paper. Stanley was not as bad at math as he claimed - he just needed $ signs behind the numbers to focus and instantly became a calculation wizard. 

"Okay, so the only real problems is the nuclear waste and this fancy metal stuff?"
Fiddle nodded, adding, "If we're real lucky, this shady friend o' Emma's is still workin' down at the nucular power plant—but it's a gamble, ya hear? He's dumb as a rock, but dang if he ain't willin' to do 'bout anything fer a dollar, somethin' Simpson his name. But—if the Fed'ral Bureau o' Investigation finds out, we're goners, pure and simple."
Stanley nodded, not needing a reminder where they would end up if they failed. "And the metal?"
"Reckon we'll jest hafta snitch us some from the military labs down in Area 52. Don't see us bein' able to foot the bill fer it."
"Military lab? Us two breaking in? Nah... Fat chance. How much would it cost?"
"Hm, 'bout 9000$."
"What?! That's super expensive!"
"Per gram."
"Oh fuck me. And how much do we need?"
"Reckon it's 'bout two kilos, give or take, if'n I could melt them busted pieces down. But that power bill'd be a real killer, though."
"What? That's like, 18 000$ dollars! Shit... I'd better install a glory hole in the shack to make that much money before the year 2000 rolls round. Shit! Isn't there something else you could use?"
Fiddle shook his head as he told him, "Well, there is, but I swear to ya—ain't worth a hill of beans."
"Not worth 18 000$?"
Fiddle agreed that the sum was painfully high, but he still considered the risks they would face worse. " Well, there’s a wreck'd alien ship sittin’ outside the city, an’ the metal we need's just layin’ around in there— but it’s too darn risky!"

Stanley's eyes lit up - an alien spaceship!? In walking distance!?
"Buddy, we need to go there- why did you not tell me sooner! I've always wanted to be in an UFO!"
He laughed, wiggling his fingers, "Any luck finding weird 'alien probe technology'? Did you give it a try?"

The blond man frowned, not amused by the joke at all; Stanford has not taken the alien technology serious either, and look what it got him in the end!
"If ya activate the security system you git tentacled ta space jail fer the next few thousand years. Still reckon ya wanna give it a whirl?"
Stanley grinned and nodded eagerly, bursting with energy. "Sure do! Just not trigger the alarm and we're fine! Sound like a job for me, just like good old days- na, bad old days hahah! So, what do we need to go there and when-"

Fiddle cut him off, "We ain't doin' a dang thing. Ain't no way I'm settin' my foot in that cursed ship ever agai'n. The bunker was enough hassle! And whatever took out them aliens might still be lurkin' 'round! We will get Stanford back, I promise- but not using that!"
Stanley gave it a quick thought and shrugged the risk off. The aliens were dead a few years give or take, and so was what killed them- the risk seemed fine to him when looking at the alternative.
"Buddy, neither me nor Stanford can wait for 30 years or more until I make the money to buy shit- either you come with me, or you tell me where I go and what I look for. I am not afraid!"
"Yer too stupid to be afraid!", Fiddle lashed out at him, angry for being cornered again by a Pines brother. 
Stanley laughed, not the slightest offended, "Yeah, that sound about right- So, when are we leaving?"

"Alrighty, here it is."
Fiddle shoved a rock aside and revealed a trap door, feeling cold seeing the entrance of the space craft again. 
"Uuuh!! Spoooooky!" Stanley joked, pointing the magnetic gun at it and making pewpew noises, yelling, "Captain! Beam us up!! They are hostile!"
Fiddle rolled his eyes at him, annoyed by his childish behavior. 
"Ain't that a hoot,  Captain Stupid... Now aim the gun at it with the lowest setting to git it open."

Stanley went quiet upon gazing down into the depths- he had not thought he would need to climb! Alien technology! What about beaming - anti-gravity stuff? Hello?!
Fiddle was busy checking of his list, not seeing the look of fright on Stanley's face.
"Ya got the plan? Stick to it and don’t go strollin' into no traps, ya hear!"
"Uh-hu."
"Once yer down on the ground, just swing yerself right over and down with the magnet gun."
"Uh-hu."
Fiddle failed to notice how pale Stanley had gotten, preoccupied with fragments of memories resurfacing - bad memories, horrible bad memories. The smell wafting from the hole already had made him want to run.
"I’ll be right here, an’ y’all just stick to the plan—don’t go doin’ nothin' foolish now! Stick.to.the.plan, ya hear?"

"Uh-hu... Stick... To the.. plan..."

Stanley slowly started to climb down, shaking more and more the smaller the bright square above him got.
"No looking down, no looking down..." he whispered, his teeth chattering. His hands were sweaty and cold and he felt like puking when he reached the floor, realizing the next step that Fiddle had referred to as 'and then just swing' was simply brutal - the drop was frightening!!

His head was reeling - he had imagined floaty things and shiny lifts!! Not a dark ruined place! This was not an UFO he wanted to be on!

Stanley was panicking and just wanted to leave- but... Stanford needed him! He had to do this. 

"Treasure hunting... the two of us.. I got this! I - I got this! Any moment now!"

Fiddle waited for two hours before he tried to call Stanley for the first time, expecting him to be on his way back.

He had picked the route he deemed safest for him, but it would take Stanley twice as long and the radio signal would be bad too - which of course also meant the alien technology was not working anymore too and could not kill him (as easily).
"Stanley? Hear me? Do ya copy?"
The walkie-talkie only buzzed with static which did not worry him at first. But hearing a click and a faint noise that might be a whispered 'help' did!
"Stanley? Is that ya? Answer me!"
The walkie-talkie remained silent and Fiddle started to fret, unsure if this had just been an interference, a trap or really Stanley calling for help. 
He yelled, "Answer me!" down the dark shaft, praying to get Stanley to answer him- he surely was fine and just pranking him?
"This ain't no joke! Stanley, ya hear me?"
The darkness below remained silent.
Fiddle opened his backpack, wishing he had packed a real gun and not just the magnetic ones; if a monster had taken out Stanley he needed to kill it, not just stun. 
"I’m a-comin' down yonder—y’all best not be messin' with me! Or be dead! Or—just - just wait!"

"Stanley? Oh lawd... dear lawd, no, no, no! But- what in tarnation happened to ya?"
Fiddle had not went very far into the spaceship when he found Stanley lying motionless at the foot of a pillar; he seemed to have fallen and hit the ground hard but was still breathing.
His right arm was bend at a sickening angle and he was glad the other man was not awake as it was bad enough to deal with his own freak-out at the sight. That looked horrible painful! The magnet gun lay nearby - but there was no sign of a struggle. Had he just- fallen?
"Oh lawd, oh lawd, oh lawd... Alright, I gotta git you up and outta here, git you to the hospital, and... Oh Stanley, why'd ya go and do a thing like that, ya hear!"

A week later

 Stanley had been discharged from the hospital after three days, his right arm in a cast, face and back badly bruised but otherwise intact. He had hit his head pretty bad but the mullet* had spared him from a concussion (*all praise the patent Pines wonder mane). Fiddle scolded him for not telling him about his vertigo and getting hurt, but seeing Stanley go all meekly, he promised to invent a way to cure him one day. (Stanley was quick to reject his offer, 100% convinced he would end up with an even worse affliction in return.)

 
As neither of them felt they could ever go into the alien spaceship again, they need another plan to make all the money they possible can. Thus, Fiddle offered to take over as Mr. Mystery whilst Stanley recovered. 

Standing in front of mirror and admiring him, Stanley felt mad proud of his new creation - Mr. Mystery II! 

Fiddle nervously twisted his tie, asking repeatedly, "What if they see right past me bluff? Reckon they'll swaller my lies?"
"Of course they will - I could right fall for you."
"Ya one fine charmer!"
Fiddle gave Stanley a deep kiss, laughing - the costume was doing something to him, he could feel it. He was more confident and bold!
"And don't worry, just be a tiny bit more crazy than usual and you're smack in authentic grifter territory. You gotta 'believe'!" Stanley wiggled his good hand in front of Fiddle's face.
"I'll give it a whirl, but - I ain't too fond o' spinnin' tall tales..."

Stanley puffed up his chest and declared, "You are not telling lies- just decorating the bigger truth here and there. Stuff which is too much to handle for the ordinary citizen is made bearable by Mr. Mystery- and sold! And, if you make more money than I do, you get to be on top all night long. Deal?"
Fiddle gasped and asked, "You really mean it?"
Bruised and hurt as he was, Stanley realized too late he should have added a 'when I am okay' stipulation; but seeing the blond man glow with excitement he could not go back on his grand promise anymore. 
"Yeah- but please let me stretch my legs now and then before they fall off."
"Yesyes oh yes yes of course- and will you do that thing I like?" Fiddle looked at him in anticipation, his hopes soaring high. 

"Fart jokes?" Stanley asked, hoping to get off easy.
"No, the other thing."
"Haha.... Okay. Uhm. If you insist-"
"YES!!! Bye!" 
Fiddle's triumphant cackle send a shiver down Stanley's spine; he cursed the night he had been drunk, boasting that a butt plug could make him last longer and make his dick twice as hard. Fiddle might be forgetting all kinds of things, but unfortunately not anything concerning fucking. Evading the damn plug had become a struggle.

Fiddle hurried downstairs to greet/rob the tourists, turning around on the last step to holler upstairs, "You better rest now- it's gonna be a long night, Mr. Mystery!"
Stanley groaned; just what had he gotten himself into, making deals with a sex-crazy lunatic - like Fiddle needed any encouragement!

It was long after sunset when Fiddle returned upstairs to their room, panting heavily, his suit pants bulging - he had made CASH big time! Bills hanging out of this pockets, shirt sleeves, stuck underneath the fez...
And he had had a blast too, selling stuff to keep people 'safe' from 'dem devil's eyes'. Extra cash for charms he drew on the spot, and 60$ or more for advice on apocalyptic prep stuff. He was darn good at this!
When he closed shop, people hurried home to order bomb shelters and preserve food - for the end was near and it was going to be WEIRD.

Stanley grinned, taking in the appealing sight of a cash-stuffed man.
"How did it go?"
Fiddle was beyond proud as he declared, "Sold everything but them floors!" 
"Color me impressed." Stanley laughed and pulled Fiddle close with his good arm, managing to sneak three ten dollar bills into his cast as he placed kissed upon his neck. "Hm, you smell good..."
"Yeah, I smell like money, thehe... I reckon I can smell money now- aaah-"
Fiddle bit his lip to not groan- he was so horny!! But he also had manners.
"So... for my... rewaaaard.. Ah... I could wait 'til ya - erh, healed a bit more."
"Oh, feeling generous, Mr. Moneypants?" 
He gave Fiddle the patented Stanley special earlobe nibbler complete with grinding his left thigh between Fiddle's legs.
"Aaaaaah..."
Stanley was amused by the reaction he drew from him, asking,"Still feel like waiting much, buddy?"
He thought it was better get it over with now and hope that his pitiful state would make Fiddle have mercy with him after an hour or so; else he would be pinned under him the whole night!

Fiddle moaned, clawing at Stanley's back; it felt wrong to fuck a wounded man, but... also made him hard. He would be in charge, and Stanley would be below and not able to do anything but yelp and- that was HOT. 
"Git on down and shut yer hole and don't ya dare to move! I'll get the butt plug lubed up!"
Stanley was deeply worried about the look of excited madness in Fiddle's eyes as he scrambled through the nightstand; he might end up in the hospital again by the end of the night given this unbridled enthusiasm.
"Pity, my ass..." he mumbled and wondered if a dick could break or if his hips would go first.
The blond man's grin got disturbing when he found what he was looking for. He pushed Stanley into the pillows, bossing him round happily.
"I told ya, don't move! I'll undress us - but the fez* stays on."

(*And that kids is how the clam got its pearl <3)

Lore: The Mystery Hole* had a short, successful and utterly disturbing run & was never mentioned again after it got burned down by Fiddleford- Stanley was too traumatized to go near it.
Fiddle offered him a round on the memory gun; when asked about side effects he could in all honesty say he did not recall any.
The hole did make an absurd amount of money though, solving their money problems - but oh, at what a horrible price...

(*picture glossy pink color slapped thick onto a very particular shaped tree hole)

Chapter Text

From all the money they made, Fiddle & Stanley bought their first couch; one needs to be well rested to work hard!

Chapter Text

Cute first date ideas /  #couplegoalsFiddlestan

Stanley - #hopelessromantic1983

Me in my best suit, we wine and dine, I pay, then I drive us to a secluded spot. We're watching the stars, holding hands; dance to music from the car radio, maybe a little bit of snoozing up in the car- but just to warm you up. A goodnight kiss at the front door when I drop you off; firm handshake with parental figure; you wave me goodbye from your bedroom window.

Fiddle - #RaccoonsfearmeMenfearme

You rail me on the hood of your car, sweat dripping on my back, your belly grinding against my ass, if you pull out too far I squeal aggressively like a mother sow denied more slops. Once we catch our breath again, we drive into town, reeking and glorious sweaty, get a six-pack of beer and throw the empty cans at people giving us weird looks as we laze about in the car & compare dicks. More fucking behind the supermarket's trash cans until they call pest control. Hotdogs for breakfast as we head home.

Chapter Text

"Yer bein' so good to me," Fiddle moaned, his legs still trembling from the orgasm he just had. Stanley grinned and placed a kiss on the tip of his nose, proudly telling him, "Ain't I the best you ever had, hehe."
“Yeah...So, uh... is thar somethin' you're partial to? I'd shore like to return the - uh favor.”
The other man's smile was as fake as the designer bags he sold
“… No. Nothing”
Fiddle got closer, staring him in the eyes until Stanley averted his look. “Haw haw! Ya ain't tellin', huh? Oh, what in tarnation is it? A lil' too spicy, huh? Too spicy fer even me? Oh Lawd, it's gotta be somethin' hehe-  scandalous!” Fiddle cackled, poking him in the ribs. "Tell me! Tell me!! Don't be a mystery, Mister!"
Reluctant Stanley told him, mumbling barely audible, "...fisting."
"What?"
“I like… being… fisted.” The brown-haired man had turned crimson red.

Fiddle's eyes went huge.
"Huh? Hold on now- but- ya raise a fuss when I just slip one little finger in yer backside while I'm givin' ya a blow job!”

Fiddle's mind was racing; how could a guy who did not like to be fucked be into that? He balled his fist, calculated its girth in his head - no way! That was at least 2.4 times as fat as the average dick! 

Stanley laughed nervously, not surprised by the other guy's bewilderment. "I know, but- it's different, buddy. Vastly different."
"Different, hu ... Like, better fer real??"
Stanley thought for a while, and Fiddle noticed his dick was not totally flaccid anymore - he was getting hard from just talking about it?!
"It's- intense. Very intense. You get really lost and give yourself in and if it's good," he made a wide gesture as if to include all of the world, "it's sooooo good. And if it's not good," He screwed up his face, putting his thumb down, "it puts you it off for a loooong time."
Fiddle laughed to hide his confusion, unsure what to do with this information.

"Ya gonna need a heap o' trust fer that one!"
"And lube! Buckets of lube," Stanley cackled, his pupils dark and wide; his dick was half erect again and Fiddle got mad with envy. He had not managed to do anything to leave such an long lasting mark on Stanley!
"An' who was that lucky bastard that taught ya to fancy it?"

Stanley did not notice Fiddle's nasty tone, an absent-minded look on his face.
"Raoul... His name was Raoul, the big boss in prison- damn, his hands were like, huuuuge." The shape his hands formed made Fiddle clench his butt involuntarily. 
"Ya pullin’ my leg!!"
"Nope, my hand looked girlish in his!"
"You were holdin' hands?!"
"Afterwards, sometimes... Ah... was a real gentleman, took his time, knew what he was doing. And when you were Raoul's bitch you got mad respect, 'cause everybody knew what the boss liked and was scared to death to be picked by him next. Hehe, if you lived and walked - you were revered like a little saint. Our good saint of saving ass, hahaha!"

"Well... what if ya didn't wanna do it?", Fiddle asked, sounding squeamish.
"Hahaha, 'want'? Oh Buddy.... Talk about want and prison, ha! Then it would be back to good old  sleep with a wrapped mirror shard in your hand and never, ever take a shower. No, in Raoul's hands you were safe."
Stanley's mad laughter made Fiddle feel uncomfortable, and his causal jokes about being prison raped were too much to handle. 
"An' you... downright despised it, sure?" he asked, hoping to hear a truth he could life with.
Stanley blushed violently, avoiding Fiddle's eyes as he proclaimed, "Ah-- uh, Yes, of course! Anything but would be- aaaaaaaah-"
He whimpered softly - the blond man had grabbed his dick and stroked it forcefully, demanding a honest answer, Well, I reckon ya ain't too keen on havin' a big ol' fist shoved up yer backside?"
"Ahhhh, ahahh... no-no I'm not perveeeeeeeee-!!!"
He was twisting and digging his heels into the mattress, biting his lips.
Fiddle jerked him harder, merciless. 
"AAHHH! YES! YES! FUCK I WANT IT!"
Stanley hollered, his hips coming of the mattress as he to trust into Fiddle's fist.
"Fuck! Buddy, that's not fair!"
"Like yer one t’ talk—yer as hard as a feckn rock just dreamin’ ’bout somebody else’s fist!"
He let go off Stanley's dick, surprised at the intensity of his anger. It was not like he had been cheated on, but he felt as if he had been betrayed and- and- he felt inadequate. Geez! What the hell was wrong with him for feeling jealous of prison rape? Damn that Raoul for ruining the mood long distance!

Stanley lay on his back, panting, laughing at his dick's eagerness - the body really kept the score, hu? Ah... He had not thought about Raoul in a looooong time...
"Wow, I think..I might be going for another round, oh boy, it's still hard? Ah, wanna hop on, buddy? What's the hole saying?"
"No... I'm... tired and need a piss," Fiddle lied and got up, knowing that Stanley wanking next to him would have him fold in seconds.
"That's a first, hu? Well, then it's just me and good old fatty! Giddy up old pal!"

When Fiddle got back, the other man was fast asleep, sprawled out on the bed without a care in the world, a blissful smile on his face. The blond man curled up next to him and watched him sleep, at loss what to do. Those feelings were intense, and painful to him. He was jealous, and scared, and guilty, and horny- just who could help him make sense of this mess?

"Emma-May Dixon, speaking?"
"Howdy Emma, it's me, Fiddleford..."
"Fiddy! It's 4 am - I thought you were a patient calling... Fiddy? ... Did something happen?"
"No.... but..."
The pause stretched out. Emma patiently waiting for her ex-husband to calm his nerves and tell her why he had picked up the phone at this godforsaken hour. From no contact to weekly calls was a nice change, but also quite demanding.

"Emma, say... If somebody, has, erh, experienced, say, something very bad, and, it was not you who did it, but you feel bad for them and- then what do you do?"
Emma blinked slowly, not believing her ears; Fiddleford articulating his feelings and even going out of his way to talk about them? ... Stanley's dick was magical.
"You say you feel sorry for somebody, and want to make them feel better?"
"Yes. But- he- they are being weird, and just laughing it off and pretending it is no big deal... And I feel weird for feeling bad when they don't?"
"Ah, he is in denial."
"Denial? Hu... Yeah, that might be it. And what should I do?"
"... Fiddy, just... let him be. If he wants your help, be there for him. But don't push it onto him. It's not up to you fix this, okay?"
"But I feel bad! I don't want to feel so- useless. I want to help him- erh, them!"
"I know, I know... And that makes you a decent man. But don't go fixing people against their will. It never ends well. Trust my professional stance on this."
"But- but-," Fiddle stammered, his vision blurry with tears, "But- uh, what if I... want to do the same thing to them? And- and that is so wrong, but - he he does not mind but he should and I should not want to but-," he sobbed, his voice breaking, "I feel so bad! I'm evil! What do I do!"

Emma sighed, irritated by her ex-husband's crazy mood swings; from sweet-confused to guilty-horny was something she did not want to deal with before her first coffee.
"Fiddy... I don't know- you two need to talk, okay? I can't solve this for you."
"But- you're a professional therapist! You have to know what to do!"
Bringing up the psychotherapist card now? They were smack back in the reasons why she had divorced him. "You are not my patient- plus you have a long history of not doing what I tell you."
"Oh. Right."
"If I were to tell you what to do-"
"YES?"
She sighed, explaining, "Give it some time. Think about what you need, and ask Stanley what he needs. For god's sake - really, just talk to each other. And listen."
"Emma, I'm not strong enough to bear this. It is just too much."
Emma was quiet on her end, wondering what she was doing, giving her ex relationship advice. She thought about hanging up on him, feeling angry. Wait- was she jealous that Stanley got a 'better' version of Fiddleford? 

She spoke up again, sounding tired, "That's what having feelings is like, dummy. People pay me to help them deal with feelings, even if you mock my job. ... Just- be kind to each other, okay? And... "
"And?"
"Nothing. Take good care of him, okay? Just be patient, talk to each other and it will be okay."
Fiddle sniffled and smiled, his voice full of warmth has he thanked her. "Thank you Emma. You're a friend."
"Take care, Fiddy. Bye."
Emma hang up and groaned, wishing she could have a smoke; this had been brutally exhausting! Feel your feelings and talk to your partner - great advice to give, hard to follow. She had never told Fiddy about the worst thing that had happened to her, feeling too vulnerable to speak up; had it been a mistake to not talk about it? Would it have saved their relationship, given them a better foundation to built upon?

 No... She shook her head and headed to the kitchen to make herself a triple espresso. No, the Fiddy she had been married to would not have been helpful the slightest, not able to empathize or willing to sooth her. He would just have fled and buried himself in a project, leaving her alone and with twice the pain. Damn... yes, she was envious of Stanley! Lucky sexy bastard!

A week later

Fiddle had locked himself up in the lab, forbidding Stanley from checking on him- he said he wanted to work without distractions to make better progress. Days went by without him demanding any sexual acts or taking up offers - Stanley was getting worried, seeing the blond man was getting more cranky everyday and more like his old crazy self. Was he using the memory gun again?

Stanley tried to surveil him when he was upstairs, but all Fiddle was mumbling was "Something big, something big" whenever he eavesdropped on him; now and then he gave him weird looks, occasionally grabbing his hands or wrists and writing numbers into his notebook before hurrying back downstairs.

"Buddy? You okay?"
Fiddle shrieked and threw himself over his notes and papers, yelling at Stanley, "Get outta here! Darn it! I told ya I wanna work in peace! Just git lost!"
Stanley had not meant to startled him, but finding the lab door unlocked and it being way past midnight, he had wanted to check upon him.
"Uh... what are you working on, buddy? This ain't for the portal, is it?"
Fiddle snatched the blueprint he had picked up from his hand, looking guilty. 
"It's - uh- uh- I- uh... a- u"
"Hu? A what?"
Fiddle tugged at his hair, nervously whispering, "-surprise. Fer... ya."
"Oh, oh!"
The look of childish excitement on his face made him seem years younger, and Fiddle wished he had done something good for him to see it earlier; he looked so darn cute when he was happy!
"Hey, I have not gotten a gift in ages- wow! Just- thanks, buddy!"
"Well, I sure hope ya like it once it's all done and ready to run."

Stanley frowned, suddenly back to reality hearing 'ready to run'. 
"But we really need fix the portal first- I'm so exited, but we need to-"
Fiddle snapped at him, "Naw! I gotta wrap this up first! If I don’t git this outta my head, I'm aimin' to go nuts!"
"Woha, buddy, you really need to relax-"
"HECK NO!! Every night I dream 'bout you bein' handled by some fella and I'm-" 
Fiddle hastily covered up his mouth, shocked that he had blurted out the truth.

Stanley stared a him; then he slowly reached for the blueprint, turning it upside down, asking, "Is that... for fisting me?"
"Yeah..." Fiddle admitted meekly, staring at his shoes, deeply ashamed at being caught. His invention had looked so good on paper- his own hands were long and thin, and even balled into fists they did not add up to much. But this would solve his shortcomings- or so he had thought.

He jumped when the other man started laughing hard.
"Buddy, hahaha, you are... oh, you're really something!!"
"Y'ain't mad?"
"Mad? Hahah, no, why, this looks like fun! And kinda weird!  Just how big is that thing? Seems- impressive. Can I see the toy? I'm so curious!"
Fiddle hemmed and hawed, "It's not a toy... it's a - a - gauntlet."
Stanley gasped, even more excited.
"REALLY?! Since when are into fisting too?"
Stanley's bright happy enthusiasm made it impossible for Fiddle to admit the truth, so he lied, "Well, I reckon I thought 'bout it a spell, and I sorta like it... too.."
"Oh boy oh boy oh boy- when will it be finished? I can't wait to try it! It will be so great!"
Fiddle went pale and wished he had worked on the portal instead of following his horniness down the rabbit hole of fisting. He had gotten himself into trouble, deep disturbing trouble.

a few days later 

Stanley was glad the gauntlet was finished only the day after his birthday, feeling it would be most inappropriate to get railed on this special day. He had long ago sworn he would celebrate his birthday only with Stanford again; since Fiddle did not seem to know it had been Stanford and his birthday either, he had only one reason to feel guilty for. Well, he should have insisted harder they saved Ford first, but... some things could not be helped.

"Oh. Yer... decorated."
Fiddle stood in the bedroom door, clutching the bundle he was carrying, his eyes going huge at the sight in front on him. 

Stanley had gone the full distance, lighting candles, spreading a tarpaulin beneath the sheets, putting towels, gloves and cleaning agents within reach, plus a bottle of wine and plastic cups. And he had prepared... oh, he had fully prepared himself. Fiddle felt silly standing there in his underpants, his dick bulging, panting, his mouthing hanging open as he stared at Stanley. He sat happily on the bed, resting against a heap of pillows with his legs spread wide open. Open. So... wide open... 
"Like what you see?"
The blond man nodded and stumbled towards the bed, fumbling awkwardly as he stripped off his underwear and put on the gauntlet. He knelt on the mattress, shaking as he stared at the glistering, slightly gaping hole in front on him - Stanley had already done the work on himself. So lovely, so inviting! His dick was twitching eagerly.

Stanley teased him, "So... do I get my gift now?"
"Uh - yes, I- uh," Fiddle stammered, holding his right hand up in front of him, pushing a button on the remote he had brought with him, activating the gadget.
Stanley shouted, "Buddy, what is this monster?" as he took his gloved hand into both of his, feeling powerful vibrations.
"Erh, uh- this is the F.PowerGauntlet prototype - it can massage, rotate, vibrate, heat, check for cancer. The girth can be adjusted by in- or deflating it. It would sell really well if mass-produced I'd say. Of course I will not ever sell the patent- but- it is an amazing invention if I dare say so myself," Fiddle had slipped into his 'ordinary employee mode' and ended his little promotion on a proud note, his anxiety fading as he focused on the technical aspects. 

Stanley put the gauntlet against the side of his face, sucking on its thumb, a dreamy look on his flushed face.
"It is so big... hmmmm... I love it...."

Fiddle moaned despite not feeling anything through the thick fabric, his dick throbbing painfully. He had to improve the inner linings of the glove so it transmitted sensations- what a waste otherwise! He shuddered and tried to keep himself from cumming by thinking about something unappealing- but when Stanley sighed deeply, and snuggled against the gauntlet - that was too much for him to handle.
"Ahhhhh... feck it!"
"Hehe, you came?" The brown-haired man grinned, stroking his spurting dick, teasing him, "You're really into this stuff, buddy! You're one fine pervert, join the club!"
"Uh... I...," Fiddle stammered but gave up defending himself- yes, he was a pervert, and he was going to do the pervert thing- now!

"Sooo, how we are' to get 'er done?" He stammered nervously, losing his bravado at the thought of actually using his invention on Stanley. He had gotten a high from seeing him fawning over his invention, but now he felt rather terrified.
"All in and up - and the safe word is 'taxes'," Stanley informed him with a huge grin, cackling, "The one thing I would not do even for love."
"Ya reckon ya shore 'bout that? I'm only meant ta quit when ya holler 'taxes'?"
The brown-haired man nodded, giddy with excitement. "Yes- begging does not count."
"Uh, all right-"
"And calling for mommy does not count either."
Fiddle was getting worried - just what had he gotten himself into? 

Stanley took his hand and rested it on his belly, positioning it up higher and higher, smearing a trail of lube on it.
"Uhm, whatcha doin' now, Stanley-"
"Hm, just- imagining..."
He moved Fiddle's hand up higher, giggling excited, red as a beet.
"Naw, hold on a sec, y'ain't messin' with me, are ya? That how far I oughta go??! No way!!"
"All the way up buddy… there’s some virgin territory to claim!" Stanley confirmed his fears; his laughter was manic, and the look in his eyes had the quality of a raptor eyeing his prey. 
 "Lube it up and give it to me. All. The. Way. UP." 
 Fiddle was about to panic, but when Stanley positioned himself, spreading his wet asshole wide with both hands, his courage shoot up again like the blood in his dick.
"All yours for the taking buddy.... All yours, all the way..."

Fiddle balled his hand into a fist, and positioned it against the hole; he squinted his eyes and reached for the remote, adjusting the size. Stanley raised an eyebrow at the gentle sound of it deflating a bit, but did not protest. Better play it safe for their first time.
"Hmmm... yes... Good, go... in..."
The blond man was sweating profoundly as he slowly pushed his fist into Stanley's ass, getting dizzy from switching from checking the man's face to his hole constantly. The slurping sound as he slid into the anal passage and past the sphincter made them both shudder, his fist slowly working its way inside and up.
"Shall I go- slower?"
Stanley sighed annoyed, opening his eyes, declaring, "Did I say taxes?"
"No."
"It feels good, just... keep it up buddy, you are good- goodgoodgod!!"
Fiddle had turned his fist so the padded, heated knuckles were brushing against the prostate as he slid in farther; seeing Stanley reach behind him and grab the bed rails, moaning deeply, he knew had struck gold.

"I'm so full ... so full... ahhh," Stanley was whining softly, his legs shacking. The look on his face was the most erotic Fiddle had ever seen on him - soft, vulnerable, deeply aroused and - content. He wished he could take a picture and print it larger than life, hanging above the bed. What a gorgeous sight!
When he finally was in as far as he dared too, he gently withdrew a bit and trusted upwards again, getting a loud holler from Stanley.

Encouraged, Fiddle tried it again, startled by the other man suddenly speaking Spanish, "Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos, santificado sea tu Nombreeeeee---  venga tu reino- AHHAHH!! AHHHH!! Cielos, por favor, no me abandonen!!! HARDER!! POR FAVOR!!"
Fiddle knew some Spanish from talking with the cleaning lady they had had in Palo Alto, but not enough to make sense his ramblings. 
"Sí, he sido un niño travieso, señor- ahahhhh buddy, please- Sí! Sí- Estoy muy agradecido!!"
Stanley's body was taut, the veins on his neck pulsating visibly, his knuckles white. Fiddle was getting scared at the intensity of the experience, worry he was driving him insane or hurting him.
"P-por favor, castígame- Cum !! let me cuuummm- pleaaaaase!! Please!!"

The other man was begging and sobbing, but Fiddle did not know what to do- he was trusting has hard as he dared, and was in as far he could without calling the paramedics- what else did Stanley need?!
"¿Soy un buen chico?"
"What? I'm not-"
"Ahh- ah- am I a good boy?" Stanley cried, tears steaming down his desperate face.
"Yep, you’re a real good boy! The best there ever was!!" Fiddle yelled at him, shaking in terror.
"AYYYYYYY!!!" 
Stanley came hard, right into his face, making grunting and mooing noises Fiddle had formerly associated with farm animals only; coming from the other man's mouth they were disturbingly erotic. He had really lost his reason and gone all animalistic. 

His eyes had rolled back so far he could only see the whites of it. 
"Stanley? Are yer- there?"
The blond man was unable to move, frozen in fear as he watched Stanley slowly release the tension in his body, shuddering, his breathing shallow. 
"Muchas gracias, mooooochas... graaa.."
"Are- are you- alright?" Fiddle stammered, resting his left hand against his chest, feeling his heart beat violently. He tried to removed his right hand from his ass, but found that harder than going in had been - it was if he had sucked him in!
"aaahh!! No- wait-"
"I- please- can you-"
"Haaaaa...."
Stanley suddenly went limp and sank into the pillows, a helpless puddle of snot, tears, goo and other fluids, his eyes blank. Fiddle was finally able to removed his hand, unnerved by the sound it made coming free. 
"Stanley!! Oh lawdy! What in the world’s wrong with ya - please, goodness, no!-"
Fiddle shook the other man after he had discarded the gauntlet, deeply afraid he had broken him.

Stanley's eyes fluttered open, a dazed look on his face as he babbled incoherently, "Fi- Bu- Fuddy? hahah - No... Fu? Fiddle? Hey -cough- why are you crying?"
He was surprised to find Fiddle crying violently next to him, his face covered in cum and snot and tears, lamenting, "Hick- But- yer never said taxes- I -hick I got carried away- don't blame me- I'm so sorry- I know I went to far-hick-"
After trying to sit up and finding his body was NOT taking orders in that direction anytime soon, Stanley grabbed Fiddle and pulled him down into a tight bear hug, crushing him against his chest. 
"Shhhhhh, hey, it's okay- ssssh.... Sorry for scaring you! I'm fine! Sorry for scaring you!"
But Fiddle was inconsolable, crying, "I'm sorry-I done broke ya- hic-"
"Broke? Nah! Fuddy buddy… I never felt… hm," Stanley paused, trying to put his experience into words, shivering with please upon recalling the bliss, "- so fixed. Thanks. I needed that."
"Oh. OH. Fer real?" Fiddle stopped crying and looked at him with huge eyes, sniffling.

Stanley tried to wipe his face clean and kissed him on the forehead.
"Sorry for asking for too much. I should have stopped halfway. This was too much for starting out- I'm sorry. I'm an ass."
"Naw, I- I wanted to... be better, ya know? That fella made me jealous; I- I want ya to think of me and get all hot and down - for me! I wanna be the best ya ever had! I’m the one bein' the ass here!"
Stanley bit his lip, trying to not laugh at the grown-ass guy bitching and pouting in his arms. 
"We are both asses, hu? So yes, you by far are the best fuck I ever had," he told him and kissed him, adding, "and the craziest by a mile."
"Says the fella who's hollerin' in Spanish with his hand up his rear! What are ya, a muppet?!"
"Heheh, oh that-" Stanley suddenly grimaced and reached for a towel, cursing, "Ah juck, I forgot about that part... I hate that feeling-  just like Colombian nights."
"Colombian nights?"
Stanley put another towel between his legs, shuddering.
"Ah- that's after you've been gang-banged and all the cum starts leaking from your gaping hole- that's Colombian nights. Gross! Hate it!"
Fiddle groaned, covering his ears.
"Stanley! Ya can’t just—ya surely shouldn’t joke 'bout this kinda stuff! That were  awful what happened to ya!"

The other man looked at him confused, scratching his head, wondering, "Why the heck are you bothered? It happened to me, not you. Besides, if I can't crack a joke about shit, might as well kill myself, haha. I mean - what else can you do?"
"Now, ya can talk 'bout it! To me, ya hear?" Fiddle propped himself up, telling Stanley earnestly, "Ya- we both need to talk 'bout our feelins'! Else we gonna go crazy."
"We are both crazy, so that's coming a few years too late." Stanley laughed at his joke, but asked him earnestly, "So no more memory gunning?"
"No, I promise I bust up them cursed guns I made." Fiddle sighed, admitting, "Emma was right, talking is... important."

Stanley looked at him unhappy, frowning as he asked, "Fuddy... Do we really want to talk about stuff? We are both a mess... Might ruin us."
Fiddle laughed, glad to hear they were an 'us', and gave him a quick kiss. "Maybe- but we can fix what's broke if we know it ain't workin'? But if I don't know which communication cable connects the heater control module to the generator cooling circuit I don't know how react when the fuse blows, ya see."
Stanley blinked, the analogy not really clicking with him. "So- I cut down the jokes a bit, and we talk when feelings happen. So far, so good?"
"Well, that sounds about as good as a pig in mud to me."
Stanley snorted and wrapped his arms round Fiddle, telling him affectionately, "You're a nut, Fuddy."

Stanley had almost fallen asleep when Fiddle started to giggle hysterically.
"Fuddy? What's so funny?"
"Well shoot, I just figgered—how in tarnation am I s'posed to tell Stanford he had to stick 'round a week longer in the devil's playground 'cause I was mad about get a fist up yer asshole!"
Stanley chortled. "Tell him it was necessary to get it done before - I don't think you'd dare to fist me if Stanford was back."
"True."  
Both giggled a bit, then went quiet for some time, before Fiddle started, "Actually-"
Stanley agreed in an instant, knowing what he was about to say.
"Yeah.... Fuck, fisting would be even better if we had to hide from Stanford!*"
"SO much better! Bahaha! Oh lawd, he would be so pissed!"
"Might even kill us!"
"Bahhahah!!!"
They started hollering, holding onto each other, gasping for air.
"We are depraved beyond saving!"
"Yeah, good thing there is two of us!"

 *Wanting to get Stanford back for the wrong reasons, #634

**After this incident Bill would not play pokey-eye with this dimension anymore, deeply worried what these guys would do to his eye socket if they could reach him

BONUS!

This lovely dumb meme started of the idea for this brick of a chapter- still love it so much!! 🫡❤️

Chapter Text

Stanley threw his old parka out; Fiddle 'saved' it, loving the smell ❤️💕❤️

#boyfriendjacket

Chapter Text

"Don't wash- I love your stan-k, hehehe!!"
Stanley froze, feeling Fiddle's nose slide into his armpit; hearing him snuffle made the experience shot right into his top 10 of worst things to ever happen to him, and he had been through A LOT.

"FUCK OFF FUDDY!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!!"

He spent the evening showering, feeling numb, emptying a whole bottle of shampoo and body wash each.
"I will never feel clean again!" he cried, scrubbing harder as the memory of Fiddle nose-fucking him rose up again.

(Having spend years without access to showers and smelling like a rotten dumpster on a hot day in Arizona, Stanley had thought he was now safe, being able to shower daily; Fiddle's 'compliment' re-traumatized him in an instant)