I'm a bit late, but I wrote this for December 15th of the Fiddlestan Holiday Bonanza.
"Last call," the bartender said, annoyed grunts and groans echoing around Stan as he continued to nurse his last shot of whiskey. It was cowardly to sit in a bar for a few hours and lick his wounds but everything Ford said was true. It numbed him more effectively then the cold chill did. He downed the glass in one gulp and left as unnoticed as he came in, the bartender too busy fighting with the regulars over their tabs to notice the guy in the corner didn't leave a cent for his few shots.
He fluffed his jacket and pulled his hood up as the December wind hit him, the alcohol running through his blood not enough to kill off the cold. Reaching his parked car, he instantly noticed an unexpected, but never unwanted, surprise. Wrapped in so many layers of sweaters, jackets, and scarves, he looked more like a sentient rag pile than a human, but it was unmistakably Fiddleford leaning against the hood of his car.
"Oh Stanley, I've been looking all over for you!" he called, enclosing Stan in a blanket of warmth as he somehow managed to maneuver his arms around his neck.
"I know its cold Fidds, but isn't this excessive? How do ya move in all this?" Stan picked at his top layer and felt that stern frown before he saw it.
"That's not the point!" he hissed before really taking in Stan's rugged appearance, which softened into concern, resting both gloved hands on Stan's cheeks. "I was so worried. Ford said those awful things and you disappeared into this horrible weather by yourself..."
"Do ya wanna get in the car to warm up? Yer shakin' Fidds," he whispered, pulling him closer, feeling the quakes even through the layers.
"Yeah," he said with a relieved smile. He snatched the keys out of Stan's jacket pocket before he had time to object. "I'm driving though."
Stan shrugged in defeat, too tired to argue with him as he slid into the passenger side. If he was more sober, he may have regretted this decision as they pulled out onto the empty streets. He never took his cautious, timid Fiddleford for such a speed demon.
Stan rested his head on Fiddleford's lap in the back seat of the car, parked outside a motel they were both too warm and content to get out and acquire a room for. Fiddleford only had one sweater left on after the heater had drowned down the cold enough for him to shed off most of his layers. Stan gazed into those blue eyes as Fidds continued to rake his spindly fingers gently through Stan's hair, humming something under his breath. This beat returning to the cabin in the woods and dealing with whatever had come over Ford any day. Stan hoped that if they stayed gone long enough whatever Stan had done to set Ford off like that would blow over before the first day of Hanukah. He could only hope.
"Hey, Fidds," he said, finally breaking the silence, wanting to take his thoughts far away from Ford.
"Yeah, Darlin'?" he said, not stopping the soothing strokes of his fingers.
"You didn't actually walk all the way to town, did ya?"
"I didn't have to," he shrugged, smiling down at Stan, who couldn't help smiling back. "I ran into Dan, who stole his pa's truck again. I told him if he helped me find ya, I wouldn't tell his dad and he wouldn't have to go back up north without any of his friends this summer."
"You didn't," he laughed, imagining this ninety pound nerd blackmailing sixteen-year-old Dan Corduroy, who could break him like the toothpick he was with his pinky.
"I did, and his usual macho demeanor turned into simpering stutters at the very thought of not being able to spend summer with his new sweetheart."
"You have no idea how in love with you I am right now," he laughed, leaning up to capture a quick kiss, which soon turned into a trail of kisses down his giraffe-like neck. He sunk his teeth in playfully and sucked on it, making his lips tingle from the giggles that erupted from Fiddleford.
"Oh! I darn near forgot!" Fidds shoved Stan off him as he leaned forward into the front seat and dug in the mound of jackets until he found something buried in one of them. He slumped back next to him with a parcel that near blinded him as the gold wrapping paper reflected the street light from outside the window directly in his eyes.
"I know it's a few days before the first day of Hanukah, but I don't think it's hurting anything giving you your gift early."
Stan stared at it for a second before accepting it, smiling at Fiddleford's anxious expression. He watched from the corner of his eye as Fidds wrung his hands nervously as he delicately unwrapped the gift.
He raised his eyebrow in confusion and shot a smug smile to Fidds's dorky smile and the red creeping into his cheeks that wasn't caused by the cold.
"It's a cook book," he said trying not to laugh at the weird choice in gift since he didn't usually do the cooking in the house.
"A Jewish cook book," Fidds said matter-of-factly, his face continuing to flush. "While I was in the library researching the holiday, the librarian, who also happens to be Jewish, told me it was more sensible to give Jewish cook books and candles during the eight days. He made it clear to me that Hanukah wasn't just the Jewish version of Christmas. I was gonna get ya a VCR and a new VHS tape each day but I didn't want to be insensitive..."
Stan didn't know whether to laugh at the cute way Fidds continued to flush and his fingers continued to twitch as he became more self-conscious about his gift or to be cross at the nosy librarian who gypped him out of a VHS player.
"You don't like it?" he asked, a near heartbroken expression settling on his features.
He wrapped his arm firmly around Fidds, pulling him into a tight embrace as he laughed.
"Nah, its fine, we'll find something to use it for," he shrugged, then began pushing Fidds against the seat, kissing his neck once more.
"But I think my early gift will be better."
If you enjoyed this, thank the lovely Llama Nee-sama for making it readable.