Just as predicted by the news station, the worst blizzard of the year had hit, trapping the three young men in the research cabin for who knew how long. That was fine with Stanley, living with Stanford meant they were always prepared for the worst; there were enough rations stocked in the lab to keep them alive for a few centuries in the least.
So let it snow, he decided, pouring another glass of coffee and settling down at the kitchen table, listening contently to the Christmas music flowing in from upstairs as Fidds put the finishing touches to his decorating. It was barely a week into December and Fiddleford had already turned the parlor into a holiday kitsch shop. Worn stockings that held battle scars from the gnome attack last year hung over the fire place. The idea of snuggling next to his boyfriend by the hearth enjoying his decorations had seemed like a pleasant idea the year before, but the army of nutcrackers surrounding the fireplace with their dead-eyed expressions made the experience anything but pleasant. The old, tattered-up fake pine tree had already been assembled for what would be likely the last year it was used, every inch of it piled with decorations, looking ready to topple over at the lightest touch. Stan had suggested to simply cut a tree down but Fiddleford objected, his reasoning being something about almost ending up in front an owl judge for property damage the first year he and Ford had tried that.
The menorah was the only holiday item Ford allowed to sit in the main level of the faculty, set by the window ready to be lit again tonight. It went fairly unnoticed compared to the cluster of science whatchamacallits and abnormal something-or-others the nerds assembled in large clumps around every corner of the cabin, but it never went unnoticed to him. It always sent a wave of carefree nostalgia over him that made him remember how joyous this time of year used to be for him and how it once more was.
He snapped from his reminiscing of Hanukahs of old that didn't feel as tainted in negativity this year as he heard the familiar light crunch of the floor board. He quirked his eyebrow in silent question and took a long slow sip of his coffee as he took in the hideous new sweater his boyfriend was wearing.
It was a bright green that was hard to miss with a giant Santa Claus head embroidered in the middle whose smile looked more menacing than jolly, but in Fiddleford's rush to complete it before the holiday season, he likely didn't notice.
"Eh, Fidds, I don't mean to be rude, but your sweater is terrifying," he said as bluntly as usual. Subtly and him usually didn't gel well, but judging by the coy smile forming on Fidds' lips, he didn't seem to mind his lack of it.
"Well the best part about ugly wrapping paper is ripping it off quickly ta get to the good stuff underneath," he purred, leaning against the entrance way trying to be seductive. The thing about Fiddleford was no matter how much Stan loved him, him and seductive were like oil and water, they didn't mix well. Everything about his pose screamed "lab dork" and not quite the sexy kind from bad porn. He was too awkward to pull that off, but he was cute in his own weird sort of way.
"Where did you pull that lame pick up line from?" he scoffed, taking another long drink from his coffee, effectively pulling off the cool aloof demeanor that he knew turned Fidds on.
"Cosmo's 'Ten Ways to Please Your Man'," he said with a smile. "It was a few years old but it was the only thing ta read waitin' fer the dentist last week. It didn't turn ya on at least a little?"
"You made the ugliest Santa sweater just to try out a cheesy pick up line?" He about choked on his coffee that time trying to hold back his laughter.
"Well, I am a scientist, all apart of research and whatnot," he smiled, joining Stan at the table with his own cup of coffee loaded down with enough sugar and creamer to send him back to the dentist in another week.
"You and Ford definitely spend too much time together," he deadpanned with a sigh, reaching over to peck him on the lips, but Fiddleford leaned back and smiled mischievously at him.
"How about we try another experiment?" Stan rolled his eyes and sat back with a huff, but nodded to indicate he was listening.
"To test how much you want your kiss, find me under the mistletoe," he chuckled, leaving Stan alone at the table.
Stan didn't have to look hard to find Fiddleford. He had set up the mistletoe between the front entrance and the secret lab access. The candles from the menorah cast a surreal glow over him, his bright smile flashing towards him as he caught sight of him and his eyes flicking up to the mistletoe. Stan paused where he was for a few moments, wanting to capture it all. This was the perfect blend of their holidays. A kiss every time he went to light the sacred candles, knowing his brother couldn't clear his throat in annoyance tonight; kissing under the mistletoe is as traditional as the botched Hebrew Fidds called prayers. No matter what Fiddleford had gotten him for tonight, this was as perfect a gift as he could get.
The vending machine cracked open, evaporating their tender moment, and Stan sent the sourest glower he could muster his brother's way as he proceeded to saunter from the entryway in an almost drunken manner. Something about the way Ford smiled, the kind of smile only an axe-wielding psychopath would have before he took the final blow to what remained of his victim, and the way his eyes almost glowed in the dim lighting made Stan feel uneasy. The nervous glances Fidds kept sending his way told him he felt the same.
"Good morning Fiddlesticks!" he called to Fidds, ignoring Stan's presence.
"Um...hello Stanford," Fidds said, trying and failing to produce a genuine smile, glancing back over to Stan, who could only shrug to his brother's strange behavior.
"I've been in the lab all morning waiting for you to show up!" he said, each step he took closer to his boyfriend making him tense up more, trying to reason with himself there was no real reason Ford would harm Fidds.
"There's so much I can't accomplish without your assistance!" He was directly in front of Fiddleford now. He latched his hand onto Fidds' wrist in a way that prompted a startled gasp to emerge from his lips. Stan clenched his fists to subdue the anger he felt in that instant.
"Time's-" whatever he was about to say was lost as he glanced up to the mistletoe hanging above them and then, for the first time, flicked those unnatural eyes (that must have been a side effect of whatever he had been working on, Stan tried to reason) his way.
"Hey, isn't it tradition to kiss under this stuff?" he asked innocently enough, but that wide sadistic smile he briefly flashed towards Stan before searing it into Fiddleford made Stan's blood boil.
"Y-yeah. It is-"
Fidds couldn't even finish his sentence before Ford forcefully grabbed onto the back of his head and brutally slammed their lips together. Fiddleford squeaked in protest, trying feebly to squirm away from the intrusion as Ford's tongue slipped into his lips and he deepened the kiss, six fingers entangled tightly in his hair, making it impossible for Fiddleford to pull away from the suffocating invasion. Drool began sliding down the side of Fidds' mouth as failed objections barely formed over the inexperienced way Ford's tongue explored every inch of his mouth. Ford dipped him slightly to keep furthering the kiss, tears running down Fidds' now closed eyes and his shaking hands weakly pushing at Ford trying to break the "kiss".
Stan, overcoming his temporary shock at the display, tore his brother away from Fiddleford in disgust.
He held a firm grip on each side of Ford's lab coat, fighting the urge to beat his brother as he continued to smile as if he really didn't understand the severity of his action.
"What? It was just a kiss! Don't tell me you're jealous, Stanley!" He tightened his hold threateningly at the smugness in his tone. He only dropped his fist, poised to punch the smarmy look from his brother's face, when he heard the hitched sobs from behind them.
He dropped his brother and bent down to comfort Fiddleford, who had fallen on the floor. The warm playfulness that had been radiating off him a few minutes prior had simmered and died, like it hadn't been there at all. Tears streamed down his face as he choked and gagged on the sobs enclosed behind his hands over his mouth, guarding it from any more unwanted intrusions. Stan pulled him close to comfort him, but he couldn't tell how well he was doing since it seemed Fidds was in shock. His body was stiff as a board and his eyes had glossed over.
"Well if this thing upsets you two so much, maybe I should just get rid of it." Ford had a disturbingly casual tone as he shrugged and plucked the mistletoe from the ceiling.
Stan wished he would just leave before he did something he regretted later, but he didn't. He stood there inspecting the mistletoe for a few seconds as if it were some foreign object, scratching his chin as he examined it, almost seeming like his old self for a second. That is until that smile widened across his face and he tossed it with more force then necessary onto the ground. He slammed his foot onto it and ground it under his shoe with the enthusiasm of a small child squishing a bug. All that remained of the mistletoe was a mess spattered on the floor when he was done. It seemed perversely fitting. In mere seconds whatever force had come over his brother to act this way had done the same to the once carefree holiday, tainting what could have been a precious memory to look back upon.
"There! The thing that was upsetting you guys so much is gone!" he laughed, a high, ear-bleedingly screechy sound that made Fidds press closer to Stan, his body unstiffening and becoming quivering jelly in Stan's arms as he silently cried into his chest.
"You know, I'm in a good mood now! Why don't you take the rest of the day off Fiddlesticks? We can wait a few days to get back to work on the big project!" he shrugged, laughing, the horrid noise echoing as he turned back to the vending machine.
"I've waited this long, so no real harm done!" he called over his shoulder before disappearing down the stairway, slamming the entrance closed behind him.
Leaving them to pick up the broken pieces in the desolate silence.
Um...Merry Christmas?
You can thank or blame if you want to kill me after this the lovely Llama Nee-sama for making it readable. She also gave me this idea, so go hurt her if you want to hurt someone for this piece.