#fiddlestanwich

There was nothing that Fiddleford hated more than a short-notice pseudo-rut. It was only by the grace of God that he was able to make it to the cabin before it hit him proper. Times like these make Fiddleford miss his wife something fierce– wanting nothing more than to fall into her sweet embrace, but with a tired sigh, he resigns himself to a lonely few days locked in his room. 

“Mmm!” 

Fiddleford’s ears perk up at the muffled sound, his body instinctively leading him to its source– the living room. 

He’s greeted with the startling sight of Stanley, face down ass up on the couch, and Ford with a hand on the younger twins’ nape, pistoning away without a care, despite the new presence witnessing the scene. 

Stan’s face is turned facing the room so Fiddleford can see the man’s expression clear as day– tears stream down ruddy cheeks and drool leaks from the corner of his mouth, said mouth open wide as strained breaths leave his chest heaving. The poor thing looks exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open despite Ford’s frantic thrusting, forcing Stan’s body to shift violently with each movement. Ford is grunting loud enough to drown out the sound of Stan’s gravely whimpers. The older twin’s face is twisted in what could be considered a snarl, leaning forward and huffing as he nuzzles into the side of Stan’s neck. 

It doesn’t take but a single sniff to smell the scent of rut over the suffocating stench of sex. 

Fiddleford can’t help his startled gasp at the scene, and Ford’s face is flushed as he straightens to look up at Fiddleford, eyes wild and pleased, not even slowing a fraction as he makes eye contact with Fiddleford and flashes the engineer a small smile. 

“Oh! Welcome back, Fiddleford.” The omega–omega because that’s apparently what Stanley was– under the scientist whines loudly, voice cracking as Ford continues his brutal pounding, and Stanford rumbles as he leans back over the other man, pushing Stan further into the couch cushions with his weight. 

“Sweet Jesus!” Fiddleford exclaims, unable to wrap his head around how the alpha before him could have such a blasé attitude, considering the situation at hand. Fiddelford’s hands fly to his eyes, but he stands frozen, his body not getting the hint that he should be halfway to Timbucktoo by now. Sweet Lord Almighty, he needed to be out of here yesterday! This is– it’s obscene! He most certainly should not be getting hotter and hotter as he peeks through the gaps of his fingers. Ford is speeding up, his thrusts becoming sloppy, and Stanley keens as Ford’s grip visibly tightens around his twins’ nape. 

Ford chances a glance in Fiddleford’s direction, and gives a short breathless chuckle at the beta’s mortified expression, causing the lanky man to flush even more, “Just a moment, F, I’ll–I’ll be done soon.” 

And the alpha seems to mean just that, as he removes his hand from Stan’s nape and uses both arms to wrap around Stan’s middle and pull the large man back onto his burgeoning knot. Stanley’s cry is drowned out by Stanford's thundering growl, the sound sending goosebumps crawling across Fiddleford’s skin. 

Both men are left panting, and Ford nudges his way into the side of Stan’s neck again, this time leaving small kisses and nips, and this more than anything convinces Fiddeleford he has to go. Not only is the engineer embarrassingly hard, he also can’t help the hot flash of anger he feels toward Ford as the beta’s pseudo-rut hisses in his mind that he should be the one Stanley is squirming under, the omega he should be, protecting, taking, breeding–

The rustle of movement breaks Fiddleford from his train of thought. Ford manhandles his brother on his lap, having them sit upright while connected by the alpha’s knot. 

“You–I!” Fiddleford stammers unhelpfully as he gets a full view of Stanley from the front, his naked body entirely too enticing on full display. 

Fiddleford stumbles his way to the ottoman, quickly grabbing a blanket and throwing it at the pair, if only to keep the remaining vestiges of his sanity. Ford takes it with a nod, adjusting his brother on his lap and covering their indecency with the patchwork blanket haphazardly.  

Stanford looks entirely too unbothered, and Fiddleford’s brain feels like it’s been turned to mush as he tries to understand why in God’s name the alpha is so calm. 

Fiddleford clears his throat and forces himself to double down. He hadn’t run (an impressive feat for him, but he thinks that may have been the right thing to do–lord, he doesn't know!) and he needs answers. 

“Erm,” Fiddelford starts, his voice wavering, and Ford raises an eyebrow, prompting the taller man to continue, “I had no idea y’all were mates.” He finishes awkwardly, wringing his hands together nervously.

Stanford hums casually, “Oh, we’re not.” 

Fiddleford startles slightly. He huffs disbelievingly, never having taken Ford for one to have casual sex, especially not with someone he’s as close to as Stan. “You’re not?” Fiddleford blurts, and he expects some kind of snappish response, but the alpha just tilts his head confusedly. 

“He’s a household. Don’t you know?” Ford's voice carries a curious lilt, and the statement sends Fiddleford reeling. 

A household. Where are those even legal anymore? Fiddleford’s brain stutters to a halt, digesting the implications of his friend’s confession. Household omegas were rarely ethical, and the states had been slowly cracking down on homes that continued with the practice. Most homes that had a household often groomed the omega from childhood, their jobs solely to provide relief to the alpha and beta members of the home in times of rut. Too Fiddleford, who had grown up with traditional values, it’s no secret to him that most omegas do enjoy the life of a housewife/husband, but to subject a single omega to a house full of alphas and betas seems a bit– well, barbaric. But Fiddleford also knows that sometimes that’s just how things have to happen, when there are no other omegas in the house and no one to help the other members of the home. It’s a delicate, touchy subject, a household.

“Has he not been tending to you as well?” Ford questions, his expression shuttering when he sees Fiddleford’s look of confusion. He looks his nose down at Stanley disapprovingly. Stan, who had been silent and still up until this point, cringes, and Fiddleford learns why as Stanford cuffs the omega on the ear quickly. Stan yelps and curls in on himself a bit, eyes trained on the floor resolutely. 

“Stanley.” Ford hisses sharply, and Fiddleford starles as the man goes to cuff his twin again.

“Stanford!” Fiddleford exclaims aghast, and Ford stops before striking his brother again. 

“He knows what’s expected of him, Fiddleford.” Stanford’s voice is firm, and Fiddleford forces himself to take a breath. “Give the poor feller a break, I haven’t even had a rut fer him to help me with since he’s been with us.” Fiddleford appeals, and the fellow scientist's expression smooths out. 

“I coulda told ya that…” Stan mumbles, a hand cupping his stricken ear. Fiddleford winces in sympathy, and he can see Ford’s expression turn apologetic. 

“Ah. I apologize, Stanley, that was presumptuous of me.”  The apology is stilted, and Fiddleford can see his lab partner’s physical effort to get the words out, even as they are laced with genuine regret.

Stanley brightens a bit at the apology, but he slumps a second later. The man is obviously exhausted, “Ss’fine, Six,” Stan slurs, and he whines quietly when Ford rocks forward in an attempt to get more comfortable. Stan's eyes flutter as he struggles to stay conscious, and Ford shushes the omega quietly, carding a gentle hand through the long brown mullet, scritching lightly. Stanley slumps further into Stanford’s hold, turning his face to lie across the older twin's chest and shoulder. It’s barely a second before Fiddleford hears the telltale sounds of soft snoring and knows that Stanley has passed out. 

Fiddleford feels another flash of empathy; he knows how often alphas just go when in a rut. It must’ve been especially rough for him, seeing as Fiddleford can’t smell heat in the air to complement Ford’s overwhelming rut scent. Ford must catch Fiddleford’s conflicted expression as he clears his throat. 

“F, I know it must seem…unusual, but rest assured, Stanley is perfectly content being a household,” Stanford says, voice gruff but softer than before, so as not to wake Stan. 

Fiddleford hums at the words, not fully convinced but also…well, Fiddleford had never claimed to be a saint, and the idea of having a household here–it’s. Well. It’s more appealing than it probably should be. Fiddleford blames his pseudo-rut-addled mind for conjuring images of a Stanley debatched by his hand, always there to aid him, practically made for it, and if Stan had been a household since he presented, really, what’s the harm? It’s what Stanley knows, and it’s not Fiddleford’s place to judge the Pines for how they run their home. 

Fiddleford tries to rid himself of the images his mind continues to throw his way, biting his lip before remembering he needs to respond to Stanford. “Ah, I got nothin’ against households, not really. Just never came ‘cross one myself.” Fiddleford replies, voice matching Stanford's volume. 

Stanford nods, and Fiddleford feels himself relax. He reckons that he might’ve felt more ashamed if he had walked in on mates, but a household is shared with everyone in the home, so it’s commonplace for everyone to see other members of the household with the omega. 

“Well, I’m sure Stanley will inform you when he wakes up, but you’re free to let him know if you need help during your puedo-ruts; he’d be more than happy to, I’m sure,” Stanford says, all too casually. 

Despite all that Fiddleford had just witnessed, he finds himself flushing crimson at the implication. 

…

Fiddleford’s pseudo-rut hits him well and truly the next day. He finds himself prowling the cabin, frustrated to all hell. Hot and sweating and all the more irritated with the scent of another alpha’s rut so close, permeating the air throughout his den. The anger sours his scent, but he forces himself to take a few breaths to calm himself. The other alpha is Ford; he’s pack, not a threat. 

When Fiddleford catches the scent of Stanley–of omega, he can’t stop himself from following the alluring siren song, ending with him standing outside of Stanford’s bedroom door. He hears the telltale sound of a headboard hitting the wall repeatedly, but he doesn’t hesitate as he opens the door with just a bit too much force.

Ford has one of Stan’s legs thrown over his shoulder, driving into Stan with reckless abandon, and Fiddleford feels the sizzling arousal that had been plaguing him all day became so intense that Fiddleford thinks he might throw up. The close quarters exacerbate the smell of sex, but more importantly, under the oppressive scent of Stanford’s rut, he can smell that sweet omega aroma. Stanley’s blend of sea salted air and toffee, mixing in the air so perfectly that it forces Fiddleford to swallow the saliva that begins pooling in his mouth. He can make out the musk of slick heavy in the air, and the lanky man finds himself being pulled forward by an invisible force to get just a bit more of that amazing smell. 

Ford, seeing his assistant approaching, lets out a small growl before seeming to gain control of himself and forcing the sound to putter out. Fiddleford feels his own hackles rise, and the southerner can make out the small look of apprehension on Stan’s face before it is wiped away by Ford thrusting forward. 

Stanford gives a few more sallow thrusts before pulling out of Stan completely and turning to face Fiddleford. The engineer tries not to stare at the other man’s weeping cock as it stands starkly against pale skin. He can’t help but compare himself, noting that while Stanford is thicker than him, he beats the man out in length. He tries not to let himself preen too much.

Stanley huffs as his leg is taken off Ford’s shoulder and set down on the bed. He doesn’t give much of a reaction to the sudden stop to their fucking besides a slight pouty lip. Fiddleford knows that Stanley really is a good omega in that moment, no complaining, just talking whatever his partner gives him, even if it means stopping so abruptly. Stan is completely broken in, and if that doesn’t excite Fiddleford more than anything.

“Care to join us?” Stanford extends that first olive branch that Fiddleford latches onto instantly. 

“Don’t mind if I do.” He responds cheekily, striding over to the bed with a small grin. Luckily, the bed itself is a queen, maybe a bit cramped for three grown men, but better than his own twin bunk. 

Fiddleford, closer now, can make out the sight of Stanley’s gaping entrance, still drenched in slick, and the remnants of Stanford’s come from the round prior. It makes Fiddleford’s cock twitch needily, and he can smell his own pseudo-rut in the air. Fiddleford is quick to shed his clothes, too far gone to care about nudity at this point, crawling up onto the bed, solely focused on Stan as he reaches out and cups the side of the larger man’s face. 

When Fiddleford catches sight of the resignation in Stan’s eyes, he can’t find it in himself to feel bad; his body is aching to finally get his hands on the gorgeous omega in front of him. Fiddleford feels the weight of the bed shifting and is amused to find Stanford positioning himself behind Stan, manhandling his twin so that he can spoon him from behind, forcing them to sit up a bit and Fiddleford to scoot backward to give them space. Fiddleford doesn’t let his hand stray, however, and he uses a callused thumb to rub against Stan’s flushed cheek. The omega leans into it with a small sigh. Fiddleford feels his heart melt just a tad, but is interrupted from his sappy thoughts by a short rumble coming from Stanford. 

Figures that Stanford would still be possessive over his twin, household or not. Fiddleford doesn’t let the short growls his friend is releasing stop him; however, he leans forward and catches Stan’s lips in his own. Stan lets him in instantly, like instinct, and it makes Fiddleford rumble in approval as he licks into the grifter's willing mouth. He appreciates the plushness of the other man’s lips and the wet heat that he explores with his tongue. The kiss is fast to turn bruising; Fiddleford too pent up to stay gentle for Stan. Between gasps of air, the omega lets out small whines; the small noises do something sinful to Fiddleford’s core, and he finds himself grinding forward, rubbing his erection against Stan’s smaller one. The friction makes Fiddleford gasp, but he’s more distracted by Stanley’s adorable cock. It was no secret that Omega’s dicks were smaller than both alphas and betas, but it was another thing to see it for himself. Fiddleford had only ever been with other betas, his wife being one herself, and the– well, the proper term was microcock, fascinated him. It was so cute nestled between a thatch of curly dark hair, and the urge to lean forward and take it into his mouth was only thwarted by his ever-growing need to love, take, breed–

Fiddleford breaks away from Stan’s lips with great effort, grinding forward again to feel them press against each other. Stan lets out a small moan, a hand reaching back to grip Stanford’s shoulder, his eyes squeezing shut as Fiddleford continues to rut the two of them against each other. 

Stanford, done waiting, maneuvers Stan to sit on his knees, and reaches a six-fingered hand down to stroke his own cock, leading it to Stan’s entrance and pushing forward. The omega keens loudly as he’s breached once again, mouth hanging open in a beautiful O shape. 

Fiddleford’s hands find Stan’s full thighs, and he shifts closer so they are completely flush. Ford is quick to start up his previous pace, the thrusts force Stan to grind forward against Fiddleford’s cock, and it’s a delicious sort of pleasure with every pass of Stan’s body against the taller man’s member. Fiddleford leans forward with a groan to lick and suck at Stan’s skin, one hand coming up to grope at the man’s chest, elated to feel the soft flesh of a tit in his hand. He rolls the nipple he finds between his fingers, and Fiddleford delights in the stilted groan he receives from the action. 

Stan is bouncing wildly as Ford pounds away, the alpha grunting and moaning loudly, his hands wrapped around his twins’ middle and his chin hooked on Stanley’s shoulder. Stanford gives a particularly hard thrust that has Stan’s eyes filling with tears, and Fiddleford notices his expression is pinched like he’s in pain. Fiddleford tuts at Stanford and sends him a disapproving glance, but the other man just glares at him through hooded eyes, arms tightening around his brother. 

It might say something about Fiddleford, how the sight of Stanley’s tear-filled eyes fuels the fire in his stomach instead of stamping it out. 

Fiddleford takes Stan’s head in his hands once again, forcing eye contact; the man’s big brown eyes are wide and wet. Fiddleford strokes his thumbs down Stan’s cheeks and smiles, “You’re bein’ so good for us darlin’, takin’ Stanford so well.” Fiddleford takes one hand from Stan’s face to fumble downwards to take himself and Stan in his hand together. The omega gasps, pitching forward a bit, and Fiddleford takes his weight with his body. Stan buries his face in the skinny man’s chest and whines, and Fiddleford pets his hair with one hand and strokes them both with the other, making them shudder in unison. 

Fiddleford gives them a few more good tugs, a symphony of Stan’s short-punched-out moans, and Stanford’s grunts filling his ears as he reaches even further downward past Stanley’s cock to feel at his sopping entrance, his fingers briefly brushing against Stanford’s dick that’s busy driving into his brother as he does so.

“Stanford, think ya can slow down fer a second?” Fiddleford asks, entranced by the wet slowly coating his fingers as they poke and prod at Stanley’s hole. Stanford gives him an annoyed look, but relents, his eyes fill with realization and excitement when he realizes what Fiddleford plans to do. “Think ya can take us both sugar?” Fiddleford directs the question toward Stanley, but he’s already gripping his angry red dick in one hand and guiding it to Stan’s dripping core. He circles the inviting hole, and Stan reaches out and slings an arm around Fiddleford’s shoulder, the other still clutching Stanford behind him. 

“Ss’gonna be a lot, dunno if I can–can–” Stanley stutters nervously, but Stanford wraps a large hand around the omega's throat, the act demanding as it is threatening. “You can. You will.” Stanford’s tone leaves no room for argument, and Fiddleford can’t help the thrill that shivers down his spine. 

Stan hesitates for only a moment before he lowers his head and bares his neck, the act making Fiddleford twitch in his palm, and if the resounding moan from Ford is evidence enough, it affected his partner the same way. Ford lets his hand thread into Stan’s long hair carefully, and Fiddleford rumbles his affection into the side of Stan’s neck that Ford is not occupying. “That’s right, sweetheart. We’ll be mighty careful with ya, don’t worry yer pretty little head none.”  Stan whimpers a bit, but Fiddleford chooses to ignore it as he begins to push forward into that tight, inviting heat. 

Stanford had slowed to a halt, rut-addled brain at least retaining enough lunacy to understand that they needed to be careful for this part. Finally fitting into Stanley is just as exquisite as Fiddleford knew it would be, that warm entrance engulfing him completely as he pushes forward inch by torturous inch. Stanley keens a long string of “ah, ah, ahs”, tears finally spilling fast down his face as both Fiddleford and Stanford stretch him to the point of bursting. Fiddleford is sure to be slow, no matter how much he aches to just pin down Stan and take, but he knows the reward will be sweet as long as he lets Stan adjust. Fiddleford can feel the searing heat of Ford’s cock stuffed tightly next to his own, and it only adds to the delicious pleasure eating him up from the inside. Soon, Fiddleford is fully seated, and he groans low in his throat.

Fiddleford makes eye contact with Stanford over Stanley’s shoulder, and the other man nods, beginning to thrust shallowly. Fiddleford grips Stanley’s hips, the force probably bruising, but he can’t find it in himself to care. The feel of Ford’s cock paired with Stan’s wet heat surrounding him lights his whole body on fire; he has to physically hold himself back from jackhammering into the omega immediately. Fiddleford takes a breath and times himself, beginning to thrust as well, making sure to always be inside Stan when Ford is pulled back. Stan’s slick makes the slide impossibly easy despite the tight fit, and Fiddleford leans down, busying himself with sucking hickies into Stan’s skin to muffle his own embarrassingly high-pitched and frequent moans. 

They set a steady rhythm, but soon both Fiddleford and Stanford need more, rocking into the omega below them with renewed vigor. Stanley writhes on their cocks, keening and whining with each pass of them inside his body, tossing his head back and forth frantically. 

Fiddleford’s hips snap forward rapidly, chasing that beautiful sensation, and he angles himself slightly, “Ah, Fidds!” Stan cries loudly at the change, and Fiddleford’s name from the omega's lips whips him into a frenzy, setting a punishing pace as he plunges into Stanley, causing the younger man to wail. 

Stanford, never one to be outdone, jerks his hips faster, forcing himself deeper inside his brother, making Stan choke on a cry of “F–Ford!” The tears spilling down the drifter's face are beautiful, and Fiddleford doesn’t even think as he leans forward to lick them off, his panting breath mingling with Stan’s own. Stan jolts with the force of their fucking, and would have toppled over if not for Fiddleford and Stanford's tight grips. They continue to grind into Stanley’s tight heat together with reckless abandon. 

Stanford’s hips stutter in that telltale way, and Fiddleford soon finds himself reaching that familiar peak as well; he can feel his pseudo-knot begging to swell. A beta knot only shows up during a pseudo-heat and is much smaller than an alpha, but he can still feel it catching against Stan’s entrance, making it that much harder to rock into the welcoming heat. Fiddleford can feel Stanford’s knot almost completely inflated, doing the same. 

Stan’s eyes fill with fear as he feels their knots growing inside him, “You–you have to pull out, I can’t take two, I can’t–” 

Stanford and Fiddleford, both too far into their rut-induced hazes, don’t heed the omegas' pleas, only focused on fitting their burgeoning knots into the tight hole below them. “A–Ah! Hurts!” Stan's wailing cry is sobbed out as both men’s knots completely catch, unable to pull out anymore. Stanford comes first, hot spurts filling Stan and the very limited room inside him, the sensation of the extra heat surrounding Fiddleford’s cock is enough to send him over the edge as well, coming with a choked growl. Stan cries out desperately as he’s filled to the brim, stuffed so full that his stomach extends slightly. 

Panting fills the room as both Fiddleford and Stanford grind up into Stanley as they ride out the vestiges of their orgasms. When they finally come down enough, Ford peppers kisses on Stan’s neck. “So good for us, Stanley, you did so good.” Stanford’s voice is filled with awe, and Stan sniffles but leans back into his brother. The action pulls on both cocks still buried inside Stan; all three hiss at the sensation.