#ler!mcgucket

“Dag blast it- UGH!” Ford tossed his flaming trench coat to the ground, spewing colorful obscenities as he tried to put out the bright green fire. By the time he managed to stomp it out, his poor coat was in charred tatters.

“There goes another one…” He swore, tossing the ruined garment into his disposal bin. The smoking experiment on his table was an even greater let-down. Rubbing his temples, the scientist grabbed his ancient tape recorder and sighed into the device. “Attempt number 57 ends in…failure.”

Ford had been at it for nearly a week, trying test after test in an attempt to get the right combination. It was an experimental weirdness blocker that could—in theory—negate any powers or effects being in their odd town could bring.

The man’s reaction had been less than quiet. Fiddleford, who had come to visit his it’s-complicated-but-we’re-getting-there partner, was drawn to the room by all the noise. “Everythin’ alright in here, Stanford?”

Ford whipped around, eyes narrowed dangerously before he realized who had entered. “Oh…yes. Everything’s fine.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it.” The old man stepped farther into the room, furrowing his brows. He’d been doing a lot better since Weirdmageddon; his beard was clean (though he preferred long, so it wasn’t cut), his clothes were clean and whole, and he was spewing less nonsense by the day. With his improved mental state, he was able to care for those around him. “You should take a break, Ford. It’d do ya some good.”

“I’m fine, Fiddleford,” Ford huffed, brushing off the advice. He knew the hillbilly was right, but that didn’t mean he had to listen.

“Uh-huh, sure. Gotta be true, what with the fire and screamin’.” Fidds looked over at the remnants of Ford’s trench coat knowingly. That quirked brow made Ford more defensive than it probably should have.

“I just need more time. A few hours, tops.” Ford poked the smoldering remains of his experiment, trying to figure out what went wrong.

The man needed a break, but he wasn’t going to take one willingly. It was up to McGucket to fix that.

“What ya need is to relax.” Closing the distance between them, Fiddleford wrapped his arms around his partner. He squeezed just tight enough so the weary man couldn’t escape.

“Fidds, come on. I’ll be done soon en- mmph!” Ford flinched, jolting in his partner’s grip. The hillbilly’s hands were resting on Ford’s hips. While that would usually be an appreciated gesture, his fingers were wiggling into the divots of the joint; it tickled, and they both knew it.

“What’sa matter, Stanford? Got a tickle in yer throat?” Fiddleford teased, knowing the silliness of it would get to Ford. The man never could handle childish teases. The effects were instantaneous.

“F-Fihidds, no! I dohon’t have time f-for nonsense!” Ford did his best to hold in his reactions, refusing to give up so easily. He didn’t necessarily need to finish his work that day, but it felt wrong to leave anything unfinished.

“Yet you’ve got time fer workin’ yerself to exhaustion, knowin’ ya ain’t got enough energy to do anythin’ actually productive.”

Ford scoffed at the direct call-out, his ears turning pink. Well…shit. Fiddleford had him pegged, and he really didn’t have a comeback for that. After a few seconds of watching the Pines gape like a fish, Fidds chuckled.

“That’s what I thought. Now, hush up ‘n lemme help ya.” Pressing a gentle kiss to one of the man’s pinkened ears, Fidds got back to work. His thin, bony fingers worked their way up Ford’s sides, digging in just enough to make him giggle.

“Fihiddlefohohord!” Rumbling, slightly raspy giggles shook the man’s shoulders as he tried not to squirm. While the tickling wasn’t exactly what he had planned for the afternoon, he couldn’t deny how nice it was to have McGucket pressed against him after feeling so stressed.

“That’s my name, yeah. You sure that experiment didn’ scramble yer brain pan?” Fidds teased him, resting his chin on his partner’s shaky shoulder.

“Behe quihihiet!” Ford couldn’t help but gasp when one of Fidds’s hands went back down to his hips, his fingers wiggling into the ticklish little divot once again.

“You should be a little nicer, darlin’. I got all ‘a my favorite spots right here, just waitin’ for some attention.” His words carried a playful threat, his other hand moving to tease near Ford’s pits. He felt the man shudder against him at the thought.

“No! Nohohoho, cohome on! Thihis is rihidiculous!” Stanford tried using his grumpy old man tone, but the constant giggling ruined the attempt at seriousness. He was forced to just sit there and squirm against his partner.

“That’s the whole point, ya old goof. Yer s’posed to be takin’ it easy; ridiculous fits the bill.” Fidds accentuated his point with a few kisses to Ford’s neck, though he was surprised by the adorably shrill noise the action received.

“KHHHHehehe! Fihidds!” Ford whined—actually whined—at the feeling, scrunching up his shoulders as much as the hold would allow. His neck was ticklish? How had the hillbilly never noticed before?

“I reckon someone’s been hidin’ somethin’ from me, hasn’t he?” With a giddy smirk, Fiddleford began kissing the back of Ford’s neck, purposefully nuzzling his scraggly beard against the flushed skin as well.

Ford gasped at the barrage of tickly kisses and nuzzles, strangled little giggles and incredibly silly noises getting caught in his throat as he scrunched up. It was an utterly adorable sight—one that his partner made sure to enjoy.

“Yer so cute when yer laughin’, Stanford,” McGucket cooed between kisses, putting a bit more of his weight on his partner to keep him still. “Daw, who am I kiddin’? Yer cute in general.”

The silver-haired man could feel his face burning from all the affectionate teasing. He could usually keep his emotions in check; the decades he spent in chaotic and dangerous dimensions taught him to be stoic on command.

When it came to Fiddleford, however, all of that conditioning seemed to disappear. He felt like a flustered teen playing wingman for Stanley again, though the feeling was a lot more intense and a helluva lot more enjoyable.

“Lohohohove, p-plehehehease! Ihi- GYEhehehe! Ihihi cahahan’t!” Ford blushed even harder just from the ludicrous nature of his own words. Gracious, he was pathetic…and he didn’t really mind it. His sides were growing quite sore, however, and he couldn’t take much more of the heavy giggling. “Fihihidds, plehease!”

The bearded man heard the difference in Ford’s tone, easing off to kiss his rosy cheeks instead. “Alright, alright, settle down. I’m done bein’ mean.” Gently, he guided the giggly man over to the small room he’d forced Ford to furnish, getting him settled on the nearly untouched mattress. “Told ya you’d need a nappin’ room down here.”

“Nohot the time toho glohohoat…” Ford huffed, snuggling up against his lanky partner. Fuck, he couldn’t work any more if he wanted to, which…he kind of didn’t. He was exhausted, his thoughts were sluggish, and he was really in the mood for cuddles. “Sneaky bastard.”

“Only fer you, darlin’.” Fidds peppered his face with kisses, running a hand through his fluffy silver hair.

Ford mumbled grievances, but it was obvious the touch was melting him. He was so tired…but he didn’t want the attention to end. “Could you…mmphf.”

“What’s that now? Gotta speak up.” Fiddleford had an idea of what the cuddly man wanted to say, but he was gonna make him ask for it. His flustered voice was just too adorable to resist.

It was absolutely evil, in Ford’s eyes.

“Just…don’t stop? I don’t want you to…you know. Lightly.”

Fidds bit his lip, chuckling softly at the embarrassed, broken request. Ford really was terrible at asking for what he wanted… Still, the attempt was the best he’d gotten yet.

“M’kay, I won’t make ya beg. C’mere.” Snaking a hand up Ford’s shirt, the bearded man began ever so gently tickling his partner’s sides, back, and neck. His hand drifted, the touch just present enough to tickle.

“Mmhmhmhm…” A wobbly smile tugged at Ford’s lips as he pressed his face into Fiddleford’s chest, giggling softly. Each small noise was little more than an exhale, gentle enough for his aching sides to rest while keeping him giddy. Fidds always knew exactly what he needed, and—better yet—exactly how to give it to him.

“Maybe I should start doin’ this every time ya refuse to rest. It’s workin’ pretty well, I reckon.” Fidds felt his heart swell at the sight of him, loving how he just gave in to the giggly affection.

“Shuhush,” Ford huffed lovingly, moving in to kiss him. His stubbly upper lip scratched Fidds’s as he blindly leaned in. Their lips met, each smiling against the other’s as they drifted off wholly into their own little world.

While he would’ve loved to keep kissing Ford for the rest of the night, he could feel how sluggish the man was getting. It was time to rest. He pulled away from the kiss, lovingly stroking Ford’s sides.

“Alright, darlin’. Time to turn in.” Wrapping his thin legs around the man’s waist, Fiddleford gently scratched Ford’s scalp to wind down. As expected, the scientist let out a sleepy sigh, leaning right into the touch. Fidds’s other hand was still stroking his sides, barely tickling. It was sweet, domestic, and made both men feel oh so loved and whole.

“Mhmmm…goodnihight, love.” Ford muttered one last endearment before dozing off, finally giving in to the drowsiness that washed over him. He felt a few light kisses on the crown of his head, reassuring him all the way to unconsciousness.

“G’night, Stanford. I love ya, darlin’.” Fiddleford held Ford close, sighing contentedly as he heard the man’s breathing even out. Finally, he’d gotten his stubborn partner to pass out and rest. The next day would bring the same challenge, but he’d be more than ready to face and overcome it.