under-atomic-skies - Tumblr blog

under-atomic-skies · 6 years ago

Text

The Crooked Kind. Ch. 4

Along the Road

Summary: Fiddleford is a student at Backupsmore University. He meets a stranger at a payphone and makes an unlikely friend who, unbeknownst to him, has a long, complicated relationship with his roommate. The pair become close and eventually, a romance buds between them. What could possibly go wrong? (Tags will be updated as fic is updated)

NOTE: Brief reminder that since this is from Fiddleford’s perspective, he’ll be addressing Stan as Sam

Word count: 4,552

AO3

Ch. 1 || Ch. 2 || Ch. 3 || Ch. 4 (HERE)

_______________________________________________________________

There, along the road, was a tiny home The yard held dead machines behind its fences Like they were its kids Broken down, but still worth a lot to someone It made me stop and grin

“Who’d you say you were meeting with again?” Ford asked, looking up from his cluttered pages of notes he was somehow making sense of. He wore a confused expression on his face, and Fiddleford couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t like Fiddleford hung out with too many people other than Ford, and this was the third day in a row he was seeing this strange man. Ford didn’t seem to trust the man, but he also has yet to meet him.

Fiddleford can’t decide if introducing the two of them was a good idea. Ford had a tendency to come off as rather blunt and harsh, especially given his already low opinion of Fiddleford’s new friend, and Sam had enough to deal with without adding his roommates judgement to the equation.

“His name is Sam,” Fiddleford replied, shrugging his jacket over his shoulders. “He’s actually a really nice guy. He’s staying in town for a bit, so I’m going to show him around a bit.”

Ford didn’t seem pacified. He eyed Fiddleford leerily. “Just be careful.” he replied before turning back to his notes, clicking the end of his pen repeatedly. Fiddleford appreciated the sentiment, but found that he trusted Sam. He had a rough exterior, obviously not used to someone showing him a bit of kindness, but underneath all of that, he had a big heart.

Fiddleford was determined to show the man that the world wasn’t as bad as it had previously shown him to be.

“I’ll see ya later, Stanford.” he called as he left the apartment. He didn’t wait for his roommate to respond, not that he thought he would. Once Ford was concentrated on his studies, he was so oblivious that it would take nothing short of a bomb to get his attention.

Following the hallway to the exit of the apartment, he followed the familiar path towards the cafe. No new snow had yet to fall, but the cold temperatures of the night before had ensured that the snow hadn’t melted. Briefly, Fiddleford hoped that Sam had been warm enough last night.

Stuffing his hands into his jacket, he quickly hurried along his way, and within a few minutes, found himself opening the door to the cafe. To his joy, Sam was already inside and waiting for him. He appeared to sit up a bit straighter as he caught sight of Fiddleford, raising a hand in a small, yet excited wave.

Fiddleford found it endearing that despite how much hardship this man must have faced, he still could be so excited to see him, even if a bit cautiously. He waved back and quickly joined Sam at the same table they had sat at the previous day.

“Afternoon, Sam.” Fiddleford greeted him.

“Hey Fiddlesticks.” Sam replied, satisfied smirk already creeping to his lips. Fiddleford scoffed for a moment in surprise.

“Fiddlesticks?” He asked, laugh tumbling from his lips before he could help himself. This earned a shrug from the man across from him.

“I’m tryin’ out some new nicknames. Fidds just seemed, hmm, lackluster?”

Fiddleford shook his head, still laughing, “It’s a new one, I’ll give ya that.” He paused for a moment as his laughing calmed down, “Say, how about we get out drinks and hit the streets?”

Sam nodded eagerly. The two walked to the counter side by side and ordered hot chocolates. Fiddleford reached in his pocket to retrieve his wallet when Sam put his hand over his.

“This one’s on me.” He simply replied, pulling out some money from his pockets and handing it to the barista before Fiddleford could protest.

“You didn’t have t’!” Fiddleford exclaims, not wanting the man to spend what little money he might have on him when Fiddleford could more easily afford it.

Sam just scoffed and waved a hand at him, “Relax, will ya?” he said. As if noticing that Fiddleford wasn’t going to let it drop, he added, “I had a good night last night, so I’ve finally got some extra cash. This is the least I could do since you gave me a coat and bought me coffee here yesterday.”

Fiddleford couldn’t say he agreed. He considered Sam a friend now, and Fiddleford always helped out a friend in a rough patch, and didn’t expect anything in return. However, Sam had always seemed somewhat uncomfortable by his gestures despite Fiddleford’s best efforts to word them as if Sam was doing him a favor, so he supposed paying for Fiddleford’s drink would make Sam feel more comfortable.

Deciding this to be the case, Fiddleford smiled warmly at the man and accepted the cup the barista handed to him. “Thank ya, Sam. That’s mighty kind of ya.”

A tinge of pink flushed Sam’s cheeks. He didn’t say a word but waved his hand again, as if to dismiss it.

Sam took the cup the barista was now offering him and the pair nodded together, silently agreeing to head outside. Once outside the cafe, Fiddleford glanced at Sam.

“You get to pick which direction we go.” he told him. Sam pondered for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face as he took a sip of the hot chocolate.

“Well, where do you like to go in town?” Sam asked curiously.

It was now Fiddleford’s choice to ponder for a moment before laughing a bit nervously. “It’s not anywhere excitin’, I’m afraid.”

This earned a shrug from Sam, “Makes no difference to me. Lead the way, Fiddlesticks.”

Shaking his head affectionately at the nickname, Fiddleford led him down a short ways to the school library. As the building came into view, so did the massive sign on the building’s sign reading ‘Backupsmore University Library’. Sam gazed up at the sign, a smile gracing his face that Fiddleford couldn’t quite decipher.

“The library, huh?” he asked. “I should have guessed. Ya just spend a lot of time in here studying or d’ya actually like readin’?”

Fiddleford laughed genuinely, “I mean, I do spend a lot of time studying in here, but if I’m not studying, I’m still usually in here browsing through the books. My roommate joins me sometimes. He’s a book worm just like me; I think that’s one of the reasons why we get along so well.”

Sam took this in, his gaze moving from the sign to Fiddleford’s face. Once Fiddleford was done speaking, he glanced back up to the building, allowing his smile to falter ever so slightly, revealing the sad, forlong expression he now wore. Fiddleford had to wonder if that's the expression he’d always wear if he wasn’t constantly forcing himself to smile.

“Heh, sounds just like my brother. He was always dragging me to the library when we were kids.” he said, still not meeting Fiddleford’s gaze as he spoke Fiddleford wanted to press him for more, wanting to know more about his new, mysterious friend, but judging by his expression and how guarded he usually was, he decided to not press right now. Sam would tell him when he was ready.

“That reminds me,” Fiddleford says, deciding to help ease Sam out of whatever memories he was thinking about in favor of something more pleasant, “I believe part of the plan for today was to swap stories of our childhood pranks?”

He motioned for Sam to follow him as he led him inside the library. Sam followed, looking a bit easy and obviously out of place as he followed Fiddleford through some of the numerous shelves. Luckily, Fiddleford’s favorite sections were usually devoid of people.

“I do remember hearing that.” Sam said, watching as Fiddleford sat down against one of the shelves, crouching down to sit across from him. Fiddleford’s eyes momentarily furrowed as he swore he saw the other man wince as he sat down.

“Well, the library is actually where I first learned how to make machines, which gave me the ideas for many of my pranks,” Fiddleford began, stretching his legs out and playfully resting one of his legs over Sam’s outstretched legs. Smirking, Sam shifted his other leg and rested it over Fiddleford’s other legs so that they were thoroughly tangled between the shelves.

“I found books about mechanics, robotics, kinematics, all sorts of things really. One of my favorite things to do was to check out an armful of books and lug ‘em to my favorite spot on the farm. There was this big, old tree on top of one of the hills that overlooked a lot of the pastures and farm land. It was really a beautiful spot. I’d curl up under the tree and spend most of my days readin’ through those books. Soon enough, I got the itch to try out what I was learnin’. I started with the broken farm equipment. There was a whole bunch of them lying around an old, forgotten part of the farm. I’ll never forget the look on my Pa’s face when he saw me drivin’ the old tractor he had left out there to rust. I think he thought I was some sort of witch until I explained what I’d done.

“After that, it was my job to fix all of the machinery ‘round the farm and in the house whenever it broke. It kept me pretty busy, but I also started keepin’ parts for myself so I could test out my skills more and build a whole robot from scratch. The first one hadn’t been impressive, but I learned a lot from it. The next robot I built was fairly simple, but lordy, it really freaked my poor siblin’s.

“It wasn’t much; it was remote controlled and could move pretty quietly, and when I pressed this one button, a rod would rotate. When my siblin’s were headin’ t’ bed, I’d peak around my door and wheel the robot behind their room door. The rod would rotate, and push the door shut as if a ghost did it. I had enough time before they got out of bed to check to get the robot back to my room. I did this every day for a while until finally my siblin’s started fussin’ about.”

Fiddleford was laughing heartily at this point, and Sam, who had previously been attentively listening to his story, joined him.

“They thought that a ghost was hauntin’ them!” Fiddleford laughed. “I got quite the talkin’ to from my Ma and Pa, but it was worth it to hear my siblin’s reactions every night.”

The pair shared a few moments, simply laughing together. Sam wiped his eyes as his laughter trickled down slowly.

“Yeesh, that’s like some evil scientist shit. Or maybe, uh evil mechanic? Yeah, probably that.” he said, “That puts all my pranks to shame.”

Intrigued, Fiddleford cocked an eyebrow, “What kind of pranks did you pull?”

Sam scoffed, “Nothin’ nearly as diabolical as that. My pranks typically didn’t have that much thought put into them. I was a pretty dumb kid, so I didn’t have the brain for that. On the bright side, I did play pranks fairly often. Simple things ya know, my brother and I used to prank call my Ma. She was a phoney phone psychic, ya see. We’d go to the payphone by the dock and call her line, saying some sort of lame line like “is your refrigerator running?” or something stupid like that. Other times, my brother and I used to glue pennies to the board walk and sit nearby to watch people struggle to pick it up. Course, once they heard a couple of young kids laughin’ their asses off, they usually walked away muttering some choice words under their breath.

“The one joke that I did from when I was real little up until I got kic-- uh, I Ieft to pursue sales, involved my brother. Ya see, he was a lot like you. He’d always be readin’ one book or another, or studying for a class, not that he needed to. He was a genius. But he’d get so wrapped up in his work that he’d often forget to eat, or shower, or sleep. When he did sleep, he was out like a light, which was when I went to work. Every time he’d finally pass out from staying up too long, I’d try to see how many things I could balance on him while he slept. Some nights, I’d try to get as many things on him as I could, other times I’d find the weirdest thing to balance on him. One time, I managed to set up a whole house of card using him and his desk as the base. He barely moved when he passed out so it was perfect! When he did wake up finally, the house of cards collapsed on him, covering him in cards.”

Sam was giggling as he told the story, and Fiddleford found it to be contagious. His laugh was gruff, but he seemed to laugh with his whole being; shoulders shaking, hand slapping his thighs, tilting his head back. Fiddleford found himself laughing just as hard, oddly enough feeling an odd sensation in his chest at the sound of Sam’s laughter.

Despite being hidden in between the bookshelves, their laughter must have gotten too loud, since a librarian trotted back to their spot, peering down their aisle with a stern look. “Shh!” she hissed, fingers to her lips. Like a couple of scolded kid, Sam and Fiddleford covered their mouths with their hands, trying to stifle their giggles. Being caught only made the situation funnier.

Once Fiddleford had enough of a hold on himself, he mentioned, between giggles, “Ya know, your brother sounds a lot like my roommate. I reckon I could stack a house of cards on him when he’s passed out on his desk from studying and he wouldn't even notice!”

Mischievous glint in Sam’s eyes, he peered forward at Fiddleford, “I bet ya five bucks ya can’t!”

He stuck out a calloused hand, lips leering in a smirk. Fiddleford clasped his own hand around Sam’s, ignoring that weird feeling in his chest again, “Five bucks says I can!”

“Oh, it’s on!” They shook their hands together once, confirming the bet.

Fiddleford glanced around the aisle, “Hey, how about we move on to somewhere else. I promise you there are more interesting places around town other than the library!”

Sam shrugged, “You lead the way, I’m followin’ you today, remember? So far, I am rather pleased to find out you’re not secretly some serial killer.”

Fiddleford scoffed and stood up, offering a hand to Sam, “What, you don’t think I’m cut out to be the Zodiac Killer?”

Sam clasped his hand again and tugged himself to his feet. Just as he had when he sat down, he winced. “You alright, Sam?” Fiddleford asked.

“Huh?” Sam asked, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He awkwardly laughed as he replied, “Yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t I be? This isn’t suspicious!”

Fiddleford had to disagree with that statement, but decided not to push it. “Alright, well, on to our next stop!”

The pair made their way out of the library and turned towards the main street of town. “This might be a bit more up to your speed.” Fiddleford said as he led down the street, “Since this is a college town, there’s a ton of bars that get crazy busy on the weekends. I’m not really a bar guy, but I overhear a lot of my classmates talking about what a good time they have.”

Sam, for some reason, seemed a bit uneasy around the bars, eyes darting every which way and looking like Ford did after his tenth cup of coffee.

Finally, his gaze looked back to Fiddleford and must have noticed him gazing at him curiously. He laughed, albeit a bit nervously. “I’m not really much of a bar guy,” he replied.

It occurred to Fiddleford that maybe he had a bad experience in a bar. He nodded and took Sam’s arm, steering him away from the bars, “Guess we have that in common,” he replied, “You already know the coffee shop, so there’s one more place I want to show you, but it’s a bit out of town.” He hesitated, now regretting his earlier joke about the Zodiac Killer, hoping that hadn’t given Sam any red flags, “Do ya trust me?”

Sure, asking point blank didn’t really do much to calm Sam’s nerves, but to Fiddleford’s relief, Sam didn’t hesitate when he firmly nodded his head.

Grin spreading across his lips, Fiddleford excitedly took Sam’s hands and began jogging down one of the alleys between the buildings.

“Woah-- hey--!” Sam exclaimed behind him, stumbling a bit before jogging to keep up. “Where are we going?”

Fiddleford briefly glanced behind him, “My secret place that I go if I need to relax.”

Seemingly satisfied by this answer, Sam silently followed Fiddleford, who once he was behind the buildings, slowed to a quick walk. The pair wove between houses, and soon enough, the buildings became more and more sparse before finally giving way to a thick forest. Fiddleford didn’t hesitate as he found a path into the trees. He released Sam’s hands, needing his own to bush branches out of their way and to help balance himself as he climbed a slope. He glanced behind him and saw that Sam was keeping pace, a curious expression on his face.

After a few more minutes of hiking, they emerged to a clearing on the top of the hill that overlooked the town below. Fiddleford could hear a soft gasp as Sam joined him on top of the hill.

“I come here when I’m stressed,” Fiddleford said, “It reminds me a lot of being at home sittin’ under that big tree. I usually just look at the people below and reflect”.

The pair stood in silence for a moment, peacefully taking in the view before them. Finally, Fiddleford glanced to Sam, “You smoke at all?” he asked.

Sam raised an eyebrow, “Do I smoke? How do you think I got this voice?” he asked, gesturing to himself. Fiddleford laughed.

“Alright, you got a point. Next time, I’ll bring some grass and we can smoke up here.” he replied.

“So, are you like, a hippy?” Sam asked.

Fiddleford shrugged, “Guess ya could say I’m a free spirit.”

Sam heaved a dramatic sigh, “Ya know, I usually hate hippies, but I guess I’ll let ya slide. Maybe you can change my mind about them.”

“You hate hippies? Why’s that?” Fiddleford asked curiously.

Sam shrugged, “A hippy may or may not have hypnotized my old girlfriend with his weird, free-spirited music and stole her from me.”

Fiddleford cocked an eyebrow, “I’m sorry to hear tha--”

“I got my revenge though. I may or may not have driven his van off a ravine”

Fiddleford fully turned to face Sam and realized that he wasn’t kidding. This probably should disturb him, but instead he found himself laughing.

“You really are somethin’, Sam.” The aforementioned Sam’s cheeks flushed with a blush. The pair glanced back to the town below, noticing how everyone below looked so small from their perspectives. Fiddleford couldn’t help but feel that being so much further above everyone made his problems and worries seem so small in the grand scheme of things. It was a frightening thought at times, to be so small, but at the same time, it brought him comfort.

However, that thought was soon chased away as he noticed the sun beginning to set on the horizon, casting pastel colors across the sky.

He sighed, genuinely upset to have to part ways, “I really ought to get back home; I got a lot of studying to do.”

Sam also seemed disappointed. After a moment, he responded, “Maybe tomorrow we can meet up here and I can help ya study?” he asked. Fiddleford considered his offer, turning towards Sam and smiling as their eyes met.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

They both smiled at each other, and for a brief moment, time seemed to slow. However, Fiddleford couldn’t stay there forever, as much as he wanted to. He had to get back and study eventually. Not to mention, he had a bet to settle. He motioned for Sam to follow him as they traced their way back through the woods. They continued, shoulder to shoulder as they finally made their way back to town, towards the campus where Fiddleford’s apartment was, and Stanley’s car was parked. By the time they reached the parking lot, it was dark. Fiddleford turned to Sam.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked. Sam nodded, smiling almost timidly, “Alright then, it’s a date. You wouldn’t happen to have a deck of cards I could borrow, would ya?”

Sam thought for a moment before going to his car and rooting through his glove box. He produced a worn deck of cards which he handed to Fiddleford.

“Ya gonna see if you can stack them on your roommate?” he asked.

Fiddleford merely grinned, “Knowing him, he probably will pass out later on tonight. If all goes well and I get a chance to try it, I’ll let ya know how it goes tomorrow.”

“Alright…” Sam paused, tone drawing out. He hesitantly added, “It’s a date then.”

Fiddleford smiled, endeared at how he used his own saying.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow then. Ya take care of yourself, ok Sam?” he said.

Sam nodded and mock saluted him, “You too, Fiddlesticks.” Fiddleford laughed and turned, raising a hand to wave farewell. Sam waved back and for the briefest of moment, Fiddleford hesitated before turning and retreating down the path towards his apartment again. He didn’t hear the car door opening, so he assumed that Sam was watching him, but he didn’t dare look back, not trusting himself to continue home if he saw the man still watching him.

Soon enough, the apartment came into view and Fiddleford let himself in. Almost in a trance, he soon found himself at his own door. Pulling his keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door, and sure enough, Stanford was sitting at the desk as usual, nibbling on a pen in thought as he looked over the pages of his notes.

However, as the door squeaked as Fiddleford closed it behind him, he twisted around to look at him.

“You’re back.” It was a simple statement, but Fiddleford knew his roommate well enough to know that he must have been suspicious when he was gone for so long.

Fiddleford removed his jacket and hung it by Ford’s on the coat rack by the door.

“Yeah. Sorry I was gone for so long. I guess I sort of lost track of time.” he replied.

Ford raised an eyebrow at him, an unreadable expression on his face. He was silent for a moment, but Fiddleford could tell he was mulling his words over (this surprised Fiddleford as he was used to Ford simply blurting out what came to mind without really stopping to think if his words were kind or not).

“You should be careful. This guy isn’t going to stay around forever, ya know?”

Fiddleford sighed. He tried not to think about that part. He had convinced Sam to stick around for a bit longer, but he didn’t know how long that meant.

“I know,” he sighed for longingly.

“I just--” Ford stopped, eyebrows furrowing in a look that Fiddleford knew meant that he was trying to form his thoughts into words. “I don’t want you to get too attached to this guy. He’s going to have to leave eventually.”

Fiddleford sighed, raising his hand to run it through his thick hair. “I know,” he said again. “It’s just-- he’s so much fun to be around.”

Ford’s lips tugged in a grin, “Sounds like you like him.”

Fiddleford sputtered at that, turning away so Ford wouldn’t see the way his cheeks flushed.

“What? That’s preposterous!”

“I don’t know” Ford’s voice drew out, teasing him, “You spend all day with him, you’ve barely touched your class work since you met this guy, and you’re always raving about him.”

This guilted Fiddleford ever so slightly, and felt the need to spin around and defend himself, and in a way, Sam, “I’ll have you know, Sam offered to help me study tomorrow!”

“Oh, so you have a study date, hmm?”

‘It’s a date!’ The words Fiddleford had used several times now, and had even been repeated by Sam played back to him.

“I highly doubt Sam sees it this way.” he said. He didn’t, or rather, couldn’t deny that he’d like that. But as Ford had pointed out numerous times now, Sam would have to leave eventually. Even if Sam did feel that way, which Fiddleford doubted he did, Sam knew this as well, and knew better than to get too attached to someone. He’d have to leave once this town couldn’t offer any more for him. He’d have to keep traveling to wherever he could make money, and even if he wanted to stick around for Fiddleford, he had to make a living.

Fiddleford heaved a rather heavy sign, shoulders sagging under this realization. Ford, seemingly taking pity on his friend, rose from his desk and laid a six finger hand on his shoulder.

“Cheer up, Fiddleford. Obviously this guy likes to spend time around you if he wants to help you study. He might not be around forever, but you can still enjoy the time you’ve got.”

After a pause, Fiddleford slowly turned to face Stanford, “You know, that’s surprisingly wise coming from you.”

Ford scoffed, “Don’t get used to it. I’m sure that’s the exhaustion and the coffee talking.”

The pair laughed for a moment. “Well, I should at least work on my project for a bit.” Fiddleford replied. Ford nodded and the pair took up their spot at their respective desks. Fiddleford picked up his screwdriver, and began tinkering with the robot he was building for one of his classes.

As it usually did whenever he worked on a project, time seemed to fly and with a yawn, he checked his watch. He cursed and abruptly stood to take a shower and go to bed. He glanced towards Ford’s way and saw that his roommate was fast asleep at his desk, a small puddle of drool pooling on his notes.

Quietly, he pulled the deck of cards that Sam had left him, and began setting up the house of cards, carefully balancing them on Stanford until his roommate was soon the foundation of a fairly massive mansion of cards. Satisfied with his work, and on the fact that he won the bet, he hurried to the shower before crawling into bed.

He briefly cast a glance outside his window. He wondered if Sam was sleeping now, and whether the same thoughts were running through his head. He supposed he wouldn’t know and forced the thought out of his mind. He didn’t want to waste however much time he had with Sam fretting. He decided he would instead focus more on the memories he’d make with him.

#the crooked kind #ch. 4 #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfic #stan pines #ford pines #stanley pines #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #mystery trio #fiddlestan #eventually

4 notes · View notes

under-atomic-skies · 6 years ago

Text

The Crooked Kind. Ch. 3

Sleep Walking

NOTE: Please check out the warnings for this chapter. It might spoil some of it, but be safe! Also, there’s some mention of prices in this chapter, and considering it’s around 1970 in this fic, I converted the price to match how much it might have been in the 70’s. I’m not entirely knowledgeable on how stuff like this works or is priced for that matter, so keep that in mind. Happy reading!

Warnings: [ sex work Negative views of sex work Explicit sexual acts

Word count: 3,756

AO3

Ch. 1 || Ch. 2 || Ch. 3 (HERE) || Ch. 4

I got a picture on the mantle piece Of the way that I thought that we’d end up But this shows no resemblance to that

When night finally fell, the students emerged from their dorms and apartments, donned in their best bar clothes. Stan envied them in a way. He wished he could be so carefree and able to put his worries out of his head in favor of having a good time with friends. But life had not dealt that hand to him, and instead of finding himself joining them, Stan would take advantage of them.

It was around 9:30 as Stan approached one of the bars he had picked out that previous morning. As he anticipated, there was a bouncer by the window. For years, he had needed a fake ID to get in, and while he still used a fake ID to keep his real name concealed, he had turned 21 last summer and was technically legally allowed into the bars now.

As he approached the large, intimidating bouncer, he flashed his ID and a grin and the man merely nodded and stoically stepped aside to allow him entry. This man was used to college kids who wanted to drink, dance, and find someone to work out their stress with. However, this was not Stan’s first time, and he wasn’t the bars average patron. He stepped closer to the bouncer and whispered under his breath, wanting to work out a deal with him. The bouncer glanced down at him, as if scrutinizing him. Luckily, with Fiddleford’s new coat on, he didn’t look nearly as seedy as he had with only a warn t-shirt and stained jacket. He gruffly nodded and motioned to another man standing just inside by the door to come over. The initial man whispered something to this new man, who also took a look at Stan before nodding and motioning for Stan to follow him.

He hadn’t noticed the tension in his shoulders until he breathed a sigh of relief, glad that this first bar was so far working out well. The man led him through the mostly empty dance floor, though the music was still loud and the lights flashed in beat with the music. It was dark in there and apart from a few people by the bars getting drinks, it was empty.

Stan understood college bars well by this point. It wasn’t until around 10 that people really started to fill the place, and by 11 it was packed, sweaty bodies rubbing and brushing against others as they danced their cares away. Stan usually preferred to get before the crowd so that he could have time to set up shop, get comfortable (i.e. prepare himself) and wait for the first customers.

The man led him past the dance floor and down a thin hallway to where the bathrooms were located. He opened the door and wordlessly pointed inside. Stan had to practically squeeze past the man to get inside, seeing as the large man didn’t leave much space for him to get through.

Once inside the bathroom, Stan turned towards the bouncer again, waiting to hear the terms of the agreement. “You can charge whatever you want, but at the end of the night, the bar gets 40% of your earnings.”

The man said it as a matter of fact and Stan understood that there was no room for negotiations. 40% was a steep price, but considering he usually made a fair amount of money, he’d let it slide. Not to mention he had his ways of pocketing more than what he was technically ‘supposed’ to.

At Stan’s nod, the man merely eyed him one more time before letting the door close. Now alone in the bathroom, Stan looked in the mirror. Luckily, most of the ‘customers’ wouldn’t see his face seeing as most of the people coming to him were just wanting to get off quickly after an unsuccessful night of chasing ladies. However, there usually were a few that weren’t shy. They wanted the full deal, so with this in mind, he made sure he at least didn’t look like complete shit (luckily, he had already shaved and washed his hair that morning for Fid-- nope, he wasn’t going to think of him here.)

It wasn’t hard to find the stall that was meant for him. It had a mark on the door and the wall that bordered another stall had a spherical hole cut into it. He let himself in and after shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the knob on the door, he turned back around. Resigning himself to wait for the first person, he closed the lid and sat on the toilet, idly twiddling his thumbs.

This part was always the worse. When the night picked up in pace, he didn’t have time to think. He just had to focus on the money he was going to make, but now that it was still early, he had plenty of time for his mind to race, wondering how he had come to this.

Making millions hadn’t seemed so hard at first. He’d been practically bursting with ideas after he had been kicked out, not to mention he’d still had the hopes and ignorance of a man who hadn’t been beaten down and trodden upon. Now nearly four years later, all of his prior ideas had one by one turned out to be dead ends. He had learned that the world wasn’t a kind place to people like him, and the hope that one day he’d earn millions so he could go back home was still stubbornly kicking, but he knew realistically that he was never going to achieve it.

Still, what else was he supposed to do? Having that goal was one of the few things that kept him going, no matter how much life threw at him. As more of his plans turned out to be busts, he steadily got more and more involved with seedy people with dangerous offers. He was a desperate man with a hopeless dream so he couldn’t turn down the offers for long.

Those offers soon found him in all sorts of dangerous situations. Colombian jungles, smuggling, selling guns, gangs, you name it, Stan’s done it. Selling himself had, oddly enough, come as a last resort. He had grown weary of always being on the run from people he owed debts to, tired of always looking over his shoulder. Selling himself had turned out to be easier than he had thought. He had lost his sense of modesty and pride a long time ago, and once that was out of the way, he had no qualms making a quick buck by offering services to desperate losers. Of course, this was true most of the time. He tried not to think of it in the daylight hours. He had cash in his pocket for gas and occasionally food, so he just blocked out how he got that money. But as he sits on the toilet seat, waiting for the first john, his mind couldn’t help but travel down the same self-deprecating path every time.

No, this was not his first time. It was far from it, but that didn’t mean it got easier.

Knowing how the night would inevitably end up, he took a moment to prepare himself. He had brought some lube in a tiny container from his car, and only needed a few moments to work himself open before sliding his pants back on.

Finally, the door creaked as someone came in. Stan watched the bottom of the door as footsteps entered into the small bathroom. He couldn’t decipher whether or not he wanted the feet to stop by his door or keep going, so when the footsteps stopped outside his door and knocked on the stall, he was indifferent.

“How much?” the man asked, voice quivering. Stan couldn’t help but feel a mixture of sympathy and relief, the later being the dominant of the two. The guy was a newbie. They had a tendency to over pay, as well as be more gentle.

“$10 for a blow job, $30 to fuck me,” Stan replied back, matter of fact. Hearing the person behind the door sputter, he didn’t have to see him to know what expression he had.

“Uh---I’ll just,” He must not have been able to get himself to voice his desires but instead offered a ten dollar bill under the door. Stan took it, folded it and stashed it away in his shoe.

“Alright, in this stall.” Stan replied, reaching his hand over the wall blocking off his stall from the next and pointed into the neighboring stall. He heard the man shuffle his feet before closing and locking the door behind him.

“What do I d-- oh.” the man replied, apparently just noticing the hole between the stalls. Letting out an exhale, Stan could hear the sound of a zipper and the soft ruffle of clothing before the john inserted his cock into the hole. It took all of his self-restraight to not sigh. The one downside of newbies was that they had a tendency to be loud and come fast. That made the job easier on him, but could also be frustrating after a while.

Stan turned on the toilet seat, finally looking at the poor john. He could see his shoes under the wall and knew from their slight tremble that he was nervous. He wasn’t hard, not that Stan expected him to be, but Stan would fix that.

Hands cupping as close to the base as the wall would allow, he guided the man's cock into his open mouth. After that initial movement, he moved as if on autopilot. He barely thought of what he was doing anymore, now way more practiced then he would like to admit. Soon the sound of Stan’s slurps (hearing them always made himself feel even worse about selling himself) was chorused by the other man's loud, poorly constrained moans. He knew that the other movement he was hearing was the man moving against the wall, maybe gripping the roof of it desperately, and that thought at least gave Stan some small sense of pride that he could at least do this well.

The man was hard now, which made Stan’s job easier. At this point, he lost himself again, focusing on his task. In moments like these, time seemed to stretch on, making the task more arduous. Luckily for him, the man was obviously not used to this kind of sensation, and the sound of his strangled moan broke Stan’s train of thought, warning him not a moment too soon as the man came, spurting cum into Stan’s mouth. Milking the man through his orgasm, his breathy gasps only increased until Stan retracted his mouth with a ‘pop’. When it came to his first ‘customer’, he always made sure to do especially well, seeing as the man might possibly spread the word to other potential customers. Stan shuttered silently as he swallowed. The guy on the other side was still panting, but was already tucking himself back into his pants.

“Uh.. thanks.” The john replied hesitantly, obviously not knowing what or if there was protocol for this kind of thing.

“Sure thing,” Stan grunted out, voice harsher now from the abrasions against the walls of his throat.

The man left and soon enough the stream of customers increased. Stan’s night followed pretty much in the same way that first man had. College kids were green. Many of them just wanted to get off, and the alcohol in their system allowed them to make the bad decision to fork over their money to some faceless man on the other side of the bathroom stall. Stan’s jaw got more and more sore as the night went on, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He reminded himself of the steadily growing wad of cash he was stuffing into his shoes and he forgot about the jaw pain.

A few hours later, the night was finally winding down. Customers were still coming in, but the amount had decreased. Stan wiped his sleeve across his jaw, wiping away what was left of his saliva and his latest customers cum when he heard a heavier set of footsteps come into the room.

There was another knock at the door, “How much?” the voice asked, voice much deeper than any of the others so far. Somehow it made Stan’s gut coil in apprehension. He had been able to get off mostly lucky; newbys only wanted to have their cock sucked. This guy didn’t sound like no newby.

He repeated his mantra, “$10 for a blow job, $30 to fuck me.”

Waiting with bated breath, his gut sunk as the man offered a twenty dollar bill under the stall door. Gulping, Stan silently took a deep inhale to steady himself. He took the bill, pocketed and unlocked the door, revealing a tall, burly man. He certainly wasn’t no college kid. Word that he was there must have gotten around town. The man's lips curled into a smirk.

“Well aren’t you just a cute little bitch.” he replied, closing the door behind him. Thank God he was practiced enough to not let his apprehension show through. Instead, his eyes lowered, looking up at the man with lustful, lidded eyes.

The mans hands moved up, grasping his jaw tightly and angling it up towards his face more as his other hand moved to undo his fly. “Drop em, whore.”

His hands around his jaw dropped in favor of tugging his pants down enough so his dick could be pulled out. His expressionless gaze continued to watch as Stan dropped his pants, meanwhile his hand curled around his cock, pumping himself until he was erect. Stan’s gaze dropped to the man's dick and gulped. He was going to be sore after this.

“Turn around,” The man demanded. Stan mentally was glad that he had taken the time to prepare himself whilst waiting for customers earlier in the night. He could only help that he was still ready. He did as the man said and turned around. Before he had time to bend down, the man’s hand tangled in his hair and thrust him forward until he was practically gripping the toilet. Stan’s hands came to grip the sides of the bowl, trying not to think about how dirty this bars bathroom was.

The man’s cock brushed up against his hole, and Stan couldn’t help himself as he let out a needy moan. It was times like this where he didn’t entirely hate what he did. He pressed back towards the man ever so slightly, silently begging him. This earned a harsh laugh.

“You desperate already, slut?” he said, guiding his dick to teasingly circle his hole, earning another whine from Stan, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re yelling by the time I’m done with you.”

With that promise on his lips, he thrusted into Stan, fast and hard, forcing his way into Stan’s hole until he bottomed out. Stan jerked forward, closer to the toilet bowl with a gasp at the strength of the man’s thrust. He scrambled for purchase on the bowl as the man’s hands gripped his hips like vices and began pounding into him, sliding almost all the way out before thrusting back in. Stan gasped loudly, each thrust forcing him to scramble for purchase on the toilet.

The erotic sounds of their coupling filled the empty bathroom, Stan’s needy gasps, and the man's own gruff grunts. He grabbed a fistful of Stan’s long hair and tugged it, forcing Stan’s head to angle backwards, exposing his neck as the man continued to pound into his hole. By this point, Stan was also hard himself, and his neglected dick was dripping with need.

“Let me hear you, whore.” The man whispered as he leaned close. His breath ghosted over Stan’s earlobe and he couldn’t hold back any more. Each thrust was punctuated by a loud moan. Stan’s hand moved towards his cock, but the man stilled his hand.

“You gotta beg for it.” he growled back. Stan wasted no time. He begged and pleaded with the stranger, begging for him to be able to touch himself, he needed it so bad. Deciding he was pleased by this, he released his hand. Stan instantly curled his hand around his cock, stroking in time to the man’s thrusts, his moans growing louder. As the man continued to fuck into his hole, Stan’s thoughts drifted, imagining someone else behind him, someone a lot smaller and whos voice had a southern twang to it. He imagined this man would be more sensual, whispering words of how good he was, how hot he was into his ears. As if he could hear those words, he let out a particularly loud moan.

Within a few moments, the mans thrusts sped up, losing its normal rhythm. Stan knew he was going to cum soon, so the hand on his cock sped up.

With one, final deep thrust, the man came deep within Stan with a loud grunt. He continued to move though, subtly milking himself as he rode out his orgasm. Stan could feel the sensation of the warm cum filling him and with a few more strokes, came as well, shooting ropes of cum across the closed toilet seat.

The two were still for a moment, just merely panting from the task. Finally, the man pulled out with a wet sound and grabbed some toilet paper to clean himself up. He tucked himself into his pants, and without a final word, turned and left, leaving Stan bent over the toilet, cum dripping from his hole.

After a few moments, he straightened up on shaky legs and retrieved some toilet paper to wipe up his own mess. He could tell he was going to be sore by the next day, but now that he was alone to himself, he thought back to just a few moments before.

Had he… had he really imagined that it was Fiddleford who had been fucking him? That imagining the sweet southern man fucking into him had made him moan louder than the actual man who had done so? He didn’t know what to make of the whole situation, his thoughts merely traveling around in circles wondering when did he start thinking of his new friend-- not even that, acquaintance-- in such a way? Surely if Fiddleford knew the truth about him, he wouldn’t want to even be associated with him.

His thoughts continued to swirl around in his head, until finally, the door opened. He half feared it would be another customer to add to his inner turmoil, but instead he heard the bouncers voice. “Bar’s closed.”

Stan sighed thankfully and stood up, wincing as he did so. He shrugged the jacket back on and unlocked the door. He came out to greet the bouncer, who looked at him with a face of disgust. Silently, he extended a hand, obviously expecting him to fork over the bars share of his profits. He pulled out his wad of cash, thankful that he had hidden a few bills in his coat pocket. He counted out the money before forking over the 40% (though in actuality, it was more like 25-30%) he owed the bar. The bouncer pocketed the cash and motioned to the door.

“Scram.”

Stan didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled out the door and back to the street, yet again thankful that he actually had a real winter coat to wear. It was even colder than it had been the following night. He quickly retreated to his car, parked in the familiar parking lot, to count his earnings. After pulling out all the cash from his jacket and shoes, he had close to around $300. It wasn’t a bad night, especially considering he only was fucked once. This should hopefully be able to buy him gas, food, and maybe even a motel room whilst he was here. Hell, maybe tomorrow, he’d treat Fiddleford to a cup of coffee if he was feeling generous enough.

He tucked the money into a safe place and leaned his car seat back, wincing as he leaned back down against the seat. Hopefully he wouldn’t still be too sore when he saw Fiddleford tomorrow.

He tried to ignore that he had been thinking about the kind man in such a way. He felt dirty. What he did was already dirty by most people's standards, but thinking about the man who had shown him more kindness in a day then he had received in the past four years? It made him feel lower than low.

Unable to help himself, and having masochistic tendencies when down, he pulled down the sun visor from the roof of his car, revealing the photo he had taped to it. Fingers gently traced the shapes of the worn images, looking at the smiling faces of two boys. They had been so innocent back then. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for breaking that damn machine, even if it hadn’t been intentional. If he hadn’t been such a fuck up, Ford would have never missed his shot to go to his dream school, and Stan would have never been kicked out of the house.

Distantly, Stan wondered what Ford was up to now. No doubt, he probably had been able to get into another school. His Ma tried to tell him about Ford sometimes on the phone, but Stan always tuned her out, not wanting to think about how he wasn’t apart of his brothers life anymore. He told himself that one day, he would make millions of dollars so he could make it up to his family and come home. He just-- he just needed to wait for a break.

He closed the visor with one last look at his twin and sighed. It was a good thing Stanford couldn’t see how low his brother had gotten. He doubted Stanford would even want to look at him if he knew what Stan had to do in order to survive. But luckily, Stanford would never find out. Once he made his millions and apologized to Ford, he’d never have to think about what he had to do ever again.

He could leave this all in the past; he just had to be patient and keep working towards his goal.

#the crooked kind #ch. 3 #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfic #gravity falls fan fic #fan fic #fanfic #fanfiction #stan pines #stanley pines #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddlestan #ford pines

2 notes · View notes