"Ow! Ah- git yer elbow outta my face!"
"Well get your knee out of my stomach!"
"Oh fer- this ain't workin'. Just hold still-"
Stan yelped as he was unceremoniously shoved flat onto his back.
"Hey, Fiddlenerd, what's the big idea-"
"Sssh! Quiet! I'm listenin'."
Stan was about to protest that NOBODY tells a Pines man to be quiet, but then he realized his precarious position. Fiddleford was practically - no - ENTIRELY on top of him with his thigh dangerously close to somewhere very sensitive. His hands twitched feebly at his sides in an instinct to reach up and grab ahold of those narrow hips just above him, but thankfully his upstairs brain had a bit more sense than his downstairs one and he kept his hands to himself. With a faceful of chest, Stan could only do as he was told and desperately reflect on what had gotten him into this situation to begin with.
It had all started when Ford brought home a guy. William, he introduced himself as. Bill for short. Stan had instantly clocked this Bill guy as a man of interest to his brother, because the damn nerd kept looking at the scrawny blond like he'd hung the moon and stars.
Fiddleford had apparently picked up on that too, because when Ford and Bill descended into the lab to work on some private project together, Fiddleford hadn't hesitated to suggest he and Stan go spy on the other two. The air ducts to the lab were wide and set into the floor due to the lab's nature of being underground, so it was child's play for Stan to wrench the grate off of one of the upstairs ducts and then crawl inside with Fiddleford hot on his tail.
They'd taken a few wrong turns, and had a run-in with more than a couple of spiders, but they'd finally reached their goal. Fiddleford, protective of his best friend and far too nosy for his own good, had practically flattened Stan in his haste to get closer to the grate and eavesdrop.
Which was how Stan found himself in his current predicament. He was distantly aware of Bill and Ford speaking in hushed tones on the other side, but he'd long since stopped caring. All he could do was hold rigidly still and pray that this would be over quickly before he made a fool of himself.
Then Fiddleford pressed himself down a little closer to get a better angle for peering into the lab, and Stan could only think one thing:
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