Work Text:
Fiddleford wasn't quite sure of what to expect when Stanford said he had something he needed help testing.
After an elevator ride down to a dark, mostly empty room, Ford unveiled a large machine featuring a mass of screens.
He bent over to pick up a rather intimidating helmet and held it out. "Put this on your head, please," Ford insisted.
After a moment's hesitation, Fiddleford obliged.
Ford waved his hand, gesturing to the machine as he explained "this is my thought reading machine. It's going to read your thoughts."
"I assumed."
"And," Ford continued excitedly, "it can encrypt your thoughts so that they can't be accessed by aliens or the US government."
With the flick of a switch, the machine hummed to life. Fiddleford mentally braced himself for the experience as his thoughts began appearing in text form on the center screen
Here goes nothing.
My leg itches.
I hope nothing too bad shows up on that machine.
I need new glasses.
Why's this room so hot?
I think we're out of coffee creamer.
"Oh, it really does work!" Ford grinned in delight.
Fiddleford looked up at his friend. "You didn't test it before you put it on my head?"
"I did, I did. But because I'd only ever tested it on myself, I was worried it would only be attuned to my brain. Which, as we know, is very different from everyone else's."
As Fiddleford hummed in agreement, he was startled by the sound of his own voice coming from the machine, singing the song that had been stuck in his head.
I've just seen a face, I can't forget the time or place...
"That's a good song," Ford calmly remarked. He took a seat across the room and flipped open a notepad, rapidly writing down his observations.
A minute or two went by, with nothing moving or making noise other than Ford's pen scratching on the paper.
With little else to do, Fiddleford watched the machine closely, occasionally looking over to observe Ford.
Stanford is too handsome for his own good.
No, don't think about that!
Think about taxes.
Yeah, yeah, taxes, that's good.
Just don't think about Ford.
Oops, too late.
Fiddleford was incredibly lucky that Ford was far too absorbed in his note-taking to even look up at the screen.
Definitely don't think about him bending over earlier.
No, no, I have to stop thinking about that!
Clear your mind, you idiot.
Just think about nothing.
.....
This is harder than I thought.
This is harder than I thought.
Ford briefly glanced up at the sound of the machine repeating Fiddleford's latest thought aloud, before returning to his notes.
Panicking, Fiddleford tried as hard as he could to will the machine not to make a sound, but his efforts were futile.
Stop talking, stupid machine!
This caused Ford to look over at him with concern. "It's okay for it to say what you're thinking out loud."
No, it isn't.
No, it isn't.
Before a single word could make it to Fiddleford's mouth, the machine answered for him.
Ford chuckled. "I really don't mind."
But I don't want you knowing that all my thoughts are about having sex with you.
A long moment went by, completely silent.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
"Machine must be malfunctioning," Fiddleford offered halfheartedly.
Ford put his hand to his chin and stood up, inspecting the machine's hardware and muttering "don't know what'd make it say something like that."
Realizing Ford had taken his words at face value, Fiddleford shook his head. "No, I don't... it's not..."
"It's not what?"
"The machine works fine," he stated, more than a little embarrassed. "It's great, really."
Ford stood mostly still, rocking back and forth slightly as he processed what was going on. "Oh. You mean...you did actually think that?"
With a nod, Fiddleford closed his eyes and prepared for the anger that was surely about to come his way.
After an extended pause, he opened them again. Ford was still standing in front of him, only now his hand was over his mouth and his face was tinged with red.
"Ford? You okay?"
Ford didn't respond, giving a thumbs up and a slight smile instead.
That was encouraging, so Fiddleford was able to breathe a sigh of relief while he waiting for Ford to find his words.
"I didn't know you were interested in me in that way," Ford said as he flapped one hand rapidly up and down.
Fiddleford pointed at the hand flapping. "Nervous or upset?"
With a laugh, Ford replied "a little nervous, but mostly excited, actually."
Still smiling, Ford disconnected Fiddleford from the machine and took him by the hands.
Fiddleford tilted his head with curiosity.
"Can I kiss you?" Ford asked, going out of his way to hold eye contact.
"Of course."
As their lips brushed together, Ford shuddered from the sensation and pressed their bodies closer together until Fiddleford was practically in his lap.
"In the past I haven't gotten very good responses when I've asked that question," Ford mused.
Fiddleford shook his head and laughed. "You don't have to worry about that with me."
"Yeah, I guess I don't, considering all your thoughts are about having sex with me."
"Oh, hush."