Work Text:
The Bargain
by Apricot the Gerbil
The creak of the door opening was all it took, and Experiment 210 went off again, as usual. It scuttled up and down the wire frame of its cage, chewing at the bars, its wide, wet eyes a-sparkle. Fiddleford had scarcely gotten through the doorway, and it was already wagging its hind end, chirping to him: “Beans! Beans beans!”
Fiddleford gripped the straps to the knapsack he carried even tighter, seeing how squashed the creature looked inside the cage. It had obviously grown since they’d been to this part of the bunker last. *Again.* He’d barely gotten used to how it had learned to talk last week, much less that its voice was already beginning to deepen.
“Me ‘n my big mouth,” he grumbled, regarding the creature with narrowed eyes. He slid his knapsack down to the floor and unzipped it to start grabbing out one labeled can after another from inside it, stacking them in a short row. “If'n I never told Ford to build a place to stash his critters, I wouldn’t hafta get creeped out by *you* three times a week.”
The pale blob tilted its head from where it clung to one side of the cage, staring at him.
“Yes, I’m talking 'bout you.” Fiddleford took out a can opener from his lab coat pocket, winching along the top of the first can. “Nasty little bugger. I don’t know why he fawns over ya.”
“Gel. Luss.” 210 grunted.
Fiddleford’s hand stilled. His eyes darted to the creature inside the cage. “What’d you just say?”
“What’d I just say?” it repeated back in a perfect mimic of Fiddleford’s own voice, then raised to its usual half-lilt once more. “Jealous.”
The engineer shuddered at the way 210 was looking at him. This was no dumb cow’s stare, like he’d seen a million times back on the farm. This thing *knew* what it had just said to him.
“I am NOT jealous of you, ya little worm!” he puffed back.
It replied in the worst way Fiddleford could imagine.
It turned into Stanford.
His 'boss’ looked even more cramped inside the biggest dog cage they could find for the beast, but every detail was in place, from Ford’s rumpled sweater vest to the six fingers on each hand clutching the wire. Fiddleford blushed at the sight of Ford smiling so widely at him, despite himself.
“L is for Like,” came 210’s higher voice from Ford’s throat. It never broke eye contact with Fiddleford as it went on, clutching the bars with hefty arms to climb sideways along the cage wall. “To like is. To be happy, around. Example. Ford. Likes. Shifty.”
Fiddleford bristled at Ford’s pet name for the thing.
'Ford’ grinned through the bars at him. “And Fiddleford. Likes. Ford. But Ford. Does not.”
“That’s not…” Fiddleford began, only to trail off. His shoulders slumped, as a deep, hurt frown slid across his face.
“Guess you pick up on more things than I give ya credit for,” he grumbled at last, crossing his arms.
“Fiddleford. Wants. Mating? With Ford?”
Fiddleford coughed in shock. He scowled at the copy of his friend, horrified. “D'you even know what 'mating’ *is,* smart fella?”
“Yes!” said the Ford-210 with disturbing enthusiasm. “Ford says. Is to Like, and to Play, both. And, can make. More. Of you.” It frowned slightly, blinking. “Ford. Will not teach. Shifty. Example.”
“Yeah, I wonder why,” Fiddleford said with a roll of his eyes. “Two weeks old seems a little young to know about that kinda stuff yet.”
“Shifty. Does not know. When. Shifty is 'young.’ But, Shifty. Wants to learn. Mating.” 'Ford’’s eyes quirked upwards. “Shifty. Can learn. Mating. From Fiddleford? Is this… Yes?”
“No!” Fiddleford shot back, arching away from the cage at the very thought.
“Ford. Does not like. Fiddleford,” the Ford-210 said again matter-of-factly. It shrunk back to its usual squishy form, giving him a sweet smile through its maw full of pointy teeth. “Shifty. Is Ford. For Fiddleford… If. More. Beans.”
This, Fiddleford couldn’t help shaking his head at. “You’re honestly tryin’ to *bribe* me?”
210 tilted its head at the unfamiliar word. “No example for. 'Bribe.’ But Shifty knows, P is for Play,” it replied. “Play reduces. Stress. And promotes. Happy-ness.” It regarded Fiddleford with an unsettlingly mature smirk. “Shifty. Wants to like, and play With. Fiddleford. And, make. Fiddleford. Happy.”
“…For more beans,” said Fiddleford, raising an eyebrow.
“Y is for Yes!” 210 chirped, with a wiggle of its back end. “Example. Yes is what. You say. When. Every one. Is happy, with. A plan.”
Fiddleford stared at the little wormy beast for a while. The more he stared, the wider and sourer his frown became.
Finally, he stood up.
“Lemme get you some more beans,” he said, turning for the doorway.
“Beans~!” 210 sang, waggling.
“Yeah, yeah… Beans…” muttered Fiddleford distractedly, as the door swung shut.
——
“Now, you better understand one thing good, y'hear?” Fiddleford pointed to the creature, then at the door behind them both, at the far end of the room. “Only *I* know how to open that door. And I’m not lettin’ you out of here, no-how. So don’t go gettin’ funny ideas about runnin’ off, once I let you outta this thing.”
He crouched down, key in hand, to unlock the wire cage. As soon as the latch swung open, 210 scuttled out slowly and tipped its head up at Fiddleford. “T is for Thankyou,” the blob said. “Example. Thankyou. For is open, prison.”
“Prison?” said Fiddleford, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what Ford calls it, or *you* call it?”
“Shifty. *Likes.* Fiddleford!” it chirruped, nuzzling against the engineer’s shoe and leaving a slime trail. “Fiddleford is. Beans.” It corrected itself– “Fiddleford is. *Bring.* Beans.”– with a nod of its head.
“Nice dodge,” Fiddleford said flatly. Off came his knapsack, with three more tins of beans set down among the pile. “There, y'little monster. Now remember your side of the bargain.”
Where 210 once stood, Ford was suddenly ambling over to the cans on hands and knees, wagging his butt from side to side in a dance of delight. “Beeeans~!” 'Ford’ sang, as he attacked the one half-opened can.
Fiddleford wished the creature was less of a messy eater. It looked just plain *weird* seeing his friend gobbling beans straight from the tin. “Yup. Beans. You just… lemme know when you’re done with those, and…”
Slurping sounds, as Ford pried a second can open with his teeth. Fiddleford winced and looked away until the gulping and burping noises had stopped.
“Okay! Shifty will learn, Mating. From Fiddleford. Now.” 'Ford’s’ eyes practically shone with excitement behind his glasses. “Is, yes?”
“Right,” said Fiddleford. Lord, what had he let his pecker talk him into? “Can you, uh. Take that shirt off?”
The Shifter-Ford stared back blankly. “This is. Ford.” it said, flapping Ford’s sweatered arms in the air. “Shifty is see. Ford, like this. Always.”
Fiddleford sighed, but couldn’t fault the creature for that. He also didn’t want to imagine a situation where Ford would get naked in front of the thing. “That’s fine,” he told it, stroking the silky material of Ford’s shirt.
His eyes widened at the sensation. He’d never had an opportunity to touch Ford in any meaningful way before, much less fondle his clothes. The sweater vest he wore was far smoother than Fiddleford would’ve dreamed. He couldn’t help leaning in to take a deep whiff…
Beans. It smelled like beans. Go figure, he thought… though it didn’t stop him from rubbing his cheek back and forth along the silkiness of Ford’s chest, uttering a dreamy sigh.
“Is. Yes?” Ford purred to him. Broken English or not, it still caused a stirring in Fiddleford’s tender parts. His knees knocked towards each other with sudden nervousness. He gulped. Was he really about to try sticking his privates into *livestock?* It wouldn’t be a first for the McGucket family, he knew this all too well, but…
“Can you… get on yer knees for me, please?” he asked, more kindly than he’d ever spoken to the creature before. The least he could do was be polite, he figured.
Ford obeyed like a retriever.
“Criminy,” Fiddleford swore to himself. Seeing the eager look in Ford’s… no, in the *thing’s* eyes, smiling up at him… wasn’t making the battle between his conscience and his groin any easier.
“Teach me,” Ford breathed to him, low and husky.
Fiddleford’s knees knocked faster, but his zipper still came down. Lord save him, he already had a giant tent in his drawers.
“Biiig,” marveled Ford, taking in the sight with awe as Fiddleford popped his stiffy free from his briefs and stroked his shaft to full hardness with a self-conscious blush. “To touch is, yes?”
“Pl-please do,” Fiddleford stammered.
He sighed through clenched teeth as his friend brushed a finger along the underside, watching intently as the veiny, dusk-colored flesh bobbed lightly in the air when he let go. “It works, how?”
*Put it in your mouth. Say 'put it in your mouth.’*
Fiddleford’s resolve wilted at the last second. He squeezed his eyes shut and grasped for one of Ford’s arms, shuffing the silky long sleeve along his length instead.
He groaned at once at the heavenly soft feeling. Maybe that hadn’t been the worst choice after all.
Ford gave an interested “Hm.” at the reaction, and brought in his other arm to bury Fiddleford’s erection between his shirt sleeves, tugging back and forth, watching the head sink, disappear, and pop back out from the fabric. “Is, yes?”
Fiddleford was bucking along with the sleeves in no time at all. “Oh god… yes!” he whimpered. “Yes, that’s a *great* big yes!”
Ford’s arms stilled. “Oh god,” he repeated, tilting his head. “Example?”
“Oh. Uh, it’s, when…” Fiddleford struggled. Words were hard at the moment. “When something’s so much 'yes,’ you don’t know what else to say.”
Nodding, Ford went back to stroking. And boy howdy, alien copy or not, this Ford was a *fantastic* learner. Fiddleford was trembling in his grasp, clamping hold of Ford’s shoulders with both hands, hanging on for dear life. “Oh god, god have mercy, ohhh, *damn…!!”*
He was coming, hard, before he’d thought of where to aim. Ford ended up with a whole load of semen gobbed across his face, streaking his glasses.
Ford seemed overjoyed. “Oh god!” he parroted back happily.
Fiddleford slumped into Ford’s arms, giving a tired laugh. He may’ve just made the angels cry, but either way, the deed was done. “That’s right… Oh god,” he said.
“Oh damn!” Ford said with the same bright grin.
Fiddleford’s eyes bulged in horror. He crossed himself without thinking. “Hey, now… that’s a *grown-up* word,” he told the creature.
With a twisting blur, Ford reverted back to 210’s natural chubby blob form. “Yes! Shifty knows, mating! Shifty is. A grown-up now!” It waggled its hind end, cheering, “Damn~!”
Fiddleford’s hands flew to cover his face. Having the thing jerk him off was one thing, but now he’d *really* gone and created a monster.