#Fidds did that himself that’s why I put it in his thigh

[glittter-skeleton]

Fuck you *angsts your flirty gal tattoo*

[masked-fox-creations]

When The Strangers Blew In, Ch. 17

Oh boy is this late, whoops. I just did not get it up last week, and this weekend I was too busy between family and power outages. But I definitely wanted to get this one out asap.

Summary: Stanford and Stanley Pines dream of a different life. One where they’re not just tidying their pa’s shop or helping ma take care of the baby. Where they can live freely as the men they know they are, instead of pa hounding them to marry before they become spinsters. They get a taste of that possibility when two strangers blow into town, but with them comes a heap of trouble.

Pairings: Rick/Stan (stanchez); Fiddleford/Stanford (fiddauthor)

Warnings for this chapter: Besides some mild alcohol consumption there’s not much to warn about here. Oh, a bit of blood.

ao3 link

Chapter 17— This Here Cliff Looks Mighty Steep

Stanley’s back throbbed in rhythm with his thighs. The soles of his bare feet ached. His body was exhausted and if they didn’t stop soon he’d probably fall off Chestnut. Fiddleford didn’t look any better. Sparing his companion a glance he saw the fatigue plain on Fiddleford’s face and how his hair was plastered to it by sweat.

They had been riding nonstop for a long time—too long. It was night now and the moon hung above them helpfully lighting their way. Sheriff Powers had followed the other two, and they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Filbrick for a while now. While he had never been as fast a rider as the twins, Filbrick was hellbent on getting his hands on them. Would it damn them to stop for a much needed rest? They needed to risk it either way or they were good as dead regardless.

There was no ideal place to stop, but at least they were covered on one side by a hill and they could see anyone approaching for miles. They gratefully dismounted and stretched out their sore muscles.

“I’m aching more than an antelope during mating season.”

“You’re a weird guy, Fiddlesticks,” Stanley said, shaking his head fondly.

After finally putting his shoes back on he started tending to Chestnut and Fiddleford did the same for his horse. They had held their own pretty well and Stanley vowed to reward them with their favorite treats as soon as they reached town.

Fiddleford had also held his own, and Stanley couldn’t help being surprised at how sturdy that beanpole kept proving to be.

“You know, I can understand what Sixer sees in you,” he commented offhandedly.

“You do? What, uh, does he see in me?”

Stanley chuckled. “A hell of a lot. That’s why he was so torn up when you disappeared.”

“Oh.”

The other man fell silent. Stanley could sense his warring emotions. A bitter part of him was glad Fiddleford seemed to feel at least a bit guilty. Mostly though he was just tired. And truth be told he did pity the pair for what they had been through. But that really didn’t erase his spite.

“Yup. Well, we should try and get some sleep while we can. You hit the hay and I’ll wake ya in an hour.”

Stanley sat down, back against the hill, and draped a blanket over himself. A moment later Fiddleford joined him. He was biting his lip and looked like he had something to say.

“What’s on your mind, Fiddle Dee Dee?”

“I just wanted to say that maybe it doesn’t seem like it, but we had ta leave! We were backed into a corner.”

“Listen, I ain’t gonna fault either of you for looking after yourselves, but don’t you dare act like it was your only option.” Fiddleford started to talk and Stanley cut him off. “And definitely don’t you act like this was all to protect us.”

Stanley tipped his hat in such a way that it obscured most of Fiddleford but he could still look out across the desert. Wind whistled through the hills. Fiddleford’s leg bounced.

“You weren’t the only ones backed into a corner, ya know,” Stanley very nearly whispered.

Just as softly Fiddleford said, “I…I’m glad you boys have each other. And I’m sorry. We could have left ya a note or something.”

“At the very least. Or, ya know, actually talked to us.” He could have been harsher, and part of him wanted to be, but maybe it was exhaustion that lessened his bite.

Fiddleford sighed heavily, and Stanley could feel the weight he was carrying around. Probably been carrying since that night he left his childhood home behind, only adding new guilts as they went along.

“I really do want you to know I care about you fellas an awful lot. Rick does too. And, well, maybe we were mainly looking after ourselves, but we want you boys to be safe, too. And I mean that.”

“I’m sure you do, Fidds. But ya gotta admit that you went about it in a shit way.”

Fiddleford sighed again; Stanley felt his weight grow.

After a moment of silence that hung tensely around them Fiddleford said, “I’ve done so many things, Stanley, wrong things. Made so many mistakes. Sometimes I tinker around with the thought of this invention I cooked up one night. It erases memories—any ones you want! So if’n I wished to I could just forget all these things I’ve done.”

“Fiddleford?”

“Stanley?”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. For a genius, I can’t understand how any of that sounds like a good idea to you. Now get some sleep.”

Fiddleford chuckled. “Yessir, Stanley.”

“Pleasant dreams, Fiddlesticks,” he wished as the other man wrapped his blanket tight around him and closed his eyes.

Stanley gazed out into the darkness and wondered how his brother was doing. And Rick.

——

If nothing else, Rick and he shared a natural cynicism for when things seemed to be going too well. For Stanford he was sure it was due to years of living with the volatile Filbrick; who knew why Rick was this way. Their adventure so far had just strengthened their paranoia. Every moment of peace always seemed to have something dark lurking at its heels. What would it be this time?

For a good long while Powers had been hot on their tail. Then he had started falling behind. Eventually the pair lost sight of him completely. It should have been a blessing, but of course it meant they didn’t know where he was now. He could be watching from afar, or maybe hidden just on the other side of a hill. For that matter, perhaps Bud and Preston were waiting somewhere to ambush them.

And what of the others? Had Filbrick caught up to them? Did he have someone else with him, ready to shoot Fiddleford dead and do who-knew-what to his brother? What would Filbrick do if he only caught one of them? Perhaps his temper would flair—Stanley was good at igniting his ire—and he’d take it all out on Stanley.

Stanford was clutching Astra’s reigns so hard he felt his knuckles were on fire. He took a deep breath and forced his hands and brain both to relax. No matter what was happening to the others there was nothing he could do. He had to trust they’d be fine.

It was easier said than done.

“There,” Rick said, jolting Stanford out of his own head. He turned to the man he hadn’t even realized had saddled up next to him. He was pointing up ahead; there was a small cave opening.

They made their way over to it and, after popping their heads in to discover it unoccupied, entered. Due to the moon’s angle the cave was partially illuminated. It didn’t seem to go in too deep, but they staid close to the mouth regardless.

It was a relief to stop riding. Stanford had been so absorbed with worry he hadn’t realized quite how worn he was. Now that there was no adrenaline carrying him his body swayed dangerously. His insomnia last night had done Stanford no favors.

He lowered gratefully to the ground, leaning back against the rock wall. In here they were sheltered from the brunt of the wind, and as such it was merely cool as opposed to freezing. In fact, it was quite pleasant.

Stanford glanced over at his companion who stood at the cave opening, appearing deep in thought. Rick was peering out across the desert, though Stanford suspected he wasn’t really seeing outside of whatever was playing in his mind. Stanford felt a sudden and intense urge to break the silence surrounding them. He had nothing to say, though.

As if sensing this, Rick told him, “Get some sleep, Stanford. I’ll keep a lookout.”

Stanford nodded and tried to get comfortable. It was no easy task. In the end he staid sitting up against a relatively smooth spot on the wall.

Sleep didn't’ come quickly, but it did come eventually. It didn’t stay for long.

The moon had lowered in the sky but the sun wasn't quite ready to rise when his eyes opened again. Rick was still at the mouth of the cave, though now he was sitting and leisurely sipping from his flask. For a few minutes Stanford simply watched him. He seemed pensive, most likely worrying about the other two. Rick startled when Stanford softly called his name.

“Fuck! You should still be asleep.”

“I usually wake every few hours. Then it’s difficult for me to return to sleep, so I’ll take over lookout duty.”

“Nah,” Rick declined, capping his flask. “We might as well start moving again.”

“Shouldn’t you get some rest?”

“Eh, this isn’t the first time I’ve ridden w-while tired.” He stood and stretched. “Besides, it’ll be better to stay ahead of your sheriff and exes.”

“Never call them that again or I will shoot you. Though I can see your point.”

Stanford got to his feet and followed Rick to their horses. After whispering a quick promise to Astra—she’d get to rest soon enough, and a special treat once they reached town—Stanford hopped up in the saddle. He watched Rick rummage through his bags.

“Hold on, my flask’s about half empty. Should feel it up while I’ve got the chance.”

Oh. It had slipped Stanford’s mind how he and Stanley had reorganized the other men’s bags. Several important changes suddenly came back to him.

“What the hell?” Rick said, bringing out Fiddleford’s snuff box. He quirked his brow at Stanford and snorted. “Cute.”

Stanford smiled innocently.

Rick tossed it at Stanford who shoved it in his own bag, and resumed his alcohol search. Stanford tried to school his expression. It proved a difficult task, especially when Rick went rigid.

Turning slowly to the other man Rick demanded, “Stanford, where’s the rest of my booze?”

His voice was surprisingly calmer than Stanford would have imagined, giving the circumstances. Stanford found it very difficult to stop the smile on his face.

“In Fiddleford’s bag.”

“What?”

“Well, we needed to divvy up the weight equally between horses.”

Rick sputtered incoherently for a second. When he managed to calm down just a fraction he asked, “Why wouldn’t you put it in my bag then?”

“There was no room.”

Rick narrowed his eyes. Without looking away from Stanford he mounted his horse. His simmering rage was apparent, and Stanford gave up on covering his mirth.

“Shall we?”

When the other man made no reply Stanford cheerfully started off.

They rode for several hours, not going quite as hard as before but certainly not trotting along at a leisurely pace. They spotted no signs of anyone, nor any indication anyone had been around those parts recently. Stanford wished that he could take comfort in that, yet worry and anticipation overruled.

The sun was high and bright when they stopped again. They took shelter from the heat beneath a few trees clustered close together. In minutes Rick was asleep. Stanford tried to keep his full attention on their surroundings, but soon his idleness was a distraction. He took the motor from his jacket; fiddling about with it helped to focus his thoughts.

Stanford brought out a few wires and other pieces he had admittedly taken from Fiddleford’s bag. As he tinkered about he kept an eye and ear out for anyone else.

Several hours passed without activity. Stanford was torn; either they were about to be ambushed or somehow had managed to shake off their pursuers. He hoped desperately for the latter but fully expected the former.

Eventually Rick woke on his own. His stomach grumbled loudly, and Stanford’s agreed with him. The other man searched through his bag, all the while complaining about his missing alcohol, and brought out some dried meat and cheese. Rick sat across from Stanford at a safe distance and tossed half of it at him.

“So I’m assuming we didn’t have any unwelcome visitors.”

Stanford shook his head as he bit into a piece of meat.

Further conversation fell to the wayside as they ravenously ate. Even when he was done Stanford was still hungry. They couldn’t deplete all their supplies, however, since they were still a few days ride from town. A bit of cheese and meat would have to do for now.

Stanford finished first and while Rick worked on his last bit of jerky he returned to tinkering. He was aware of the other man’s gaze on him. He expected Rick to inquire about what he was doing, or maybe come over and help. Instead he simply watched, not speaking up for what felt like nearly a half hour.

“So wh-what the hell is the bee in your bonnet lately, Stanford?”

Stanford spared the other man a brief glance before concentrating back on the wires.

“Do you mean my anger that two people whom I was foolish enough to trust abandoned my brother and I? Truly it’s a mystery.”

“I get your feelings were hurt.” Rick took a swig from his flask. “I’m talking about how overprotective you’ve been. More so than normal.” “Is it so strange to be protective of my brother?”

“Seems more than the usual amount is all I’m saying.”

“What do you want from me?” Stanford snapped, tossing the wires down. He glared at the other man. “I’m tired of seeing Stanley hurt.”

“That why you want to start over?”

Voice choked Stanford said, “Yes. He’s protected me so much, more than you will ever realize, Rick. Now I’m going to protect him.”

“By leaving your home.”

“Home is a funny word, Rick. Ma told us once that home isn’t where you live, but who you live with. For me, my home is my twin.” Stanford gave a rueful smile. “I think Stanley would like home to include you.”

Rick snorted, took another swig.

“What about you? Fiddleford a part of your home?”

“He’s part of yours. And I think, yes, I’d like him to be part of mine. Even if you have to be part of it, too.”

Rick laughed and passed the flask. Stanford hesitated just a split second before bringing it to his lips and tasting the tequila inside. It was an unfamiliar burn, he was much more used to whiskey, yet it was a welcome pain.

Handing the flask back Stanford looked Rick straight in the eye and calmly promised, “If anyone ever dares harm my brother again they’ll forfeit their own happiness. I will make sure they regret their choices for as long as they live. That includes you.”

If Rick had a reply Stanford would never know. At that moment the sound of riders reached them. They whipped around and saw three figures coming their way: Sheriff Powers, Bud, and Preston.

In an instant they were on their feet and running to their horses. One of the men called out for them but they couldn’t make out the words. Not that they had any intention to listen, regardless.

They rode hard in the opposite direction. Up ahead was a mountain range and getting caught by it would only spell disaster. It spanned a good distance, however, and with their pursuers closing in there was no other option. Thankfully Rick spotted a pass.

Just as they reached it, however, Rick suddenly tumbled off his horse.

Stanford feared he had been shot. He glanced back but no one had a gun pulled out. It was a small relief.

Next to the pass was a towering pile of fallen boulders. Stanford quickly hopped down, directing Astra behind them. Then he grabbed one of Rick’s guns, pointing it towards the other men. Powers reached for his pistol. Stanford let off a shot that sailed over his head, but stilled his hand nonetheless.

Stanford’s hand was shaking. He knew he wouldn’t get of any sort of accurate shot. He glanced at his companion.

“Get behind the boulders.”

Rick, who had sat up and was clutching the back of his head, looked around. Judging by the expression on his face he noticed that his horse had gone on without him.

Stanford let off another warning shot. In truth he had been aiming for Powers’ shoulder but once again had missed his mark.

“That’s close enough!” The men stopped about twenty feet away. “Hands where I can see them. Good. Now should you make any sudden moves you will find a bullet lodged somewhere quite unpleasant.”

“Leanne Pines, we’re here to rescue you and your sister,” the sheriff called out.

A laugh bubbled out of Stanford before he could crush it. The audacity of it all was just too much.

“Look at those horrid clothes they have you wearing,” Preston sniffed. “Just atrocious.”

“Lower the gun, dear, and let us help you,” Bud said. “We don’t blame you at all.”

“We know these vagabonds are behind all this. Come now, and let’s put all this behind us.”

Stanford rolled his eyes.

“Another word from either of you and you’ll both be swallowing lead.”

They seemed reluctant to listen but wisely shut their mouths. Stanford glanced again at his partner. Rick was still on the ground, one hand on the back of his head. He whistled at Stanford.

“Not doing half bad, Sixer. Find out which asshole threw a rock at me.”

“I told you to get behind those boulders.”

Stanford turned back to the men, making sure they weren’t about to do something stupid. Then he stared hard at Rick. For a second it seemed like he would protest, but finally Rick took cover.

“It’s a bit aggravating that no one ever listened to me or Stanley until we had a gun.” Now that Rick was out of their sight and immediate danger Stanford concentrated on the trio. Right now they were at a standstill. Stanford would shoot—and hopefully not miss again—should they try anything. Yet he could only shoot if he staid right there. The second they tried to escape the others would have ample opportunity to ready their own guns, and they would have the advantage since Rick and his backs would be to them.

There was another trail, this one leading up the mountain instead of straight. The rocks obscured it partially from the other men which would allow them a small head start. If they could just reach that they had a chance.

Stanford edged closer behind the rocks. There was a grim look on Rick’s face.

“Well this certainly isn’t the best scenario we could have found ourselves in. At least we have each other’s pleasant company,” Stanford joked. It felt hollow to his own hears, and didn’t lighten Rick’s expression.

Rick moved the hand from his head and Stanford saw the blood that slicked it. Not enough to be worried about in that moment, but certainly something to care for when they got the chance.

“I’ll hold them off, Rick told him, unholstering his second gun. “Get on Astra and get the hell out of here.”

“Rick, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard you say—which is impressive, considering all the nonsense you’ve spouted.”

“Damn it, Stanford, this isn’t the time for your sarcasm.”

“No, this is no time for your—”

Movement caught his eye and Stanford’s head snapped back to the other men: Powers was inching towards his pistol. With more instinct than though Stanford let off a shot that sailed right between the sheriff and Preston. He’d never seen the latter’s eyes so wide. Power’s hand went right back into the air.

“Congratulations, fellows, you’ve used up your last warning. And here I was trying to be generous.”

He edged even further into cover, now mostly shielded by the rocks but still able to see the men. He glanced at Rick again who seemed to be staring at Stanford with something like admiration in his eyes.

“Now Rick, are you ready to listen to my plan? We’ll have to be on the same page to get out of here safely.”

“G-goddamn it, Stanford, run and save yourself!” Rick snapped. The younger man just chuckled.

“Listen, Rick, my brother’s sweet on you. Meaning that even if I think you’re a pompous bastard who would be brilliant if you knew how to put down the bottle, I have to save you. For Stanley.”

Rick watched Stanford grab his arm and hoist him up.

“That, that’s no way to get ahead in this world, kid.”

“Well it’s a good thing we’re not planning to stay on this planet, huh?”

Rick smirked and shook his head. He opened his mouth yet closed it just as quickly and snickered.

“Y-you’re both stubborn, annoying bastards. What’s your plan?”

Stanford grinned and reached into the bag on Astra’s flank. Rick kept an eye, and gun, on the trio as he rummaged around for exactly what he needed.

“Your flask, please.”

“Oh, this should be good.”

Rick tossed him the flask, and Stanford doused the wooden gnome in tequila. He noticed the sad look on Rick’s face but chose not to comment. There would be time to tease him later. Next he opened Fiddleford’s snuff box and sprinkled a mixture of it and a few other herbs he had stashed in his monster studying equipment. They were something native to Gravity Falls and Stanford suspected nowhere else, and had magical properties especially when mixed like this.

“Alright, we’ll need to be ready to ride as soon as soon as I light this, because it will go up in flames quite quickly.”

Stanford mounted Astra and Rick hopped up behind him. Stanford eased them over just enough so he could see the other men. Rick twisted in the saddle with gun trained on them. Before they could react Stanford lit the the gnome on fire and tossed it at them. Instantly the gnome became a fireball. Flames rose high in the air and made a terrifying crackling sound that echoed across the land.

It took their pursuers a good few minutes to realize what was happening. Their horses were in a panic and they couldn’t seem to settle the beasts down. It was just enough of a head start to slip away.

Rick let out a whoop of disbelief and victory. Stanford laughed along with him.

[canaliculi]

The fire in my bones

Gravity Falls

Bill/Ford

NC-17: tentacles, cock cages, slight CBT

Bill/Ford - tentacles + breath, blood, or chastity play

One day – or night, to be more precise – Bill had asked him, “did you know vampires are real?”

“I’d always had my suspicions,” Ford had answered, and made a mental note to search the shady areas of Gravity Falls for some.

“You know what I always found weird about them, Sixer?”

“What’s that?”

“The whole, ‘having to invite them in,’ thing,” Bill had said, and eyes had flicked to life in the great darkness surrounding them and then faded out again. “Seems like a waste of time to me!”

“Hmmm,” Ford hummed, considering. “I always found the fangs strange – where do they come from? They’re much longer than human canines. I believe some authors have speculated that a new set of canines grows from the gums. If we could harness something like that, vampirism might just be a decent cure for cavities!”

“Might wanna do another cost-benefit analysis there, IQ.”

Ford was drumming his fingers relentlessly against his desk, because he couldn’t wiggle his leg as he would under more usual circumstances, because he was convinced that Fiddleford would finally notice. Honestly, he couldn’t believe F hadn’t noticed the first day he’d put it on. Not that he wore tight fitting pants or ever came exceptionally close to his research partner, but with the way it felt on him – on himself, a delicate (and sturdy, far too sturdy) cage, heavy and constrictive – well, it felt like anyone who was in the same room with him for long would know.

His attitude probably wasn’t helping much either. Jumpy and distracted, prone to flinching at F’s touches, Ford hadn’t felt this way since… ever. He had never felt this way. His thoughts constantly circulated to the chastity device around his cock, which led to the non-physical entity who had convinced him to put it on in the first place, which led to a downward rush of blood so forceful it almost left him dizzy. And when he was aroused – far more often than he was particularly comfortable with – the bindings around him gave the beginning tingles of pain, pressing back hard against his tender flesh until he could feel his pulse throbbing in his dick, an ache that grew sharper and sharper until it was all Ford could think about.

It was a downward spiral that Bill Cipher was at the bottom – and the top - of.

Oh, and there was one more factor contributing to the misery he’d somehow consented to, and it had to do with the quiet laughter he could hear in his mind. It sent a cool wave of prickling skin across his body, excitement and dread pooling molten and quiet in his stomach. Ford licked his lips and cleared his throat. Tried to concentrate on the equations and sketches outlined on the page before him. A nigh impossible task, as he felt the sensation of hands on his inner thighs, fingers that dug into the meat of his legs, so close to where he (suddenly, desperately) needed to be touched. They dragged downwards and vanished at his knees, leaving his entire body thrumming like a plucked string in their wake.

There would be, Ford knew from experience, nothing there if he glanced down. It was just Bill, messing with the relay center of his brain, convincing his neurons and receptors that something physical, tangible was there. A thought that proved to be both disturbing and thrilling. He felt warm air at the crook of his neck, soft lips and then a wet, squirming tongue. His hands were clenched into fists and he had read the same sentence at least 5 times by now. More of those phantom hands, then, that settled on his hips, thumbs digging in just below the swooping posterior crest of his bones and fingers kneading at the junction of his hip and leg. Stroking upwards over the clenched and quivering muscles of his lower abdomen, occasionally slipping beneath the waist of his slacks.

And more. One hallucinogenic hand walking fingers up the bumps of his spine at a leisurely pace, one trailing up and down the midline of his stomach. A pair that clutched at his knees like a supplicant, steadily encouraging him to spread his legs, a wordless beg for him to yield. Please echoed in his mind. It wasn’t Bill’s voice but it made his hips jerk all the same. Something nipped along the sensitive flesh right at the corner of his jaw, and Ford’s head titled, just slightly, as if to allow it more room to explore. The sensation simply dissipated altogether and Ford clenched his jaw shut tight.

A hand landed on his shoulder and gave him a small shake, followed by a voice that was decidedly not in his head.

“Stanford?” Ford flinched so hard his knees banged up into the underside of his desk. It was a welcome distraction from Bill’s hands that were still pawing all over his body. “You doin’ all right there? You look about as nervous as a long tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.”

“F-fine!” The word came out a little high-pitched and strangled, as Bill chose that precise moment to wrap a hand around his fully encaged length. Ford was certain he was dying. “Fine, I’m fine, Fidds.”

“You been not sleeping again? I tell you, Ford, you’re gonna run yourself ragged if you keep this up.”

Soft fingers caressed against him, running over his sensitive flesh where it bulged out between the rings of his device, inciting a bolt of heat to lance through his body, a pulse in his dick that was borderline painful. Ford grit his teeth and sucked in a shaky breath, and Fidds chose that moment to lean around to his side and press his free hand over his forehead.

“You’re looking a little flushed, are you coming down with something?”

“Ah, y-you know, you may-” Bill squeezed around him. “-May have a point. I don’t – I think I need a, uh, moment.”

“Sure, sure, Ford – whatever you need.”

Whatever you need, IQ, he heard echo through his mind, you just gotta ask for it, right? Ford bit his cheek almost violently.

“Yes, uh, please excuse me Fiddleford.” Ford reached up with a shaky hand and gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze to the one Fidds still had planted on his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll feel better after some r-rest.” A mouth was nibbling at the inside of his thigh.

Fidds wasn’t moving, oh god, why wasn’t he moving away. Didn’t he have work to do? The mechanic had dropped his hand from his forehead but was watching him intently, and Ford felt the familiar jangling tune of paranoia kick in the back of his mind. He knows, he knows, F knows-

“I think so,” Fidds said, and Ford tried not to sigh with relief. “Get all the rest you need, partner, I can finish up today’s work here.”

With that, the mechanic gave him one final, comraderic clap on the shoulder and sauntered off back to the skeletal framework of the portal. Ford waited, drumming his fingers on the table, willing his erection to go down. It wasn’t insanely effective. His cock was throbbing in time to his heartbeat, each spike causing his flesh to press harder against unyielding metal. The tip of his cock remained free, at least, with nothing but a tight ring nestled just below its leaking and hypersensitive head, but he could feel the zipper of his slacks digging in even through the cotton of his boxers.

F started whistling some folksy song, the subterranean room filling again with heat and the sizzling, popping sounds of his blow torch (which, by the way, Ford was still relatively certain Fidds used more for fun and sport than out of any necessity.) Ford extracted himself from his desk carefully, hissing through his teeth as the soft material of his clothing shifted over him with every movement. As subtly as was possible, he tried to adjust himself. It didn’t do much, and Ford resigned himself to fleeing the scene as quickly as possible without arousing any more suspicion from his partner.

Walking was a nightmare. Everything thought in his head, every nerve ending in his body was screaming at him to rip his clothes off, to go right to the top drawer of his dresser and retrieve the key to this damned thing, to finally get release from the torture Bill had made certain he’d been in for the last three days. He bit his bottom lip and placed both his palms flat on the cool wall of the lift, pretending like they were made of stone, bound to the wall so he would be less tempted to follow through with his baser instincts. His head remained bowed between his arms until he heard the quiet chime signifying he’d reached the ground level.

In defiance to himself, he moved slowly when he walked through his living room, tingling radiating outwards from his core. Ford had planned to go to his room, where at least he could lie down until his body finally calmed, but all at once his mind was filled with the sensation of Bill flooding into his mind. It was like being engulfed in a great wave, one that lifted him off his feet and sent him tumbling head over heels. Like a blinding light, a crushing weight, a glass overfilled with water that stayed only from the fragile bounds of tension. An animal with its jaws hovering around his neck, or more apt, a mythical beast so grand in scope that Ford could be crushed beneath its paws without it even taking notice.

A creature, colossal and otherworldly, that had paused to stop midstride and spotted him. Not just by happenstance, no, it was a creature that had been stopped by him – he, Ford, a human, had drawn a muse out of the stars, out of ancient legend, and now it crouched among mortals, letting itself be known only to him. One that recognized his inherent worth, his potential, his genius among the dull spark of humanity. One that visited and teased him, only him, knew him inside and out, knew every cord to pluck, every string to play, and had never once strummed the wrong cord.

Bill made them stop halfway down the hallway to his room, and ducked into the bathroom instead. His muse was apparently in a sharing mood, as he allowed Ford to close the door behind them, and when they looked at themself in the mirror, Ford felt like both of them were smiling.

“What’s up, Sixer?” Bill leaned closer to their reflection, and Ford could see how blown their pupils were, the flush that burned across their cheeks.

“B-Bill, please,” Ford breathed, embarrassed at the way his voice sounded to his own ears. Bill laughed in response, a laugh that Ford could never hope to replicate without his muse’s presence. His muse hiked up the layers of his shirt and vest, revealing skin that still prickled with the memory of Bill’s ghostly touches, and then set about undoing his pants, freeing Ford’s erection that sprung upwards, curving towards his abdomen. The air felt chilling against his burning skin.

“Oh, I think I see!” Ford watched himself wrap a hand around his aching length and he moaned, unrestrained. His cock was red and swollen, bulging out almost vulgarly between the six metal rings encasing him from root to tip. They were all connected by a chain stretching along the top of his dick, and all of it closed tight by the clasp of one solitary lock. Bill moved their hand up and down, viscous ripples of pain and pleasure stabbing through him at his touch, through his gut, mingling together so that they were impossible to disentangle.

“O-oh god, Bill.” His legs were actually shaking, and he or Bill had to put a grounding hand on the edge of the sink. It was agonizing, on the verge of overstimulation, and Ford watched a steady stream of thin precum drooling out of his cock while Bill worked their hand up and down, twisting his wrist and wringing him out for all he was worth.

“You’ve been so good, Fordsy,” Bill said, and even he sounded out of breath. “Are you ready for your reward?”

“Y-yes, Bill, please-”

Bill clenched his fist around him and Ford had to grit his teeth, a reedy whimper escaping the back of his throat.

“Do you think you deserve it?”

Ford swallowed, a lump in his throat, unsure what to say. Did he deserve it? Hadn’t he done everything his muse had asked? But he knew, didn’t he, that doing all that was asked of you wasn’t always enough. Perhaps he should have been more ambitious, more driven, accomplished more each day without Bill having to hold his hand-

“Just kidding! Of course you do!” Bill ran their thumb in small circles over the head of his dick. Ford’s hips twitched fitfully, and Bill withdrew his hand. He gave their reflection a pair of finger guns and a wink, and then just left the bathroom, cock still jutting out. “Don’t worry, IQ, your little buddy’s still downstairs fixing up our portal.”

Bill stuck their thumb in his mouth, noisily slurping off the fluid he’d gathered there. Ford was finding it hard to concentrate beyond the spiking pain in his cock, the strangling grip of the rings around him, the promise of Bill releasing him, finally. They came to his room and rather than retrieve the key, Bill flopped their body onto the bed, and Ford found himself dragged out of the physical world into the mindscape.

Here Ford was removed from the blazing fire ravaging through his body. His eyes opened to utter blackness, a sky that had had its stars expertly excised. One by one eyes ripped open in the dark, the light coming off of them like spotlights that were focused solely on Ford. A facet of his muse. He remembered what Bill had told him once, about how his true form was incomprehensible, how glimpses of it could cause nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, and complete and total lunacy! Of course, a warning had never been sufficient to stop him from trying something himself, and the result left Ford with a throbbing migraine and violent stomach cramps that lasted for the next day and a half.

“LONG TIME NO SEE, STANFORD PINES!” echoed through the mindscape. “OH WAIT, NOT THAT LONG AT ALL – I’M ALWAYS WATCHING!”

Something cool and slick wrapped around his ankle, a thick leathery hide drenched in oils, and Ford quivered. It wound in loose coils up his leg, leaving his skin feeling wet and prickled with goosebumps. With his acceptance of the first, more and more sprouted off, slinking around his midsection, lifting him even in the nebulous dimension he currently floated in. They roamed over his skin, greedy and insistent, mapping across every inch of his body.

“The portal’s almost finished,” Ford replied, surprised at how steady his voice came out, particularly as a reed thin tentacle wound around his cock, mimicking the chains bound about it in the waking world. Rather than the sharp, unyielding force the chastity device was, the tentacle swirled and milked up and down his length, drawing a long, throaty moan from the captive man.

“Sure, sure, you’re doing great!” Bill said, excited and dismissive in the same tone. “But that’s not what we’re here for!”

The tendrils around him pulled his arms behind his back, bent at his elbows, twisting around each other and pulling harder, harder. Until his shoulders ached in their joints, until his back was arched and his chest was flexed outward. The ones around his legs splayed him, bending his legs forward, exposing him fully. It would be mortifying in any other situation, but Bill was the only other one here. This was all for him, Ford reminded himself, heat pooling in his gut and burning in his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

The thin tendril around his cock kept creeping upwards, wrapping around the base of his length and then around his balls. Ford shuddered, spreading his legs. More eyes opened around him, but he was nearly beyond noticing. The tentacle swirled around his cock, left and then right, over and over, and Ford could feel himself drawing towards the edge already – no doubt from the relentless teasing Bill had subjected him to during the day. And then the part of the cord wrapped tight around his sack yanked downwards, hard, and it was like all the breath had been knocked out of him, his body jack knifing so hard in his bounds that he was sure, sure it was going to leave bruises, even in his physical flesh. Ford let out a keening wail.

A separate tentacle, thick and slimy, slammed itself into his mouth when he opened it, diving deep into his throat. Ford thrashed in his binds, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, and Bill held him there for second after excruciating second until he calmed again, the pain becoming a dull, throbbing pulse that lingered in the background of the pleasant haze the rest of Bill’s actions had left him in. The tentacle in his throat drew backwards, flicking purposefully against his uvula as it withdrew, Ford coughing and hacking when it was freed from his mouth.

“B-Bill, w-what-” His voice came out rough, his throat sore and raw.

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself, Sixer?” Bill asked, and before Ford could answer continued, “because I am!”

It was difficult for Ford to deny his muse anything, after Bill had given him so much and requested so little in return. If this was what Bill liked, who was he to refuse? And it wasn’t as though any of it was entirely unpleasant for Ford. A few moments of discomfort, in exchange for finally being able to give something, anything back to his muse.

“Oh, Fordsy,” Bill said, and the tentacle squirmed itself back into his mouth, thrusting shallowly in and out a few times, until saliva leaked over his bottom lip and down his chin in stretchy strings. A slick tendril pressed at his entrance, and Ford canted his hips towards it, inviting.

In one movement, the tentacle thrust its tapered tip inside him, its girth rapidly growing as it pushed deeper and deeper. Ford moaned around the tendril in his mouth, lapping at like an animal in heat. The tentacle withdrew and then dove in deeper, repeating again and again, each thrust filling him more fully, giving him everything he craved so badly and that cowardice restricted him from asking for.

And then the loop around his sack tightened again, and pulled downwards, sharp and brutal, trapping the air in his lungs, and the tentacles at his mouth and ass both slammed inside him, making Ford feel as though he had been impaled. The worst part was how the rest of the tendril continued to work his cock, how the tentacle thrusting inside him squirmed against his prostrate, keeping him hard and leaking, his body begging for everything Bill had to give him.

“You’re perfect, IQ – the whole package!” The tendril eased off him again, the thick ones at either end of him slamming inside, in precise synchronization, his body shaking and stretched around them. It was good, so good, too good. Tears had spilled out of his eyes, were running in trails down his cheeks, and yet there was nothing coming from him but constant, muffled moans. “You’re mine, Stanford Pines, mine.”

The thick lines of living shadow around his limbs tightened and tightened, pulling on him, stretching him out, holding him open so that Bill could continue to fuck him exactly how he pleased. Ford couldn’t protest – couldn’t even gather the thoughts to protest, his body clenching tight around the intrusions inside him, his throat constricting in muscular rings. More was the only thought in his brain, please, more and he prayed in some distant portion of his mind that Bill could hear him.

The tentacles felt as though they were getting more frantic, wracking Ford back and forth with each thrust. Ford could feel the orgasm that had been building for days now encroaching fast upon him, and he whimpered incessantly, any idea of shame or denial completely forced from his mind. The tendril his mouth abruptly withdrew, and Ford could finally speak aloud.

“Please, please, Bill, oh god, please,” he murmured, practically delirious, and abruptly he was awake again, lying in his bedding, his body hot and flushed and his cock straining.

The device had been removed – when had Bill slipped away to take it off? – and Bill was steadily moving his hand, jerking and twisting his wrist as he worked him towards orgasm. It only took a few frantic strokes before Ford was crying out in a strained voice, coming over his hand, forcefully enough that splattered in dense globs over his stomach and up his chest. So strong that Ford was pretty sure his eyes rolled back into his head, and darkness swept over him again.

And then he was floating again, but this time Bill was there, triangular and curious, one black finger tapping on his nose.

“Wow, Fordsy, I think you passed out!”

“Uh, it looks that way, doesn’t it?” Ford said, trying not to feel mortified. Bill just smiled, a curving of his eye upwards, and ran his hands through his hair.

“Ah, no sweat – I’m kinda glad you’re back here so soon!”

Even with everything else warring within him, something warm and soft unfurled in his chest at his muse’s sincere and welcoming words. Ford relaxed into the darkness that buoyed him up like salt water, and Bill settled on his chest.

“Hey, IQ…”

“Yes, Bill?”

“You want me to come to your dimension, right?” Bill asked, drawing little meaningless patterns across his chest with one hand.

“Of course, Bill – you’re more than welcome in my dimension,” Ford answered. Bravely, he stretched out a hand, and dragged his fingers along the backside of Bill’s form, relishing the static-like discharge that sparked up from his fingertips at the touch.

“Just making sure!” Bill said, and Ford felt limbs wrapping around his own, cradling him, and he relaxed into their grip, savoring the attention of his muse.