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Put this on and get your ass to the Fearamid.
Stanford squints at the note. He’d just gotten back to his lab after a harrowing visit to the garden center dimension and found it sitting on his desk. Below it was a neatly folded stack of clothes – a suit actually, now that Ford looks more closely.
He reads the note again, setting aside his hard-earned trowel and potting soil. He even flips the note to the other side to see if there’s any other text to enlighten him as to the purpose of all this, but there’s nothing.
Bill? he thinks, prodding at the penthouse in his mind.
No response. Strange. Bill is usually poking around in there or at least has enough of an eye on Ford to answer a quick question. The only reason he wouldn’t is because he’s busy with something, but–
The realization hits Ford like a punch to the gut. Wait, he does know what this is. He made a whole deal with Bill about it and everything last week in exchange for instructions on how to obtain concentrated dark matter for his ‘stupid little gun’, as Bill put it. Ford had let the common slight to his Quantum Destabilizer pass. The information was too valuable to let it get lost in some inane argument.
He grips the back of his desk chair to steady himself as that panicked realization turns into relief. He’s lucky that he didn’t miss this chance on account of the fact that he completely fucking forgot about it.
Bill hadn’t elaborated much on what this was for, but that was part of the deal and Ford would have to have been an idiot to not accept. The terms were simply that Ford must attend this party Bill is throwing and do what Bill asks, with the assurance that it wouldn’t be anything dangerous. Ford mostly just has to hang around and ‘look pretty’ as Bill had put it. He even called it a classy affair, and the thought of that makes Ford scoff even now. As much as Ford hates these parties, even he would want to see what the hell a classy party thrown by Bill looks like, deal aside.
Ford picks up the suit jacket for a better look as he sorts through the jumbled mess of clothes.
It’s… nice. Simple, brown, striped, covered in gold triangle accents, obviously, but all in all, it seems like this is just a fine suit, tailored to fit Ford perfectly.
A thought passes through his mind that he should probably take a shower before he puts something like this on. It passes in only an instant though, as he decides he doesn’t feel like it, and he also knows for a fact that Bill wouldn’t give a shit. He starts to strip right there in the middle of the lab.
Ford hums thoughtfully to himself as he dresses, tucks his shirt into his pants, puts on his shoes. He wonders if he’s late for whatever it is. It must be something special, if Bill’s gone to such lengths to make sure Ford shows his face. Couldn’t be a birthday; Ford wouldn’t need to be bribed for that. He can’t think of anyone he knows who would be having a fake wedding… Some kind of bizarre fundraiser maybe? But for what? Those are always pointless, and Bill wouldn’t need Ford’s help for anything like that anyway.
Maybe it's just another idiotic dress rehearsal for Weirdmaggeddon. Ford scowls at the thought. It would track, given the orders… but Bill usually dresses Ford up much worse for those. Really tries to hammer in the humiliation and mockery of it all.
He gathers up his tie and jacket to take to the bathroom so he can tidy himself up in the mirror as he finishes. A dress rehearsal would at least be predictable. Half of managing the unpleasant situations Bill puts him in is just knowing what kind of hell he’s in for and bracing until it’s over. Ford does wish Bill would just tell him what’s going on and not make the secret a part of the stupid deal, but Ford supposes Bill can’t get his nonexistent rocks off without Ford having this queasy feeling in his gut.
He straightens his tie, pulls on the jacket, and stops when he properly sees himself in the mirror.
He looks… nice.
The suit really reminds him of those nights, so long ago now, when Bill would dress him up to dance together in his dreams. They would do that a lot, even a couple of times before their relationship became something more serious. It took Stanford an embarrassing amount of time to piece together that Bill had been trying to court him back then–
Which makes perfect sense, actually, considering how none of that was courtship. It was manipulation.
Ford sneers at himself in the mirror and fixes his eyepatch to sit firmly on his face before he turns away. If Bill wants to pick at old wounds, then so be it. Ford is more than happy to get a big gun out of the process.
It’s a short trip to the party thanks to the unique physics of the Nightmare Realm and the fact that his lab does not actually exist anywhere in particular. He simply wants to step out into the Fearamid, so he steps out into the Fearamid and…
…hears jazz?
He is in the main hall – Ford confirms it with a glance up to the glittering obsidian ceiling. It seems like the party has started – or at least, Ford assumes it’s started since there are people mingling around, chatting and drinking and… not rioting. Ford notices that Hectorgon is DJ-ing, which means no one better was interested in doing this one. That, or Bill just vaporized whoever was supposed to do it (probably the latter, now that Ford thinks about it). The music playing is some big-band song – something Ford has never once heard play in the Fearamid.
The whole thing reminds him more of the formal parties he’d been forced to go to in his youth as part of family affairs or doctoral events. Not the obnoxious frat parties he’s grown accustomed to. Ford doesn’t appreciate either kind of party, so it doesn’t really make a difference, though the disparity doesn’t help the queasy feeling sitting in his gut.
He rubs at his left wrist. It may not be so chaotic, but it is crowded. Actually, maybe it’s worse that it’s not chaotic, because now he can’t just blend into the crowd and escape into some far corner. Or maybe he can, he just–
–can’t finish that thought before he feels Bill’s massive hand wrap around him and lift him into the air in the center of the room.
“HERE HE IS! The man of the hour!” Bill calls out, his booming voice and massive form drawing the attention of everyone at the party – all of them looking directly at Ford as Bill dangles him limply over the crowd as if he’s some kind of toy. “The reason we’re all here today, the guy who’s going to get me multiversal domination, and the best tool an all-powerful overlord could ever ask for!”
Stanford has a hopeful passing thought that there might be an assassin in the crowd. He makes for a lovely target right now.
“Now that this little meatbag’s here, we can finally get this party STARTED! That means CLEAR OUT THE DANCE FLOOR! Hex, if you don’t put on the right song, I will juice you and chew on your pulp!” Bill points threateningly at Hectorgon, who frantically starts sorting through the mess at the DJ booth.
Bill floats down to the center of the vacant dance floor, placing Ford delicately on his feet. A spotlight shifts to shine directly on the two of them. Ford’s eyes widen with horror as he realizes Bill has shrunken back down to a size that can more easily take both of Ford’s hands to guide them into place.
And the old record finally starts to play. Ford recognizes it in an instant – That Old Feeling. Oh, god damn it.
This really is a dance. It’s a dance exactly like they did in the old days, and Bill’s making him do it in public.
Ford grits his teeth and tries to rip his hands away, but Bill is holding them in place with a smug look. The eyes of everyone else in the room are drilling into the back of his skull, and his head is starting to burn with a radiating heat.
“I won’t do this, Cipher,” Ford declares in a harsh whisper, keeping his feet firmly planted even as Bill tries to nudge him into movement.
“You will if you want your little treat!” Bill responds in that grating, teasing tone of his.
“This wasn’t part of the deal.”
“No clause banning couples dances! I checked.” Bill gives him a pointed, serious look before his eye curves back into an easy smile. “Now get those hooves into action, or the deal’s off.”
Ford clenches his fists around Bill, biting at the inside of his cheek. He should call this off. He should have brought his gun to do a test fire right now. Actually, it’s wonderful that he’s getting concentrated dark matter in exchange for this. It’s going to feel fucking amazing putting that gun together the instant this is over.
He just has to get through it first.
Ford breathes in for four. Out for six. Lets the tension in his shoulders and hands drop.
And takes a step.
It’s humiliating being led around by Bill as they dance to such nauseatingly romantic music. It’s such an old, old dig, still just as painful as it would have been decades ago, and now Ford’s agony has an audience. He keeps his face stern and fixed on Bill so as to not lock eyes with the crowd, but as they move around, he can’t help but catch on a few uncommon faces he recognizes.
Beembo Scrumbles is here. This really must be a big deal. Whatever this is. He still hasn’t figured that part out – assuming this event is meant to be more than just torture for Ford. It feels like it’s just torture. Bill’s hand is rested on his shoulder, Ford’s is wrapped around Bill’s back, their fingers entwined in the opposite hands. It stirs up miserable memories. It makes him feel sick.
Ford should just bail out. The song is halfway done, he’s already been humiliated, but he doesn’t need to stand for it. Even the gun isn’t worth it. Nothing could ever be worth–
“Fun fact!” Bill starts up casually. “Back in ol’ 46’\, it is currently 5:27 PM on February 16, 2008.”
Ford blinks. He almost stops dancing as he tries to process that information. Bill never tells him things about his home dimension, so why would he–
Bill raises his eyebrow at Ford expectantly and suddenly it all slots together.
February 16th. That’s…
– and Ford is alone in the emptiness of space. He breathes for the first time, because he realizes that he has no choice at this point –
– when he reaches out, takes that hand, and makes a deal, he doesn’t mind the chill that runs through him –
25 years.
25 years of anywhere but home. 25 years of his deal with Bill. 25 years of building this portal, of not finishing that damn gun. 25 years and…
Ford laughs. Ford laughs so hard that he has to lean into Bill to keep on his feet. Everything else fades away in that moment; the people, the background chatter, every ounce of anxiety and humiliation, all replaced by the wave of relief from finally understanding what this stupid game actually is.
Bill pauses for Ford, patiently waiting for the giggles to subside and clearly relishing all the agony he’s caused.
It only takes Ford another moment to recover, finding his footing again before he looks back at Bill with a tight smirk. “This is your most diabolical joke yet.”
“Happy anniversary.” Bill grins, leaning in close.
Ford scoffs and rolls his eyes, pushing Bill back out of his space. They continue their dance.
“I’m afraid I forgot to get you anything.” Ford’s tone drips with sarcasm. “You’ll have to forgive me.”
“Oh, I KNOW!” Bill laughs. “That’s what the party’s for, smart guy. Make up for what an inconsiderate bitch you are.” He pokes Ford in the chest to emphasize his point, which draws out a chuckle.
“You would have thrown this party either way.”
“I sure would have!”
Ford can only smile at that. It’s stupid. This whole thing is stupid. Just another scheme to make Bill the center of attention, just another excuse to remind Ford that he’s nothing more than a tool and a shiny possession for Bill to brag about. Same as always, though there’s a comfort in knowing that’s what the game was all along. Ford’s grip squeezes gently around Bill’s hand in a way that could almost be called affectionate, if he didn’t know better.
Dancing in exchange for gun parts at their own anniversary party. That feels about right to Ford. That feels like them.
The song winds down to a close, as does their dance. The silence in the room quickly fills with applause from the crowd. Ford has the sense that it’s because Bill has put up a giant ‘applaud’ sign somewhere, and a glance above them confirms it – marquee lighting and everything. Bill’s staring down the crowd for good measure.
Once Bill’s had his fill, just long enough for everyone to have become uncomfortable, he plucks Ford off the floor again and floats up for another grand announcement.
“Alright, everybody! We’re done pandering to the loser! GO NUTS!” Bill waves his free hand lazily as he turns to float towards his throne.
The whole Fearamid seems to breathe a sigh of relief at that before everything bursts into absolute chaos. It might be even worse than usual thanks to all of the tension that preceded it. Ford’s too thrown off by the sudden blast of noise and energy to interrogate it too deeply, or to interrogate what Bill meant by pandering. Not that any of it matters.
Bill scales himself up to fit properly on his throne before he takes a seat and sets Ford gingerly on the arm beside him.
“Here!” Bill snaps and a miniature version of the throne appears next to Ford. “You can sit in the queen’s throne since it’s such a special day.”
Ford looks it over. It’s perfectly sized for him. He looks back at Bill. “Do I have to sit on it for the deal?”
“Deal’s done, you can do whatever the hell you want,” Bill responds. Two glasses of champagne appear in the air beside them. Bill takes one and scales it up to match his size before he holds it up to Ford. “Here’s to 25 years! And to my portal.”
Ford accepts his glass and clinks it against Bill’s. “And to my quantum destabilizer.”
He brings the glass to his lips and takes a sip as he watches Bill down the whole thing in one swig, then summon himself a massive margarita with a silly straw and a paper umbrella for good measure.
Bill’s started chattering about the party, though Ford’s only half listening, just humming and nodding every now and then. Something about how it was a real bitch trying to book DJ GooMaster 8K 4R34L, and then the asshole wanted to make his own setlist. That sounds about right for what Ford had expected.
Ford’s eyes drift back to the main floor. He can see everything from here; Kryptos and Pacifire have Keyhole doing a kegstand with a keg three times the size of his body, a cat from Dimension M-03 just whipped out a knife to threaten the creature that bumped into them on the dancefloor, 8-Ball appears to be off in the corner cheating at Solitaire. Ford just sips at his drink and watches alongside Bill. There’s a prod in his mind directing him to look to– ah, someone’s gotten into the radioactive sludge stash. Lovely.
They can see everything from this vantage, but he and Bill may as well not be at the party with how cut off they are from all of it. Save for the deafening and inescapable noise, of course. Ford’s grateful to have a drink, though he should probably ask Bill for something stronger before he loses all ability to tolerate it. He did agree to hang around and look pretty, after all.
Ford takes another sip and– oh, it’s changed into an Old Fashioned. Bill really is feeling generous today. The growing warmth in Ford’s mind indicates that Bill agrees. It’s unlike him in a way that makes something clench in Ford’s chest and tugs at his mind, but the warmth only grows and, unfortunately, it feels nice after everything else that’s happened. He should push back against it… he doesn’t have to, though. He can let this whole party be the facade that it is.
He can practically feel Bill smiling in the back of his mind at that thought, and Ford has to hold his drink to his lips to force his expression back under his control and cover the heat starting to bloom on his cheeks, none of which helps the Bill issue, and of course the projection of Bill visible to everyone outside looks perfectly placid, so–
“Congratulations, Lord Cipher!” someone calls from the foot of the throne.
Ford and Bill both send a baffled glance down to see Archimedes the Annihilator – just a nobody who’s been very conspicuously angling to sneak his way into the Henchmaniacs. Real boot-licker.
Bill makes no attempt to hide his disinterest. “Uh huh, yeah, thanks. The party’s great, I know. So, what present did you get me if it’s so important you’ve gotta come tell me to my face?”
The poor sap jolts with the obvious guilt of someone who did not bring a gift. “P-present?” He instantly realizes the faux pas and starts rifling through layer after layer of his massive cloak, sputtering poorly hidden expletives. He finally whips out the crystalline skull of a galactic wyrm, bowing with his nine arms out as he presents it. “Please accept this offering, my lord!”
“Euch.” Bill makes a face. “Try to act less prepared. No thanks, bud!” He points one finger down and zaps Archie, leaving a pile of dust where he’d been standing.
Well, one less guy who might randomly start interviewing Ford on how to get on Bill’s good side.
Bill settles back into his throne, leaning on one arm as he grins at Ford. “Brown-nosers, am I right?”
Ford snorts and shakes his head, taking another drink. A brief thought passes through his mind, and he looks back at Bill. “Presents?”
“Oh, yeah, there’s a whole pile started over in the corner.” Bill points over his shoulder to a massive heap of both wrapped and unwrapped offerings.
Ford hums thoughtfully. There’s a spark of excitement at the idea of digging through all of that later. It’s certainly almost all junk, but you never know what kinds of prizes can be hiding in the gifts for the most feared multi-dimensional tyrant. Ford can feel Bill’s fondness at that thought burning in his mind, quickly followed by a giant finger ruffling his hair hard enough that he has to grab on to the mini-throne to keep steady.
“I’ll let you tear into it to your heart’s content later, NERD! Maybe I’ll even let you keep some of the stuff I don’t want!” Bill laughs as Ford shoves his finger away.
“Wonderful. It’s the least you can do to make up for all the undue stress you’ve caused me,” Ford responds.
Bill gives him a playful flick on the shoulder for that, which sends Ford stumbling about a foot away, almost spilling his drink. Bill looks back over the crowd with an unreadable expression as Ford recollects himself.
“Look at all these losers and maniacs,” he sighs, and Ford assumes his tone must be fond, but it’s impossible to be completely sure. There’s a brief pause and his eye snaps back to Ford. “Wanna get out of here?”
Ford laughs, setting his drink down so he can straighten out his jacket. “And skip out on our own anniversary party?”
“What, you suddenly like parties, now?” Bill points his thumb towards the crowd mockingly. “You wanna get back down on that dance floor?”
Ford scoffs. “Absolutely not.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the throne. “I just want to know why you keep throwing parties that you don’t even want to be at.”
“I got my dance.” Bill shrugs, then leans in closer. “Now, do you want to keep bitching and stay at this lame party, or do you want to get railed?”
Ford pauses, looking up at Bill, and raises his eyebrows. “Now, you never said railing was on the table.”
“Sure it is!”
“I was under the impression this was supposed to be a classy affair.” Ford gestures down at his suit.
Bill rolls his eye at the snark and waves a hand toward some creature on the floor visibly choking as it fails to eat another partygoer whole. “Yeah, real classy affair we’ve got going on here,” he gripes. His eye returns to Ford with a cheery smile. “And you say that like a railing can’t be classy. You want a refined railing, kid?”
Ford mulls it over for a moment. "If only because I don't think you're capable of that, yes."
"I'll show you, smartass." Bill giggles, snatching up one of Ford’s hands and forcing him into a twirl.
Ford blinks and finds himself in a dark room. He can feel Bill’s hand – much smaller now – holding his while another is on his waist just like when they had been dancing. He feels Bill’s pull, inviting him to take a step, and as he does, a dozen candles flash to life, lighting the space in soft, blue flame.
“The penthouse?” Ford asks, squinting his eyes in the dim light. He brings up his other hand to cradle Bill’s edge.
“OF COURSE! It’s got the piano, a fireplace–” Bill lifts a hand to snap in its direction; it roars to life. “Aaaaaaand…”
He swirls his finger and the needle drops on a record player in the corner of the room. Ford immediately recognizes it’s playing Bill’s Glenn Miller vinyl.
He looks back at Ford and waggles his eyebrow suggestively. “A little mood music.”
Ford can’t help the smile that grows on his face as they dance together, so he staunches the warm feeling by asking, “Are you sure you want to put that on?”
Bill’s brow furrows. “What?”
“As soon as that record ends, you’re going to get mad about it and then be completely distracted looking for something else to put on,” Ford points out, very matter-of-fact.
Bill squints at him. “I am not.”
“25 years of this, Bill.”
Bill’s eye narrows further until he finally huffs and rips his hands away from Ford, floating over to the record player so he can take the vinyl and twist it up into a mobius-like knot and slap it back down on the player. “THERE! It’s an infinite loop! Happy now? CLASSY enough for you? Anything ELSE not meeting your high, high standards?”
Bill floats back over to Ford, arms crossed and impatiently tapping one foot on the air as he waits for an answer.
Ford hums and turns to really take in the room. It’s certainly got mood lighting. The furniture is all the same bizarre and macabre mess that it usually is, but that’s just Bill’s taste, and while it’s tacky, Ford can’t make too strong of an argument against it. There is one thing, though…
“I must admit, Bill, it is very classy,” Ford starts.
“Uh huh, get to the ‘but,’ Mr. Expert.”
“There’s not a bed,” Ford says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It can’t be classy without a bed. Where are you going to fuck me? The couch? The floor?”
“Dunno, kid, I think the floor’s pretty classy!” Bill says, pupil dilating at the concept.
Ford does give it a second of thought, but then thinks of his knees, and his mouth pinches into a thin line. “Let’s agree to disagree.”
“Aww, c’mon, baby, you’ll love it!” Bill floats into Ford’s face, placing his hands on Ford’s shoulders and applying a little pressure to encourage him down.
“No.” Ford brushes the hands away. “The bed is classier.”
Bill rolls his eye and floats to the center of the room. He shoots a pair of finger guns below him and with a clap of thunder, a big, heart-shaped bed explodes into the room, knocking over most of the surrounding furniture. Bill lands on the bed in a sultry pose, doing his best to look alluring by staring at Ford with a wide-eyed and piercing expression.
Ford tries and fails to hold back a snort of a laugh in response, which makes Bill smile.
The bed is much too big for the room. It seems like a table broke underneath it just based on the splinters scattered near Ford’s feet.
“Well, the mess is–”
“VERY CLASSY, yes.”
The two lock eyes and just stare in a silent standoff. Ford has a thought that Bill isn’t actually capable of keeping this on theme.
“Hey, don’t force your small-minded definition of classiness on me. Which one of us has seen the greatest fineries the multiverse has to offer, you or me?” Bill asks, pointing between the two of them.
“I suppose it would be you, just for the matter of seniority,” Ford concedes.
“You know it, smart guy!” Bill lounges back on the bed. “Alright, now that I’ve caved to all of your bullshit, you’ve gotta strip for me. C’mon, gimme a show.” The demon’s whipped out a pair of opera glasses and is holding them in front of his eye. They’re useless since his pupil lands directly in-between the lenses.
Ford laughs and straightens himself. “Oh, I’ll give you a show.” He makes a point of unfastening the buttons on his suit jacket as slowly as possible. “It’s classier to take it slowly, wouldn’t you agree?”
“It’s classier if you get all of those fingers into it.” Bill pointedly angles the glasses down to Ford’s hands.
Ford snorts and carefully shrugs off his jacket, really drawing out the process of peeling away each sleeve, but pauses just as he’s about to drop it on the floor. He takes a quick glance around the room and steps over to the only in-tact chair remaining to carefully drape the jacket over the back of it. He gives Bill a pointed look as he gestures over it. “Classy.”
Bill throws himself back onto the bed with laughter, tossing away the useless glasses. “HA! CUTE! What, are we gonna carefully hang up every bit of clothing? That’s gonna take all week!” He floats up and over to Ford, grabbing him by the tie and yanking them together face to face. “Toss it on the floor, NERD! It’s sexier, anyway.”
Ford swallows hard around the pinch of the tie. He looks down at Bill through lidded eyes. “If sexy outweighs classy, that’s going to really complicate things.”
“You like it complicated.” Bill’s expression curves into a smile. “But fine, how about this, then?” He tugs hard and swings Ford around to back him up to the bed, then lets go so the momentum causes him to fall hard on the mattress. “Before ALL EROTICISM winds up six feet under, I’m gonna save our sex life.”
Ford raises a questioning eyebrow at Bill, then feels a prompt in the back of his mind to keep undressing. It seems like Ford’s turn to put on a show is over. He sits upright and wedges his thumb between his neck and the tie to slowly pry it loose.
“You’re gonna go nuts for this one, brainiac,” Bill says, his arms slipping behind his back. “I’m gonna make you desperate for what I’m about to give you with a little – that's right – planning.”
Ford can’t deny that his interest is piqued.
From behind his back, Bill whips out one dildo in each hand. “Which of these cuties is gonna be your LOVELY DATE tonight?” He wiggles the crystalline one in his left. “This diamond in the rough with a sparkling personality–” then the one in his right “–or this delicate delight with a heart of gold?” Bill floats closer as he speaks so he can wave the two in Ford’s face.
There’s a tug around Ford’s neck and he realizes that, while he was distracted, Bill had manifested another arm to haphazardly toss the tie onto the floor in a way that pings to Ford as distinctly non-classy. That thought is chased by another one loudly telling him to SHUT THE FUCK UP and BE DISTRACTED BY THE SHINY DILDOS.
Fine, Ford will look at the dildos. They’re mostly just normal, human-like dildos – pretty boring, honestly, aside from their materials. The gold one is sleek and smooth and very heavy, he notes as Bill smacks it into his cheekbone. The diamond one on the other hand is– hm… Bill wasn’t wrong to call it rough with the way the light in the room sparkles off its many facets.
“Well.” Ford clears his throat. “I don’t like the thought of that one transforming my asshole into something like shredded chicken, so I’ll take the gold one.”
“The coward’s choice, as usual!” Bill cheerfully calls out, tossing the diamond dildo away to clang against a crumpled lamp.
“Apologies for valuing the sanctity of my ass,” Ford snarks. He sets to unbuttoning his shirt, giving up on the whole slow and methodical shtick. “So, Bill, what’s the plan with this? Pegging?”
“You know it!”
There’s a snap of elastic and just like that, Bill’s got a harness strapped to his lower third. The sight alone makes Ford throw his head back in uncontrollable laughter.
“Better quit laughing if you wanna get FUCKED, kid,” Bill says, lazily twirling the dildo in one hand like it’s a baton.
Ford waves Bill away, unable to properly form a response while his body is wracked with giggles.
Bill leans closer, pushing the tip of the dildo into Ford’s forehead. “What’s the trouble, smart guy? Too hot for you? Can’t take all this EROTICISM?”
“S’ too funny,” Ford finally manages to choke out.
“Oh yeah?” Bill takes a handful of Ford’s hair and draws his head back to bare his neck, slowly running the tip of the dildo down to his cheek, then over his chin, and lightly pushes it into his Adam’s apple. “It’s gonna be even funnier once this thing’s gone so deep it comes out your throat.”
Ford shoves off the stupid toy, batting Bill’s other hand away with the action, and heaves out a breath to relax his body – then, he takes one more to really be sure he’s recovered before he points at the harness and says plainly, “You have to take that off.”
Bill blinks and just holds still for a second before he backs off and settles on the bed, standing next to Ford. His posture is defensive, like he actually seems somewhat insulted. “What?”
Ford waves a hand over the harness loosely. “This… getup. I can’t take any of this seriously.”
“Why does it need to be serious?” Bill squints up at him, fingers tightening around the dildo still in his hand. “You’ve taken a silly fucking before.”
This is true. Ford bites at his cheek and looks off to the side, bobbing his head back and forth as he looks for a response. He, in fact, mostly takes silly fuckings, but he doesn’t want to concede that. And Bill clearly knows that Ford knows he’s full of shit, with the way his eye narrows as he waits for the man to give up and admit he’s lost, but he doesn’t want to because just looking at Bill in that thing puts him back on the verge of cracking up, so he gives the only response he can think of:
“It’s not classy.”
“It’s PLENTY classy!” Bill tosses the dildo down on the bed. “It’s like lingerie! I can give it some frills if that makes it better! Thought you’d like to keep it simple. Or– hey! Could do spikes, bet you’d like that.” He gives Ford’s side a playful little nudge.
Ford lets out a heavy sigh. “No, that would not make it better.”
Bill crosses his arms and glares up at Ford. “What, you think it’d be classier if I had a real dick?”
“I– I don’t know, maybe?” Ford shrugs.
“So, you think species without genitalia can’t have classy sex? FOR SHAME, Stanford.” Bill closes his eye and gives a forlorn shake of his upper angle.
Ford’s mouth drops open, completely at a loss. “Bill–”
Bill’s eye snaps back open, and he flies right up into Ford’s face. “Do you wanna get RAILED or NOT, Ford?”
“Very much, yes,” Ford responds, head craning back to make space that Bill only closes.
“Then, unless you’ve got better suggestions on how it happens–”
“I have several suggestions,” Ford cuts in.
“Unless you’ve got BETTER suggestions,” Bill reiterates. He drops down on the bed and points both index fingers at the strap. “THIS is how you’re getting fucked.”
Ford is living in hell. He rubs at his eyes with one hand, then looks back down at Bill, who’s staring back at him with that unreadable expression he has, unable to ignore that stupid, stupid fucking harness. This is what Ford gets, he supposes, for continuing to play these stupid games because he has some sick desire to keep having sex with Bill fucking Cipher. For some inconceivable reason.
Ford finally heaves a deep sigh from the bottom of his chest, letting all the tension drop in his shoulders. “Whatever. Fine, okay.”
Bill’s arms shoot up in the air as he cheers.
“You are completely and utterly insufferable,” Ford informs him, placing an elbow on his knee so he can rest his cheek against his hand.
“Don’t I know it!” Bill laughs, then prods one finger into Ford’s stomach. “Now, I think you owe SOMEONE a little SOMETHING for making every single thing such a problem, don’t you?”
Ford raises his eyebrows at Bill. Bill raises his back.
“Go fuck yourself,” Ford says before placing a kiss over Bill’s eye.
Bill responds with a wild cackle before he launches up straight into Ford’s face – his tongue is in Ford’s mouth before the two hit the mattress.
“Not until I fuck you first!” Bill coos, his tongue curling around Ford’s and pulling him in deeper.
Ford can’t make any response but to groan into Bill’s mouth. Both of his hands reach up to grasp at Bill’s ephemeral form and pull him closer just as Ford feels fingers begin to tug at his eyepatch. Ford turns his head to heave in a breath, leaving Bill to lick a trail of thick saliva along his cheek and even start digging in his ear. “Bill–”
“Don’t worry, Fordsy, I’m keeping it classy,” Bill assures him, pulling the eyepatch free and carelessly tossing it aside.
Ford looks at Bill as the demon pulls away and he knows his right eye started glowing gold the moment it was freed. Fingers ghost across Ford’s stomach as his own right hand wanders over to his left, fingers curling around the wrist and grasping tightly before both arms are pulled above his head, pinning him into the bed.
“THERE we go! Just how I like ya.” Bill makes a gleeful smile and floats over Ford.
There’s the sensation of a dozen small hands creeping up and around Ford’s body, but none of them originate with Bill. They all drift in from the shadows, teasing at his skin, tugging lightly at his clothes. One hand slips beneath the open fabric of Ford’s shirt and squeezes at his pec while two more delicately unbutton his shirt the rest of the way so it can finally be fully peeled apart.
“Enjoying yourself?” Ford huffs, then lets out a pleased hum at the feeling of fingers tracing their way along his side and up his arm, pulling the shirt with them.
Bill’s just hovering above him, hands behind his back, watching with a giddy look like he’s unwrapping a present. “Always!”
The hands sink lower, trailing through the coarse hair until they reach Ford’s waistband. Fingers tease at it for a moment before they deftly undo the button.
“You know, you never learn, Sixer,” Bill says. The hands tug a little too forcefully, clearly eager to get the pants off.
Ford lifts his hips up to help as Bill strips him, collapsing back onto the mattress as soon as his ass is free. He has to kick his shoes away when his clothes get stuck on them and there’s a thump as each one falls to the floor.
“I’m always gonna get what I want.” Bill pushes Ford’s legs apart and floats down into the space between them. His fingers trail up the insides of Ford’s thighs, then wander down to toy with his balls in a way that makes Ford’s breath hitch. “There’s no point in fighting it!”
Ford lets out a breathy laugh. “Shouldn’t I get what I want sometimes, too? Reciprocation is classy.”
Bill’s hand curls under to rub along the perineum, and Ford’s head falls back, body melting into the feeling. Bill’s touch slows, but it still makes Ford inhale a sharp gasp when he presses in. Bill’s body leans back slightly; he brings up his free hand to tap the space just above his tie as he looks away thoughtfully, feigning consideration. He lets out a loud hum, massaging Ford lower and lower, then his eye snaps back and curves into a smile.
“No, I don’t think it is!” he replies and then unceremoniously jabs a finger into Ford’s asshole.
Ford jolts at the intrusion with a yelp and collapses back on the bed, ripping back control of his limbs so he can cover his face with his hands as he tries to keep himself from squirming away from the sensation.
Bill is undeterred, though he has slowed down, much more carefully working his finger inside now. He’s still got that shit-eating grin on his face, Ford confirms when he just barely parts his fingers to look down at the bastard demon.
“Why do I have sex with you?” Ford groans, pressing his hands into his forehead and pushing himself further back into the bed.
“’Cause you’re nuts for me!” Bill coos as he sneaks another finger in.
“I am not. I am absolutely not.” Ford vigorously shakes his head and lifts his hands to glare down at Bill. The heat he feels on his face is because the room is warm, and if his toes curl when Bill presses in deeper, that’s because the demon took control of them as a taunt.
“Oh, yeah? Then what’s all this noise in your head about?” Bill holds his free hand up to his side like he’s using an earpiece. “Huh? ‘I NEED you, Bill, I’m so DESPERATE for you?’ Did I get that right?”
“I would never think that,” Ford grits out.
“‘Please, Bill, PLEASE!’” Bill rambles on. “’I’ll do anything, let me stick my fingers in your eye, please, pull out my teeth, I NEED it!’”
Ford is not thinking any of that; he would never think any of that degrading shit. Under no circumstances would he beg for Bill, not even when he feels Bill’s tongue on the inside of his thigh, leaving a hot trail of saliva as it slowly glides up, but doesn’t reach where Ford wants it. He groans and pushes Bill’s deluded rant to the back of his mind as he shifts his hips in a bid for contact. Bill needs to go higher, he needs to–
“–just touch you already?”
Ford’s eyes snap open at that thought, and he sees Bill sitting between his legs, looking unbearably smug.
He lifts up a foot to kick the cackling triangle away in retaliation, but his heel is caught in Bill’s palm before it can make contact.
“Ah, ah, ah! Not very classy!” Bill chides. “The only one getting physically assaulted here is YOU, kid!”
Ford huffs. “Then would you get on with the assaulting already?”
This rips a wild laugh out of Bill. “Oh, BUDDY!”
There’s a gripping tension in Ford’s mind and all of his limbs go rigid. His torso lurches forward, chest first, as if pulled by a string, the force causing his head to swing forward with the momentum.
“Just gotta find the right ANGLE here…” Bill ponders, floating out of range of Ford’s limbs as they writhe and twist around.
He waves his finger like he’s conducting Ford’s body into picking itself up, and Ford gets the dizzying sensation of being rolled over without his own input, grunting as he falls flat on the bed.
The lack of control is sickeningly sweet. They could use chains or ropes to keep Ford restrained, but there’s never any need for those kinds of bindings when his body itself isn’t his own.
“Getting closer…” Bill drawls as Ford’s limbs pull him into the middle of the bed. “Can’t have you just laying there, that’s no fun! Don’t you agree, Fordsy?”
Bill left him control of his head, so Ford can speak, but he’s a bit too dazed by the sensation. He merely swallows around a dry throat and nods.
“Being so good for me!” Bill coos, looking down at Ford with glee as he watches the show. “I think I’ll prop you up like the DOG you are. You’ll LOVE that!”
Ford grunts as he’s hefted up by his own arms and pushed back onto his knees. His body finally goes still as he’s braced into position.
“Aaaaaaaand PERFECT! Alright, let’s do this.” Bill cracks his fingers, then picks the dildo back up with both hands to pop a strategic bend into it that Ford assumes has something to do with their chosen position. The dildo is unceremoniously shoved into the harness before Bill floats into position behind Ford’s ass and smacks the cheeks with both hands.
It’s surprisingly gentle, the way Bill spreads him open. He can feel the dildo teasing up against his rim – already lubricated, thankfully. It seems Bill’s had enough arguments for the day.
It’s only teasing, though, agonizingly teasing, and Ford’s had his fill of that by now. “Are you still enacting your revenge for when I suggested we take things slow, or are you going to get on with it at some point?”
He earns a rough hand in his hair for that.
“Oh-HO! Somebody’s EAGER today!” Bill says as he squeezes himself inside and gives a tentative little thrust.
Ford lets out a breathy laugh. “Well, it’s my anniversary isn’t it? I deserve something nice for putting up with you for so long.”
Bill cackles. “Something nice! CUTE! How about this instead? I put you in your place like the needy BITCH you are! I bet you’d like that, you–”
Bill pulls Ford’s head back by his hair, and Ford does nothing to hide the obscene moan that falls from his open lips.
It’s enough to freeze Bill in place. “You– holy shit, you WHORE! You’re more ramped up than I thought!”
Ford’s head drops forward as it’s released, and he can feel that tension replaced with one inside his mind. Bill’s presence pushes at its boundaries, clawing for more access. He knows he’s playing a dangerous game, but he can’t help himself.
“Foooordsy…” Bill drawls, slowly thrusting into him.
The prodding gets more insistent, but Ford doesn’t budge. He bites his lip and takes in a deep breath to keep his composure.
Do you want me to beg? Bill won’t say it out loud. Even completely alone, the thought is too private to be granted sound. Does that get you off? Acting all big and tough like you have any control?
Ford tenses at the sentiment. He knows how badly Bill wants access, wants to feel everything he feels. He can tell it from how ravenously Bill is pushing. Ford wants it too – he knows how Bill will reward him for giving himself up, but at the same time, the imagined voice is so soft. He wants more of it, and he knows he can get more if he keeps it up a little longer. Not too long though, or Bill will actually get mad at him.
But there are other ways to draw this out.
Ford generously gives him the whole of the temporal lobe and feels the rush that comes with Bill sweeping in followed by the little thrill of Bill realizing he’s still blocked and pushing back again at full force.
“Cute. Not what I want, Stanford.” Bill’s claws dig into his ass, forcing a small whimper out of Ford.
Let me have that pretty head of yours. Give up, give it to me. I’ll make it feel good if you let me take you.
And Ford is tempted, but…
“Where’s that obedient pet, huh?” Bill ruts into him. “What happened to you being good for me?”
Ford makes an embarrassing whine. He wants to be good for Bill, knows what happens when he’s good for Bill, so he gives in.
Bill’s presence is all-encompassing in the way it sweeps through Ford’s mind and leaves a tingling sensation through all of his extremities. Every last illusion of control slips away, and all of Ford’s senses are overwhelmed by the alien presence that’s overtaken him. He’s Bill’s now, fully and completely, and Ford can feel how thrilled Bill is by that concept, as the demon’s thoughts slip through and blend with his own.
There’s a pause – both of them need a moment to take in the wash of hormones and recalculate into a shared body and mind – before Bill finally cackles out a very thoughtful and intelligent “Holy moly!”
Then, Bill shifts, pushes in, presses up right against Ford’s prostate, and Ford is suddenly very grateful that Bill has control of his limbs, because otherwise he’d turn to jelly.
Ford can feel, paradoxically, the sensation of gripping on his own ass and can taste his own sweat as Bill runs his tongue up Ford’s spine, sending wracking shivers through his body. He feels a hunger, too – a want, a need.
Bill is fucking him properly, now, thrusting in at an even pace, though its not as rough as Bill wants to be just yet. They’re still working up to it, but Ford knows that eventually he’s going to feel the hard slap of that plane ramming into him, and it’s going to take everything he has to not completely lose it when it comes to that.
“You’ll be fucked out of your gourd before there’s a chance for that to happen. Don’t even worry about it, sweet cheeks!” Bill assures him with a smack to his ass to emphasize his point. Then, a decidedly darker tone enters his voice. “Besides, you like a good threat.”
Ford lets out a breathy huff of a laugh. “Framing it like that– it doesn’t help my prospects.” He grunts as Bill thrusts again. “The threat of losing the mood to stupid bullshit is unfortunately very funny all on its own.”
“Sounds like you need a better distraction!” Bill’s arms trail up Ford’s sides, leaving tingling skin in their wake as they work their way to Ford’s mouth. His fingers prod at Ford’s lips. “Could stick something in here. Have you GAGGED and DROOLING all over the place.”
That would be something. Ford’s jaw drops open, letting his hot breaths spill out over the fingers running along his incisors. The thrusts become a little more forceful as the pads push in, and Ford’s head is dragged down with the motion. Bill really likes it; Ford can imagine how blown out that pupil must be by now, and the thought makes a smile twitch at Ford’s lips. His head drops completely, making Bill’s fingers slip free of his mouth.
“I can’t call out when you break the rules as easily–” he’s cut off by a grunt “–without a mouth.” Even despite Bill’s control on him, his fingers curl into the sheets.
“Who needs rules?” Bill responds, his voice is shockingly soft.
The fingers that had been in his mouth curl around Ford’s ears to twine through his hair, pushing up from the base of his skull and tugging in a way that makes him gasp.
They don’t need rules, honestly. Ford’s over the rules, and play-arguing is fun, but there’s something else he wants now. A lot of things actually; so many things that he feels Bill’s curious prompt in his mind asking which one it’s gonna be.
Ford lifts his head and looks over his shoulder at the triangle currently sliding into him. Bill meets his hazy gaze and lifts a hand to wiggle his fingers coyly in response.
In hindsight, Bill probably should have properly bound him if he actually wanted to keep Ford in place. In an instant, Ford has taken control back of his arm and whipped it around to yank Bill right out of that idiotic harness. Bill gives a comically out of character little yelp as he’s shoved into the bed in front of Ford. There’s a hand on either side of his front plane, holding him down so Ford can press his mouth directly into his eye, tongue wrapping along the sclera, saliva blending with ocular fluid.
Bill stays rigid for a moment, but his limbs do finally uncurl as he settles into the new arrangement. More hands reach up and grasp at Ford’s chest, run down his stomach, grip at the insides of his thighs. Ford’s own fingers clench around Bill’s edges as he feels the dildo start to move again, pushed by a phantom force.
Ford knows this can’t really do much for Bill. Sensation is something he only really gets vicariously without a physical form, but the intent still counts for something. Bill still gasps when Ford sucks at his eye, still reaches up and grips at Ford’s hair to pull him in for more.
None of it has anything to do with a desire to make Bill to feel good, Ford just can’t deny that urge to reciprocate or the feeling he gets when he feels their shared pleasure swirl inside of him. He can’t deny the sparks he feels when he notices the way Bill’s kicking his legs and squirming in delight under him.
It’s not like Bill has any interest in making Ford feel good either; this is just a way to get a sick kick of sensations. They both get the same thing out of this – mutually using each other. Just like everything else in their lives, it’s a means to an end and–
Bill’s tongue wraps around Ford’s, their lips press together in a proper kiss, Bill’s fist tugs Ford down harder.
“Shut the FUCK UP. NO MORE THINKING,” Bill demands.
Not thinking becomes very easy as Bill hits the exact spot Ford needs him to. His whole body crumples forward, and he lets out a breathy whine as Bill hits it again.
Ford limply slides off of Bill as the force of each thrust pushes him forward, moaning open-mouthed into the pillows. His dick is swinging free, dripping little beads of precum onto the bed.
He cracks his eyes open to try and catch a glimpse at Bill who’s still laying under him. Bill stares back, wide-eyed and maybe even a little dazed. He blinks and quickly comes back to himself with a cackle.
“I’ll play cum-catcher!” he cheers, zipping down to play with Ford’s cock.
Ford tries to laugh, but the sound gets caught in his throat as he feels Bill’s tongue on him. He gathers in a shaky breath to recollect his voice.
“That’s not very classy of you, B–” He’s cut off by his own hand grabbing him by the hair and shoving him into the mattress.
"You think I give a shit about what's classy?” Bill’s voice has a breathy tinge to it that’s quickly covered up. “I can do anything I WANT to you, I OWN you."
That sound sends shocks through Ford that only encourage Bill further.
Bill’s tongue travels up his shaft and licks under his balls in a way that so sweetly contrasts the harsh voice. It draws a moan out of Ford that he can’t cover up in time when his head is ripped back for Bill to hear it, full and throaty.
“You can’t hide from me, Six.” The smile is clear in Bill’s voice. “I know how bad you want it.”
His head is yanked again, and Ford gasps. “Fuck.”
“You need me, Stanford.” Bill’s touch is all over Ford; ghostly hands caressing his chest, his hips, his thighs. The touching turns to squeezing, then grabbing and pinching. “SAY IT.”
“Bill, I– shit,” Ford gasps, caught off guard when Bill suddenly picks up pace.
“SAY IT.”
“I need you, Bill,” Ford chokes out, barely audible. Sparks fly in his vision as Bill rams into his prostate. “Fuck! I need you!”
“You need me,” Bill repeats, sounding like he’s not even there anymore. “You need me, you NEED me, you’re NOTHING without me.”
It’s overwhelming. Whether the feeling is coming from himself or from Bill or somehow both of them is impossible to tell. Everything bleeds together in a dizzying blur of want, need, desperation.
“You’re mine, Stanford, you’re mine, mine, mine, MINE, MI–”
Bill’s voice cuts as Ford’s body is taken by the tremors of his orgasm – their orgasm, in a way. Bill is similarly frozen and gripped by the sensation, dozens of hands tightening their grip on Ford’s skin in a steady rhythm as it pulses through them both, the dildo in his ass coming to a halt.
Stanford’s limbs give out all at once and he collapses on the bed – also on top of Bill, who’s mouth is still around his dick. It takes him a second for his mind to catch up with that, but when it does, both of them laugh.
Bill starts to pull out, both from Ford’s mind and his ass. Ford pushes himself up to roll over and has to shove down the disappointment he feels at the fact that he is in full control of that action. There’s some relief in the way he feels Bill’s hands on him, growing in scale as they help him roll over onto his side.
Ford lets out a sigh as he’s brought to lay on top of Bill. It’s about as comfortable as laying on a tile floor that isn’t really there, but Ford’s used to the feeling by now. It gets even easier when he feels that familiar hand gently combing through his hair.
Before Ford even realizes what he’s doing, he’s reached one hand up to grasp at Bill’s edge and pressed his cheek into the hard plane to take in Bill’s projected warmth. He freezes up when he realizes what he’s done and opens his eyes, glancing up to see Bill’s staring straight back at him.
“Did you like your party?” Bill asks, and there’s a mocking tinge to it, but no malice. It’s just a joke.
They’re playing nice today, Ford remembers. He can have this, at least for now, so he lets the tension melt from his body and genuinely laughs before replying, “Absolutely not.”
“I’ll get you one of these days!” Bill prods a finger at his cheek, really rubbing it in and smooshing Ford’s face further into him. “How about this – next party, we pile in all the biggest nerds in the multiverse and you can have some kinda lame science conference or something.”
“And I assume you’ll skip out on that one?”
“You know it!”
Bill’s tongue has slithered out from his eyelid, going for Ford’s hand as if he would be too distracted by the conversation to notice the way it’s wrapping around. It gives a tight squeeze as it pulls the hand free and then goes to play with the fingers. Ford simply lets this happen. Why not? He even presses his fingers back into the tip of the tongue, prodding it like they’re playing a little game.
There's a rare and brief moment of quiet. Not silence – the record is still dutifully playing its warped tune – but quiet enough that Ford is able to pick up a faint undercurrent of screaming from downstairs. There may have been screaming the whole time, but the fact that he’s only noticed it now makes him wonder whether it’s regular party screaming or if things have devolved into a bloodbath yet.
“How long have we been here?” Ford asks, letting his hand go slack in Bill’s grip for the demon to do whatever he wants with it. It is, predictably, pulled up for the fingers to slip under Bill’s lower eyelid.
“Dunno!” Bill chirps in response. “Hard to tell with ol’ eternal Glenn over there. Why? In a hurry to get back to work on your big scary gun?” He gives Ford a playful nudge on the shoulder.
Ford hums. He is very excited to finally have this much-needed information; it’s been a frustrating blocker for a while now. It’s one massive step closer to being out of this hellish deal he’s been trapped in for a quarter of his lifespan, as Bill has so kindly reminded him today.
His fingers curl lightly into Bill, and he lets out a sigh, closing his eyes, letting his body go slack.
“No,” he says, “it can wait until morning.”