There are, of course, the times they are apart. These are generally the times their class schedules don’t sync up, or when Ted, at some late hour, finally resigns himself to return to his own home after an evening of hanging out in Bill’s room, homework strewn about the floor, barely touched, and not even scrawled upon. These times are boring, and not worth mentioning. Bill’s brain runs at its lowest, most power-saving setting in the times when it is just him, just Bill, and not the two headed beast that is Bill-and-Ted .
Sometimes, when he’s on his own, Bill’s mind wanders and sometimes, he likes to think about Ted. That’s not too odd, they are best friends, after all. He likes to think about Ted’s face, his brown eyes and dark hair and crooked bottom teeth. He likes to think about Ted’s body, and how nice it would be to be close to him. Really close. Chest to chest, stomach to stomach, thighs to thighs… Bill would wrap his arms around Ted’s slim waist, would hug him, hold him, cuddle him. And if he lets his mind wander, maybe he’d lean in, tilt his chin and kiss Ted, who’d laugh and kiss him back. They'd rub and stroke and caress each other, maybe jerk or suck each other off. Maybe they'd try to sixty-nine , like they always joke about, curling around each other, taking each other in their mouths. It’d be weird, sure, but not bad. Could never be bad, not when it's them. When it’s Bill-and-Ted.
Even if nothing like that ever happens, though, even if they never get to press their bodies together, Bill’s just happy to have Ted beside him, and to be able to look to his left and see Ted’s goofy smile.
But it’s just been Bill for about eighteen hours, now. Ted hadn't shown up for morning band practice, or at school. Bill hasn't heard from him all day and it's… unusual. It's strange. It makes everything feel off kilter, and every so often Bill will turn to his left and expect to see Ted, but instead he sees nothing. It’s been eighteen hours without Ted’s loquacious remarks and Ted’s excited air guitar moves and Ted’s everything and quite frankly, Bill’s tired of it. Eighteen hours is more than long enough, so he makes up his mind that he may as well go over to Ted’s house - if Ted is sick, well, that sucks, but Bill figures if he brings over comic books and menthol candy, it might serve to make his esteemed colleague feel a little better. So he makes sure his backpack is well stocked and then walks the short way to Ted’s house.
Ted’s father answers the door.
“Hey Captain Logan,” Bill says, grinning politely. “Is Ted here?”
Ted’s dad rolls his eyes. “Yes. He’s in his room. I’d warn you that he’s sick but I don't think you’d take any notice.”
“You would be most correct in that assumption, sir.” Bill says, sidestepping past Captain Logan and into the house.
The door to Ted’s room is ajar, so Bill breezes right on in, and dumps his stuff before he even really gives Ted a proper look over, but when Bill finally does cast his eyes upon the miserable figure curled up in bed, he has to admit the sight makes his heart ache a little.
“Hey dude,” he says gently, taking a seat on the bed. “How’s it going?”
Ted’s head just pokes out from under the covers.
“Bad, dude,” he croaks. “My head hurts so much. Every time I try to stand up the room goes all spinny.”
Bill pats what he thinks is probably Ted’s knee sympathetically. “Bogus.” A pause. “Do you want me to go?”
“No, no,” Ted says, weakly, a hand reaching out of the covers and grasping in a direction vaguely Bill-ward. “I’ve been so bored here, dude.”
“Okay,” says Bill. And then he replaces the fistful of his shirt that Ted’s holding with one if the several rolls of menthol candy he’d brought with him.
“Thanks,” Ted mutters, but he doesn't try to open the packet. Bill shuffles himself around a bit, so he's lying next to Ted, above the covers, Ted still under them. Then, after another moment, he starts wriggling again, shuffling and jostling until he’s under the covers too.
“Hey duder,” Bill says, when they're nose to nose.
“Hey man.” Says Ted, going a little cross-eyed. It's dim and orange under the blanket, warm, and it’d be nice, if Ted wasn't so sick. Bill thinks vaguely that he’s not sure of the nature of Ted’s illness, and specifically, he isn't sure if it’s contagious or not, but he figures it's probably too late now.
They lie there, smooshed up very close for a while, before Bill decides that it's too hot, totally submerged under there together, so he flips the covers right back so they bunch up at the boys’ waists.
“ Dude ,” Ted says. “Come on. What are you doing?”
Bill kicks the blankets off his legs and then sits up. “Just try’na get comfortable, Ted.”
Ted groans, throwing an arm over his eyes.
“Well, I for one am most un comfortable.” He sighs. “I just wish I could think about somethin’ that wasn't my head.”
Bill gives a thoughtful little hmm . “Okay. So how about if I gave you head?”
Ted moves his arm away from his face and lets out a very characteristic laugh, a goofy giggle that stops when he remembers the pain in his head. But Bill looks down at him, very super serious, and Ted doesn't miss that very super serious glint in Bill’s eyes.
“Bill-- are- are you serious?” he whispers, his own eyes wide.
“Deadly,” says Bill. His hand is on Ted’s thigh. After a moment’s deliberation, he shuffles himself around yet again, shoving Ted's blankets out of the way so he can position himself between Ted’s legs. Self-consciously, Ted’s hands fly down to cover his crotch, hands pressed down over the front of his tighty-whiteys. Bill snorts, and reaches down to tug Ted’s hands away, and then replace them with his own. Then he leans down, pushes Ted’s t-shirt out of the way, and presses a kiss to Ted’s stomach, which makes him jolt suddenly, makes a surprised little whimper slip from his lips. Bill looks up, droopy eyes questioning, but Ted doesn't look too traumatised. His expression is kind of unreadable, though, and Bill wants to be sure he's not totally overstepping boundaries, here. Well, he knows he's overstepping boundaries, but he wants to be sure Ted’s okay with this boundary-overstepping, and he voices this concern out loud.
“ It’s okay --” Ted squeaks, as Bill’s hands slip further under his shirt and further up his stomach. “It’s, um, it’s okay, dude.”
“Okay, dude.” says Bill, and he pushes Ted’s tee up a little further, starts to trail kisses up Ted’s stomach, starting from his belly button, and moving further north, following the line of the big scar he’s got there. Ted squeaks in surprise, clapping a hand down over his own mouth, and Bill snorts, laughing against Ted’s skin for a moment before he continues.
By the time Bill’s full-on making out with Ted’s right nipple, Ted is full-on moaning, his hands sort of vaguely touching around Bill’s biceps and shoulders, not really stopping anywhere steady, hovering in his hormonally heightened state. From the sounds he’s making, Bill figures either Ted’s headache has gotten much worse, or, he's about to totally ruin his underwear. Bill slips his hand down to check, and another little laugh escapes him, and then he sits up, pulls away.
“Okay Ted,” he says, in a proper down-to-business tone. “I’m gonna do it now, so like, if you want me to stop, you gotta speak now, or forever hold your peace.” He sits back a little. “Or, I mean. I can stop any time if you want me to.”
Ted lowers his hands from his face, and his eyes meet Bill’s. “I most definitely do not want you to stop.”
Bill grins widely. “ Excellent .” And then he pulls Ted’s underwear down to his knees and wastes no time going down on him. He puts his mouth right where he needs to and Ted lets out a loud, desperate sort of a noise, sort of like he's hurt and sort of like he’s overjoyed, and Bill, with Ted in his mouth, wonders if Ted’s already come, just like that. It’d honestly be kind of disappointing, because as much as Bill loves and entirely respects his esteemed colleague, he would kind of hope that Ted could last a bit longer.
But Bill then finds he's not currently choking on come, so he figures he can just get down to it properly. He’s never actually done this before, of course, only sort of seen it in the couple of dirty flicks he and Ted managed to snag down at the movie shack with some careful planning and false facial hair. But he figures he's got an idea of the basics, and as long as he doesn't accidentally bite Ted, he figures he's okay. Ted’s still moaning somewhere above him, his hands in Bill’s hair, and sometimes the moans sound a bit like Bill’s name, which, Bill has to say, is totally outstanding.
“Bill, Bill ,” Ted suddenly gasps, after another few minutes of the overwhelming feeling of Bill’s mouth on him. “I-- um-- I think- maybe- maybe you should stop?”
Bills pulls off sharply, and Ted whimpers. “Woah, dude,” Bill says. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yes, I just didn't want to…” Ted whines again. “I did not want to do that in your mouth, dude.”
“Oh,” says Bill. “But you were close?”
“Okay. Do you want me to finish you off?”
Ted stares for a moment, eyes blown wide, and then he nods again. So Bill surges forward and cups Ted’s face in his left hand and kisses him deeply. With his right, he makes good on what he’d said and gives Ted a bit of a helping hand . They make out with great passion, and somewhere along the line Ted’s voice goes all high and, Bill has to say, kind of totally adorable, and then he comes. Bill leans back, bemused, watching as Ted, totally blissed out, gasps for air like he’s just run a marathon. Never mind that Bill was totally the one doing all the work there.
“Bill,” says Ted, when he manages to find his voice. “That was- that was-”
Bill sits back, wiping his hand as nonchalantly as he can on Ted’s t-shirt.
“It was most excellent, Bill. It was-- triumphant, outstanding-- dude,” Ted beams, his smile so wide and so bright. “That was everything .” He’s still trying to catch his breath, and sounds so awestruck, so happy . “You kissed me, dude.”
Another bubble of laughter rises up from Bill’s chest and escapes his mouth.
“I just jerked you off, Ted,” he says, “and you’re thinking about the kiss?”
Ted nods, entirely earnest. “Well, yeah , but. That was our first kiss, dude, it’s special to me.” His eyes sparkle, and his smile is so bright that Bill almost can't take it. So to hide the red hot blush on his face he lowers himself down to kiss Ted again, and again, and then again. His hands slip down into his own pants, unzipping quick and frantic, in his worked up state he manages just enough coordination to grab one of Ted’s hands, and then wrap his own hands around it, using his friend’s hand to jerk himself off hurriedly, too worked up to worry about finesse. He comes quickly, with a frankly rather unmanly little cry - though he’s got enough trust in Ted that he knows he probably won’t get laughed at for it - before rolling himself off of Ted and collapsing beside him, gasping for breath and happier than he ever thought he could be with jizz all over his hands. He wipes it off as best he can on the thighs of his unbuttoned jeans, and then, bold from the post-orgasm buzz, he wraps himself around Ted’s body with all four limbs.
“So how's your headache, Ted?” Bill asks, squeezing Ted gently around the middle. Ted lets out a breathy little laugh, lifting his arms to wrap them around Bill and pull him closer, while scrunching his face up in thought.
“You know what, Bill, my most highly esteemed colleague?” Ted says. “It is completely gone, dude.”
Bill laughs, loud. “ Excellent . Maybe I should get this patented.” He says, thoughtfully. “ Bill S. Preston’s Infallible Cure For Headaches. ” Then he thinks on it for a bit. “Actually, nah. I wouldn’t do this for just anybody.”
Ted rolls onto his side, looking Bill dead in the eye.
“I would hope not, dude. Although, I am wondering something.”
Bill lifts an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What’s that, dude?”
Ted licks his lips. “Do you have a headache?”