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Ford whistles quietly as he carefully scrubs the sponge across the dirty plate. He and Stanley, currently the only people in the Shack, had just finished their simple dinner of chicken and pasta. Stanley's little tourist trap is closed for the day, and the twins are at a sleepover with a Northwest.
Stanford shudders at the thought, despite their multiple reassurances that she’s okay.
A hand on his shoulder makes him tense slightly, but a familiar hum has him relaxing almost immediately.
Ford doesn't protest as Stan's arms wrap around him, nor when he buries his face in the back of his neck, inhaling deeply.
“Hello, Stanley,” he murmurs instead, not speeding up his dishwashing in the slightest; anything Stan could possibly need right now can wait a few minutes.
“Smell nice…”
Ford rolls his eyes indulgently, sighing quietly when he feels his twin’s fingers move so slightly at his sides. With his red turtleneck on he can barely feel them, but their presence is most certainly there. The appendages move with almost a mind of their own, sliding up towards his chest.
Ford’s cock twitches in his pants when Stan's fingers pinch a nipple through the fabric.
“Stan,” he mutters. He shifts, but does nothing else to dismiss his twin.
Stan grins into his neck. Ford sighs.
Hands continue to travel his torso, and Stan's mouth latches to his skin, peppering kisses and small nibbles that have Ford's breathing getting heavier by the minute. Unconsciously, his dishwashing begins to speed up, but never gets sloppy.
Right as he's scrubbing the last plate, Stanley's teeth sink into the skin where his neck and shoulder meet, startling a whine out of Ford.
A pleased hum rumbles from Stan's chest as he reaches forward to turn the water off. “House all to ourselves tonight. Let's make the most of it.”
Ford grins ever so slightly, one wet hand coming up to grab Stan's.
A gasp escapes Ford's mouth as his twin throws him onto the bed in Stan's room, already spit-swollen lips immediately being captured again as the younger twin lands on top of him.
“Wanted you for so long…” Stan mumbles into his mouth, biting at Ford's lip to earn himself a choked whine. “Needed to fuck you. Need to fuck you.”
“Stan… St—” Ford’s glasses start fogging from the heat of their breathing. “Come on, have some tact.”
“Aw, what, gonna choose to be a prude tonight?” Stan removes both their glasses, tossing them onto the nightstand. “I know how to take care of that.”
Ford lets out a questioning noise. In lieu of an answer, Stan’s hand starts traveling again, now not wasting time on teasing like before and letting his fingers go right to his brother's belt buckle.
The process of both of their pants and boxers (or just boxers, in Stan's case) being removed is swift, practiced. Not like their fumbling when they were teenagers, or even when Ford had first come back from the multiverse; that time had been angry, no love behind their actions as much as frustration, a need for an outlet.
Now, even with all Stan's big talk, he takes the time to lavish Ford with love, starting with his thighs.
From his new position with his upper body now between his brother's legs, he plants kisses all up and down Ford's thighs, occasionally leaving a bite that leaves his brother keening. It isn't long before Ford tries to move his hips into it, but Stan just brings his arms under and around his legs so he can grip them, effectively pinning him.
This elicits a startled gasp from Stanford, but Stan pays him no notice, instead continuing his ministrations. He very dutifully avoids touching Ford's important parts, instead marking every inch of his brother's inner thighs, nails digging into the skin whenever his brother tries to buck his hips.
“St—Stan, c'mon…” the scientist murmurs, clenching his teeth around a whine when Stan licks at a particularly bad bite.
Ford's erection bobs tantalizingly in front of his twin’s nose, and Stan feels his own twitch.
“You're so beautiful, Ford, you know that?” he asks as he shifts himself slightly. Stanford sucks in a sharp breath as Stan brings one hand out from under his thigh to trace a finger over his straining dick. “So pretty even before you're all fucked out. Could just look atcha for hours.”
“Why don't you look while you're inside me, huh?” Ford snaps, one hand coming up to try to brush his sweaty hair off of his forehead.
“Ha! Told ya I'd deal with that prude side’a yours.”
“I do not have a— ah!” Ford cuts himself off with a moan as Stanley takes half his cock in his mouth in one go.
The younger of them hums his laughter, pushing Ford's thighs down again when he tries to cant his hips.
The room is soon filled with the heady scent of sex, the only sounds able to be heard being Stanford's poorly muffled moans and the lewd noises Stanley is making around his cock. Every swipe of tongue, every inch he takes deeper, earns a new cry from Ford's mouth.
When Stan's lips hit his brother's crotch and the head hits the back of his throat, Ford lets out a strangled curse in some other language and grasps at Stan’s hair, not pushing enough to force him to stay, but letting that pressure exist.
The look Stanley gives him from his compromising position is absolutely sinful; hooded, lust-hazed eyes obscured partly by long, greying eyelashes, red lips pulled around him twisting into some semblance of a smirk as he runs his tongue up a purpling vein on the cock down his throat.
Ford nearly comes just from the sight.
This is made difficult, though, when Stan easily pushes against his hold and comes up off his dick. He ignores Ford's voiced displeasure, instead leaning up on his elbow. Never breaking eye contact with his twin, Stan uses the thumb on his other hand to swipe off some precum near his bottom lip, and licks it off the appendage in one single swoop of the tongue.
Ford can only stare, slack-jawed.
“Now.” Stan reaches under the blanket, where he made sure to place the lube before this little altercation. “Let's see how fast I can get ya crying over my cock, yeah?”
He opens the bottle, drizzling a generous amount onto his fingers. Ford opens his mouth to hurry him, only to release a choked off moan when one thick finger pushes past his rim. It stops at the second knuckle, curling just slight, and Ford bites his lip to keep his moans from spilling out as shamelessly as they'd like to.
Stan shifts, skillfully keeping his finger at the same rhythmic pace as he brings himself further up the bed, pressing kisses to Ford's neck as soon as he can reach. The kisses ascend to licks, and then small nips of teeth, all while he casually pumps his finger in and out of his brother's ass.
The scholar cries out when Stan bites harder at the skin where his neck and shoulder meet. Stan licks at the bite with the flat of his tongue, unable to take his eyes off Ford's flushed face.
Said flush darkens when he abruptly adds another finger. Ford clenches his jaw around a yelp, eyes scrunching closed.
Stan levels him with an annoyed look that he doesn't see, adding another finger. Ford's hips grind down against his now-stilled appendages, biting down on his own forearm to muffle his sounds of pleasure.
A growl tears from Stan's chest at the sight; his free hand grasps Ford's arm and pulls it away from his mouth while he thrusts his fingers in with the other hand. The elder of them, unprepared for this, lets free a loud moan, ears coloring at the sound of his own desperation.
“Better. I wanna hear every little moan you make tonight, Poindexter.” The fingers slip out of Ford's hole, leaving him gasping at the emptiness. “And I wanna hear ya beg.”
Stanford swallows, breathing heavily as he stares up at Stan's lust-clouded eyes. He knows his brother's cock is right next to him, can feel the heat it radiates against his twitching, slicked rim.
He whimpers quietly.
Stan's expression becomes predatory. “C'mon. I know you want it. Wanna feel my big, hot dick inside ya. Hitting every little nerve. All ya gotta do is ask.”
Ford bites his tongue defiantly, grasping the pillow behind him with both hands. Stan growls quietly, leaning down to suck at Ford's neck.
“Fuck! Please, Stan, just—” Ford gasps, one arm coming up to wrap around his brother's shoulders. “Just—fuck me, please!”
“There it is.” Stan surges back up to kiss Ford deeply, swallowing the scream that tries to escape him when he thrusts in.
The thrusts are rough, almost too fast for Stanford to handle. Stan breaks their kiss, allowing him to breathe deeply, each exhale a moan that makes him flush almost as much as the cock buried balls deep inside him.
Stan leans down next to his ear, whispering harshly over the keens escaping Ford's lips. “Love hearin’ you like this. Love feelin’ you fall apart around my fat cock. Keep letting me hear ya. C' mon .” The last word is punctuated by a thrust that finally hits Ford's prostate.
“St-Stan—ley!” Ford screams, burying his face in Stan's neck, both arms pulling the younger twin flush to him. “Oh, gods, Lee, p-please, can I—”
“No.” Stan lets loose another growl. “You're gonna come around my cock or you ain't gonna come at all.”
And good lord, is that hot. Ford chokes out a whimper and nods, biting at Stan's neck to try and muffle his cries again. His twin says nothing on it this time, head dipped and lidded eyes hazy with lust. He persistently aims for that sweet spot, his own mouth dropping open to moan in tandem with Ford's muffled cries.
That familiar pressure starts to build in Ford's abdomen not long after, his moans becoming louder, less coherent. Cries of “please, Lee”s and “harder, god, harder” morph into nonsense, the occasional “please” or even “love you” melding with keens that make him distantly thank the stars they're alone.
“God— close,” Stan gasps out, and Ford can do nothing but nod frantically into his shoulder in response. His nails dig into the skin of Stan's upper back, carefully avoiding the healed scar tissue there.
“Fuck—
Lee!”
Ford comes apart first, toes curling as he spills all over his and Stan's stomachs. White stars fly across his vision, and he gasps for breath.
Stanley keeps going, thrusts erratic and uncoordinated. He gives his twin a desperate look, and Ford lovingly caresses his face, kissing him right as his orgasm hits him. He moans into Ford's mouth while he rides it out, collapsing on top of him directly afterwards.
They both lie there for a minute or so, basking in the haze of their post-orgasm. Ford is the first to come back to his senses, shoving lightly at Stan's chest and prompting him to pull out and roll over to the side.
“Still—” Ford swallows, voice slightly raw. “Still think I'm a prude?”
His brother huffs a laugh next to him, one hand coming up to swipe the hair out of his eyes. “With you moaning like a pornstar? No way. Should film you next time, make some money off it.”
Blush colors Stanford's cheeks, and he looks away. “Unnecessary. We should get cleaned up, I can feel this starting to dry on my sweater. Why do we end up forgetting to take off our upper clothes?”
“How am I supposed to take time to do somethin’ as trivial as takin’ off my top when I know soon I'll see you under me, beggin’ for my dick?”
Ford looks over at his brother, blinking when he sees him staring towards the ceiling. Stan's face is colored now as well, and he looks back at the elder twin with widening pupils. “I wanna see that again.”
“Wh—Stanley!” Ford cries futilely, but Stan is already moving to get back on top of him.