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Fantasy

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The thought first occurred to him one day when his vision was starting to blur from staring at the same science equation for a little too long. He'd been exhausted, barely in control of his thoughts, and with memories of him and Stan earlier that night still fresh in his head — it was no wonder it popped into his thoughts.

He was almost completely certain that Stan would be on board with it, and that's why he didn't immediately dismiss it. He let it form in his head, fantasy after fantasy until he'd found the perfect one. One where Stan was very aware of his desires and surprised him one day, grabbed him and just ravished him. A shudder ran through Ford's body at the idea.

He would never go through with it, of course. There were risks. Stan could get hurt; and Ford was too nervous to bring it up. Just looking at Stanley with the idea in mind had his cheeks heating up and his spine going straight. He'd stare too long at the other's lips, and his mind would wander deeper into his fantasy, far passed step one of his plan; or Stan would kiss him when he tried to talk and derail his train of thought completely because kissing Stan was like eating potato chips. It never stopped at just one. Then when he remembered why he'd wanted to talk, he'd flush red and say he'd forgotten anyway.

So no, he wouldn't mention it. It'd be his little secret desire. Surely Stan had those right? Right. And with that reassurance in mind, he gave up on ever having the fantasy come true.

Stan, as always, saw through him. He could always tell when something was different, some thought was lingering longer than it should when it came to Ford, and Ford was the same way. It really shouldn't have surprised him so when Stan approached him one evening, slung an arm his shoulders and tugged the pencil out of Ford's mouth. "So, what's eating you?"

Ford's initial reaction was to say "you". He'd even opened his mouth to say it, the response felt that simple, that easy. He managed to stop himself though, mouth dumbly hanging open and skin flushed all the way down his neck. He felt like he was on fire.

Stan waited patiently, a grin plastered on his lips. Teasing son of a —

"W-well, ah," he twirled the pencil around, threading it between his fingers, trying to ignore the breath making his already burning ears hotter and the fingers ghosting up and down his shoulder and upper arm. "I was just... thinking — "

"Really? Couldn't tell."

Ford ignored the interruption, " — thinking about doing certain-certain things." He exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. So far, so good.

Stan licked his lips. His tongue brushed over the tip of Ford's ear. Images flashed in both their heads, the excitement becoming thick in the air.

"Oh yeah? What kinda things?"

"Things that, um, well, i-in-involve you. Your, uh, your... mouth."

Suddenly Ford's entire world shifts. His back is facing his desk and Stan is in front of him, both hands on his shoulders now. He'd spun him around in the chair. They're so close together now that there's hardly anywhere else for Ford to look. It's all Stan; Stan's eyes and his nose and his glistening lips because he keeps licking them, over and over again, with little swipes of his tongue.

"You're beet red."

"Didn't know you knew what a beet was."

"Ow. You're gonna have to kiss that burn for me. That hurt, Sixer."

Ford let out a brief chuckle, his fingers threading into Stan's hair as he initiated a kiss. More soft laughs followed, swallowed up by wet kisses. Stan's hands drifted from his shoulders to his chest, over his stomach, ending up on his thighs.

"As much as I'm loving this, I doubt it's what you had in mind," he mumbled, pressing his lips across Ford's jaw, tilting his head so he could tease at his neck.

"We-well, no, but I don't-don't mind."

"Nu uh, you're telling me what's been on your mind," he pulls back completely to look Ford straight out.

"Stan — "

"C'mon, what do you want me to do with my mouth?"

"S-Stanley..."

"Want me to tease you?"

The blush returned to Ford's cheeks. "W-well..."

"Well~?"

"W-well — "

"Go on."

"Stanley, please, be quiet for a moment."

There was no response this time.

"I — Well, recently I've been having this f-fantasy where I-you — " God bless Stan for being so patient with him but there was no way he was going to be saying it any time soon.

"Just spit it out. Like ripping off a band aid." Because that was apparently easier.

"I-I want t-to," he mumbled out the rest too quickly and softly for his brother to hear.

"Want to?" Stan prompted.

"Want to," the results were nearly the same as before, though he was a bit louder.

"Come on, you can do it."

Like ripping off a band aid. "I want you to rim me. I-I want to, oh God, I want to s-sit on your face and have you rim me."

Ford was going to die of heat stroke at this rate.

It wasn't helping that Stan was just staring at him. He wasn't even sure his brother was breathing anymore.

"You want me," he started slowly, "to eat you out?"

Ford made a face at that phrasing. "Y-yes."

Stan exhaled, "That's fuckin' hot."

Of course. He knew Stan would be up to it but Ford still had his nerves wracking him.

"It's just a fantasy, I don't expect us to do it. It's incredibly risky, you know, and then there's mom and dad and — "

"They aren't a problem. Just stay quiet."

Ford deadpanned, "Really."

Stan's grin grew, "Really." There was no chance to retort as Stan kisses him again, hands slipping under his thighs to pull his brother out of the chair. Ford scrambles to keep the kiss intact and hold on to Stan, legs hooking around his waist, hands linking behind his neck.

Getting to either of their beds was a hassle that they could've done without. Getting their clothes off was a pain that Stan mentioned several times that they didn't need. Technically all Ford needed to do was take his pants off and they'd be good to go but no, he had to drag it out and let his nerves get the best of him.

"Although I do get a nice strip show this way."

The not quite serious hit to his head was so worth it.

Both naked after much protesting, Ford rested himself in Stan's lap, initiating a sloppy make out session. Hands wandered, Stan slowly let himself rest against the bed, Ford bending over to keep the kisses going. He groaned when he felt hands kneading the cheeks of his ass, not really noticing they were pushing farther up until Stan's lips were suddenly too far away to keep kissing. Before he knew it, Stan's head was beneath his hips, hands rubbing at the back of Ford's thighs now.

"Stan — "

"Don't start. There's no talking me out of this now."

"You're going to suffocate!"

"Oh, come on. You've got the roundest ass I've ever seen but it's not going to kill me. What a way to go though."

"Stanley!"

"Alright, alright. Don't be such a tightass," he snorted, then continued, "Here, lemme loosen you up." Before there were any complaints about the comedic addition to their night, Stan urged Ford to lower his hips.

It was better than any fantasy he could have imagined, thought that was to be expected. This was real. This was actually happening. Stan's tongue was warm and wet against his skin, slowly easing him into the moment, relaxing him. He let his eyes slip shut, still trying not to put his full weight on his brother. His thighs trembled with the effort.

When the tip of his tongue pushed passed the tight ring of muscle, Ford let out a moan, then froze. Oh God. Their parents. They were home today right? He panicked but Stanley didn't stop just because he was being rational. More sounds fell from Ford's lips until he bit at his hand. They didn't stop but at least now he didn't sound like he was getting tongue fucked by his brother. At best he could say he hadn't been feeling well, groaning over a stomach ache. Stan would support him. He'd make it believable.

Stan tortured him, worked him up, alternated between teasing the the edge of his hole with the tip of his tongue and pressing it so deep inside him that Ford actually grinded his hips down, wanting more, needing more. "S-Stan, Stan-ahhh-ley..." His brother hummed and a wrecked, shaky moan made its way passed Ford's hand barrier. Their parents were going to come up here and catch them and there'd be no way out of it and —

Ford hated himself for it but it actually excited him, just a little. Not the idea of his parents catching them but just being caught in general, of someone seeing the full blown pleasure Stan was giving him — it excited him in ways he didn't think it could. Especially when the aftermath would likely involve a fight with intruder over seeing Ford in such a compromising position. Stan's muscles flexing, his skin damp and —

He shuddered, shaken from his thoughts, crying out as Stan switched from teasing him to piercing him with his tongue again.

Stan hummed again, obviously wanting an answer to the calls of his name.

He carefully removed the hand from his mouth, trying to keep his pants and groans to a low volume, "Ah, ahh, m-more, need jus-just a little more, I'm so close, Stan-Lee, please, please — "

He whined at the loss of his brother's tongue completely as his hips were lifted. He could hear Stan panting under him, could feel the hot breath against his damp skin.

"Touch yourself."

"Ah?"

"Touch yourself, Sixer," that was all he said, husky and low, before going back to ravishing his brother.

Tentatively, Ford wrapped a hand around his practically throbbing erection, wanting to find a rhythm that synced up with Stan's tongue, but the moment he moved his hand, he lost himself. His free hand went back between his teeth. It didn't stay for very long as Ford continuously cried out, so close, so so close, and he shouted Stan's name like a mantra as his hips thrust into his grip and grinded against Stan's tongue, so so close.

His vision and mind blanked when he finally reached his peak, his hand slowing to a stop and his brother settling him down on the mattress beside him.

"You holding up over there, Poindexter?" His voice was still so low; it gave Ford chills. He managed a nod in response.

"Was it everything you fantasized about?"

This time he shook his head. "No," his voice cracked, his throat sore, "Better."

Stan grinned proudly. They laid in silence for a while, letting their breathing even out and their minds slow down.

"Hey, I got something to admit."

"Hm?"

"Ma and Pa ain't home tonight."

He thought being pushed off the bed was a little bit of an overreaction but as Stan lay on the floor he figured it was still worth it.