Work Text:
Ford usually adored Fiddleford. Maybe adored was a bit of a conservative term, but it was an applicable term nonetheless. Sure, he would occasionally stare just a little too long at the fit of Fiddlefords clothes, or silently curse his stupid bimbo of a wife to the dirt (or more recently, praising her to the high heavens for freeing divorcing Fiddleford). But that didn't mean anything. As far as he was concerned, sex wasn't anything worth his time unless it was for a specific purpose. Occasionally Bill would help him unwind, or have an anatomy lesson, but those were different. He wouldn't - no, couldn't - have those desires towards Fiddleford. He simply adored him.
Although on some days, his adoration could border on the verge of the urge to beat the living shit out of him.
For example, today. Fiddleford had been incredibly insistent that Stanford take a break and sleep, or eat, or drink water, or whatever ridiculous thing he requested this time. He couldn't seem to grasp the idea that he was just fine. If he really needed sleep then Bill would take over and let his mind rest. But Fiddleford just wouldn't let the issue rest.
"Stanford, you need to rest! My Lord, you look tireder than a cattle herder after a day without a sheepdog!" Fiddleford said, lightly tugging on Stanfords trench coat as the scientist stubbornly kept working on his equations. He didn't bother correcting his grammer for favor of avoiding an argument. Again.
"Fiddleford, I'm fine. I just need to-"
"You need to rest!" Fiddleford interjected. "All you do all day is work, and listen to that fancy-tastical muse of yours, and drink obscene amounts of coffee!" He pointed at the mountain of coffee cups on the table, all having been reused several times because really, who had time for dishes when they were changing the world?
"Fiddleford, for the last time, I'm fine!" Stanford said, his voice raising. He really didn't mean to yell, but he was frustrated and Fiddleford was so damn close.
Fiddleford huffed and bent down, subsequently making himself closer. "Fine? Stanford, I haven't seen you this overworked since our finals weeks, and even that barely holds a candle to right now!" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "For Christs sake, just rest dammit!"
Ford growled softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Rest? How can I rest when I-"
"The damn portal can wait!"
"The portal is all that's important right now!"
"More important than your health?!"
"Yes!" Stanford and Fiddleford were shouting now, getting far too close to each other as Stanford stood up and Fiddleford stepped closer. It didn't help that Bill had started to interject in Stanfords mind, sounding ridiculously like a sports commentator. Fiddleford wasn't backing down, showing a rare display of confidence and insistence. "Stanford just rest for once God damnit! I swear to God if you don't I'll-"
Stanford wasn't interested in hearing his threats, he just wanted him to shut up. He grabbed Fiddlefords and smashed his lips against the shorter mans own, earning himself a shocked squeak as Fiddleford seemed stuck between wanting to pull away and press into it. After a few seconds, he relaxed slightly, which gave Stanford far too much confidence.
Stanford shoved Fiddleford against a wall, leaning his head back to give the poor man a second to breathe, only for Fiddleford to start to word vomit.
"H-Holy shit you kissed me. Did you mean to kiss me? Are we kissing again? I'm not upset I just-" Stanford roughly shoved his thumb in Fiddlefords mouth, watching as his eyes widened slightly.
"For the love of God just shut up." Stanford growled, though he seemed to be talking to someone besides Fiddleford. The bumpkin barely had a second to think about it, however, before Stanford tugged at his collar and latched his lips to it.
Fiddleford let out a choked moan, eyes rolling back slightly as Stanford bit down and shoved his thumb in further. Stanford seemed determined to find something on his neck, as he kept moving around, sucking and lapping at different parts of Fiddlefords neck. The thumb in his mouth was retrieved, freeing his mouth.
"O-Oh my God Stanford, whatever this is d-don't stop ok? Jesus fuck if this is what it t-takes to make you be quiet I'll- holy fucking-" Fiddlefords words twisted into a high-pitched whine of pleasure as Stanford found what he could only assume was his sweet spot. He moaned softly and arched his back, groaning as the action earned him a sharp squeeze to his hip.
Stanford kept diligently sucking at his neck, biting softly and slowly dragging his tongue over the same spot as he pulled with every breath at Fiddlefords neck. He'd occasionally let out a quiet growl, pressing Fiddleford further into the wall as he seemed annoyed at something or someone. Probably him, since he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut.
Fiddleford couldn't seem to control his mouth anymore. He already had a talking problem - yapping, as his son had affectionately called it once - and it seemed it got much worse when his work partner was actively groping him and keeping him trapped against a wall. Every action created a new string of swears and moans, only occasionally silenced by a particularly rough suck.
After God knows how long of Stanford transversing every possible inch, he suddenly grabbed at the shorter mans shirt and pulled it off. His hands immediately found Fiddlefords pecs, pressing and lightly running his fingers over the quickly stiffening nipples.
Fiddleford moaned roughly, arching into the touch as his hands fumbled with the growing tent in his pants. "G-God fuck Stanford, I- f-fucking hell- S-Stanford I need- oh God I need-" he just couldn't get his mouth to cooperate, any attempt at a coherent sentence failing quickly.
"Shut up." Stanford said, roughly shoving a knee between Fiddlefords legs and pressing, drawing out a loud keen from Fiddleford. Six fingered hands tugged at his belt, quickly disposing of it and dropping Fiddlefords pants before Stanfords joined suit. Fiddleford barely had a second to think before three fingers were shoved into his mouth, and a hand wrapped tightly around his aching cock.
"Suck." Stanford said bluntly before quickly starting to pump Fiddlefords dick. He let out a strangled moan and quickly started sucking at the fingers, twisting his tongue around the digits as tears sprung to his eyes as Stanfords painfully dry hand massaged and pumped at his cock. His eyes rolled back as a finger harshly pressed at the head, causing him to wantonly buck his hips up.
"Need to rest huh? Think I can't stay awake?" Stanford growled, pumping his fingers into Fiddlefords mouth in time with his hand jerking off his dick. "Think I need to sleep? I'm wide a-fucking-wake and I'll show you just- shut the fuck up!" He shouted, squeezing tightly at Fiddlefords base as the shorter man let out a screeching moan. He felt so close, the precum leaking fast now as he rhythmlessly thrusting into Stanfords large hand, only to let out an annoyed groan as the movement stopped.
"Stanford what the actual fuck-" Stanford simply gave him a pointed glare before pulling him to the floor and laying him flat on his back. He once again found lips pressed to his own, only this time there was the feeling of something pressing into his entrance.
Fiddleford let out a muffled scream as Stanford slowly worked one of his thick fingers into his ass, carefully wiggling it as he shoved his tongue into Fiddlefords mouth. He swiftly worked a second, then a third finger in, working him open and stretching him wider as he tongue-fucked Fiddlefords mouth. Fiddleford moaned and gasped, hips lewdly grinding and twitching on the fingers up his ass, desperate for the feeling as he let Stanfords tongue invade his mouth. He was so close, his dick was squeezed between his belly and Stanfords ribcage, just a few more and-
Fiddleford let out an indignant cry as the kiss and fingers suddenly left his body, glaring at Stanford as the larger man roughly tugged at his own cock, staring at Fiddlefords ass like he was simply another page in a doctoral essay to complete. "Stanford what the actual fuck?! You can't- well you- don't just shove your fingers up my ass and not-"
"Shut up!!" Stanford shouted, shoving Fiddlefords knees to his chest before slamming in. Fiddleford let out a scream as the larger man set a punishing pace, gripping his thighs and shoulders as he slammed into him. "Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!" He shouted, accenting each word with a thrust.
Fiddleford very quickly became a puddle on the floor, letting out broken moans and whimpers as desperate cries of "Stanford, more, please, faster, harder-" left his mouth. A hand pressed his thigh to his chest, as he other leg was slung over Stanfords shoulder. Another hand squeezed his shoulder, pulling him closer with every snap of his hips. And Fiddlefords own hands? They were just everywhere. Stanfords hair, his own hair, Stanfords arms, his torso, his hips, his neck, anything he could grab onto in a half-hearted attempt to ground himself as he was fucked ruthlessly. Quickly he felt himself getting closer, felt himself squeezing down on Stanford and the burning knot inside him get tighter and tighter.
Stanford was letting out loud grunts and moans, letting his head drop to the crook of Fiddlefords hickey-riddled neck as his thrusts became sloppy and irregular. "Fucking- gonna cum Fidds, oh fuck I-"
Fiddleford let out a screech of pleasure as he felt Stanford still for a second, before feeling something warm spurt into him. He ground into Stanfords hips, weakly bucking his hips as he came as well. His vision went pure white as he released, before slowly coming back into focus. Stanford slowly released his grip on him, panting heavily as he carefully pulled out.
Fiddleford whined softly and groaned. He felt tired, and sore, and about 99.998% certain he'd just figured out why he never really enjoyed his marriage. Stanford smiled, and carefully pulled Fiddleford to the designated 'emergency pass out' corner, equipped with a thin blanket and pillow. He smiled tiredly, laying down. "Guess we're rassling buddies now." He mumbled before quickly falling asleep.
Stanford gave a soft smile, before redressing himself. He carefully folded Fiddlefords clothes and set them beside him before going back to his desk.
"Not another word from you." Stanford muttered, giving a pointed glare at the now visible geometrical shadow in the room.
"I didn't say much. And it's not like he heard me."
"Well I heard you, and I'd have rathered my first time having sex with an actual human to be silent and without commentary. You were worse than those sports commentators my brother would listen to."
"I'm sorry, first time with a human?" Bill asked, floating closer.
"...shut up. I have a portal to work on." Stanford said, turning back to his journal.