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It had been five days since the incident. Despite Bill’s every reassurance, Ford insisted on following him every single place he went.
He really should’ve expected it after months of leaving Sixer wanting more and never quite having enough. Edging that oversized ego just the way it needed. It was a shame all his hard work on that was out the window.
With ample opportunity now, Ford naturally overindulged in his presence. There was no real escape from it, no matter how many passive aggressive comments or social cues Bill dropped. The only thing that could match that guy’s IQ was his density.
“Mind taking a few steps back, pal?” Bill strained out for the third time that day.
Ford immediately took a step back from his perch breathing heavily behind Bill, his moist fleshsack leaving some disgustingly tangible condensation.
He laughed sheepishly. “Oh yes, of course! My apologies, Bill. I wanted to see if you required any additional assistance.”
“Still no!” Bill snapped cheerfully, waving the butterknife covered in his own silvery biofluids. “Remember those other times I said I’d let you know?” He jabbed the knife vaguely in Ford’s direction.
But Ford kept grinning that stupid grin at him—oblivious to the kinds of things Bill Cipher could historically do with a blunt weapon. Nothing Bill did could get him to knock it off. He just followed him and stared at him and showed off those enticingly collectable ivory pieces.
Apparently Bill had done too good of a job with his whole “Muse” routine. He just honestly never thought he’d find himself in a situation like this, unable to leave his puppet to be a nervous wreck on their own. Forced to deal with the consequences of how cute and lovable he obviously was!
“Yes, yes.” Ford waved him off. Who was he to wave off his Muse?! “But if you need a bandage or the stepping stool or anything at all, feel free to let me know.” He patted his coat pocket conspiratorially. “I have a shrunken down ladder in my front pocket!”
“I’ll keep that in mind in case I decide to take a refreshing high dive off the water tower,” Bill muttered.
There was a second of silence where Bill thought he had finally gotten the memo. It was quickly interrupted by Ford bursting into a hearty laugh. “Ha! The water tower! You have such a quick wit, my Muse.” He took a step forward. “Since we have the time now, you should instruct me on how you come up with such witty comebacks.”
And just like that he was back to breathing directly down Bill's neck—if he had one of those. Which, thankfully, he did not. It was pretty much like the old one he had peeled off back home. A bit more dimension on it, that was nice. Not quite a pyramid, he could live with that. The form was not the problem here. The problem was he had managed to get to Earth. Without any of his powers. Or his Henchmaniacs.
In the brief second the portal was active, he had managed to slip through, thinking of the fun he was going to have with Earth. All the new hobbies he could take up! All the new brain matter he could twist into origami! His rapturous excitement was immediately wrung like a neck on entry.
It wasn’t the gateway that screwed up, Bill had ensured that was perfect with his own two hands (via puppeting Ford’s own two hands). Something intervened at the last moment. Some greater cosmic power, the source of which Bill could only angrily guess…
In this single attempt, Ford burned through the last of the painstakingly collected radioactive waste fueling the thing, leaving Bill stranded and powerless.
Which meant he’d have to play nice with his pawn until he figured out what the hell he was going to do.
“Oh, my Muse! Allow me to get that for you.” Without waiting for a reply, Ford stepped up and grabbed the jar of sauce from the high shelf Bill was jumping fruitlessly for. He kneeled down on one knee to present it to Bill as if it were some mystical artifact.
Bill snatched it away and rolled his eye. He gripped the jar to open it and found it did not immediately bend to his will. His feeble little hands weren’t even big enough to cover the lid! He tried tucking his eye back into his body and using his mouth instead. This only succeeded in leaving desperate bite marks on the metal.
He was beginning to hate physical reality. And that jar specifically!
As he raised it over himself to shatter on the ground, Ford took it back from him—as if this was what he was silently pleading for. He easily opened the jar with a pop and handed it back to Bill with a smile.
Bill upturned his eye into a strained crescent, then turned and dumped the entire jar of sauce onto the meat mess he had been stabbing and bleeding on.
Ford leaned further over him. “If I may ask…what exactly are you attempting to make?” Even without seeing into his brain, Bill caught the edge of amused condescension.
He stabbed it again. “Meat and red! Ever heard of it?!”
Ford laughed like this was another witty joke. “I would be happy to make a more edible meal for you.” He gently, tentatively, placed a hand on the closest thing Bill had to a shoulder, stilling his stabbing motions. “I know you are still unaccustomed to being corporeal as such. Luckily, I have several decades’ worth of experience on the matter!”
Now that Bill had a form to touch Ford couldn’t get enough of it. Any moment they were in proximity, Ford found any excuse to place a hand on his back, adjust his bowtie, or even wipe the schmutz away from his eye like he was a little baby triangle again.
If Ford ever got too handsy or clingy in the mindscape, he could easily redirect him with a game or some physical comedy, or even just bounce. Now, he had no real power or threats to make. So Bill grinned his eye and beared it, as if he too were dying for those sweaty palms to assist him at a moment’s notice. And like any misbehaving pet, the more he allowed it, the worse Ford got.
This time, in lieu of a reaction, Ford rubbed his thumb slowly over Bill’s shoulder in small circles.
It felt…strange.
Bill wasn’t really used to actual physical contact. The closest he’d gotten to physically touching Ford was playing jump rope with his neurons. The real deal was overwhelming, to say the least. But he didn’t want Ford to know another of his newfound physical weaknesses.
“Yeah…” Bill finally managed. “Sure thing, kid.” He casually stepped off the kitchen stool and out of Ford’s reach as if he didn’t care either way, jamming the dull knife into the cabinet as he went.
Ford jimmied the knife from the pockmarked wood. “Why don’t you rest up and I will let you know when it’s ready?”
With little choice, Bill sulked back to the living room.
Ford was only reinvigorated by what he believed to be the first successful trial of many more years’ worth of work in interdimensional travel. In fact, he had been pleasantly surprised by his Muse’s physical debut and assumed he had come to congratulate him and watch in person as he won every prize in the multiverse. Ford had even graciously promised he would thank his Muse in his dedication speech, now that he physically existed and all.
Bill decided not to contradict this story. And if he wanted to continue to willingly work on the portal, all the better.
It’s just that Bill didn’t even know if opening the gateway again would somehow fix him. The thought of facing his henchmen without his powers was about as appealing as skinny-dipping in the deep fryers in the back of the Nightmare Realm’s largest burger joint. No way they’d help him out unless he could offer infinite power alongside threats to unravel their respective nervous systems as easily as pulling on the thread of a fraying sweater.
Luckily, Ford hadn’t come to this same conclusion. Yet.
Bill scrambled up onto the couch and slumped over. There was a pang in his hand as he mindlessly reached for the TV remote. It was still bleeding all over the place. He kept forgetting things like that lasted a lot longer than snapping himself a spiffy new skin finish. Bill flipped through the channels, generously painting the ‘change channel’ button silver with his blood.
Humans had some of the most boring programs that passed for entertainment in the entire universe. Bill always knew they were dull little apes, but he hadn’t gotten bored enough to actually check! Though, by the third day of his stay he reluctantly admitted to himself that it was better than boring, powerless, infuriating nothing.
He landed on that stupid drama channel he caught some episodes on yesterday. Probably slipping on all the blood or something, his finger hit the ‘raise volume’ button.
By the time Ford returned, he was absent-mindedly poking his wound and staring into the TV.
He startled at the sound of a plate being set down beside him. All thirty-three thousand of his senses were dulled down and sometimes he couldn’t even tell when Ford snuck up like this. He slammed the power button so fast the plastic of the remote cracked.
“What a stupid show!” he shouted. “I don’t get how you humans watch this stuff, Sixer!”
Ford looked over his shoulder to the screen, apparently barely even picking up that it had been on. “Mainstream television often appeals to the lowest human instincts for drama and stupidity,” he easily agreed. He scooted into place beside him on the one-person couch. Bill’s left hand angle was propped up uncomfortably against Ford’s thigh. Before Bill could protest, Ford produced a roll of gauze and bandages from his coat. “I prefer to stick with my studies,” he continued. “Though, when I really need to let loose, I have much more exciting forms of entertainment than mere television…”
“If the next sentence out of your mouth starts with, ends with, or even slightly sounds like ‘dungeons,’ I’m going to—” Bill stopped. He was going to what? Confiscate his hands? Give him cancer? What could he possibly do to deter his nerdy pet from bad behavior? “Start sawing off my limbs with the butter knife,” he settled on lamely. “Have fun trying to re-attach those things—they bite!”
Ford chuckled and took his bleeding hand. Every time Ford laughed at one of his threats Bill got one step closer to constructing a complicated Rube-Goldberg machine to euthanize Ford in his sleep.
“I was going to suggest chess,” Ford replied, completely oblivious. “But now that you mention it, I bet you’d be an old pro at…an extremely fun game which shall remain unnamed—in the interest of keeping all of your limbs intact, my Muse,” he finished wryly as he touched a wet cloth to the crusty blood on his knuckles.
“Hey! What gives?!” Bill shrieked, tearing his arm away and escaping onto the arm rest. “If I wanted an extra helping of pain I would’ve asked, Jack!”
Ford blinked, looking down at the gauze pad and back. “Oh. My apologies, Bill. I should have mentioned, the disinfecting process can cause a mild sting. But it’s in the interest of preventing more excruciating pain down the line.”
Bill crossed his arms, settling on his new perch out of contact with Ford. “Yeah, right. You use that line on every specimen you wanna dissect?”
“Nonsense. If I want to dissect a specimen I usually administer a sedative first. Most of the things I dissect don’t have higher cognitive reasoning anyway.” Bill made a mental note to use a chair to check the high cabinets for hidden tranquilizers. “Besides, all I need to do now is apply the bandage. I promise you’ll feel better.” He held out his hand for Bill. “I added the healing salve I engineered myself!” He triumphantly pushed up his glasses, obviously excessively enjoying the opportunity to explain things to him.
In spite of his hesitance, Bill did actually know that Ford had a knack for healing up his own scrapes. Bill had left plenty of his own, after all. He held out his hand.
Bill watched him work, folding the bandages around Bill’s tiny fingers with extra care not to hurt him again. He felt distantly sick.
It was quiet for another moment as Ford put the gauze aside and turned back to him. “Well, now that that’s settled, why don’t we eat?”
Bill glanced to the side table he had ignored until now. It was some more indistinguishable carb-based slop. As much as Ford liked to pretend to be the master of the physical realm, Bill had gone on enough test drives to know this was about on par with his own homemade meat and red.
Still, he had already tried the whole “not eating” route and found this form to be a lot less forgiving than humans, which basically only started handling a tad worse in his experience. He reluctantly retracted his eye and shoved the entire plate inside.
With his few remaining additional senses, he could tell Ford was staring at him as he chewed up the ceramic. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing!” Ford looked away.
Bill licked around his eye, narrowing it at Ford. “Sure, Poindexter.”
It got quiet again.
“Do you want me to turn the TV back on?” Ford suggested.
“I’d rather play Imaginary Dungeons for Socially Challenged Boys.”
“Really?”
“You wish!”
Ford thought again, a little wounded. “A game of chess, then?”
“No.” He wasn’t sure if it was just whatever digestive processes were kicking into high gear, but Bill was feeling a whole lot less enthusiastic all of a sudden. He was no longer a being of infinite energy and it was really tiring pretending to be impressed by everything Ford did or said or liked. “You wanna be useful so bad?” he finally sighed. “Grab me a drink, why don’t you, Sixer?”
Ford scratched his chin. “I have nothing alcoholic. However, I do keep coffee, tea, and hot cocoa on hand. Does that interest you?” he asked hopefully.
Bill waved a hand. “Dealer’s choice. I don’t care.”
As Ford promptly stood, Bill slumped back over onto the seat.
It didn’t really matter that it wasn’t Ford’s fault things went wrong. It was Ford’s fault he was here and it was Ford he was trapped with, so he deserved it. Worse than this, if anything. If Bill had his way, Ford would be on a leash and muzzled until he learned his manners—and to never, never, come up behind him and pick him up when he couldn’t reach something! The single bite mark from last time wasn’t nearly enough!
Bill let himself imagine how things should’ve been: hanging out with his friends, redecorating the dimension, training his lapdog into shape properly, and maybe turning all the oxygen molecules into tarantulas or something. He was so close, only to have his victory snatched away because it always had to be something!
Not that there was any rhyme or reason to the universe’s sickening corkscrewing past infinitely better possibilities, but Bill had actually let himself believe things would work out this time. He’d managed to find a human simultaneously smart enough to accomplish the work and dumb enough to actually follow through on it. And just when Bill was about to give up on the whole planet too. The whole experience even convinced him to keep Fordsy around after he pulled the Earth-shaped rug out from under him. He never understood why cosmic entities kept mortals around un-skinned—until him.
Ford was a goofy, nerdy, arrogant, loser. And it was, admittedly, just a little cute. Endearing in an ugly dog kind of way. He was funny to laugh at, that’s really all it was! Bill even let himself get excited to finally have his pet in person…
That withered pretty quick.
Ford returned a moment later with two mugs and a blanket. He set one beside Bill and the other on the coffee table, then plopped himself back in the seat with Bill.
“I went with cocoa,” he explained. “I try to limit my late night caffeine unless I’m working on a project of particular import.” (He winked and Bill got 1% closer to constructing that Rube-Goldberg.) “Also, I thought it could be a chance for you to try something new in the physical realm.”
Bill blinked at the steaming cup, wishing he could vaporize it instead. He didn’t even have the energy to form a seething rejoinder for this nauseatingly earnest sentiment.
Slowly, Ford grabbed the blanket. “...Are you tired?”
“Yep,” he said to his mug. “Pretty tired, Sixer.”
He despised the feeling. Without powers, all he really had was his charming personality and he couldn’t even keep that up when his cells decided they needed their beauty sleep or whatever.
Ford laid the blanket over the both of them and—not subtle in the slightest—wrapped his arm around Bill under the guise of adjusting the blanket on the other side of him.
Bill couldn’t even muster the fury to care. He grabbed the mug and sunk into the comfortably fatty edges of Ford’s fleshsack.
By some miracle, Ford picked up on the cue that he was not in the mood to talk or play games. He readjusted his arm tighter without a word.
Bill retracted his eye enough to take a small sip of his drink. It wasn’t bad. With how cold it was in that desolate cabin, it was actually pretty alright. He took a lick of the whipped cream. It definitely tasted a lot better than when he was puppeting borrowed meat. Now he could do boring things like “taste” and “feel pain” like he was any other meaty schmuck stitched together from dust and billions of years of evolutionary fumbling.
But all this really amounted to at the moment was the realization that hot chocolate was actually really good.
Another idea hit Bill as he got the sensation of Ford staring at him again.
“Hey brainiac,” he said slowly, “I think some popcorn would go pretty good with this stuff. Wanna make some for me?”
Ford immediately perked up. “Sure thing!”
Worked like a charm. Ford took back his arm and got right out of the seat. Bill sat up, interested and immediately forming a new plan.
A few minutes passed and Ford returned and presented him with the bowl.
“Good job!” Before Ford could take his seat, Bill pointed down. “Now, why don’t you sit right there?”
“You mean…on the ground?” Ford cocked his head to the side. “Why?”
Bill kicked his widdle feet. “Come on, Sixer! For me?”
And that’s all it took to have Ford getting down on his knees in front of him.
Bill reached into the popcorn bowl. “Here!” He offered a piece to Ford.
Ford chuckled and opened his mouth, averting his eyes. “Thank you, my Muse.”
And it all clicked into place.
He should’ve realized sooner: if he no longer had the stick, all he really had to work with was the carrot. In fact, maybe all Ford’s been needing is to perform a couple tricks for him. A way to burn off all that pent up energy that didn’t involve trying to smother him with his love handles.
“You know,” Bill scooched forward on his seat. “You’re pretty lucky,” he tried, “not everyone gets an in-person visit.” He got close enough to extend his legs and rest them right on top of Ford’s shoulder. “As a matter of fact, you’re the very first!”
Ford stiffened at the contact. “Really?”
He crossed one foot over the other. “Mm-hm!”
“And…are you enjoying your stay in the physical realm?”
“If I weren’t, I could’ve easily left by now!”
Ford took a deep breath, relaxing in his place. “I’m so relieved. I was beginning to worry my cabin was not equipped to accommodate a being as magnificent and otherworldly as you.”
Bill felt his eye upturning along with his mood. “Aw Sixer, the shack doesn’t matter! I wanted to see you, silly!”
Ford was starting to breathe heavier. “My Muse, I—I feel exactly the same way.”
Bill grabbed some more popcorn to offer him for being good and pathetic. Ford gently took it with his mouth, staring at him adoringly all the while.
He swallowed. “The circumstances don’t matter to me,” he continued softly. “Your presence is enough. You are the funniest, most intelligent, sublime being I’ve ever come into contact with.”
Bill chuckled happily, shoving a handful into his own mouth. “Yeah…” He was feeling a lot better already. “Yeah, you’re right! I am your Muse! And I am the smartest and funniest being to ever exist! Good observation, smart guy!”
This only seemed to encourage him. “And truly, if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable… Or perhaps convince you to stay any longer… I would be so honored if you would ask.”
After the infuriating annoyance from the last misstep, Bill had, in truth, been feeling pretty low. Without his clairvoyance, or access to Ford’s mind, or the ability to combust any meat that looked at him wrong, he was feeling less than the deity he was. Hearing this was exactly the boost he needed. Of course Ford wanted to be of service to him. Silly Billy! He’d been too wrapped up in being pissed off at the universe to enjoy the benefits of Ford’s insatiable need to please.
“Hm…” Bill began coyly. “There is one thing…”
Ford scooched closer, propping up his legs further. “What is it?”
“Well, brainiac, tell ya the truth, I’ve been putting up a tough front because I didn’t want to take away from your great victory. But I’m not used to actually walking everywhere, you know?”
Ford nodded. “That makes sense! I should have thought of that. Would a piggy-back ride be—”
“Haha NO!” Bill snapped a little too quickly. “I, uh, just mean that my little feeties are sore.” This wasn’t even a lie, his feet were actually killing him. He slowly pushed the blanket aside. “And I bet those fingers of yours would be pretty useful for massaging…”
“Oh!” He cleared his throat, half-choking for a second. “I see. I—I could…” Ford slid out of footrest position, gently catching Bill’s feet as he readjusted to sit criss-cross in front of him.
He checked and double-checked that he hadn’t hallucinated what Bill had clearly asked for. He tentatively cupped a heel in one hand and touched his other thumb to the arch. When Bill did not freak out or act like he was being weird—which was a tempting option, given how nervous Ford was getting—he began rubbing his lord and master’s little feeties.
“Alright, that’s more like it!” Bill slipped him a few more pieces of popcorn as he got to work. Ford readily opened his mouth.
His prediction was correct, Ford was a natural. It made Bill recall why he wanted to keep him around in the first place. His fingers squeezed away the pain, digging into whatever knotted sinews were coiled up down there. Bill alternated shoveling popcorn into his mouth and lackadaisically sipping the cocoa, beginning to feel, for the first time in five days, like all was right with the universe.
“How’s that?” Ford asked as his hands traced up to rub around his boneless ankles next.
“You’re more than just a set of pretty hands, I’ll give you that.”
The fingers slowed their pace as Ford stared up at him.
Bill stopped mid-sip to give him a look. “Did I say to stop?”
“Apologies!” He got right back to work.
Bill was only further energized by how hopelessly flustered he looked. “Those fingers feel reallyyy good, Sixer,” he sighed loudly. “I can hardly see why humans are so violently repulsed by them!”
“Do you really think that?” Ford’s fingers crept higher, up to his thighs. Bill hadn’t even thought to try there, but lo and behold, that felt pretty great too!
“‘Course I do!” He held up his own hand. “I could use a couple extra myself if you’re feeling like selling.”
Ford barked out a strained laugh. “That’s so funny—you’re so funny!”
It was reaching strangulation levels of cuteness.
Bill set his snacks aside and scooched even closer and, without warning, grabbed a clump of Ford’s hair. Ford made a muffled little whimper. Bill started petting him with the other hand. “Come on, keep it up, Einstein!”
Ford took a shuddering breath. With his head so close now, he buried his face into Bill’s side. Without looking, he pressed his thumbs into either of Bill’s corners and slowly massaged them in little circles.
That felt strange. Though, honestly, maybe even better than his feet alone. “If I had things my way, you’d be doing this every day.” Bill imagined the armchair was a throne made of bones and that Ford had a nice collar attached to his neck telling everyone who he belonged to. If he just ignored reality and its pesky facts, it was pretty much perfect.
Warm, tingling breath hit Bill’s side as Ford nuzzled in further. “I…I would do this everyday,” he mumbled. “For you, my Muse.”
Despite how gross this sort of sticky condensation felt only half an hour ago, it was different now. For some reason, Bill didn’t mind anymore. It had been long enough now since he felt genuinely good that he decided he deserved it and was going to let him continue his adorable ramblings. Bill was reminded of a dog’s excitement after an owner comes home.
“It feels…” Ford began again, “so good to be with you. We finally get to have a break together. After all our hard work…”
“And y’know the last thing that could make this better?” He grabbed for the back of Ford’s skull.
“Mmph,” Ford murmured as he was pressed flush against him, not even slightly fighting the grasp. “Tell me.”
Ford must’ve really been slobbering because it was getting slicker and slicker down there. “Just, ah—” Bill’s voice hitched due to some corporeal weakness he couldn’t place at the moment. “If you would just—keep telling your Muse how great he is!”
The fingers at his sides rubbed faster the slicker it got. Bill started overexcitedly pulling on Ford’s hair.
“My Muse,” came Ford’s voice directly against him. Lips brushed his side. There was the barest tickle of teeth. “You are the single best thing to ever happen to me. You are so hilarious. So talented. So wonderful. You make me so happy. I only want to be by your side.”
Bill found himself nonsensically giggling. “Yeah? Hahaha! Yeah, buddy?” His vision started to swim.
“Mm— And—And you are my inspiration. You are everything I want. I just want to please you.”
“Ohhhh Fordsy, you please me alright! Those fingers! Oh—Oh man!” At this, Ford re-doubled his efforts. Around and around in those mind-blowing little circles. It only felt better and better. More and more overwhelming by the second. “HAHAHAHAHA!” Bill’s laughter pitched up embarrassingly. “HAHAHA—ah!”
All at once, that building feeling reached a fever pitch and he lost all control. He pressed himself as close as he possibly could, vice-gripping Ford’s hair and nearly suffocating him with a full face-hug. He couldn’t stop rubbing against him no matter what.
And Ford, dog that he was, licked across the worst of the pulsing down between his legs. For a second, he couldn’t even pretend this wasn’t exactly what he wanted. He made a loud, obvious, and awful cry of pleasure.
The second it left him, the haze immediately burned away.
“I—uh!” He shoved Ford off him.
Only now did he see that his mouth and chin were not, in fact, covered in human drool. Bill looked down at himself. He was sitting in a puddle of his own cooling fluids, obscenely splattered across the couch and Ford’s face. It was silvery and not dissimilar to his blood, though more viscous and slippery…
He glanced up to see Ford staring at him.
“Wowzers!” Bill stood up. Some of it trickled down his shaking legs. “Haha! You seem to have—to have triggered my…biological ‘disgust’ response. For when something really gross happens and I hate it!” Before Sixer could so much as open his mouth, Bill clambered off the couch and darted for the stairs.
“My Muse, wait—!”
Bill slammed and locked the bathroom door.
He genuinely did feel disgust as he grabbed fistfuls of toilet paper to wipe himself off. He wasn’t even tall enough to look into the mirror without Sixer’s helpful stepping stool. Still, he knew without getting a proper look that mucus was coating all three of his sides. To prime him for…the main event. Nasty polygonal acts he only vaguely remembered diagrams of from two-dimensional elementary school.
The paper was getting soaked and sliding off without much improvement.
There was a polite knock at the door. “Bill,” Ford called, “do you need any help?”
“Nope! Definitely not!” He began shoving the paper into the toilet and reached up to press the knob. It immediately clogged.
“Are you certain?” Ford pressed. “You said it was…a ‘disgust’ response?”
“Uh-huh! Totally normal triangle thing! Probably happened because I was so grossed out by you flapping that mouth-muscle of yours against me!”
Ford went quiet for a moment. “Are you…sure?”
So maybe he wasn’t quite as dense as Bill assumed.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, my Muse,” Ford continued. “It’s obviously a natural, involuntary response. I understand that. I—I completely understand that! In fact, I…”
Bill slowed his frantic movements, narrowing his eye at the door. “In fact you what?”
There was a shuffling sound and Ford’s voice lowered to Bill’s height through the door. “If it were some…other kind of biological response, I—I…” he gave up. “I understand having a premature sexual response, Bill. I really do.”
“Sixer. Don't tell me you…” Bill trailed off, stepping up to the door. He reached up and unlocked it with one hand.
It creaked open to reveal Ford on all fours, flushed with nearly tangible excitement.
“Show me,” Bill demanded.
He got to his feet. “Are you sure…?”
“Do as you're told.”
Ford swallowed, breaking eye contact. His hands were trembling as he reached up and unbuckled his pants. He let them drop around his ankles. Then, hesitating one last time, he reached up to the waistband of his tighty-whities and dropped those too.
“So…” he began hoarsely, “as you can see, I also need to clean myself off. So obviously I would never judge you. And—and maybe we could rinse off…together. I would be happy to help you, my Muse. I would be honored.”
Ford’s own brand of disgusting reproductive goos were plastered across the limp meat hanging between his thighs.
Bill stepped forward to inspect closer. “Huh.” He reached up and ran a thumb across the slit. In immediate response, Ford seized up with a gasp and another small dribble oozed out of the tip. Bill brought his thumb away, trailing a string of it. “Alright,” he finally said.
Ford blinked. “Wha—What?”
“Help your Muse wash up.”
“So does that mean— Did you really—? Because of me?” he babbled excitedly.
“Not gonna ask again. Limited time offer! Going in 3…2…—!”
“Of course! Of course, you don’t have to say another word!” Ford scrambled to start the water running, immediately tripped over his own pants, and quite ungracefully kicked them aside. “Allow me to take care of everything!”
Watching the show of Ford frantic and half-naked turning on the shower, Bill felt a little better.
Ford began unbuttoning his shirt, finally turning his attention back to Bill. “Um… It’s prepared,” he said. For once his eyes seemed to want to look everywhere but him.
If you were to have asked Bill his stance on full-frontal nudity on humans, his response probably would have been something along the lines of ‘Gross! Use a box grater to scrape off the lumpy bits!’ However, seeing Ford so obviously excited yet deeply uncomfortable was that exact line of awkward-cute that he always seemed to effortlessly walk.
Bill beckoned him with one finger. Seemingly terrified of screwing this up, Ford immediately dropped back to his knees without question. He hesitantly crawled forward until he was in front of Bill.
“You just gonna stare or are you gonna help me slip out of my evening wear?”
Ford’s eyebrows scrunched up, sluggishly deciphering this. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “Allow me!” He reached towards Bill with all twelve fingers and rested them on either side of his soiled bowtie. “Is there a mechanism, or…?” He gently pulled and it came away. Next he turned his attention to the hat, which had miraculously survived his crash land into corporeality. Ford checked and double-checked he still had this correct as he reached for it. Bill allowed him to pull it away with the utmost care. Last, he reached up and took off his own glasses. He set all these aside, then finally resumed his favorite pastime of staring at Bill and breathing heavily.
“Get your eyes off my hypotenuse, pervert.”
They were immediately back on the ground. “I’m so deeply sorry, I didn't realize—”
“That was a joke.”
“Ah. I knew that. It was very humorous.”
Bill rolled his eye. There was an extremely thin line between bootlicking and patronizing when it came to Ford. He pointed to the shower curtains. “Well?!”
With an audible gulp, Ford turned and pushed the curtains aside. He stepped into the steaming water, then, thinking again, reached a hand back out to assist Bill. Embarrassingly, even with this, Bill managed to smear some silver on the tub wall.
Ford sat down at Bill’s level so some of the water reached him too. He was honestly surprised that he didn’t mind it. The cabin was extremely cold. Ford always wore long pants and his coat, even inside, which Bill finally understood wasn’t out of lack of fashion sense alone. Silly things like absolute zero temperatures never really bothered Bill before. Now, he saw what he was missing out on. The warmth against his edges and limbs, not dissimilar to the massaging he had also experienced properly for the first time today. Some of his irritation, ever present since the incident, melted away.
There was a warm touch beneath his eye, more persistent than a water droplet. Bill suddenly realized he had closed it without thinking. He opened it and slapped Ford’s hand away.
He flinched back. “Sorry, sorry… It’s just… I didn’t know you wore mascara.”
Bill blinked, then glanced down at himself. Sure enough, there was a trail of black running down to join the silver.
“I don’t keep any in the shack.”
Bill rubbed his eye. “Shocker.”
“How did you even get it?” Ford asked, clearly amused.
“I may be outside the mindscape, but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.” Bill was glad to still have some unknowable secrets to his name. “Don’t forget that, IQ.” Even if the answer only involved a couple of bolt-cutters and a joyride while Ford slept. Unfortunately, they didn’t keep radioactive waste or euthanasia syringes at the Dusk 2 Dawn convenience store. (What kind of establishment were they running?!) Bill had begrudgingly settled on mascara instead. And all they had was the cheap, non-waterproof kind which inevitably failed him when he needed it most! Just like everything else in the crumby holographic universe.
Ford leaned closer. The water was soaking into his thick mop of hair and rolling off of his neck. “So…you don’t want me to touch your eye?”
Bill shrugged. “I mean, if you want to lose those fingies, be my guest.”
“Alright. Noted.” His gaze trailed down. “There is still…” he cleared his throat, “lubricant remaining on your sides. May I touch you there?” he asked with quiet intensity.
“Didn’t I already order you to get to it? You stalling or something?”
Ford shook his head hard enough that little flecks of water spun off him. “Not at all!” He took a breath. “I wanted to know in case you were still feeling sensitive and wanted to wait before being touched.”
Bill rubbed his eye again like he was getting a headache. “‘Sensitive?’ Geez, Sixer. I may be new to this whole wet sloppy flesh experience, but come on!”
“Of course.” Ford sat forward until his shins were touching Bill’s. Without further hesitation, Ford brought his hands firmly to either side of him. He was immediately feeling weak in the knees again. Luckily, Ford steadied him, hardly seeming to notice.
He ran his fingertips across the edges of Bill, beginning with his right and left. The shower water ran a sparkly diluted silver to the drain.
“I’m curious,” Ford grabbed some soap as he continued to rub him down, “the response seemed to take place on all three sides. Are any particular places sensitive? Or is all of your ‘skin’ used for multiple functions, in the same way that your eye is?”
“Look, Sixer, it’s been a while since I’ve piloted something I’m not leasing. Hasn’t exactly been at the top of my list to find—” His voice hitched as Ford ran a thumb more firmly between his legs.
“Right there?” he asked.
Bill didn’t answer.
“Would you like me to stop?”
“I don’t care!” he snapped.
Ford immediately pulled his hand away, looking concerned through his squinting, unfocused eyes. “Am I doing something wrong?”
Bill wanted to claw all three of their collective eyes out. “Quit it with the act! You want me to suffer here?!”
He looked horrified. “What do you mean?” He pulled back completely, leaving Bill with only the spray of the water. “I’m not being difficult on purpose. I—I don’t understand.”
When Bill, again, didn’t answer, Ford lowered himself down to look directly into his eye. “My Muse,” he whispered, “it is difficult for me to know exactly what to do without you inside my head. But trust I only want what you want.” Water dripping down off of his face caught some silver on the way down. “So please, just tell me what to do.”
Equally frustrated and listlessly upset, Bill sat down, pulling his knees up to himself. It really was easier when he could see Ford’s thoughts, they could both agree on that.
“Come here,” he finally sighed. Bill reached up to his face and ran a thumb along the stubble on his chin. “You missed a spot.”
Ford smiled, lowering his head and closing his eyes.
Bill grabbed some of the soap and began tracing the lines of his jaw and neck. The suds and cum washed away pretty quick, but Bill went on petting him anyway. He hardly even noticed as the soaked bandages on his fingers slipped off.
Reaching up further, he decided to touch the strange smooth skin of his lips. At the contact, Ford parted them ever-so-slightly. When Bill pushed his thumb inside, the lips closed around it. He jammed it in further and felt his tongue wrapping around it. Like he would’ve let Bill do this all day long if that’s what he wanted.
“You really just wanna make me happy, huh?” he heard himself say.
Ford opened his eyes. They were so dilated it was hard to tell the brown from the black. He simply nodded.
There was something extremely satisfying about knowing he didn’t even have to play the strings of his hormones to trigger this kind of dedication. Bill suddenly felt a lot more alright with all of this.
“Want me to clean you off now?” Bill asked, glancing down at the cream-coating on his crotch.
Ford gasped like he hadn’t even considered this was a possibility. “Really?”
Bill chuckled. First, he reached up to the tangle of drenched hair and ran his hand down his neck, giving him a few extra scratches under the chin. With his other hand, he reached down for his cock. By the time he started touching, it was already eagerly twitching for him.
“You know,” Bill began, “you really are something special.” Taking a bit of soap, he slowly ran his hand up and down the shaft. “You’ve been trying really hard to make me comfortable here, haven’t you? Even though… Even though I’m…” powerless, Bill couldn’t even bring himself to admit it out loud. He started absent-mindedly fondling the sagging, bushy part at the bottom. Ford was ambiently making some really cute, needy noises. “You still want to do a good job for me,” Bill went on. “It’s funny, I…always assumed… Haha.” He looked back up at Ford to see him lost in the sensation, eyes happily glazed over. “But you really don’t mind whether I’m in your head or out here, do ya buddy?”
Ford shook his head. “On the—On the contrary, I really, really enjoy having you here,” he barely managed. “This week has been a dream come true.”
He was starting to leak and Bill graciously kept cleaning him off. He cupped his hand to polish the tip.
This whole time Bill had vehemently despised the way Ford had treated him so eagerly, so gently, like he was some half-dead roadkill he’d decided to nurse back to health.
In spite of all his rage, he couldn’t help the childish tone that left him as he asked, “...Even though I can’t do all the fun stuff I usually do?” His hand slowed to a halt, lingering where it was.
“Bill…”
He glanced up at Ford's face and saw all of his worst fears.
“I truly hope you haven’t been worried about that,” Ford said. “Nothing’s changed. To me, it’s like getting to pay back an infinitesimal amount of all you’ve done for me. You are still you. My Muse. Strange and brilliant and so, so special.”
To Bill, this expression always registered as a violent mixture of pity and condescension. Looking at him now…he wondered for the first time if he might have been misreading things. Sure, Sixer was overly enthusiastic and handsy—who wouldn’t be! But now he was forced to properly look at the reality he’d been avoiding. Maybe it wasn’t just the infinite knowledge. Maybe it wasn’t just his leaving before Ford could have enough. Maybe he really didn’t need to be kept on a chain to stay loyal.
Bill made a small, strangled laugh. He had no answer for this realization other than: “You wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.”
Ford was hardly breathing now. “Very much.”
“What’s the magic word?” Bill made a coy little pose with one pointer finger to his eye.
“Please.”
Bill got to his feet. “Are you gonna be a good boy?”
“Yes.”
He took a step forward. “Are you gonna obey everything I say?”
“Yes! I promise. You’ve never steered me wrong. Only you can show me the path to greatness.”
Bill giggled and retracted his eye completely, raising his hands wide like he wanted uppies. Ford leaned in. Then stopped at the last second. He stared down into the vacuous space where his eye now sat.
Bill stared out from the darkness, waiting with his arms outstretched. Now that he was openly eager for it, it was the perfect time for Ford to pull away. They both knew he couldn’t do a single thing about it. He could’ve easily left Bill right on the edge. In one fell swoop, reverse the entire board. Check-mate with no excuse of putting on an act this time.
Blushing a little harder, Ford grinned down at him, closed his eyes, and pulled him off his feet. He pressed his lips right onto Bill’s.
He felt like a god again. He felt better than a god!
In turn, Bill grasped for Ford’s hair and pulled him in for a deeper kiss. Suddenly feeling far less like a self-conscious mortal weakling, Bill made as much noise as he wanted, moaning right against Ford’s tongue. It drove him absolutely wild. He grasped his sides hard and stuck his tongue down into him. As embarrassing as allowing this sort of behavior should have been, it didn’t really matter anymore. Not like his friends were around to laugh at him. Not like he was connected to the cosmic dream weave anymore. He could do anything and only Ford would know. And he didn’t even mind that.
Ford left a few lingering kisses on the bottom of Bill’s lower eyelid-lip. Then he pressed a few into his rightmost edge. Then he pulled away.
Bill found himself annoyed, but he quickly explained, “It’s—It’s really hot in here.” His entire body had gone red at some point. “Perhaps…would it be okay if we, um… Well, per—perhaps,” he tried again. “My Muse, if it would please you, we could go to— Would you be ready for—”
He was finding all these stupid little quirks increasingly adorable. He popped his eye back into place and happily watched Ford’s fumbling.
“If you wanted to continue, or if you wanted to try other things… I—I think my bedroom would be more suitable!”
“Oh yeah? Cause your bedroom’s seen all kinds of action?” he teased.
“This would be the first time,” he whispered earnestly. “And I’d love it if— If you were the first, that would be…that would be…” He was starting to look like he was going to pass out. “That would make me so happy.”
Bill didn’t bother to give a show of hesitating. “Y’know what? For all your hard work, you’ve won yourself an exclusive v-card punch! Courtesy of yours truly.” He lounged in Ford’s arms where previously he might’ve attempted a strangle-bite combo. “And I’m not really feeling up to walking right now, so why don’t you take us on over, champ?”
Ford immediately readjusted Bill in one arm so he could turn off the water. Bill took this chance to feel up his chest, just a little. Ford tried to stand and immediately stumbled over, barely catching himself on the wall for support.
“What? Did all that sweet blood take a vacation south or something?”
“Sorry!” he gasped, righting himself.
Bill snickered as Ford stepped slowly out of the shower curtains, taking a deep breath. He grabbed a towel and opened the door. There was a rush of cool air, which actually felt rather refreshing now.
Ford carried him down the hall to his room, haphazardly trying to dry himself with the other hand. Bill relaxed and let himself be rightfully served.
Once inside, Ford set him on the bed and carefully dried him off. He then went to dry off the rest of himself and his hair.
He squinted at Bill and blinked twice. “Oh! My Muse, wait just a moment, I’ll be right back.”
Bill didn’t know what Ford could possibly think was more important than this. He crossed his arms, pondering how to make him regret this decision for the rest of his existence.
When Ford returned a moment later with an armful of their clothes and his glasses back on, Bill was only more confused.
“Does the bow tie really do it for you?” he scoffed.
“Huh?” Ford stepped over to the bed, setting the pile down. “I— Well, I—I mean, it certainly… It certainly adds a certain…”
“Joking.” Bill made a mental note regardless.
“Ah, yes!” He laughed nervously as he dug in the pockets of his discarded jacket. Bill watched him produce the roll of gauze and tape. “I was only thinking about your hand,” he began again, a little more focused. Bill glanced down. A little more flaccid too. “I forgot about your injury. Please, allow me to fix my error.”
“And you wanted to do that more than getting your fleshy rocks off?”
“Oh, I certainly still want to be…intimate…with…you,” he said this in the most awkward way possible—and goddamn it, it was cute! He began to reapply the salve and bandages around his fingers. The wound was only very dully stinging now that he focused on it, he had honestly forgotten it was even there. “But I don’t want you to be in pain either. Or risk an infection. This will only take a moment…” He taped the end of the bandage down and, apparently emboldened, brought the hand to his mouth and quickly kissed it.
Some deeply unwell part of Bill didn’t even mind this condescending action. That same part feverishly suggested that if he asked Ford to do it again, he probably would. He promptly spiked that part down the mental garbage disposal.
“Your sexual response seemed to be focused around your perimeter,” Ford interrupted his traitorous train of thought. “Is that correct?”
“Yeppers,” he responded flatly.
“Excellent. So I was not off the mark when I used my muscular hydrostat for stimulation.”
Bill gave him an unimpressed look.
His confidence withered almost immediately. “So, did you…like that technique?”
This guy could solve all kinds of advanced quantum equations but for the life of him could not put two and two together.
“Did you like it when I jiggled your joystick?” he countered.
He nodded. Which made Bill feel alright to mutter to his feet, “Yeah, yeah, fine. It was alright. Let’s call it above average.”
“Oh, excellent!” There was a notable throb at his flesh knob. “That is wonderful to hear, my Muse.”
Bill chuckled, feeling strangely relieved. “I’ll bet.” He patted the bed at his feet. “Now, lay down, Sixer.”
Ford excitedly climbed onto the bed at Bill’s feet.
“Roll over.”
Without question, he rolled onto his back. Which helped to clearly show how much his dick was perking up again. Bill scooched forward, eye upturned at the sight.
“Listen, Sixer, I didn’t want to admit it, but you’re a natural.” Bill rubbed on his tummy.
Ford strained to look at him. Hilariously, he looked like he might pass out again. “Are you being serious?”
“Serious as a heart attack!” Bill sat forward on his knees and grabbed his abdomen.
Ford burst into laughter. The cuteness aggression made Bill start squeezing his sides next. He instinctually tried to hide his sensitive sides underneath his arms, but Bill’s tiny spider hands were already in place to dig in. The laughter became a little more frantic. Bill laughed along, pleased to wring these noises out of him.
“Bill!” he cried with tears in his eyes.
Even though Ford could have easily broken away, he was fighting himself to stay close to Bill anyway. He was letting him do this, he realized.
“What? You want me to stop?” he asked smugly.
It all clicked. How badly Ford wanted all of this. Asking was the same as forcing him to admit it.
“No, no! Don’t,” he broke into renewed laughter, “stop!”
“Aw, good boy,” Bill cooed. “You’re my good boy. Those other humans were stupid to pass you up. You know what they say about big brains, after all!”
Fighting the laughter, a few tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. “My Muse—My Muse—! If—If…” Mercifully, Bill let up, trailing his hands across his stomach. “If I had to wait an entire lifetime alone in order to find you,” he fought off a lingering chuckle, “it was worth it. I’m so happy you’re really here.” Tears still ran from the corners of his eyes.
“You keep saying that,” Bill muttered. He climbed onto Ford’s chest and crawled up to his face.
“I only want to ensure you know that every moment I spend with you only makes me like you more.”
Bill leaned in and ran his tongue over the path of his tears. Ford gave a full body shudder. Bill leaned to the other side to lazily lap that up too. Then he licked a wet stripe across his lips for good measure. When Ford overeagerly opened his mouth, he slid back again.
“Uh, thanks, Sixer...” He mentally cursed himself for getting distracted. He left a disgusting snail trail over Ford’s chest hair. “Now, raise those arms for your Muse!” he shouted to cover for his own awkwardness.
“Like this?” Ford raised his arms up over his head.
“There ya go! Now all you gotta do is stay just like that.”
He gleefully attacked Ford’s ticklish spots. His legs immediately began kicking of their own accord and he had to desperately fight to keep his hands away from his sides. Once Bill had his powers back he decided he was going to hack into Ford’s brain and force him to feel this for hours on end and still beg for more. As Ford bucked, it became increasingly obvious how wet Bill’s sides were getting and he was forced to stop before he slid right off.
He reluctantly let up and Ford’s laughter petered out, leaving a glowing smile on his face.
“Hoo boy,” Bill got off of Ford so he could sit down on the bed, “that—that was fun,” he said a little breathlessly, despite himself. “And hey, y’know, if you keep up the good work, I bet we could make this a regular thing!”
Ford looked like he was going to explode—literally and figuratively. “Whenever you want, my Muse! Any time!” Examining Bill, he finally seemed to notice the obvious signs of arousal. Ford rolled over onto his stomach and turned to face Bill straight on. “I would also enjoy having another chance to try pleasuring you.”
Bill felt a violent stab of self-consciousness, naked and hopelessly turned on in the bed of a human being, of all creatures. But none of it really mattered, he had to remind himself. Bill wanted this, so why shouldn’t he allow it? Morality? Shame? Since when had those stopped him! Ford was obviously a reproduction-crazed animal anyway, not like he minded. And if Bill was being honest with himself, he had sort of missed out on that kind of fluid-filled mortal fun when he had the chance.
No one had ever wanted to try it with Bill back then—not that Bill wanted gross stuff like that! He had wayyy more important things to focus on than those other boringly regular two-dimensional ants! But maybe that’s why he found Ford’s bumbling sincerity so endearing. An old, long-dead part of him felt sort of…glad to be able to have this experience. And to give it to Ford.
When he was a god, all this stuff was different. It was mostly just funny, not really that fun per se. He got to laugh at how badly other cosmic entities wanted him, get all the praise he desired, then slip away whenever anyone or anything could get too clingy.
“Since you're begging me so nicely…” He tried not to shiver as he ever-so-casually raised his arms and laced his hands behind him, exposing his sides. Then spread his legs apart. “Go for it.”
“Fantastic.” He was breathing very heavily again, staring blatantly at his hypotenuse. “Now, if you want to instruct me on anything or if you don’t like something, any feedback you are willing to give will be invaluable!” He tossed his glasses aside and began crawling forward on his elbows.
Bill sat back and shut his eye tight. He didn’t know why, but waiting for it made him feel strangely nervous.
His mind was desperately scanning for a way to make this into a joke or prank or gotcha moment, when Ford’s lips ever-so-gently ghosted over his sides.
A wet pulse throbbed through him, dispelling all other thoughts. He began pressing kisses all around his perimeter, not even seeming to care about all the gross stickiness getting on him. As if to prove this point, Ford then opened his mouth and slowly licked across his entire left hand side. Bill stifled a noise. He hated how obvious it was.
Ford chuckled. “Interesting flavor.” He ran his tongue over him again, apparently not having gotten enough. “I’m going to have to take some qualitative notes on it later.”
Bill was really pissed off that the sound of his voice and the awful nerdy talk was only making him wetter. “Geez. You sure know how to sweet talk a triangle,” it came out sarcastic, but haggard nonetheless.
“Should I stop talking?” Ford whispered in low tones.
That voice… It was just unfair.
“Eh, I don’t mind,” he managed to reply flippantly. “Even if all you can spout are turn-offs, that voice of yours—mmh,” He cut himself off as Ford licked up a particularly tender area.
“You like my voice?” As if stupid, oblivious Fordsy hadn’t even noticed one of his best traits. Right behind his fingers, and his brain, and his stupid smile…
Bill had first noticed it when they sang together. He blamed that as one of the key factors for that night. The sloppy making out which Ford only half-remembered anyway and was too nervous to ever bring up. Which was fine by Bill, he was content to pretend it had never happened or he didn’t remember or whatever excuse Ford wanted to believe.
“My Muse,” he murmured into him. “I love how fascinatingly strange you are. I could write an entire book dedicated to cataloguing all of your likes, your dislikes, your taste, your sensitive spots…” He pressed a few more quick kisses on his way down between his legs. The breath left an intoxicating tingle. Bill’s vision started swimming again.
By now, Bill understood the game they were playing. “You really seem to know what you're doing, Poindexter.” He shuddered. “If I hadn’t already paged through all your embarrassing memories in the romance section, I would have no idea it was your first time.” He could at least tell himself he was saying it to fluster him back.
“I have,” he felt the crooked smile against his hypotenuse, “done a lot of research,” he admitted. “I am glad to say it seems there are some highly transferable skills.”
“Yeah, the universal constants of bumping uglies tends to be rubbing and secreting.”
Ford pulled away for a moment to glance up. An obscene trail of spit and fluids stuck to his mouth for a moment. “I would never have guessed that even you experienced such things.”
Bill’s mind momentarily cleared enough to be upset by the mere implication that this was a mortal weakness he possessed.
Ford continued, “But I’m so glad. I often get upset at myself for such base urges. Knowing even a being as intelligent as you has these needs is a relief.”
The wave of anger passed as quickly as it came. “Aw, don’t worry, no matter how many IQ points you got, can’t escape the ol’ meatsack and chain!” Bill laughed and Ford just laughed along with him. There was a pang somewhere deep inside of him.
Ford sighed, getting up onto his forearms. “I was thinking…”
“Good job!”
He chuckled good-naturedly again. “No, I meant…” He sat back on his legs, exposing his pathetically pre-cummy boner. “I was thinking… maybe I could…” He scooched forward on his knees until his dick was straining right in the space between Bill’s legs and his lowest side. “Maybe I could stimulate you with…” He took his dick in one hand and grabbed onto one of Bill’s sides with the other.
“Haha, wow, that’s—really— Wow, Sixer, you really,” he tried to form a coherent jab but suddenly found his mind scrambled. “You’re so— Oh man!”
Ford poked the head of his cock against him. Slowly, he started rubbing it between his legs. “Does—Does that feel good, my Muse?”
A strangled groan left him. He clamped his hand onto the forearm Ford held him in place with. Luckily, this time Ford seemed to pick up the implication. He readjusted himself even closer for a better angle. Some of that hot, wet human goo leaked onto him as he went.
Bill pulled his legs together, giving him a nice little slot to rub into. Ford huffed in response. The lubrication immediately coated Bill’s inner thighs as he slotted it in and out. He tightened his legs to give them both some more friction—and to squeeze Ford harder into himself. He managed to wring some more out of the tip.
Ford suddenly gripped onto both of his sides and thrust deeper until he was slapping his legs with his skin sack.
Bill was covered in vile reproductive juices and allowing a human to pleasure himself on him, but in that moment he did not care in the slightest.
“Come on, Sixer! Come on!” he urged. “You’re my good boy, my good boy. You belong to me! You’re my favorite pet. Oh, I want you so bad!”
Ford was just grunting and making embarrassing noises and desperately humping his legs. It was perfect.
“Whimper for me!” Bill shouted. “I wanna hear it!”
A high whine immediately left his gritted, panting teeth.
“You’re gonna cum for me. Your ass is mine for the rest of eternity!”
Ford whimpered again and nodded senselessly.
Mid-thrust, his eyes flew open. “Wait—Wait.” To Bill’s dismay, he stopped. “Are you getting close too?” he suddenly asked. “I—I want to make sure we both—”
Bill reached up and grabbed his hair with both hands, all but folding him in half. “Don’t stop or you’re getting neutered with my teeth!” he shrieked.
With this demand, Ford re-doubled his efforts, shoving himself in between his legs. He could feel his breath getting faster in tandem with the building throbbing inside of him. He was hitting all those perfect slippery spots and Bill was seeing stars. Every thrust pushed him so, so close.
“Sixerrrr!” He slowed to a maddening pace. Bill was seizing up, caught right on the brink, reduced to a puddle of desperate need at his mercy.
Ford closed the distance and kissed him hard on the eye. Bill wrapped his arms around the back of his neck. All it took was one more slow, torturously steady thrust to have him careening over the edge.
The continued rubbing jolted more throbbing, hot mess out of him. Lost in the bliss of it, he kissed Ford back like he’d never kissed anything before. A few more pumps and Ford added his own mess to the mix, losing all control and tempo as he shoved down as far as he could go. He desperately thrust again and again until his dick slipped up onto Bill’s front and spewed the rest of its contents across him like a squeezed gogurt tube.
Ford sighed, suddenly equally boneless. Bill was flat against the pillows as Ford was insistent on continuing to kiss him.
He felt briefly compelled to shove Ford away and shout, ‘Well that just happened!’ But he managed to restrain himself since he was still feeling pretty amazing, in spite of the self-disgust coming back online the second he finished.
Ford finished with a lingering, close-mouthed kiss before breaking away. He collapsed his head into Bill’s lap. Flushed, sweaty, and disgusting. Nothing but electricity-puppeted meat.
“Wow,” he said softly.
And yet, when Ford grinned up at him in pure awe, Bill couldn’t help but upturn his eye.
“Did I do a good job?” he whispered.
Bill started gently petting his head. “Fishing for more compliments already, eh?”
“No, no, I’m just curious…if you were to grade my performance, how would you grade it? Is there anything you would want differently if you were to do this again?”
A few snarky comments reflexively popped into his head. Ways to ensure Ford stayed on his hook, flaws he could point out to keep him wrapped around his little finger.
“You did good, brainiac,” he said. “A+.”
Ford nuzzled into him, finally at ease with this information. “You were obviously perfect. There is not a single thing I would change. Though, I’m certain you already know this…”
“Yeah, yeah, pretty much everyone says that about me.” Bill shrugged, plying apart a few of the tangled knots at the back of his head. “But why don’t you keep going anyway?”
It only took a few minutes of mumbled, half-conscious praise for Ford to pass out in his arms. Bill kept just petting him. He only wished he could follow him into his dreams and snuggle up between the folds of his cerebrum.
There was at least some benefit to being here, like this. He had discovered a whole new way to get Ford to do his bidding. And to have some fun while doing it.
He even began to wonder if he could come clean to Ford. Not about everything—he wasn’t that insane! Just a few minor details. That he was actually trapped. That he needed help. And to figure out how to fix himself. Ford had completed the gateway, after all. Maybe there was more they could do with Ford’s brains and Bill’s whatever-he-had-instead-of-one. Bill had already long since decided on keeping him. Ford was a good pet. The best pet. Once he got his powers back, he would have to reward him properly for his loyalty.
Staring down at Ford’s snoring, contented face, Bill decided that he could tolerate this arrangement in the meantime.