Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8975350.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Gravity_Falls
  Relationship:
      Stanford_Pines/Stanley_Pines
  Character:
      Grunkle_Stan_|_Stanley_"Stanford"_Pines, The_Author_|_Original_Stanford
      Pines
  Additional Tags:
      Teen_Stans, Stancest_-_Freeform, Established_Relationship, Rimming, Anal
      Sex, I_put_far_too_much_effort_into_making_sure_their_kitchen_layout_was
      1960-something_compliant, Since_when_do_I_write_sex_scenes_with_so_much
      dialogue, I_don't_even_ship_this, Smut
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-23 Words: 3087
****** Date Night ******
by Cipher_Is_My_Waifu
Summary
     Stanley’s tongue was warm and wet, rubbing firmly against the skin
     above his Adam’s apple. A soft grazing of teeth against the same spot
     drew another moan from the boy’s throat, and he couldn’t help lightly
     bucking his hips against his brother’s denim jeans.
     -----
     With the parents away, horny teens will play.
Notes
     Dedicated to my sister and her Internet friends. I hate you all.
It wasn’t often that Filbrick Pines found the time for a night on the town with
his wife. Between bills, feeding multiple teenage boys, and the ever-present
worry over more bills, an evening out was usually outside their budget as it
was, and the spacing of any notable calendar dates (birthdays, their
anniversary, and Valentine’s, to be specific) left a near six-month gap over
the winter, during which they would be hard-pressed to find more than one or
two evenings without their children at all. Thus, the unspoken laws of the
rarely-seen Date Night had come to be known by all five (or four, now that
Sherman was married with a kid of his own) occupants of the house:
1. Ma would spend the entire afternoon and often early evening getting ready.
Once lunch was over and done with, nobody bother her.
2. Although a phone number for the restaurant would be left on the fridge, to
actually call it for anything less than a dead child would certainly result in
one.
3. Neither parent would set foot in the house again before midnight, at the
absolute earliest, after they left for the evening. None of the boys knew, nor
did they really want to know, what kept them out so late. Stanley had certainly
never taken a drive up to Lookout Point only to immediately turn around upon
seeing his father’s old clunker rocking about. Definitely not. Can’t repress
something that never, ever happened!
This was the case one mid-September night in New Jersey. Stan woke from an
after-school nap, and padded sleepily out to the kitchen. A glance at the clock
hanging on the living room wall revealed that it was half-past six, just about
the right time for a late dinner. As he turned into the kitchen, the teenager
saw his twin brother standing in front of the oven, leaning his elbows against
the stovetop and staring intently at the little chicken-shaped timer sitting on
top of it.
Ford must have just gotten out of the shower, judging by the towel tied around
his waist. Stan’s eyes slowly roamed down the curve of his twin’s back,
trailing along a few beads of water the towel must have missed. He smirked to
himself as he quietly crossed the kitchen, and as soon as Ford was within
reach, Stan wrapped his arms around his waist, firmly planting a sloppy kiss on
his brother’s cheek.
“What's cookin’, good-lookin’?” he purred, reaching to paw at the overlapping
ends of the towel.
Stanford jumped with a high-pitched squeak at his brother’s sudden contact. “S-
Stan, we’re in the kitchen! The hell’re ya doing?” He slapped futilely at his
twin’s roaming fingers.
Stanley pressed his lips gently to the side of Ford’s neck. “So what? Shermie’s
gone, Ma and Pops are out; we got the place to ourselves all damn night.” He
nipped gently at the slighter boy’s earlobe and was rewarded with a sharp gasp.
“You taste good. Like soap and homework.”
Ford bit back a moan as Stan’s hand finally found its prize under the towel.
Callused fingers wrapped carefully around his semi-erect length, and started
lazily trailing up and down. “How can one taste l-like homework, exa-actly?”
Stan smirked, leaving another kiss at the corner of his brother’s jaw. “Dunno,
Poindexter. You’re the nerd; explain it with science...” He released his grip
on Ford’s now fully-hardened cock, turning him slightly by the shoulders.
Grasping his brother by the chin, Stan leaned in to press their lips together.
The timer chose this moment to release a loud, ringing screech. Both boys
jumped at the sudden noise, slamming their foreheads and teeth together
sharply. “Son of a-”
“Shit!”
The boys jerked away from each other, hands pressed against their respective
sore spots. Ford held several fingers to his lips, repeatedly pulling them away
to carefully inspect them. “Ugh. Good timing, Stanley,” he muttered, licking at
his teeth. “Am I bleeding?” He pulled back his lips, baring his teeth for his
brother to look.
Stan glanced at him for only a second before grabbing an oven mitt from the
counter. “Nah, you're fine,” he answered, giving Ford a slight bump with his
hip. “Lemme get that for ya. Whatcha makin’, anyway?”
Ford flushed slightly as he stepped back to let Stan open the oven. “Just
reheating some leftovers.” Stan made a little ‘o’ with his mouth when he spied
enough day-old meatloaf for two on the pan, and a couple potatoes chopped into
vaguely fry-shaped pieces. He pulled the pan out and sat it on top of the
stove. “I was planning to wake you up when it was ready. Thought it might be
nice to watch a movie. One of those cheesy horror pictures you like was going
to be on channel five at seven.”
Stan smirked broadly, leaning against the counter. “What, y’mean the ones that
always leave you all scared and whiney?”
Ford’s blush deepened. “Well, I know you like those films for a reason,” he
admitted, refusing to meet his brother's gaze. “‘You watch the movie, you scare
the girl, the girl snuggles up next to you’...” He trailed off, pointedly
looking away from his twin’s wide grin.
“Aw, Sixer!” Stan crowed, wrapping an arm around Ford's shoulders. “You were
planning a full-on date night for us, too, huh?” He smacked another wet kiss
against Ford's cheek, leaning their foreheads together. Stanford finally
returned his gaze with a slightly embarrassed smile, and he gently pressed
their lips together.
After a long, quiet moment, the boys pulled apart. Stan ran a finger through
the dark curls sprouting from his brother’s chest, pulling at one and making a
quiet ‘Boing’ noise when he released it. Ford chuckled and slapped playfully at
his twin’s antics. ”Cut that out, ya knucklehead.” He slipped a hand of his own
up and under Stan’s shirt, rubbing his fingertips against the firm muscle.
“Can’t help it,” Stan replied. “I love your fuzz.” He watched the movement of
Ford’s fingers under his white cotton tee with a slight pout.
Ford rolled his eyes as he recognized the jealousy in his twin’s eyes.
“Stanley, you’ll get some decent hair someday. We’re twins, and we’ve both seen
Shermie and Pops shirtless. The odds are in your favor.”
Stan huffed in an exaggerated motion. “Y’don’t gotta lie to make me feel
better, Sixer; I’m gonna be smooth f’rever. The only Pines man to never need a
razor.” He suddenly yanked his shirt up and over his head, tossing it away
behind himself. Ford pulled his arm back in surprise at the sudden motion, and
Stan took advantage of his momentary confusion to pull his brother flush
against himself. Ford groaned lowly as Stan’s lips latched onto his neck.
Stanley’s tongue was warm and wet, rubbing firmly against the skin above his
Adam’s apple. A soft grazing of teeth against the same spot drew another moan
from the boy’s throat, and he couldn’t help lightly bucking his hips against
his brother’s denim jeans. Stanley's fingers were running freely through his
chest hair, now, tracing nonsense patterns while he sucked greedily at his
neck. “St-Stan, knock it off! You’ll leave a mark!” Ford gasped, simultaneously
pushing his brother away while also grinding their hips together a second time.
“So wear a sweater,” Stan murmured into his skin. “Startin’ t’get cold out,
anyway. Nobody’ll question it.” He scraped his teeth gently against Ford’s
throat again, then soothingly ran his tongue after them. Ford whimpered.
Stan fumbled with the knot of his twin’s towel, grinning into his throat as the
thick cloth came loose and fell to the floor. Looking down, he was rewarded
with the sight of Stanford’s cock. It was thick, and hard, and altogether
simply fantastic, and he rubbed the palm of his hand against its underside. A
thought popped into his head, and before he took even a second to consider
whether this was a good idea or not, Stan found himself pulling an exaggerated
frown, furrowing his brow as heavily as he could manage. “I’m impressed,” he
barked in a falsely deep voice, squeezing his hand closed and giving his
brother a firm stroke.
Both twins were silent for a moment as Ford slowly turned to stare the other in
the eye. It was several seconds before he spoke. “Now...is really not the time
for that impression.”
Stan coughed, glancing away from his brother and releasing his grip on his
cock. “Yeah...yeah, uh, maybe...maybe not.”
Several incredibly uncomfortable beats of silence passed between the two of
them before Ford had an idea of his own. He reached out to Stan, grabbed one of
the admittedly sparse hairs on his chest, and gave it a gentle tug. “Boing.”
Stanley snorted, lightly punching his twin in the shoulder. “Think yer soooo
funny,” he grunted, shifting to stand behind the other boy and wrapping his
arms around his chest. He placed a series of kisses along Ford’s neck, starting
just below his ear and quickly moving down. Ford gasped as Stan’s fingers
pinched at one of his nipples, and his hand found its way back between his
legs.
Stanford quickly found himself leaning against the counter next to the sink as
his twin dropped to his knees, leaving a trail of pecks down the length of his
spine. Both of Stanley’s hands slid around to grip him by the hips, thumbs
gently rubbing at the curve of his ass. Ford clenched his fists against the
peeling Formica as Stan slid a thumb along the crevice between his cheeks. His
face was burning a bright crimson at the sensation of his brother’s hot breath
against his skin, and he swallowed heavily as Stan gently pulled his cheeks
apart.
Stan let out a quiet whistle at the sight of his puckered pink hole. “Aw, didja
clean up just for me, Sixer?” he asked with a smirk.
Somehow, he found, it was possible for Ford’s blush to darken even further.
“...I don’t understand your tastes, Stanley,” he admitted, leaning his head
back and staring at the ceiling, “but I do...appreciate them. Only seems fair
to make it as sanitary as I can man-AH!” He was cut off by the sudden feeling
of Stanley’s tongue gently probing against his skin. “Mm…”
The kitchen was quiet for several moments after that, with the only sounds
coming from Ford as he attempted to hold back his moans and gasps. Stan’s
tongue ran small circles against the skin of his anus, occasionally pressing
against the muscle and darting in slightly. Ford had really done an excellent
job prepping himself in the shower; all Stan could really make out was the
taste of soap, sweat, and the underlying flavor that was undeniably Stanford.
Ford let out a sudden, loud gasp as Stan reached one hand around his waist and
began slowly stroking his member. The sudden combination of sensations was
almost overwhelming, and he dropped his forehead against the edge of the
counter with a shuddering moan. “Oh, fffff….mm...Sta-AAAaan…” He whimpered as
Stan pressed his lips against his anus and gently suckled at it.
Just as it all became a little too much, Stan pulled away, leaving a quick
smooch against a dimple his thumb had left behind. He rose to his feet, leaning
against the counter next to Ford and throwing him a smirk. “C’mere,” he purred,
grasping his twin by the back of the head and puckering his lips almost
comically.
Stanford’s response was to press his own lips firmly together, resisting the
pull of his brother’s arm. He began shaking his head as Stan leaned in, making
loud, exaggerated kissing noises. Ford clenched his eyes shut and grumbled
loudly in protest as Stan mashed their mouths together. The larger boy released
him after a few seconds, and Ford immediately wiped his lips against his arm.
“That is disgusting, Stanley!” he half-yelled, half-whined. “You taste like
dung!”
Stanley was almost doubled over laughing. “‘S called ‘shit’, Poindexter,” he
managed between snickers. “A-and it’s your own brand, so suck it up!”
Ford wrinkled his nose, pulling Stan back into a fully standing position and
sliding a knee in between his legs. “What’s wrong with you,” he grumbled,
rubbing a bit insistently against his brother's groin.
Stan let out a noise halfway between a laugh and a moan. “W-whatever it is,
it’s wrong with you, too,” he stuttered, burying his face in his twin’s hair.
“Mmm...yeah, keep...keep doing that. Shit…”
Ford grinned a little. “Keep doing what, Stan?” he questioned, emphasizing his
twin’s name with another firm rub.
“Ah-! Fuck, Ford, that! C’mon, bro,” Stan whined, grinding against the thigh at
his groin. He grabbed Ford by both sides of the face, and smashed their lips
together. Stanford flinched slightly at the still-fresh memory of where the
tongue invading his mouth had just been, but after a short moment, he pushed
past the distaste and returned Stanley’s kiss with just as much vigor.
Stan broke the kiss suddenly, pulling away from his brother and grabbing at his
belt. His pants fell to the floor with a sharp, jangling rattle, and he
stumbled out of them, taking a few steps back. He grabbed Ford’s wrist in one
hand, and his dick in the other, pulling him across the kitchen and over to the
small island counter overlooking the front door and living room. “Look, Ford!
Nerd on a handle!”
Ford snorted at that, briefly tangling their tongues together again. He bent
himself firmly over the island, leaning on his elbows and throwing a sultry
gaze over his shoulder. “C’mon, Stanley,” he murmured, shaking his ass
playfully. “Get to it.”
Stan grinned broadly, and spat into the palm of his hand. He reached down to
his twin’s ass, smearing the saliva across his anus and quickly sliding two
fingers inside of him. Ford grunted at the sudden intrusion, forcing his
muscles to relax and Stan moved in and out with a rapid, scissoring motion.
While he finished prepping his brother, Stan licked his other hand and gave his
cock a few quick strokes. He briefly added a third finger to the two already
inside of Ford before pulling them out and positioning the tip of his penis in
their place. “Y’ready?”
Ford nodded, clenching his jaw and forcing his anal muscles to stay as relaxed
as possible as Stan slowly pushed himself in. He breathed in quickly, a sharp,
hissed noise, and dropped his forehead to the counter. Stan stopped, reaching
over to brush Ford’s sweat-damp hair away from his eyes. He leaned over,
pressing a kiss against his brother’s head. “Mm. Keep...keep going, Stan. ‘M
fine.”
Stan pulled back out just a little before pressing in again. This time, he kept
going, even as Ford released another pained whimper. After a moment of
resistance, the tight ring of muscle gave, and Stan moaned as he buried himself
to the hilt. Both boys were still for several moments as Stan let his brother
acclimate to the sensation.
“Move. Please, Stan.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
The kitchen quickly became filled with the sound of skin slapping together,
interspersed with choked gasps and throaty moans. Stan quickly settled into a
rapid in-and-out pace, slamming into his twin and burying his face in the back
of his neck. “Fuck, Sixer,” he groaned, reaching a hand past the curve of
Ford’s hip to grasp his cock.
“St-Stanley!” Ford gasped, whipping his head around and kissing desperately at
his twin’s jawline. Stan quickly turned to meet his brother’s mouth, and their
tongues met, eagerly licking and probing at the other’s lips and teeth. Neither
boy was entirely certain whose moans were whose, or even exactly where either
of them began or ended at. They were enraptured with each other, coming
together in a way that was so unlike anything they had done with anyone else.
Sure, Stan had had his share of girlfriends, and even Ford had found himself
nervously fumbling with a boy or two in the locker room while skipping gym, but
this was different.
Their bond had always been different.
“Ah!”
Ford released a sudden cry as Stan’s member rubbed against his prostate. Stan
grunted, adjusting his angle to aim for it again. Ford’s cock twitched in his
brother’s grip, and Stan began timing his thrusts with the increasingly
fumbling strokes of his fist. Ford was murmuring rapidly under his breath,
pressing his forehead firmly against the island counter. “Fuck...Stanford,
fuck,” Stan gasped. His thrusts were beginning to grow erratic and shallow, and
he moaned deep in his chest.
“Don’t stop, Stanley; I’m close, I’m so close; please - please, Stanley, ah -
!” Ford’s voice was growing high-pitched and rapid, breathy gasps tearing out
of his throat. “S-Stanley - please - fuck, Stan, I’m - I’m -”
Stan moaned loudly as he felt his brother clench tightly around him. Ford’s
keening whine filled the kitchen as he painted the side of the counter with
splatters of cum. Stan gave a few more sharp thrusts before coating Ford’s
insides with his own release, and the twins leaned heavily against the
countertop for a long moment, panting and twitching. Stan pressed slow, wet
kisses against the back of Ford’s neck and shoulders, entwining the fingers of
one hand with his brother’s. After the two regained most of their breath, Stan
gently took hold of Ford by the chin and turned him to press a chaste kiss
against his lips. “That was wild, Poindexter,” he murmured, pressing their
foreheads together. He chuckled, running a hand through his brother’s hair.
“So. What else are we doin’ tonight?” he asked with a smirk and a joking raise
of his eyebrows.
Ford smiled and blushed a little, opening his mouth to respond, but before he
could say a word, both boys’ attention was stolen by the terrifying sound of
the front door swinging open.
“Oh, you wouldn’t believe how this night went, boys!” their mother drawled as
she walked into the room, mercifully facing away from the kitchen. “There was a
holdup at the theater; musta been a dozen armed thugs tryin’ to...tryin’...”
She trailed off as she turned and caught sight of her sons bent over the
counter, faces flushed with mortification and lingering arousal. Filbrick
followed shortly behind her, trying to override her voice and explain what had
actually happened, but quickly found himself just as lost for words as she was.
“Uh...h-hey, Ma. Pops.”
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