Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8781586.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Gravity_Falls
  Relationship:
      Dipper_Pines/The_Author_|_Original_Stanford_Pines
  Character:
      Dipper_Pines, The_Author_|_Original_Stanford_Pines
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-07 Completed: 2016-12-08 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 3876
****** Mentori Crede ******
by journalxxx
Summary
     Dipper confides in his great uncle about a nagging concern of his.
***** Chapter 1 *****
There had been this issue weighing on Dipper's mind, lately, this thing about
manliness. Sure, the experience with the Manotaurs had been instructive on the
emotional side of the problem. Even Stan and Mabel had stopped needling him
about it, acknowledging that most of the issue had to do with misplaced and
excessive social expectations. Still, he couldn't believe that there wasn't any
sort of empirical or measurable standard related to the topic, some factual
evidence of one's inclination toward manliness, something more reliable than
the punching machine in Greasy's Diner. And when it came to investigating the
scientific side of any problem, there was only one person Dipper could think of
addressing.

Aside from the unparalleled scientific knowledge, the man in question also
happened to be a rather admirable example of manliness itself, at least in
Dipper's eyes. Physical strength, agility, decisiveness, self-confidence... the
Author fit the bill pretty well, there was no denying it. And he was also
uncharacteristically supportive and understanding with the boy, definitely not
the kind of jerk who'd make fun of his insecurities.

It was only natural for Dipper to confide in him when asked about his brooding
mood. The secluded darkness of the underground bunker lab made the conversation
even easier, away from prying eyes and snickering relatives. And indeed,
Dipper's trust had been well earned. Ford had listened with the utmost
seriousness. He had reaffirmed what the others had told Dipper, he had
reassured him that such fears were completely groundless, especially for a boy
of such a young age. He had also seen that his reassurances had had little
effect on the boy. The encouraging pep talk was good, but it wasn't what Dipper
was looking for, clearly.

He had then agreed that yes, there were biological factors involved in the
manifestation of the so-called manliness. Genetic factors, hormonal levels,
physiological processes that could be objectively observed and evaluated. And
finally Dipper's interest was caught, that was what he had been waiting to
hear. He had asked if there were any tests he could take, right then and there,
to ease his mind once and for all, but Ford had admitted that most of them
required specific machinery or chemical reagents that weren't readily available
to him. Dipper's disappointment must have been so evident that the Author had
hesitated for a moment, before adding that there were some basic observations
that didn't require anything more sophisticated than an optical microscope.
Dipper had immediately asked about that, and he had immediately regretted doing
it. That. Of course it was that, how had he not seeing it coming? He wasn't
sure he was ready to talk about that particular thing yet, but here was the
chance for some factual evidence of his own manliness - or lack thereof -, and
Ford seemed seriously available to indulge Dipper's requests, and of course he
had accepted against his better judgement.

And so there he was, locked in the small bathroom, a thin glass beaker in one
hand, his half-hard cock in the other. Rubbing himself furiously, trying to
recall every and any shameful fantasy, sensation, dream, anything, to do what
he was supposed to do, what any man should be able to do without too much
difficulty. But he couldn't, just like any other time he had tried in the last
two months, at least. He spent at least ten minutes trying, before admitting
defeat, accepting to admit that particular defeat to the Author himself,
probably waiting expectantly for him on the other side of the door.

He couldn't even look at him as he exited and explained his failure, head hung
down in shame, wringing his hands behind his back, answering the few questions
his great uncle was asking him. No, it wasn't the situation. Yes, it was a
recurrent problem. No, nothing hurt. No, he hadn't told anyone. Yes, he would -

Dipper looked up in surprise, unsure if he had heard correctly. Ford had just
asked if the boy wanted him to have a look, to make sure everything was in
order. There might be some physical problem, he was saying, some obstruction,
some physiological cause for his issue. If that was the case, it couldn't be
ignored. And if the problem had to be addressed, Dipper thought, he would
undoubtedly trust Ford more than any random physician.

It was beyond bizarre, standing in the middle of a buried laboratory, with his
trousers around his ankles and the Author kneeling before him, prodding his
genitals with a look of complete focus, the one he usually had when scribbling
notes in his journals or observing unaccounted phenomena. It made Dipper feel
strangely light-headed, in fact. He alternated between looking away in
embarassment and glancing nervously at the other's actions, at the precise
gloved fingers running along his testicles, poking at nearby lymph nodes,
delicately pulling away his foreskin. The man occasionally dropped some small
remarks about how everything looked fine, how Dipper seemed perfectly capable,
and a strange warmth started pooling in his abdomen. Before he could realize
it, he was fully hard. Harder than he had been in weeks.

And then Ford looked up, with an expression Dipper didn't recognise. Still
focussed, still serious, but different. He asked again if anything hurt, so low
that Dipper could barely hear him. The boy shook his head. He asked him if he
wanted to go back to the bathroom. The boy shook his head again. He hesitated
for what seemed like an eternity, before he slowly - slowly - wrapped his whole
hand around the boy's shaft and started massaging it. Dipper felt like his head
was about to explode at any minute, blood rumbling into his ears. The feeling
of the latex glove on him was a bit too rough, but Ford was compensating with
extremely delicate movements, a measured rhythm, an occasional brush lower with
his extra fingers. He kept looking at Dipper for the whole time, his expression
unchanging despite Dipper's increasing panting and blushing, and the boy just
couldn't look away from those inquisitive eyes. He lowered his gaze only when
Dipper came, immediately collecting the sample in the small beaker. The boy
couldn't hold back a strong shiver as he felt the cold glass surface directly
against his oversensitive member, the last drops of his semen dutifully sliding
into the container. Ford grabbed the boy's shoulder and drove him to the
nearest stool as he raised the graduated beaker to the nearest lamp and eyed it
carefully. He squeezed the boy's shoulder briefly, a quiet 'Good job' escaping
his lips.

Dipper just observed his great uncle tinkering with the thing for a good five
minutes before it occurred to him to grab a napkin, wipe himself clean and tuck
himself back in his pants. He watched as Ford dipped a small piece of paper in
the substance - litmus, wasn't it? -, as he twirled the beaker slowly and
sucked the content into a pipette. He lay a single drop of it on a glass slide
and covered it with a smaller, thinner one, before setting it under the lens of
the microscope and turning the light on. He stared in the eyepiece for a few
minutes, adjusting a few knobs and shifting the slide slightly to the side from
times to times. Then he looked up, scribbled a few notes on a nearby sheet and
looked at Dipper, gesturing him to come closer.

"Everything looks fine." He smiled. "Want to have a look?"
***** Chapter 2 *****
Dipper had run into his great uncle by chance while he was studiously preparing
a big backpack in his study. He had been meaning to check on a certain site he
knew, he had said, to see if it was still intact or at least accessible after
his thirty-year absence. The site - which, he had added with a knowing smirk,
would have simply blown Dipper's mind - was located a bit far from the Shack,
requiring a two-day long hike to be reached. It had taken the boy a grand total
of ten seconds to gather the courage to ask the Author if he could tag along,
promptly following said request with a list of his theoretical and practical
experience with camping and hiking that would totally, completely ensure that
he wouldn't get in the way in any foreseeable situation. His uncle had laughed
heartily, readily agreeing with the teen's wish and instructing him to prepare
his own luggage.
They had left early, the following morning. Surprisingly, Stan had offered to
lend them his car to spare them the walk, but Ford had politely refused,
claiming that he wanted to take the opportunity to witness for himself how
Gravity Falls had changed over the course of the years. And man, wasn't Dipper
grateful for that choice. In a single day, he had observed so many oddities he
hadn't even suspected could exist: living rocks, oddly-patterned wildlife,
mysterious petroglyphs. The Author had seemed to enjoy every moment of their
trip as well, dutifully answering Dipper's questions with hours-long improvised
dissertations, beaming enthusiastically as he found old paths and shortcuts
still unchanged, praising the advantages of handy, compact and rich nutritional
tablets over the bulky and meager canned food Dipper had brought - Ford had
refused to share the tablets with the boy, much to his disappointment, for some
reason related to different nutritional needs and habits of teenagers and
senior citizens. The sunset had interrupted their exploration far too soon,
forcing them to stop and set up their tents for the night.
Sitting near the small circle of stones, munching on his warm brown meat while
Ford fiddled with the wood in the campfire, Dipper felt a sense of ease and
camaraderie like he had rarely experienced before. He wondered at the tiny,
bright stars in the sky as if he was seeing them for the first time in his
life, as the Author pointed at known and unknown constellations in the deep
darkness above. The glow of the fire lit his uncle's face softly, highlighting
the many, thin wrinkles that marked his expression, now tinged with nostalgia
and wistfully turned upwards. Dipper wondered how long it had been since his
uncle had last seen that specific spot of sky, those specific stars and galaxy,
but he didn't ask. Tales and travels from other dimensions were not a topic his
uncle was very forthcoming about.
He made a mistake. He forgot, for one tiny second, of the big, clumsy elephant
in the room they had both managed to ignore so skilfully and naturally until
that moment. He leaned against the other man closely, too closely, on a
momentary whim, wrapping one arm around his waist and resting his head against
his shoulder. An innocent enough gesture that easily became loaded with
troubling implications from their recent interaction. He felt Ford stiffen, and
he knew instantly that their carefully built pretense of normality was
irredeemably gone.
They looked at each other, and the Author's expression turned darker,
thoughtful. Dipper knew what was coming, he was going to talk about it, but the
boy didn't want to hear any of it. He didn't want to be told that he could be
misreading the situation, that he could be acting impulsively, naively, that he
could be attaching the wrong meaning to what had ultimately been some sort of
clinical check. Because hell no, it hadn't been that, Dipper had realized that
in less than a day, and surely Ford must have taken even less time to reach the
same conclusion, if there had ever been any doubt about it. He spared them both
that tiresome conversation and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Ford's
decisively, following him as he retreated to break the contact, doubling his
efforts as the man's lips shut against his own.
A firm hand grabbed his shoulder and pushed him away. Ford's face was
unreadable as he looked at his great nephew and started telling him, with his
best lecturing tone, that he was a clever boy, clever enough to understand
that... Dipper never knew what he was supposedly clever enough to understand.
He was surely clever enough to understand that getting so worked up over a kiss
was nothing short of unbecoming and hypocritical for the man who had jerked him
off less than a week before, he thought and promptly said aloud. The Author
jumped on his feet, his voice booming in the surrounding silence as he bellowed
Dipper's name. His features radiated a stern contempt that Dipper had only
witnessed directed to Stan before. Dipper did not wait for the rest of the
tirade and sprung up as well, striding away in a random direction without
heeding his uncle's calls and words, something undoubtedly very rational and
sensible about the dangers of wondering in the Gravity Falls woods in the dark.
He shook off the hand grabbing his wrist, and he shook it off again as it
grasped his shoulder. He turned abruptly, glaring at the man he could barely
see so far from the fire. Words flew out of his mouth in a rush, about the
unfairness of it all, of his uncle, of himself. About how he could easily
imagine all the possible arguments Ford could come up with to dissuade him, and
how he didn't care about a single one of them, not when he had miraculously
found someone he could truly connect with for the first time in his life, not
when he could clearly see that that sense of similarity was at least partially
returned. About how words and reason didn't matter anyway when his own body so
adamant about his preference, when the mere, scant memory of Ford's touch was
enough to rouse him more than an entire stack of Stan's magazines. He decided
to prove that particular point by pulling down his trousers and pants
unceremoniously, showing that, indeed, their brief contact hadn't left him
unaffected.
Even in the faint light, Dipper could see the man flinch and grimace as if he
had been physically slapped. For the first time since Dipper had met him, the
Author seemed at a loss for words. For a good minute, the only sound they could
hear was the boy's hitched breathing, a residue of his upset outburst. Then a
small, tired whisper, telling him to go back to his tent. Dipper did not
comply. Ford did not repeat the order. Silence stretched again between them for
what seemed like an eternity, until Dipper finally conceded, pulled up his
garments and walked back to the camp without sparing the man a single glance.
He was hot, because of the weather, because of the anger, because of the
desire. He stripped himself down to his boxers and lay down, not even trying to
fall asleep. After an indefinite amount of time, he heard the soft cracking of
grass and fallen leaves, announcing his uncle's return, his shadow sitting down
next to the fire. It was painful and cruel, the fact that Dipper could even see
the man's silhouette through the fabric of the tent, he could hear his heavy
sighing, he could imagine... He shoved his hand in his boxers, grabbing and
rubbing his half-hard dick roughly. He didn't bother to be silent, to tone down
his gasps and barely restrained whines, to regulate his movements. He didn't
care if Ford heard him, or actually he did, he did want him to hear, he wasn't
going to make it any easier for that stubborn, selfish-
"Dipper."
He froze, shame and fear washing down on him like a cold shower. He hated
himself for it, for how a single word could elicit such strong reactions in
him. He pulled himself together immediately and got out of the tent just as he
was, flushed, wearing only his boxers, his erection clearly visible under the
raised fabric.
Ford was sitting on a nearby stump, staring at the faint embers with a slight
frown. He opened his mouth to say something, but his thought died on his lips
as he looked up to boy and took in his state. Several emotions shifted on his
face, too quickly for Dipper to grasp, but the last one remaining made the
boy's heart skip a beat. He knew that expression, that focus, that strange mix
of detachment and engagement. Dipper walked up to him without even realizing,
his locked in the other man's, silence stretching again between them with an
entirely different meaning than before.
"You will regret it", the Author just said. It wasn't a threat, or a curse, or
a question, it was a simple statement. One Dipper could genuinely understand,
maybe even agree with, and yet it seemed completely irrelevant. He begged him,
a single, whispered word escaping the boy's lips as he dropped his gaze to the
ground, suddenly unable to look at the older man. After a few seconds, he was
told to take his boxers off. He complied awkwardly as he looked up again. Ford
was washing his hands in the bucket of water they had prepared to put off the
fire. He took his time, rinsing and drying his fingers one by one with studious
gestures. Their eyes met again and Dipper could swear he saw a flash of
uncertainty cross his uncle's face before he reached out to him.
The Author guided him gently so that the boy sat straddling his right thigh,
looking away from him and towards the dying fire. The position was unexpected,
the sensation of the rough fabric against Dipper's naked groin was positively
shocking, but he didn't protest. He waited expectantly, until a big, warm hand
lay flat on the center of his back, its six fingers spread firmly on his skin.
The image of the journals sprung immediately in Dipper's mind, the crude
silhouette of the Author's hand on their cover mirroring meaningfully the
feeling on his back, drawing a sharp shiver from the boy. It moved slowly,
fully along the plain of his back, tracing his vertebrae, his shoulder blades,
his shoulders, his loins, leaving a burning sensation wherever it wandered.
Soon a second hand rested on his hip and took off on a similar endeavor,
running down along the boy's thigh to his knee, back up on his side, over his
ribs, all over his stomach. The boy lost track of his own sensations, his eyes
fluttering and closing, small gasps and groans coming unbidden from his lips as
he felt his own skin melt and being molded by those knowing touches.
It was more than he thought he could ever get, and not nearly enough. Dipper
pressed himself against Ford's body, wishing that his back could meld
seamlessly with the other's chest, unconsciously rocking his groin against the
Author's clothed thigh. He felt the man's breath hitch for a moment, his
heartbeat spike against his back. Then one large hand was pressing on his chest
strongly, his fingers toying with his nipples, his nails scraping ever so
lightly on the tender skin. Another set of expert fingers was kneading across
his sparse pubic hair, straight down between his legs, roaming everywhere
except on his dick. The touch felt completely different from the previous time.
Gone were the calm poking, the careful exploration, the clinical briefness,
replaced by purposeful lingering, decisive fondling, an evident desire to feel
and be felt as the man's rugged pads dragged slowly along his testicles, his
perineum, every inch of his most intimate spots.
Unabashed moans and groans flew continuously out of the boy's mouth, his body
twitching and wriggling shamelessly in a wordless prayer for more. After a
lifetime of teasing, Ford's hand finally, finally wrapped around his shaft and
started touching him in earnest. The Author could easily hold him whole in his
hand, stroking him fully from base to tip, rubbing his fingertips on any vein
or on the tip at his leisure. The pleasure was overwhelming, stunning, and
Dipper made another mistake. He begged again, but with the wrong words, with
the worst choice of epiteth he could possibly make, as a whimpered "Grunkle
Ford" echoed in the silent air. He felt the man freeze instantly, his hand
going perfectly still. The boy cursed himself and his stupidity, his eyes shot
open in panic and he looked up to his uncle. Before things could get awkward,
wrong, disappointing, stupid, he rose up and kissed him desperately, parting
his lips and licking at the other's mouth in what he knew was a spectacularly
poor attempt of putting things back on track.
Miraculously, it worked. Incredibly, the man's lips parted as well, a strong
tongue darted out to meet Dipper's and push it back where it had come from. The
boy could let out only a needy whimper as the Author completely took over the
kiss and held him steadily by his nape, taking to explore his mouth with the
same precision and fullness as before while his hand resumed his stimulation.
Ford probed the boy's teeth, his tongue, his lips, before relinquishing his
mouth and moving to brush the delicate line of his jaw, and down along the
kid's neck. His hand went still again, but with a different purpose, as it
formed a tight ring around Dipper's erection. A soft, whispered encouragement
was all the boy needed to start bucking into it erratically, spurred by Ford's
own heavy breathing, by the teeth teasing his neck, by the barely audible
groans coming from the man's throat. He came violently, his whole body shaking
with a strength he had never experienced before, instinctively curling up
against the older man, who promptly wrapped his arm around him and held him
close as he kept pumping him until he was completely spent.
The world went very still, very silent for a good while. Dipper was vaguely
aware of his uncle nuzzling his hair, his breaths slightly tickling his scalp.
His eyes flickered open to see a small paper towel wiping his essence away from
his groin, from Ford's hand, from his stained trousers. He shifted slightly,
his senses slowly coming back to him, and he felt something very obvious, very
firm poking at his own thigh. He looked at the bulge in his uncle's trousers
and instictively moved a hand towards it, but it was immediately intercepted by
Ford's, a firm "No" rumbling next to his ear. He looked up to protest, but he
fell silent as he saw the Author's eyes, for the first time since the beginning
of the whole ordeal, he realized. The man shook his head, his expression soft
but adamant.
"Dipper." He lay a single kiss on the boy's forehead, squeezing his hand
slightly. "Go to sleep."
The teen didn't push his luck any further. He wrapped his arms around his uncle
and kissed him one last time. Ford returned it chastely, with no more than a
gentle brush of his lips. Dipper stood up and gathered his boxers before
crawling back into his tent. Sleepiness seeped into his mind slowly, calming
his unsteady breathing and pulling his eyelids closed. He heard Ford standing
up at some point, and walking away from the camp in silence. He fell asleep
before he could hear him come back.
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