Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10813986.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Gravity_Falls
  Relationship:
      Stanford_Pines/Stanley_Pines, low-key_Stanley_Pines/Carla_McCorkle,
      onesided_hopeless_Stanford_Pines/Annette_Goldstein, Stanford_Pines_&
      Stanley_Pines
  Character:
      Stanford_Pines, Stanley_Pines, Ma_Pines, Annette_Goldstein, Carla
      McCorkle
  Additional Tags:
      Internalized_Homophobia, confused_teenagers, Budding_Love, Explicit
      content_toward_the_end_of_the_first_chapter.
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-05-26 Chapters: 1/? Words: 16599
****** Princess Unattainabelle beckons you. But wait! ******
by GravityGna_(GnaCat)
Summary
     Ford has a chance to get with a girl. Stan "boosts his confidence."
Notes
     I apologize for my grammar and limited vocabulary. I am not a native
     speaker but working hard to improve my writing skills for you
     readers. If you'd take the time to point out mistakes you find I'd be
     delighted. :3 More tags will come with the second chapter I guess.
     Oh, and I guess I should say that I do not agree with all of Stan's
     statements about girls and dates and such. Also, Ford's idea of how
     girls work is obviously flawed as well and greatly influenced by what
     his big mouth brother tells him.
     Manoverboard, as promised I dedicate this to you! You're an
     inspiration and your writing does ungodly things to my stomach, haha.
     You master manipulator of emotions! So. Yeah. I can only hope this is
     not too boring
See the end of the work for more notes
"You got the radio!" Stanley almost shouts in excitement when he throws the
door to their shared room open and his bag across the room. "How?? Nevermind,
don't wanna know, good grades, yadda yadda, you got the radio!" Ford can't help
but smirk in reaction, somewhat proud he managed to convince Ma to let him take
it to their room. He felt a bit like celebrating after what happened on his way
home. He wanted Stan to know something good happened and decided the best way
would be to greet him with something he knew his twin enjoyed. Music. He tested
it several times as he ran back and forth, turned up the volume just loud
enough for his twin to hear when he'd come down the hallway, but not loud
enough to annoy their parents.
Originally he wanted to wait at school for his little brother til detention was
over, but then Krempelter got a hold of his bag and threw it into a tree and
after he finally got it down again and his books out of the mud he didn't feel
like staying anymore. So he went home alone, ahead of time. Oh, and what a good
decision that turned out to be. He's about to open his mouth and give his
brother the good news when he see's Stanley's expression, a frown directed past
Ford and at the radio he was so happy to see just a few seconds ago as he
slowly peels out of his jacket.
Ford lets out a sigh as he lowers his book and completely turns around in his
chair, lifting one arm from the desk to put it on the wooden back of his
seating accommodation. "What now?"
"What's that station?" His tone more than gives away that he didn't like the
song that just ended and isn't feeling too ecstatic hearing the next one roll
in either. He's being childish, though, there is worse than Ben E. King's Stand
By Me. It could be Little Eva with Loco-Motion. Or Richie Valens terrible
earworm La Bamba. Again.
"The only one that has a good reception. Are you really going to complain about
that?" He sighs in defeat, knowing that Stan's mood will change the moment a
song comes on that he even just remotely likes. His twin can be fickle like
that. The best course of action is usually to either ignore it or make him
aware of how cranky he is acting and hurting his pride. Unfortunately, there is
no way to counter it with good logic.
"Not if you let me change the station." a grin grows on Stan's face that dies
when Ford jumps the second his brother threatens to touch the sensitive old
device, just lifting both hands and wriggling his fingers. Not only did it take
a solid eight minutes to get the tone this clear but Stan already broke one
radio. Granted he accidentally pushed it off the counter as he was dancing with
the broom when he had to close shop and it's been quite a while, but still!
This isn't even their radio, it has to go back downstairs into the shop before
they go to bed, should anything happen to it then this will be the last time
they get to listen to music in their room before they move out.
Stan is caught between mild disbelieve and annoyance, yet not willing to let
things go so easily as he walks the last few steps towards their shared desk
and reaches for the radio. "Oh don't be dramatic, Sixer, I'm just-"
"Nu-Uh, you don't!" Ford quickly drops his book to catch his brother’s wrist
and half laughs half growls. He has to admit it's still all fun and games
despite the potentially serious consequences if Stanley has one of his by now
more than famous brain hiccups. Ford really trusts and loves his brother, he
does. He'd put his life into Stan’s hands and he'd feel confident about that
decision. Just- Just not the radio.
Stanley rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out with a small noise of "Blegh."
before dragging his feet over to his bed and flopping down on his back, feet
still hanging over the edge. "Don't be a sosh, Poindexter, I know how to handle
a radio."
Ford hears the laugh bubble out of his mouth before he realizes his own
amusement and without getting out of his seat he stretches a leg to playfully
kick at Stan's knee. "A sosh? I've been called a square before but a sosh?
Really? Careful, Lee, I might start calling you out on your bouts of callowness
if you keep acting so cocky." Stan lifts an eyebrow, obviously reaching a limit
in his tired vocabulary and Ford grants him the hint of an affectionate smile.
"I'll start calling you a ditz." his younger twin lets out a fake gasp, trying
to appear appalled before lazily lifting his fists in front of his chest in a
mock boxing stance, not even bothering to sit up for it.
"You want some beef, Sixer? Come get it, you've been begging for a noogie all
day anyway and who am I to deny such genius? I mean you know best what you
need, come 'ere, come get it." they hold eye contact for only a few seconds
before Stanford's smile infects his younger twin and he all but giggles as he
hides his smile behind a raised fist. He rolls on his side to face the wall
only to curse seconds later when he realizes he dragged his dirty shoes over
the blanket. Quickly lifting his feet to hover over the bed and shifting around
before he starts to untie them. He doesn't quite manage to balance himself and
ends up rolling back onto his back, feet in the air and round stomach bulging
just a tad more than usual.
It's the ideal moment to tell him, Ford thinks to himself, yet now that he's
faced with his brother and had a moment to reabsorb the atmosphere around him
he's not so sure it's all that smart to tell him the 'great news' anymore. His
little brother rolls on his side and pushes himself into a sitting position
feet on the ground and hunched over his lap. Ford can't help but compare them
to each other and the longer he looks at Stanley the more he comes to realize
that his twin might not think of it as especially noteworthy or exciting and is
very likely to make fun of him for getting nervous at the prospect of- well.
"Quit starin', Sixer, just spit it out." Ford's eyes snap up from the big
clumsy fingers untying Stan's laces to the concentrated expression on his face
as he battles with what seems to be a rather tight knot and is surprised his
brother paid enough attention to notice that something was up. People can call
him crude and ignorant all they want, but Ford knows him better than anyone
else. He knows Stan is the more sensitive one out of the both of them. Socially
speaking. He picks up on little things in peoples' body language, facial
expressions, and tone of voice much faster and is just generally more
perceptive when it comes to most forms of human interaction. He's a natural.
Stanley is just very selective in the way he chooses to use this gift, and who
he pays attention to. If only he wanted to, if he got his temper under control
and put in the bit of extra effort he could be every bodies sweetheart, Ford is
sure of that. Stan just squanders his talent and for what? To punch people in
the face that rightfully call Ford a freak...
The next song tugs at the corners of Stan's mouth as he drops the last shoe to
the ground, he seems far more happy with Cathy's Clown by The Everly Brothers
and lifts a red-socked foot to his face to take a whiff only to pull a massive
grimace in response as if the smell came as a surprise "URGH! Gross!" he
quickly pulls his head away and waves a hand in front of his face like that
would help anything with the unpleasant odor before propping his heel onto the
edge of the mattress and pulling his knee a little closer to his broad chest,
shooting his nerdy brother an expectant look. It's the perfect combination of
disgustingly manly behaviors that Stan can't drop and somewhat boyishly
charming mannerisms he isn't even aware of, leaning forward ever so slightly as
he rests his chin on his knee and his brown eyes grow bigger and more attentive
by the second.
It's easy to see that he isn't just trying to be nice or acting it out for
whatever reason, he is truly interested in what Ford is holding back and all
ears. Quite literally. Stanley's shorter, slicked-back hair makes no secret of
the protruding ears they share and Ford hides unsuccessfully in his own thick
locks for the most part. Sometimes he wonders whether he's just more self-
conscious than Stan or if maybe Stan might be a bit narcissistic. He'll
probably never come to a conclusion, though, psychology just isn't his forte.
Ford is quickly pulled out of his own mind and back into the present when Stan
clears his throat. "Not that I'm impatient, Poindexter, but if you don't wanna
say it, then say it. I ain't got all evening. Or well, I do have all evening
since I'm technically grounded but you know what I mean."
Ford lets out a slightly amused snort in response. "Yes, I do, and you're
totally impatient."
"Duh! You don't say!" His grin is so wide it pushes his cheeks up far enough to
make him squint. "Now are you gonna tell what's up or not?"
He scratches the back of his head with one six-fingered hand as the other
reaches back for the book and pulls it protectively in his lap, something to
hold onto and ground himself, "... I-it's nothing much, really."
"If it's nothing much you have no reason to hide it!" he laughs in good spirit
despite Ford's uneasiness and visibly relaxing, inadvertently putting more
emphasis on just how different they are despite their supposedly identical
nature. Ford sighs and takes a last deep breath, collecting his thoughts for a
few seconds before attempting to not make as much of a deal out it of as it
honestly is for him.
"You know Annette?" The moment the name leaves his lips Stan sits up a little
straighter, his eyes open a little wider, there is the slightest dilation in
his pupils when he subconsciously licks his dry lips.
"Who doesn't know her? Little miss Two Dates Goldstein."
"Two Dates Goldstein?" Ford is aware that she has quite the list of nicknames,
but all he himself is aware of have either to do with her endless long legs,
her long blonde hair, the myriad of freckles covering her face and shoulders,
her hippie parents and the rumors about certain plants they may or may not grow
in the attic, or that scandalous bikini she wore at the beach this summer.
That unforgettable bikini. The brothers were lucky enough to be present that
punishingly hot day. Neither of them said a word, they both slowed down
considerably as they walked by. For one long moment, all their plans for the
Stan O' War were completely forgotten, captivated by the sliver of fabric and
all the things it didn't quite cover. To say there were a few onlookers would
still be quite the understatement. Glass Shard Beach while not the smallest of
towns wasn't exactly the home of controversial modern fashion. These tiny
pieces of cloth got her called to the principal's office when rumors about it
spread in school, that was her ticket into the cool kids club.
Almost every guy in school had sung "Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot
Bikini" for the next two months every time they walked past her on the hallway,
Stanley included. Obviously a rather poor attempt to draw the attention of a
girl they were painfully attracted to if you asked Ford. Not that his own
reaction was any more or less clumsy. There was simply no room for judgment
when all he could do was try not to drool when in his mind he reduced her
clothing to earlier mentioned scandalous swimwear every time someone so much as
mentioned her.
He is more than aware how far out of his league Annette Goldstein is. Out of
everyone's league, actually, even when she was a mere neighborhood flower
child, far from being considered a 'hot chick' by their peers, reading a cheap
paperback novel while walking down the beach promenade with her girl friends,
daisies in her messy hair, and covering her laugh behind a raised palm to hide
her braces. Droopy brownish green- no, hazel eyes that met his for seconds at a
time, not on purpose of course, just when they crossed paths in a hallway or
she looked up from her book to glance at the ocean and caught the brothers
staring, interrupting their work on the Stan O' War to outright ogle the group
of giggling young girls like the pubescent young men they were then and still
are.
Two Dates Goldstein, huh? He never heard that and it honestly doesn't sound
flattering.
Stan rolls his eyes when his twin doesn't continue, probably only now
remembering that his brother isn't the type with an ear to the ground or a sort
of reputation that would give him an instant understanding of these kinds of
rumors. If he wanted to push the news along he'd have to be a little more
involved in the conversation and keep his brother from drifting off into
thought.
"Two Dates Goldstein. If you can't score with her on the second date, you never
will." Stan specifies and is met with an even more bewildered expression.
"She's easy, Sixer. You got two dates to try and catch her if you're too slow
she loses interest but once she had you it's over. You get two chances to
score. Just two."
"And scoring means... um, like..." he's not really sure what he's trying to get
at with the gestures he makes, not that he doesn't know about the possibilities
it's just kind of weird to mime them, even more, when referring to a specific
girl.
"All the way, Sixer. All the damn way." Stan's hand gestures leave nothing to
the imagination and no room for interpretation even if 'going all the way'
wasn't already straightforward enough. "I heard her mother got her birth
control pills, but I wouldn't count on it."
Ford's jaw goes slack for a few seconds and he needs to remind himself to
swallow the saliva collecting under his tongue. "How- I mean who told you?"
"People," Stan replies with a non-committal shrug and scratches his nose as he
avoids his older twins question. "Most of it from the slam book and stuff you
hear in locker rooms and in detention and stuff..." for a moment Stan seems
almost shy for reasons that are beyond his twin and Ford subconsciously averts
his gaze at the sight.
"Oh." Well, now he wishes he'd have known that earlier.
Stan chuckles lowly, coughs into a fist to draw his brother's attention back.
"Why are we talking about Annette Goldstein again?"
"Because I might have a sort of date with her tonight, I-I think," Ford admits,
now utterly at a loss. He was nervous before but now he is almost scared stiff.
Excited, but scared stiff anyways. And no, not that kind of stiff. He tries not
to show just how terrifying all this new information is.
Stan displays the shock that Ford feels on his face. Jaw dropping hard and warm
brown eyes as wide as dinner plates as his eyebrows jump to meet his hairline.
"Why am I only hearing that now?? How?? When did that happen?"
"I just met her on my way back home- she- she dropped her book and I picked it
up and- and I have no idea I think I- uh, I stuttered and she laughed and she
wants to meet me around midnight near the beach Café, I-"
Stan lets out a rather victorious yell, throwing both fists in the air before
howling with laughter and letting himself fall backward onto the mattress only
to hit his head on the wall with an equally loud yell followed by quiet
whimpers as he curls up and rubs what obviously will become a nasty bump.
"Are you okay, Lee?" it's a stupid question but Stan lifts a hand from his head
and revealing a grin while he hisses through clenched teeth and gives him a
thumbs up.
"Hn heh. You're so gonna get laid, Sixer!" he chuckles. He slowly blinks at his
twin, maybe he blinks a few tears away, Ford can't tell. All he knows is that
Stan is effortlessly expressing genuine pride while Ford himself feels more and
more queazy just thinking about tonight. It was weird enough to have been asked
on a regular date by a girl like her, a little suspicious even, but now the
pressure is on. This is too good to be true and he knows it. It's not real.
Stan is quick to pick up on his brother's failure to express the eagerness he
expected at the rather amazing prospect of getting rid of his virginity and
quickly sits back up.
"Don't worry, I'll help you sneak out. You can take the Stanleymobile! I mean
it's not exactly hot out and doing it on the beach is never good, trust me.
When mom and dad hear the car they'll probably think it's just me and won't
even care, so don't worry about that. I'll just take your bed tonight in case
they care enough to come check, which I assure you they won't." the grin on his
face doesn't fade, he tries so hard to be reassuring.
"Stan, I don't even have a license." Ford protests but Stan won't let that
count.
"When I had that dislocated shoulder you got us home so I know you can drive,
that's not an excuse! You just take my license in case anyone really wants to
see it and hold your thumb casually over the photo when you show it, it'll be
fine." It won't, Ford thinks, but he knows Stan will stay stubborn on the topic
so he shrugs and watches as his brother jumps up and makes a beeline for the
bag he threw across the room earlier, shoulders swinging to the beat of Elvis
Presley's "Hound Dog" coming from the radio standing next to his book. Stan
digs in his bag for a few seconds before throwing something small at Ford while
laughing, "Thank me later!"
Ford barely catches it, confused for a second but quickly realizing just how
much ahead of him Stanley is in this particular field. It's a condom. His
stomach somersaults. Oh yes, the pressure truly is on now. The wrapper reads
Durex in big bold letters. He looks back up at Stan, his shock hard to miss but
being obviously ignored by his younger twin.
"Safe is safe. I wouldn't count on her being on the pill, no matter what they
say about her liberal mom." He smiles, internally patting himself on the
shoulder for being so responsible for once, only to lose confidence when
confronted with the continued lack of proper enthusiasm displayed by Stanford
and finding himself unable to figure out what could still be wrong for Ford to
show such a disconcerting look on his face.
"We're twins so there should be no problem with the size," Stan adds, unsure of
how to continue as he is faced with such a negative reaction to what for all
intents and purposes is great news. Ford's silence is making him feel
increasingly weird about actually being happy for his brother, he almost starts
to think he misunderstood something when Ford finally snaps out of it.
"No, I mean, yes, that does make sense, kind of, I guess, but- no. Stanley, I
don't think I should go." his gaze drops to his hands resting in his lap before
he slowly starts to knead them, the condom wrapper crinkles noisily in his
palm. Stan just doesn't get it.
"What the fuck are you talking about, Poindexter, this is a once in a lifetime
opportunity, she's such a babe!"
"Exactly! You have to admit there is something fishy about this and it's got
nothing to do with the beach. Why would something like that happen to me of all
people? This- It just can't be right! I thought maybe she just needs help with
her studies and wants to meet late at night because, you know... maybe she
doesn't want to be seen with me or m-maybe she wants someone to talk to about
books who doesn't make fun of her and- if- if I'm lucky... But if she is
anything like what you said then I should not go." he now tries consciously to
avoid wringing his hands in a dead give-away display of fear when he notices he
is frowning at his cursed hands, resorts to nervously fingering the edges of
the soft round thing through the plastic packaging instead.
"Are you stupid?!" he jumps up from his kneeling position on the floor and
throws his hands in the air. "That's exactly the reason you should go!"
Now it's Ford's turn to knit his brow, slowly getting upset with Stan's
pushiness. "Did you even listen to me? A girl like Annette would never-!"
"Of course she would! That's why she did!" Stan interrupts him before Ford can
say anything more self-deprecating and all but stomps towards him, coming to a
sharp stop in front of his chair. "Stop berating yourself like that you're not
a cool cat but it's not like you're some unlovable troll either. There is
nothing wrong with you."
It's a staring contest. Ford knows there is no good reply to this, he can't
agree and he knows by now Stan has to say these things. They are brothers after
all, twins, they have the same face. Theoretically, he knows he should be as
much of a catch as Stan, he has strengths and weaknesses, just like Stan, and
Stan does pretty well for himself. Without noticing he squeezes the little
safety measure in his hands and the crackling noise it makes finally causes him
to look away first, down at his hands. Ford shifts in his chair to face his
book again and out of reflex he folds his hands under the table.
It's one of many variations of the same gesture that Stan has seen a million
times now and is visibly tired of. It annoys Stan more than it makes him sad by
now. Doesn't mean he will ever give up on his counter measures though. With one
last deep breath, he puts a hand on Ford's shoulder and squeezes it.
"Girls like big hands, you know?"
Ford snorts a small and bitter laugh. "Is that so." Stan is quick to switch
tactics and adjust to the answer, perfectly capable of putting in the extra
effort if he cares to.
He lets go of the older twin's shoulder and walks towards Ford's bed on the
other side of the room. "You know what the most unattractive thing about you
is?"
"…" Ford doesn't answer that, keeps staring at the open book on the table and
starts wringing his hands under the table, hoping Stan won't see it there. He
knows for sure Stan won't mention his fingers, he knows Stan tries to make them
a good thing, but they are not and Ford is just as sure that deep down Stan
knows it.
Stan flops down on his bed, slapping both hands on his own knees. "It's that
you think nobody could like you for the nerd you are. Such a draaaaag. Talk
about someone being a real piece of work." he checks his nails for dirt before
continuing with a small grin. "Lucky for you I don't mind hard work."
Ford turns his head to look at Stanley and sighs, he wants to say something
sassy, smirk and ask him Oh really? Since when? But he doesn't have the energy.
He's just not convinced. "Sorry."
"Meep, wrong answer." Stan expectantly crosses his arms in front of his chest,
clearly unwilling to accept that reply and Ford's expression softens before he
realizes it.
"Thank you, Stanley."
Stan lets out a small content laugh, "That's more like it. Thank yous are far
more attractive than sorries."
"I guess." And now that he thinks about it, he's got to admit that is probably
right. Being apologized to always feels somewhat uncomfortable. Like he made
the other party feel they did something wrong. Being thanked is a warm feeling,
kinda ticklish in a way that it often draws an automatic smile out of the
receiving party whether they want to or not. Stan has a point and a good one at
that. "I'm still not going though."
"What?? WHY?" Stan almost glowers at him and Ford can't help but reply with a
shy smile.
"Even if this was actually a date which I bet it isn't, I'd just make a fool of
myself."
"Yeah, well, still better than being an idiot for passing up on such a catch!
Annette Goldstein, Sixer! I know she's got small tits but damn if she doesn't
make up for it with those legs!"
Ford grimaces at the choice of argument, that's not what attracts him to her.
"Ley..." he reproaches Stan yet in the same breath imagines these long tan legs
in an orange mini-skirt, the hem barely showing under an embroidered white
tunic that is almost see-through. She's not wearing a bra...
"Those legs could wrap around you tonight, you kn-"
"LEY!" he shouts more out of reflex than anger as the embarrassment creeps up
on him and finally he lifts his hands to slap one over his mouth when he
realizes just how loud he got. He quickly glances towards the door for a few
seconds half expecting to hear their mom yell over the radio and tell them off
for making a ruckus during her working hours.
She doesn't. He turns his head, definitely feeling how warm his face is under
his fingers. Is it his imagination or- no, his brother is doing that on
purpose, his very own kind of tension-breaker, bringing on a whole different
kind of tension. Stan is grinning again, wide and for some reason victorious,
almost as if knowing that Ford wouldn't mind that sort of scenario. Like that
knowledge would set the course for the night. He is wrong though. Ford is
better than that, smarter, to be precise.
"Stanley, that would never happen."
"You gonna complain about what an unlovable freak you are again?"
"..." He thought about it, but no, when he really allows himself to think about
it that's not his main concern anymore. "I wouldn't even know what to do."
Stan chuckles, shrugs, "Follow your instinct?" and makes funny little kissy
faces at Ford.
Ford can't suppress his smile but shrugs right back, "I don't think I have
those kind of instincts."
"Everyone has 'em, Sixer." There is a finality to his twin's voice that says
the topic is closed but Ford just can't leave it at that.
"Yeah, well, I don't." He mimics Stan's earlier pose and shrugs with his arms
crossed in front of his chest. He waits like that for a long moment but when
Stan fails to reply and starts to pick at his nails again Ford can feel the
silence gnaw at him. It's quickly becoming clear that now is a good chance to
ask a bunch of questions he usually didn't dare to dwell on and before he can
chicken out he walks over to Stanley and sits down next to him, knowing where
he's going to steer the conversation and not willing to have it loudly across
the room.
Stan only lifts his head when the bed dips down on his left and looks honestly
surprised. Ford gives him about 3 seconds to say something before he continues
in a hushed voice.
"Is it true that there is a technique to kissing? In the school library, I
heard some underclassmen complain about 'horrible kissing'. What qualifies as
good kissing? What do I do if I am a horrible kisser, Stanley? What do I do if
Annette goes to school on Monday and tells everyone what a horrible kisser I am
and I'll never get a date ever again? What if-"
"Okay okay, point taken! Gimme a second." Stan scoots away from Ford and for a
moment he thinks he actually managed to make Stan of all people uncomfortable
but then Stan uses the space he created to turn towards Ford and crosses his
legs on the bed. He still looks puzzled and obviously unhappy with Ford's
argumentation which the older twin takes as a point won for his own case.
"See? I really shouldn't be going." he laments and Stan immediately punches his
shoulder.
"You have to! How else are ya gonna learn it, Sixer? I learned it that way and
so will you, there are no books on stuff like that!"
"Heh, I know." he looked for them. Oh did he look for them. What a waste of
time.
"Which is why you'll go tonight and get some practice in. You're gonna be fine,
okay, Ford? You'll see."
For a moment Ford allows himself to be infected by Stan's confidence. Wouldn't
it be nice if things went well for once? If he actually was just over-thinking
things? He can't help it though, his mind goes directly to a couple of worst
case scenarios. "Did a girl ever slap you because you didn't kiss right?"
Stan's eyes go wide and a soft blush creeps into his cheeks. "...uh... I-
um..." Ford winces, now certain that is actually a possible outcome and lifts
his hands to rub at his temples.
"I am doomed." he hides his eyes behind a large hand and tries not to think
about the dark, lonely future ahead of him while ironically somewhere on the
desk the radio starts to play Big Girls Don't Cry. It really, REALLY gets on
his nerves.
"H-hey come on it's not that bad." Stan reaches out to rub his shoulder but
Ford pushes his hand away, not in the mood for petty encouragements in the face
of a lifetime of- well, THIS. Just him and Stan and the bloody facts that Stan
wants to ignore. And it's not that he doesn't like to be with Stan, he doesn't
have anything against Stan, of course, he loves him. They are brothers so they
have to, but- But it's not the same. That just can't make up for what he's
looking for.
"Stanford?"
"I'm... lonely." he finally admits, chest growing tight with the last word and
immediately regretting his confession when Stan looks personally offended.
"Don't be." Ford lets out a deep breath but doesn't get to reply. "You got me.
I'm here, you know that, right? I'm here for you. Always."
Ford swallows the growing lump in his throat when he hears him say 'always'. It
sounds more like a threat than a promise and he doesn't know why it feels so...
restricting. But he can't tell Lee that. He shouldn't have said that other
thing either because now he's forced to say this. "I'm not gonna marry you." He
keeps his face straight for all of 5 seconds before he grins into Stan's
befuddled face and the realization hits his brother.
"That kinda lonely, eh?" he lifts his hands defensively. "Yeah, no. Sorry,
you're on your own with that one." Ford slightly relaxes his shoulders, only
now becoming aware he had been a little stiff, and while not liking this answer
either it feels good to be right.
"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do here, Lee, but as you see that's
my very own cross to bear."
"So you're still not going?"
"No. I mean you see that there are a whole plethora of problems, don't you?"
Stanley seems confused, likely because of the word plethora but understands
enough to nod slowly.
"Fine. Have it your way. Make me a list."
"Pf, what?" Ford snorts, actually amused Stan would tease him with that (A
list?? Really, Stan?), waits for the inevitable comment on his alleged
nerdiness but his smile fades fast when Stan's expression stays
uncharacteristically stern.
"We're going to work off the list, that's how you do stuff, right? You write
lists and go through 'em, so that's what we'll do. Easy."
"It's not that easy."
"You're gonna go on yer date, and when you come back you'll brag like the
devil. You hear me?"
"Stanley,"
"So 1 you think Goldstein is just toyin' with ya? She's not. I already told you
we are pretty handsome and you have enough good points to make a girl at least
curious! So if you never spoke to her before today she doesn't know about your
low self-esteem or just how much of a nerd you are. You've got her hooked, now
reel her in. I'll tell you how to turn up the charm and you'll rub one out
before-"
"Ley!" Ford chastises indignantly but Stan doesn't react and picks right back
up where his bespectacled brother interrupted him.
"-rub one out before you go and yer gonna be cool as a cucumber. You'll see,
it'll be real easy." Stan uses his foot to nudge Ford in the thigh who still
has both his feet on the wooden floor before patting Ford's back with a
cocksure grin plastered on his face and Ford tries not to blush. Stan didn't
just say that. Ford didn't just hear that. God, they are not talking about this
right now! Rub- Rub one- MOSES! Stan doesn't appear to care for his brother's
embarrassment and quickly pushes onwards.
"And 2 I'm gonna be your alibi, you'll take my car, my driver's license, and
you'll have protection, just clean the backseat before you gimme back my keys.
You'll find what you need in the glove box. You got your surroundings under
control so that's a worry you can cross off the list. You can fully concentrate
on what is important because your brother's got yer bases covered. And talking
about bases we get to 3." Stanley makes a heavy pause and when Ford doesn't
react to his pun he clarifies with an eyebrow wriggle. "As in number 3 on the
list and 3 bases. Kissing, petting, fucking." Ford just rolls his eyes and rubs
a hand over his burning face. Stan appears to be satisfied with the reaction
and continues. "I can walk you through all the necessary steps base one, two,
and three if you need. You're gonna kiss, you're gonna touch, and you'll get to
stick it in."
"Stanley, please." Ford buries his face in both of his hands as the warmth
spreads towards his ears and down his neck but it doesn't deter Stan in the
slightest.
"Though, I guess we are lucky if you don't blow it before you get to second
base so why not take it easy. Get to the second base tonight and ask her for a
second date to take it to the third, don't put all the stress on the first
date, that's probably gonna help a brain like you a lot. Split it into
manageable-"
"Stanley, I told you I don't want to! I'm going to 'blow it' as you already oh
so eloquently pointed out for me and she's gonna ridicule me at school, that's
the last thing I need right now!"
"She ain't gonna if you LISTEN TO ME!" Stan shouts and Ford's hands shoot up to
slap over his mouth before he knows it, head whipping around to stare at the
door. Neither brother moves a muscle for almost a minute, waiting for the door
to swing open and a broad-shouldered man to step through and demand answers and
quiet in the same breath, they've been far too loud for far too long now, this
couldn't possibly have gone unnoticed.
Nothing happens though. Maybe they got lucky and the radio drowned Stan's
yelling out. Ford lets out the breath he held and slowly takes his hands off of
his twins face, half expecting Stan to start complaining but finding him still
staring at the door, looking more nervous than Ford felt. And for good reason.
Ma coming in to chide them was nothing to fear, she never gave more than verbal
scoldings, but should their father get fed up with the ruckus they're making
and show his face... That's a different story entirely and Stan usually bore
the brunt of it. Ford can count the times he was physically disciplined, on one
hand, Stan on the other hand... he didn't keep count. Dad isn't a violent man,
though! He can be reasoned with, Ford reasons with him all the time!
If only Stan would stop challenging his authority and knew when to shut up,
when to give up and apologize, when to keep his head down and sit on his hands
to not visibly tighten them into fists, he could get away with everything the
way Ford does these days. Or maybe dad just doesn't strike the son who now
carries all his hopes and dreams on his shoulders. A heavy weight to bear, one
that makes it hard to move enough to do anything worth punishment.
Stan still stares at the door. It's a sign of pity when Ford reaches out again,
touches his younger brother's head, scratches his scalp, fingers carding
through gelled hair and finally catching Stan's attention."Hm?" a hue of
confusion tints his features before he starts to frown a little. Stanford
expects some form of complaint about making him yell or slapping his mouth
shut, but then again Stan isn't usually one to blame his own shortcomings on
others. He hides them as long as he can, denies involvement, but-
"So we agree that the only problem left is that you're scared you may be a bad
kisser?" Stanley continues calmly, eyes steadily seeking out Ford's own and
true to form Ford looks down toward his hands, tries not to rub at his extra
fingers or push his hands under himself to get them out of sight. He still
replies with a nod. He'd surely like to make up more problems to avoid this
specific topic further but after expecting their dad to bust through the door
he doesn't have the spirit to lie to his twin. Stan can identify most of his
lies just through eye contact anyway. One of the reasons why Stanford Pines has
given up on any and all attempts to conceal truth a while ago. It never got him
anywhere in the first place, and it's not something he cares to get better at.
Lying is for people not smart enough to-
He winces when he realizes that that includes Stanley but the young man in
question doesn't mention it, just looks determined. "That's good."
Ford snarls a small almost laugh, yeah sure it's good that he might be a
horrible kisser, not a problem at all, Stan. "And how is that?" Ass.
"Because I can help with that! I don't wanna brag but I'm a great kisser."
"Well, you're bragging. And just a few minutes ago you admitted you got slapped
for being the opposite." it's hard not to get angry at the mention when he
feels so made fun of for a lack of experience in something he never even got
the chance to practice.
"That was then and now is different!" Stan spits, slightly defensive. "Carla
never complained! In fact, I bet you she's missing me now that she's gotta
suckle on that slack-jawed unshaven hippie." He sounds a bit bitter towards the
end, eyes drifting to the side as a small bout of jealousy consumes him only to
lift his head and beam back at his brother, smiling crookedly and pointing at
his own face. "Honestly, if it wasn't for the way this mouth works I doubt I'd
have ever gotten past second base. I mean I obviously got the looks and all but
I ain't got a great lot of other things to catch a girls attention."
"That's not true..."
"Yeah it is." he laughs. "Girls don't wanna hear old stories about how you
learned boxing, or how many movies you watch, or what you did in class instead
of what you should've been doing, or who you've been punching because they
defamed your brother."
Ford has a hunch Stan's smile hides something else and shakes his head. "You're
a great dancer and-" he winces already running out of other things to say about
his brother. He really doesn't do much else, does he? He eats a lot but that's
hardly- "Y-you've got a car and if you really want something you work pretty
hard and... and..."
"It's okay. I know who I am and I'm fine with it I don't need you to tell me
what my good points are. As for dancing, I learned that with Carla and I don't
really wanna dance with anyone else so scratch that. The Stanley mobile is
awesome, duh. And the only two things I've ever worked hard for are that very
Stanley mobile and the Stan O' War. So that's that." His head tilts slightly to
the side. "You on the other hand-"
"Please don't start this."
"Aside from having really big hands, and I stand by the fact that girls really
dig that, you're smart, you're interested in a lot of things and when you stop
being stupidly nervous you can hold your own just fine because you got an
opinion on everything. I bet a girl could talk to you about anything and you'd
still have something new and interesting to say about it. Interesting if you
are into nerd-facts but most girls probably are cause they think they're so
smart. You do get amazing grades, you don't need a car you can invite a girl to
study and even get a father's approval to take her out 'cause yer trustworthy
like that and BANG, nailed it. Like- literally nail-"
"Yes, I get it." Ford interrupts him and Stan snickers.
"So anyway, girls like to talk a lot, I bet you it was a guy who invented
kissing to find a way to shut his girlfriend up." Ford's brows lower,
unconvinced but his twin doesn't seem to care. "If I'd let you you'd talk my
ears off, just like a girl, I betcha if you get to talking with Goldstein she's
gonna want to kiss you silent, haha." Ford lowers his head, a hint of shame
hunching his shoulders up just a bit and Stan quickly slams his hands on them,
making Ford jump and look back at his brother. "That's not how I meant to say
that! I'm not saying you're being annoying, I mean-"
He stops, searching for hints of something in Ford's face, an indication to
show him where to go with this but Ford himself doesn't know either. There is
an air of helplessness as Stan takes his hands back and folds them in his lap,
only to put one on the bed next to him for support and lift the other to
scratch his head a few seconds later. Stan looks genuinely uncomfortable and
it's infecting his twin. The silence that starts to stretch isn't a good one.
He- he needs to say something.
"You're the only one who listens."
"What?"
"It's not like I want to talk your ear off. But, teachers aside, you're the
only one who cares enough to listen when I talk... so I tend to let it all out
on you."
Stan doesn't reply. The silence picks back up and Ford realizes he might have
offended him, taking it in an 'I don't really want to talk to you in the first
place' way and it makes his blood run cold. That's not what he meant. He meant
to be nice and look how that turned out! See that's the reason why he's not
good with girls! His compliments tend to backfire! And it was a compliment! He
meant it as one! Stanford almost speaks up again without even knowing what to
say but Stanley is faster.
"Glad to be of service." he grins. "Just so you know I feel the same. Only that
not even teachers listen to me." He averts his eyes for a moment, focusing on
the radio.
"We really are a couple of outsiders, aren't we?" Ford returns a shy smile, not
happy but content to know that their face is not the only thing they share.
They've been growing apart more and more, Stan has to be as aware of it as Ford
is, but the once strong bond of brotherhood still isn't broken. Maybe they
should cut it, that might actually be better for them. He can't keep relying on
his little brother forever, and Stan, too, needs to get his priorities straight
and grow up a little. They're not kids anymore. If they continue to gravitate
around each other like this they'll never... but then again, there is a lot of
comfort to be found in what is familiar, even if it's not ideal.
Stan's own smile grows wider, more genuine as if them having no real friends
apart from each other was actually a thing to laugh about and he almost
giggles. It's like he doesn't understand how problematic that is. Or worse, he
might not care...
Ford closes his eyes, takes a deep breath before exhaling slowly and seeking
eye contact. Stan is right to push him this time, even though his reason to
push for it is probably different from the one that starts to make Ford agree
with him.
"Okay, fine. I get it, you're right. I should go." Stan fist-pumps before
smacking his brother's thigh, almost making him jump from the unexpected sting
it leaves. "So, uh, what is the right way to kiss?"
"Oh, that's real easy. Start slow, go hard." He looks incredibly pleased with
himself, instantly causing Ford to soften even though that was an amazingly
annoying answer.
"... That's... pretty abstract and probably really oversimplifying it."
"Psh, No it's not." He waves his hand a few times between them.
"Yes, it is! Look, I'm going to need more information than that." the older
twin is almost a little frustrated but can see that Stan is actually actively
working his brain for once, gears visibly turning. Okay, that wasn't fair. It's
not like Stanford thinks his brother is stupid or would never think things
through, he just... he avoids thinking for reasons Ford hasn't figured out yet.
Probably just because he likes being lazy.
"Jaw tension is important," Stan finally starts and taps two fingers against
his own jaw for emphasis "But don't be stiff. Relax. But don't relax too much
or you might accidentally drool and that's a real turn-off for most girls. And
don't go all quiet. A little noise is always appreciated but make sure you're
not more vocal than she is, 'cause that's really weird."
Ford is sure his eyes must be the size of dinner plates, surprise more than
evident as it courses through him. He didn't expect Stan to actually say
something comprehensible. It sounds like genuinely useful information. He
finally feels like laughing, thinking to himself that there IS a science to it
after all. Just knowing that he won't have to go into this experience
completely unprepared is reassuring. It's okay, Stan seems educated enough on
the subject to teach when he puts effort into explaining, he'll be able to
study whatever information he can wring out of his brother in what little time
he has and he already feels far more confident in his still non-existent
ability to seduce.
Not that he actually got much out of Stan's tips already, but he is good at
guiding Stan, he just needs to ask the right questions, get specific enough and
it's gonna be fine. He lets out a relieved sigh. All that's left is to overcome
his own major embarrassment and to use the time he has efficiently. So what
should he start with? Stan probably mentioned the less important thing last, so
that should be the easier one, right? Yeah. Starting easy and working his way
up sounds good. Okay. Go ahead. Ask him. It's gonna be fine. Please, let it be
fine.
"I'm going to regret this but... could you give me an example?"
"For what?" Stan cocks his head, curious.
Now he needs to pick his words wisely. "An acceptable noise level and palette."
"Uh..." Stan appears to be just as confused by that and Ford resists the urge
to tell Stan to eat a dictionary. It's the kind of situation that wants to make
him pinch Stan's nose and force him to concentrate. If Stan paid more attention
and took things more seriously it would save everyone a lot of time and effort.
"What sort of noise am I supposed to make and how loud?"
Finally, it sparks a light behind Stan's eyes and he shrugs. "A, um, a natural
one, I guess? I mean she might not make any noise at all so then you don't make
any either, don't worry." Stan seems a little stunned and Ford gives him a hint
of stink-eye before his younger twin struggles to elaborate. "A nice noise,
okay? I dunno how to describe it 'cause it just comes naturally out of you?
You'll see when you get there. Like- it builds up in your chest just and sorta-
rumbles out in a sigh. Quietly. Just don't go and like moan into her mouth just
from kissin' that's embarrassin', 'kay? 'Kay."
"R-rumbles? Like growling? Why would I-"
"No, not like growling! Come on, Sixer, you're not that dense!"
Ford's brows draw together, offended by the truth behind that statement and
feeling deeply defensive because of it. "Well, obviously I am! I never was in a
situation that would require- I have no experience to draw from here. Help me
out a little!"
"What else do you want me to say, Poindexter? Just- don't be loud and make the
pitch low, don't do any of that squeaky voice high pitched gasping shit- I know
you gonna wanna 'cause it's gonna be all new and good 'n stuff but you wanna
swallow that because she will laugh atcha and that's gonna ruin the mood.
You're the man, okay? Gotta sound the part."
"I need an example, Lee."
Now it's Stan's turn to roll his eyes and he takes a deep breath. He's about to
let it out when he blinks a few times as if some sort of realization just
struck. He holds the breath for a few seconds, voice caught in his throat,
before letting all the air out in a rush. "Wait a moment I gotta.. um." He
leans a little closer to Ford but quickly decides against it and leans farther
back instead, putting his hands on the bed behind him to hold him upright, keep
him from falling backward onto the mattress.
Ford only notices he's been drawing one of his own legs onto the bed to turn
and face Stanley when his knee bumps into the shins of his twin's still crossed
legs, but Stan has no reaction at all. His face is developing a slightly rosy
dust as he continues to breathe quietly before he awkwardly harrumphs and
closes his eyes. A deep guttural hum softly works out of his throat, Stanford
can't shake the impression that he feels it more than he hears it and it raises
all the little hairs on his arms and neck, feels somewhat ticklish as it races
over his skin.
"It's almost vibrating..." he mumbles, bewildered by the well-neigh alien sound
coming from his brother and the feeling it induces. Sure, he accidentally
listened in on his brother a few times, muffled noises in the middle of the
night that made their way up from the bottom bunk, and now that their sleeping
arrangement changed coming from the other side of the room, but this is...
unfiltered. He startles when Stan shoots back up into a straight position.
"It is! It is!! See, you're getting it!" Stan takes Ford's hand, caught in a
gust of excitement, and puts it on his chest, this time actually leaning into
the touch and lets the noise build and roll out again and to Ford's delight,
his twin pushes his hand with it, up towards his throat. It's... fascinating.
It's such a small, short noise but under his fingers, it feels loud, powerful,
... promising. All too suddenly Ford becomes distinctly aware of how close
their faces are, how dry Stan's lips look, how much he can feel his warmth
through the white T-shirt under his palm, the soft skin under his fingertips.
He wonders what a girl has to do to Stan to draw forth such noises. What would
she have to do to make him suppress one of these high-pitched gasps he was
talking about?
Before he knows it Stan drops his hand and splays his own fingers over Ford's
chest, looking expectant and Ford can't help but feel flustered, befuddled
until Stan rolls his eyes. "Your turn, Sixer. You got your example, now
practice."
"Oh. Uh... now?"
"Duh!" Stan laughs and his fore and middle finger tap an impatient rhythm
against Ford's mustard yellow shirt. What a strange sensation. Stan smiles,
"Don't think about it." and Ford has to admit that it's another good advice.
Other than his twin Ford always thinks before he acts. And if there is no time
to think, well, then he tends to not act at all. And look where that got him.
He may be the smartest and possibly most hardworking student to ever attend
their High school, but to this day he only got kissed by two females, one of
which is his mother so it doesn't count, the other the home-schooled daughter
of their dentist who Stan used to call Dumbo when they were in second grade
when it happened. 'Don't think, just do it' he repeats in his head and sucks in
one last breath. He hums, voice far too low and barely audible and stops
immediately, expecting Stan to make fun of him but when he opens his eyes Stan
looks more curious, yet still kind of amused. Jerk. He timidly readjusts a few
times until it's only an octave deeper than normal speech.
Ford opens his eyes again to find Stan still staring at him and lift his free
hand to give him a thumbs up. "Still a little shy but it suits you."
"Don't you think it should be a little louder?"
"Nah, it's okay like that." Stan shrugs. "You don't have'ta do it like I do and
you'll have to adjust to the girl's volume anyway." Stan sounds satisfied but
that comment just irks Ford. What'cha tryna say, Lee? You don't think I can do
it like you, do you? Don't act so cool.
"... Let me try again." Ford clears his throat and closes his eyes, more
motivated than he thought he could be just a minute ago.
Stan's fingers tap rhythmically against his chest and Ford needs to swallow
hard to hold himself back from telling Stan to stop distracting him. His
brother isn't trying to challenge him but help him, Ford should be thankful.
Yet for some reason he's not happy, not thankful at all, doesn't want Stan to
see him like this, hear him like this. It's... embarrassing.
Ford only ever touches himself in the shower, too self-conscious, afraid his
brother might hear him like he hears Stan at night. The longer he thinks about
it the more the feeling of Stan's hand carefully pressing against his chest
fills him with hot shame, flowing in from their point of contact and burning
through his ribs into his lungs. He tries again, confident that his pitch is
okay and that he hit Stan's noise level so now he tries to add the third layer
to it. The layer that made his hair stand on end. He imagines girls go crazy
for that.
He does his best but even after 2 minutes he just can't get it to rumble
anywhere close to the way Stan does. He tries a few different ways, starts with
an R-sound, transitions to a growl in the back of his throat that makes Stan
snigger under his breath "Easy, tiger." and he feels his face growing ever
hotter. Soon the contact point where his knee touches his younger twin’s shin
sends the same burning sensations through his bones. His throat starts to feel
weird when he tries to make it vibrate and frustration pools in his gut.
He freezes when he feels fingers run across his forehead and into his hair,
face twitching into a surprised frown when he feels the thumb rub over the
crease between his brows and occasionally bumping into his glasses. He's scared
to open his eyes and find Stan smiling as if his failure wasn't a big deal. He
doesn't want to get comforted for- for lacking in this department. Not by
anyone, but especially not by Stan.
"Ford?" He doesn't answer, just lowers his head a little and Stan sighs as if
disappointed and it makes Ford's heart drop like it suddenly became far
heavier. Shame. He's feeling so incredibly ashamed. "Look, I know I said it
should rumble but you don't have to. You got your style I got mine. Really,
it's fine the way it is. No worries. Let's do something else, okay?"
That's not what he needed to hear. He doesn't budge an inch. Focuses on keeping
his breath even and waits for Stan to do whatever it is he thinks they should
be doing now. What a great start they're off to already. He was such a fool to
think all he needed was information and he'd get it. Of course, he wouldn't.
He's Stanford F. Pines, third class freak, and reliable lady-repellant. There
is no way that one evening of tips from Stanley of all people could remedy
that. He snorts a disgruntled laugh, disillusioned and let down by himself more
than by Stan who still hasn't moved either.
And then he does. It's slow and hesitant but the hand in his hair starts to rub
his head. Sluggishly scratching his blunt nails in small circles over Ford's
scalp and down towards his neck. Ford's head shoots up to find Stan's face much
closer than it was before and he tries to recoil but the hand in his neck pulls
him back. "Eyes closed." Stan orders, for once obviously not very certain about
what he's doing himself but Ford is all too glad to follow the direction and
not look at Stan's face. This up close he'd only focus on the zits which really
isn't flattering for his brother.
"What do you think Goldstein is gonna wear when you meet up?"
Well, that's not out of the blue at all. "... What?" He quirks a brow and Stan
takes a slow deep breath.
"Bet she'll be all dolled up for you. She'll definitely wear a skirt. Skirts
mean easy access, y' know. She's meeting you around midnight, at the beach,
there is not much else you can do but 'spend time together'. So, if she comes
wearing a skirt that's code for she wants you." he giggles while Ford tries not
to picture the hypothetical situation which is especially hard when his eyes
are closed and Stan toys with the shorter hair on his neck.
"Ah." He didn't know that skirts on a midnight date mean- well... that she
wants to go all the way? It doesn't sound that far off when Stan says it like
that, pants would definitely get in the way and be more complicated to deal
with on a girl when- when- Oh my. Something starts to pool warm low in his
loins as he imagines the appropriate visuals and he tries to will the feeling
away. He should really work harder on not letting his imagination run with any
of that. Not while Stanley is sitting this close to him anyway, but with his
eyes closed and his mind on more important things it's getting more difficult.
Stan clears his throat, drawing Ford's attention back. "I bet she thinks you
got no idea whatcha doin', Sixer. She'll probably string you along at first,
get you all flustered and impatient and try to getcha to make the first move
but you won't."
"I- I won't?" the fingers at the back of his neck lazily drag over his hairline
and it feels terribly ticklish but not in a way that makes him want to stop it.
He can't quite pin down the words to describe it it's- It's strangely
sensational. He wants to tell Stan that he really has no idea what exactly to
do with her but Stan is faster than his twin.
"Nah, you'll sit back and let her bait you. You're smart and you know why she's
there and if she wants a piece of you she might as well come and get it. You
won't let her toy with you... Make her play by your rules. Make a point of
noticing her bait, but don't take it."
"What-" he licks his lips, for some reason he's salivating an awful lot. And
what does he mean 'Ford's rules' he has no rules this is becoming increasingly
confusing. And hot. He lifts a hand to pull at his shirt collar. It's a little
embarrassing just how enticing the thought of being wanted is. He feels it
should take more to make him this nervous and... eager. "What kind of bait are
we talking about?"
"Mostly compliments, little gestures. She's gonna tell you what a gentleman you
are, good-lookin'... and smart... and funny. She's gonna tell you any girl
would be happy to find herself in your arms, to be kissed by a man like that,
which obviously includes her. She's looking at ya with her big Bambi eyes,
brushing some hair out of your face and playing with it, trying to draw you in,
tempting you into going for it but you won't."
Ford swallows a small whine. Why wouldn't he? That would be such an amazing
chance if it ever happened that way and if he doesn't take it then he might
ruin it for himself the next minute. He just knows that the moment he gets the
chance he won't hold back. If he gets the okay he'll go for it. It would be
stupid not to, right? So why...?
"Why?" It drops from his lips before he consciously makes the decision to ask
and Stan lets out a sigh that sounds more content than it should. Ford feels
rather tempted to open his eyes.
"'Cause you don't have to. She wants to have you, thinks you're a naive
plaything, but you'll prove her wrong. It's exciting when she has to work a
little to catch you and even out the playing field. Don't act like you don't
want her, though. You gotta play her game and turn it around."
Game? When did this become a game?? Though, if it was... Ford is pretty good at
games. That aren't sport related. Does int- He licks his lips. Does intercourse
count as a sport? God, he hopes not. And he should get his mind out of the
gutter. The objective is kissing. Kissing. Nothing more.
"How?"
"You'll use her own tricks. Tell her how pretty she looks under the stars, how
beautiful her eyes are, that she's cute when she laughs or how soft her hair
looks. Her hair is really long and I bet she's proud of it, so maybe take a
strand and kiss it. I betcha can smell her shampoo, I guarantee you she's
freshly showered. Just for you. And if she reacts well enough you can go as far
as to tell her she smells nice, you can tell her- tell her..." Stan swallows
audibly. "Tell her meeting her tonight made your day, that you'll remember this
forever. Girls like when you say 'forever', it's probably romantic, I guess."
"Is it?"
"Dunno..." Stan puffs a half laugh and Ford can feel his brother's breath on
his chin, it kind of smells like toffee peanuts. He wrinkles his nose and holds
his own breath for a second, suddenly acutely aware of the space and air they
are sharing and the way his own breathing picks up. He wonders what he smells
like to Stan. What was the last thing he ate again?
Just briefly he wonders how many times Stan used the word 'forever' with Carla.
"What then?"
"She's gonna lure you one last time, touch yer knee and-" Ford feels the hand
that rested on his chest lift and land on his knee, almost opens his eyes.
"Squeeze." He shudders at the feeling. It's like soft electricity jumping from
Stan's fingertips up his leg and tangling up in... places, before crawling up
his spine to meet up with the hand still affectionately ruffling the hair at
the back of his head. He wants to whine so badly, just give up, give in. He
just can't imagine what advantages it would have to wait.
Something in his mind seems to drop, and before he knows it logic and civility
quietly take a backseat to let something else team up with his imagination.
Something he doesn't usually interact with when in the company of- of anyone,
really.
In the dark space behind his eyelids, he can suddenly picture it vividly. He's
sitting next to her on the pier not far from the long closed Cafe. Stars above
him, dim warm light coming from the street behind. The air is cold and a fresh
salty breeze moves her blonde hair. Annette is sitting so close to him he can
smell her, flowers and a bit if cigarette smoke, their thighs are touching. Her
hand is on his knee as she's shyly smiling up at him but she clearly knows what
she's doing, keeping up an obvious facade of innocence but she wants it, wants
HIM. She wants him to- to- ... Holy shit. He could actually touch her and it
would be okay. She doesn't seem to mind his hands, just like Stan. He could-
could put his hands- could touch-!
For a second her clothes disappear and leave her nothing to cover her nakedness
but that infamous bikini that haunted his dreams for a while and it doesn't
matter that it's cold, that they are in public and that it's probably still wet
from the rain. All he can focus on is the expanse of her tan skin, the star
chart of freckles on her skin, every mole, every slight curve. He can touch
her. She wants him to touch, to feel, to explore with his damn hands-. A breath
rushes out through his nose as if punched out of him and he bites his bottom
lip. Hot damn.
"Plea-" his voice cracks and he awkwardly clears his throat. "Please tell me I
can kiss her now."
"She's manipulatin' you, Poindexter. You gonna let her win?" The calm yet
teasing tone does something to him. He wants to whimper and growl and groan all
at the same time because he doesn't know! He needs to touch her, to feel her,
but the idea of being so underestimated, of being taken advantage of and taken
for stupid irks him, yet at the same time what does it matter if it gets him-
well, there. He knows nothing and instinctively feels that his ability to make
good decisions is stunted by whatever took over when Stan's little story became
more vivid. Maybe the prospect of intimate physical contact with a pretty girl
actually makes him stupid but it barely matters because he wants Stan to get on
with the plot. Sure, he could make it up himself but it's so much more
convincing when someone else-
"You know what to do." Stan mumbles and the hand on his knee wanders a little
bit higher, halting just above the joint and putting on a little more pressure
while his thumb strokes small circles against his jeans in time with the hand
giving Ford's neck a lazy scratch. Big warm hands, not quite as large as his
own 6-fingered ones but enough to make him feel the stark difference between
Stan's hands and what a girl's hand must feel like yet he just can't bring
himself to care. He pictures Annette and he knows it's Stan yet he still has
an... um, an inappropriate physical reaction to it.
He can hear his pulse throb in his ears, feel his heart drum against his ribs.
He never imagined...
Maybe it's desperation that fuels him when that deep groan rolls out of him, a
little darker than Stan's, rougher around the edges, and definitely louder than
what Stan had shown him was appropriate. It didn't quite rumble but god did it
feel good to let it out. He barely notices the way Stan freezes up in front of
him, doesn't quite recognize his twin's voice when he praises him excitedly,
but he notices when Stan tries to pull his hands away. Ford quickly leans
forward, already missing the contact and chasing the feeling. It's not fair.
Stan can't just start this and leave him like this, can he? He doesn't want it
to end already, he's not done yet.
Their foreheads collide with barely any noise but a sharp pain shoots through
their skulls, drawing a startled yelp from Stan and making Ford hiss and grab
his brother's shoulder hard when he attempts to draw back. He takes a deep
breath, surprised by how loud every breath coming from either of them sounds to
him, and only now that his hands dig into Stan's shirt he feels how clammy they
are, and most importantly, how hot his forehead feels against Stan's much
cooler one. He must be pretty red in the face. For a moment he feels self-
conscious and opens his eyes and is immediately flooded with white hot regret.
Stan's eyes are open, too, wide and shocked and confused and he almost jumps
the moment he makes eye contact with Ford. There is a light blush dusting his
cheeks, his dark eyelashes are short but thick when they flutter and it doesn't
seem deliberate when he nervously licks his lips which makes it so much better
and infinitely worse at the same time.
Reality washes back into Ford, cold and harsh and it's a shock to the system
but he can't bring himself to recoil from this closeness like he should, to let
Stan jerk his head out of his grasp like he should, to bring more distance
between their faces like there should always be. He wonders if his long hair
tickles Stan's face, wonders if they rubbed their cheeks together would they
feel any scratchy stubble? What does another man's stubble even feel like? He
misses the hands that rhythmically squeezed and scratched him in these actually
very safe places. Worst of all he is all too aware of how needy just this
little contact has made him, and how bad it is that it seems like even his
brother will do when he gets the chance to- ...
It's scary and shameful and humiliating and while still somewhat thrilling it's
not enough to cancel out all the negatives flooding him now that he isn't stuck
in a daydream anymore. Just how could he get lost so fast? The scenario Stan
described was innocent enough, so is it his own mind that derailed?
The fact that Stan is so unresponsive is also deeply unsettling. He doesn't
move, yet he continues to hold eye contact, and even after 15 seconds he still
looks like back in the day as kids when he dropped food. Primarily shock with a
deep underlying disappointment and horribly tempted to eat it anyway when
nobody's looking.
"Stanford?" it sounds smaller and more tentative than he's used to and
something in the back of Ford's head whispers "Murphey's law" the moment his
full first name leaves his brothers lips. That is often an indicator of
seriousness.
He doesn't know how to react. Too occupied with a myriad of possibly terrible
implications of the things that just happened and what that could mean for the
relationship he has with his twin. It takes a lot of effort not to start
hyperventilating. Just what was he thinking??
A hand settles on his wrist and he flinches, pulls his hand off of Stan's
shoulder. "I-" he needs to apologize. "I- It's not my fault." could he be any
more pathetic.
"... What ain't your fault?"
Ford can't help but gape at his best friend and brother for a second. "How can
you be so-" thickskinned, oblivious, dense, shameless, there are so many words
he could insert here but it quickly makes him aware of just what almost
happened. And how it wasn't Stan but him who almost went too far. He wants to
blame it on inexperience, on Stan simply overwhelming him but he can't say with
confidence that Stan did anything to provoke him to such an extent.
"Be so-? So- what?" Stan frowns at him and Ford's heart stutters but he doesn't
know why.
No, maybe he knows. Probably because Stan must have figured out what Ford tried
and lucky for both of them failed to do.
"... Nothing." before he knows it he is sitting on his own hands, lets the full
weight of his misbehavior wash over him. It was a mistake. He winces when it
starts to sink in. Something homosexual and incestuous. He can't tell what's
worse. It could land them both in hot water. Even though Stan didn't do
anything wrong. Stan isn't the one who thoughtlessly tried to... to ki- A
shiver runs through him and he is vaguely aware of the look Stan is giving him,
how he shifts to kneel in front of him and leans over. He feels so utterly
powerless when Stan wraps his big arms around him and pulls him forward into
his chest and it's scary how nice it is.
He's so very warm, softer than he imagined but definitely firm somewhere
underneath, squeezing him hard enough to make him feel trapped and want to
squirm away but still gentle enough to make him want to lean further into it.
It makes Ford's chest constrict with an unwanted surge of feelings and his
mouth feels a bit dry. When Stan starts to rock him a little Ford buries his
face into Stan's broad shoulder and wonders how pathetic he must have looked
for Stan to hug him. He didn't go this far in his consoling in years and it's
childish of him and Ford hates how his thoughts aren't entirely innocent when
he enjoys the touch.
... just when was the last time they actually hugged? They were never avid
cuddlers, it was always a rare thing reserved for special occasions. The first
time Ford had to bring home a less than satisfying grade to show their dad. The
first time Ford won something. Right after Crampelter tried to break his nose
for being proud of it. Or anytime one of them got beat up by anyone really,
which looking back on it didn't happen as often as he thought it did back then.
When Stan came back to their room after dad singled Stanley out for separate
punishment after they did something particularly stupid. When Ford got
ridiculed by a girl he really liked. Every time they finished a next major
component of the Stan O' War. After Stan lost a match he really wanted to win
to impress their dad. When Carla left him. Hugs were reserved for rare moments
of celebration and to ease the fear that comes with a display of weakness.
He fights a snivel and hugs Stan back. Trying to press your mouth against your
brother's because you're a desperate mess is undeniably weak, he thinks. He's a
hormonal teenager with the decency of a stray dog. Just what was he thinking?
Why didn't he think about how wrong that was? Dirty and scandalous and- he's
not a pervert! He's not a... a fag! He just got too excited thinking about
Anette, not Stan, Anette. He shakes his head against Stan's shoulder, frowning
so hard he can feel a strain on the responsible muscles.
Ford was aware of Stan's big hands, his broad frame. He imagined Anette, sure,
but from the start, he was never under the illusion it was really her. So can
he really let that count? He pulls Stan tighter against himself, almost sobs
and the noise makes Stan tense up noticeably. He holds still for a moment,
waits for another reaction from Ford before he starts to push him away. He
probably tries to get a look at Ford's face to assess the situation but the
older twin doesn't let go. Embarrassed he's on the verge of tears, ashamed of
what he's done, humiliated by the implications, scared of Stan's reaction.
Scared of how much of a freak he might really be. That maybe it's not just his
hands, maybe it's his head too.
"Talk to me, Sixer." Stan leans his chin on Ford's shoulder after he finally
stops trying to push him away and continues to loosely hug back. He sounds as
vulnerable as Ford feels. Raw, kind of more emotional than they should be and
overcome by the unusual extent of mental fragility put on display. Stan
probably can't interpret it but to be honest Ford can't either. Not really.
Ford turns his head, nuzzles into the crook of Stanley's neck. He hates how
much he still needs his brother to comfort him when his thoughts drift down the
deep end. Maybe Ford is actually a pervert, and girls somehow sense that and
that is why they won't give him the time of the day, and Stan is somehow too
stupid, too naive to notice. Maybe Ford was always unnaturally drawn to his
twin and that is why the urge to distance himself from Stan has been growing
stronger. Because he wants to stop what he knows would ruin him.
He experimentally tries to imagine kissing Stan. On the mouth. Like movie-
stars. Like- Like in Casablanca.
It's awkward. When he imagines kissing someone the other party is always a
girl, someone a bit smaller who'd have to look up at him and fit into his arms
nicely. He's kind of stuck in the imagine of the man leaning down to meet the
girl and he just can't figure out who of them would be the girl, they have the
exact same height. In the end, it would probably be Ford. Stan is bulkier,
tougher, he just looks very manly.
It's irritating. Sure, Stan is definitely a man but so is Ford and he refuses
to let himself be put into the role of a girl just because he puts less on the
scale. He'd hate Stan for making him the girl and they would probably fight.
Them kissing just wouldn't work. It's a calming thought. He just likes Stan,
but not like a homosexual. The conclusion makes him relax against Stan's chest.
A long sigh escapes through his nose and down Stan's neck and Stan gaps,
shivers, obviously surprised and they both freeze.
That wasn't what Ford wanted. He didn't mean to- Oh, sweet Moses....
"Ford?" Stan slowly lets go of his brother, signals the hug is over and this
time Ford reluctantly follows his example. Nothing good will come from drawing
this out. Funny how he can't imagine kissing his brother on the mouth but has
no trouble at all picturing blowing down his neck again, breathing against the
shell of his ear and watch him tremble. Ford still remembers that even as kids
Stan would shudder and complain when Ford tried to whisper into his ear, said
it tickled really bad.
The impulse to try that is almost overwhelming. Is that worse than trying to
kiss him? Would that be more or less homosexual? It sounds not as bad but he
instinctively wants to say it's just as scandalous. But that doesn't
necessarily have to be sexual, right? It's just to tease Stan, right? Make fun
of how sensitive his ears are. So it's not gay but a prank, right? He could get
away with that guilt-free.
He doesn't look Stan in the face when he lets himself imagine exactly that,
remembers that quiet rumbling noise Stan made earlier and it makes goosebumps
rise on his skin but unfortunately, or maybe luckily, he can't see Stan making
that noise in that sort of scenario. No, if he tried that Stan would struggle,
push and shove. It's ticklish, so Ford would have to hold him down and try and
trap Stan's strong arms to stop him from running or fighting it. He remembers
the little gasp he let out just now when Ford's breath on his neck surprised
him and the way he twitched against Ford's frame and fits it all together into
one little fantasy where he's the one holding all the cards for once and where
Stan can do nothing but squirm against him and complain. It brings that
terrible part of Ford that Stan made feel so hot and desperate with his story
right back on track...
For a moment it doesn't matter how scary and gay and incestuous it is even
though it brought him close to tears a minute ago and despite being fully aware
of the situation. It's hard to care about that when the most important thing in
the world is this slow torturous burn in his gut that needs to spike higher and
Stan is the only combustible available. And anyway it was Stan who said he'd
help him out so it's his own fault in the first place. Yeah. Right then and
there it makes perfect sense.
Ford grabs his twin's face and just pulls. Pulls himself as close as he dares
and Stan even closer into his own personal space and Ford closes his eyes
because that's how you kiss, even he knows that.
He doesn't have to try all that hard not to think about the world around them
because he's going to kiss someone and be kissed and make this little flame in
him burn hot enough to eat them both up whole because he has a hunch that it's
going to be amazing. He's close enough to feel Stan's toffee-peanut breath on
his lips and hears it getting faster. Knowing that Stan must be as nervous and
confused as he is feels immensely satisfying so he puckers his lips, feels the
brush of Stan's and prepares for full impact.
"BOYS! DINNER IS READY!"
They flinch and flounder backward. Stan is so eager to get off Ford's bed he
stumbles over his own legs and barely catches himself on his hands before he
does to the floor what his brother almost did to him but quickly jumps to his
feet, takes two more steps backward for good measure. Heat rolls over Ford's
face in waves and Stan worked up a pretty deep blush himself.
They can't do anything but stare at each other and Ford pales when his brother
slowly but visibly goes through a rather wide range of emotions, all underlined
with what looks like horror. It's like he's repeatedly punching Ford in the gut
before dumping cold water over his head.
God, he really did it again. Ford's breathing picks up a notch more as his own
genuine panic begins to settle in. Stan is disgusted with his behavior, he has
to be since even Ford feels kind of disgusted himself. Ford obviously tried to
force a kiss on him and there is no excuse for that. They are men. Worse,
brothers. Even worse, twins. He made a horrible miscalculation and he can't fix
that. And worst of all he doesn't know why but he still feels the urge to
repeat this mistake. He knows part of that feeling, he wants to get off and
something about being held close when he's hot under the collar just makes him
go haywire. He truly is a freak to want to go back into that haywire state
again. Where nothing is important but the need for intimacy and... and sex.
He winces and self-consciously pulls his pillow into his lap. Stan's eyebrows
rise high onto his forehead while his jaw drops slightly and Ford can see how
Stan's attention jumps back and forth between the older twins face and the
pillow. Ford internally cries out in shame because even though Stan is here
right in front of him and completely aware of what is going on Ford craves to
touch himself, to touch someone else to be touched and never before did he
think about that when there was anybody around to notice that, yes, he has
those thoughts too and he has the same wants and needs and physical functions
as any healthy teenage boy. He's no exception no matter how exceptional he is
and-
The door swings open and Ma blinks at them. "Ya two went deaf or something?
Dinner. Both of you. Now." She's not mad at them but she knows it's not normal
that they ignore a dinner call and she is set on investigating. Stan doesn't
miss a beat, though, eager to get out of whatever this situation is.
"Oh! Hey, Ma! Wow, look at that! Dinner time already! Time truly flies when you
have fun, haha! See you at the table!" And before anyone can say something to
the awkwardly stiff performance of this usually very smooth liar he pretty much
rushes past her and out of the room, leaving Ford to fend for himself.
"Both of you means you, too, Stanford." she holds the door open for him but he
frantically shakes his head no.
"5 minutes, I need to finish- something."
"Uhun, sure." She makes her 'you can't bullshit a professional bullshitter'
face and Ford wants to disappear through a hole in the bed. "That has time till
after Dinner. Up and-"
"It really doesn't, though." Ford tries not to hug the pillow too obviously
against his lap and Ma gives him a rather curious look. She can't really read
his thoughts but it's moments like this when a terrifying little thought of
"what if" messes with his head. He just wants her to leave already.
"5 Minutes." She finally agrees with a sigh and closes the door behind herself.
Ford is on his feet and slams the chair under the door handle in under 10
seconds, his heart beats so hard he can feel his blood rush in the strangest
places. He is quick to throw himself back onto his bed, one hand absently
rubbing against the bulge in his jeans. Get it over with, get it over with
fast! He tries to concentrate on the imaginary version of the temptress Annette
Goldstein that caused this mess but it's... off. Something is missing, he can't
really relax in this room. Not like this! A frustrated noise works itself out
of his throat as he jumps back up and walks around the room a few times to find
a solution, one hand tugging on his own hair, annoyed by his inability to get
on with it while the other tries to get rid of his belt.
There is no big thought behind it when he lets himself fall onto Stan's bed
instead. Or at least that's what he tells himself when he throws his belt on
the floor.
He's never done it in their room before. He's never done it knowing somebody
was aware that he even did these kinds of things and now he is sure Stan knows
exactly what is going on in their room when he sees Ma come to the table alone.
Stan definitely knows it when Ford presses his palm against his problem and
grinds his hips up and into the pressure. Sitting it out is not an option, he's
never been so riled up in his life he's sure of that. Not even Ma's
interruption managed to kill his erection, not even that Stan looked at him
like the freak everyone knows he is. All he can do now is to be quiet and try
to be fast about it but he still can't quite concentrate on the task at hand.
Something still isn't right. Maybe it's because he's nervous, too scared of
getting caught.
But he wants to get off more than ever, enough to try and force himself to
ignore all circumstance. Yet, doing it when everyone is waiting for him at the
dinner table is kind of nerve-wracking. It's thrilling and pretty unnerving.
It's not unusual for him to have conflicting feelings about touching himself
but this takes the cake. There is a new extreme at each end and he bites the
inside of his cheek as he hastily undoes his jeans, pulls them down to his
knees, too paranoid to take his boxers down with them and yes, Ford can
concentrate on pleasure way better when he touches himself now. The lack of
layers makes relaxing into the feeling easier.
Shit, this is actually getting pretty good. The thin garment separating his
hand from his... Rule of three is all that keeps him from lying bare-assed in
his brother's bed...
"Speed it up..." he tells himself and rolls over, humps the mattress and he
feels filthy doing it but when he breathes in and it smells like Stan which is
not exactly pleasant but weirdly enough it does something for him, relaxes him.
Something crinkles under the pillow and Ford has a hunch it's a half-eaten bag
of toffee peanuts and tries to ignore it. He really can't afford any
distractions but through his heavy breathing and the frankly delicious drag of
his privates against the comforter which is not quite enough, yet so good he
asks himself why he's not in his own bed and it makes something tighten in his
chest and his hips stutter in their rhythm.
In an effort not to think about Stan when he gets off he tries to recall the
fantasy of Anette Goldstein again, that should do it, but in his hazy state of
mind, it morphs out of control. For some mysterious reason, she looks a lot
like Stan... Hair still long but now a dark brown, not skinny but curvy, her
hips wide and her thighs meaty, her shoulders are a little wider but her chest
while soft is still rather small, her nose is bigger than Annette's and so are
her eyes. His breath hitches and he grinds down especially hard on that
thought. Short thick eyelashes with warm brown surprisingly innocent eyes. Ford
more than anyone knows that while Stan is a rebel and his second name should be
Trouble he is far more naive than anyone gives him credit for. Kind of cute
when he's delighted over small joys like stupid toffee peanuts, or when he
leans his full weight against Ford because he's tired and Ford can barely keep
them upright. He'd be lost without Ford and so would be this weird Stanley-like
girl beneath him.
She seems confused when he kisses her, unsure why he's on top of her but
instinctively digs her fingers into his hair and kisses back because Stan is
prone to going with the flow. He's not really sure how to kiss her, Stan's
explanations of what constitutes for a good kiss didn't go very far yet but the
noise he lets out just imagining crashing their lips together and kissing her
hard and hungry while grinding their hips together makes him shudder. His
attention shifts to his hand and he digs his fingers into the fabric beneath
him as he imagines exploring her body. She is essentially Stan so there would
be no problem, Stan doesn't mind his freak hands, Stan probably even actually
likes them no matter how much Ford tells himself it's impossible anyone would
but for once he wants to believe it and it's like lotion on a sore in his soul.
He imagines her saying something like how his hands are so nice and big as he
closes one over a small round breast, feels a perky nipple against his palm and
her body squirm against him. What kind of noise does a girl make when you make
her feel good and horny? Ford quickly settles on the little gasp Stan made when
he breathed down his neck and contorts it in his mind into something slightly
different.
He can't help it, the mattress just isn't enough so he shifts onto his knees,
face still in Stan's pillow when he pushes a hand into his shorts and wraps six
fingers around himself, strokes hard and fast. In his head his hand wanders
down her body instead of his own, presses his fingers against the moist heat
between her legs and she whimpers, tries to close her legs shut because she's
as scared as he is because she's a virgin like he is so she doesn't know better
either and can't make fun of him when he doesn't know what to do. It takes the
pressure off and simultaneously satisfies a possessive side he's not quite
aware of. God, she's gorgeous. Not a beauty by any meaning, far from perfect,
but just how he wants her. Confident enough to want sex with him but not
experienced enough to make him feel like a loser, cute in that same weird way
that his brother is that weirdly enough nobody but him seems to be aware of,
and yes she'd be smaller than him. She'd look small beneath him because it
makes him feel like a man and suddenly she is naked and imperfect and amazing
and soft, and warm and- and- He keens into the pillow, bites it.
There it is, the thing Stanford dreamed of ever since he was 12. Hiding in a
full dark bush between thick round thighs. He's seen it in Stan's skin mags
before so now he can accurately imagine what it would look like, but he's at a
loss as to how it might feel, how it would smell... or taste. He can't help but
think it must be heavenly though, too far gone to worry about any implications
that come with the desire to penetrate his imaginary twin sister. Who cares
whether it's right or wrong, Ford is more worried about whether or not it would
hurt her if he put it in. Stan said something about how the first time hurts
for girls and Ford wonders if maybe that has something to do with size? From
the locker room, Ford knows that Pines men are rather blessed when it comes to
that.
Not enough time, he scolds himself and drives his pelvis down against the
mattress and enters her, one slow and hard drag that leaves him keening and he
squeezes himself a little harder than is comfortable but it adds another layer
to the fantasy. She's tight, so fucking tight and she clings to him and he
remembers what Stan said about Annette’s legs wrapping around him so his sister
does too, moans, kisses him eagerly, mewls because he's so big it hurts when he
moves but she's so glad he's inside her and she loves him so much she wants it
and he's gonna make her feels so good so damn good it feels so good- He's
gonna- He'll- Ah! FUCK!
A series of whimpers escapes him as he soils his boxers, eyes shut tight and
teeth clenched to keep the noise down while a mind shattering orgasm crashes
through him in waves.
He doesn't know how long he stays in that position afterward but it couldn't be
more than half a minute, breathing heavily and basking in an otherworldly
afterglow, refusing to move or open his eyes and break the illusion. Yet like
all good things it slowly starts to ebb away. The icky feeling in his boxers is
as grim a reminder of reality as the fact that he had no problem imagining
copulating with his girl brother. And that's what it was. Stan, but a girl. Not
just a girl that looked like Stan but... Somewhere in his mind the unbidden
face of his brother pops up, laying next to him, smiling, exhausted... He
almost wants to think that if Stan was a girl everything would be fine but that
would still make Stan his damn sister. He can't decide what's worse. Homo- or
heterosexual incest. It's both disgusting. So why did any of this turn him on
so badly? He squeezes his eyes back shut again, grinds his teeth as he takes a
few deep slow breaths. He refuses to put more thought into it. Not now.
Eventually Ford pulls his hand free from underneath him and lifts it to his
face, takes a good look at the sticky mess he made and wrinkles his nose. Eugh.
Right. When he's not in the shower there would obviously be evidence to deal
with. Once more he feels rather aware that this was wrong, wonders why he
didn't control himself. And now he has to worry about cleaning his mess up, has
to hurry even more, otherwise he-
Goosebumps dance over his back and neck when he realizes he's laying on his
stomach, hips flush against the mattres. Using his clean hand he pushes himself
up to sit on his heels, and just like he thought there is a wet stain on Stan's
sheets and some drool on Stan's pillow where he must have bit it. He closes his
eyes again. Frowns. Not wanting to reflect on what he did because he knows he
would panic and he has to come up with solutions fast.
Time is of the essence, he'll have to speed things up rather than waste time
pitying himself. He spontaneously helped Stan out of many unfortunate
situations, he should be capable of doing the same for himself, even if cold
fear crawls just under his skin. He has no choice, he'll just have to suck it
up for now. He knows that he'll be in trouble if he makes his family wait for
him too long but... On the other hand he rather wouldn't look them in the face
after what he just did.
End Notes
     Phew! Sorry, that was a long first chapter. I hope this was a halfway
     enjoyable read for you. I will, of course, answer every comment and
     if you found mistakes or something I'd be happy if you shared them so
     I can fix them. This was a lot of work and cost me many precious
     nerves to post, and I burn to find out what I did well or what you
     want me to do better.
     Either way, whether you want to comment or leave a Kudo or not I just
     want to say thank you for reading my fanfiction to the end! :D
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