Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13482579.
  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
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, A/B/O, Mating_Cycles/In_Heat,
      Gaslighting, Dubious_Consent, Statutory_Rape, Anal_Sex, Plot_What_Plot/
      Porn_Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-26 Words: 2362
****** This Was a Mistake ******
by MissBrandySnaps
Summary
     It's Ford's fault that Dipper skipped the suppressants. It's his
     fault Dipper goes into heat. Everything after is a consequence.
Notes
     Happy Birthday, Hollywood!
There is a thin tent between him and a sweating Dipper, no more than a child,
despite the growing facial hair and acne. A thin stretch of canvas between Ford
and a flushed, panting boy; supple and nubile and  wanting.
Dipper is too young, too young, too  young.
And Ford is so old. It's been decades since he's felt the insistent heat of
insatiable arousal. Not since the distant fumblings of brothers in the dark;
and even then, they were older. Boys staggering to adulthood with bodies that
were electric and mercurial; shifting and changing and thrilling. Ford doesn’t
often allow himself to ruminate on the memories; they have served him nothing
but frustration over the years. He knows, of course, that Stan remembers them,
too. But his brother is old now, too, his body no longer interested breeding
and being bred. Ford still catches the sad, longing looks from Stan.
Fortunately, Stan knows that Ford would never, not again. Not with him.
And yet, Ford feels a shudder like tension at the base of his skull that
skitters down his back and coils in his gut. He clenches his fists where they
rest against his knees and takes a deep breath of the warm, night air. He tilts
his head back, looking at the murky-dark canopy of the trees. He tightens and
releases his muscles; the tension disperses and he relaxes.
Dipper whimpers, a quiet and pitiful sound like a wounded animal.
It was, in retrospect, a poor idea to ask Dipper to skip his suppressants. Ford
thought he was too young to be on them at all. Omegas should at least go
through a first heat before they start any medication, he’s sure, that’s how it
was done in other, similar dimensions. Otherwise, this happens.
Ford doesn’t realize that he has been standing, hovering by the tent flap
silently until he hears Dipper weakly call his name. The boy’s voice is hoarse
from moaning, Ford knows. Ford’s terrible mind wonders if he could make Dipper
lose his voice altogether.
“My boy?” He answers, doesn’t stutter but does swallow hard and lick his lips.
They’re chapping. He gave most of his water to Dipper.
“W-want t-to go h-home,” Dipper sounds breathless and watery. No doubt he is
frustrated and possibly afraid. He is only a boy. Ford groans, tugs at his
hair, tries to shake the terrible idea away but instead he kneels and shuffles
into the tent.
Dipper is overheated and sweating; thickening the air in the tent to be as hot
and damp as each of his panting breaths. The boy is shaking violently, wrapped
in his travel blanket, instinctively trying to put something between him and
the world despite the threat being his own body and inescapable. It was a
mistake to stop the suppressants; it was a mistake to take Dipper on this
excursion; it was a mistake to enter the tent. Ford feels with sinking finality
the next series of mistakes; sees them play rapidly through his mind.
“I don’t think we can move you, Dipper.” Ford says, tries to soothe. His throat
is dry. Dipper whimpers again. The noise sparks something paternal and
protective in Ford that crashes against the primal desire, the feelings at odds
and so counter to each other that he feels ill at the dyssynchrony.
“Please?” Dipper’s face is wet with sweat, his eyes are red and shiny when he
squints at Ford, entire expression desperate and begging. Ford feels that he
might go mad from the confusion of his instincts.
“It’s not safe, Dipper.” Ford shuffles closer against his better judgment. He
reaches out, hand shaking and mind screaming. He places it on Dipper’s fevered
brow, cards his six fingers through the sweat-matted hair, revealing the
constellation birthmark that stands out darkly as Dipper’s body pushes blood to
the surface of his skin in a blush that attempts to cool him. Dipper cries at
the contact and Ford flinches away.
“N-no! That--please.” Dipper shakes his head, breath hitching. “Felt better.”
He admits. Ford grits his teeth and curses the universe for its cruelty, to him
and his great nephew.
“I know,” he says instead of any of the things he should while reaching back
into Dipper’s hair, petting it, other hand coming to settle on the boy’s cheek.
He cries again, mewling noises that shouldn’t be arousing, should be
distressing. But, Ford is distressed. He is distressed by Dipper’s state and he
is distressed by the solution.
Because they can’t wait. They can’t wait for this heat to run its course. They
do not have the supplies and a crying, weakened child is too tempting for some
of the creatures in Gravity Falls. Ford can keep most of them at bay with just
his presence but he needs to sleep and eventually he would make a mistake. The
other option, not waiting but acting, is still not ideal but.
He hopes that Dipper will forgive him.
“Dipper, do you know what’s happening?” Ford asks gently, still petting his
great nephew’s head. Dipper swallows and squeezes his eyes shut, nodding. Ford
sighs. “And do you know why?”
“I’m n-not a kid,” Dipper manages to seem offended, even as he alternates
between melting under Ford’s hands and tensing.
“Clearly,” Ford growls, doesn’t mean too, but he does and Dipper shudders, eyes
blown wide: surprised, needing, afraid. Ford shivers in response, knows his own
eyes look the same. “I won’t hurt you.” He says, the hand on Dipper’s face
slides down to a lump of a shoulder.
“I don’t--” Dipper chokes on a moan, long and high.
“I know,” Ford slides his other hand the seek out the edge of the blanket. When
he finds it and slides his hand beneath it Dipper cries out again, head
shaking.
“No.” He groans, tears starting to gather on his lashes.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want this either,” Ford lies soothingly and he can almost
hear manic laughter echoing in his head, sickening and yellow. He shoves it
away. Dipper shakes harder as Ford peels him out of the blanket. The boy was
mostly undressed save his boxers and socks, the former clearly tented and dark
with sweat and the lubricating secretions. Dipper’s small, soft sobs as he
stares miserably at the tent ceiling are heart wrenching. “...it might help to
close your eyes.” Dipper gulps a few deep breaths, clenches his jaw and eyes
shut. Ford’s hands are shaking when he goes for Dipper’s boxers. He fumbles the
elastic the first time and moans with Dipper when he sees the way the boy’s
stomach trembles. He feels like a teenager in all the worst ways when he
finally pulls the shorts down and off. He doesn’t know where he wants to touch
first; doesn’t know what to do.
He decides to start by spreading Dipper’s legs, gentle pressure on either knee.
Dipper fights him on principle, not seriously. Not denying. Only shy despite
the need clearly written on every inch of his body. Dipper’s hands are fisted
in the blanket fabric, face screwed up in anxiety. And Dipper has always been
anxious, hasn’t he?
“Sh,” Ford leans down and kisses the inside of one knee. Dipper’s whole body
flinches and he keens. “Sh,” Ford brushes a palm down Dipper’s inner thigh,
groaning with his entire body when he meets slickness. Ford looks up at Dipper
and the boy looks terrified. The guilt is almost enough to make him stop. “I’m
sorry,” he says again. “I’ll be quick.” He hesitates, though, when his palms
come to rest at the crease of either thigh, a thumb brushing out at the sparse
hair. Dipper whimpers again and the guilt--Ford worries he won’t be able to
maintain an erection. He’s only half hard now, too torn to let go.
“Please.” Dipper sobs. To go or to stop, Ford isn’t sure. He’s not sure Dipper
knows, either. That’s why Ford is going to make the choice as he forcibly
pushes the guilt away, turns it off the same way he would for a dissection.
That thought isn’t pleasant.
Dipper is tense, too tense. Ford doesn’t know how to soothe him, doesn’t think
there is a way he can.
“I need you relax.” Ford says gently. It has the opposite effect, Dipper
shudders and somehow winds tighter. Ford huffs.
“Sorry,” Dipper says. Ford shakes his head.
“I understand,” he rubs a testing thumb over Dipper’s wet, pink hole. The boy’s
body flinches and he keens again. Ford rubs his palm once more through the
slick, getting his hand wet. “I’m going to touch you, okay?” Ford warns and
carefully wraps his large hand around Dipper’s small erection. He easily covers
it.
“Ah!” Dipper moans, voice cracking high, head thrashed to the side. “ Oh. ”
Ford brushes his thumb over the small head, smearing the pre-ejaculate around
as he starts to slightly move his fist up and down. It helps as Dipper gets
distracted, moaning and panting. As Ford thumbs at the head again he pushes,
gentle but firm. Dipper cries out against it, body resisting until it doesn’t
and Ford’s thumbs pushes past the tight ring of muscle.
“ Oh ,” Ford groans from his gut, regrets not having a hand to palm his own
dick as his hips twitch at nothing. Ford pushes further, testing and adoring
the tight, soft, wet heat. He starts to thrust his thumb shallowly, still
slowly and gently jacking his great nephew. Dipper writhes against the new
sensation of being breached. “You’re doing so well,” Ford whispers roughly,
pushing a little deeper, twisting his wrist.
“Ah! Ah,  aaah ...” Dipper’s voice catches on a sob.
“Sh,” Ford leans down. “Sh.” He pulls his thumb out and replaces it with his
index finger instead. Dipper’s body arches as the new intrusion goes deeper and
presses .
“Ford!” Dipper shrieks, eyes snapping open to stare at Ford.
Dipper is a sight, no doubt he is as well, but Dipper’s earlier terror has
muted and been smothered with open mouthed panting and wonder. Ford smiles,
keeps eye contact as he places a chaste kiss to the head of Dipper’s penis.
Dipper squeaks.
“Do you want me to do that again?” Ford asks, lets his breath ghost over
Dipper’s cock. Dipper gulps and bites his lip as he nods. “Good boy,” Ford
praises and repeats the motion, the thrusting and rubbing until Dipper’s chest
is heaving, hips twitching. His own hips are starting to rock against reason,
so he decides to move forward, pushing his middle finger against the hole, rubs
along the skin that stretches around his first finger. Dipper tenses,
predictably, and Ford shushes him and pushes until he has Dipper stretching
around two fingers. The boy almost screams and Ford worries he’s hurt Dipper,
moved too fast. Still, he pushes and curls. The hand on Dipper’s dick has to
grab the boy’s hips instead as they start to writhe.
“Ford! F-ford, I--I--!” Dipper’s moaning gibberish, hands finally leaving where
they’ve been fisted in the blanket. They scramble and flail before smacking
against Dipper’s mouth, muffling what is definitely a scream.
“Hush,” Ford murmurs, still shallowly thrusting. Without Ford holding it,
Dipper’s dick twitches in the air and leaks. Ford leans in to lick it again.
Eventually Dipper gets loose and Ford is too frustrated to continue and Dipper
is deep in heat, between incoherent and babbling. Dipper whines like an animal
when Ford withdraws his cramped fingers and rushes to get his pants off and his
dick free. When he does, he takes Dipper by the ankles and pulls. Dipper yelps,
hands scrabbling for purchase. He’s looking at Ford, bewildered and gone on
arousal until Ford pulls his ass flush to Ford’s aching, leaking member.
Clarity and fear flicker across Dipper’s face, body tensing a moment before
another wave of want makes him pliant.
“Hold on to me,” Ford instructs his great nephew and pressing the ankles of
either leg to Ford’s side, feeling the small feet dig into his sweater. Dipper
moans and nods, eager now.
When he finally gets inside Dipper he has to grit his teeth against the urge to
fuck hard and rough with Dipper’s hips twitching and endless noises.
“Oh, ah, ah. F-fo--- nngh ! Oooh!” And Ford suddenly finds he really does want
to wring more of those noises from his great nephew as he slowly pushes until
there is too much resistance. Then he pulls out and starts to shallowly, gently
fuck into Dipper, who only grows louder.
Ford is old and Dipper is young so neither of them could have lasted long--
though Dipper can’t find release until Ford does. The thought comes with a
start as Ford glances down at the space where his dick is charging into Dipper
and he suddenly wonders if his knot will fit. If it doesn’t then this has been
a painfully traumatic failure.
But Dipper’s body seems to understand, hips canting in a way that tells Ford to
adjust his grip, shift Dipper around enough to let Ford really go deep.
“Fuck.” He groans, already so close but with the new depth and tightness he can
feel his dick start to respond, thickening at the base as his balls draw close.
He hears Dipper gasp and then go quiet, the tent filled with the wet sounds of
fucking and Ford’s grunts. He looks up, concerned but unceasing. Dipper’s
throat is working, mouth opening and closing, eyes shut tight as his head
thrashes. It is as if Ford has fucked Dipper to silence. “Fuck,” Ford whispers
as he thrusts shallowly, knot expanding until he couldn’t pull out if he wanted
to. Dipper makes a long, high whine, body spasming and that’s what Ford needs
to come with a grunt, hips twitching. Dipper’s temporary silence is broken with
a shout as Dipper comes on both of them. Ford reaches out and cups his face,
Dipper’s hand flying up to grab his wrist.
The tent is eerily silent as they wait for Ford to pull out.
 
Ford isn’t sure what to put into the memory gun; he doesn’t want to do anymore
damage. Finally he inputs: virginity.
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