what the fuck ever have a wip of dipper-sitting-on-drunk-ford's-lap
Ford greets him jovially, moreso than he probably normally would for Dipper dropping unannounced into his lab. "Dipper my boy, come, take a look," he calls out. He's sitting at his desk, a book open in front of him, and he pats his lap invitingly.
Dipper, to his credit, does hesitate for a moment or so before hopping up. "What are you working on, Great Uncle Ford?" If his voice trembles in a way that betrays his intentions as anything other than a regular interest in Ford's work, he doubts Ford is lucid enough to identify it for what it is.
"Now, I don't know how familiar you are with ancient Chinese star catalogues, but I had brushed the dust off some old texts and…" If Ford expected Dipper to give his full attention to what he was about to dive into, he's immediately sabotaged himself by placing his hand against Dipper's stomach. It's large enough to easily cover the whole of it, and Dipper gasps out a little breath when Ford pushes against him to fully seat him with his back against his chest.
Dipper does put an honest effort into listening to what Ford is saying, but a lot of it goes in one ear and out the other. Ford's hand is moving while he speaks, petting slowly over Dipper's belly with six firm fingers. Every time Dipper might find it in him to retain something about any concept Ford's brought up, Ford's hand moves again and he needs to redirect his attention to suppressing a shiver or a sigh.
When Ford rests his chin atop Dipper's head as he goes on, Dipper decides to give up trying to keep up with him entirely. He simply listens to the deep rumble of Ford's voice, comprehending nothing but luxuriating in the physical affection Ford gives him.
His eyes are just beginning to droop closed when he feels it.
There's no use in fumbling for plausible deniability. He knows it wasn't anything in Ford's pocket, unless he had some sort of imperceptible scientific gadget that could expand to the exact size and shape of a hard dick. Which felt exceedingly unlikely.
"Um, G…Great Uncle Ford…?" Dipper's stutters hesitantly, because how was he meant to bring up that he's sitting on his great uncle's boner? Is it even worth mentioning at all–
"Ah, apologies, Dipper. But even I can't avoid feeling affected by our position." Dipper's whole body jumps as Ford leans down to nose against his neck, breathing in deeply. "You keep squirming, and making those noises… I'm sure at your age you're aware of the effect that can have."
A few concerns fray at the edges of Dipper's mind, but they're overpowered easily by the most important point: Ford was hard because of him.
Ford, was hard, because of Dipper. Dipper had made Ford hard, just by sitting on his lap.
His brain might be short-circuiting. He feels lightheaded.
"Dipper?" Ford says, and it startles Dipper because he's still so close, Ford's lips brushing feather-light against his neck.
"Um- ah- Sorry, Great Uncle Ford!" Dipper stammers out. He doesn't really know what he's sorry for, but it felt like he should say it.
"Mm, so be more careful from now on. Now, where was I…ah, yes!"
If Dipper wasn't paying attention before, he certainly wasn't going to start now. Not now that Ford, still touching him, is growing even harder beneath him. Ford's lips are still at his neck, too, warm breath sharp with the smell of alcohol puffing against him and making him twitch where his shorts have already grown entirely too tight.
There's a voice in the back of his head that says he could leave- he should leave- and he ignores it.
He'd fully missed that he was moving or making sounds before Ford pointed them out, but even being aware of it now, he can't stop himself. Ford's hand strokes a little higher up his torso than before, which makes it press briefly over his nipple, and he can't hold back the gasp it causes.
Now Ford's hand goes even higher, pausing against his sternum in a way that leaves his thumb pressed right against his nipple. "Dipper," Ford says suddenly, the use of his name finally snapping Dipper's attention back to what he's saying. Ford's voice sounds disapproving, but there's an underlying husky tone that isn't usually present. "I did say to be careful, didn't I?"
Despite his words, Ford's thumb has started moving in circles, and Dipper absolutely can't stop the whine that causes. "I- S-Sorry, Great Uncle Ford!" Dipper says, but he's not really sure what Ford wants. If he's scolding him for making sounds, why is he trying to cause more of them?
"Just brazenly disobeying me today, hm?" Ford says, hands sliding down again, this time coming to a rest against Dipper's hips. "You just shamelessly came down here to seduce me, didn't you?"
"S-Seduce?" Dipper stammers, voice cracking. "I— Gr'Uncle Ford, I don't— aahhn-!?"
Ford's hands had tightened around Dipper's hips, using the grip to grind Dipper down against him. "I probably shouldn't be indulging you like this…" Even as he says this, his hips roll up to meet Dipper as he pulls him down.
That voice telling him that he should leave returns, briefly. But with how far things have gotten by now, he's not confident Ford would let him. That thought makes his dick jump, for reasons Dipper refuses to take any time to consider.
discoholicmusic
andulkaphoto
stormborns
theartofmadeline
kianamaiart
