>Much unfinished stuff below
I have this thing as a writer that if I start something, there is little to no chance that I’m gonna finish it - and that exactly happened to all of my stancesty fics and one shots I once had ideas for, but then I watched my motivation dissolve like sugar in acid. Or such. But, because I liked some (most) of them, here’s a small collection of texts I’ve dusted off.
SLEEPING
He had thought the quiet snoring coming from his left side would be pesky at least, but after a while, when his mind immersed into the world outlined in the book before him, Ford found it calming - he even discovered, with considerable surprise, that he adjusted his own breathing rhythm to Stan’s. His brother was long lost in his own dream, curled up by his side, subtly snoring as bellows of his lungs took one deep breath after another. Ford, sitting propped against the wall behind their bed with a novel in his hand couldn’t help but eye from time to time at the sleeping posture of his twin.
How did he end up here, on Ford’s bunk? He was already here when Ford climbed up, they had a small talk about the most irrelevant things in life and then he, Passed out. And his brother’s heart was too soft to wake him up.
That wasn’t of course the only reason.
It was a chance. An opportunity for somewhat closeness, even unintended. But he didn’t care. When he had Stan beside him, wrapped in warmth and comfort his heart flustered and he was happy. Simply happy. He smiled, returning his eyes from Stan back to black letters.
And to some point, he persistently repeated to himself, it all was healthy. But at some moment, he must’ve crossed a thin line.
It was like a thorn in his heart, but a one that he didn’t want to pull out. It wasn’t good for him - but doing so would cause bleeding, god, unbearable pain, he wanted to keep it buried deep in his heart
Because when he looked at Stan that way, he felt an urge to sneak under his arms, to wrap his own around him, pull him close, closer, heart racing, bury his face in his twin’s neck so happy h a p p y place gentle kisses on his soft skin-
Ford shook his head, trying to go back where he’d drifted from. How much awkward would it be, how much Stan would hate him for it, right? He didn’t see pearls of sweat forming on his neck and running a hot trail down on his shoulders.
Stan shifted a little, Ford’s heartbeat rose.
It was just a phase, he repeated. Maybe he wasn’t the only one? But, imagining Shermie thinking of him the way he was thinking about Stan costed him a cold shiver down his spine. That’s right, that was the way Stan would be feeling if Ford even mentioned anything about his feelings, his g r e e d
Ford alone couldn’t stop it.
He jumped a little when a sudden sound of knocking on their door came to his ears.
“Come in.” Ford invited them quietly, careful not to wake up his brother - and he was a little nervous about this sudden visit until Shermie didn’t revealed himself from behind the door.
“Why aren’t you guys sleeping yet?”
The younger brother placed a finger across his lips and nodded, pointing Stanley sleeping under him.
“Ah, sorry” Shermie stated quickly and more delicate than before “We’re leaving tomorrow at nine, so be ready at eight thirty. We don’t wanna miss our bus this time, right” He smirked before adding, “Sleep tight, you two.”
Doors soundlessly closing.
What was the nature of connection between him and his twin, Ford wondered, slowly sinking back into his thoughts. It definitely felt differently than the way he communicated with their older brother, about that one he has no doubts but-
He wanted to express it. Just for the peace of mind, put it together into those four words that should never be spoken- But at least now they wouldn’t be heard. Stan stopped snoring, but he didn’t show a sign of consciousness either - maybe a slight movement, deeper breath, but he didn’t even open his eyes.
Ford lowered the book and placed it on his knees - he felt like heat would take over his entire body, from blush on his cheeks to his cold toetips.
Just for the peace of mind, just to- try it, taste the words on his tounge like they wouldn’t be said ever again. He took a deep breath.
“I love you, Stanley.”
He listened closely for any sign of response but there was only silence.
That was it. But he didn’t feel at peace, worse, his guts tied up in a knot and the fire just under his skin engulfed his insides entirely-
Mind over feelings, he decided to ignore it, as much as he could - he’ll sleep if off - maybe on Stan’s bed - bury it deep in his thorned heart. No one needs to know.
And that was exactly what would happen if Ford’s hand wasn’t grasped gently. If he didn’t jump of scare at the sudden touch.
If Stanley, who just reached for it, eyes still closed, wasn’t s m i l i n g.
“I love you too, Sixer.”
Ford withdrew his hand almost immediately, like someone poured hot water on it without any warning. Stanley opened his eyes, blinked and still not looking at his twin, stretched his arms and propped on his elbow.
Damnit, thought Ford, he still looked so… cute with bed hair and sleepy eyes, although a bit of nervousness painted on his face.
And Ford, he was perplexed. He didn’t know how to react to this sudden answer, he didn’t know whether it was just empty words or another joke of Lee’s, or was it-
“What?” Asked Stanley like someone caught him on eating ice cream with his fingers. “Don’t look at me like I’ve just committed murder?”
“Stan I don’t-” Ford stammered, “I didn’t mean-”
“Oh”
Sudden spark left Stanley’s eyes as he let out a slight sigh, but with an unsure grin. “No, I know, it was just- heh, you’re such a sentimental guy, Sixer.”
A punch Ford felt on his shoulder was a silent assurance of his brother’s words. So his response was just a repetition of his seemingly familial confession? If yes, then, why was Stan blushing, trying to avoid Ford’s eyes like he was in a court? Why was he relentlessly fiddling with his fingers, striving to focus on them with all of his mind? Like he had just Made a mistake.
Ford’s heartbeat rose as he was trying his best to silent it.
It was awkward, and a silence stated its place between them.
Head over heart. Morality over feelings. Who was the man his treacherous heart had chosen to love, who else, than his own t w i n brother his flesh, and blood, in every meaning. It was so blatantly w r o n g he hated himself for it. Of course he wanted to have Stan, but-
And it appeared to Ford, that Stan wanted to have him as well.
.. They are standing on edges of two cliffs, facing each other, a vast abyss outstretches between them. They both have a half of one bridge that might help them get across, they can s e e the other’s half on their side but neither of them reaches out with his part.
They do want to conquer the abyss. They want to meet half way on their bridge, they want to meet and stay together, move on, loose the trace of the gulf that once separated them of their eyes… even if both of them knows it on his own.
They know that the bridge built with their parts will be steady and reliable, but
Too many forces might destroy it. Outside forces. And then they’ll fall into the darkness, helpless, doomed by the one thing that brought them together…
And so they stayed, gazing at the other’s halves with despair and longing… ..
“I’m so sorry, Stanley.” Ford stumbled, praising in his mind that he was sitting backwards to the only source of light in the room - the obvious blush painting on his face would give him out so easily. He cursed his body’s blatant betrayal. “I didn’t mean for it to sound that way, you weren’t meant-”
“I wasn’t meant to hear it?” Stan repeated, even offended, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Look, I made a, we all make mistakes, right? Listen, we have to get up early tomorrow, it’s better for you to stop thinking about it and-”
“But I don’t wanna.”
“Stan, it’s better for you to not- nothing happened, right? It was nothing.” “How can you call this a ‘nothing’?” Stan’s face was as much reddish as he didn’t know about it, a string of
NSFW
(This was written as a companion piece for this post, for @steampunch‘s request)
Stan whispered breathy iloveyous into Ford’s ear between moans, thrusting deeper into the body he held so tightly in his arms - a body that should should’ve been sacred for him.
He profaned it; it shouldn’t be his hands that grasp the soft fabric of his brother’s jacket, diving beneath worn corduroy to touch and caress bare skin that seemed to burn with a blazing heat.
His desires were so blatantly wrong.
Twelve fingers clenched his coat as Ford rose and fell at an even, slow pace, ensuring each thrust is deep and satisfying enough for both of them.
Ford’s low-moaned words of affection sank deep into Stanley’s ears. Fingers moved under his beanie and grasped thick handfuls of greying hair, pulling him closer until their lips brushed wetly together. Tightness embraced Stan’s swollen cock and sweet tension gathered at the bottom of his spine. His back involuntarily arched at the sensation, at the eerie feeling of unity between them-
Ford’s hands fluttered to Stan’s shoulders and he nestled his face into his brother’s neck, gasping heavily for air.
POST FINALE
“I didn’t know about all the… improvement.”
“Well, now you do”
Stan’s fingers smeared oily ointment across Ford’s neck, delicately where it was scarred the most - his fingertips barely touching damaged skin, he felt his brother gasp and hold breath every time the substance met fresher wounds.
It was bad. And Stan could see it, but he chose to not- Not comment it.
Ford’s skin was burned in some places, bruised, cut, shallower or deeper, it bore marks of r i p p i n g it, exposing the flesh under it. Far worse than on the wrists, the longer Stan was putting the medicine on it the more he wondered how the hell did his brother managed to make it out a l i v e.
Careful, not to cause him any more pain-
His body was porcelain, cracked and chipped in so many places yet still holding in place. Amazing. And every crack was like a tear in Stanley’s own heart, just l o o k i n g at the red strokes made his hands tremble, fingers hesitate.
He wiped sudden [wetness] of his eyes with his wrist. How could have someone done ALL THIS to his brother?! What kind of si c k,
“Stanley-?”
Soft, but somewhat unsteady sound of Ford’s voice suddenly brought him back from the depth of his anger, Stan with dismay realised the rugged skin of his fingers press against his brother’s skin too harshly-
“I’m sorry” he stammered, as he leaned forwards and placed a gentle kiss on Ford’s shoulder, as a volatie apology.
He would’ve sworn revenge... if there was anybody to address it to.
