Just making sure everyone knows Ford in the speedo isn't canon its from a fanfic Soos wrote and every depiction of Ford in a speedo is Soos' fanfiction. Even the stancest. It's all Soos
YAYAYAYAY MORE FORD HERO DELUSIONS CW stancest CW tfpreg CW eggpreg CW unreliable narrator CW 1982 Stans (derogatory) CW slight trans-inclusive period typical misogyny CW probably ooc but who gives a fuck
Of course, when Ford finally had unicorn hair in his reach, it was because he was tied with it. The tensile strength of unicorn hair was - apparently - supernatural, and the gnomes must have a few pure of heart souls to have gotten so much. They wouldn't have missed the amount Ford was trying to take, and if that squirrel didn't alarm them, they wouldn't have noticed at all. But now, he was trapped, being carried deeper and deeper into the woods by dozens of tiny hands on his back while he tried again to pull his arms away from his sides. The unicorn hair was actually beginning to cut into the gabardine of his trench coat, which not even a griffin could do. He would note it down if he had his journal.
He turned his head to eye the gnomes holding him up. "Where are you even taking me?! I've spoken with schmebulock senior, I believe I have a right to a lawyer." He snipped.
The gnome doing most of the carrying of his right shoulder smirked. "That was before, when we only had a council. Now we have a queen, and she will judge you."
"You're a matriarchy now?" He asked, forgetting his situation for a moment. "Has your queen only recently come of age then? My informant said you were a democracy."
"We don't raise a queen." The gnome looked disgusted. "We find her. She rules until her death and then we become democratic until we find a new one."
Ford scrunched his nose. "Why would you willingly throw out a democracy?"
The gnome gave him an odd look. "For love..?" He said like it was obvious. Ford didn't quite understand that, but when he opened his mouth to ask, another gnome nudged the one he was speaking to.
"Horace, stop sharing with the human, the Queen hates a blabbermouth." The other gnome hissed.
"Blabbermouth? You mean your matriarch doesn't allow free speech?" He huffed. "Some government. I thought gnomes were more developed than this."
All the gnomes in unison snapped to look at him like he'd spit on their mother. "Don't insult our wife." The other gnome spat.
"... 'Our'?"
Then he was thrown out of their tiny hands and onto the ground. Luckily that wasn't a very far fall and he wasn't winded.
"Our Queen! We found this interloper trying to steal our unicorn hair! And then he kicked Larry!"
Ford shuffle-squirmed until he could see some sort of throne. It seemed to me made out of a large tree warped and braided possibly hundreds of years ago, cultivated for something much larger than a gnome. Two thick legs were crossed one over the other, thin white fabric draped over them. Ford couldn't see their face or torso behind a veil of dichondra, but they were large, confident in their seat. Was that what female gnomes looked like?
"We want to give him the death penalty, my lady!"
Thick fingers poked between the thin vines, and parted them gently. "Francis, you always want the death penalty." The queen of gnomes spoke, her voice low and gravelly with... A jersey accent? It took Ford a second to recognize that round nose, that square jaw, those broad shoulders.
"Stanley?!" Ford gaped. All the gnomes hissed.
Stanley looked down at him, sitting prim in this living artifact of gnome history, long white dress dripping off his shoulders and over a beer gut more impressive than their grandfather's. His eyes were wide. "Stanford..? What the hell are you doin' out here?"
Ford squirmed in his bindings. "I should be asking you that, Stanley! Did Ma tell you I moved here?! Are you trying to ruin my research grant too?!" He hollared from the dirt. The gnomes started grabbing him again, hissing and spitting senselessly.
Then Stanley stood, and the gnomes parted for him like the sea. Ford glared up at him and Stan glared right back. "You got a lot of nerve coming here, stealing from me and mine, and saying I'm the one not welcome."
Ford struggled harder against the unicorn hair. "You kidnapped me, Stanley!"
Stan sighed. "That's not my name anymore." He said firmly. "It's Constance."
Suddenly, a few facts snapped into place. A feminine new name, long hair, feminine clothing, complete loss of the Pines' man chicken legs but the backs of her hands had divots between the bones from muscle atrophy. "Oh." He said astutely. Then; "You kept Stan in your name..?" She used to go by Stan, Ford always hated it for himself but Stan would just smile and say she liked being part of a pair. Did she still? After all these years?
Stan smiled gently. "Yeah." She said simply.
"Did you become a transsexual when you were instated as queen of the gnomes?"
Her face soured. "Eight years and that's what you ask - no, Ford." She said shortly, putting a hand on her gut before turning her back to him. "Punishment is excommunication with gnome scholars for a week, and a price hike on buying unicorn hair, now where's Larry?" She said definitively, and all the gnomes started moving around her. One particularly bitey gnome from earlier scuttling up to her so she could pick him up and hold him to her breast. The gnome looked very smug about this.
Then he was picked up again, and he started squirming harder. "Constance! Wait! I have questions!"
She sat back in her veiled throne and Ford was carried away. "Stan! Wait, Stan!" But she didn't move.
He tried to note the way he came but he didn't know the forest this low to the ground and the fifty tiny hands on him were distracting. He looked back - the chatty gnome was holding up his shoulder again. "Horace! How on earth did my sister become a gnome queen? How long has she been here? Did she know I was here?"
Horace squinted at him. "Sister?"
"Yes, that's the more accurate term I presume."
"But you're so..." He trailed off.
"Ugly!" One of the others piped up.
"Smelly!" Another added.
"Kicky!"
"Scrawny!"
Ford huffed. "Well she is. We're identical - we were born as such anyhow."
Horace looked skeptical. "If you say so, scientist."
"You didn't answer my question."
Horace gave him an annoyed look. "She became our queen the same way anyone does. By marrying us and carrying our--" Another gnome elbowed him.
"She doesn't want us talking to you." The other gnome snipped, giving Horace stink-eye.
But Ford's mind caught on the verb. Carrying. Carrying. But Stan wasn't holding anything, what of theirs could she possibly be carrying?
They carried him all the way to his house, and put down on his rug. He stayed very, very still while tiny hands undid the knots of unicorn hair, noting every bind until he was freed.
Then he scrambled to his feet and sprinted back out the door. He needed answers. He retraced the steps of the gnomes, not hearing them following him but keeping up his pace anyway. It wasn't until he realized he had been running longer than the gnomes had been carrying him that he slowed, retraced his steps, found trees he recognized that only lead to trees he didn't. He found his own boot prints, the journal he had dropped, but not a single gnome. He sketched out a rough map that was somehow always wrong, found his own boot prints again, managed to circle back to his house and by the time the air started cooling he was no closer to finding that clearing he was brought to. He retraced his steps again and just by the last familiar tree he looked on and saw nothing, no break in the trees, no stray anomalies, nothing.
"Stan!" He called into the shades of orange the sky had become through the tree tops. "Stan! Where are you?!" He yelled but his words were carried off in the breeze and no response came.
He sighed, leaning and then sitting against a tree with a root he'd seen one of his gnome captors trip over. He should log the events, it wasn't every day one was captured by gnomes. But when he got out his journal and a pen, he started sketching Constance, instead.
He hadn't seen her in nearly a decade. She still had those broad, muscled shoulders, but she didn't slouch so much anymore. She seemed comfortable where she was, so easily confident the way she always had been, the way Ford always envied. Maybe she genuinely didn't know who Ford was, maybe she was drawn by the weirdness magnetism just like he was.
He drew her long, curly hair that was the same texture as their Ma's but just a bit lighter. That smile she'd given him, for just a moment. Her dress, that only emphasized her shoulders and biceps and made him wonder if she still boxed like she used to. Then her stomach, the one that protruded farther than usual, the one she had held strangely, almost protectively.
Carrying.
But that was just ridiculous. Sure, he didn't know the intricacies of gnome reproduction, and facts were relative in Gravity Falls, but his twin wouldn't just let anyone use her for a broodmare, she was a free spirit, always had been, nothing could tie her down that way, certainly not gnomes.
Even if it might have. Even if she still wanted to be a parent just like she had gushed about when they were teenagers watching Shermie and she wouldn't put him down for even a second. She wouldn't need gnomes for something like that.
He drew her protruded stomach anyway, the way her hands went over it, the way she held herself.
His sister. He wondered if Ma knew. She'd wanted Shermie to be a girl so badly, maybe she would be happy to finally have her daughter.
He wondered how his twin had changed. If maybe she was more mature, after their time apart. He sketched her out again, her sharp eyes down to her soft legs. He barely noticed how his pen loosened in his grasp and his blinks got longer until he leaned his head back against tree bark and didn't look back down at his pages again.
----
When he woke up, the air was warm, and light shone through his eyelids. Five fingers were gently combing through his hair but he couldn't feel any alarm through the warm fog his mind was steeped in. He blinked his eyes open.
"Stan?" He yawned.
The fingers stopped, and Ford frowned. "Yeah, Knucklehead. You passed out in the middle of the woods. Could have been chow for the hide-behinds doing that."
"Hide-behinds are carnivorous?" Ford slurred, before clearing his throat. "More importantly - where were you? What are you doing here? Why do you sell unicorn hair?"
Stan snorted. "Still always up for an interrogation, huh? Anybody tell you you'd make a shitty detective?"
Ford huffed, sitting up from what was apparently Stan's legs - which were softer than he remembered. Perhaps a consequence of estrogen. "I would never work for an institution that wasn't my own."
Stan cackled. "Damn straight. Is that why you got that creepy ass cabin? Avoiding the Geneva convention up there?"
Ford smiled. "I'm not at liberty to say."
"Ha! And all our teachers thought you was an angel."
"Compared to you I was a Saint."
"Says the guy that built a bomb to get out of summer school gym." Stan bumped his shoulder.
"Sayeth I. At least I never used my babysitting job to make an information black market." He bumped Stan right back, but Stan went down cackling.
Ford took in his surroundings. He seemed to be on a giant bed of blankets and furs and clothing, a very obvious divot where one had slept consistently. The bed only ended at the trees surrounding it, and each tree had hanging plants veiling the space between like a canopy.
He looked back at Stan, who was still smiling and struggling to sit up. Like this, her stomach seemed even more prominent.
"What are you carrying...?" Ford muttered, and Stan froze like a startled deer.
"Heh - whaddaya mean, poindexter?"
Ford reached out. Stan's stomach was solid in a way that really made no sense. Warm, feverishly warm under the thin cloth, little touches of static barely registering to his fingertips.
Stan's breath hitched. "S' just part of the deal, you know. They take care of me and all I gotta do is--" Something, something shifted under his hand - two somethings in two different directions.
Ford's fingers knotted into her unnaturally white dress. "They take care of you?" He said faintly. "That's all it takes?"
Stan shifted away a little, her own hands coming up to her stomach protectively. "It's more complicated than that - and it's not like it was my first idea, it just kinda happened."
"Just happened. You just let yourself get impregnated? By gnomes? Were the gremloblins busy? Did the gnomes just get to you first? Or is there a line?"
Stan smacked his hands off of him. "You don't know the kinda shit I went through, Stanford! I've done a lot worse for a lot less, you don't get it living it up in a big fancy house where you can just chase gnomes all day instead of chasing your next meal! You think I'm a whore? I fucking am! At least a whore gets fed!" Stan had shuffled away on her massive bed, hands still over her stomach like Ford would hurt her. She still had that fire in her eyes, in her tone, but she was defensive.
Ford couldn't take his eyes off her. "I could have taken care of you."
"Fuck off Stanford, don't think I forgot your first reaction to seeing me in almost a decade!" Her voice was raised, but she glanced to the side, and something made her quiet. "You're awake, it's morning, you can piss off now." She muttered.
"I was reactive from being kidnapped, Constance, it's unreasonable to blame me when you facilitated my kidnapping on top of knowing I lived here and never saying anything!"
"You were arrested for stealing, and the only gnome that knows your name is Schmebulock, so pardon me for not catching it, scientist." At the last word she made the same gesture he'd seen Schmebulock make when visiting - he thought it was just a gnomish hand-wave.
Ford blinked. "You're really living amongst them? What happened to your sales job?"
"They all fell through. At least this gig guarantees me another month out of my car." He ran his hand over his naval. "Maybe less." He muttered.
"You're coming back with me." Ford blurted.
Stan got defensive again. "Fat chance."
"This is a very unusual condition to be in, and I specialize in the unusual, so--"
"Nope - not talking about this. Not happening. You're lucky I told the guys to keep away because if they heard you talking like that they'd eat you." She said matter-of-factly.
"Gnomes are carnivorous?"
Stan paused, squinting at him. "If I give you something to geek out over will you give up on making me your lab rat until I've at least had breakfast?"
On one hand, Ford resented that notion, he just wanted to monitor her condition, and he had a right to ask questions. On the other hand, Stan never disappointed when it came to giving him new discoveries.
"... What kind of something."
"Something you gotta be really, really, really careful with." She responded, crawling to the centre of the bed, and that divot in the blankets. Her stomach distended nearly as far as her knees, touching the bed when she crawled. He wondered if he should help hold it up for her.
But then she reached the middle and started digging into the blankets. When she was elbow deep she gave him a very stern look. "No questions if I let you hold this, and if you drop it I'll kill you." She said, and Ford nodded dumbly.
She pulled out a large, oblong pink shape about the size of a cantaloupe. "You wanna know what I'm carrying, it's more of these." She said, and before Ford could say the first syllable of his many, many questions, she shot him a glare. His teeth clacked shut audibly. "Hold out your hands."
Ford held them out, and Stanley carefully put the egg in them. It was just as warm as her stomach, and put slightly stronger sparks into his fingertips. That would explain why his hands were shaking. "Stan, I--"
"Nope, no questions. I'm fucking starving, I'm getting breakfast, if you got questions ask Ford Jr." She grunted, crawling off the massive bed and leaving Ford in a daze.
He stared down at the soft pink calcium carbonate shell his sister had given him to watch. It felt alive in his hands the way the all the wilderness of Gravity Falls did, sparking things in his hind brain without any real direction. He looked at the life Stan had made (and given to him, trusted him with) and those aimless neurons seemed to all snap into place.
This was Stan's child. His nibling. His family. His legs curled, putting the egg in his lap and curling around it until it dug into his abdomen, safe. The ambient electricity of it buzzed with content and Ford hummed right back to it.
Stan was probably joking about naming it after him, but just the thought had his vision blurring. Stan had made the most miraculous little thing, and if she named it after him? His heart was in his throat.
He stared at that pink egg and hoped it hatched looking like its mother.
Then something solid wacked him on the head. He curled even tighter around his egg, but when he turned it was only Constance.
"Shit, I thought the hypnosis was a me thing. Not everything's a threat, Ford Jr. is a little ugly, also a gnome, and what always knocks me out of it is imagining the birth so I guess try that."
Ford blinked - it burned, had he been forgetting to blink? But he turned to properly face Stan, relaxing his hold on the egg. Stan looked beautiful, aetherial, heavy with life and glowing with it and--
Stan thunked him again on the head with what he now knew was a wooden bowl full of nuts and berries. "Imagine. That thing. Coming out of you."
Ford looked down at the egg again. It was larger than both his fists put together.
"See? Not as cute now, huh."
He didn't imagine himself, he imagined Stan, alone and in pain without him there, having to do everything herself, a normal human birth could be fatal, he didn't know the statistics of someone with an incorrectly shaped pelvis. He looked back at her, struggling to carry herself, heavy with more of these little wonders that she would have had to give life to alone if Ford hadn't found her.
"Do you need the bowl again?"
Ford shook his head. "If I were hypnotized I would know, Constance." He said simply. His sister rolled her eyes. "And beyond that, 8 really think you should--"
"I got you breakfast." Stan cut in, balancing the wooden bowl on his bent knees. "Gimme Egg Ford."
Ford handed over the egg like a dead man handed over his heart to Anubis, and Stan picked it up one-handed, tucking it into her elbow and against her breast like a mother would. "Did you really name it after me?" Ford asked, taking the bowl to pick at.
"Maybe. Maybe I just named him after the car."
Ford snorted. "And not after your old beater?"
"Hey. Put some respect on the Connie-mobile's name. I even got her a new license plate for it."
"Oh - not Stan?"
"You call me Stan, you get it, anyone else does I got some brass for em'." She grumbled, sitting herself down properly.
Ford smiled at her. She averted her eyes and grabbed a handful of Ford's breakfast. "I still think you should come home with me." He said with more surety behind it.
Stan sighed and put a hand on her stomach. "Not your lab?"
"Well, my lab is most of my home, but I do have a living area. Technically." He could still see her doubt, defensive of her young. "I can take take care of you - I will, I want to. I can do thousands of times better than those damn gnomes, I swear."
Stan sighed like she was carrying the world - and she might be - and looked down at his namesake. "Maybe. A little help with the next two would be good, at least. Gnomes have shitty bedside manner." Ford nodded. "... So after this, you'll let me sleep on your couch or something? You know I can't pay rent, and it'll take a few days after these two are born to work and--"
"You'll sleep in my bed."
Stan's eyebrows shot right up. "Oh. Like..." Her head lowered, looking for any eavesdroppers. "Like highschool kind of sleep or middle school kind of sleep?"
"Whichever you'd like." Ford said. "But, ah, I did appreciate our highschool sleeping arrangements."
Stan's cheeks were pink and she had a smile on her face. "Damn, Sixer, way to romance em'." She mocked, averting her eyes again.
Ford cupped her face. "I could always take you out - I suppose it's my responsibility as the man."
Stan snorted. "Yeah, such a gentleman." She commented, but pushed her face into his six-fingered hand.
"I'm serious. I want to get to know my sister." He said very seriously.
Her face got redder. "Whatever you say, Casanova. Now finish your breakfast, the gnomes worked hard to get all those."
Ford put his bowl to the side. "Breakfast can wait." He said sternly, cupping her other cheek and kissing her.
She sighed like she was home, leaning into him. Ford held her easily.
Trying to get my ass out of artblock with some lazy doodles inspired by both my friends @mirrorworldangel with their amazing prompts and @andromachearts with their tags because "the extra fingers just mean more of him to love" and holy shit man
Also yeah it's 2Fords bc someone said "brotherwife" and you know what hell yeah
Also a bit of suggestive writing under the cut, nothing serious but just in case
i just think it's so Stan-coded to think of childhood innocence and prioritize just one person to start over with. to treat love as a nuisance, a spiralling riddle and thus kept distant.
if Ford could just see it from his perspective, if he was truly there with Stan during those decades dedicated to getting him back, he would be able to Get It. get it and understand why that boat meant the entire universe to his soulmate, his true other half.
They were forced to dress up nicely for the special occasion. Stanford didn't really notice the difference, but Stacy fucking HATES long skirts. She can tolerate medium and short skirts, wearing them, she doesn't keep tripping and falling, at least.
Stancest Age Gap (Kid Stan/Older Ford) Soul Eater inspired AU Vore ficlet
“You overexerted yourself again.”
Ford holds the faint blue ball by its slug like tail. His expression is unimpressed behind his glasses.
“I didn’t mean to!” A childish voice cries out, oddly layered and echoey. “It’s just - It’s been so long I forgot!”
Ford doesn’t sigh but a quiet exhale slips past his lips. He gives the soul pinched between his fingers a punishing bounce.
“What if that happened while we were fighting? You’re okay with leaving me completely defenseless? You’re okay with letting me die, Stanley?”
The childish voice remains silent, guilty and pouting. Ford knows the boy wants to argue, at least on his comment about being defenseless, but is holding his tongue as to not be misinterpreted.
He’s learning at least.
Ford lifts the glowing sphere above his head. It’s fascinating how the boy’s soul shines just like the sun. “I depend on you. I’m trusting you, Stanley. You understand how important that is, don’t you?”
“O-of course I do!” Stan sputters. His soul wiggles unhappily against Ford’s fingertips. The next part the boy grumbles out, obviously affected by the older man’s words and turned embarrassed and shy, “I trust you too, Sixer. It’s just…I get so excited when we’re movin’ in sync like that. It’s like - like a roller coaster!”
The squeaky exclamation brings a flood of memories to the forefront of Ford’s mind. His Lee had clutched tight to his hand and dragged him all over the boardwalk, ecstatic to ride all the rides. Ford had followed behind, his fingers limp in his brother’s hold. Lee’s big bright smile fades into the pale opaqueness of Stanley’s soul dangling in front of him.
“Thrills aside, you need to focus. This is why I haven’t taken you into the field.”
“ ‘m sorry…” The morose response comes from the boy. The squirming dies down and he hangs despondently in the older man’s grasp. “I’ll do better, I promise.”
Ford believes him. Stanley has taken exceptionally well to staying in his weapon form longer and longer. Ford should do something to reward him for that. Positive reinforcement makes the boy work like a well-oiled machine. Completely devoted to Ford’s steady six fingered hands.
“Good. That’s all I ask of you, Stanley.”
Ford brings the soul down to his lips and gives the glowing orb a tentative kiss. It makes his mouth tingle and buzz. Souls aren’t meant to have such exposure to the world.
“Hng!” The soul against Ford’s face jolts almost violently. It spreads the tingle up the older man’s cheek. “Wha-What’re you doin’?”
“Although you dropped your focus, you’ve been doing well holding your form as commanded. I think that deserves a reward, yes?”
Ford doesn’t expect an answer. The boy folds under any kind of offered affection, this will be no different. However…looking at the soul resting between his fingertips lights a morbid curiosity Ford wants to chase.
He continues his ministrations, giving the warm ball fluttering kisses and relishing in each twitch and muted thrash. The tail end of Stanley’s soul, where Ford is keeping it pinched, curls around his thumb. Anchoring itself and cutting a soft sting of heat across the scarred knuckle.
“Stanley,” Ford says huskily against the shimmering warmth, momentarily touched at the sign of trust. He parts his lips and tentatively brushes his tongue against the boy’s soul.
Stanley cries out, high-pitched and surprised. His soul pulses against Ford’s face. “Ah, ah. Ford, that feels weird!”
“Souls are sensitive things. They aren’t meant to be so…exposed.”
Ford blows a puff of air across the surface of the orb on the last word. Stanley squirms, soul rippling with the created breeze.
“Don’t you feel how dangerous this is? How easily something could crush you?” Ford brings his other hand up to cup the boy with his palm. “You needn’t worry, Stanley. Just as you protect me, I will protect you.”
Stanley keens, obviously trying to stifle it. Ford smiles and closes his eyes to lean fully into his charge’s embrace. “I’ll take care of you. Take as much time as you need to regain your strength.”
The soul shivers in his hands before relaxing. Warmth coats Ford’s palm like a lover’s caress. He hums, pleased Stanley is listening and coinciding so quickly.
Usually, it’s a battle to get the boy to calm, to pause and take care of himself, to accept the fact that he needs to do self-care at all.
Ford gives the glowing orb another lick. His tongue practically vibrates with how much it tingles. Soft static floods across his lips. Stanley’s soul tastes sun bleached and sweet.
“Stanf-ford,” The boy whines. His soul pulsates again, reaching out for connection. Ford rotates his soul slowly, making sure to coat as much of it in his saliva as he can. “Mmh-! Ha, I don’t - I don’t -“
“Shh. I know, baby boy. I know. Give me a moment. I’ll keep you safe.”
Ford flattens his tongue and tips his head back. Stanley bumps against his nose and shivers when Ford removes one of his hands to let him dangle over Ford’s open mouth.
He carefully lowers the boy’s soul into his waiting jaws, avoiding scrapping the ball against his teeth, hungry to deliver the solace he’s promised his charge.
Stanley makes a series of sounds, choked off gasps, squeaky cries, and shaky moans as he descends and finally realizes Ford’s intentions.
There is no frantic struggle. No instinctual urge to survive. Just complete and utter trust that Ford isn’t going to hurt him.
He almost swallows, mouth flooding with saliva. His boy is so good. So obedient. Everything he wanted his own Stan to be.
Ford closes his lips, sealing Stanley inside his mouth. His cheeks bulge trying to hold the orb without splitting his lips. The boy’s soul shivers and wiggles. It’s warm sides bump against the inside of Ford’s cheeks and his own moan punches out of him at the gentle burning sensation.
Stanley goes stock-still. Ford breathes heavily though his nose. He slowly drags his tongue back and forth, rubbing the underside of Stanley's soul and having static buzz pleasantly down his throat.
Everything is covered in a film of tickling burning softness. The roof of Ford’s mouth catches most of the heat. It quickly becomes itchy and overwhelming, crossing wires in the older man’s mind. The subtle pain lights up long dormant parts of his anatomy.
His spit only serves to make his mouth even more full as it melts and puddles off Stanley. The boy pulses and sends a slight jolt through Ford’s teeth. Instinctively the older man bites down.
Stanley yelps and something tacky and thick sprays off of him. It gets quickly lapped up by Ford’s tongue. He’s not sure if it’s soul blood or some kind of ejaculate. Either way it tastes divine. Almost minty. Warm and loving. Dependent.
Ford sits down and just enjoys the weight of his charge resting in his mouth. Stanley is safe there, the safest he could ever be.
They stay like that a long time. Stanley eventually relaxes, soul deflating just slightly and slumping down on Ford’s tongue. He curves the wet appendage to better cradle the boy, marinating in the silent show of trust. After several long moments of holding him like that does Ford realize the ever-present warmth as tampered down.
Stanley fell asleep. Stanley is asleep in his mouth.
Ford digs his fingers into his thigh harshly to stop himself from making any noise. It would surely wake the boy and ruin this quiet moment. He wants to keep Stanley in his mouth as long as he can. But the front of his pants is growing unbearably tight for the first time in ages.
Surely his charge wouldn’t mind Ford taking care of himself as well. Self-care is important. He must lead by example. Even if Stanley isn’t conscious for it. Positive reinforcement.
He unzips his pants and draws his erection out of the slit in his boxers. He’s wet enough the first few pulls hardly hurt at all.
It doesn’t take much. The heady pressure of Stanley against his cheeks and tongue is enough to spur his hand into faster and faster drags. The extinguishing heat bubbles the roof of his mouth and feels like it’s wafting up to his brain, obscuring memories of his own twin with glimmering blue smoke, leaving an empty face with a huge haunting grin.
Ford’s throat spasms as he comes, desperate to swallow against the intrusion. Spit drips from the corner of his lips. Come paints his six fingered hand sticky and white.
Since his tongue is otherwise occupied, Ford is forced to wipe himself off. Once cleaned up he settles against a tree trunk and waits patiently for his charge to wake, renewed and full of vigor.
They still have a long way to go before Stanley is ready. Ford recommits himself for the foreseeable future. What a delight it will be to watch his boy grow into the perfect weapon, molded solely by his capable hands.
It won’t be so bad. Especially if there’re more moments like this in store for them.
Do you think Ford slept in stans bunker after he got kicked out? Did he just bury his face in his brother’s pillow, the scent of him fading day by day and being replaced with the salty smell of Ford’s tears?
