Warnings for: Bill describing a rape fantasy. The Ninth Paradigm AU.
He found Bill stumbling loudly outside his house, in the middle the night. The boy was mumbling nonsense about his mother, while reeking reeking of alcohol. His appearance unkempt, hair messy and no gloves. No gloves- that was unbelievably risky, and Ford didn't doubt the boy's intoxicated state.
Bill didn't have his phone on him (no gun either).
Ford has plenty of regrets – what harm was adding another?
He brought the boy inside. The boy flops on the couch but Ford pulls him back up, undresses him considerately – off goes the jacket, the tie, shoes, the shirt is unbuttoned.
Bill is just a child to Ford. There is nothing insidious in his actions, he has no ulterior motives. (But boy, does Bill never see anything Ford does as even remotely platonic.)
He covers the boy in blankets, in the living room. The couch is comfortable, he'll be alright. Ford returns to his room, tired. Tired. Tired.
But then, barely fifteen minutes after putting the boy to bed, he's in Ford's room- laughing, calling Ford gullible, and professing he was never drunk to begin with.
Ford can only sigh. What else should he have expected? Really?
Before Ford can climb out bed, Bill is already at his side. He straddles Ford confidently, with his body weight primarily on his knees, and Ford can barely feel the boy's lower body on him.
"You undressed me. if I'd known all it took was faking being drunk to have your hands all over me, I'd have done it ages ago, lemme tell you—"
"Bill, this is inappropriate." He's careful, pushing Bill off seemed the obvious choice but the boy had a knack for becoming strangely trigger-happy when rejected too openly. Even without his gun, it was still unwise. Ford had to use tact, which unfortunately, was not a strong point of his.
"Nah. I've seen you naked, Ford." He drew shapes in Ford's bare skin and Ford now remembers he's only in his underwear. "I've seen it all."
"But you haven't seen any of me, hm?" Bill smiles, there's mischief pulling the corners of his lips; the very same mischief that is nurturing anxiety within Ford.
"Do you…want to see me?" He asks and Ford looks away. "No? Awww, suit yourself." There's weight at Ford's pelvis, and Bill has lowered himself further down, appearing to get comfortable.
"You're the kind of guy who has rape fantasies, aren't you?"
"W-what?" Oh no.
Bill lowers his face into the crook of Ford's neck, he can smell the boy's cologne. "Oh you know, you aren't really assertive, pretty insecure—so you like to imagine someone leading, losing control and just giving it to you?"
He places a hand flat on Ford's chest and begins rubbing in with suggestive touches. He touches hard at Ford's breastbone, circling Ford's nipple with a thumb. It's too…audacious for Ford's tastes.
Not to mention he's explicitly told Bill he is not interested at all.
"Or maybe…you like to imagine being the one giving it? Is that your dirty secret? Are you really a dirty immoral old man who thinks about force-fucking cute boys?" Bill gives his neck kitten licks at short intervals. Ford's neck was a sensitive spot for him, and he prays his body doesn't react.
Prays were rarely answered-
and what on earth was Bill talking about?
"Bill, really. Project all you want on me—"
"Oh projection is it! I like how you've got me all figured out—no, no I really do. Because you're absolutely right." Bill moves, lays his right forearm flat above Ford's head and props himself up on it, so their faces are directly in front of each other. He's hovering over Ford, and even though he allegedly is not actually drunk, his breath clearly smells of alcohol.
"But you know, Fordsy, me thinks you doth protest too much. " His left hand strokes the side of Ford's face, the older man's eyes following the movement in his peripheral vision. "You're so cute. Who knew you had such sick fantasies?"
Before Ford can defend himself, Bill continues, "Imagine that—me visiting you, completely oblivious to what you have planned. " His hand leaves Ford's face and goes straight to the man's crotch. It rests there, with weak erratic pressure. "Are you with me, Ford? I show up, thinking we're gonna have a fun time chatting, goofing off- whatever the fuck we were going to do. But nope, none of that happens. Because once you detect I've lowered my guard, and I'm unarmed- vulnerable, ripe for the picking- you hit me, wrestle me down. I'm surprised, there's just not enough time to react and you're strong. You tear my shirt- wow, that was expensive. Are you going to reimburse me, I wonder? You then get to work on my pants and belt. You get them off quickly, holding my legs down with your own. Did I mention you're strong? Because shit Ford, you completely overwhelm me." Bill's voice inflection changes as he speaks, going lower, higher, and darker at certain periods. There's a glazed look in his eyes, and oh, he's looking so very intently at Ford. Direct eye contact. It's unnerving – he doesn't feel embarrassed talking about these things?
Ford is embarrassed; for himself and for Bill.
"You hold me down and tell me you're going to fuck me. And if I don't want you to hurt me, I better do as you say. You stand up, pulling me to my knees by my hair." For emphasis, Bill's fingers latched into Ford's hair. "Your crotch is at my face and I realize this is really going to happen."
Ford breaks the eye contact, and Bill plants his nose on Ford's cheek. When he speaks, Ford can feel hot breath on his jaw—running away really never is an option, is it?
"Your dick comes out now. It's throbbing, wet with precum already, and you're thinking 'wow, I can't wait to give this kid a good fucking.' But you don't wanna jump the gun, oh no. You want to make sure I'm terrified by the time I take it. A little build-up oughta do the trick- and I have a mouth. You've thought of fucking my mouth plenty of times. You have the chance now, time to take it." Bill pulls back a bit, opens his mouth, keeps it open for a few seconds as if he expects Ford to put something into it – but Ford does nothing. He closes his mouth, pouts and continues.
"And you take it- oh boy, do you take it. You force yourself in my mouth, so deep that your balls are near my chin. It's gross, like really, ever had sweaty balls on your chin? Ugh. But I can't do anything. Your hands holding my head still by my hair. You're thick, filling up my mouth. Or maybe you'd be fucking my throat—do you want to? Fuck my throat? Whatever, you ravage my mouth and spit leaks down my chin. I can only think of how warm your dick is in my mouth, how I wish you'd stop, how I really don't want this and how I truly and sincerely believed you were not this kind of man.
You betrayed my trust, Ford! I think about the bills for future therapy I'm going to be paying off. I wonder if there are any good therapists in my area- will I have to travel out of town to find a reputable one? You stop thrusting, telling me to do the work now and having no choice, I start to lick and suck. My jaw's pretty sore from your earlier mouth-fucking, but I persevere! Because if I don't you'll get angry, yeah? And you might just hurt poor little me." Bill is smiling as if he's just told a joke.
Ford is horrified, confused. Bill is rubbing him through his underwear, and he hates it.
"Small licks on your head first, a few sucks here and there. I'm so scared Ford, fear is boiling in my stomach, it's boiling and going lower? Maybe…I'm getting excited? Maybe you force-fucking my mouth is what I've wanted for…so long? My lips go over your cock's thick head, and I let it enter my mouth slowly, sensually. You lick your lips when I do it, and rub my cheek approvingly. It's like I'm making out with your dick, giving it the full French kissing experience. If Hollywood saw me… the award for Best Kiss goes to…Bill Cipher and Stanford's dick! The crowd goes wild! I knew I was going to win, my speech already prepared. I kiss and suck it like I'm in love with it, and in that moment, maybe I am? Of course, I give attention here too." Bill lightly pokes at his scrotum. Ford's getting hard already and curses Bill.
But it's a physiological reaction. It's not his fault.
"You tell me stop, and begin to rub your dick all over my face. I try to move away but you hold my head in place. I'm close to crying, I can feel it, but I hold it in. Because I know crying will only turn you on further and if your dick gets any harder, it'll be like I'm taking a metal rod. I know it's coming, I know it's coming you're going to put it in me, and I'm—" Bill's breath became rapid and jittery. "I'm just so scared, Ford. Please don't."
Ford doesn't know what to think but he's hard. Because of Bill's words? Or Bill's movements? No, he's not that kind of man. He isn't interested in anything like that—
He's never thought of Bill like this.
He's never had any thoughts of this nature. Never in his life.
"You really can't wait, but you jam a few fingers into me anyway, just because you're feeling a little nice. It hurts, Ford. You lose interest quickly though – who cares whether I'm ready or not? You just want to satisfy yourself."
He's licking at Ford's chin now, his hand having slipped completely into the other's boxers. The hand is warm, a little sweaty and generous with its affections. His fingers dance along the skin before gripping Ford entirely- a strong, controlling grip. Ford's body, as usual, responds to the touches as bodies unfortunately do.
He hates it, but tells himself it'll be over soon.
"And out comes your dick." On cue, Bill pulled Ford's own member out, exposing the flushed skin to the air. All he wants to do struggle, but instead, he breathes deeply, calming himself.
It'll be over soon.
"You fuck me, hard, because you think I can take it. Even if I can't, you don't care. You move into my ear, whispering vulgar things like how tight I am, how you love being inside me, how you're going to give me a fucking I won't forget, a fucking I won't stop feeling for quite a long time. You tell me I'll still feel you in me days later, and I believe you. I really believe you because I know won't forget."
He pumps Ford's length vigorously, changing his grip and speed according to the words he used- a harder grip at 'tight', faster at 'won't forget'…
"I'm crying now, it's just too much. The pain, the emotions or whatever, that come from being betrayed by someone I trusted—when you switch positions, good ol fashioned missionary, you stop thrusting, briefly, and begin licking face like a dog because wow, tears really do turn you on! You learnt something new about yourself! And you think I just look so cute crying, with your dick all the way in me. You tell me you know I'm enjoying it because I'd been asking for it, this whole time. You're doing me a favour – putting me in my place, as they say? You say I've only been acting out because I want you to correct me- like a father correcting his son – wait, that's a little weird. God, Ford. You're really sick. What the fuck is wrong with you? I lie back and try to think of England, it's supposed to help but- Oh, Ford Ford Ford. It's too much. It really hurts. Won't you please stop?" Bill's theatrics were convincing, and if anyone had heard him say the last line, they'd have believed Ford really was hurting him.
He doesn't understand what Bill is doing. Is this meant to be erotic? It sounded bizarre, upsetting and…
the hand feels so good…
"And I'm moaning, like I'm in fucking heat, 'oh Ford, stop, please stop'." And Bill actually moans erotically, as if he's really in the middle of taking it. Ford immediately feels himself becoming even harder. Dammit. The human body was so weak. His body's reactions made Bill smile wider.
"You don't stop, of course—why would you? I feel so good around your cock. You're licking me, your tongue just having a mind of its own—like some of that weird shit you'd see in tentacle porn—you've watched those, right? You're a sci-fi nerd, of course you have."
Ford scoffed.
"Somewhere, deep inside me…" Bill chuckled at that. "I'm enjoying it. You're hurting me and I love it. Why? Who the fuck knows. My future therapist will probably get to the root of it a few years down the line. 'Please don't stop Ford' slips out sometimes, and you, being the perceptive little owl you are, hear it. You think it's funny that I begged you not to stop because you were never going to stop in the first place."
Ford just wants this to end now. He doesn't want to hear anymore-
"You're—you're just going at it. You make these sounds, these strenuous sounds like you're really giving it your all when you fuck me. Your face twisted as if you hate me, you hate me and you just want to hurt me." Bill's breathing becomes ragged as he speaks, subtly rocking his body atop as he fucks Ford with his hand. Ford can feel he's close, and hates it.
"You wrap your arms around me, holding me tight as you give it to me. I can barely move, you're like some kind of animal—please, stop, Ford. Stop stop stop."
Bill finishes him off, moaning his name and 'stop' in his ear, and it's purely a physiological response. His body's reactions have nothing to do with him- even when he bucks into Bill's hand, covers the hand and himself in thick white. No, it's not because he wants to. His body is just—
not listening to him.
Bill laughs in his neck. "If you…ever do something like that to me, I'll kill you. Do you understand? I'll kill you, and everyone you know."
Ford feels empty now.
"But I'm not worried, Ford. Because I know…" He kisses Ford, timidly, his nose resting at Ford's lips when he's done.
"You're not that kind of man."
"Bill, are you actually drunk?"
"No?"
"Bill…"
"Maybe just a little."
Stanford Pines isn't that kind of man
But Bill Cipher sure is.