Ford couldn't understand how something so strange could feel so... natural once it happened.
Bill had been giving him butterflies for some time. And after the desperate masturbation session when his dear new friend vanished, Ford had a meltdown unlike any other.
Shame, embarrassment, horror—What was he doing, feeling this way about a being who was incomprehensibly ancient and powerful and—three-sided...! What was wrong with him? Did Bill know? Had he seen that embarrassing display of—? Oh, no.
He spent more of his mental energy than was healthy trying to understand his feelings for the muse.
This did not escape Bill Cipher's notice.
In the mindscape, Ford didn't have a physical form to worry about tiring out, but his mind's projection of himself was a reflection of his mental state. Of course, his muse was kind enough to keep an eye on his mental stamina after what felt like long hours working on equations, or... when it was apparent he was worn out.
When Ford began to slow down, rubbing his dream-eyes and squinting even through his glasses, Bill was there with glittering tea.
"Time for a break, Fordsy!"
"Almost done here," he said, moving two fingers across a string of letters.
Unexpectedly, the holographic board vanished and Ford found himself flopping back into a soft, floating armchair.
"Sixer. You're spent." Bill pushed a hand into that fluffy head of hair, ruffling it gently.
Ford never ceased to be amazed at how clearly he felt his heart skip even in this dream state. Was his brain just so used to the feeling that it replicated it for his senses? How did it feel so real? Was this Bill's power inside his dreams? It was something he would love to study if given the chance.
But now he was stunned once more by Bill's affection. The way that tiny hand felt in his hair, fingers smooth, warm on his scalp.
He almost felt dizzy from the surge of butterflies and quickly grabbed the tea (which had been patiently floating before him). He was mid-sip when he realized Bill was sitting on his head.
"I'm not working ya too hard, am I?" Bill asked, pushing some of that hair as he slid forward to peer down at his companion.
Ford gulped, taking a moment to recover from both the way the celestial drink tingled his tongue and what Bill was doing. (It was cute! What in the hell!)
"No, of course not, I..." He held the teacup awkwardly, wanting to use his hands as he spoke. "I'm sorry, Bill, I haven't been able to focus and—"
"Whoa! Buddy!" Bill put two hands on Stanford's face from his upside-down position. "You're not in trouble. You're human! Just because you're the smartest one doesn't mean you have superpowers. When's the last time you had some you time, huh?"
When you didn't come back, was the first thing Ford thought but he quickly shook it out of his head with an internal yelp, letting the teacup float away from him now.
Before he could bullshit an answer, Bill vanished and reappeared in front of him, holding his six-fingered hand in his two black ones.
"Let me help," the triangle said, furrowing his... approximation of a brow. He used his small thumbs to push into Ford's palm, pressing into the tissue in smooth little strokes.
It was one of those moments where Ford could almost feel the glass shattering inside his head.
Bill was trying to give him a hand massage.
It took considerable effort to try to keep from smiling, and finally he couldn't help the laughter that burst from him.
Bill's eye cut up to his companion. "What?"
"No, no, it's nothing." Ford used his free hand to wipe at his eye. Oh, he hadn't laughed in so long. It was almost a delirious feeling. "You're just cute."
"Cute?"
No! What?! Had he said that out loud?!
"No, I meant—well—I didn't mean—"
Now he'd done it. He'd finally offended the muse. What if he'd just ruined everything they'd been working towards all this time? His life was over, nothing could ever top the discoveries and knowledge he'd gained from—
He was brought out of his mental downward spiral by the familiar feeling of little eyelashes tickling his fingers.
"I think you're cute too, Sixer."
Ford was starting to wonder if all this shock was going to shorten his life. He couldn't comprehend any of what was going on.
The crushes he'd had in highschool and college were agonizing enough even if he almost never got past awkward hand-holding or a casual drunken dry hump at one of the few parties he'd been pressured into attending (and he couldn't even LOOK at them the rest of the semester).
And now here he was in a situation he could never explain to anyone: In the mindscape with a powerful and all-seeing triangle, who had just called him cute while squeezing his hand.
What was there to even do now? Was he even permitted to... return the affection?
Before he could really think about it, Ford found himself turning his hand. It was just enough to touch Bill's sharp edge with his fingertips. So smooth and warm, slightly raised where there appeared to be brick-like structures below his bow-tie.
And Bill watched, eye half-lidded before closing with a shaky little sigh.
Ford pulled his hand away uncertainly and the triangle was quick to grab it, looking at him directly now.
"Is this okay?" Ford asked, voice quiet, floating through the sparkling space all around them.
Instead of answering right away, Bill left one last little butterfly kiss on that hand before letting it go and floating down to sit on Ford's leg.
"It's more than okay, IQ."
Bill used his hands to pull himself forward, digging into thigh and sending a jolt to Ford's groin. His dick twitched visibly, already thickening against his leg.
"Whoa!" Bill zeroed in, eye on the prize. "It doesn't take much to get you going, huh?"
"Sorry, Bill, I—It's—" Poor Ford stammered helplessly.
"Hey, what did I tell ya before? You're human," Bill said, peering up for only a moment before looking back down at it. "You just sit back and relax... and tell me what you want."
"Wh-What I want?"
Ford's head was spinning but he could no longer question himself or the situation he was in. There was no use. He would chase his own tail until the end of time. Self-interrogation and wondering how this worked in a mental projection could come later, but right now, he was hard and he longed for Bill's touch.
He fought the heat to his face as he forced the words out, still scared, still half-wondering if he was misunderstanding things, if this was just a hopeful dream itself, if this sort of thing was inappropriate to ask of his muse.
"Touch me," he finally said. "Please. Bill."
That single eye flashed and the dream around them seemed to shift. It was a vibrating feeling, like someone had struck a bell deep in his spirit, a buzzing warmth in the atmosphere. The same as when Bill had returned to him with an apology for his absence. The same as when he'd held his hand and told him he'd missed him too.
All Ford could do when Bill used a hand to squeeze up along the growing bulge in his pants was inhale sharply, grinding molars. Simply the sight of it was enough to make him burn up.
Bill watched, finding the head and pressing it against Ford's stomach, pleased when his eyes went glazed for a moment. He hadn't even taken him out yet and he was already losing himself to such simple touches.
He could remove all of his subject's clothing with a snap of his fingers, but right now he was a gentleman and slowly undid the belt. He looked up to check on Ford before undoing the top button and the zipper.
And for effect, he let his eye widen as he pulled Ford's impressive erection out from his briefs.
"How long have you been hiding this from me, huh?" the triangle teased, letting his fingers rest on the shaft and admiring the shape.
Ford could've died, opening his mouth to try to answer him but only managing to make an embarrassing noise as Bill pressed his thumbs up the length, the same way he'd massaged his hand.
Stanford Pines was really done for now. He clenched his fists, trying to stop being such a mewling human about this but oh, Bill started stroking him so lovingly and good that all he could do was cry out.
"Is this what you want?"
"Ah—yes—"
"You want me to make you come?"
"Yes, please, Bill—please, oh—"
Bill's eye became a slit watching the way Ford twitched and cried. Every now and then he looked at what he was doing, admiring the slickness of the precome and the noise the flesh made as he pumped it. How flushed that dick was becoming already.
He paused to gently rub under the head, listening to the way Ford gasped.
"It's nice, right? A lot more involved than just your body," the muse said. It was so matter-of-fact and not terribly in sync with the act of giving an astral handjob, but still did something to hear.
Ford was barely able to focus his gaze enough to look at the creature making him feel so good. All he could do was nod.
"Just you wait," Bill continued, playing with a little bit of that wetness at the tip, looking at the shine. "I'll show you things most mortals can't comprehend."
The muse shifted slightly on that hip to give himself a better grip, crossing his little black legs around the thick, pleading cock.
Stanford was amused by the strange sight but didn't have time to think much more about it before Bill twisted both of his hands up, beginning again at a faster pace. Ford's hips jumped and he scrabbled for hold on the glowing armchair.
It wasn't long before Bill had him whining again.
"Almost there, Fordsy," Bill said, much more softly than his usual speaking voice.
A shaky six-fingered hand reached, wanting to touch the god who was making his hips shake and his spirit buzz. Bill murmured something Ford didn't think was any human language when he brushed the backs of his fingers against that smooth, warm gold.
He couldn't do much other than pet him, and as he got closer his hand hovered uselessly.
"Bill—!"
In a surge Bill's motions became faster, squeezing harder, and Ford wailed brokenly, hips jerking as he came strong. The throbbing was continuous and deep, lasting long after he'd finished ejaculating.
And Bill gave him all the time he needed, slowly and affectionately caressing his cock as it twitched through each remaining wave, fireworks fading in Ford's brain.
Ford panted, eyes barely seeing, numb to everything except what Bill had made him feel.
Until the moment he remembered where he was and straightened to blink and look down at his... partner or...
Bill looked up from his sultry adoration of the dick he'd just been playing with.
There was dream-come on his little hat. Lord in heaven—
Before Ford's brain could break, Bill gave a little eye-smile (don't ask Ford how he could always tell what was an actual smile) and waved his hand to make the mess disappear.
"Not bad, right? I'll tell ya more about how this works later, I can tell you're dying to know."
"I—" Ford couldn't physically blush more but somehow he conveyed the feeling.
What in the hell was he supposed to say right now?
His first instinct was to thank the ancient god for giving him probably the best handjob any human had ever had ever (was he possibly the first human to orgasm through interdimensional interaction? Bill had said there were other humans, had he...? ... with them too?), but he remembered the talk his mother had given both him and his brother about never saying thank you after sex ("It's not a favor!").
He felt so stupid just staring at him and finally shook his head a little before reaching up to fix his lopsided glasses.
"Bill, I," he started, brain cranking away like greased wheels in a noisy factory (and I may be hunched over metal machines—no!).
"I don't have any idea what's appropriate to say right now other than—other than I really enjoy our time together and I hope that this..."
Losing the fight, his mouth turned into a thin line as he tried to swallow whatever frustrating emotion was coming up.
"I'm very fond of you and I hope that we can continue to be friends and—"
Without even waiting a beat, Bill appeared in front of him, little arms stretched out to hover over his cheeks before resting there. A light, warm touch.
"Brainiac. Relax," he said slowly. "It's not like this changes anything. Well, it kinda does actually!"
Ford was so embarrassed at the tears burning in his eyes but blinked at his companion.
"It does?" he asked, almost worried.
Bill squinted to the side momentarily as if in thought. "Well, yeah! I like ya, kid! And listen, I've worked with lot of humans over the years. Most of them were gross jerks. But not you. You're the real deal! You make my eye feel all gooey inside!"
Ford stared. And stared. And then laughed from his sore abs, pushing his glasses out of the way to wipe at his eyes in absolute exhaustion.
"Alright, you have to wake up and then clean up and get back in bed, Stanford! Take a day off, you're gonna need it."
"Wait, what? 'Clean up'?"
Suddenly Ford found himself sitting up in his bed, sweat cooling, muscles actually sore, and most humiliating of all, a the biggest wet spot he had ever seen over his crotch.
Fiddleford noticed the smiles. How could he not?
During their time together in school, Stanford... hadn't smiled too much. There were tired thank you smiles. I'm happy for you smiles. The I'll miss you smile.
Best not to spoil it by asking what his companion was always grinning about now.
He didn't need to know the reason to be able to smile right back.
Tiny claws skittered over a pink welt, and Ford shivered alert.
"Can't doze off in a dream, smart guy," Bill said. His hat and bow tie were around somewhere.
"I'm up," Ford rasped, sitting up nearly straight into his cup of tea. "Thank you."
Bill inspected his talons. "Yep! Wasn't too rough, was I?"
The tea was a deep herbal licorice, with an endnote of marshmallow plant. Restore the adrenal glands, and soothe the throat that might be sore from... overworking. The data was immediately transferred into Ford's mind, reminding him to drink this in his waking hours. He was beginning to learn that even though this was his mind, some of the effects of their activities passed to his physical form.
Hm. "You still haven't told me how, well, how this..."
"How this works?"
"... Yes, that. Is this a conscious nocturnal emission? It's more than just lucid, obviously."
Bill paused petting that angel soft hair for a moment. "Kid, a wet dream is what ya have a lot in freshman year of highschool," he said, his eye flashing through images in a blur. "Looks like you had your first one at age 15 to a dream about... Hot Elf from Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons! Nice!"
Ford managed to choke on a projection of tea, coughing.
"I—Well! I thought he looked... very nice."
Bill's eye was a mischievous shape. "Y'know, I could be in that form for you. That'd be fun. Anyway, you're on the right track. Not a lot of mortals have this sort of experience more than once in their lives, and when they do, they usually freak out."
You could practically see the idea bubbles filling Standford's head. "So, it's similar to hypnagogia, sleep paralysis? I studied this briefly; people long ago believed they were being visited by demons."
"You calling me a demon?" Bill scratched Ford's scalp where he knew it felt the best.
Ford laughed despite his sexual exhaustion. "If you're a demon, then humans have been depicting your kind in art very inaccurately for thousands of years."
"Not disappointed, are you?"
He felt those claws raking against his jaw again and smiled.
"Not one bit."
One morning, Ford knew exactly what he needed to do. He was up early for a shower (and to wash the sheets again) and as soon as he finished shaving he was out the door.
He returned home with bags and bags supplies. He would need to special order some of the specific golds he wanted, but for now, he had quite the selection.
The first afternoon he spent so many hours painting that he was forced to take a break when his hand cramped up.
"They're for you," he told Bill later. "They're all for you."
Ford should've foreseen that possession would become a part of it. It was one thing to watch helplessly as Bill took his body and laughed at his persistent erections.
It was another altogether when Bill taught him that they could share. Of course, it took some practice, but eventually they worked it out so that Ford could feel his body, but all he could control was his voice.
This proved very fun for Bill, who one day marched him away from Fiddleford and all the way upstairs into the bathroom.
"Bill, what are you doing?"
"Can't get a whole lot of work done with a boner like this, buddy!" Bill echoed from inside, nearly ripping his trousers open.
Ford felt his entire face flushing. "Here though? Fiddleford is waiting—"
"So let him wait! Shit, you are hard!"
"Bill, maybe we should—oh—"
Using Ford's six-fingered hand, Bill squeezed his swollen dick, peering down at the sensitive flesh. It was so gross being able to really feel sweat and come in the physical realm, but there was something wildly fun about it.
And it was even more fun to jack Ford off so good he was barely able to keep quiet. Bill lifted the other hand to cover that whining mouth, slipping a finger or two into his mouth and feeling the wet muscle of tongue.
Ford was nearly wheezing, back pressed to the wall while a god in his own body drove him wild. Again and again he cried like he was going to come, only to gasp and shake as release eluded him.
Bill took saliva from that pleading mouth to spread over the head of the cock he was practically wailing on.
"You're edging a lot lately, huh?" Suddenly a thought occurred to him and his fingers dove back in for more spit. He had to loosen those pants even more to make room for his hand as it reached under.
He knew Ford had never done anything with his ass and he wasn't about to plunge and give the guy an early heart attack.
But a little bit of petting between clenching thighs and buttocks was enough to get balls to tighten up.
"Come for me, IQ. Say my name and come all over your hand."
The more Stanford seemed to not really be "there", the more prisms consumed the house.
Fiddleford wasn't sure how he felt about the smiles anymore.
"What about you?"
Bill shifted, gold pieces clicking as he worked himself back into his usual shape. "What about me?"
Ford touched the back of the triangle, and Bill turned around to look at him.
It occurred to Ford that he wasn't certain if a celestial being could experience sexual pleasure the same way he did. Suddenly he felt very silly and adjusted his glasses as his ears heated up.
"It's just that I've never seen you, well... I could reciprocate, if you want." If it was possible to.
Bill smiled with his eye in a teasing way, nudging Ford's hand. "Oh, I get ya! You wanna feel up my geometry, huh?"
Ford nearly choked. "I—well—Yes, but..." he stammered. "Admittedly I have some questions."
"I could answer them for ya, or we could make this fun and save the questions for later."
Bill floated closer.
"I..." Ford swallowed. "I don't know where to start."
"You're overthinking it."
You are a triangle, I don't exactly know how to...
Back when this all began, he had touched Bill a little. He had always touched him just a little. There had been shivers and little sighs. Ford hummed in thought.
"Come here," he said, and gently took the muse in his hands. Bill squinted but let himself be held.
He was uncertain about it at first, but after taking a breath, he leaned forward, pressing his lips against the rectangular bricks of gold under Bill's bowtie.
Small legs shifted, and there was the sigh he'd anticipated.
"Good? Like that?" he asked, going in for another small, light kiss, lower this time. Bill put his hands in that head of hair he loved so much.
"Yeah, Sixer... Like that."
Kisses became tasting. Tasting became more adventurous licks, which became thin, hot gold between his teeth.
The more static crackled in his mouth, the more trouble Bill seemed to have holding his form together. Pieces of him flickered and changed, extra arms popping out to grab at Ford's head, spiked pieces flashing here and there.
"Eropmet xe menif, munretea ni suem..."
Ford heard the incomprehensible noises coming from his muse, felt the hair tugging getting rougher, but nothing stopped him. Not even the white-hot pain tearing through him as Bill's edges seemed to come alight with blazing blue fire.
"Is this normal?"
"Is what normal?"
"You know what I mean.
"Yeah, I do! But I wanna hear ya say it."
"Oh, nevermind. It doesn't matter."
"I can be scary for you. Would you like that, Fordsy?"
Ford sighed when a claw slipped between his lips.
"Please," he whispered.
Bill's eye flashed red for only a moment.
"We'll work up to it."
The form glowed before him and grew—and shifted into black floating pieces, divided into three.
Suddenly there were hands on him, larger ones, stronger ones. Ford melted into their touch, weak, powerless, hungry as they gripped his body and lifted him.
"Please," he said again, holding onto the topmost portion of Bill's dark form, knees resting on the flat part under him.
"Please what?" The eye was large and piercing, focused on his subject's body.
"Take me. Please."
Large black hands snapped around ankles, pulling Ford's legs apart.
There was never any reason to rush in the mindscape, though sometimes Ford's excitement made him want things now, now, now.
One of those hands smoothed over Stanford's bare ass.
"Here?"
"Yes, please, please," Ford panted, pushing down, aching on the inside like he never had before.
"Easy. Take deep breaths." Bill's voice was different. Slower and more of a vibration around them.
The muse took it slow, watching Ford's every move as one of those large fingers buried itself inch by inch into that needy, shaking body. Ford's cock was already dripping from the pressure.
Small movements, just enough to build and build. Each time the pleasure rolled over, Ford's whole body seemed to squeeze and he arched, gasping and sinking down to get it even deeper. The tingle from within spread to his toes and to his face.
"Ah, I'm—I'm going to come—Bill—"
Suddenly, Bill lifted Ford's hips and pulled the finger out, and the mortal's body racked as it lost its grasp on orgasm. Dazed, he looked up at his muse, who for now was just watching him, eye gliding over each part of his body. Each straining muscle.
"You're such a good human," the god told him, touching his face, smoothing down his chest and making him shiver. He paused and drank him in for a moment more. "Show me how devoted you really are."
Ford had never been one to understand the appeal of religion, as fascinating as he had found various mythologies.
But when he fucked himself on Bill's hand and that finger worked hard inside of him as a reward, it was like nothing else mattered but showing this heavenly creature the unrestrained depth of his devotion.
He moaned like prayer and gripped that finger like worship.
And then he understood.
"I'm yours."
It had come out of him unexpectedly, but for once he didn't scramble to try to explain himself. No one could know or even try to guess at the way he felt. So why not let himself be free now?
"From now until the end of time," Ford added.
Bill looked up from the chess piece in his hand.
"I know you are, Fordsy. I knew it the day we met."