This fic was inspired by "player three has entered the game" by that_dirty_bastard on "Archive Of Our Own". I urge you to read their fic first before reading this one.

Rick Sanchez is transported back to his college days. He lays on the bed in his dorm room with his boyfriend. He gently kisses all twelve of his digits before before shooting Stanford a blissed out smile. He can't remember exactly what the two of them had just smoked, but he doesn't care. All he cares about is here and now. Rick pulls Stanford Pines over top of himself and kisses all along his neck, nipping lightly as he goes, eliciting beautiful moans from Ford.

"Rick, oh god." He breathes, causing his cock to twitch in excitement.

Quickly, Rick fumbles with his belt before pulling the cloth to his knees. Not breaking his kiss, Rick proceeds to wave a blind hand out for his bedside dresser, until his hand closes around the bottle of lube sitting onto. He passes it to Ford who squirts a generous amount onto his hand. He coats his own cock in the substance, before using the leftovers to finger Rick.

Rick groans as he feels the digits wiggling inside of him. Once he feels he's stretched enough Rick mutters,

"F-Fuck, Ford. Give it to me."

Ford wordlessly obliges. He drags his fingers out and lines up his dick. Ford then plunges into him and Rick shudders, burying his face into his shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, letting the wave of pleasure wash over him, as a sigh passing through Rick's lips. Rick reaches to cup Ford's face and Ford pulls back so they can look at other, eye to eye. But something is different about Ford.

It takes Rick a minute to notice it, but when he does the shock sobers him up immediately. The whites of Ford's eyes have changed to a ghastly yellow, and his pupils have become deadly slits. An inhuman smile suddenly curls on Ford's face.

"HEY THERE SANCHEZ," Bill Ciphers unmistakable drawl springs from Ford's mouth.

"YOU READY FOR SOME FUN?"

Rick doesn't have time to fully process what is happening before Ford's hand clamps down on his throat. Rick's eyes go wide as his mouth gapes open and close like a fish out of water. Suddenly, Ford begins to thrust and Rick starts screaming muted curses. It feels like glass shards are being shoved inside of him, and lightning bolts of pure pain are thundering up his spine. Rick's hands come flying out to do anything to stop him. He pushes and scratches wildly at Ford, but it does little to deter the demon.

Chuckling in that inhuman voice Ford manages to grab Rick's hands and pin them over his head. As Ford quickens his pace, blackness begins to creep into Rick's vision, and that horrible laughter only becomes louder as the scene slips away.

Rick wakes with a start, sitting up in bed, and panting heavily. Bill's laughter slowly fades out, until he has shed the last of lingering sleep. Rick rubs a hand up his sweat slicked forehead trying to get his bearings. It was only a dream. It's been years since he's been in college, and since he's seen Ford. In fact the last time he saw Ford was when...

"Fuck" Rick mutters trying to interrupt his train of thought.

But, sadly his brain doesn't let him, and Rick is suddenly hit with the memories of 'that night'. He had been in his late twenties when he had accidentally run into Ford. What had started as a casual hook-up had soon took a drastic turn for the worse, when that demon Bill Cipher had showed up and possessed Ford's body. Rick rubs his ribs, feeling the phantom pains of where that demon had cracked his them.

Rick cursed once more before deciding the best course for eliminating these unwanted memories. Rick heads out to his lab and grabs strongest bottle of alcohol he can find. He thinks momentarily of getting a glass, before saying "Fuck it" and taking a long swig. Rick takes a seat at his desk, one hand on his chin and the other clutching that bottle for dear life. Slowly, Rick feels the effects of the alcohol begin to kick in as he searches for his brain for something else to focus on until the liquid can allow him to forget once more. But the only subject his mind can seem to focus on is of that night.

Why the fuck had he dreamed of Ford? He hadn't thought of him in years. In fact, if you had asked him about Stanford Pines, just the other day, he would have said 'who?' Now he was all he could think about. Rick took another swig as he began to seethe. Fuck Ford. And fuck Bill Cipher. As if he didn't have enough bullshit on his mind his brain had to stir up old shit, and why now of all times? He hadn't even been that shaken up in the days that had followed the incident. He thought he had gotten over it years ago, but now here he was; in the middle of the night, clutching a bottle of vodka, and shaking like a leaf. Fuck Bill. Fuck Ford. Fuck college. Fuck everything.

Rick's mind continues in circles like this for some time, until he is hit with a thought of something else, and his eyes immediately drop to the bottom locked drawer of his desk. Rick hesitates for just a moment before taking another hard swill. He slaps the bottle on the desk before flipping on his lamp and grabbing the keys to said drawer. Rick quickly unlocks it and roots through the paraphernalia kept inside. His face hardens into one of a crazed man as he shuffles objects and papers around. Finally he finds what he's looking for, and holds the photograph up to the light.

There, framed in the photo, is a younger Rick with his arm thrown around, a just as young, Stanford Pines. The two of them smile brightly.

Rick instantly regrets digging up this old photo, but fuck it. If his brain is so set on thinking about Ford, he might as well have a proper face to direct his anger to.

"Fuck you, you asshole. You sold f-fucking me out." Rick mutters to the picture.

Why did Ford fucking lead him into his home when he knew he was basically a ticking time bomb? All he had to do was slip up for just a second for Bill to take over. Why hadn't he noticed sooner that Ford had changed? Why had he let it get as far as he did? Why hadn't he fought harder? Why was he such weak, pathetic asshole who let some triangle fucker torture and rape him?

Suddenly Rick becomes aware of the fact that he can't see the photo anymore. It has become obscured by a wall of unshed tears. This realization causes Rick to become utterly engulfed in rage. In a thoughtless wrath, he crumples the photo in hand and, with a scream, tosses the damaged paper across the room. He sits there breathing hard and staring at the paper in the corner, unblinking. His gaze could have caused the thing to burst into flames. Finally, Rick averts his eyes and slams his fist on the table, before slumping in his seat and taking yet another drink from the bottle. The sting of tears doesn't go away though and Rick can feel the dam begin to crack.

"M-Motherfucker, don't you start." Rick chides, turning his anger on himself and, trying with all his might, to will away the tears.

"Don't you fucking do it y-you pansy." He hisses, lower lip quivering.

Rick suddenly slams his head on the desk and his fingers curl into tight balls. A heaving sob suddenly racks his body, and with that, the dam bursts.