A/N: Fanfic drabbles and fanart by others on my blog, .com, under /tagged/tnp art and /tnp drabbles.


Speech has allowed the communication of ideas, enabling human beings to work together to build the impossible.
Mankind's greatest achievements have come about by talking
and its greatest failures by not talking.

-Stephen Hawking


And underneath the water that gushes from the mountain spring, the tattoo of the snake swims into the water and disappears deep into the spring.

– North Eastern Japanese Folktale.


As Bill's eyes roamed across tar-black insectile words on once-pristine white paper, similarities between his own fingers and the paper manifested. Marked, branded, inked. Now useless.

Used once, then discarded.

His hands weren't beautiful, not like Ford's were. Ford's were quaint, and his own. Bill's however, were nothing more than parchment for dead men to scrawl their legacies upon so he may pass them down to his inevitably cursed kin. Old men who wanted to make history and graffiti their washed-up wives' tales onto whatever and whoever they could.

He pictured the letters skittering across the page; alive and leaping onto his arms where they would imbue themselves to join the rest of his tattoos as epitaphs. Here lies Bill Cipher: a fucker no one loved.

No, Bill Cipher couldn't die. Here lies Casper Giordano: Who?

You aren't dirty, Bill.

He looked to Ford, who sat slouching at his computer.

Why had he come here? What was the point? Once this holiday was over, it would be back home, back to the graveyard, back to waiting for his own hole to open in the ground so he could crawl into it. He was cold as the dead, anyway. Just open up the fucking hole and I'll climb in myself.

The dirt must be comfortable. None of his family members are complaining.

Nothing would change.

And he still hadn't done the test. Fuck it.

"This wasn't what I wanted for us, you know." Bill began, and Ford turned around to listen – spotlight on Bill Cipher. Too much pressure. "It isn't. Me…doing this. This isn't what I want. Just a FYI."

"What did you want?" Ford asked before Bill's parted mouth could get another word out. The quick response was another weight piled on him- about 5lbs, he thinks. One of many – not the first and certainly not the last.

How much could Ford lift, by the way?

"Stanford…can we start over? From scratch?" Bill pleaded. "No more…well, no more you feeling like you have to stick with me because you're scared. No more… no more you being over there and me over here, you know? Can we do that?"

Bill tugged at the dry skin of his left hand's ring finger; fingertips encircling as a ring would.

"It was funny at first – you being scared of me – but now it's…it's…"

Lonely.

"I just…I dunno. Everything started out on a weird note. With me stalking you, and then all the shit I did. It wasn't what I imagined… I just…I liked how this day started with you. And then I fucked it up. Again. I fuck up, all the time. I don't know what to do. Is it okay for me to even say that? To fucking say I don't know what the fuck to do?" He bungled through his words, cowering before the stark truth and what grim consequences would come at its reveal. History repeated itself.

Ford listened with a silence that seemed to thunder with terrifying reverb- the silence that led lightning to thunder. Silence suited Xanthar. It suited his father. It did not suit Stanford Pines. Babbling, awkward and disgustingly endearing Stanford Pines. Harmless Stanford Pines.

Stanford Pines…

"So, what do you say? Can we just…reboot our relationship? Clean slate and all?"

Please say yes.

Ford's studious face relaxed into unwarranted and undeserving concern, but an ostensible thought had it tensing up once more with scholar's intuition. He studied Bill's face, silent, then said. "Perhaps. I have a condition."

"Anything." Bill promised.

"Let me guide our relationship."

"Huh?"

That was quick.

Ford's laughter was much too patronizing and insinuating. "I'm saying…I'll decide how fast it progresses, what we do – everything. And your compliance with what I decide. That's what I'd like from you."

Bill waited, listening.

"And if you threaten me again, or attempt to force yourself on me, or anything of that nature. Our relationship ends and I'd like you to never contact me again." Towards the end, Ford's voice hardened appropriately– the message clear and final. No more second chances; how many times had Ford claimed that? What a softie. Bill wanted to mock him for it– and thank him because no one else would offer him this many chances. No matter how pretty he was, Ford was not superficial enough to generously hand out get-out-of-jail free coupons forever. Sex didn't work on Ford. He just wasn't that kind of man.

What kind of man was Stanford Pines, anyway?

Ford left his computer and stood in front of Bill. With Bill sitting and Ford standing, the latter seemed impossibly tall. A titan– no, Atlas, holding the world on his shoulders. Was that why Ford slouched sometimes? The unbearable heaviness that came with his reputation, and responsibilities – a plate Bill had laid himself upon, with Ford consuming in delight. But what was sweet held a persistent sour under-taste that stayed to flavour everything that followed.

If Bill was shorter, would Ford have given him a piggy-back ride? Just like nonno did…

"I keep giving you chances because I know you can do better." Ford said. "But it's as though what I say rolls right off you. You never take what I say to heart, and it's why we end up stuck in this loop. You don't listen, Bill. Have you never noticed how you sometimes repeat yourself when you talk to me?"

"Ha, wanna attach an explosive device to my neck so if I misbehave, you can electrocute me?" Bill quipped, but Ford didn't react. Tough crowd.

Ford looked down with a keenness reserved for his science mumbo-jumbo, and took Bill's chin in a firm grip between his thumb and index finger. It was the first time – the first of plenty to come – Bill felt insignificant before Stanford Pines. "Don't fight me on anything. Are we clear?"

"Sure." With eclipsed eyes unable to stray from the moon, a hand attached itself at Ford's left hip in reluctant encouragement. "You wanna be in charge, huh?"

"No, you misunderstand me." Ford kissed his forehead and the tension growing in Bill melted away once the forever-warm lips touched his skin. Summer was here and Bill Cipher would soon be thawed into palatable, sweet ice-cream that Ford lips could not wait to sample.

Ford's hands went to his pants – it was happening – Bill fought to keep calm but stray shudders escaped. Of course, Ford would. Of course…

He pulled out the bills stuffed there earlier, knelt and placed them into Bill's hands. "I don't need your money. I don't." Touching Bill's face, he smiled with inconceivable gentleness. "If you want to give me additional funding, I won't mind. I might end up needing it."

"Fuck…you scared me." Bill breathed, pride unable to filter the truth this time.

"What's wrong?" Ford asked, taking hold of his hand. It felt like a leash. Ford wanted to tie him down, control and confine him and–

Keep him safe.

"Nothing, jesus. Hey, yeah, I'm fine. Anyway, uh…sorry, you were saying?"

"Now, as I was previously saying. You misunderstand why I'm asking this. Until you're doing better, I think it's best if you let me dictate our progress."

"Can you explain a little more?"

"You make decisions when you aren't thinking clearly. Leave the decision-making to me, for now."

Ford as the boss. Weird. "Okay, so what kinda decisions you looking at making, Boss man?"

"No sex. I'd prefer nothing sexual at all, in fact. Not until I can see you're doing better."

Bill frowned. "That's it? That same old story?"

"For the most part, yes. There's also the issue of school. Once you find out what you'd like to do, if you sincerely don't want to attend school, I can tutor you. But most of the burden will fall on you as I still have my work commitments."

"Quit and tutor me full time. I'll pay you up front for 3 years." Bill puffed out his cheeks, attempting to be cute and lo and behold– it worked. Ford laughed, rapt with wire-red cheeks.

"I can't do that..." Clasping Bill at both puffy cheeks, Ford squished to let the air escape. His hand remained pinching Bill's cheeks with the boy pulling silly faces to complement the touch.

"How about…you tutor me every night for about an hour? And then I spend the night?"

Ford squeezed his cheeks harder. "Is this your way of attempting to sneak into my bed?"

"Yes."

Laughing, Ford sealed the deal with a kiss – Bill's fish face reddening. A deal with Stanford Pines; finally.

"Hey…hey if I'm bad, can't you…wanna…" Bill panted, touching his palm to his forehead. "Never…nevermind…"

"What's wrong?" Ford asked, already knowing and a little surprised it was still effective despite their two-week separation. Truth be told, he hadn't expected it to work at all. It could be another act, too.

Bill might've consented to this agreement, but there was no guarantee this wasn't another act. Bill Cipher was an actor, after all.

"Hey Ford." Bill's voice deepened, sounding more serious. "Come here, closer."

Ford shuffled closer, and he took one of Ford's hands, picturing himself in the palm he held tight. "I'll tell you a secret, okay? To even the score between us. Give you your own little power over me, what do you say?"

"What secret?"

"You know…I miss my family. You know, don't you?"

"I do."

"Did you know I killed them?"

Ford's eyes were UFO saucers. Big, and not of this world – Ford was not of this world. Men like Ford came once every blue moon, from outer space. Explained the man's infatuation with sci-fi shit. ET go home.

He brought Ford's hand to his cheek, and it burned like the fire that took his sister. "Reconciliation wasn't an option. I wanted the family business. That old story… the prodigal power-hungry, money-thirsty son."

"They had it coming. They did. Plenty of rumours I killed them. No evidence… everything was planned perfectly."

"It was cathartic, like you couldn't imagine…when it happened. But then time passed. Time passed and passed and what did I do, Ford? What did I do? It wasn't going to end any other way. I could never have gone back after my father and I fought. I was already dead to my family the second my dad struck that first blow. It was already over. Don't come back, he said. Don't ever fucking come back."

Casper Giordano died that night. Oh wait, you had to have been born to die. Where's his birth certificate? I lie so much, I lied about being born, too.

An attention-seeking tug on Ford's hand. "The truth ended it. But that's lie, isn't it? It's all about shutting your fucking mouth, never complaining about what happens because who the fuck cares? Too bad. You probably deserve it. People do that. Find ways to say everything bad that happened to you – you deserved it. They look for ways to justify it. You must've deserved it. Bad things don't happen to good people. You must've deserved it. Karma, baby."

"I don't know if that's true. Who cares, really? Whether I deserved it or not. But I know I do now. I know I deserve what happened to me because of what I've done now. Sometimes the punishment comes before the sin – do you believe that? Effect comes before cause, maybe? Fuck who made the laws of physics. He didn't know shit."

Both Bill's hands cradled Ford's, winding upwards and around his arm like sick, pale-black vines in need of sunlight. "Listen carefully, Ford. No matter what you do it to me, I'll deserve it. So, stop being nice…it's okay. Really. You don't have to pretend. I won't pretend anymore. So why don't you stop, too?"

Bill's fingers continued to slide themselves cross Ford's bare skin, seeking to entice and persuade. Again, he finds himself taken with Ford's forearms. When he was younger, and he'd sit upon nonno's lap–which at the time felt like the highest he could ever be– he'd see nonno's forearms; they looked a lot like Stanford Pines'. Those were the times before it started to happen.

Stanford was right. He had been secretly waiting for the metamorphosis – for Stanford to reveal himself as Gaspard; not in name but in action. He'd waited and waited, and nothing had occurred. Because Stanford Pines was nothing like that man.

Nothing. Right?

"Who do you pretend for? When no one's looking? Have you gotten so used to it? Pretending? It's okay, Ford. Really. You can do whatever you like to me. I'm okay with it. Everyone's okay with it! A-okay!" As wide, and bright, and dandy as possible, Bill smiled. Smile the on-coming tears away.

Ford knelt again, still quiet, to look at Bill on better footing.

"When you…pretend for a really long time, it becomes part of you. You can't turn it off anymore. You can only hide it. I hid it…for the longest time…maybe? I don't know…but I don't have to hide it with you, right?"

"Do whatever you want, Ford. Hurt me. It doesn't matter. It's okay…it's okay… it's okay if it's you. I want to…"

Make you happy.

Bill swallowed, gritting his teeth, jaw sandwiching whatever else he wanted to confess.


The pestilential morass Bill found himself floundering amidst throughout his entire life left him weary and aching; Ford could now see more of the damage sustained, and where needed the most attention. Bill self-harmed and acted out as way to cope with had happened to him. To justify it.

Bill had killed his family and regretted it. If Bill sincerely had feelings for Ford, he would not kill Ford, having learnt his lesson.

An assumption with enough merit. Bill's threats towards Ford were indeed empty.


"Everything I've wanted to do to you, I've already done. Can't you tell?" Ford's tone was angelic. The man was a fucking angel, wasn't he? Wasn't he? Every word spoken was accompanied by antiphonary supplied by a choir of cherubs resembling Teeth.

He's died, died and gone to the wrong place. Stanford Pines belonged in heaven. Him? Not so much. Hell-o Kitty, here's Billy.

He's crying already and Ford's face is now a watercolour of red, grey and nude – like one of 8baller's stupid pretentious paintings. No hard shapes, no structure; just a wobbly mess he could stick his fingers in and smear. How many times would he cry today? It's winter, and there's always so much rain, so much cold, so much darkness.

Bill covered his eyes using Ford's hand; blindfolding himself as Ford had done earlier. Waterworks, a pipe's leaking. Someone call a plumber.

"What did you tell your father?" Father Ford asked.

"You know what I told him."

"Why did you tell him? What made you decide to?"

"I don't know. I wanted to come home. I wanted…I didn't want that man…to be allowed to…I just wanted to… I don't know. Maybe I watched too many family sitcoms. Wanted that life…maybe? TV. Ruining the youth of America with false promise of their future." Bill slumped.

I don't know what I wanted.

"Were you and your father close?"

"No, never." Bill's nails clawed into Ford's hand, releasing once he calmed. "Never…."

"Your mother?"

"Worked a lot, but she was good to me. Tough love but…you know…I had nothing against her."

Father Ford petted his head, and inside his mind, he imagines Ford calling him dolcezza.

"Your sister? You said…what happened to you, happened to her?"

"I…don't know. It's like…I remember seeing it happen to her but….the more I think about it, the more it looks like me."

God, those visions never made any sense. He thought himself the biggest sick fuck when he pictured his sister getting fucked like that.

But oops, it was him all along. A real M. Night Shyamalan twist. The Village was a terrible film.

"Can you elaborate?"

"We looked a lot alike. It's like…an out of body experience? Like you ever watch something happen to you?"

"No, but I know exactly what you're talking about. It's very– nevermind. I understand. I do."

"I think…I used that memory kinda as a…I dunno, it made me think, for a really long time, it never happened to me. But when I came back, I just…started remembering? God, it was awful. It came out of nowhere. You ever been on the road and some car just comes outta nowhere and nearly hammers you off your lane? I got hammed. Hammered."

The hand in his hair moves to the naked of his face, touching the wetness thoughtfully but not wiping it. Did Ford have a fetish for tears? The sicko. Pervert.

"And everything just went outta control. I think… it was around that time I…followed you more often, and then eventually I was doing it all the time."

"I understand."

"I so badly wanted you to be him, Ford. I really did. I just…why am I not happy that it's over? Why? They're all dead. I'm okay. I'm fine. So why?"

He eliminated the problem, any potential for a problem. Why? Why?

"God, then the drinking and you know that story…"

"You're scared I'm going to do what he did, and you're trying to prepare yourself for it." Ford said. "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. That's what you're doing. Do you believe me?"

"…Yeah. I'll believe you." No longer eager to fight, Bill relented. Sincerely.

Father Ford reclaimed his hand and kissed Bill's damp eyelids. Stubble… did Ford even know how to shave properly? Always with the stubble.

"Ugh no…come on…"

"There's nothing wrong with crying."

"Boys don't cry. Crying is for pussies." Bill grumbled.

"Then consider yourself a cat."

Bill choked a laugh out. "No…come on. That was so lame even for you."

"Humans cry, Bill. You're human." Ford said. "Don't forget that."

Ford's left hand cradled Bill's cheek as new tears streamed out. They kept coming, sliding like thick raindrops down a cold windowpane – only, Bill wasn't cold this time. He can hear his heart thumping in his chest like a finicky rabbit. A beating heart meant blood pumped through his veins– he was alive. Alive things were warm.

"You don't need to worry." Ford said, voice a lullaby. "Everything's going to be fine."

"Don't forget…your promise…"

"Yes, I know. I'll wait for you to tell me directly."

Watching Bill, Dr. Pines' face knotted with stress. Dr Pines' eyes then went to their intertwined hands, tightening it as his brows creased deeper. Barely any wrinkles at his eyes this time.

He imagined Ford in a white coat, the kinds you saw doctors wear. Smelling like alcohol – the strong kind. The type you drank when you wanted to see the light at the end of the tunnel once you passed out. The kind you bought when you couldn't afford actual liquor.

Next thing, he's pulled into Ford's arms and Dr. Pines' smells like that expensive cologne from Jersey Shore. What is that smell…? Bill visualised purple satin sheets, spilled red wine next to chocolate bon bons and a firelit room. Snow outside the house…

"My family has this reputation…" He started to ramble. "But once you get up close with them, they're just a bunch of fucked up people. You know, Jason used to joke about that fuckin' movie, what was it? The Godfather, yeah? As if real life is that fucking entertaining. That fucking pristine. Just like the boogeyman. It isn't real. Just shit people make up to scare you. 'no one ever says no to a Giordano' fuck him, I said no. I said no. I said no and I'm still alive so fuck him and fuck his family."

Ford rubbed his head, as he continued to blabber.

"I hate that man. Fuck him. Fuck him. I did everything he wanted and and fuck him."

"Xanth-Evan, he was all fucking ecstatic at my family. He…he..owed a lot…believed all that shit. Thought they were so fucking esteemed, the rumours are true, they're so fucking amazing. Boy, did that fucker get a wakeup call."

"Fuck him…fuck that man… fuck him." His arms tighten around Ford so much, he wondered if Ford could still breathe. Because he can barely breathe. "Fuck him! Fuck all of them! Fuck him! Fuck him fuck fuck him. Fuck him. I made myself. Fuck…fuck…fuck Gaspard Giordano. Let that fucker rot in the ground where he belongs."

More tears exit into Dr Pines' neck, and he hears, "There there…"

Ford knew everything. Everything, like some oracle.

"Ford…hey Ford…" He whispered. "Did I deserve it?"

Ford doesn't hesitate when answering. "No, you didn't. You didn't."

"Fuck you, Ford. Fuck…you…"

Ford was always right.

"My darling, you didn't deserve it." Dr Pines cradles his face with those twelve beautiful fingers. Aphrodite must've had twelve fingers.

There's nothing to say.

….

"Evan said I did."

"Well then fuck him."

The both laugh. Ford swearing – absurd. Ford, don't swear… it doesn't suit you.

He's still laughing and Ford is smiling - rosy cheeks and nose. Again, he's in Ford's arms. Ford speaks to him through a filter, every word comes out perfumed and breezy, like unpolluted midsummer air.

He could listen to only this voice for the rest of his life.

The embrace broke.

"Ford…what…what do I do?"

"What I told you. Do you remember? About school and leaving your family business behind?"

"Ford…do you really think I can change my life around…? Man…I really do…I really did deserve everything. I've done things, Ford. You…"

Ford's thumbs sit at the apples of his cheeks, and by the dilation of Ford's pupils, he knows he's the apple of Ford's eye.

"I'm not religious, but…Jesus once said, Jesus of Nazareth, that no matter what the sinner has done, if he comes for forgiveness, he will receive it. He even went as far as to say those who come to repent are more pious than those who flaunt their virtue. Acknowledging what you've done is important. It's the start."

Bill listened.

"Jesus was very much a political figure but I won't get into that now. Some sins can't be forgiven, and you might spend your life repenting for them. But what matters is if you try. And if you try to be better. You're young. It's too early for you to have so little hope, dear."

Bill's eyes dropped.

"I don't know what you've done. You can tell me whatever you want to. I won't press you for it. What I care is that you want to change and move forward. I cannot shrive you. Only those you have hurt can offer you absolution. It's up to you to ask forgiveness of them. It's up to you, bill." Ford held his chin, and Bill looked at him.

"It's always been up to you."

What did shrive mean? Asking would make him look stupid.

"Ford…if my grandfather…if he came for forgiveness, would you give it to him?"

"No." Ford said sharply.

"Then why do I deserve it? I'm a lot…like him, you know. I'm…just like him." Bill said. "My dad…my dad was nothing like him. Isn't that weird? That it was me who took after nonno? Why not my dad?"

"Your grandfather was a grown man who took advantage of his own grandson, Bill."

"I'm just like him. You know I've done…you know what I've done. You can imagine."

"Who do you think you would have been if he hadn't hurt you?"

"…Huh?"

"Who would you have been if you hadn't been hurt? If you'd grown up in a different environment?"

What?

Bill reclined. "I- you- you can make that same argument for my grandfather-"

"I can't. Because at that age, you would've become self-aware. If your grandfather had been abused as you had been, at his age, he would've understood what was driving him to do what he did and he would've fought against it."

Anger was coming again. "You have no proof."

"I do. Your father."

"What…?"

"Tell me a bit more about him. You said you were never close."

"Uh…I…yeah, he always…kept his distance from me. And my sister, but me in particularly."

"Was he physically affectionate?" Ford inquired, sounding like a therapist but lacking the stereotypical notepad.

"No…never."

"What did he do whenever you came near him?"

"He'd…look…intrigued? Skeptical. He always regarded me with hesitancy, as if coming too close was potentially dangerous. I still remember…the face he'd make. He was… just strange, I guess."

Papa…

"I see. Do you think your grandfather hurt your father?"

"…Yeah. I thought that…for a while. I think so…I think so…"

"And your father beat you when you told him. Defending his abuser. Your father protected you but he couldn't admit to himself what had happened to him and to you. He could only deal with it quietly. There's my proof. Your father was scared he'd be like your grandfather, and he kept his distance from you to protect you."

I knew it… I knew it…

"You…you're just making shit up now, Ford." Bill muttered, taking Ford's hand to snuggle his cheek into the palm.

Crying again.

"Darling…"

"Papa… really loved me, didn't he?"

"I'm sure he did." Ford used his other hand to gentle ruffle Bill's hair. "What he did is inexcusable, but his other actions align with him wanting only what was best for you."

"You're… making stuff up…" Getting words out was becoming difficult.

"I'm theorising. We can't confirm it, so why not take it as fact? It'll make you feel better." Ford suggested. Very out-of-character. Stanford Pines was a man of facts.

"That's…unlike you…"

"This is unlike you." Ford smiled, thumb rubbing across Bill's chin.

"Where do I even start? You're delusional." Bill fumed, pouting. Too good to be true. He's dreaming.

Ford stood up and led Bill by the hand towards his buzzing computer. He patted the chair and Bill sat.

"What's this?" Bill asked. The screen held rows of questions, beginning at one and extending to an unknown number.

"The quiz I printed for you. I wanted a hard copy of your answers but let's do this instead." Ford guided Bill's hand to the mouse, placing his own atop Bill's while leaning beside him.

"Now, answer each question and explain to me why you're selecting the option. Can you do that?"

Bill looked up at Ford, and then at the screen. White light from the screen hid Ford's eyes and he swore within the irradiated lens, he saw his future. A tilt revealed benign eyes, offering only absolution. All he had to do was take the offer.

Yes.

"Sure, I guess."

"Let's go through them together."

Another peak was attempted at Ford but proved unsuccessful; Ford had leaned over, resting his right cheek at Bill's left cheek, eyes at the screen. His right hand still atop Bill's own, at the mouse.

Bill will remember this image.

"The first one. Do you consider yourself to enjoy abstract art, or realistic art?"

"Easy….realism…especially if it looks like me. I like it when something is replicated perfectly."

"Abstract doesn't appeal to you?"

"Hmm I suppose, but realism just raptures me, you know?"

"I see. Next one then…."


"A whopping 67!" Bill yelled while stretching out his neck and shoulders. How Ford sat for hours at a computer eluded Bill. "Can…we go to bed now? I'm tired…"

"Of course." Ford rubbed his head. "You did very well. You powered through it."

"It was fun….kinda."

"You did very well." Ford continued to stroke Bill's hair, tidying it in places he felt necessary.

"You said that already." Bill closed his eyes, chin tilting up into the familiar touch. "Thanks…Ford."

"You're more than welcome."

Bill raised his hand, looked at it pensively and then at Ford. "High…six?"

"High six?" Once Ford understood, a smile came, joined by Bill's own.

"High six!" Bill grinned and their hands met, locking together to fill the spaces between every finger. Ford's sixth made it seem as if his hand did the main embracing, its size overwhelming Bill's protectively.

Bill watched, lips curling happily – he caught Ford's eye and smiled wider, those dimples appearing.


Ford's fingers outlined the bruises marring Bill's neck with hesitant but inquisitive touches. Their colouring was alike to a beautiful galaxy; swirls of blues, purples, the slightest tinge of red. Ford chastised himself for finding beauty in Bill's injuries. Yet, he can still imagine sketching this, perhaps adding in a freckle of stars…

"What happened? Who did this to you?"

"A guy I pissed off. He held me down and tried choking me. I think I let it go on longer than it had to out of pure enjoyment." Bill said and Ford questioned Bill's honesty.

"Is he the one who shot you?"

"Nah, that was his buddies getting revenge." Bill said while Ford's fingers continued to caress the dappled skin. "My grandfather, and my father, never got shot. Just me. Disappointing the family again!"

Bill's laughter was loud, intended to disguise the discernible hurt. Ford kissed the bruises, making rounds across Bill's neck. The boy giggled at the homeopathic treatment, and whenever Ford met his eyes, only bliss shone in them.

"You have bodyguards, don't you? How did he get his hands on you?"

"Told them to leave the room. That I could handle it. Won't be doing that again…" Bill returned the favour, kissing Ford in the neck following a path resembling a collar.

"It went right through, you're lucky." Ford said, examining Bill's wound. Still quite fresh but with definite signs of progression.

So far, cleaning had been effortless with Bill barely wincing– confirming both the dosage and the painkillers themselves were adequate. The wound itself was healing well; no sign of infection or complication. Stitches were clean and neat.

"Yeah? Might've died like Teeth, huh?" Bill grinned.

"I… let me get back to it." Ford returned to cleaning, not wanting old invisible wounds to reopen.

"Wanna stick your finger in the moist hole?" Bill asked in a way Ford thought belonged in the bedroom and not their pseudo surgery.

"No. Why would I?"

"For science."

Ford sighed.

"Besides, when last were your fingers in a self-lubricating hole that wasn't my mouth? Not like you've gotten pussy recently."

"Bill. Don't talk like that." Ford pulled on Bill's hair, Bill squeaking at the sudden stinging.

"Hey! Don't pull my hair!"

"Don't be disrespectful."

"Don't bully me! I have a gun, Ford."

"No, you don't." Ford pulled at Bill's arm playfully.

There was no reason to be afraid any more.


Ford's voice is different. What once sounded authoritative now sounded like audible cotton puff – the stuff he'd see whenever he cut up vintage teddy bears and dolls. Ford speaks and it's as though every word is lovingly crooned. Ford was a giant teddy-bear after all, and now Bill is quite certain he's made of cotton puff.

One day, Dreamcatcher and he will confirm it.


In bed, he lays upon Ford, his hands joined together at Ford's head in a makeshift crown. King Stanford.

"So…I wanna tell you something."

"I remember you told me that through text."

"It's…I mean…I'm ready. To tell you."

"Don't strain yourself."

"No…I'm ready…I uh…how do I begin?"

"Tell me whatever you want."

"Uh…" Bill retreated into his neck, hiding there. The crown broke.

"When I was…six…I think…yeah…six…"

"Twelve yeah…he gave me the talk, you know? Hit puberty. Told me, when a man loves a woman… showed me. He showed me, with those…those tattooed hands. …I uh…I already…I mean, I saw…I told you, he showed me videos…but…I don't know. Like, he said it's what you do when you love someone…" Bill whispered, tattoos stinging. "I didn't know any better…the videos, I mean. I didn't know what they meant. You know…how it is… how was I supposed to know…? I thought they loved each other…whatever. The first time we fucked, it was–"

"You didn't have sex. He raped you."

"Ford, quit using that fucking word." Bill barked.

"What do you think that word means?"

Bill stayed silent, macerating in his anger. Then, "He loved me."

"Do you think that's what it means to love someone?"

"What?" Bill seethed.

"Earlier, you said to me that I don't love you. Why do you think I don't?"

Bill stayed still.

"Because I won't have sex with you? Or because I won't force myself on you?"

"Fuck you."

"Bill, language."

Silence.

"Don't shut down on me. Talk to me."

"…Do you love me?"

Ford touches his face, the six fingers saying 'yes'.

"He said he loved me."

"He lied." Ford said. "Think of all the times he hurt you. You don't do that to people you love."

"Sometimes you hurt the people you love."

"Not deliberately, my darling."

Bill scoffed loudly.

"Don't fight me on this. You said you'd do whatever I want." Ford said, Bill shrivelling in his arms.

"Darling…"

Silence.

"Darling, you wouldn't have run away if you didn't hate what he did to you. Why did you run?"

Bill takes a while before he answers. "I…I… sorry. Never mind. I…never told anyone…because…we were related. I thought…I thought that's why…it was…bad? I thought…that's why I…kept quiet? But him fucking me…he said it was normal… said…Gaspard always kept a pet, and pets resembled their owners. I was his second heir so it fit… One day, I was going to be just like him. Fuck, it all made sense at the time. It made perfect sense. It was…it was okay…"

"You aren't a pet. Don't apologize for anything. This is not your fault. I'm sure…he did love you, when you were younger. When you were younger."

"When he wasn't hurting me…?"

"Yes."

"Thinking about it now is…weird. It's…strategic…isn't it? When I replay those memories…"

"Now you're catching on. You learn quickly. Your grandfather was very manipulative. You do take after him, in that regard."

Bill let out a throaty chuckle.

"But everyone is a little manipulative." Ford said.

Even he wasn't innocent in that regard.


"There was a time…when I couldn't even cum unless I was in some kind of pain. Whenever I was taking it." Bill whispers into Ford's ear, laying picturesquely atop him. "Things changed…a little. Slowly."

"When you were with me, when was the last time you had sex? Or masturbated?"

"Uh…a few days? I did the fucking though. I don't touch myself. Don't ask me that again."

Ford's left hand stroked Bill's hair with idle and tender touches, sliding lower every so often to stroke his wounded back and neck.

"Were you surprised when you came when you were with me?"

"I was more shocked…to really notice, I guess…"

"Why were you shocked?"

"You know…you were…really gentle…come on, it's lame talking about this."

"You started it. Let's continue this. Do you ever have those urges still?"

"Yeah…" Bill says, burrowing his nose as much as he could within Ford's neck, shame guiding him.

"And? You still want me to hurt you?"

"Nah. It doesn't suit you…"

"If it did, would you want me to?"

Pleasant silence before Bill replies.

"Hey…can I tell you the truth? You won't tease me?"

"Tell me, darling."

"I fantasize about it still, sometimes. But if you ever did, I think…I'd… well…you know…"

"I do. You don't really want to."

Bill tugged strands of his silver hair, envisioning them a delectable chocolate brown colour.

"Whenever…he was really mean to me…or hurt me, he'd always be really nice to me…afterwards. Just like you are to me now. Like, there'd be this period of him being…so good to me? I used to…look forward to when he'd hurt me so he'd be nice to me again…" Bill whispered. "But…you're always nice…you really are the best…aren't you? Stanford…"

"You don't have to earn that from me the way you did from him."

"Earn it? Whatever…" Bill nips his ear timidly. "…Hey, tell the truth. Are you…do you like anything weird? Are you buttering me up for something…?"

At Bill's worry, Ford's arms tightened even further around him as if letting go would be detrimental to both their wellbeing's. "No, dear. You of all people should know what I'm like. You lived in my shadow for a long time, after all."

"Yeah but…maybe you hide it…all the time…"

"You know me better than that."

Hitching of Bill's voice could be heard, accompanied by smothered sniffles: Bill was crying.

"Don't cry, darling…what's wrong?"

"Nothing…nothing…I dunno…fuck me, this is awkward…"

"Ssshhh, it's okay. It's okay."

"I really missed you, Ford…" Bill sobbed quietly, wetting Ford's neck with light drizzles while Ford continued to rub his head.

The wispy rain passed and Bill began muttering in Italian; Ford not having the heart to reprimand him. Ford wrapped both arms around Bill in a snug cocoon, allowing his lover to safely replenish through the night what life had spent tears taking from him.

One night of many nights to come. Nights of recuperation. In the chrysalis of Stanford's arms.

Where he belonged.


"He stopped holding me. Said I was too old. I think that's why I ran. He stopped being nice. I guess…it was because I was no longer a kid. Once you aren't a kid anymore…no one cares. You're just…on your own. Your feelings don't matter. You're an adult. Fucking man up. Deal with it."

"Human beings were never meant to be on their own. We are social creatures, after all. We need one another."

"Says the loner."

"I'm not a loner anymore, am I?"


The booming of thunder reminds him of the first time he heard his father yell at him. At that moment, he believed that was why his father rarely spoke: it was simply too terrifying and overwhelming for the average man to endure.

The rain that follows is his tears. The lightning the white seen when struck hard enough to blur your vision.

In the dark, he wiggles in Ford's arms, and Ford laughs softly at the preciousness. "Scared?"

"Nope. Just thinking…"

"About?"

"I was thinking about my dad…and uh…the people on the street wo have nowhere to go in this time of weather."

Surprised at Bill's empathy, Ford listened further.

"Kinda…makes me think of my first time in New York. I never had anywhere to go for a while. No money. Ah, forget it."

"No, tell me about your time in New York."

"I told you lots already…"

"I know. I'm saying you can keep telling me."

"Hmmm…"

"I was 15, maybe on the cusp of 16. Dunno. Had nowhere to go, so I stopped by a church. Catholic and all that. Met a priest who took me in. Didn't last long."

Ford rubs his head in circles while the rain patters at the window, asking for entry into their dry safe haven.

"Maybe a week. He fucked me, and let me stay with him. I swear, older guys are so easy. I turn the charm on, a little wink here touch there and dicks are falling everywhere. I know just what to do, in all the right ways. Probably all that porn nonnino made me watch. Really jacked up my skills."

"He loved all that typical shit. 'oh your cock is so thick fuck me fuck me blaaah'. Fuck, I hate that shit. Porn. Like don't get me wrong, I'll film my own. But watch it? Fuck. I hate it. Hate it. I fucking hate it. It disgusts me. Sex disgusts me. People are animals."

Ford tensed.

"Sorry, got carried away there… anyway. So, after I seduced a priest – one way ticket to hell, mind you- and got kicked out because we had a little falling out, I-"

"You didn't seduce a priest. He raped you. You were just a child." Ford interrupted.

"Come on, I was 15. I knew what I was doing. He was cute."

"Darling, would you have done it if you weren't homeless?"

"…Ford, come on. I know what you're playing at. I wasn't a victim."

"You lie to yourself, Bill. Because if you admit what that priest did was wrong, you'd have to admit what your grandfather did was wrong. There is no shame in what happened to you." Ford said. "No shame. Now, tell me."

Bill purposely breathes louder.

"Just relax and think about it. Remember: you're safe here with me." Ford coos."You can say whatever you want. Nothing bad's going to happen to you. I promise."

"…I wouldn't…have."

Brief silence.

"It was disgusting." Bill's voice is almost a whisper. "It's…yeah…yeah it was…it was gross."

"He was disgusting. I hated it. I hated every second of it. But I told myself I liked it. I…Ford…Ford…I– God, I hated it. I really did. I fucked lots of older men after that…like, I dunno. When I think now, it was…like opening the gateway to all the stuff that followed. After that, I'd go to places where they're easy to find. Easy easy…I hated it. I hated it. I don't know, Ford. I'm weird…"

Ford kissed the skin closest to his lips: Bill's forehead.

"I didn't wanna go around turning tricks. I have my fucking pride. Fucking him so I had a place seemed great, you know? I thought it was a win win: I liked it, and I got a place to crash. Hated it. Hated being some fucker's pet. Kissing the ass of some old guy. Always. Always stuck doing that shit."

Bill breathed in deeply. "I…really missed him…I think I always knew…I was looking for him…like I'd show up at a place one night, and nonnino would be there and I'd finally go home. God, I just wanted to go home… I thought he'd come fetch me. That he'd take me home. None… none of the other men loved me. They didn't. They were different…"

"They don't listen if you say no. They don't. You gotta pretend it's an act so you don't feel like you got fucked over. Just pretend like no actually meant yes or else afterwards you feel…fuck, I dunno. You feel empty. I just- I dunno. Sorry, I dunno how to explain this."

"I hated it…fuck, I hate being touched. I hate it. I hate it. I hate sex. It's so repulsive, god. Why do people do it? It's disgusting. I hate it." Bill muttered. "No wait…that's…that doesn't make sense. Hang on, I'm just rambling. I don't hate it. It just seems to suck most of the time. It's never enough. You ever eaten something you love but somehow, you're never satisfied? Or maybe it isn't cooked the right way, so you're like 'ugh I hate this' but you really don't? Then you eat it anyway…because you're starving. Yeah…like that. I never felt anything then. It just felt good. But I didn't feel anything…not like I do now. Now I hate it but then, I didn't. Okay, I'm not making sense. I… listen, Ford…I…"

"Ford…? Ford? Ford, are you crying?"

"Ford, don't cry…."

"Ford? Hey Ford…it's gonna be okay…don't cry…"

Ford cries, hidden in the dark.

"Ford? Ford don't cry…Ford…Ford…"

Ford apologizes.

"No, why are you crying? Ford…Ford sorry. Sorry, Ford…Ford, please don't cry…"

"I…never should've touched you. I'm so sorry…" Ford chokes out, every word struggling to exit his throat. "You were so young…so…so young…six…twelve…for so many years…"

Ford's throat thickened, voice now raspier. "How? How was it so easy for you to find men who'd hurt you like this?"

Bill winces. Hearing Ford like this…

"No no…no…wait…wait til I'm done talking okay? Just wait…Ford wait…"

Bill leaves imprints of kisses all over Ford's face, whose eyes lay hidden by a hand. He kisses to make it better, just like Ford taught him, until a smile evinces.

"Don't cry…don't cry…"

Ford says to continue.

"So…when I met Evan. I think I mentioned it , maybe? He took me in, surprisingly…he never…he never asked anything of me. Like…never…wanted to fuck me. Never. Never touched me like that."

"I was…I really…liked him. I remember this…this scene…where I'm sitting on our bed. We shared a bed. A double bed. In the middle of the apartment. We had a one room apartment, and the kitchen was sectioned off. I sat watching him do the dishes. I'd always watch him. The…silhouette…like, his frame– there's this image burned in my brain. He's in a white shirt, slightly tight, and he's washing dishes. And he turns his head, noticing me but does nothing. Then a few minutes later he looks at me…and smiles. It's a really…slight smile, but it's there, you know? In the curve of his lips, the squint of his eyes. Sometimes he's wearing a white shirt with a picture of an island on the back. Hawaii? I don't fucking know…"

"I just…I always…liked him… I…when I'd look at him from behind, I'd see my father…my dad who was always so quiet…. With his black hair…and his height. My dad was tall. Like me."

"I was different when I started out…a little more like I am now. Scared all the time. He was nice…weird but nice. I'd…I mean… he's the reason I knew for sure I liked men. Fuck, I'd get these butterflies in my stomach. He'd look at me and I'd feel all self-conscious."

"He was really aloof. Like… he let me share his bed, dressed in front of me, and shit. Nothing phased him, and he was really compliant. Here, he was more…subservient but back home, really… he'd do anything I asked, but never seemed like a pushover. And scary when he dealt everyone else. It made me feel special. How he was an A-grade asshole to everyone else except me. And Kryptos, too. Oh…when I met Evan… around that time, although Kryptos's dad was dead, he was still being taken care of by his grandfather. Old guy passed away soon after and he came to stay with us."

Ford nuzzled his nose in Bill's silky hair.

"And then he… he fucked me over. Liar. Liar…god, I feel so fucking stupid. I thought...I really thought…Ford, I thought he loved me. He wanted to fuck me. I thought he loved me. It felt like he was taking care of me. All a lie. That really…"

Bill Cipher doesn't get hurt.

"…hurt. I cried a lot over that. Like a total wimp."

"Okay…I uh, I'll skip ahead… I was free? Kinda? I could do whatever I wanted. I made money by the usual: drugs, theft, running errands for bigger guys and human trafficking here and there. I used to do this thing where I'd seduce older guys, rob them and then drug them. It was great. They're so fucking stupid. Eventually, I thought it'd be cool if I found people as fucked up as me. And my gang was born. I… did…some terrible shit, Ford. If I told you in detail, you'd hate me. So, I'm gonna skip out on that. Time passed, and I was all 'what if I went home and killed everyone and took over?' Great plan, right?"

"Wait, did anyone else know who you were?" Ford asked.

"As in my real identity? There were rumours, cause of the tats. I changed my identity a lot so most who knew me thought I was just faking that shit."

"I see. Alright, carry on."

"I come home and nonno isn't there. He was in Italy… health issues. I…see your photo. I tell my dad. I say your father fucked me. And you knew. You knew, I told him. Because he did, Ford. I know he did. I know I know because it happened to him. I know…I know…I KNOW. We got into an argument and he…was screaming. I've never heard my father yell." Bill shrunk in Ford's arms. "Tries attacking me, I slice his face. He beats me blah blah. He had…the same scar as Evan…afterwards. Sorry… I don't really…wanna go into too much detail, if that's okay."

"It's fine, darling. So, you suspected it happened to your father that strongly?"

"Yeah…"

"Surgery…and I get in contact with Fids. You know how that ends. Then I follow you. And…drinking. We were all drinking. Drunk all the time. I was never sober, not once." He rubs Ford's face to check for any new or stray tears.

"I…that night…I came to see you. That night we were together… that was the first time…anyone ever touched me like that. It didn't feel like we did anything…sexual? Like…I can't explain it. Every time…I was with you, before that, it felt like a dream. You reminded me of him, before…he…anyway…every time after that…the…the way you look at me, and talk to me…the way you touch me…it's so….it's so…I don't know…it doesn't hurt…it doesn't hurt…"

"I was…a lil drunk the first time we were together, so my most vivid memories are after that. I remember…the hotel. How gentle you were then, too…how you called me dear…and darling while your fingers never hurt. And…and how you rub my head when I suck you off…it's the best…you're so nice…you always…you always take such good care of me…you aren't selfish. Overly generous, actually…the best… you always hold me afterwards. Who does that? Who? You do…"

Bill sighed out a laugh.

"I lied to you, you know. When I said it doesn't hurt. That time when you said no to sex. It normally hurts, when I take it. But I'm so used to it… and that time, that time when you were punishing me with your fingers? It didn't fucking hurt."

"I took advantage of you…you were…" Ford whispered with regret.

"It's okay, Ford. It's okay…don't be sad…"

"Anyway…I….I don't hate sex or anything. I've maybe…I mean…I've been with people I enjoyed, but I was always the one fucking, you know? On other end…it…it just doesn't feel good. I like pain, but…but it…it doesn't feel good. But I know…I know with you, it won't hurt. I know…" He kisses into Ford's neck. "I know…it won't hurt. Nothing hurts with you."

"I know…I know I'd love sex with you, I do love sex with you. Everything we do, I love. I love it when you touch me. Don't stop touching me, Ford…" He continues to kiss Ford's neck. "I wouldn't be here if you hadn't touched me…I wouldn't be feeling better…if you hadn't touched me…"

Composed, Ford said. "You hate sex because you've been raped so often and you can't distinguish the two."

"Ford…"

"It's true. When you say you hate sex, you're saying you hate being raped. The sex you do claim you enjoy are the consensual encounters." Ford explained. "You've spent years re-enacting your abuse, Bill. Of course you'd hate it."

"Oh…"

Silence once more.

"You're…you're right, Ford. Maybe. I had no idea what it was like when someone loved you. You're right…he… never loved me. Not like you do. I bet…I bet if you were my dad…or my grandfather…everything would've been better…"

"Hey Ford…if you do wanna hurt me, I'm okay with it. Just…in case. I mean…I wouldn't mind trying some of that with you. I bet it'd be better with you. Like it was with nonno…it's different when someone loves you. The pain isn't that bad or anything. You get through it…and it's worth it, when they're happy…"

"Just…kiss me afterwards? Yeah…I'd like that…"

"Please don't hurt me…Ford…"

Ford's crying again, and so is he.

Bill holds one of Ford's hands while bathing him in allaying kisses.

"Don't cry…don't cry…"


Ford touches him in the same way his grandfather touched him, with different intentions and six fingers instead of tattooed ones.

Every touch a blessing.

Because only the damned don't cry.

We aren't the damned, Stanford.


4am, and Ford had to use the bathroom. As he got up, he felt himself pulled back as if chained to the bed.

"No, where are you going…?" Bill- the culprit- whined, half asleep.

"The bathroom, darling."

"I'll go with you."

"No no–" but Bill's already climbing out.

He relieved himself with Bill's arms wrapped around his neck from behind, purring. They both washed their hands and he had Bill climb into bed first and then pulled him close, the boy snuggling up against him as always.

"You're so clingy."

Bill's throat rumbled in response, like a little toy engine.

He kissed Bill's forehead. "And here I am, rewarding such bad behaviour…"

A sleepy laugh, and soon, they're both asleep.


"Hey Ford…wake up."

"What time is it…?"

"Six."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing…you were…laying weird. Uh, can you lay on your right side? Just turn over…"

Ford did as requested and Bill squirmed next to him, Ford's arms locking around him automatically.

"Okay, you can go back to sleep now."

"So clingy…"

Bill responded with drowsy purrs in his neck.

His little kitten.


Twelve. Earlier than twelve it had begun, but twelve…

It explained Bill's emotional immaturity– he had never matured past the age his abuse occurred.

No wonder Bill could barely express himself, or articulate his feelings. How could he when he had never been given the proper tools?

Ford rubs Bill's head until he drifts away.


Saturday


When Stanford was young and his mother was in a good mood, he'd wake to the smell of French toast. Or rather, any egg dish that didn't require too much work, but always an egg dish. They were easy while still requiring enough effort to demand gratitude and praise. Ford's mother did not like to work, but she did enjoy praise.

When he smelt French toast shimmying through the air, for just a moment, he thought he was back home in Glass Shard, New Jersey. Alone during spring break, having to spend his days on the beach getting sun burnt while Stanley brought him stray litter from beach squatters. Watching the other kids play with one another, ignoring him.
He rose, and still sleepy, walked to the kitchen where he found Bill at the stove; hair dishevelled and wearing Ford's bathrobe. Jazz music boogied through the air, Bill's body swaying naturally to the beat.

Bill's smile greeted him like rising summer sun during holiday. "Morning! You look terrible, Stanford. Jeez."

"Morning to you, too. That smells wonderful… French toast?"

"No, Italian toast." Bill quipped, flipping toast in the pan. "Nearly done, too. Have a seat."

"French toast and a mini omelette." Bill revealed. "The golden experience."

"Lavish breakfast…." Ford said, as Bill laid out everything out. A tall glass of orange juice, an omelette and a side dish of three slices of French toast. The toast was a beautiful golden yellow – cooked to perfection. The omelette was similar to the previous one Bill had cooked for him. Perfect as well. Gold experience indeed.

"What are you eating? Have you eaten already?" Ford asked, ready to dig in.

"Just gonna have coffee."

Ford grabbed Bill's wrist. "Darling…please eat something."

"I'm fine, Ford!" Bill whined.

"Bring me a plate please. I'll split my omelette and you can have half. We'll share the toast, too."

"Ford-"

"Please, Bill. Please eat."

Bill put his mug down and fetched a plate with matching utensils. He frowned the entirety of Ford splitting the omelette, and Ford then realized he had to make this an enjoyable experience to ensure Bill was encouraged to eat in the future.

"What if I fed it to you?" Ford asked, and then Bill was already leaning forward, mouth open and ready.

Ford thought of the childish aeroplane and choo-choo train games adults used to feed children.

Here comes the aeroplane! Now open up!

The problem of how to get Bill Cipher to eat: partially solved.

Ford realized managing Bill's diet was compulsory if he expected Bill to pick up weight. Preventing Bill's nausea would be the most effective, but alterations to his diet would have added benefits in his overall recovery.

Ford never cared much for his own diet. But once Bill Cipher was added into the equation, setting an example was important.


Bill watched him shave.

"I've never seen you shave." Ford said, tapping the blade clean beneath the running water.

"I laser."

"Laser?"

"Yeah, I had my face lasered. My dick, too." Bill said. "Maybe you should consider it? Burn that shit right off!"

"Lasers actually destroy the hair follicle. They don't necessarily 'burn' the hair off."

"Yeah yeah…"

"So, that's why you're always so…smooth."

Bill winked at him. "Want me to pay for you to get your dick and face lasered? Maybe your under arms too?"

"Oh, no no I'm fine." Ford replied.

"I kinda like you a little hairy…I mean, the hair, and arms part…boy, you have a lot of hair, now that I think about it."

"I have an average amount for a man. You have quite hairy arms, too."

"Italian. Shouldn't you be a balding?" Bill asked as he scrutinized further.

"Good genes." Ford said.

"Let me…shave your face."

"I'm not letting you near me with a razor."


"Let's cook dinner together." Ford suggested.

"You can cook?"

"No, but I can learn."

Bill beamed.

Couples who cooked together, stayed together.

"I'm going to pick up ingredients." Ford said, putting on his coat.

"I'll go with you!" Bill made a rush for his coat but Ford held him back.

"I can handle this. You stay here. I'll be right back." Ford repeated, but Bill kept fretting.

"Darling, I'll be right back."

Bill gave a 'hmph', and surrendered.

"Have you seen my wallet?" Ford asked while checking his pockets.

"Don't bother. Ask for a guy named Soos and tell him I sent you. He'll put it on my tab."

"Zeus?"

"Yeah, Soos. Looks like a giant mole rat. Tends to wear question marks on his shirts." Bill said, seating himself at the kitchen counter.

"Hmm, I think I may know of this boy you speak of."

"Boy? Dude's a grown man."

"Well, in comparison to me…"

"Yeah yeah."

"Alright. I'll be back soon, dear. Behave."

Bill grinned.

[Ford's Darling]: Hey punto interrogativo
[Ford's Darling]: Stanford's coming over so give him a hand
[Ford's Darling]: Or two
[Ford's Darling]: And don't call him Stanford
[Ford's Darling]: It's Dr Pines to you, jackass
[?]: whoa you finally broke the ice! How'd you do it?
[Ford's Darling]: Not now, Soos

"How did you meet that…unfortunate looking man?" Ford asked as he unpacked the newly bought groceries. Fresh produce was always ideal for cooking.

"When I was following you in the store, he noticed." Bill replied, nabbing a sweetie-pie treat he assumed was his. If he can see it, it's his to take.


They spend all of Saturday watching Stargate. Ford paused their marathon to watch the Stargate movie, and during it, Bill noticed Ford's attentiveness increased whenever a specific character appeared on screen.

"Hey, so…did you ever find Ra attractive?"

Ford blushed, adjusting his glasses. Guilty. "Y-yes, when I first saw the movie…"

"Don't you think he looks a little like me?" Bill mused.

"Not particularly…"

"Oh come on, we totally…look alike…" Bill looped his arms around Ford's neck. You have a type: tall, dark and handsome. And dangerous."

Bill still remembers how hard Ford got the last time he 'threatened' him during sex. Pervert.


Ford's in the bath. Bill washes his hair and makes a convincing argument as to why Ford should take the Jurassic leap and dye his grey hair.

The older man gives up and Bill dunks his head underwater in triumph.

"Why do you do that? Just relax, Ford." Bill said, drying Ford's hair with a towel.

"What do you mean?"

"You're obsessed with my age. And you keep trying to play adult. Just let go. I watched you, for a long time, Stanford. I know what you're like."

Ford contemplated Bills' words. In retrospection, they held truth. He was overcompensating. But he could not prevent it– Bill needed a strong figure to lean on.

"Hey…" Bill hunched over, upside, and waved a hand in his face. "Just be yourself, Stanford."

"The same goes for you."

"Let's make a deal then. We'll both be ourselves from now on! No more being held back by anything!" Bill threw the towel into the laundry basket. Goal!

"I like that."

"We're weird. Let's be fucking weird. Let's stop trying to be what we aren't…" He rubbed his nose against Ford's ear. "You're fucking weird and it's awesome."

"You sound so young when you say that. Using words like 'awesome.'"

"Shaddup."


"He wanted what was best for me." Bill whispers in the confessional dark.

"I want what's best for you, dear."

"I know…"

"Do you want to… force yourself on me? Right now? Like fuck me hard?"

"No, my darling. Where is this coming from?"

"I was just thinking about it…"

"Don't think about it." Ford kisses his cheek repeatedly. "Okay? Don't think about it."

"He'd do it randomly, sometimes."

Bill cries in his arms. Carefully, he holds Bill and rolls over, shielding Bill with his broad frame from the world that hurt him. His lover's face is tumid and shining with tears in what scant light they had. He kisses Bill's cheek to dispel the frost and a meek smile is born out of the parting cold. Kisses Bill's forehead, and works his way down: eyelids, nose, cheeks again, lips, jaw.

He doesn't tell Bill to stop crying but soon, the crying subdues on its own, replaced with giggles – the kisses ticklish and the now alleviated atmosphere uplifting them both.

One of Bill's hands come to his face to wipe the tears but Ford detains it and wipes Bill's face himself. As if compelled, Bill's puffy cheek is drawn into the hand. Ford thought Bill's face, when compared to his large abnormal hand, was incredibly diminutive. As Bill sought comfort in it, he resembled a child even more so than usual. More tears– in gratitude this time. Thumbing soft strokes across Bill's damp cheek until it's no longer damp, Ford's thumb slips down only to be nipped. Bill tittered at Ford's faux grimace, the man getting revenge by vibrating his lips at Bill's neck until the boy is squealing and squirming for mercy.

Quiet again.

Neither of them speak. What needs to be said is being said through other means. He ensures Bill's face is dry and they move onto their sides, with his arms wrapped protectively around Bill and Bill's resting over his.

"Everything's going to be okay, my darling. I'm here now." He whispers into Bill's ear and the hands at his clasp tightly.

He cries.

He cries, in the arms of a man who does not think it's weak or befitting punishment.

Stanford Pines…

It's still raining but Ford said he liked the rain.

"I miss my dad…and my mom…and my sister…" Bill whispered. "My...my friends too..."

Melancholy with regret, he shimmies further up Ford until his eyes are clouded by the salmon-pink of Ford's nose. They share an eskimo kiss and then he lays his cheek at Ford's collarbone to remind himself that although he'd lost what will never return, he'd found something else in its absence.

"Hey Ford?"

"Yes, my darling?"

"Hey, you're over-using darling…" Bill blew raspberries into Ford's skin. "I'm sorry…for everything."

Ford lays a hand on his cheek as a blanket. He's soon asleep.


Ford was woken by the feel of something probing his mouth – oh, Bill's tongue.

Wait what?

The dense darkness implied it was still the middle of the night. A hand is pawing through his hair and another is lazily thumbing the contour of his right hip, nails denting into skin as if kneading dough. Aggression took reins and Bill straddled him sluggishly. Ford moved a hand to urge him off but the hand was quickly pinned against the bed, fingers joining with his.

Freeing his mouth, he manages: "Bill, darling…it's the middle of the night…"

"Sei in vena…?" Bill breathes in his ear, and then keeps talking in strings of Italian. By the deliverance and grinding of hips into him, Ford knew he had to be saying less than modest things.

Night kissing continues; Ford still uncomfortable and Bill still hungry. Late night munchies. Bill descends into his neck, still kissing, and then stops, his entire body weight suddenly falling onto Ford.

It took Ford a few seconds to realize Bill had fallen asleep. In the midst of kissing him.

At least he wasn't heavy, Ford thought, leaving the boy atop him.


Sunday


"Here's a list of occupations that would suit you. Do you want to go through them now or later?" Ford asked, flapping the paper side to side.

Bill pulls Ford's free hand onto his cheek. "…Later."


"Okay…I'm gonna do your eyebrows and hair at the same time." Bill declared, reading the instructions on a small green box. "They say not to use it on your eyebrows, but as long as it doesn't get in your eyes, we're good."

"Bill…are you sure?" Ford asked, now anxious.

"Oh yeah. I'll just rub Vaseline underneath your brows so it doesn't drip into your eyes. Also, you're gonna have to lay back, just to be safe." Bill opened the box, taking out its contents and giving them a once over. "This is a ten-minute kit. Dye for men always takes like, a fraction of the women's one. Probably because the chick one has a million ingredients for nice hair. Your hair is a virgin so we don't need to be nice to it."

Ford frowned; surely if his hair was virginal, more care was required…? To ensure it remained healthy?

"Okay!" Bill grinned. " You ready?!"

Vexed but a man of his word, Ford nodded.

He dyes Ford's hair brown with no complications. Before Ford can look in the mirror, the terminal begins to beep.

Boop.

"I'm going to knock another five years off. You okay with that, Sixer?" Bill asks, his smile so wide, the flesh at his eyes wrinkles with strain.

"What?"

"Boom! Sold to the man with the six fingers! Five years off coupon!"

Ford sees blue, and then forgets.

"Ford, how old are you actually?"

"61. I thought you knew?"

"Have you seen yourself in the mirror? Seriously, it's not just your new do. You look like you're in your thirties." Bill pushes him towards the big mirror in the bathroom. "Look! Look how little wrinkles you have! You had a few just a couple weeks ago! What happened to them?!"

"I'm…not sure." Ford said, noticing the difference himself. The man in the mirror is too young to be Stanford Pines. Was it possible for a change in hair colour to have such substantial effect? Bill was correct; he looks exactly how he looked in his thirties. He felt as young as he looked, too. What was going on?

"Bullshit! What are you using? Are like those old guys who try to look young after they get a young partner? Who knew you were so self-conscious!" Bill hugged him from behind. "Incredible! You look incredible!"

"God, how long was alcohol in my system for? Maybe you've always looked this way…" Bill mused, livening up once his attention returned to Ford.

"I like it! I like it a lot!" Bill assaults Ford with little kisses all over his face – glasses included.

Ford laughs, hands attempting to pacify Bill. "You really didn't like my grey hair?"

"It's not that… we match now. We match! You don't look like you're…it doesn't matter. We match now. I love it! Come on, let's take photos together!"

Ford's wallet now has a credit-card sized polaroid of Bill and himself. They look like lovers, with Ford perhaps just a little older.


What was happening...?


Ford said they'll Dungeons Dungeons and more Dungeons when Bill is feeling better. For now, they should think of what characters they'll be using.


Ford began kissing at Bill's earlobe, dipping into all of its little cervixes. He traces a half-moon from ear to ear, and then makes a beeline down Bill's spine. He stamped Stanford kisses across Bill's tense back while a hand fondled Bill's hair.

The scars came into view and Ford kissed each, thrice this time; Bill's hands clenched at the realisation but relaxed when Ford's hand joined with it.

"Would you like me to design you a tattoo to cover these?"

"Seriously?" Bill muffled. "I-I'd love that…"

"What would you like?"

"Anything…anything…as long as it's by you."


"I always think about...how warm you are…" Bill says, while Ford kisses his neck. "Like…an electric blanket made of flesh. Fuck, I could see something like that in Hellraiser or some shit. Some dude walking around with a blanket whose also his lover. Sign me the fuck up for that."

Ford laughs; it's as serene as cool spring water, and then his lips are back to kissing Bill. Bill wishes he could bottle that laugh, sell it for five bucks a pop. Stanford Pines' Laughter.

"Like I bet I could sit in the North Pole and not freeze if I had you." He says. Ford's lips have wandered lower, now taste-testing the skin of his collar bone. Ford's hand begins massaging Bill's inner thigh and Bill spreads his legs only for Ford to pull them back together. He then stroke's the contour of Bill's hipbone, and Bill understands – not yet.

"When you kiss me, you sometimes breathe like you're fucking me." Bill said.

"Is that why you like it?"

"Maybe."

"You like to imagine me fucking you?"

"Ford what the fu-" Ford's laughter cut Bill's reply off. The man laughed and laughed, at Bill's ear.

"Why are you laughing?"

Ford kept on laughing. "What am I going to do with you?"

"What so funny? What– Oh."

He'd gotten hard.

"Don't worry, dear. You're young. You won't have that much self-control."

Ford kept laughing and Bill imagined returning all his bottles of Stanford Pines' Laughter.

"Get off me you pervert. You…god, I hate you sometimes. Off off."

"I'm quite certain you never acted like this when any of your other lovers."

"Oh, whatever."

"Am I right?" Ford asked.

"Maybe."

"And you didn't get scared. When I mentioned fucking you."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind."

"Don't swear, Ford. It doesn't fit you."

"I agree. I just like to tease you a bit."


Once Bill was comfortable on Ford, Ford said, "I want you to stay this week with me."

"Huh?"

"The full week. And come to class with me."

"Is it take your son to work week?"

"I want you to experience the environment. To see how you react. You aren't by any means ready to attend school, but I want you to tell me if you enjoy it. Then we can decide on whether I tutor you privately, or if you attend school."

"Ah yes, watch me in the wild. Take your nerd notes."

"Exactly. I have to make sure I'm doing what's best for you and you often say things to please me." Ford's tone softened, lips moving closer to Bill's forehead where they planted kisses. "I wouldn't put it past you to say you enjoy school when you really don't."

"If you say so, Fordster. It's off to class for this guy…"

"No complaints?"

"None. Said I'd do whatever you want." Bill nestled into Ford's chest. "And…I get to spend another week you…I can't believe it…"

Ford laughed.

"Won't you get into trouble? By missing out on your…work." Ford asked.

"Nah, I'll say I got some big things I'm doing with Stanford Pines."

Ford hummed in response.

"Hey Ford?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks. For…caring? About what I want…and stuff."

"Don't thank me for what should be mandatory, darling."

Bill's sure he developed wrinkles overnight from all the smiling.


Ford's hands slide up and down his lower back. Touches that roll over him like low-tide waves upon a shore. Lower and lower and–

"Why are you touching my ass?" Bill mumbled, wriggling his lips beneath the provocative pressure.

Ford's laughter was breezy. "You don't like it?"

"Don't do this shit while you're forcing me to sit with blue balls."

"I'm not forcing you to do anything."

"You know I want you to touch me…"

Ford slipped his hands into Bill's boxers, and Bill let out a muted gasp that turned into a growl.

"Seriously. Quit feeling me up."

"I'm not. I'm just touching you."

"Why?"

"I like it." Ford said, continuing the torturous touches.

"Need more spank material?"

"Bill." Ford's tone was terse now. "I'm only touching you. Your rear as a body part like any other."

"Why do you always try to make perverted shit seem innocent? Is it the Jewish thing?"

Ford laughs again and it tickles.

"Uh…" Bill nuzzles in his neck. "When…I laid on him, just like this, he did what you're doing. It was one of the first things he began doing."

Ford's hands freeze then flee.

"Sorry, didn't mean to kill the mood." Bill whispered.

Ford's arms wrap around him, and 'I'm sorry' is repeated in his ear.

"You aren't him, Ford. Don't stop …don't stop touching me…" Bill assures. "It's okay…if it's you. I mean, it's not like I think of that man or anything…it's just…it's one of– I just remembered, that's all."

"It's alright, darling. I shouldn't have done that."

"No come on, you touch me weirdly all the time. I like it…"

"I don't want to remind you of terrible times."

"You don't."


"Fuck me, Ford. Fuck me. Please…please fuck me, with your thick cock, fuck me." He grinds himself against Ford, licking at Ford's bare chest. His tongue does tricks and twirls, lips sucking to a enthralling rhythm while his eyes convey nothing but desperate and empty need.

"You aren't thinking." Ford says, pinching a cheek.

"No, I-"

"Listen to me. You aren't thinking when you talk like this. You're repeating what you were taught to."

"No…I really do-"

"Darling, don't argue with me."

Ford rubs his head for what seems like hours until he calms down.


Bill Cipher begins to see pink.


Stanford dreams he's holding Fiddleford in his arms. Malnourished, pale and seconds away from the Fates cutting his string.

His embrace tightens as he begs Fiddleford to hold on but his former partner is quiet. Not dead yet, Ford still feels his jittering breath in the tender skin of his neck.

When he wakes, it's Bill in his arms, with breath just as cold.

Bill was no Fiddleford. He knows this.

He blinks away the wetness in his eyes, as he does every other night.

When black sleep takes him again, once more, it's Fiddleford in his arms.


Ford's phone began ringing; louder than what he'd set it to.

Stanley calling…

Ford didn't know anyone named Stanley, let alone anyone who would think it appropriate to call this time of night.

"Hello? Hello?" Ford answered but there's only breathing on the other end; harmonious and steady. Not the heavy breathing one came to expect as per horror movies.

"Ford, what the fuck? Who are you talking to at this time of night?" Bill grumbled, rising from his beneath the covers.

"I'm not sure. I think my phone is malfunctioning."

"Give that to me!" Bill snatched it, eyes squinting at the brightness of the screen. He screamed, "Fuck off!" into the phone and then flinched back as if struck. He rubbed his ambushed ear, moaning in pain, as Ford asked, "What's wrong?"

"The asshole had speaker phone on! My voice went right back at me! What a motherfucker!"

Ford laughed. Might be a bug then.

"Fuck this." Bill switched it off and laid back down. "Bed time."

Ford sat pondering in the dark until Bill's hands snaked around his neck.

"I shouldn't have to tell you to put your arms around me…"

He's pulled back down into the puffy covers and lets his budding pearl sleep in the oyster of his arms.


Stanley calling…


Ford's phone went off again.

Answering it only evinced breathing.


"I dreamt I was talking to you." Bill sighed, feeling Ford's nose rendezvous with his ear. "You didn't know who I was…I kept trying to…tell you, and you just didn't get it. Was weird…"


It doesn't have to be like this. Keep Talking.