Work Text:
Ford's jaw hung open, lazily licking into Bill's, a messy open-mouthed kiss that was more about the fun of mashing their flesh together than anything else. Bill allowed himself to enjoy it, the edges of his lips turned up in a self-satisfied grin as he rolled his tongue over Ford's bottom teeth, shifting his hips forward to get a breathy moan out of Ford. He had so much fun in situations like this, getting to just play with his pet, getting him all riled up and desperate and needy, flushing every thought out of that big stupid head with all the brain chemicals that make up sex. It was fascinating every time, watching the oh-so-special Stanford Pines crumble like a shoddy construction job before him.
Suddenly farm-strong hands gripped onto his hips and pulled him roughly backwards into a warm lap, and teeth sunk into the junction between his neck and shoulder. Bill jerked back and hissed from the sensation.
Oh, yeah. And he was here too.
Fiddlefuck Hard-on McSuckit, aka Specs, the useless hillbilly, the most annoying fly in Bill’s halo. Fiddleford to him was nothing more than a mosquito, buzzing around and sucking the lifeblood away from his plans - but currently, he was far more focused on sucking dark bruises into Bill's neck. For as much hatred as he harbored for the farm boy, Bill had to admit he liked this situation far more than the precedent. It wasn't easy getting Mr. Faithful Goody Two-Shoes to crack - it should've been, considering his sickening history of yearning for Ford - but an instance or two of getting him to “accidentally” walk in on a “study break” between Bill and his pet did the trick. Fiddleford had initially approached the invitation with a desperate, sweaty refusal, but somewhere along the line all the shame and guilt in his brain got worn and frayed, finally snapping to plunge him headfirst into the pits of desire.
That's how the three of them ended up in a Bill sandwich, extra mayo, a sweaty mess of tongues and teeth and still way too many clothes. Bill's shirt had disappeared to somewhere he didn't know or care about, and Ford's button-up was currently the subject of his attention, taking his sweet time to pop each button in a taunting show of controlled strength that made Ford pant even harder. The process was slightly complicated by Fiddleford rocking up against his back, jostling his grasp from time to time, Bill making a small growl in exasperation as another button slipped through his fingers. That seemed to work to his favor, however, as Ford whimpered softly at the noise and rushed back in to mash his lips against his muse. Man, being the center of two men's passionate attention was tiring. What a demanding life Bill led, constantly enjoying the carnal pleasures of the human flesh! He had to admire his own tenacity for putting up with it all.
The three of them floated in the warm, wet haze of lust for a while, content to just indulge in eachothers’ bliss. Scientists were insanely pent-up nerds, Bill had come to learn, and highly benefited from regular maintenance sessions to balance their crazy ape hormones. It was gross and weird to him for a while, but if humans care that much about sex, far be it from him to stop them, the freaks - and also, it could be used as a tool for him to get humans to do his bidding, as long as he learned to wield it. To that end, what was the harm in joining the fun himself? Humanity gets to keep their disgusting mating rituals, and Bill gets a lot more humans under his innumerable thumbs - a total win-win!
After what felt like hours, Ford finally tapped out from their airlock of a kiss, taking in a wheezing breath as he pulled back, elongating the lewd string of spit that connected their lips. Bill stared directly at him with a hooded eye as he licked up their mingled fluids with his too-long tongue. Ford shuddered, taking a winded moment to try and regain his composure. Their lack of action pulled Fiddleford from his concentrated movements against Bill's back, stilling himself as an expectant silence settled over the group.
Stanford, a genius everywhere but the bedroom, stared across Bill, eyes wide with equal parts nervousness and curiosity. He looked like a lost puppy. The apt comparison curled Bill's face into a smile as the dog in question spoke. “So, how - how does uh, this, work, typically?” He spoke quietly, gesturing between the three of them to punctuate his words, and leaning away to clear his throat afterwards, pretending as if his tone of voice was just an unintentional lapse.
As Bill opened his mouth to supply a confident answer, he was shoved forwards, tumbling into Ford's crotch with an indignant squeak that he would later profusely deny came from his mouth. Fiddleford's grating southern voice rang from behind him as his nose became intimately acquainted with the large tent in Ford's pants. “Like this,” Fiddleford grumbled, an uncharacteristic coldness in his tone. “He's got plenty of holes, ‘n we just gotta pick and choose.”
Ford's face blushed scarlet at the sudden vulgarity of his partner. Bill scoffed indignantly, starting to right himself from the rude interruption, glaring back at Fiddleford. “As if Rodeo Redneck knows anything about a good old ménage à trois! What makes you think you make the rules around here, pal? I've got trillions of years of experience on you - this is my show to run, Specs, so be grateful I'm letting you play second fiddle!” He growled, concentrating on one tiny spot between Fiddleford's eyes and imagining burning a crater there. It would improve his face significantly. He was growing sick of the indifferent, almost disappointing scowl the hillbilly was wearing.
Said hillbilly's hand tangled itself into Bill's hair and yanked, hard, arching his neck back as something between a howl and a moan ripped its way out of Bill's throat. He could feel Fiddleford's hot breath cloud over his face as he spoke, absolutely suffocating him. “This world ain't your playground and we ain't just your toys, demon. If you had this your way, how would things be goin’ right now?” Fiddleford hissed out.
Bill smirked, meeting his eyes with an even cruelty despite his body being wrenched backwards half-naked beneath his opponent. “Well, for starters, you wouldn't be anywhere near here - hopefully six feet under, if not all the way down to hell,” Bill spat out, watching Fiddleford's eye twitch. That was it - his impassive expression was beginning to crack into anger. He couldn’t stand nothing, but anger he could work with. Bill was clawing his way back into control, bit by tedious bit. “And good ol’ Sixer over there would be giving me some lessons in advanced human biology! Y'know, all the stuff I'm sure you never picked up. I'm talking erogenous zones; the prostate, the g-spot, that funny little thing called the clitoris-”
In a flash, Fiddleford's hands had released his hair in favor of rounding Bill's arms up behind his back, grasping his wrists together in a firm, calloused hand, leaving Bill toppling over into the sheets, this time a few inches away from Ford's brand new dark spot on his pants. His running mouth met thick fabric as his inflammatory argument was doused and muffled, writhing against his captor with mounting irritation as he realized he couldn't escape the farm boy's expert grasp, more than used to restraining unruly animals. The implication of it only made his temper flare higher.
“Yeah, I thought so. Bold words from someone who seemed darn happy to be mushed between two men like a vice.” Fiddleford grated his teeth, squeezing his hand harder against Bill's wrists with intent to bruise, watching him huff and squirm with pain-pleasure to only further his argument. “My point is, you wanna be takin’ it. So sit still and take what we're givin’ ya.”
Stanford, who up until this point had been frozen in rapt awe watching the scene before him unfold, snapped back to life at the harsh wrangling of his muse. Without even thinking, his body lurched forward, large hands grabbing at Fiddleford’s arm. “Fiddleford, stop! Don’t hurt him!” He blurted out with as authoritative a tone he could muster for being so hard his dick might try and burst out of his pants on its own.
As Fidds lifted his head and laid eyes on Ford, his gaze immediately softened - and, reflexively, so did his death grip onto Bill’s wrists. “Trust me Stanford, I know what I'm doing. I won't hurt ‘im, I promise,” he spoke softly, his tone hushed and level, with a calmness and affection one might want to hear comforting them through tears. It made Bill want to blow his brains out. “I'm just tryin’ to make this work best for us.”
Ford acquiesced to his partner’s confidence, swallowing hard and giving a trusting nod, fully handing over the reins of this crazy ride to Fiddleford, who offered a small, reassuring smile in return. Weak. Way too sappy. Bill thought he’d trained him better than that.
Bill used the distraction to buck against Fiddleford’s hold, pulling his wrists free and shifting up to grasp either side of Ford’s face. Ford’s attention was sharply reeled in by his muse as his head locked into alignment with Bill’s, cheeks impossibly red, his eyebrows twisted upwards in an odd jumble of fear, shame, and longing. The beginnings of an apology glimmered in his eyes. Good, good. His Sixer was still in there, no thanks to that stupid hillbilly.
“Oh, don’t you worry about me, Fordsy! It’s not like farm boy could ever hurt me in a way that matters,” Bill chuckled, tracing a finger across Ford's lips and down his jaw, making him shiver with repressed need, positively melting into even a feather-light touch from his muse. “This little flesh jacket I'm wearing means nothing to me! You could stab it, drown it, mutilate it beyond recognition, eat it, whatever you wanted, and it wouldn't hurt me in the slightest!” A jovial and unnerving smile covered Bill's face as his eye wandered hungrily down Ford's body, his words and his physical actions wildly different in tone. Ford found himself choking back a damning noise at those words in spite of himself, and immediately scrambled to squish down some absolutely deranged thoughts before they could take root. Bill, forever privy to his mind as result of their deal, pretended not to notice.
While Ford was busy short circuiting, something seemed to click in Fiddleford's mind, as if he'd come to some genius conclusion. He pulled Bill's arms behind his back again, much to Bill's bucking and vehement protest - though he did it far gentler this time, mind you - securing them with one hand while the other began tugging off his belt.
Bill couldn't lie about the way his eye positively expanded when he heard the clinking of the buckle, the raw anticipation of chaos battling with his pride and clearly winning. Yeah yeah, he hated this guy, whatever - he needed to see just what kind of fun Specs had in mind with this new toy. He slowed his resistance to some playful wiggling as Fiddleford wrapped the belt around Bill's joined wrists, taking a bit of time to make sure the leather would hold before firmly rebuckling it. Bill gave an experimental squeeze of his muscles, testing his comfort - not bad. Honestly, Specs was being too nice to him, probably for Ford's sake. He found himself wishing it was a little tighter, shuddering at the thought of the deliciously painful burns it would've left. Maybe if he cattle-prodded the bear a little more he could get there before this night was over.
Even through oppressive clouds of arousal, Ford's eyes watched the belt get pulled taut around his muse's thin, smooth wrists, and instinctually started towards their confrontation again to come to Bill's rescue. “Fidds-”
“It's alright, Ford, easy. You heard what he said, he doesn't care about the pain,” Fiddleford reassured him, soothing his worries with the same kind, trusting tone he always seemed to have when he addressed Ford. Then, of course, his attention shifted to Bill. “In fact, I think he's practically beggin’ for it,” he grumbled, shooting a disdainful glare at the giggling, writhing mess below him. Fiddleford wasn't completely on board with giving the beast exactly what it wanted, the thought sitting like a heavy pit in his stomach, but at this point he needed to blow off the steam boiling out of his blood before he completely blew up from the pressure. What better than to take it out on the cause of all his frustrations?
Bill would've protested his word choice of ‘begging’ - Bill Cipher does not beg - but found no issue with his course of logic. At this point, he was getting really tired of these idiots arguing and wanted to move on to the main event. Bill made sure his ass was as up and out in the air as it could be, slowly swaying it like he was trying to hypnotize someone, and at the same time rolled his head to the side to fix his large, droopy eye on Stanford, batting his eyelashes as his expression practically oozed sex. Nobody could resist him. He totally looked super hot and erotic right now; definitely not pathetic, not at all, who do you take him for?
“You gonna help me, Sixer? Or just spend the whole night watching?” His eye squinted in mischief, doubling down on his teasing - which, knowing Bill, could also be real threats he could carry out as his own whims saw fit. “I wonder how long you'd last if I just made you sit there and keep your hands out of your pants. Let farm boy ravage me in front of you and steal all your fun. Wouldn't that be a fun little experiment?”
Stanford's face was so red and sweaty he looked like steam was about to start pouring out of his facial orifices. He stuttered as he jostled around his glasses, fogged up with the intensity of the moment. “N-no! - I mean, yes, but not - I, well,” he stuttered out, tripping over his words, like he was trying to say five different things at once and none of them were coming out right. The entire time he was squirming, shifting around the bulge in his pants, clearly very uncomfortable and just as very horny. “That would be - uhh, but right now, and you, and yes, but-”
“Ugh, you're making no fucking sense, Sixer.” Bill huffed impatiently, his face finally breaking its smug facade to show just how irritated and utterly bored he was getting. “Just come over here and stick your meat tube in my mouth.”
As incredibly enthused as Stanford was by the demand, he hesitated. His attention was drawn to the sight of his assistant in an intimate position behind his vulnerable muse, pulling Bill's bottoms down to reveal his smooth, plush skin. His mind was jumbled, conflicted between enjoying the view and envying the honor. “Fiddleford, are you…do you want to, uh, switch places?” He spoke up, hoping his voice sounded far more collected than he knew it did, and hoping even more that it wouldn't betray either of his aims.
Fiddleford blinked, his expression growing absent with consideration. “I mean, if that's what you wanted, we could…” he started, unable to truly refuse Ford's requests - ever an obedient lackey. Whatever had taken hold of him that got him into this situation, however, reared its defiant head and reinstated a sliver of confidence in him. “But, disrespectfully, there's not a chance I'm puttin’ mine anywhere near that,” he winced, gesturing at Bill, who was flashing his award-winning grin of gnarly, sharp chompers to emphasize Fiddleford's point. “I don't trust him at all, but I ‘specially don't trust him not to bite. Heck, I'm not even sure he won't find some way to bite me off from back here.” As he spoke, his gaze nervously flitted around Bill's backside, tensing up as if he expected teeth to jump out from Bill's vulva at any second.
Bill's already unsettling grin seemed to stretch even wider, baring his gums in a way that many species would find aggressive. He couldn't blame him. He had already been contemplating biting off the stupid hillbilly's dick and chewing it like gum if he didn't apparently need this idiot around for that damn portal. Even if Specs didn't appreciate his marvelous fangs, a mental blast of heat from Sixer's direction told him he just might know someone who would.
Bill writhed against his bindings for fun, his wet hole twitching slightly from exposure to the room's temperature. The stage was finally getting set. Fiddleford shucked off his pants and underwear, unobstructed by the belt he once wore, letting out a soft groan as one of his hands curled around his dick. The other was currently pawing the meat of Bill's ass, fingernails digging in hard enough to leave a warning of scalloped marks that made Bill squirm in delight. Nearly every breath Bill took had a chuckle to it as sensations continued to build and spread through his fleshy vessel, riding through his veins and alighting the neurons in his human brain like small, crackling embers.
It took Bill a moment to realize that all this excitement was being spurred on by the hillbilly, and not the human he had actually chosen to fuck with in the first place. He peeked up at Ford, who was lost in his own brain again, dumbstruck at the sight of Fiddleford pumping his cock to fill it out. Bill huffed with audible annoyance. “Hey, smart guy. That thing isn't gonna suck itself.”
The insinuation snapped Ford from his daydream. “Ah! Y-yes, of course, Bill,” he stammered, hand futzing with the buttons on his still only half-opened shirt. He carefully maneuvered himself closer to Bill, gently picking up his head - Bill resisted the urge to teasingly start licking his fingers; such a commendable show of restraint - and deposited him into his lap, Bill's cheeks cradled between his thighs for balance.
The two of them stayed like that for a second, Bill staring up at Ford expectantly, who was admiring him with wide, blank eyes. Having his divine benefactor offer to please him in this way was a rare occurrence - even though he seemed rather content with performing fellatio, it still felt like such a blessing to have Bill between his legs. Normally one would think the party giving the pleasure would be considered submissive, but when Bill would take Ford's arousal onto his silver tongue, he was the one in charge. Ford followed the whims of his muse, deferring to him at near every step of unexplored territory, which included sex. He wasn't one to turn down the gift of knowledge from a god, no matter what form that knowledge took, and especially if it felt that good.
His god blinked up at him, expression unreadable but decidedly displeased. “Gonna come out to play, Sixer? I'd love to knock, but my hands are tied.”
Ford jumped, realizing his pants and briefs were still secured very snugly around his erection. He felt embarrassed at how the alteration of one simple variable - the inclusion of Fiddleford - in their typical sexual equation had changed his results so drastically, making him sluggish and vapid before the one he wanted to impress most. With mumbled apologies, he began fumbling with the closures of his slacks, popping the button and pinching the zipper.
A smug snort from across the bed made him stop. “Naw, I think you can do it.” Fiddleford leaned over Bill, a challenging glint in his eyes that resembled the one he would wear during long, rewarding projects with demanding parameters. Ford recalled seeing him like this all the time in college, and even more recently when he had first arrived in Oregon and saw Ford's plans for the portal. Ford felt his heart jump in his chest, trying to swallow and finding his mouth dry.
Fiddleford's hand made itself at home on the back of Bill's head, tugging him up by the hair again, Bill snarling at the humiliating position. Leaning forward like this, the hillbilly's cock had pressed itself into the curve of Bill's ass, his other hand shifting to instead grip at the handle of Bill's hips. Before he had time to retort, Fiddleford pushed his nose and mouth flush to Ford's crotch, so close he could taste the metallic tang of the zipper on his lips.
Fiddleford smirked in triumph as Bill thrashed against his hold once more, still unable to escape. “Go on,” he goaded, teasingly pressing Bill's face into the metal hard enough to leave an imprint as he rolled his hips up against Bill's ass, biting his lip at the sensation. “Open ‘im up.”
Stanford choked. He almost came then and there.
Bill, on the other hand, was seething with rage. How dare this inbred, shit-shoveling nobody treat him like this - who the hell did he think he was, throwing Bill around like a toy, talking to him like he was a baseless animal? Like he was something to be tamed and controlled? Bill had conquered galaxies, eaten countless stars, created irreparable amounts of chaos in every corner of the multiverse! His very name caused lesser beings to cower in unimaginable horror, even lesser beings to go mad on the spot, and was forbidden to even think in at least 21 dimensions! He had bested Time Baby to be here, for fuck's sake! Bill swore he started shaking from the anger, contemplating giving the good-for-nothing country hick a lesson about spontaneous human combustion, when he was stopped in his tracks by a gentle push of Ford's hips against his mouth. The feeling registered in his physical body brought him back down to Earth, between a prick and a hard one.
Damnit, he still needed that fucking idiot because his idiot needed him. Fine. Willing himself to come down from his furious high, Bill settled instead for fantasizing about a hundred different ways he would make the hillbilly's life an eternal hell once he ruled this dimension. He would play along for now, be a good little human - but one day he would tear that primitive troglodyte into pieces atom by atom, grant him the gift of an agony no other being had experienced before, relishing his screaming pleas for mercy and offering him less than none.
Finding it a little hard to see his objective, only having one eye which was currently crushed into Ford's abdomen, Bill let his tongue out and slowly began to feel around for the tab of the zipper. He momentarily dabbed his tongue over a damp spot on Ford's crotch, feeling him flinch from the sensation. His pants were soaked through with precum, Bill involuntarily shuddering from the musky, salty taste. Whether that reaction was from disgust or excitement he won't specify - and regardless, he had to suck up to the reality that he would be tasting that for the rest of the night. Bill finally latched his teeth around the zipper, maneuvering it downwards, his head steadied by Fiddleford's unrelenting grip on his hair. Once the closure was opened, he nuzzled his way past the slacks to find the band of Ford's underwear, taking it in his teeth and pulling back until Ford's hard, swollen length jumped out, flushed so red it looked almost purple and leaking like it had been poked with a pin.
At that, Ford let out a full-chested moan, practically deflating with relief at his overwhelming arousal finally receiving any amount of attention. Fiddleford let out a small, pleased hum at the sight, taking his time retracting his hand from Bill's hair. “See? There ya go. Good job,” he smirked, firmly patting Bill's flank like one would an obedient horse.
Bill fought back a fiery, infuriated growl. He mentally added one more dismember-beast to the gladiatorial torture pit he was going to chuck that sorry bumpkin into later.
Ford was doing a very good job of keeping his hands off of his muse, instead fisting the sheets below him like they were his only lifeline. He held his breath as Bill started dragging his tongue up and down the base of his cock, teasingly assessing his restraint before deciding it was satisfactory and moving on to press wet kisses along the shaft. He suckled at a sensitive spot on the underside that he had used to his advantage several times before, making Ford whine unabashed, his cock drooling even more in agreement. Ford screwed his eyes shut, panting, trying not to look at the impossibly lewd scene before him and concentrate on anything other than the tight, hot pressure burning in his gut. He'd be more embarrassed about his less than ideal constitution if there wasn't a literal god tied up between his legs lapping at his dick like it was holy while his best friend ordered god around and humped at his ass. It was only fair that he was already so close to finishing. He was only a man, after all. A very, very gifted one at that.
Bill tensed up, pausing mid-lick as he felt Fiddleford slide out from between his cheeks and instead begin to rub two fingers against his sex, collecting slick as he did. There was no kindness to his movements, they were methodical and stiff, seemingly practiced like he didn't know anything else he was supposed to do. Bill held back a snort at the thought; what a pathetic whelp, positively clueless about navigating a human vagina. It was a wonder how he got a wife and kid to abandon in the first place.
His mocking train of thought was cut short as those two fingers plunged into his hole without warning, drawing a shocked noise from his throat and driving his mouth further up Ford's cock from the force. Wow, talk about skipping straight to business. Fiddleford's rough digits slid forcefully in and out of him, shoving his walls open at a bruising pace, making his eye roll back from the delicious sting each movement sent through him. Against his will, he started to moan, quieting himself by stuffing the head of Ford's cock into his mouth, the vibrations making Ford yelp in surprise. More slick dribbled out of him, pushed out by Fiddleford's ministrations, making his thighs sticky as he swallowed around Ford, whose hips were stuttering up into his warm heat, his still bound fists curling impossibly tighter into themselves as he was shallowly but roughly assaulted from both ends.
The sting from Fiddleford's fingers had started to lessen, Bill's hole slowly accommodating the size, to his disappointment. Having it hurt was the best part! Bill shoved his ass back weakly, trying to wordlessly convince Fiddleford to add another digit, but instead the fingers pulled out of him completely, his empty hole sadly contracting around nothing. He let out an annoyed growling sound, muffled around the head of Ford's cock. He kicked out backwards with one of his legs, trying to nail the hillbilly square on his dick while digging his tongue into Ford's slit, hearing him gasp and moan, quietly pleading for more. Usually, multitasking was absolutely no issue for him - as a being of infinite energy, he could do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. He could plunge a whole universe into an aeons-long dark apocalypse and simultaneously party his eyeball out drinking celestial slime with his henchmaniacs without breaking a sweat! Being crammed into this inferior human form seemed to limit his possibilities, however, as he struggled to even think between sucking the soul out of Ford and trying to find some way to murder Fiddleford with his toes.
In response to his little outburst, Fiddleford grumbled as he manhandled Bill's leg back into place to keep him balanced. His attitude seemed to wane, and as had the severity of his punishments. Bill smirked, expecting that to be all this lily-livered farm runt could do - until a loud, wet smack rang out through the room, a tingling pain bursting through his body as he jolted down, taking more of Ford's cock than he had planned into his throat. As the air began to cool down the now-burning handprint shape on his ass, Fiddleford added insult to injury by wiping his fingers still soiled with Bill's wetness into the mark, employing far more pressure than was necessary. Bill made a noise in response that was absolutely inhuman, the resulting movements from his mouth muscles making Ford nearly cry out from the stimulation, one of his hands flying up to his mouth and crushing a knuckle between his teeth to silence himself.
Bill's slow human brain was getting more and more jumbled, feelings and thoughts blending together as sweat dripped down his brow. He was torn between ripping the hillbilly a hundred new ones for continuing to degrade him like livestock or leaning into the aching, roiling pain blooming under his skin that made him shiver. He gave one last harsh suck to Ford's tip before pulling off with a lewd pop, shooting his pet a look through his dark, blown-wide eye. He still had something kneeling to him right now and he intended to make the most of it.
Bill nuzzled his nose against Ford's dick, his cheek sliding on the saliva he had left coating it. “Fordsy,” he panted out, trying to catch Ford's eyes.
Only, Ford's eyes weren't opened. They weren't even in Bill's sight. His head was thrown back, chest heaving up and down underneath his half-open shirt, straining as he bit harder onto the hand in his mouth, eyes tightly shut like they were stuck there. He was quite the pretty picture of depravity like this, his entire body flushed by his rushing blood, desperation flowing off of him in powerful waves. He looked like an enraptured follower pleading for his life by the altar. Bill hesitated a moment, drinking in the view of his absolutely debauched human, stripped down to his most basic animal instincts that were begging for release. And yet he was trying to hold himself back, contain his unruly need, punish himself in front of his god, his sun, his universe. Some messy, uncomfortable feeling, heavy and saturated, bled into Bill's human heart at the thought. Refusing to acknowledge whatever it meant, he twisted it into something more recognizable. A dark satisfaction bubbled up in its place - Ford was demonstrating just how much he belonged to Bill. God, this human was well and truly his.
Suddenly just staring wasn't enough. He needed Ford to stare back. “Stanford,” Bill snapped, a deep authority coloring the word like a command, freezing the entire room where just moments before he had been begging to be fucked. Ford's eyes flew open like his heart had just stopped, breaking from his reverent stillness to meet Bill's face, stern and closed-off but also agonizingly close to his aching cock. Bill even noticed the absence of some wet noises behind him that he hadn't fully processed until this point, probably the dumb hick getting himself off. He chose to ignore whatever the fuck was going on back there, keeping his attention instead on his goal.
For a beat they sat in silence, magnetized to eachother, their breaths mingling in the air until they met at an even rhythm. Bill's intense stare, full of meaning Ford couldn't understand but desperately wanted to serve, kept him locked in orbit, crushed under the warm weight of his gravity. It felt like all the oxygen between them had disappeared, Bill greedily devouring it all in his monstrous lungs before Ford could even have so much as a taste.
Bill's gaze narrowed. “Eyes on me, Sixer.” He was quiet; his tone was still hard, but uncharacteristically gentle. The way he breathed it out made it sound like as much of a plea as a demand. Some powerful feeling crackled through Ford's chest, sparkling like a supernova and burning out fast like a firework. Something overwhelming, intoxicating - far too vast and far too distant for him to comprehend.
Just as soon as the moment appeared, it was gone. Bill kept his eye firmly trained on Ford's as his glistening, swollen pink lips reopened and his tongue guided him down further and further onto Ford's cock.
And, of course, the haysack picked that exact moment to bully his own length into the tight heat of Bill's pussy.
All three of them moaned in tandem, bodies finally joining to complete the circuit of pleasure that had been trying to spark to life ever since the three of them gathered in this room.
“Oh, fuck - Bill, ” Ford sobbed out as his throbbing dick was engulfed by Bill's velvety palate.
“Fuck,” the hillbilly hissed, slipping further and further into Bill with small thrusts, quiet enough that really only Bill could make out that he had said it.
If Bill had said anything in his moan, it was surely in a language neither of the other two would understand. And even if they could, it was thoroughly smothered by his body being stuffed full from both ends. Turns out some humans really knew how to have a good time. They should've done this way earlier!
Each slow roll of Fiddleford's hips forced Bill to take more and more of Ford into his throat, who by now had completely lost his composure and was giving small, needy thrusts into the willing mouth before him. Bill's eye had rolled back into his head - being so absolutely filled with both pleasure and pain was addicting. He felt his body involuntarily bucking and flinching in protest of both intrusions, but his mind was long gone, floating and tangling in the clouds of chemicals between the three of them. Bill's flesh suit had almost gone completely slack, his wrists numb in their bindings, a satisfying tingling feeling spreading him inside out, letting the greed of both men around him being the only thing holding him up. This could be worship, he concluded, if he wanted it to be.
Pretty soon the sound of lewd wet slapping was filling the room - and no doubt every other room in this thin house - punctuated by frantic whimpers from Ford and heavy grunts from Fiddleford. Fiddleford was keeping an aggressive pace, panting and growling as he pounded into Bill's cunt with absolutely no regard for the beast’s well-being, purely chasing his own release. Bill's walls quivered and clenched around him, spilling out more and more hot slick, keeping his cock wet and gliding smoothly in and out of his hole. How he'd allowed himself to get into this situation in the first place, hell only knows, but he was here now so he might as well go as far as he could if he was gonna have to repent for this anyways.
Sweat rolled down Fiddleford's back as the heat burning in his gut reached a fever pitch like a live coal. Fuck, if being with the devil didn't feel that damn good. He curled his eyes open and faltered in his thrusts watching Ford jerk and squeal with pleasure in front of him, red as a tomato, Bill making obscene gurgling sounds as he choked himself on Ford's dick. He liked to think that somehow whatever he was taking out on Bill was directly giving pleasure to Stanford, that somehow his wild desires were satisfying his partner as if with his own hand. A pang of guilt and regret fell sourly into his stomach, caught on some dark hook he couldn't describe.
He snapped out of his thoughts with a high, whiny moan from Bill below him, likely protesting his little break. The noise made Ford turn his eyes down, stopping on his way to Bill to suddenly meet with Fiddleford's stare, which was filled with passion but also an indescribable distant sadness. Ford's own eyes took on a mirror of his. They looked at eachother like this was the last moment of their lives. Fiddleford’s face, flushed from arousal and exertion, scrunched up like he was about to cry, a thin smile complicating the emotion further.
Ford couldn't stand it. They both made a decision. Thankfully the same one.
Stanford and Fiddleford crashed into eachother, leaning across Bill, awkwardly bending him in half to meet their faces in the middle and slot their mouths together. The heat of the moment had a way of making everything feel terrible but also so perfectly right, more right than anything had ever felt before. They breathed in eachothers’ scents, huffing into the kiss, tongues and teeth dancing together as Ford launched his arms forward to take Fiddleford's cheek in one hand and tangle into the sides of his hair with the other. A slight tug from his fingers had Fiddleford positively melting, his aggression with Bill completely dissipated like he was an entirely different person. Their glasses clicked uncomfortably and spit ran down their chins, they missed eachothers’ mouths and tongued a nose or a dimple instead, they whispered things back and forth that neither of them knew what they were saying. Years of unresolved tension erupted between them. It was messy, it was alive; there were stakes in this moment now. It wasn't just sex anymore.
Bill snarled, Ford's cockhead still twitching and straining between his lips. Fucking disgusting. This was a threesome, not a soap opera! Get over yourselves, you sentimental tear junkies! He wanted to throw up. Maybe throwing up on Ford's dick would get him out of this situation early.
Thankfully within that time Fiddleford had started gently humping back into Bill, movements shallow but firm and punching right into the spot that made Bill's body shake. Still unable to hold his head up for balance, and considerably displaced from his work around Ford's shaft by his flitty little dalliance with his assistant, Bill used the rocking motions from Fiddleford to push himself back up onto Ford's thighs, swallowing Ford back deep into his throat.
On one or two thrusts, he felt his teeth graze the soft flesh of Ford's dick, and heard blubbering groans fall from above him. He felt the telltale pulsing and swelling of Ford's fat cock in his mouth, resisting a smile from what he knew was about to happen. Thank fuck. He had been feeling pretty close to snapping himself, and let it be known that Bill Cipher does not finish first. In the sexual sense of the term. Of course, in any other competition where being first would indicate that he was superior, he would be first. But not right now.
A few more ministrations of his tongue coaxed Ford's orgasm from him, the man practically howling as his hips threw themselves forward, shoving his length impossibly far into Bill as his release began to spray from him in waves. In a sudden shock, Bill felt the weird tickle-y sensation in the back of his throat where Ford was reaching, and begged this inferior human form not to gag - but, of course, it failed him. His body attempted to swallow and spit up at the same time, creating an odd sensation to Ford's dick that felt like it was milking him, punching the last wheezes of air from his lungs as if the intensity of his orgasm was asphyxiating him. A tear squeezed itself unbidden through the corner of Bill's eye as his windpipe spasmed around the unyielding intrusion, seed continuing to spill hot and warm down his insides. Traitor. This stupid body was worse at listening to his orders than an entire other human.
A gargling moan sputtered out of Bill’s lips while he sealed his mouth airtight around Ford's shaft, forcing his body to continue swallowing, draining his pet for everything he was worth. He barely even tasted the bitter cum as it slid straight down his gullet, but he took it all regardless. Even after the ropes had slowed to small beading trickles, Bill gave another cruel suck, smirking at the way it made his human whine out with hoarse and broken lungs, his body trembling from the insanity of the high. He pointedly ignored hearing the faint pop of Fiddleford's lips detaching themselves from Ford's skin as the man crumpled onto his back, chest glistening with sweat and spit, glasses askew and fogged opaque, hair sticking to his face and tongue lolling cartoonishly from his mouth as if he had died.
Bill couldn't resist a self-satisfied purr as he licked the last of Ford's spend from his stinging lips, drinking in the sight of his sweet, ruined pet. Maybe he should get back into soul-sucking, as a hobby. Souls tasted far better than human ejaculate, and it was extra fun because they actually died at the end! He needed Ford alive for now, though, so no soul for him - but he took a moment to fantasize. A dream demon can dream.
It didn't take long for his dreams to be scattered as Fiddleford resumed moving inside him, working up to a far more aggressive pace than he had taken while Bill was still sucking Ford off. It seemed their little emotional moment was over and it was back to raw hormonally-fulfilling sex.
Fiddleford grabbed the belt looped around Bill's wrists, pulling back hard, his other hand with a death grip on Bill's hips as he pumped inside. The extra leverage from the position drove Bill repeatedly into the bed, huffing and whining into the sheets, all his witty remarks fucked out of him. Surely the bed must be hopping across the floor from all this force. That was the one thing Bill would give the hillbilly, that his figure hid an unprecedented amount of strength. Keeping your tricks close to your chest was the first rule in Bill's guide to success, apparently right before fucking your human pet's lab rat so hard you might die.
Seriously, Fiddleford fucked hard. Tiny fuzzy spots floated at the edge of his vision, already dark and squeezed thin. Every pound back in was like a battering ram to his insides, and he loved it. Imagining getting this pretty body all bruised up and bloodied inside was working wonders for him, only encouraging his already dripping cunt to get impossibly wetter. He heard the filthy squelching coming from behind him, coming from him - it sounded violent, like pounding flesh until it was beyond recognizable, nothing but viscera, functional form reduced to useless pulp and still continuing to be abused for nothing but entertainment. The comparison sent a tremor down Bill's human spine, his entire body drawing taut like a livewire, a croaking moan caught in his throat as he forgot how to breathe for a moment.
Bill's entire body was shaking, his knees threatening to give out if not for the rough hands pinning his waist between them. He could feel the rhythm smacking against his ass become more and more erratic and thoughtless, from something organized and controlled to something frantic and desperate. Even though Stanford had finished first, they all could tell that neither of them would last much longer - especially after the veritable marathon of foreplay they had run together. Bill himself was so unbelievably close, he could admit, but every piece of his will fought his body to last longer than the idiot hillbilly. It would feel so good to rub it in that redgrass cousin-kisser's face that he couldn't handle himself around just a little bit of extradimensional pussy. If he couldn't even control his dick around a hole, he'd never survive what Bill was planning for. He looked forward to seeing the fool try.
To say that Fiddleford was affected by the experience was the understatement of a lifetime - taking out his rage on his partner's dubiously ambitious demon benefactor, fucking into a warm, wet hole while Stanford looked back at him with those glassy, starry eyes on his fucked-out face, body heaving from what they had done, what Fiddleford had done, not to mention the loud ruined mess he continued to thrust into - it was enough to make a man go mad. Fiddleford was riding a high of lustful dominance and masculine power he had never felt before, begging him to continue to take, to greed and sin to his heart's content, to drown in the beautiful, twisted indulgence of control. He swallowed thickly, digging his nails into Bill's hip bones and pert ass, leaving blooming rose colored crescents that made Bill bite the covers to keep himself from screaming. No, that was for later. This was just sex, just a space for him to vent, release all that darkness and realign himself later. He needed this, desperately.
As the thought crossed his mind and Ford's softly glowing gaze found him again from over Bill's backside, Fiddleford felt himself melt into weakness once more, curling over to claw his hands at Bill's chest and drape his entire body over the man, his crazed thrusts becoming needy humps. For Stanford's sake, he told himself, he resigned to keep his resentment quiet, only between him and Bill and the Lord, eking out between growls and grunts and heavy breaths as he crushed Bill's slumped form with his body. His hands scrambled for purchase around Bill's torso, one taking a clawfull of the meat of his chest and squeezing hard before tearing down, scoring angry red marks across the demon's skin, painfully scraping at a plump nipple in its path. And, of course, all of this coincided with his dick hitting just right inside Bill, on the spot that made his consciousness threaten to float away to dreamscape he came from.
Bill squealed from the cocktail of sensation, so far gone in the euphoria of the moment to register any sense of shame or embarrassment. The livewire of his body pulsed and glowed dangerously hot, the pressure in his gut nearly tearing him apart, the single quiet moment before a supernova bursts into a new galaxy. In that moment, frozen in pain and pleasure, Bill could make out some of the panting, babbling words falling from Fiddleford's lips.
“Soundin’ like a fuckin’ sow in heat,” Fiddleford hissed out in a puff of hot air. Their skin stuck together from eachothers' sweat. Fiddleford's cock pushed further inside him, further than he'd taken in this form. He felt something swell within him. “Screamin’ t’ be filled up, fuckin’ bitch.”
The moment he was done speaking Fiddleford clamped his teeth down over an already dark bruise on Bill's neck and oh god, it was over for Bill. He couldn't even hear the animalistic, guttural, strangled noise that burst from his own throat as his orgasm exploded through him, his entire body seizing up before shocks of pleasure rocketed through, his walls clenching and twitching and tightening and pulling as his release was still being fucked out of him, warm fluids gushing out onto Fiddleford's dick.
For half a second Bill thought his human vessel had died, but soon enough sight and feeling returned after the numb, blissful high of his climax. The first thing he felt was embarrassment - that was the best orgasm he'd had in a million years, and it was at the hands of a lowly human; even worse, at the hands of Fiddleford. His shame was then promptly fucked right back out of him as his tormentor continued stuffing him full, his human nerves burning and crying out for pause at the onslaught.
Fiddleford didn't last for much longer, all but embedding himself in Bill's skin with his squeezing grip, rutting senselessly into the crumpled form below him. His broken voice muttered obscenities such as “fuck, take it good, fuckin’ bitch,” as he snapped his hips up deep and gave a long, low groan like a wolf as he emptied his load deep inside Bill. Fuzzily his brain could register the lava filling his body, the pulsing of their sexes in unison, and his own breath cooling the sweat beaded across his face. In the immediate denouement, everyone and everything paused, a single moment of truce and equality between two men and a god.
It didn't take long for the world to realign, the weight of the situation settling in for everybody. Bill couldn't wipe the grin from his teeth as he caught a glimpse of Fiddleford, face twisted in anger and guilt and utter horror at what had just transpired. He subconsciously began a gentle exit from Bill's throbbing hole, sitting back on his haunches and staring blankly forward into the wall, past Bill, past Ford, completely lost and dissociating from the situation. Welp, that wasn't Bill's problem - and neither were any moral repercussions of their activities together. Being above the complicated web of human social structure served him very well in situations like these.
Bill's chest shook with breathy chuckles as he flopped onto his side, reveling in the aching pulse of his destroyed cunt. Every slight movement made the deep pain more and more evident, shocking throughout his entire vessel, all to Bill's sex-drunk delight. He felt Fiddleford's seed leak slowly from his hole, joining with the slick and sweat - possibly even blood, he couldn't tell - already dripping down his backside, twisting his body awkwardly to be able to watch. He barked out a dry laugh. “Geez, Specs. Trying to start another family? I'm flattered, really - but no thanks.”
Fiddleford's eyebrow twitched, attention snapping back on Bill, his upper lip curled back in a snarl. “Fuck you,” he hissed quietly. His voice was strained from exertion, burning with rage and freezing with ire at the same time, downright poisonous.
Bill snorted. “You just did, genius.”
All he was offered in reply was an angry glob of spit impacting his body. Better than nothing.
His eye travelling downwards, Bill felt like trying his luck at sneaking one more little cherry for the top of his mockery sundae. He squinted with that lazy, promiscuous stare from below his lashes and gestured his whole body towards Fiddleford's dick, coated in an unknown amount of fluids. “Need some housekeeping?” he quipped.
Fiddleford's face grew dark, his expression morphing through embarrassment and disgust and maybe even grief before going blank. He turned away from Bill, not offering any answer, instead shrinking into himself on the edge of the bed. Boo. Bill licked his lips absentmindedly and shrugged. Well, couldn't say he didn't try. Still a point for him - Bill one, pitiful country rat zero.
The orgasmic aftershock slowly faded away from Bill's human form as his omnipresent faculties returned to him. Ford had seemingly watched their entire ending together, his soft and drooping cock showing a great deal of newfound interest, but he had stayed good and used the moment to instead steady his breathing and stabilize his person. His face was still red and sweaty and his expression malleable, coming down from subspace, but Bill could sense the gears beginning to turn again behind those passive eyes. There we go! That was what this was all for anyways, just some routine maintenance to get his pet back on track on the bigger picture. All according to plan, as always.
His obedient human shuffled across the bed on his knees to Bill's side, taking his still bound wrists and making it his mission to undo the clasp and free him of his rough bindings. “My m - Bill, are you alright?” He hesitated with a quick glance at Fiddleford in the corner, evidently trying to keep the extent of his devotion out of his mouth in the presence of his assistant. His face, however, told Bill everything he needed - that his Sixer was still unbreakably loyal. No matter what he got up to with that worthless yokel, he would always come running right back to Bill, where he was supposed to be.
As his wrists were finally freed, he flexed his arms together and sat up, wincing at the crack and ache of his bones and flesh from being pushed around and wrangled into awkward positions for the whole night. At the same time, Ford inadvertently took Bill's hands in his own, beginning to rub life back into his sore wrists, circulation and warm human blood beginning to fill the tips of his fingers. He smiled like a shark at the subservient, second-nature gesture, saying nothing of it. “Never better, Sixer! Now, if I were you, I'd be asking that to myself - are all those silly primal chemicals up there under control now?” He teased, bringing a hand up to tap on Ford's cranium as if he was knocking on a door.
Stanford let out a small chuckle, melting in the presence of his muse and his undivided attention. “Yes, I feel quite satisfied now, if a bit tired,” he admitted sheepishly, as if his biological limits were something to apologize for. Which they were, so props to him. “Perhaps we should take a moment to rest before returning to our work.” He gazed past Bill hopefully, his words meant for more than just the one in front of him, but flinched as he saw the impassable cold wall Fiddleford had put up between him and the rest of the bed.
Before anything else could happen, the hillbilly abruptly sat up, shuffling his pants and underwear back on before making to exit the room, not even bothering to retrieve his belt and shirt. Ford looked on like a kicked puppy, forlorn and a little heartbroken. Bill, however, was ecstatic, turning to watch him go with a manic smile from ear to ear. Double points! Not only did he just have a great fuck, he drove that slutty little sidepiece out of his rightful territory! This was a contender for the best day of his humanoid life, for certain. His victory over that bumpkin was inevitable - he had finally gotten his last laugh! Sucks to suck, bozo!
Now fully energized, Bill whipped his head back around to Ford, who jumped a little from the sudden movement. “Great thinking as always, Fordsy! Let's get a little slice of shut-eye!” He chirped out with all the energy of a toddler on espresso, practically giddy with glee. “Recharge that squishy grey matter of yours and get right on back to business! Polydimensional hyper-trigonometric quadrations don't just solve themselves, you know!”
Ford puffed his chest out a little, preening under the crumbs of praise, his assistant's gloomy turmoil immediately forgotten in favor of the familiar reassuring light of his muse. “That they don't. Thank you, my muse,” he spoke with an air of confidence, like he was totally in on all the happenings of the big kids. It was kind of adorable, really, and Bill fluffed his hair as a reward, watching his pet shut his eyes to grin before rolling backwards into a laying position on the bed, getting comfortable for a bit of sleep.
Following the flow of the moment, Bill flopped right down next to him, curling up not unlike a cat as he pressed his warm human form into Ford's. Cuddling was not entirely unheard of between them, but was certainly few and far between. This, however, was a special occasion, where Bill was celebrating his glorious conquest over the annoying country bitch. He decided to indulge himself and his Fordsy's desires as they settled down together for a power nap, ignorant to the consequence of cleanup or whatever the fuck else would come after. They'd deal with that later.
Bill smirked. “No rest for the brilliant! See you in your dreams, Sixer!”
Ford didn't respond. The pair of them went silent as they matched their breathing and drifted off to the mindscape together, contented and sexually fulfilled, for even more happy little mental conditioning in Bill's syrupy-sweet little fantasy manipulation palace. Bill sighed, thoroughly pleased with himself and his performance in this operation. This couldn't have gone any better.
Outside the door to Ford's room, Fiddleford had buried his face in his hands, slumped against the wall as his body shook with noiseless sobs of panic and fear, picking up the pieces of everything he had done and dreading that damning sight of the impending final picture.