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Stan has never felt so powerless in his life.
Ford’s heavy weight is pressing him down into the dirt ground and his breaths are hot and damp against the crook of his neck. He scrunches his eyes shut and tries one last time to push his brother off of him, but just like before, Ford doesn’t budge an inch.
“What’s wrong, Stanley?” Ford’s lips move against his skin, but it’s not his familiar gravelly voice that escapes. Instead, it’s a high-pitched, almost whiny tone that Stan has learned to know and fear. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Big brother Stanford holding you close, feeling you up?”
“Get out of him, you psychotic triangle!” Stan grunts, wincing when one of Ford’s hands run down his side and grips his hip so hard, it’s probably going to bruise.
“Psychotic triangle?” Bill laughs, snorting. He pulls back a little so that he can look patronizingly down at him and Stan wishes he could stamp out the fear that creeps up his spine at the sight of the vertical slits that have taken over his brother’s eyes. “Is that really the best you can do?” Bill sneers.
Stan spits at him in reply.
Bill laughs again, wiping the spittle off his face - Stanford’s face - before Stan’s head snaps to the side at the force of Bill’s backhand. He grunts in pain (he’d scream, but his chest is too constricted by Ford’s weight to draw in enough air for that) and glares up at Bill out of the corner of his eyes.
“You know what’s your problem, Stanley?” Bill asks, but he’s definitely not looking for an answer from his captive as he backhands him again. Stan spits out blood and grits his teeth as Bill presses one of Ford’s hands against his throat, firm but not hard enough to cut off Stan’s air completely. “You just don’t know when to give up.”
Bill squeezes and Stan gasps, struggling as he can’t breathe any more, trying, but failing to push Ford off of him. He can’t even move his hands to claw at him, and Stan’s eyes start to roll up into his head when Bill finally lets him go.
He coughs painfully, gasping as he desperately gulps in lungfuls of oxygen. He’s still trying to catch his breath when Bill climbs off of him and levitates him, setting him down onto Ford’s bed.
“You didn’t know when to give up when you pushed your brother into the portal and potentially lost him forever,” Bill continues as he shrugs off Ford’s overcoat. Stan is barely listening to him; his vision is still fuzzy from the lack of air before and his throat still feels raw. It hurts to even breathe, now. “You didn’t know when to give up when you found and lost the other journals.” Bill chucks the coat to the side and stretches his arms out before pulling up the sweater over Ford’s head.
“Hell, even when you finally, finally got your brother back, you didn’t know when to give up trying to actually have him back, didn’t you?” Bill laughed cruelly, undoing the button on Ford’s pants. “Even though it’s obvious Stanford can’t even stand you.”
He laughs again, pausing in his action of unzipping the pants. “Get it?” he asks Stan, blinking down at him. “Stanford just can’t stand you! Hahahahaha!”
Stan glares at him. “Shut up! What are you even doing? What do you want this time?”
Bill stops laughing suddenly, and his face grows dark with seriousness. The glow of his eyes shimmer in the dark of the basement and he hisses, “I want Stanford out of my way!” and Stan flinches when the room is bathed in a flash of blinding light he emits in anger. His voice echoes off the basement walls, too, dragging on like ghostly calls.
“It was great when he fell into that fucking portal!” Bill rants, slipping the pants off of Ford’s legs and throwing them viciously to the floor. “He should’ve stayed in there! But you just had to ruin my plans and bring him back, didn’t you?”
Ford’s body is down to just his boxers now and Stan doesn’t even get to register the multitude of scars that run over his brother’s naked torso before Bill is on top of him, straddling his hips. He claws at his clothes, ripping Stan’s dress shirt open and tearing off his undershirt with it. Ford’s nails are sharpened to a point and they catch at Stan’s skin where Bill’s tearing off his clothes, drawing shallow red lines of blood in their wake.
Stan hisses in pain, back arching at the cold that bites at his bared skin. Bill bends down and laps at the blood, and Stan gags at the sight.
“Haha, what? You don’t like this, Stanley?” Bill mocks, pulling back and pinching one of Stan’s exposed nipples harshly. Stan yelps at the sensation. It’s painful, but it’s also something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. His nipples have always been one of his erogenous zones. Bill catches on quickly and laughs again as he deliberately twists the pink nub between Ford’s fingers, teasing them. “Well, looks like you like this, huh?” Bill drawls, eyes narrowing as his grin widens to reveal inhumanly sharp teeth.
Stan growls in his throat but the sound catches as foreign pleasure shoots through him at Bill’s actions. He clenches his teeth and tries to stop his body’s reactions, but it’s no use; he hasn’t felt the intimate touch of another human being in decades, and he’s no match for Bill Cipher.
It’s no deterrent to his body that this is Ford’s body that’s doing the touching, that it’s his own twin’s hands that are drawing these sensations to the the surface.
If anything, it makes it so much easier for Bill.
“You still want him, don’t you?” Bill hisses, letting go of Stan’s nipple to rip open the fly of his pants instead. Stan gasps when cold hands suddenly touch his hardening flesh and he has to bite his lip to stifle the whimper of pleasure that threatens to flow past his lips. Ford’s six-fingered hands are heavenly, despite how cold they are, and Stan sobs as Bill pumps his length with them, squeezing him hard.
“Stop!” he manages to gasp. “St-stop it!”
Miraculously, Bill does, but not before giving him a few more pumps that brings his erection to full mast.
Stan whimpers in relief, but it’s short-lived. Bill has Ford’s fingers hooked into the band of his pants and he’s quickly pulling them down, followed by his boxers.
“Don’t do this,” Stan wants to shout, but it comes out like a pitiful murmur instead.
Bill raises one brow at him and sneers. “Why shouldn’t I?” he snaps. “This is the lesson you two need to learn.”
He grips the back of Stan’s knees and places them over Ford’s broad shoulders, positioning himself until Ford’s hard cock (and when had he even taken off his boxers, Stan absently wonders) is perfectly aligned with Stan’s very much unprepared entrance.
“You don’t mess with Bill Cipher,” Bill hisses and then he thrusts.
It doesn’t go in at the first try, which kind of plays down the effect of Bill’s words, but then he pushes the tip of Ford’s cock insistently against Stan’s hole and eventually, flesh gives and Stan can’t breathe, can’t even keep his eyes open, as the unfamiliar stretch burns him. He swears he can feel something tear, and he’s probably bleeding with the wetness that he feels trickling down his ass, but it doesn’t matter, because Bill is pushing in and out, over and over, and Stan can’t keep enough air inside his lungs to even scream.
He’s bent over in half, with his own brother’s dick inside his ass, and the sick part is that he’s still hard.
Bill’s thrusts are hard and fast, and he reaches out one hand to grab a hold of Stan’s dick. Stan moans at the feeling, and latches onto it, tries to keep his mind off the pain in his rear and on the pleasure that’s shooting down his cock. It’s confusing, and overwhelming, but it’s better than the numbness that threatens to sink him.
Bill crows at the sounds Stan’s making and shifts his hips a bit. It makes Ford’s dick graze against Stan’s sweet spot and he gasps, eyes rolling up into the back of his head with the pleasurepaingoodbadmoreplease that follows the action.
Stan thinks he’d probably be bucking his own hips up to meet with Bill’s every thrust if he weren’t still under the demon’s paralysis spell.
He comes first before Bill does, which brings a manic grin to Ford’s face, and before Stan knows it, he’s no longer staring up into the demon’s vertical slits. Instead, it’s Stanford blinking down at him, his eyes wide and pupils blown, and still thrusting his dick into Stan. His hands grip harder at Stan’s hips and Stan can finally move so that he can scrabble for purchase on the bed. Stanford moans long and low as he gives one final thrust and, balls-deep inside Stanley, he comes.
Ford collapses on top of him and Stan’s too tired and in too much pain to push him off.
“Remember boys; don’t mess with me again,” echoes Bill’s voice and Stan screws his eyes shut against it, refusing to let the tears fall.
“Oh my god, Stanley,” Ford gasps. “Stanley, I’m so sorry.”
Stan sniffs and turns his head to the side, refusing to open his eyes. “Shut up, Ford.”