Chapter Text
Ford stared at his reflection.
It had been a while. He was nervous, but determined. The sweater had to go first. Goosebumps covered his exposed arms immediately. It was not nearly warm enough to be wearing a T-shirt, the Oregon winter unforgiving even inside the house. He had to remember to fix the insulation on the windows.
Next was the hair. A sizeable portion of product was needed to slick it back all the way. Even then, it looked ridiculous, but it would have to do.
Finally, the glasses. Ford had never been fond of contact lenses. They were a pain to put in and, frankly, who cared about his looks anyway? He liked his glasses. They made him look… scholarly. Which was exactly the problem. Ford squinted at the mirror, trying to decide if the effort of putting in contacts was even worth it. He was standing close enough, and his impaired vision actually helped the illusion he was trying to create. No contacts, then.
Ford took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to conjure up a mental image. When he opened them again, his brother was staring back at him.
“Hey there, Ford.”
Even after all these years, his Stan-impression was still nearly flawless. Impersonating each other had been one of their favorite games to play when they were younger. Stan had always lamented the fact that it was impossible for them to actually use their impressions for nefarious purposes, like cheating on tests. The six fingers tended to tip people off pretty quickly.
For the moment, Ford held his hands behind his back.
Mirror-Stanley grinned at him mischievously, just like Ford remembered him. Truth be told, Ford had no idea what his brother looked like these days. Maybe he’d changed his hairstyle. Maybe he’d started wearing his glasses again. All Ford knew was Stan’s current address, the bare minimum of communication that they’d kept up to this day. Just in case.
Ignoring the pang of guilt he felt in his stomach, Ford reminded himself to concentrate on the matter at hand. Stan was doing fine without him. He had a way with people, a magnetic personality. It was better this way for both of them. If they met again, they would just fall into old patterns. Stan holding him back. Ford corrupting him.
He just had to get this out of his system, so he could concentrate on his work again. He closed his eyes for a second, to speak as himself.
“Hello, Stanley. It’s good to see you again.”
Mirror-Stanley looked delighted. “Good to see you too, bro! It’s been too long.”
“I missed you.”
Stan’s look softened. He stepped closer, putting his hand up against the mirror until their fingertips where touching. “You know I’m here for you whenever you need me, right?”
Ford sighed. What was he doing? It was like every word out of his- out of Stanley’s mouth just sent him into another guilt spiral.
Clearing his throat and looking away, he turned into himself again. “I know. To be honest, there’s a, um… particular reason why I asked you to come here. You see, I’ve been kind of… on edge lately, my research is hitting a dead end and I…” - Ford felt a blush creeping onto his face, a ridiculous reaction considering the circumstances - “I think I might need to, ah… release some tension, if you know what I mean.”
Stan chuckled. “Don’t worry bro, I got you covered. Look at me.”
When their eyes met again, Ford was taken aback at how needy he- how needy Stanley looked, how animalistic. His heart was beating furiously in his chest. He didn’t feel cold anymore.
“C’mere.” A hand wandered over his neck, fisting into his hair and pulling him closer. Their foreheads touched, so close now, Ford could count his brother’s eyelashes.
He wanted to kiss him, deeply, to plunge his tongue into that wet and needy mouth, but he knew that would only ruin the illusion. A short peck on the lips would have to suffice.
“Close your eyes.”
Stan’s voice was raspy, already wearing out his throat. Ford obliged without protest.
A second hand started touching him, feeling its way down his chest, his abdomen, teasing at the waistband of his pants.
“Let me help you with that,” Ford said eagerly, his hands fumbling at his belt already. Pants pushed to his ankles and Stan was on him again, cupping his growing erection through his briefs, rubbing against it teasingly, and Ford whimpered in response.
“Already hard for me, huh?” Stan remarked playfully, his thumb ghosting over the head of Ford’s cock, where a small spot of fluid leaking through his underwear already betrayed the state of his arousal.
Ford’s left hand grabbed at the small device on the drawer next to him, getting it ready.
“What do you want me to do, Ford?” Stan asked, slowly pushing his hands past Ford’s waistband, sliding down his thigh and pulling the fabric with him, until Ford’s dick finally sprang free from its constraints.
“You want me to suck that delicious cock of yours?” Stan’s voice was heavy with arousal. “I’ve missed it so much, Sixer. Missed sucking you off, making you moan. I’m gonna take you so deep, gonna make you scream my name until it’s the only word you remember, Ford. Do you want that?”
Ford nodded.
“I need to hear you say it, Ford. Tell me you want this. Do you remember? How much fun we used to have together? You miss it too, right?”
“I do,” Ford whispered. “I miss this. I miss you.”
He couldn’t take it anymore. “Stanley, please…”
Ford sighed as his brother’s mouth finally went down on him. It was a simple yet effective device, one of his own inventions. Over time, he’d calibrated the temperature, lubrication and level of suction almost to perfection. All he had to do was concentrate on his fantasy, and it would feel real. And if there was one thing Stanford Pines excelled at, besides science, it was self-delusion.
He knew he wouldn’t last long, not with Stanley being this enthusiastic. It had been too long, he’d been too distracted, too obsessed. Ford moaned loudly as his brother sucked him down all the way to the base of his cock, the tightness of his throat almost too much for him to handle.
Ford couldn’t help himself, couldn’t help grabbing the back of Stan’s head and bucking his hips, fucking into his mouth harder and faster with every thrust, crying out his name over and over again until he finished with a shuddering groan.
Ford leaned against the mirror, the cool surface pressing against the side of his face. When he looked into it, it was him again, his hair disheveled and sticky, his face flushed and sweaty. He looked like a mess.
As Ford started cleaning himself off, a sudden noise outside the house startled him out of his post-orgasmic haze. He had never heard anything like it. Whatever it was, it was definitely not natural. Could it be aliens? But no, there were voices now, human voices, although Ford couldn’t quite make out the words. Even more strange, they were the voices of children.
Ford scrambled to make himself somewhat presentable, putting his pants back on and ruffling through his hair quickly. Whatever that sound had been, he had to find out, and scaring away those children would probably be a bad move. He grabbed his glasses and ran to the front door.
When he looked outside, there was no one there. Only snow as far as the eye could see.