Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ford’s eyes blinked open at a blurry paper, ink smudged on it as if he dragged his hand on it. He lifted his hand to rub his eye but stopped as he noticed his hand also had ink on it, then looked at his reflection on one of the multiple glass surfaces he had around the lab. Apparently, he did not get the ink like that with his hand, but with his face, by falling asleep on top of it. He knew he napped for less than half an hour because the neck pain that always came with it wasn’t present, therefore he did not have an excuse to take a few meds for pain and go back to work as if he didn’t need more rest.

Well, he could use some coffee... It was not ideal, though, considering he had already felt a few too many of the overdose symptoms. Maybe he really needed to nap this time? But he was so close to getting this one thing done...

“Siiiii-xerrrr!” His muse sang, rolling the ‘i’ and ‘r’ fondly. “How’s my favorite freak doing? Don’t tell the others I said this, by the way.” He saw the triangle floating near, then weightlessly land on his shoulder, size no bigger than a parrot. (He did perch on his shoulder like one too...)

He looked at his notes, then around himself, then at his reflection again. All seemed blurry.

“I- ... I’m sorry my muse, but I still-”

“Woah, woah, woah! What is that? I know you’re smart Sixer, don’t get me wrong, but you’re ignoring you need sleep again?” Bill floated in front of him, hands on what should be the triangle’s equivalent of hips. “You look like you’re about to pass out so I’m guessing yes! Want me to work for you today?”

Ford could feel himself forgetting to breathe, too focused on keeping up with his muse’s words but with his brain too limited by sleep. He weakly nodded, and Bill quickly took over his body, leaving him to the comfort of his own dreamscape.

He had been in the middle of some memory dream when he blinked back to his lab.

He blinked again, confirming he wasn’t just seeing things. The angle looked... different? Was he floating?

“Sixer!” Bill called. When Ford looked over, he noticed his muse was still with control over his body, leaving him to float around and watch. They’ve done this before, but usually by Ford’s request, Bill doing it was a new one. “I hope the dream wasn’t too good, I gotta ask you a few things!”

He blinked, not remembering what the dream was about anymore.

“I... Of course. What is it you need?”

“Yeesh! Disoriented much?” Bill chuckled. “So, remember how we talked about limits and those other things when I'm possessing you? Like not making friends in town, a few limits on how much I could hurt you, etcetera etcetera? Yeah so, I was rethinking a few things, and one of the things I’ve been curious about made sure to make an appearance. So, considering all human and non-human concepts on how this should work, I thought, what’s better than asking for forgiving? Asking for permission, of course! And making sure the person is painfully aware of it, too!”

Ford watched as Bill rambled, the triangle moving his body around on the rotating chair as if just talking wasn’t entertaining enough - as if he needed not just the mind, but also the body, active.

“I know how these things work but I never did it while possessing someone, let alone having the person I possessed guide me! So, watcha say? I’m gonna do a few things and ask you about it, and you guide me while I'm doing it?”

He felt his face warm up with the path his thoughts took with the wording, but felt silly to imagine that. “Okay, ask away.”

“O-kay!” Bill echoed, changing his position on the chair so he was closer to laying down than sitting on it, and uncrossing and spreading his – Ford's – legs and he did so. He leaned his arm onto the armrest of the chair, then rested his face on its closed fist, moving his other hand down.

Ford felt his chest fill with a constricting yet pleasing warmth as he saw Bill pressing his fingers to a very visible erection, watching as it twitched after a few strokes over the fabric.

“This’ okay?” The triangle’s voice got his snapping his eyes back to his own face, now distorted with a grin and shining eyes. Despite the confidence on his tone, Bill – wearing his skin – looked incredibly disheveled.

He felt his throat dry, and only nodded.

“Words, Sixer.” Bill reprimanded; hand movement halted.

Ford cleaned his throat. “Yes, go ahead.”

Bill resumed the movement, switching between using just his fingers to press down to using his full palm, thrusting onto it and slowly sinking even further into the chair. His breaths were getting heavier, same for Ford’s, who despite only watching was also reacting beautifully to it.

His hands went from the slow, one drag at the time rhythm to something closer to what Ford went for when pleasing himself. Bill whined between breaths, and Ford could only watch with desire as his muse used his body to please himself.

“Are you always this sensitive?” Bill asked. He wasn’t, but the idea of the triangle being excited enough about this for his body to react so eagerly had him feeling his gut warm. A couple of faster tugs on his clothed cock caused Bill to let out a long moan, speeding up the rhythm and moving his hips against his hands.

“Pull it out,” Ford spoke, voice rough. He cleared his throat again, noticing Bill’s attention on him. Bill’s hands did not stop as he watched Ford, if anything it seemed to speed up, the grin on Bill’s face not helping him focus. “Pull it out of your pants. The direct touch helps.”

“Yeah?” Bill’s smile on his face grew, the tugging stopping so he could remove his pants. “How was it that you did before? Oh, yeah!” He then pulled the wool vest from ford’s chest and unbuttoned his shirt from the lowest button until the middle, leaving the vest and shirt in a position for exposing his belly.

Ford did not remember Bill ever watching him masturbating, but the idea excited him, especially if his muse considered it enough to remember such details.

“Hey, Sixer!” Bill called, as if Ford’s full attention wasn’t on him already. He gripped his cock in one hand, hissing at how sensitive he felt, and moved his other hand to his mouth. He was licking his fingers as he started stroking himself. Ford’s fingers. He moaned loudly as he lapped his tongue on the extra finger and twisted his grip on his cock while stroking.

It was then that Ford noticed he’d been only watching. He moved quickly to try and grab his cock on this dream version of his, only to be stopped by a firm “No.” coming from Bill.

“You can take care of that later, now you’re here to help me.” Bill’s tone was dark, as if Ford paying attention on anything at the moment was a crime.

“I’m sorry, my muse.” Ford replied quickly, ashamed.

“Call me that again,” Bill said, whining lightly and speeding up his thrusts.

“My muse.” Ford repeated, watching as Bill whined and moaned, moving as if he was losing his control over Ford’s body, not to Ford but to pleasure. Ford saw an opportunity to help. “My muse, my sun, center of my galaxy-”

Bill moaned loudly again, gripping the base of his cock to stop himself from orgasming, hips not agreeing much to his choice and thrusting onto his hand. His breaths were heavy as he muttered curses.

“You want this to end quick, Fordsy? Chill with the names.” He let go the grip, watching as his cock twitched a few times, needing more touch. Ford felt his entire body shiver as he looked at Bill, so far gone into pleasure on his body. He wondered if he could ever get him to the same state on his triangle self. “Let’s do this, then, I’ll give you back your body for the end and you can enjoy the wave of chemicals, ok? Then you don’t have to worry about doing this over work hours”

“No,” Ford started, Bill looked at him with surprise. “Please finish it. I won’t be needing to if you do it now.”

Ford knew his own body. He’d enjoy masturbation, but only once or twice a month, being mostly opposed to any sexual things after he’d gotten the feeling of release. The need was entirely biological, and if anything, he’d be glad if he could get rid of it, especially because of the fog it would cast over his thoughts whenever it started. Watching Bill was one of the rare instances Ford had found any pleasure on the sensation, though.

Bill chuckled at him, going back to stroking himself. “So that’s how it is, huh? You feel better seeing me than doing it yourself? Iiiinteresting.” He dragged the ‘i’, as if considering something as he spoke. “I wonder how this would go if I had my own form? If you would chose me over yourself?”

“I would always choose you over myself, my muse.” Ford said, causing Bill’s rhythm to stutter, then with a flustered huff, speed up. “Should I keep talking?”

“Yes.” Bill replied, lost on whatever the petname was causing him to feel, stroking himself with a steady rhythm. “Keep talking, please.”

Ford felt lost, then, knowing his muse was not one for asking, much less begging, but rather demanding. He knew he needed to make this worth it.

“My muse, you shape me,” He started, testing the waters with something he knew worked, and watching the already expected result. “You give me a reason, you give me dreams, you give me so much.” Bill’s whines returned, and hand moving under his vest to pinch his nipple. He wondered how he learned that one. “You are guiding me to greatness, but asking so very little... I’m so glad I can give myself to you in body, in these moments. Give you what you desire of me.” A loud moan from Bill makes the end of the phrase hard to hear.

“More...” Bill whined. Ford knew he was close, not from the triangle’s complete loss of words and general behavior, but because he also knew his own body.

“You’re the meaning of my life, my muse. You are guiding me and I’m yours. I’m completely yours, in body, mind and soul. Please take from me, whatever it is you desire...”

The sound of a small choke, then followed by soft moans – not unlike Ford’s own when he came – filled the air. Bill was coming onto his hand, watching as the member twitched and pumped cum out. He left out a soft “Heh...” Before licking his hand clean. Ford felt satisfied watching it, brain coming back to normal. Maybe the release had affected him too?

“Well, it’s not morning yet, so you’re not allowed in either!” Bill said, returning to his usual tone, as if he wasn’t with his – Ford's – cock out and twitching from the aftershocks, still. “Back to the dreamscape you go!”

“Wait, my muse-”

“No ‘but’s!” Bill snapped his fingers, and Ford was tossed back to his own head and dreams before he could react.

He awoke hours later, on his own bed, tucked in comfortably and with a note on his face. He couldn’t feel any pain, which wasn’t very usual after Bill had a night on his body. He took the note and read it, as he always did.