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Bill stalked across the living room again, passing through the space for the umpteenth time in the path he’d been following for the past hour. The mostly empty house was quiet, the only noise being the quiet murmur of the rain outside and whatever was playing on the television. He’d tried to distract himself earlier, but sitting down to watch the show had only made him hyper aware of the uncomfortable need that curled in his abdomen.
Why the fuck did the human body have so many frivolous little needs? Food and water were annoying to remember but at least he could understand them. Sleep was actually nice. But this ?
“If you don't sit down I'm gonna put your ass outside until Poindexter gets back,” Stanley growled from his armchair, gesturing to the couch.
“Oh, as if you would,” Bill snipped back. “I'm ‘not supposed to leave the shack without supervision’, right?”
“Don't test me, Cipher. This pacing shit was annoying after the first ten minutes, what the fuck is your issue?”
Bill opened his mouth and quickly closed it again, frowning. “It's not my fault humans have all these stupid little needs,” he finally mumbled, but flopped onto the couch as if it would help.
“What? Are you hungry? There's shit in the fridge.”
“Ha, no. If I could fix this that easily I would have already done it.” He shifted how he was sitting, his thighs pressing together in a way that only made the pressure worse. Maybe with his knees apart? Nope! A few more fidgety tries to sit without thinking about it and he was on his feet again, hands in his hair. “Fuck this fucking body,” he huffed.
“Just fucking relax,” was Stan's brilliant suggestion, but even Bill could hear that his laugh in response was bordering on hysterical.
“I've tried! Unfortunately, the powers that be decided to give me a body I don't know what to do with!” He threw his hands out in frustration, warmth blooming across his face as he caught Stan's eye.
There was a moment where the man seemed to take in everything before his eyes momentarily glanced down as realization dawned across his expression.
“Oh. Seriously? You're throwing a bitch fit because you're horny ?”
Bill picked up the nearest pillow from the couch and flung it at him.
The man batted it away easily, rolling his eyes. “Just go jerk off or something, why are you making it my problem?”
“I just said I tried!” He shot back. “I'm not exactly used to the…equipment this body has.”
“Then get Sixer to do something about it when he gets back. Isn't he in charge of your ‘wellbeing’?”
Bill grimaced. “For one, I'm not asking him for this . Two, do you really think he'd know what he was doing any more than I would?”
“Fair point.”
Huffing, Bill flopped down back onto the couch and tried to watch whatever Stan had on. It was something black and white and dramatic, the characters going on long monologues. Not even a hint of blood or anything else that might actually keep him distracted, though he hoped trying to follow the flowery language might be enough. It wasn't long before he was fidgeting again, shifting his weight in hopes of finding some position that wouldn't make it worse. Even the friction of these stupid clothes was adding to it as he moved, damp and clinging in a way that made his skin crawl as much as it flared the heat pulsing in his abdomen.
He was hyper aware of every inch of his body, of the uneven pressure of the lumpy couch cushions against his thighs, of the cool wisps of air curling over his flushed skin. His fingers dug into the rough material under him, clawing for something to distract him, to ground him outside of himself. The far too gentle voices of the television washed over him as every effort to catch his attention only drove it right back to the thoughts he was trying so hard to avoid. His hips twitched and shifted again, sliding against the cushion in a way that made him jolt ever so slightly.
“Fucking fine ,” Stan growled, smacking his palms against the arms of his chair and standing. “Let’s just get this fucking over with so I can actually watch my show in peace.”
Bill was frozen at his seat, gripping the cushion beneath him like a fucking lifeline. “What?”
“I will help you with this once .” He held up a finger as he spoke. “And we will never bring it up again. Either that or you can go be horny and miserable in your room instead of humping my couch.”
“ I was not -”
“Cipher.” Stan's voice was firm, a gesture to the door punctuating the offer. “This is the only time I'm offering this shit. Take it or go figure yourself out somewhere else.”
A long moment of silence stretched between them, although it wasn't until Stan rolled his eyes and moved to sit again that the word tumbled from Bill's lips.
“Wait.”
Stan paused, halfway into his chair, and raised an eyebrow at him. Uncertainty roiled in Bill's gut. He had no clue what Stan had in mind, but… he stood regardless. Stan wasn't stupid and he'd had plenty of chances to be cruel up until this point that he hadn't taken. For a conman he was typically pretty straightforward and easy to read when he was setting up a scam. There was none of that here, no sleaze or sales pitch. Charm would have driven Bill away but this was… honest. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, so the uncertainty was quickly covered by the desperate heat.
“Fine,” he said, aiming for bored and not quite getting there. He crossed his arms and kept his eyes on the wall behind Stan. “If you're so desperate to help, I guess I can let you.”
“Watch yourself, I can still put you outside, Rhombus.” Stan warned, but still stood with a grin as Bill bristled.
He opened his mouth to protest that stupid fucking nickname , but Stan was already walking out of the room. There was a moment of hesitation and spite before he sighed and followed after, arms still tight across his chest. “Where are you going?” He asked in an effort to fill the silence with more than footsteps.
“My room? I'm not doing this shit in the living room.” He threw open the door to said room, stepping aside and waiting for Bill to come in.
Again there was a flash of hesitancy, something Bill refused to call anxiety flexing in his gut. He still had no clue what he was walking into, only the vague promise of relief. It didn't help that Stanley’s room was also unfamiliar to him, one of the many rooms in the Shack Bill simply wasn't allowed.
He had once been a being of near infinite knowledge. He'd had entire dimensions of information at his fingertips and enough capacity to hold all of it and now he…didn't. Unknowns stacked like cinder blocks on his shoulders but standing halfway in the door would not make that any less true.
The room was cluttered, knickknacks scattered haphazardly on rickety shelves that held far more books than Bill expected. The walls were lined with old pictures, newer ones of the family peppered throughout although he couldn't examine them too closely at the moment. Maybe later he'd snoop, but for now he was more focused on the rumpled bed in the middle.
He swallowed against the twisting at the base of his throat, wishing he had even a clue what was next. “So-” the word caught in his throat and the cough to clear it had Stan shooting a strange look his way. “What now?”
“What do you mean ‘what now?’ Take off your pants and get on the bed.”
“You could have a little class, you know,” Bill mumbled, willing his pulse to calm. He'd expected this part at the very least, pushing the loose jeans and boxers past his hips in one motion. He let the material pool at his feet and stepped out of it, glancing from Stan to the bed as his fingers tugged the end of the stupid Mystery Shack shirt through it already hung to his thighs. Cool air curled around the heated flesh and he instinctively pressed his thighs together, exposed and vulnerable in a way he couldn't shake.
“What? Need me to buy you a drink or something?” Stan's voice was gruff as ever, but the irritation had given way to something a little softer. Teasing, maybe? It was a tone Bill was familiar with at least, the closest Stan got to affection with him. It loosened the knot in his chest a little, just a little… but enough.
He climbed into the bed a tad unsteadily, sitting on his knees in the middle and looking back at Stan expectantly. The man's strange look from earlier was back, observant in a way that made him feel pinned in place. It wasn't a look he was used to from this twin, being seen instead of just looked at. He slowly approached the bed and kneeled on it in front of Bill, the furrow still pinching at his brow.
“Look, just- here lay back.” A large hand settled on Bill's chest and nudged him back, guiding him until he was laying on the bed with his head on a worn soft pillow. His knees were still pressed together, feet flat on the bed with Stan leaning slightly over them to keep that look on him. Calloused fingers tapped lightly at one knee, inviting them to part. Another moment and Bill let his legs fall open, a shudder prickling up his spine as the air finally settled against the hottest parts of him.
His body twitched involuntarily, the damp between his legs only making the air feel colder as he tried to keep himself still. Heat painted his face, burning all the way to his ears as he watched Stan’s appraising gaze drop lower. That vulnerable feeling sunk its fangs a little deeper, his stomach twisting with anticipation and anxiety in a nauseating mixture that felt like his skin was buzzing . He felt flayed open and on display and nothing had even happened yet .
He wanted to snap his legs shut, to run out of the room, out of the Shack . To escape to somewhere he could control anything at all. His breath hitched a little as Stan shifted closer, his face turning away and his eyes screwing shut as if it would give him a firmer grasp on the situation.
A hand ghosted over his leg, fingers brushing exposed skin while the limb jerked slightly away before the other stilled entirely. For a moment there was no movement, no sound aside from the shallow breaths Bill couldn’t quite get a handle on.
“Cipher.”
The voice was low, almost a question more than a name. It took a moment for his attention to catch on it, his focus still on what control he could keep over this pathetic body. His pathetic body.
“ Bill .”
He opened his eyes just enough to glance down, another jolt deep to his core when he found soft concern looking back at him. Stan hovered between his legs, searching his face with an expression that clawed across the inside of Bill’s ribs.
“If you don’t-” he grimaced, seeming to search for the words. “You can say something…if you need to.” His voice trailed off awkwardly and Bill realized he was being offered an out. If he didn’t want this, he could say so.
If it was too much he could leave.The knots loosened a little more, the heat sitting a little more comfortably in his abdomen. Uncertainty still dragged at him, every little thing he didn’t know pricking at him like a million needles but even that tiny bit of control being assured kept his voice from trembling around its typical arrogance.
“What? Are you trying to get out of this?” he huffed, tapping lightly at Stan’s side with his heel. “You said you were going to help me out.”
The concern in Stan’s face relaxed, his hand cupping Bill’s thigh just under his knee and spreading him a little further open in lieu of a reply. Bill let himself sink into the pillows a little more comfortably, tilting his head as he followed Stan’s movements with more curiosity than anxiety now. The rough skin of his thumb caught on the sensitive skin of Bill’s inner thigh as it rubbed small circles into the flesh, his other hand pushing the loose shirt a little further up his chest.
Seemingly satisfied with the position, Stan bent further to settle comfortably between Bill’s thighs, close enough for hot breath to ghost over him in a way that had his muscles clenching around empty air.
“Y-you’re using your mouth?” Bill asked around another little hitch in his breath, his hips twitching when Stan’s eyes met his with a lazy smirk.
“Well, if I just finger you I’ll have to look at your ugly mug and then I might actually back out,” he said with a laugh that sent another burst of air over him, the teasing affection back in his voice.
“Rude,” was the only thing Bill could manage as Stan’s face dipped even closer, close enough for prickly stubble to scrape enticingly against him. When the wet heat of Stan’s mouth finally pressed against him it almost felt like a brand, searing bright white where his tongue dragged a wide stripe over him. A soft gasp escaped him as he scrambled for what to do with his hands, settling for grabbing at the pillows by his head as his hips rocked up against the touch.
Hands gripped his hips and held them still as Stan’s tongue licked against him again, dragging along the sensitive flesh with a delicious friction he still tried to buck into. Each little sensation sparked hotter at his center, pleading for a little more, a little deeper although Bill swallowed against the sounds that threatened to burst from him. Even without hearing the request, Stan seemed to simply know , pressing past his folds in quick, deliberate movements. Bill squirmed as the warm, wet muscle finally pressed into him, barely breaching his entrance but enough to make him squirm.
Pleasure rolled over him, radiating from each searing touch and engulfing him so completely that he was lost in it. Sparks burst across his skin like lightning, jolting with every new movement as he chased more. Bits of noise wormed their way from his throat, his legs pressing even further apart as the roll of his hips turned frantic.
It was too much, heat burning through him in a wildfire that burned away every attempt at coherent thought, dragging him higher and higher as his stomach pitched in anticipation of a fall he couldn’t even imagine. It was too much, too fast, but still he pulsed with need.
He couldn’t think, couldn’t voice more than a whisper of “ please please please ” with no idea what he was pleading for.
Stan pulled back and he choked on a whine, fighting against his hold to chase the warmth he could still feel in shallow pants against him. A hand grabbed clumsily at Stan’s head, fingers digging into his hair in a desperate attempt to keep him close.
“Relax.” Bill felt the word more than he heard it, trembling as Stan’s lips brushed a little further up. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
Bill wanted to ask what he was doing, his tongue prodding insistently as though searching, but he couldn’t string the words together even in his head. Just as he tried to manage anything , Stan’s tongue curled around something that dragged an electrifying jolt up Bill’s spine and whited out every bit of thought he had left. A high, broken moan echoed across the small room before he could stop it, barely muffled when he managed to push his fingers against his own mouth.
Laughter rumbled against him, the vibration of it right at the spot Stan still had his tongue against as it rubbed in breathtaking circles. Bill bit at his fingers, but his whines and whimpers still slipped into the open air despite his best efforts, his body writhing against the utter overwhelm of it all.
The feeling of ‘too much’ surged again. If he thought he was a bonfire before then this was an inferno, indescribable as it seared him open and raw. Broken pleas gave way to completely incoherent babbling, choked noises he wasn’t even aware he was capable of, not that he could focus enough to listen to them.
Stan’s movements stayed steady, deliberate strokes of his tongue winding everything tighter to Bill’s center even as the rest of him continued to burn. Another hitch breath shattered into a desperate sob, searing tears streaming down his cheeks.
Why was he crying? Humans cried when they were sad, and whatever else he was feeling he wasn’t sad, another sob cracking from him despite that. His fingers tightened in Stan’s hair as he ground his hips against his face, chasing friction in pursuit of something he couldn’t quite remember.
His thoughts were as fractured as his voice, crashing and bursting and breaking as his body burned ever brighter until it felt like there would surely be nothing left of him. He teetered on the precipice of something , dangling as even that finally began to crumble.
It was too much and not enough as the fall beckoned him, his body still clinging to the last bits of that height.
Stan’s lips sealed over that bright, white hot point and with a sharp suck Bill finally shattered .
His thighs clamped around Stan’s head, an unfettered scream dragged near painfully from his throat as the freefall hit him like a punch. For a moment, he was weightless and flailing, lost in a wave that threatened to drown him before the heat dipped back into pleasure.
Every muscle went taut, his back arching off the bed as a wave of wet heat pulsed from him. Another sound, small and more air than noise, finally escaped him as Stan continued to work him through the last remnants of his orgasm.
Fingers rubbed soothing patterns across his hips and thighs, picking him apart at the seams and easing the pieces back together. He came down in bits and tatters, his thoughts still a scattered mess when Stan pulled away from him.
With a slow blink, he met Stan’s steady gaze with an unfocused one, barely registering the slick shine that smeared across his face or the wild mess of his hair. Stan grabbed a handful of the blanket and wiped at his face, his other hand patting at Bill’s thigh.
“You good?”
Was he good? Bill was…
He blinked again, squinting at the wall past Stan’s head as he tried to pluck words from the sludge still occupying most of his skull.
Instead, he simply managed a tiny nod and a shaky thumbs up, though his hand flopped back to the bed after only a moment.
That seemed to be enough for Stan at the very least, who cleared his throat and pushed himself off the bed. His eyes ran over Bill in a way that he might have cared about if he could remember how to, but for now there was only a comfortably settling fuzz to the thoughts he could manage.
“You can just…stay here for a bit,” Stan said with a touch of awkwardness. “Just throw the blanket in the hamper before you leave. I’m gonna get back to my- uh- my show.” He stepped toward the door, but stopped halfway through to look back at Bill. “Remember what I said. This was a one time thing. Got it?”
The hum he got in response was sufficient enough to him to leave at least, closing the door behind him and letting Bill settle back into himself in peace.
He wasn’t sure how long that took, though it was long enough for the light from the window to send shadows up the far wall. Bill took a deep breath as coherency finally lit something in his brain, though he grimaced as the first thing that coherency noticed was the now cool damp of the blanket under him.
Exhaustion and disgust fought for priority, but the latter dragged him out of the bed in small, wobbly movements. Despite the time he’d spent simply coming back together, he still felt uncoordinated and clumsy as he yanked the blanket from the bed and double checked the sheets beneath. He stuffed it into Stan’s already half-full hamper, wrestling his way back into his jeans after although he neglected to actually button them.
Simply holding them up with one hand, he shuffled down the hall to the tiny room that had been declared his. Somewhere in the house, he could hear talking and smell some sort of food, but he’d worry about that later.
For now, he nudged the door shut with his hip and stripped completely, slipping under his own blanket and letting the relaxation and exhaustion pull him under.
A ‘one time thing’ indeed.