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"OH, UM, OH YEAH."
Right, that. Bill is still clinging to Ford. The portal is glowing behind them, lighting Ford's face in pale blue. The air feels like ozone and static. He lets go of Ford's hair, reluctantly, but turns it into a petting motion. Nooooot quite ready to separate yet. His other hand goes to touch under his own eye, where Ford bit him.
He doesn't have the words he wants, here. There are a lot of different emotions happening, and Bill doesn't know how to name or express any of them.
"HAH..."
Right, that. Bill is still clinging to Ford. The portal is glowing behind them, lighting Ford's face in pale blue. The air feels like ozone and static. He lets go of Ford's hair, reluctantly, but turns it into a petting motion. Nooooot quite ready to separate yet. His other hand goes to touch under his own eye, where Ford bit him.
He doesn't have the words he wants, here. There are a lot of different emotions happening, and Bill doesn't know how to name or express any of them.
"HAH..."
Ford's never seen Bill like this. He can't help a chuckle -- did it really do this much of a number on him?
He leans in, but doesn't start a kiss -- just bringing his forehead in closer, bringing their eyes closer. He reaches up and runs his own thumb under Bill's eye. The look on Ford's face loses its amusement after a moment or so of gazing -- it just turns kind of intense. He's focused, interested. Definitely not quite ready to separate. They have so little time.
He leans in, but doesn't start a kiss -- just bringing his forehead in closer, bringing their eyes closer. He reaches up and runs his own thumb under Bill's eye. The look on Ford's face loses its amusement after a moment or so of gazing -- it just turns kind of intense. He's focused, interested. Definitely not quite ready to separate. They have so little time.
"Well, that's a relief," Ford murmurs. "It's good to know you can't account for everything."
He's still kind of continuing that slow forward movement, keeping faces intimately close. It's like a hair away from nuzzling, and only isn't because Bill's surface is very hard and Ford's glasses are in the way.
He kind of wants to do it again, and if the way his eyes keep dropping to Bill's lower eyelid are anything to go by, Ford's seriously considering it. He could just lean over and do it. Do that thing Bill liked enough to remember in a post-kiss daze. There's nothing stopping him. What if he did?
He's still kind of continuing that slow forward movement, keeping faces intimately close. It's like a hair away from nuzzling, and only isn't because Bill's surface is very hard and Ford's glasses are in the way.
He kind of wants to do it again, and if the way his eyes keep dropping to Bill's lower eyelid are anything to go by, Ford's seriously considering it. He could just lean over and do it. Do that thing Bill liked enough to remember in a post-kiss daze. There's nothing stopping him. What if he did?
His eyes fall half-closed as he's coaxed forward. Yes -- yes, all right, he knows what that means. Ford pulls Bill's lower lip into his mouth, then back out between his teeth, slow and deliberate. It's only a small bit of contact, but it's heated. His teeth are very close to the part of Bill that's least invulnerable, but he's inflicting deliberate pleasure, not injury. It feels more intimate than a lip-bite should.
"NH-"
It doesn't even hurt that much, but the intensity of how they're looking at each other, the buildup, the fact that it's Ford, the fact that it's now...
Bill closes the distance again for a brief but very heated kiss. He had a faint hope before this that kissing Ford would make the desire better somehow, that he would dislike kissing him, get little enough out of it that he could call the need fulfilled and let the complication die. Instead it's made it much worse, somehow. Feeling what it's like to be touched and bitten and kissed by him has made the tense urgency in Bill even more acute. He has some idea of what's going on, although he can't say he's ever felt it himself, and he knows the solution has to be mined out of Ford. Bill wants to crack open his ribs and pull out the cure for this toxin building up in Bill's veins, and if it was as simple as that he'd have done it already.
"FORD," he starts, his voice low and slightly desperate, "I WANT-..."
It doesn't even hurt that much, but the intensity of how they're looking at each other, the buildup, the fact that it's Ford, the fact that it's now...
Bill closes the distance again for a brief but very heated kiss. He had a faint hope before this that kissing Ford would make the desire better somehow, that he would dislike kissing him, get little enough out of it that he could call the need fulfilled and let the complication die. Instead it's made it much worse, somehow. Feeling what it's like to be touched and bitten and kissed by him has made the tense urgency in Bill even more acute. He has some idea of what's going on, although he can't say he's ever felt it himself, and he knows the solution has to be mined out of Ford. Bill wants to crack open his ribs and pull out the cure for this toxin building up in Bill's veins, and if it was as simple as that he'd have done it already.
"FORD," he starts, his voice low and slightly desperate, "I WANT-..."
On the morning of June 16th -- the day after a breach fades -- Laura still meets Ford at their regular table for breakfast, and slides her tray onto the table as she sits down across from him.
"Your birthday was yesterday," she states simply, quietly, with a complete lack of fanfare. It's kind of a question, in the way that Laura phrases her questions like statements, and she looks to him with an expectation that he'll either confirm (not necessary; it's in his file) or elaborate on his own feelings on the subject, to the extent that he has any at all.
"Your birthday was yesterday," she states simply, quietly, with a complete lack of fanfare. It's kind of a question, in the way that Laura phrases her questions like statements, and she looks to him with an expectation that he'll either confirm (not necessary; it's in his file) or elaborate on his own feelings on the subject, to the extent that he has any at all.
"Yes, I suppose it was," Ford says neutrally, setting his coffee down. He doesn't immediately meet her eyes, but not in an exaggerated sort of way. "At least this time, I know for sure it's been another year!" Now that he's on a subject he's more comfortable with, his eyes go back to Laura. "Last year I'd gone from September in the Arctic Ocean to February Barge-time, and it felt a little bit like squeezing in an extra one. Then again, I'm technically dead and haven't aged a day, so they really might not count at all, on the Barge." He gives a shrug.
That sound and that tone cut right through Ford, clawing their way inside him and sinking in hooks low in his stomach. A clear-headed Stanford Pines might think oh, fuck, and try to cool off a little, because that feeling he had was definitely inappropriate. But there are a lot of chemicals swirling around his system right now, and he hears I want-, and staying back is impossible. Before Ford can say anything in reply, he's moved in for a kiss he can't help. This one's hot and a little loose and entirely uncalculated.
"What," he whispers, almost before the kiss breaks, keeping his mouth so close it's nearly still touching Bill's. "What is it?"
Now, Ford knows what people are usually asking for when they say I want-- in a tone like that and cut themselves off. He's familiar with the entire request being too forward, or someone being too awkward, or a setting being too public for the whole thing to get out. But it's Bill, and -- does Bill Cipher even fuck? He might not. He might be talking about something else, like taking this somewhere with a severed head that never stops screaming, or Ford's blood, or something. Who knows how much common ground Bill actually has with him when it comes to this sort of thing.
(Ford Pines's romantic self-sabotage instinct is still going strong.)
"What," he whispers, almost before the kiss breaks, keeping his mouth so close it's nearly still touching Bill's. "What is it?"
Now, Ford knows what people are usually asking for when they say I want-- in a tone like that and cut themselves off. He's familiar with the entire request being too forward, or someone being too awkward, or a setting being too public for the whole thing to get out. But it's Bill, and -- does Bill Cipher even fuck? He might not. He might be talking about something else, like taking this somewhere with a severed head that never stops screaming, or Ford's blood, or something. Who knows how much common ground Bill actually has with him when it comes to this sort of thing.
(Ford Pines's romantic self-sabotage instinct is still going strong.)
YOUR TONGUE CAN SHOW OFF BETTER THAN THAT. God, don't say that, he'll get shirty and insecure about his kissing and miss the point.
Bill's arm snakes out abruptly so he can neck the rest of his champagne. Okay. Go. Say something. Go. It's embarrassing, just bite the bullet. Go. Ford is so close to him, he's all Bill can see. The countdown to the end of the world, again, continues behind them.
Why are words so hard? Bill is good at words.
He makes a sound like a venting hot air balloon instead and kisses Ford again, frustrated and hungry.
Bill's arm snakes out abruptly so he can neck the rest of his champagne. Okay. Go. Say something. Go. It's embarrassing, just bite the bullet. Go. Ford is so close to him, he's all Bill can see. The countdown to the end of the world, again, continues behind them.
Why are words so hard? Bill is good at words.
He makes a sound like a venting hot air balloon instead and kisses Ford again, frustrated and hungry.
?? ???
The kiss is returned -- and it's very nice to be kissed like this, don't get him wrong -- but the way Ford moves betrays that he's been puzzled.
What is Bill asking for? What does he want from Ford that he isn't getting?
Ford has talked himself out of getting it.
The kiss is returned -- and it's very nice to be kissed like this, don't get him wrong -- but the way Ford moves betrays that he's been puzzled.
What is Bill asking for? What does he want from Ford that he isn't getting?
Ford has talked himself out of getting it.
Ah, for shit's sake.
Bill goes back to clinging when they finish, frustrated that this wasn't enough of a clue, his mind fuzzy from kissing and alcohol. He pulls Ford back by his hair, just a bare fraction of an inch, and holds up a finger - honesty please.
"DO YOU STILL HAVE DREAMS ABOUT ME? YOU KNOW THE KIND I MEAN."
This could easily be uncomfortable or mocking, but the swollen black mirror of Bill's pupil looks clouded with hunger and it's all sincerity under only a little bit of an alcohol slur.
Bill goes back to clinging when they finish, frustrated that this wasn't enough of a clue, his mind fuzzy from kissing and alcohol. He pulls Ford back by his hair, just a bare fraction of an inch, and holds up a finger - honesty please.
"DO YOU STILL HAVE DREAMS ABOUT ME? YOU KNOW THE KIND I MEAN."
This could easily be uncomfortable or mocking, but the swollen black mirror of Bill's pupil looks clouded with hunger and it's all sincerity under only a little bit of an alcohol slur.
The fact that he's being logical about it comes as absolutely no surprise, and Laura allows herself a faint, almost secret smile. "Maybe not. That hasn't stopped other people from celebrating, though, if it's something that they want to do. Sometimes it can be ... comforting, to have something familiar to mark the passage of time. Such as it is." She digs into her food with thoughtful, careful bites; she knows full well that she's going to have to be direct if she wants a proper answer. "Do you want to do something?"
He hesitates a fraction of a second.
Ford never really forgot that his birthdays were also Stan's birthdays. There were just periods when he had more things to distract him from that fact, like the fact that he was at Backupsmore, or that he didn't know what date it was because he'd finally shaken the twenty-four-to-thirty-hour-day planet jetlag and there wasn't time to calculate how much time had passed. He hasn't had a birthday with Stan in over forty years, and Stan and the kids are somewhere out there on another Barge (hopefully, if they haven't disappeared).
It's another year away from Stan Pines. Another year they're out of sync. Another year Ford has been changing, and he doesn't know if Stan's been changing, too, or how.
"I was thinking of finally getting rid of that couch," he says thoughtfully. "The gravity anomalies caused by the Puncture Cannon broke it pretty badly, and none of the patch jobs have lasted more than a few days. Want to help me throw it overboard?" He flashes a smile, and the mischief in it makes it genuine.
Ford never really forgot that his birthdays were also Stan's birthdays. There were just periods when he had more things to distract him from that fact, like the fact that he was at Backupsmore, or that he didn't know what date it was because he'd finally shaken the twenty-four-to-thirty-hour-day planet jetlag and there wasn't time to calculate how much time had passed. He hasn't had a birthday with Stan in over forty years, and Stan and the kids are somewhere out there on another Barge (hopefully, if they haven't disappeared).
It's another year away from Stan Pines. Another year they're out of sync. Another year Ford has been changing, and he doesn't know if Stan's been changing, too, or how.
"I was thinking of finally getting rid of that couch," he says thoughtfully. "The gravity anomalies caused by the Puncture Cannon broke it pretty badly, and none of the patch jobs have lasted more than a few days. Want to help me throw it overboard?" He flashes a smile, and the mischief in it makes it genuine.
Oh god damn it, oh that's the honesty thing he just agreed to. Oh, shit, he's gonna have to--to answer, here, if he wants to keep this arrangement going. The embarrassment doesn't dispel the haze, though -- the look in Bill's eye, the hand in his hair, the fact that his face is still so close to Bill's, all of those keep Ford in the moment enough to answer.
"Yes," he whispers, quiet and hoarse.
"Yes," he whispers, quiet and hoarse.
"GOOD!"
A second of a beat, just to gather his thoughts; his light shivers.
"COME UP TO THE DREAMSCAPE WITH ME. SHOW ME."
He lets go of Ford's hair. Be nice. "PLEASE."
Bill meant that to come out brusque but it ended up way too pleading. Years of unresolved tension will do that.
A second of a beat, just to gather his thoughts; his light shivers.
"COME UP TO THE DREAMSCAPE WITH ME. SHOW ME."
He lets go of Ford's hair. Be nice. "PLEASE."
Bill meant that to come out brusque but it ended up way too pleading. Years of unresolved tension will do that.
Giving Bill a straight answer there had been difficult. He'd had to pull it out of himself. It had been a risk -- it's an admission that would be very easy to make fun of.
Seeing a flicker in response, the feeling he gets when he's told good, both help significantly. He doesn't have the wherewithal to really process how much he likes hearing good while Bill's face is so close and Bill's hand is in his hair. This is for the best. That way lies madness.
But then Bill makes that other request, and Ford's eyes widen. "What, n-now?" he stammers, caught by surprise by the speed Bill's moving at. Once that surprise fades, other questions begin to bubble up -- does Bill just want to see them? Does he want to watch? How much of this is Ford exposing very personal fantasies he never intended to allow into the light of day? "Those are -- they're very personal, Bill."
Seeing a flicker in response, the feeling he gets when he's told good, both help significantly. He doesn't have the wherewithal to really process how much he likes hearing good while Bill's face is so close and Bill's hand is in his hair. This is for the best. That way lies madness.
But then Bill makes that other request, and Ford's eyes widen. "What, n-now?" he stammers, caught by surprise by the speed Bill's moving at. Once that surprise fades, other questions begin to bubble up -- does Bill just want to see them? Does he want to watch? How much of this is Ford exposing very personal fantasies he never intended to allow into the light of day? "Those are -- they're very personal, Bill."
Oh.
"You want to..."
Go to the mindscape. Definitely have mind sex. Right now.
"We only started kissing without mistletoe influence ten minutes ago," he says, more startled than anything. That's fast even by horny-alien-in-bar standards. "For someone who's capable of waiting for millennia, you're moving very fast."
"You want to..."
Go to the mindscape. Definitely have mind sex. Right now.
"We only started kissing without mistletoe influence ten minutes ago," he says, more startled than anything. That's fast even by horny-alien-in-bar standards. "For someone who's capable of waiting for millennia, you're moving very fast."
Bill knows he's right and feels a little weird about it so he goes on offensive and rolls his eye up to heaven.
"I'VE BEEN TRYING TO GET IN YOUR STUPID ... TACTICAL PANTS FOR FIFTEEN YEARS. I'VE TAKEN YOU OUT TO DATES MULTIPLE TIMES! IF YOU DON'T WANT TO JUST SAY YA DON'T WANT TO, BUT THIS ISN'T NEW FOR ME. IT'S OLD! OLD LIKE YOU!"
"I'VE BEEN TRYING TO GET IN YOUR STUPID ... TACTICAL PANTS FOR FIFTEEN YEARS. I'VE TAKEN YOU OUT TO DATES MULTIPLE TIMES! IF YOU DON'T WANT TO JUST SAY YA DON'T WANT TO, BUT THIS ISN'T NEW FOR ME. IT'S OLD! OLD LIKE YOU!"
Edited (wr0ng) 2019-06-18 04:41 (UTC)
He doesn't say that he wants a party, or gifts, or a cake with candles, or any of the other trappings that usually go into celebrating birthdays on Earth at their general time period, so Laura assumes that he doesn't want them at all. She's more than fine with that; people celebrate in their own ways, and she's hardly one to push for something traditional when she knows she'd be just as uncomfortable standing behind a flaming cake with friends and strangers singing at her in the dark.
The physical act of purging unwanted belongings, however, feels like a far more natural way to mark the beginning of a new year. "Yes," she says decisively, with an encouraging smile of her own. "Unless you'd like to chop it up and use it for parts?"
Ford laughs, and his posture falls into something more relaxed than it's been since he sat down. The decisive agreement makes him feel better, makes him comfortable, makes him feel like this is the right decision.
Celebrating it without family around doesn't feel right. But taking control of what is and isn't in his cabin does.
"Ah, there's nothing in it worth salvaging," Ford replies. "Just rusty springs and broken wood. But it might be easier to get it over the side if it's in pieces."
Celebrating it without family around doesn't feel right. But taking control of what is and isn't in his cabin does.
"Ah, there's nothing in it worth salvaging," Ford replies. "Just rusty springs and broken wood. But it might be easier to get it over the side if it's in pieces."
Laura might argue that, but there's also a whole ship full of empty cabins with perfectly good, standard furniture that they can tear up for parts if they need them. This ... seems to be an instance of Ford being more sentimental than logical, which means she was probably right in her initial read of this being as much a symbolic gesture as it is a practical one.
And that's progress for both of them.
"Then I'm happy to help," she says. "We can do that right after breakfast, if you want."
"It won't take long," Ford promises, picking up his fork and gesturing with it. "Between your claws and my Particle Splitter, we'll have it cut up and turned into space junk in no time."
Now, time to cut up these pancakes and turn them into fuel. Divided into pieces or not, that sectional's a big piece of furniture. Good thing Ford isn't actually getting any older! Who knows when he won't be up to that kind of task anymore?
Ha. Probably not for another ten years at least. Still, he can use the pancakes.
Now, time to cut up these pancakes and turn them into fuel. Divided into pieces or not, that sectional's a big piece of furniture. Good thing Ford isn't actually getting any older! Who knows when he won't be up to that kind of task anymore?
Ha. Probably not for another ten years at least. Still, he can use the pancakes.
Edited 2019-06-18 18:30 (UTC)
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