Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Don’t touch anything!”

Ford did not look up from his work, but instead of being smothered by the narrow rows of book shelves, his voice still carried effortlessly to the impressive heights of the library hall.

Bill, who had just idly picked a tome amidst the myriads of numbered books, did not let that deter him the slightest.

YOU KNOW I DON’T ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT YOUR SELF-IMPORTANT RAMBLINGS, RIGHT? Without any hurry, Bill let his fingers brush over the symbol on the cover, a six-fingered hand with a six-rayed star glowing on its palm. I’M JUST BORED.

As if snatched back by an invisible elastic band, the book was pulled from his hands and it slammed back into its place with rather excessive force.

Bill picked up his glass of time punch from the top of the shelf and floated downwards, casually letting his fingers brush over the backs of various books as he passed them. LISTEN, FORDSY – I KNOW, GLASSHOUSES AND ALL THAT, BUT AN OFF-LIMITS LIBRARY SOLELY DEDICATED TO YOUR BILLIONS OF YEARS WORTH OF EXTREMELY NERDY DIARIES SHOULD PROBABLY WIN A PRIZE FOR MOST POINTLESS VANITY PROJECT, DON’T YOU THINK?

“I don’t see what is wrong with keeping my studies in order”, Ford retorted, still very much preoccupied with inking the lines of his sketches – drawings of the stages of embryo development in the latest batch of eggs. After all his experiments of selective crossbreeding in his cryptozoological garden, he had achieved such an intricate understanding of the genetic codes of several species that he could alter it himself. The challenge was to do it only subtly, just as much as was needed to crease out evolutionary flaws, imperfections that nature had failed to eliminate. It was a daring endeavor for the good of all species, but most of all, Ford was excited by the prospect of correcting evolution’s meandering course, to guide it to sensible, satisfying conclusions.

Bill was hovering over the Journal, glancing down at it without any real interest.

YOU’RE ALSO DOING A REMARKABLY SUB-PAR JOB AT ENTERTAINING YOUR GUEST. HONESTLY, STANFORD, I TAKE THE TIME OUT OF MY SCHEDULE OF SPREADING MULTIVERSE-WIDE CHAOS TO PAY YOU A VISIT, AND YOU CAN’T EVEN STOP DOODLING. IT’S RUDE.

To Ford’s annoyance, he did not even bother with staying silent long enough for Ford to pointedly ignore his presence.

SO, LET’S TRY THIS AGAIN. ARE YOU SURE YOU DON’T WANT ME TO TOUCH ANYTHING?, Bill asked innocently, followed by the unmistakable feeling of Bill’s fingers running up the vertebrae of Ford’s neck to play with the curls of his hair, teasingly tugging at them.

“Bill”, Ford said, finally looking up from his studies to give Bill an admonishing look, “As I have already told you countless of times: you cannot simply show up whenever it pleases you and expect me to play along. There are matters of unfathomable importance that require my attention, and I happen to be very busy right now.”

The sternness of his last words was softened into something closer to a sigh, not caused by Bill’s playful fingers at his neck, but the pleasantly warm wetness of Mason’s lips brushing against his hardened erection. Up to now, Ford had barely payed any heed to his assistant’s administrations since the boy had crawled under his desk and knelt between his legs to carefully and slowly stroke his cock to hardness with his skilled, slender hands.

His research and Bill’s interruption had distracted Ford from focusing on the sensation all too much, but now that Mason’s lips were brushing against him, Mason’s breath tantalizingly hot in between the still rather chaste kisses as his mouth moved up Ford’s length, the boy finally had Ford’s full attention.

I SEE. Bill took a pointed sip of time punch. IF BY ‘BUSY’ YOU MEAN ‘BUSY BEING A SICK FREAK OF NATURE’.

There might have been a time where Bill’s derision for his indulgence in base human urges had made Ford feel embarrassed, but he could certainly not recall it. Especially since he suspected that Bill was more intrigued than he let on. In fact, Bill’s eye was on him with mild interest when Ford held his gaze as he leaned back in the chair, letting his hand rest on Mason's head to encourage and guide him just as Mason wrapped his lips around the tip of Ford’s cock. Ford deliberately closed his eyes at the enticing, wet heat of the mouth, gasping softly at the tremor of the boy’s moans.

WELL, DON’T LET ME KEEP YOU FROM PLAYING WITH YOUR CREEPY LITTLE DOLL. The fingers of Bill’s free hand traced the cleft of Ford’s chin up to his lips, prying them open to wriggle their way inside. I'LL JUST ENTERTAIN MYSELF!

As much as he liked to watch, Bill rarely could just idly stand by without meddling, but if he was entirely honest, Ford didn’t find it in himself to mind very much. Without resistance, he let Bill’s fingers slip in, allowing them to follow the sharp jagged edges of his teeth, to caress the wet tissue of his mouth and tickle against his tongue. Bill’s arm was so thin, Ford barely felt his hand creeping into the back of his throat. He didn't even have to bother much with suppressing his gag reflex, a remnant of a very human primal instinct that in Ford’s experience was more of an inconvenience than of any use.

FORDSY, FORDSY, FORDSY, Bill chanted as his hand stroked the inside of Ford’s esophagus in a rather strange display of fondness, DID I EVER TELL YOU THAT YOU ARE A HOPELESS NOSTALGIC?

Glasshouses, Bill, Ford thought. He did not say anything, not only because his throat was occupied, but because the firm softness of Mason’s tongue pressed to the underside of his cock moved in unison with Bill’s hand in a way he did not want to distract himself from.

AND WHO COULD BLAME YOU! Bill had put his time punch aside to teasingly play with Ford’s ear lobe. SO MANY GOOD TIMES TO REMINISCE ON. His fingers traced the outline of the marred ear, the one that Bill had made certain Ford could never mend. Bill’s other hand slid up his esophagus like vomit rising quickly, and Ford couldn’t suppress a gagging noise of discomfort at the nausea rising with it. Mason stopped immediately in his motion, concerned and ever so perceptive, yet Ford’s hand on the back of his head held him in place.

REMEMBER HOW I USED TO FILL YOU UP, FORDSY?

It did not take Bill’s hand plunging back down for Ford to vividly remember his wicked, slick and deft tongue, so much thicker than Bill’s arm, stretching him open, impaling him. His hips moved on their own, desperately pushing into the tightness of the boy’s throat, the quiet, choked noises drowned out by his own groans.

His fingers tangled in his apprentice’s hair, Ford found himself wondering if this was what it had been like for Bill: A soft, eager mouth to claim as he pleased, and he himself still young and naïve, so anxious not to disappoint, so hungry to receive everything his Muse and master had been willing to bestow on him.

Only that Bill had never been worthy of this devotion.

When Bill’s hand retreated, his smooth fingers toying with Ford’s tongue, Ford tasted bile. He grabbed Bill’s impossibly thin wrist, pulling Bill’s hand away from his mouth.

“Remember when I did the same to you?”, he gave back, as challenging as he could manage while still breathless, still engulfed by the warmth of Mason’s mouth.

Bill’s eye curved into a smile.

OH STANFORD, he sighed almost wistfully and let his finger brush over Ford’s lips, TRUST ME, I DO.

A shudder went through Ford that he liked to pretend was entirely caused by Mason’s efforts. The boy’s delicate hands were pressed against Ford’s thighs as he moved his head, diligently swallowing him until his cock pushed into the back of his throat, and Ford’s grip on his hair tightened.
The moaned response was measured, just like the steady rhythm, but Ford remembered the noises – Bill shouting on the top of his lungs, scratching, biting, hissing -, remembered the overwhelmed whining moans, the arched body trembling as he had made Bill come undone. As he had claimed the same mouth, the same tongue, the same throat, hot and enticing and not able to withstand him, and pulled Bill apart at the seams.

He pushed in deeper, faster, craving the relenting softness, the choked sobs. Bill’s eyes, the eyes of the form he had possessed, wet with tears. Bill, clinging to him helplessly. Bill’s fingers digging into his skin--

Ford jerked at the sharp pain as Bill’s fingers turned to claws to cut his lip and into his tongue, and he came with a shout, almost surprised at the intensity of it.

SEEMS LIKE YOU MISS THAT MORE. Bill eyed the blood on his fingertips closely, before his tongue slipped out from beneath the eye to lick it off. SHAME IT’LL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN.

Ford scoffed at that, releasing Mason from his iron grip to wipe his bleeding mouth. It only smarted slightly and mattered little, the flesh was already mending itself, but that Bill could play him so easily did never fail to hurt his pride, if only a little.

“It could”, Ford said simply. Mason had leaned his head against Ford’s thigh, panting heavily and wiping away his tears. As if to calm him, Ford let his fingers run through his messy hair, yet his eyes were still on Bill.

Bill’s gaze flicked over to the boy, and Ford knew he was tempted by it almost as much as he disliked the thought. Bill might have had access to his mind, his innermost feelings, but Ford had spent enough time with Bill to know at least parts of him better than the fickle demon might even know himself.

NAH, I’LL PASS, Bill said finally, turned his eye into the bottomless, teeth-rimmed mouth and tossed the now empty glass into it. A few crunching noises, a tongue licking any residue liquid of the eyelids, then the eye reappeared. IT WAS GREAT CATCHING UP WITH YOU, FORDSY, BUT I’VE GOT PLACES TO BE, GUESTS TO PROPERLY ENTERTAIN, MAYHEM AND INSANITY TO SPREAD. With that, Bill hovered higher up into the air, glowing brighter as he yelled a quick DON’T MISS ME TOO MUCH! BYE!!!  Then he vanished with a plop.

The silence of the library engulfed them again, only disturbed by Mason’s quiet, labored breathing.

His blue eyes were searching, uncertain, and Ford caressed his wet cheek. “My dear boy, come here.”

As quickly as he could, Mason crawled on his lap, curling up against him. But, Ford noticed, he was chewing his lip before he finally took a shaky breath and found the courage to ask: “Great Uncle Ford, did I do something wrong?”

“You did very well”, Ford assured him, his hand on the boy’s neck and his thumb stroking the back of his head. He didn’t add: there is no need to cry. Instead, he kissed Mason right beneath his eyes, tasting the tears that were caught in his lashes.

“Now help me categorize these findings”, Ford gestured towards his annotated sketches, drawing Mason’s attention to more pressing matters. “I believe we need Journal MCXIII.”

Mason nodded. “And XVII should probably be useful”, he suggested tentatively.

“Well, then you should get both!”

The boy’s face lit up, his distress seemingly all forgotten at Ford’s approving smile, and he hurried to be on his way.

Ford remained alone at his desk, unconsciously letting his pen brush against his lips, not quite, not entirely satisfied. He almost - but only almost - regretted not keeping Bill around for longer.