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Fiddleford stretched out over the length of the large sectional in the Mansion’s Ballroom, a pleasant warmth behind his eyelids. It was a dreary, rainy, beautiful afternoon. Though still an hour or so from sunset, the thick rain clouds had it feeling well past dusk. The ballroom of the mansion was dark and quiet, save for the crackling of the fireplace and the pounding rain against the windows.
The ambient heat and white noise worked together to leave Fiddleford dazed and sleepy.
Sprawled out across the cushions, he tilted his head back to see Ford was still sitting beside him, one of their many throw blankets still covering them both. He was so focused on his book, that while he did notice, he didn’t react when Fiddleford slowly started inching his way over. Worming his way across the cushions beneath the plush blanket until he could nestle his head into Ford’s lap.
Ford let out a small, pleased hum, “Hello there, Love. I take it that you had a good nap?”
Fiddleford didn’t answer, choosing instead to burrow obnoxiously against his muscular thigh, heaving a sigh when he finally got comfortable.
Ford chuckled, and rubbed a hand affectionately against Fiddleford’s nearly bald head through the blanket before going back to his book.
Fiddleford was going to be content. He was going to just let the moment lie. But the warmth of the ballroom, the quiet roar of rain and the glow of the fireplace; Something about the domesticity of it all, it was more than he had ever hoped for. He felt blessed to even be allowed to see any of it. To be able to share his life with such a beautiful man.
A flush started to creep up Fiddleford’s neck, and he peeked an eye out from under the blanket, looking up at Ford as he read. He had a beautiful glow dancing about him from the fire, and a soft, far away look on his face.
The world wasn't ending, there was no eldritch nightmare trying to catch them with their guard down. They could just–be. And Ford's done so much to try and acclimate to that. But lately there had been an air of listlessness to him. Some unnamed thread of tension that had him preoccupied. Spacey.
That wasn't to say he didn't seem happy. In fact, Ford seemed more than content nowadays, and his body language reflected that. Gone were the passively clenched teeth and rigid shoulders of a man stuck on high alert. Even his thin wrinkles weren’t lingering impressions of scowling eyebrows and deep frowns, but delicate crow’s feet and laugh lines.
But still, even as Ford ‘read’ his book, Fiddleford couldn't help but notice that he hadn't turned a page in several minutes. The book seemed to serve more as a disguise for his far off stare than anything else.
Fiddleford brought one hand up to lay on Ford’s thigh, an innocent gesture in itself. Sure enough, Ford didn’t respond. With light fingers, Fiddleford gave his thigh a gentle squeeze, kneading it through the soft fabric of his sweatpants. Ford let out a pleased sigh above him, and Fiddleford smiled. He gently massaged the meat of his thigh for a few minutes, letting Ford relax into the couch. After everything he’s been through, Ford was still almost always a ball of aches and pains.
Some nagging injuries have gotten better over time, others haven’t. But you do what you can.
Fiddleford continued to slowly massage him, dragging his slim fingers high up along Ford’s thigh. Teetering dangerously close to being more of a grope than a massage. After a moment, there was some movement above him, presumably Ford setting his book down, and the hand on Fiddleford’s neck squeezed briefly.
“Dearest?” Ford whispered.
“Hmm?” Fiddleford hummed, dragging his hand the rest of the way to gently palm him through his sweats.
Ford took in a breath, and pulled the blanket back partially, just enough to take in Fiddleford’s languid smile, “Are–Do you want me to–?” He trailed off when Fiddleford shook his head.
“You just relax,” Fiddleford said, “Imma take the lead on this one.”
Through the light material, Fiddleford could feel Ford's dick twitch in interest. A light flush crept up his face and behind his large glasses, his eyes blinked wide with surprise.
And undeniable curiosity.
Until now, Ford had always been the one taking the lead in the bedroom. He’d be the one to control the pace, studying Fiddleford and making sure he did everything just so. And he was good at it. No surprise there.
No matter what it was, if Ford considered something worth doing, he'd do it properly.
That said, while Ford did let himself get lost in things, and clearly enjoyed himself during sex, he hadn’t quite let himself fall apart like Fiddleford has. He has yet to let go of that leading presence.
Part of him isn’t sure if Ford even considers it an option.
Today, that changes.
“Oh. Um–Alright.” Ford breathed, leaning back into the couch as Fiddleford palmed him again. The hand on Fiddleford's neck twitched, and Ford sucked in a small breath. Even that sound shot straight to Fiddleford’s groin, spurring him to carefully wrap a hand around him through the fabric, giving him a slow stroke. From where he lay, Fiddleford noticed every little twitch of the muscular quads beneath him.
Ford let out another strained exhale and Fiddleford pushed one of the throw pillows onto the floor. Watching Ford’s questioning look with a barely concealed smirk, Fiddleford slid off the couch to sink to the floor between Ford’s legs, knees cushioned on the pillow.
Ford’s face flushed further and he startled, whipping his head around to glance around the ballroom nervously. Stan was out for the day, and they weren’t expecting anyone to drop by. And yet, doing this anywhere outside of their shared bedroom felt so brazen.
Fiddleford leaned forward to press a kiss to the swell of Ford’s cock through his sweatpants and gave his thighs a light scratch, “Don’t think I can do much else with these still on, hon.”
By now, Ford was a bright crimson. He gave the covered windows and locked doors a quick glance before lifting his hips to pull his pants and underwear down. He was already hard, the reddened head a harsh contrast to the neat patch of silvery hair that curled at the base. Fiddleford caressed the tops of Ford’s thighs happily, dragging his fingers through his coarse leg hair.
“Good boy.” Fiddleford cooed. Which may have a little mean, perhaps even a cheap shot. But he knew Ford liked praise. Even if he hadn’t ever said as much, it was clear as day.
Sure enough, Ford’s eyes widened, and his cock twitched against his stomach. His hands remained down at his sides, balled up into unsure fists. He was avoiding Fiddleford’s gaze, but Fiddleford didn’t push. Instead, he waited, leaning a cheek on Ford’s thigh, watching his gaze flick around the room.
Finally Ford’s eyes hesitantly fell back onto Fiddleford, who gave him a warm smile, “There ya are. Knew you could do it.” Fiddleford grabbed onto Ford’s cock with a loose grip, curling his wrist to give him a slow stroke.
Ford made a small noise behind his bit lip before stammering for a moment, “Umm, I don’t–and don't get me wrong, this feels amazing–I mean, of course it does but-uh-Is there anything that you'd like me to do?”
Fiddleford paused for a moment. Part of him wanted to be coy, to tease him, or be vague. But that would risk Ford being stuck in his head the whole time. And the whole point of this was for him to enjoy himself. So instead, Fiddleford just smiled, pressing a kiss against Ford’s hairy thigh,
“You don’t gotta do a thing. Here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna have my fun down here, then I’mma fuck ya. Not with a strap or nothin’, but you’ll see soon enough what I mean.”
Ford looked dumbfounded. His cock throbbed heavily in Fiddleford’s grip, and Fiddleford pressed another open-mouthed kiss to Ford's thigh; This time with the barest scrape of his sparse teeth, before pulling back to smile at him, “Sound good?”
Ford blew out a shaky breath and nodded, but said nothing. He continued to fidget anxiously, but Fiddleford just watched him, waiting. After a moment, Ford caught on and responded verbally, voice strained,
“Yes. Yes, that all sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
Fiddleford beamed, dragging his tongue up the underside of Ford’s cock before pressing a wet kiss to the tip of it. “Aw, you’re welcome hon’. Now, this ain’t for you to get off on. So you best speak up if it’s goin’ that direction.”
Ford nodded again, before immediately catching himself. “Ok. Yes, sure–I can do that.”
“Course ya can.” Fiddleford responded easily, before taking the tip of Ford’s head between his lips.
Ford finally let out a loud sigh, legs flexing and straining to keep still. Fiddleford hummed, licking heavily around the tip, and letting his mouth sink past to take the head fully into his mouth.
Ford above him continued to let out small breathy noises, eventually forcing some of them into words, “Um–Dearest?”
Fiddleford glanced up at him with a questioning look.
Ford wrung his hands in front of him, and hesitated, “What am I supposed to do with–?” he asked, holding his hands out timidly.
Fiddleford pulled off of Ford with a velvety drag of his lips, “Put ‘em wherever you like, so long as you remember that you ain’t drivin’. But you're so good to ask, junebug.”
Ford’s mouth pressed into a wobbly line. “Thank you.” he said with an embarrassed huff.
Fiddleford took Ford back into his mouth and sank halfway down before slowly drawing back, dragging his tongue heavily against the underside of him. Ford moaned, and a hand landed heavily on Fiddleford's shoulder, twisting up in his shirt as he moved. He bobbed his head to repeat the motion, relaxing his jaw to let his lips glide loosely down his shaft. He splayed his hands across the tops of Ford’s thighs, giving them a squeeze.
Fiddleford pressed down on Ford’s thighs in an attempt to hold him in place as he took more of Ford into his mouth, making it nearly to the silver hair at the base before his throat twitched and he had to ease off.
He had just started to draw back when Ford shuddered and his hips bucked upwards. Between that, and the large hand bearing down on his shoulder, Ford’s cock forced itself deep; His pelvis brushing Fiddleford’s lips and nearly making him gag. He scrambled off of him and shed Ford's hand, turning to cough roughly into his arm.
“Shit! I’m sorry,” Ford gasped out,
Fiddleford had put his entire weight into holding Ford’s hips down. But Ford was strong. Far stronger than he was. He couldn’t physically get Ford to give up control, and restraints still stirred up too many bad memories.
But Fiddleford had other ways.
He cleared his throat and propped an elbow on Ford’s bare thigh, resting his cheek against one hand and leveling Ford with a withering stare. He neglected Ford’s twitching dick entirely and waited.
But he didn’t have to wait for long.
“I’m sorry,” Ford ground out again, “Y-you’re leading this. I won’t do that again, I’ll be–” Ford cut himself off, clamping his mouth shut. But it was clear he was about to let something slip.
Fiddleford wouldn’t let it lie, and wrapped a hand loosely around the base to give him a gentle squeeze. “No, no. I heard that. What were you gonna say? You’ll be–what?”
Ford’s flush crept down his neck, and he writhed with a petulant grumble, “Fuck. Fine, ok. Good. I’ll be good.”
Fiddleford grinned. Bingo. He knew this side of Ford was in there. Simmering under the surface. He just needed to be gently coaxed out.
Red faced, Ford still chuckled despite himself, breaking off into a high whine when Fiddleford started working him again.
“Couldn't let me get away from that one, could you?” Ford asked, breathless.
Fiddleford smirked and tightened his grip. This time the spit made the glide of his fist noisy and wet. The way it echoed off the high ceilings only served to remind them of where it was they were doing this. Ford seemed to realize this and shuddered against the back of the couch with a curse.
“O’course not,” Fiddleford drawled, “And you are good, darlin’. Always are.”
Fiddleford slowed his moving hand and gripped onto the base of Ford's cock, directing it back to his lips. He leaned in, licking through the beading precum and tonguing his slit. Another swirl around the weeping head and he dropped his head down again, taking him deep and using the hand around the base as a barrier to keep from taking him too far.
Ford’s legs jolted and he whimpered, breaths heaving as his thighs started to tremble. He was trying with all his might to stay still, his fists white knuckled and trembling around the blankets beneath him.
“Love–” Ford strained around a panting exhale.
Fiddleford bobbed in earnest, dragging his spit slick hand to stroke in pace with his mouth. A large hand came down to rest on his shoulder again, gripping onto him with blind desperation. Not directing, or pushing, but needing some kind of contact. In his mouth, Ford’s cock started to stiffen, twitching and leaking against Fiddleford's tongue. Ford was moaning with every rhythmic dip of Fiddleford’s head. Small, punched out sounds tearing from him that Fiddleford was intent on committing to memory.
And they were only getting louder, more urgent.
“Close–” Ford tried pitifully, his hand twisting up in Fiddleford’s Shirt and his mouth falling open.
Fiddleford’s slick hand twisted on the upstroke and Ford lurched, gasping,
“Close–Close, please–!”
Fiddleford pulled off of him completely, and Ford shook around a desperate whine.
Sitting back on his knees, Fiddleford finally got a good look at him, and stretched his aching jaw with a snicker.
Ford was a wreck. His head was tipped back over the top off the couch, hair wild, and chest stuttering as he struggled to catch his breath. His hips were twitching up weakly against nothing, and his cock strained against his rumpled shirt, smearing spit and precum onto the hem.
He was gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful.
Fiddleford carefully eased himself up, ignoring the stiffness in his knees. He eyed Ford’s lips, red and swollen from his anxious chewing, and his mind couldn't help but wander. How would Ford look, down on his knees in front of him? Lips taut and bobbing, eyes glazed, drooling down his chin?
What kind of muffled little sounds would he make? And how would they feel, the hum of his muffled moans?
The very idea churned something molten in him, and the blinders started to raise. Focusing all of Fiddleford's energy and attention to making that sight a reality. He didn’t necessarily have the equipment for all of that, but he's a man of invention. Certainly he could still get an idea.
He stepped in close to where Ford sat, as close as he could with Ford's sweatpants still balled up around his shins. Ford blinked up at him with half-lidded eyes. Slow as the motions were, Ford's hips were still writhing, twitching upwards in desperate search for friction.
Fiddleford reached a hand around the back of Ford’s head, ruffling his gray curls before cupping the nape of his neck. Experimentally, he tilted Ford’s head back and forth, grinning proudly when Ford let himself be directed, flushed and boneless in his hand.
He kept a supportive grip on Ford’s neck and pulled him to scoot forward on the couch. Ford silently obeyed, and Fiddleford pulled him further, tugging until Ford sank dutifully to his own knees off the couch entirely.
Ford leaned forward to let his cheek rest heavily on Fiddleford’s hip bone with a soft sigh.
Fiddleford ruffled his hair lovingly before tilting Ford’s head up to look at him. His eyes were half lidded, looking at him with open affection.
“My word, ain’t you a sight.” Fiddleford breathed.
The already churning heat in Fiddleford's gut started to take a possessive tilt, and he dropped a hand to palm at himself through his sweatpants. Ford’s face was only inches away, and he watched as Fiddleford raised a thumb up to Ford’s parted lips. He took a moment to swipe gently against Ford’s lower lip before he was pressing in, pushing past the tip of Ford’s shy tongue.
Fiddleford braced his fist against his pubic mound, watching intently as Ford closed his mouth around his extended thumb with a soft whine. He scratched against Ford's scalp with gentle fingers; Feeling Ford’s lips tremble around him, tongue exploring him curiously. Ford’s eyes fluttered closed and Fiddleford had to bite back a groan.
This delicate, precious thing, always putting on a brave face.
Ford deserved to be taken care of. But first, Fiddleford needed to make sure that big brain of his was turned off for a bit.
Tightening his hold on the back of Ford’s head, Fiddleford carefully pressed him forward, forcing him to bob clumsily around his extended thumb. Fiddleford eased his grip and let him retract, then slowly rolled his hips with the next press, pumping his thumb further into the wet heat of his mouth.
Ford’s eyebrows twisted in realization and he moaned around him, making just the muffled little noise that Fiddleford had hoped to hear. Ford gripped onto the front of Fiddleford’s pant leg with shaking hands, steadying himself against the roll of his hips.
“You can hold onto me if you need to, darlin’. You're doin just fine.”
The slide of Ford’s lips against him, the swiping tongue and barest hint of suction; Thumb or not, it was still agonizing, making his inner walls ache as he clenched around nothing. Fiddleford continued fucking into Ford’s mouth at an unhurried, indulgent pace. All the while, Ford's forgotten cock strained against his stomach, drooling into his happy trail.
Suddenly there was a wet noise, as though Ford was trying to keep his spit from escaping the corners of his lips. And Fiddleford’s patience gave way entirely, yanking his thumb free of Ford’s mouth.
He tangled his grip into the back of Ford’s gray curls and tugged him forwards, grinding himself against his gasping mouth directly. It wasn’t until his boxers were mashed back against himself that Fiddleford realized how wet he already was. Still, he could distantly feel the warmth of Ford’s parted lips against his clit as Ford moaned brokenly through the fabric. The vibration of it was enough for Fiddleford to groan with relief.
“There we are,” Fiddleford breathed, “You keep bein’ good for me down there, huh?.”
Ford eagerly lurched forward to mouth heavily against him, seeking out his clit again through the fabric. Fiddleford kept his hand buried in Ford’s hair, guiding but not pulling, and rocked against his desperate mouth. It wasn’t until Ford started grabbing for his waistband that Fiddleford finally eased Ford away.
“Not this time, hon.”
Ford leaned back against his heels, panting. His sweats were still balled up around his ankles, but he paid them no mind. He was staring up at Fiddleford with lidded eyes.
That glazed look is what he’d been waiting for.
Fiddleford carefully pulled Ford’s glasses off of him and gestured down the length of the couch, “ Why don’t ya get those clothes off, lay the blankets down, and get comfy.”
Ford nodded, hurriedly fumbling with his shirt and forcing himself to form words, “Ok. Yes. Yes, I will.”
Fiddleford shed his own clothes, leaving Ford's glasses beside his own on the coffee table. He grabbed his discarded shirt to wipe the spit and other mess out of his beard before turning back to the couch.
Ford was sprawled out across the length of it, nestled back against a messy pile of blankets and throw pillows. Softly lit by the glow of the fireplace, it was such a perfect, delicate look for him. His scars were shiny and pale; Many of them hid behind tufts of hair that traveled from Ford’s broad chest, down his stomach and into the happy trail that led to his weeping cock.
Fiddleford took Ford's offered hand to climb up and straddle his hips, settling along the length of him and sighing at the pulsing heat. As soon as he was settled, Ford immediately reached back out to paw at him; Running his fingers through Fiddleford’s white chest hair, trailing down his stomach, groping and squeezing, before finally resting on his hips.
Fiddleford leaned forward to prop himself up on his hands, “You just do what feels natural, honey.” he said with a warm smile. “But if you feel like you’re gonna cum, you let me know, ok?”
Ford nodded quickly, running his hands lovingly over Fiddleford’s slim thighs, “Tell you first. Yes. Ok.”
Between them both, there was enough wetness for them to glide smoothly against each other. Fiddleford dragged his folds heavily up Ford’s length and groaned. Ford gasped out a breathy curse, making Fiddleford shiver. He pressed a kiss against Ford’s jaw, then down to his neck, nipping at it lightly before pulling away. He kept solid eye contact as he reached down to grab Ford’s erection, watching him tremble.
“You tell me if this is too much,” Fiddleford said tenderly.
Ford blinked at him, confusion suddenly visible through the thick haze of need. He could practically hear the unspoken question in his eyes. Too much, how? Fiddleford dragged Ford's cock until it caught on his entrance, canting his hips until the head was just starting to push past his inner folds.
Breath caught in Ford’s chest and he blinked quickly, the muddled look of confusion quickly fading.
Sex was a mental game. It didn't really matter who was penetrating who, in the grand scheme of things. One look at Ford strewn out across the blankets, eyes glazed and trembling, and anyone could tell you.
Fiddleford wasn’t the one getting fucked here.
Fiddleford captured Ford’s mouth into a warm, lingering kiss. Slowly, he started to sink down on him, and Ford let out a weak noise into his mouth. Fiddleford got about half way before pausing. Ford was practically vibrating, mouth dropped open. He had his arms wrapped around Fiddleford’s waist, struggling to keep his hips still.
Fiddleford deliberately clenched around him, and Ford whimpered.
“I know, I know. It's a lot isn't it?” Fiddleford said, hiding a knowing smile and resting a hand on Ford's stubbly cheek. “Do we need to stop?”
He knew the answer, but still waited.
Sure enough, Ford shook his head, taking deep, steadying breaths. Like he was trying to prove it,
“N-no. I can do it. I can do it.” Ford finally said, voice small but still so insistent.
And of course he can. Physically, there's nothing different about this than any other sex they have. But mentally, this is something completely different. Like this, Ford doesn't have the same level of control. He's the one being pinned down. Being taken apart, piece by piece.
And the theater of the mind is a hell of a thing.
Fiddleford stroked a thumb across Ford's cheek again, “Yes, you can. I'm so proud of you. You're doin’ so good.”
Ford flushed, and his lip quivered, “Thank y–” Ford broke off into a gasping moan as Fiddleford chose that moment to lower himself down the rest of the way, sliding down to seat their hips together.
Fiddleford shifted his hips with a shudder. This position had Ford deeper inside him than he normally ever got. The subtle ache of the new stretch was just on the right side of painful. His thighs squeezed against Ford’s hips and he couldn't help but grind against him, just barely. Just enough to get some much needed attention to his clit. Ford’s hands came up to cover his face, trembling as he let out small, breathy noises; Trying to get used to the sensation.
Fiddleford shushed him gently, “Shh, it’s alright. I gotcha.”
Fiddleford rocked against him with more force and Ford shuddered with a moan, nodding as his head tipped back against the blankets and his hands dropped away to grab at Fiddleford’s waist. At this angle, Fiddleford could watch every sensation pass through Ford’s expressive face. The twitch of his eyebrows, the way his eyes squinted shut in focus, the small whispered swears that were slipping out as Ford clung to him.
“You feel incredible, honey.” Fiddleford whispered, pressing a kiss to Ford’s flushed, stubbly cheek.
Ford squeezed his eyes shut and his mouth wobbled into an embarrassed pout, and Fiddleford started rolling his hips earnestly, falling into a steady rhythm. Amidst the breathy whines, Ford’s face started to smooth out. His furrowed brow softened, and his mouth dropped open with every wet glide of Fiddleford’s walls gripping around him.
But while the nerves and embarrassment etched into Ford's face was gone, the sounds he made only seemed to get more intense. His voice had crept up in pitch. His moans and whimpers were starting to get louder. They were breathier, almost needy.
Sluttier, Fiddleford thought, but kept that observation firmly to himself. Now was not the time to drop that on him.
But that doesn’t mean Fiddleford couldn’t enjoy it.
Balancing on one elbow, Fiddleford threaded a hand into Ford's hair and pulled him into a filthy kiss. His tongue forced its way into Ford's mouth, giving him no room to even try and return it. All Ford could do was let his mouth hang open and endure, moaning deep in the back of his throat, eyes rolling. The nervous hands grabbing onto Fiddleford scrabbled for a moment, digging pink crescents into his thin back.
It’s amazing how easily Ford took to this. Something inside Fiddleford wonders how long he's been needing to check out. To let someone else take charge of things. Judging by the devastated noises he keeps breathing into Fiddleford's mouth, and the keyed up urgency thrumming through him, he would guess it's been a long, long time.
By the time Fiddleford finally pulled back to break the kiss, Ford leaned up after him. Chasing his mouth before falling back against the blankets again with a whine. Even then, Ford was blinking up at Fiddleford with blown, frantic eyes.
Fiddleford tightened his grip on Ford's nape and pushed his head to one side, exposing the curve of his neck. He watched Ford’s throat bob as he swallowed weakly. Before he could stop himself, Fiddleford’s mouth was on him, sucking a wet, dark mark just beneath his ear. Ford jolted with a moan, and his hips started to rock up shallowly on their own, meeting Fiddleford’s thrusts partway with a wet smack of their hips.
“You should see yourself.” Fiddleford said, sitting up to get a better look at him, “Ain't I lucky?”
Ford was starting to writhe against the blankets, hips rocking up with a growing urgency. Fiddleford was giving the best he could, despite his own trembling thighs.
He dragged a hand down Ford's sweaty chest and down to his stomach. It came to a stop only inches away from where they connected. The muscles beneath Fiddleford's hand were quivering.
“Lettin’ me take care of ya. You're doin’ so good.” Fiddleford said as warmly as he could, despite the growing breathlessness of his own voice.
Ford arched his back with a ragged moan, grabbing onto Fiddleford’s waist and holding him tight as he ground up with a needy roll of the hips.
Fiddleford let out a low, sympathetic noise, laying back down chest to chest to press a kiss to Ford’s stubbly cheek,
“I know, I know.” He shushed gently, “Almost–Hold out a little bit longer, ok?”
Ford’s face screwed up tight again but he nodded, hissing through grit teeth. Ford craved praise. That much was absolutely certain. But more than that, he needed it to be well earned. He wanted to have to fight for it.
No one gets twelve PhDs without having something to prove.
Ford’s mouth was a small frown, awash in mortified arousal. His voice dropped low, “Please, um, can you–” Ford mumbled. It was a tone that he usually never heard. So small and uncharacteristically delicate.
It was enough to make Fiddleford hesitate, his hips slowing. Fiddleford groaned when he felt Ford's tongue on his sweaty neck.
“Whaddya need, hon?” Fiddleford panted, shivering at the quick graze of teeth that dragged across his throat.
Ford pried himself away just long enough to beg wobbly into his ear, “Don’t pull–I mean–don’t, uh, m-move off of me when you cum? please?”
Fiddleford went silent for a moment. The implication of Ford's request, or more so, what Ford had been about to ask took a second to click.
‘Don’t pull out’
Ford's breeding kink had been a surprise to them both. Fiddleford had a hysterectomy years ago, so there wasn't any kind of risk to it. But that didn't seem to put a damper on his enjoyment in the slightest.
It wasn’t necessarily about the actual risk of pregnancy. Call it a desire to claim, or a biological drive, or whatever else you may. Ford just liked cumming in him, period.
But Fiddleford hadn't considered that it could still work the other way around. That Ford could be the one on the receiving end of such a head space and still enjoy himself. If he had, there’s no way in hell Fiddleford would have waited until now to try this. Not a chance.
He'd have jumped at the opportunity.
Fiddleford broke into a triumphant little cackle, despite himself, “God, darlin’.” He said with awed affection, “You askin’ me to cum in ya?”
He really shouldn’t be laughing. It probably took a lot of nerve for Ford to self advocate. But he can’t help himself. Here Ford was, sweaty, trembling, and begging for the anatomically impossible. And Fiddleford was more than eager to give him just that.
Ford whimpered, and his mouth returned, tongue and teeth against his throat. A damning answer in itself. Fiddleford gripped tight onto the back of Ford's head, holding him close as he started rutting against him with renewed force, bottoming out with every smack of their hips. His thighs were on fire. But beneath him, Ford was a mess, his wet breath muffled into Fiddleford's neck.
Ford wasn’t going to last. But neither of them were.
In the haze of pleasure, Fiddleford got bold, muttering into Ford’s ear as he drove against him, “Poor thing–goin’ without all this time. Shoulda known.”
Ford’s hips stuttered upwards in response, but Fiddleford wouldn't let up, groaning through grit teeth, “I’ll do it. I’ll fill ya. You just get ready for me, honey.”
A sob wrenched from beneath him and Ford nodded desperately against his sweaty chest. “Do it–Do it. Please–” He gasped. Ford was scrabbling at his back now, stammering through broken nonsense that Fiddleford couldn't make out as his thoughts faded away and the rough smack of their hips started to even out. Becoming a rapid beat. A footrace.
“Here it comes, Angel.” Fiddleford warned.
Fiddleford thrust against him unevenly, stiff and jerking, before suddenly everything was too much and he was taking Ford to the hilt with a loud, shuddering groan. His slim thighs quaked around Ford's hips and he buckled, trying to take him deeper still as discordant swears fell from his lips.
Ford clung to him, panting out desperate ‘Thank yous’ as Fiddleford shook through his orgasm. Fiddleford’s head hung low as he continued to thrust against him. His inner walls were clenched tight, he hadn’t gotten off like this in–God he has no idea. It just kept going. All the while Ford’s mouth had dropped open with a look of shock.
“Um–” Ford shook out in a small, overwhelmed voice. If Fiddleford didn't know any better, he'd think what he was hearing was fear.
But he could see Ford's teary eyes, his flushed face, and those gripping, desperate hands holding him close. Writhing against the blankets, chest heaving, Ford was finally, wholly unraveling beneath him.
Fiddleford felt a surge of affection and dropped down against Ford into a deep kiss, pulling back to whisper against his lips,
“I’m here, sweetheart. I gotcha.”
A violent shudder wracked Ford and he made a broken, frantic sound into Fiddleford’s mouth. Fiddleford curled protectively over him as Ford’s feet braced flat against the couch and he began drilling his hips upwards, strong arms holding Fiddleford tightly in place. Ford’s cock was rigid, carving through him with every desperate, mindless thrust. He kept this crushing pace for a few long seconds. All the while Fiddleford could only pant and brace himself against the impact.
Suddenly Stanford's breathing got loud, and the thick arms wrapped around him shook,
“Cumming–Cumming–Fuck!”
Ford gave a few last hitching thrusts before he finally fell apart, driving his hips up hard and burying himself as deep as he could with a sob.
Fiddleford moaned weakly as Ford’s cock jerked, and an invasive heat bloomed inside him. Even after his hips stopped twitching, Ford continued to whine through hitching breaths.
“You're ok, honey. You're ok” Fiddleford gasped, still shuddering and out of breath. He was still rocking gently, dropping soft kisses down against the top of Ford’s head while he came down. Finally, Ford sagged against the sweaty blankets, and Fiddleford’s hips stilled. Not a moment too soon, as his shaking arms finally tapped out, and he flopped heavily onto Ford’s chest.
Unshed tears clung to Ford’s lashes, shining against the dying light of the fireplace. Fiddleford gave him a gentle kiss on the mouth, and brushed a lock of sweaty hair off his forehead. He leaned back just far enough to look into his eyes when they finally fell open.
“Talk to me, darlin’. Whatcha feelin’?” Fiddleford whispered.
The arms around his waist adjusted themselves before resettling. Ford nuzzled against the top of his head and let out a shaking sigh “I will but–in a moment.”
Fiddleford hummed and pulled a blanket back up to cover them both; Laying his head back onto Ford’s chest and gently running his fingers through his chest hair.
After a few minutes of silence, Ford spoke up quietly, “I didn’t know any of that was an option. The changes were almost entirely mental, and yet even physically it all felt different.”
“O’Course it’s an option.” Fiddleford drawled, boneless across Ford's chest, “Ya just gotta tell me if this is somethin’ you like doin’.”
Ford hugged Fiddleford tight, “Yes, I enjoyed it. More than that. I think I needed it. It feels like I can finally breathe. It was much easier to slip into that head space than I would have expected.” Ford smirked before continuing, “And you seemed to slip into the role quite smoothly as well, my dear. I take it that this was an affirming experience for you?”
Fiddleford grinned lopsidedly, “Oh, like you wouldn't believe. You shoulda seen yourself down there, my word.” He said with a suggestive timbre.
Ford made a bashful noise, but Fiddleford wouldn't be silenced, “You were a natural, hon. Fell into it perfectly, and so pretty on your knees too–”
“Okyesthankyou, Love!” Ford said quickly, talking over him. His face was burning, but he was still smiling. Fiddleford snickered, nestling himself against Ford's sweaty chest again with a sympathetic pat of his hand. “Ok, ok, I’m done.”
Another torrent of rain rattled across the house. Fat raindrops plinked off the tall windows, currently being muffled through the thick, heavy curtains. It was getting close to time for Fiddleford to start work on dinner.
The fireplace was nearly out, and the ballroom was slipping further and further into darkness. His eyelids were droopy, but he forced himself to sit up, and hauled himself off Ford's hips. Ford's softening cock slipped free and he sighed. His knees weren't thrilled, but they rarely were to begin with.
“We're gonna fall asleep out here once that fire goes out.” Fiddleford said, carefully standing up off the couch altogether and wrapping a fallen throw blanket around himself.
“Mhmm” Ford hummed sleepily.
“Stan’ll be home at some point, darlin’. Don't think he'd take kindly to us bein’ out here naked as jaybirds.”
A grumble, and Ford was sitting up too. He scooped up the sweaty blankets to take to the hamper. Fiddleford gathered their discarded clothes and let his throw blanket toga trail behind him as they made their way upstairs.
“Just so I'm sure. Is all of this a ‘do again’?” Fiddleford asked over a shoulder.
Ford followed close behind, “Yes, definitely a ‘do again’. Though I may have notes on the location.”
A scoff, “Is that right? In front of a cozy fire ain't good enough for ya?”
Ford chuckled, “Well–Ok. For me? It was picturesque. Certainly romantic. But my back may not agree in the coming days.”
“Reckon I should have gone with a classic, like in the shower?” Fiddleford shot back with no real heat as they made it to their shared bedroom.
Ford laughed fully, trying to raise one hand in surrender despite the armload of sweaty blankets, “Ok, yes, that’s entirely fair. It seemed a novel idea at the time. However, once it became apparent that it wasn't a viable option, I did change course.”
“That you did.” Fiddleford chuckled, “Note taken.”