Welcome to the shit show!

Ford was fuming.

Logically, some distant part of him knew it was pointless. He knew Bill was just doing this to get under his skin and you weren't entertaining him so much as allowing it to happen with an awkward smile and stilted laugh, ever the peacemaker and unsure what to do with the sudden and intense attention. And Bill?

Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Gosh, you're so pretty. And so... soft, how do you do that?" The homicidal-triad-hiding-beneath-a-human-glamour stroked the back of his hands along your cheek, leaning far too close for anyone's comfort over the cashiers counter. You laughed nervously, unsettled and confused by the frankly creepy compliment. You leaned back, just enough to be out of his reach, and hid it by turning to grab a box of merchandise that needed to be priced.

"Um, thanks? I think.." You muttered the last part under your breath, and Bill laughed.

"Ha! You're welcome!" He chortled. He was forced to shift, moving to lean on the counter and somewhat against the register, as you lifted the box onto the space he had previously occupied.

The three of you lapsed into uncomfortable silence. A muscle in Ford's jaw began to tick as he watched Bill, watching you. He knew the demon had no real interest in you, beyond using you as a means to get under his skin, and he hated that it was working.

You walked out from behind the counter, overfull box in hand, and began stocking up some of the shelves. Ford's teeth ground together as he watched Bill's eyes follow you. They stopped on his, briefly. A flicker of mischief before it became a blazing fire. A slow grin. Then:

"Y'know, I never really understood the fixation humans have on the physical," Bill dragged his eyes down your figure. You could almost feel it, even though your back was turned, and it made you nauseous.

"Now, though, I think I'm starting to understand." At this rate, Ford was going to crack a tooth. Or Bill's skull, he hadn't decided yet.

You shifted a now half-empty box onto your hip. Walking away towards another shelf to begin restocking it, you pretended not to notice as Bill followed you. You were supposed to be training him. Taking advantage of the slower foot traffic now that autumn was here, but you resolved to talk to Stan about getting someone else to do it. You couldn't stand Bill even at the best of times, and certainly not when he was deliberately trying to test your patience.

When you finished stocking shelves, the box now empty and the room blissfully silent, you broke it down and tucked the flat cardboard behind a display. Turning on your heel, you went to walk past Bill and back to the counter. Not paying attention to either of the men, you didn't notice the borderline evil look Bill gave Ford. And you didn't notice him reaching out for you, ostensibly to grope you just to piss off Ford. What you did notice was a six fingered hand clamping an iron grip around your wrist and pulling you back behind him. You watched as Ford then grabbed a grinning Bill by the throat and pinned him to the wall.

"Put your fucking hands on her, I dare you." Ford's voice was low and gravelly, threatening in a way you'd never heard before. Bill was grinning, a too wide smile that looked painful, and wheezed out a laugh.

"Awww, Fordsy if you wanted to touch me to could've just aske- ACK!" Using his grip on Bill's throat, he picked him up off the wall only to slam him bodily back into it. Then, just as quickly as it all started, Ford was dropping him and stepping away. Letting the other man crumple to his knees on the ground, rubbing his surely bruised throat gingerly.

"Come on, I'm not leaving you in here with him." You blinked up at Ford, attention turned back to him when he addressed you. Not giving you time to respond or protest, he grabbed your hand and tugged you along with him until you reached his study. You stood in the middle of the room, heart racing, as he closed and locked the door behind him.

Silence blanketed the two of you like thick snow, only broken by the sound of Ford's breathing and adrenaline making him all but pant as he rested his forehead against the door. He didn't want to turn around. Didn't want to see the fear and revulsion he was certain would be playing over your features. Meanwhile, you were trying desperately to ignore your own racing thoughts. Because, while Ford was struggling with himself, certain he'd done something to irreversibly damage your relationship, you were doing your level best not to think about what his hand would feel like around your throat instead of Bill's.

It was laughable, really. Never in a million years did you think you'd be jealous of Bill of all people. Yet, here you were, trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart and ignore the throbbing heat now making itself known between your thighs.

You'd always loved and admired Ford's strength and overall physical fitness. That was no secret between the two of you with the way your eyes seemed glued to him when he was dressed down. You loved his hands; the reverent, worshipful way he touched you. How securely they held you as he made you cum again and again and again. Now, though, you couldn't stop thinking about how those hands might feel holding you down while he took his frustration out on you. Firm, unyielding grip on the back of your neck and hip. Pinning you down and holding you open as he-

"-and I'm so sorry, Stardust, I didn't mean to scare you I just- he knows how to get under my skin," you blinked when Ford's voice, low and loathing, filled your ears. Your vision filled suddenly with the beautifully distraught expression of your beloved scientist as he stepped in front of you. Hands reached out slowly, as if afraid of startling a frightened animal, to gently cradle your face. You turn into the touch instinctively, eyes fluttering closed and a soft smile on your lips.

"Ford," you said finally. Your voice is soft and patient. "You worry too much." You reached up, hand gently cupping the side of his head while your thumb smoothed out that little furrow in his brow that you loved so much. "You didn't scare me."

"I didn't?"

"No," you said with a laugh. "Everybody loses their temper sometimes, and despite your best efforts, you are only human after all." Ford seemed to release some of his tension then, huffing a humorless laugh and taking your hands in his so he could press kisses over your fingers. He held you gently, as if terrified you'd change your mind and want nothing to do with him and God help you, but it only made that ache between your thighs worse. Seeing this gentle giant of a man cradle you so tenderly when earlier he had been seconds away from snapping Bill's neck.

Your hitched breathing didn't escape Ford’s notice. Ever the careful spectator when it came to you, he felt his heart leaping into his throat for a brief second. Is she only placating me? Did I really frighten her? His eyes scanned your face, looking for any sign that might confirm his fears. He found signs, certainly, but not of fear. Slowly, he took note of your parted lips, the hitched and slightly stilted breathing, and your dilated pupils. Things he was extremely, intimately familiar with. Things that haunted his dirtiest dreams on long nights he couldn't spend with you.

Mind racing, he decided to test his theory. Ignoring your questioning look, he brought your hands up and draped them over his shoulders. Now free, he let one hand drop your hip. Gripping the fat there, his thumb settling smoothly in the little dip between your hip bone and your lower belly. It was his favorite place to press and massage, loving the little noises you'd let out.

You graced him with one such noise; a soft, hitched gasp, followed by your eyes going half-lidded. Ford recognized the lustful look you were giving him now, though it was guarded, somewhat. He thought he knew why and figured his darling hiding anything from him, especially something that would bring you pleasure, just wouldn't do.

He brought his other hand up, gently taking your chin in hand. His thumb traced your lower lip gently. He wasn't immune to you, far from it, and he was beginning to feel the heady feeling of his own lust mixing with the adrenaline and frustration from earlier. He felt the curious flicker of the tip of your tongue against his thumb as your lips parted and released a groan that sounded closer to a growl. Your hands gripped his shoulders then, a soft, humming mmmmnn leaving you in response.

"Ford..." Your voice was dipped in longing. He recognized the pleading edge in your tone easily. Inhaling deeply as if to steady himself, he slowly slid his touch down until his fingers curled around either side of your throat. Not squeezing, just resting there. A sinfully sweet, silent promise.

Your reaction was immediate. Your eyes fluttered closed, mouth dropping open just a little further as you let out a quiet, high moan. Ford could feel the way you pressed into his grip instead of away from it. As if silently begging him to put more pressure, to squeeze. The way you submitted to him so easily, how pliant you were in his hold, was distracting in a way he hadn't prepared for. Now that the answer to his curiosity was undeniably evident, he found himself adrift. Unsure what to do with this new and... arousing information.

Seeming to sense his floundering and taking pity on him, you brought one hand up to gently overlap with his on your throat. Opening your eyes to look at him, you squeezed your fingers around him. Encouraging him to apply a little more pressure, the look in your eyes assuring him you wouldn't break.

Ford did as you directed; slowly applying pressure to the sides of your throat until he could feel the wild kick and flutter of your pulse against his fingertips. The rush it gave him was second only to the rush he got upon seeing your reaction: your eyes rolled, lashes fluttering, and you let out a low moan of his name. Your hands moved to fist loosely in the front of his shirt. Tugging, desperately needing to feel him against you. You only released when he stepped forward, and you could feel every inch of him pressed against your curves. Including the evidence that betrayed how much he was really enjoying this, now pressed firmly against your hip.

Finding his footing now, he backed you up until you felt the cool wood of his desk against your thighs. With his other hand still on your hip, he squeezed gently. A reassuring gesture that you appreciated deeply.

"What do you want?" He asked. His voice was low and gravelly in a way you'd never heard before. It made your thighs clench, another bolt of heat going through you.

"I want you to fuck me," you said. "I want you to use me, Ford. Take it out on me, please. Remind me who I belong to."

With the beginnings of a groan rumbling in his chest, he smothered it by leaning down to kiss you. It was messy, heated, and unrestrained, and you loved it. You strained towards him, hands renewing their grip on his shirt to pull him as close as you could. His hand slipped from your throat to tangle in your hair. Using it to his advantage, he pulled harshly, separating your lips just to hear the gasping moan you let out.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groaned and you felt his hips roll. Grinding the hard length of him against you in a desperate bid for relief.

"Beautiful," he murmured, low and reverent. "Stunning, perfect." Each whispered word of love and praise was punctuated with a nip or a kiss down your throat. You whined his name, voice pleading.

"Ford," you panted softly. Arching into him, hands frenzied and desperate. "Ford, please -" quickly, too quickly for you to even think about it, Ford's hands are catching yours. Six fingers clamped like handcuffs around your wrists, pinning them to the desk behind your back.

"Wha-" you blinked at him, dazed and so unreasonably turned on. He stares back at you, keen eyes searching for any hint of dislike. Even just the tiniest suggestion that you dont want this. Finding none, he grins at you. Slow and dirty, and if your panties weren't ruined before, they definitely were now.

"Patience, stardust." He murmurs. Leaning in, you feel the tip of his nose skate across your cheek. Lips resting just next to your ear, you shiver when he speaks again.

"I'm going to tie those pretty wrists together with my belt. Then, I'm going to take my time with you, and you're going to take every. Last. Bit of it. Sound good, sweetheart?" He pulls back again to look you in the eyes. You swallow thickly, dizzy with the force of your own arousal.

"Yes," you say softly, voice breathy. "Yes, I- fuck, please, Ford." He chuckles softly, hands leaving yours and humming approvingly when you keep them pressed against the desk. Fingers dropping to his hips, he began to undo and pull his belt out from the loops.

"You're so beautiful," he says as he begins to loop it around your wrists. "So perfect, begging me to use you. Never knew you'd be such a little slut." The words he used were derogatory but they made you feel anything but. Laced with such a deep, tender affection, you couldn't help but feel a swell of love for this man.

When he's finished and he deems your restraints tight enough to hold you but not enough to hurt you, he touches you again. His hands grab your hips, and you can't hold in a yelp when he lifts you suddenly and sets you firmly on his desk. He steps between your legs, and you let him. One large, rough hand settles on your thigh, thumb slotting itself back against that little dip between your belly and hip, while the other winds its fingers back through your hair. Tugging your head back, he relishes in your moan and the way you squirm under him as he begins to kiss and bite along your throat.

"Ford, ohhh fuck, F-Ford-" you can't help the way you moan for him. You wonder if, somehow, the restraining of your hands is making you feel more sensitive or if you're just pavloving yourself. Either way, it's sweet, exquisite torture when he locks that perfect mouth over the sensitive juncture of your neck and shoulder. Biting and sucking a bruise that you can feel. You could've sobbed when he eventually pulled away.

"Hm.." The short noise is soft and somewhat frustrated, and you blinked your eyes open to find him staring down at your shirt with a deep set frown that almost makes you laugh. His eyes flicker to something on the desk behind you, and when they find yours again, there's a dark sort of mischief in them.

"Are you overly fond of this shirt?"

"No, its just some old college shirt. Why-" RIIIIIIIP!

No sooner had you finished speaking than Ford had picked up his letter opener, kept obscenely sharp, from the desk and used it to cut through your shirt. When he's finished, the tattered remains are left open and crumpled around your wrists; the only thing keeping them there being his makeshift handcuffs. You stare at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving and more turned on than you had any right to be. Thankfully, your bra was a front clasp, which he opened with a deft flick of his wrist, thankful that it was your favorite, and thus, he had a lot of practice with it. It joins your shirt around your wrists, and then his hands are on you.

Large, warm palms filled with either breast. Squeezing the fat and watching as it spills out around his fingers with a groan. The fascination, no, the soul-altering appreciation he had for your tits should be studied. Really. And now was no different. Your toes curled as he took your nipples between thumb and forefinger, tweaking them in a way that toed the line of pleasure and pain. His mouth comes next, biting and kissing over the swell of each breast. It was messy and borderline hedonistic but fuck, if the way he tugged at your nipples didnt make you squeal.

"Ford, Ford, Stanford please- fuck, I need- I-I need-"

"You need what, sweetheart? Need this?" Your mouth drops open, knitting together and eyes dipping up to his in hazy pleasure when he rolls his hips forward. The hard, thick shape of his cock grinds into you through the soft material of your pants. You go nearly boneless with the relief of it, finally feeling something against your aching cunt. The rapturous look on your face makes him moan. Pitchy and so, so needy as his hips begin to rock steadily against yours. His forehead presses to yours, and he kisses you, wet and open-mouthed and messy, but it feels like a promise. It feels like worship.

"Shit, sweetheart," he groans. Panting into your open mouth, hands groping feverishly, restlessly at your tits while he rolls and grinds his cock into you. "You can't- you can't look at me like that, f-fuck you know how much I love it when you look at me like that."

You did, of course. It was a not-so-secret shame of his. The look on your face when there wasn't a thought in your head but him. Usually after he'd made you cum so hard you saw stars. Never had he seen this look on your face just from a little grinding, some heavy petting. You were the more composed one of the two of you, at least when it came to sex. Ford's gaze darted down then, to where he was steadily rocking you into the desk. He watched the rough, needy push and pull of his hips against you. How he could see his cock pushing into the fat of your cunt even through the layers. Wait, was that-?

"Oh- ooohhhh sweetheart," he moans like he'd just found god. In reality, what he saw was the wide, wet stain on the front of his trousers. It's too wide to be from him this early. He swallows thickly, hand dragging down, down, down, until he can press two fingers against your slit through your pants.

"Ohhh, sweet girl, you're just drenched for me, aren't you?" You whine, rutting your hips against his fingers, wishing it was his face you were fucking yourself down on.

"Well, that can be arranged." Ford's words have you blinking in confusion, realizing too late that you must have said that out loud, and he's dropping to his knees on the carpet. Uncaring of any pain as he anchors his hands behind your knees and lifts your legs. Dropping them over his shoulders to dangle uselessly against his back while he mouths messily at your pussy through the thin fabric of your lounge pants.

"Mmph- fucking divine, perfect-" he moans into you, wet and wrecked and desperate. You claw at the wood of his desk, hips jerking. You have no idea how or why but fuck it feels so good to have him like this. Almost feral with how he's tonguing at your folds.

"Hang on, don't- fuck, don't think a letter opener is gonna cut this-" you barely have time to process his words, to even think, before he's pulling away and you're practically sobbing with the loss. He slides his hands up your thighs to grab handfuls of the fabric of your pants on either side and, before you can say anything, pulls hard. You hear the loud sound of fabric tearing, and suddenly, you're much more bare than you were before. Bare and blushing as Ford stares at you. Gapes, really. Mouth open and almost drooling as he gets an eye full of your wet, desperate pussy and no panties.

"God, you really are a slut huh?" You yelp as Ford lands a wet smack! to your drenched cunt. Your legs twitch but can't close, forced open by his mountainous shoulders. "So fucking wet - look at this, you're sticking to my fingers," another smack! and you look down to find sticky strings of pearlescent slick webbing from your folds to his fingers. You blushed as he caught your eyes and grinned. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he sucks them clean with a wet, messy sound.

"Perfection." Is all he utters. You don't have a second, not even a micro moment, before he's shoving himself face first into you. Licking a broad, wet stripe up your slit and fucking moaning into your cunt. He cracks his jaw open wider, determined to drink every ounce of what you had to offer. Your thighs are trembling against him already, and this only seems to make him hungrier.

Ford eats you out like a man on a mission. Like he was a dying man, and you were his only salvation. The way he seals his mouth over your clit and sucks, tongue lashing at the little nub, makes your arms start to tremble where they're holding you up. Your back curves, heels digging into him and spurring him on. The wet, messy sounds of Ford sucking your fucking soul out through your cunt are all you can hear. That and his frankly aggressive noises. Low moans and almost growls, interspersed with brief moments when he comes up for air:

"So fucking good."

"God, I love feeling the way you shake."

"Awww, s'that it? That the spot, darling?"

"No one. No one else, ever. You hear me? You're fucking mine."

He punctuates that last one by sliding two, thick fingers into your cunt and curling them. Coupled with a harsh lick to your clit and you're cumming. Eyes rolling, back bowing, hips jerking. You're like a woman possessed, and Ford is happily drowning in it with you. Literally and figuratively, as your clenching cunt practically gushes on his face and hand. He laps at it like a dog, cock twitching in his slacks and seconds away from bursting. Just from the feeling of your honeyed slick dripping down his throat, flooding his senses.

Once your breathing settles a little, Ford is standing and manhandling you. You relish in it more than you probably should; the way strong hands grip you tight, pushing and pulling your body until you're bent over his desk, standing on your toes and spreading your legs. You hear his zipper and shuffling, then feel him as he slides the thick weight of his cock against your dripping slit.

"Fooorrrd~" you whine, wiggling your hips. "Ford, please, I need you." You hear his strangled groan. Feel his hand as it drops to grip the belt holding your hands together. He pins you to the desk effortlessly, and you gasp.

"Who do you belong to?" His voice is low, gravelly, and rough with need. You whine as his hips begin to move. With every forward thrust of his hips, you feel the head of his cock brushing your oversensitive clit.

"Fuck- you!" You moan out. He groans low and deep, the sound reverberating into your bones.

"Who takes care of you?" He asks. "Who makes you feel so good your toes curl and your vision goes black?"

"You! Ford, please, I-"

"Who makes you cum like this?" He doesn't miss a beat, doesn't even acknowledge your begging and it makes you even wetter. "Who fucks you so good, so deep, you'll never want anyone else?" You feel the head of his cock slowly breach your entrance and you almost cried with relief. When he only fucked you with the tip, using short, shallow thrusts, you actually did cry. Needy tears slipping down over your cheeks, much to Ford’s enjoyment.

"Mm you, you, Ford! Only you, no one else! Please, please, I need-" You're cut off when, simultaneously, Ford wraps one hand around your throat and lifts you so your back is plastered to his front and slides in to the hilt. Your breath leaves you in a rush, feeling suddenly and deliciously full.

You both moan in unison. Ford's hand around your throat squeezes and your cunt flutters in time.

"Oh- oh, fuck sweetheart," he groans into your ear, head dropping to rest on your shoulder. His hips start to move, starting up a slow pace that has him grinding into your sweet spot on every thrust. Your legs shake and tremble with the effort of keeping you up.

"Fuck you feel so good, God I love you- you're so- so perfect, so tight, fucking hell so tight, never want anyone else. No one, just you, only you fuck-!" He babbles the words into your ear and against your skin, clearly pussydrunk and so worshipful as your greedy pussy clenches and flutters around him. He drags his mouth along your skin. Teeth biting and nipping, marking you to hell. Determined that anyone who looks at you will know you're his.

"Yours-!" You gasped. "All yours Ford, only yours- only ever- ever wanted you, oh-!" Your words make him moan, cock twitching dangerously inside you. Using his free hand, he slides down to cup your messy cunt, thumb swiping across your hypersensitive, swollen clit quickly. You jerked in his hold, whining his name as the overstimulation made you shake. Ford cooed at you, kissing your neck and shoulder.

"Cmon, sweetheart, you can give me one more cant you? I know you can~ cmon, one more before I f-fill you up," he groans when you squeeze tight around him at those last words. "Yeah? S'that what you want, honey? Want me to- to fill you up and s-stuff you full? Fuck, think I might get you pregnant- god, you'd look so pretty, s'pretty n perfect n'mine-" it's Ford's pussydrunk babbling coupled with his movements on your clit and inside your cunt that push you over the edge. You can't hold in a loud moan of his name, pussy fluttering around his length as you gushed around him.

Ford practically chokes, feeling the way to tighten and flutter around him. His hips jerk and he fucks you through it with long, punishing thrusts. Quickly, he pins you back to the desk, feeling unhinged and broken as he wrings every little noise from you he can with his harsh pacing and even harsher thrusts.

"You're mine." You feel more than hear him growl the words into your skin, front stuck to your back and pressing you into the wood as his hips still against you. Buried to the hilt, you feel him twitch, then floor your insides full and then some. You moan, relishing in the feeling, and silence, save for the sound of your shared panting, blankets you both.

You spend long moments trying to catch your breath and basking in the afterglow. When he pulls out, you wince. Feeling his sticky release start to drip out of you almost immediately. Ford is silent, and you can practically feel his eyes on you. You open your mouth to say his name, to question him, but all that comes out is a startled whine when you feel his fingers swipe at the mess, smearing it against your pussy and pushing it back in. You clench around his fingers, now slowly fucking his cum back into you, when he speaks:

"Stay. I'm not done with you yet."