#dariuswrites

It hit him instantly, vision covered by red fabric. Ford heard his footsteps leave to the bedroom, alone with the intensely sweaty smell he can't help but love and ache over. It goes straight to his groin, getting all the stink of two hard working days. He can pinpoint exactly which two pheromones overwhelm his brain, pressing it further into his face with both palms and bunching it under his fingers. Huffing the intensity in through his nose, the best spot for the scent isn't in the pits this time. No, it's on his back where there's a huge darkened stain on the red t-shirt.

Thirty seconds of Stan's lingering essence is not enough. The shirt's abandoned as he stood quickly, Ford making for the bedroom in haste.

Stan idled through the closet when Ford's footsteps come up behind him. Then his hands grip over his hips hard and pull back, bumping against his twin's fitter frame and obvious hard on. The mouth on his neck is instantly marking hickeys and causing Stan's legs to tremble. "You missed me that much, couldn't wait for tonight, huh?" Is said more as a fact of life and not a question, which is true.

A rumbled hum came from behind, and suddenly Stan's getting bent over the side of the bed forcefully. "You can't temp me with you smell and not expect this so soon." His shirt's yanked up his back and pants pulled around his knees in seconds, Ford's hands rubbing at his ass and lower back to get him to relax. It was his smell? What did- Oh, his sweaty tshirt he threw on him. Those talented fingers palmed over the plug sitting inside him, slipping it out with slow precision.

"Wait a second, you smelled my sweat and got hard?" Stan asked giddily, but was met with his warm cock smacking his hole.

"Yes." Ford carelessly applied lube to both of them, getting back at him preemptively for what's coming.

"Fuck, that's really- hmmm, sweet. You're such a- a nerd for that type of thing, aren't you? Pheromones or whatever?" Stan wiggled his hips as his brother dragged his cock away and twisted two digits into him, writhing as his prostate's attacked with hard presses and circular rubs. "C'mon, Poindexter," In a breathless pant, he continued, "Put that big brain to work and screw me already."

The tip dragged around his hole to spread the lube, clenching at what breach would come. It didn't, not yet. "Maybe I should take my time, since you took so long anyway."

Stan was already half mast, face flushing at being face down. "Sh-shit," He know's his brother, what's he waiting for? Some mental stimulation, most likely. And that, he can dish out. "Alright, might as well get a whiff while you're back there, dork."

Growling, Ford plunged the tip in, then bent over to shove his face against the rolls of lightly damp skin. It's like a drug, the way Stan's smell made his head spin. Angling his hips right, he pumped into him with an abandon as Ford lost himself in the tightness around his cock.

"Aaah, ah, fuck!" The sudden speed is unexpected, but damn is it good. Stan liked the occasional rough romp, and this was bordering on it with the light sting. He can feel Ford breathing hard against him over all of the rutting, "Hah, yeeeah, trying to memorize my sweat for later, gorgeous? Damn, I bet you have a chemical list of your favorite scents out of me, don't you, smart guy?"

Ford instantly exclaimed out a groan behind him, hands gripping his hips strongly. Stan felt his hole fill and drip out, and somehow Ford wasn't stopping. One of those rare times where he can go multiple times without an aid of sorts, so Stan rocked back against him, pleased he could make his partner reach his height too soon. With how this is going, Stan's on his way there too. "Good boy, usin' my hole for all it's worth-" Ford pounds his prostate faster, Stan panting before he's begging, "Ford, Ford, Ford-"

It's much sooner than Stan expected too, but his stomach's hot and twisting and he groaned hard. It hit him with force, shaking his frame and groaning loud. Only then does his brother slow down, letting out small grunts of overstimulation.

After a moment of panting and evening out their breaths, both sigh at the same time and get a chuckle out of it. Ford pulled out and flopped onto the bed next to him, firmly wrapping an arm around Stan's middle to half hold him.

Stan laid on his side upon his bed, distracts himself by staring at the window in his room. The note he left for Ford itched away at his thoughts every minute or so that passed. A violent frown twitched onto his face, wishing he could touch himself but he can't. Not when that's the issue, what got him in this stupid situation.

Wanting to get off on different objects have left Stan in a certain amount of trouble. Not immediate, but enough to need help soon. All he'd wanted was to experiment himself in his own weird way, He's crossing his damn fingers that having admitted it in writing will indicate that Stan's serious, hoping Ford would have some magical fix-it way but not knowing exactly what his approach will be made him curl up tighter into a ball.

-

Ford walked back into the Shack and down to his lab again, not feeling as dreadful about it now that the apocalypse is three days behind them. He'd gone for a long stroll, thinking about his life's work and current desires. At one point, he'd considered every bit of his writing precious, now it seemed... embarrassing to take himself so seriously.

It stemmed from Stan's acceptance of his mistakes, and forgiving him. Maybe if he were as lack with rules and restrictions as Stan is with, well... most things he'd have an easier time getting along with his brother. In the past he'd do anything to be seen as valuable and better than what he considered his worse parts, his fingers, but now they ache to have Stan's skin against them. To have him close.

There's a white letter envelope on his desk as he approached. It's as if it were mail, but no return or delivery address. But there in the postage corner- '#?#'. It's their code, his chest tightened.

SOS.

Ripping it open, there's a letter, all in their 'Bro code' from ages ago. Something Ford would never forget. He read it quickly, and barely even registered his feet moving to a different level as he folded the paper into his jacket.

-

Door creaking open and close behind him, Stan doesn't move, heart pounding in his ears at the conversation to come. Closing his eyes, he relished this silence, knowing it would be the last comfortable one for a moment.

"Um, Stanley?" His footsteps move closer to Stan, and he doesn't want to answer. Not at all, he's already embarrassed. At least he isn't in the hospital. Yet.

"Mmh."

"I received a letter with a message from you. This is from you, correct?"

He doesn't sound angry, more confused than any other emotion. Which in turn confused Stan, "Yeah, who else?"

"I don't know, I've had false letters delivered to me before. Anyway, may I go over this with you? I have a few questions." Stan can feel him sit down on the edge of the bed behind his legs, and his face burns like hell. He can't even respond before Ford continued, "To my understanding, there is an object stuck inside your intestines, and you're requesting... my help?"

"Moses, yes!" Stan shook his head, "What wasn't clear about the letter and why are we still talking about it? Do you have some sort of magic laxative or not?"

"Hah, 'magic' laxative. You're hilarious as usual, no. How did it get stuck inside you? Am I correct to assume that it was through the anus?"

"...yeah."

"Your letter said 'it's been up there a while,' how long has it been stuck?"

"Um, since last night."

"Right. Okay." There's a distinct pause. "I'm going to assume that you've tried multiple things to get it out and get right to the point: I need to see where it is inside of you, I have an x-ray machine down in the lab that works decently well. Are you alright to walk?"

Stan turned to stare at him, and if he wasn't mistaken, he's got a blush too. "You're willing to help me out?"

"Yes, going to a hospital might be unnecessary depending on the location. Are you able to walk?"

"Y-Yeah, let's uh, go do that then."

He'd gotten the x-ray no problem, and Stan laid against a stark table like a frog they'd dissected in science class once. Now he's waiting again, mouth tucked down in a corner as the minutes passed. He'd guess about twenty faded by before Ford's return from the other basement floor.

"So, good news! It's not too far inside therefore I have options. We could go with a laxative but it's become uncomfortable, I highly doubt you want to wait any longer for it to pass. My alternative may be unorthodox, but I'm confident I can remove it with minimal issue manually with a bit of lubricant and a pain reliever, muscle relaxer combo."

"Manually?"

"...Is that alright? It's certainly less invasive than surgery and I'm not confident in my ability to sterilize the air down here-"

"What do you mean by manually?"

"With my hand, of course. I planned on washing and using sterilizing wipes."

Mouth hung open impossibly wide, eyebrows raised to high hell, Stan choked out a noise before a cough. "And-and that's alright with you?"

"Yes. I'm quite impressed you can fit something that wide, it must've been... quite the stretch." His voice tapered off into a weak whisper. Ford coughed awkwardly, and said, "Regardless, that's what the pain reliever will be for, the soreness afterwards."

"Shit. Okay, uh, sure." As it stands, it's still completely platonic between them. Half chubbed, Stan's pulse throbs in his throat. He's going to have to see everything, again, platonically. Ford's eyes would be on Stan's dick and he'd be none the wiser to how many times he's jerked himself off hard and fast, clutching the nearest furniture while pretending it was some part of his twin. Like the sick bastard he is. So he compensated with objects.

"Um, taking off your underwear is necessary-"

"Alright, Sixer, give a man a second to mentally prepare, would ya? Besides, don't I need some meds in me first?" He turned his face away to remove his boxers, waiting for Ford to grab the necessary equipment.

He's back instantly, lube in one hand and a white pill in the other. Only one instruction followed: "Open wide."

-

Barely paying any attention to his hard cock, Ford had completely focused on the task at hand. The only indication that Stan had of if his brother was into this was the shaky way he'd muttered, "Let's get started."

Ford patiently, thoroughly fingered him, stretching Stan's hole wider to accommodate for... forearm width. It was damn near close to perfect in Stan's eyes, the only issue being the emotional constipation they both inherited. It's wrong, but he wants Ford like he wanted girlfriends in high school. Up to four fingers, Ford announced each out loud to let him know how close he was to inserting. Stan could see his pulled up sleeve, the etching of old scars on his arms as his hand worked inside him.

And only now does Ford attempt to make small talk. "Do you often put objects in yourself?"

"Yeah, clearly."

"Can I ask the appeal of said sensation?"

"Ugh. Some stuff just looks like it'd feel good against my prostate and whatnot. I uh, like when stuff feels different. And that whatever it is, it's not meant to go up there."

"So, it's not related to a lack of a partner."

"No."

"Last finger, Stanley."

He hissed at it's slow and stretching entry. It's kind of funny for Stan to be on the receiving end of this situation. Although, he would've expected Ford and him to have finally, truly forgive each other and couple up. Then they'd do freaky shit, and eventually get to this point. He even had a sexy line for if that happened, 'Why don't you fist me with those skilled fingers of yours?'

"Thumb."

That was more of a stretch, and he can't help moan through it. Stan's thighs tremble, feeling the new impossible width. Finding it hard to keep his composure with so much pressure on his prostate, Stan made eye contact with him and felt his hole clench around Ford's hand.

"I have a question that I hope you're not offended by." He bluntly stated.

Stan hesitated with his mouth for a second, eyebrows furrowing down, "Can't hardly be offended like this."

"When I was stretching you, you weren't alarmed as I'd imagined. You're alert, but seem..."

"Experienced, Sixer. Yeah, I've done stuff like this a time or two."

"Did you exclusively sleep with men, or was it both?"

More lube is applied with Ford's untrapped hand. "Hey, maybe it, aaaah," Stan felt his hand distinctly rotate, knuckles rubbing a hot electric feeling alive in his groin. "Ladies wear straps too, could've been just that."

"So it was both then." His subtle movements pump deeper, and Stan's ears ring for a few seconds. "-er question."

"What?"

"Are you into the size of said objects, like increasing sizes and challenges gets you going?"

"No, just like how they feel rubbing inside."

There's a give a few seconds later, Ford pushing forth and removing the direct pressure off Stan's prostate but giving his guts very mixed signals with the intrusion. Glancing at his face for any look of disapproval, Stan instead saw a slight frown and eyebrows scrunched.

"...Then how come you were erect before I started?" Ford shook his head lightly, "I'd expect it from the prostate stimulation, not from talking about helping you remove your foreign object. Is it the fantasy of being caught? Was it nervousness from having to be naked?" There's an unknown tone that Stan hasn't ever heard from him, baritone and to the point.

"Moses, Ford. None of those."

A moment passed, and Ford hadn't moved or made further progress. "Then what was it?" Another heavy ten seconds of Ford's wrist muscles shifting, still spreading his aching hole. "Stan."

Gritting his teeth, "Get the ball out and I'll tell you."

"Ah, forgive my distractedness," Ford reapplied much lube, a thick line all the way up to his forearm and rubbing it in, "This will feel uncomfortable when I grab it. When I pull out, there will be more resistance, more stretch. Are you ready?"

"Y-Yeah, go ahead." The plunge is immediate, and at least the medicine made his head more floaty, because Stan doesn't feel anything despite the intrusive stretch. "I have it." Until Ford's retracting his arm, that is. There's an increased pressure on his prostate again, and Stan rolled his eyes back, head hitting the table. "Uuuuhhhff- fuck."

"I'm going to pull out now," Ford nearly whispered, bent over him like an experiment, with the audacity to flush about it. Stan breathed out, and Ford took the chance. Going slow, he pulled out his hand a centimeter at a time, Stan groaning at the maximum width.

It was pulled free, Stan panting and humming, totally not whining.

"What was it? What turned you on?"

Grunting out, "Why?" Stan tried to focus his unsteady vision on him.

"You said you'd tell me."

"Mmmh," Folding his arms over his chest, Stan glared to the side. "Fine. It was you. I picked up this habit when I was fantasizing being you down here, looking over your journal and papers and notes. I uh, know it's weird but I pretended to be you studying what it felt like."

Stan's eyes were locked onto the wall for the longest time, only until he needed to. He'd heard Ford make some type of breathy noise, to see him slack jawed and staring at him wide eyed.

"U-Um, how curious," Ford softly spoke, "Do you- So does that mean-"

"What, Sixer?"

"Was? Meaning, past tense. But you still perform the activity of object insertion." He looked unfazed for now, Stan isn't convinced he himself is in the clear.

"Things I put inside me is a fun thing I do when I get bored. I still uh, get off thinkin' of you, how could I not? We share a damn face, after all."

"Is that... all?" His brother sounded distraught, lightly frowning as if that's all Stan saw in him.

Scoffing, he replied, "Of course not. You're good at puzzles too, that's pretty attractive if you ask me."

Ford chuckled then, offhandedly saying, "Well, there might be hope yet."

Stan glanced down at the tented fabric, biting his lip before staring him down pointedly, "Yeah, I'm hoping for something, alright."

"You want me now? Are you sure? My attraction towards you shouldn't be taken lightly. Besides, you were uncomfortable from the-"

"I'm serious too, Ford. Get inside me before I pass away from old age."

"Not on my watch." He made haste, whipping apart his belt and unzipping, doing as told and pressing up against Stan's hole. Both letting out a low grunt, Stan watched as Ford lubed himself and easily slipped inside, edging upward and deliberately slid against the sensitive bundle of nerves. One of Ford's hands latched onto his leg. Stan's hands grab at his shoulders, pulling Ford closer to use him as leverage, hips twitching to fuck himself on that cock of his. "Stan-ley," Ford choked out.

"Oh fuck, yes, yes, Sixer! Moses, please, harder." Over the slapping sounds that only lightly echo through the basement, they move in tandem, Ford working faster to obliterate his stress and woes. "Fuck, Ford, Fooord-" Stan moaned, but ramped up to yelling seconds after, body taught with his legs locked around his twin's waist.

With his eyes still squinted closed, he heard the crescendo of Ford's pants. Moaning louder and louder until Ford finally exclaimed, Stan opened his eyes and felt his cum hot inside his hole. Ford's grip on Stan's hip and leg lessen, and they untangle to help Stan's back relax.

"May I politely suggest an object you cannot lose so easily inside? Unless you want my forearm inside you, that is."

"Don't tempt me, I might just act out for attention's sake."

"Sort of, I never became proficient in properly socializing. I missed... one person above all." The open eyed and vulnerable look told Stan what he was saying.

"Oh yeah? Well, I missed you too, why else did I work endless nights to get you home?"

"Your dedication to my return made me think you had an ulterior motive."

"An ult- what?" He knows exactly what Ford's talking about, nervous about the direction of conversation as he sat on the edge of his desk. "Listen, I was just righting my wrongs from all that time ago. It's no big-"

Ford stepped between his legs, closer than Stan expected, peering down at him with a certain knowing look. "It's a big deal as to the reason why. After my warnings of ripping this universe apart, you went to lengths no normally adjusted man would."

It's quiet. So, so quiet that Stan thought he could hear the sun itself pour in through the windows. With a resounding statement, "Yeah, so?"

"...So I've noticed an unresolved tension between us-"

"Oh good grief." Stan cut him off, gripping the front of his old red sweater and pulled him closer. He knew if Ford didn't like it he'd pull away, reaction time way quicker and more astute to his surroundings. But mere inches away, face to face, Stan whispered a challenge, "You gonna push me away?"

"Not if our tension becomes resolved, I'd like to see your solution."

Stan grumbled, "I'll show you a solution-" before leaning up and pulling him in, lips pressed together and holding back a dam of emotions on either end. They separate, Stan testily looking at his unalarmed expression, and Ford dove the few inches between them.

Deep hums rattled their chests, sparking something untouched in so long. The next several kisses were messy, dragging the pink flesh of their mouths back together after pants of heated breath as they separate. It was filling a need for both to be so close and take out their frustrations on each other in the physical sense. Not like they were fighting, oh no, far from it in this moment.

Ford's hands found his neck and shoulder to keep a firm grip, as if Stan was going anywhere. In the middle of a desperate and firm press of their lips, Stan hooked a knee behind his legs and dragged him closer. A hand lands on his side, another on Ford's back to keep him from leaving too soon.

Captivated by the warmth of their mouths pressed together, the heat on their faces increasing. Ford was way more into the scruff of Stan's face rubbing against his own than he'd ever admit currently. The feeling in the air was alive but not as electric as he would have thought. It felt real, steady as they took their time being closer than they ever had been. Their embrace was barely a pattern, heads tilted right they separate and go back in to the left, the open breaths between them leaving their lips damp.

Taking initiative, Ford trailed his mouth down his jaw in weighty, desperate connections of their flesh down to his neck. He'd made it under his collar to start kissing at the flesh before an atrocious ringing of some alarm echoed the room.

Stan's hand scrambled for the tipped over clock on his desk, turning it off. Ford mouthed against his neck as he pulled off, "What is that for?"

"Sometimes I take a nap during my break, it wakes me up in time."

"How long do you have left?" Lightly panting and flushed, Ford stared him down with a neutral expression.

"Fifteen minutes, you wanna make that count by getting on your knees?" Stan asked, seeing his twin drop so fast he'd call it a record at their age. No response was needed as Ford's many fingers pry down his zipper, unbutton his pants and start dragging the fabric down just a few inches. "Woah, you sure are eager, aren't you?"

"I ought to make each second count." Ford rubbed a palm over his underwear, feeling the hardening shaft before he sneaked his fingers into the slit to pull him out. He wanted to stare and observe their differences, but time didn't allow for it, so he leaned forward and wrapped his mouth around the head.

Moaning lowly, Stan snaked his fingers into those greyed locks and held his head firmly as a warning not to go too hard to fast. Luckily, Ford didn't, and he felt his tongue slowly lap under his tip to start slicking him up. Looking down at him so soon was a mistake, seeing that handsome face that matched his own make his cock twitch a few times in between those rosy lips. Not to mention the intense eye contact Ford was making to micro-analyze every single expression.

Ford sank lower, humming as the hardened length filled his mouth. He shivered at the thought of using own, wise oral cavity for such an activity. Clearly, this type of activity wasn't 'beneath him' like he'd vowed when he went into the portal, since his own shaft twitched to life. Working up a rhythm was the best part, he'd felt Stan melt beneath him and the hand in his hair go lax. It may have been a first for them but like any other skilled action, Ford was determined to be proficient at it. Noticing what Stan liked was easier than he'd thought, with the lilted breaths and hums, light accidental squeezes on his scalp.

"Oh, shit," Stan cursed, one of Ford's hands wrapped around the base of his cock with two fingers and his thumb, palm resting on his sack with a light weight. His brother's expression was less focused on him now, eyes lidded and making noises of pleasure every time he twitched in his mouth. "Haaaah, fuck, have you done this before?" He panted out, not getting enough of the slick pop off of his mouth.

"Only once, and it wasn't nearly as reminiscent of human anatomy." Ford resumed his pattern of sucking him down farther than before, the sound of a throaty groan from above. The hand in his hair gently squeezed to show Stan's satisfaction. Ford tried desperately to ignore the overwhelming musk of his twin's nether regions with each deep breath through his nose, earthly sweet like coffee and his sweat from a hard day's work.

It felt too good to have Ford's mouth around him, too prideful of a feeling that he could get his smart, clever brother into a position like this. He can't help but stare down at the hard work applied, that's when Stan spotted his unoccupied shoulder move in a particular way. "Moses, you touching yourself?"

Not even pulling off, he hummed the affirmative around Stan, stroking his own hardness to relieve the ache there. Ford stroked himself at a moderate pace. Taking in the smell, sound, motion of his taboo action, he twitched in his palm and viced around his dick harder.

The amount of time didn't matter, at this rate, Stan was going to come undone soon from the impressive treatment of his old cock. That familiar warmth pooled above his groin, settling in his stomach. Ford seemed to notice how close he was, somehow, and instead of speeding up he just sucked him down harder and further. His mouth felt tight and warm, so damn perfect with how his tongue rubbed against the head of his dick on the upstroke, making sure to keep Stan enveloped and satisfied. "Hah, haaah, aaah, Ford," His hushed moans were a caution to the approaching height he was about to achieve, all thanks to the attention from the man he missed most. "I'm getting close, last chance to pull off if you don't- ugh, want to swallow."

Ford didn't falter, only speeding up slightly. He wouldn't have even considered not tasting what he had to offer, unafraid of the potentially acrid outcome that he intended to swallow. That thought alone caused the strokes to Ford's own member to increase feverishly, catching up to the closeness of his finish to closely match his brother's.

Panting, Stan's hand tightened in Ford's hair, chanting his name. "Ford, oh fuck, Ford, Ford-" His legs shook, and really, the way his twin's eyes lit up at the outcome is what sent him over. If he'd had an ounce more of energy, he would have been able to tell him he was going to cum, but it was forgotten as Ford's mouth slowed after swallowing.

He sat there with Stan in his mouth, spent and having ingested his brother's seed and jerked himself off desperately. He wasn't able to stop the small, gratified grunts around his cock as he quickly tipped over the edge, making a mess over his fist.

A few seconds passed, and Ford pulled off with one last drag of his lips to remember how the weight felt when it silenced him.

Stan groaned and sighed, tucking himself back in and fixing his clothing back to appropriate. It was hard to find words to say, considering how tense the previous weeks had been after Ford's return. But he managed with, "That uh, felt good. Hope that resolved some tension for us."

Clearing his throat, Ford replied, "Y-yes, as do I."

"Alright, I should uh," Stan stood up off his desk, and shuffled around Ford's sitting form toward the door, "Should get back to entertaining tourists. There's a box of tissues in the top drawer of the desk."

"Right, thanks."

"What do you mean 'I have to eat it all?' That's not fair, it looks like you barely touched yours!"

"Well, I've noticed you've lost quite a bit of weight since we've been hard at work on our boat-"

"So I'm losing weight. Isn't that a good thing? Feels better on my knees, at least."

Ford has his rebuttal ready, "Yes, but if you don't meet your calorie count you'll get tired tomorrow."

"Can it, Sixer, I don't think there's enough room in me for it."

"I insist that you-" Ford stops himself, picking up on what he himself was doing. He just wanted to see Stan finish his meal, on the larger side, to make up for what he lost. Subtly trying to overfeed him. "Never mind."

A silent moment passes of them sitting in the warmth of the restaurant, yellow lights quietly buzzing above them. Ford stares at the green leaves on his plate, before he noticed Stan's still frame. He glances up, to see Stan drilling his eyes into him.

"Why?" It's serious in tone, and he wouldn't have said anything else if Ford wasn't red in the face as if he was mad. Stan continues, "You think I'm not eating enough? Take another look at my gut, Poindexter."

"I just want to make sure you're well-fed-"

"Oh, so you think I can't provide for myself?" Stan sounds sour, getting angrier as he continues, "I did perfectly fine without your help for forty years so you don't have to treat me like a damn charity case-"

"It's not like that! I-"

"It's not? Then how come you're trying to force food down my throat? I'm not so geriatric that I can't fend for myself-"

"It's not that either! I suppose I miss how you looked-" The pressure Stan was putting on this was too much, now he's royally fucked up with how Stan thinks he's perceived by him. That's the last thing he wants.

"When I had more gut on me? So you want me to be this weak, feeble, helpless thing for you to repair-" Stan hisses.

Ford can't help his outburst, "I want you stuffed!" He can't have Stan thinking he's not strong. "I- I'm sorry," His voice lowers noticing the glances from other tables, "I'm very aware of your strength and capabilities. We've gotten drunk and you won the fistfight, you can clearly overpower me! I simply... like the look of said heft on your frame. I never meant to insult you."

Stan was intently listening to him, leaning back after he was finished as if to consider something.

"So you like my gut?" He says simply.

"Um. Yes, I-"

"You like when it's stuffed full of food."

Ford's not sure how to respond, it's beyond embarrassing now that he's being cracked down on in such a way.

"That's what a 'chubby-chaser' is called, by the way." Stan happily comments.

"What-" He's baffled at the terminology to describe his, well, affinity to the situation. "That's not-"

"I mean, you sure took your time watching me eat too. I noticed, you know. Even if there's heftier people at the place we're eating, you're always looking at me."

Ford's been caught red-handed after all this time. Now, Stan's going to call him out for being a freak-

Instead, he watches as Stan forks another steak bite and bites down on it between his teeth, really making a show of it as he moans through another bite. "You know what? I think I can finish this now."

"You don't have to, it was quite a lot of food-"

"Nah, I'm getting my money's worth. Plus, you ordered what you thought I could handle, right? Let's see if I can."

An oddly disturbed anxious thought about a ripped stomach lining sends a shiver up Ford's spine. This is exactly what he wanted. He gazes at Stan easily devouring the next quarter of steak and leftover potatoes. In the back of his mind, he knows he's never been so hard. To watch his brother do such a thing that he knows is turning him on, in such a public place no less. Bite by bite, it is demolished and Stan burps loudly.

"Hey, stringbean,"

Ford's eyes shift up from his stomach to meet his eyes.

"You wanna get out of here, let me crush you under all this weight I got?" Stan says so casually as if it weren't sexually charged beyond belief.

Maybe Stan gets chronic pancreatitis induced by heavy alcohol use in his 20s and 30s before he was responsible for the Shack. Now that they're at sea, they have plenty of lowkey nights that could use a little fun. He risks having a beer the night before with Ford, to which he flares up pretty bad the next morning.

When they get checked into a room its cozy, Stan's in there for mere minutes before the nurses come back with fluids of bagged vitamins, nausea meds, pain meds. So they're not stressed/worried about it too much. Their room even has dimming lights, to which Ford turned to the lowest setting at his request. An hour of talking passes, his fluids only a third gone.

"So, you wanna fool around while we wait?" Stan grunted, shifting in the stark white bed, fabric noisily jostling under him.

"I don't see why not. To be clear, we shouldn't do what we did last time."

Laughing, Stan added, "Yeah, that nurse almost got an eye full. Still feel bad about that."

"Indeed, and there are in fact no cameras, only your vitals to tip them off if something goes awry." Ford stands up and moves next to his twin's bedside, a sly and quick hand latches to his jaw. His next words are twice as sultry, "I've been meaning to use that gorgeous mouth of yours, if you were up for having your face ridden."

Chuckling low and long, Stan grinned up at him, "You were waiting for the second they'd leave, using this bed to lay me back and doin' it here of all places." Jolting at the bed leaning back beneath him, Stan cackled at getting caught off guard by Ford's insistent nature. It's nearly flat.

"I'll admit I've been wanting a different, riskier setting. Now," Ford placed the closest knee against the bed, swinging his other over Stan's torso and neck to sit above him. "Are you going to be a good patient and heal up nicely for us? Say yes and I'll give you a treat."

"Hah, yeah, anything for a taste of that."

"Good." In a few quick seconds, Ford slipped out his cock in front of his face and half-hard. And like any other day, Stan dragged him closer by the hip and took the warm tip in his mouth, humming around it. Swiping a tongue up to tease him, his twin let out a low noise with a lidded gaze.

Out of all things, Stan could never get tired of having him in his mouth, especially working him up and feeling the effect of making him harder in real time. Twitching against his lips, Stan worked up his shaft, and felt his six fingers reach into his hair as a grateful gesture.

Once he was hard, Stan swallowed him whole. A sharp gasp came from above, a curse, then, "S-Stan."

"Mmmh," He pulled off to comment, "Didn't expect my nurse to taste so good."

"That's doctor to you." Ford replied, only slightly breathless and looking down at him with a half-smile.

Rolling his eyes, "Apologies, doctor," he then wrapped a hand around the base and gave a few strokes. "Didn't expect my doctor to take advantage of my situation."

"This technically is a type of medical care t-to a handful of alien species."

"Sucking dick, really?" He chuckled, "Can't say I'm disappointed. You're the expert here, after all."

In a breath, Ford stated, "I am," and saw Stan's head dip back down and wrap around him with the heat of his mouth. The tensity of being caught again ramped up his pulse, not needing the suctioning that he'd usually get from Stan removing his dentures due to the sensitive situation working him up. And Stan was great at getting him off either way, practiced and precise licks on the bottom of his shaft made him twitch and leak earlier than anticipated.

The air of the room finally sunk in, doing such an intimate thing in a place of healing where it's very much inappropriate to do so. The few quickened breaths from Ford's chest let Stan know he was close, so he pulled the surefire trick of looking up at him with a cock-drunk glaze over his face. Watching Ford's face twist up in seconds was the best part, followed by the barely warned, "I-I'm, Stan, I'm going to cum."

Stan hummed against him, lips tighter and dragging along the skin as Ford released into his mouth, jerking his hips lightly and panting out a few breaths. Stan swallowed as he pulled off, cleaning the excess off his reddened and spent member.

It was almost laughable at how Ford wobbled off the bed, hastily shoving himself back into his pants and collapsed in the chair beside him.

"Was that good?"

"Fantastic, thank you. Although, next time-"

"Oh good grief."

"I'd like to take the roleplay a bit more in depth."

"Like how?"

"I'll strap you to my exam table and have my way with your prostate."

"Ah, thought you were gonna suggest something crazy like actually getting caught."

"That sounds like a ridiculous waste of time. I was thinking we'd rent out a set room for it."

'hey! where's your swim suit, grunkle Ford?! we're going swimming silly!' Mabel chastises, but he replies with, 'i have it on underneath my clothes. i'll take them off once we arrive.' the drive is fine, but Ford's literally sweating in the seat next to Stan.

upon arrival, the kids dart for the lake and the elder twins unpack their chairs and towels and cooler by the water. at some point, Stan gets up to go join them and looks to Ford, 'welp. i'm getting in.'

'ah, i'll join you in a moment.' Stan made his way into the water, a nice and warm temperature from the hot summer rays that shone down. it takes him a minute to get in to his waist and turn to look at their niece and nephew hurling themselves off the end of the dock. then he looks to his twin on shore.

sitting in the camp chair still, Ford casually pulled off his sweater and threw it over the fabric arm. next came his leggings. he's wearing a black full body wet suit, but that's all Stan can see at this distance. for another minute, his twin tipping his head back and absorbing the rays of the sun as if he'd never left. then, he stood and came closer, pausing for an awkward second to bend down and unlace his boots to kick them off a few seconds later.

Stan watched those long muscular legs stride his way and make his breath stop flat- each gentle wave inched up his skin and yeah he was staring quite a bit. he noticed the red stripe up each leg, enunciating his natural curves. then he's in the water next to Stan at waist level, diving in immediately to brush a cold patch of water his way. reemerging a couple seconds later only a few feet away, Stan's heart hammered in his chest at the way the black fabric stretched across his shoulders and torso. drops of glittery water fall off of his soaked wavy hair and drip onto his suit to immediately absorb it, like rain, Stan thought.

Ford does a half turn over his shoulder to peer at him, and ask, 'what? did i not zip it all the way?'

'n-no! no, it's fine. i uh, think your suit looks um. nice. yeah.'

a corner of his twin's mouth turns upward, and he replied, 'oh? thank you. i was lucky to find one with a red design that wasn't overbearing.'

'heh, yeah?' the only thing to distract Stan was two snorkels moving toward their direction, behind Ford. Stan worriedly pointed that way and said, 'Sixer look, sharks are comin' this way!'