#missflora

Scowling he gets to his feet, rolling his head about his shoulders, “It’s that damned portal he’s working on. It’s a garbage idea, ya ask me. We’ve been living here a couple of months now, yeah? Gravity Falls has weirdness. Why go lookin’ for more?”

“It’s his passion,” Preston argues as he takes a few sips of his Pitt before setting the can aside, “It’s not as if we can take it from him.”

“I think we should.”

“Now Stanley…”

“C’,mon, Pres, you tellin’ me you’re fine with this?” Stan waves in the general direction of Ford’s lab and Preston lets out a hefty sigh because, well, he’s not exactly fine with it. Oh sure, it was fine in the beginning. He had no problem financing Ford’s work and his husband had been so happy. He’d seen no reason to interfere. But as time has gone on, Ford’s become…sullen. Withdrawn. So very, very unlike himself.

This recent heated remark sending Preston off hasn’t been the first and, sometimes, he suspect it won’t be the last. But how can he tell Ford ‘no’? After all that Ford has given him. But looking at Stanley now, the worry beneath the stern bravado, he wonders how he can tell Stanley the same. Neither of them deserves a ‘no’ from Preston.

But then Stan’s suddenly looks…sly and Preston swallows thickly because he knows that look. Knows it even as he asks, “What are you thinking?”

“Come on,” Stan gives him a quick, come-hither curl of one finger before turning in the direction of said lab and Preston follows, even as his heart thumps. Why is his heart thumping? They enter the lab and Ford is still laboring over different computers, different printouts. Dancing from one to the other to another and Stan clears his throat loudly.

“PRESTON! I TOLD you! STOP-!”

“Can it, Poindexter,” Stan growls back and Ford turns to him, blinking and confused. Preston stands there, hands toying with one another because he’s not really up for this level of confrontation. Stan, however, veers closer to Ford, obviously more than ready for it, “Me and your other hubby been talkin’ and we agree – you been working too hard.”

Ford and Preston speak at the same time. One saying ‘you have?’ whilst the other says ‘we have?’ and Stan just nods to both, “Yup. You need ta relax. Or, well, not relax – so much as take a break. So, that in mind…”

Stan charges up to Ford like it’s no contest, stepping behind him and easily locking his arms behind his back. Ford lets out a gasp, startled by Stan’s actions and while his hold isn’t painful, it’s tight enough to keep him in place as he cries, “What are you doing? Why-?”

Stan locks eyes with Preston, “Little help, my prince.”

Preston’s eyebrows draw together in confusion but he steps closer. Ford wriggles some in Stan’s grip, but Stan’s always been the stronger twin and Ford is unable to break the hold. To be fair, Ford isn’t struggling very hard, not wanting to hurt his brother even as he continues to voice his disapproval, asking why this is happening and Preston is wondering the same until Stan purrs, “First off, the tie’s gotta go. Right?”

Suddenly Preston gets the idea. He also gets why his thumping heart has moved on to racing. He gulps and then, with a determined nod, he reaches for the knot of Ford’s tie, loosing it, unraveling it from around his neck. Ford, suddenly also sensing the shift in the room’s tone, immediately drops any pretense of a fight, a hefty breath escaping him, “What are you-? Are you two-?”

“Shirt’s looking pretty restrictive. Don’t’cha think, Preston?”

“Indeed,” Preston murmurs, his voice growing deeper as he starts unbuttoning Ford’s dress shirt and Ford lets out another huff of air, this one shaky, “Preston…”

“Shh, Sixer,” Stan chides in a gruff rumble, “Can’t you see the guy’s working? What was it you said to him earlier?”

“Stop interrupting me,” Preston says, his blue eyes locking with Ford’s brown ones and Ford’s eyes widen, as if he’s just realized how he was a few moments ago, “Oh…Preston, I’m-I’m sor-!”

“Save it, dear,” Preston returns and he takes Ford’s face in his hands, gives him a deep, hot kiss, tongue curling in and out of his mouth perfectly before he hums against his lips, “It’s too late.”

“He’s right,” Stan returns and he edges closer to Ford’s right ear, licks at the back of it and Ford’s head tips back on a wanton noise because, yes, his husbands are very, very right. He needs a break. He needs this. His shirt hangs open, a wide sail pushing back against his white lab coat as Preston tugs it free from the confines of his trousers.

Stan still holds his arms, but it’s clear now that he’s playing something of a sensual bonding agent as he locks eyes with Preston, “What else you think? Gotta get away all the distractions, the hinderances…”

“Hmm, I wonder,” Preston’s tone is warm with sultry mocking, “This belt, perhaps?”

“Oh the belt! It’s awful!”

“I agree,” Preston unhooks Ford’s belt and as he begins easing it through the loops, Ford’s Adam’s apple bobs, eyes rolling into the back of his head because yes, he agrees with them on this as well. He wants to provide his own input, but he just keeps his mouth shut, teeth feasting on his lower lip when Preston’s hands go to the top of his fly, “What about these, Stanley, darling?”

“Those pants? They’re a worse interruption than you are! How can he concentrate with those things on? Not that he should be thinking too hard.”

Preston grins and god, it’s such a gorgeous evil grin, “Oh no, yes – that wouldn’t do at all.”

Ford can barely make out Stan’s face behind him, but he knows for damned sure Stan is mirroring the same, ridiculously attractive expression, “The goal is relaxing him.”

“It is,” Preston undoes the top button, the zipper insanely audible as it goes down, “It really is.”

Ford is a panting, trembling mess. He’s practically eating his own lips to hold back the tide of sounds wanting to escape him. More so as his trousers fall down to his knees. His underwear – a ridiculously bright red color, seem to hold Stan up a moment – arousal giving way to true amusement as he laughs, hot breath ruffling the curls at the base of Ford’s neck, “Where’d you get those panties, Ford?”

“I’ll have you know I purchased them,” Preston returns with some cool.

“Why ain’t I surprised? You got my bro wearin’ some Victor’s Secret kinda shit, huh?”

“Your pair is en route,” is returned to Stan with a wink from Preston and now Stan swallows. A thick gulp. And Ford giggles a little hysterically. Even as his cock twitches beneath the fabric of said red underwear as if to remind him that ‘hey, I’m still here and I’d like attention, please’. Perhaps knowing it, Preston zeroes in, “I should think it best to see you completely unencumbered, dear.”

His long fingers curl beneath the waistband and, as he tugs them down, he slowly lowers himself along with them. They end up puddled alongside his trousers but Preston…Preston rises, mouth enticingly near his erect member. He looks up at Ford, then to Stanley, “What now, darling? Should I? Or would you rather-?”

“Nah,” Stan husks, “I’m in the mood to watch this time, if you don’t mind.”

“I never do,” Preston returns smoothly and, with perfected ease, he takes Ford’s length deep into his mouth. Ford lets out a wail of pure pleasure. Jesus, he was there the first time Preston ever did this. He’d been so shaky then. So unsure of himself. 

Now? Now he’s a goddamn pro. He swallows Ford’s whole length with no trouble, one hand rising to cradle his aching balls, to gently roll them along the backs of his knuckles and Ford is not going to last long.

He arches back against Stanley, can feel his brother’s erection digging into his ass, even as Stan whispers into his ear, “You like that, Sixer? Huh? Like how he’s helping you unwind?”

Ford can only answer with a high pitched whine and he’d be embarrassed by how high if he weren’t completely distracted by the tip of Preston’s tongue teasing the weeping slit of his cock, curling around the pearls of precome that escape and tucking them away. 

Preston looks up at him through his long, dark eyelashes, a coy, heady air about him even as his free hand has risen to tease along Ford’s inner thighs, the back of his knees and fuck, he knows all the spots that can take Ford apart.

Knows them just as Stan does and Stan’s hold has loosened some as he’s begun kissing the back of Ford’s neck, licking at his hairline, teeth nipping the top knob of his spine and Ford sobs their names, one after the other because he feels his whole body pulsate, his orgasm a hairsbreadth away from crashing down on him.

“Nothing interrupting you now, Stanford. You wanna cum, you just…”

Stan doesn’t get to say anymore. The words, the heat in them, along with the feel of Preston’s pulling mouth, finish Ford off completely. With a full body shudder, Ford comes apart. He spills his seed and Preston drinks it all down, not even noticing that Ford’s arms have broken completely free from Stan’s hold to allow his hands to come forward, all twelve fingers tangling in his hair and tugging hard, nails digging at his skull as he erupts.

Coming down, breathing heavily, Ford groans, “Christ…I-I needed that.”

Stan just lets out a sound in agreement and Preston eases back, rubbing at his aching jaw even as he smiles, voice croaky, “Glad to oblige.”

“I…I am sorry, Preston,” Ford manages, still panting, still swimming in afterglow, “Sorry I yelled at you…”

“Hrm, yes, well – I suppose it worked out some. Although you do still owe me,” he gestures to his own unsatisfied erection and then tips his head towards Stan, “Not to mention, Stanley…”

“Yeah, Sixer. Hate ta break it to you, but we ain’t done,” Stan returns cheekily, nudging Ford’s behind with his own desire, “Not by a long shot. So, uh, how’s about you stop interrupting us, huh?”