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Heavy, wet panting fills the mindscape as Ford struggles against the position he's been forced to hold for hours. Hands behind his back, on his knees, head bent in supplication to the God sitting before him.
Legs crossed over one another, just nearly revealing what his skirt conceals. Delicate ankles and wrists adorned with bracelets, fingers and toes sporting a variety of rings, thick hoops piercing through his earlobes, a chain connecting two gems set at the top of his pointed ears. He's glittering. Resplendent. A God. The love of Stanford Pines' life and death. From now until the end of time.
He exhales shakily, the pain in his legs and shoulders, his neck, it's almost tugging his attention away from his muse, but he knows, he knows what happens when his focus shifts from Bill. The lord thy God is a jealous God. He is also a God easily bored. He sighs, Ford's head snapping up in response, trained to fix any problem his muse may have. That glorious eye, yellow and glowing, lined with dark, long lashes and framed in thick black eyeliner, Egyptian in appearance. It watches him, it's always watching him.
"Ford... you really should at least try to entertain me." He sounds disappointed, shame curls hot around his nape, shoulders hunching close to his ears.
"I-I thought, I was doing what you wanted?" He shifts on his knees.
"You should know when what I want changes." His voice is hard as his eye, staring down at him contemptuously.
"...muse, muse, I am only human. If I could know you inside and out as you do me I would, but I am regrettably only human." He pleads for his muse to forgive, to overlook how he lacks in comparison.
"Hahh, I suppose you are." His legs uncross and he leans into Ford's space, a clawed finger pressing beneath his chin. "And I do love that about you. How limited you are, how pathetic. You need me, don't you, pet?" He nods readily, eyes slipping closed in adoration, adulation. "Need me all the time, don't you? Just can't get on without me. Need me to tell you how to live like a normal person otherwise you'd neglect yourself to death, need me to teach you things so you can feel smart, good. You need me." His hand suddenly snaps up to squeeze at Ford's face, he winces at the rough treatment, the claws sraping his cheeks. "You need me. Say it."
"Need you! I need you!" He sobs. "'M nothing without you, need you, love you, love you, love you, love you..."
"Such a good boy." His hand gentles, Ford leaning into it greedily. He crawls desperately closer, hands still held behind his back as he slots himself between Bill's legs. He gently rests his head against the thigh before him, rubbing his cheek against the coolness of the linen dress he wears, slightly rough, small irregularities dotted through the fabric. Bill pets through his hair, claws scraping softly against his scalp. "My good boy." He nods. "Your mouth could be put to much better use. Don't you think, Fordsy?" He moans, he didn't expect... that tonight.
His hands twitch to move forward, ready to pull his skirt up his thighs but he's stopped by the sound of Bill's disapproval, a sharp tch, followed by a snap. His hands are bound tightly in rope, the soft velvet of the fabric offset by how tight it is around his arms. Starting from his wrists and crawling up to his biceps, hard to move.
"I told you to keep those behind your back." He whines nodding against Bill's knee. Bill smiles slowly at him, eyes creasing before his mouth moves. Slowly, so slow, like a wolf staring down a particularly plump rabbit. It makes him shiver. "Come closer." He beckons, quiet and soft. 'Come into my parlor' said the spider to the fly.
Ford whines again, shuffling on his knees ever closer, as close as he can get. His face is inches away from whatever lies between his muse's legs tonight. Though with the way he's been acting, he's sure he knows what awaits him.
He begins to slowly move his skirt up, claws dragging along his thighs. Ford stares, transfixed, anticipating. He must look too eager, Bill stops right before it could reveal anything. "Close your eyes." He gets this sickeningly soft voice, like paper shuffling around, when he wants to be mean. Trying to lure him in, trying to pretend it's not what it is. Ford has long since stopped falling for it. He still willingly goes into his arms everytime. He still let's his eyes slip shut. Not quite trusting in a normal sense of the word. He trusts he won't be hurt too badly.
Fingers tangle in his hair sweetly, gentle before they yank hard. Ford cries out, squeezing his eyes shut so tight he sees spots of color dancing behind his eyelids. "Open." He's got Ford right where he wants him now. He drops the soft voice, commanding now.
His mouth falls open from where it had clenched in pain, making sure to keep it nice and inviting. Tongue curved and teeth far apart. He's dragged by his hair to Bill's cock, flinching in surprise when the tip touches his lips. He feels a spark of pride at knowing what genitals his muse would choose for tonight. He knows his muse. Probably better than any human ever could. He wants to choke his devotee when he gets like this. He wants to hear him gag and struggle. He wants it to hurt. He wants him to like it.
And he does. He sinks himself the rest of the way down, occasionally receiving Bill's "help" pressing him down with no warning just to hear him choke. Drool already soaks his chin, dripping from his mouth, gushing when he's forced down. He relaxes his throat as much as he can, impaling himself on his muse.
He's kept there, throat and mouth full. He can't see his muse's face with the way he's flush against his lap but he's sure he looks remarkably pleased with himself. He struggles on the length, jaw aching and spit steady pooling in his mouth. He chokes on it, it runs down his chin to his chest, making his skin uncomfortably tacky. His breathing is heavy through his nose, rough and loud. Bill sighs above him, pleased with the mess he's made.
He feels something press into his thigh, running up firmly. A delicate foot places itself between Ford's legs, pressing in on his erection. He moans around his mouthful, choking again.
"Go on, rut against my foot like the animal you are." Ford moans fitfully, feverishly setting an uneven pace. Bill laughs at him, "God, look at you! So pathetic!" He keeps him pressed down against his pelvis, nose tickled by pubes. He forgets himself again and again, breathing in through his mouth and choking, the cavern of his mouth slick with spit and precum. It's by design.
Bill begins moving his foot against him in time with his own erratic thrusts. It's all so much. He can barely breathe, he's seeing spots, his muse is touching him, inside of him. He thrusts forward and Bill's foot rubs back against his thrust as he pulls sharply on his hair, pain sparking along his scalp as blessed air enters his lungs. He screams. Curling inward as he soaks his pants through. He's still rubbing fitfully against Bill's foot, whimpering in starts and stops, drooling against his thigh.
His rutting tapers off as he comes down from his high, peeking up at Bill to find him watching already. He whines and hides his face in muse's leg. He chuckles, carding fingers through his hair. "Shy after all that?" He speaks quietly for Ford's overwhelmed senses. "Mm." Indignant but ultimately very weak.
He's allowed a moment, he always is. It's exactly like he's said time and again; his muse will never push him too far over the edge.
He peeks at him again, he's still watching him, head rested in his palm with a fond look on his face. He glances pointedly at the cock still proudly standing from his groin. Ford whimpers, grinding his face into his muse's soft thigh. Just begging for rough treatment.
Bill sighs at his game but plays along nonetheless, snatching his head away by his hair from his leg and into his dick. He presses Ford's face into it, moving him against it, smearing fluid all across his cheeks and lips. He whines as he licks his lips, searching for the salty tang of precum. He's yanked away again, maneuvered so his mouth is above Bill's dick. He let's his mouth fall open with a pitiful noise, sticking his tongue out and looking up at Bill through his lashes. He laughs, "You're such a whore."
His face is slammed down, he moans loud, hands pulling frantically at the rope around his arms, desperate to touch. He gags around the intrusion, not having much time to dwell as he's pulled up. He's set into a rough rhythm, up and down, fast and faster.
This. This is the part he likes when Bill gets like this. He's nothing but a mouth and throat, nothing but a rhythm, up and down. His head blissfully empty. Any thoughts immediately shaken out of him with another cruel thrust deep into him.
Bill was painfully correct. He is sort of, a little bit, just a tiny bit of an insatiable whore. But, god, he just can't get enough of that empty-headed feeling. College was fun. He was very stress free.
He's suddenly fully naked, cooling down as squirming tentacle like appendages and tiny four fingered hands begin pawing at him. He let's out a pleased noise as he's caressed, slick touches sliding up his thighs and small fingers coasting along his sides. One small hand gently rakes its nails down his spine causing shivers to wrack through him.
Bill breathes heavy above him, losing rhythm with his hand and giving Ford free reign. He slows himself down a bit, bobbing and sucking as tentacles creep along his ass cheeks. As he pulls up to the head, licking gently enough to make Bill shake, a tendril circles the rim of his asshole, prodding softly.
"My good boy..." He's breathless, moaning once he gets the phrase past his lips. "Stanford, Stanford...." He chants quietly. He hums around him, questioning. Bill gasps, cum shooting down Ford's throat before he's pulled back so that his face gets the last of it splattered across it.
He's practically shoved up and into Bill's lap by the hands and tentacles surrounding him. He settles, cum sliding down and dripping from his face, he can't open one eye. Ironically it's the right. Bill starts his tongue bath there, the rubbery texture gliding smoothly along his face. He's thoroughly cleaned by that forked tongue as the tentacle still inside him moves around, others joining as he loosens. He grunts. "Bill..." He's attacked with another mouth against his own, sharp teeth clacking against his own blunt ones.
He's endeared everytime by the enthusiasm with which Bill kisses, like he can't get enough. Like he wants to eat him. His lips are sore in record time, nicked and bruised and shiny and slick with spit.
He's reminded why he called his name when the tendrils inside him- he's pretty sure it's three- bump into his prostate. Jolting from the pain of it, he pulls away. "Bill, I can't..."
"You can." His voice is soft as he soothes his hands along his hips and asscheeks. He knows he will. It's only a matter of how hard he'll resist first.
"Bill..." He whispers, his face tucked away in his neck, he smells warm and sweet. He lays kisses on his neck sucking at the juncture between neck and shoulder.
Bill shoves hard at his shoulders and all at once he's processing a whole new perspective. Instead of landing on his back as he should have he's face down, on his knees and arms still bound behind him. A clawed hand pushes his head down, smushing his face against a glass floor, fist tight in his hair. He's slammed into hard. Choking out, spit dangling in midair despite his face being pressed to a surface. It's not glass, it's just force.
Bill begins to move in and out, not a chance to breathe. A tentacle prods at his lips, pushing past his teeth and gliding along his tongue, wet, touching the back of his throat and pressing down. "Ah, ah, hkk!" His choking echoes through the arena of his skull. A symphony only Bill can conduct. "Ghh!"
"God, shut up." Bill sneers. "Or I'll make you."
"Nnnh!" He sucks at the thing in his mouth before Bill's claws pry open his mouth. "Aghh," two more are shoved into his throat. He cries out, as much as he can with three tentacles deep down his throat.
He whimpers as he's fucked from both ends. His lips and asshole stretched to their limits, he moans and chokes. It's so good. He wants to tell him just how good. He suckles around the gooey appendages and bucks back into the thrusting.
"Ah! You- I can hear you, Ford." Oh, right. Mindscape. He bucks back again just to hear the hitch in his muse's breathing again. He growls at him, forcing his head down further and thrusting harder.
He's covered in hands, claws, scratching at skin, stabbing and poking, strangling. His muse's affection is violent. Painful. It's so, so good. There are mouths sucking and biting all over, the pudge of his belly, his thighs and ass cheeks. Bill leans over him, replacing his hands with his teeth, biting down hard on the back of his neck. Drool runs down his throat, down his chest and, when Bill clamps his mouth down harder, blood in little ruby rivulets.
A cold fear washes over him when a tentacle reaches the end of his throat. Bill hums, sucking at the back of his neck and that cold is warmed over. As soon as he calms Bill is back to using him as a chew toy.
A claw runs gently up the side of his erection, he cries. The tip of it tickles at his slit and he sobs. The next thrust forces his hips forward and Bill's claw presses in, the tears finally fall past his lids. It hurts so good.
One of the gooey tentacles wraps around his dick, jerking him fast. He cums with a scream muffled by his full mouth. The appendage drinks it up and he groans.
He's made terribly empty, the tentacles tearing themselves out of him with a shllkk and a pop. The dick in him leaving in much the same fashion. He whines, flopping down onto his stomach and complaining nonsensically.
"Be quiet." He shoves him over onto his back. He stares with glassy eyes at the perfection of his muse.
He removed his shift, breasts out just begging to be sucked. His hair's a bit of a mess, for him at least. Just slightly fuzzy, flyaways riding his breath. He's flushed and sweaty, and so perfect.
"Muse...ah!" He shoves back inside of him. His arms twitch against his bindings, wanting to grab at the surprise, at the air forced from his lungs.
"So selfish. Didn't even think of me. Did you?" When no answer comes he shakes him around. "Did you?!" He screeches. Ford winces at how shrill it is and Bill takes out his offense by slamming hard into the man's overstimulated prostate.
"Noo! I didn't! Sssorry-y!!" He screams, voice cracking.
"Oh, you're gonna be." He warns darkly before pistoning his hips once again into the sobbing man. He's a mess of bodily fluids, tears and cum, blood and spit, sweat dripping down his brow to his temples and into his hair. Marked. In scent, in pain and blood. It won't stay. He frowns, leaning into his human as the crest threatens to overtake him.
The man's brain is sparking at all the sensation, too out of it to snap it all better. Bill stares at him as he let's all his energy build. He releases his arms. They immediately come up to claw at his back, his shoulders. The pain dances along his nerves with heat and he uses that as well. Tightens a mental fist around that energy buzzing through him and bites. He cums, a releasing of energy into the wound over Ford's heart.
Ford screams, not only at the teeth puncturing his tit but also at the low electrocution that jolts his bones. Teeth clattering, buzzing, skin tight like a sunburn, a sad, thin jolt of cum spurts out of his flaccid dick.
Bill pumps himself inside of him a few lazy times, not pulling out even after he stills. He's crushing Ford against the imaginary floor. Hes sore all over. He feels suffocated. He feel hated. He feels loved.
"Uh-ohh~" his claws prod at where they're connected. "It's coming out." He pouts. "Now, how am I s'posed to knock you up if it don't stay?" He sounds very put out.
Ford can't stop himself from laughing and he's honestly a smidged terrified of a punishment but its just so funny. "Bill- I can't- you can't "knock me up.""
"Why nott?" He whines, upset and pouting, unfortunately for him, adorable.
"Would you like a list, très chère?" He giggles, his muse can be so clueless about humans sometimes.
"Don't speak French at me, asshole! Why are you making fun of me!" He shoves his fingers in alongside his cock, forcing a grunt from Ford's chest.
"Darling, I am biologically male. Males of our species generally are completely incapable of impregnation. There are, however," He lights up, ready to infodump while Bill fingers his asshole. "Some truly fascinating biological irregularities. An intersex person's chromosomes may indicate they are of the male sex but their body is fully, functionally female. It's fascinating! It really shows how flexible humans are biologically. Ironically, mentally, we are quite rigid!"
Bill huffs, "but I wanna make you carry my shapelings."
Ford flushes, "I am honored, my muse." He thumbs tenderly at his cheek. "Perhaps when you come to earth you can make my body fit your wants. You can mold me into whatever you wish, muse."
Bill stares at blankly before shoving his cum soaked fingers into his mouth. "Agh, vfll." Disapproving.
"I'm gonna make sure you NEVER LEAVE ME."
"YOU'RE MINE. MINE. MINEMINEMINEMINEMINE-"
Ford gasps awake, sheets and clothes sticking to his body uncomfortably. Sweat the main culprit, the other he doesn't dare think about even as he drags himself to the shower.
In the yellow light of the bathroom's overhead fixture he finds spots of red dotting hus t-shirt. He peels his clothes from his body, grimacing at his boxers and shoving everything into his overfull laundry basket. He catches himself in the mirror. He can suddenly feel with clarity the electricity coursing through his bones.
A large, distinctly inhuman bite mark over his left pectoral. His heart.
MINE.