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Shadows stretched across Ford’s hands as he tapped pen against paper, creating a constant, rhythmic sound like the drip of a faucet or the tick of a metronome. He groaned and dropped his head, forehead smacking against his notebook full of the equations that swum frustratingly before his eyes.
Ford groaned again. If only he could sleep so Bill could take over and assist him. But, every time he closed his eyes, adrenaline coursed through him and his mind wouldn’t cease trying to mentally complete the particularly stubborn set of equations that had been dogging his brain for two days now.
He could hear his muse sibilantly whispering in the back of his mind, but even the soothing presence of him wasn’t enough to lull Ford to sleep. He had even considered knocking himself out to allow Bill access to his body, but hesitated, unsure if being unconscious due to trauma would be effective. He’d ask Bill the next time he saw him in the Mindscape.
“Aw, Smart Guy, did you miss me?” Bill said from somewhere, and Ford realized he was already there.
Ford was standing in the middle of the room instead of draped over his desk. It was much brighter than it had been when he’d fallen asleep, a strange sepia light flickering like flames through the windows. Just when Ford was beginning to wonder if he should call out for Bill, he appeared, popping into existence with his usual flair.
“Bill, finally! I -” Ford paused, biting back his words. It seemed ridiculous to say he needed him, even though Bill must know he did.
Bill curved his eye into a smile. “That’s cute. You really did miss me.”
He ruffled Ford’s hair, finger-like appendages on what passed as Bill’s hands rubbing against his scalp and sending little shocks of hot, white electricity down his spine and through his body. It was an incredible feeling, causing Ford's heart to flutter and jump in his chest.
“It’s this latest equation,” Ford said, stalking away from Bill, away from the way his hand on him made heat fill Ford’s body. “I just can’t find the solution. I would really appreciate your assistance on this one.” The last part hurt a little to admit aloud, but he knew Bill admired his mind. He had nothing to be ashamed of with him.
"Well," said Bill, startling Ford as he rematerialized right in front of his face. Bill’s body bent and his eye fluttered closed in an expression Ford had learned meant he was disappointed about something.
"Well?" Ford prompted. "Is - is there a problem?" His heart sunk like a stone into his stomach at the implication that he'd displeased Bill in some way.
Bill laughed, reading his thoughts. "How could I ever be disappointed in you, Sixer? You're a dream come true!"
Ford flushed at the praise and the nickname. As much as “Sixer” was tied to a part of his life he had been trying to leave behind for years, his heart hurt just a bit when he sometimes remembered he'd likely not hear it again. So, he enjoyed repurposing it, breaking ties with his past, and hearing it in the voice of someone who appreciated and understood him, someone who would never betray him.
"That's gratifying - ah - flattering to hear," Ford said, significantly more than just flattered. Ecstasy practically lifted him right out of his body upon hearing Bill say that he could never be disappointed in him.
But, his ecstasy didn’t last long as he realized that Bill was letting Ford steer the conversation, not exactly telling him the issue. Ford was unsure how to tread, still frightened he had made some mistake and afraid with just one misstep he might accidentally hang himself with the rope he’d been given. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but there must have been something in his face that made Bill take pity.
"Don’t look so serious,” Bill said, wrapping a comforting (and exhilaratingly tingly) arm around his shoulders. “It’s nothing we can’t fix. Together.” The last word rumbled through Ford like the purr of a cat and he shuddered as Bill slid over his shoulders, hand caressing the back of his neck as he did. Bill’s other arm was now wrapped around Ford and he held out one hand, palm up.
“What do I need to do?”
“Just trust me, Fordsy. All you have to do is trust me." Bill's hand was aflame in the same blue fire as the last time he took it. Bill had never steered him wrong, so it didn’t occur to Ford not to trust him.
Ford took his hand.
"So, how do feel about virgin sacrifice?" Bill asked casually, like he was asking something mundane, like he was asking about Ford’s favorite food or his favorite song. It took a second for the question to worm past Ford’s expectations of how he thought the conversation was going to go.
"What?" Ford sputtered as the words sank into his brain. "How do I feel about -" He got stuck on virgin and changed his phrasing. "I'm not - I don't want to kill anyone."
Bill chuckled and moved both his hands to Ford's shoulders, rubbing circles into his skin over his shirt in movements that were weirdly reminiscent of a massage.
"Whoa there! Who said anything about killing?" He said from behind Ford's head, though the sound seemed to come from everywhere.
"That's typically what... the word sacrifice entails." Ford informed him hesitantly. He didn't want to insult him by telling him he was wrong.
"Oh right," Bill said, appearing before Ford's face once again. "Huh. I guess it has a different meaning in this universe." He nudged Ford's shoulder. "Cultural differences, am I right?"
Ford gave him a weak, forced smile and Bill continued, "Humans are so obsessed with death. It's fun. But, no. I'm not asking you to be Abraham to some dumb kid's Isaac."
Bill toyed with the buttons of Ford's shirt as he spoke. It was almost coy, though one could never describe his muse as such.
Ford's desire to be close to Bill warred with his newfound hesitancy and confusion regarding what was being asked of him. He was not sure if he wanted to shy away from the promise of his touch or press his luck by moving closer. Bill decided for him.
His fingers brushed against the hollow of Ford's throat, slipped upwards to rub his Adam's Apple which bobbed as Ford swallowed uncomfortably, and Bill said, "What I meant to say was, 'Give me your virginity and in exchange, I'll teach you a few new tricks for contacting me.'"
He popped open the first button on Ford's shirt as Ford pulled away, somehow even more shocked at the suggestion than he was when he thought he was being asked to kill.
"My virginity?" He asked, embarrassed and horrified that his lack of a sex life was even the subject of a conversation between him and a being which he admired greatly.
"Well, sure, Fordsy," Bill said. "You've already given me your body to use, so what's a little more? I need something in exchange for what I'm going to teach you. Virginity comes at a high price, even in this universe. You should be grateful you still have yours to bargain with, you know."
"But," Ford said, stalling, mind running double-time and desperate to think of a way to ply Bill with… with something else. "But, isn't, uh, defloration normally reserved for young maidens? I - I don't quite fit the demographic."
The laugh that emanated from Bill filled the whole room. He held his sides and rocked back in the air, eye squinting in mirth.
"Maidens! That's a good one. You've been playing too much of that game. Oh, what's it called? Dungeons, Dungeons, and something!"
"More Dungeons?" Ford offered, before he could stop himself.
Bill scoffed. "Dungeons aren't even interesting. Why keep your toys locked away?"
He knew when he shook Bill's hand he didn't agree to whatever this was. He thought maybe he'd... maybe they'd... Well, he wasn't sure what he thought, but it certainly wasn't this.
"It sounds to me like you've got a hang up or two," Bill said, reading his mind again. "Aw, who am I kidding. I've been in your mind. I am in your mind! You've got more hang-ups than rope to string them from. Well, here's one I can fix." He blinked, and suddenly Ford felt different, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why.
"Just the relevant part replaced. For you, because I like you. But, I could go all the way with it if you want," Bill said, making zero sense.
Ford was stricken; he was momentarily speechless and completely humiliated. Bill had never spoken this way to him. They'd always had a friendly, mutually beneficial relationship and now Bill was laughing right in his face and asking something of him he could have never anticipated. Knees shaking and heart pounding, the wrongness of the situation filled him with an icy dread. He had never wanted to wake up from a dream with his muse before so badly.
"I don't -" He started to say, but Bill shushed him, sliding a finger over the seam of Ford’s lips. Ford worked his jaw soundlessly, desperately. He pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth and tried to pry them open, but it was futile.
"Aw, Sixer," Bill teased, "you've been so good up til now. This is what gets you? The idea of a little hanky-panky? No wonder you're still a virgin."
Ford clawed desperately at his face where his mouth should be. From his nose to his chin there was now just smooth skin. If he pressed hard enough he could feel his teeth clenched together under the flesh.
"As much as I love our little talks," Bill said, "I'm not in the mood for one right now. We have work to do and you made a deal. You can't take it back now."
Ford couldn't object verbally, so he just glared with what he hoped was something piercing and full of anger.
"Aw, don't give me that look," Bill said. "It's too pathetic! You'll make laugh. Now, let’s get a look at your -" he chuckled anyway - "maidenhood."
Settling back on Ford's desk, he propped his legs up on the notebook that lay there.
Ford was hesitant, unsure of what to do. He couldn't run - this was Bill's domain. All he could do was play along for now and hope something jarred him awake.
"This is the part where you take off your clothes. Come on, Sixer, get with the program! I mean, I could take them off for you, but that's not as fun. I know you know how these things work."
So, Ford does what he is asked, mechanically unbuttoning his shirt with fingers that feel strangely thick and clumsy, like they don't belong to him. He counted in his head one, two, three as he poked each button through its hole, fingers stumbling over the button at his navel so horribly that Bill sighed.
“How about you just tear it off, Sixer.” Bill told him. It could have been phrased as a question, but, no, not with Bill. “Show me you’re desperate to get your clothes off! It’s your first time. It’s exciting.”
Ford finally pulled away from his single-minded focus on his buttons and glanced at Bill. He was at the edge of the desk now, seeming less casual about the situation and more eager to see Ford follow his humiliating instructions.
Ford’s body burned under the scrutiny, but he forced himself to take the fabric of his white shirt in his trembling hands and yank. A button plunked somewhere on the wooden floorboards. He quickly shrugged his shirt off his shoulders before Bill could pipe up with any more hints. It fluttered to the floor and then he hesitated again before moving to the button of his pants.
"That's it, keep going," Bill said encouragingly. "This is the best part!"
Ford didn't like the sound of that, but he obeyed, popping open his button, unzipping his fly - and then he realized he was missing something.
He moaned low in horror at the wrongness of it, sound ricocheting inside him off the unnatural flap of skin where his mouth should be.
"And now he gets it!" Bill said, obviously delighted, though Ford was not sure he got anything yet.
By the time his pants and underwear were to his knees, he had figured it out. Sliding his underwear over his hips and thighs had revealed the cleft of a plump vulva between his legs, almost obscured by his dark, springy pubic hair, but just visible enough to make what Bill had done obvious. He could kick himself at his obliviousness to Bill’s amusement of the mention of “maidens.” He should have realized, though he also realized there was no way he could have. Both realizations stung, salt being rubbed deep into a previously unnoticed wound.
And, it was one thing to be familiar with the anatomy in textbooks and porn magazines, and completely another thing to suddenly find yourself possessed of genitalia you have no practical experience with. He was both terrified and, admittedly, a bit fascinated.
Bill appeared at groin height to inspect his work, hands nudging Ford's legs apart. Ford instinctively drew his knees together, ashamed of his nakedness and of what Bill had done to him. He was, however, afraid to put his hands on Bill, to push him away, so he just kept his fists clenched at his sides.
"Let's have a look, Sixer," he said, almost making it sound like Ford had a choice. Ford was roughly forced on his back, temporarily dazing him. His breathing was still restricted by his sealed mouth and he huffed air harshly through his nose, barely able to pull enough into his lungs.
Bill's arms wrapped around Ford's thighs like sinuous fleshy rope and coaxed apart his legs.
"Not too bad if I do say so myself," he said smugly. "It's been a while since I attempted any human body parts, but I've still got it."
His long eyelashes flicked against the exposed inner labia. Ford couldn't think of that part as his even though the slightest touch had his already clenched stomach doing somersaults, anticipation and bile burning at the base of his ribs.
A voice deep inside Ford told him that he should be pleased, that this is what he wanted, that he had wanted to be closer to his muse in any way possible. It was Ford's own voice, but he fought back against it because, no, this isn't what he wanted, not like this, not really, not ever.
Something fleshy and thick rubbed against the vulva, spreading the lips apart further and sliding the length from clitoris to vagina. Ford bucked up and gasped in surprise at the pleasurable sensation and tried to close his legs, but Bill had a firm grip on him with no give.
"It's too late to be shy," Bill said, voice getting deeper. "We're doing this."
And then Ford’s back was not against the hard floorboards any longer. He was dangling free in space, stars surrounding him as far as the eye could see, just Bill's arms wrapped around his thighs, keeping him from falling or drifting away depending on how Bill decided the gravity should work. Tendrils crawled up his back, wrapping around Ford’s arms and torso and restricting his movements. They cradled him and lifted him to face Bill, who had grown huge and terrifying, eye black as the space surrounding them, bricks splitting to reveal hundreds of tongues swaying like cilia in the black of space, teeth haphazardly pressed into mounds of flesh that were slick like entrails.
Ford, stomach already sick, gagged at his monstrous visage, bile climbing to burn his throat and mouth. He swallowed it down because he still had no mouth from which to expel it.
"That's just insulting," Bill said, voice deep and booming. "Normally weird stuff gets you all hot and bothered, but you're telling me your own beloved muse is a turn off?"
Ford shook his head forcefully, sweaty hair flopping onto his forehead.
"Oh, right," Bill said, and Ford had a mouth again. He hacked, coughing and sputtering, sucking air into his starved lungs.
"So, let's hear it," Bill said.
"No," Ford choked out.
Bill took it as an answer to the question of if Ford found him a turn off, though he must have known that Ford meant it several different ways.
No, he said, because he wanted Bill to stop. No, he said, because he hated the way this changed things between them. No, he said, because he had trusted Bill and now the paradigm had shifted and Ford wasn’t sure trust was ever part of the equation. And, no, he said, because his muse, the small, flat triangle he was used to, wasn’t a turn off, but this version of Bill was unfamiliar and horrifying.
"Aw, I knew you loved me," Bill said, one of his thick, slimy tongues licking up Ford's body from his groin, stopping to press against his throat, stealing the breath from him until Ford saw black edging into the corners of his eyes.
The tongue slid upwards as Ford gasped for air, wetly licking against his feverish skin until it found his open mouth and slipped in, choking him as it forced its way down his throat. He couldn't help but bite down on it, mouth filling with a sharp, bitter tang that wasn't the familiar taste of copper, but had to be blood from its viscosity. Bill just laughed and told him it tickled.
Ford's legs were still spread wide and another tongue licked between his legs.
He didn't think Bill was attempting to arouse him, but he couldn't be sure with the way the slimy flesh rubbing against the small, swollen clitoris made Ford's insides clench with pleasure, at odds with his deep, visceral disgust.
"You ready to pop your cherry, Sixer?"
The tip of Bill's thick tongue found the slick hole between his legs and wriggled in, stretching him incrementally as it slid further inside, stuffing him full of hot, slimy flesh. Ford groaned around the other appendage in his mouth as he was stretched, bursts of white hot pain blooming in his abdomen. Bill didn’t stop filling him until tears streamed freely down Ford’s face and he was whimpering and trembling, muscles all over his body burning from tensing in pain.
Bill withdrew his tongue from Ford’s throat and mouth, triggering his gag reflex as each inch slid free from Ford’s lips. He vomited clear, acrid bile and Bill’s black blood. It dribbled down his chin and neck, mixing with both their saliva.
“Hey now, it’s not that bad,” Bill said, lapping at his neck and face with several of his tongues, licking away the evidence of Ford’s distress. “This is going to feel good, I promise.”
“Your promises mean n –” He choked on the end of his sentence, tilting his head away as Bill caressed his jaw. Finding his voice again, though it was a broken rasp from the abuse wrought on his throat, Ford managed to spit out the rest of his words.
“They mean nothing, Bill,” he said, then squeezed his mouth closed as Bill began to lick his face again. He laughed, prodding firmly at Ford’s tight lips and clenched teeth, pressing so hard that Ford felt he had to open lest Bill knock loose his front teeth. He pushed shallowly sideways into Ford’s mouth, distending his cheek out until Ford thought he might just push all the way through the skin.
He moved within Ford, thrusting in and out between his legs slowly, undulating against him in a way that made Ford’s body tighten and pulse, shame and pleasure pooling in his belly caustically, eating away at him.
“What’d I tell you, Sixer,” Bill said. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” He pulled out and then pressed the tip right inside the tight opening, licking up against the slick vaginal walls, grinding and sliding against the swollen, spongey flesh. Ford squeezed his eyes shut as he tensed and moaned, heat exploding from his belly and cascading through him in waves, spasms rocking him as Bill fucked him through his orgasm. He could hear Bill laughing, the sound vibrating his whole body, adding to the pleasure overwhelming his senses.
Bill pulled out with a squelch just as the last spasms subsided, leaving Ford empty and with a bruising ache between his legs. As he withdrew from Ford’s sore mouth as well, he asked, “So, how’s it feel? Feel like you’re missing anything, Sixer? Your virginity, maybe?”
He brought his tongue up to Ford’s face, showing him his own slickness tinted red with blood.
“I gave you what you wanted,” said Ford, trying and failing to keep his voice from trembling at the sight of his own blood. He wanted to scream – at Bill for breaking their trust, at himself for even bringing up the concept of “maidenhood” in the first place.
Bill smeared the blood on his face, dragging wetness across his cheek and over his lips until he was sure Ford could taste himself. Ford spat, aiming for Bill’s eye and missing by a mile. The salty bitter taste remained on his tongue and made his guts churn in disgust.
"I don't understand why you are so torn up about this," Bill said, untwining his arms and tongues from Ford, leaving him floating free in space.
Ford bobbed up and down in the low gravity, resisting the urge to curl up on himself. He did, however, draw his legs closed, muscles protesting after being forcibly held open for so long. His whole body ached and burned, and his thighs were wet with what he had to assume was both blood and the shameful evidence of his undesired pleasure.
Bill was expecting an answer, but Ford had none for him. His lack of answers was what had gotten him into this mess.
In the blink of an eye, Bill was back to his small, flat, four-limbed self. Ford's palms and knees hit sand, but the place where Bill had taken him was obscured in a thick haze. Sand and Bill before him were all he could see.
"Look," said Bill, lifting Ford's chin with the end of his cane, "I said I was going to teach you something in exchange for your virginity. I will. Being honest here: I forgot humans' bodies were so weird or I would've shown you this earlier. I know, I know! Me, making a mistake? But, I'll let you in on a little secret.” His voice took on a conspiratorial, whispery quality, and he said, "I never make mistakes." He chuckled and added, "And, hey, I made a good deal out of it, so I guess it worked out for the best."
"For you!" Ford spat at him, angered at his cavalier tone.
"Of course, Sixer." He said matter-of-factly. "But, don't tell me you didn't enjoy it too. Because we both know that's a lie. The evidence is right there between your legs."
Ford's pulse pounded in his ears and he flushed hot, though a block of ice sat heavy in his chest.
"You -" Ford started, but Bill interrupted.
"Can we just cut to the chase here?" Bill said, "I know what you're going to say. 'Oh, you betrayed my trust! This wasn't what I agreed to!' I've heard it all before and, let me tell you, it gets a little old. So, I'm going to do you a favor."
Before Ford could tell Bill he didn't want his favors, the haze surrounding them began to coalesce, revealing the Glass Shard Beach of his memories, but with a row of doors stuck in the sand, some tilting precariously and some washed up on the shore like pieces of driftwood.
"Why have you brought me here?" Ford asked, voice cracking with fear.
Bill opened a door with a swish of his hand. Through it Ford spied himself and Stanley, sixteen going on seventeen years old, sun beating down on their lobster red skin. One of Stan's eyes was swollen shut, his nose a little more crooked than before, and, suddenly, before he could prepare himself, the memory of that day washed over Ford like a wave.
"Yeah," said Bill. "You don't really like to think about this one. Which is why it's perfect."
Ford was reliving the memory in his mind like it was happening. Sweat rolled down his spine and the sandpaper under his palms, at first pleasant in that strange, satisfying way that comes with getting your hands dirty, had begun to scratch his skin uncomfortably. He sat back, wicking away the sweat from his brow that threatened to drip in his eyes.
Stan dropped down next to him with a huff and a small groan of pain which Ford politely ignored.
"Break time?" Stan asked, throwing Ford a shirt which he used to wipe his face, leaving him gritty.
"Just for a moment," Ford replied. "I really want to finish this part today."
Stan slapped him on the shoulder and Ford instinctively contorted his body, shying away from the pain. He took a moment to recover, then laughed and slapped Stan back. However, it occurred to Ford a second later, that he shouldn't have added to Stan's pain. It was already his fault Stan was all beaten up, even though he told Stan over and over he could protect himself. He didn’t need Stan going behind his back and starting fights with idiots who hadn’t done anything worse than dump Ford’s books and shove him in a locker for a period.
"There's no rush," Stan said. "We got all summer. We'll get it done and soon we'll be sailing off." He stretched his hand out towards the horizon and Ford saw bruising on his knuckles. "Just you and me."
He shot Ford a carefree grin and this was where Ford thought he would always want to sail away with Stan. This is where he thought his whole life hinged on getting the Stan o' War seaworthy and keeping them both out of trouble long enough to get her in the water and plant their feet on the deck. This was where, in hindsight, he realized how wrong he was about everything and how much things could change in just a year.
Bill's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife, the pain of his reality in the Mindscape pulling him away from the pain of that particular memory.
“Earth to Stanford,” Bill said, tapping the top of his head gently. “You ready? I think you’ll like this.”
He smacked Ford on the crown of his skull and Ford screamed in agony as pain crested in his body, his nerves catching fire, each one feeling as if they were being pulled out and snipped one by one. He collapsed onto the sand, particulate choking him, sticking to his throat, breathing it into his lungs as he gasped and writhed. A twin scream joined his and he thought it must have been Stanley because that was the only thing that made sense to him in the moment, for who else was there to scream with him in such a human way?
“One is nice, but, wow, it’s much better in stereo,” Bill said after the screaming ceased and Ford lay there trying to catch his breath. Something moved beside him and he rolled over with great effort, coming face-to-face not with Stan, but with himself, white-faced with red-rimmed eyes, lips swollen and tears streaming down his sandy face.
The pain subsided quickly after that and Ford pushed himself up, clambering to his feet unsteadily. He found he was once again dressed in his white button-down shirt and slacks, dick soft and nestled between his legs where it should have been. He resisted the urge to grab it just to be doubly sure. His bare feet dug into the sand, where the other Ford lay. Other Ford was still nude, still shuddering with after-shocks, and there was blood on his inner thighs and the vulva which Bill, strangely, had left.
This was Ford as he’d been only a few minutes before; and, he looked down on himself as Bill had looked down on him and all he wanted was to look away from this trembling, pathetic fool. Other Ford looked up at him, eyes dark and jaw set in a grimace of pain, and flicker of something like tenderness bloomed in Ford.
“Stanford Filbrick Pines,” said Bill, practically vibrating with glee, “meet Stanford Filbrick Pines.”
“What are you doing?” Ford demanded of Bill as he tried to help other Ford to his feet. Other Ford groaned pitifully, but let himself be pulled up and stabilized by leaning on Ford’s arm.
“Well,” Bill said, “look. Right now, I need you and you need me. And, I can’t have you causing me trouble. So, Fordsy here –” he pointed to other Ford – “is going to take the memory of you being a baby about making a deal with me for your virginity, and stay locked up tight where you won’t ever think to look.”
“What?” Said other Ford, echoing Ford’s thoughts. “You can’t! You can’t do that!”
“Joke’s on you, Sixer Two. I can do anything I put my mind to, ha. And I can do anything I put your mind to.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Ford asked, incredulous, horrified almost beyond rational thought. “I’ll remember this conversation.”
“Not once I close this door, you won’t,” Bill said, his arm striking out like a snake, ripping other Ford from Ford’s grasp. He pulled other Ford toward him and then whipped him back through the door, which slammed immediately. Ford could hear other Ford screaming behind the thick wood before water gurgled up and the door sunk into the sand. Then, he heard nothing at all but the waves softly lapping at the shore, gulls crying distantly.
“Bill! Finally,” said Ford. “I’ve been trying to sleep for two days now.” He took in his surroundings, which looked a bit like Glass Shard Beach.
“Aw,” said Bill, “did you miss me?”
“I -” He paused, hesitant to admit that yes, he had missed Bill.
“Eh, forget it. I know you did.” Bill slid his arm around Ford’s shoulders and Ford flushed with pleasure at being so close to his muse. “So,” Bill said, “about that sleep thing. You ever tried meditation? Next best way to give me access to your body, you know.”
Ford lit up at the prospect of being able to give more of himself to his muse.