Work Text:
Hercules:
Wirt sits on the porch in the early hours of November, a cup of tea warming his hands. He’s bundled in loose, gray pajama pants, and a cotton striped sweater; a tartan blanket sits comfortably over his lap. He stares towards the woodlands, watching his boyfriend return with a log larger than himself over his shoulders, in ripped jeans and a red flannel shirt.
There’s a nip in the air as the temperature shifts to accommodate the changing seasons, but Wirt’s cheeks feel incredibly warm as he stares at Dipper’s bulging arm muscles.
He could be naked, and he’s pretty sure the sight of Dipper Pines would keep his blood regulating.
Dipper throws the 6 foot log onto the pile of logs he’s collected from their abundant backyard. Winter is coming, and the citizens of Gravity Falls are relying on their mystery-hunter-turned-lumberjack to provide them with much needed wood for the upcoming stormfront. Manly Dan has since retired from business, passing down his legacy-- as well as his shop-- to his eldest, and only daughter, Wendy Corduroy. Wendy in turn, relies on her close friend, Dipper Pines, to split the workload.
Wendy is, if not always, trying to delegate some of the responsibility.
Dipper doesn’t seem to mind. He likes the busy work; likes getting to move and explore the magical woods of Gravity Falls-- his second home.
Dipper shakes the dust off his hands, and takes stock.
11 logs. About 6 to 7 feet in length.
1 more to go.
Looking up, he wipes the sweat from his brow with one hand, while waving to his boyfriend with the other.
Wirt takes a slow sip of his tea.
Perseus:
Dipper gets a call from Poolcheck that a Kraken has infiltrated the pool.
When he hangs up, relaying the information back to his poet-- who is cooking them a delicious breakfast of salmon and herb roasted potatoes-- Wirt’s expression twists into one of reluctance.
“What’s wrong?” Dipper asks.
Wirt thinks Poolcheck is creepy, and honestly should retire from being a lifeguard, as the chlorine has clearly turned him mad. And that’s saying something, considering he was already unsound in Dipper’s youth.
Dipper wholeheartedly agrees with Wirt’s sentiments.
...They go anyway.
Thankfully it’s only a baby. Which means she’s much smaller in size than her parents would be.
Unfortunately, a baby Kraken is still 8 feet tall, weighing in at 270 pounds. And a baby all alone is even more dangerous; unused to it’s own strength, and ridden with fear from an unfamiliar surrounding. Dipper has no clue how she got out of the ocean, and into the Gravity Falls pool.
It was likely a fisherman’s prank. There’s been a feud going on with the fishermen and Poolcheck-- something about the best place to spend a hot summer’s day. Dipper doesn’t really care; the best place to spend a hot summer’s day is clearly in the bath with his boyfriend.
Dipper narrowly dodges one the orange tentacles swiping at him; he grabs it, and tucks it under his arm-- three tentacles bound-- and proceeds to try and yank it out of the pool. It snaps it’s beak, screeching shrilly.
“Come on. It’s okay. I promise we’re not trying to hurt you. We just want to get you ba--ACK!--ck home,” Dipper cooes, though his words come out strained, as he plays tug of war with a sea monster. He jumps over a second tentacle, and ducks under the third. “I know...I know you’re scared. Shhh, It’s okay. I promise, we’re here to help.”
The Kraken screeches. It doesn’t understand, despite Dipper using his most gentle tone-- which makes sense. These creatures live deep underwater; far from human civilization. Maybe close to mermaids and mermans, but this baby is too young to have picked up any cognitive language yet.
Dipper continues to be comforting; even knowing it’s a pointless endeavor. He loosens his grip, just enough to not be bruising, and smoothes his hand over the rough texture of her skin. “Yeah, you’re a feisty little monster, aren’t you? Who’s a good girl!? Who’s a feisty girl?”
Wirt’s got the truck backed up to the front gate. He stands by the pool chairs, arms full of water bottles; the trip to the ocean isn’t a long one, and Kraken’s can survive on dry land for a lot longer than most sea dwellers--but Dipper suggested they grab some from the concession stand anyway--just to give the creature some comfort. The plan is to get the Kraken loaded up in the back of the truck, where Wirt will then drive them to the ocean, and Dipper will pour water over the creature’s gills, offering words of encouragement the entire way. The hardest part is simply getting the Kraken out of the pool.
“Come on...come on….easy does it. It’s okay...You’re o--”
The Kraken's tentacles--the ones currently being held by Dipper, suction themselves to Dipper’s back. And then the Kraken is pulling with all her might, lifting Dipper off the ground.
“--HEY!” Dipper shouts, right before he’s dragged into the water.
“Dipper!” Wirt drops the bottles in a panic. He looks around, wondering what he can use. Does he grab the pool skimmer and try to fight it? No, Dipper specifically asked Wirt not to hurt her. 'She doesn’t know any better! ’
Knowing better or not, his boyfriend is currently under the water, and showing no signs of resurfacing anytime soon. He has to do something. If he doesn’t...Dipper will...
That’s when he remembers: Dipper asked him to bring that thing! Flipping his backpack around, he unzips the top, and pulls out a container-- ripping open the lid in mad desperation. The scent of warm salmon wafts out of the container, and the Kraken stops screeching, staring at the meal. She chirps, hungrily.
“You want the salmon?” Wirt waves the container back and forth, trying to be enticing; the large cephalopod follows the container with her large, unblinking bluish-yellow eyes. He drops the dish-- still unsealed-- back into his backpack, and chucks the whole thing towards the back of the truck. He sighs, thankful, when the backpack actually lands in the truck’s bed, instead of going off in an entirely different direction.
He points to the bag, trying to keep his voice steady, “There! That’s yours! Everything in there is yours--there’s plenty more salmon inside! Now give me back my boyfriend! Please!”
With a loud clicking noise, the Kraken reels back one of her tentacles; from the water Dipper emerges, and is tossed carelessly into a pile of pool toys. “Oof!!!”
Then she’s climbing out of the pool, racing towards the back of the truck to feed.
Dipper pulls himself out of the toys, laughing-- before coughing bits of water from his lungs. “I knew cooking the rest of that salmon before we left would be a good idea. She probably hasn’t been able to eat anything but chips and Neapolitan ice cream bars. Probably in need of some protein. And with my boyfriend’s amazing cooking-- yeah, there was no way she was going to pass that up.”
“Wish we’d done it from the beginning.”
“Yeah...probably would have been easier.”
Wirt clutches his chest, his eyes full of relief as he finds his boyfriend relatively unharmed-- just wet. “You seasoned it with some sleeping drought, right?”
Dipper presses his thumb to his chest, smiling smugly. “Yep. She’ll be sleeping like a baby-- the drive to the ocean should be a piece of cake...or a piece of salmon.”
Wirt rolls his eyes, pushing his boyfriend. “You’re a dork...and you’re dripping wet. Sitting in the back of the truck, the wind whipping your skin--oh you’re going to be bedridden for days.”
“Don’t worry, I got this.”
Dipper unbuttons his flannel, slipping the sopping wet shirt off his shoulder. He then grabs his undershirt, pulling it over his head. With a sigh, he shakes his head, flinging cold water off his curls. “Jeez, the pool in winter is a nightmare.”
Wirt is unable to answer him. He’s too busy staring wide eyed and slack jawed at Dipper’s bare chest, at his well toned pecs and abs, at the wet hair clinging to his skin, trailing down-- down-- down-- all the way down, until it disappears beneath Dipper’s low hanging jeans. Dipper’s body is as fine as if it were sculpted from marble-- carefully crafted under Michelangelo’s own hands.
“Babe, will you grab me my spare clothes? I put them under the front seat. I wanna change before I get sick.”
“Uhhh---” Wirt so helpfully replies.
Dipper looks up, finally noticing his boyfriend’s face. “Wirt?”
“Uhmmm--” Wirt presses his mouth into a thin line, eyes trailing up and down Dipper’s body.
Dipper finally catches on. Biting his lip to conceal a salacious smirk, Dipper pushes back his bangs with one hand, and curls a thumb in the loop of his jeans with the other, tugging them so the material slips an inch lower off his hips. Wirt stares unapologetically at his tan line-- where Dipper’s skin is usually covered from the rays of the sun; sunkissed bronze skin, giving way to smooth, milky white flesh. A small smattering of freckles dance across that perfectly pale strip; stars in a night sky.
“Wirt,” Dipper purrs--purrs! Wirt’s teeth rattle, his pupils dilating. “Wirt, my clothes? I’m cold, and wet...and it’s starting to make me uncomfortable. I wanna get out of these wet clothes. I wanna get warmed up.”
“Clothes…” Wirt breathes. “Clothes…” He repeats, brain still rebooting. Right, clothes...he can...clothes...clothes! Dipper needs his clothes.
Wirt turns on his heel, ready to grab Dipper’s clothes from the car...and trips right over the pool chair directly in his path.
“Wah!!! Shit!”
Dipper can’t stop the bark of laughter, clutching his side as he stares at his boyfriend’s mess of long limbs, tangled in the seat of a pool chair.
Wirt lays sprawled on the ground, nose bleeding from the fall--completely humiliated.
Maybe when the Kraken wakes up--he can see if it will swallow him whole.
Odysseus:
Dipper ducks under the uprooted tree. He tucks and rolls, just as the basilisk snaps its jaws, missing him by an inch. Wirt crouches by the truck, trying to stay out of the serpent’s blurred line of sight-- but always keeping Dipper in his.
There had been reports of a large slithering creature uprooting pines in the west woods. Dipper and him had driven down to investigate, Dipper excited for the prospect of something new-- something unnative to the lands. There had been nothing in the journals about large, mammoth sized reptiles.
He was also excited for the prospect of free wood he didn’t have to chop down himself.
Wirt had come to be supportive. He wasn’t the best mystery hunter around; he barely knew how to defend himself in a physical confrontation, and the gun Dipper had given him for self defense often lay untouched in the glove compartment of the truck. He wasn’t keen on fighting, whether it be man, or monster, or something in between, or nothing in between-- but he knew his way around a medical kit, around a surgical needle. He was also their getaway driver when things took a turn for the worst, often because Dipper had been injured in a way that made him unable to drive the truck himself.
His priorities were-- in exact order: getting them out of danger, patching Dipper’s wounds, and holding him when it was all over.
And Wirt believes Dipper appreciates that far more than how straight a shot he is.
Which isn’t very straight. ...Wirt is not very straight...
Dipper leaps over the next broken tree, the basilisk right on his heels. Just as it strikes, Dipper grabs a thick branch, and swings around, flipping himself in the air, and out of harm’s way. Wirt breathes a sigh of relief at his quick thinking, only for his muscles to clench a moment later as the basilisk loops around to follow its prey. This beast is not so easy to shake.
Dipper bolts left, the basilisk follows.
Dipper slips under some gnarled roots, the basilisk follows.
Dipper vaults himself over a shredded stump, the basilisk follows.
Dipper twists sharply to the right, and-- you guessed it -- the basilisk follows.
Wirt is almost enthralled by the display; it’s like watching a dance. His boyfriend has the lower body strength to balance his upper body strength-- leg day is not skipped in the Pines household . He tucks and weaves, bobs and slides, always just a step ahead of his enemy. Wirt wants to admire the swift footwork, the feats of acrobatics, without pause--if only he weren’t absolutely terrified that at any moment his boyfriend might become lunch.
This is a deadly dance.
...Note to self, see if Dipper would be interested in dance classes.
Suddenly, Dipper bolts towards the car-- towards Wirt. What?
Wait! Why?
The basilisk swivels its head, and its large yellow eyes lock onto Wirt. Wirt gulps, his mouth running dry. He wants to scream at his lover for such a rash decision. Why? Why is he leading the snake to them?
Wirt is preemptively shoving his hands in his pocket, reaching for the car keys.
The snake lunges forward, fangs bared. It gets about five feet from the car, when Wirt finally figures it out.
The basilisk makes a choked cry of anguish, and flops to the ground, eyes rolling back into its skull. A cloud of dirt and foliage fly up from where it landed, and Wirt covers his eyes to avoid any loose gravel or pine needles from scratching his cornea. When the dust settles, Wirt lowers his arm, and gazes at the aftermath; it’s body is completely wrapped and tangled within the fallen trees-- it's crafted destruction -- as well as its own body.
Without even realizing, it had charged full force towards the pair, and strangled itself into unconsciousness.
Dipper had turned the ancient ophidian into a pretzel.
Once more, a mighty foe had fallen, not from brute strength alone, but from a most ingenious plan, crafted from the most intelligent mind in all of Gravity Falls. Troy had opened its gates, and allowed a trojan horse into its city, thus sealing the Hero’s victory.
Dipper’s brain is not to be underestimated.
“Well... that was certainly arduous.” Dipper smoothes the creases in his shirt.
Wirt steps forward, certain it’s safe now. He rests one hand of Dipper’s hip, the other angling Dipper’s face upwards to look at him. “Are you hurt anywhere?” He asks, checking for any visible bruising or cuts.
Dipper smirks, leaning into Wirt’s touch. “I’m fine, inkheart. Just a little tired from all the running around. That thing was fast--I’ll give it that, but it was no match for the quick wit of Dipper Pines. These monsters see the muscles, completely forgetting I’m more brain than I am brawn.”
Wirt eyes the unconscious serpent. “I don’t know if this thing has any real cognitive thinking skills to begin with. Pretty sure it relies solely on its instincts. Don’t think it cares one way or the other how clever you are--though I’m sure it won’t make the same mistake twice, after dealing with you.”
“Mmm, I did good?” Dipper purrs, his eyes lowering to half mast.
Wirt leans forward, nuzzling their noses. “You were amazing, as always. Your strategic cunning might be even more sexy than your pecs.”
Dipper sways, expression coy. “...but my pecs are still sexy?”
Wirt rolls his eyes, “Yes, yes! Your mind-- as well as your body-- are incredibly bewitching. Truly, I am a mortal among Gods.”
Dipper chuckles, voice throaty with desire, “I’m not a God...mmm, but keep talking like that.” He tangles his fingers in the front of Wirt’s sweater, and tugs.
Wirt moans at the sudden press of lips against his own. Dipper deepens the kiss, and Wirt’s eyes begin to flutter shut.
The Basilisk’s eyes snap open, and it lunges. Dipper thrusts his arm out, shielding Wirt; his reflexes are just sharp enough that he’s able to push them back. Their kiss is sloppily disconnected.
The large primordial snake snaps its jaws shut, catching only air. It writhes, hissing and spitting vehemently at the pair, but is unable to stretch any further. It’s last trick has been seen through.
Dipper’s face goes red. He rolls up his sleeves, huffing, “Asshole! We were having a moment!”
Wirt presses two fingers against his lips, trying to stop himself from grinning like an idiot.
“Left hook!”
Dipper’s brain is not to be underestimated...but neither should his fists.
Achilles:
The tree is nearly sawed through--all that’s left is to knock it down.
It’s the last tree they need before they can officially go on break. It towers at 100 feet high, and is 40 inches in diameter; it’s thick enough that Wendy and Dipper have to use a two person saw to cut through it. Wirt’s sitting on the truck bed, putting plates, and a wicker basket, on the four corners of the picnic blanket. He knows they’re going to be awhile, so he thought after all was said and done, they could sit and eat a hot meal afterwards. The snow isn’t falling today , but the valley they’re in is covered in a light snowfall, with icicles growing on the now barren branches. Wendy made sure to knock the icicles from their tree before they started.
Everything is beautiful; white and blues, like a Christmas postcard.
The wood from this tree should be enough to supply the town with decent kindling for the next couple of weeks-- maybe even months, allowing Wendy and Dipper to spend time with their respective partners. Wendy wants to sit and watch slasher films with her girlfriend...while Dipper wants to decorate the house, and then Wirt’s library afterwards, while they listen to Christmas music, and Dipper sings classic Hanukkah hymns. Having a boyfriend who celebrates Christmas means Dipper gets two holidays--and even more presents.
Also more nights under the kissing bough.
“Ready to push?” Wendy asks.
Dipper is staring at Wirt, who’s in the middle of pouring tea into his thermos. “I got an idea.”
He starts walking in the other direction, away from the tree. Wendy gives him a curious glance. She picks up the two person hand saw, and steps out of the way. It’s hard to tell what her friend is up to sometimes, but no matter what decision he tends to make-- good or bad-- Wendy can always count on it being an entertaining one.
Dipper turns back towards the tree. He takes a deep breath, chest rising and falling with the mid-November breeze. He focuses his mind, pushes out all the intrusive thoughts--all his self doubts. He thinks only of his center of gravity, of toppling the tree. His cheeks are red from the cold--and his rising embarrassment. He’s either going to look like a total badass-- or make a complete ass of himself. Probably both.
That’s fine. As long as he gets what he wants.
He drops into a squat, stretching out his legs, carefully poised for 10 seconds each, before rising once more. He can feel eyes watching him; one in amused intrigue... the other…
He takes a running start towards the tree. He gets within a couple feet of the massive trunk, and digs his heel into the soil, twisting his body.
With a guttural “hyah ” he swings back, and donkey kicks the tree with his left boot.
CRAAAAACKKKKKK!!!
The tree tips forward, splintering the remaining wood still attached. It crashes to the ground with a massive bang. Crows and Harpies resting in the treetops scatter, cawing their irritation at being disturbed.
Wendy wolf whistles, “Damn Pines, look at you!”
Dipper lowers his leg, grinning broadly at his friend. “Twasn’t anything special--just simple momentum.”
“Tell that to your boyfriend. You just knocked a 100 foot tree down with your left leg.”
Dipper shrugs, feeling a little self conscious now that the adrenaline is wearing off. Although, internally, he’s squealing-- wanting to bounce up and down like an excitable kid. Holy shit?! He fucking kicked down a tree! “Everything has a weak spot. An Achilles heel--if you will.”
“Speaking of Achilles heel--did you shatter yours?” She teases.
Dipper squats down low, stretching out his leg muscles to prevent cramping. “I’m all good. You’ll find a lot of power in this bottom,” He chuckles, playfully patting his ass.
Wendy snorts, “Oh my god, dude.” She glances up, her grin stretching impishly. “Wirt, sweetie...you’re spilling your tea.”
Dipper glances over his shoulder.
The tea is overflowing out the thermos’s top, spilling over Wirt’s hands. Wirt would wince at the slight burning of his skin--if his mind weren’t broken. If he weren’t staring wide eyed and red faced at Dipper, still in a near split on the ground.
“You are such a dirty tease, Dipper Pines.” Wendy whispers to the lumberjack.
Dipper stands, still patting his bottom in feigned absentmindedness. “Miss. Corduroy, whatever do you mean?”
They both check back on the librarian. Wirt has officially ruined the picnic blanket. Also, his lap... he’s spilled an entire thermos of tea into his lap.
--That finally gets his attention.
“AH! HOT! WET! HOT AND WET!” There’s flailing; a plate gets kicked off the truck bed, shattering against a rock.
Wendy cups her mouth, and shouts, “I bet he is!” Then, turning to her partner in crime, “...He’s pretty fucking lucky to have such a sexy lumberjack in his bed every night. I mean, I didn’t expect anything less--lumberjacks are a sexy profession; we’re the best!”
Dipper nods. He really is finding a lot of joy from this unexpected profession. It certainly gives him the best reactions from a certain someone .
“I bet you spoil him good, don’t you?” She elbows his arm, winking.
“Hmmm? ...I suppose so, ” Dipper sings-songs, refusing to say anymore.
The picnic is put on hold, as Wendy and Dipper drive back to Dipper’s house, so Wirt can change. Wirt sits in the back seat, the wicker basket covering his pants-less lap; he refuses to take his boxers off in front of the red head--even if they’re just as soaked, and smell like Pumpkin chai. Or Dipper, at this moment in time.
He wishes he had the forethought to bring a spare set of clothes, like Dipper does.
Wirt shifts his gaze to the rear view mirror, and catches Dipper’s reflection, grinning back at him; sharp teeth and hungry eyes.
Wirt snaps his gaze to the floor, blushing from head to toe.
Despite his mortification, one thought keeps entering his head. Playing on repeat.
Note to self---sign Dipper up for Dance lessons!
Theseus:
Wirt sits cross legged on the uncomfortable rock shaped couch, trying not to plug his nose out of politeness for the owners. That and...well his hands are bound behind his back.
It reeks of testosterone and BO in the cave--which, for the Manotaur might be a familiar scent, but Wirt’s head is feeling light with nausea.
Next to him the Multibear sits, also tied up, looking just as inconvenienced. The main head looks at him, and asks, irritation lacing his voice, “Think they’ll be done anytime soon?”
Wirt stares at the table. His boyfriend is currently in a heated arm wrestling match with the Manotaur that has fists for nipples. Wirt cringes; he has no clue how that unsightly imagery isn’t distracting Dipper.
I guess there is the threat of his furry, Babba-loving friend being skinned and pelted on the floor if he fails.
But why had Wirt been dragged into the middle of this pissing contest?
He had come to deliver the Multibear the romance novels he’d ordered from Wirt’s library-- since it’s hard for the creature to walk into a building without turning heads-- when they had been ambushed by the Manotaur, and dragged off.
...I mean...yeah, I guess that’s how.
All around them, the manotaur are chanting for their comrade--except for Chutzpar, who Wirt notes isn’t pumping his fist with the same enthusiasm. He’s also staring at Dipper with something resembling concern.
Dipper did say that Chutzpar was probably the most accepting; out of all the manotaurs he’s had to deal with in his adventures, past and present, Dipper told him Chutzpar was the easiest to relay information to.
“I don’t know, but I hope they finish soon, my tailbone is starting to hurt,” Wirt replies.
The two sigh, exasperated.
“Wish my paws were tied in front of me so I could at least read one of the novels you brought.”
“Oh yeah, they took my backpack when they grabbed us. I swear, if those jerks are wiping their asses with my books I’m going to...well I have no clue what I’ll do...what I can do to them--but it won’t be pleasant, I can promise them that!”
“...I was really looking forward to reading ‘A Room with a View’.”
“That one’s good, my friend! There’s definitely some drama to be had with that one.”
“And what about Emma?”
“Oh, even more enjoyable. Pride and Prejudice is a classic of Jane Austin’s, but Emma is her magnum opus-- in my opinion. Emma as a character is absolutely sharp, and the matchmaking, the absolute chaos is--well I won’t spoil anything but you’ll enjoy it--”
There’s a loud thump, followed by the sound of booing, and the two captives turn their heads to the cause of it all.
Dipper has pinned the Manotaur’s hand to the table. A bead of sweat drips down his temple; his lips curled in a triumphant smirk. He glances at Wirt, eyes dancing with euphoria--with relief. He swipes his tongue over his top lip, catching the sweat gathered there, and Wirt feels a heat low in his belly.
The Manotaur rubs his hand, staring at Dipper in shock.
“Impossible. How can someone who listens to girly icelandic pop sensations best me?!”
“I told you... they’re catchy!” Dipper defends.
The Manotaur’s continue booing--except for Chutzpar, who is quietly in the back, pantomiming a clap.
Dipper cracks his knuckles, rolls his wrists, and points to the Multibear, and Wirt. “Now let my friend, and my boyfriend go.”
Just then, a loud bellow from deep within the cavern shakes the walls. Bits of ceiling crumble to the floor. There’s the sound of stomping, of a slowly approaching foe, and Wirt is lifted off the ground for a second, as a large, bulking beast emerges from the shadows.
“None of you shall leave this cavern alive!” Leaderaur screams, fire billowing from his nostrils. “I will mount your heads upon my wall as my trophies!”
Dipper rolls his eyes. “You say that every time I’m here.”
Leaderaur pounds the ground, creating a crater in the floor; Wirt notices the many similar craters around them. “You-- you’re a failure of a man! Spending your time with weaklings, with losers! You bring shame to the name of masculinity. It doesn’t matter the muscles you’ve gained, it doesn’t matter if you smell like wood shavings and aftershave, doesn’t matter how much hair on your chest you have-- you will never be a man!”
Rolling his arms back, Dipper slowly raises his fist, “I don’t need your approval anymore. I’m more than man enough.”
He glances at Wirt, his eyes full of love. “I don’t need anyone’s approval. I’m exactly who I want to be. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
And Wirt’s stomach flips with butterflies as he watches Dipper take on a monster 5 times his size, with the confidence and strength of a legend of old.
Psykhe:
“Ah!”
Shaking hands slide down Wirt’s back, clinging, pulling his body closer.
“Wirt!”
Words are breathed in the little space between their lips. They share a tender kiss, broken only by Dipper’s needy mewl.
“Oh...Wirt... more…”
Wirt rocks his hips, sweet and low.
Dipper’s eyes roll into the back of his skull-- his moans getting more desperate.
In Gravity Falls, there’s expectations that Dipper places on himself. He’s the town’s lumberjack-- he’s their monster hunting expert. He’s strong, and tough, and brave. He exudes heroic energy. He’s supposed to be a hero. For the town, for his friends, for his family.
Dipper has always been a provider-- has always strived to take care of those around him.
“Oh~” A mouth against his neck, with clever tongue and gentle teeth, turns Dipper’s legs to mush.
The fingers on his hips are warm-- firm. They make him feel safe.
He melts against the bedsheets, head lolling to the side.
“Wirt. Wirt, make me yours. Want to be yours.”
He has so many things to do. There’s so much work to be done. He has to chop the wood to light the fire-- to warm the townsfolk during the harsh winters. He has to make sure nothing out of the ordinary is happening-- no strange anomalies arising-- no tears in reality opening. He has to protect the town from any monster attacks-- protect the creatures of the woods from the townsfolk; keeping that perfect balance. He chops, and pulls, and jumps, and dives, and climbs, and works, and carries-- and carries-- and carries. He takes care of, he supports, he protects-- so much to do.
He carries everything on his broad shoulders.
Wirt’s lips find his.
A soothing tongue replaces the teeth he’s been sinking into his bottom lip.
He opens his mouth, wanting-- needing-- to be swallowed up.
Outside, a blizzard rages forth; snow whirling, winds howling-- violently shaking the windows. But the noise is cancelled out-- or rather-- it feels like it’s following in time to the rhythm of the bed springs. Bouncing, creaking, shaking, squeaking-- in and out, in and out.
Dipper sighs, in and out. Shakily sighs...in...and out...
It’s a nightmare out there. The snow will be several inches when it finally stops; they’ll be shoveling the driveway for days. Dipper will have so much shoveling to do-- and the people are going to want more firewood. Going to need it. He has to provide-- has to help.
...But all of that seems like a hazy afterthought, when there’s a fire roaring in the bedroom.
Literally -- Dipper made sure that when Ford and Stan helped to build his house, they put a fireplace in the bedroom, so Dipper wouldn’t have to leave the comfort of his bed, or his work desk when he wanted to warm up. It was a smart decision, the best decision he’s ever made-- though Dipper worries the addition has made him spoiled.
Wirt thrusts with a little more assurance, and Dipper’s insides melt.
“Ah~! T-there! Again. Please, again!”
And Wirt obeys; how could he ever dismiss such a request? How could he possibly ignore his lover’s wish?
Wirt can’t resist him. He’s never been able to--and he wouldn’t want to anyway.
He hits that bundle of nerves again, Dipper’s beautiful cries his reward.
“Yes! Yes! Wirt! ”
The room is awash in a honey amber glow. Wirt looks so handsome in the fire’s light-- his gray eyes burning, like hot embered coals.
Warm and welcome-- desire blazing in those smoky eyes-- and it’s all for Dipper.
Dipper-- in the privacy of his bedroom, in the warm heat of the hearth-- admits that he likes to be spoiled.
He cups his lover’s cheeks, their eyes locking. Held there by a strong desire-- unable to look away-- unwilling to look at anyone other than each other. Dipper’s breathing is staggered-- broken and bumbling with euphoria. He’s love struck-- besotted by cupid’s arrow.
Eros is in his bed-- a god is gracing his presence, intertangling his body with Dipper’s own.
“I love you... I love you…” He babbles, devotedly.
Wirt kisses his forehead, kisses his cheeks, kisses his button nose-- as he sinks deep into that warm, wanting heat. “I love you too, Mason. I adore you. Mein Schatz. ”
Dipper arches off the bed, pressing his solid lines against Wirt’s soft definitions. Tears-- ecstasy -- roll down his cheeks, as he begs-- begs to be taken. Again and again. Taken all night. Taken until the morning dawns.
He takes care of everyone... it’s so rare for someone to take care of him.
But it’s because of those expectations, that Dipper craves something different. He knows what he has to do-- what the town expects of him. He’s happy to provide, to be the hero.
But there’s something so amazing about this. About being none of that, for just a little. He doesn’t have something to do. He doesn’t have somewhere to be. He doesn’t have wood that needs chopped, or monsters that need fighting, or conflicts to resolve. He doesn’t need to carry any burdens-- any loads-- upon his shoulders.
He doesn’t need to take care of anyone.
He gets to be taken care of.
"You deserve to be taken care of.” Were the words Wirt whispered, in the little space between their lips, seconds before he kissed Dipper for the very first time.
“You deserve to be taken care of. ” He had said, and Dipper wanted to cry, because he never expected those words to apply to someone with his physique--to ever be meant for him.
“You deserve to be taken care of. ” --And Dipper fell in love.
He lets go of what the world expects of him-- what he expects of himself-- and allows himself to be vulnerable, to the one person who has ever allowed him to be vulnerable.
It’s Wirt’s understanding of this-- his gentle encouragements towards this vulnerability-- that make Dipper feel 10 times stronger.