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It’s unseasonably warm for this time of the year in this part of the world. Warm enough at least that Ford, local turtleneck enthusiast, wanders about the cabin shirtless. It’s hard for him to explain to Stan, but he’s still not comfortable walking about the ship with his scars exposed. Sure, he and Stan have made love a couple times since they set sail, but while he’s entranced, being filled to the brim with Stan’s seed, his appearance is the last thing on his mind. Thankfully, the younger twin is currently in town picking up a new part for their engine that sputtered to a halt only a couple days ago.
He nestles a laundry basket under his arms and begins to tidy up their living quarters. Stan has always been one to leave his clothes strewn about their bedroom, but lately Ford himself has been one to disregard the hamper at night. He starts with his side of the room. He gathers his pairs of socks, white briefs, his favorite turtleneck…he feels a little more guilty now. He should know better than this.
His focus now shifts to the opposite bed and the mountain of clothes piled up at the footboard. He kneels down and a faint scent hits him: a mix of pine, ocean, leather, and musk. It’s Stan’s smell alright. It’s intoxicating. He shovels garments into the wicker basket, but a certain pair of plaid boxer shorts stands out amongst the rest. He cups his hand under the backside of the shorts and brings them toward his nostrils, and without intention, he catches a deeper, more intense, whiff of the musk protruding from the fabric. There’s another scent embedded in the fibers, one he’s all too familiar with…
At least use a washrag for that sort of thing, Stanley…
His nostrils flare once more as he drinks in the rich aroma of Stan’s musk. His mind racing with thoughts of disgust, but his body contradicts him. He presses his nose directly against the fly and the scent courses through him…his mind recalling their nights in Stan’s bunk when they were teens, he never could get enough of Stan painting his face…and boy could he build up quite a load in those days.
The fly is cold…perhaps still drying out? But from when…last night…this morning? His nose sinks into the fabric again, his tongue extends beyond his quivering lips and laps at the soiled boxers…His lips purse over the fly and he suckles at the well-worn cotton, longing to taste his brother in any capacity. God damn it…I shouldn’t be doing this…I shouldn't like this…this is filthy. He protests against his brother’s habits, but shouldn’t be passing judgment; after all, his palm’s tracing the outline of his cock tenting through his flannel pajamas whilst inhaling what is essentially his twin brother’s ceremonial cum rag.
If he needed to release some tension he should’ve told me. His gaze wanders to his journal sitting neatly on his bed. He recalls their recent battle with an enchanted girafficorn, and the exhaustion from the late nights in his study, glued to the chair at his desk detailing his findings. To be fair, it has been far from my mind lately…God, it’s been so long since he’s been inside me… He digs through his sock drawer. Have I forgotten what it feels like? He retrieves a small bottle of lubricant. It’s quite empty…emptier than he remembers.
Has Stan been using this by himself? Ford’s mind wanders and images of Stan appear; waiting until he’s asleep, grabbing the lube from the drawer, and pumping himself while he lays a mere foot away from him. A hot burst of need pools in his lower abdomen, making his already hard member twitch. Ford steps, swiftly moving over to their shared bed and blops down on the soft mattress. He hurriedly kicks his boots off and shimmies his legs free of his already dropped bottoms. The need to take care of himself driving his actions. Fuck. Now. Need to be filled right now.
Reason and logic a distant memory he focuses on his baser desires. He leans back on the bed and spreads his legs apart. He pops the cap of the lubricant and pours a generous amount of the clear liquid onto his fingers. Using his thumb he rolls it over his digits, coating them. In a fluid motion he brings his hand down and lulls it around his entrance, spreading the lubricant around, then dives two fingers in without much resistance. The mild ache of being stretched abruptly sends scorching electric pulses through his body. Oh…Just like I remember.
He hooks his fingers, finding his prostate, and begins surging them in and out. A soft sigh escapes his lips; waves of pleasure wash over him as he continues. He lets his head tilt back and his legs unintentionally spread farther apart. So good. I need more.
He slips another finger in, though finding some resistance this time. His panting and hushed moans fill the otherwise silent cabin. He continues thrusting his digits inside himself. While the sensation is amazing it doesn’t feel quite like enough, he needs more. His free hand wraps around his shaft and begins to pump. More.
He thinks back to the first week of their voyage, some months ago, when they laid together on the deck of their ship. The sky above them was littered with stars; brighter and more detailed than they ever appeared back home. It was a chilly night; Ford, turtleneck adorned, splayed across the deck whilst his legs rested on Stan’s shoulders. Stanley held his hips steady as he thrusted into him. Their hearts were full and their eyes welled with tears. It was a Hollywood beginning to the first chapter of the rest of their lives. Stan’s climax was blissful and awakening…Ford’s was passionate and life-affirming. It was at that moment Ford knew he couldn’t feel whole without his brother inside him. More.
A couple weeks later, after their backs recovered from their first night on the deck, Stanley, pantsless despite the frigid, albeit sunny, daytime weather, came up behind the elder twin and pinned him against the railing. He thrusted his erection into Ford’s backside and bucked his hips against Ford’s black pants; grinding into him until Ford needed to strip down and allow the younger twin to rail him as he held on for dear life. Stan’s movements were quick, erratic, bordering on feral. He wonders if Stan had gotten into something he shouldn’t have. After Stan released his load he wrapped his arm around and grabbed Ford’s own throbbing cock. Stan, still tied inside him, jerked him fervently for only a short time before expelling his own release over the side of the boat. More…still.
Ford feels himself nearing his climax but still wanting more he moves to reposition himself. He shimmies his body onto the bed further, swinging his hips around and walking his legs up the wall of the cabin. HIs legs now above him, bending himself in half, his ass now in the air. He thinks back to their shared room, in Glass Shard Beach, their parents out for the day and Stan above him, pounding him down into the mattress just like this. His sweet praise and dirty words leave his mouth before crashing down onto his. “So fucking good Sixer. Nghh. You’re so beautiful. Want to paint you.” The words echo through Ford and he’s ready to unload. He continues ruthlessly fingering himself, digits smashing into his prostate, while still pumping his cock. “Use me as your cum rag, Stanley…fucking use me instead.” His breath hitching, he fists his cock quickly, finally releasing his orgasm with a stifled shout, “Stan-leee!” His balls empty the pent up load down onto himself, painting his stomach, chest, and face; much like Stan would end up doing back then.
He removes his hands from their respective placements and lets them fall at his side. Still bent over himself he breathes out hot, ragged breaths. He swallows thickly, closing his eyes and feeling lighter than he has in weeks. This is exactly what he’s been needing, and he lets out a small hum. He basks in his afterglow, his mind devoid of thought.
He rests in his current position,feeling the passage of time, though how long he has no idea. He’s at peace; all is silent in the cabin, until he hears the clearing of a throat. He snapped back to reality in an instant, looking toward the cause of the sound and notices Stan in the doorway, paper sack in hand. Stan’s wide eyes are fixed on him, a wolfish grin plasters his face.
“S-Stanley!” Ford fumbles as he tries to think of what to say.
"Damn, Sixer, you couldn't even wait for me to get back from port?”
Ford scrambles to untangle himself from his current position, “How…how long have you been standing there?”
“I was in the kitchen when I heard something about a cum rag…lo and behold I find you three fingers deep hollering for me like a horny teenager.”
“Stan, I…I don’t know what came over me…” he prys himself off the mattress, legs wobbling momentarily as they adjust to his weight.
Stan walks in, setting the sack at the foot of their bed, “Oh I think we both know who came all over you.” A deep, husky laugh leaves him, “Glad to see you've at least loosened up for me though..."
"Wait- what?". He gulps. "Are you…serious?"
"Yeah I'm serious. You're such a fucking mess...let me clean you up first" Stan grabs a lock of his brother’s silver mane and pulls him close. Ford thinks Stan is preparing for a kiss and purses his lips, but he’s mistaken. Stan pushes his head down ever so slightly to line his lips up with Ford’s glasses. He extends his tongue and takes a good, long, sultry lap at the lenses, scooping up a bead of cum, feeding himself a bit of Ford’s flavor. He dives back in and moves to the other lens, streaking his tongue along the glass trying to restore his brother’s vision; Ford can’t help but gasp every time Stan’s large, pink, muscle plants against his lenses. Each time eliciting a jolt of lust through his already spent body.
“God damn, Sixer, you taste so sweet…” Stan takes two fingers and drags them along Ford's soaked chest, spooning up a swath of cum and holding it up to Ford’s supple lips, “...you should try it for yourself.” Ford blushes, but parts his lips expectantly. Stan shoves his fingers inside, dumping some of Ford's seed into his brother's mouth. "Don't you swallow that just yet..." he repeats the motions a few more times. When he's sure he's recovered all the noticeable pools, he grabs a lock of Ford's hair, brings him in and forces his wet lips apart with his strong tongue, lapping into his mouth; he loves the taste of his brother, and even more so when they can share the sensation.
Ford shouldn't be turned on by this. He really shouldn't. It's lewd and foul- but when Stanley swirls their tongues together and he tastes his saliva along with his expended frustration he feels the heat pooling back in his lower abdomen like before and it makes his softening cock twitch. Oh. There's so much between them it begins to drip out of the corners of their mouths, beads of pent-up release staining Stan's red shirt, but he won't mind; he'll wear those as a badge of honor.
Ford pulls back from their embrace, a line of spit and semen still connects them. His cheeks are flush and his lidded eyes rove around Stan's stature like he's trying to figure out where to latch his mouth onto next. He looks sheepishly away for a moment. "Can I- that is... would you like me to go down on you first?" His gaze snaps back to Stan's and his dilated eyes seem to dance with want in the low light.
Stan doesn't have a verbal response quite yet. The sight of his brother ragged with cum and sweat, the taste of the seminal fluids lodged in his gums and teeth- and oh god, the scent emanating throughout the cabin. It's so much for him to take in. He can only go by physical reaction, which right now is telling him to take his pants off before he bursts through them. His hands reach for his belt and Ford instantly drops to his knees in response.
The hard wood floors don't do his knees any favors, but he doesn't care. He just wants what Stan wants to give to him, and judging by the large sized bulge in his trousers before him he knows it's a lot. Stan continues fumbling with his belt and Ford isn't keen on being patient here. He moves in, his hands crowding out Stan's. He looks up and keeps his gaze trained on meeting his twins’ and begins to divest him instead. He peels the belt away from his hips with ease and Stan, having already unzipped his pants earlier, they now fall to the floor with a soft thud.
Ford buries his face in between his legs, muzzling the heated member. He moves down and mouths at his balls through the fabric of his boxers, soaking it completely. He feels Stan pulling at his hair while letting out husky pants and knows he's doing a good job. He then licks the underside of his cock and back up till he's eye level with his groin again. "How is it?" He asks, wanting to hear his actual response.
“Fuck…so warm…so wet…” is all he manages at first, but Ford isn’t satisfied with two word mutterings.
“You want me, Stanley? Say it, say you want me.”
“I want you, Fordsie. I need you.”
Pleased by the verbal direction he grips the waistband of Stan’s boxers and yanks down forcefully; the head of Stan’s cock springs to life and sits a mere inch from Ford’s lips.
Ford wraps his hand around the base of Stan’s shaft and directs his head up toward the hairy stomach. He buries his nose in the furry sack and inhales deeply, soaking in the musk accumulated by Stan’s walk through the small seaside village. His tongue extends forward and tugs one of Stan’s balls into his mouth, lolling it around, letting it glide across the teeth gently, which elicits a hard moan from the twin above.
He should let Ford take his time with him. What his brother is doing feels fucking fantastic. But Stan isn’t a man of patience and he wants more. He gently pulls at Ford’s hair, hoping he’ll take the hint. He does. Ford moves up, licking all the while, and takes Stan’s cock into his mouth. Stan’s head is swimming, senses buzz with pleasure and the feel of Ford’s hot, wet mouth around him.
It’s been some time since they’ve done this, he wonders how used to this Ford is and tests. He slides himself further into his mouth. Not feeling any gagging he tries further. Ford’s face is flush with his pelvis now, Stan buried to his root, and he snaps his head back, eyes closed. Holy fuck, is this what heaven is like? If it exists, this is definitely it.
“Oh fuck yeah, Sixer.” He finally manages to growl out. “Is this what you want? You want me to tell you how good you’re doing?” Ford hums, his throat vibrating and enhancing the sensation. Oh fuck.
Ford backs away, slowly, intentionally, making his brother writhe with his movements, until he pops the head free. “I want you to use me, Stanley. Don’t hold back.” He plants a hard smack on his brother’s left cheek and gives a firm squeeze. With his free hand he guides the tip back in his mouth, gently nibbling on the head, causing the younger twin to twitch slowly to combat the overwhelming stimulation.
Stan steadies his hands in Ford’s loosely combed hair, and his thrusts become longer, and faster, slightly. “Fucking take me, Sixer. God damn, you’re such a good cocksucker.” Another hum of approval comes from below.
It’s hard for him to think, pleasure overrides most of his thoughts, but he can’t help but wonder where Ford had gained this uncharacteristic sexual prowess. Ford’s not a shy man, never had been. He’s just as bold and brash as Stan himself but, wow, “ I want you to use me.” It plays in his head over and over again, riling him up further. He continues thrusting into Ford's throat. “Use me.”
Stan breathes raggedly and halts abruptly. Ford looks up, his cheeks as red as Stan’s beanie and eyes glazed over but he can tell he’s curious as to the sudden stop. “I- uh, sorry. If you want me to do anything else we gotta switch it up. I don’t think my stamina can last through this.” He laughs apologetically. “Not as young as we used to be is all.” He removes himself from Ford’s throat and sits on the edge of their bed. He averts his gaze, embarrassed at admitting his shortcomings.
Ford, the elder to the elderly, falls back on his hands, guiding himself to a sitting position, relieving the mounting pressure on his knees. “I’m right there with you, bro.”
“Ford, I just had my dick buried in the back of your throat, please don’t call me that right now.” They laugh together, genuinely in the moment.
“So, what did you have in mind?” Ford props himself up on his mattress, flashing himself akin to a peacock, “Did you want a taste of this?” His words imbue suggestiveness as he guides his middle two fingers inside; they enter with ease, the lube still as slick as before.
Stan gawks at the show on display before him. Ford looks absolutely devastating. His confidence rallies and he pounces on his boastful brother. He dips his head down and locks their lips together.
His hands rove around the body beneath him. Feeling up the sides of his toned torso. Stopping at his pecs and cupping them gently with his big hands. He rolls the hardened nipples in between his fingers and smiles greedily when it elects a wanton cry from his older twin. He’s always been sensitive there, nice to know some things never change.
“Stanley.” Ford says.
“Yeah Sixer?” He makes eye contact with him as he continues his ministrations.
“As nice as t-this is, ah, I could use more.” He whines as he pants through his words.
More. Stan flip flops whether he should delay giving him ‘ more’ but quickly decides. What kind of showman would he be if he didn’t first give a good build up before delivering? He lowers his mouth onto his Ford’s pec and takes one of his crested nipples in between his teeth. Ford arches his back and moans harshly. Not wanting to be exclusive, Stan moves his hand to the other nipple and plays with it while he licks and swirls the other with his slick tongue.
“Fuck, Stanley…” Ford bucks his hips into Stan’s soft, hairy stomach. “Teeth…”
Teeth. Does that mean less teeth? No teeth? More teeth. His mind fills in the gap. He chews on the erect nipple slowly, savoring the texture whilst his teeth glide across the firm peck. A familiar hand courses through his hair, his head is brought over to the opposite side, and he takes the fresh teet in his mouth, biting it without question.
“God, that’s it, suck on ‘em. M-Milk my tits, Stanley.” Ford takes Stan’s free hand and guides the index and middle fingers between his lips, soaking them in his saliva, and moves them back to the free nipple.
Stan turns his slick digits over Ford’s nipple. The saliva creates a cooling effect and Ford’s thankful for it. He grabs Stan’s other hand and brings it down to his hardened cock. His brother grabs it and pumps him slowly. Ford’s entire body feels engulfed by heat. Having already spent his load earlier, the heightened stimulation overwhelms him.
“Stan!” He wails. “Please! Ah- Please fuck me.”
Stan moves faster than Ford recognizes; positioning himself on his knees in front of him and lifts his legs onto his shoulders. “No need to beg Sixer. I’ll fucking give you want you want. Asking so nicely.” Stan rubs the tip of his cock against Ford’s hole and it slips in without resistance. “Holy shit, Sixer…you fucking horn dog.”
“I need it, Stanley. I need you inside me…” Ford whines in heat.
Stan is already more than halfway in. He backs out slightly to the base of his head, and leans into him once again, this time guiding his full length inside. He looks down at the elder twin, he looks into his eyes; they beg for him to show no mercy. They plead for him to use him, wanting to be used, needing to satisfy his brother. “I’m gonna fuck you into next week, Fordsie.”
Ford extends his hand towards Stan, his six fingers reaching out. Stan’s lecherous grin drops a bit and he looks at the outstretched hand. He takes it and Ford laces their fingers together. “I love you Stanley.” Ford’s face is warm and tender.
“I love you too Ford.”
Ford bucks his hips back into Stan’s pelvis and catches him off guard. A deep moan escapes him. Okay, time to wreck this nerd. It sounds funnier than it should to him but he doesn’t laugh, determination and lust drowns out the humor.
He finds his vigor and plunges back into the warm heat of the man below him, a desperate and wanting bellow leaves him as he does. He doesn’t go slow, no, instead he sets a fast and brutal pace. He thrusts in and out, over and over. Ford pants and mutters nonsense.
Stan glances down at his twin and his whole body flushes as he watches his gasps escape his lips, the drool trailing from the corner of his mouth. Moses. His brother is so wrecked and he’s the one doing it. Stan feels his balls tightening and chooses to snap his eyes shut and continue pounding Ford into the mattress.
Ford rides his hips in rhythm with his lover. His hole is taking a pounding he hasn’t felt in what seems like a lifetime. Stan…you’re almost there…maybe if I just… and with a small adjustment, he finds Stan able to hit against his prostate. It sends shockwaves through his body; his cock pulses with every thrust Stan gives, leaking a steady flow of precum. He dips his fingers in the small pool on his stomach and extends them to his brother.
Stan parts his lips and allows the fingers to enter. The salty flavor courses over his tongue. He seals his lips tight around the digits and suckles the tips, extracting as much of his brother’s taste as he can. Ford splits his fingers apart and Stan’s tongue glides between them.
The smell of sweat between them…the pre spilling out of Ford’s cock with each slap against his stomach: it drives Stan to a near feral state, slamming into Ford with little regard for the man beneath him as if he were merely a fleshlight. His dick has never felt anything so good; so warm, so wet, so easy. He feels Ford tighten occasionally, but it seems almost intentional, as if he were milking Stan.
Any attempt at cognitive thought has been futile, as almost every word has escaped Ford’s mind. His only thoughts cycle between the words: harder, faster, fuck, and cum . He tires to emit any string of words from his lips, but it’s just been a series of moans and fucks. He’s desperate for Stan to cum. His body is starved for Stan’s seed to be planted; he can tell he’s close because he looks into Stan’s eyes and they’re empty, with the only thought in his brain being “I need to cum. I need to cum.”
“Fill me up Stan-ah-lee.” Ford somehow manages to pant out with heated breaths.
Stan’s nostrils flare and he purses his lips.. His breathing quickens and he looks so pained. His thrusts become unhinged and his rhythm flounders.
“Cum in me,” Ford begs. And with that Stan’s whole demeanor falls. He clumsily thrusts into him and while one hand digs into one of Ford’s thighs the other wraps around his cock and he pumps quickly. He plunges in as deep as he can, hitting his prostate with abandon. Once, twice, and the third time he lets out a roar and spills into his warm cavity. Between the feeling of being filled and Stan’s hands pumping him, Ford’s vision blurs as his own load shoots onto his stomach for the second time.
Stan collapses down onto Ford and breathes heavily. It’s not exactly comfortable, but Ford finds he doesn’t mind that his legs are still bent, or that Stan’s laying his full weight onto him, or that he’s still inside him. In all actuality he finds it soothing. They lay here, joined together, and Ford basks in the calming effects of the released endorphins and oxytocin. As they come down from their endeavors their breaths regulate, turning shallow even. Ford feels his eyes becoming heavy and knows if they don’t move he very well could fall asleep like this, but he also knows they’ll both be paying for it in the morning.
“Hey, Stanley.” He nudges him and receives a grunt as a response. “We should clean up and lay together properly.” Stan doesn’t move. He lays atop him still silent. “Stan-”
A hand lightly smacks down onto Ford's face and stops him. “I’m going, I’m going. Just gimme’ a sec.” Stan’s voice is raspy. His thick arms brace themselves on either side of Ford’s face, and he raises himself, holding his upper body so he can be face to face with the man below him. He smiles fondly and then leans in, stealing a gentle kiss. “I’m glad I came back when I did.”
Ford chuckles. "You could have caught me earlier, but yeah, me too actually."
Stan moves away, pulling himself out and away from Ford and he rolls onto his side next to him. He exhaustively exhales.
"Goodnight, Sixer." He yawns.
"Goodnight, Stanley." Ford answers back. He cleans himself with Stan’s boxers and carelessly tosses it near what is considered their laundry room.
He lays his head on his folded arms beneath him and stares up at the wooden ceiling. After nearly 3 months at sea, he hopes nights like these become commonplace.
He looks out the window. He counts the stars that litter the northern skies, and with each new constellation he mentally names, his eyes grow heavy until they're both fast asleep.