
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4453514.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Gravity_Falls
  Relationship:
      Stanford_Pines/Stanley_Pines
  Character:
      The_Author_|_Original_Stanford_Pines, Grunkle_Stan_|_Stanley_"Stanford"
      Pines
  Additional Tags:
      Stancest_-_Freeform, Twincest, Sex_Toys, Anal_Fisting, Self-Fisting,
      Fisting, Anal_Fingering, Masturbation, Sibling_Incest, Cockslut!Ford
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-29 Updated: 2015-08-01 Chapters: 2/? Words: 2405
****** A Friendly Finger Fuller Than Normal ******
by Mozzarella
Summary
     In which Ford and his six fingered hands have many adventures over
     the years. And as with any adventure, he's got his brother to back
     him up (almost) all the way.
     (Or an excuse to write gratuitous filth for a very good friend who
     wanted a fic involving slutty Ford, six fingered fisting, and bad
     dragon toys. Underage tag is for teen experimentation in the first
     chapter, but doesn't apply to the rest. Read the warnings!)
Notes
     I HAVEN'T WRITTEN PWP OR GRATUITOUS PORN FOR THREE YEARS
     THREE
     YEARS
***** Chapter 1 *****
It was for science,he rationalized when he started out. That was why they
called it experimenting,wasn't it? Right? Right?
 
Alright, so maybe science wasn't what people had in mind when they were
experimenting with their sexuality, but Stanford Pines had always been a
curious sort, always open to try new things to sate that curiosity.
 
Unfortunately, unlike the other new things in his life he wanted to experience,
this was something he couldn't ask his brother to help him with like usual.
 
Jacking off was something that most boys his age did, something most were open
about, about as mundane as the girly mags they brought around to school to look
at a woman's breasts.
 
Ford always took things further, even if sometimes, that wasn't the wisest
course of action.
 
But a few unconventional magazines later, Ford found himself looking for more
and more excuses to stay at home and find time for himself while Stan was out,
something difficult to achieve when you shared everything, including a room,
with your twin brother.
 
But when he  did find time for himself, Ford went whole hog, and found out
after some experimentation that he liked—he  really  liked to fill himself up.
 
He started out with fingers, using lube he'd been given by the kindly if
thickly-painted woman a few doors and two floors down. From tips taken from her
and the magazines he'd found, he sought out his prostate the way they described
would bring him the most pleasure.
 
The first touch had been a mess of sticky sweet lube and a full body jolt, and
Ford found himself rubbing the same spot over and over, experimenting with the
sensations and adding two, then three more fingers, feeling his hole tight but
loosening, fucked wet and wide by his own hand.
 
He stretched himself even wider, delirious and hot as he kept adding fingers
until he realized he had a full five in, his thumb anchoring from the outside
while the rest delved in deeper and he whined, crying out in utter pleasure.
 
With his other hand he played with his nipples, teasing them into hardness,
forgetting any doubt he had as all his senses were overwhelmed by the sheer
deliciousness of it all.
 
And then he heard knuckles rapping against the locked door.
 
“Hey Stanford, what's going on? Did you forget I was coming home or something?
Open up!”
 
Ford restrained himself from crying out, stumbling over himself in an attempt
to get his pyjama bottoms back on, wiping his hands on the sheets and shoving
the lube under his pillow. He straightened up, sniffing himself to ensure he
didn't smell of guilt and checking himself in the mirror to make sure he didn't
look like exactly what he'd been doing, and opened the door.
 
“Whoa hey, what were you doing in the dark here? Trying to test if you can see
with the lights off again?” Stan teased, sauntering into the room stopping in
front of his own bed, shucking his shirt off.
 
Ford chuckled uneasily, hoping beyond hope his brother wouldn't connect the
dots, when Stan suddenly bent over, picking something up off the floor.
 
“Wohoa, what's this?”
 
Stanford froze, watching as his brother picked up one of his magazines, which
in his haste, he'd accidentally kicked to the floor.
 
It was the raciest of them, too, the one that showed all the ways one could
pleasure oneself either alone or with a partner, with the most creative uses of
fingers, hands, and even mouths, that Ford had ever seen.
 
And now his brother was rifling through it, half-dressed, and Stanford felt the
entire world shatter even as he felt warm inside and out from the memory of
images he knew Stanley was seeing right now.
 
“Didn't figure you for the type, Sixer,” Stanley said, whistling. “And here I
thought you were a total prude. I guess it's the complete opposite, huh?”
 
“Stanley, please,” Ford begged weakly.
 
“Please what, Ford?” Stan asked, his smirk visible even in the dimly lit room.
 
“Please don't tell anybody, Stan, please, don't, I—they won't—I don't think I
could handle it if they—Stan, please.”
 
Stan's smirk fell, and his entire expression softened when he took in the
desperation on his twin's face.
 
“Hey, hey,” he said gently, coming over to gently hug his brother, letting
Ford's chin rest on his shoulder—his  bare   shoulder, Ford noted, his arms
automatically going around his brother's   bare   back, his naked upper body
pressing against Ford's own, warm and solid yet soft and yielding even through
the thin layer of clothing he had on. “You don't have to worry, Ford. We're
twins, remember? I won't let anybody hurt you, and I won't start blabbing about
your secrets if you want me to keep 'em secret. Alright? I'm just teasing,
okay? It's what we do, right? Don't take it too seriously.”
 
 Ford relaxed, mentally berating himself for even worrying. Of course Stanley
wouldn't tell anybody. He could trust Stan. There was nobody else he could
trust more in the world than the one he'd come into the world with.
 
“So, uh... haha, so you mind telling me which one of these things you were
trying before I barged in?” Stanley said with deliberate casualness, raising
the magazine as Ford dropped his arms, eyes a little wide at the question.
 
“That is, well...”
 
“No, no, better yet,” Stan said suddenly, his smile widening slowly as he
crossed the room to lock the door. “Mind showing me?”
 
***** The Clubroom scene *****
Chapter Summary
     Ford's college years, and Backupsmore's proximity to an underground
     sex club
Chapter Notes
     I have failed! This isn't as dirty as I'd hoped, because it felt kind
     of clinical to do it without Stan. So yeah, some Ford/OC in this one,
     mostly just sex.
     Time skip here. Next chapter's a time skip too, quite possibly post
     portal :D I need my filth to have soul and angst.
“God. Oh, Stanley, just... right there.”
 
Ford pressed his cheek against the pillow, desperately trying to get a few
breaths in as five fingers stretched his hole and he slowly but surely tucked
in a sixth, drenched enough in lube that his whole hand slid right in after the
knuckles and he had to resist the urge to scream.
 
“Stanley, oh Stanley, please, please let me...”
 
He twisted his fist, whining at the sensation of his knuckles scraping against
the most sensitive part of him, counting each bump as he turned.
 
 He was wet, so wet, wired and numb all at once, clenching and unclenching his
fist and feeling every movement down to the veins popping up over the back of
his hand from holding one position for too long. He knew that his roommate
wasn't planning on coming back tonight, too busy partying or what have you, too
uninterested in whatever   study plans   he assumed Ford had in place of
actually enjoying college and having fun.
 
He was having fun, alright, but not the kind of fun the mundane sharer of his
personal space was thinking.
 
Ford had never been far from the strange and the unconventional, not even at
one of the most conventional college on that side of the country. It was an
accident, if an entirely happy one, that led him to meeting some interesting
people from the underground scene, his love of sci-fi comics the gateway to
much more than just the geeky club room scene.
 
 One of his fellow 'enthusiasts' kept looking at his hands, something that
irked Ford to no end, until the one day Ford heard him muttering under his
breath about   how many would fit   as he flipped through a comic, pretending
he wasn't glancing at Ford's fingers every so often,   piquing his curiosity.
 
“How many what?” Ford questioned, startling the other guy enough for him to
bump hard against the snack table, causing him to drop what he'd been reading,
something else sliding out before he had the chance to recover. And there,
tucked into a commonplace copy of Weird Tales, was a black and white paper copy
with images that were both familiar and entirely new to Ford, something he
never thought he'd see outside his bedroom.
 
“What—”
 
“Um, I, uh, I gotta go, uh—”
 
“Ty, are you alright?” one of their other clubmates asked, tilting his head
questioningly at Ford, who waved away his concerns in what he hoped was a
casual gesture.
 
“Sorry, let me get that,” Ford offered, deliberately taking the black and white
comic before Ty could. “Where'd you, uh, get this?” he asked, trying not to
spook the other boy. He remembered what it felt like to be caught, and knew Ty
was terrified enough that he ought to take it slow.
 
Ty wasn't exactly offering any answers, and his eyes kept darting back and
forth between Ford's face and the comic in his hands.
 
It was a surreal, illustrated version of images Ford had seen in his
experimental days, exaggerated but artistic in their own way, racy as ever but
bolder somehow, stark in the black and white it was printed. Ford flipped
through one page after another, the content becoming increasingly
inappropriate.
 
“I got them from some friends. I, uh, they're not... I mean it's more of a word
of mouth thing, it's not the sort of comic I just advertise, you know? It's
not... not for everyone,” Ty said, tripping over words as he waited for what he
probably believed was inevitable mockery, or worse.
 
“Can you... maybe ask your  friends   where I can get one of these?” Ford
questioned carefully, and Ty looked surprised, his entire body relaxing
automatically even when his face showed apprehension.
 
“I—sure. I mean, yeah! I mean, why not?” Ty ran a hand through his black hair
almost endearingly, brightening at the request. “I didn't, uh...”
 
“Figure me for the type?” Ford guessed, smiling a little.
 
Ty grinned. “No, it's not that. I just didn't think this kind of thing happened
in real life.”
 
“What kind of thing?”
 
Ty's grin faltered.
 
“Uh, that... that somebody with... I mean that somebody I've been... would
actually be interested in this stuff,” he tried and failed to explain.
 
“How many what?” Ford said suddenly.
 
“What?”
 
“A while ago, you said  how many would fit  . How many what?” Ford pressed, his
mind racing with the idea that maybe, just maybe, somebody was looking at his
hands for reasons beyond the novelty.
 
Ty's blush told him everything, even as he said, “How many fingers?” in a
whispered confession.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Missing his brother was probably Ford's greatest and most terrifying secret, in
more ways than one, and the way he dealt with it was part of the package of
secrecy—although maybe not as well guarded as he first anticipated.
 
The same happy accident that had led to his less-than-brotherly relationship
with Stan somehow led Ford to Ty, who in turn led him to the kind of scene he'd
only ever seen in his magazines.
 
Apparently, Backupsmore was only a short drive away from an underground sex
club. Who knew?
 
Of course he had his apprehensions. After all, there were few people in the
area with six fingers on each hand, and even covering his face wouldn't help if
somebody somehow recognized him coming and going from the club.
 
Fortunately Ty had thought of a way around that, gifting him with a set of
three finger gloves he sometimes used to dress up as certain comic book
characters. When they came around the first time, in the interest of privacy,
Ford had to give his own nickname before he could join in the 'proceedings'.
 
It wasn't long before “Sixer” got extremely popular with the doms and the
switches as the guy whose cute little ass was hungry for attention.
 
Ty was the only one who knew who he really was, and while he acted the shy,
unsociable, comic-loving geek at school, he was nothing but sure and confident
when he had Ford's ass raised high, sloppily making out with his hole as if it
were a second mouth.
 
It made Ford almost shy to be around him in any other setting, especially this
one particular day he'd spilled some sauce on his hands when they were meeting
up in the clubroom and Ty thought it was a good idea to suck his fingers clean
(subtly, of course, but it still didn't change the fact that they were in a
room full of people).
 
Fortunately, it didn't seem like Ty was going for a relationship, something
that Ford had been wary of. He had time for the odd dalliance, of course, but
having a... boyfriend? That was another matter entirely.
 
Ty seemed to pick up on that, as well as something else Ford didn't know he'd
been broadcasting.
 
“Old flame still burning?” he'd asked once.
 
“What?”
 
“You have the look of a broken heart pining for somebody far away,” Ty said
wisely, shrugging.
 
“I... no, it's uh.” Ford scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
 
“I'm thinking somebody you left behind when you came to study here?” Ty
continued.
 
“Somebody I left behind?” Ford repeated. “I... I guess so.”
 
He certainly did that, and much, much worse.
 
It was funny how some of the people in the club could be so attentive when it
came to others. Ford never thought he'd get some good, emotionally-satisfying
advice from somebody who was stretching his ass around the lubed-up knuckles of
his hand, but he was learning a lot of new things in college these days.
 
“So you got somebody you miss, huh?” Asked Oliver (which may or may not have
been his real name, nobody was ever sure in this place).
 
“I used to have somebody,” Ford said, punctuating the end with a deep, long
sigh, and then a gasp as he felt Oliver swipe his thumb against his prostate
from within.
 
“Hmm, bad breakup?”
 
“Something—ah—something like that.”
 
“Far be it from my place to tell you to try and reconnect with somebody you
might not want to, but if you're still missing them after all this time, it
might not be such a bad idea.”
 
Ford said nothing, until Oliver offered something else.
 
“You, uh, wanna role play? Might help get your mind off the guy. Or on it, I
dunno.”
 
Ford wasn't sure at first, but that didn't stop him from screaming Stan's name
when Oliver plowed into him, nipping at his neck almost just like the way his
brother had done so long ago.
 
That night was spent staring at one of the post cards Stan had sent him,
contact details written in the margins on the back with an exaggerated DOIN'
GREAT taking up most of the blank space.
 
That was the closest he'd ever come to calling Stan in years.
 
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