This is Hungry Work

2 years earlier

December 24th

Gravity Falls, Oregon

Personal Journal, Entry 36

I am cold and I am miserable. I have caught some kind of bug, presumably the flu. My bones hurt and my head is spinning and I’m cursing myself over and over for coming to this wretched place where everything is wild and untamed.

My days grow darker and wearier as the winter advances. The monsters, at least, also seem to be affected by the ruthless bite of winter. I made some warm food and tea. The flavor is terrible and I am tempted to sleep on an empty stomach. Perhaps I should have stocked up on better food. The canned meat tastes gamey and nutty. For the first time in a long time I am thinking of home. My mother isn’t the best of cooks, but she could heal your spirit with just one plate of lasagna. I wonder if she still cooks lasagna for my father, now that we are gone.

I don’t want to think about Stanley.

I have found evidence of a Bigfoot of sorts. It seems to cross through the mountains near what I have called the magic part of the forest. As far as I can tell it seems to keep to itself, avoiding the Menotaurs and the Gnomes alike. If I feel better next week I will try to head out into the forest and perform more detailed observations.

Tonight is Christmas Eve. We do not celebrate it back home, but mom always liked the decorations and festive spirit. Tomorrow Hanukkah will start. Father will light the Menorah. Perhaps he will be happy he doesn’t have to give us gelt. I wonder…

Anyway. This sickness is eating away at all the strength I have left. My morals are low, my determination dwindling. I will try to take a trip down to the town and get some food that doesn’t taste like the end of the world.

December 31st

Gravity Falls, Oregon

Personal Journal, Entry 37

I have not written in a long time! I am feeling better. My head is steady, my bones feel right again. I went down to the town and bought some supplies. As I was coming back I made a fascinating discovery! I can hear him all the time now; the entity, my muse. He warmed my body and spirit and in exchange I let him explore my dreams and thoughts.

He was curious about my rituals and memories of festivities. I have taught him how to sing Ma'oz Tzur. We had a couple glasses of spiced wine and suddenly everything felt better. We had a wonderful time. His singing voice is not the best, but he is not that kind of muse, as he put it. He liked the way I sang for him. All that young boy choir training was of use after all. I was flattered to hear he thought I was inspiring him for a change.

My old friend Fiddleford is coming soon to help me with our project. Now that my body is healed and my strength renewed I can’t wait to see the wonderful things we will accomplish!

Present day

January 1st

Gravity Falls, Oregon

“He left because he couldn’t stand to see you inspired by a muse when his ideas grow old and stale.” His muse spoke.

Ford rubbed his eyes. He’d taken his glasses off and laid them on his bedside table. When he glanced at them he caught the glint of Bill on their surface.

“No. He left because I asked him to.” Ford admitted. “You heard me, didn’t you? I was rude and angry.” He hid his face in his palms, embarrassed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, Sixer. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You tried to make him see. That is all we can do.”

The scientist sighed and rested his forearms on his thighs.

“I guess…”

“Hey! I know just what you need.” Ford sat up straighter as images flashed before his eyes. That now familiar room. Velvet curtains, a glass table with a chess set and a couple glasses.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea. Perhaps I should call Fiddleford, make sure that he got home alright.”

“Oh, Sixer! Always so caring. But he doesn’t do anything for you. He is just latching on to your intelligence.”

“He’s helping me build the portal.” Ford countered.

“He is trying to get on your good side. He wants you all to himself.” Bill swung the seductive idea again behind his eyes. “Come on into our private room. I will make sure your mind is off him.”

“And on you?” Ford asked, one of his thick eyebrows quirking up. Then his face lost all amusement and worry rushed back to tense his features. “Do you think it’s true, what he said? The things we are doing… I mean, the way I feel when you…” He swallowed hard. “Is it wrong?”

He felt Bill swirling inside his mind. He could see the ghost of it on the reflection of his glasses.

“Are the things I do for you not enough?” Bill’s voice was strained. “Am I not good enough for you, Sixer?”

“No– I mean, yes!” Ford rushed to reply. “I love our da– Our sessions.”

Reality around him fragmented into triangles and the scientist realized his muse had tired of speaking like this. His conscience was pulled forcefully into the abstract realm Bill inhabited and usually preferred.

Something pushed him down and he dropped to his knees, his incorporeal body surrendering easily to the familiar touch.

“You are brilliant, and dedicated and strong.” Bill said. “And mine.”

Ford looked up at the figure that towered above him. His muse had abandoned his usual triangular form in favor of that of a strangely handsome man roughly his age. One singular yellow eye focused onto his face.

“I am yours in the same way you are mine.” Ford conceded. “Your essence inspires me.”

He saw Bill’s face twitch at the unexpected compliment.

“Yes, yes, Sixer.” He took his chin and bent down to press their foreheads together. “But I don’t like feeling second.”

Ford felt a shiver travel down his spine.

“You are always first.” He said, and it was the truth. They both observed this simple fact in silence for a couple of seconds.

“Then make me feel first.”

Ford lunged forward, hungry, crushing their lips together. For a moment the contact with his muse felt electric, almost fizzling. Then, it was all warmth and savage need. Bill was charming and smart, but sometimes he was also desperate and wild. It scared Ford to realize that he recognized those same things inside himself.

He pulled at the fake suit Bill had created for himself and under his hands it unraveled, peeling away. His muse was less human about it, gliding one finger across his chest that dissolved the fabric like a harsh chemical.

They met against the glass table, knocking over the pieces as they climbed onto the furniture to gain better leverage to pit against each other. It was a kiss as much as it was a fight. Ford recoiled and Bill chased after, a bit of madness seeping into his frenzied movements. Their encounters were not always like this. Sometimes they were refined, elegant even.

Bill held onto his leg and pushed him on his back so he rested on the table. He looked down at him like a starving man before a feast.

“Wait!” Ford stopped him. Bill frowned but didn't move. “I'm just… I can't help but think–”

Bill rolled his eye.

“Yes, yes. Specs said you are depraved because you enjoy my company.” Bill said. Then his lips curled up and he smiled devilishly. “But tell me, Sixer, how can this be bad when it feels so good?” His hand slid its way up his thigh, drawing slow shapes onto his skin.

Ford shivered under his touch, a soft moan building in his throat.

“P-lenty of things that feel good are nn-ah–” his voice cut into a growl as Bill clasped his hand around him and started moving rhythmically.

“I chose you,” Bill said. A long snakelike tongue slipped between his lips and licked his jaw and neck. “You've seen the kind of things I can know. You should not doubt my knowledge or my choice.”

Ford struggled to keep his voice down. Everything felt too warm. His face flushed.

“You are right.” He said. “I trust you.”

Bill kissed him deeply, his long tongue encircling his until he could not move it any longer. When he released him, Ford gasped desperately for air.

“You are special, Sixer.” His muse said. “So special.”

Ford let the words caress him like Bill’s hands were doing.

“Let me do this for you too.” The scientist asked. “My muse.” His adoration was like a drug to both of them. Bill let him gain terrain, pushing forward until he had the upper ground. Ford pushed Bill onto the sofa and fell to his knees before him. “My divine inspiration.” His lips touched the soft skin that already wanted to be kissed deeper. Bill clasped Ford's hair in a fist, moaning at the contact. His body seemed to glitch for a moment, but he remained in his form in the next blink. Ford enjoyed eliciting this lack of control, even when some of the glimpses of Bill's alternate forms scared him. The adrenaline was not entirely unpleasant.

“More.” Bill asked. His hand pushed Ford towards him.

The scientist obliged, his tongue, though short and human, sufficing to bring out delicious sounds from his muse. The hand in his hair kept insisting and his air was cut off for a second or two. The next breath was exhilarating. Bill released him as he gasped, the pressure in his throat too much to take all at once.

“You alright there, Sixer? Perhaps you're too delicate for me to use in this way.”

The scientist gave a teasing smile.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Oh ho ho. Don't tell me you also get competitive about sex, Sixer!” Bill laughed. “Remember all our chess matches, I always win!”

Ford let some spit fall onto Bill’s length.

“We'll see.” He said. His lips kissed the tip and opened slowly to let it inside. The sides of his mouth adjusted to fit nicely against the soft hardness.

Bill gasped.

“Remind me to get you competitive more often, Sixer.” He joked. His words cut off as Ford found a new way to make his tongue circle despite the tight fit. “H-hey… Sixer, don't d–” he stammered, his body tightening and shuddering. A whimper left his mouth. His tongue rolled off his mouth, limp and dripping. His eye gazed out of focus, seeing Ford and everything beyond him. So many realities. So many Fords doing just what he was doing. He felt electric. Alive. Real.

Their room blinked and faded away as a moan tore its way out of his muse's throat. Only they remained in an endless darkness. Still, Bill's body was bright enough to see in front of him. The sight was exquisite. Ford wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, iridescent thick liquid staining his lower lip and chin like honey. His hair was messy and disheveled, his cheeks red. He was breathing in heavy pants. His naked form showed what his muse's sounds had done to him. Bill shivered, his eye trying to capture every inch of the man for himself. He regained his composure for what felt like an eternity. Then a smile creeped back into place.

“Now your turn, Sixer.”

“You think you can do it better than me?” Ford teased.

Bill’s laugh reverberated through the nothingness.

“Oh I know I can do it better than you.”

He clapped his hands and the world around them multiplied. Their shapes unfolded, a kaleidoscope of things taking the place of the nothingness.

“What are we–” Ford stumbled and fell. His mouth hung agape. “The Pentagon?”

Bill chuckled.

“You know, for a place with so much inspiration from triangles they took their name from the wrong shape.”

“From triangles? You mean… you've been here before?” Ford palmed his forehead. “Of course, how couldn't you? Dollar bills have your likeness in them, don't they? And–”

Bill considered Ford's ramblings for a second, then cut him off with a finger to his lips.

“It's almost time for a hearing.” He told him. “And they'll come at any moment.” His shoulders shook with barely contained amusement. “But then again, so will you!”

Ford's eyebrows shot up his head.

“You don't mean…”

Bill pulled on the scientist's hand, taking him right behind the lectern. A desk shielded their forms from sight.

“You better be quiet, Sixer.”

Ford tried to tell himself this was not real, but the detailed feel of the wood grain under his fingers kept making it feel so. A strange thrill ran through him.

“You'll have to admit I am more creative, if anything.” Bill teased. His hands resumed the labor they had started in their private mental room. Everywhere he touched sparks ignited and spread. A wanton noise escaped the scientist’s lips.

Voices came from outside the room and Ford shuddered.

“Now, now, Sixer. Try to keep it down.” Bill chastised him.

The hands picked up the pace and suddenly Ford was grasping at anything he could, his teeth biting on Bill's shoulder lightly to stop the sounds coming out of him.

“Are those teeth on my flesh a way to show me you'd eat me too?” Bill's face rippled with something for a second, “because I would eat you, Sixer. I would eat you up.”

Ford whimpered, the intensity of everything too much and not enough all at once. He chased the feeling building up in his abdomen, his legs twitching as he approached the precipice.

“That's it, Sixer, be a good boy and cum for your muse.”

The words did him in, his entire body seizing and tensing. Still Bill's touch did not relent. He stroked the wave of pleasure through until the ripples rolled over him and left only his shaking form, curled under his muse like Adam before his God.

“Exhilarating.” The word left Ford's mouth without his consent.

“I'd say that means I won.”

The door opened and people poured into the conference room, chatter replacing the silence quickly. Ford's eyes widened.

“Wh–”

“I'm just messing with you, Sixer. Here, let's head back.” Bill snapped his fingers.

Ford gasped as he sat back up on his bed. He was panting and could see his breath in the cold air.

“Your chimney went out.” Bill informed him.

Ford counted the beats of his heart slowly. One, two, three, four, five… six. He got up, heading to the living room. His head felt fuzzy and too hot.

“Damn it.”

There were no more logs on the shelf by the chimney. He put his coat on and took the axe by the door.

“Wait.”

Ford stopped at his muse’s command. He could feel his discomfort inside him.

“What’s wrong?” He felt strangely protective, not wanting Bill to be uncomfortable even when he knew his incorporeal form could hardly suffer danger.

“Something is not right.”

Images flashed before his eyes. A person stomping through the forest. Branches crushed under his weight. The man stumbled, leaning against a tree for support. The knots in its bark came alive, blinking, and moved to focus on him.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” Bill protested.

“What–”

“This wasn't supposed to happen now!”

“Bill, what's going on? What's wrong?”

The man in the vision fell to his knees, his chin was battered and bruised, his Afghan coat scratched and torn. Ford reeled, stumbling back as the image of the familiar face struck him.

“He was not supposed to be here yet!!” Bill was almost hysterical. Ford wanted to comfort him, but the shock wouldn't let him utter anything other than a low mumbling.

“No… i-it can't be!” He turned his thoughts to Bill “what is he doing here?”

His muse was suddenly silent, but Ford could feel his anger, seeping into every part of his body. He strode forward into the forest.

The trees became familiar. Crushed branches and a mess of dirt signalled the path to the man, laying on his knees and shivering.

“What do you think you are doing here?” Ford heard himself ask through the fog of anger.

The man almost jumped, turning to face him with fear written across his face.

“Hey man, I don't want any trouble, okay? I'm just looking for my br–” the man stopped stammering. His eyes widened. “Ford?”

Ford ground his teeth together, his jaw ticking.

“I said, what are you doing here, Stan?”

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