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Of all the days to be caught in a vicious rainstorm, today just has to be the day.
You sigh, shivering as a fat droplet of water slides down between your shoulder blades. Your thin cotton tee offers no protection from the elements, nor do your soggy jeans and damp boots.
Gravity Falls often has random weather swings, but usually you were lucky enough to be inside when the worst of it battered the town. The only reason you're traipsing around outside is because your boss, Stanley, has fixed you with the mundane task of delivering flyers for the Mystery Shack's newest faux monster.
Of course, fat lot of good those garish leaflets will do now, glued as they are to your chest and arms with the rain.
A sudden crack of thunder overhead has you scrambling for cover however; the flyers ditched in a nearby trash can as you splash along the grassy track back to the Shack. You curse Stan under your breath as the rain falls harder, almost painful against your exposed skin.
With the looming figure of the Mystery Shack in sight, you begin to jog towards it. Technically this is off the clock work, so it isn't as though Stan can be that mad at you for quitting half way through....
*~*~*~*~*~*
"Whaddya mean you dumped the flyers?!"
You roll your eyes; you've been wrong before after all.
"They were useless!" You snap, foul tempered and still soaked to the skin. "The whole lot got ruined! Blame the weather, it wasn't my fault!"
"I shelled out fifty bucks on those things!" Stan growls, turning his back on you.
"Yeah?! Well my medical bill is gonna be quadruple that because you made me stand out there in the damn cold!" You scowl and shove past him, hoping to warm up in the kitchen and avoid Stan's grouching.
"Don't you drip on that rug, young lady!" He yells after you, as concerned for your health as ever.
You ignore him, afraid that if you answer him back it'll lead to a full out screaming match between you two. Bypassing the kitchen, you stride through to the back of the Shack instead in the hopes of finding a spare pair of clothes Wendy might've left behind from a while ago.
Your rage clouded vision leads you head first into a solid torso, however. Ready to rip the obstruction a new one, you open your mouth and look up.
"Watch where you're g-"
Your jaw shuts of it's own accord with a soft click. It's Stanford. Of course it's Stanford bloody Pines, standing before you in his ridiculous sweater and slacks, looking as put together as ever.
"Sorry!" He smiles apologetically. "Are you alright?"
You blink owlishly up at the object of your affection for the past year.
"Uh. I got caught in the rain." You gesture to yourself, feeling stupid in your ruined clothes.
"I, uh, I have some spare stuff you could borrow if you like? Just until your clothes dry out...." He shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant.
"If that's alright?" You beam, nodding eagerly. "I'd really appreciate it, Ford."
Stanford smiles and motions for you to follow him, heading down the hall to his room. You rub your hands together as you walk, trying to regain the feeling in your fingers.
Ford lets you in after him and immediately starts to rifle through his wardrobe, muttering under his breath. You smile to yourself; he's ridiculously adorable.
You must zone out temporarily because when you glance up Ford is staring right back at you, grinning like a cat with a canary.
"Here, these should do for you." He tosses you a bundle of clothes and a towel, eyes flicking up and down your form. You murmur your thanks and wait for him to leave.
It takes Ford a good few seconds to catch on but he smiles sheepishly, a slight blush coloring his cheeks when he does.
"Sorry. I'll be outside." He mumbles awkwardly, hurrying from the room.
You chuckle and start to strip off, leaving your soaked jeans and tee laid over the back of a chair before you pull on the heavy knit fisherman's sweater and lounge pants Ford gave you. The trouser legs pool around your feet and you tighten the pull cord around the waist until they fit snugly there. You catch your reflection in the mirror on the bedroom wall and laugh quietly. You look ridiculous; Ford is a good head and a bit taller than you and his clothes hang off your frame awkwardly.
You towel your hair as dry as you can make it before you leave, stepping into the hall.
Ford has his back to you but he turns at the sound of the floorboards creaking.
"Thanks for these, Stanford. I feel better already." You smile up at him and he looks you over slowly.
"You look good...." He blurts suddenly, looking as taken aback as you feel. "I mean- they suit you! My clothes. You look.... Nice in my clothes."
"I look dumb." You snort, ungainly as ever.
Ford shakes his head adamantly. "You look cute."
You fiddle with a loose thread on the hem of the sweater, avoiding Ford's gaze.
"Thanks...."
There's beat of silence that feels like it stretches for an eternity and Ford clears his throat.
"There's hot chocolate in the kitchen. I was making it before you got here anyway but you're welcome to some of you want it."
You smile warmly. "That sounds perfect."
Ford ushers you into the parlor before he nips back to the kitchen and you take advantage of the time alone to settle down in front of the roaring fire.
The warmth seeps into your bones, swallowing up the chill slowly, and you close your eyes for a moment to bask in the feeling of peace....
~*~*~*~*~
It's two hours later when you wake up, disoriented and groggy, but a damn site warmer than you were before your impromptu nap. You stifle a yawn and stretch, relishing in the crack your bones make as you extend your limbs. You attempt to sit up, but a weight around your waist forces you to stay still. Carefully, you turn yourself around to see what's holding you in place but come nose to nose with a sleeping Stanford.
You feel yourself getting hot all over and this time you know the fire at your back has nothing to do with it.
It's then, of course, that Ford chooses to open his eyes. He meets your wide eyed stare with his own owlish gaze, but makes no move to lean away.
"Um. Hello." You whisper intelligently into the space between you and him.
Stanford cringes as though you've just yelled the words at him instead of murmuring them softly.
"I am so sorry...." He manages to get out, voice unsteady. "I was sitting behind you and- I must've fallen asleep, it's highly inappropriate, I apologize-"
You press your index finger to his lips to quieten him.
"It's fine." You smile faintly, surprised by the sudden calmness that overtakes you. "You helped me warm up."
Ford raises his eyebrows. "You're not upset?"
You shake your head, lowering your hand from Ford’s face. A comfortable silence falls over the two of you, the sounds of the fire crackling filling the room as Ford’s gaze drops to your mouth. You bite your lower lip habitually, a nervous tic you’ve had from a young age, and tilt your head just so as Ford leans into you.
The kiss is brief; nothing more than a fleeting touch of lips, there’s barely enough contact to call the action a kiss to begin with. When the two of you break apart, there’s a moment of hesitancy, as though neither of you want to break the tension of the room. It last for all of two seconds before you’re kissing again; properly this time.
Your eyes flutter shut as Ford rolls you onto your back, his weight settling over you on the persian rug. He nips at your bottom lip gently and pulls away, his cheeks flushed.
Ford tilts your head back to allow himself access to your neck, peppering kisses along your throat and into the dip of your décolletage. He makes you gasp in surprise when he bites down on the ridge of bone suddenly; hard enough to leave a mark but nothing painful. You laugh breathlessly and tangle your fingers in his hair, giving it a playful ruffle as though you're admonishing him. Ford looks up at you as he nudges the hem of the sweater up, letting it rest just below your chest.
“Is this alright?” He asks quietly, voice hoarse. “I'll stop if you want me to….”
“Don't you dare!” You huff, lifting your hips so Stanford can tug the bottoms he lent you down.
He laughs, clearly amused by your impatience, but continues his ministrations; he mouths down your stomach, pressing hot, wet kisses to the spot just above the waistband of your underwear.
You sigh as his mouth makes contact with you over your knickers; his tongue laves at your clit, his motions slow at first as though he's unsure of your reaction before he begins to get bolder. It doesn't take him long to slip the crotch of your panties to one side and go for gold. Your hands find his hair again, except this time the playfulness is replaced with desperation. Tugging on the thick strands, you clamp your thighs around Ford’s head; he doesn't seem to mind however, if anything it encourages him to put more effort into eating you out.
Tiny gasps and moans fill the room, most of them yours but some of them not. One of Ford’s big hands is holding your left thigh, whilst the other is resting on your stomach. His tongue circles your clit a few times before he gently delves the tip into you again, creating a lewd parody of himself fucking you. You glance down to warn him that you're almost at your peak, but the sight takes your limited breath away: Ford’s eyes are half closed with pleasure, his cheeks stained a deep crimson. His glasses are skewed and his hair is in utter disarray, strands of it sticking up every which way from your absent minded hands.
He's gorgeous.
Your climax hits you like a ton of bricks. Your body arches up from the rug, shaking with exertion, your thighs trembling around Ford’s head. A muted thump rings out as your head drops back of it's own accord. You pant, lungfuls of air puffing your chest up as you try to catch your breath again.
Ford sits back, mouth glistening in the firelight. He lovingly rights your clothes again before he collapses by your side, a self satisfied smirk on his face.
“That was….unexpected.” You manage to gasp out, looking over at him.
Ford laughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, practically glowing with the achievement of making you come.
“The good kind of unexpected?”
You nod feverently, leaning up to steal a kiss from the older man. He seizes the opportunity to make the kiss deeper and you hum as you taste yourself on his tongue. You rest your foreheads together and slip a hand between the two of you with intention of returning the favor of getting Ford off, but you're surprised when he grabs your wrist to stop you. Assuming something is wrong, you look up at him with furrowed brows.
“What is it?”
Ford suddenly looks immensely embarrassed; his gaze drops so he doesn't have to meet your eyes and he mumbles something unintelligible.
“Huh?” You lean in a little bit to hear.
“I already came…..” He repeats, his voice shy.
You smile and press a kiss to the corner of Ford’s mouth.
“I didn't realize you enjoyed those kinds of things that much.” You tease lightly, pleased when he smiles back at you.
“I don't usually, I think it's just you.” He confesses, playing with your hair.
It's your turn to blush now; It catches you off guard to see Ford like this, so openly affectionate.
“I've been wanting to do that for sometime now, you know.” Stanford says, his eyes sparkling with mirth, any trace of his previous embarrassment gone. “You've been driving me mad.”
You duck your head, a small smile gracing your features; you know the feeling well.
You right his glasses and snuggle into his side, content to stay like that for a while. The two of you lay in relative silence for a while, until you let the secure feeling of Ford’s strong figure beside you lull you back to sleep.
Maybe getting caught in the rain isn't so bad after all.