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The very purpose of the perpetual machine Ford has built was to get that scholarship. And to never stop moving. Which it now has.
Ford can feel his own smile crushing the edge of that one chipped tooth he has; back when he and Stanley worked on their childhood boat, and Stanley kept tugging on the crowbar, despite Ford telling him not to, painful contact of his brother's elbow with his mouth hard to forget. Stanley apologized, but Ford remembered the incident every time the bone would stab his tongue. Stanley apologized all the time.
Sometimes, it just wasn't enough.
He follows the college representative into the principal's office; glancing at the clock. Plenty of time for his mind to plan out the argument with his twin at home.
And an appropriate punishment.
☆ ☆ ☆
"Stanley."
"Hey, bro. Hey, hey, I'm watchin' that!"
Ford is nothing but a shadow, outlined in the glow of the TV filling out the living room with loud noises of a western shootout. The rest of the house is quiet, whether or not anyone else is home is unclear - but Ford could not care less. The boiling rage in him has reached its final point, rendering him concerningly calm while he stands in front of Stanley, who is laying upside down on the couch, head hanging a little over the edge.
Perfect height.
"How'd it go?"
"Maybe I need to ask you that, Stanley."
Stanley's lopsided smile falters. He knows he shouldn't look away from his brother when he comes home with that crackling air of anger around him. Which is now directed at Stanley. And he knows very well why. The oil on his fingers couldn't rinse all the way from trying to put back the dented cover of the machine after slamming the table it was displayed on.
His eyes dart to the floor, then back on Ford, hoping he wouldn't notice.
"Go on. I'm listening, Stanley." Ford continues, voice flat but audible through the noise of the movie, "And keep your eyes on me."
It's hard to swallow laying upside down, but Stanley still manages, cursing himself for the position he waited his brother in. Another unspoken rule is that he shouldn't move - even if the pain starts creeping into his joints. Even if he twitches under the seam of his tight jeans.
"I... Look, I was tryn'a take a peek and I just... wasn't tryin' to...."
The sound of Ford's belt unclasping makes the words stutter in his mouth.
"Talk."
"I... I'm sorry, Sixer, just wanted t'see it, and I got a lil upset..."
"Of course you did."
The swish of the belt through the hoops on Ford's pants makes Stanley jerk, palms pressed against the couch cushions damp from sweat. Ford steps away from the light of the screen, gripping the belt in his six fingered hands. The light is almost blinding in his shadow's absence and Stanley has to blink to readjust his vision. Once he does, his brother is stood above him, belt buckle stroking gently against Stanley's cheek.
"Of course you got upset. You know what that means, Stanley. You know where my life is headed." Ford kneels slowly, and Stanley's face reddens when he realizes he opened his mouth the closer Ford's crotch inched to him. A smack on the cheek reminds him to stay still and look at Ford again.
"You know I'm leaving New Jersey, and that means..." the leather wraps easily around Stanley's thick neck, clasp sliding down to be pressed flush on his artery, "... I'm leaving you. And you can't live without your big brother, can you, Stanley?"
Stanley feels tears welling up in his eyes, the very thought of them being far apart unbearable.
"Can't live..." Ford is cooing at this point, unbuttoning his pants and pulling his cock out with ease; other hand giving a slight tug to the makeshift leash he has on Stanley, "...without this."
Despite knowing what will come after, Stanley tries to jump off the couch - something close to "Pa" comes out in a strangled voice as the leash stays in place, and so does he. Fingers dug into the couch cushions, he writhes a little, Ford's cold gaze pinning him down more than the leather around his neck. Stanley knows he's physically stronger than Ford, every muscle on him twice the size of his brother's. But there is that invisible force, the bond they formed in the womb, Stanley feels, that keeps him weak whenever Ford demands it.
Like a scale, Ford's anger tilts their balance to his favor. Stanley doesn't have a word for it, at his age and at this time, he doesn't know what it is yet. But his twin brother's gaze at times changes, his voice drops from the cracking octave of rapidly developing body and takes on a form of someone much older. Much stronger. Someone who can hold Stanley down with nothing but sheer presence.
Nothing odd between siblings. One strong, and one bossy. But Stanley knows that the way his body reacted to Ford's demands was far from fraternal. And Ford found out the hard way; frozen in the doorway after lashing out at Stanley, notebooks in hand covered in soda from another in line of many mistakes Stanley made. Staring at the curve between Stanley's legs. Stanley tried desperately to cover up with a pillow, but one single word from Ford, and he had to present his shameful hard on to his twin. Morbidly curious as he is, Ford changed his approach to Stanley on occasions; testing, prodding, poking with the newfound commands. It could have been written off as hormones, until Stanley was whimpering on the bed unable to stop cumming into his briefs untouched, hands behind his back, as Ford insulted him softly, calling him names.
It became a routine, almost.
Routine of Stanley fucking up and then having to redeem himself by taking his twin into every part of himself.
"Wider." the tug of the leash is stronger, and Ford isn't even fully hard yet; but the position Stanley is in makes it hard to breathe against the underside of Ford's cock pressing deeper into his twin's mouth. "I know it can go farther, Stanley. Don't play innocent."
Stanley's hand is tapping against the couch, finger pointed in the direction of their parent's room. As a response, Ford pushes deeper into his mouth, tip of his cock pressed against the inside of Stanley's throat.
"So? You're worried that Pa might come out and see you like this?"
He can feel Stanley's rapid panicked breaths on his skin, as he starts thrusting. Stanley's eyes roll back, but the hand gripping the worn out fabric is pointing again. The next thrust is deep and sudden; it should hurt, Ford knows it does, because the stiff hem of Stanley's jeans between his legs begins to strain.
"And? If I asked Pa to let you stay here as my dog, Stanley, he would let me. He lets me do anything I want, as long as I'm profitable. He'd put up with his son's filthy moans if it means I'm happy. If it means I will bring him money."
Stanley's jaw hurts but every twinge makes his cock twitch; unable to rut against the stiff fabric of his jeans he writhes, desperate for any friction. Touching himself is out of the question, and another smack lands on his cheek, sharper. He's certain that Ford can read his mind.
"Hands down. Where was I..." the thrusts pick up the speed and the strain on Stanley's throat increases, seams of the belt that will turn into a nasty burn tomorrow morning, "... right. Pa." Ford chuckles, "He would let me breed you like a puppy, Stanley, and you know it. That's why you keep messing up. You want to be punished."
Breaths sliding down Ford's cock are uneven, mixing with the soft whines coming from his brother whose tongue is lapping on every inch of skin it can reach. Ford is nowhere close to finishing, anger still simmering inside preventing him from fully indulging into the feeling of his brother's experienced mouth. But Stanley is falling apart. He seems to have slid slightly to the left where the curve of the couch is fuller, pushing himself against it at the same speed Ford is rutting inside his throat.
Ford leans down only slightly, just enough so that Stanley has to stop every movement to hear what he says over the gallop of the horses on TV, and his own too loud heartbeat.
"Do you really think I'm going to let you cum after what you've done?"
The sob that comes from Stanley is so sweet; he's fighting his own body, but Ford prevails. Perfectly still, Stanley tilts his head slightly so that his twin can thrust against his face easier. By this time, his neck has probably gone numb; Ford knows every single nerve and tendon, the way blood flows through his brother's body, all of those small inner mechanisms that allow him to push it to the very limit.
"Crampelter, that idiot, is right, Stanley, you are my dog on a leash. Horny little dog, humping the couch from having...." Ford slows down, pushing deeper, until Stanley's face is flush against his crotch,".... how you'd say, his brother's dick fucking his dirty mouth."
First there were tears wetting Stanley's face, and now his own saliva smeared by the movements that Ford is making. If he breathes incorrectly just once, he feels like he will choke. The leather belt being tugged on, twisting his neck uncomfortably but in just the right way for him to start leaking in his own pants, isn't helping.
Ford's fingers on the buttons of them feel like heaven, a promise of a release. Fabric open and tugged up to sit bunched up around his thighs, Stanley moans. His brother isn't touching him directly, just rubbing gently up his shirt and down Stanley's stomach, smearing everything that leaked from him. All he can do is rut against air while his mouth is fucked. He must be making obscene desperate noises, to hell with their parents, Stanley can only smell and feel Ford, and that strain in his cock that he's trying to fight.
Ford's deep, sickly-sweet voice is the touch he needs.
"Good boy."
A small tear that already existed on the surface of the cushion rips under Stanley's closed fist from the pull. Not letting go of Ford's cock, but pushing himself closer onto it, he trembles and moans as he spills all over his shirt; some of it inevitably ending up on Ford's hands and through the daze he hears Ford's fingers popping out of his mouth as he sucks on them.
"That's a third mistake in less than an hour. You must really love this, Stanley." Ford says between licks.
The belt loosens. Sharp inhales Ford feels probably make Stanley even more lightheaded, with the position he's in, and the intensity of his orgasm. No doubt, Stanley wouldn't tell him even if he was about to pass out. Ford had to keep count, and it was becoming harder and harder to do so, as a new thought spurred his anger back up. Stanley truly thinks his brother would leave him.
"Stanley?"
A small sob from under him as a confirmation he heard it, ready for another instruction.
"I want you to listen to me very carefully."
The leather twists around Ford's wrist, pulling Stanley forward, just enough so he needs to reach out himself when Ford slips out of his mouth. And he does - wrecked and barely conscious, he still leans towards his brother, tongue outstretched just enough to rest on the tip. As gently as he pulled out, Ford slides his cock back in, leash firmly in place, and starts pounding.
"No matter what I do..." he slams into Stanley's mouth too quickly, but the precision of the thrusts avoiding any bruising; Stanley will no doubt have an aching neck in the morning but he will be able to eat.
"No matter how far I go...." Ford's own hips now stuttering, he has to press onto Stanley's shoulder for balance. Stanley's hand desperately grabbing his wrist - the rule is that he cannot touch himself, but it said nothing about not touching Ford - and Ford smiles.
"You will always follow," slams are becoming uneven, Stanley moaning at the precum leaking from the corner of his lips, mixed with spit; Ford's cock plunging deep into him in rapid thrusts, "like a good, obedient little dog you are."
Stanley's mouth grips his cock tightly, and he nods; with a groan, Ford starts filling up his mouth. It seems to never end, the warm streaks of come running down Stanley's tongue, but he doesn't back off. He never does. Even when it's over and the belt is undone he remains in his position, running his tongue against the swollen lips for any trace of his brother he can get.
The gentle stroke of Ford's fingers on his cheek, and a chaste kiss on his forehead, makes it all so worth it.
Ford sits back on the floor, eyes not leaving his brother's.
"Do you really think one ruined project would deter them from me? Do you even know what's in the portfolio they received from the principal? It was just a presentation, Stanley. Just a live demonstration with me there. The school is full of my completed projects; it would take a lot more than a childish tantrum to get this scholarship to fail."
Stanley looks up at the ceiling, cheeks and ears red.
"I get to do another show on Monday. And you are going to be there. Where I can see you. Got it?"
A nod.
"Good. Let's get you cleaned up. And, Stanley?" Ford turns for a moment, Stanley still red in the face, but seemingly able to get his balance to work as he sits up, after being upside down for so long. "Pa will catch us when I decide that he will. Remember that."
Stanley presses a palm against his softening cock with a whine.
☆ ☆ ☆
The clean up doesn't last long, warmth of the shower, Ford's hands and his kisses, are soothing, but the dinner time is approaching.
Ford pretends the fair went just fine when their father asks about it, exiting the bedroom, groggy from a nap.
Stanley pretends he did not see the sleeping pills fall out of Ford's pocket in the bathroom.
If he's lucky enough, he will forever be his twin brother's puppy.