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There's something about messing with Fiddleford’s head that Bill clearly enjoys. Fiddleford doesn't have the first idea what it is about him that entertains the unholy abomination so much, but it's clearly something. He wishes the demon would just leave him well enough alone, but he doesn't get to be so lucky.
Instead, he gets to deal with Bill taunting him, pushing his buttons, and screwing around in Ford's body. Fiddleford thought he'd give up eventually, but he just keeps pushing.
“What do ya want, Bill?” Fiddleford asks before the creature even has a chance to speak, recognizing the yellow eyes for what they are.
Bill laughs. “Is that any way to greet your old pal?” He outstretches his arms like he's expecting a hug, but Fiddleford maintains his distance.
“We ain't pals,” he spits out. “Now what do you want?”
Bill pouts, using Ford's lips to do so. “I'm just here to explore human life, fiddlesticks. There's nothing wrong with that.”
“There's everythin’ wrong with it when you're a damn demon.”
“Demon is such a harsh word, don't you think?”
“No.” Fiddleford’s eyes narrow. “Stanford might not be able to see it, but it's what you are. And I won't be roped into any evil you've got planned.”
Bill just laughs and laughs. He laughs too long and too loud and Fiddleford just wants to shut the sound out of his head forever and lock the doors.
“You know, fiddlesticks, you're funny,” Bill taunts as he steps closer. Fiddleford backs away, trying to keep as much distance as possible between them. “I think you and I could have a lot of fun together.”
Fiddleford scoffs. “I don't wanna know your idea of fun.”
“Don't you?” Bill grins and backs Fiddleford up against the nearest table. Fiddleford feels his heartbeat quicken as he's cornered, Bill stepping into his personal space. “Unlike Fordsy, I'm not oblivious. I know how you look at him.” He walks two of his fingers up Fiddleford’s arm, making him shiver.
Fiddleford shoves at Bill's chest, but Stanford is strong and built like a goddamn wall, so he doesn't budge. “Q– Quit it, you– you foul thing.” Fiddleford hates how shakily his voice comes out, like he's uncertain.
Bill just grins wider and it looks so wrong on Ford's face. “I know you want him. Well, he's right here.” He pushes his leg between both of Fiddleford's. “If you want, we can make a deal. I'll give you Fordsy and I can have access to you.”
The thought of it is appalling. Disgusting. Sickening. It'd be a sin to desire his friend in the way Bill is implying.
That doesn't stop Fiddleford’s mind from wandering sometimes. It doesn't stop the butterflies in his stomach from fluttering when Ford smiles at him and it doesn't change the fact that Fiddleford would rather be by Ford's side than his own wife's.
Bill must catch sight of Fiddleford’s shame because he laughs again. “Just think of it, specs,” he teases. “You can have all you've ever wanted.”
Fiddleford shoves against his chest again. “No,” he says firmly. “I ain't givin’ in to any damn demon's temptation.”
“But you want to.” Bill's — Ford's — hands settle at Fiddleford’s hips. They're big hands.
Fiddleford shakes his head. “I got a wife,” he insists, trying to bury his conflicting feelings. “A son. They're all I want.”
Bill laughs in his face. He's always fucking laughing. “That's not true, fiddlesticks. You left them behind to play around with sixer, remember? You could've had them all you wanted, but you abandoned them.”
Guilt creeps beneath Fiddleford’s skin. It crawls over him with its spindly legs that dig into his heart. “I didn't–”
“Oh, but you did.” How is it possible for Bill's smile to grow even wider? “All for Fordsy. But let me tell you something.” He leans in close to whisper in Fiddleford’s ear. “He doesn't like you the way you like him.”
Fiddleford tries to jerk away, but he's trapped between the table and Ford's solid body. “I don't–”
“He doesn't think about kissing you. He doesn't imagine a world where the two of you settle down together. He thinks you're his friend. His very good, trusted friend. What do you think he'd think if he realized what his good buddy thought of him?”
Fiddleford’s face burns in shame. He knows Stanford doesn't feel the same way about him, could never feel the same. He knows that his feelings are perverse and shameful, but hearing it all laid out before him makes him feel dizzy with embarrassment.
He shouldn't have these thoughts about his friend. Not when his friend trusts him and loves him in the way friends do. Fiddleford is sick in the head for wanting Ford in the way he does.
“I–” He chokes on his words, unable to come up with a defense.
Bill chuckles. “But if you make a deal with me, I promise not to judge you in the least. You can kiss and touch Fordsy all you please and no one will think you're a dirty little pervert.”
“Fuck you,” Fiddleford spits. “Get the hell off me.”
“Feisty. I can get into that.” Bill presses a kiss to Fiddleford’s cheek. “Oh well. If you ever change your mind, you know who to call!”
He finally releases Fiddleford and steps back. Fiddleford feels like he can finally breathe again.
With a blink, Bill is replaced by Ford, who looks mildly confused. “Fiddleford?” He adjusts his glasses. “Are you alright? You look flustered.”
Fiddleford looks away. “I'm fine.”
He wishes he was.