Work Text:
West knows that it is powerfully uncool to develop a crush on your girlfriend's dad.
Especially when your girlfriend's dad is the same guy that kidnapped you when you were a kid, and did all kinds of freaky experiments on you.
Maybe it's that thing, you know, Stockwell Syndrome. Or whatever it's called.
But it's not like he thinks about Mr. Butler all the time, every second of the day, but that's totally not the point. The point is, he shouldn't be thinking about him right now.
Right now, he should be thinking about Claire. About her sweet smile and sexy ass, the way her tits looked in that V-neck shirt she was wearing this morning; the way she kisses, like it's something really bad and really good that she's totally not supposed to be doing
His dick twitches in his hand and he tightens his grip reflexively. The pressure feels good. Really good. Almost like...
A hundred and ninety pounds of pissed off secret agent or something, pinning him to the grass with narrow hips and forcing his hands down. Not yelling at him, though the guy is so mad he's practically vibrating with it; leaning down into West's face like he's just looking for an excuse to lay into him.
West's hand is moving faster, up and down and up and just a little too hard, but he can't stop now. He brings his other hand up to his mouth, biting down to stifle the helpless noises he's kind of aware that he's making. His eyes slam shut as he tastes the salt of his own skin, and he wonders how Mr. Butler would taste; how he'd grab the back of West's head and force him down deeper on his cock. How he'd kiss him after, all wet, nasty, skillful tongue, like he didn't even care about the taste or anything, and his glasses would dig into West's cheek when they kissed, and West wouldn't care about that at all.
How he'd maybe let West do it again someday, if he's really good. Would maybe even pull him off before he was done and push him down on his stomach, and how weird good too much it would feel when Mr. Butler fucked him, hands holding his hips in an iron grip while his own hands just grabbed for anything to hold on to, and...
And, wow. West hasn't come that hard in a long time. And he can't even pretend he was thinking about Claire. Or a girl. Or anyone other than his girlfriend's dad.
He is so not cool.