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“johnny, feels weird,” simon whines and gasps as his thighs are pressed to his chest while johnny ruts into him. his fingers dig into johnny’s shoulder, nails pressing indents into his tan skin. his cock leaks against his stomach, so red and ruddy and useless, bobbing with every hard thrust of johnny’s hips.
there’s a feeling stirring in his belly—
“yeah?” johnny smiles, all teeth and bright, bright eyes, filled with so much desire. he looks like a God, kissed by the sun and just as radiant.
“good or bad weird?”
“good,” simon rasps, head falling back against the cushions.
this should be embarrassing, shouldn’t it? to be reduced to this whining, incoherent mess just because he’s getting fucked— getting fucked by his young, hot babysitter at that. his cock twitches, drooling more against his abdomen at the thought, adding to the mess already there. god, he really is fucked up.
just some old pervert—
johnny groans, balls slapping against simon’s ass on a particularly deep stroke, and simon feels his body practically come alight, thoughts knocked clean out of his head as he pants like a bitch in heat, desperate and wanting.
johnny presses a hand on simon’s tummy, and the pressure is just enough to intensify the pleasure; white-hot and all-consuming.
“yeah?” he murmurs, “‘s it cause you want me to put a baby right here? i’m not wearing a condom, so we need to be careful, don’t we, sweetheart?”
the thought of it makes his toes curl, and it wracks through him like the crack of a whip— simon cums, hard, eyes rolling back as he moans, the sensation crashing over him as his back arches, cock spilling cum all over his front. fuck—
ʚ♡ɞ
(“looks like you liked that,” johnny brushes his knuckles along the ridge of simon’s cock, fingers dragging along the slick of all that pearly white cum, smile tinged with an edge of intrigue.
the post-orgasm glow makes him look phenomenal. simon probably looks like a wet cat.
(so he valiantly he tries not to think about it.)
“i don’t even wanna talk about it,” simon mumbles. you learn something new every day, he supposes— and his is that he’s an old pervert, a single dad with grey hairs and reading glasses, at that— who gets off on the biologically improbable thought of being knocked up by his very attractive and virile babysitter.
he closes his eyes— but is only haunted by memories of johnny calling him his pretty little wife, rambling madly about how badly he wants to knock simon up. the sort of mortifying recollection of how simon’s cock bounced on his stomach, how he’d blushed down to his chest, as johnny thumbed at the fat, leaky head of his cock and teased him for moaning like a girl.)
“whatever you say, love,” johnny presses a kiss to his forehead, and sounds very much like he’s biting back a laugh.
…simon wonders if this would be acceptable to talk about at therapy.)