A/N: Contains boy/boy.
It was very wrong, his thoughts, his desires. The way he looked at the young man was absolutely heinous.
He had hoped to be over Claire, but now he wanted her back. He wanted to think about her, not him, not Luke nodding off in the chair. He didn't want her wavy brown hair be replaced with Luke's perpetually cow-licked brown hair. He didn't want to forget the curve of her back for Luke's firm, unblemished backside, or the smoothness of her cheek for the back of his neck. Hershel strained his memory, rummaging through to find whatever he could to replace the images he had of Luke, but it was no use. The woman was blurred and whatever bits he could retrieve were knocked from his thoughts.
His thoughts were one problem, his actions a crime: brushing back the other's bangs and smoothing his hands over Luke's face.
Why was he doing it? Wasn't he a gentleman? Men, though differen from women, are to be treated civilly.
He paused. He didn't want to pause, but he did.
A muddled breath left Luke's lips, drawing the Professor's attention back to perverse matters. And then the younger man turned his head, leaving his neck exposed. He really wanted to-- and he did-- brush his lips behind Luke's ear.
Luke awoke with a start and Hershel's lust, dammed up with only a single crack, broke free, and Luke drowned.