Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Unemployment was, ironically, exhausting. Between managing your finances, picking up odds and ends around town, scrounging up enough money to keep yourself afloat, or even trying to apply again somewhere else, the whole ordeal had you beat. Rejection came incessantly, and it came that no matter what you tried, each one was more discouraging than the last. It was only at the end of the day that you could brush your problems aside and settle into the ease and comfort of your own home. It wasn’t everyone’s go-to, but often enough you found a shower was the perfect way to relax after the grind of your day. Plus, with your Dateviators, there were hardly any complaints on your end from the extra company.

You would hardly call Johnny a handsome stranger. He had been your shower for — how long by now? — and it was arguable if he even perceived you being naked all those times. The Dateviators certainly helped to bridge that gap between you, letting you chat with him after a long day, pick his brain about anything, or just listen to his awful singing.

It was you leaving them on by accident that roped you two closer together. After an especially embarrassing incident and flustering each other, you figured it less awkward to keep them on and try salvaging the situation. And eventually, chatting with him while you showered became a welcome part of your day.

For weeks on end that was your routine, finances, job hunt, wind down with Johnny. And for weeks on end, you couldn’t help but notice him growing more comfortable with it, even a bit bold lately.

Sure, he just about called you everything under the sun, but there came to be a tipping point with the way he called you gorgeous.

It was understandable that a gentleshower such as himself would act like that complete with all the Southern-isms that passed his lips. Though, there was something undeniable about that drawl and the affectionate lilt to his words – not to mention just how comfortable he got monologuing about being stuck as your shower, his dreams of being a superstar, or his latest embarrassment at The Breaker Box. It was impossible to ignore the way his face lit up whenever you walked in your downstairs bathroom.

Johnny was polite, almost excessively, as part of that Nashville charm. It was against him to stare while you went about your business. Consistently, he’d let you have your space, lean himself against the wall, and yammer on while keeping his head stiffly turned in the opposite direction. Sometimes he went on about his usual woes, sometimes showering factoids, or even – strangely enough – tips. Each time you offered him a glance, you were torn on whether you could make out a flush of his cheeks or a distortion of his features through the steam.

He’d only ever look at you once you got a towel on; however, with time you found him loosening with your shower conversations – and it certainly helped that you took longer than that “12 minute average”.

Every once in awhile he’d look up to you after a joke, at least skimming his eyes at the uppermost part of your face. Or, if the occasion called, he might offer you something you might have missed before getting yourself in the shower. Dangling it over the top was enough, for the time being, he refused to open the door on you. And, at some point, he was even helping you dry your hair after. Naturally, he kept with his incessant chatter all the while.

Maybe for once it was your turn to be catered to.

Chapter Text

It certainly seemed to be that way with how he was standing there now. Johnny wasn’t the demanding type, unlike a few others in your house, but there was something undeniable about his eyes flitting over you – looking you over like you weren’t coming in fast enough – that slight flush to his cheeks and rushed, rhythmic tapping of his foot; and to top it all off, how he was standing there without that signature rack of a vest or his over-the-top shower door cape.

You hadn’t even closed the door when he ushered you in and closed off the rest of the house.

“It’s a darn shame.” He drawled, shepherding you in with that arm hovering over your back, “You work yourself ragged and ain’t got nobody to fret over you.” Johnny continued with that low tone and those slow vowels. Your routine had some perks to it, including, but not limited to, that warmth whenever you were this close to him. Hell, he hardly touched you and already you were rolling your shoulders back, ever-so-slightly shimmying off your top, and letting yourself lean closer. It was damn clear you came in here for a shower.

“I can handle myself just fine.” You lied. Your head was already tucked against his front, not really leaving much room as you gesticulated and offhandedly motioned your hand, growing minimally more lethargic by the second, “You don’t have to coddle me.”

His chest rumbled behind you with a light hum, one of those Tennessee molasses-lathered ‘hooo’’s leaving him, “Oh, gorgeous, you don’t have to tell me twice.” That voice somehow managed to tease, working in perfect adjointment as Johnny’s hand gingerly pried at your waistband, “‘Sides, a little sugar never hurt anyone.”

Gorgeous was something you were so attuned to hearing around him, but consistently it never failed to send your heart fluttering hard and nearly out from your chest. With how often he said it, he had to have at least a semblance of what it did to you — it was daily that the endearment came out from between his lips.

He wasn’t stupid. He flunked out of medical school twice, meaning he got in twice, meaning he passed the MCAT at least once? It depended on when he took it, really. Though, all that was hardly any of your concern while his touch was sending you buzzing beside him.

Most routines were on autopilot with Johnny, and the sentiment went without question for the ones you’ve done just about daily. Already you found yourself leaning into him, the both of you looking like a set of spoons with the way your body was curved against him. Your hips were skewed at an off angle, and a hand was placed near his to help slip your bottoms off.

The other was more than comfortable in reaching up to cup his cheek, tilting his gaze more towards you than at what he was doing, “It looks like you want more than just some sugar.” It was harmless really, a light jab to something you were obviously more than willing for, yet that seemed to be enough to send his eyes darting the other way and for his hands to cling you closer, fiddling only slightly with the hem of your pants.

With as much talk and flirting as he did, here your shower was fumbling with something so easy as an elastic waistband. He had you up against him in a way most would kill for, yet he was still careful enough to try his best to not touch your bare thighs, especially after being verbally caught in the act.

He was successful, marginally. Only a few stray, accidental touches, and for each one he tensed, murmuring what you could barely make out as an apology. And as if all that wasn’t enough, you couldn’t help but notice each and every slip-up only feeding that adorable red tint to his cheeks.

“Now, I ain’t no peepin’ Tom, but it’d be criminal to leave this all to you, darlin’.” He swallowed hard, and with your face being pressed near his, you could feel the heat from him flushing about furiously at this point. His brows furrowed and he pursed his lips before continuing sheepishly, “There ain’t much space in ‘ere, but you wouldn’t mind some company, would you?”

Your pants were about down to your ankles, and the most help you offered was lifting your feet slightly to step out of your shoes. Aside from that, you kept your hand against his cheek, a soft encouragement from how you gently caressed the spot. You were about to speak by the time you were shamelessly naked against him, though he just kept going.

“We’ll squeeze in just fine, so don’t you worry your pretty lil’ head about that.” His hand found your waist, a slight tremor passing through him as he hooked you close and reeled you flat against his chest, “I’ve seen you in there plenty — not that I’m ooglin’, ‘course, but —”

Johnny was still clothed for the most part, and ignoring your condition beside him, he was just about getting away with himself. Between him opting to look at the floor now instead of your face, and the chill of the bathroom more apparent from your lack of clothes, you let your grip trail a bit farther back to try and pull him from his thoughts – and pull his face just a tad bit closer.

“You’ve got a… fine body. Hell, I’ve called you ravishing before, and without a doubt you are, baby, probably the only damn thing that goes through my head most days ‘side from my dream —”

He was a fucking idiot, really. Lovable, but he had his moments – not to mention chickening out whenever it came to delivering on each and every one of those times he’s flirted with you. “All hat and no cattle”, to put it into one of his many colorful idioms. At a point, you tuned his rambling out. Sure, he wasn’t saying exactly the right things, but he very obviously meant well, and there was absolutely no mistaking the conflict currently underwent between the head on his shoulders and the head between his legs.

But every touch was soft, tender, despite the fact that he was talking himself into a corner.

So, you brought him closer, zeroing in on his lips more than anything else. And as far as focus went, Johnny was trying his damndest to pay attention to anything except the way you were reacting to him. He said something else, something about one of the other pieces of furniture probably, but you just kept pulling his face closer. Closer, closer, right up until you captured his lips in a kiss.

And that had him near feverish.

His eyes darted back over to you; you could’ve sworn there was a fire on his cheeks; and in a knee-jerk response, he yanked you towards him.

Adorable, really.

Your hand against the back of his hand began to comb gently through those seemingly-endlessly-wet ringlets of hair. You went in a slow, rhythmic motion, something to get lost in; besides, he was a sucker for touch. His heart was thrumming against your chest, and so you let your free hand trail up his arm, smoothing over the soft, albeit clearly-waterproof material of that camp collar shirt. It was with a soft whine that he reciprocated, and you were wrapped in his arms from the first moment he regained his senses.

There was a boyishness in how he clutched you against him, dipped you ever-so-slightly like his showerhead of a microphone, and pulled your lips away from his with a soft pop!, only to face you and start to laugh. “Gorgeous… gorgeous…” He was humming, practically purring like a cat with the way his arms encircled your waist. With his heart still going a mile a minute, he managed to pepper you with kisses: your cheeks, your forehead, between your eyes, the crook of your neck…

There were still reservations for below your shoulders, but with the way his lips continuously teased the boundary of your collarbone, it was only a matter of time.

Chapter Text

“I won’t call you a masochist,” Johnny crooned, setting the showerhead up in its bracket, “But you, gorgeous, have a penchant for nearly burnin’ yourself alive in ‘ere.”

Scalding water cascaded over the both of you as his hands softly traced your figure from the back. Already, he was humming to some rockabilly tune, his fingers tapping between lathers of body wash on your damp skin. His hums only grew more prevalent as his lips drew nearer to the crook of your neck, nuzzling close and peppering light kisses to the area.

His breath rolled over your skin between each, and you couldn’t suppress a shiver as you head tilted to accommodate him. You were warm all over, namely that pit in your stomach that nearly boiled over with every pass he made at your lower abdomen, but from the heat of the water and the warmth from Johnny behind you. His fingers splayed out for every pass, circling with the gentlest bit of pressure.

He was lathering the soap in a rhythm almost. Every motion followed through and cycled again elsewhere, playing you like some instrument except the only music you were making were pleasured sighs and calls of his name.

You were getting lost in it. The slight shuffle of his feet, the sway of him against you, and that rhythmic humming almost in addition to the full-body massage lulling you into him. It was soft, soothing even, and you couldn’t help but let go. Your breathing just about mirrored his, a tad elevated and ragged enough to tell you were enjoying yourselves. In spite of that, your movements were smooth, bending and arching with one another in that tight shower space and with hardly any friction between you two, save for a light grinding of him behind you. His breath came faintly roaming over your skin again, a tender whisper in your ear this time.

“Baby, I’m stuck on you like a tick.” He drawled low and sensual, though very much tipped with every bit of Johnny Splash charm as the man that had brought you into the shower, “You’re the hottest thing in here – ‘sides the water temperature, ’course.”

You nearly trembled from just how his touch trailed up along your stomach, his hands scrubbing on another helping of soap while he pressed kisses in a few choice spots that especially drove you wild. Tender. Tender, tender, tender. That’s all he was beside you.

It took nothing at all to get lost in his ministrations. A deep flush covered your face, and the shower steam that arose could hardly match the heat on your cheeks. Your mind was just as fogged-up as the glass panels surrounding you. Concerning Johnny, those blue, not-quite-suede, shoes; backsplash camp collar; and the matching pants with those adorable thigh grips; were all left neglected in a pile by the door. So the warmth of him against your back was plenty. That humming was more prominent now, and you could feel the low rumble from his chest.

There was a careful dedication about him, his hands roving all along your body and keeping himself at least minimally on-course, preceding streamier caresses with loving, soft scours of your skin. Waterlogged suds trickled down and into every fold and crack, seeping in a way that made your blood rush. Down your spine and sides, trailing and dripping in a bubbled, foamy mess that painted beautifully over your hips and thighs.

His handiwork ran all those bubbles and foam in long, swirling patterns from your legs, to your waist, up your arms, down your back, just about everywhere on you. All that touch had you buzzing, and there was no calming your frenzied heart as his touch roamed up your midriff and stilled to cup your breasts.

Large, warm, soapy hands cradled at their bottom while his thumbs smoothed over your nipples in small strokes. Those soft lips were back again at your neck, kissing and sucking in time with his groping and squeezing.

In no time at all were you sighing against him. ‘Ohh’’s and ‘Mhmm’’s were just about the only thing leaving you and bouncing off not only the walls of the tight shower, but the whole bathroom.

Between the attention to your breasts and the blooms of heat across your body, the focus from both his grip and his tongue lapping across your flushed skin had you wetter than what could be managed by a simple shower.

Those caresses, his fingers circling and tracing rings enclosing from their edges, to your areolas, to nothing. And he kept it going over, and over, and over. Your hand pressed against the side panel for support, a stilted gasp breaking that string of sighs, and that was just enough to tip Johnny off.

The motion stopped, his hands groping the whole breast one last time before his fingers laid flat against one another and lathered their pads along your chest, focusing that cycling anywhere aside from where you needed it.

It was growing to be unbearable, that consistent, coiling feeling in your gut. Feeling up your chest only abated it slightly, but it wasn’t much in the face of that insatiable heat that seemed to spread throughout your body, yet coiled tightly in the pit of your stomach. He wasn’t helping, and the damn water wasn’t helping either.

Your soap-slathered hand came atop one of his own, your fingers slipping between his in a light, tender hold. A beat passed before you offered a gentle squeeze before plucking him off the curve of your chest and trailed him lower. Past your side, sloping along your midriff, and a ‘whuff’ of air once he stalled at the top of your pubic bone.

“Christ’s sake, Johnny…” For once a dazed lilt tipped your voice, not all too surprising given how you were curving against him.

His head lazed against your shoulder, letting his chin hook onto your traps. Those soaked strands of hair tickled your jaw with how he nestled further into the spot, his voice coming out as a murmur, “Don’t you go bringin’ God into this, gorgeous.” It was impossible to ignore the sensation of his middle finger brushing over the front of your entrance, “Just hush, let me take care of you.”

That touch shifted down further, beginning a gradual stroking over the front of your hood as his arm came to hug you closer. Your dripping frame folded into his own, hips already shifted back and your head tilting to the side to steal a glance. Even with hazy, lidded eyes, you managed to squint and make him out through the shower steam, distinguishing that scraggly mop of black hair and those bright blue eyes of his.

As preoccupied as he was with worrying those kissable lips, that handsome face still managed a charming smile, albeit a bit strained, as it leaned in to press a couple kisses along your neck as collateral. His face had nuzzled further into yours, Johnny humming along to something once again as those kisses traveled up to your jaw in just the right way to leave you breathless.

Below, his thumb grazed over your clit in a small circle while the tips of his fingers pried at the spot. Like everything else, it was a slow, sensual rhythm, tracing round and trailing forward as he slid, initially two, but then three fingers in, dragging them up and tugging back down to set a pace.

Gradually, he kept that even pattern of drawing intoxicatingly close before receding back, your ragged gasps for air matching in kind with each pump of his fingers. Easing your hips as you rocked back into him, the sensation drove your eyes to flutter, focusing only on that delicious, bobbing motion with each shallow press into you.

He’d soon start curling his fingers, letting them bend in a beckoning motion as if he could tell you to come any closer than you already were. The smooth, lagging drags dipped directly into that coiling heat settled at the pit of your stomach like he was slowly smearing away at it with each stroke.

Your arm tensed from your leaning on the shower panel, continuing to sway yourself against his hand, but as his other arm came around you, that support from the glass waned, and you found yourself pawing your hand back to tangle in that damp mess of hair, lightly twisting and threading until securing a firm enough hold. There was a tug as Johnny’s inner elbow pulled at the cinch of your waist to clasp you close. One hand remained working at you while the other reached to pluck the showerhead from its bracket. With how pleasure-addled your mind was, even you had some semblance of what was to come next. He was your shower, of course he knew about your other… routines.

His palm splayed against the back of it, reaching a thumb over to flick the setting from a full spray to “Jet”.

A whirr was quick to fill the bathroom, the sight of water jutting out in sharp, concentrated bursts and fizzling with a hiss as it hit the sides of the shower.

At the first notice of you stiffening, the hand between your legs pressed forward again in a curling motion, sending that heat in your stomach flaring, “Relax… relax,” his voice came as a low purr against your ear, the heat of his breath doing nothing to help his earlier ministrations, “Don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now, baby.”

Stringing together a response through the haze was trying. All you managed was a pitiful moan of his name, offering a light tug at the back of his head as you jerked your groin downwards against his fingers.

That earned a chuckle out of him, Johnny obliging his hand, as he couldn’t help but shake his head at the display, murmuring against your skin, “Bless your heart.”

He brought the showerhead down, aiming it towards your abdomen first before dragging it towards where you wanted it most.

It felt ravishing. Such a sudden and intense blast of pressure all directed at your most sensitive spot. The hot water covered you perfectly, streaming down your legs with an almost easing runoff trickling over your body in comparison to the extreme pressure shotgunning right at you.

You splayed open your legs as far as they would go, your stance almost wider than the width of him behind you as he continued prodding your movement. He had you on a rhythm, bobbing on to the pace he kept fingering at, down to his bottommost knuckles, a curl of his fingers, and back up to the tips of his fingers.

The heat in your stomach only coiled tighter, flickering and seeming to lick at you like a fire with every last shift of your hips against that jet of water. It was that warm, trailing sensation that followed, the tender gliding across your thighs that followed such a raw, burst of pleasure between them. Your pleasure came in waves, coaxing only the sweetest of sounds from you. Notably, the moans ripping from your throat as his fingers curled at just the right degree to make your stomach flip, sending the rest of your body trembling around him while still facing that insistent pounding of the showerhead. His touch dragged at that languid pace with you rocking in kind, and you offered another pull at his hair as he went.

His bare, slick chest behind you wasn’t doing any favors, either. It wasn’t mind-numbing pleasure, but it was soft, warm, and comfortable all along your back. An ease and safety almost. And there was an unabashed tenderness to every one of his actions while remaining pressed flat against you.

Just when your breathing had sped up just so, that heat in your abdomen about burning over, and you nearly reaching your peak, he pulled away the showerhead, setting it back to a full spray, and returning it to its bracket. He kept those three fingers seated, yet, with that bleary dizziness to your mind, you were about aware enough to recognize the head of his already leaking cock nudging at your entrance. His fingers dragged slowly, tugging deliciously as he pulled out of you. The other hand wrapped at the base of his cock, hard enough that he was starting to get dizzy. Johnny sucked in a breath, and he circled his tip along your lips, once, twice, the third round stopping up at your center. A stuttered gust of air hit the back of your neck, and behind you he forced out another shaky, hoarse breath, grinding himself against the spot.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been fixin’ for this,” He huffed in a slurred murmur. Gone was that suave, assured, and even flirty persona. He was halfway stupid whether it was the imprint of your body against his, all those reactions he got out of you, or just getting lost from the feeling of being this close.

Your gaze couldn’t focus on anything even if you tried, and all that you were able to manage in response was another, very lethargic, tug at his hair.

“‘Course, you feisty thing.”

His head dragged down, smearing himself the whole way, and leaving a trail of precum against your front before slipping in between your legs.

And that tension broke from the moment he enveloped himself inside you, your lower half smothering his with how your thighs pressed back and smoothed over, completely flattening atop his own.

He shot out another harsh, ragged breath, eyes fluttering this time and fighting the urge to start jackhammering you against the panel, pressing you up flat against it, practically throwing himself on you —

Slowly. Slowly, he sheathed himself, a slight glimmer of mischief in his eyes at the sight of you writhing in place to accommodate him. Your legs were locked up, shifting from side to side, a moan slipping from between your lips, and that hand tangled in his hair trying in vain to pull him forward.

The stretch was more than you imagined. Sure, he was tall, but certainly this was unreal –

A whine died in your throat as his hips drew back, dragging himself between you – you were throbbing around him, the ecstasy enough to make you see stars and had you clamping your thighs shut. Once he pressed back in, you started up again.

That heat at your core flared. It was just what you needed, and without question you pushed back towards him, relishing in the sweet, intoxicating feeling of him buried inside you. You roved your hips against his, circling yourself with enough of a dip to meet him with each of his thrusts, pushing towards him after every one.

Grinding against him by now, the heat wasn’t quite sated, it only grew, and with the thrumming of your heart pounding in your ears, you grew more frenzied.

That drive for pleasure forced your thighs together, your knees drawing nearer to one another only to narrow the gap between your legs and act like a clamp surrounding him. You squeezed with the same pressure as a vice, clenching tight as your light grinding devolved into more of a desperate bouncing of your hips. His hands were firm on your sides by now, much less guiding and more holding onto you for his sake while struggling to keep that even pace.

He held his breath, held you tighter, and even felt a few protests die on his tongue. Those messily-styled ringlets were just plain messy by now, slicked down to his forehead with a healthy mix of sweat and water. Nothing could drown out the lewd slapping of his groin meeting your ass over, and over, and over, enough to make his legs shake and have each pound of his heart be heavier than the last.

Johnny was one to keep his speed even, or at least consistent with whatever tune in his head. He’d been going at that same, languid pace, drawing in, letting you breathe while he got to adore his eyeshot of that blissed-out expression you made, and pulling back out. But all bets were off at the sound of you whining his name like this.

Not to mention the sight of you tucked against him with an expression purely of haze and desire and all wrapped around him like that. It was enough.

Consistency had completely gone out the window. Prior, it had been merely hanging on by a thread, but with that look on your face and his name on your tongue, he couldn’t stop himself from speeding up. His lips found purchase against your jugular, letting him nestle his head close to the crook of your neck for the last time, slurring and murmuring with every call of his name:

“Yes darlin’?… You callin’ my name like that…”

“Come on, gorgeous, you gotta enunciate it for me…”

“You’re makin’ it damn hard to keep it goin' steady…”

Your body was pressed flush against him, circling your hips and biting your lip to muffle a moan. That swirling motion between your legs proved to be a bit too much than what you bargained for, but you took it in stride, keeping with that rounding motion as you went about it faster and harder, practically slotting yourself against him.

Your thighs were forced atop his own, driving down and desperately rutting against him to reach some semblance of release. That fire was raging, the sensation of those hot, heavy, heated, and wet slaps, soap and water flying out again, and again, and again.

The feeling between you was searing, just at the precipice, your heart at a fever pitch with you needing only to rut against him.

Johnny wasn’t in much better condition himself, his whole body trembled in secession with his thrusts, his hands could hardly hold onto you while his breathing devolved into rapid panting.

It was with one last push you were sent over the edge.

An initial throb between your legs followed by his strangled cry against your neck. There was a flood of warmth pooling inside you, and it was enough to set you off with him.

One last time, you clenched around him, shuddering and whimpering as your body helplessly spasmed from the feeling. That whole heat was enveloping you, the way it bubbled up and burst from that initial pit in your stomach. Your whole frame was wracked with pleasure, sent shaking and jutting every which way as you stayed in his arms. It was only when that feeling died down that you felt your joints relax, your rear sinking fully against him until he levelled off with those last, shallow thrusts.