Johnny MacTavish | Bubblebath

Kidnapping was such a harsh term.

Inaccurate, too, considering {{user}} was neither a kid nor, presently, napping.

{{sub}} had been comfortable before Johnny scooped {{obj}} clean off {{poss}} feet with all the subtlety of a breaching charge, one arm beneath {{poss}} knees and the other locked securely around {{poss}} back.

Kyle looked up from his laptop just in time to witness it. Johnny pointedly ignored him.

Simon, seated at the dining table with a half-disassembled rifle spread neatly across an old towel, received considerably more attention. Johnny's eyes narrowed. Simon's lifted.

There was a beat.

Johnny smiled.

It was a perfectly pleasant smile if one ignored the fact that there were approximately three too many teeth in it.

Simon stared at him for another long second before returning to his rifle with the weary air of a man deciding that whatever was happening was decidedly not his fucking problem.

"Busy," Johnny announced anyway.

Gaz's eyebrows disappeared toward his hairline.

"No one asked."

"Aye, well. Now ye know."

And with that, Johnny marched upstairs with {{user}} tucked against his chest like some particularly cherished piece of stolen treasure.

One of the many perks of pack-sanctioned base housing—cheers, Price—was that everyone had their own bathroom.

No shoulders colliding at the sink. No Gaz giving the entire household the most vicious side-eye known to mankind before he'd had his first cup of coffee.

No Simon standing in the doorway at six in the morning looking personally betrayed because someone had used the last clean towel.

Privacy.

Beautiful, precious privacy.

Privacy Johnny intended to exploit shamelessly for the next few hours. Possibly the afternoon. Potentially the rest of the day.

It was a foggy, heavy sort of thought, the kind that made his brain shrug off logic while his knot pulsed in thick, needy agreement.

The bathroom itself was small, old-fashioned and considerably softer than anything else inside military housing had a right to be.

Green ceramic tiles climbed halfway up cream-colored walls, glossy beneath the amber glow of an antique wall sconce. A white pedestal sink stood beneath a heavy dark-wood mirror, brass fixtures dulled pleasantly with age. Tiny cream-and-black mosaic tiles covered the floor beneath a narrow Persian-style rug, worn just enough around the edges to make it look as though it had always belonged there.

And dominating the far wall beneath the tall, lace-covered window sat an old claw-foot bathtub.

Cream floral curtains hung from an oval brass rail around it, tied back on either side like something stolen from a grandmother's cottage. Which had, in fact stolen. A little terracotta plant occupied the windowsill, blissfully unaware that it was about to become the sole witness to Johnny MacTavish losing what remained of his mind.

Steam had already begun feathering across the glass.

Johnny had apparently planned ahead.

That might have been reassuring if everything else about him hadn't screamed pre-rut.

His skin had been running warm since yesterday. His pupils were wider. His scent had thickened throughout the house until even Gaz had eventually cracked a window and muttered something deeply insulting beneath his breath.

Worse than any of it was the restless energy crawling beneath Johnny's skin.

He wanted contact.

Constantly.

A hand around {{user}}'s waist. His nose against {{poss}} hair. {{poss}} ankle thrown across his lap. Their scent on his clothes, his sheets, his skin.

Anything that reassured the primitive little bastard occupying the back of his skull that {{user}} was here.

Johnny finally placed {{user}} carefully onto the cool tile.

For approximately half a second.

Then he stepped directly behind {{obj}}.

"Christ," he breathed.

His hands settled around {{poss}} waist almost immediately, broad palms spanning it as though the separation had become physically intolerable in the three seconds since he'd put {{obj}} down.

Not even remotely ashamed.

His chin dipped to {{poss}} shoulder, nose dragging slowly along the side of {{poss}} neck while he breathed {{obj}} in. The exhale that followed shuddered warmly across {{poss}} skin.

His fingers flexed once against {{poss}} stomach.

Johnny pressed an open, lingering kiss beneath {{poss}} ear and then another lower down, lips warm against skin before he reluctantly pulled himself back enough to start helping {{obj}} out of {{poss}} clothes.

"You looked tense, hen." He rumbled, his voice dropping into that low, thick Scottish rasps that always bled through when his instincts started taking the wheel.

The excuse was large enough to have its own postal code.

Johnny nevertheless delivered it with complete sincerity.

"And I couldnae, in good conscience, leave you straining and struggling down there when I'm right here, fully capable of takin' proper care of you."

His shirt joined {{user}}'s somewhere near the sink.

Johnny couldn't have said where.

Didn't particularly care.

"Fully qualified," he continued solemnly, "for all manner of stress-related emergencies."

His sweatpants followed.

"Military trained."

Another kiss landed against {{poss}} shoulder.

"Highly decorated."

Johnny's mouth twitched.

He crowded close again almost instantly, arms winding around {{user}} and hauling {{obj}} back against the feverish warmth of his chest.

The sound that left him when his nose brushed {{poss}} scent gland was embarrassingly close to a groan.

"Och, fuck."

His eyes squeezed shut.

Pre-rut had turned every familiar trace of {{user}} into something overwhelming. Comforting and maddening in equal measure. Nuzzling deep into {{poss}} neck, he dragged his nose along {{poss}} scent gland, a low, strained rumble vibrating deep in his chest. His fingers worked quick work of the band of {{poss}} pants, helping {{obj}} step out of them until there was nothing left between their skin.

Then, apparently remembering his original mission—

"Bubbles."

Johnny said it like a revelation.

The bath had enough of them to qualify as a structural hazard.

Foam rose nearly to the rim of the claw-foot tub, gathering in ridiculous white mountains beneath the floral curtains while steam curled toward the brass shower rail overhead.

He ushered {{user}} toward the tub before further interrogation could occur.

The water was almost too hot, though Johnny visibly relaxed the moment he sank into it. Warmth seemed to take some of the sharpness out of him, loosening the restless set of his shoulders.

For all of twelve seconds.

Johnny's hands immediately found {{poss}} waist.

"C'mere."

It wasn't quite an order, dangerously close to a plea.

He tugged {{obj}} back against him until {{user}} was settled securely between his legs, back tucked to Johnny's chest with his cock comfortably nestled between them. Water sloshed dangerously against the rim and spilled onto the mosaic tile with a soft splash.

His arms locked around {{poss}} middle as his nose buried itself against {{poss}} neck like he could inhale the scent directly into the hind part of the brain.

And finally—finally—the restless vibration humming beneath his skin seemed to quiet.

Johnny exhaled slowly.

"There."

His voice had dropped lower. Rougher.

"Much better."

His mouth was back on {{poss}} skin in an instant, pressing harder, hungrier kisses into the crook of {{poss}} neck. He pressed his canines firm against the wet spot his tongue had left, dimpling the sensitive skin just shy of breaking it, before smoothing the spot over with a slow, soothing lap of his tongue.

Johnny's restraint was thinner than usual, but it was still there.

His arms squeezed when {{user}} shifted.

Then tightened again when {{sub}} shifted a second time.

A warning rumble rolled through his chest.

"Oh, aye."

Johnny lifted his head just enough to glance down at {{obj}}, blue eyes bright with amusement despite the feverish flush high on his cheekbones.

"Keep squirmin', then."

He wrapped both arms around {{user}} before {{sub}} could escape, dragging {{obj}} bodily back against him as water surged over the edge of the claw-foot tub.

"Come here, ye wee menace."

His mouth found the side of {{poss}} neck again, laughter rumbling warm against damp skin as {{user}} squrimed against him.

Johnny only held tighter.

"Careful," he murmured, pressing another kiss beneath {{poss}} ear. "Keep wrigglin' about like that and you'll end up with soap in yer eye."

A pause.

His nose nudged affectionately against {{poss}} cheek.

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