University of Tennessee’s anthropological facility at Knoxville, a.k.a. the “body farm”, where donated cadavers are left to decompose in an outdoor setting for scientific study.
On the Jackass Number Two set, Johnny’s broken arm means his girlfriend has to shave him for a stunt, and it quickly turns into sex in his trailer.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, public/crew risk of being caught, oral sex (m receiving), rough sex, fingering, unprotected sex, explicit language, mild exhibitionism, 2000s-era Jackass chaos.
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[Jackass Number Two, 2005 — On Set]
You knew the second Jeff Tremaine said, “Alright, Johnny, you’re gonna be the Bull-Riding Naked Cowboy” that the day was going to be stupid.
Not mildly stupid — peak Jackass stupid.
The “costume” was basically a cowboy hat, boots, a holster with a fake gun… and nothing else. Which, apparently, meant he needed to be completely hairless “for maximum comedic impact.”
Johnny groaned, leaning back in the folding chair with his arm in its bright blue cast from the last bit gone wrong. “And how exactly am I supposed to shave my dick, Jeff? Last I checked, I’m a little one-handed right now.”
Bam snorted from across the room. “What’s the matter, Knoxville? Scared to nick your precious?”
You, leaning casually against the craft table with a coffee, didn’t even blink. “I’ll do it.”
The whole room paused.
Steve-O perked up. “Holy shit, Y/N, volunteer of the year.”
You rolled your eyes. “You guys act like I haven’t seen it before. We’ve been together three years — I know that thing better than he does.”
Johnny smirked instantly, shooting you that sideways look that always meant trouble. “She’s not wrong.”
Pontius, still inexplicably shirtless, clapped his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, the ultimate couple trust exercise.”
Jeff waved them all off. “Alright, alright — you two can go handle that in Johnny’s trailer. Just… y’know, don’t take all day. We’re losing light.”
Bam immediately shouted after you, “Yeah, Knoxville, try not to break your other arm!”
Johnny flipped him off on the way out, grinning at you. “You sure you’re up for this, darlin’?”
You bumped your shoulder into his. “Johnny, I’ve been shaving my own legs since I was thirteen. I think I can handle yours.”
⸻
[Johnny’s Trailer]
The trailer door clicked shut behind you, muting the chaos outside. Johnny sat on the little built-in couch, spreading his knees slightly like he was already making himself comfortable.
He grinned up at you. “So, you gonna put on some spa music or is this gonna be a dry, military operation?”
You grabbed the can of shaving cream from the counter, shaking it slowly. “Depends how cooperative you are.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m always cooperative.”
“Mm-hm.” You stepped between his knees, squirting a dollop of cream into your palm. He watched, smirk still on his face, until you eased his shorts down just far enough to expose him. No hesitation — this was Johnny. You’d seen every inch of him more times than you could count.
“Cold,” he murmured when the cream touched him, but you noticed his thigh twitch under your hand.
You worked slowly, fingertips gliding over skin with deliberate care, using just enough pressure to make him aware of every pass. He cracked a joke about your “excellent technique” that died in his throat halfway through when your hand lingered at the base a beat too long.
“Uh…” He cleared his throat. “Babe, you’re—“
“In the middle of doing a very careful job?” you finished innocently, smoothing another pass of cream up his shaft.
He bit back a sound that wasn’t exactly a laugh. “Jesus, you’re trouble.”
You hummed, leaning in slightly so your breath brushed over him while you adjusted your angle. He twitched again — this time, very noticeably.
“Relax,” you teased. “Wouldn’t want to nick you.”
But you were not moving quickly, and you knew it. By the time you rinsed the razor in the little sink, he was already half-hard, his broken-arm hand braced on the couch and his good hand twitching like he didn’t know whether to stop you or pull you closer.
“Y/N…” he warned, voice low now.
“What?” you asked sweetly, crouching down between his knees to check your “work.”
His jaw clenched when you kissed the inside of his thigh — once, then again, just a little higher. “We’re supposed to be—”
“Mm-hm.” You kissed him again, right there, and finally wrapped your hand around him.
That was it. The smirk was gone; now he was breathing heavier, his free hand finding your hair like muscle memory.
Your hand stroked him lazily, spreading the last thin streaks of shaving cream along his shaft until they were almost gone. His head tipped back against the couch, jaw flexing, the brim of his cowboy hat shadowing his eyes.
You smirked, leaning in to lick a line from base to tip, slow enough to hear the faint hiss he tried to bite back.
“Fuck, babe…” His good hand slid into your hair, not forcing, just there. His broken arm rested uselessly on the back of the couch, cast knocking lightly against the wall with each shift.
You wrapped your lips around him, letting just the tip rest on your tongue before you sank lower — slow, deliberate, feeling the twitch in his thigh as you took more of him in.
Johnny swore under his breath. “We—fuck—we got a call time, darlin’…”
You hummed around him, the vibration making him groan outright. You could feel the moment he stopped thinking about anything but you — the hand in your hair tightened, his hips shifted just enough to slide deeper.
“Goddamn…” He laughed breathlessly, low and dirty. “You shave me like this every time, I’m gonna start breakin’ arms on purpose.”
You bobbed your head, drawing back to swirl your tongue over the head, tasting him. His breathing went ragged. “Babe… you keep that up, I’m gonna—”
You pulled off with a wet pop, smirking up at him. “You gonna what?”
His grin came back — dangerous this time. “Get your ass over the table.”
⸻
He hauled you up, his good hand gripping your hip as he turned you toward the little kitchenette table in the corner. The broken arm made it awkward, but he managed to bend you over with your palms flat on the surface, your ass pushed back toward him.
“Been teasin’ me since you put that cream on,” he muttered, kicking your legs apart with his boot. “See how smug you are in a minute.”
You gasped when his fingers slid between your thighs — two of them, straight to your clit, circling slow before dipping lower. His touch was rough but precise, the way only someone who’d been with you for years could manage.
“Already wet for me, huh?” His voice was right at your ear now, hot and smug. “Knew you were trouble the second you offered to shave my cock.”
Your hips jerked when he pushed a finger inside you, curling it just right. “Johnny…”
“Mm?” He added a second finger, fucking you with steady, unrelenting strokes. “You think Pontius can hear you out there if you get loud enough?”
You bit your lip, trying to keep quiet, which only made him press harder against your g-spot.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He pulled his fingers free, and you heard the sound of his zipper.
The blunt head of his cock pressed to your entrance a second later, and then he was in — one slow, thick thrust that made you grab for the edge of the table.
“Jesus, fuck,” he grunted, setting a pace that was anything but gentle. “Been hard for you since you knelt down in front of me.”
Each snap of his hips shoved you forward, the table legs creaking against the floor. Outside, you could hear faint shouts — laughter, a door slamming — but it all blurred into white noise.
Johnny’s free hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, his rhythm fast and almost desperate. “So fuckin’ tight… goddamn, babe…”
You moaned, head dropping, the pressure coiling tighter with every thrust.
“That’s it,” he growled, leaning over you despite the awkward angle with his cast. “Give it to me. Wanna feel you come on me before Jeff starts bangin’ on the door.”
That did it — you clenched around him, the orgasm ripping through you hard enough to make you cry out. Johnny swore, pounding through it until he groaned and spilled inside you, pulling you back tight against him.
⸻
He stayed there for a moment, both of you catching your breath. Then he chuckled, low and satisfied. “Pretty sure they know we weren’t just ‘shavin’.’
You glanced over your shoulder at him. “Good. Maybe they’ll stop making bets about what I will and won’t do for you.”
He grinned, tucking himself back in. “Oh, darlin’… you’ve ruined me for any other barber.”
Outside, Bam’s voice rang out: “HEY KNOXVILLE! YOU READY OR YOU STILL GETTIN’ YOUR DICK SHINED?”
Johnny just laughed, smacked your ass lightly, and went to open the door.
