a bombshell and a cheese toastie
after two weeks of being every girl’s second choice, johnny starts to believe the villa is cursed. until the newest bombshell shows up, picks him for dinner and decides that every girl has somehow overlooked the best boy in the villa.
johnny “soap” mactavish | love island!au
content: explicit smut, 18+ MDNI, spit kink, public sex (specifically under the covers sex in a shared room while others are asleep nearby), unprotected sex
a/n: love island is back, baby, which means my brain will be occupied by absolutely nothing else for the next 50 days. this was supposed to be a fun little headcanon post and then literally every section somehow turned into 7k word fics because apparently i don’t know how to shut up. so instead of making one giant post, i’ll be posting one love island!141 one-shot a day over the next week. this concept is genuinely so fucking stupid and i’m so sorry, but i did have a lot of fun writing it so here we are. and all i have to say is if you read this whole thing, ily! ♡
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By the end of the second week, Johnny thinks some higher force is really set on seeing him suffer.
Or some sick bastard on the production team has it out for him personally.
It’s not that he hates the villa.
It’s actually been one of the best summers of his life.
He gets along with the lads well enough. There’s always someone to joke or fuck about with when the days drag longer than expected. The challenges are stupid in a way that makes Johnny look forward to the next one and he can’t help but stare out into the views from the villa whenever he wakes up.
And the girls?
The girls are proper stunning.
A dangerous mix of funny, charming and flirtatious in the way that keeps him leaning in even though he knows better.
Girls who laugh at his jokes and steal his jacket when the evenings grow cold.
Girls who curl up next to him near the firepit and accept his breakfast with bright smiles.
Girls who take turns staring up at him through teary eyes after their couples fall apart, murmuring how sweet he is and how he’s been such a good friend before coupling up with the newest bombshell who walks in and he’s left single and vulnerable once again.
And, every time, he curses himself for thinking that it might be different.
So he’s really beginning to question what his place is in the villa. Whether his entire purpose is to act as a placeholder until another jacked, six-foot asshole is supposed to walk in and steal the girl he’s coupled up with from him.
The dinner challenge gets announced right after lunch. Two new bombshells, three courses each, one boy for each course and at the end of the night, each girl picks which boy they want to couple up with.
The first bombshell’s picks go exactly as expected.
The villa favorite stands before his phone has even stopped chiming, chest puffed as if anyone would be stupid to expect anything different.
“Appetizer.”
He sits back down, smirking as a few boys clap him on the back. His current partner, a blonde who had pulled Johnny for a few chats earlier in the week, turns to the girls close to her and starts whispering frantically about what this could mean.
Another text tone rings out.
The second boy is even less shocking.
Some guy with enough tattoos and large enough biceps that the girl’s decided that his emotional unavailability actually means he’s hiding some deep, sensitive side.
Johnny tries not to roll his eyes.
“Entrée.”
Johnny honestly doesn’t know why he expected anything different. By the time the last boy for the first bombshell stands, he already sees how this is going to play out.
Him, dumped by the end of the week, with his suitcase in hand and a summer full of memories.
And maybe a brand sponsorship if he plays his cards right.
He barely registers the second bombshell’s picks as they begin to stand, including the entrée boy from the first round standing for the appetizer selection.
Instead, he uses the time to strategize. If he can stay in a couple long enough to make it to Casa Amor, there will be a new batch of girls. Girls who are supposed to come in with their eyes set on the boys who have been in the villa. Girls whose heads aren’t turned so easily.
Girls who would want him.
A sharp jab in the ribs pulls him out of his thoughts.
“Ow,” Johnny murmurs, rubbing the sore spot on his side. “Fuckin’ hell.”
A few islanders snicker around him and the boy closest to him huffs a laugh while nodding towards his lap.
“Mate. Your phone.”
Johnny looks down. His phone is vibrating in his lap, screen lit up with a text message bubble.
It takes a moment to register what he’s seeing; screen going black before lighting up with the notification one more time that he realizes he should stand, fumbling with his phone in his hand.
“Entrée.”
A few of the boys cheer loudly, and for somehow that makes Johnny feel worse about his whole villa experience.
That it’s extremely obvious to everyone how badly he needs this right now.
Even if it’s the truth.
He chooses to focus on the notification instead.
In order to stay in the villa, he has to cook a meal to impress a girl he knows nothing about without making himself look like a total idiot in the process
Across the pool, a girl lets out loud laughter as her partner carries her piggyback towards the daybeds, her arms wrapped around his neck as she whispers something in his ear.
Her partner giggles in a way Johnny has never seen from a man before and he looks back down to his phone.
Entrée.
No pressure.
Two cheese toasties sit in front of you.
You raise a brow at the blue-eyed Scot standing at the end of the table.
Johnny has a white towel draped over his arm like he’s presenting a Michelin-star dish instead of a meal usually reserved for children. His white button-down strains across his chest when he straightens, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. A ghost of a smile appears on his face, dimples threatening to appear, as if he already knows how ridiculous this looks and is committed to the bit either way.
You glance back down at the plate.
“Cheese toasties?”
A bright grin takes over his face and he leans forward.
“Actually, it’s a cheese reduction sauce cooked between two buttered artisanal slices of bread.”
You blink twice.
“So, a cheese toastie?”
He shrugs.
“More or less.”
You let out a small laugh in disbelief, leaning back in your seat.
Your appetizer date has been fine enough. The islander had made you an amazing caprese salad, tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil layered in neat, colorful rows.
You couldn’t tear your eyes off of him. He was extremely handsome in the laidback, easy way all the boys seem to possess with a golden tan and messy hair that didn’t seem to fall right no matter how many times he had ran his hands through it.
You had relaxed for all of two seconds until he opened his mouth.
You couldn’t get a word in edgewise, forced instead to listen to him go on and on about how happy he was you picked him and how miserable he was in his couple and how clingy and serious the girl was and how he didn’t want to hurt her but also didn’t want to lead her on.
By the time he mentioned not wanting to put all his eggs in one basket, you had looked over at the poor girl twice out of sympathy.
So, you’ve come into this date a little skeptical.
Johnny sits down in the chair across from you, still wearing that lazy smirk, but you see the hope underneath it. The way his eyes constantly move across your face as if he’s searching for a sign that you’re already ready to move on to the next boy.
You pick up one half of the sandwich, and his eyes follow the movement, pausing on your lips as you take a bite.
He stills, and you understand almost immediately what he’s waiting for.
Your opinion.
You’re just not sure if it’s for the sandwich or for him.
So naturally you chew longer than necessary, smirking slightly as impatience begins to build beneath his calm exterior.
His knee bounces once underneath the table.
You swallow.
“It’s good.”
He exhales through his nose.
“Actually, though,” you add, because while seeing him panic is fun, you’re not too cruel to leave him hanging.
And it’s also the truth.
The sandwich is warm and salty and gooey, cheese stretching in a thin line as you pull the sandwich away from your mouth. It’s comforting in a way you weren’t expecting, and something curls in your chest.
It doesn’t feel like he’s trying to impress you so much as he’s trying to make sure you enjoy yourself.
He leans back in his chair, looking entirely too smug for someone whose dish took all of five minutes to make.
“Though,” you say, pointing the sandwich at him, “your presentation could use some work.”
He places a hand on his heart, grin still firmly on his face.
“Wounded me.”
You shrug.
“I call it like I see it.”
“I prefer to let the food speak for itself.”
“And what message is your food trying to say?”
“That this is the treatment you can expect from me in the villa.”
You laugh. “Cheese toasties?”
“Artisanal cheese toasties,” he says.
“I don’t think that’s the message I got from it.”
“Aye, you can argue all ye want, bonnie,” he hums, leaning forward as his voice lowers. “but you’re already taking a second bite.”
You pause, looking down to find the sandwich halfway back to your mouth.
Bastard.
“That’s not fair.”
His brow raises.
“No?”
You shake your head, and he laughs. A bright, charming thing that warms you.
You had expected to be charmed, flirted with in hopes that you’ll pick your boy based on attraction and who you’ll most likely want to crawl into bed with by the end of the night.
You didn’t think you would have fun.
You take another bite, mostly just to spite him and partially because you’re genuinely enjoying the meal.
Johnny smiles triumphantly.
You chew slowly, giving him a long once-over while you do. You follow a steady path from the rolled sleeves covering his forearms to the shirt pulling across his chest before finally landing on his face.
His grin falters.
“It really is good,” you say.
His smile returns, but there’s something careful underneath it. Like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Happy to exceed expectations.”
“Mm.” You wipe a crumb from the corner of your mouth, watching his eyes follow the movement before he catches himself. “It’s nice to know that if this is the treatment I should expect from you in the villa…”
You pause, and something mischievous curls low in your stomach.
Johnny’s eyes narrow ever so slightly.
“That you seem like you know exactly what to do with your hands.”
His grin drops clean off of his face, and you have to work very hard not to look proud of yourself.
He smiles again. Differently than the way you’ve grown used to during this dinner. This is charged, and his heavy gaze drops to your lips in a way that feels a lot more intentional than before.
“Dinnae say that, bonnie,” he says, tone lower than it had been a few moments ago.
You pout, letting your lashes flutter innocently.
“Why?”
“‘m already hard.”
You choke so violently that a producer has to step around the camera to see if you’re alright.
You wave the producer off with one hand, coughing into your napkin while Johnny grabs your water and slides it across the table. His shoulders shake with quiet laughter, and you glare at him through watery eyes.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “Didnae mean to kill ye before you made it to your next course.”
You take a long sip of water.
“What a way to go, though.”
Johnny looks at you, leaning back in his seat as the tips of his ears turn pink.
Another producer signals at you, motioning for you to start wrapping up so you can move on to the next course.
You aren’t expecting the disappointment you feel as you glance from the producer to the half-eaten sandwich to the man across from you.
Something changes in Johnny as well, the ease he just carried himself is replaced by the same understated hope he walked in with.
Almost as if he’s seeking reassurance.
“I guess that’s my cue,” he says.
You nod.
“I guess so.”
He starts to stand, already moving to collect the plates, but you place a hand on his wrist before he can take your plate away.
“Though I’m not sure how my next course will top this.”
Johnny looks down at your hand on his wrist before looking back at you, and his eyes light up, prepared to make a joke before glancing toward the kitchen.
You follow his line of sight, eyes catching on your next date who licks a dark sauce off of a spoon.
He winks at you when your eyes meet, and you pause, quickly turning back to Johnny.
To your surprise, he’s staring intently at you, eyes searching your face as if he’s trying to figure out if he’s already lost you.
“I’m sure he’ll find a way.”
He does.
Chocolate-covered strawberries are arranged into the shape of a heart, each one dipped in a different chocolate and drizzled carefully in a way that tells you he spent most of his prep time making sure that the dish would look perfect from every camera angle.
It takes everything in you not to audibly moan when he feeds you the first one.
Your dessert date smiles, already confident with the way this night will play out, and you smile back.
You try, you really do. You ask all the right questions, laugh at his jokes and even hit him with a flirty comment when the moment calls for it.
It’s just not enough to keep your attention.
Instead, you find yourself looking past the man in front of you to see if you can find bright blue eyes and a mohawk.
Your spot Johnny leaning against the kitchen island as a group of boys surround him. He reaches over to steal something from a discarded pan by the stove as one of the boys says something to him. Johnny fires back without missing a beat, sending half of them into loud laughter.
Your eyes meet, and his brows raise, mouth still half-parted from his laughter.
You look down so quickly that you’re sure you almost pull something in your neck, and you grab another strawberry just to give your hands something to do.
Your dessert date doesn’t seem to notice your attention has slipped.
“— and it really comes down to what I prioritize. As a gym owner, I try to work out 5-6 days a week. Of course, I try to add in one active rest day since recovery is important obviously.”
“Obviously,” you agree, and your date beams, clearly excited to meet someone who shares his opinion on workout splits.
Your eyes meet Johnny’s again, and this time, he grins.
He holds up the other half of your cheese toastie, taking a bite.
Bastard.
You bite into your strawberry and try your hardest not to smile.
Later, when you’re standing at the firepit, your choice is already made.
The host turns to you with a polished smile.
“As one of our newest bombshells, you now have the power to choose which boy you’d like to couple up with.”
A heavy quiet settles over the villa, tension simmering as everyone waits for you to alter the course of the night.
Your appetizer and dessert dates sit on the benches across the firepit, both confident as if there’s no doubt in their mind that you wouldn’t choose them.
You look over at Johnny, sitting on the end of the bench with his hands clasped in front of him. He looks casual, shoulders rolled back in a way that you would second-guess if you hadn’t just spent an entire dinner watching him not try to get his hopes up.
You watch as he avoids your eyes, jaw clenching slightly as he braces for your answer, like he knows he has a chance but believing so would only make it worse.
Your chest tugs.
There really was never any competition.
“The boy I’d like to couple up with is…” you pause just long enough until the producers give you the signal to keep going.
Johnny’s eyes lift despite himself.
You smile.
“Johnny.”
He stares at you for one beat before standing to his feet.
He relaxes all at once, a grin breaking wide and bright across his face. His dimples deepen as the boys next to him whistle, clapping him on the back and shouting his name as if he’s just won the whole series.
You laugh softly, a grin forming across your own face as Johnny crosses the firepit towards you.
When he reaches your side, he bends down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek.
His mouth lingers by your ear.
“Made the right choice, swear.”
His arm settles around your waist, warm and strong by your side.
You meet his eyes, and something about his expression, the relief and giddiness he’s trying so badly to hide, makes something in your chest soften.
You place your hand on his chest, taking in the solid, firm muscle that rests beneath his shirt.
“Don’t make me regret it,” you tease, batting your lashes.
Johnny exhales, arm tightening around your waist as his eyes move over your face.
“Aye,” he says, softer than you would expect. “Could never do that.”
Somehow, you believe him.
You flinch as a couple nearly wipes out on the foam-covered walkway.
The boy slips first, one leg flying out from beneath him before he grabs his partner for stability and ends up pulling her down with him. She shrieks as they collapse into a mess of limbs, both laughing too hard to get back up.
The challenge had been announced earlier that morning, a relay race to test each couple’s ability to work together.
Beside you, Johnny winces.
“Aye,” he murmurs, watching as a couple bangs their teeth together in a messy kiss. “Brutal, innit?”
You nudge his shoulder with yours. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
He looks down at you.
For a moment, the noise around you dulls. His mouth curls at the edges, eyes bright beneath the beaming sun, and you’ve had the same thought that you’ve been having since you sat across him last night.
How the hell did the other girls miss this?
You understand, somewhat, the narrative that’s been painted around him since he’s been in here. Funny, reliable, good-natured Johnny.
You just don’t understand how that’s managed to cover up the broad shoulders, large arms and the lazy grin that somehow makes him look boyish and charming all at once.
His eyes flicker down to your lips.
A sharp whistle pulls the both of you from your bubble and you turn to where one of the boys is sitting behind you.
“Oi, Johnny!” He makes an obscene gesture that has half the girls around him groaning. “Try not to lose this time.”
Johnny tenses next to you, rolling his shoulders back before wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
You frown.
It really has been brutal to watch on TV.
His last pairing had been with a girl who hadn’t been chosen by the guy she wanted and ended up in a friendship couple with Johnny. During the challenge, you could see her heart wasn’t in it, especially when she had to kiss him at the end.
She left the villa the next day.
And Johnny, despite being such a sore loser, had tried his hardest to act indifferent to the whole situation.
Joked, teased and took it all on the chin in a way that’s becoming very familiar.
“We’re winning this,” you say.
Johnny turns his head towards you, ready to make a joke before taking in the set expression on your face.
His brows raise.
“Are we?”
He looks down to where you’ve already slipped your hand into his, and you squeeze once.
“As long as you can keep up,” you tease, and his mouth twitches.
“Don’t think you’ll have to worry about me.”
You squeeze his hand again and he squeezes back.
“Good.” You smile. “Then we’ll have no problem winning this thing.”
Johnny’s grin comes back properly this time, bright and charming, and you fight the urge to lean in and kiss him stupid.
“Aye?” he asks, letting you pull him to his feet as the host calls your names. “Is that so?”
“Of course so.”
The host beams at the both of you, standing tall with glossy hair and a perfect pageant smile and a part of you feels ridiculous in the neon pink bikini production has forced you into.
You smile as you look down at Johnny’s matching pink swim shorts and the sweatband around his head.
“Are you two ready?” she asks.
You nod.
Johnny looks down at you again, and whatever he sees on your face makes his smile twitch like he cannot decide whether to laugh or worry.
“You’re a wee bit terrifying, bonnie.”
The host grabs the air horn in front of her, directing her attention towards the cameras.
“Let’s do Raunchy Relays!”
The air horn goes off and before he can even process what’s happening, you’ve bolted to the other side of the platform.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he laughs, taking off after you.
The first station is at the end of the platform: a silver bowl with large mounds of whipped cream.
You read the instruction card.
Switch off finding the three cherries hidden inside and pass them to your partner.
Without using your hands.
Of course.
You drop to the bowl before you can think too hard about appearances, and shove your face into the cold, sugary cream.
You faintly register Johnny laughing behind you.
You search blindly until your teeth close around the first stem, and you lift your head.
Johnny stops laughing, eyes moving from your cream-covered face to the cherry waiting in your mouth.
You raise your brows.
He bends immediately, lips brushing yours as his mouth closes around the cherry before dropping it into the waiting cup.
His eyes move back towards your lips, and you smirk.
“Focus, Johnny.”
“Trust me, I’m very focused,” he murmurs, bending down to find the other cherry.
It only takes a few moments before he’s emerging, streaks of whipped cream covering his cheeks.
You stand on your toes to grab the cherry from his mouth, and a large hand falls on your waist, lips pressing a little firmer on his.
“Don’t think that’s part of the challenge.” He grins, thumb rubbing a circle on your hip and you grin, bending over to spit the cherry out into the cup.
By the third cherry, both of you are sticky, breathless, and laughing too hard to be useful. Whipped cream is smeared along Johnny’s jaw and melting down the side of his neck.
You slap your palm against his chest.
“Look alive, MacTavish.”
His hand catches yours for half a second, pressing it flat against his bare chest.
“Aye, ma’am.”
Then you’re running again.
A bright pink mixture waits in a clear jug, something thick and glossy that smells like a fruit smoothie that’s been left out in the sun for too long. A measuring cup sits next to it.
You stop dead, and Johnny skids to a halt beside you. He grabs the instruction card, grin growing bigger as he reads every word.
“One partner takes a mouthful,” he reads. “Transfers to the other partner. Other partner fills the cup.”
“I can’t believe they haven’t gotten rid of this one yet,” you whine, placing your hands on your hips.
He stares at you.
You look past him towards the other two couples. One is still at the cherry station, fumbling for the last one, while the other couple has just reached the jug and the girl is backing away with a horrified expression.
You look at him, and you recognize the same competitive thread running beneath him, the need to win despite how ridiculous this whole situation is.
You sigh. “I cannot believe I’m doing this for you.”
He smirks.
“Knew ye liked me.”
You cross your arms. “Drink.”
“Aye, bossy thing.”
He takes a mouthful and immediately his face curls into disgust that you start laughing.
Then he steps much closer than what the challenge requires, fingers catching your chin as he tilts your head to look up at him. He leans in before spitting the mixture into your mouth.
It’s absolutely more vile than you could’ve even imagined.
You twist and spit it into the cup, shuddering so hard that your shoulders nearly touch your ears.
Johnny loses it, one hand still at your waist as he burst into bright, full laughter
“What?” you whine, wiping your face with the back of your hand as you glare at him.
“Your face.”
You huff and his smile softens.
“You took it like a champ.”
The innuendo hits you both at the same time, and your mouth falls open as his grin sharpens.
“Don’t.”
He holds his hand up in surrender.
“Didnae say anything.”
You roll your eyes before grabbing the mixture and shoving it towards his chest.
“Again.”
Johnny’s eyes light up with delight.
The second transfer is faster albeit a little messier. A little of the pink mixture drips from the corner of your mouth, and Johnny catches it with his thumb before you can wipe it away.
You spit into the cup, breathing hard.
“Again,” you say.
By the third time, you don’t even flinch.
Something in Johnny’s eyes changes, watching you wait for another mouthful because you’re not about to let him lose twice.
That you care enough to help him win.
Your cup hits the fill line.
Johnny slams it down with a shout.
You grab his hand. “Let’s go.”
He lets you drag him toward the final station, laughing breathlessly behind you.
The final instruction card waits.
Pop the balloon using only your bodies.
Johnny reads the card over your shoulder, and you can almost feel the excitement vibrating off of him.
He reaches around you to grab the balloon before lying flat on his back, placing the balloon directly over his lap.
The villa screams at the positioning, and you roll your eyes.
He stares up at you, his face the picture of innocence.
“Get to work, bonnie.”
You drop your knees on either side of his hips, and settle above him, hand firmly resting on his shoulders.
It’s so unfair how good he looks underneath you.
Objectively, he’s a mess. There’s still whipped cream around his face, and there’s somehow remaniants of the pink mixture around his jaw.
Yet, his chest has a light layer of sweat and you feel the heat radiating off of him as he places his hands around your waist.
You bounce down once, and the balloon squeaks uselessly underneath you.
Johnny clenches his jaw.
You drop down again, moving up and down in small repetitive bounces and all you get is the balloon moving beneath you.
“It’s harder than it looks,” you murmur, looking down to the balloon beneath you two.
Johnny huffs out a laugh, and when you look back up, his expression is strained.
“You have no idea.”
You laugh, then shift your weight and roll your hips down more firmly.
His grip flexes around your waist.
“Careful,” he murmurs, tone low and rough around the edges. “We’re still on telly.”
Your smile widens, rolling down again.
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m just playing the game.”
Johnny exhales sharply, and you place both hands on his chest for better leverage, grinding down until the balloon bursts beneath you with a sharp pop.
You drop fully onto his lap, and freeze.
Johnny is very, very hard beneath you.
The villa screams, and the host calls out both your names, laughing at the position the two of you are in.
Johnny’s eyes lock with yours, mouth opening and closing as he tries to explain himself.
You tilt your head, smiling sweetly, before grinding down once more for good measure.
He swallows harshly.
“Yer evil.”
You laugh breathlessly, and you pop to your feet.
Johnny follows immediately, tugging you in front of him to cover where he adjusts himself behind your back.
You glance over your shoulder. “Problem?”
His smile is strained. “You know exactly what ye did.”
“Won?”
“Aye.” His hand flexes at your hip. “That too.”
“We have our winners!” the host announces.
The villa erupts around you.
Johnny claps behind you, pressing a kiss to your cheek and you can’t help it.
You turn, grip the back of Johnny’s neck, and pull him down into a kiss.
Johnny freezes for one stunned heartbeat.
One hand buries in your hair while the other curls around your waist, pulling you tight against him as he kisses you back like he’s been waiting for this all summer.
When you finally break apart, his forehead stays close to yours.
“Didnae know that was part of the challenge,” he murmurs.
You smile.
“Consider it your prize for winning.”
His grin returns slowly.
“Best win of my life, then.”
You two end up sprawled across one of the daybeds, waiting for a shower to open up so you can scrub the sugary mess off of you.
Your legs are stretched across his lap, his hand rubbing absentminded circles over your shin like he forgot he was doing it.
He’s warm underneath you, still buzzing off of adrenaline and excitement from securing his first win of the season.
He looks down at you, smiling brightly.
“You’re staring.”
You shrug, moving closer to him.
“Can’t help it. Winning looks good on you.”
He grins, grabbing your waist to kiss you fully.
A male islander walks by, letting out a gagging noise and the two of you pull apart.
“You two are fucking disgusting.”
You smirk, leaning over to lick a stripe of whipped cream from Johnny’s jaw.
“See!” the boy says. “Disgusting!”
Johnny’s chest puffs. “Disgusting’ winners.”
You know he thinks he’s being subtle, trying to pretend like he’s still asleep with one heavy arm laid across your waist. His breath is slow and too even against the back of your neck.
He shifts again, hips grinding ever so slightly against your ass.
You bite the inside of your cheek.
“Johnny,” you whisper. “What are you doing?”
He stills, before realizing that he’s supposed to be pretending to be asleep and he moves behind you.
He makes a show of waking up, stretching out with a yawn as his arm tightens against you.
You stifle a laugh.
“Bonnie?” he murmurs, confusion lacing his voice, like he hasn’t been grinding against you for the past minute. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to stop acting like you’ve been asleep.”
His face presses into the curve of your neck.
“Was havin’ a nice dream.”
“Were you?”
“Aye.”
His hips shift again, the hard line of him pressing more deliberately against you this time.
“You were in it.”
Your breath catches before you can stop yourself.
The room is quiet around you, but not empty. Someone shifts in the bed beside you, and you move.
Johnny’s hand slides slowly from your waist to your stomach, palm warm beneath the loose fabric of your shirt.
You should stop this. You’re in a room with ten other people, and Johnny is still grinding against you.
You move closer to him, and Johnny takes the opening.
“All that talk earlier,” he murmurs, lips brushing the sensitive place beneath your ear. “Bossin’ me about during the challenge.”
“You liked it.”
His quiet laugh ghosts over your skin.
“Didnae say I didn’t.”
His hand travels higher, then lower again, teasing and tracing a warm path against yoir skin wherever he touches.
“Kept leaning in for me, too,” he says. “All pretty with your mouth open.”
Your stomach tightens.
“That was for the challenge.”
“Aye.” His mouth grazes your jaw. “You were good at it.”
The words settle hot and low in your body.
You turn your head enough to look at him over your shoulder, though in the dark you can only make out the sharp line of his nose, the glint of his eyes, the faint curve of his mouth.
“Johnny.”
“What?”
“Stop being mean.”
His grin deepens.
“You like it,” he says, echoing your words from earlier.
You unfortunately do.
You open your mouth to argue, but his fingers catch your chin before you can, turning you back to him.
His thumb brushes along your lower lip.
“Open up for me, bonnie.”
Something hits you low and deep at the command, and wordlessly, you part your mouth.
He spits into your waiting mouth, and his arm tightens around your waist when you swallow for him.
You stick your tongue out just enough to show him it’s gone.
Behind you, he swears under his breath.
“Christ.”
His voice is rougher than it was a moment ago, the word almost broken against your neck.
“Where the hell have you been all summer?”
You reach back, fingers catching at the back of his neck until he lowers his mouth to yours.
This kiss is slower than the one that afternoon, less fueled by adrenaline and more by the ache that’s been building since.
His tongue teases yours, and you let him in with a soft sigh you have to swallow immediately. His arm wraps tighter around your waist, pulling you back until your body fits against his.
You pull away to breathe, and his mouth goes straight to your neck.
You whine before you can stop yourself.
Johnny’s hand clamps gently over your mouth.
“Easy,” he murmurs, and you can hear the smile in it. “Gotta be quiet for me.”
You nod against his palm.
He kisses your jaw once, like a reward, then slips his other hand beneath your shirt. His palm drags over your stomach, up your ribs, teasing the underside of your breast until your back arches and your ass presses harder against him.
His breath stutters at the contact, and his hand drifts from your mouth to beneath the waistband of your shorts.
He groans softly when he feels how wet you are, the sound rumbling against your skin.
Your hips move on instinct, chasing the contact, and his arm tightens around your middle to hold you still.
“Shh,” he breathes, lips at your ear. “I’ve got you.”
Then his fingers find your clit.
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to cover the sounds desperate to come out as he begins to rub tight circles on your clit, other arm tightening around your waist to bring you closer to him.
Everything feels a little hazy, any awareness pinpointed to the man behind you and the little cocoon you’ve made beneath the comforter. Johnny nudges your chin back to him and pulls you into another wanting kiss, all your sense hypertuned to Johnny, Johnny, Johnny.
You decide you want to feel him too.
You reach a hand back, fingers brushing against his waistband before slipping beneath the tiny black briefs he’s worn to bed.
You grip him in your hand and you both freeze: him at the sudden contact, you at the realization that Johnny might have the thickest cock you’ve ever felt.
Your hand barely wraps around his length.
“Fuck.”
You stroke him once, and his hips buck into your hand with a trembling exhale.
You do it again, slow and careful beneath the covers, and he presses his forehead to your shoulder.
“Christ, bonnie,” he whispers, punctuated by pulling you even closer to him so your back is firmly pressed to his chest. “You’re such a dream.”
It’s tender, too tender for how you’re both feeling each other up like a pair of teenagers under the covers, but it pulls something in you either way.
He moves his hand from your cunt causing you to whine at the loss, and he huffs a quiet laugh into your skin before tugging your shorts just enough down your thighs that you’re completely exposed. The air cools your heated skin for half a second before he shifts behind you, pushing his briefs down with clumsy impatience.
You bury your face deeper into the pillow as he guides himself between your thighs.
The head of his cock nudges against your wet folds, and your breath catches so sharply that you bite the pillow to keep any more noise from coming out.
He shifts once, and you both groan into the dark.
“Can I?” he asks, and you’re nodding quickly before something comes back to you. The quiet hum of the air con system. The movement of other beds beside you.
The fact that the two of you aren’t as alone as you probably want to be for this situation.
“What about everyone else?” you whisper, and he gives you a long, hard grind. Your eyes flutter when he catches right against your clit, rubbing against you in slow, perfect strokes.
“We’ll be quiet.”
Somehow, you doubt that.
“Just the tip,” he murmurs against your neck, lazily moving his hips from where he’s currently slotted between your thighs.
“Okay,” you sigh breathlessly. “Just the tip.”
He wastes no time.
Johnny presses inside you in one slow, determined push, and the stretch makes your entire body go tight.
A sharp gasp rips out of you before you can stop it.
His hand clamps over your mouth again, his other arm hooking around your waist to keep you pressed back against him.
“Shh,” he whispers, hot and rough near your ear. “I know. I’ve got you.”
He rocks an inch inside you before pulling out, repeating the movement with low shallow thrusts.
“Christ, you’re fuckin’ tight.” His accent thickens and you turn your head back to look at him.
He looks just as wrecked as you feel, mouth halfway parted as his gaze is glued to the subtle movements under the covers, as if he stares hard enough, he’ll be able to actually see where you two are connected. A faint red blooms from his chest up to his cheeks, and he swallows, jaw clenching when you flutter around him.
You can see the effort it’s taking for him not to slam all the way in and fuck you silly.
You nip lightly at the heel of the hand covering your mouth, and he smiles.
“Want something?”
You nod, and he moves his hand to your waist.
“More,” you whisper and Johnny kisses the curve of your neck. “I want more.”
You feel his smile against your skin as he catches your top leg, guiding it back over his hip and opening you further to him. You’re only distracted by the stretch for a moment before he snaps his hips forward in one sharp movement.
Your back arches as the breath is punched out of you by how full you feel, but your body has already started moving, little helpless rolls back into him that make his grip tighten around your waist.
He begins to fuck into you in shallow, lazy strokes.
It’s not enough, him moving too slowly to really build any pressure, but you know what he’s thinking: that the slapping of skin, creaks of the bed or the obscene, slick sound of your cunt taking him back in is more than enough to get the two of you caught.
The secrecy of it only makes you warmer, tighter around him, and he lets out a strangled groan.
“Can’t stay quiet if you keep gripping me like that,” he murmurs, reaching to rub tight circles on your clit.
It shouldn’t be enough, not with how slow he’s going, but something still builds low in your stomach, from the full drag of him inside you, from his fingers on your clit, from the hand groping at your chest beneath your shirt.
“‘M gonna cum,” you say, shocking both you and Johnny.
“Aye?” he asks, shifting your leg higher over his hip before giving you another slow pull that makes you feel every vein and ridge drag inside you.
“You’re doin’ so good for me,” he whispers, pulling you down by the hips to meet his thrusts.
A hazy part of you realizes you hate this. Hate that you can’t see him properly, speak and moan the way you want to, can’t cling onto him while he takes you apart completely.
Another part of you thinks this is just enough.
“Fuck,” you breathe.
His mouth finds your neck again.
“Come on, then,” he whispers. “Let me feel it.”
Your body listens before your mind can catch up.
The pleasure breaks hot and sudden, your thighs trembling as you clamp down around him. Johnny covers your mouth again just in time, swallowing the broken sound that tries to leave you as he rocks you through it.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”
Johnny’s hips stutter, thrusts becoming jerky with every tight pulse around him. His forehead drops to your shoulder, breath coming rough and hot as he buries himself as deep as he can without making the bed squeak in a way that will give away what the two of you are doing.
“Where?” he rasps.
“Inside. Please, inside,” you say, a little deliriously and his whole body tenses behind yours.
For a second, he goes silent.
Then he comes with a rough, bitten-off groan against your shoulder, hips jerking shallowly as he tries to keep quiet.
You both are breathing hard, skin warm to the touch and at once your surroundings come back to you.
Someone from a few beds over shifts.
“Whoever keeps moving, can you please shut the fuck up? Some of us are trying to sleep.” someone says, voice thick with sleep.
Johnny shakes behind you with silent laughter, and you breathe out a shaky laugh, partly from the relief of not being caught and partly from the aftershocks of how hard you just came around him.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he whispers.
You turn your face enough to glare at him over your shoulder.
He looks wrecked, hair mussed with bright eyes and lips pressed in a tight line to keep from laughing all over again.
“That,” you whisper, “was so stupid.”
His grin breaks through immediately.
“Aye.”
“So fucking stupid.”
“Very.”
“We could have gotten caught.”
“Almost did.”
You drop your head back into your pillow.
Then his hand, still warm at your waist, gives one small squeeze.
“Worth it?”
You turn back from your pillow, and that same warm feeling in your chest betrays you. At the fact that if Johnny blinked the right way at you, you would do it all over again.
“So worth it.”
Johnny’s grin turns devastating.
He presses a quiet kiss to your shoulder.
“Best summer of my life,” he whispers.
And even though you have to spend the next five minutes trying to fix your shorts without waking half the villa, you don’t think you can disagree.
