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Suffice it to say that one hour became two, then three, and eventually you kept busy with finishing some household chores before deciding to treat yourself to a nice, long shower. Your hair was overdue for a wash and your best friend had recently gifted you a self-care basket with some shower steamers you’d been wanting to try. 

Twenty minutes later, and you were stepping into a hot shower with lavender-eucalyptus steam emanating from the floor of the tub. You damn-near moaned at the relief—this was just what the doctor ordered (pun intended). 

It wasn’t long after you washed your hair that you thought you heard the front door. But to be fair, every time you showered you managed to convince yourself you’d heard your entire extended family being slaughtered in the living room. It wasn’t until a familiar, rhythmic knock on the bathroom door that you smiled to yourself. 

For as long as you’d known him, Frank always mimicked the pattern of Anna’s opening knock in “Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?” from Frozen (Penny may or may not be obsessed with the movie. Hell, the last time Abby dropped the kids off she’d been in an Elsa dress and demanded they watch it after dinner. This of course meant Frank was also obsessed by proxy). 

“Come in!” 

The door creaked open, and you could hear Frank’s sigh of exhaustion over the stream of the shower. “Hey, baby. Sorry I’m home so- Jesus, it smells like a spa in here. What is that?” 

“New shower steamers. Too much?” 

“No, just strong.” You heard the soft click of the door. “Fuck, you would not believe the shift I’ve had—” 

“Good bad or bad bad?” you asked, absently wringing the rest of the shampoo from your hair. 

Another sigh. You could barely make out the ruffling of clothes being shed and tossed haphazardly on the tile. Your stomach instantly fluttered in anticipation, but the rational part of your brain hesitated—you might as well kiss your relaxing shower goodbye if your lovely boyfriend was going to barge in. 

“Good bad, thankfully,” came his reply. “A few interesting cases. Some punk kids almost blinded themselves; apparently they thought it’d be fun to try and cook up some mustard gas with one of their mom’s cleaning supplies. Jackasses were lucky they didn’t get more severe chemical burns.” 

You chuckled. “Sounds about right for teenage boys.” 

“Yep, the usual BS.” 

The shower curtain whipped open, revealing one tired-looking Dr. Frank Langdon, beautifully unkempt and deliciously nude. Despite his visible exhaustion, a broad grin plastered itself on his face at the sight of you. “Hi. I missed you.” 

“Missed you too.” When he kept staring, you quirked a brow, unabashedly assessing his body with false scrutiny. “Can I help you?” 

His—very obviously ogling—eyes shot back up to yours, and he made a shooing gesture. “Uh, yeah. Scooch.” 

When you gave no indication of moving, he took matters into his own hands, pulling the curtain all the way open to step over the lip of the tub. Of course, he flinched immediately upon feeling the water—typical man reaction. 

 “Jesus Christ, woman! How do you not have third degree burns?!” 

“Oh, don’t barge in and then complain,” you tossed back. “Maybe just wait your turn like a normal person. I’m almost done.” Despite what your words might suggest, the protest in your voice was nonexistent, even to your own ears. In actuality, you missed him. A lot. 

Frank shook his head, stepping fully into the shower. “That’s such a lie.” He tucked himself behind you and leaned in close, nosing along your wet hair and making you giggle. “Mm. Mhm. Just what I thought—only shampooed.” 

His cool hands found your waist, skirting the length of your body with gentle intimacy; a tender re-acquaintance with all the parts of you that he’d missed during the day. Despite the scalding hot water, you shivered. 

“O-kay, well. You’re disrupting my zen.” 

Soft lips against the hinge of your jaw nearly eviscerate all rational thoughts in your brain. “Mmmm I know, but I could really use a shower right now. And I missed you. And it’s a chance to lower our water bill. I like to think of it as killing two birds with one stone.” 

You turned to face him, and he immediately swooped in for a kiss that you diverted with a palm planted on his chest. “Fine. You can stay, but no funny business.” 

He stuck his lip out in an exaggerated pout. “One kiss?” 

You gave in, because of course you did. Who wouldn’t?

His thumb and forefinger pinched your chin, gently tugging your lower lip to deepen the kiss. It was a slow, welcome hello after so many hours spent apart. The kind of kiss you could tell Frank had been craving, the familiar warmth of a body that didn’t actively need fixing or saving. He parted only to catch his breath, pressing a soft kiss to your damp forehead. You were still leveling your own breathing when he reached behind you for your lavender body scrub. 

A smile found your features, heart swelling with tenderness at the fact that he was familiar enough with your shower routine to know your exact steps. 

While he fumbled with the lid, you occupied yourself by scattering a few soft kisses across his neck and chest, palms landing over his ribs to ground yourself against his body. It wasn’t entirely meant to be sensual, only affectionate, but it became rapidly apparent that your actions were having the opposite effect. 

You huffed a laugh, glancing down between you. “Seriously? That’s all it takes?” 

Frank almost sounded offended. “Don’t sound so shocked. My beautiful, wet, naked girlfriend touching and kissing all over me? That’s more than enough.” 

“You’re so easy.”

He groaned as you sucked at the soft skin beneath his ear. “You’ve no idea. I got hard from watching you dig around in our garbage disposal once.”   

“Oh my god, Frank. Ew.”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “What? I like a woman who’s not afraid to get her hands dirty.”

When he finally worked the stubborn lid open, he rubbed the scrub into your skin with the sort of accuracy and attentiveness you could only accredit to his doctoral degree. 

“Leg up,” he commanded, pressing hard enough into your calf that you moaned. “Other leg. Arms out; good girl.”

He was doing this shit on purpose, and both of you knew it. It became glaringly obvious when he spent ample time massaging your tits. 

Okay, maybe you were a bit hypocritical, eyes fluttering shut and lip between your teeth as you let him grope you. You were content to let it slide until his thumbs openly grazed your (already very erect) nipples and you remembered you were supposed to be showering. 

“Francis.” 

“Yes dear?” 

“That’s…mm…not exactly a cleansing motion.” 

“Hm, you’re right. Not very effective, is it?” He let the water rinse off some of the scrub, before promptly leaning down to take a nipple into his sweltering mouth, which somehow felt hotter than the shower itself. You gasped sharply, hands flying to his sodden hair. 

“Yeah…much more effective,” he muttered against your skin. 

“A-ah, Frank, God—” 

His tongue swirled around the bud, lips suckling with just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm, arousal boiling low and insistent in your belly. 

“I could’ve s-sworn I said no funny business.” Again, the protest in your voice was feeble at best; you were equally as helpless in denying your boyfriend as he was in denying you. 

Frank only hummed, switching to give your other nipple the same attention. Your fingers smoothed through his hair, now heavy with water. You stumbled back a step to reach for his shampoo, though he was quick to distract you with a kiss that damn near stole the breath from your lungs. 

“Lemme. Wash. Your hair,” you argue between kisses. 

The whine that poured out of him made more than just your stomach flutter. 

“Lemme kiss you,” he fired back, hands cupping the sides of your face like it would physically pain him to let you go. 

You couldn’t help your lovesick smile. “You can, baby. You can. Just…let’s actually get clean while we’re in here, yeah?” 

With a dramatic grumble, Frank finally turned around so you could get a better angle to wash his hair. 

You poked his side, “so sassy.” 

Even if he often disrupted your entire routine, you enjoyed showering with Frank. He craved physical intimacy more than he’d ever admit to you. It didn’t always have to be sexual, either; you knew he loved being touched simply as a means of closeness and having himself be the one getting taken care of for once. 

You kissed the birth mark on his shoulder blade as you lathered your hands, the earthy scent of his sandalwood shampoo enriching the hot steam of the shower. You gently and firmly carded your fingers through his hair, making sure to spend extra time massaging his scalp. You also gifted him a few scattered kisses across his shoulders and the top of his spine, cherishing the way he quivered under your touch. His pleased little hums made you smile, a mix of fondness and desire continuing to bloom between your legs. 

When you were finished rinsing it all out, Frank decided it was time for your hair mask and eagerly returned the favor, his touch tender and thoughtful as he worked the product into your hair; he also speckled kisses across the slope of your neck and shoulder bones.  

When he was done, however, you could sense the mischief in the smirk he pressed against your neck like a sixth sense; his hands were full of intent as they moved your hair out of his way before trailing down your sides, coming to rest just at the crease of your thighs. His lips once again found the side of your neck, his body crowding into yours from behind. Open-mouthed kisses marked a trail along your shower-softened skin. 

Your hand gripped the nape of his neck as he sucked a bruise into a spot beneath your jaw. 

“What’s your excuse this time?” you rasped. 

“Don’t need one,” he muttered innocently. “We’ve gotta let your hair mask sit for at least five minutes. I think the bottle recommends ten, actually.” 

Another laugh bubbled from your chest. You shot him a dubious look. “What happened to saving water?” 

He hid his smirk behind a kiss on your shoulder. “We are. It’s a two-for-the-price-of-one shower.” Another kiss. His hands drifted back to your inner thighs, voice pitching low. “Should save us about seventy-five cents or so.” 

You shuddered when his fingers skirted the edge of your labia, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. “Something tells me this isn’t about the money.”

His breath was pure heat against your ear. “Caught me,” he whispered. 

Fingers slipped lower, seeking and finding your already swollen clit, circling it with gentle precision. His other hand trekked back up your body, slow and sensual, tenderly groping your breast. 

“Missed you. Was thinkin’ about this all day.” 

“Yeah?” Your hand reached up to comb through his wet hair as his touch moved further south, teasing your sensitive opening with firm caresses. Your ass arched back into his hips, dragging a groan from his chest as you ground against him. 

“Mhm.” His middle finger finally slid home, drawing a low whimper from the back of your throat. “Fuckin’ elbow deep in blood and guts and I still couldn’t stop imagining you like this.” 

“Wow,” you scoffed. “So romantic.” 

“You know me.” 

One hand gripped his forearm, feeling the tendons flex with the movement of his fingers. “Fuck, Frankie.” 

The nickname always did a number on him; you felt it in the way his free hand tightened on your hip bone, his breath hot as it hitched against your cheek. 

“That feel nice, sweetheart?” You barely managed to nod your head. “Mm. I’m sure it does. She’s already nice n’ wet for me.” 

Frank crowded you against the wall of the shower, your tits flush against the tile as he slipped another finger in, your body trembling around the intrusion. His free hand came to rest beside your head, lips refusing to leave the wet skin of your neck. His cock was stiff and hot against the cleft of your ass. 

Feeling as though things were a bit uneven, you reached behind you and grasped his cock in your hand, your cunt throbbing at his moan of surprise. 

His tongue licks up the side of your neck, mouth sloppy and shameless in his need for you. 

“Yeah, baby. Love when you touch me like that,” he groans, low and long. 

You whined sharply when his curling digits struck gold, pressing just right against spongy tissue. Damn this man—he played you like a fucking fiddle, plucking all the right strings to get your body to sing; made you crave him like oxygen, miss him like a limb. 

The crescendo of your orgasm was fast approaching, your thighs trembling from the promise of it, skin somehow feeling sweaty in spite of the shower. Your free hand flew to his wrist as he buried his head in your neck, lips hot against your skin. 

“Gonna come?” he breathed. “C’mon, baby. Let her feel good. Chase it.” 

You rose, almost on your tiptoes, body arching away from the onslaught of sensitivity whilst seeking more more more, as you straddled the edge of release. When it finally happened, it was with a sharp cry of your boyfriend’s name, nails biting into his wrist as your body shuddered in his hold. 

“There we go,” his voice pitched a little higher with anticipation, feeling your cunt spasm around him, no doubt imagining it were his cock instead. “There we go, good fucking girl. Mhm. Use my fingers, baby. Get yourself off. Fuck, that’s so good.” 

Your hand stalled on his cock, too distracted by the intensity of your orgasm to focus on anything else. Frank didn’t seem to care, wholly consumed in the reactions he was yanking from your body as he kept his fingers pumping in an attempt to prolong your high. His breath was hot against your ear, praises pouring from his lips that you could barely process in the midst of your release. 

Eventually your twitching hips started to slow as your body attempted to come down, but Frank was having none of it. 

“Nuh-uh. Keep going. You’re not done,” he breathed against your ear. “Can still feel her twitchin’ on me.” He ground his palm against your throbbing clit, drawing a sharp cry from your lips as you jolted from the sharp tenderness of it. 

“Frank,” you pleaded, lungs heaving from his continued attention. Your body was quickly getting overwhelmed, almost overstimulated, but the plea of his name wasn’t a warning; it wasn’t a ‘no’ or a ‘stop’ or even a ‘slow down’, though you knew at any point a simple utterance of red would have him backing off immediately. It was none of those things, and both of you knew it. Your hand gripped his wrist as you moaned, slack-jawed and shameless, skin dewy from sweat and humidity. 

“Good girl,” he praised, right in your ear. “C’mon. She wants another one, I can feel it.” 

With a sharp cry, your body spasmed right into its second orgasm, nearly curling in on itself from the pleasure that bordered on pain. Frank was there to hold you up, though, the arm that wasn’t currently buried between your legs crossing around your front to keep you upright and pressed into him. 

“Fuck. Fuck. That’s it, there we go, shh…” 

He found your panting mouth at some point, messily kissing along your lower lip and chin as he finally retracted his fingers from your cunt. 

“You okay, baby?” he asked, his soft voice a total 180 from the way he’d been talking moments ago. 

You nodded weakly, breathing hard, a lazy smile appearing on your face as your nervous system slowly returned to normal. Frank was still flush against your back and hard as a rock, so you indulged him in a slow, messy kiss that drew a longing moan from the back of his throat. 

“We can be done,” he said, sounding genuine. Some might be surprised to learn that Frank Langdon was a giver in bed—to the point that his own pleasure was inconsequential at times. 

“No, it’s okay. I’m okay,” you insist, shifting your hips back against his to make a point. “I want it like this,” you whispered against his lips. 

Frank’s groan made your belly do flips. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

He was quick to give in after that. 

“Fuck, okay. C’mere. Arch your back a little, sweetheart.” 

His cock was hot and heavy, parting the lips of your cunt and sliding up to tease your swollen clit. His voice was molten heat in your ear. The world once again narrowed to his presence, his voice and his touch. Your clit was hypersensitive, a harsh sort of hot pleasure that made you slightly dizzy. 

Frank placed a few salacious kisses up the back of your neck. “Gonna let me put it in? Just a little bit, hm?” 

You were prepared to beg for it, actually. 

“Yes, yes. Please, baby, wan’ all of it—”

“Oh?” His grin was like a Cheshire cat’s. “You want all of it, do you? After I already gave you two orgasms? Such a greedy girl.” 

“Mhm, mhm. Please."

He let out a disbelieving chuckle, like he couldn’t fathom how lucky he’d gotten. “Okay, baby. Okay. You can have all of me.” 

The push into you is near effortless with how wet you are, but you still moan in bliss at the delightful stretch of him, eyes rolling into the back of your skull. Frank isn’t abnormally long, but he’s thick, a burn that blazes through every one of your cells. 

“Oh fuck, baby. God. Squeezin’ me so good, mmmfuck—”

That only makes you clamp down harder, head dizzy with the familiar stretch, your arms and palms braced against the wet wall of the shower. 

The kiss behind your ear was soft, then. 

“You okay?” 

You nodded frantically, trying to encourage him to move with a backwards thrust of your hips. The water sluices your joint bodies, everything hot and wet, clean and filthy, push and pull. Your head tips back against his shoulder, jaw slack with a sharp gasp. 

Frank groans, the sound a guttural noise in his chest, as he works his hips into you with building gusto. You open your eyes and peek over a shoulder to find a pinch in his brow, a blend of focus and strain. One of your hands moves to grip the back of his thigh, nails biting into skin, urging him along with the movement of your own hips. 

“S-so good to me,” you pant, knowing in secret that he has a thing for praise, too. “You’re so good, Frankie. M-making me feel so good and so special, fucking me like this. I love you so much.” 

Another whimper careens from his parted lips, hands bracing on the shower wall beside your head as he picks up speed. 

“I bet this is just what you needed, hm?” You squeeze his thigh harder. “A nice, good fuck. Does it feel good, honey? Can you feel how much I missed you?” 

He nods breathlessly, and when his eyes finally reopen you’re nearly overwhelmed at the look in them, flooding with lust and love and worship. He’s looking at you like you’re something divine, something worth more than a million words could ever convey. 

A hand moves to cradle your jaw, panting into the centimeters of space between you. “Kiss me, baby. Please.” 

You oblige instantly, twisting slightly to get a better angle. 

A positively mouth-watering whimper stumbles from his mouth into yours when your pussy tightens around him, your orgasm precious moments away as he presses you further against the shower wall.   

“Feels so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. I missed you so much.” 

You respond in kind, offering a whine of your own as he pounds into you. “M-missed you too.” Desperation and emotion cloud your voice. “I hate when you have to stay overtime.” 

“I know baby, I’m sorry. I hate it too,” he breathes, peppering kisses across your cheek. “But I’m here now. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” His voice pitches lower, words making your pussy flutter around his cock in warning of your impending release. “Just wanna feel you come on me, honey. Make my whole night, c’mon. One more.” 

You center all of your focus on that singular goal, feeling him rock inside your tender pussy. The brink is borderline painful the third time around, a building burn that festers in all of your lower muscles and springs tears to your eyes. But you are nothing if not determined, willing at all costs to give Frank everything that he wants because he fucking deserves it, and you want to come so badly that you power through it, chasing that final, blissful fall. 

Frank is grunting in your ear, and you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to see him, watch him as he falls apart and the vision of it has you frantically tapping on his thigh. 

“Turn me, turn me,” you demand. 

It takes a second for your words to land. “Wha- are you okay?” 

“Y-yeah, yes, I just…I just want to face you. Please, Frank.” 

He does as you ask, hiking a leg up onto his hip and immediately getting back to work. You yelp from the deeper angle this position allows, arms looping loosely around his neck as you watch him with hooded eyes. 

“God, baby,” he curses. “You’re so perfect. So, so, beautiful.” 

“Mm…Frankie. G-gonna—” 

“Yeah? C’mon. C’mon hon, you got it.” 

His fingers dash between your bodies, and the startling stab of his thumb working over your worn clit is what finally does it. Not even a few thumb strokes later and you’re shattering around his cock, nearly sliding down the shower wall and losing your balance if Langdon weren’t there to catch you. He fucks you through it, only barely, a string of profanities and your name pouring from his lips. 

“S-shit, baby. M’gonna come, fuck—” his grip on your hip tightens. “Where do you want it?” 

“Inside,” comes your immediate—albeit somewhat loopy—response. “Always, baby. Please, insideinsideinside—” 

This seemed to undo him; he pitches forward to sink his teeth into the meat of your shoulder. A full-body shudder rolls through his body, quickly followed by a long, drawn-out groan. His thrusts turn into sloppy, erratic movements of his hips, like he’s trying to burrow himself as deep as possible as the familiar warmth of his release floods your nervous system. 

His breathing starts to slow as he runs his hands up and down your sides, grounding himself in the nearness of your body. Then his head lifts, and you barely catch the dopey smile on his face before he smothers it against your lips, his kiss deep and unhurried. You take it for what it is—an intimate thank you, a conveyance of his gratitude for having him, for letting him have you. 

“I think,” you run your fingers through his hair, “I think my hair mask is probably ready to be washed out.” 

Frank chuckles, hiding his face in your neck. His five o’clock shadow makes you itchy. 

“Yeah. Sorry, sweetheart. I swear I didn’t have ulterior motives.” You scoff, and he laughs again. “Okay, fine, maybe I did. Just…not to this extent.” He pulls his head out of your neck, and that happy grin of his is back, making your heart stutter in your chest. “But no regrets, though?” 

You roll your eyes fondly. “No, my love. I really did miss you today.” You peck the dimple on his chin, “only…now can we really shower? Because somehow I’m feeling more gross than when I initially got in.” 

His grin widens, affection and love written in the lines of his pearly white smile. When he leans close, his forehead brushes yours. “Yeah, baby. We can.”