#I didn't even dare to copyedit this myself sorry

[ghnosis]

and just like the Rain...

it's the first properly cool night - it finally feels like fall. the tip of your nose even got a little chilly on your run in the Abbey grounds.

so you run the shower extra hot, and it stings a little when you get in, but it's a good sting, a warm water on cold skin and tired muscles sting, and you relax into it.

you go through the motions, tired and happy: wash your face, your piercings, your body. your soap smells comforting, familiar - it smells like bedtime, the end of a long day.

it's halfway through soaping your torso that you feel it. the droplets running across your skin almost feel like they're getting... thicker. more substantial? it halfway occurs to you to be grossed out - did some sort of creature die in your showerhead, this is a nightmare - when the laugh whispers across the back of your neck.

the Rain Ghoul has arrived, to enhance your shower experience.

warm, stinging drops ooze down your shoulders, pouring down your front, across your nipples, curving down each breast. your skin feels alive, red from the heat of the water and achingly aware of its every inch. the drops continue, over your belly, down your hips, clinging to the shape of your ass, down towards your center but falling from your body before it starts to really matter. other little rivulets course down your thighs, your calves, your ankles -

pushing your feet apart, insistent, stronger than you'd think shower water could be, especially in your ancient apartment. the sensation is so startling (not unwelcome, though) that you scarcely notice what the streams down your arms are doing.

they're gently, so gently, guiding your upper body down, encouraging your hands to rest on the edges of the tub, then keeping a constant pressure circling your wrists, reminding you not to move. wriggling will only encourage him. matching pressure traces your ankles, water kissing you with heat. as you lean forward, agreeing, Rain's water slides over your back, down your chest, agonizingly dripping from the peaks of your breasts. you moan softly, and Rain's voice drips past your ear.

"I've got you now," he croons. "But I bet you wouldn't move, even if I wasn't holding you spread like this, hmm? Tell me how I feel, pet."

Drops race across your eyes, lips, your throat. You open your mouth to answer him and water plays across your tongue. "You're- you're everywhere," you sigh, and he laughs again.

But he is. Between your thighs, licking across your nipples, biting at your hips, and trickling straight down to the core of you. Flowing across your asshole, between your lips, but always, always dropping off before it reaches your clit. He leaves you like that for some time, everywhere at once except for where you really need him but never quite reaching it

until

until the drops falling off your nipples start to feel like little bites.

until the water running down your back takes on the sensation of two hands, gently spreading you open. "Let me see you," he growls, and your knees want to buckle but can't - other "hands" grip your hips, your rib cage, circling you, keeping you upright. they eventually form serpentine bands, tracing like shibari. you make a truly ugly sound of pleasure and he growls again into your ear, delighted. "Slutty little thing, aren't we?"

it feels like you're melting, like the water is washing years of stress off you via edging. a little river flowing between your spread ass courses over your opening, then parting, one smaller stream over each side of your folds, once again avoiding where you need him most.

"Rain, please," you gasp out, but his water floods your mouth, never going down your throat, just washing across your parted lips, playfully preventing you from speaking. the river becomes another hand-sensation, tinglingly warm. a thumb circles your tight rim, making your back arc, the current-like "ties" around your wrists and ankles keeping you from moving too far out of the position Rain wants you in.

the thumb becomes a probing middle finger, long. he pushes it so slowly inside of you, the whole focus of your being flooding to that point of penetration, that delicious fullness. the middle finger is joined by the ring finger, his pointer and pinky fingers sliding across each side of your labia, reminding you of an aching emptiness elsewhere. the sound you make must clue Rain in, because the water ghoul laughs in your ear.

"Dew told me you were a little whore," he purrs. "but I didn't know just how much. are you so used to being fucked by all of us that just one of us isn't enough for you?" you don't get a chance to answer; the water flowing around you solidifies, pushing you slightly forward, and then Rain is standing behind you, so solidly present, but the water is still holding you face-down-ass-up, still swirling patterns across your belly and breasts.

the water-hand burying itself in your ass becomes a physical hand, and Rain hisses at the feeling of your tightness on his fingers. "Such a good little slut for me," he coos, and his thick cock is suddenly between your legs, sliding back and forth across your entrance. his free hand slides down your side, across your shoulder blades, then settles on the scruff of your neck, firmly keeping you in place.

he pulls his hips back, sliding his entire length from your clit to the base of his fingers in your asshole, and then his tip is at your entrance, and then he is stretching you open. he releases a guttural sound as he pushes into you, some unintelligible groan, then "so fucking tight like this," and then he's setting a rhythm between his fingers in one hole, his cock in the other, and his water is still running over you everywhere else.

and you hang like this, completely fucking covered in Rain, and suddenly your exhausted body gives up. your own fluid pours down your thighs and his, and he's absolutely roaring behind you, laughing and telling you what a good girl you are but his hips and his hand are working double time, keeping you squirting, making your legs shake

and then he's really roaring, the sound of his pleasure echoing off the walls of your tiny bathroom as he empties himself in you, the water that is his essence and element washing your outside clean as he paints your inside. he is the only thing supporting your limp form, and he's still inside you and outside you and everywhere, and he continues to hold you even as he softens inside of you. his hands are gentle and his water warm, no longer stinging-hot, as he cleanses you of both of your juices.

there's a fluffy towel waiting for you once he's finished.