Author's Note: I don't own anything Marvel. This is not terribly explicit, but I did take the M rating seriously. You've been warned.
CH. 2 is gender neutral and first person.
Bath
Vanilla. You can smell it from the hall, dim and steamy.
You see by night lights lining the walls, glowing peach instead of white. You smell lavender next in the thick warm air, grabbing the frame to pivot into the bathroom. Ostentatious, but that is unsurprising, with a panel glass waterfall to obscure the massive tub. You notice bubbles piled over the brim of white porcelain, the corner behind them covered in candles. Is the scent the candles or the bath?
There's a figure behind the waterfall, first dark and thin between the trails then massive as it approaches. Bucky peeks from around the glass, smiling, gliding to your side so naturally, as if he knows he should be right there, next to you. His light eyes are now a dusky blue, and the playful smile morphs into something darker when he looks down your body. His thumb gently nudges your chin to the side to lean forward, planting a gentle kiss at the soft spot beneath your ear, whispering, "come relax."
His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, his knuckles grazing ribs as he pulls the fabric firmly up and away. He likes how you suck in air quickly while he slides his hands, palms to skin, down your hips, locking his thumbs around the waist of your shorts. He kneels to lower the bottoms to the floor, resting his forehead momentarily against your stomach, and before you can compose yourself, you startle at the contact, tensing your muscles away.
Bucky places a large, strong hand behind your thigh to catch you, and the breath that escapes you is more a sigh than an exhale. Your hesitation encourages him to brush his thumb back and forth around the curve of you, lifting his head to face your navel. For a moment, you think he'll lean forward to kiss you, or plunge himself between your legs with your knees over his broad shoulders, but he stands instead and guides you to the bath.
The water is hot, hot enough to keep that momentary sting lingering as it sinks to your muscles, pressing their expansion against your bones. It's delicious. The smell is the bubbles, you think, though the fog of steam and stress and lust blurs things a bit. You descend into the water slowly, letting yourself adjust inch by inch, till you can step from the rim to the ledge to the bottom. The gentle trickle of the waterfall meets the delicate pops of bubbles giving way to your movement. Between breaths, when you can hear everything, the candle wicks make taps of approval, their flames dancing to hypnotize.
You close your eyes, leaning your head back to dip your hair in. You feel a surge in the water, the level rises, and you know he's behind you, watching. He gives you your moment to release the tension of the day, but he enjoys looking at the dripping wet tangles of hair that rise from the bath, the definition of your collarbone, the dip between your shoulder blades. He wins; the night is his.
A furious burst of exploding bubbles tells you he's coming, and the arm snakes around your waist, pulling you back against him as he sits on the ledge. Your ass is spread across his thigh while his fingers wander and play. His breath is hot behind your neck before he kisses and bites across your shoulder. It doesn't hurt, but the primal claim of his teeth to your skin makes you press for more. He is hard against your hip. Sighs evolve to moans, and he won't let you turn, crossing his other arm across your chest to grab your breast and clamp your back to him. The control is liberating. He breathes heavier when you do, kisses more when you moan, moves his fingers to make you sigh.
Bucky wants a scream, and he won't stop until he gets it. You fight it. He likes that. The vanilla hits you when you struggle to inhale, the lavender fills your head. The soft slick of your skin from the sudsy water lessens the friction, but he teases something more lasting. He cradles his face in the the nape of your neck. He groans, but he won't accept begging, pleading, or demands. He'll get his scream.
He kisses beneath your ear again. You give him what he wants.
Meant to be a hazy dream-like fluff, but instead of writing in past tense and from my OC Samantha Stark's perspective, I went with this. It's for practice and fun and a bit of context after chapter 27/28 of The Stark Legacy. I prefer this separate so that you all can choose that T or M rating. Let me know what you think!
