Chapter 7: Steam and Submission
The harsh metallic clang of Hana’s apartment door shutting echoed in the tiny, dark hallway. Akari was already peeling off her damp tank top, the scent of rain and the lingering musk of the record store clinging to her skin. Hana fumbled with the deadbolt, her hands trembling slightly, the phantom pressure of Akari’s grip still imprinted on her wrist. The walk home had been a blur of wet pavement, stolen kisses under dripping awnings, and the electric hum of unfinished tension.
"Bathroom's tiny," Hana murmured, gesturing towards a narrow door. Steam from the shower she’d hastily turned on before leaving was already curling out from under it, smelling faintly of lavender soap. "Like, really tiny."
Akari just grunted, kicking off her heavy boots. "Don't care." She was down to her ripped fishnets and boxer shorts, her compact, muscular frame taut with restless energy. She pushed past Hana into the steamy sanctuary before Hana could protest further.
Hana followed, closing the door firmly behind them. The room was swallowed in shadow, lit only by a single, fat black candle perched precariously on the sink edge. Its flame danced, casting long, writhing shadows on walls plastered with peeling posters of Siouxsie Sioux and Bauhaus. The mirror was fogged opaque except for two clear ovals where their faces would be. Black towels hung like funeral shrouds. The shower hissed, a steady drumbeat filling the cramped space.
Akari didn’t hesitate. She shoved her boxers down, stepped out of the fishnets, and slid the shower curtain aside with a sharp rattle. Steam billowed out, thick and warm. She stepped under the spray, turning her face up to the water, rivulets tracing the hard lines of her shoulders, her defined abdomen, the dark ink of her tattoos. She looked carved from something primal and unyielding.
Hana stood frozen for a moment, watching the water cascade over Akari’s short, spiky hair, down the powerful curve of her back. The contrast was dizzying: the violent intimacy of the storage closet, the quiet intensity of the walk, now this… domestic proximity. Akari opened her eyes, water streaming down her face, smudging her kohl into dark, watery streaks. Those intense eyes fixed on Hana through the steam.
"Gonna just stand there?" Akari’s voice was rough, but softened by the water’s sound. A challenge, but laced with something else. An invitation.
Hana swallowed, the sound loud in the small room. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the zip at the back of her long velvet dress. It snagged. She cursed softly under her breath.
"Need help?" Akari asked, leaning against the slick tiles, arms crossed. A smirk played on her lips, but her gaze was watchful, tracking Hana’s clumsy movements.
"No," Hana said, too quickly. She wrestled the zip down, the damp velvet sticking to her skin. She peeled the heavy dress off, letting it pool on the damp floor like a discarded shadow. Then her slip, her stockings. She stood in her plain black bra and underwear, suddenly acutely aware of her softer curves against Akari’s hard angles in the confined steam.
Akari didn’t look away. Her gaze was a physical weight, traveling slowly down Hana’s body, lingering on the spiderweb tattoo visible above the bra strap. "Get in," she said, her voice lower.
Hana slid the curtain further aside and stepped under the hot spray. It stung her skin after the cool air. She gasped. Akari immediately closed the distance, crowding her back against the cold tiles. The shock of cold against her spine made her arch. Akari’s wet, muscular body pressed flush against hers, skin slick and hot. Water sluiced between their pressed thighs, over their bellies, plastering hair to skin.
"Hana," Akari breathed, the name rough against Hana’s wet neck. Her calloused hands slid down Hana’s sides, over her hips. Hana’s breath hitched. Akari’s teeth found the sensitive skin where Hana’s neck met her shoulder. Not a bite, but a scrape, a claiming drag that sent a jolt straight through Hana’s core. She whimpered, her hands finding Akari’s slick shoulders, digging in.
Akari’s mouth trailed lower, down the column of Hana’s throat, over her collarbone. Her hands slid around to cup Hana’s ass, pulling her tighter against the solid muscle of Akari’s thigh. The friction was immediate, intense. Hana moaned, her head falling back against the tiles with a soft thud. Water streamed over her face, blurring her vision, mingling with the heat building inside her.
"You taste like rain," Akari murmured, her tongue tracing the hollow of Hana’s throat. "And old paper." Her hand slid from Hana’s ass, gliding purposefully over her hipbone, fingers tracing the edge of her soaked underwear. "Still wet?" The question was a low rumble against Hana’s skin.
Hana couldn’t speak. Could only gasp as Akari’s fingers dipped beneath the elastic, finding bare skin. The rough pads of her fingertips were instantly familiar, a shocking intimacy amplified by the slick heat of the water and Hana’s own body. Akari’s touch wasn't hesitant. It was searching, deliberate. Her middle finger slid through slick folds with the same focused intensity she used to handle rare vinyl – careful, knowing, utterly confident.
"Fuck," Akari hissed, her breath hot on Hana’s wet skin. Her finger found Hana’s clit, circling it with agonizing precision. The touch was electric, amplified by the water, by the press of their bodies, by the sheer impossibility of this fierce, young woman knowing her body this way. "That's it," Akari growled as Hana’s hips jerked helplessly against her hand. "Let me feel it."
Her finger pressed harder, a steady, rhythmic pulse against the swollen bud. She added a second finger, sliding deep into Hana with a smooth, practiced ease that stole Hana’s breath. Akari’s other hand anchored Hana’s hip, holding her firmly against the tiles and against the relentless pressure of her fingers. Her teeth grazed Hana’s earlobe.
"Don't hold back," Akari commanded, her voice thick, almost lost in the drumming water. "Not here. Scream if you wanna. Fuck the neighbors." Her fingers curled, finding that spot deep inside, pressing relentlessly while her thumb maintained its devastating circle.
The sensation was overwhelming. The cold tile, the scalding water, the unyielding press of Akari’s body, and the brutal expertise of her fingers. Hana’s control shattered. A cry tore from her throat, sharp and desperate, echoing strangely in the tiled space. Her body bucked, convulsed, riding the waves of pleasure Akari ruthlessly drew from her. She clutched at Akari’s back, fingernails scraping over wet muscle, her cries muffled against Akari’s shoulder as her climax crashed over her with shocking force, white-hot and all-consuming.
Akari held her through it, her fingers slowing but not stopping, drawing out the tremors until Hana sagged, trembling and breathless, her entire weight supported by the wall and Akari’s solid frame. The water beat down on them, washing away sweat, the scent of sex mingling with lavender steam.
Akari slowly withdrew her hand. She didn’t speak. Instead, she reached for the soap, working up a lather in her palms. Her touch, when it returned to Hana’s body, was different. Gentler. She smoothed the soap over Hana’s shoulders, her back, her trembling arms, washing away the grime of the day, of the record store closet. It was an act of surprising tenderness, a counterpoint to the ferocity moments before.
Hana leaned into the touch, her eyes closed, her breathing ragged. Akari’s hands moved to her face, surprisingly gentle thumbs wiping away the streaks of ruined mascara and water. She tilted Hana’s chin up. Their eyes met in the fogged mirror – two pale ovals in the gloom. Hana’s reflected vulnerability, a dazed openness. Akari’s expression was unreadable, a mask guarded by smudged kohl, but her touch on Hana’s cheek was impossibly soft.
Akari reached past Hana, turning off the shower. The sudden silence was deafening, filled only by the drip of water and their harsh breathing. Steam still curled thickly in the air. Akari grabbed a large black towel, wrapping it roughly around Hana, then quickly drying herself with another.
Outside the bathroom door, the flickering candlelight painted shifting patterns on the hallway floor. Akari pressed a wet kiss to the spiderweb tattoo on Hana’s neck, a silent promise. She pulled back, toweling her spiky hair, her gaze never leaving Hana’s in the mirror. The question hung unspoken in the steamy air, heavier than the wet towels. What now? Where did this impossible, electric thing between them go from a cramped bathroom after a stolen, shattering climax? Akari’s fingers brushed a stray, wet strand of hair from Hana’s temple. The gesture spoke louder than words. The night wasn't over. The dangerous current was still pulling them. Deeper. Further into the unknown.