Chapter 2: Neon-Striped Domination
The wet, sucking sounds ceased abruptly as Bucky wrenched his mouth away from her with a guttural gasp. His flesh hand slid from her thigh to the small of her back, fingers digging in hard, pulling her down against him as his hips surged upwards off the mattress. Andrea cried out sharply as he slammed deep into her throat, the head of his cock hitting the back hard enough to trigger her gag reflex. Tears welled, blurring the sight of her own slick folds glistening under the city light filtering through the large window.
"Fuck, Barnes!" she choked, pulling off him with a wet pop, dragging air into her burning lungs.
His answer was a low, animalistic snarl. The hand on her back became an iron bar, forcing her torso down while his hips pistoned upwards again, seeking her heat. Andrea braced her hands against his sweat-slicked abdomen, pushing back, resisting the downward pressure. "My turn to drive," she rasped, her voice raw.
For a heartbeat, they strained against each other – his strength against her furious will, muscles coiled and trembling. His eyes, locked on hers, burned with a feral light, the blue almost swallowed by black. Then, with a sharp twist of her hips, she broke his hold. She shoved his shoulders back against the pillows, planting her knees firmly on the mattress beside his hips. Before he could react, she slammed herself down onto him, taking him in one fierce, deep stroke that punched the air from his lungs.
"Christ!" he gasped, head snapping back against the thin pillow.
Andrea didn't pause. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, her dark hair falling around her face like a curtain. She began to move, not with rhythm, but with punishing force. Up, almost disengaging completely, then driving down with all her weight, grinding her clit hard against his pelvis on the descent. Her nails, short but sharp, raked viciously across the hard planes of his pectorals, leaving thin, fiery trails in their wake. His sharp intake of breath was pure, ragged pleasure-pain.
"Yeah," she hissed, watching the lines form beneath her fingertips. "Take it. Take all of it." She rode him like she was trying to break him, each downward thrust rocking the cheap metal bedframe violently against the wall. Bang. Bang. Bang. It punctuated the wet slap of skin, his harsh grunts, the ragged sound of her own breathing. Sweat slicked her back, dripped from her temples onto his chest.
Bucky’s hands flew to her hips, not to guide, but to grip. Fingers like steel bands dug into the soft flesh above her hip bones, holding her steady as he began to meet her downward slams with powerful upward thrusts of his own. It became a brutal counterpoint, a war fought with bodies. He arched beneath her, muscles straining, tendons standing out on his neck like cables. A guttural growl tore from his throat, reverberating through her, low and primal, a sound ripped from some deep, dark place untouched by reason.
"Harder," he ground out, his voice thick, strained. His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched, face a mask of agonized ecstasy.
Andrea laughed, a sharp, breathless sound. She leaned closer, her breasts brushing his scarred chest, her mouth hovering inches from his ear. "You want it harder, Soldier?" she breathed, her voice dripping with dark promise. She shifted her weight, rising higher, then plunged down with terrifying force. At the same time, her right hand snaked between their bodies, fingers finding her swollen clit.
His roar this time shook the window pane. His hands flew from her hips to her waist, then higher, fisting brutally in her hair, wrenching her head back. Her cry was cut off as he crushed his mouth to hers. It wasn't a kiss; it was a claiming, desperate and punishing, teeth clashing, tongues warring. He tasted of blood and sweat and her own arousal. The dual assault – the relentless pounding inside her, the rough pressure on her clit, the violent possession of his mouth – sent shockwaves of sensation detonating through her core.
She broke the kiss, gasping, head still wrenched back by his grip in her hair. Her hips stuttered, losing rhythm, overwhelmed. The coil inside her tightened unbearably. "Bucky... fuck... I'm gonna—"
"Come," he commanded, the word a harsh rasp against her throat. He slammed up into her once, twice, impossibly deep, his fingers finding a bruising rhythm on her clit.
Andrea shattered. A silent scream tore through her as her body clamped down on him in violent, pulsing waves. Her vision whited out, the city lights beyond the window dissolving into a searing blur. She convulsed, her back arching impossibly, held upright only by his merciless grip on her hair and the anchor of him buried deep inside.
Her climax triggered his. With a strangled groan that sounded like it was ripped from his soul, Bucky’s hips hammered upwards one final, brutal time. She felt him swell, pulse, and then the hot, wet rush of his release flooding her depths as his body locked, shuddering violently beneath hers. His grip on her hair loosened, his arm falling slack to the mattress, his chest heaving like he’d run a marathon.
Andrea collapsed forward, her forehead thudding against his sweat-slicked sternum. Every muscle trembled with aftershocks. The room swam back into focus – the stark white walls, the large window framing the indifferent cityscape, the red marks she’d raked across his chest stark against his pale skin. Their harsh breaths filled the silence, the frantic rhythm replaced by exhaustion. The bedframe gave a final, complaining creak.
She lay like that for long minutes, her ear pressed to the frantic drumbeat of his heart slowly calming. His flesh hand came up, not to push her away, but to rest heavily, almost absently, on the curve of her ass. His fingers traced a slow, idle pattern on her sweat-damp skin. The vulnerability of the touch, the sheer unexpectedness of it after the violence of their coupling, sent a different kind of shiver through her.
Eventually, she levered herself up onto her elbows, looking down at him. His eyes were closed, lashes dark smudges against his cheeks, the split lip slightly swollen. He looked wrecked. Beautifully, thoroughly wrecked. A possessive thrill shot through her.
He opened his eyes. The feral heat was banked, replaced by a weary intensity, that familiar haunted shadow lurking in the depths. He looked at her, his gaze traveling over her face, lingering on her mouth, then down to her breasts crushed against his chest. His thumb brushed a stray lock of damp hair off her forehead. The gesture was almost tender. Almost.
"Still alive, Kuznetsov?" His voice was rougher than gravel.
She smirked, a flicker of her usual fire returning. "Barely. You?"
He huffed, a sound that might have been the ghost of a laugh. "Close call." His hand slid up her back, coming to rest possessively on the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair again, but gently now.
The silence stretched, less charged now, but thick with unspoken things – the alley, the gunman groaning in the parking lot, the raw need they kept igniting in each other. Dawn was beginning to bleed into the cityscape outside the large window, painting the stark white walls pale grey, washing out the harshness of the overhead bulb Andrea hadn't bothered to turn off.
Bucky shifted beneath her, the movement causing a low groan to escape them both. He carefully eased her off him, the loss of connection a sudden, cool shock. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his back to her. The intricate plates of his vibranium arm caught the faint morning light. He ran his flesh hand through his sweat-tousled hair, then reached for his pants crumpled on the floor.
Andrea watched him dress, the efficient, almost mechanical movements pulling the dark clothing over his powerful frame. The vulnerability of moments before was gone, sealed away behind the familiar, impenetrable armor. He found his shirt, pulled it on, the fabric hiding the marks she’d left. He didn't look at her.
The air in the sparse apartment felt suddenly cold. Andrea pulled the thin sheet up around her shoulders, the exhilaration of their encounter rapidly cooling into a hollow ache. The city outside woke slowly, the faint rumble of early traffic replacing the night's silence.
Bucky stood, fully dressed now, the Winter Soldier silhouette back in place. He finally turned, his gaze meeting hers. It held nothing. No apology. No promise. Just the vast, empty distance she recognized. He nodded once, curtly, and walked towards the door.
She didn't speak. Didn't ask him to stay. The click of the latch echoed in the quiet room as he let himself out.
Andrea stared at the closed door, the sheet clutched tight. The apartment felt immense and echoing in his absence, the lingering scent of sex and sweat suddenly cloying. Outside the large window, the grey dawn light revealed the grime on the glass, the peeling paint on the opposite building. The thrilling, dangerous chaos he brought felt a million miles away, replaced by the mundane reality of her solitary life. She closed her eyes, the phantom sensation of his hands on her hips, his cock driving deep, still echoing through her nerves. A shiver ran through her, not from cold, but from the unsettling realization that the emptiness he left behind felt deeper than it ever had before.
The click of the latch echoed long after the door shut, a final punctuation mark to Bucky’s abrupt departure. Andrea stared at the peeling paint on the doorframe, the sheet rough against her sweat-cooled skin. That familiar hollow ache bloomed in her chest, sharper this time, edged with a frustration that tasted metallic. She hated the way he vanished, leaving only the ghost of his touch and the sour tang of abandonment clinging to the air thick with sex and city grime filtering through the large window. Dawn’s grey light felt accusatory, exposing the apartment’s stark emptiness.
A sharp rap shattered the silence. Not tentative. Insistent. Andrea froze, the sheet clutched tighter. It came again, harder, rattling the cheap wood in its frame. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic counterpoint to the sudden stillness. She slid out of bed, the cold floorboards biting her bare feet, and padded silently to the door. Peering through the fisheye lens distorted the hallway into a warped tunnel. Bucky stood there, backlit by the weak corridor light, his expression unreadable but his posture radiating coiled tension. He hadn’t gone far. Hadn’t left the building.
She unlocked the deadbolt and chain, pulling the door open just enough. Cool hallway air rushed in. He filled the space, his scent – leather, gun oil, sweat – instantly overwhelming the apartment’s stale breath. His eyes, shadowed and intense, scanned her face, then dropped to the sheet barely covering her. No words. Just that heavy, expectant silence.
"Well?" Andrea finally rasped, her voice scratchy. "Change your mind about fucking off?"
His gaze snapped back to hers. "Forgot something," he stated, his voice low and rough. He pushed past her into the apartment, his shoulder brushing hers, a deliberate friction. The door clicked shut behind him. He didn’t look around. Didn’t move towards anything. He just stood there, a dark, imposing presence in the centre of the sparse room, facing her. The air crackled.
Andrea let the sheet drop. It pooled at her feet. She stood naked before him, the dawn light washing over her skin, highlighting the faint bruises already blooming on her hips from his grip. "What?" she challenged, tilting her chin up. "Your dignity? Left that outside with the trash."
A muscle jumped in his jaw. He took a single, deliberate step towards her. Then another. His eyes burned, stripping her bare more effectively than the light. "You," he growled. The word was thick, laden. An accusation. A demand.
He closed the distance in two strides. His flesh hand shot out, fingers tangling brutally in her dark hair, wrenching her head back. His mouth crashed down on hers. It wasn’t a kiss; it was a reclamation. Savage. Teeth clashed. Tongues warred. He tasted of cold air and unresolved fury. Andrea met him with equal ferocity, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the coppery tang flooding her mouth. She clawed at his shirt, ripping buttons, desperate to feel skin.
He tore his mouth away, breathing ragged. His vibranium hand gripped her waist, lifting her effortlessly off her feet. She wrapped her legs around his hips, locking her ankles at the small of his back. He carried her backwards, not to the bed, but slammed her hard against the cool, stark white wall beside the large window. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. He pinned her there, his body a furnace against hers, his erection straining against his pants, pressing insistently against her belly.
"Fuck me," Andrea gasped, arching into him, grinding against the hard ridge. "Right here. Now."
He didn’t hesitate. His metal hand fumbled with his belt buckle, the clink loud in the quiet room. He shoved his pants and briefs down just enough, freeing himself. His flesh hand gripped his cock, thick and flushed, guiding the blunt head to her slick entrance. He pushed in, not slowly, not gently. One brutal, deep thrust that stretched her, filled her impossibly, forcing a choked cry from her throat. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed against the wall beside her head, his breath hot and ragged on her neck.
Andrea gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders through the torn fabric of his shirt. "Yes," she hissed, the word scraping raw. "Just like that."
He pulled back almost completely, leaving her achingly empty for a heartbeat, then slammed home again. Harder. The plaster wall shuddered behind her. He set a punishing rhythm, driving into her with relentless, piston-like force. Each deep thrust rocked her body against the unyielding surface, the friction deliciously rough. Her breasts flattened against his chest with every impact. The wet slap of skin, the guttural sounds tearing from his throat, filled the sparse space. Tenderness was a forgotten language. This was raw need, a furious collision sparked by his leaving and his sudden, violent return.
Andrea threw her head back against the wall, baring her throat. Her hips met his thrusts, grinding down onto him, seeking that perfect angle. "Harder, Barnes!" she demanded, her voice breaking. "Fucking use me!"
He growled, low and feral, deep in his chest. His vibranium hand slid from her waist, down over the curve of her ass, gripping her cheek hard, fingers digging in, lifting her slightly to change the angle. He plunged deeper, hitting a spot that made stars explode behind her eyelids. Andrea cried out, a sharp, wordless sound of pure sensation. Her fingers scrabbled against his back, finding the seam where metal met scarred flesh, clutching desperately.
"Look at me," Bucky rasped, his voice thick with strain. He pulled her head forward by her hair, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were dilated black pools, burning with a desperate, almost painful intensity. Sweat dripped from his brow onto her collarbone. "See who's fucking you."
She stared into that abyss, seeing the Winter Soldier, the haunted man, the raw hunger she alone seemed to ignite. "I see you," she breathed, her voice trembling with the force of his thrusts. "I see you, Bucky." Her hips rolled, taking him impossibly deep. The coil inside her tightened violently, a white-hot wire pulled taut. "Oh god... I'm close... so fucking close..."
He slammed into her, once, twice, driving her higher. His breathing was ragged gasps against her skin. "Come," he commanded, his voice a harsh whisper. "Come on my cock."
The command, the brutal friction, the sheer overwhelming force of him shattered her control. Andrea screamed, her body convulsing violently around him, clenching in rhythmic pulses that milked his length. Her vision blurred, the white wall dissolving into blinding light. She threw her head back again, exposing the long line of her throat, her mouth open in a silent cry of ecstasy.
As the peak tore through her, a primal surge of possessiveness, a need to mark him as indelibly as he marked her, overrode everything. Still shuddering, still clenching around him, Andrea lunged forward. Her teeth sank deep into the corded muscle of his neck, right where it met his shoulder. Not a nip. A fierce, claiming bite. She tasted salt, sweat, the faint metallic tang of his skin.
Bucky roared. It wasn't pain. It was pure, unadulterated sensation ripped from his core. His hips jerked erratically, slamming into her one final, devastating time as his own climax detonated. She felt him swell, pulse, the hot flood of his release filling her as his body locked, shuddering violently against hers. His grip on her hair and her ass tightened convulsively, holding her pinned to the wall and against his neck. He buried his face in her hair, a ragged groan vibrating against her scalp. They hung there, suspended, trembling against the wall, the only sounds their harsh, mingled breaths and the frantic hammering of their hearts. The bite mark throbbed on his neck, dark and possessive in the pale dawn light.
The bite mark throbbed on his neck, dark and possessive in the pale dawn light. Bucky shuddered, the aftershocks of release rippling through him as he finally sagged against her, his weight pressing her fully into the cool plaster. Andrea gasped at the sudden pressure, the rough wall scraping her back, her own climax still echoing in her trembling limbs. His hot breath puffed against her temple, ragged and deep.
He pushed himself back just enough, the head of his cock slipping free with a slick sound that echoed in the sudden quiet. Andrea hissed at the sudden emptiness, clenching involuntarily. Bucky’s flesh hand slid from her hair, leaving the roots tingling, down to grip her hip almost roughly. His vibranium hand pressed flat against the wall beside her head, bracing them both. His eyes, still hooded and dark, scanned the room, landing on the bed a few feet away.
"Bed," he ordered, his voice a deep rasp, raw from exertion. It wasn't a question. His grip on her hip tightened, turning her away from the wall. Andrea stumbled slightly on weak legs, the cold floor shocking her bare soles again. He didn't release her, steering her firmly towards the rumpled sheets.
He shoved her forward, not ungently but with purpose, until her knees hit the edge of the thin mattress. "Down," Bucky growled, planting his hand firmly on her back. Andrea complied, bracing her palms on the worn blanket as she lowered herself onto her knees. The position left her exposed, ass raised towards him, the city’s grey dawn light outlining her curves through the large window.
She heard the rustle of his clothes as he shoved his pants and briefs down his thighs. Then the heavy warmth of his body pressed against her back, the cool vibranium plates a sharp contrast against her heated skin. His cock, still slick and hard, nudged roughly against her swollen folds. "Fuck," Andrea breathed, pushing her hips back, seeking him. She felt him take himself in hand, the blunt head pressing insistently. He didn’t tease. He drove forward in one solid, deep thrust, stretching her, filling her completely. Andrea groaned, low and guttural, dropping her forehead onto the blanket.
Bucky didn't pause. He set a brutal rhythm immediately, his hips slamming into her ass, each powerful thrust rocking her entire body forward. His flesh hand gripped her hip bone hard, fingers digging in, while his vibranium arm braced against the mattress beside her for leverage. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, louder than the distant city waking up. "Take it," he grunted, his voice tight with strain and unleashed need. "Take every fucking inch."
Andrea pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, reveling in the deep stretch, the raw friction. "Harder," she demanded, her voice muffled by the blanket. "Fuck me harder, you bastard." He obliged, pistoning into her with renewed force, the cheap bedframe screeching in protest as it scraped the floor with each impact. Sweat beaded on her back, trickling down her spine. She felt the coil tightening low in her belly again, the relentless pounding pushing her towards the edge.
Bucky leaned forward, his chest pressing against her slick back. His metal fingers left the mattress, sliding around her hip. Andrea tensed, expecting him to grip her, but his hand moved lower, past her mound. His cool metal fingers brushed roughly over her clit. She gasped, arching her back. "Don't stop," she pleaded, pushing back harder onto his cock.
He didn't. His vibranium hand moved away, rummaging briefly in the jumble of items on the crate beside the bed – discarded clothes, her cigarettes, the lighter. Andrea heard a faint, distinct click, followed by a low, insistent buzz. Her breath caught. He shifted his weight, pressing his chest harder against her back to pin her slightly. She felt the cool, humming plastic nudge against her clit, held firmly in his vibranium grip.
"Oh fuck," Andrea choked out as the vibration hit her oversensitive flesh. It was intense, immediate, buzzing directly against her swollen clit while his cock continued its deep, punishing rhythm inside her. The dual sensation was overwhelming, electric. "Barnes! Fuck! Right there!" Her fingers clawed at the blanket, knuckles white. The vibrations intensified her internal friction, making every thrust feel impossibly deeper, sharper. Pleasure detonated along her nerves, white-hot and consuming.
Bucky’s pace became erratic, frantic. He pressed the buzzing vibrator harder against her clit, grinding it in small, tight circles as he slammed into her. "Come," he commanded, his voice thick and ragged near her ear. "Come for me now." The combination was devastating – the relentless pounding deep inside, the pinpoint vibration shattering her focus. Andrea screamed into the mattress, her body locking, convulsing violently around his cock as the orgasm tore through her, blinding and absolute.
Her violent clenching triggered his own release. Bucky roared, a sound ripped from his core, driving himself deep one final time as he pulsed inside her, his hips jerking erratically against her ass. He held himself buried to the hilt, pressed tight against her, the vibrator still buzzing relentlessly against her shuddering clit as aftershocks wracked them both. He slumped forward, his full weight pinning her down, his panting breath hot on her shoulder blade. The buzz finally stopped as his vibranium fingers relaxed their grip, letting the toy fall onto the blanket beside her face.
They lay tangled, slick with sweat, the only sound their harsh, slowing breaths and the distant rumble of Brooklyn morning traffic. The light through the large window was brighter now, stark white. Bucky slowly pulled out, the loss making Andrea whimper softly. He pushed himself up, swinging his legs off the bed with a grunt. Andrea remained face down, limbs heavy, trembling slightly. She heard the rustle of his clothes as he pulled his pants back up, the soft clink of his belt buckle.
She turned her head just enough to see him standing beside the bed, fully dressed again. He was looking down at her, his gaze unreadable, the bite mark stark on his neck. His eyes flickered to the discarded vibrator on the blanket, then back to her face. He ran a hand through his damp hair. Without a word, he turned and walked towards the door. Andrea watched his retreating back, the familiar hollow ache already creeping back in. The latch clicked shut behind him. Again. The buzzing still echoed faintly in her nerves. The apartment felt impossibly empty.