Chapter 3: Waterboarded by Desire
The stale scent of sex and abandonment still clung to the sheets when the key scraped in the lock. Andrea didn’t move from where she lay sprawled on the rumpled bed, the cheap vibrator a cold lump near her hip. The door creaked open, then shut. Heavy boots crossed the floorboards, stopping beside the mattress. She didn’t look up, staring instead at the water stain on the ceiling, shaped vaguely like Italy.
"You're dripping on my floor, Barnes." Her voice was flat, scraped raw from screaming earlier.
He didn’t reply. Rainwater darkened the worn wood beneath his boots, the shoulders of his thick jacket glistening. The bite mark she’d left on his neck stood out, an angry purple bloom against his damp skin. He smelled of wet leather, city grime, and the ozone tang of a storm. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the drumming rain against the large window.
Finally, he moved. Not towards her. He turned and walked into the small, adjoining bathroom. Andrea heard the heavy clunk of the old pipes protesting, then the sudden, violent hiss of the shower erupting. Steam billowed out into the room, carrying the faint, artificial scent of lavender from a cheap bar of soap.
"Get in." His voice was a low rumble from the bathroom doorway, barely audible over the pounding water. It wasn't an invitation. It was an order, rough-edged and impatient.
Andrea turned her head slowly, meeting his eyes. They were shadowed, unreadable, but held a familiar, simmering intensity. The kind that promised chaos. "Fuck off. I'm comfortable."
He crossed the room in three strides. Before she could react, his vibranium hand clamped around her bicep, hauling her off the bed with terrifying ease. Her protest died in a gasp as her bare feet hit the cold floor. He dragged her towards the steamy bathroom, ignoring her furious struggles to dig her heels in. "Get off me, you asshole!"
He didn't slow. He shoved her through the doorway. The sudden wall of heat and steam hit her like a physical blow, thick and humid. The claw-foot tub dominated the small space, the shower curtain shoved roughly aside. Scalding water cascaded from the old, tarnished showerhead, pounding onto the chipped porcelain with a roar that echoed off the tiled walls.
Bucky didn’t hesitate. Still fully clothed in his soaked jacket and pants, he stepped under the punishing spray, pulling her with him. The near-boiling water slammed down on Andrea’s bare skin, shocking a sharp cry from her. "Jesus fuck! It's boiling!" She tried to recoil, but his grip on her arm was iron.
He ignored her, turning them both so her back slammed against the slick, cold tiles. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. Steam clouded the small mirror, leaving them enclosed in a wet, roaring haze. His soaked jacket pressed heavily against her breasts. Water streamed over their faces, plastering her dark hair to her skull, dripping into her eyes and mouth. She sputtered, tasting chlorine and rust.
His flesh hand released her arm, only to fist brutally in her wet hair, yanking her head back against the tiles. His knee forced its way between her legs, spreading them open. At the same time, his vibranium hand slid down her flank, over her hip, fingers digging possessively into the bruised flesh from earlier, then lower. Cool metal slid between her ass cheeks, spreading them roughly.
"Barnes—!" Andrea gasped, the shock of the water, the tile, the sheer sudden violence of it freezing her for a split second.
He cut her off. His other hand fumbled with his soaked pants, pushing them and his briefs down just far enough to free his cock. Already hard. Thick. Angry-looking. She felt the blunt head press against her soaked entrance, still loose and slick from their earlier encounters. With a guttural groan, he shoved forward. Not slowly. Not carefully. One savage, deep thrust that buried him to the root inside her, forcing her body up the slippery tiles.
"Fuck!" Andrea screamed, the sound swallowed by the roar of the shower. The water sluiced over them, making their skin slick. The cold tile was a jarring contrast to the scalding spray and the burning friction inside her. He held himself deep for a heartbeat, his gaze locked on hers through the steam, his chest heaving. Water ran in rivulets down his face, over the bite mark.
Then he pulled back, almost completely out, the drag agonizing, before slamming home again. Harder. The tiles vibrated against her shoulder blades. He set a brutal, relentless pace, hammering into her with piston-like force. Each deep thrust jolted her body against the unyielding wall. His vibranium fingers kept her ass spread wide, the cool metal a shocking counterpoint to the heat building inside her core and the scalding water on her skin.
"Yeah," he snarled, his voice raw and strained over the water's roar. His hips snapped forward, driving deep. "Take it. Fucking take it all." Water streamed down his face, plastering his dark hair flat. He lowered his head, teeth grazing the wet skin of her shoulder, not biting, but a fierce pressure. Possessive.
Andrea clawed at his soaked jacket, trying to shove it off his shoulders, needing skin. She met his thrusts, grinding back onto him, the angle deep and punishing thanks to the spread of his metal fingers. The wet slap of skin, the squelching sound of him plunging into her slick depths, echoed obscenely off the tiles, competing with the water's din. Pleasure, sharp and intense, warred with the discomfort of the wall, the heat, the sheer overwhelming force of him. "Harder," she gasped, arching her back, trying to get him deeper still. "Fuck me harder, you bastard!"
He answered with a punishing thrust that slammed her head against the tile. Stars burst behind her eyes. His vibranium hand tightened on her ass cheek, fingers digging in hard. His other hand tightened in her hair, holding her pinned. "My turn," he growled against her ear, his breath hot and wet. He shifted his stance slightly, planting his feet wider on the slippery tub floor, and drove into her with even more devastating force. The thrusts became shorter, harder, deeper, focused ruthlessly on that spot inside her that made her vision blur.
The coil in her belly tightened to breaking point. The scalding water, the cold tile, the relentless pounding, the possessive spread of his metal hand – it was sensory overload, pushing her towards the edge. "Bucky... I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna come!" The words tore from her, ragged and desperate.
"Now," he commanded, his voice a harsh rasp. He slammed into her one final, brutal time, grinding his hips hard against her ass. His vibranium fingers flexed, spreading her impossibly wider as he buried himself to the hilt.
Andrea shattered. Her scream was lost in the steam and water as her body convulsed violently around him, clenching in fierce, rhythmic pulses that milked his length. White light exploded behind her eyelids. She trembled wildly, pinned between the merciless wall and his unrelenting body, held upright only by his grip.
Her climax ripped his control away. Bucky roared, a raw, primal sound that echoed off the tiles. His hips jerked erratically as he emptied himself deep inside her, hot pulses flooding her depths, mingling with the cascading water. He shuddered violently against her, his forehead pressed to the tile beside her head, his grip on her hair and her ass tightening convulsively as he rode out the aftershocks. The water pounded down, rinsing sweat and release down the drain between their feet.
Slowly, the tremors subsided. He slumped forward, his weight pressing her fully into the cold tiles, his breath coming in ragged gasps against her neck. The roar of the shower seemed louder now, the steam thicker. His vibranium hand relaxed its painful grip on her ass, sliding away, leaving the flesh tender. His fingers slowly untangled from her hair.
For a long moment, they stayed like that, pinned and panting under the scalding spray. Andrea felt boneless, her cheek pressed against the slick tile, the water beating down on her back. Bucky’s weight was a heavy anchor. His breathing gradually slowed, deepened. She felt the warmth of him seep through his soaked clothes into her back. A strange, unexpected quiet settled between them, punctuated only by the water and their slowing breaths. The fury, the frantic need, had momentarily burned itself out, leaving a hollow, steamy calm.
He shifted. His flesh hand slid from where it had been braced on the tile, smoothing slowly, almost hesitantly, down her slick, wet arm. The touch was unexpected. Gentle. So unlike the hands that had just pinned and possessed her. It sent a different kind of shiver through her, one that had nothing to do with cold water. He traced the curve of her shoulder, the line of her spine where it dipped towards her ass. His touch lingered on the bruises his fingers had left on her hip, a rough pad tracing the mottled skin.
Andrea closed her eyes, leaning fractionally back into his touch. The water sluiced over them, less scalding now, almost soothing. His fingers tangled briefly in the wet strands of hair at her nape. A sigh, barely audible, escaped him. Was it exhaustion? Something else?
He reached past her, grabbing the cheap bar of lavender soap from its ledge. His movements were slow, deliberate. He worked the soap into a lather in his flesh hand, then began to wash her back. Strong, methodical strokes smoothed over her shoulders, down her spine, over the swell of her ass. The scent of synthetic lavender bloomed in the steam, cloying yet weirdly intimate. His touch was thorough, impersonal at first, like cleaning equipment. But as he moved, his fingers softened. The strokes became slower, lingering on the tense muscles of her shoulders, massaging the soreness from her lower back. His knuckles brushed the sensitive skin where her thigh met her cheek. It wasn’t sexual. It was… something else. A wordless tending.
Andrea remained still, her forehead resting against the cool tile. The warmth of his hand, the rhythmic motion, the absurd scent of lavender filling the wet air… it was disorienting. Vulnerability shimmered in the steamy space between them, fragile as the condensation on the tiles. She felt an unfamiliar ache bloom in her chest, deeper than bruises. He rinsed the soap away with handfuls of water, his touch careful now. His hand rested for a moment on the small of her back, a warm, heavy weight.
He stepped back abruptly, the moment shattering. The sudden loss of his warmth against her back made her gasp. Andrea turned, water streaming down her face. Bucky was already pushing the soaked jacket off his shoulders. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. His movements were stiff again, efficient. He dropped the jacket on the wet floor, then began unbuttoning his sodden shirt. The vulnerability was gone, sealed away behind the familiar, impenetrable mask. The water beat down on his broad shoulders, running in rivulets over the intricate plates of his arm, the fading bruises on his chest from her nails, the possessive bite mark on his neck.
He peeled the wet shirt off, tossing it onto the growing pile. His back was to her, muscles flexing under wet skin as he braced his arms against the tiled wall under the spray, bowing his head, letting the water sluice over him. The silence returned, heavier now, filled only by the water and the space where that wordless connection had almost been. Andrea watched the water run down the strong lines of his back, the old scars stark against his skin, the coiled power held in check. The steam swirled around him, obscuring, revealing. She shivered, not from cold. The ache in her chest tightened. He hadn’t left the room yet. But he felt a million miles away. The lavender scent clung stubbornly to her skin.