Brooklyn is just coming to life when I return home from my early morning run. Slipping off my sneakers, I leave them by the front door and head to the bedroom to see if Bucky is awake yet, but as I approach the bathroom, the sound of the shower running answers my question.
I can't think of a better way to start the day than an invigorating run followed by a steamy shower.
Grinning in anticipation, I stop by the bathroom door, which Bucky has left open a crack. I strip off my sweaty t-shirt, socks, and shorts and push the door open far enough to slip through. Leaning against the counter, I lick my lips at the sight that greets me through the haze of steam.
I still have no idea how I got so lucky.
Bucky stands in the large, glass-walled shower stall with his back to me, and the sight of him is utterly breathtaking. His head is tipped back beneath the showerhead, water pouring over him and soaking his hair, which is just past his shoulders now and looks almost black when saturated. His broad shoulders lead to a well muscled back that ripples deliciously when he lifts his muscular arms – one flesh, one vibranium painted to match his pale skin – to run his fingers through his hair. The dimples at the base of his spine make me itch to plant my thumbs there, but that urge is nothing new. His waist and hips are solid, his ass perfectly round and meaty, begging to be kneaded and bitten and delved into, and his legs are divine: thick, strong thighs, shapely calves, and slender ankles.
He is gorgeous.
I slide my hand down the flat of my lower belly as I watch him, my fingers closing around the base of my cock, which began showing interest the second I entered the room. Licking my lips as I watch my lover in the shower, I stroke myself to full hardness, my breath catching as I bite back a groan.
Water spills over Bucky's shoulders and down his back, rivulets tracing his spine and disappearing into the cleft of his ass, and I'm captivated by the sight, pushing away from the counter and moving closer to get a better view. Crystalline rivers stream down his body, changing direction with each scar they reach, some barely visible, some large and terrible, all telling stories of a life lived in horror, killing and surviving. He hates his scars, but he has come to accept them. I like to think I have something to do with that; he was so self-conscious when he first returned to me that he wouldn't take off his shirt unless the lights were out, but after I spent hours tracing each scar with my fingertips and brushing them with reverent kisses, he finally understands that every part of him is beautiful in my eyes, whether he understands why or not.
I can't resist him any longer; the rippling of his muscles beneath his pale, marred skin draws me in and quickens my heartbeat. I open the shower door and step inside, melting at the smile Bucky aims over his shoulder at me. "Hey," he says as I slide my arms around his waist and run my palms over his chest and stomach. When my hips touch his ass, he chuckles and pushes back against me, trapping my erection between us. "Somebody else is up early."
"You woke him up, all wet and looking like sex on legs." I kiss a path up his neck and along his jaw, and he turns in my arms to meet my lips as his hands slide immediately to my ass and squeeze hard.
"I was hopin' you'd get home before I finished in here," he murmured against my lips, his blue-grey eyes open and staring into mine.
"Aw, you missed me that much?"
"Yeah," Bucky says with a smirk, "but more importantly, we haven't had shower sex in at least three days."
I gave a theatrical gasp. "Say it ain't so!"
"Lucky for you, I'm in the mood."
"When aren't you in the mood?"
"Also lucky for you, never."
