Sweet and Sour

Chapter 12 - It's beautiful, just like the rest of you

Warning: Even more smut

Of course Bucky's townhouse is enormous, you expected nothing less. There are men pitched up around the front keeping watch as you walk up to the entrance, Bucky keeping a possessively firm arm on your waist as you go by. Men are everywhere actually, you pass them in the hallways and see glimpses of them in the rooms you walk by. It's not clear what they're all doing here but you don't care to ask. It's clear this is some sort of base for all of their operations.

"Home sweet home" he says softly.

The house is modern, spacious, it radiates money and luxury without being gaudy. It seems to be two floors, maybe three. Marble counters, exposed wooden floors. Big bay windows and period features. High fences outside keep out prying eyes and you notice rows of security cameras leaving no blind spots. You knew Bucky had money of course, but seeing it all first-hand almost leaves you light headed.

Bucky strolls in confidently, king of the castle. The men nod at him in acknowledgement but then scuttle out of his way. The house suddenly goes quiet, as if word of your arrival has spread and the numerous occupants have made themselves scarce.

"You want anything to drink?" he asks as he hand moves to your hip.

You smile, suddenly anxious as everything catches up with you. The haze from your alcohol and your orgasm have finally worn off and you feel stone cold sober, slightly shocked that somehow you've ended up here of all places. With Bucky. After he made you come on his fingers in the back of his chauffeured car.

How did this happen...?

You're tempted to have another drink to calm your nerves but you don't want to get sick again, and you know you want to be lucid for whatever happens next.

"Maybe just some water?"

He gestures to one of his men who nods and disappears down the hallway, emerging a moment later with a glass bottle of chilled still water and two glasses. Bucky takes them and leads you up the grand stairs to the master bedroom, kicking the door closed with his foot as he places the water and glasses on the nightstand.

He pours you a glass and you sip it leisurely as you take in your new surroundings. The room is enormous, a four poster bed in the centre. Stylish grey walls, monochromatic furnishings and soft lighting throughout. A huge bay window peeking out over the city.

All of your hesitations melt away as he kisses you again, you moan softly against him and kiss him back. It's as if you're back in the club office once more. You're suddenly desperate for him, slamming the glass down onto the dresser. You roughly tug his jacket down his arms and begin to remove his tie without breaking the kiss. You feel him smile against your mouth, like the cat who got the cream, clearly overjoyed with your urgency for him.

He's shirtless in a matter of seconds and you take a second to gaze at his broad chest. You're in awe of his biceps, his tight abs, it's as if he's carved from marble. He watches you carefully as you trace your fingers across his skin, darting over scars and welts and long healed wounds. His slick exterior may hide the true nature of his business but his body betrays it, his torso a battleground, a graveyard of past fights and struggles. The flesh atop his metal arm is a mesh of angry scar tissue and you feel a flash of empathy for him as you think about the trauma of losing a limb. You place soft kisses over his shoulder and spread them across his body, your tenderness a contrast to the ghosts of past violence. He briefly closes his eyes and allows you to sweep him away, not normally permitting such a display of intimacy, even in his own bedroom.

You trace your fingers where metal meets flesh on his shoulder and look up at him questioningly.

"Not the prettiest story..." he whispers almost shyly as he flexes the arm.