[Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]
The Hotel Danieli was a palace.
Wanda stood in the center of the sprawling lobby, staring up at the multi story atrium.
Murano glass chandeliers the size of small cars hung from the ornately carved wooden ceilings. The walls were covered in gold leaf, tapestries and dark marble. It smelled of polished wood and expensive lilies.
Aryan handled the check in with his effortless charm, speaking a few terrible words of Italian that made the concierge laugh warmly.
A bellhop in a crisp uniform led them to the elevators and down a plushly carpeted hallway. He unlocked double wooden doors, swinging them open to reveal their suite.
It overlooked the lagoon. Massive windows offered a panoramic view of the water and the gondolas bobbing in the distance. The bed was enormous, draped in rich red velvet and gold silk.
The bellhop set their luggage on the racks, accepted a folded bill from Aryan and bowed out of the room, clicking the doors shut.
Wanda let out a long breath, dropping her small carry-on bag onto a velvet armchair.
"Aryan, this room is... it is fit for an emperor," she said, walking over to the window and pressing her hand against the cool glass.
"Only the best," he said.
She turned around to look at him.
Aryan had unzipped the front pocket of his duffel bag and pulled out a small black device with a glowing green screen and a small antenna.
He was walking slowly around the perimeter of the room, waving the device over the edges of the gilded mirrors, sweeping it along the crown molding and holding it near the smoke detectors.
Wanda frowned, tilting her head. "Aryan? What are you doing?"
He didn't stop his sweeping motion, his eyes fixed on the tiny green screen.
"I am conducting a localized security sweep," he answered casually, waving the device over a decorative vase on the mantle.
"A security sweep?" she asked, walking closer to him. "With what?"
"A radio frequency and lens detector," he explained, moving toward the heavy curtains. "It scans for hidden cameras, wireless microphones, or unauthorized transmitting devices."
Wanda stopped dead in her tracks. "Hidden cameras? In a hotel room?"
"Wanda, we are currently the most famous couple on the eastern seaboard of the United States," he said, turning to look at her, his expression entirely serious. "And we are staying in a high profile hotel. People are creepy. Tabloids pay a lot of money for invasive photos. I am not taking any chances. Our privacy is non-negotiable."
She watched him finish his sweep of the bedroom, moving into the marble tiled bathroom.
"Clear," he announced a minute later, walking back out and tossing the black gadget onto the bed. He let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. "No bugs. No cameras. We are officially off the grid."
"You are very thorough, Dr. Spencer," she smiled, walking over to him and wrapping her arms loosely around his neck.
"I am dedicated to your comfort," he murmured, his hands settling on her waist. "Now. We have been on airplanes, in airports and on boats for the last fourteen hours. I feel like I am coated in a layer of recycled air."
"A bath," Wanda decided, her eyes lighting up. "The bathroom has a tub the size of a small swimming pool. I saw it."
"A bath," he agreed instantly.
They walked into the bathroom together. It was a masterpiece of white Carrara marble and polished brass fixtures. In the center of the room sat a massive tub with clawed feet.
Wanda walked over to the edge, turning the heavy brass handles. The water rushed out, steaming hot, filling the basin rapidly.
She reached for a glass bottle of complimentary bath salts sitting on the vanity, pouring a generous amount under the running water until fragrant white bubbles began to rise to the surface.
She turned back to Aryan. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching her with a look of pure hunger.
"Well?" she asked softly, her voice echoing slightly against the marble. "Are you going to stand there, or are you going to help me?"
Aryan stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
He reached for the hem of her oversized sweater, his knuckles grazing the skin of her stomach as he lifted it over her head. She raised her arms, letting him pull the fabric away, tossing it carelessly onto the marble floor.
The air in the room was thick with steam and the scent of jasmine, but her skin broke out in goosebumps as his gaze raked over her.
She reached for the buttons of his flannel shirt. Her fingers moved slowly, deliberately slipping each plastic disk through the buttonholes. She pushed the fabric off his broad shoulders, letting it fall to the floor to join her sweater.
It was a slow unveiling, treating each piece of clothing like an obstacle that needed to be carefully dismantled.
When they were completely bare, Aryan took her hand, leading her toward the edge of the tub.
She stepped in first. The water was scalding, a biting heat that instantly melted the tension from her travel weary muscles. She sank down into the deep water, the white bubbles rising to cover her chest.
Aryan stepped in behind her. The water level rose dangerously high as he settled his large frame into the back of the tub. He parted his legs, opening a space for her.
She leaned back, resting her spine against his chest, her head falling into the crook of his neck.
He let out a long sigh, his arms wrapping around her beneath the water, his wet skin hot against hers.
"This," he rumbled, his voice vibrating against her back, "is the greatest invention in human history. Indoor plumbing is a miracle."
"It is very nice," she agreed, closing her eyes and letting her limbs float weightlessly in the water.
Aryan reached for a natural sea sponge resting on a brass tray attached to the tub. He dipped it into the water, lathering it with a bar of rich scented soap.
"Lean forward," he whispered.
She obliged, pulling away from his chest just enough.
He brought the sudsy sponge to her shoulders. He squeezed the warm water over her collarbones, the sponge moving in deliberate circles down her back, tracing the line of her spine.
He kneaded the tight muscles at the base of her neck with his free hand, drawing a soft moan of pleasure from her lips.
"You are carrying so much tension," he murmured, his fingers working magic against her skin.
"Airplanes are not designed for comfort," she sighed, letting her head drop forward heavily.
He washed her arms, lifting each one gently, running the sponge down to her fingertips.
When he was finished, he dropped the sponge back onto the tray. He wrapped his arms back around her waist, pulling her flush against him once more.
"My turn," she said softly, turning her body within the confined space of the tub until she was facing him.
She straddled his hips beneath the water. She picked up the sponge, squeezing a fresh dollop of soap onto it.
She looked at his chest. The broad expanse of muscle, slick with water and steam.
She brought the sponge to his skin. She washed the curve of his pectorals, dragging the rough texture over his collarbones. She watched his eyes darken, the pupils dilating as she moved the sponge lower, over his abdomen.
"You are enjoying this," he rasped, his hands coming up to grip her wet hips, his thumbs pressing into her skin.
"I am thorough," she teased, wiping the soap away from his shoulders. "A doctor must be clean."
"I am perfectly sterile," he breathed, leaning forward to capture her lips.
The heat of the water surrounded them, but the heat between them was entirely different. She tasted the steam and the almond soap on his skin.
They lingered in the tub until the water began to turn tepid, their fingers pruning.
Aryan reluctantly stood up first, water cascading off his frame. He grabbed a fluffy white towel from the heated rack, holding it open for her.
She stepped out of the tub, shivering slightly as the cool air of the bathroom hit her wet skin. She walked straight into the towel, letting him wrap it securely around her, his arms holding her tight.
They moved to the double sinks.
They stood side by side, wrapped in white towels. Aryan handed her the pink toothbrush, already loaded with paste.
They brushed in unison, the rhythmic sound filling the quiet marble room.
Wanda watched him in the mirror. He was aggressively scrubbing his molars, his brow furrowed in concentration.
She spit, rinsing her mouth with a glass of water.
"You look very serious when you brush," she noted, wiping her mouth with a hand towel.
"Plaque is a serious enemy," he mumbled around a mouthful of foam. He spit, rinsing the sink. "It requires dedication."
Wanda turned away from the sink, walking over to the leather vanity stool in the corner of the bathroom. She had unzipped her cosmetic bag, laying out a small arsenal of glass bottles and jars on the marble counter.
"Come here," she commanded, sitting down on the stool and patting the space between her knees.
Aryan turned around, leaning against the sink. He looked at the array of bottles with deep suspicion.
"What is that?" he asked, pointing a finger at a dropper bottle filled with a clear liquid. "Is that a potion? Are you brewing something?"
"It is skincare, Aryan," she said, rolling her eyes affectionately. "And you need it. The airplane air has dehydrated your face. You look like a raisin."
"I do not look like a raisin!" he protested, touching his cheek. "I am a perfectly hydrated grape at worst!"