[Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]
"Aryan," Wanda said softly, turning her head slightly toward him. Her lips brushed against his hair. "If you are this frightened, we can watch some other movies."
Aryan paused his theatrical shivering. He kept his face buried in her neck.
"Okay," he agreed. "If you insist. I am willing to sacrifice my cinematic education for my cardiovascular health."
Wanda reached out her right hand, grasping the television remote from the coffee table.
She pointed it at the screen, clicking the 'Back' button to exit the terrifying movie.
The screen returned to the bright red Netflix menu.
"I will find something… quiet," Wanda said, her voice slightly breathless due to the intense proximity of his lips against her neck.
She didn't look at the screen. She was too distracted by Aryan's thumb, which was currently drawing slow circles on her upper arm.
She clicked the directional pad randomly a few times, selecting a title that was currently featured on the main banner without reading the description.
She pressed 'Play'.
The screen went black for a moment, then faded into a scene.
It was a very steamy European romance drama.
The scene opened directly onto a dimly lit bedroom. A man and a woman were on screen and they were decidedly not discussing the weather.
They were violently tearing each other's clothes off, accompanied by a sensual soundtrack and passionate gasps that echoed through the high quality speakers of the hotel suite.
Wanda froze entirely. Her hand, still holding the remote, went rigid in the air.
A wave of blistering heat rushed over her entire body, turning her face the color of a ripe tomato.
"Oh," Wanda gasped, her eyes going wide as she stared at the tangled limbs on the massive flat screen. "Oh, no. That is... that is incorrect."
She frantically began mashing her thumb against the buttons on the remote, trying to find the 'Stop' or 'Home' key.
In her panic, she dropped the remote. It clattered onto the hardwood floor, sliding just out of her reach under the coffee table.
"I dropped it," Wanda squeaked, trying to lean forward to retrieve it, completely mortified by the loud moans currently filling the room.
Aryan's arm tightened around her shoulder like a steel band, preventing her from leaning forward.
"It's good," Aryan said.
"Aryan, they are..." Wanda stammered, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
"Don't change it," he murmured.
She felt him turn his head. He had lifted his head just enough to rest his chin on her shoulder.
She turned her head to look at him.
He was still hugging her tightly, his chest pressed flush against her side, but he was looking past her, watching the steamy romance scene playing out on the television from the corner of his eye.
The flickering light from the screen illuminated the sharp angle of his jaw and the hungry intensity building in his gaze.
It was deeply funny… him holding her hostage while intensely analyzing a fictional romance… but the humor evaporated the second he shifted his gaze from the television to her face.
They looked at each other.
Aryan's eyes dropped to her lips.
He shifted his weight, pulling her fully against his chest and crashed his lips down onto hers.
Wanda let out a soft gasp against his mouth, her hands flying up to grip the broad expanse of his shoulders.
Aryan opened his mouth over hers, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips.
She parted her lips willingly, a quiet moan escaping her throat as he deepened the kiss, tasting him, feeling the raw desire radiating from his skin.
He shifted his position on the sofa, swinging his legs around until he was straddling her lap, pushing her back gently against the plush cushions.
He caged her in, his knees planted on either side of her hips, his weight pressing her down into the upholstery.
Aryan's hands moved from her shoulders, sliding down the length of her arms, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His large hands found the hem of her oversized cardigan.
He gripped the soft wool, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of her waist. He didn't break the kiss as he pulled the fabric upward, his lips moving frantically against hers.
Wanda immediately raised her arms, cooperating blindly, eager to be rid of the barrier.
He pulled the cardigan and the tank top beneath it over her head in one smooth motion, tossing the garments carelessly onto the floor.
The cool air of the hotel room hit her flushed skin, but it was instantly replaced by the searing heat of his body pressing against hers.
She reached for him, her hands desperate to touch him. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his flannel shirt. She lacked the patience for precision. She gripped the edges of the shirt and pulled, popping two of the buttons off in her haste.
Aryan tore his mouth away from hers, letting out a ragged breath. He shrugged the ruined shirt off his broad shoulders, discarding his t-shirt along with it, tossing them into the darkness of the room.
He looked down at her, his chest heaving, his dark eyes tracing the exposed lines of her collarbones, the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
"Wanda," he rasped.
"Aryan," she whispered back, reaching up to run her hands over the muscles of his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heart beneath her palms.
He lowered his head again. He pressed his open mouth to the sensitive hollow just beneath her jawline, his lips trailing hot kisses down the column of her neck.
Wanda gasped, her head falling back against the cushions, her hands tangling desperately into his dark hair.
She arched her back, offering herself to him, the intoxicating friction of his bare skin against hers setting every nerve ending in her body ablaze.
His hands were everywhere, tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine.
He unfastened the button of her jeans, his fingers sliding the denim down her hips. She kicked them away, completely surrendering to the chaotic storm he was creating.
He shed his own remaining clothing with frantic movements, until there was absolutely nothing left between them.
The movie playing on the television was entirely forgotten, an irrelevant noise compared to the ragged sounds of their own breathing filling the dimly lit room.
Aryan shifted his weight, settling perfectly between her parted thighs.
He hovered over her for a second, his forearms braced on the cushions beside her head.
With a low groan, Aryan pressed forward, closing the final distance between them in one smooth motion.
Wanda cried out, her back arching off the sofa cushions, her fingernails biting sharply into the skin of his shoulders.
He buried his face into the crook of her neck, his body trembling as he held himself perfectly still above her, allowing her a moment to adjust to the intense invasion.
"You are so beautiful," he breathed against her skin.
"Move," she pleaded, her hips tilting upward instinctively, chasing the friction, demanding more.
Aryan groaned, finally surrendering his restraint. He began to move, setting a deliberate rhythm that stole the breath from her lungs. He pulled back almost entirely before pressing deep into her again, maximizing the beautiful slide of skin against skin.
Wanda lost herself entirely in the sensation.
She met his movements, her hips lifting to meet his downward strokes, creating a desperate cadence that echoed through the quiet hotel suite.
Aryan shifted his position, sliding one arm securely under the small of her back to lift her higher against him.
He captured her lips again, kissing her deeply, swallowing her breathless moans as the pace of his movements became faster, driven by a primal need.
"Aryan," Wanda sobbed against his mouth.
A wave of pure euphoria ripped through her body. She cried out loudly, her head throwing back against the sofa cushions, her inner muscles clenching violently around him in the throes of climax.
Aryan let out a guttural shout, his entire body going rigid. He drove into her one final time, his chest collapsing flush against hers as his own climax overtook him, burying his face into her shoulder as he spent himself entirely.
They lay there in the aftermath.
The television screen had gone black, the movie finally ending, leaving the room in complete silence, save for the synchronized thudding of their hearts echoing against each other in the dark.
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