Summary: Imagine, from the time you’re born having a clock that counts down to the time you meet your soulmate. One day you meet Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes and the clock stops. Now, you have to figure out which one it is.
Word Count: 1,542
Warnings: Language, talk of soulmates, possible smut, trying for a long burn.
Author’s Note: Thank you @captain-rogers-beard for your invaluable help with this. GIF Credit [X]
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
For your date with Steve, you splurged a little by dipping into your savings and bought a dark blue – the sales clerk called it prussian – and shoulderless cocktail dress. It was the first dress you saw when you stepped into the store, and you knew you had to have it. There was one left in stock, and as luck would have it, it was a perfect fit; it was tight in all the right places, showcasing your curves.
With your hair pulled back and tied into a low bun, you applied a dusting of makeup. Once your desired look was achieved, a pair of earrings, rose gold strappy heels, and a small clutch completed the ensemble.
“Shit,” you mumbled, catching the time as you tucked your phone into the clutch. If you didn’t leave now and catch a cab, you were going to be late. Not exactly what you wanted to have happen on the first date with your potential soulmate.
Steve was standing outside, checking his watch, and bouncing on the balls of his feet; it was only a couple minutes after the agreed upon time.
“She’s just running behind,” he muttered under his breath.
His heart was hammering painfully in his chest, worried that Y/N had changed her mind about wanting to date him, his brain doing its best to try and convince him that she had already chosen Bucky. It was stupid to think that way, the rational part of his brain knew that, but fear had a way of taking the smallest seed of doubt and watering it until it overshadowed everything else; including logic. He had just shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from looking at his watch when a cab pulled up.
Y/N stepped out and the sight of her stole the breath from Steve’s lungs. The blue material swished around her legs as she walked toward him, the tap, tap, tap, tap of her heels on the concrete, the way her lips quirked, how she tipped her head as she said… something; Y/N was stunning.
“Steve,” she giggled, her hand on his elbow as she shook him gently. “Are you alright?”
“You look incredible,” Steve rasped. He held out the arm she still had a grip on and sighed as she slid the hand from his elbow to the inside of his forearm.
A blush colored her collarbones and chest, and she dipped her head down as she murmured, “Thank you, you too.” Y/N traced her nails over the subtle pattern of his suit absentmindedly as they walked toward the restaurant.
Once inside, Y/N looked up and gasped. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”
The restaurant was bathed in ambient light, provided mostly by the chandelier above. There were also candles on each table, flickering in their holders, reflecting off the various glasses, creating small shadows that danced over the cutlery. The tables were the perfect size for couples on a date; plenty of room for plates and glasses of wine, but small enough that it wouldn’t be impossible to reach across the table and hold your partner’s hand.
Steve couldn’t help himself. “Not as beautiful as you,” tumbled from his lips, pulling another giggle from Y/N. He wanted her, then and there, not sexually, but as a partner in life. He wanted to drop to one knee and propose, then kiss her breathless when she accepted.
The maître d’ showed them to their table, which was next to a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked a field of flowers. There was a path through the flowers that they could walk down if they chose.
Once they were seated, Y/N looked at the menu and started to shake her head. “Steve, this is all too much.”
Steve, who chose to sit next to her rather than across the table, grabbed her hand and brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “It’s really not,” he argued gently.
“Are you sure? We could go someplace else,” she offered.
“Do you want to?” he wondered. He’d go wherever she wanted, all she had to do was say where.
A small smile tugged at her lips. “Not really.”
“Okay then,” Steve chuckled, his hand tangling with hers. .
The stroll through the gardens had been peaceful and beautiful; the flowers’ gentle perfume was carried on the breeze, filling your nose with their aroma.
You and Steve had been walking for over an hour; palms pressed together, fingers intertwined, thumbs caressing pulse points. At one point, you had shivered, and Steve draped his jacket around your shoulders, laughing at how long the cuffs hung past your hands. After that, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. You looped your arm around his waist, tucking a finger in his belt loop, sighing in contentment at just how… right it felt to be with him.
You had gotten so lost in Steve, that you were surprised when you ended up at your apartment. “My feet are going to be sore tomorrow,” you chuckled, suddenly nervous for some reason.
“I could stay and massage them if you like,” Steve all but purred. He was looking down at you, his normal azure eyes were swirling with need, and it made your stomach twist lazily.
Standing in front of him, you ran your hand along the buttons of his waistcoat before settling on his hip. “You’d do that?”
“I would do whatever you wanted me to,” he admitted breathlessly. Steve caught his bottom lip between his teeth as he caressed your jaw with his thumb before snagging your chin in his thumb and forefinger.
“And if I asked you to kiss me?” you rasped, throat thick with need.
Hot breath blasted against your lips when he answered. “I would be a fool to say no.”
With your other hand resting on his chest, directly over his hammering heart, you pushed up until your lips were a whisper away. “Kiss me, Steve.”
It was the farthest thing from a question, but Steve didn’t object. Steve pressed his lips to yours and sighed at the contact. Melting into him, you answered his sigh with one of your own, sliding your hand up to grab the back of his neck, scraping your nails through the short hairs.
Steve might have been a gentleman on the date and while the pair of you walked, but he sure didn’t kiss like one. He kissed you as if he were conquering you, dominating you, stealing the breath from your lungs, swallowing your moans. Steve’s hands were on your back and ass, pulling you against him and holding you there, not leaving an inch between you. Every squeeze of his strong hands, every moan that made his chest vibrate, the way his arousal pressed and twitched against your belly… all of it only threw gasoline on the roaring fire. The ache between your legs was unbearable when you pulled back, your lungs stinging as you sucked in the crisp night air around you.
“Steve,” you choked. Your hands were lost under his waistcoat, tugging at his dress shirt. “We shouldn’t.”
Steve pressed his forehead to yours as he struggled to breathe, his chest heaving, straining the buttons. “Do you… not want to?”
You huffed thickly. “I want to, Steve,” you assured him. “My God, do I want to. I just… I don’t think it would be fair.”
Dark eyelashes fanned across his skin when his eyes fluttered closed. “Bucky,” he rasped.
“Look at me,” you whispered.
When he didn’t, you kissed him, just a press of your lips to his. “You said you’d do whatever I wanted, so… look at me.” His lust-blown irises had almost completely taken over, leaving a strip of stormy blue, and if he hadn’t been holding you up, you’d be on your ass.
“I want you,” you repeated through clenched teeth. “But if I’m going to do this, try to figure all of this out, I need to do it on my terms.”
Steve gave a lopsided smile after kissing you as sweetly as you had just kissed him. “I know, Y/N.”
You untangled yourself from Steve, groaning at the loss of contact and body heat. “I should get in,” you murmured as you shrugged out of his jacket and handed it back.
After draping his jacket over his arm, Steve grabbed you around the waist and kissed you fiercely, making you second guess your previous statement about waiting. Just when the last bit of your resolve was about to crumble, he pulled back, growled something you couldn’t understand, and strode away.
Thankfully, Bucky was asleep when Steve got home. The two might be best friends, but the last person Steve wanted to see right then was the man Y/N might choose over him. Steve wanted Y/N, and he wanted her bad. It took everything he had to walk away from her tonight. She was so soft and smooth, tasted and sounded incredible. It didn’t take much to get completely wound up again.
Growling low in his throat, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, and finished it in three swallows. This whole ‘sharing’ thing was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated.
FOUR
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