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: 2,003
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.
Never had you met two men that were as different as Steve and Bucky. While your date with Steve had been dinner, wine, a starlit walk, and a heavy makeout session, Bucky’s idea of a date was completely different.
B: Swimsuits, sandals, and sunscreen.
Y: Is that all you’re going to tell me?
B: Do you have a surfboard?
Y: No LOL.
B: A valid license?
Y: Bucky, tell me what we’re doing!
B: See you in the morning.
You emerged from your apartment to find Bucky, wearing a white tank top, red and black swim trunks, a pair of dark sunglasses, and sitting on top of a cooler. He stood and watched you approach, whistling low in appreciation.
“Stop it,” you laughed, smacking him in the chest.
Bucky pushed his glasses up into his hair. “I will not,” he exclaimed with a wink. “Where’s your suit?”
“Under my clothes,” you answered, lifting up the hem of your shirt so he could see your spandex-covered stomach. “I take it we’re going to the beach.”
With a wink, Bucky’s glasses fell into place. He grabbed your hand and started walking, dragging the cooler behind him. “You… are on a need to know basis,” he chuckled.
“And I don’t need to know, apparently,” you sassed, squeezing his hand.
“Nope,” he was quick to agree. “Besides, how much fun will it be if you already know what’s going to happen?”
You did tell him you wanted him to surprise you, so you couldn’t exactly be mad at him. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t play with him, either. Narrowing your eyes at him, you bumped his shoulder with yours.
“Not even a little clue?” you fake begged, pushing your bottom lip out and batting your eyelashes over the top of your glasses.
His voice was thick with desire when he said, “Do that one more time, and we ain’t making it to the beach, doll.”
The raw need that blossomed in your belly made you squeeze your thighs together. “Promise?” you teased before you ripped your hand out of his and tore off down the sidewalk. The beach was just around the corner, and since he was pulling the cooler, you knew you could beat him; even wearing sandals.
Bucky had wanted to take you wakeboarding, but the guy behind the counter said, “Everybody already reserved ‘em.”
“What about the jet skis?” you asked, pointing to the end of the dock.
“Good idea,” Bucky purred, his arm tight around your waist, fingers under your shirt, lips close to your ear.
The attendant clicked the mouse a couple of times. “There’s one available at four.”
“When does it need to be back?” Bucky asked as he dug for his wallet.
“We close at eight,” the attendant answered.
“Sold,” Bucky cheered as he slapped some cash into the outstretched hand.
You turned in his grip. “What should we do until then?”
“I’m sure I can come up with something,” he grinned and slapped your ass.
“Volleyball,” you deadpanned. “You want to kill time by playing volleyball.”
Bucky kicked off his sandals. “What’s wrong with volleyball?”
“Absolutely nothing,” you replied as you tied your hair into a high knot. “If you wanna get your ass kicked.”
“Me?” he chortled, hand on his chest. “Get my ass kicked?”
“I don’t see anyone else standing there.” You kicked off your sandals and started stretching; your arms first, pulling one arm across your chest, relishing in the pleasant burning in your shoulders.
Bucky stood there and watched appreciatively while you stretched. “I don’t think you know who you’re talkin’ to, Y/N. You’re lookin’ at -”
“Oh, Bucky,” you purred, strolling over to him. “I know exactly who I’m talking to.”
The man in front of you swallowed loudly, his eyes roving over your exposed skin. “You uh, you do?”
“I’m talking to the man whose ass I’m going to kick,” you mused, leaning in close and yanking the ball from his grip.
“Game on, doll,” Bucky grit out, yanking off his shirt before taking his place across from you on the volleyball court.
It was difficult not to notice the way his muscles moved under his tan skin; the sight of it made your fingers itch and your mouth water. You wanted to touch every single inch of his gloriously thick body, but that would have to wait for another time. Right then, you wanted to wipe that cocky grin off his face.
Less than two minutes later, you had accomplished just that.
He was on his ass and elbows, glaring at you. “Goddamn, woman.”
“You’re quitting already?” you teased, bouncing the ball from hand to hand. “Come on, Buck. You said you wanted to play.”
“Oh, I want to play, doll,” he purred as he pushed himself up. “You’ve got no idea just how much.”
You made sure he noticed the way your eyes raked over him, how they settled on his stomach, on the muscles in the shape of a v that disappeared beneath his swimming trunks. “I think I have an idea.”
A wicked grin lit up Bucky’s face at the implication. “No, doll. You really don’t.”
Your mouth went dry at the weight of his words. This was going to be more difficult than you thought it would be. Giving yourself a firm mental shake, you put your head back in the game, and without warning, you served the ball, sending it to the far left corner of the court.
“Two – nothing,” you sassed.
“You cheated,” he pointed out before jogging after the ball.
“All’s fair in love and war,” you mused.
The ball came flying your way. It skimmed the net on its way over, making it a lot easier to catch than Bucky intended.
“Good thing it wasn’t your play,” you teased him, getting yourself ready to serve it again. The ball spun on your palm as you swayed back and forth.
“Just serve the damn ball, Y/N,” Bucky growled playfully, taking a defensive stance.
“You got it,” you chuckled before tossing the ball into the air and launching it over the net.
Bucky watched the ball like a hawk and, to your surprise, caught the ball on his forearms. It didn’t go over the net, not until after he was directly under the ball where he set it up for a spike. Despite your best attempt, you didn’t make it in time.
He gave a bellowing cheer, his arms over his head as he fell to his knees. “What is it you were saying about kicking my ass?”
“Good of you to finally show up to the game,” you shot back with a wink. You shoved yourself up and out of the sand, wiping it from your sweaty skin. “Your ball, hot shot.”
And that’s how the game continued; both of you teasing the other, sassing back and forth. Bucky would score against you, but not as many as you. He’d get close, but you were always two or three ahead of him, and that only fueled his competitive nature.
By the time the attendant came to let you know the jetski was available, the score was an unbelievable forty-two to thirty-nine.
Bucky was practically seething, his chest heaving, his nostrils flaring. “You wanna finish this game?”
“Buck, as much as I would love to finish schooling you in the game of volleyball,” you started, ducking under the net to stand in front of him. “There is a jetski with our name on it and, I don’t know about you, I’m dying to get into the water.”
His eyes flashed when you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, when you stood well within his personal space. “Let’s do this,” he gruffed and grabbed your hand.
The spray of water felt amazing against your overheated skin and Bucky, well, his tapered waist fit perfectly between your legs, the thick corded muscles of his thighs felt like heaven. Even though the pair of you were wearing life vests, you had a hand on his taut stomach, the other against his chest, the zipper shifting against your palm.
You were so lost in everything that was Bucky, that when he slowed down and pulled up to a cove, you were completely surprised.
“What is this?” you gasped.
Bucky chuckled and dismounted the ski. “This,” he said with a grand gesture of his arm, “is dinner.”
There was a blanket spread out and a basket sitting in the middle.
“When did you have time to do this? I’ve been kicking your ass for hours,” you teased lightly.
Once the life vests were removed and set on the now stable jetski, Bucky led you over to the picnic, his fingers tangled with yours.
“I have this friend -”
“You have a friend?” you deadpanned.
“Ha ha,” he mocked dryly. “Yes, I have a friend.”
You sat down with a playful scowl and, without waiting for him, opened the basket. It was full of everything you loved, including a bottle of expensive wine. You went to tell him that it was too much money for only one bottle of wine, but he shook his head.
“Nope, I don’t want to hear it,” Bucky said. He took it from you and made quick work of opening it. “Besides, it’s too late now. The bottle’s open.”
Hours later, after the sun had set and stars twinkled in the night sky, you and Bucky stood outside of your apartment building. There were a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your stomach. The numerous hours of shameless flirting and inappropriate comments only feuling the knot of desire you were barely able to contain.
Bucky had you in his arms, a hand tangled in your hair, the other on the small of your back, long fingers gripping your ass. You were pressed to his chest, arms circled around him, fingers digging into and gripping the thin cotton shirt he wore. The kiss was intense; ragged breaths sucked in desperately in an attempt to make the kiss last that much longer.
Before too long, you pulled back and sucked at the cool air. Bucky’s mouth moved along your jawline and down your neck, pulling moans of his name from you. You carded a hand through his hair and tugged on the strands.
“Bucky, please,” you huffed.
“Please what, doll?” Bucky nipped at your pulsepoint, sending a shudder down your spine.
“Just… wait.”
Bucky groaned as he pulled back, hands heavy on your waist. “Are you okay?”
The conversation with Steve played back in your head, how you said you had wanted to wait until both dates had happened, until you had some time to process everything.
“I just need a minute,” you rasped. Whatever air you had remaining in your lungs was sucked out the moment you looked into Bucky’s icy eyes.
One of his hands cupped your face. “You can talk to me, you know. I’m not just a piece of arm candy.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “I have no doubt about that.”
“Okay, so talk to me, doll,” he requested. “Something’s rattling around in that pretty brain of yours.”
Before you said anything, you pulled in several deep breaths. “I want to wait to uh, to have sex with you.”
You didn’t know what to expect, but a soft smile wasn’t it. “Yeah, okay.”
“Yeah? You’re not… mad or anything?”
“Doll,” he literally purred, a finger curled under your chin. “This soulmate thing, what’s between us, it isn’t about sex.”
When you rolled your eyes and scoffed, he clarified, “It’s not only about sex. Look, I’m crazy about you, Y/N.”
“I’m crazy about you, too,” you assured him. “I really am.”
“Good,” Bucky hummed against your lips.
You repeated his sentiment, unable to stop a burst of giggles when he picked you up, arms around your waist, lifting your feet from the ground.
“What are you doing?” you asked, laughter still coating your voice.
“Giving you one hell of a goodnight kiss,” was his answer.
FIVE
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