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Balmy rays sparkle on the pristine blue water, flickering and dancing in the heat of the afternoon sun.
If not for the gentle splashing of water, you could easily fall asleep on the pool lounge, your body completely at ease as you take in what remains of the summer afternoon.
Peering through your smudged, wonky sunglasses, a knock-off Ray-Ban pair Bucky had bought on a Sunday morning stroll through Brooklyn three years ago, you see his sinewy shape glide through the crystal water. Though a blur, you are drawn to the bright colours of his tattoos. Your cheeks warm at the memory of painting his chest with your lips that morning, baptizing each other with languid love before settling between his legs and taking him in your mouth. Your tongue lavishing the white wolf in the v of his abdomen as you lightly teased his cock until he begged you to put him out of his misery.
You can’t remember the last time you had lain in bed for hours, slowly taking your time to worship and revere each other without a call interrupting or the rush of the day putting a damper on your time together.
Falling in love with each other over and over again that morning, it had been simple to forget your surroundings. So organic to dismiss your host as you lay between the ashen one thousand thread count sheets as you moved in tandem, fingers and moans interlinked. It was so easy to miss the looming shadow in the hallway.
Bucky pulls his lithe upper body from the water, lounging his chest and arms out onto the beech timber decking surrounding the pool. There is something so beautifully chaotic in the juxtaposition of the wild, colourful tattoos against the classic, monochromatic beachy surroundings.
Desperate to capture this moment, you grab the Polaroid at your feet and focus the lens on the brunette. Completely unaware of the camera, he stares out over the decking and out to the public beach.
The click draws his attention to you and he gifts you a feigned eye roll. Ducking under the water, you lose sight of him. Your attention is quickly drawn to the house as you hear the familiar and unmistakable baritone of your host. Your heart flutters as he approaches, glowing on the yellow glimmer of the late afternoon sun.
The camera lays forgotten on the lounge before you, the picture processing between your outstretched legs.
Even casually dressed and in his own home, Steve is the epitome of sartorial chic, somehow unaware of downtime. His designer shorts flaunt his thick, muscular calves and thighs. A far cry from the sweatpants you have to literally drag off of Bucky to wash.
The memory of his long, thick fingers and that all-too arousing night is burnt into your memory. The mere flash of fingers against your skin, the scent of lime is enough to spark a visceral flashback; your body quick to burn and combust. You can still hear the cries as Tatiana came around his fingers, her body quaking against the silk sheets.
The guilt of your quick romp in the alleyway, spurred by your voyeuristic adventure in the ensuite, eats at you still. A small part of you dismisses Steve’s obvious role in your arousal; the sexual tension between you and Bucky in the elevator had nearly been enough to shatter your resolve. But, you cannot deny that seeing the silver fox ravage Tatiana had set your whole world on fire.
And now, you are being punished by some cruel karmic force. Holidaying at Steve’s palatial and over-the-top beach house is your trial and execution.
Despite his obvious good looks and charm, there is a dark shadow, deep within the recesses of his facade, that cools your blood. Your guard has been well and truly up since the photoshoot. And now, the invitation, this reward for Bucky’s hard work, to vacation for a week with Steve…
You can’t shake the feeling that there is some dark, manipulative motive behind it.
Bucky had been so quick to dismiss your reservations. He has been working hard, absolutely, and he deserves some recognition, there is no denying this. However, the brunette has laser focus and is often too fixated to see what goes on around him. So, you dampen down your concerns.
For Bucky’s sake.
Your nerves bristle as Steve approaches you with a warm smile, his hands full of fresh glasses of iced water. He is an exceptional host. It is utterly disarming.
You shake the thought aside.
His fingers brush against yours as he passes you the crystal glass; you miss the dark smirk on his lips as you let out a shuddery gasp, your attention on Bucky as he floats on the cool water. You can’t bring yourself to look at the imposing CEO, thanking him quietly. His eyes are on you. Scrutinizing every curve of your body.
“You’ve missed a spot on your back,” you hear Steve murmur and before you can speak he is behind you, sitting on the lounge bed, his skin a mere breath from yours. The cap of the sun lotion is like a gun popping, your nerves completely on edge as you hear him greedily pour some onto his hands. “Slip slop slap, as they say down under. I would hate for you to go back to the city in agony.”
You fix your gaze ahead, unable to breathe as his hands slowly massage the cream into your back. In the corner of your eye, you see a flash of green as Bucky dives deep under the water, completely unaware.
“You have beautiful skin,” Steve praises, his voice thick and languid like tar. “I would love to paint you one day.”
A nervous cackle breaks through your trance. “Please, I am no model, Mr. Rogers. My place is behind the camera.”
The hum that resonates through his chest vibrates through your entire being. Everything is so tight. Alight. You can feel every pulse of blood flowing through your veins. Hear every wave of the ocean beating the sand.
“You think too little of yourself,” he whispers and you jump as his breath tickles your skin. “Sit for me as I sat for you. It would be my pleasure. I promise I won’t bite.”
Ashen eyes lock on yours as a hand gently squeezes your thigh before the older man moves to his own lounge chair. The tick in the corner of those glossy cherry lips you love dearly is a kick in the gut but Bucky is already under the water before you can do or say anything.
The feeling of those intense hands burning your skin does not wane. Not in the cool retreat of the bedroom nor under the refreshing spray of the shower. The heated fury only grows as you scrub yourself clean of the suntan lotion and salty residue of the Hamptons’ air.
It grates as Bucky trails his long fingers over your bare skin as you stand before the bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touches to your minimal makeup. He presses his bare body against you, already hard and dripping.
You melt into the soft press of his lips to your shoulders, his hands slowly drawing up the skirt of your flowy maxi dress. He doesn’t say it, but you know he’s thrown off by the audacity of Steve touching you.
You’re short on time to get to dinner but he needs this, you need this. A needy gasp spills from your tongue into his greedy kiss as his fingers explore your damp pussy lips.
“Already sopping and ready for me, doll,” Bucky purrs against your lips, your eyes locked on one another. He teases the tip of his cock through your folds. “What’s got you all hot and bothered?”
You can’t tell him that the burning imprint on your back, the heady scent of Steve has you on edge. Instead, you kiss him heatedly, grinding yourself onto the dripping length between your folds. “I was thinking of that night in New Mexico last year, under the stars.”
Bucky’s chest puffs with pride and he kisses you languidly, pressing his length into your pussy. You gasp into his mouth and claw desperately at the vanity. The stretch is exquisite, your walls clinging onto him as he seats himself deep inside you.
“You came so many times that night, doll,” he growls, snapping his hips up and down in rough strokes. “Called me all sorts of filthy names, begging to come.”
A firm slap on your ass resonates through the tiled room, fusing with the guttural cry that ripples from your chest.
It’s easy to fall into the wash of longing that takes over you. That holiday had been a relationship bandaid to ongoing issues that you had both been skating around for months. Making love night after night under the crystal night sky had brought dark, clandestine desires to the surface. Emboldened by some magical power, you had explored fantasy after fantasy, all to be hidden back in its Pandora Box on your return to the city.
“I’m going to come,” you gasp, a fluttered spiral of words caressing his lips and tongue.
“Then come for me,” he whispers, clutching your face as he catches your cries and mewls. He encourages you to lean up and forward with his knees somehow, your clit dragging along the cool marble, pebbled with condensation.
You trust him implicitly; ignoring the painful stretch in your feet and calves, lost in the needy, desperate kiss. When you come so hard your whole body shakes, you know he will hold you upright, keeping you from falling. He swallows your cries, filling you deep with his own orgasm.
As you lazily kiss, lingering in the aftermath of your orgasms you can’t help but think that this holiday will not be a bandaid to your issues. Things will be better.
They have to be.
A curt knock on the door tears you from your blissful moment.
“Oops,” Bucky teases, kissing you forcefully and playfully smacking you on the arse. “Better get a move on, we are being summoned. Can’t leave his lordship waiting.”
You watch him saunter out of the bathroom. “Hey, Bucky.” He turns and gives you a quizzical look. “I love you.”
He smiles warmly. “I love you too. Now, get your ass moving.”
Dinner is sublime. Still floating from your stolen moment in the bathroom, your discomfort around the silver fox is easily brushed aside. The Champagne flows as you are treated to a sushi banquet complete with a sushi master flown in from Osaka.
It is completely lavish. Utterly ridiculous and over the top. And quintessentially Steve Rogers. From what you know of the man, he doesn’t do a single thing by half-measure. But despite his constant need to splash his cash, he has been a devastatingly charming and casual host. It’s unnerving.
Bucky’s hand has not moved from the small of your back, despite helping himself to plates filled with nigiri and sashimi.
“I would like to propose a toast,” Steve says as the plates are cleared by his staff; an unreadable glint in his eye as he raises his champagne flute in your direction. The slight pull on his smirk sends a shiver down your spine as you raise your glass, mirroring Bucky. “To you, Buck, and your current and future successes in the company. To friendship. To love. To loyalty.”
The clink of glasses rings heavy in the air and you are quick to drain your glass of its tart, bubbly contents.
“Tell me,” Steve continues, leaning back in his chair and pulling his leg up, resting a toned ankle on his knee, “what lengths would you go to stay in the company, Bucky?”
Bucky instantly tenses, his hands coming to fidget in his lap under the table. You silently reach your hand into his and give him a reassuring squeeze. It does not go unnoticed by the silver fox. “Anything, sir. It is an honour to work for you and I love what I do. I love helping people.”
Steve smirks, rubbing a long finger along his bottom lip. “I see many great things ahead in your future, I really do. There’s just one problem.” Bucky’s brows furrow as he grips onto your hand painfully. “It’s been brought to my attention that you have been falsifying your test results.”
Panic rises in the brunette’s chest, his hands violently shaking as he examines the paperwork Steve nonchalantly pushes before him. “There must be some mistake, sir, these are not my numbers. These dates are incorrect.” The consternation bubbles in his voice; you know Bucky is not lying. You know this man better than you know yourself. No matter what, no matter how desperate, James Buchanan Barnes would never commit fraud to further himself.
“The evidence clearly says otherwise.” There is a cool, indifferent tone in Steve’s voice that frightens you. Steely blue eyes lock onto yours and in an instant, you know. “Besides, who are they going to believe?
“What do you want from us?” you ask, trying to keep your voice as calm and level as you can.
The silver fox leers and cocks his side to the side, scrutinizing your glare. “I can make this all go away if you give me just one thing.” He pauses causing Bucky to look up and they lock eyes. “I want her.”
You can feel the fury and the anger boil in the brunette and you are forced to hold him back as he abruptly scrapes the chair back and stands up in some vain power move. “Over my dead fucking body,” he snarls with more aggression than you have ever seen or heard from him.
The fury in the younger man gives Steve butterflies. Casually, he pushes forward a pale green manila folder. “These are my terms.”
Bucky snatches the folder and furiously begins skimming over the document. “You son of a…”
“At my discretion, whenever I choose for the next year. You will be handsomely compensated for your time and services, of course. I think $100,000 a month should be enough to cover your substantial debts and go towards paying off your student loans.” Steve remains cool. “You did say anything. It would be such a shame to throw away everything you have both worked so hard for just to protect your pride.”
Bucky furiously blinks back a rush of angry tears, his teeth catching his lips as he struggles to control the tsunami of thoughts, desperately trying to analyze his options.
“You will never work again, Buck. Nobody will hire someone with fraud on their record.” The smirk on his lips makes your stomach turn.
Bucky collapses onto the chair, the papers scattering on the table in some cruel dance.
“Why?” God, you despise the broken, weak way your voice cracks. “Why are you doing this?”
The silver fox sneers, his lip curling as he tilts his head to the side, scrutinizing the furrow in your brow, the way Bucky grips onto you in some vain attempt to keep himself from throttling the man. “I haven’t come this far in life by playing fair, sweetheart. I’m a man who knows what I want and I will stop at nothing to get it. You can’t deny the attraction you feel for me, why not have a little fun? I can teach you so many things, show you the greatest pleasure. You saw how hard Tatiana came around my fingers, imagine what I can do with my tongue. Besides, wouldn’t it be nice to rest your heads at night and not worry about the electricity staying on?”
His words are dripping in cold, calculated malice and it takes every ounce of energy you have to swallow to the bile of hatred you want to throw at him.
Long, calm fingers tap casually on the table as he studies you both. “Why don’t I give you both the night to think about it. You can give me your answer in the morning.” He stands up slowly, brushing the creases from his pants before pushing the contract closer to you both. “It would be a crying shame, Bucky, for you both to end up on the streets because you’re not willing to share.”
With that, he leaves you both on the deck of his beach house, too crushed and drained to move.
“Doll.” You turn to look at Bucky, his eyes awash with tears and his face crumbling. “I’m so sorry.”
You’ve never seen him like this, shattered into a thousand pieces and laid bare for the world to destroy. “Let’s get out of here.” Clutching each other close, you find refuge on the beach, standing side by side as the water washes over your bare feet. Your mind is a raging whirlwind wind of emotions and solutions. With each possible resolution, a tornado of doubts drowns you.
And then the floodgates open. A vitriolic dance of accusations, blame, and faults hurled at each other in the cool Atlantic waters. Piece by piece, you tear each other apart, throwing salt on old and weathered wounds. Bucky takes your voyeuristic confession and throws it in your face. You bury him deep in the guilt of your fractured relationship.
When you have run out of insults and allegations, you are at an impasse. Chests heaving, faces streaked with tears, you can’t bear to look at one another.
“Bucky, this is exactly what he wants, to tear us apart. I…”
“Tell me the truth,” he asks, his voice cracked and drained, “are you attracted to him?”
God, the humiliation is an acidic torrent you allow yourself to be swamped in. Maybe you do deserve this. Collapsing to the sand, soft granules covering your hands as you bury them deep, you let out a choked cry. “I’m sorry, Bucky…”
His jaw clicks as he bites back the urge to run up to the house and commits some crime that will forever tear your lives apart, any more than it already has. Instead, he sits beside you, keeping space although it literally breaks his heart not to comfort you despite everything. “Have you…” he can’t bring himself to even say it.
A fractured sob shatters the soothing sound of the waves beating the shore, soaking your feet and legs. “Never, Buck, fuck, how could you…” Lithe arms; cool from the night air but burning from the inferno of his emotions, wrap around you.
“I’m sorry, doll, shit...” He cracks, his voice is destitute.
“Let’s just run away, Buck. Pack up everything and head to Mexico, we could…”
He squeezes you tighter and you know it’s impossible. “He’s got contacts everywhere, he…” He swallows the lump in his throat. “I can’t give up everything I’ve worked for.” It’s a plea. He can’t bring himself to ask you directly and he knows it’s cowardly. But he is desperate.
The silence is deafening; a ready guillotine waiting to fall. You both know there’s no way out of this. Clinging on to one another, you watch the waves slowly engulf the shore, the frigid water covers you before ebbing back into the dark night.
You can’t begin to imagine your life without Bucky. He had saved you when you were at your lowest, breathed new life into you. There are so many things you had planned for each other; travelling, maybe one day having a family, having your own gallery…
Could you honestly throw all that away as well as the career he has literally worked himself to the bone for?
It’s just sex. Just…
“Doll,” he breaks the silence but your fingers immediately shush him.
“I’m not going to lose you, James Buchanan Barnes, and I’m not going to let you throw away everything we have sacrificed for.”
The last line of defense finally cracks; the sensitive brunette breaking down in your arms as you sob, defeated and scared on the cold Hamptons Beach.
Taking a sip of his scotch from the crystal tumbler, Steve smirks, watching on as you both break down before retreating back into his bedroom from the balcony. He’s seen what he had to.
The next morning, a fresh and beautiful new day, the silver fox is not too surprised to see your bed empty and your belongings are gone. A surge of arousal rushes over him when he finds the contract on the kitchen bench, signed.
Picking up his cell, he dials a familiar number. “Get me the private jet for next weekend and make sure the Paris apartment is stocked up. I’ll be bringing a guest.”