Stop, Breathe, Count to Three
Prologue
Bucky woke to sunlight streaming through a window and lighting up his face. The warmth on his skin combined with a woman lying on his chest while laying in a shocking soft bed was utter bliss. Her soft breath brushed against his clavicle and he couldn’t stop the smile that twitched on his lips. It was the lack of a third body on the mattress that confused him. He distinctly remembered falling into bed with Steve’s and his own dates from the Stark Expo.
Slowly opening his eyes, he could make out a head of black hair, which caused him even more confusment. The dames he had been with were blonde and brunette, not black haired. He peered around the room and noticed the odd decorating. This was definitely not his place and he assumed it belonged to the woman.
Now more alert, he slowly slipped out from underneath her, being careful not to wake her. He was completely naked, and the sheets came up her waist and exposed her bare breasts so he assumed she was as well. She was stacked to say the least. But what surprised him was her darker skin color. He had never been with a colored woman before, merely for the fact that it was unsafe. Surely he would’ve remembered charming one into bed, even just because he had to have been so cautious.
Wait, if Stark Expo was last night that meant he was being shipped out this morning. “Dang! Shit!” he cursed, realizing that he was late.
His explicatives caused the dame to stir. “James?” she mumbled, surprising him. No one called him that but his mother. She groaned, rolled over on her back, and stretched, giving him a nice view of her breasts. He was slightly surprised to see her shaved armpits; as far as he knew, women stopped shaving to conserve metal for the War.
She blinked sleepily and looked at him through her dark lashes. Her eyes were a warm hazel despite her hispanic features. Her smile was lazy yet sultry. “Come back to bed,” she purred. There was a feeling in him that was familiar though he was sure he had never felt it before. It was as if he felt her sleepiness mixed with arousal. He knew these feelings were not his own, but they mingled and meshed so deeply that it caused lines to blur. As much as he sensed her emotions, she must have sensed his. She sat up quickly, causing the white sheet to fall to her hips. “James?” she asked again. “Are you okay?” That tired arousal turned into concern and bemusement, stemming from her.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Where am I?”
A frown creased her features as she slid from the bed and slowly approached him. “I’m Bo, remember? You’re in my bedroom in my apartment.” She stood only a foot away at this point. She cautiously raised her hands and placed them on his bare chest. The touch of her skin was like a breath of fresh air. He sighed and relaxed, just realizing how tense he was. “That’s better,” she cooed. She rubbed smooth circles over his heart while her other hand skimmed his neck and went into his hair. “Now, James,” she began.
“Bucky,” he interrupted her.
“What?”
“Bucky,” he confirmed again. “People call me Bucky, not James.”
The frown returned to her face and he found himself tempted to smooth it out with his thumb. “Okay… Bucky. Can you tell me what year it is?”
His frown matched hers now. “What?” he echoed.
“Just humor me.”
He licked his lips and answered her. “It’s 1942, ma’am.”
The frown pulled at her own lips. “No, sweetie, it’s 2014.”
Slowly opening his eyes, he could make out a head of black hair, which caused him even more confusment. The dames he had been with were blonde and brunette, not black haired. He peered around the room and noticed the odd decorating. This was definitely not his place and he assumed it belonged to the woman.
Now more alert, he slowly slipped out from underneath her, being careful not to wake her. He was completely naked, and the sheets came up her waist and exposed her bare breasts so he assumed she was as well. She was stacked to say the least. But what surprised him was her darker skin color. He had never been with a colored woman before, merely for the fact that it was unsafe. Surely he would’ve remembered charming one into bed, even just because he had to have been so cautious.
Wait, if Stark Expo was last night that meant he was being shipped out this morning. “Dang! Shit!” he cursed, realizing that he was late.
His explicatives caused the dame to stir. “James?” she mumbled, surprising him. No one called him that but his mother. She groaned, rolled over on her back, and stretched, giving him a nice view of her breasts. He was slightly surprised to see her shaved armpits; as far as he knew, women stopped shaving to conserve metal for the War.
She blinked sleepily and looked at him through her dark lashes. Her eyes were a warm hazel despite her hispanic features. Her smile was lazy yet sultry. “Come back to bed,” she purred. There was a feeling in him that was familiar though he was sure he had never felt it before. It was as if he felt her sleepiness mixed with arousal. He knew these feelings were not his own, but they mingled and meshed so deeply that it caused lines to blur. As much as he sensed her emotions, she must have sensed his. She sat up quickly, causing the white sheet to fall to her hips. “James?” she asked again. “Are you okay?” That tired arousal turned into concern and bemusement, stemming from her.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Where am I?”
A frown creased her features as she slid from the bed and slowly approached him. “I’m Bo, remember? You’re in my bedroom in my apartment.” She stood only a foot away at this point. She cautiously raised her hands and placed them on his bare chest. The touch of her skin was like a breath of fresh air. He sighed and relaxed, just realizing how tense he was. “That’s better,” she cooed. She rubbed smooth circles over his heart while her other hand skimmed his neck and went into his hair. “Now, James,” she began.
“Bucky,” he interrupted her.
“What?”
“Bucky,” he confirmed again. “People call me Bucky, not James.”
The frown returned to her face and he found himself tempted to smooth it out with his thumb. “Okay… Bucky. Can you tell me what year it is?”
His frown matched hers now. “What?” he echoed.
“Just humor me.”
He licked his lips and answered her. “It’s 1942, ma’am.”
The frown pulled at her own lips. “No, sweetie, it’s 2014.”