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dustedmagazine · 1 year

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Listed: Buck Curran

Steel strings course through Buck Curran’s blood: he is both a guitarist and a luthier. Rising to prominence in the northeastern American psychedelic folk scene, first with his band Arborea and then solo, Curran is steeped in his country’s blues-influenced folk heritage. Recently, he performed an about-face and released Delights and Dangers of Ambiguity, a collection of improvisations that he describes as “improvised dissertations on dissonance & sustain (experimental, drone and modal explorations for piano and guitar).” In his review of the album, Bryon Hayes noticed that “there is a tie that binds these tunes to Curran’s overall oeuvre: a focus on resonance. Throughout his career, [he] explores ways of extending a note’s sonic envelope via extended techniques.” Curran also recently compiled a 22-track tribute to Steffan-Basho Junghans, which Jennifer Kelly reviewed here.

For this Listed, Curran runs down some recordings and writings from which he draws inspiration for his sonic explorations.

Blind Willie Johnson — Dark Was the Night Cold Was the Ground (1927)

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I believe this is one of the most important recordings ever made, and there is a great reason why this recording made it onboard the space probe Voyager 1. I imagine it now: Blind Willie Johnson's deep plaintive voice and haunting slide playing on an endless loop as it hurtles out into the open void of deep space; a memory carried on a tiny metal seed...used as a kind of beacon of hope and promise for all life on earth. For certain it represents (along with folk music from Japan, the Navajo tribe, Bach, Beethoven, etc.) significant music made by the human race. The recording echoes the eternal loneliness that is such a big part of human nature and of our thoughts towards the silence and darkness of the cosmos itself. But in its moaning sadness, I feel it yearns always as a steady glowing light of hope.

The Wikipedia entry says this about the song: In 1977, Carl Sagan and other researchers collected sounds and images from planet Earth to send on Voyager 1 and Voyager 2. The Voyager Golden Record includes recordings of frogs, crickets, volcanoes, a human heartbeat, laughter, greetings in 55 languages, and 27 pieces of music. "Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground" was included, according to Timothy Ferris, because “Johnson’s song concerns a situation he faced many times: nightfall with no place to sleep. Since humans appeared on Earth, the shroud of night has yet to fall without touching a man or woman in the same plight.”

Sinead O'Connor — The Lion and The Cobra (1987)

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Sinead has been an inspiration for most of my life. In the late 1990s, I was fortunate to see her perform outdoors in Portland, Oregon. I stood in the front next to the barricade and her voice was just otherworldly: intense, emotional, and visceral in a way I've never heard before. It was powerful and transformational, and the siren-like timbres physically penetrated my body. She wrote and recorded these songs as a young woman pregnant with her first child. Songs like “Jackie” and “Troy” embody the spirit of the album and sound the many internal and external struggles of life.

Camaron de la Isla — Seguiriyas (circa 1980s)

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Camaron de la Isla is one of my very favorite singers. His work with both Paco Delucia and Tomatito is essential listening. This film of Camaron singing a Seguiriya is so incredibly emotive and beautiful and cuts straight to my heart giving me such joy. As described here, a “Seguiriya” is one of the oldest flamenco styles. The oldest evidence of this flamenco style is found in the late 18th century, even though its origin is still uncertain. “Seguiriya” derived from primitive “tonás,” being created between Seville and Cadiz, los Puertos, Jerez and Triana neighborhoods. As singing, it has a tragic and gloomy character, enclosing the main values of what is known as “cante hondo.” Lyrics are painful, tragic, about human relationships, love, and death.

Pandit Nikhil Banerjee — Raga Chandra Kaushiki: Live at Dover Lane Music Conference, Kolkata (1977)

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This deeply passionate performance by sitarist Pandit Nikhil Banerjee simply transcends time and space, and shimmers with the radiance of the Cosmos. Banerjee is among the best musicians I have ever heard. His tone is sweet and incredibly emotive. His technique absolutely masterful. He is accompanied on tablas by the Great Ustad Zakir Hussain.

Cinder Well — Live at Abbeydale Picture House (Songs from the album 'No Summer' 2020)

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Along with the Gillian Welch albums Hell Among the Yearlings and Time (The Revelator) as well as various albums by Sandy Denny, June Tabor, and Karen Dalton, Amelia Baker's album No Summer is listed among my very favorite contemporary folk albums. This plaintive and beautiful live session features songs from No Summer. This session was perfectly documented (audio as well as video) in a historic movie house in Sheffield, England. During the songs “Old Enough” and “From Behind the Curtain,” Amelia is subtly and beautifully accompanied by Jim Ghedi and GBH.

Robbie Basho — Zarthus (1974)

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My favorite album made by Robbie Basho. Thematically, it was deeply influenced by his spiritual guru Meher Baba and his fascination and love for Persian culture. Highlights on this album include his playing on 12 string guitar and piano. “Kahlil Gibran” is among my favorite of Basho’s songs that features him singing. I also highly recommend listening to Basho’s “Lost Lagoon Suite” from Falconer's Arm II (1967) and the album Song of the Stallion (1971).

Dylan Thomas — Deaths and Entrances (1946)

Deaths and Entrances is a volume of poetry by Dylan Thomas, first published in 1946. Many of the poems in this collection deal with the effects of World War II, which had ended only a year earlier. I first discovered Dylan Thomas’ poetry as a teenager when reading the anthology of poetry Immortal Poems. Along with the books Ariel by Sylvia Plath, and various poems by John Keats, Dylan’s poetry seems to transcend written word and takes me to another place.

Martin Simpson — Leaves of Life (1989)

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The first acoustic guitar instrumental record that made a huge impact on me. Martin creates a dynamic world of sound with his virtuosity and the use of several unique and responsive hand-built acoustic guitars. Leaves of Life is an album of instrumental guitar arrangements of traditional ballads from the British Isles, many of which he learned from vocal airs. It’s an album that’s steeped in a dark, mysterious mood, and songs like “Green Fields of America” are otherworldly. His slide playing and command over the dynamics of single-note passages (and use of guitar overtones) are a great influence on my playing. The complex voices of the guitars he used on this album influenced me to build my own acoustic guitars.

Michael Hedges — The Naked Stalk (1991)

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Michael Hedges was a true innovator of the acoustic guitar. “The Naked Stalk” is a deeply contemplative and beautiful piece of music, and along with his guitar instrumental “The Happy Couple” (from the Breakfast in the Field album, released in 1981), it is one of my very favorite guitar recordings.

Tommy Jarrell and Fred Cockerham — Live (1971, filmed by Blanton Owen)

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I love the primordial American folk music from Round Peak, North Carolina. I hear the roots of Scotland and Ireland in this music and it moves me deeply. Tommy Jarrell and Fred Cockerham were among the finest players in this genre, and this intimate concert (filmed on Cockerham's front porch in Low Gap, North Carolina) is a vital and amazing archive. Also of interest is Cockerham’s fretless banjo made by fellow musician Kyle Creed. The fretless fretboard of this banjo was made with a sheet of Formica. This banjo now resides in the Smithsonian National Museum of American History.

Neil Young — In Concert at BBC (1971)

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I absolutely love Neil Young’s live solo recordings. This live BBC concert from 1971 is a perfect example of the magic that can be made with just a handful of songs, voice and acoustic guitar. Other brilliant recordings performed in this fashion include Live at Massey Hall 1971 and Carnegie Hall 1970. All are favorite recordings that are utterly perfect. Neil Young, along with Bert Jansch and Tim Buckley (especially Goodbye and Hellofrom 1967), exists artistically in a realm that has inspired and influenced my own music. “Don't Let it Bring You Down” is my favorite Neil Young song, and I love his performance of it in this session.

#dusted magazine #listed #buck curran #blind willie johnson #sinead o'connor #camaron de la isla #pandit nikhil banerjee #cinder well #amelia baker #robbie basho #dylan thomas #martin simpson #michael hedges #tommy jarrell #fred cockerham #neil young

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ysljoon · 8 months

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I love all the things u wrote so far. Got a headcannon/ fanfic of Ghost with a fem! Reader thats a higher rank then him. Like a colonel or, idk Admiral. What woukd he act like? Whats the smut with it? Hehehe, asking for a friend

simon 'ghost' riley subordinate headcanons

warnings: afab reader (callsign cinder), smut (nsfw under the cut), fingering (f receiving), doggystyle, creampie, porn with very little plot a/n: thank you sm anon I hope this meets your expectations bbg. i made the reader a captain because when I was doing research for this i found out a colonel was like three ranks above a lieutenant and i thought that was too severe of a rank gap 😭 MINORS DNI (have your age in your bio or you're getting blocked)

When he heard someone was being added onto TF141 and they were a higher rank than him he was very curious as to who could do more than what he already does???

He’s literally Price’s right hand man and having someone take his spot took a huge blow to his ego (he wouldn’t ever vocalize that out loud tho)

When you walked into the briefing room he just thought you were a recruit that got lost

He was about to tell you off to go somewhere else until Price was walking up to you with open arms

“Cinder, good to see you’ve finally made it!” He brought you to the front of the room so everyone could fully see who you were

“Everyone, this is Cinder, our newest addition to the team! Treat her with respect especially since she is also a captain and will be taking my place for this mission since my expertise is needed elsewhere as per Laswell’s request”

All of the 141 stared at you with wide eyes when they’ve come to the realization that you were going to be the one in charge instead of Price except for Ghost

Through the mask you couldn’t tell but he was disgruntled by it all

You booted up the projector and got to explaining where the task force was going and your roles in this mission

Ghost seemed to find the ceiling a lot more interesting that what was being shown on the screen and paid no mind to what you were talking about

“Lieutenant, I hope you’ve caught everything I’ve presented to you so far about this mission as it is crucial to not have any mistakes so it all runs smoothly.”

He lets out a deep sigh and makes a move to the door but stops momentarily before he leaves

“I heard you loud and clear Captain. I will see you at 0400.” and with that he snuck out without another word

You cleared your throat and finished presenting and answering any questions Soap and Gaz had about the mission before concluding it.

You sighed once they were all gone from frustration and headed to your office to finish up paperwork that Price had given you and decided to use some free time to brush up on your shots at the gun range

In the gun range you saw Ghost there, but decided to ignore him. If he didn’t want to give you the respect you deserved that was fine as long as he still finished his job without any hitches and wasn’t out of line with you

You were loading your magazine when you felt his eyes on you and just lingering on you without him saying a word

You paid him no mind until you felt his presence looming behind you just as you were about to get into position to shoot

“Lieutenant, what are you doing? This is highly inappropriate!” You whipped around to be face first with his chest and almost collided with him

“I don’t know what it is that you do to me, but you make me lose all self fuckin’ control.”

Before you could even question what Ghost was going on about he wrapped an arm around your waist and lifted up the bottom half of his balaclava and smashed his lips against yours.

You melted against his touch and pressed yourself closer to him to deepen the kiss

His thick hands traveled down to your ass and gave it one hard slap that had you moaning out

His gloved hand came to cover your mouth and whispered breathily into your ear that gave you goosebumps all over, “Keep yourself quiet if you don’t want to get us caught. It would look worse for you, than for me sweetheart.”

You nodded obediently and with precision he undid your belt and was unbuttoning your tac pants and letting them drop to your ankles.

He rubbed circles on your clit through your panties and he was reveling in seeing the wet spot grow bigger the more he worked on your swollen pussy.

With his gloves still on he inserted two fingers inside your tight hole and the sensation had your back arching and you whimpering from how good it felt

The ribbed texture on the fingertips for grip had you squirming as they were pumping in and out of you and you started to tremble as you felt your first orgasm about to overtake you.

“Ghost please keep on going. I wanna cum so bad.” “I know, I know I want you to make a mess all over my fingers and have you lick it all up.” he was cooing at you and in any other instance it would’ve felt patronizing but you were loving it right now.

Ghost felt your pussy tighten around his fingers as your orgasmed and he let out a groan just imagining how it would feel around his cock.

In an instant his fingers were out of you and he was feverishly working on getting his pants down so he could fuck you.

Right as he slipped his large cock into you he stuffed his wet fingers into your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Such a good girl for me taking my cock and sucking on my fingers. I would’ve never taken you for such a slut, sweetheart.”

His was thrusting so hard it was lurching your body forward and you were on your tippy toes as his pelvis was slamming against your ass and filling the room with that sound

“Fuck you feel so good around me. I feel you about to cum sweetheart your pussy is just sucking me in so deep.” He threw his head back and was gripping your hips tight enough to leave bruises as you were creaming down his shaft

“Sweetheart I’m about to cum where do you want me?” “C-cum inside me please I wanna feel all of you.” you were mewling and pleading for his cum and this was enough to have him groaning and spilling his seed deep inside your pussy.

Once he slipped out his softening cock and pulled up your panties and gave a small tap to your pussy before situating himself back into his pants.

“Keep my cum in there for safe keeping, beloved. I’ll see you at 0400 tomorrow.”

And with that Ghost had left you there with your mind still hazy. You needed to get it together fast before the mission tomorrow.

#sav's asks #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost headcanons #simon riley headcanons #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #cod headcanons #cod mw2

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kitchen-light · 10 months

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With me, I can pretty quickly hear whether there is a thing that is alive inside the poem. But for me, if that thing that’s alive in some poems isn’t there, there’s nothing I can do to make it come forward, you know? Some poems have life, and some just don’t. Sometimes it’s an ostrich, and sometimes it’s a cinder block, and no matter what I do I can’t make a cinder block be an ostrich.

Heather Christle, from “Back Draft: Heather Christle”, published in Guernica Magazine, July 11, 2018

#heather christle #quotes #interviews #words #found*#on poetry

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porterdavis · 4 days

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Well, I'm not much at dancing...

What a Young Man Should Know, 1933. A checklist for becoming a proper man.

This was published in the March 1933 issue of Harper’s Magazine.

The writer, Robert Littell, details the abilities, skills, accomplishments, and extra-curricular proficiencies that every man should have if they are to become a self-sufficient and well-rounded human being, ready for life, and eventually, marriage and raising their own children. The learning starts from a very young age.

Here is the (short) list:

1. He should know how to swim at least a mile, dive creditably, and not feel panicky under water. He should be able also to revive those less skilful than himself by rolling them on a barrel and pumping their helpless arms.

2. He should be able to drive an automobile well. And he should not be altogether helpless when a car breaks down. He must know how to change a tire and offer some sort of diagnosis when the engine sputters and dies.

3. He ought to know how to clean, load, and shoot a revolver or a rifle.

4. As for self-defense, a man should certainly be able to take care of himself in a scrap. He need not learn jujitsu — old-fashioned boxing will be enough.

5. He ought to know the rudiments of camping, how to build a fire, how to chop wood, how to take a cinder out of his eye, how to deal with a severed artery, how to doctor himself for ordinary ailments.

6. He should also be able to take care of other people in emergencies, to apply first aid, set a broken bone, revive a drunk or a victim of gas, deal with a fainting fit, administer the right emetic or antidote for a case of poisoning.

7. And he should be able to feed himself, to cook, not only because some day he may need to, but because cooking is one of the fine arts, and a source of infinite pleasure. He should be able to scramble eggs, brew coffee, broil a steak, dress a salad, carve a chicken, and produce, on occasion, one first-class dish, such as onion soup. The more he can do, in these days of the delicatessen store and the kitchenette, the better. It is not effeminate, it is not beyond him, and the best chefs are all men.

8. He should know how to use paint brushes, a saw, a hammer, and other common tools.

9. He should also have a beautiful and distinguished handwriting. But the bulk of his writing, particularly if he is a professional man who has much of it to do, should be done on a typewriter, capable of turning out three thousand words an hour.

10. He should play one outdoor game well, and have a workable smattering of several more. An American who cannot throw and catch a ball seems pathetic and grotesque.

11. The bicycle has gone, yet every young man should know how to ride one.

12. He should also be able to skate, sail a boat, and handle a canoe passably.

13. Fishing is a specialty, like chess.

14. Walking is a noble but neglected sport. Americans “hike” once in a long while but seldom walk.

15. He should know a great deal about animals and how to take care of them.

16. He should know how to ride a horse.

17. He should learn how to stay in a saddle with pleasure to himself and a minimum of annoyance to his mount.

18. He should learn how to dance.

19. He should know to play at least one card game.

20. He must have knowledge of how to tip naturally, justly, without fear and without reproach.

21. On the matter of alcohol, he should learn his capacity and stick within its limits; he should know something about the different kinds of drink, and which drinks produce chaos within him when mixed.

22. Where s:x is concerned, nature clearly intended us to make many mistakes in her hope that some of them would be productive.

23. He should know the rudiments of gambling. But gambling might be placed on the same plane as drink — the less use one has for it the better.

24. Higher than almost any other accomplishment on the list is knowing music. There is no reason why any young man who is not absolutely tone-deaf should not learn how to play one musical instrument well enough for it to be a self-resource and a tolerable pleasure to others.

25. A civilized man should know how to read. The ability to read, or rather the habit of reading, is very rare even among intelligent people, and has to be taught and kept up if it is not to become rusty.

26. He should have knowledge of at least one foreign language. French or German preferably both. German children learn an amazingly good brand of English without ever crossing their borders. Why can’t we? For one thing, we don’t really want to. Yet we should. An American who knows only English is blind in one eye.

27. He should know to travel well, efficiently, without fuss or complaint.

28. A young man should be able to express himself clearly before a crowd of strangers, without shyness, muddle, or a pathetic resort to “so much has been said and well said” or “I did not expect to be called on.”

29. The American adult can get to his feet, propose a toast, introduce a stranger, voice a civic protest, heckle a windbag politician, and give utterance to an unembarrassed thought.

30. A a man should command the elementary tool of written language, and be able to put simple things on paper in clear words.

31. He should have a good workable understanding of the structure of business, investments, and banks.

32. Let every educated man, as a necessary part of his education, be thrown into the muddy stream of American industry and see what it is like to swim alone on daily wages.

33. He should before reaching twenty-two have done something because he wanted to, whether other people wanted him to do it or not.

34. He should not acquire property unless he needs it. Insensitiveness to his personal property, unless of course it is extraordinarily beautiful, is a desirable skill for any man to have; It must be learned and worked at.

35. Unusual though this young man may be, he should not seem so. Is not a parent’s basic ambition for his child that he be very different from other people, yet manage to seem almost exactly like them?

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bitchsister · 16 days

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soooo I need luckycharms!AU Bucky and Curt on vacation somewhere.. slutty. your choice. john wants to show his boy from the bronx the world. maybe rome? like in EYY but this time they get to truly experience and enjoy it without the fear of doom & war & death ?!!? ya kno

Ohhhh you know I love a good Italy trip lmaooo. Cattonquick in Liguria was my favorite thing to write. Now I get to write Bucky and Curt being sluts? I’m so lucky. Ripping the nude beach idea right out of my Cattonquick fic and putting a Curtbucky twist on it.

Andiamo!

This request got pregnant with this other one ⬆️ it felt right so we went with it!!

HONORABLE MENTION;

Don’t read if you aren’t down with these: More vibrating butt plug, nude beach filth, ‘daddy’ is used twice, spanking, very very very very light dom/sub vibes if you squint but hardly, Curt is a cunt, abundant use of pet names

All it took was a few planted magazines on the coffee table for Bucky to quickly realize where Curt had wanted to visit, and the places he absolutely did not.

“Paris would be so fun, don’tcha think?” His legs were stretched over Bucky’s thighs who had been intently eyeing the score of the Brewers versus the Reds, dramatically huffing and puffing as the score continued not to work out in his home teams favor.

“Yeah, baby.” Bucky nodded, acting as though he was hardly listening but he was instead taking permanent mental notes. Paris is added to the possible itinerary, as is Aspen, Madeira, Lagos and Porto.

Then came ramblings of Barcelona, ripe springtime strawberries held between Curt’s lips as he flipped through pages filled with beautiful images of Casa Batlló, La Sagrada Famila, and the Picasso museum. “Look.” He turned the magazine around, pointing to the water. “Look how blue the water is, Ducky. We ain’t ever gonna see that here, huh? Closest we got is Coney Island.” He chuckled, again oblivious to Bucky’s mental note taking, the itinerary growing longer and longer with each new travel magazine Bucky hid around the house.

“Why do you got all these, anyway?” Curt grabbed the latest addition, a travel guide of Italy. “You got like thirty of the things.”

“I get ‘em for free at the office.” Bucky lied, and felt bad about it. “Guess Harding never cancelled the subscription when he was cruise shopping. I snag ‘em before he can realize they were even delivered.”

Curt hummed and nodded his head, puffing at the joint between his lips, all sprawled out over the cushioned window bench like a sunbathing feline. “I’d do anything to go to Italy.” He whispered, and alarms went off in Bucky’s head.

Bingo, bing, bingo.

Ding, ding, ding!

“My Nonna tells me stories about growin’ up in Bologna.” He hung upside down, the magazine held over his face as he multitasked like never before. A couple puffs, a flick of the page, ashing his joint, running his gorgeous mouth. “Oh, look!” He scrambled to his knees and sat upright again to turn the magazine around like it was his turn for show and tell. “Pompeii!” He flipped the page, his excitement growing. “Look! Tits! Dicks! Ass!” He pointed to all of it, the page covering the top rated nude beach in the country, Guvano.

And so, when Curt went back to his campus dorm room for a few days to hunker down and study for finals before summer break, Bucky did his own studying on hotels, which quickly had been switched to villas, vineyards, tours, beaches, restaurants, you fucking name it.

He had eventually enlisted the help of a concierge, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. He didn’t speak Italian and he wanted to know what was really worth seeing, according to the locals.

Come Friday evening, Curt looked and felt like he’d been beaten with two cinder blocks, trudging into Bucky’s stretch of hallway once he stepped inside.

He barely had any energy left to announce his arrival, quiet footsteps wandering into the kitchen where Bucky stood with his hip jutted, his phone an inch away from his face and a wine glass in the other as he read closely each step of the recipe he’d chosen to make for dinner.

Cacio e Pepe and scottadito. Earlier, he prepped for the perfect Caesar salad, ready to eat since he knew Curt would be starved to death after his finals.

“Hey.” A voice squeaked after the source had snapped an incognito photo on his phone of that version of Bucky — quiet, contemplative, focused.

“Jesus.” Bucky dropped his phone onto the counter. “Baby, you gotta make some noise or somethin’. I’ll have a heart attack.”

Curt huffed a laugh through his nostrils and shuffled the floors toward him to wrap himself around Bucky, his eyes closed as he rested his head against the mans chest. “Oh,” Bucky cooed, rubbing circles into Curt’s back once he’d sat down the glass of wine he’d become rather familiar with in the last hour or so. “How’d it go?”

“My brain.” Curt groaned, pressing his face into Bucky’s chest. “It hurts.”

Curt, as Bucky had quickly realized, was a goddamn genius and he knew just how to work it. Never to speak out of turn, always raw and honest and never pretending to be something he isn’t, that thick New York accent poking through even the most intelligent sentences Bucky had ever heard in his life.

Listen to this, listen to this. Alright. Here we go.

Curt stood in front of Bucky, reading part of his final presentation project as practice with one of Bucky’s sweaters hanging to his mid thigh and another joint rolled with pink papers between his teeth.

The potential of shape memory alloys in morphin’ wing technology with adaptive geometries that adjust in real-time could greatly optimize performance across various flight conditions.

Curt took another puff, his eyes locked on Bucky instead of the paper in his hand. He’d memorized it all and knew it by heart. After all, it was a touchy subject he felt passionate about.

Furthermore, research shows that this could increase fuel efficiency, reduce emissions, and could have a hand in improvin’ maneuverability.

Bucky was speechless, his jaw slack, hearts spilling out of his eyes and onto the floor. He was no help really, because every goddamn thing Curtis did was absolute perfection.

“Feed it.” Bucky held Curt to his chest with one hand while the other grabbed a plate, built an excellent Caesar, and offered it in front of a barstool at the island in the middle of the kitchen where half of it was still occupied by Bucky’s iPad, his knives, his cutting board and all of his oils and seasonings.

“You’re a real homemaker, you know, Egan.” Curt reluctantly detached himself from Bucky and plopped into the stool, stabbing forkfuls of lettuce and shoving it in his mouth while Bucky poured him a glass of some orange-ish hipster rosé, because the red shit gave him headaches and made him feel sleepy.

Good taste, Bucky would say.

You’re a natural at spending money.

“Yeah?” Bucky leaned against the island, pressing sweet kisses to Curt’s face despite the way he was feverishly shoving salad into it. “You gonna have me all kept at home while you make the dough, hm?” he was teasing, but knew once Curt got his foot in the door at a job after graduation, he’d be making his own natural hipster wine budget.

Big time.

“You think I will?” Curt murmured through a full mouth, booping noses with Bucky who nodded.

“Obviously, baby. No other choice, I fear.” Bucky watched intently as Curt sipped his wine, giggled, blushed, rolled his eyes. “How you feelin’ about the final?”

“Dunno.” Curt shrugged, watching Bucky continue on his prep for dinner and dessert. “I did good on the presentation part. It’s the fuckin’ multiple choice that I get so fucked up on. I’m indecisive! The shit’s outdated — how long they been makin’ us poor brain dead fucks fill in some bubbles, ya know?” He gulped more wine from his glass, “Like, since the dawn of time, I bet. And ain’t that shitty? You’d think they would—“

A red envelope was plopped in front of him, sealed with wax.

“What’s this?”

Bucky shrugged, sipping his glass of wine nonchalantly. “Dunno. Found it. Think it might be yours.”

Curt gave him a look of confusion, shaded with hints of brattiness and sass.

Bucky could eat him up.

His fingers deftly peeled the envelope open, his eyes taking in the words that he could hardly comprehend. “Italy?” He whispered, his heart sinking to his gut. “You’re kiddin’, Bucky..”

“I was going to wait until we got your score back from the final. But I know you’ll pass and I just couldn’t wait.” Bucky braced himself for Curt’s suddenly energized squealing and jumping and screaming and hooting and kissing and licking and all of it.

So. There they were, beach Guvano, the very same one in the magazine Curt had brought with him to compare and contrast magazines versus real life — so far, not a single thing had disappointed him.

“How’s it look?” Bucky asked from beside Curt, sprawled out on their beach blanket as he shoved sweet grapes into his cheeks.

“Less people here than in the pictures.” Curt had stripped down, of course, as he typically found any reason at all not to wear clothes at any time, no matter the location. “But I like that. ‘Cause some of these people in here shouldn’t be seen with clothes on.”

Bucky swatted his thigh, a dumb grin tugging his lips. “Bad boy. Be nice.”

Curt smirked and rolled onto his belly and closer to Bucky who still wore his skimpy little black speedo that he purchased simply to fit in with the rest of the Europeans.

American swim trunks didn’t feel authentic.

“You gonna lemme see the rest of ya?” Curt pressed a kiss to Bucky’s unbelievably tan, warm, sweaty neck. “Or you gonna be a perv?”

Bucky shrugged, scrolling on his phone in his left hand, his right buried deep in Curtis’ loose brown sea-salty waves and occasionally grabbing more grapes to chomp on. “Do pervs keep their swimsuits on at nude beaches?”

“Yes, actually.” Curt nodded, wagging his little ass once a warm breeze had tickled over it, his favorite plug between his sunburnt cheeks — the one that he’d worn to dinner with Bucky and Gale not long ago.

And Bucky had already started playing with him.

“I think the real pervs have vibrating plugs in their asses. In public.” Bucky gave Curt a look of mock-surprise once he’d flicked the level up to two, meeting Curt’s look of real shock with one of pure theatrics.

His mouth agape, his brows furrowed, his chin quivering as he moaned.

“Goddamn it.”Curtis cursed.

“Feel good?” Bucky whispered, the shade from their umbrella almost hiding them from the rest of the beach where the closest visitor seemed about thirty yards down the shoreline, minding their own business with their tits out. “S’your favorite one, isn’t it?”

Curt nodded quickly, his gaze softening into little horny feline slits, thick black lashes practically fluttering over his own pink cheeks, the freckles over the bridge of his nose accentuated by hours spent outdoors sipping wine or cappuccinos and eating all the finest culinary in the city. “Mhm.. M’favorite. Yeah.” He spluttered, practically drooling already.

Bucky laid his phone on his chest, reaching forward to caress his sweet boys soft cheeks instead, gathering the moisture from Curt’s wet lips onto his thumb and licking it clean. “God, you’re so fucking sweet.” He fawned, admiring again a practically frozen Curtis who whimpered softly in response.

“C’mere, my baby.” He hooked a hand around Curt’s waist and pulled him closer, the top half of his body resting over Bucky’s chest while the bottom involuntarily rut against every warm gust of wind with his ass or the blanket atop the soft sand with his cock.

Curt’s lips had found Bucky’s fingers, sucking them like he would his cock, or Gale’s, whenever their schedules aligned these days. “I passed my exam.” He breathed, pulling away from the hand he held with both of his own, half the size of Bucky’s. “Gotta ninety.”

Although he was expecting a one hundred or more including the bonus questions that saved his ass, he was nowhere near unhappy with where his GPA stood going into his second year.

Bucky lit up, of course, kissing him like it could be their last. “I fucking knew it.” He whispered between kisses. “My fucking genius boy. God, you’re so fucking smart. It’s so sexy.”

Bucky would eat him if he could.

Carry him around just like that, wherever he went, there Curt would be.

“What can I say?” Curt grinned, lips drenched in shared saliva. “Somebody besides J.Lo has to make a name for the Bronx.”

Bucky snarled a laugh. “Christ,” he chased the moan that escaped Curtis into his own mouth to devour it. “Better graduate early, then.” He teased, his hand grabbed again and the fingers enveloped once more in the soft hallows of Curt’s cheeks that grew pinker by the minute.

He wiggled his ass again against the plug that was stuffing him, eventually moving to sit on his folded legs and rut against his own heel, Bucky’s gaze watching all the while beneath a pair of sunglasses with rather transparent brown lenses.

Curt loved to be watched.

He loved, so very much, to be the center of Bucky’s world.

He’d put on little shows for him, all sweaty and panting and begging for it. He’d become a mess, held together by prayer alone at the altar he worshipped so reverently - theirs — their love, their passion, their unbridled blazing hearts that had morphed together somewhere along the way, or perhaps in lifetimes before this one.

This love, the one that gushed so unabashedly, was the reason Bucky was able to stomach the sight of Gale between his baby’s legs, or the way Curt sucked on his fingers while Gale fucked all of his courtroom rage out of him, his pretty blue eyes in the back of his head.

Whatever they did with Gale was an extension of their love, yes, but it would never get between it.

Could never harm it.

Bucky caressed his parted thighs but didn’t dare to touch Curt’s cock that leaked sweet little milky white droplets down his smooth shaft, a sight to behold since so much was typically impossible without a belly full of Bucky’s cum. “You’re so fuckin’ wet. Getting yourself all messy.” He whispered.

Curt was aroused beyond reason — every one of his milder kinks (amongst many others that wouldn’t be appropriate beneath the blue sky) were being fulfilled. Bucky’s eyes on him, sweet little words muttered in praise and adoration.

The sun on his shoulders, the sea breeze sending shivers down his spine.

His bent legs spread wider until he was sat between them, his ass plopped onto the beach blanket which he ground himself into. “Look’it what you done to me, daddy.” His voice was low and rasped through breathy gasps and moans, “I want your big cock in me so bad.” He chomped his teeth at Bucky, proving to be all bark and no bite.

Bucky hummed, ignoring the rumble of thunder that hung above their heads, and his cock that stiffened so much his Speedo struggled to conceal it. “Not here, honey.” He adjusted his sunglasses to sit perfectly nestled in his brown curls, his usually loose waves tightened and accentuated from the saltwater still in it from that morning. “Laws still exist in Italy, you know. I looked it up.” He had no reason to study European law, but for this, he did a little research.

“But —“ Curt whined, his palms flat against his thighs as he rode the plug like he would Bucky, feeling the intensity of the vibrations kick up a notch when Bucky flicked a little green bug off his phone screen, the notch set to its maximum which they’d never done before. Especially not after sitting on a three for so long.

Curt hardly knew what to do with himself, the fire in his loins growing and growing, just like the storm cloud that hung above their heads. “Too much — I can’t —“ he panted, scrambling to reach between his legs and get rid of it but Bucky abruptly stopped him.

“Ah, ah.” Bucky tsked, “Don’t you dare.” He pressed gentle kisses over Curt’s knuckles that held onto him like a lifeline, tight white and shaking.

“Please,” Curt whined, looking between his legs and down at his own cock that had yet to reach its climax but continued to trickle with a steady stream of excitement and arousal, toes curling as he squealed.

“You gonna come?” Bucky sat up, then. He thought maybe he was going to witness history — Curtis Biddick making himself come without being pumped full of it first. “Oh, honey. You’re so close. I can see it. Fucking look at you.” Scrunched nose, back arched, nails digging into his own thighs. “Make a mess, baby. I’ll clean you up.”

Curt huffed and puffed, their umbrella swaying in the wind and a drizzle of rain peppering his warm shoulders. “I’m g’na come.” He said through rapid huffs of breath.

“Give it to daddy, baby. C’mon.” Bucky was doing that sexy little thing he’d do. He’d pout his lips and mutter filthy encouragement through a clenched jaw. He grabbed Curt’s cheeks and severed their gaze, instead redirecting his attention down to his own cock. “Watch with me.”

Curt was wailing, watching his body react instinctively to everything happening to it but the closer he crept, the lighter he felt the vibrations becoming until they were gone completely.

And then came the torrential downpour.

“What happened?” Bucky asked once Curt began cursing, pulling his hands away from their restrictions in Bucky’s grasp to pump himself but there was hardly any hope in it.

“It fucking died!” Curt was angry.

He pulled the thing out of him and tossed it harshly into their beach bag, pulling on his so very American swim trunks and his Blink-182 tshirt. “Fucking bullshit goddamn technology, Bucky! I could make a better fucking goddamn fucking thing than that — fuck!” Curt was still panting but every other sensation he felt only a moment ago had been so abruptly ripped away from him.

“Well do it, then.” Bucky grumbled, sitting up and gathering their things as the storm raged on and Curtis stood with his arms folded, clearly pouting and being no help at all. “If you’re so fucking disappointed. It’s your job to charge it, Curt. It’s going in your ass, after all.”

Bucky rummaged for the keys to their rental car, soaked by the rain but still looking so rideable despite Curt’s suddenly horrendous attitude. “But you’re the one that fucks the battery!” He waved his arms, “With your fucking bullshit!”

Curt was left there, standing in the rain while Bucky made a beeline for their big Audi SUV that was similar in size to Bucky’s Range Rover, but he’d made several comments about maybe thinking about switching to something a bit more like this back home. “If you’re going to drain the battery, I’m just fuckin’ sayin’ you should also be held accountable for chargin’ it, too.” His voice followed behind, catching up eventually.

Bucky had opened the passenger door for Curt to get in before he even made it back over to the car, hoping he’d curl up for a nap and fall asleep before Bucky was done loading up the car again.

He couldn’t be so lucky.

“You still runnin’ your mouth?” Bucky furrowed his brows, shaking sand out of their beach blanket before folding it neatly.

“Yes!” Curt whined, wanting to fucking cry. Bucky wasn’t hearing him — he wasn’t understanding. He was so, so fucking close. He felt the butterflies wake up in his belly, his heart hammered in his chest, his legs felt like they’d turned to goo.

And then nothing.

“You aren’t listenin’ to me!”

Bucky closed the trunk before he sauntered to Curt, his neck craned downward to look at him. “Bend over.” He pointed to the passenger seat, voice stern but steady.

Sharp, but buttery smooth around the edges.

Curt stuttered for a moment, “I — Bucky,” but suddenly realized it would be his pleasure to do just that.

A silence settled between them as they stood in the rain, their narrowed gazes in a standoff until Curt backed down and draped himself over the leather interior, his trunks pulled roughly below the plump curve of his ass that fucking jiggled when he spread his legs a little, perking his ass out for Bucky to spank.

“Make it a good one.” Curt quipped, his tone almost bordering mockery. “Or it’d be a shame you bent me over at all.”

Bucky had been a little pissed off by that one, but knew whole heartedly that had been the exact point — Curt knew what he was doing.

The buttons to push.

The buttons he licked with his tongue and bit with his canines until he drew blood.

The buttons he knew all too well.

A loud and heavy handed crack left a vivid and splotchy pink handprint over the delicious and a little bit sunburnt strawberry milky white skin of Curt’s right cheek, his knuckles bitten as he whined.

“I want an apology, Curtis.” Bucky bent over his body, nipping at his ear. “Not fair to take your frustration out on me, is it?”

Curt rolled his eyes, grinning into the leather of the seat beneath him as they replaced the new car smell with their own. “Fuck you.” He mumbled, going to sit up again until a hand forced him back down.

“What was that?” Bucky shoved Curt’s stance wider with his knee, feeling a hand back again to spank Curt’s left cheek that time. He hardly tensed up at it, seeming to melt under each crack against his skin.

What am I gonna do with you, Biddick?

“Hm?”

Curt wasn’t so tough eventually. All it took was three more good whips of skin against skin before he was back to begging for it. “Just let me sit on it while you drive.” He begged, clearly unaware how unrealistic and — even moreso— unsafe that sounded.

They had a schedule that day that allowed little wiggle room and Bucky had warned Curtis of this plenty before they made the reservations that they did.

We’ll have no time to play in between, Curtie. You realize that, right?

Curt nodded his head, encouraging Bucky to confirm their reservations.

I’m not an animal, Bucky. I can control myself. Jesus.

Lie.

“C’mon. We can make it work. Please.”

Bucky checked his watch and shook his head. “We have the tour you wanted to do in an hour, Curtis.” He pulled Curt’s trunks up and manhandled him into his seat despite his resistance. “And we’re not going to be fucking late because of your bullshit.”

He closed Curt’s door and made way around the vehicle to his own where he hopped in and turned over the engine, blasting the AC against their warm skin as O Mio Bambino Care droned through the speakers.

“I’m sorry.” Curt whispered, leaning over the middle console and pressing kisses to Bucky’s bicep and shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said — I — I was havin’ an outburst.”

Those happened often.

Curt was simply a hothead, too used to acting out on his first instinct, which was always anger.

Gale was helping him work through this, but wasn’t always around to be the mediator.

Bucky wasn’t going to let him hide behind that excuse forever, though. “No, you weren’t.” He mumbled. “You were being shitty just to be shitty.” He rolled a window down and lit a cigarette. “I didn’t come either, you know.” He looked toward Curtis again. “You don’t hear me crying about it.”

Curt scrambled in his seat, crawling into Bucky’s and subsequently falling into his lap, his back smashing against the horn but he didn’t give a fuck. At the very least, it made Bucky smile. “You’re right. I’m shitty. I was bein’ shitty just to be fuckin’ shitty. And I’m sorry.” He inhaled the smoke Bucky shared with him, their lips slotting together perfectly.

Bucky could never deny Curtis the satisfaction of an accepted apology — this wasn’t a real fight. It was nothing of the sort.

It was a squabble, yes, but in the end, it wouldn’t make or break anything.

Except a few of Bucky’s fragile nerves.

“Still doesn’t mean I’m gonna fuck you, honey.” Bucky smirked, cigarette between his teeth. “C’mon, back in your spot. We gotta get goin’.”

#💌#yoyo writes #I love these two #curtbucky #this one is so long #masters of the air

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