no regrets

bucky | 23 | bro y'all think i got the time for bloggin.. you right.

[pyanypisatel]

The position wasn’t that much of a hindrance on their flow of movement. Bucky’s back was docked against the wall, and this jointed them, so they weren’t incoherently moving like they might be otherwise. Their motions seemed natural, like they’d been here before, or like they had been anticipating this. Typically, these types of connections were infirm of purpose; only existing to relieve his appetite for human communication, which was ironic, since most of this occurred without talking. 

His back was rigid, but this was statue-like repose. Haltingly, their hands were upon one another, the rhythm hiccuping along. Ivan feels the breath wedding with his own, his words lost against his lips and their actions. Neither of them were jaded. There was plenty of admiration, which was strange considering they were drunk. They were definitely wasted. This wouldn’t have happened without the aid of vodka. Bucky was callow and youthful; Ivan could not compare in any regards. He wouldn’t have let himself get knotted in this situation without drinking. 

Ivan’s thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of hands on his skin, his fingers leaving fires in their wake. Everything was so fresh on his mind, and he could hardly keep his mind from racing now. It was hard to not act on the stimulants that were beginning to react from each contact. Ivan’s tongue conveys some sort of urgency in their kiss, and he’s trying to get the shirt off of Bucky. Their shirts feel like burdens, at this point. 

Things were spinning in his mind’s eye, and he feared if he opened his eyes, that everything would come crashing back into reality. Like how someone might be able to hear them, or that his door was still unlocked and Arthur or someone could walk in at anytime. He’s pushed Bucky’s shirt up enough to reveal the grand majority of his chest. 

[dirtdogged]

Bucky's bad at this whole 'keep quiet' deal. He'd always had a bad habit of talking too damn much, got him in a lot of trouble with a lot of different people. While he didn't exactly feel like he'd be getting in trouble for talking with Ivan, he did guess it'd put a severe dent in the moment, or whatever it's called. This wasn't a moment, actually. Just two drunk guys stuck together by vodka and a really, really shitty glue. Somehow, he still manages to keep giddy behind the kiss. His fingers trail along Ivan's body, until the shirt's up at his shoulders and starts to bunch up with that scarf. Palms press against his chest, always surprisingly warm, always pleasant. It's easier for Bucky to lose track of his thoughts, to just push them aside. He's been doing that his whole life; such a contrast between the two of them. Ivan thought about everything, maybe too much. Bucky thought about things far too little. It was bound to be the ruin of the both of them. Again, cool air sings against his skin when his own t-shirt is pulled up higher, and briefly Bucky wonders how ridiculous they must look, on the floor with shirts up to their shoulders like they're playing a game of 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours.' He wants to laugh, but he manages to restrain himself, if only for the sake of keeping the kiss together. Though, it's going to have to break at some point, if these shirts ever intend to come off entirely.  That, and he's also got the worry that this whole thing'll fall apart if they let go of each other for even a moment, they'll come down from whatever high they're on and realize what's going on. Bucky shoves these away again, as he's so able to do, focusing instead on returning that same sort of passion into the kiss that Ivan was.

[teenidleprincess]

[suckaaaaaaaa-deactivated2015081]

[themodernminimalnewyorker]

[dirtdogged]

IM GETTING OFF MY BLOG THIS IS BULLSHIT

[dirtdogged]

all my life has been a series of doors in my face and then suddenly i bump into you

[dirtdogged]

i wont stand for my bros blatant disregard of household code.

the frozen soundtrack does NOT fall under the list of songs to jam to whilst ‘balling till falling’

[hotmooseman]

my name is on the lease so you can just shut the fuck up

[dirtdogged]

shit.

[dirtdogged]

i wont stand for my bros blatant disregard of household code.

the frozen soundtrack does NOT fall under the list of songs to jam to whilst 'balling till falling'

[hotmooseman]

thats what i was gonna say

[dirtdogged]

[hotmooseman]

obnoxiously sings love is an open door to bucky

[dirtdogged]

get outta here with that shit.

[hotmooseman]

i cant we finish each others

[dirtdogged]

fuck you.

[precemetery]

[aunteaters]

I don’t care what anyone says, this was the best moment on TV ever.

[hotmooseman]

obnoxiously sings love is an open door to bucky

[dirtdogged]

get outta here with that shit.

[pyanypisatel]

The hands compressing against the depressions in his skin on his neck were eliciting some pleasure from him — it was a natural response. If someone is deprived of that kind of feeling for so long, they grow longing and susceptible. Ivan was not super-human, he had these types of reactions. Erogenous zones were going to steal some sort of reaction. Even if it wasn’t to spur an answer, and more to explore, Ivan was feeling it. He feels everything as sharp as death. The unsung desires he’d previously had were now being fulfilled to some degree. 

This was the kind of action that maddened his soul, like a fine wine or some kind of frivolous luxury. Each contour of his skeletal structure was a new route to be explored, and he couldn’t stop his hands from meandering through his shirt. It seemed a bit ridiculous to keep all of the their clothing on at this point — and most of his highbrow thinking had been wiped and replaced by just the drive to feel skin on skin. Ivan’s hands removed themselves, reaching up to aid Bucky in discarding his hoodie. The silence wasn’t really bothersome anymore. 

What had taken Ivan aback was the dialogue that kept stringing on, and even when the two were in heated junctions, Bucky could still manage to be a bitch. His alabaster arms contrasted beautifully with Bucky’s dusky color. They remained locked in this complicated embrace, drunken and affectionate like two children overcome with sweet toil. Ivan’s smiling beneath their kiss, attempting to rest his hands back under Bucky’s shirt. 

"Stop talking," His voice was more of a plea than anything, because it kept grounding him back into the current situation. He wanted to think more about Bucky, not himself or his position or what they were doing and what this entailed. He wanted to close his eyes and feel not think like he endlessly did. Intellectually scrutinizing everything that happened to him was proving to be detrimental to his well-being, and was beginning to foster a big gap in his social and romantic life. He couldn’t let himself relax, most of the time. Not without the aid of alcohol. Now he just wanted to let go, and was doing a fine job of it. 

[dirtdogged]

Sudden cool air kissed at him like Ivan when his hoodie fell to the floor behind him and he breathes out slow through his nose. Hands travel from his neck and into his hair, fingers carding through the fine strands, and he feels almost giddy. Negative thoughts had drowned themselves, resting at the bottom of a lake of alcohol, and all that was left was air and how nice it felt to have weight on top of him. They're both smiling now, and it's nice, Ivan's feels sincere, though that's just the vodka talking, he'd bet. He offers up a breathy 'alright', laughing a little against his lips. It was weird, the position they were in, like tightly wound coils, a tangle on the floor. He'd probably feel the repercussions the next day, maybe in an ached back, a crick in the neck, but it was worth it for the moment, for the heated touches and the smiles that made the other's face look a little less heavy. Bucky could get used to a smile like that, he decides. Slipping his hands down from his hair, Bucky lets his own fingers ride beneath the hem of Ivan's shirt, pressing fingertips into the flesh there. It gives him some kind of thrill, maybe because he knows how solitary he can be, how people touching him is probably some kind of privilege. Even in a sea of liquor, Bucky feels proud of himself for getting here, with his skin trailing along the pale contour of Ivan's body, shirt bunching up against his hands, warmth seeping into his knuckles and his palms from inside the other; funny, he'd expected him to be cold somehow, like a blizzard raged inside him at all times. It's a pleasant surprise. Hiking his hands up higher, Bucky shifts his own body upwards, simultaneously trying to pull him in closer; an awkward movement in itself, but he doesn't know what else to do. It's proving difficult to do a few things, given their spots on the floor, but he doesn't complain about it, he just tries to work around it.

[pyanypisatel]

A pace was beginning to find itself. There was no longer a silence in the room that impeded on their actions. There weren’t actions choked by the thorns and brambles of anxiety, with shaky-limbed caresses that only elicited more and more apprehension. His fingers weren’t trembling and his mind wasn’t racing with the arresting worries he wouldn’t expression. There was a bit of purpose with each movement now, and before the idles motions had only been just introducing the contact. Now there was a bit of experience fostered between them. 

He didn’t even have time to make choices thoroughly. His fingers were hiking up Bucky’s shirt, and he was warm. His skin wasn’t marred by healed skin or coated in lacerations. Perhaps there were unseen bruises, but the smoothness of his skin was the only thing he was perceiving. The smile between their kiss was like the pale wintery sunshine — meek and frail. Their first real skin on skin contact was sending warming ripples through Ivan’s head. His sides were lined with carefully crafted ribs and muscles, and he couldn’t stop running his fingertips over each individual contour. 

All of this power wavered suddenly, all at the unexpected touch of his neck. A breathless hiss left his lips at the second touch, for the slight skim of his thumb had tuned up his already sensitive nerves there. He was sure feeling the touch, his hands scattering to anchor as his hips. He tensed, the color on his cheeks bleeding a bit more. "Shut up," He responds, trying to keep himself from having the appearance of vulnerability.

It was distracting; his fingers were pressing against a place that most never ventured, and he felt in a trance-like state. There were steel-laden touches up his sides in response, trying to keep himself gauged on earth. He was beginning to lean into his touches, his lips active and dynamic against Bucky’s, again, in response to his touches.

[dirtdogged]

Scars? Bucky didn't have many of those. A few, from when he was a stupid kid on a couple acres of land, where he'd fallen out of scrappy trees or hurt himself climbing barbed wire fences, little flecks of paler skin against the rest of him. Soft his skin may be, he seemed to be tough, he could take a beating, he could get punched a hundred times and walk away with only bruises to tell the tale. It was disappointing, at times, how he couldn't keep a cut to remind himself of the times he fought. There wasn't much time to dwell on this thought, though, as Ivan seemed to be responding, he assumed, well to his touches, his calloused thumb running along the curve of his scars. As the kiss kept getting interrupted, by hissing or touches or words, Bucky couldn't find himself getting too mad. It'd give him a moment to look at the man, to see the red blotting his cheeks, so much a contrast from his eyes. His fingers were sliding up beneath the fabric of his shirt, and Bucky shuddered under their touch pleasantly. He smiled again. "Jus' sayin.." The younger muttered, pressing his palms gently, flatly, against Ivan's pale neck, as if his hands would be the new scarf, and he'd keep him safe. This touch only lasts a moment, before he moves one hand to his shoulder, to keep himself hoisted, while the other continues, his fingers touching lightly here and there on his neck. Less to get a rise, more to explore it, to get to know each mottled bit of skin the same way Ivan was getting to know the lines of his body. It was easier now, to feel relaxed with the touches, no longer climbing through apprehension and bushes filled with thorns and worries. Bucky felt better, something clouding his insides in a very good way-- maybe attraction for Ivan? He wouldn't be able to say for sure, but he did know that he was reacting to everything positively, and he probably wanted a lot more.

[bl-ossomed]

[letstrytosurvive]