#close your eyes and pretend this is in malaga

[wolfavens]

wip of niamh & marco's tartosa forever home

[thestrangestinthisstrangeland]

I miss residing in this headspace…

Came for the Low

Wedding Chapter NSFW

The tiny bedroom above the restaurant was bathed in golden morning light that crept in through the window and lay in a warm haze over the two bodies moving slowly under the sheet.

Shutting his eyes, Zemo sighed deeply and slid his hand behind his head, cradling it with a smile. He was completely relaxed in spite of his racing heart.

With his free hand the Baron reached and smoothed his palm over the curve of his wife's head under the white linen and opened his mouth with a light gasp followed by a laugh. She was teasing him.

He'd been woken up by the feel of her warm tongue, soft and wet as she sucked him into her mouth and now she was moaning softly as he filled her, growing until he was fully erect and gently thrusting, sinking into the feel of her full lips stretched around the width of him.

Her small hand pressed against his thigh as she sucked, the other gripping the base, working in tandem with her mouth, increasing the rhythm the more tense he got.

It would not take him long, one look down and he caught a glimpse of her under the sheet, cheeks hollow as she bobbed her head, the soft brown skin of her hand in contrast to his own, her hair was all over the place and tickling his stomach. He wanted to grab her breast but didn't dare move, so instead he raised his chin, his head sinking into the pillow as he thought of the way they looked when she sat on him, bouncing in perfect unison, her dark nipples begging to be sucked and licked and...

Zemo's hand came down on her head, pushing until she gave a muffled yelp, but he held her firm. With a final sigh, the tension gave way and he went rigid holding his breath as the first warm rush shot down her throat—her moaning against his sensitive skin making the release into her mouth all the sweeter.

He could feel her swallowing each time he throbbed which only made him want to come all over again, but there was no hope in drawing it out. With a final powerful pulse, he finished and exhaled with a shaking smile.

Christine was wet and aching for attention as she drank him in. Zemo would of course return the favor with enthusiasm, but for now she'd enjoyed making him feel good.

Knowing how he responded to touch afterwards, she pulled away slowly, listening to the way he moaned again as her teeth and tongue very lightly graze the length of his still solid member until she let him fall free and sat up, running her fingers along the corners of her mouth and over her bottom lip.

She sat there looking quite pleased with herself, that smug little grin making him chuckle. The sheet lay over her hair like a veil reminding him of last night.

His bride...

Zemo reached and ran his hand down her arm, gently gathering her fingers into his own hand.

"Good morning husband" She said, her whisper soft voice tickling his ears.

He gazed at her with the sun shining around her head like a halo. "Good morning wife."

"Sleep well?" She asked rising up to sit on her heels.

Zemo gave a lazy laugh, exhausted from the orgasm and shook his head a little. "No, too much orujo"

"Oh you and Gael are wild!" She laughed too. "But so cute."

"Cute?"

"Yes. Like two puppies." She grinned.

He pretend to not like this but shrugged. "I am—cute—yes, I know." He winked.

Christine snickered shaking her head at him. "I thought I might loose you to him at one point. You two are quite a pair." She teased and he groaned, grabbing her arm to pull her down on top of him.

He took her face in hand, pulling her into a kiss. Her lips tasted like him. He moaned a little remembering the feel of that mouth on his cock which was threatening to rise again. She could work wonders on him without even trying...his bride, his wife. "How are you feeling?" He asked when she raised up. He tucked her hair behind her ear and pinched her chin between his thumb and index like he always did.

"Well enough to wake you." She said wiggling her brows at him. "No sickness yet today...oh! I hope I didn't just jinx it."

Zemo sighed and laid his arm over his eyes. "I should have followed your lead. No drinking." He said amused but angry with himself for overdoing it, but how could he not? The night had been completely perfect. Yes, he'd been married before but this was different. There had been an energy around them that filled the village with a sort of magic that does not happen everyday.

What they'd shared was special and no matter the outcome, he would carry the memory of marrying this woman with him, like a homing beacon, bringing him back to center when all else spun out of control...

~Wearing her flowing suit from the little shop in Malaga and a traditional Spanish veil gifted to her by Gael’s wife, Christine clutched the small bouquet of pink and burgundy flowers from the local florist as she walked down the steps, leaving the tiny apartment above to enter the restaurant’s courtyard, where Zemo stood waiting.

He watched as she came into view, white heels taking the steep incline slowly, her pants flowing light as air around her legs and a thin silk camisole under the draped jacket, both in that same bright ivory.

Christine was radiant, but the unexpected sight of her face framed in the scalloped lace stopped his heart. On flat ground, she looked up, her sparkling black eyes finding his and the man nearly forgot to breathe. Tears pooled, wavering in his eyes as she came to him—his second chance…

Gael and Luisa stood back, watching from the kitchen doorway with wide knowing smiles, and very quietly turned to go back inside leaving them to it.

“Hi.” Christine whispered sounding small and nervous as she waited to hear what he thought. She’d never really been the sort to imagine her wedding day, it had never occurred to her that she would have one, but now that it was here she hoped the Baron liked the way she looked as much as she truly did.

Zemo exhaled a shaking breath through his parted lips in disbelief that she was his.

“Hello,” He replied wanting to touch her but was too afraid that she would break she was such a delicate thing, but then he smiled remembering that this was the same woman capable of taking out assassins three times her size and his face relaxed as he pitied all the men on the receiving end of her wrath. “You’re beautiful.” He said simply, but she heard the many layers of love beneath the word and tucked her chin with a shy smile.

Zemo raised his elbow, offering her his arm which she took and smiled up at him. “You look incredible too.” She said nudging him.

He chuckled as he wiped at his eyes, escorting her to the carved gate.

She meant it. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and the resulting shadow was lovely. His parted hair was a beautiful mop of perfectly coifed dark brown that she would run her fingers through later tonight. The jacket and pants he wore —a few shades darker than his hair— were paired with a cream colored shirt left unbuttoned and no tie. She had a laugh to herself because of course he’d been prepared with a bespoke suit. Had he brought it hoping she would say yes or was Zemo just the sort of man who traveled with tailored clothing ready for any occasion at all times? Running her hand along the fine fabric over his shoulder, she grinned not caring. Either way he was glorious to look at.

Arm in arm they left the restaurant and started the walk through the square towards the famous edge of town, to a spot where people had come to watch the sunsets for thousands of years. By the time they arrived, a small group of well wishers and curious villagers had stopped to watch them stand before the tiny old officiant who had married hundreds before them.

The ceremony was said in Spanish with Helmut translating the vows when it was time for her to repeat the words. Her voice was light as she slipped the gold band—identical to her own— onto his finger as a symbol of the pure, and simple truth of their love. And when they shared that first kiss, it was to the applause of the wind coming down from the mountain to bless their union.

Neither of them would ever be able to recall the walk back, they were so lost in the joy of the day, but one thing Christine would always remember was him whispering sweetly in her ear, some of it in English some in Sokovian, and how he’d kissed her cheek and hand often between waving thanks to the well-wishers who passed them by.

Some of the older folk handed them gold coins as they neared the restaurant insisting they have thirteen until they were properly showered in affection and traditions they did not know but graciously accepted.

When the gates to Gael’s place opened, Christine stood frozen by the transformation in the courtyard. The man’s promise was not unfounded. The restaurant was beautiful. Lit by lanterns and string lights, the tables had been put together in one long line and was now covered in a feast of Paella, croquetas, Jamón, Espetos and all the things Christine could not remember the names of, but once they sat, she ate with enthusiasm as her husband laughed and joked with his childhood friends sharing and passing plates of the delicious food.

The whistles and shouts came any time they kissed —which was often— until one of the old men teased that they needed to sneak into the closet and get it out of their system, which drew laughter and calls of approval from the rowdy crowd. But as the small family band set up in the corner struck a note, Christine suggested a dance instead.

One beautiful song was played for them first which silenced the room.

Gael, with tears in his eyes pulled his own wife close as he watched the way Zemo held his bride with one arm, his other hand keeping Christine’s close to his heart as they swayed to the music that filled the air with a slow, haunting rhythm.

The sound of sniffling and the sight of adoring smiles was the backdrop to their first dance as a married couple until the last strum of the guitar echoed along the stone walls surrounding the full courtyard. Christine rose up and pressed her lips to his, her veil concealing them as they shared a moment that everyone who saw, would always remember. There was such strength in the way they held one another. You could see that these two people had been through much more than most, and were so thankful to have found a sense of peace, here in this forgotten place.

And then —because the night was a celebration— out came the anís, sangria, and Gael’s cousin from Barcelona with the Orujo.

Sober but high on the night, Christine kept up with the party, howling with laughter as Zemo and the other men made adorable fools of themselves while the women danced and sang and adopted her into the multiple families that had continued to trickle in, not wanting to miss the party.

At one point Zemo and a few of the others serenaded Christine with an enthusiastic version of a traditional love song that had her and the women cheering by the end and the Baron pulling his bride up and into his arms to kiss her. A kiss that did not end as the aching desire to consummate the marriage reached its peak. He sat her down taking Christine's hand to lead her away from the wild night to the raucous approval of the crowd.

“Goodnight!” She'd shouted from the door way that led to their little room, a glimpse of the white she wore fluttering up the steps as her laughter faded with their climb~

[gaudeixcc]

Peleton news – Butter knife.

This week, RTA and Moley went off to enjoy the cycling somewhere. We were all invited (eventually) and what an evening it was. JT, like a foreign benefactor blessing his adoring public with little leather pouches containing silver coins, sent £7 to our hapless duo for them to buy some fizzy lager. It’s not all champagne and strawberries in his Munich Penthouse you know. The fact that he can risk his children’s breakfast by dipping into the pension pot to pull out 7 whole pounds just to buy Bert and Ernie a beer speaks volumes.

JT has changed. I remember years back on a drunken night out, James threw 10p at my head after I had suggested his Golf (2.3V5) was not quite in the same league as my BMW 635 Csi (shark-nose). The shot caused a small dimple on my temple. Later that night in my taxi ride home, I spotted him shining a torch in the gutter in a lame attempt to locate the said coin.

He never did find it…. But the story doth not endeth there… many many years later, last year in fact, when JT paid for coffee one morning on our Malaga trip and shared the bill with the Peleton, the eagle eyed amongst you will have noticed that everyone got charged £3.20….. everyone except me… my bill was £3.30….. I looked at my screen… I looked up at JT… I looked at my screen again…… I didn’t move my head this time, instead slowly raised my eyes to his. There was much hub-ub at the time with the rest of the group teasing RTA about careless bicycle leaning (bike on wall.. bike off wall… bike on floor…. Damo summoned to fix)…..but JT met my eyes with his icy stare. We said nothing….. JT tapped his temple….. and we both knew…. That 10p was lost no more. The Trusler balance sheet was restored.

Half an hour later I glanced over JT’s shoulder as he was texting the lovely Mrs JT…. All I could read of JT’s message was;

‘Close the 2004 accounts. Balance now received. Nobody makes a monkey outta……’ and that was all I glimpsed….(although I later saw Karen’s reply ping through…’Well done love, nobody out-cunts the cuntmaster general…ps. Bring home some schnitzel x’…)

So in summary my advice to RTA and Moley is…. Send the money back…. You might as well…. And probably before the 2018 accounting period is over.

Sunday came this week and for a change some of the Peleton managed to ride together.

There has been much press speculation of late concerning G19. The big fight in town being DripHop….. a little less Wiggins v Froome.. a little more Fury v Wilder.

This was the first press conference Drip and I have done since James ‘Frank Warren’ Trusler had the contracts drawn up. It could have been a frosty affair, but luckily, we had Macca ringside to keep things on the straight and narrow.

Macca, not one for riding off ahead and leaving every other fucker in his wake, rode off ahead and left every other fucker in his wake.

Drip and I made a sufficient meal of riding in mud and also managed to embarrass ourselves with many a stranger before the day had concluded.

It didn’t start well.

We rocked up in Cricketers close in my second-hand bargain Range Rover (blacked out windows, natch).

I wound down the passenger window when we saw a cyclist and immediately struck up a conversation with the fellow rider as he was Macca’s mate and was due to join us on our ride. Being Macca’s mate, he was dressed in hugely expensive gear, had an expensive (but sensible) car and spoke with an accent that has probably had money thrown at it at some point. (He really was grammatically flawless). Drip and I were dressed in trackies and trainers and looked like a couple of pikies who had lucked-out and found a brace of bikes outside the local newsagents.

Anyhoo…. After much jolly banter, our riding partner disappears and Macca arrives on the scene.

‘Who was that?’ asks Cricketers favourite pilot (there are 14 of them on the close).

Turns out the fella had fuck all to do with Macca and us….. ffs…. Sometimes I do feel a complete pillock.

Anyway, it comes time to trundle off and Dawn waves from the upstairs window… well, it was either a wave or a furious ‘get the hell out of the street with all ya noise and bafoonary, people are trying to sleep’…. I think it was just a wave.

The ride itself was tough. It’s been a while since either of the two Crawley boys have troubled mud on a bicycle and the long, slow climbs took their toll.

Overall though I was quite pleased with the days riding. Macca was like a wheeled London city guide…every hill, climb or manoeuvre was teed-up with an introduction.

‘Slow climb coming up… steepens after the turn….. then steady to the top’

‘Tough climb… looks easy… is surprisingly hard and into the wind’

My favourite of the lot was when we were about to conduct a tricky gnarly and rooty left/right bend.

‘I’ve only every completed this a couple of times without having to walk the bike round’ says Macca… clearly expecting Drip and I to be walking bikes around.

I follow Macca. Macca clears the tricky section without stopping. It’s the first time he’s done it in years. Now it would take a complete twat to show-boat and go around like a hot knife through butter making easy what had been positioned as hard. It would have been like a giant ‘fuckyoumotherfucker’ whilst giving the finger behind poor Macca’s back.

Clearly Drip and I are two proper gentlemen who don’t just rock up at this sort of event looking like Vince and Jules at the end of Pulp Fiction only to embarrass our host by deploying rarely seen cycling talent to cast shadow over his own.

Who do you think we are…? We’re not monsters you know.

Anyway, I went round that corner like a knife though hot fucking butter….. but boy did I pay the price later….

The promised post-ride breakfast was a dish of revenge…. Served piping hot.

Drip, who had the courtesy to put his foot down and pretend that it was too hard, got Avacado with his bacon, two cups of coffee… TWO!!!... double toast…. DOUBLE TOAST…all served up within minutes of his arse touching a McEvoy perching stool.

I had to wait….. a loooong time……. And then……. I got a piece of toast (un-buttered).

‘Er…. ‘ I said.

‘What?’ squawked Macca

‘Butter?’ says I.

Macca pushes it my way…. And adds a ‘would you like a fucking hot knife with that?’

Now I may be seeing shadows, but I think Macca might have had the hump. It was either my wizadary on two-wheels that hacked him off…. or it might have been the fact that on entering the McEvoy kitchen I immediately commented on the picture of Mark and the budgie (now ex-budgie) on the fridge.

On mention of the cheeky chappy Dawn cried for a solid 20 minutes…. How was I to know?

All-in-all though, a successful ride out. Fury vs Wilder looks set to be a thriller. Training has started in both camps and ahead of us lies many a press conference.

So finally, I’d like to end on an unusually positive note. Our 2018 pink cap, RTA, has been shamed by Damo into action and will shortly be sending out invites (printed on heavy-weight fine china-white stationary) to his inaugural 2018 pink cap social.

It will be lovely to see you all. We can expect a contribution from our Munich benefactor no-doubt, in line with the precedence he set last weekend.

So for those in any doubt, I’ll wrap up with this little thought. Never in the history of Gaudeix tours, has training started so early for so many. G19…. As Moley would no doubt say…. This shit just got real. Get on your turbo’s boys…. The Pyrenees are a comin’ and the butter  knifes are being warmed.

[cursivesugg]

Heated || Jack Maynard

Requests are currently [ OPEN ]

Masterlist can be found [ HERE ]

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: it’s been so hot these past few days that this request was perfect and i had a lot of inspiration for it!! enjoy my lovelies!!xo

"No, nuh-uh, don't even think about it." You lightly shove Jack away as he approaches you, narrowing your eyes at him and shaking your head. "It's too hot for cuddles."

Jutting out his bottom lip, the freshly bleached blonde huffs and looks down at your bikini-clad body, unable to help the smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips. You'd woken up at seven am, with sweat dripping down your nose and a horrible layer of old sweat all over your body. Turned out, it was due to be one of the hottest days of the year, and seeing as you were clueless that previous night, you decided to sleep in your thickest pajamas.

You had a shower, a lot cooler than you usually had, before going on to spent a good twenty minutes simply sat on your bed in just a towel, dreading the thought of having to get dressed. But after ten more minutes, you finally said 'fuck it' and put on one of your skimpiest bikinis before putting your hair up into a messy bun and praying that the heat wouldn't get any worse.

And now, after drinking a glass of freezing cold lemonade which you determined your breakfast, you were walking around the apartment and trying to get things done, even though all you felt like doing was driving to a beach and spending the day in the sea.

You were never one to deny hugs, and the slight shock on Jack's face that only lasted a few seconds, proved that. A few months previous, you'd been given the label as 'most cuddly' in the whole group, and yet here you were, denying any form of physical contact in a bid to stay as cool as possible.

"You were loving the heat when we were in Malaga a few weeks ago!" He laughs, leaning against the breakfast bar as you roll your eyes and take another sip of your icy drink. Putting the glass down, you walk over to him and rest your hands on his cheeks, pulling him down and kissing him softly, rubbing your nose against his once you'd pulled away, before kissing him quickly once more and pulling away.

You smile at him fondly and turn around to grab your phone, a loud squeal falling from your lips as he slaps your ass from behind. You glance over your shoulder and glare at him, though the cocky smirk on his face causes you to crack a smile.

It only took a few minutes, half an hour at most, for you to grow so frustrated with the heat that performing even a menial task became virtually impossible. You groan loudly, shoving your laptop away and standing up, adjusting your bikini top and walking through the apartment and into the bedroom, where Jack was changing his shirt.

"We're filling the paddling pool up." You inform him, walking pat him into the walk in closet and pulling out the rubber inflatable children's paddling pool that you'd bought the year before for your niece to use whilst she visited.

You tug it out of its place scrunched up, and smile happily, though at the thought of having to actually blow the thing up began to dawn on you and you felt your face drop.

Pressing your lips together, you chew on the inside of your cheek and peek out of the door at Jack, who was already looking in your directions with an amused smile and his eyebrows raised.

"Can you blow this up for me?" You ask pleadingly, walking out of the closet and dropping the scrunched up inflatable down onto the floor with a childish pout.

He agrees with a laugh, and you grin widely at him before following him out onto the balcony and trying to pretend like the wintering sun wasn't bothering you as much as it truly was.

After no time, the mini pool was inflated and sat on the balcony, leaving you and Jack to stare at it dreamily for a while before having a small discussion on how was best to fill it up. You didn't have many options, it was a choice of either the bucket under the sink or the hose that attached to the tap; which neither of you had ever even attempted to use before.

Deciding that the bucket was bound to be less stressful, you then proceeded to spent the next twenty minutes running through the apartment with buckets of freezing cold water to fill up the pool.

Running back and forth made you feel even more hot and sticky and gross, and so when the pool was finally full, you sighed in relief and silently thanked the spirits for being on your side in that moment.

You get in, and even though the freezing cold water startled you at first, as you sunk further into the water, tingles made their way up your spine and finally, after a whole morning of incessant struggling, you were finally cool.

Even though the sun continued to beam down onto your face, the cold water that submerged your body made the warmth feel so much better.

Jack walked onto the balcony, a smirk on his face as he looked down at your relieved expression, unable to stop the chuckle that fell from between his lips. You rolled your eyes, but held your hand out in invitation nonetheless.

He nudges your hand away and takes off his shoes before glancing over the balcony for a second or so before turning around and stepping into the water, scrunching up his face at the cold water. You laugh up at him, using your hand to shield your face from the sun, watching as he sheepishly sits down in the water, crossing his legs beneath him and looking you in the eyes with a cheeky grin.

After you'd cooled down completely and no longer felt sticky at all, you smirked to yourself as you looked over at Jack, who was leaning his head back and had his eyes closed beneath his sunglasses.

You reach over to grab the plastic water gun that had been discarded with after a video that Jack filmed a few months earlier, praying that there wouldn't be any cobwebs or spiders attached to it. Luckily there weren't, and you managed to fill it up with water from the pool without Jack opening his eyes and catching you in the act.

You lean back and spray him in the face, chasing him to jump and loose his sunglasses in the water. He opens his eyes and glares at you, before a smirk grows on his lips and he launches himself at you, splashing water into your face and proceeding to wrestle you in the water.

You didn't think about what your neighbours would be thinking as you both laugh and scream loudly, rolling around in the water for a good five minutes, until you paused above Jack, your chest resting on his, your heart racing as you stared into his eyes and pushed the wet hair out of his face with your hand.

The moment felt frozen in time, and you leaned forward and pressed your lips together, moaning softly against his mouth as he pulled you flush against his body and fiddled with the stings on the back of your bikini top until it fell free, giving your neighbors yet another thing to wonder about.