fic: It is a laconic rodeo, and you fall.
Title: rodeo is a laconic, and you fall.
Author: perlinha
Beta: Mimmi, my cat, who has closely observed the entire drafting ff.
Fandom: Football
RPF Pairing: Gerard Piqué / Cesc Fàbregas (Fabriqué ♥)
Rating: NC-17
Warning: slash , angry! Sex, pwp
Word Count : 717 ( fidipu )
Prompt: lovers @ COW-T of maridichallenge
Disclaimer: are not mine, it did not happen, the fault lies with the silence of twitter 'These two idiots and the wink-wink-nudge-nudge of celebrated below and I have nothing to do nothing. Ah, right: maximum respect to secretaries, housewives, plumbers and prostitutes. No, you know. Vivibi.
Notes: set immediately after the first leg Arsenal-Barcelona (in which for the uninitiated Geri became yellow card for a foul on Cesc - in fact the Boeotian will miss the return - Cesc and later during the game 'pushed for it's not clear why. The icing on the cake: there were not even greeted after the game). Title taken from extremisissimo This Subsonica tomorrow.
Dedications: HAPPY BIRTHDAY kiki_dissonance \\ o ///////// ♥ I do not know if it's your kind, so I hope you like it; _;
(This depends on your tomorrow looks.)
Sketches Of Island Life And Not Only ...
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Worldest Biggest Tech Deck
Fic: shakiness
Title: "shakiness"
Author: princess21ssj
Beta: anyone, I have written to the blackberry ç_ç
Fandom: Manchester City FC
Characters: David Silva, Adam Johnson,
Rating: VM 16 (but hints, etc.)
Word Count: about 1000
Disclaimer: is all fake, the characters do not belong to me and so on.
Introduction: - I thought you were right here in Manchester. -
Notes: I've said that I have written to the bb? Well, my laptop died. Goodbye world.
shakiness
When a knock, David jumps standing.
- Arrival! - Responds. Crease the cushions, the sofa disorderly, create the minimum of physiological confusion men needed to give the impression that it did not quite past the time to walk back and forth to the living room of his apartment in spasmodic awaiting the arrival of Adam. Considers it sufficient to just sling it at the door. Takes a deep breath of encouragement and eventually, with studied slowness, lower the handle.
E 'nervous and not be their first meeting. Their pseudo-relationship continues for a couple of months on the exact track of pure and simple disengagement. This does not imply that it is easy lead. It's not exactly like having a girlfriend to have it with a teammate. Furthermore, since Adam has run victim moments of intimacy are sparse, because excuse continuous visits and outings together becomes all too complicated, without the excuse of a beer at the pub after training.
David is nervous and extremely excited to spend the evening with him. It 'was the first person he thought, coming back from the friendly with Italy. He wants so much so that for him was the same.
So opens the door, greets him with a broad smile on his lips. Struggles to stay, although we try in every way to restrain himself, biting his lower lip with his front teeth.
- Hey! - Exclaimed, unable to seriously to make something meaningful to say goodbye. The
only lets you close the door before fell on him, throwing her arms around his neck. She kisses him quickly on the cheek, pausing for a moment close to him to relish its smell. Smells like a soap that is not in Spain, a variant of Marseille dare, but in the end is not that the figures that much. He prefers the feeling of being intoxicated that transmits breathe.
With another kiss to his lips trying to deepen the contact, squints the floor, looking for his language. He feels his hands clawing at his sides, and with a push their bodies to join. It should be the prelude to a night unleashed under the sheets. And to be honest David has not even contemplated the idea of having a peaceful interlude of conversation before sex, why is not Adam's and a mad desire to get caught up and devour it with kisses.
The last thing he expects is to try to drag him to bed and could not get it. Yet those feet firmly on the mat does not leave room for other interpretations.
- Adam? -
- I thought you were right here in Manchester. - All of a sudden he bursts out, the mind searches grim air. David portrays himself burned, does not know what to say. Do you feel attacked.
- Of course I like it here, how can you think that ...? - Mutters, as long as the murderess of Adam does not look quiet.
- Yes, certainly. Almost equal to what you have told the media. - David
raises an eyebrow taking a clear expression of doubt - Excuse me? -, Question in a mixture of the curious and annoyed.
- Want me to mention it? -
- I have no idea what you're talking about. - Adam
pushes him angry. - David, at least not fool me! Do you miss Spain and fucking understand it, but at least have the balls to tell me everything! - David
pales, though would like to respond instinctively to push dealt a punch on the nose. But then he reflects, and changes his mind. Grabs him by the collar of his jacket, drawing it to himself.
pants, while he holds his breath. Search his eyes, his look to tie it craves to own and not to release more.
- I never said anything like that. I miss my home, but here I'm fine. - Adam
departs his head, tries to escape.
- David, I'm not stupid. What the fuck has happened in Italy with David Villa? - David
is strange for a moment. A devastating silence falls upon them. It is as if Adam had torn a veil of impenetrable mystery, because until then nobody had ever dared to do that name. David Villa has always been a constant presence among them and unspeakable, a kind of ghost that has come to be an ominous shadow on their balance.
So David hesitates, but not to meditate so long to deny the sincerity of an impulsive act. Clings to Adam and attacks him, covering him with kisses mild and transient. It's a fine frenzy that burns on the skin, a need that is spasmodic blushing cheeks.
- David Villa ... who? - The nasty blows to the ear, sliding his hands along the lower belly, drawing invisible circles intense, just a few inches below the navel.
- Are you jealous? - Asked with a mocking tone, slyly stroking an erection just hidden by the tight jeans.
Adam laughs loudly, almost calmed and reassured by the reaction of the partner.
- To Die For! - Replication, pushed to the couch. He forced him to sink in between the cushions studied disorder, place on top of him astride.
- To Die For. - Stresses, helping him take off his shirt between bites and other mischievous.
And in the end it takes no time to lose control and find themselves entangled in devastating and perfect harmony of complicity.
- I want you. - David's whispered, his voice rough as velvet, and holds him, holding her legs up to the dock.
Adam is left to want and enjoy. It is left scratching its nails and ensnare those unconnected sentences spoken in English. Them to him always whispers, before reaching orgasm.
would like to say once and for all who do not understand, that we would scare. And he knows, however, is only an excuse, because those words remind him that the post of David is not Manchester, that everything could end up one day and that after all this could happen at any moment.
Yet that sense of insecurity is to take ecstasy.
Nd princess21ssj : the bb can not write, you understand. You can not point!
But I hope not to have disgusted. Know that it was not betata, so ...
\u0026lt;3
PS: I know that he used words very contradictory. Well, I thought that might give a better idea.
PS 2: The original ending was different, but because it seemed far too cloying, I took it and deleted everything.
PS 3: Actually, I need to create a collection for the AJ / David but have not yet decided how to name it after that XD "Sky Blues Tales."
Title: "shakiness"
Author: princess21ssj
Beta: anyone, I have written to the blackberry ç_ç
Fandom: Manchester City FC
Characters: David Silva, Adam Johnson,
Rating: VM 16 (but hints, etc.)
Word Count: about 1000
Disclaimer: is all fake, the characters do not belong to me and so on.
Introduction: - I thought you were right here in Manchester. -
Notes: I've said that I have written to the bb? Well, my laptop died. Goodbye world.
When a knock, David jumps standing.
- Arrival! - Responds. Crease the cushions, the sofa disorderly, create the minimum of physiological confusion men needed to give the impression that it did not quite past the time to walk back and forth to the living room of his apartment in spasmodic awaiting the arrival of Adam. Considers it sufficient to just sling it at the door. Takes a deep breath of encouragement and eventually, with studied slowness, lower the handle.
E 'nervous and not be their first meeting. Their pseudo-relationship continues for a couple of months on the exact track of pure and simple disengagement. This does not imply that it is easy lead. It's not exactly like having a girlfriend to have it with a teammate. Furthermore, since Adam has run victim moments of intimacy are sparse, because excuse continuous visits and outings together becomes all too complicated, without the excuse of a beer at the pub after training.
David is nervous and extremely excited to spend the evening with him. It 'was the first person he thought, coming back from the friendly with Italy. He wants so much so that for him was the same.
So opens the door, greets him with a broad smile on his lips. Struggles to stay, although we try in every way to restrain himself, biting his lower lip with his front teeth.
- Hey! - Exclaimed, unable to seriously to make something meaningful to say goodbye. The
only lets you close the door before fell on him, throwing her arms around his neck. She kisses him quickly on the cheek, pausing for a moment close to him to relish its smell. Smells like a soap that is not in Spain, a variant of Marseille dare, but in the end is not that the figures that much. He prefers the feeling of being intoxicated that transmits breathe.
With another kiss to his lips trying to deepen the contact, squints the floor, looking for his language. He feels his hands clawing at his sides, and with a push their bodies to join. It should be the prelude to a night unleashed under the sheets. And to be honest David has not even contemplated the idea of having a peaceful interlude of conversation before sex, why is not Adam's and a mad desire to get caught up and devour it with kisses.
The last thing he expects is to try to drag him to bed and could not get it. Yet those feet firmly on the mat does not leave room for other interpretations.
- Adam? -
- I thought you were right here in Manchester. - All of a sudden he bursts out, the mind searches grim air. David portrays himself burned, does not know what to say. Do you feel attacked.
- Of course I like it here, how can you think that ...? - Mutters, as long as the murderess of Adam does not look quiet.
- Yes, certainly. Almost equal to what you have told the media. - David
raises an eyebrow taking a clear expression of doubt - Excuse me? -, Question in a mixture of the curious and annoyed.
- Want me to mention it? -
- I have no idea what you're talking about. - Adam
pushes him angry. - David, at least not fool me! Do you miss Spain and fucking understand it, but at least have the balls to tell me everything! - David
pales, though would like to respond instinctively to push dealt a punch on the nose. But then he reflects, and changes his mind. Grabs him by the collar of his jacket, drawing it to himself.
pants, while he holds his breath. Search his eyes, his look to tie it craves to own and not to release more.
- I never said anything like that. I miss my home, but here I'm fine. - Adam
departs his head, tries to escape.
- David, I'm not stupid. What the fuck has happened in Italy with David Villa? - David
is strange for a moment. A devastating silence falls upon them. It is as if Adam had torn a veil of impenetrable mystery, because until then nobody had ever dared to do that name. David Villa has always been a constant presence among them and unspeakable, a kind of ghost that has come to be an ominous shadow on their balance.
So David hesitates, but not to meditate so long to deny the sincerity of an impulsive act. Clings to Adam and attacks him, covering him with kisses mild and transient. It's a fine frenzy that burns on the skin, a need that is spasmodic blushing cheeks.
- David Villa ... who? - The nasty blows to the ear, sliding his hands along the lower belly, drawing invisible circles intense, just a few inches below the navel.
- Are you jealous? - Asked with a mocking tone, slyly stroking an erection just hidden by the tight jeans.
Adam laughs loudly, almost calmed and reassured by the reaction of the partner.
- To Die For! - Replication, pushed to the couch. He forced him to sink in between the cushions studied disorder, place on top of him astride.
- To Die For. - Stresses, helping him take off his shirt between bites and other mischievous.
And in the end it takes no time to lose control and find themselves entangled in devastating and perfect harmony of complicity.
- I want you. - David's whispered, his voice rough as velvet, and holds him, holding her legs up to the dock.
Adam is left to want and enjoy. It is left scratching its nails and ensnare those unconnected sentences spoken in English. Them to him always whispers, before reaching orgasm.
would like to say once and for all who do not understand, that we would scare. And he knows, however, is only an excuse, because those words remind him that the post of David is not Manchester, that everything could end up one day and that after all this could happen at any moment.
Yet that sense of insecurity is to take ecstasy.
Nd princess21ssj : the bb can not write, you understand. You can not point!
But I hope not to have disgusted. Know that it was not betata, so ...
\u0026lt;3
PS: I know that he used words very contradictory. Well, I thought that might give a better idea.
PS 2: The original ending was different, but because it seemed far too cloying, I took it and deleted everything.
PS 3: Actually, I need to create a collection for the AJ / David
What Should I Tip For Brazilian Wax
Fic: Be Careful How The Small Things Grow
Title: Be Careful How The Small Things Grow
Author: lisachanoando ( Lizon )
Beta: el_defe
Chapter: 1 / 1.
Summary: " This I can not promise. "
Fandom: RP: Football
Characters / Pairing: José Mourinho / Zlatan Ibrahimovic. Jobra.
Genres: Introspective, Romance.
Rating: R.
Warnings: Slash, Angst.
Wordcount: 1017
Notes: First of all, this short shot was written on February 25. I want to say because my computer these days has been a disaster and did not allow me to post almost anything, but this story should have been posted to that date, to "celebrate" the two years of composting God, And After God, Me . Not to celebrate in the fic itself, of course, but because so of the blue gave way to a great thing that continues to grow and moves me every time I think.
the remainder of the fic is inspired by the recent interview that Zlatan was released especially for speaking ill of his former coach at Barcelona and launch random declarations of love to the man who, however, the coach of Inter. Over the past two years Zlatan has changed teams, and even Jose is gone, and Inter in 2008 that, in many ways, was the interaction more "my" of all, he was never much, but one thing has not never changed: the shipping Jobra = P
Be Careful HOW THE SMALL THINGS GROW
Lying on the bed beside him, raised elbows, Zlatan looks like a precious object. Do not you dare touch it, but Jose feels - he feels the way it's burning me to the dark eyes and small - he would.
- not disappear, you know? - Thrown there with a half smile - I'm not a dream. Zlatan
nods, but it seems I need a little 'time to take effect into account.
- This thing ... - and then says, vaguely, - ... it was amazing. José
raises an eyebrow, the smile turns into a smug grin.
- Be '... - starts, but Zlatan interrupts him immediately with a puff annoyed.
- I speak not only of sex. - He says, - in general - explains, the facial features that are stretched in an expression thoughtful and a bit 'angry, terribly funny - I feel a sense of power ... - murmured, looking at his hands, - is extraordinary.
- Power? - José asks, doubtfully, - You have no power over me, gypsy.
Zlatan, and turns to look in his eyes there is no hint of offense. Only such awareness.
- I'm talking about what I could do myself. - Responds. Is watching him, but in a way his eyes seem to lose much more than him, far beyond them, towards goals that until then had not even ever thought you can call by their names, they seemed so distant and unapproachable. - I'm talking about what you could do me in one word. - Continued in a hoarse whisper, coming soon. Still not touch it, but this time, when his eyes stare into those of José José knows that he is looking right at him. - I would kill for you. José
raises a hand, letting it slide along the lines on her face. Viewed up close, Zlatan is even more awkward than it sounds at a normal distance. There is such a disproportion between the general rudeness expressed by her eyes are too close, his face too long, too high cheekbones and her nose, for God, that nose so exaggerated, so blatantly obvious and the perfection of every single muscle in his body from the chest to the thighs or arms in the back, the only think that Jose feels like to burn under the skin. Zlatan is the most imperfect creature I've ever seen, and this makes it even more perfect than ever. For him. To be his.
- I ask you only to win the Champions League. - Says softly, reaching to just kiss on the lips. Zlatan
falters, however, the light in his eyes, trembling violently, like a flame against the wind, and this should be an early sign, something that suggests to be wary. But Jose is not formal. If the light dance in the eyes of Zlatan, I think, just because the penumbra, the pleasure is still waning, and obscures the meaning. Anything, but not fear.
- This I can not promise. - Responds with a half smile. José smiles in turn, suddenly looks like a child's Zlatan, much, much smaller than it is and much, much smaller than the've ever seen. At the time, it is tender. I can not think that should fear it.
* Almost a year later, they find themselves on the same bed in the room José Pinetina. The Champions League has never arrived, but Jose is not angry, frustrated and is not intimidated. Topics victories rather than defeats. Losses inflamed hearts, fill them with desire for revenge, make your eyes sparkle. The victories, especially when they are numerous, sap your body and spirit, satiate the desire that burns. Jose has always run away from winning teams. Would not have to do with Inter Milan. Zlatan
not look at it. It is close to his side, his face hidden in the crook of his neck. Her body is so great that covers more than half of José. Their legs are intertwined so closely as to make almost hurt, but it is a pain for which José feel discomfort. No, the pain does not scare José. Not that the physical evidence of the presence of Zlatan, and if this could serve to restrain the his side forever, would be willing to endure until death. Zlatan
still panting, her body shaken by tremors of orgasm. Subsides slowly, and as it tightens the calming force with more and more, as he was concerned the possible to be able to let go. José smiles a tiny smile, thinking that only a year before did not dare to touch it for fear of losing it. Now, however, is that same fear to force him to touch it as much as possible.
suddenly heard him sobbing, and raises a hand lazily stroking her hair.
- Do not tell me you're crying. - Teases him.
- No. - Zlatan answers, and his voice in fact not be shaken, - It only does harm. José
looks down to try to catch her, but her face is still hidden by Zlatan against his skin.
- Are you stupid. - Mumbles - You're doing everything himself. Zlatan
granting a bitter laugh, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
- Yeah. - Grants, first to rise enough to be able to look in the face. José lets you make, as well as office accepts the caress of devotion that shortly after he let slip along the temple, cheek, chin, neck up, only to die on his chest. Zlatan is watching him, but is also looking beyond. Just like a year ago. - I would kill for you. - The repeated, dreamy. José knows that it is lying to him, but he also knows how little it's worth a whole truth of feelings in a situation like this, with feelings that have to do very little.
It strives to smile, kissing him slowly.
- I ask only to stay. - He says. But there is no expectation in his voice. And perhaps it is this awareness that brings all the features of the face of Zlatan to contract in a spasm of pain, when one notices.
This time when Zlatan replied that this can not promise, José smiling, hugging him, and knows what this phrase means.
Title: Be Careful How The Small Things Grow
Author: lisachanoando ( Lizon )
Beta: el_defe
Chapter: 1 / 1.
Summary: " This I can not promise. "
Fandom: RP: Football
Characters / Pairing: José Mourinho / Zlatan Ibrahimovic. Jobra.
Genres: Introspective, Romance.
Rating: R.
Warnings: Slash, Angst.
Wordcount: 1017
Notes: First of all, this short shot was written on February 25. I want to say because my computer these days has been a disaster and did not allow me to post almost anything, but this story should have been posted to that date, to "celebrate" the two years of composting God, And After God, Me . Not to celebrate in the fic itself, of course, but because so of the blue gave way to a great thing that continues to grow and moves me every time I think.
the remainder of the fic is inspired by the recent interview that Zlatan was released especially for speaking ill of his former coach at Barcelona and launch random declarations of love to the man who, however, the coach of Inter. Over the past two years Zlatan has changed teams, and even Jose is gone, and Inter in 2008 that, in many ways, was the interaction more "my" of all, he was never much, but one thing has not never changed: the shipping Jobra = P
Lying on the bed beside him, raised elbows, Zlatan looks like a precious object. Do not you dare touch it, but Jose feels - he feels the way it's burning me to the dark eyes and small - he would.
- not disappear, you know? - Thrown there with a half smile - I'm not a dream. Zlatan
nods, but it seems I need a little 'time to take effect into account.
- This thing ... - and then says, vaguely, - ... it was amazing. José
raises an eyebrow, the smile turns into a smug grin.
- Be '... - starts, but Zlatan interrupts him immediately with a puff annoyed.
- I speak not only of sex. - He says, - in general - explains, the facial features that are stretched in an expression thoughtful and a bit 'angry, terribly funny - I feel a sense of power ... - murmured, looking at his hands, - is extraordinary.
- Power? - José asks, doubtfully, - You have no power over me, gypsy.
Zlatan, and turns to look in his eyes there is no hint of offense. Only such awareness.
- I'm talking about what I could do myself. - Responds. Is watching him, but in a way his eyes seem to lose much more than him, far beyond them, towards goals that until then had not even ever thought you can call by their names, they seemed so distant and unapproachable. - I'm talking about what you could do me in one word. - Continued in a hoarse whisper, coming soon. Still not touch it, but this time, when his eyes stare into those of José José knows that he is looking right at him. - I would kill for you. José
raises a hand, letting it slide along the lines on her face. Viewed up close, Zlatan is even more awkward than it sounds at a normal distance. There is such a disproportion between the general rudeness expressed by her eyes are too close, his face too long, too high cheekbones and her nose, for God, that nose so exaggerated, so blatantly obvious and the perfection of every single muscle in his body from the chest to the thighs or arms in the back, the only think that Jose feels like to burn under the skin. Zlatan is the most imperfect creature I've ever seen, and this makes it even more perfect than ever. For him. To be his.
- I ask you only to win the Champions League. - Says softly, reaching to just kiss on the lips. Zlatan
falters, however, the light in his eyes, trembling violently, like a flame against the wind, and this should be an early sign, something that suggests to be wary. But Jose is not formal. If the light dance in the eyes of Zlatan, I think, just because the penumbra, the pleasure is still waning, and obscures the meaning. Anything, but not fear.
- This I can not promise. - Responds with a half smile. José smiles in turn, suddenly looks like a child's Zlatan, much, much smaller than it is and much, much smaller than the've ever seen. At the time, it is tender. I can not think that should fear it.
not look at it. It is close to his side, his face hidden in the crook of his neck. Her body is so great that covers more than half of José. Their legs are intertwined so closely as to make almost hurt, but it is a pain for which José feel discomfort. No, the pain does not scare José. Not that the physical evidence of the presence of Zlatan, and if this could serve to restrain the his side forever, would be willing to endure until death. Zlatan
still panting, her body shaken by tremors of orgasm. Subsides slowly, and as it tightens the calming force with more and more, as he was concerned the possible to be able to let go. José smiles a tiny smile, thinking that only a year before did not dare to touch it for fear of losing it. Now, however, is that same fear to force him to touch it as much as possible.
suddenly heard him sobbing, and raises a hand lazily stroking her hair.
- Do not tell me you're crying. - Teases him.
- No. - Zlatan answers, and his voice in fact not be shaken, - It only does harm. José
looks down to try to catch her, but her face is still hidden by Zlatan against his skin.
- Are you stupid. - Mumbles - You're doing everything himself. Zlatan
granting a bitter laugh, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
- Yeah. - Grants, first to rise enough to be able to look in the face. José lets you make, as well as office accepts the caress of devotion that shortly after he let slip along the temple, cheek, chin, neck up, only to die on his chest. Zlatan is watching him, but is also looking beyond. Just like a year ago. - I would kill for you. - The repeated, dreamy. José knows that it is lying to him, but he also knows how little it's worth a whole truth of feelings in a situation like this, with feelings that have to do very little.
It strives to smile, kissing him slowly.
- I ask only to stay. - He says. But there is no expectation in his voice. And perhaps it is this awareness that brings all the features of the face of Zlatan to contract in a spasm of pain, when one notices.
This time when Zlatan replied that this can not promise, José smiling, hugging him, and knows what this phrase means.
Dresden Figurines Valuation
Only a smile chap 1
After a while '... I am back in the Pastry! ^ _-Hello to tuttiiiiii !!!!!
post the first of a very brief Capitoline ficcina AKAM! For joy and Silvia, I argue that this couple! A big kiss, girls!
Happy reading!
Title: Just a smile
Chapter: 1 (of 3)
Author: Eos_92
Group / Artist : KAT-TUN, Jin Akanishi
couples : Akanishi / Kamenashi
Genre: agnst
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: yaoi
Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me.
Chapter 1
After a while '... I am back in the Pastry! ^ _-Hello to tuttiiiiii !!!!!
post the first of a very brief Capitoline ficcina AKAM! For joy and Silvia, I argue that this couple! A big kiss, girls!
Happy reading!
Title: Just a smile
Chapter: 1 (of 3)
Author: Eos_92
Group / Artist : KAT-TUN, Jin Akanishi
couples : Akanishi / Kamenashi
Genre: agnst
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: yaoi
Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me.
Chapter 1
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