How To Cancel A Visa Appointment

Blame it on the Coke

Title: Blame it on the Coke
Author: Stateira
Beta: Noneeeee (but koorime_yu gave a peek informal.
Fandom RPF Football - English National
Characters / Pairing: Iker Casillas / Carles Puyol (always question of Puyillas)
Rating: NC17
Warnings:
Disclaimer: I am not my . Carles belongs to Catalonia, and Iker belongs to Carles. I do not own a pug dog and imagination.
Notes: This stuff here is written for the p0rn fest of fanfic_italia . The prompt is evil "Madrid de mierda" ... Excuse me? ". Usually I hate to leave in the original language words or expressions of the characters, but in this case there was so outrageously good that I did. Do not hate me.



I really like the colors of Barcelona. In that city there is only one sun that gives life to every blade of grass, every house, every waste paper thrown on the street.
But they like this alone.
right, Barcelona in the summer is the summer than in any other part of the world, but given that Iker is not particularly fond of the seasons, Madrid continues to be much better.
just can not say it out loud. It can not, because it is very attached to his balls, and as promised everything for the better, a little later rather use them for their own and others' satisfaction, rather than see them fly out the window.
No, to be honest Barcelona was also something else that loves Iker. Very, very much, especially when it is almost the end of August, and the heat forced him to turn the house wearing a pair of claret shorts clinging to her hips in a very precarious.
- But they do not have cords, those pants? - Chuckles, pointing to the bottom of the bottle of iced Coca Cola in his hand. Carles
sits down with him and closes her eyes, as if he were very tired. - No. - whispers, dry place. His accent round, in all strokes, makes him smile slightly. - They had, but Quechua is eaten them. - Iker
frowns. Carles bay there, a vague smile does not leave understand if he is joking or serious. You bring the bottle to the face, sighs of relief and enjoy some thrills on the chest. Iker
also enjoys her chills sees them fall from the neck to the collarbone, and focus all around the nipples. A press him, earning him a sidelong glance full of interest.
- I find it difficult to resist, if I turn around such a short dress. - Admits, showing a lot of fun. - It is not fair on your part.
- Why should I be loyal to the captain of our most bitter rivals? -
- You're cruel. The World is over ten minutes, and you're already here and think about how to beat us first game useful, mh? -
At that moment, the eyes of Carles go out for a moment, as if he had come within a power failure.
- ... You are more cruel to me. - Mumbles. Iker hectic lives for a moment of horror in which he tries to think about how to remedy the shit he said. Carles with the grace of a delay certainly calculated.
- Hey, do not look like that. We're grown men, let it be. -
Iker's jumps on him for more relief for real desire to have sex, but the body is easily on his way to sweep away the heavy thoughts, cancerous. Carles is already excited to death: responding to kiss almost every bite. Iker
winks and caresses the bare back of generous portions that can be achieved. His ass is down there waiting for him, only two or three feet further down to where it is now, but the road along its spine is worth to be covered with the handbrake on.
Press the index higher on the vertebrae, and begins to descend along the column, and Carles arches and cries. Each step that exceeds your finger appears to be the last, and instead the end never comes, and Carles is now clinging to his life and growls if you can please make a move.
No problem.
Kick off your pants dry with a gesture, too strong: Carles want to enjoy it slowly emerges from under the boxer with the concentration it deserves a sunrise. Ends of strip him smiling to hide the emotion that tickles your stomach. The great thing about the abdomen of Carles is that there are square miles of leather to bite, and that while he does he is totally absorbed by the scratches of the teeth, and do not even notice by mistake if a hand slips elsewhere, retrieves the bottle of Coca resting on the floor and pulls up.

- Ah! - Cries suddenly, splashing around like a cat when the frosted glass strikes the side. - Ah, what the fuck, madrileño de mierda. -
- Please ...? - Carles
opens his eyes and sticks out a little 'lip cupped, as if he had prepared his apology on the tip of the teeth. Iker does not feel offended. It is so dazed and amused - amused to death, but really - from what Carles said, he can not move a muscle. Besides those the forehead, the eyebrows that you are driving behind the neck.
Carles, this time going to talk seriously, and Iker then feel doverglielo prevent at all costs. Grabs him, laughing heartily, but his grip is anything but soft.
- I have not heard, repeat what you said? -
- I ran, I did not say that-! -
- No no no, seriously, repeat! I can not believe you have really called me that! -

Now, now, are his legs Carles: opens them to him before he has time to react, galvanized by the obstinacy of pride Carles, for once.
His guilt for doing so apostrophised disappear in the short time it takes to Iker seppellerglisi in until the last centimeter.
A long sigh of adoration and perfect, all-encompassing enjoyment beats in the chest, smiling Iker doing that, well, what man in the world would not be so flattered and so primordial to express their sexual performance? Adora
exhausted for as long as possible, and this time especially if it really deserves. Madrid gave him the shit, stuff you would not believe.
stuff you would not believe, it's exciting as hell. God, he is to bite the face, neck, chest, everything, and show him who he deserves a little 'respect.
- my God, Iker! -
Later, later. That here someone is already learning the lesson.