#cycle pants

[lethality-of-dual-strike]

woah it’s Dale Dimmadome, son of Doug Dimmadome, owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome

[gender-trash]

everyone cheer for me i booked flights + hotel for my stupid goddamn las vegas trip AND i successfully navigated the shitty treasurydirect website to sell my stupid i-bonds AND. FINALLY. i ordered some new jeans, because all of my existing jeans are either falling apart or don't fit

you see. if you buy a batch of jeans all at the same time (due to gender transition, perhaps) then they all start to wear out at approximately the same time, too. and if you buy men's jeans and get them taken in at the waist, and then you go on testosterone and as advertised it Sure Does Redistribute That Body Fat, lo and behold you wind up with a more male-typical waist:hip ratio and they don't fit at the goddamn waist anymore. and i do love a good sewing project, but to be perfectly honest with you the timescale on which i can unfuck all of my jeans via loving alteration on an antique treadle machine, hand-darning, etc., and the timescale on which i need to have, like, usable pants, are not very well aligned!

[wouteke]

🤨 who took jasper's cycling pants

[thearunadragon]

sketch :)

@modern-inheritance

[halcyyan]

cleaning this idiot up giving me grey hairs

[mantarain]

late halloween post, you know they argued extensively about which one got to be gansey

[rogloptimist]

watched a little too much 25 21 this week and @mundanememory’s matteo/jonas got me badddddd

The closet smells like dust and Lysol. It clashes against the gentle bergamot and wood of Jonas’s cologne, Matteo’s favorite of his small set.

“You haven’t worn this one in a while,” He whispers, his voice reflecting in hot breath against Jonas’s cheek. “It’s nice.”

“Mm,” The other man acknowledges. He pulls Matteo in by the waist, further response neglected. Matteo, as usual, let’s him take the lead. Jonas kisses unhurried, moving as if down a familiar road. Soft, casual. Matteo has to be careful to not seem clumsy in comparison– against Jonas’s steady, contained calm it’s hard not to feel gangly, limbs and want spilling out of him like he’s overflowing.

He’s making a conscious effort not to melt too much into the way Jonas drapes his arms around him, carefully monitoring the electricity sparking in his chest as the lovely warmth of the blond’s tongue darts into his mouth. It’s practically routine, but his face still flushes from the way his heart races as Jonas slides a hand up his sweater. Matteo runs hot– Jonas is chronically cold. He’s pictured holding his slender fingers in his own until they reach an equilibrium a frankly embarrassing number of times— an image he distracts himself from by trailing down Jonas’s neck in a tentative kisses, which really doesn’t do much to help. He has to remind himself that they do this in a custodial closet for a reason, sometimes. The ring that bites into his shoulder is a silent reprimand, coaxing him away from the more domestic of his fantasies.

He has to lean down a little for this, and he cups his hands around Jonas’s jaw as he licks softly at the delicate skin of the smaller man’s throat. They both know what comes next– Matteo undoes the metal clasp and zipper of Jonas’s navy blue dress pants in practiced motions and drops to his knees against the rough carpet.

“Wait,” Jonas interrupts, straying from their typical script of wordlessness. Matteo pauses, looks up. “I’m live soon.”

It’s not refusal so much as a warning. He dares a smile. “Okay, boss.”

He works quicker from there, wasting less time with his typical frivolities as he pulls down the elastic waistband of Jonas’s boxers. Jonas is halfway there, and it doesn’t take much work to get him fully hard as Matteo strokes him with a hand blushing at the knuckles. Jonas exhales sharp and long through his nose as Matteo takes him between his lips and begins his ritual. It’s a clandestine dance, both of them practiced at keeping pleasure quiet. Jonas has a hand thrown over his eyes, breathing controlled, steadily regulating the reactions of his body in a way that seems almost natural, thoughtless. It would make Matteo envious if room for such emotion wasn’t taken by reverence.

He works his tongue into the hot salt of Jonas’s dick heavy in his mouth, chasing after the way he bucks his hips forward in seeking for more– of which he is eager to give. His head buzzes with thrill as he hears Jonas’s breaths grow shakier in suppression of the more crude sounds behind his lips. The world shrinks down to just the two of them when they’re together. The rush in his veins is fueled solely by Jonas; his body, his pleasure, his praise. He could ride the high that he gets as Jonas fucks into his mouth and comes with an escaped moan for days. He waits a moment before swallowing and wiping his lips, entranced by the way Jonas’s golden curls fall back into place as he runs a hand through his hair.

Jonas zips up his dark pants. The simple gold of his wedding band flashes in the drifts of light that seep through the cracks in the door. Matteo brings his gaze away and back up to Jonas’s face.

Jonas looks Matteo up and down as he gets up from his place on the ground. “You wore the green tie,” he notes.

“Oh, yeah. People said it looked nice last Friday.” By people, he means Jonas. He was hoping he’d notice again, a little.

“It looks good with your hair,” Jonas says, which makes Matteo have to smother a grin. “Trine told me first. It’s her favorite color. She knows more about what goes with what than I do,” He laughs. 

“Oh,” Matteo smiles, a little forced. He remembers his own stilted words clashing against Jonas’s relaxed introductions between the three of them. He likes Trine, really.

“Ah, I’m on in a few minutes.” Jonas taps on his watch screen. “I’ll see you later, hm?”

“Right, yeah. Good luck live, eh, boss?” They both know he doesn’t need it, but Jonas smiles back anyways. He steps out casually, as if exiting any other meeting room. That evening, they’ll see each other at another team dinner and say nothing. Jonas, at least, is very good at pretending. All Matteo does is follow his lead.

[artemispt]

Thigh muscles 🫠

[rosegoldenatlas]

To all people that still have periods, I would like to remind you that if you ever have the evil thought that 'oh period was a tad shorter than usual that's odd' ITS LYING. ITS NOT OVER.

Don't believe its lies. Don't go thinking you have won the war when you have merely escaped the battle.

As soon as you turn your back you will be shot in it.

[cannibaltamau]

okay with the somno chat on the dash recently... anyone fancy 1.3k of rapidly written matteojonas after the 2024 tour?

“Thank you again for letting me stay with you, Matteo,” Jonas smiles, once he’s in bed. In Matteo’s bed, he has to remind himself. They’ve shared enough over the course of camps and the Tour, but this is completely different, seeing Jonas under the duvet covers he sleeps under, head on the pillows Matteo rests his head on.

Matteo chuckles. “Anything for you, boss,” he puts his hand up in mock salute, then climbs into bed next to Jonas. His apartment was a convenient alternative to finding a hotel in Nice after the final time trial – and if that meant they got to spend another night together without the pressure of racing the next morning? Well, Matteo wouldn’t be where he was if he was the type to turn down opportunities when they presented themselves to him.

“I mean it,” Jonas says, hand drifting to Matteo’s waist, “You’ve been so good all Tour. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

When they’re laying so close, beneath Matteo’s covers on Matteo’s bed, it’s hard for him to look anywhere than at Jonas’s mouth as he talks. This happens pretty often, Matteo thinks. One minute they’re chatting idly, sharing perhaps more than a captain should even to his most loyal domestique; the next Jonas has one hand in Matteo’s hair and one at his hip, guiding Matteo on top of him and bringing their lips together for a kiss that soon becomes heated.

Matteo gets light-headed with even the light touches, after weeks of falling into bed together almost mechanically, no time for anything beyond maximising rest and recovery. Jonas brings a hand to his jaw and teases Matteo’s mouth open, running his tongue over Matteo’s lower lip. Matteo moves his elbow to beside Jonas’s head, covering his captain’s smaller form almost completely, and as a side-effect bringing their hips together. He moans into Jonas’s mouth, desperate for anything he’ll give.

They continue like that, grinding dirtily against each other for a few minutes until Matteo snakes an arm down between them, fingers ghosting over the waistband of Jonas’s pajama bottoms. Jonas taps him on the shoulder. Matteo pulls back immediately. It comes naturally to him, to follow when Jonas leads.

He’s pink-cheeked and a little dazed, flush visible even in the dim light of Matteo’s bedroom. “I don’t – I don’t think I’m going to be good for much now, to be honest,” Jonas says, touch light against Matteo’s cheek. Matteo props himself up with a hand next to Jonas’s head, arm shaking slightly with the effort.

“Hey, hey, don’t say that – you were fuckin’ amazing this Tour, after the spring you’ve had, y’know, there was no more anyone –”

Jonas laughs loud and full-bodied, Matteo feeling his body move underneath him. “No, no – I mean now!” He nods down between them, “For sex. It’s just – I’m so tired. And usually I can’t get it up for a few days after a Grand Tour, I’m not much good in that… department until I’ve eaten a bit more.”

With that, Jonas chuckles weakly, letting his eyes drift closed and Matteo clamber off him. No one worked harder throughout the entire Tour – no, the entire year, no one in the peloton has had to overcome so much as Jonas has had to. Matteo’s at least been able to be at Jonas’s side through much of it, through the erosion and attrition that turned into outright bullying from Pogačar and the rest of his cronies.

And now Matteo can offer relief (if not release) in the form of a warm bed in Nice and the physical comfort of a familiar body. So many nights before have they fallen asleep like this, Jonas curled into his side or Matteo’s arms around him before they wake up separate and sticky with the summer night heat. Matteo brings one hand to Jonas’s hair, petting down the blonde that he’d messed up earlier.

A few minutes pass, Matteo hearing only their slow breaths and distant traffic outside. Then Jonas cracks one eye open, peers up at Matteo with his chin on Matteo’s chest, “You can still get yourself off, though,”

“What?”

Jonas shifts around on the bed so the tangle of their legs brings his thigh to between Matteo’s, pressed up against his crotch. “If you want. I don’t mind.” His expression is one of arousal still, even as he’s getting sleepier by the minute.

Matteo’s still half-hard from their earlier antics, and the pressure and friction is just the right side of too little to be deliciously teasing.

“You sure?”

Jonas presses his leg down slightly and Matteo’s hips twitch involuntarily at the contact.

“I’m sure,” Jonas hums, settling down against his chest again. Matteo stares at the ceiling, mind blank. If some of the longer bus transfers in the third week taught him anything it’s that Jonas was probably out like a light moments after he stopped talking.

“Okay– oh, fuck,” Matteo mutters, grinding slowly against Jonas’s thigh. His body hardly weighs anything against Matteo’s, worn down through a long July into the narrowest, strongest version of himself. The same thing’s happened to Matteo, if to a lesser extent. Every part of himself was given over in service, and now Jonas is giving him some kind of exchange.

It’s good – too good, almost, for what amounts to nothing more than cautious dry-humping through his pajama pants. Something about Jonas being so close to him, maybe, letting Matteo use his body for pleasure when so often their relationship is the other way around. Maybe it’s because he’s asleep, Matteo’s reminded of some shameful jerk-off sessions at their first training camp together. Jonas always looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping

“Please,” he whispers, not entirely sure what he’s asking for and surprising himself with how desperate his voice sounds. He repeats the word over and over, between whines and whimpers he’d be a little ashamed of if he was in any other situation, if he was with anyone else. But Jonas has already seen all of him, on the road and in the team-bus showers, in shared hotel rooms across what feels like most of France. Now Matteo’s getting to have Jonas to himself, unshielded and unguarded, completely vulnerable with only Matteo looking out for him. The thought makes his cock throb and his head feel fuzzy.

Matteo forces himself to be still, to look down at Jonas still half-draped across him. He’s properly asleep now, face completely relaxed and breathing slowly. There’s even a shine of drool pooling at the corner of his lip, threatening to drip onto Matteo’s shirt. He swipes his left thumb over Jona’s lower lip carefully then almost unthinkingly brings his hand to his own mouth, savouring even the smallest part of Jonas he can get. His other hand’s still between Jonas’s shoulderblades, and he shuffles slowly, delicately, to find a better angle without waking Jonas.

Sometime tomorrow, Jonas will leave. Either for the Swiss mountains or back home to Denmark, he’ll be gone again until December camp and Matteo will be busy with the national team and the road to Paris. For now, though, Matteo bites down on the edge of his palm to stop himself making some truly embarrassing noises as he ruts against Jonas’s thigh, pushing himself desperately against him until he comes with a groan.

Jonas still doesn’t wake, just shifts and sniffles as Matteo shudders and tries to steady his breathing. “Fuck. Next time – when you can, you get to do that, huh? While I’m asleep, maybe, however you want,” he whispers, even though Jonas can’t hear. Matteo pats his hair again, gently stroking behind Jonas’s ear

Sticky and vaguely uncomfortable in his pajamas but with a dumb grin on his face, Matteo drifts toward sleep himself. Thoughts of next July become dreams of next July, of letting Jonas use him again in the mountains or on the flat roads; any which way he wants Matteo, Jonas can have him.

[phantomqueen]

knowing im not gonna reread childhood & teenage fave books but not wanting to get rid of them either...but i could also use the space and i dont even reread them...

[wouteke]

x / x

[hackedmotionsensors]

dude as a big girl i already hated Torrid bc i don't want to wear a big ugly cheaply made blouse with an ugly floral or an ugly band logo. Or a big ugly dress that doesn't fit bc I'm also short. They're so over priced for actual garbage.

EXCEPT THEY HAD O N E thing that was really good. Their black leggings were great. Thick fabric. Lasted forever. Didn't pill on the thighs. Rarely ripped (for me at least). I had some of these leggings for YEARS and i exclusively wear leggings (sometimes shorts but not from torrid lol)

And they managed to fuck that up too. At some point they changed how they made them and the quality is so FUCKING bad. I replaced a pair (the ones with the holes and fishnets) bc my pair finally ripped on the butt but i had it for like 5 years. I also replaced a regular schmegular pair of black leggings. The site doesn't help when there's 12 different names for essentially the same product. But i wasn't even ordering ones with pockets lol and they came with pockets but the stitching is visible on the outside. Like I'm sorry to the poor sweatshop worker this is not your fault fast fashion is this crap and it was probably one of a billion you were making for pennies. I do not fault you at all. But i fucking fault Torrid bc if you're gonna give me shitty fucking leggings don't charge me THIRTY AMERICAN DOLLARS for this.

I'm gonna look elsewhere from now on buti hate trying to find good regular black leggings that don't roll or rip or pill. The pilling is the worst.

The LAST time i bought leggings from torrid i bought the premium ones and that has a huge rip on the eye bc i put my finger through it doing something as crazy as PUTTING THEM ON. And the waist kept sliding down.

THE ONE THING Torrid was good for was the leggings. So now they're good for absolutely nothing. If I'm gonna wear shitty leggings i can just go to target for fucks sake

[halcyyan]

strut wip

[altruistic-meme]

i may have procrastinated on my laundry for too long ;;;;

[nicomoon69]

this is me patiently waiting for the tropical storm to hit tomorrow bc i know my fyp will be filled w dutch ppl getting blown of their bicycles or slipping