เฑจเง ๐ฝ๐๐๐ช๐ฉ๐๐๐ช๐ก ๐๐ค๐ข๐๐ฃ..
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๐๐ช๐ข๐ข๐๐ง๐ฎ - Islam and the others decided to travel to Greece for a friend's wedding. His friend, Alexander, mentioned the tradition, Tsifteteli. The traditional dance in Greek weddings or festivals. It included belly dancing, so he had to brace the Muslim men to see women in Bedlah.
๐๐ค๐ง๐๐จ - idk alot
๐๐ค๐๐๐๐ช๐ก๐๐ง๐ฎ - Bedlah - the iconic, two - or three-piece costume worn in traditional Middle Eastern and Egyptian cabaret belly dance.
Tsifteteli - an improvisational rhythm and belly dance native to Anatolia and the Balkans, particularly popular in Greece.
๐๐๐ง๐ฃ๐๐ฃ๐ - sexual things. Dry humping. Little religious guilt
๐ผ / ๐ - I was writing this as i was going to get my new phone, so the ending is a little rushed! Sorry. Also, Islam is a little submissive in here. He is a little based like frei malthus sorta.
Seven hours. Seven hours of a grueling flight.
Islam was fucking exhausted. So fucking exhausted. More exhausted than training, and that was saying something.
Even though he was just sitting down, he felt like he trained until he passed out. His back hurt, even if his friend sent a private jet just for Islam, Khabib, Amru, and a few others. The seats were comfortable but not as comfortable as his bed back home.
Nonetheless, the jet finally landed in Athens. He sat up and cracked his back, the bones popping noise echoing in the silence. He let out a grunt as he stood up, stretching his legs and arms.
"That was a long flight.." Khabib finally spoke, grabbing his suitcase. Islam nodded once. Amru and Tagir were still in deep sleep, the sounds of soft snoring accompanied by a low volume russian show on an iPad.
"Alexander said that there will be people to take us to his home." Islam said, putting his headphones in his bag. He yawned, clearly still exhausted. The attendant opens the door to the outside, the warm wind immediately hitting the men. Amru and Tagirs eyes opened, letting out a grunt.
"Wake up. We're in Athens." Khabib said, gently shaking Amru's shoulder. Islam grabbed his backpack, then suitcase. He stuffed his phone in his pocket before stepping outside. It was bright today. He steps down the stairs, his shoes finally hitting the solid ground. He looked around, seeing a black limo waiting for the men. He squints his eyes in the sun and walks over to the vehicle.
A middle-aged man steps out and opens the door for him. Islam mutters a quick thank you in heavily accented Greek. He slides in, putting his stuff next to his legs. Soon after, Khabib and the others step into the limo, sitting wherever.
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They finally arrive at Alexander's home. It was massive, to say the least. It was a giant mansion, surrounded by beautiful plants. Alexander steps out the giant doors, greeting them with a giant grin.
"As-salamu alaykum." Khabib said as he climbed out the limo, walking towards the other man and pulling him into a hug.
"How was the flight?" Alexander asks, his accent thick as he speaks. "Exhausting. What do you call it..uh..jet lag!" Khabib exclaimed with a chuckle. Alexander began to lead the other men inside, showing them around. When it finally reached where Islam was staying, Alexander warned him.
"My sisters room is next door. The walls are sort of thin, so dont be too loud. She gets very irritated fast." Alexander said in a hushed tone, as if his sister could hear. Soon enough, Islam was unpacking his stuff into the closet. He was going to be in greece for a few weeks, so he had to pack more than usual. He laid on the fluffy bed, relaxing into the mattress. He fell asleep quickly due to how exhausted he was.
The next morning was quiet. He was one of the first to wake...other then Alexander's sister. You.
Islam stepped out his room in sweatpants and a white tee. He stretched as he looked around. He caught a glimpse of you as you headed downstairs to do whatever. Even if it was just your back, his breath caught. He sighed before joining you downstairs, hopefully to at least meet you, but you were already out the house.
Later that day, Alexander invited the men to join the wedding planning. Alexander was marrying into a family, a rich one at that.. so everything had to be perfect. They were at a wedding venue, everything almost set up despite a few other things. The wedding was in two days, so they had little time to spare.
"I want that over there." A feminine voice rang out as the men stepped in. "No! Those are the wrong flowers! Who said to get Strawflowers!? I am the one planning the wedding for my sister-in-law. Not my brother!" The voice snapped. Islam, Khabib, and the others looked slightly startled by the yell, but Alexander looked completely fine.
"Y/n, calm down." He called out to you. You just turned around and gave him the nastiest look known to humanity.
"I had to stop my practice for this bullshit, ilรญthios." You snarled out as you approached him. You began to spew insults in Greek at him. Alexander just stood there as the other men watched. "And you brought random men!?" You said loudly, glaring at Alexander while gesturing to Islam and the others. While Khabib, Tagir, and Amru looked confused, Islam looked mesmerized. Like he was in a trance.
You were beautiful, beautiful enough to capture Islam's attention. He just awkwardly stood there as his eyes studied every part of you. Your voice was beautiful, music to his ears. Even if you were spewing out insults and curses in a language he knew little about.
"What are you looking at? Like a fish out of water." You said sharply, glaring at Islam. Islam immediately got pulled out of the trance, muttering an embarrassed 'sorry'. You just rolled your eyes before you turned back to yell at the people moving the stuff.
See.. Islam disliked women who were timid, unlike Khabib, whose wife was timid and shy. Islam preferred women who were more loud, who weren't afraid to raise their voice. Like you. It's been a while since he's seen a woman like you.
"Make yourselves useful and move stuff around. Alexander, watch them. I need to go practice." You said sharply as you pick up your jacket and car keys.
Islams eyes followed your figure out, watching silently. Amru elbowed him in the side, breaking his trance. "Focus." Amru murmured before going to help.
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Soon enough, the day came. It was seven o'clock, and the wedding was just starting to be filled up by family members and friends. The whole place was beautiful. Islam was sitting down at a table, silently drinking water. Khabib and the others mingled with the crowd, introducing themselves. Islams eyes searched everywhere for you, but to no surprise, he couldn't find you.
Soon after, Alexander and his wife were officially married. People began to clear out the dance floor, people sitting at tables or at the food table. Islam was confused, wondering why people were filtering out before the lights began to die down.
'To Kokkino Foustani' by Eleftheria Arvanitaki began to play. Multiple women in Bedlah began to fill out to the floor, getting in position. Then.. you came out. You stood write in the middle. You looked ethereal. The soft light highlighting the jewelry that dangled from your black top. Multicolored waist beads hung from your tanned waist. Your bottom completely black other than the white threads keeping the fabric together. You and the other women began to move their hips in time with the beats to the song, the dance sharp but also flowy.
You stood still, though, clearly waiting for your cue. Islams eyes stayed on you, completely in a trance. Soon enough, your body began to move, your hips moving in time with the beats of the song. The jewelry hanging from your top and bottom, making a soft jingling noise. You locked your eyes onto his, and he immediately looked away. Despite being a ufc champion, he easily got flustered. His heart racing in his chest.
"Little crush?" Khabib murmured in Islam's ear with a cheeky grin. Islam immediately shot up with an embarrassed look on his face. Islam looked back to you, and you were still dancing.
Fuck. You looked beautiful.
Like an angel. He'd never seen anything like it. Not like the usual women back in his home country. Soon enough, the dance was finished, and the other dancers dispersed into the crowd. You walked towards your brother and his wife. You were joyus as Islam watched you, completely in love, even if he didn't know you.
"Sister.. someone is staring at you." Your brother murmured with a grin, gesturing towards the lovestricken Islam a few feet away. "He probably likes you. Go talk to him." Your brothers wife said softly. You nodded before strutting over to Islam, his eyes locking with yours. He swallowed, sweat slightly beading on his forehead.
"U-uh... Hi?" He stuttered out, looking like a nervous fish out of water. You chuckled, finding him cute. "My name is Y/n. You must be the infamous Islam Makhachev?" You said softly, your Greek accent thick. "You know me?... fuck, you know me.." He murmured beneath his breath, before looking back at you and nodding. His eyes glance down at your cleavage, immediately looking away in embarrassment.
"You got a wife, pretty boy?" You murmured softly as you sat next to him, crossing your legs. "No." Islam stated as he stared down to the ground. "No kids?" You murmured again, your fingers twitching as if you wanted to reach out. Your eyes studied his face silently, like you wanted to trace your fingers over his scars. Over his bordered lips. "Look at me." You said softly, yet firmly. His eyes immediately shot up, eyes staring into yours.
Despite being a UFC world champion, he was so fucking nervous around women like you. Beautiful. Smart. Tagir and Amru sensed the tension, snickering as they left Islam alone with you. Islam looked panicked. He didn't know what to do.
"Was my performance good?" You asked innocently, almost like you knew what you were doing to him. He nodded shakily. His palms felt sweaty. He hated that feeling. He felt a shiver run down his spine as your finger traced circuls into the back of his hand.
He knew this was wrong. Two completely different religions. He's Muslim. He should control himself more..but around you...he couldn't help but feel free. He reluctantly pulled his hand away, swallowing. His Adam's apple bobbed gently. You smirk slightly, knowing he's going to be a challenge.
"Fair enough." You whispered out, your breath hot against his skin. You stood up, but not before leaving a small peck on his cheek. Your lipstick left there. He sat frozen, and Khabib, Tagir, and Amru watched with a small smirk on their faces but surprise in their eyes. You strutted off to the other dancers, and Islam just watched in shock.
"Did she just kiss your cheek?" Khabib asked in low Russian, staring at him. All Islam could do was nod weakly.
Later that night, Islam was lying restlessly in bed. He couldn't get you off his mind, and he hated that. He already prayed hundreds of times. Why can't he get the sinful woman out of his mind? He sat up, reaching over to grab the Quran he packed, but his hand stopped halfway. He heard your door open, so he listened silently. He heard your footsteps go downstairs, and Islam couldn't help but stand up. He quietly opened his door and stepped out. His covered foot hitting the hardwood floor.
He steps one food at a time down the stairs, swallowing at each creak it made. He finally reached the bottom and snuck over to the kitchen, silently looking for you. He saw you at the counter, making a sandwich. You wore baggy sweats with a hoodie, contrast to the outfit that revealed your skin earlier today.
"Do you need something?" You asked quietly as you spread the sauce on the bread, focused. "N-no!" Islam quickly said, panicked at being caught. "Y'know, you're not very quiet." You chuckled out as you turned around, biting into the simple sandwich. "Really? I thought I was being quiet." He said out softly in a joking tone, his Russian accent thick.
You just chuckled, shaking your head softly. "Why'd you follow me down?" You asked softly as you finished your sandwich quickly. Staring at him with those eyes of yours. He swallowed nervously, his throat now suddenly dry. "I-I...do..Do not know. I just did." He answered honestly,
You step towards him once, then twice. Until you're right in front of him. He was about 4 inches taller than you, so you had to look up at him slightly. The moment felt tense. Like the air was choking not just you but also him. Finally, you caved in and leaned in, pressing your lips against his. He felt stiff for a second before his shaky, big hands held your waist, pulling you against him. Your hands held the back of his neck as your tongue slid against his in a desperate dance. You let out a small whimper as Islam's hands gripped you tighter, like he was scared it was just a dream.
You push him against the wall softly, and he lets out a gentle groan. You swallowed the noise in the kiss, finally breaking it. Your breath was fast and heavily, like Islams. You rest your forehead against his, eyes staring into his. ".. Can I kiss you again?" You asked quietly, and Islam just leaned in, kissing you with more intensity. He held the back of your neck as his tongue slid against yours again. He kissed you like it was the best thing to him, and in that moment? It was. His other hand began to grasp at anything. His hand met the ending of your hoodie, pulling away, silently asking to take it off. His eyes were soft, low. He was begging.
You nodded shakily, and Islam practically ripped it off you. You were wearing nothing but a sports bra beneath it. He swallowed sharply before he leaned in and kissed your neck, gently nipping. You let out a gentle moan. He was worshipping your body like it was the most divine thing on earth. Whispering soft begs and praises into your soft skin.
Soft whines into your skin, like he was yearning just to feel you. He left small hickies on your neck and collarbone, like he was starving. He slid one hand to cup your ass, the other to keep you against him. He began to helplessly grind his hard-on against you.
"Please, Malyshka... I need you.." He whined out into your ear, his rough stubble rubbing against your soft skin. He began to thrust, effectively dry humping you. It was making you unbearably wet. "Fuck... Malyshka..I'm close..." He whimpered against your skin, like a whiney puppy. Despite being a grown man, he was extremely inexperienced in sex, so he could cum easily. His thrust began to grow erratic. You were about to cum too, just at the sight of him. Teary-eyed, slightly messed up hair, whining. You loved the sight.
When he finally came, he let out a whiney groan into your shoulder, his cock shooting out stripes of semen into his boxers, soaking the spot. He pants harshly against your skin, chest heaving like he just ran a marathon.
"Y/n.." He murmured softly, wrapping his arms around you like he would die if you weren't close to him. You just led the sensitive Islam to the bathroom to clean him up, wiping away the cum off his skin. You put the dirty clothes into the laundry and started a warm bath for him. He soon climbed into it and gave you those pleading eyes. Like begging you to join him. You sighed before stripping, climbing into the bath with him. The water splashed around the two bodies.
You rested your head against his chest, and he just held you close like if he let you go, you would disappear.
