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jynzandtonic · 4 years

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hello yes, I am feeling tender. *blows trompet* Would you be so kind do some Sunday morning snuggles/smooches/spooning/shagging *austin powers voice* Gimme some for all the boys you wrote for ;) ;) ;) love u fren x

Hehehehehe I got this down to under 1k BETTER LATE THAN NEVER! Darling, please enjoy these breakfast snaccs.

Ronnie likes to snuggle up close to you and kiss you awake, juuust enough. Both of you smiling, eyes half-closed, he shifts down your body, staying under the covers if it’s still chilly. He rests his head against one of your thighs while he softly sucks at your clit, the stubble on his face delightfully scratchy against your skin. Once you’ve cum a time or two or three, once he’s gently worked a finger then two and then three inside to stretch you—he can slip right in for the sweetest, laziest morning sex. And after that, because it’s Sunday and he always does… Ronnie makes you pancakes.

Clyde wakes up hard and thick almost every day, his length already tappin’ at your backside of its own accord before either of you are quite ready to shake the warm lull of sleep off. When you guide him into your heat, he hums and kisses the back of your neck, pumping gently and rubbin’ your clit. You drift back to sleep after you’ve both cum—full of him, full of his seed. You’ll both wake up when he’s hard inside you again.

You and Flip have a bit of a routine on Sunday mornings… none of which involves clothing. First, you wake up and have a lazy, sleepy fuck—your bodies both bed-warmed and heavy, the covers draped around you. Next comes coffee and the crossword. Flip lets you put on a robe long enough to grab the paper from the mailbox while he puts the kettle on, then it’s back to bed with your mugs and puzzle. When the two of you have finished, you fuck rough and hard—gotta get yourself dirty before you shower and work up an appetite for breakfast, right?

Phillip thinks it’s a terrible idea to wake up until he remembers he’s in bed with you, and then he’s all fuckin’ kinds of grabby and snuggly. An ass cheek, a titty, a wayward thigh—he gets his hands on whatever he can find with his eyes half-closed. When you’re lying on your stomach, he’ll roll right on top of you, pushing into your pussy in one swift, hot stroke; he knows you always wake up wet enough to take him.

Toby loves watching you sleep on his chest when he wakes up before you; he loves how soft your features are and how slow your breathing is. He loves it almost as much as when you blink your eyes open, kissing your way down his chest and teasing him with your tongue. The dappled morning light is so beautiful rippling over your body as you ride his cock—so unrehearsed, so sincere.

Sometimes, you wake Sackler up with his cock in your mouth. It’s hard to resist doing more often when you get drowsy feedback like “this is the best day of my entire fucking life,” but you still keep it as a special treat for slow mornings. You take your sweet, sweet time getting him hard—feeling him grow thick and long in your mouth as you suck and tongue so, so gently. By the time he wakes up, he’s throbbing, hips writhing under you.

Dan’s a big-spoon kinda guy; you always wake up with his arms wrapped around you, his long, lean body flush with yours. You twist onto your back so you can kiss his cheeks, his forehead, his plush lips—and he smiles before he even opens his eyes. It’s just so easy to drape your legs over his when he’s curled on his side like this, to grind your wet cunt against his hips until his grasp on your waist is bruising—oh, he can fuck into you so deep from this angle.

Sunday mornings with Charlie are a time you get to savor being slow together. His hands are in your hair, stroking your skin, marveling at your softness; his lips are on your temples, your cheekbones, your jawline. Just kissing. Touching. Feeling. It’s hard to tell where you stop and he begins with your leg hooked over his hip, not a wisp of space between your bodies. You share gasps when you cum, pressed forehead-to-forehead.

Many Sundays, you and Rick wake up in a double sleeping bag just outside of some National Park or wilderness preserve. He’s generally already got the little blue-enamel French press going, the smell of hot coffee wafting over to pluck you from your dreams by the time he’s snuck back in bed with you. You wake up with the light—sunrise colors seeping into the bright blue morning—but you’re not in a rush to get out of your sleeping bag while it’s still cold. Plus, you’ve got a few heat-generating activities lined up while the second pot of coffee brews.

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