[Original Fic]: Saturday Breakfasts and Sunday Lie-ins - T - 1/1
Sunday’s apartment was equipped with wooden floorboards and patterned tiles, both of which were icy against David’s bare feet. For the hundredth time since he’d woken up, David wondered why the fuck he’d been too lazy to scrounge around for his lost pants and shirt; being in only his boxers was not a wise idea at the moment, in December.
He heaved a sigh of exaggerated - but muffled, since he was trying to be quiet - relief when he finally stepped into Sunday’s bedroom, with its plush patch-quilt carpeting, and smiled at the white-blond locks poking out from under Sunday’s fuzzy blue sheets. The poor little guy - or, maybe he should say, lucky little guy - had cocooned himself in his blankets to avoid the morning chill.
Shifting the food-tray he held in his hands so that it was precariously balanced on one palm, he nudged the sleeping bump, arousing an adorable grumble from Sunday that sounded like an angry kitten with its tail stepped on.
“Wake up, Sun,” David said, grinning, and nudged his boyfriend again. “C’mon, babe, I’ve got a peace offering: I made you breakfast.”
A big, owlish golden eye stared up him; the other was still screwed shut determinedly. David lowered the tray to seeing level, pulling down the retractable legs within it and setting it front of Sunday, so that it rested on his covered chest.
“I made you breakfast,” David chirped again, in case Sunday, in his sleep-worn stupor, hadn’t heard him the first time.
Sunday heaved a sigh and sat up, careful not to upturn David’s gift. He eyed it, looked up at David and then his bedside clock, before returning his attention to his beaming, half-nude boyfriend, who was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited child…or a madman.
“You…woke me up at six in the morning to give me…a bowl of cereal?” Sunday didn’t mean to sound mocking. Really! It just sort of came out that way.
David stared at him unblinkingly. “I made you breakfast,” he said for the third time, slowly punctuating each word, as if there was a language barrier between them. “Now, be a good boy and eat it, or…”
“Or…?” Sunday pressed.
“Or I’ll spank you,” David replied with finality, taking a seat at the edge of Sunday’s bed and looking around for his errant pants. Where’d the little bastards go, he wondered?
Sunday gave up and commenced spooning the tiny chocolate bats up into his mouth, secretly pleased that David had picked up not only Lucky Charms, which the dark-haired man preferred, but Sunday’s favorite cereal, too. The next ten minutes passed in silence, with Sunday eating delicately while David watched him, not even fidgeting. It was weird; David liked to live a mile a minute, but watching Sunday eat was not so bad. He liked it, even - and now he sounded creepy, damn it! Finally, Sunday lifted the little porcelain bowl and drained it of milk, leaving a delicate white stash above his already pale upper-lip.
“Have you found your pants, then?” he asked teasingly, his golden eyes crinkling. David resisted the urge to kiss away the milk mustache and nodded, holding up his work slacks and starting to tug them on. “So why did you wake me up? Why make - or pour, I should say - me breakfast?” Sunday’s hands began to play with the frayed edges of his blanket, displaying detachment, but David could sense his curious urgency.
“C’mon.” The dark-haired man stood up and beckoned with his hand. When Sunday merely blinked, he pushed the tray, now laden with empty dishes, aside, and dragged Sunday up into an awkward sitting position. The platinum-blond glared at him, but before he could snap, David turned away, throwing a lingering look over his shoulder, his blue-green eyes bright with mischief. “And bring the blanket with you, will you, babe?” With that final order, he disappeared through the door, swiping a pair of Sunday’s fuzzy slippers - the blond had an unnatural amount of them, for a twenty-two year old man - as an afterthought.
Sunday sat, immensely confused, at his bed. “Huh,” he finally murmured, finding his own discarded clothes with relative ease, and draped the blanket over his shoulders like a king’s cape, trailing after his perplexing boyfriend.
He found David in his living room, sitting crossed-legged in front of his T.V. set, even though there was a perfectly good reclining couch behind him. Commercials were blaring from the seventy inch monster. Sunday hesitated for only a moment - it wasn’t exactly doctor-recommended, after all, to sit so close to a T.V. screen - before joining him.
David smiled sweetly and tugged part of Sunday’s blanket away from him, so that it covered them both, but not nearly so much that they couldn’t cuddle together if they wanted to. Sunday had to admit that it was kind of nice, even if he was beyond bewildered, and then the commercials ended.
“Pokemon, gotta catch ‘em all,” the catchy theme-song began. Sunday’s eyes widened, his half of the blankets drooping to expose the arm of his dragon pajamas, as Ash, Pikachu and their motley crew danced across the screen. “Um, what?” he stuttered, not even able to string together a proper sentence, as he tried to figure out whether David was pulling some sort of cruel joke.
David gave him a sideways glance. “Betty said you used to wake up every Saturday to watch cartoons. I sleep over all the time and I’m not so heavy a sleeper that I wouldn’t hear you get up. I am a bad-ass detective like that.”
Sunday rolled his eyes, but he was visibly hesitant. “You…need your sleep on weekends. You don’t get enough any other day.” His cheeks flushed a cute pink when David messily kissed one.
“Well, that’s real sweet, Sun, but I'm capable of doing something nice for my boyfriend, too.” He put an arm around Sunday. After a minute, he continued, “So…I haven’t watched this in, like, years. What’s going on?”
Sunday dutifully explained the ups and downs of Ash Ketchum's life at the moment and, at the next commercial, smiled. “You can lie-in tomorrow.”
David grinned lecherously. “I can lie-in…on Sunday?”
-
A/N: For all your fluffy/schmoopy/immediately gratifying needs, visit sundaysnuggles. And, on the off chance that you actually like this, I have more David/Sunday fics (50k of them, lol). =)
He heaved a sigh of exaggerated - but muffled, since he was trying to be quiet - relief when he finally stepped into Sunday’s bedroom, with its plush patch-quilt carpeting, and smiled at the white-blond locks poking out from under Sunday’s fuzzy blue sheets. The poor little guy - or, maybe he should say, lucky little guy - had cocooned himself in his blankets to avoid the morning chill.
Shifting the food-tray he held in his hands so that it was precariously balanced on one palm, he nudged the sleeping bump, arousing an adorable grumble from Sunday that sounded like an angry kitten with its tail stepped on.
“Wake up, Sun,” David said, grinning, and nudged his boyfriend again. “C’mon, babe, I’ve got a peace offering: I made you breakfast.”
A big, owlish golden eye stared up him; the other was still screwed shut determinedly. David lowered the tray to seeing level, pulling down the retractable legs within it and setting it front of Sunday, so that it rested on his covered chest.
“I made you breakfast,” David chirped again, in case Sunday, in his sleep-worn stupor, hadn’t heard him the first time.
Sunday heaved a sigh and sat up, careful not to upturn David’s gift. He eyed it, looked up at David and then his bedside clock, before returning his attention to his beaming, half-nude boyfriend, who was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited child…or a madman.
“You…woke me up at six in the morning to give me…a bowl of cereal?” Sunday didn’t mean to sound mocking. Really! It just sort of came out that way.
David stared at him unblinkingly. “I made you breakfast,” he said for the third time, slowly punctuating each word, as if there was a language barrier between them. “Now, be a good boy and eat it, or…”
“Or…?” Sunday pressed.
“Or I’ll spank you,” David replied with finality, taking a seat at the edge of Sunday’s bed and looking around for his errant pants. Where’d the little bastards go, he wondered?
Sunday gave up and commenced spooning the tiny chocolate bats up into his mouth, secretly pleased that David had picked up not only Lucky Charms, which the dark-haired man preferred, but Sunday’s favorite cereal, too. The next ten minutes passed in silence, with Sunday eating delicately while David watched him, not even fidgeting. It was weird; David liked to live a mile a minute, but watching Sunday eat was not so bad. He liked it, even - and now he sounded creepy, damn it! Finally, Sunday lifted the little porcelain bowl and drained it of milk, leaving a delicate white stash above his already pale upper-lip.
“Have you found your pants, then?” he asked teasingly, his golden eyes crinkling. David resisted the urge to kiss away the milk mustache and nodded, holding up his work slacks and starting to tug them on. “So why did you wake me up? Why make - or pour, I should say - me breakfast?” Sunday’s hands began to play with the frayed edges of his blanket, displaying detachment, but David could sense his curious urgency.
“C’mon.” The dark-haired man stood up and beckoned with his hand. When Sunday merely blinked, he pushed the tray, now laden with empty dishes, aside, and dragged Sunday up into an awkward sitting position. The platinum-blond glared at him, but before he could snap, David turned away, throwing a lingering look over his shoulder, his blue-green eyes bright with mischief. “And bring the blanket with you, will you, babe?” With that final order, he disappeared through the door, swiping a pair of Sunday’s fuzzy slippers - the blond had an unnatural amount of them, for a twenty-two year old man - as an afterthought.
Sunday sat, immensely confused, at his bed. “Huh,” he finally murmured, finding his own discarded clothes with relative ease, and draped the blanket over his shoulders like a king’s cape, trailing after his perplexing boyfriend.
He found David in his living room, sitting crossed-legged in front of his T.V. set, even though there was a perfectly good reclining couch behind him. Commercials were blaring from the seventy inch monster. Sunday hesitated for only a moment - it wasn’t exactly doctor-recommended, after all, to sit so close to a T.V. screen - before joining him.
David smiled sweetly and tugged part of Sunday’s blanket away from him, so that it covered them both, but not nearly so much that they couldn’t cuddle together if they wanted to. Sunday had to admit that it was kind of nice, even if he was beyond bewildered, and then the commercials ended.
“Pokemon, gotta catch ‘em all,” the catchy theme-song began. Sunday’s eyes widened, his half of the blankets drooping to expose the arm of his dragon pajamas, as Ash, Pikachu and their motley crew danced across the screen. “Um, what?” he stuttered, not even able to string together a proper sentence, as he tried to figure out whether David was pulling some sort of cruel joke.
David gave him a sideways glance. “Betty said you used to wake up every Saturday to watch cartoons. I sleep over all the time and I’m not so heavy a sleeper that I wouldn’t hear you get up. I am a bad-ass detective like that.”
Sunday rolled his eyes, but he was visibly hesitant. “You…need your sleep on weekends. You don’t get enough any other day.” His cheeks flushed a cute pink when David messily kissed one.
“Well, that’s real sweet, Sun, but I'm capable of doing something nice for my boyfriend, too.” He put an arm around Sunday. After a minute, he continued, “So…I haven’t watched this in, like, years. What’s going on?”
Sunday dutifully explained the ups and downs of Ash Ketchum's life at the moment and, at the next commercial, smiled. “You can lie-in tomorrow.”
David grinned lecherously. “I can lie-in…on Sunday?”
-
A/N: For all your fluffy/schmoopy/immediately gratifying needs, visit sundaysnuggles. And, on the off chance that you actually like this, I have more David/Sunday fics (50k of them, lol). =)