The beating of rain against the window pane has you in a light doze as Sal shifts beneath you and rearranges his arms around your frame. A typical Sunday, lazy and useless and beautiful all in its own right. And the thing is, it's all you need; snuggling with Sal while the rain pours, getting up for sluggish snack breaks before reassigning yourselves to bed, sometimes engaging in slow, languid sex, slow deep kisses and low-pitched grunting... it's all you want.
And every Sunday, you'll ask him the same question:
"Sal. Are we going to move today?"
You'll giggle as he slowly opens his eyes - because he hardly ever blocks you out by actually falling asleep - and gives you a look. A look in which his brow dips challengingly and his plump lips curl into a smirk; an expression that would have had you weak in the knees had you ever gotten out of bed. Instead, you settle for a delicious heat pooling in your stomach that twists and turns as he leans up with effort and presses a series of tiny kisses to your lips and jaw.
"Nah."
Today, on this particular Sunday, he seems especially clingy, arms hardly ever releasing you (you'd had to practically wrestle him to go to the bathroom) as he pressed his nose into your neck and then your hair, inhaling deeply and sighing in contentment.
"You're gonna have to let go sometime," you speak up, snickering as you feel his arms tighten around your frame and his lips against your cheek.
"Not if I can help it. I happen to like you better when you're in my arms, [Y/N]."
"Cheek! I'm a gift all the time!"
That has his laugh in your ear, enthusiastic and breathy as he attempts to recollect himself. Because his happiness is so contagious, especially when you're together all day, you begin to laugh too, until you're both in stitches and clutching one another for support rather than just out of love. As you both sober, you catch each other's eye and Sal reaches and strokes the length of your face with a careful thumb. His knuckle gently caressing the soft skin of your face has your cheeks lighting up slightly and a slow smile begins to form on the male's face.
"You're right. You are a gift. How'd someone like you end up with someone like me?"
"Sal..."
No more words pass your lips. Instead you lean in and press your mouth against his in the form of a slow, deep, passionate kiss, tongue searching for his and meshing against it with your own once you do. It's perfect; the taste of him stains your awareness and your hands lightly stroke down the back of his neck. You pull away, nuzzling your nose against his playfully. You smile.
"Sundays are my favourite."