lazy sunday (edward)
Your eyes creak open to the sight of him leaned over you, arms framing your head as he glitters and sparkles in the morning light.
“Wake up.” Edward smiles softly and comes down to graze his lips along your throat. “You’ve been asleep for 9 hours, you have to be done by now.” The groan that erupts from you in lieu of response sounds inhuman, and you don’t exactly feel that far off right now.
You’d find the kisses he presses to the side of your mouth sweeter if he hadn’t purposefully disturbed you from the very pleasant dream of a picnic you’d been on with one Christopher Jamal Evans.
“He’s too young for you anyway.” Hardy har har.
He leans in for another smooch but you dodge him, dead-set on going back to bed to teach him a lesson, you roll over, pressing your face back into your pillow, and immediately being hit with your own morning breath, running hotter than brimstone. Suddenly self-conscious, you hug your blanket tighter over your face to deprive him of assaulting the rotting cavern you call a mouth any further.
“(Y/n) come on, give me attention.” Still leaning over you, Edward shifts his weight to one arm to playfully tug at your blanket cocoon. Your muffled response isn’t anything close to human language, but your complaint comes through plainly enough in your mind.
“It’s no worse than the usu-” he abruptly shuts his mouth when he sees what he’s just walked into, abruptly covering his mouth with his free hand upon discovering the mortification on your face. You shove away from him and scoot further away to petulantly face the wall. Your isolation doesn’t last long, as Edward hastily follows, curling himself around you and cuddling as close as he can to extract you from your mountain of comfort. You squirm about irritably to humor him until he gets a leg in your cocoon of warmth and shocks you to full consciousness.
“Quit touching me, your feet are cold!” Your howl echoes around the room, sobering your aggravation, as you go stock-still, waiting for someone to burst through your bedroom door for shouting on a Sunday morning.
“Everyone’s gone. They left you to get breakfast in town.”
“What?!” You shout again, wide awake, ready to rampage down the road to commit familial homicide.
Edward pulls you closer, cuddling you into your plush comforter and turning his nose into your hair. You turn in his hold, circling your arms around his waist and further tangling you both in the sheets.
“I’m kidding, they’re at church. You should’ve seen your mother’s face when she opened the door to see if you were awake and found the puddle of drool you left on the pillow.”
“See, you want me to kiss you, yet you bully me for drooling and having stinky breath.” You reach up and pinch his nose in retribution, and he shakes you off.
“What if I said I loved your stinky breath.” He’s grinning at your discomfort now, playfully rubbing your noses together. You still angle your mouth away to laugh.
“I’d say you’re a liar, but since you flattered me, you can have one more kiss.”
“Just one more?” Edward laughs, raising his brows in question. This can’t be good. His arms are already locked around you again.
“One more.” Can’t spoil him, then he might think waking you up will always end like this.
“Better make it count then. I hope you can hold your breath!”
Your protest goes unheard, stopped before it starts with the hard press of his mouth.