Alarm Clock

Doing short requests (<1000w)!

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He’s not handsome like this, because Aimé is rarely ever handsome, but Jean-Pierre adores to look on him nonetheless, loves these moments where he comes in after Aimé’s been painting and drinking wine by the bottle, and he is able to find him fast asleep, snoring quietly.

Jean-Pierre undresses himself, drops the jumper of Aimé’s he’d been wearing onto the pile with the rest of his clothes, and then he slides forward.

Aimé had stripped naked to crawl into bed — last night it had been hot and humid, and sweat glistens on his skin, clings to the hair on his chest and on his belly, and now Jean-Pierre clings to him too, comes to straddle him. Aimé doesn’t stop snoring, his eyes staying heavily lidded as Jean-Pierre sets his hands on the swell of Aimé’s tits on each sides, brushing over his nipples with each thumb.

Aimé groans in his sleep, his head tilting to the side, and Jean-Pierre reaches down between his legs for Aimé’s cock and finds it half-hard already. He grips at it, squeezes and pulls, and Aimé’s moan is lower now, comes from deeper in his heavy breast as Jean works him carefully and gently to hardness before he sinks down atop him.

Aimé’s eyelids flutter, his snore abortive and stopping midway through, but he doesn’t stir properly just yet, his fingers…