Everyday is like Sunday.

Rolling over among his crumpled white sheets, Johnny Marr gazed at the bedraggled man beside him. He was most beautiful when he was like this Johnny thought. His tousled quiff falling slightly onto his forehead, where a thin layer of sweat clung to his pale complexion; like morning dew upon a spiders web, highlighting the beauty of this intricate creation. He took a deep breath, in then out, soft peach coloured lips every so slightly parted. Johnny wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss him, but what a crime it would be to disturb his lovers peaceful state. Instead his tired eyes were drawn to the window, which allowed the morning sunlight to spill into the room, accentuating the dust motes that danced tumultuously in the air before drifting gently to the ground.
Once more Johnny's gaze fell to the sleeping man laid next to him. It was mornings like this that reminded him why he was glad to be alive. Lazy Sundays with Steven, his Steven. His own personal work of art that he would never grow tired of admiring. Steven's eyelids flickered delicately, before they opened to reveal eyes the bluish steel of a midwinter Manchester sky. "You're staring." He stated timidly, with a voice so eloquent it made Johnny feel like somebody was drizzling warm honey over his own soul.
"Sorry.." He murmured with a coy smile, that reflected Stevens, "I just can't believe my luck. Waking up with you makes me appreciate dreary Sunday mornings. I wish I felt this good all the time.."
Steven simply sighed contently, "With you my dear, everyday is like Sunday."