Snogging in the Snow, or Rain, or wherever one's available...

Sunday again, and inevitably, like dawn following the dark of night, this means it's time for a snog. Today I wanted to give you something special, but to my great sorrow, I find myself unable to catch Bradvic and Dangelina in a smooch.

They are remarkably camera shy for such beloved twitter mega-stars. That, or their agent/evil mastermind puppetmasteresque bestie has finally learned the intricacies of mind control and taken over my brain. I'm leaning toward the latter. I've felt decidedly muffin brained this week, and I blame Patty-of-the-Cakes...yes, yes I do.

Wait! The Bradvic and Dangelina have returned from their quest to find the almighty chocolate breakfast of  British champions, The Pop-Tart of gooey chocolaty goodness and chocolate covering.

*sudden  sucking sound as of mass quanities of yummy yums being pulled inexorably into a vacumn*

Ack. I'd make a comment on that, but am prevented by the tight hold over my mind by the omniscient power of the Patty-of-the-Cake (which is not a lie).

In the background, a rustle of cloth. The faint murmurs of Ameriglish from Bradvic and Britglish from Dangelina. And then...

A faint whisper of sound. A brushing noise like the softest of touches across the taut skin of a drum. A sense of easement and...ah yes. The inescapable scent of pleasure perfuming the air.

Ah.

An invisible kiss.
A powerful alchemy of want and fulfillment.
Oceans crossed and all that rot.

Once I break free from the damned mind control, I promise I'll be back with a picture of them inflagrante bessamio (you know, kissing)...

For now, get yourselves over to Victoria Blisse's place and gather up some more snogging goodness. I know I'm going to!

Victoria Blisse's World of Snogging Goodness

Victoria's place is the jumping off point for loads of other snog stories. Go on. You know you want to. Get you some, baby.