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Healy couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a Sunday with no plans. Something always ended up taking up their time; taking Holly shopping at the mall; an emergency trip to the laundrette when March inevitably stained another good suit; grocery shopping again because keeping the cupboards stocked for two, rather large men and a growing teenage girl was hard; and always following their latest leads. Their lives had felt a little chaotic recently, business had been good, but they were still trying to work out exactly what that actually meant.
Their lives. Together, that is. It felt like they were always on the go for the last few weeks, they rarely got a chance to slow down, and just appreciate each other's company. Maybe they were avoiding slowing down because, like real men, it was easier to stay busy than addressing something as foolish as feelings. There was no staying busy today, though.
That’s why, as Healy slowly blinked his way out of sleep, he felt no particular urgency to move from their snug bed. He’d still woken up before the sun rose, March called it his old-man-body-clock, but that didn’t mean he needed to start moving like usual. Instead, he could indulge in one of his newest great pleasures in life: how he’d been waking up since he moved into the March household. That being in a king-sized, plush bed, with satin sheets in a cosy bedroom, and Holland March clinging to him in some way or another. Healy lay on his back, slightly turned into the other man who covered one side of his body, his face smushed half into Healy’s shoulder and half falling back onto the pillow above him. His hands twitched as he came to, and beneath them he felt March’s lower back. He distantly noticed how his thumbs were hooked around Holland’s waist, yet his fingertips still met in the middle, covering the smooth expanse of his back. He brushed his fingers up before curling his arms fully around the man’s midsection, pulling him in until his head rested more comfortably on his chest.
Holland showed no signs of awareness, proving something Healy had come to learn. It was difficult to stir Holland March unless you were actively shaking him awake, which is perfect for when Healy wanted to hold him just like this, before he had to get up and face the world. At the beginning, Healy had spent many hours lying as still as he possibly could, scared to even breathe, when he’d wake to find March attached to him. He’d always been afraid of waking him, ruining the moment, or that it was the last time he’d experience it so he best make the most of it. With time, he’d become less terrified that March was going to disappear on him, and learnt that he really didn’t need to fret over waking the other man. He didn’t need to lie uncomfortably, worrying about never feeling this again.
It had taken them both a bit of time to get used to the casual physical intimacy that came with changing the nature of their relationship. Sex had been easy, but the intimacy? A brush of a hand, a reassuring squeeze, a sneaky kiss behind a closed door, allowing themselves to express the instinctual touches they had kept buried very, very deep for so long. But when it felt like this, March’s comforting weight slowly raising him from his slumber and his hands gently curling around Healy’s shoulders as he settled in his sleep, it didn’t take long for Healy to get used to it. He allowed himself to stay drifting in and out of sleep until the morning sunlight started to filter in through the cracks in their blinds. As much as he’d like to lie in bed all morning with his arms around his partner, he eventually would get too restless to stay.
His hands came up to March’s shoulders, one hand keeping him steady as his other came to cup the back of his head. Straining a little, he planted his lips to the crown of Holland’s head and breathed in deep. The smell of cigarette smoke and coconut, of March, was something he couldn’t see himself getting tired of. Gently, he rolled the other man off of him and back onto the bed, and pushed himself into a sitting position before he changed his mind. March’s arms reached out to try and find the body they’d just lost, before finding the duvet instead and pulling it further around himself. It made Healy smile before he got out of the bed with a groan. Old man body clock, and old man joints. With a stretch and a few pops and cracks, he pulled on a comfortable t-shirt and worn jeans and snuck out of the room, closing the door with a click.
The next hour he spent enjoying the quiet, before the noise of a weekend in LA started to filter through their walls. He savoured a coffee whilst watching the world begin to wake up outside of their window, only being stirred from his daydreams when Holly March wandered into the main room of their rental. Still in her pajamas and hair sticking up at odd angles, she stood in the doorway rubbing her eyes.
“Hi, Mr Healy,” she said with a yawn, flopping down onto the sofa and flicking on the TV set to some cartoon for teenagers. She knew she didn’t have to call him Mr Healy anymore, but it still slipped out sometimes, and he didn’t really mind.
“G’morning, sunshine,” he beamed, cracking his knuckles and standing, “breakfast?”
Whilst they hadn’t had a slow Sunday in a while, most weekend mornings started this way, and he and Holly had found themselves in a routine. Healy was always up first, Holly would emerge an hour or two later and Healy would make her breakfast whilst she read out the crossword clues from his paper. March wouldn’t wake until past 10am, so they had found a lot of things they enjoyed doing together already. Top of the list being Healy’s chocolate chip pancakes that he could quickly whip up whenever their schedules allowed for it, and today was one of those days.
Healy stood at the stove, and Holly had moved to sit on the barstools behind him. She read out the clues and solved most of them herself, only needing the occasional help or nudging from him to get to the answers. She triumphantly set down the paper as he turned and pushed a plate onto the bar in front of her, holding a stack of four hefty pancakes, a scattering of chopped strawberries and a generous pouring of syrup. She grinned at him before tucking in, focus flitting between her food, the TV and Healy as she chatted away mindlessly to him. He only needed to hum or give the occasional word of agreement, and she’d be content to fill him in on anything exciting he’d missed that week. It was mostly teenage nonsense, but he loved hearing it nonetheless.
“Go get ready, kid. Still happy to stay at Jessica’s tonight?” he asked her as he collected up her dirty dishes and dumped them into the soapy water waiting in the sink.
“Yeah! Her mom let her rent out The Omen and we’re going to stay up really late and watch it,” she smirked like they were breaking some sort of rule, but he just ruffled her hair as she moved past him to pack her bags.
How Holland March’s daughter grew up to be so responsible that staying up late to watch a movie was enough to gratify her teenage need to defy authority, he’d never understand, but he was forever grateful. Keeping one March alive was already too much work, never mind having to chase after two of them. Holly never caused any trouble and accepted him into their household like it was nothing, giving him the respect many people in his life had not. That’s why he was always happy to do whatever she asked of him, because she was a good kid and she rarely asked for anything. Giving her lifts here, there and everywhere before her father rose from his bed at the weekend was something he could do easily. Be useful, show his worth.
A quick check on March told him the man was still fast asleep, sprawled out across the bed now, but he still left a piping hot coffee on the bedside table. He knew he’d wake up before the coffee went cold. He was waiting by the door, keys in hand, when Holly came trudging through with two heavy bags. As usual, he’d take her things from her and she’d skip ahead out of the door and straight to his car. He’d memorised the route to Jessica’s a long ago now, driving easily as she sang along to the radio and wafted her hand out of the window in the breeze. He didn’t want to assume much about his own worth, but he felt like Holly was a lot more childlike than when they first met. That was a good thing, and maybe part of that was because she felt less responsibility for her father now he was here to help. At Jessica’s, he clasped her shoulder before she hopped out of the car.
“Any problems, I’ll be here. Just call,” he offered, which she responded to by throwing her arms around his shoulders and giving him a proper hug.
She was out of the door and running up to the house before he even had a chance to register the affectionate goodbye, shouting “Thanks, Jack!” over her shoulder as she went.
If Holland wasn’t the death of him, Holly certainly would be. The two of them had snuck their way under his skin and left him with an ache in his chest more regularly than they’d ever know. He had to constantly remind himself that this was his family now, they weren’t going anywhere, that that ache in his chest is the sheer amount of love he felt for them, and he should show it more often. The March’s were slowly breaking his hard exteriors down, piece by piece, and seeing a version of him he hadn’t let anyone see for a long time.
Sometimes, it was hard for him to understand what a hardened bruiser could contribute to a loving family, but they had opened their arms to him before he’d even realised it was happening. So, now here he was, waving at Jessica’s mom who was waiting at the front of the house and driving off once he knew Holly was safely inside. It wasn’t a long drive back, and hopefully Holland would be awake by the time he arrived. They hadn’t really made any plans for their lazy Sunday with an empty house, but Healy was just happy to know once he shut that front door, he didn’t need to focus on anything else but Holland for the rest of that day.
One last thing to do before he could switch off, however, was to stop off at the bakery a few streets over from the rental. March loved it there, regularly bringing home a new pastry for Healy to try whenever he drove home past the place. He found himself constantly wanting to shower March in affection, gifts and words of praise, but it was hard to know how to act on those urges sometimes. They were still getting used to it all, trying to shed themselves of the shame they’d let fester when they both thought the other person would run a mile if they knew their true feelings. But this he could do, he could bring home a box full of pastries to March in bed, keep him safe and cosy for as much of the morning as he could do, because he deserved it. They’d been working hard lately, and March struggled to keep his life in order even at the best of times.
That was another way Healy felt useful, he was happy to help March with ferrying around Holly, the chores around the rental, filing all the boring paperwork or making sure the man always ate at the right times and drank enough water, if it meant the day was a little easier for March to stumble through. He’d been doing all of that before they’d even acknowledged that this had progressed way past a business partnership, past a friendship. Which meant today he was enforcing a day of rest and relaxation, a hard task since Holland would rarely sit still long enough to even get through one episode of M*A*S*H.
Armed with a box full of a variety of pastries and the morning paper for March, Healy let himself back into the rental. Even having a key into the March’s house still baffled him sometimes, and he squeezed the bright, braided keychain Holly had made for him when they first gifted him said key, before hanging it up with the other keys by the door. The place was quiet, so March was probably still in bed, the only give away that he was awake was the faint sound of the radio trickling into the hallway. That was to be expected, though. He slipped off his shoes and headed to the bedroom, shedding his jacket and beginning to undo his jeans on the way, because he knew for a fact Holland was going to ask him to get back in bed for a cuddle.
The sight before him as he opened the door was something he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to. March, propped up with his pillows and nursing the still warm coffee, with a half smoked cigarette hanging from his lips and his hair falling in front of his eyes. The satin sheets fell around his waist, showing his wedding ring settled against the soft smattering hair on his chest, and he was already pulling Healy’s side of the sheets back before he’d made it into the room. The bedside lamp was on and lit up half of March’s already warm-toned skin with a soft orange glow.
“Jackson,” he sighed, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he blew out smoke, “get back in here,”
Healy quickly put the items down on a dresser before taking off his jeans and sliding into the space Holland had made for him. March took a long time to come round in the mornings, and by his voice and his half-lidded eyes, he knew he mustn’t have been awake for very long.
“Hey sleepy,” he greeted, kissing him before taking the cigarette from his hand and taking a drag himself.
As much as he previously hated cigarettes, for now he’d given up the cigars in favour of helping March cut down on his cigarette use. One way of which was smoking them himself, forcing March to have even less since he was now holding himself to a strict two pack a week limit. One for the weekdays, one for the weekend, and he was doing really well with it. Plus, he had to admit, sharing a cigarette with March in bed, especially after certain activities, was another one of his new great pleasures in life. March watched Healy take a share of the cigarette with a content look on his face, and brushed their fingers together when he took it back to finish it off.
“Holly at Jessica’s?” he asked as he stubbed it out in the ash tray, and turned to settle into Healy’s chest, Healy wrapping an arm behind his shoulders as they both sank into the bed.
“Yeah. Excited to watch a horror film, uh, The Omen? I saw Jessica’s mom before I left,” he offered, as if March needed any reassurance that Healy had made sure Holly was safe.
“Goddamnit, I told her she couldn’t watch that film,” he grumbled against Healy’s shirt, the fabric muffling his voice.
Healy sniggered, further understanding why she’d looked like she was getting away with something mischievous when she told him earlier. He smoothed his hand over Holland’s hair before settling at the base of his neck, his fingers digging into the hair there like he knew he liked. Holland melted against him even more, if that was possible, a deep breath leaving his lungs at the same time as Healy. They lay like that for a while, eyes closed and listening to the radio presenter babble on in between songs. Healy alternated between scratching at his scalp and running his hand down over his side, his waist, his hipbone, and March’s hand found its way under his shirt and into his coarse chest hair.
Eventually, as he always did, March leaned up from their embrace and kissed up from Healy’s jaw to his mouth. He held him close and returned the kiss, relishing in the feeling, as he always did. It never took much kissing before March was crawling further on top of the larger man, a leg slotting between his, and the kiss getting more desperate. This time, though, Healy put his hands on March’s waist and pulled him back slightly, the other man’s eyes still closed before he realised they’d stopped. His confusion turned into a pout fast.
“Better have a good reason for that, Healy,”
Healy smirked. “Sorry. It’s just – We haven’t had time to just stop recently. We’re always rushing. Holly won’t be back until tomorrow, we’ve already got a new client lined up tomorrow afternoon and nothing else to work on, so there’s no rush there,” he ran his hands up to March’s shoulder blades, “I wanna savor my day, drag it out. I wanna spoil you. I got food. At least let me enjoy feeding you and watching you stumble around whilst you're still half asleep first. When else do we get a whole lazy day to ourselves?”
March’s brows softened at that, but hid his smile as he halfheartedly quipped back, “I don’t stumble around, I’m perfectly awake. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“You do, and I dunno, it’s…” Healy paused whilst he tried to think of a word without embarrassing himself, “…domestic. It’s — cute,” Nevermind.
“Cute!” Holland barked back, but there was no conviction behind the ribbing because in reality his face had flushed red at the idea of being called cute by Jackson Healy. He lay his head back down on Healy’s chest, humming in over-the-top thought at what he’d said. “Alright, but I insist that at least 50% of this day is spent naked and with your hands on me.”
That got another chuckle out of Healy. “That was already assumed. First, eat. Then, we can do whatever you want, but I was gonna suggest we get in the tub at some point.”
“A great idea, a point to you,” March muttered, sleep still making his voice and movements sluggish, but he still struggled his way up into a sitting position, not without planting a kiss to Healy’s chest on his way.
With languid movements, the two slowly drew themselves from bed, not bothering with clothes, because why should they? Holland slipped on an undershirt and headed out, Healy following behind in his t-shirt with the box of food. On the way to the kitchen, March flicked on the radio and grabbed some plates for their feast, whilst Healy went about fixing them both another coffee. It wasn’t really surprising how easily they could fall into sequence, moving around each other to get things done efficiently between them. It was the same as how they worked together professionally, each providing different skills and observations as they orbited around the case and each other until it was solved.
A few minutes later, they were sitting opposite each other on the bar, with coffee and plates of pastries in front of them, and Holland’s ankle hooked over Healy’s foot. He opened up his paper as he munched on a croissant, and Healy had his book open in front of him, but found concentrating on the words reasonably difficult right now. He kept peering over his reading glasses at the man in front of him, enamoured by the way his nose scrunched up when he read something he didn’t like, or his eyebrows raised when he bit into a particularly tasty pastry. He could watch Holland do anything and be entertained.
“You’re staring,” Holland mused, not taking his eyes off his paper.
“Can you blame me?”
Holland didn’t have a usual snippy response for that, instead considering the words before smirking to himself and brushing his hair back from his eyes. They sat in a comfortable silence as they finished up the food, March taking it upon himself to wash up their dishes. The song switched as he scrubbed, clearly to something he liked, because the man started swaying and quietly singing the words to himself. Healy blinked a few times, looking over at him. He’d heard Holland sing before, obnoxiously in the car or shower, and he’d seen Holland dance before, usually drunk and purposely being stupid, but this was different. This was… domestic. He hated that that was the only word that kept coming to his mind, but it was the only way he could describe what it felt like whenever he got to see the March’s behind closed doors.
The things they’d do at home when there was no one else watching, it made him feel warm but often unnerved, like he was being let in somewhere he shouldn’t be allowed and soon enough someone would realise. He was standing before he’d even finished thinking about it, coming up behind Holland and snaking his arms around his waist. He fell into the same rhythm, swaying along with him from behind, and settled his chin on Holland’s shoulder. They moved together as Holland finished cleaning their dishes, before he dried off his hands and slid them down Healy’s strong forearms until they reached his hands.
“You feel nice,” he commented, almost to himself, as he laced their fingers together. With a hand squeeze, he turned his head to look at the other man, a playful expression gracing his features. “Dance with me,” he said, not really asking as much as he was demanding.
“I don’t dance,” Healy shot back almost immediately, his body slightly tensing behind March.
He could try and deny that it was because he was embarrassed, claim it was more to do with men like him not enjoying something as silly as dancing, but it was embarrassment. He couldn’t dance, he had barely any rhythm, and his ex-wife had only ever made him feel like an idiot when he’d tried. Holland was slinky, in control of his graceful limbs, albeit a little twitchy, the complete opposite to Healy’s physique. He didn’t want to look stupid, plainly, in front of a gorgeous man who he still couldn’t understand what he saw in him.
“Please,” Holland added as he turned in Healy's arms to face him.
Healy scoffed, trying to play it off as trivial. “You’d be better dancing alone. I’ve got two left feet.”
“So did Grace,” he retorted, taking Healy’s hands again and tugging him towards the middle of the room, “but she loved dancing, so I had to get pretty good at leading.”
Red-faced and uncomfortable, Healy still followed March, unable to deny him whenever he brought up his wife and March knew it. He thought about a younger Holland, before life had started to weigh him down, speeding around a dancefloor with his wife as onlookers cheered them on, and that minutely soothed his nervousness.
March raised one of his hands until he settled it on his shoulder, moving his own hand to pinch at Healy’s waist, fingers pressing into his lower back while his thumb stretched around to the front of his waist. He clasped their other hands together, unaware of how focused Healy was on him as he positioned them. As much as he wanted to continue staring at March in awe, the thumb against his waist pressed and he instinctively took a step back and March followed him with a step forward. His eyebrows raised in surprise as he managed to follow the next few steps, purely off how March’s fingers tugged and pressed against his back. He tried his best to focus on the steps and not the long, slender fingers that managed to encircle his entire side.
“You never used to do this with your wife?”
Healy grimaced. “There was never any romance in that marriage, she would’ve just laughed at me.” He meant that as a light-hearted joke, even if it were true, but there was a sadness in the way March looked back at him.
“I wouldn’t laugh at you,” he said simply, brows furrowed. “Mostly,” he quickly added for good measure, not allowing himself to be too sincere.
Healy still wasn’t used to it. March being serious with him, being kind about him, reassuring him. They’d gradually spun their way round the space, and Healy had only stumbled a few times, kept in place by the firm grip at his waist. He knew he was staring again, but sometimes it felt like if he blinked, March would disappear. Especially when it was something as surreal as dancing together in their shared home. The song had changed and March had seamlessly changed the tempo of them moving, glancing down at their hands before coming back to Healy’s face. He was met with a warm smile and eyes so fond he had to downturn his eyes again. No one had looked at him like Healy did in a long time, and sometimes, it took air right out of his lungs.
To distract himself from all of that, March raised their joined hands above their heads and gave Healy’s waist a push. Healy paused in confusion, before fixing March with an unimpressed look when he realised what it meant. Do I really have to? the look said.
“This is where you’re supposed to spin,” Holland supplied unhelpfully, giving his waist another push and smirking when Healy followed it this time. “Just be glad I’m not trying to dip you.”
That got a laugh from Healy, who didn’t settle his hands back into the follower positions when he came back round to the front, instead leaving their hands up and giving March’s waist a push back. He gave Healy a look before letting it happen, spinning twice under Healy’s palm before he pulled him back into position. They took a few more steps around, the back of Healy’s shins bumping into the sofa when he misjudged a step, but Holland’s hand was there to keep him balanced and upright.
“You actually are good at leading,” Healy said, quite impressed with the new discovery of his partner’s skill.
“See? I told you, old man. Grace couldn’t move for shit when we met. No one could tell she couldn’t dance when I was swinging her around a dancefloor, though, and boy, did she look beautiful doing it,” March’s eyes stayed down, and his voice took on the distant tone it often did when he mentioned his wife. A beat of silence, before he looked up again with half of his usual mischievous glimmer, “Not sure I could manage throwing you around without knocking myself out, though.”
Healy laughed, and then pressed his lips against March’s temple. It was a funny and fair assessment, but he knew he was just trying to mask the complex emotions he was feeling. It gave him a burst of confidence to be honest, to comfort his partner.
“She was very lucky,” he breathed against March’s skin, his fingers on his shoulder stretching to press against the chain around the other man’s neck, “And so am I.”
It didn’t seem like March knew how to answer that, so he stayed silent, eventually allowing his head to fall to Healy’s shoulder as they continued for a while longer. When the next song ended, March slowed to a stop and drew back slightly, taking in the man in front of him.
“You’ve got me all emotional and shit, now. Fuck you, you’re being sappy today,” he finally said, running a hand down his face, and Healy just smiled.
“Don’t say ‘and shit’,”
“Christ, would you shut up,” he prodded an accusatory finger at Healy’s chest and let out a deep breath, the shaky emotions easing and a smile coming back onto his face. His fingers splayed out across Healy’s chest to anchor himself. Today was shaping up to be a very good day, if a little overwhelming. “What now?”
Healy pondered for a moment, his hands coming to rest on March’s waist and fingers gently pushing at the hem of his undershirt. “We’ve got all day. Whatever you want, Holl,” he mused, quite happy to do whatever the other man asked of him. “I could start making up a bath. If I remember correctly…” he began, giving March’s sides a squeeze, “We’ve still got some of that weed left. You haven’t even got through the six-pack you bought at the start of the week. I think that deserves a little celebration.”
Not only was March cutting down on the cigarettes, having less alcohol seemed to come even easier after he saw the damage he was doing. Again, Healy had joined him in cutting down his own intake, and they’d been doing well. Maybe it was one vice for another, but weed was different, they only had it on a very rare occasion when they were alone and wanted to enjoy themselves, and it didn’t bring the same guilt, or mess, as slamming a ton of beers. It was easier to control, and all they’d do is laugh and have a good time together.
The drinking had actually been the catalyst for them acknowledging there were any type of feelings going on. Tensions, shame and drinking habits had built up so much over unspoken secrets that it culminated in an awful, drunken night with March going to the hospital for a stomach pumping, and all the terrified, tearful confessions coming out a day later. They’d taken the drinking seriously since then, and stopped hiding so much.
He’d been trying really hard, and so what if a little weed was stopping March from drinking himself into a stupor multiple times a week? That, and it made Holland incredibly horny, something Healy was not going to complain about. March’s eyes glittered at that, catching the drift that Healy was putting down.
“Well, Jack,” he said, planting a kiss on Healy’s lips, “how about you get that bath running and I’ll roll us a few joints?”
They grinned at each other, feeling safe and cosy inside their house, completely cut off from the outside world happening around them. Here, they could be whatever they wanted. They would have to get right back into the chaos tomorrow, the front that everyone else saw, but for today, they could take as long as they wanted. Healy gave March’s ass a playful tap before pulling away from him and heading towards the bathroom, accompanied by a classic whine from the other man as they lost contact.
“You better hurry up, then,” he said with a smug look over his shoulder, and disappeared into the bedroom, heading for the master bathroom and the luxurious tub that awaited them.