fic: wrap me up (inside your smile)
It is my birthday! Here, have a present, which I technically wrote for garrideb but can serve as a gift in general for everyone. <3
Title: Wrap Me Up (Inside Your Smile)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 958
Disclaimers: boys do not belong to me; only doing this for fun! Title from Weezer’s “Smile.”
Summary: for garrideb. In selkie!James ’verse (here and here): their first, second, and third kisses.
Michael kisses James first. James kisses Michael, the second time.
The first time, they’re standing on a beach. Cornwall. Home of legends and myths and crashing waves. A kelpie’d told James there might’ve been a seal-sighting that way. By the time they arrive, any fellow selkies have gone, or have never been there at all. James goes down to the sea for the next week anyway, day after day; Michael goes with him, because Michael, after a month of going with James everywhere, cannot imagine ever doing anything else.
He’s in love with James. With eyes like twilight over generous oceans, with the magical wild fairy-creature heart, with the man who’d walked out of a different ocean and started to ask for directions and stopped, mid-sentence, to notice Michael’s immobility at the edge of the fatal jump.
James had, without asking, walked right over and put an arm around him. Had held him, in the rain.
Michael’s only fallen more in love with him every day. Every new discovery. Every time James refuses to give up when the rumors turn to ash. Michael sees all that determination with awe. James never gives up. Not on finding his family. Not on Michael. Not on anyone. James could, Michael thinks, save the world. After all, one look from those blue eyes-the look that says I don’t have to know you to know you’re worth fighting for-and every single man, woman, child, puppy, cloud, and traffic light nearby straightens up a bit and squares shoulders and resolves to keep on trying.
And Michael’s head over heels in love with him, not because he’s saved Michael, not because he’s magical, but because he’s worth loving. He’s the best of the world.
The last month’s been exquisite torture, following James, catching his breath at each accidental brush of hands or glimpse of sea-foam pale skin as James unselfconsciously drops clothing and hops into the shower. The sea-folk don’t think of nudity the same way. Michael’s desperately afraid that some day James will in fact notice the panicked lunges for lap-pillows or books or concealing blankets. Hasn’t happened yet, or maybe James just thinks this is some strange human ritual and hasn’t bothered to ask. Michael’s begun taking extra-long showers, lately.
He can’t tell how James feels. Once or twice he’s thought he’s caught those blue eyes looking at him, with an emotion that in a human might’ve been hope or wistfulness or desire. But James isn’t human. And he just doesn’t know.
But James holds him in the dark, when memories of black nights swarm up and threaten to devour him. James tells him he’s worth holding onto, reminds him that he’s here and doing this, choosing of his own free will to become a guide and a companion and a human hot-water bottle for a selkie who’s always too cold here on land. James accepts hot cocoa from Michael’s hands, and smiles.
So when James walks out of the ocean on the seventh day and those shoulders slump and both hands rub tiredly at weary eyes, stalwart optimism visibly trembling at last as he pulls on clothing behind a hastily offered towel-shield, Michael can’t not feel his own heart break.
Equally, he can’t not drop the towel, put both hands on James’s face, tilt that startled expression upward, and kiss him.
He pulls back instantly. Horrified. “James-I-”
“You,” James says, and lifts a hand, touching his own lips, surprised and wondering. “Yes. I like that, with you.”
“You…do?”
Blue eyes kindle; still exhausted, but lighter now, suddenly all worn-out brilliance, strength returning as if left there by Michael’s lips. Hope, blossoming on a rocky grey Cornwall coast. “I do. I thought-I don’t know how you do this. If you were sea-folk…”
“If I were,” Michael breathes, daring a step closer, over uneven pebbles. “What would you do?”
“I’d bring you something,” James whispers back, “whatever would make you happy, as a courting gift-gold or a rare seashell or a fish or-something you might say yes to, if you wanted me-I don’t know what you might want, what I can give you, if you would-”
“Oh,” Michael says, breathless, “well, here-” and bends down and grabs the first seashell he can spot, a broken pathetic little mussel-shell shard, and it’s not at all good enough but James is smiling so it’s perfect, everything’s perfect, the world’s just right.
“Would you,” Michael says, and James says, “Yes,” and wraps his fingers around Michael’s over the shell.
This time it’s James who moves first. James tastes like sea-spray and soft skin and wild crashing waves amid enchanted realms, something intoxicating and elemental and unearthly bright. James makes a lovely little welcoming sound when Michael’s tongue tentatively touches his lips, and opens his mouth and flings himself into the kiss, unrestrained.
James kisses as if Michael’s touch is all he’s ever wanted. As if Michael’s been the one to catch him, at last, when he’s too tired to swim any longer, and has pulled him safely to dry land.
They part, very briefly; James looks up and Michael gazes down, still nearly touching, breaths mingling. Michael wants to say so many things. Michael wants to say everything.
James whispers, voice caught between astonishment and merriment, “I should’ve given you a seashell weeks ago,” and Michael murmurs, half-laughing, his senses full of James, James, and the rush of the sea-tide around their feet on the shore, “I’d’ve said yes, I’m saying yes, you said whatever makes me happy, and I want you, and I’m here, James, I’m here with you.”
“Yes,” James says again, “Michael-”
The third kiss is shared. They move as one, coming together.
Title: Wrap Me Up (Inside Your Smile)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 958
Disclaimers: boys do not belong to me; only doing this for fun! Title from Weezer’s “Smile.”
Summary: for garrideb. In selkie!James ’verse (here and here): their first, second, and third kisses.
Michael kisses James first. James kisses Michael, the second time.
The first time, they’re standing on a beach. Cornwall. Home of legends and myths and crashing waves. A kelpie’d told James there might’ve been a seal-sighting that way. By the time they arrive, any fellow selkies have gone, or have never been there at all. James goes down to the sea for the next week anyway, day after day; Michael goes with him, because Michael, after a month of going with James everywhere, cannot imagine ever doing anything else.
He’s in love with James. With eyes like twilight over generous oceans, with the magical wild fairy-creature heart, with the man who’d walked out of a different ocean and started to ask for directions and stopped, mid-sentence, to notice Michael’s immobility at the edge of the fatal jump.
James had, without asking, walked right over and put an arm around him. Had held him, in the rain.
Michael’s only fallen more in love with him every day. Every new discovery. Every time James refuses to give up when the rumors turn to ash. Michael sees all that determination with awe. James never gives up. Not on finding his family. Not on Michael. Not on anyone. James could, Michael thinks, save the world. After all, one look from those blue eyes-the look that says I don’t have to know you to know you’re worth fighting for-and every single man, woman, child, puppy, cloud, and traffic light nearby straightens up a bit and squares shoulders and resolves to keep on trying.
And Michael’s head over heels in love with him, not because he’s saved Michael, not because he’s magical, but because he’s worth loving. He’s the best of the world.
The last month’s been exquisite torture, following James, catching his breath at each accidental brush of hands or glimpse of sea-foam pale skin as James unselfconsciously drops clothing and hops into the shower. The sea-folk don’t think of nudity the same way. Michael’s desperately afraid that some day James will in fact notice the panicked lunges for lap-pillows or books or concealing blankets. Hasn’t happened yet, or maybe James just thinks this is some strange human ritual and hasn’t bothered to ask. Michael’s begun taking extra-long showers, lately.
He can’t tell how James feels. Once or twice he’s thought he’s caught those blue eyes looking at him, with an emotion that in a human might’ve been hope or wistfulness or desire. But James isn’t human. And he just doesn’t know.
But James holds him in the dark, when memories of black nights swarm up and threaten to devour him. James tells him he’s worth holding onto, reminds him that he’s here and doing this, choosing of his own free will to become a guide and a companion and a human hot-water bottle for a selkie who’s always too cold here on land. James accepts hot cocoa from Michael’s hands, and smiles.
So when James walks out of the ocean on the seventh day and those shoulders slump and both hands rub tiredly at weary eyes, stalwart optimism visibly trembling at last as he pulls on clothing behind a hastily offered towel-shield, Michael can’t not feel his own heart break.
Equally, he can’t not drop the towel, put both hands on James’s face, tilt that startled expression upward, and kiss him.
He pulls back instantly. Horrified. “James-I-”
“You,” James says, and lifts a hand, touching his own lips, surprised and wondering. “Yes. I like that, with you.”
“You…do?”
Blue eyes kindle; still exhausted, but lighter now, suddenly all worn-out brilliance, strength returning as if left there by Michael’s lips. Hope, blossoming on a rocky grey Cornwall coast. “I do. I thought-I don’t know how you do this. If you were sea-folk…”
“If I were,” Michael breathes, daring a step closer, over uneven pebbles. “What would you do?”
“I’d bring you something,” James whispers back, “whatever would make you happy, as a courting gift-gold or a rare seashell or a fish or-something you might say yes to, if you wanted me-I don’t know what you might want, what I can give you, if you would-”
“Oh,” Michael says, breathless, “well, here-” and bends down and grabs the first seashell he can spot, a broken pathetic little mussel-shell shard, and it’s not at all good enough but James is smiling so it’s perfect, everything’s perfect, the world’s just right.
“Would you,” Michael says, and James says, “Yes,” and wraps his fingers around Michael’s over the shell.
This time it’s James who moves first. James tastes like sea-spray and soft skin and wild crashing waves amid enchanted realms, something intoxicating and elemental and unearthly bright. James makes a lovely little welcoming sound when Michael’s tongue tentatively touches his lips, and opens his mouth and flings himself into the kiss, unrestrained.
James kisses as if Michael’s touch is all he’s ever wanted. As if Michael’s been the one to catch him, at last, when he’s too tired to swim any longer, and has pulled him safely to dry land.
They part, very briefly; James looks up and Michael gazes down, still nearly touching, breaths mingling. Michael wants to say so many things. Michael wants to say everything.
James whispers, voice caught between astonishment and merriment, “I should’ve given you a seashell weeks ago,” and Michael murmurs, half-laughing, his senses full of James, James, and the rush of the sea-tide around their feet on the shore, “I’d’ve said yes, I’m saying yes, you said whatever makes me happy, and I want you, and I’m here, James, I’m here with you.”
“Yes,” James says again, “Michael-”
The third kiss is shared. They move as one, coming together.