igrab
in
the_grrrrid
Brighter than Sunshine
title. Brighter than Sunshine
author. igrab
pairing. Sam/Junior/Jack Mercer, but mostly Sam/Jack
wordcount. 755
summary. California's got a lot of sun.
Jack's never been a huge fan of his freckles. They aren't even around all the time, just in the summer, when he has a lot of sun, and instead of getting burnt or tan like normal people, he comes home looking dotty across the nose.
California's got a lot of sun. Jack likes it, likes the way it feels on his cold Michigan skin. The freckles - he'll put up with them, for that feeling. And it's only March.
It helps, too, that Sam and Junior seem to have jointly decided that Jack should always be freckly and warm. They take him out as much as they can, tour him around the beaches - Venice, Malibu, Hermosa. (He likes Venice best. He likes the sandy skate paths and the boardwalk and the friendly old hemp braiders who like to hear him play, even though they must have heard a thousand amateur musicians come and go by now.) Today, it's a more secluded place - a little cove in Marina del Ray, nothing but a twisted pier and a brilliant sun and a few lone swimmers.
Junior's off by the pier with his camera; probably taking some fancy macro shots, or trying to capture the perfect wave. His hair's all mussed from the wind and his glasses are nowhere to be seen - Jack thinks he looks better like this, all stripped of his fancy airs and focused on something he truly loves. Jack likes it when that something is him, but really, he just likes watching Junior love.
"Jack."
He turns. Sam's standing there, by their beach chairs and college-boy-heap of stuff. He looks radiant, but quietly. Quietly radiant. The sun picks up these gold glints in his hair and all along the planes of his skin, and Jack sighs, inwardly. Sam Flynn is a force of nature.
The force of nature beckons, smiling.
Jack grins, and dances over the hot sand to meet him, to curl in his arms and duck to tuck his face in the curve of Sam's neck and press up against the soft, soft warmth of his shirt. He feels those arms wrap around him, like they're wrapping around and around and around him, and when Sam chuckles, he can hear it deep and resonant in a vibration from his chest.
"Jack," he says again, softer, just a murmur against his ear.
He sees the freckles then. Jack knows because his face lights up, and his smile gets that delighted edge to it, where his nose wrinkles and he's almost on the verge of laughing.
"Come on, stop," Jack mumbles, but Sam just leans in, brushes his lips over Jack's cheeks, where the dusting is strongest. Jack goes sort of still and quiet. He can feel Sam, smiling against his face, hands up and cupped under his chin and he gets a shiver - and not from the cold - when those hands slide down over suntouched, freckly shoulders.
Sam hovers, just above Sam's lips. He grins all slow and sensual.
"You really want me to stop?"
Jack just kisses him, leans right in with all his inch or so of height and throws his arms right around Sam's neck and kisses him deep and sealing and true.
He always gets like this. Sam just gets to him, something about him crawls under Jack's skin, and he can't ever get enough of him. Sam turns him into this kitten-thing that just wants to be held and petted and comforted all the time, except for the time when he wants Sam's love in all the right places, and Sam's love is like the sun - warm, radiant. Beautiful.
Junior - he can see Junior just out of the corner of his eyes - Junior's love is the moon and stars, but that's a story for another time.
Sam brings out the best in him. He drags him out into the light and makes him young again, makes him happy, brings him here past his... well, past his past.
"Love you," Jack whispers against Sam's lips, and it's the first time, really, that's he's said it aloud, because not all boys are Mercers and most boys, Jack has always reminded himself don't talk about their feelings.
But Sam, he finally realizes, is different.
"Love you too," he says, and it's the most natural thing in the world.
author. igrab
pairing. Sam/Junior/Jack Mercer, but mostly Sam/Jack
wordcount. 755
summary. California's got a lot of sun.
Jack's never been a huge fan of his freckles. They aren't even around all the time, just in the summer, when he has a lot of sun, and instead of getting burnt or tan like normal people, he comes home looking dotty across the nose.
California's got a lot of sun. Jack likes it, likes the way it feels on his cold Michigan skin. The freckles - he'll put up with them, for that feeling. And it's only March.
It helps, too, that Sam and Junior seem to have jointly decided that Jack should always be freckly and warm. They take him out as much as they can, tour him around the beaches - Venice, Malibu, Hermosa. (He likes Venice best. He likes the sandy skate paths and the boardwalk and the friendly old hemp braiders who like to hear him play, even though they must have heard a thousand amateur musicians come and go by now.) Today, it's a more secluded place - a little cove in Marina del Ray, nothing but a twisted pier and a brilliant sun and a few lone swimmers.
Junior's off by the pier with his camera; probably taking some fancy macro shots, or trying to capture the perfect wave. His hair's all mussed from the wind and his glasses are nowhere to be seen - Jack thinks he looks better like this, all stripped of his fancy airs and focused on something he truly loves. Jack likes it when that something is him, but really, he just likes watching Junior love.
"Jack."
He turns. Sam's standing there, by their beach chairs and college-boy-heap of stuff. He looks radiant, but quietly. Quietly radiant. The sun picks up these gold glints in his hair and all along the planes of his skin, and Jack sighs, inwardly. Sam Flynn is a force of nature.
The force of nature beckons, smiling.
Jack grins, and dances over the hot sand to meet him, to curl in his arms and duck to tuck his face in the curve of Sam's neck and press up against the soft, soft warmth of his shirt. He feels those arms wrap around him, like they're wrapping around and around and around him, and when Sam chuckles, he can hear it deep and resonant in a vibration from his chest.
"Jack," he says again, softer, just a murmur against his ear.
He sees the freckles then. Jack knows because his face lights up, and his smile gets that delighted edge to it, where his nose wrinkles and he's almost on the verge of laughing.
"Come on, stop," Jack mumbles, but Sam just leans in, brushes his lips over Jack's cheeks, where the dusting is strongest. Jack goes sort of still and quiet. He can feel Sam, smiling against his face, hands up and cupped under his chin and he gets a shiver - and not from the cold - when those hands slide down over suntouched, freckly shoulders.
Sam hovers, just above Sam's lips. He grins all slow and sensual.
"You really want me to stop?"
Jack just kisses him, leans right in with all his inch or so of height and throws his arms right around Sam's neck and kisses him deep and sealing and true.
He always gets like this. Sam just gets to him, something about him crawls under Jack's skin, and he can't ever get enough of him. Sam turns him into this kitten-thing that just wants to be held and petted and comforted all the time, except for the time when he wants Sam's love in all the right places, and Sam's love is like the sun - warm, radiant. Beautiful.
Junior - he can see Junior just out of the corner of his eyes - Junior's love is the moon and stars, but that's a story for another time.
Sam brings out the best in him. He drags him out into the light and makes him young again, makes him happy, brings him here past his... well, past his past.
"Love you," Jack whispers against Sam's lips, and it's the first time, really, that's he's said it aloud, because not all boys are Mercers and most boys, Jack has always reminded himself don't talk about their feelings.
But Sam, he finally realizes, is different.
"Love you too," he says, and it's the most natural thing in the world.