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March was crouching on the ground, his purple suit a splash of colour in the vast whiteness of snow. He stepped closer, shivering with cold and burying his hands deeper in the pockets, when March held up a finger in the air.
"Watch the fucking fish." His finger pointed down, the man not looking away from his, generally speaking, pathetic attempt to build a snowman, the snow running through his fingers like sand. Jackson looked down, his bare feet touching the see through ice, meeting the eyes of the weirdest looking fish he had ever seen.
"Hooly." He looked back at March, who now had a snow-made turtle in front of him. "Your word of the day."
"Holly?"
"Hooly, you fucking dumbass. Why would it be Holly?"
"I don't fucking know."
March threw a snowball in his fucking face.
He didn't open his eyes, slapping his hand down his body to find out where his blanket went. Jackson groaned, flopping from his side to his back and spreading his hand out to the other side of the bad. He tugged onto a piece of blanket, that moved under his hand, slipping further away with a shuffling noise.
"Fucker." Jack mutters under his breath, slapping his hand on the blanket and opening one eye. The man of his dreams, literally speaking, aka Holland Fucker March, was hoarding his blanket again. This particular grown man was curled up in a ball of their blanket, his hair sticking out from one side and the toes of his leg from another. Jackson would be fond, if he wasn't cold and pissed.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, moving closer with an audible grunt and turning to another side to curl himself around March. His foot found a loophole in a blanket nest, sneaking into it until his frozen toes touched the back of the other man's knee. A high pitched scream followed, March squirming around under the blanket and trying to escape the unwelcome shackles of a hug.
"No!" More squiggling and a face appeared, two wide eyes finding Jackson's face. "Get your fucking icicles away from me!"
"My feet wouldn't be cold, if you would stop taking away the blanket."
"I'm not doing this on purpose and you are doing that on purpose, you evilsonofabitch." The blanket flew in his face and then there was a weight of another body on top of him. Two minutes if the most ridiculous fight over a blanket, they both end up on the floor, all four legs tangled in a mess of a blanket.
March is laying next to him, panting and his cheeks are splotchy red, his hair messy and partner his mustache is sticking out in a wrong direction. He is weirdly attractive like that, in a sappy romantic way that makes Jackson want to kiss him, right until the moment March pops a lollipop in his mouth.
"Where the fuck did you get this?"
"Found it under the bed."
"You are fucking disgusting."
"It had a wrapper on!"
"Why is there a lollipop under our bed, March?"
"To bring me joy."
Jackson sighs and lets the silence take over, interrupted only by the sound of candy in the other man's mouth. Eventually, March rolls over, trying to get his hands under Jack's shirt, only to be swatted away.
"I'm cold."
"Then start unwrapping our legs so we can go back to bed and use the blanket properly."
"Why do I have to do everything?"
"It's literally one thing. "
"Do I get paid for that one thing?"
"I'm not giving you money for untangling our legs from the blanket."
"What about a kiss?" March turns his head back, from where he was trying to undo the blanket knots, swooping down to plant a sloppy kiss to Jackson's lips.
"You stink."
"Honey, you hurt my feelings." Jackson rolls his eyes at that, getting his hand around his partner's waist and tugging him down. March settles most of his body on top of him, meeting in the middle for short kisses with a taste of berry lollipop and a hint of bad morning breath.
A couple of years ago, if anyone told Jackson Healy that he would be stupid in love, fighting his partner over a blanket and then smooching on a soft carpet like a couple of teenagers, he would snort in their faces. But there he was, tolerating morning breath from a guy who wasn't even aware of it and smiling between kisses.
"Can we have sex with our legs like this?" March murmured in his lips, mustache tickling his nose and making him breathe out a laugh.
"Don't think so."
The man sighed like the world ended, before separating himself from Jackson and bending over to their legs, starting to work on the blanket knot problem.
"Are you going to help?"
"Nah." Jackson put his hand on March's lower back, rubbing warm circles under his shirt and hearing him mumble something. Their bedroom settled into quiet for a while and he almost fell back asleep, suddenly remembering his dream.
"What does hooly mean?"
"Holly?"
"No, hooly."
"Uh, cautiously, I think. Why?"
"I had a dream about it."
March looked over his shoulder, lifting up one of his brows. He punched his legs out of the blanket, falling down on his back and tugging it up to their chest.
"What, did you dream you were on Jeopardy or something?"
"Don't say or something. And no, you threw a snowball at me."
"Aw, I am your dream man. That's fucking adorable."
Jackson laughs and March kisses him again, wrapping himself around him under the blanket. They are both smiling, so the kisses are nothing more than another point of physical contact, but he wouldn't trade it for the world. There is a soft and quiet want under his skin, to wake up like this every damn day, to have stupid fights over a blanket and to have a rash on his face from the other man's mustache where he kisses his cheeks.
Holland March is his dream man, terrible morning breath included, and Jackson Healy is a man enough to admit it.
"I fucking love you."