seventeenfortythree | River Run

River Run | A slight AU PSL

"You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?"

Her question echoes in his mind as Jamie sits awake, crouched by the fire in the hearth wearing nothing as his eyes watch the flames dance. He'd been too restless to sleep, leaving Claire to the bed while he paced, thinking. He'd lost everything he had to Stephen Bonnet, and now his fingers rub together while he gathers his thoughts to speak.

"I ken being in this very place, the idea of owning slaves turns yer stomach. Mine as well. But we're no strangers to doing a wee bit that makes us uncomfortable if it can help in the long run, are we not?"

He'd spent many a night in a brothel with Charles Stuart, aggravated about it, and yet trying to do his part to stop the Uprising.

"Jocasta might've made an underhanded move in declaring me her heir in front of witnesses, but maybe we can do some good w'it, Sassenach. Find a way to undermine even the law." You can take the smuggler and outlaw out of Scotland, apparently, but it seems his mind will always drift back to such things eventually.

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With words like that, she has to kiss him again. She aches for him as well, but she's determined to spoil her husband tonight.

"Mouth, first. So stop talking and distracting me," she says against his lips, because it was most certainly him that caused her to have to come up here. His lips get one more peck from hers, and then she pushes herself back and down, wasting no time now in putting his cock between her lips.

His reactions make it more enjoyable than it should be. It was how it was on their wedding night, and every time since. But he'll not be finishing there, because she wants to have him, too.

Christ, the only better pleasure is being buried within her, but a gun to his head, he couldn't choose without great hesitation which one was better. Her mouth knows every ridge of him, though that hand, delicate as it can be, knows how to stroke along the solid length of his cock and tease him mercilessly when she so wishes.

Ultimately, he'd die for lack of being able to come up with a decision before the gun went off.

Fingers grasp at the sheets, at her skin, unable to stop at one particular place as he grunts with the sheer effort of not calling out her name and waking the entire house.

His stomach begins to tense, a tell, and finally her name escapes his lips, a warning that if she really does intend to get her fill of him, she should stop.

Claire knows his tells.

So, she stops, though she might push it a little with one last, painfully slow lick. His belly gets a kiss (just a kiss!) of sorts in apology, but she doesn't look the least bit sorry as she moves back up to kiss his mouth.

"Well, now what?" She asks, as if she has no idea. Except the smile gives her away.

Jamie's panting from effort, willing himself to come back from the edge as he holds onto her hips with his hands.

He's too close to thrust inside of her now, he needs a moment but he also needs her pleasure. An idea occurs to him, and he gently tugs her up, then up some more even as he scoots just enough, until her hips are over his mouth and he can raise his head but a small amount and have his mouth against her. And so he does, hands holding her steady, keeping her there as he works to be sure she's eager and wanting.

Oh, she's eager and wanting just by pleasuring him, but the new position has her intrigued. And like this, she can use the headboard for balance.

Clever. She'd compliment him for it if he didn't have her moaning immediately.

Unsurprising that he'll soon be noting her tells, and the strain in her thighs to simply not actually sit on his face so that his tongue can press harder against her. That's just asking for an injury.

When he knows she's close, he pulls his mouth away and bites lightly at her inner thigh and then, unable to help himself, sucks at her skin until there's a mark in a place only he will ever have the pleasure of seeing.

Then, and only then, does he tug her back down, not waiting any time in settling her against his cock; if that was supposed to lessen his want for her it did not work, and now, Christ, he needs her, raising his hips to try and meet hers.

No more teasing. Just them, making love, and Claire gives herself over to him completely. She knows neither of them is going to last long, but that's no terrible thing--she's grown fond of the quiet moments after, of quiet touching and not wanting to part, and inevitably watching him drift off into a sound sleep.

Still. This is good. And it sounds it, the way she gasps and moans, keeping their bodies flush together as their hips meet and move.

"Oh, Christ, Claire," he manages; the first words he's said since her mouth went around him. He can't help but move as urgently as he needs, thrusting deep as his hands roam up her stomach, back to her breasts and then around to her back, to rest just above that backside he loves so very much.

He wants to last longer, God knows he wishes her were five and twenty again, just to be with his wife longer. There's another thrust, a second, a third, and then only her name out of his mouth - loudly - hands gripping her tightly.

He's more articulate than she is. She can't manage his name, just more gasps, eyes squeezed shut. He's impossibly hard and pulls her in just the right spots. And when she feels him begin to unravel, it's that which pushes her over the edge with him. Knowing and feeling how much he needs her.

Even if they were younger, she doubts they'd fare much better than this. They do this to one another. Nothing to be ashamed of, she thinks. It's just their love and lust and everything in between.

Her own hands grip his arms as they finish together, her teeth pressing to his jaw. There might be a more noticeable mark there than the one he left on her. Oh, well. Maybe his new stallion thumped him.

When he sees that mark there won't be anything but fondness for the memory, he won't even bother to make up an excuse. His wife loves him well, and what's the shame in that?

Breathing hard, his hands ease from clutching to slow caresses against her skin even with his eyes still closed, basking in that pleasure that slowly fades and leaves behind a warmth in his limbs that feels good to stretch out. Eventually, one hand makes it to her hair, running his fingers through it before he tugs her into a kiss that's lazy but deep. And then he settles her right on top of him, her weight solid and perfect against his chest.

"Mo calmen geal," he murmurs, dragging his fingers up and down her spine.

She sighs against him, easily comfortably against his chest as if it's where she's slept every night for the past two decades. Another sigh escapes her as she nuzzles her cheek into him, hand smoothing over his ribs, but not aiming to tickle him again. Now's the time for calmness.

"Did you like that?"

Does she even need to ask?

"Oh, Aye. Aye, Sassenach. I liked that verra, verra much." When has he ever not, with her?

He didn't say it before, but now he lifts up just a little, at the same time he tilts her chin up so that she can see his eyes. "I love ye. More every day."

"We'll have to do it more often. I had no idea how to make you laugh like that," she grins, because that was obviously the best part. But the grin softens into something sweeter when he continues.

"I know, Jamie. No one loves me as well as you do. No one ever could. And I love you, always."

"I didna ken I had it in me to laugh like that," he says with a broad smile, wrapping his arms around her again. He knows as soon as the conversation lulls it will be a quick trip into sleep for him, so while he can still manage, he murmurs.

"I would only want to be this happy w'you, Claire."

She kisses his skin.

"And so you will be." She'll endeavor to make him laugh like that more often, even if the day's been fine. They might not have a household of their children to make him laugh, but she can do it well enough despite his being the comedian out of the two of them.

Knowing he's not long for this world, she sets her head down against him, hugging his body.

"Goodnight, Jamie."

His eyes are already closed, and one hand goes protectively to the back of her head. There's one more low murmur of her name before he's completely out. Once he's deeply asleep, that smile returns, a gentle upturn of his lips. He wouldn't know whether or not he ever did so before Claire, but he likes to believe he didn't, that his dreams became all the better solely because of her.

Claire follows in his footsteps not long after. She's spent after the evening, and it's all his fault. He's warm and safe and comfortable beneath her, but that doesn't stop her from waking in the middle of the night. It's pitch black out, and the house is quiet.

Save for the rumble of Claire's stomach. She's still, worried that the noise might have woken Jamie. The steady rise and fall of his chest assures her that no, her husband is dead to the world, and likely won't be waking before work calls in the morning.

Oh, well. She can head down to the kitchen herself to find something to calm her belly. Carefully, oh so carefully, she gets up from him and replaces her warmth with the thick quilt on the bed. Then, it's just a matter of putting on her shift, her robe, and quietly turning the door handle to disappear into the night.

Jamie is a very sound sleeper. With the weight of his wife either on him or against him, or a cold foot trying to stay warm against his legs, it's as if his mind can shut down and let him rest. But the second all of those familiar movements against his body go away (no more steady rising of her chest against his, no more breath at his neck, no curls ticking his face), it's as if something in him urges him to wake.

And so he does. Reaching out, her side of the bed is empty and beside him the bedding is cool. Propping himself up, he scans the room and finds that she isn't there. For about thirty patient seconds he waits, before sitting up and pulling on his breeks and a shirt, looking for her. She's not relieving herself, she isn't sitting in a window. He even heads into the kitchen, though by the time he reaches it, she isn't there. He shouldn't have this hard of a time finding her and when he hears something clatter against the side of the house his stomach drops.

It's only a loose shutter but it might as well be a death knell. It happens so quickly, the way he yells her name and the house comes alive in a matter of moments, servants appearing out of nowhere, candles lit, and Jamie's demanding a search be organized to look for his wife. He's trying to wrap his mind around why she would go out in the dead of night, the freezing cold, and it's that thought that scares him the most. It's dangerously cold and now he's worried about his wife getting hurt in the dark, stuck, unable to get back to him and then freezing to death.

Edited 2018-11-30 04:42 (UTC)

By the time Claire gets back to their bedroom, stuffing the remains of a pastry that was probably meant to be kept for breakfast into her mouth and washing it down with a glass of wine pilfered along the way, she's surprised to see the bed empty. Blankets tossed aside, no candles lit, but Jamie's clothes missing. He's not taking a piss, and he's not sitting in a window. Strange. Maybe he'd gotten a leg cramp and needed to walk it off. Or something. She's not fussed.

But she does light a candle on her side of the bed to await his return, cleaning her fingers off and setting down her glass.

It's when she hears that unmistakable bellow that she feels alarm. What in God's name could it be now? Quickly, Claire starts towards the door.

"Jamie?"

He has to dress, he can't go out into the cold the way he is, there's enough sense left in his head for that. And that's where he collides with her, his arms going out to keep her from falling which is when he realizes he's grabbed onto the missing woman in question.

"Christ, where have you been?!" he asks, not meaning to yell, but the adrenaline is surging and he knows damn well she wasn't in bed beside him.

"What in the hell--" She begins, surprised as he is and all the more so when his voice raises over hers. He's worked up, clear as day even in the dimly lit bedroom, and she hasn't the foggiest idea why. She just knows she doesn't like him yelling, because it makes her yell in return even though she wasn't nearly as frightened.

"Where have you been? I went to the kitchen for five minutes and came back to you gone!"

"I've been looking for you!" That last word comes out with all the Scottish emphasis in the world, and then comes a string of Gaelic cursing before looking at her pointedly.

"Stay put." And then he leaves the room to tell everyone his wife's been found, that she's upstairs. He apologizes also, for the outburst, for waking the household. He reassures his aunt even, though he doesn't linger, going upstairs finally and closing the door. As he looks at her his jaw clenches, hand too at his side before looking at her.

"You shouldna leave our room in the middle of the night and no' wake me first."

Claire paces in the room, listening to the poor people Jamie must have frightened awake in his own blind panic. Christ, this man. While a part of her does feel bad for spooking him, he's overreacting, and it doesn't please her. Nor does being told to stay put. He'd know better if he were thinking clearly.

"What?" She laughs, but there's no mirth in it. "Jamie, I went to the bloody kitchen. I didn't leave the house."

Everything would have been fine if he had been patient.

"I dinna care, you were'no in bed beside me," he says, pacing away from her, still riled, still trying to process what it did to him.

His back is to her, back rising and falling visibly as he tries to control his emotions. "I looked in the kitchen and didna find you there."

She's usually quick to snap back some sort of retort, but his movement gives her pause. It's just enough for her volume to lower, but the tone is still entirely unhappy.

"That's because I didn't dawdle about down there. I was probably on my way back by the time you reached the kitchens. You were the one missing when I got here."

It hadn't frightened her or sent her into any sort of panic. She simply assumed he'd return shortly.

Oh, and he did.

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