Chapter Text
Day 1465
For Claire, the truth was things with Frank never really clicked. There was an underlying tension that left her feeling suffocated. She struggled to tolerate more than a couple of days with him around, constantly overwhelmed by his need for control and his incessant questions about her whereabouts and her company. Sometimes Claire thought she wasn't cut out for relationships in the way everyone else seemed to be. Her friends, mostly joking with an undeniable hint of truth, would tease that she couldn’t keep a man. Perhaps, she simply hadn’t found the right one yet.
After their shift at the hospital, Geillis was insistent on going out. Edinburgh offered a full collection of bars, a welcome escape for those exhausted by the monotonous cycle of work, eat, sleep, repeat. It was also a haven for students who seemed to forget to sleep entirely. Geillis and Claire had navigated these very waters in their own student days, expertly ranking the best drinking spots based on alcohol quality and price. Tonight, they found themselves in one of their favorites. The people in there were, as usual, a predictable mix: forty-something men offering free drinks to any girl willing to flirt with them, university students with drained souls, and them, overworked, recently graduated hospital employees.
"Life was simpler when we used to get drunk on free drinks," Geillis declared suddenly, as if delivering a profound philosophical truth she'd been mulling over.
Claire couldn't help but chuckle. "We're still broke, mind you. We really should get back to that," she quipped, thinking of the too expensive flat they now shared, made even pricier since their third flatmate had left.
"Ye ken, I genuinely thought I'd be a millionaire the moment I graduated as a doctor."
"We need the specialty first. For now, we're just slaves to the system." Claire held up her pint. "Cheers."
"Cheers, love." Geillis raised her own pint, and they both drank.
As the night kept going, Geillis became increasingly explicit about her intentions: she was on a mission to find someone, to get laid, and to release the immense stress accumulated from weeks of grueling shifts. Together, they conducted a thorough survey of the bar, their eyes expertly scanning for tell-tale signs like wedding rings, and assessing the optimal candidates for Geillis's pursuit. For Claire, however, a similar escapade was definitely not on the cards, not tonight.
"That's the one," Geillis murmured, subtly nodding towards a tall man, clearly older than them. Claire's eyebrow arched slightly in amusement.
"I'm so glad we'll never fight over a man," Claire said with a touch of exaggeration in her voice. Her hand instinctively reached for her phone, lying face-up on the polished wooden table beside her drink. A warning thought of ‘don't do it’ flashed through her mind, but she ignored it, her fingers were already typing.
Claire:
Hey.
Less than a minute later, a reply buzzed through.
Jamie:
Sassenach.
Oh. He was definitely available.
Claire:
You're up for a drink?
Jamie:
Where are ye? I'll pick ye up. Let's have a drink at my place.
Day 1
The first time Claire saw Jamie was indeed thanks to Geillis. In her circle of friends, Claire was the English one, except for a few exchange students she'd occasionally chatted with at parties. The Sassenach was how they'd playfully called her, even as Claire rolled her eyes, mocking the use of such an antiquated word. The joke eventually faded, until she met James Fraser: a man impossibly tall, too handsome for his own good, and with red hair and an accent so thick it could make any woman's legs tremble. Not Geillis's, though, being a redhead herself, Geillis insisted that dating another redhead was practically incest.
Geillis had known Jamie for years, probably since secondary school, but Claire couldn't quite recall the details, having been far too drunk when her friend first recounted the story. Claire had been single then and Jamie too. One fateful night, someone had the brilliant idea of playing truth or dare —or drink your whole glass— as if they weren't already tipsy enough. It was during this game that Claire learned Jamie was single. When her turn came, and she chose "dare," someone challenged her to kiss the hottest person in the room. Claire knew she had two obvious options.
Claire and Geillis had a long-standing pact, a way to escape precisely this kind of awkward situation. If there was no one appealing enough around, she could simply kiss Geillis and she trusted Geillis to do the same. They'd even pretended to be a couple to fend off overly persistent flirtatious guys. But this wasn't one of those times. Tonight, there was a hot person in the room.
And she was drunk enough to disregard any potential consequences.
Claire rose and walked directly towards Jamie, who was sitting on the sofa, beer in hand and a decidedly cocky smile spreading across his face as he realized her intent. She leaned in, her lips meeting his when she tasted the distinct mix of beer and whisky from his breath and something uniquely him. The kiss lasted just long enough to avoid any complaints from the other players, and when they finally parted, Jamie’s lips were stained with her lipstick. Claire, never breaking eye contact, gently wiped it away with her thumb, then returned to her spot, ready for the next round. But the night was far from over.
After another drink or two, Claire found herself pressed between Jamie and a brick wall, murmuring with a low voice too close to her ear all the kinds of things that she wanted to hear. His large hands rested on her waist, and her mind was already cataloging all the other places she longed to feel them. Then Jamie, ever the gentleman, offered to walk her home, fully aware that Geillis was still there. But Geillis insisted they go on ahead. The empty flat was theirs when they finally made it. They stumbled down the streets, their path punctuated by drunken giggles and rushed kisses, as if racing against time itself on their way to her door.
The next morning, Claire declared it the best sex she'd ever had.
And four years later, Jamie still held that title, though she'd never admit it aloud to him.
Day 1465
Jamie didn’t take long to arrive after Claire texted him her location. After quickly confirming Geillis was settled and safe, Claire slipped out. Just minutes later, she found herself back in Jamie's car, navigating that familiar, charged silence before they gave in to what they both knew was coming. Jamie was already driving towards his flat, a place Claire knew intimately from the past, before Frank. She never cheated, no, but Jamie's bed had always been her first port of call whenever a relationship crumbled, and the same was true for him. They certainly weren't saints, yet they were completely unbothered by this pattern, this mutual seeking of comfort and passion depending on what kind of mood or situationship they were in.
“I thought ye were seeing someone… Fred?” Jamie broke the silence.
“Frank,” she corrected him smoothly. “We broke up.”
“I’m sorry,” he offered, but the word hung in the air and it sounded more like a question than an apology. Claire couldn't help but chuckle.
“You’re not sorry.”
“I am not,” he admitted, a devilish smile spreading across his lips as he glanced at her.
That damn smile.
“What about you?” Claire asked, her back pressed fully into the car seat, head tilted to the side, watching him drive. The sight of his stubble sent her mind wandering, remembering the rasp of his beard against her inner thighs.
“Are ye asking if I’m single?” he teased.
“I know you are,” she said, her tone utterly natural. She wouldn't confess how she'd come to that conclusion, based purely on the speed of his text reply.
“I’m not involved in any serious relationship,” he conceded then. “Ye’re the only lass who, in four years, hasn’t blocked me, not even once.”
“I did once, actually,” she admitted, a slight smirk playing on her lips. “But it only lasted about an hour.”
Jamie chuckled, his eyebrow arching briefly before his gaze returned to the road.
“May I ken why?”
“Nope,” Claire shook her head, a playful defiance in her eyes. Of course, he could never know about the time she'd blocked him because she realized she was developing feelings, only to unblock him an hour later because she was still developing feelings. A contradiction she couldn't quite untangle.
“Why?” Jamie pressed gently, pushing for an answer she wasn't ready to give.
“Because.” That was her final word on the matter, and Jamie knew it. He moved his hand from the gear shift, letting it settle on her thigh. Claire sighed, a soft, involuntary sound.
She loved the way he always found his way to touch her, a constant, comforting reminder of his presence. His thumb brushed her thigh through the denim of her jeans, and she silently wished she were wearing a skirt at that exact moment. By the look in his eyes when they briefly met hers, he was thinking the very same thing.
“Have I ever told ye that ye’re verra stubborn?” he murmured, a fond exasperation in his voice.
“All the time,” Claire admitted with a proud smile. “But you never complain.”
“I guess I dinna,” he conceded, accepting his defeat.
Four years ago, they weren't together, and in the present, they still weren't. In fact, they never had been, not once in all that time. Yet, that never stopped them from finding each other, a car ride to his flat or hers, it didn't matter when or where. They never demanded explanations, nor did they ask for more than the stolen moments they already received. These fleeting encounters, between failed relationships, somehow felt like the only real thing left.
Day 520
Claire and Jamie never reached an agreement, they never truly had "the talk" about what they were. And even though she always yearned to know, she never asked. It felt unnecessary because she quickly concluded that Jamie didn't want anything serious with her. She respected that, diligently convincing herself that she didn't want anything serious either. It worked for them, this arrangement of no attachments, no explanations. Sometimes, it wasn't just sex, which confused Claire enough to make her run, to stop herself from catching feelings. Yet, they always found themselves in the same place: his bed or hers, his car or the nearest available bathroom, but only ever when they both happened to be single.
They had created their own language, a subtle code that worked flawlessly when one of them wasn't available. It wasn't planned; it simply evolved that way. Two months ago, when Jamie had texted her a simple "How r u doing?", Claire immediately understood he wasn't genuinely inquiring about her well being. She was dating John Grey at the time, so her brief reply, "Surviving finals," was her coded message: I'm not available. She felt no guilt, knowing Jamie had used the same tactic himself when she'd heard he was seeing a woman named Annalise.
It was her turn to signal her single status and discreetly probe his. She stared at their chat on her phone, scrolling past their last conversation, then she typed.
Claire:
James Fraser.
His reply was almost instantaneous.
Jamie:
Sassenach.
Oh. He was free.
Claire:
It’s bloody cold outside.
Jamie:
This is nothing compared to the winters at Lallybroch.
Claire:
Well, you’re built like a proper Highlander. I’m not.
Jamie:
Ye want me to warm ye up?
Now they were officially flirting, the conversation shifting into familiar territory. Yes, exactly what she wanted, but she still had some dignity. So she typed:
Claire:
Such a gentleman.
Jamie:
Just trying to leave a good impression of the Scots.
Claire:
Come. I have half a bottle of cheap whisky.
Jamie:
My favorite.
It didn't take them long before Claire was bouncing on his cock. Jamie's jeans were still tangled around his knees, and she was barely undressed, her top remained, its neckline low enough for a nipple to peek out. Her own jeans lay discarded on the floor, or maybe the coffee table. It didn't matter. She couldn't think straight with him deep inside her, those deep sounds he made weakening her knees and the way he looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world. A damn lie she bought every single time they faced each other like this.
"Take that cocky smile off your face," she breathed against his lips, though she didn't mean it, not really. She loved the way he smiled when she made the right move.
"Why?" Jamie countered, the arrogant smile still there.
"Because..." she whispered, her eyes glassy, barely open. An answer had been on her tongue, but it dissolved in the heat of the moment. "You feel so good inside me," she mumbled instead.
Jamie chuckled. "Is that so?"
"Shut up," she murmured a soft command.
Claire moved her hands to the nape of his neck, tangling her fingers in his fiery curls, her gaze locked on his. It was a dangerously stupid move, looking into those deep blue orbs. It always blurred the line, making her confuse the sheer pleasure of his thrusts with feelings. But this had nothing to do with feelings. He was using her and she was using him, nothing more. She moaned when his large hands gripped her arse, his fingers digging desperately into her skin, and for a brief moment, Claire wondered how utterly amazing it would be to simply become one.
"Fuck," he groaned, then claimed her mouth with a kiss as fierce and consuming as the very first time.
Too close. The climax was just there as Claire moved her hips, her hands anchoring on his shoulders. Her movements grew desperate, no longer following a pattern, just seeking to feel him, truly feel him. Jamie noticed. He gripped her hips, thrusting upward to meet her rhythm. She whimpered, eyes open, watching him, and realized he was just as close. The tightening of his jaw, the raw hunger in both their gazes. They were looking for more, harder, deeper.
I love you, she thought, even as she squeezed him, finally reaching the peak. He followed her a few seconds later, groaning into her mouth. It wasn't love, though, just a cocktail of confusing feelings. And apparently, Jamie was navigating the same confusion, which made Claire wonder if she hadn't said it out loud.
She slid off his lap, settling beside him before he softened, allowing him to discard the condom without making a mess. By the time he returned, Claire was already pulling on her panties.
"Let's head to my room, or Geillis will kill me for having sex on the sofa," she proposed with a hint of amusement, gathering her jeans and leading the way to the room Jamie already knew.
Day 1465
Claire moved into Jamie's kitchen with the familiarity of someone who'd visited countless times before. She wondered, not for the first time, if they'd ever truly tire of this situationship. One day, they would likely marry other people, have children, and move on completely. But not for now. For now, she had him occasionally, and he had her, and that was mostly it. In four years, they hadn't progressed an inch, they were perpetually stuck in the same place. Claire knew, with a certainty that chilled her, that the moment those feelings for him, buried deep inside, began to surface again, she would run. She filled two tumblers with whisky and walked towards him. Jamie stood facing the record player, contemplating his selection for the night. There were a few new vinyls in the stack.
"Here," she murmured, handing him a tumbler. Claire slipped right behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek to his back. He didn't move and she felt the muscles in his back slowly relax beneath her touch.
Jamie took a sip from his glass, then set it beside the player to select Grace by Jeff Buckley. The melancholic chords filled the room, instantly recognizable. Claire had given him that vinyl last Christmas, it was a small piece of her soul shared, because her body already belonged to him.
"Too sad?" he asked, turning in her embrace to face her fully. His arms now circled her waist, and she lifted her chin to meet his gaze, shaking her head.
"No, it's fine," she assured him softly.
"C'mere," Jamie murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Claire trembled at the tender gesture as he guided her towards the worn leather sofa in the middle of his small living room, stopping just in front of the coffee table where he'd placed their tumblers.
Jamie sat, and Claire effortlessly took the space beside him, curling into his side as if she truly belonged there. He draped an arm around her, his other hand reaching for his whisky glass. The promised drink, but that wasn't the only reason she was here. Sex, nothing more than that, she silently reaffirmed to herself.
"Long shift at the hospital?" he asked, his fingers beginning to trace slow, warm circles on her waist.
"Mm-mm," Claire hummed, savoring the familiar comfort of his touch. "It wasn't too bad. I stitched a little kid's forehead, and he told me I was the best doctor in the world when I finished."
"Aye, ye are." Jamie agreed, taking a sip from his tumbler, then offering it to Claire. She took a sip too. The first time they'd shared a glass, it had felt impossibly intimate, like falling headlong into something real. Now, it was normal, even if her heart still skipped a beat every single time.
"I barely do anything big," she confessed, looking up at him. "Just stitches on kids and drunk people."
"That's just yer practice. One day, ye'll be in the operating room, leading a surgery."
"I wish," she smiled, genuinely grateful for his unwavering belief in her. "How was your day?"
"I edited a hundred pages from a book, then I convinced my boss to prioritize Scottish authors," he announced proudly. Claire felt a swell of pride for him, too. The way he loved his country, fighting for its essence like a true warrior for what he believed was right.
"So you won't be grumpy any time you have to read something written by an English person," she teased, though her eyes were alight with admiration.
"Aye, ye're the only English I like," Jamie admitted.
"I am kind of used to all of you mocking me for my Englishness, you know?" she asked, shifting closer, her lips hovering near his.
"Aye?" he responded with his thumb brushing her bottom lip, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
"Yes," she breathed back, pressing a soft, lingering kiss onto his lips.
“Ye dinna mind when I call ye Sassenach.” Jamie's voice was a low murmur against her cheek.
“I guess I don’t,” she quoted him, a soft breath. That nickname had cleaved to her, an outdated word that now held profound meaning for them. Or, perhaps, just for her. Claire knew, with a fierce certainty, that it would rip her heart out of her chest if she ever caught him calling another woman by it. “I like it.”
“I ken,” he smiled, that familiar cocky grin spreading across his face, and she knew he was about to kiss her senseless.
And that's exactly what he did.
Once the first song of the album had faded, and the second was nearing its end. Claire ran her fingers through his curls, closer to his neck, trying to pull him even closer as her mouth responded to his. His lips moved over hers as if they were perfectly matched, destined to unlock every soft sound she was willing to make for him and no one else.
So easy to know and forget with this kiss.
Suddenly, her mind was consumed by Jamie. He always had that effect on her, not even her attempts at meditation, at emptying her mind, worked as effectively as his touch. All thoughts of life, of stress, of imminent long shifts vanished in his presence. This was her favorite state: simply drunk on Jamie. Drunk on the way he expertly gripped her waist, making her feel as though she belonged completely with him, beneath him, or on top of him. It was easy, yet so agonizingly complicated, because Jamie didn't want anything serious with her and Claire had spent years rigorously convincing herself of the same.
“What are ye thinking?” Jamie asked, his lips now resting against her pulse point. He shifted just enough to look into her eyes.
Claire’s breath hitched for a second. He was right, she was thinking, perhaps too much for what she usually allowed herself once his lips were on her neck. And he'd noticed, which could mean everything or nothing at all. With her hands still tangled in his curls, she met his gaze and shook her head. Lying was the only option.
“I’m not,” she asserted, her tone defensive, then kissed him again, a desperate plea.
Kiss me, please kiss me,
but kiss me out of desire, babe.
Jamie’s lips were on hers once more. She knew he could never deny her a kiss. “I ken ye, Claire,” he murmured when she finally had to pull back for air.
“How do you know I’m thinking?” Claire challenged. “We’re thinking all the time, that’s how the brain works.”
“Aye,” he agreed with a steady gaze, “but ye’re the only thought in my mind when we’re…”
Claire watched the conflict flicker in his eyes as he searched for the right word. Fucking was the most accurate, considering how they'd started, but now it was so much more than just sex. Together wasn’t even an option, they weren't together. Just sharing the same physical space. The same damned sofa where Jamie had made her his more than once, then carried her to his bed as if she weighed nothing. He was always a gentleman, always making sure she was alright.
He didn’t find the right word. “And I thought it was the same for ye.”
“It is,” Claire rushed to clarify, her voice tight with conviction.
Was the voice unkind
in the back of your mind
saying maybe you didn’t know him at all?
“What are you thinking?” Jamie pushed again, cupping her cheek with a softness that made her want to melt into his arms.
“You,” she admitted. It wasn’t a lie, she was thinking of him, of them, but not in the sexual way he’d probably assumed. “And about how much I’ve missed you.” That wasn't a lie either. She just hoped he wasn't observant enough to realize that wasn’t the full truth. “And that you’re wearing too many clothes.”
The sultry note in Claire's voice clearly had its effect, darkening the curiosity in Jamie's eyes. She watched the shift, from question to pure desire… Or was it frustration? She couldn't agree more, the situation was as exquisitely pleasant as it was maddening. Her eyes were locked on his.
As she leaned closer, her lips brushing the skin near his ear, she whispered, "Fuck me, Jamie."
The plea was unmistakable in that sweet, persuasive tone she knew so well how to wield to get precisely what she wanted. Jamie grabbed the hem of her T-shirt, and with one movement, peeled it off, revealing the lace bra that did little to conceal her already hard nipples. With his thumb, he gently caressed the sensitive skin there, making sure she shivered under his touch. He knew every one of Claire's sensitive spots, just as she knew his. Not only in this context, Claire also knew he smiled in his sleep every time she stroked his hair. She tried to unbuckle his belt, but Jamie's hands quickly stopped hers.
"Easy, lass," he whispered into her ear, his lips moving down to her neck. "We have all night, and I plan to take my time with ye." He nibbled softly on the skin just above her clavicle.
Claire sighed and nodded. This wasn't new for them, Jamie knew every inch of her body, sometimes spending an entire night tracing every freckle. The last time that had happened was precisely why Claire had run, she'd realized, yet again, that she was falling deeply for him, terrified the feeling wasn't reciprocated. What was he trying to do? Claire's mind began to race. Their first time having sex in months was usually less... gentle. Had something changed since last time? All her thoughts and questions dissipated when his tongue found her nipple. She let out a soft gasp, tangling her fingers in his hair.
"I didna hear ye," he rumbled, his voice thick, as he unhooked her bra too. "Would ye let me worship ye?"
"Yes," she breathed, the single word a surrender.
Jamie grinned, then kissed her again, shifting until Claire's back was cushioned by the leather sofa. He was above her now, his large hands on her bare waist, his fingers tracing the smooth skin. She took the hem of his T-shirt and, with a tug, added it to the discarded pile on the floor. One arm circled his neck, her free hand roaming freely over the hard planes of his abdomen. They paused for a moment, gazes locked, desire burning all over her face.
"God, ye're so bonnie," Jamie murmured, and Claire believed him, utterly. He moved his lips down her throat, making a slow descent to her breasts, giving equal, deliberate attention to both, as if neither should feel left behind.
Claire propped herself up on her elbows, watching him move over her body, trying to decipher his next move. Jamie unbuttoned her jeans, and with her help, slid them down her legs to join the rest. She smiled, watching him take his time with every movement until he was kneeling on the rug, his head precisely positioned between her thighs. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh.
"You look particularly handsome like that," she purred, running her fingers through his curls, her other arm still supporting her weight.
"Like what?" Jamie teased, perfectly aware of her meaning. He pressed another kiss to her core, still covered by plain black panties, nothing sexy, just practical. His gaze lifted, meeting hers.
Claire licked her lips, then parted them. "Exactly like that."
"About to have a feast?" he countered, his big hands finding the elastic band of her panties. He peeled them off, then settled back into place between her legs.
"You are incorrigible."
"Am I?"
"Ye—yes," she gasped, drawing out the final 's' of the word as his lips finally found the most sensitive spot on her body. Claire threw back her head, her eyes closing, utterly lost to the hypnotic sensation of him. His skillful tongue swirled through the wetness he had created, and then, suddenly, he stopped.
"Look at me," he commanded, the low hum of his voice so close to her core doing deliciously unholy things to her.
Claire's eyes fluttered open, and she nodded, willing to do whatever he wanted as long as he resumed making her feel so exquisitely good. Once her gaze was on him, he continued, one arm holding her thighs wide apart. Jamie's tongue began to move with a breathless precision, exploring with a skill he had honed over years with her. Claire's hands gripped the leather sofa, low moans growing desperate as his mouth found her, slow at first, then more insistent.
“Jamie…”
He knew perfectly what he was doing, radiating a quiet confidence in every movement, every flick and swirl hitting exactly the right spot. Claire gave him feedback by grabbing his curls, refusing to let him move. She was sure she couldn't handle it if he stopped. She gasped, her hips rocking, seeking more.
Oh, that was so real
I love you
But I’m afraid to love you.
The album kept playing in the background, but now the singer's voice was accompanied by Claire's moans, almost desperate, even though there was no need for quiet. She was completely exposed to him, utterly vulnerable and Jamie did nothing but make her feel safe, cherished, even if it was confusing. The intimacy of the moment was something only they could share. His tongue was relentless, and when he added two fingers with precisely the right pressure, Claire completely lost it. He was dragging her closer to the edge with every passing second.
"I could do this forever," he briefly stopped, pressing a soft kiss directly to her clit, "just to hear ye."
The pressure built relentlessly in her lower abdomen. Claire tugged his hair, her body trembling in a way she couldn't hold back. She whispered his name, trying to look at him as he wanted, but her body collapsed, fully sinking into the sofa, eyes squeezed shut, focusing solely on chasing the release he was expertly guiding her toward. Jamie didn't stop, his mouth and fingers working in perfect, synchronized rhythm.
"Let go, Sassenach," he praised with a low murmur, "I've got ye."
And his voice was all it took for her climax to crash through in waves, leaving her gasping and shuddering beneath his touch. He kept going, drawing out every tremor until she was breathless, finally guiding his mouth back to her lips when the sensitive spot became too overstimulated. Claire was still sprawled on the sofa, Jamie moved to settle above her with a triumphant grin, holding his weight on his forearms not to crush her.
Claire kissed him, tasting herself on his lips and she didn't mind. Her hands moved to his cheeks, offering a grateful caress, and when their lips finally parted, their gazes locked. Their eyes communicated a language their mouths never could, too stubborn, and she, too, afraid of ruining the delicate moment. Jamie pressed a quick kiss to her lips, then another, lingering on her shoulder just long enough for her to wish he'd stay there forever.
It’s never over,
My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder.
She laughed, her fingers now gently, softly, raking through his hair, contrasting the desperate grip she'd had on him moments ago. Her touch tried to apologize for the earlier intensity. Jamie lifted his blue eyes, a curious glint in their depths at her laughter. Claire's eyes twinkled under the warm light of his flat.
"Are ye laughing at me?"
"Yes," she stated, as if it were the most obvious truth.
"Why?"
"I don't know, I'm just happy," she admitted, a genuine smile gracing her lips. "And it's funny how I never manage to get you undressed before I'm fully naked."
It’s never over,
All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter,
"Ye have to be quicker, Sassenach," his burr rumbled against her ear. Then, with a quick movement, he stood up, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
She let out a delighted shriek in his embrace, followed by laughter. "Where are we going?"
"To my room." Jamie started walking, leaving behind the forgotten whisky, the music, the scattered clothes. The only thing that mattered was them. "Bet I can give ye another orgasm before ye can take off my clothes."
"Jamie!"
Day 986
Claire never saw herself as the "other woman." She never made Jamie cheat either, even during the brief periods when they were both dating other people. She wasn't sure if what they had was a form of emotional cheating, but she knew that even when she tried her best to be fully involved in her current relationships, Jamie was always on her mind. No other touch compared to his, no other words felt as right. It wasn’t just about sex, it was the way his large hands always found their way to her as a comforting reminder that she was never truly alone when they were together.
Through a mutual friend, Claire learned that Jamie's father had died. She didn't know the circumstances, but that didn't matter. She knew how much he loved his family, how he always spoke of them with immense pride and affection. And right now she was really concerned about his well-being. He was far away in his hometown and even though they weren’t officially together, she wanted to be there for him. It was a mix of genuine care and the simple human sympathy of a friend.
Claire:
Jamie, I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry.
His reply came quickly.
Jamie:
It was unexpected.
The funeral is in a few hours, and I've been looking at the clothes for too long because if I put them on, then it’ll be real.
Claire:
Do you want to talk?
I can call you if you want me to. We can just be silent if you just want company.
Jamie:
Yeah, that’d be great but Geneva’s here.
I dinna ken
I mean
I just want a friend right now, ye ken?
I’m not asking ye to come I just
Claire:
Send me the address.
And Jamie did. Claire rushed to take a quick shower and dress, grabbing a black coat to protect her from the cold. She asked to borrow Geillis's car, determined to be there on time, even though she genuinely hated driving. She was terrible at it, never understanding how she even got her license. But if Jamie needed her, she was willing to drive across an entire continent to be by his side. The GPS guided her to an old, familiar looking church in the heart of what she now recognized as Jamie’s hometown. She knew these streets from the many stories he'd told her during their aftercare moments, lying in her bed or his.
The weather was terrible, the cold cut through her coat as she stepped out of the car. She felt like a complete outsider, especially with Jamie's girlfriend already there. Claire was just a friend, there by his request. Her steps were hesitant as she entered the church. Everyone was waiting for the service to begin, and then she saw him: dark circles under his eyes, which were red from crying. His suit was finally on, and she could only imagine how difficult it had been for him to tie that rumpled knot.
Claire wasn't sure if it was right to walk toward him or wait for him to notice her. She didn't want to intrude on his time with family and close friends. But he saw her.
"Claire," he sighed, her name was a mix of relief and exhaustion.
She started walking toward him, and he moved to meet her in the middle of the aisle. Her arms were already open, and Jamie melted into her embrace, his large frame letting go of all its weight as he buried his head in the curve of her neck. Claire's hands went to his back, one rising to the nape of his hair, just holding him, not moving. She allowed him to need her as much as he wanted to, because that’s what friends would do. Her thumb drew slow circles on his back while his hands held her in a tight hug she wasn’t going to break first.
"Thank ye for coming," he whispered, fighting to hold himself together. She wouldn't have minded if he’d broken down, she would have simply held him, but she knew this wasn't the place. Claire just nodded, because sometimes, words weren’t enough.
He finally pulled away, and she saw a female hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him away from her. It was his girlfriend, Geneva. Claire gave her a respectful nod, which Geneva reciprocated before turning her full attention back to Jamie, the one who truly mattered there.
Claire's acquaintance with Jamie's family was limited as she had been briefly introduced to his mother and sister at the funeral, an encounter she remembered only for the tight smile from Geneva. Claire had no idea how much information Jamie's girlfriend had about their long standing friendship, or if she had ever seen them too close at a party. It didn't matter. Claire respected their space and, by extension, his relationship, because it was what he had chosen. What they had was a world meant only for when Jamie was unattached, an unwritten rule that gave Claire permission to want him without being a homewrecker.
Just one week after the funeral, Claire got the news. She heard it through a mutual friend: Geneva had left him.
Day 1465
Claire lay naked beside Jamie, their limbs entwined under the rumpled sheets. Her breathing was slow, her head resting on his bare chest in the middle of a room she knew intimately. Nothing had changed since the last time she was here. The only new addition was the book on his nightstand, its page corner bent to save his place. She knew he didn't mind these things. To Jamie, a book wasn't meant to be kept pristine, it was a living thing, read and filled with the soul of the person who held it. He had told her that years ago, and she never forgot. She hadn't bought a single bookmark since.
His heart was beating steadily beneath her ear, a comforting rhythm that could lull her straight to sleep in his arms. She knew he wouldn’t mind if she did. He was a gentleman, he never kicked her out, never made her feel like she had to leave, yet she always did. Sometimes, she ran the moment sunlight touched her eyelids, overwhelmed by the feelings that surfaced when his arms were wrapped around her naked body, leaving her soul feeling dangerously exposed. She felt that he could rip her heart out if he ever wanted to.
Jamie's hands ran through her soft curls, some of them tangled from their friction against the sheets. They had always been incredible together in bed, even from the beginning. Now, four years later, Claire knew every mole on his body and the subtle freckles that became more visible when he spent too long in the sun. And he was a master at knowing every one of the spots that made her giggle and moan, having spent countless nights exploring her body until he was satisfied that her whole being vibrated with him.
"Did ye fall asleep?" Jamie murmured, carefully untangling a curl.
Claire shook her head, a barely perceptible movement. "I'm awake."
"Ye're breathing too slowly. I thought ye were already sleeping."
"I'm not, I'm just relaxed," she confessed, tilting her head up to look at him.
He held her chin, his thumb brushing her skin with a softness that made her feel entirely unworthy. They held each other's gaze until Jamie pressed a quick peck on her swollen lips. "I can tell," he whispered. "I am too."
"Do I have to leave?" Claire asked with a sudden anxiety in her voice.
"What? No," Jamie rushed to stop her train of thought.
"I can if you want me to. I don't have to sleep here, I–" she started, her eyebrows slightly furrowed, her thoughts racing.
"Claire," he stopped her once more, his voice firm. "I dinna want ye to leave."
"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice small.
"Aye, I always fall asleep first," he explained, a soft smile on his lips. "I never see ye fall asleep first and I wanted to know if I’d manage this time."
Oh. That was the reason. He wasn’t kicking her out. Claire's shoulders relaxed, and he seemed to feel it because his hands began to roam down her arms, the tips of his fingers tracing soft circles on her skin.
"Did you know you smile when you're sleeping?" she confessed how much attention she put on those small details, her fingers tracing his jaw. "I always wonder what you're dreaming about."
"I didna ken I still did that."
"You knew?"
"My ma used to tell everybody when I was a bairn that I would smile in my dreams," he said, a fond memory in his voice. "It was embarrassing."
Embarrassing was the amount of times Claire had found herself watching him sleep, just to see that unguarded smile, his relaxed face stripped of all his usual burdens.
"It's cute."
"It wasn't when my ma told my first girlfriend about it."
"That would've impressed a young Claire," she chuckled, delighted by this new knowledge of his teenage years.
"Does it impress ye now?" he asked, his thumb brushing her lips.
"Yes," she admitted, leaning in to steal a brief peck.
"In that case, it's cute," he quoted, then added, "I really wish ye and my ma would have met in a different context. I'm sure ye two would have a blast mocking me."
Claire chuckled, a sound tinged with a nervousness she couldn't hide. The implication in his words was significant. Meeting his family, truly meeting them, was a boundary they had never crossed. That, and having a genuine conversation about their feelings, were the only two barriers that remained. She didn't have anyone to introduce him to, her uncle was in the middle of a long expedition in Egypt, and she had never been good with family dynamics.
"You think?" she asked, a subtle question in her tone. Did he really want her to meet his family? Not as a girlfriend, but just as they were: a couple of "friends" who had sex.
"Aye," he confirmed, his thumb tracing a line on her arm. "She remembers ye from the funeral."
"I was afraid to intrude. I just wanted to be there for you."
"You weren't an intruder, you could never be." He kissed her forehead. "You are... we are... we are friends. I wanted ye there."
Friends. That was the status where they were stuck, from strangers to friends. The fact was, they weren't even true friends because they could go months without speaking, respecting each other's boundaries when other people were involved. But when life inevitably brought them back together, they held onto that title. It was simpler to put a name on what was really happening. Perhaps, for Jamie, it was genuine friendship, even as she lay naked in his bed, on the verge of spilling all her intense feelings. She would never know for sure, too much of a coward to even propose "the talk". Friends, nothing more than that.
"And I'll be there if one day ye want me to," he promised, kissing the tip of her nose like it meant nothing. But it meant everything to her.
Claire found herself one kiss away from confessing everything, from screaming into his face that she could never be his friend, that she'd been too involved since the moment they first hooked up. But she was terrified she would lose him forever. She'd replayed the scene in her head countless times: Jamie telling her he wasn't ready for a relationship, not with her.
So she did what she knew best when she was with him.
She kissed him.
She moved, straddling him, and suffocated all her feelings with the raw, consuming pleasure of their bodies joining.
The kiss was urgent on both sides, his lips moving over hers in an intoxicating rhythm, forcing his way in. She sighed into his mouth, receiving him as if he belonged there. He sucked on her upper lip, and she began to rock her hips, wanting to feel him grow hard again beneath her. Jamie groaned and his hands found their way to different destinations. His right hand cupped her ass, following her every movement, while his left made sure her breasts were given attention.
Claire tilted her head back and sat up, her hands on his chest, using him for an anchor as she moved. The once softened cock stirred back to life, and with one hand, she reached between their bodies, stroking him a few times. She watched the rise and fall of their bodies, her gaze lost in the shape of his form, not in his eyes.
"Claire..." he tried to speak.
"Condom?" she interrupted, not waiting for an answer as she searched for one in his nightstand drawer.
She didn’t mind what else he kept there. She found the foil packet, carefully opened it, and slid it down his length with practiced ease. Claire lifted herself slightly, finding the right angle to guide him inside, then slowly lowered herself, swallowing him inch by inch. She let out a long sigh, and his growl made her finally look at his face. Jamie’s eyes, filled with raw lust, were fixed on the point where their bodies joined.
And he had never looked more beautiful.
"Ye're the most bonnie thing my eyes have had the pleasure to look at," he breathed.
They thought the same. The knowledge was overwhelming, but it encouraged her to continue rocking her hips in slow circles, not rushing. Her hands remained firmly on his chest, anchoring her movements.
"Liar," she said, her eyes closing as she tilted her head back, chasing the sensations of having him fully inside her.
"Look at me," Jamie commanded, but this time, she couldn't.
She ignored him, parting her lips to release a moan, moving back and forth, her clit rubbing against his skin in a delicious, maddening rhythm.
"Sassenach," he insisted. She stopped, that damned nickname always had an effect on her. He didn't let her move away, grabbing her hips with one hand to sit up and face her.
Jamie's hand moved to her cheek, cupping it while he tried to hold her gaze. Their bodies were still connected, and she looked at him, filled with a beautiful confusion.
"Ye're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he repeated. She shook her head in disbelief. "I mean it."
"Kiss me," she said, her voice a needy whisper against his lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer until they shared the same air.
Jamie never denied her a kiss. As he kissed her, the pressure on her shoulders eased. She wasn’t sure she could handle not saying "I love you" when he was telling her all those things. She began to move again, slowly, her lips parted for him, savoring the taste of whisky and a hint of herself. The intoxicating blend of their flavors was all consuming.
When the need for air became stronger than their desire to kiss, she looked into his face once more. He was no longer cupping her cheek. His hand was now on the back of her neck, his free hand on her thigh. The bed creaked beneath them as she began to ride him, her gaze never leaving his, gasping into his mouth, receiving his groans in response as she tightened around him in just the right way.
It was better than talking and so much more intimate. Claire’s eyes were saying all the things her mouth was too afraid to say. His eyes seemed to reflect the same feelings, but she convinced herself it was just the oxytocin from the previous three orgasms.
He lifted his hips, pounding into her from underneath. She mumbled a curse, followed by soft moans that she no longer held back. She whimpered, clinging to the hair at the nape of his neck. She couldn't register all the sounds she was making, and it was better that way. She knew she'd be embarrassed by the things he made her say, but Jamie seemed to love it.
"Fuck, ye feel so tight and perfect around me," he said, breaking the spell of silence.
"Jamie, please," she mumbled, burying her face in his neck.
"Look at me, mo nighean donn," he guided her hips, controlling the desperate rhythm. "Ye ken I love to see yer bonnie face when ye come."
The gaelic words were like music to her ears. She didn't know the meaning, but she loved the sound. It was something new she hadn’t heard from him. She wanted to ask what it meant, but when she lifted her head from his neck, it was impossible to form the question. Her tongue slipped into his mouth for one last deep kiss before the cry escaped her lips and her body convulsed around him. She trembled, whimpering, as she desperately rode him to the finish line.
Jamie grabbed her hips, keeping her still as he emptied himself with a low groan. Claire hugged him close, her head resting on his shoulder for the few seconds they had before the condom became a mess. They had done this countless times. She moved from him to lay on the bed while he went to discard the condom and return with a warm towel. She let him, not saying a word. Once he was back, covering her naked body with the blankets, he spoke again.
"Stay," he pleaded.
Claire nodded, hugging him and closing her eyes.
Day 2
The morning light filtered into Claire’s room, and she felt disoriented in her own space. She was used to a peaceful waking, occasionally hearing Geillis cursing because she was running late, but usually quiet. Not this morning. The air was dense with the mingled scent of whisky and sex. Claire felt warm and slightly sweaty, trapped deliciously in the large, heavy arms of a man who was all heat and slow, rumbling snores in her ear. She wasn't used to it at all, but as the vivid memories of the previous night flooded her mind, she realized she didn't mind.
A feeling of euphoria washed over her. The most handsome man she had ever met in her life was in her bed, completely naked, his arms secured around her. And she wanted this to happen again and again. No one had ever looked at her with the possessive intensity Jamie did. And no one had ever been as generous, as devoted to her pleasure, as he had been during their night together.
Claire, once more, made herself comfortable in his arms, and Jamie’s hold instantly tightened around her. The gentle snoring stopped, leaving a heavy silence. She wondered if he was awake, but was terrified to move and confirm it. Was his heart beating as fast as hers? Or was she reading too much into a single, passionate night?
She desperately wished for the first option. She was a hundred percent sure that last night had been real, the way he had praised her with words and devotion, how he had checked more than once that she was alright, how he had held her until she was the one to fall asleep first, and how he hadn't left. Geillis had been the one encouraging her since they met: "Just try a one time thing! It’s freeing!" But Claire was never brave enough to do it. She wasn't a saint, but she genuinely preferred the safety of intimacy in a relationship, or at least with someone she already knew. Jamie wrecked all those self imposed rules with just one disarming smile, and she was sunk from that exact moment.
It was her first attempt at a one night stand, and her heart felt ready to burst as she slowly turned to face him. Jamie was already smiling at her, that damn smile that she instinctively traced with her finger before even saying a word. Maybe she wasn't cut out for the one time thing at all.
“Bonnie room,” he murmured. Damn him.
“You saw it last night,” she countered playfully.
“I didna,” he grinned, a small, genuine expression that made the butterflies in her stomach feel like a real thing.
“Do you want a tour?” she teased.
Jamie shook his head, instantly closing the distance between them. He brushed her lips with his as his hand came up to cup her cheek. Claire smiled, deciding then and there that she could happily do this every morning if he chose to stay.
“Of the room? Not yet.” He settled the matter with a kiss on her jaw, then her neck, while his hands under the sheets found and cupped her arse, lifting her thigh to drape it over his hip.
Then, the sudden, jarring sound of an alarm broke the spell. The softness of his touch was instantly replaced by the messy chaos of finding the source of the noise. It was his phone, Claire never needed such a loud sound to wake. Once Jamie silenced it, Claire remained in the same position, waiting for him to return to the warmth. But he stayed sitting on the edge of the bed, now quickly searching for and pulling on his clothes, as if he had just remembered a vital, urgent task. Or, it was just his excuse to leave.
“Where are you going so fast?” Claire covered her bare breast with the sheet, feeling vulnerable once he was no longer sharing the intimate space they had just created.
“I have this work… thing,” he said, pulling his t-shirt over his head. “I canna be late.”
“Oh, right,” she nodded, her voice flat. That was definitely an excuse.
“I’m sorry,” Jamie finished tying his shoes, grabbing his phone. He leaned toward her, planting a final, confusingly quick goodbye kiss on her lips. “I’ll text ye.”
Claire wasn't sure what else she was supposed to say, but it wasn't necessary because Jamie just left, closing the door and leaving her alone and confused. She felt stupid too, for thinking maybe it could have been different. But what was she really expecting from someone she met at a party? Of course, he wanted sex and nothing more. She had wanted the same thing, even though now, she wasn't so sure.
Claire stood up from the bed, her mind still reeling, and headed straight for the shower, hoping the water would wash away her confused thoughts. Once dressed, she went to look for an expert opinion. Geillis was still deeply asleep, but Claire didn’t care. She slipped into the room and sat heavily on the bed, waiting for her friend to wake, her expression filled with anxiety. Geillis frowned, the mascara from last night smudged under her eyes, her lipstick gone. She groaned and pulled the blankets higher.
“Go away,” Geillis mumbled into the pillow.
“I had sex.”
“Aye, judging by the way Jamie was looking at ye, I was hoping ye had.”
“And he left.”
“It was that bad?” Geillis instantly tossed the covers off her face, suddenly awake and fully invested in the conversation.
“No, it was not,” Claire let out a frustrated sigh, covering her face with her hands, embarrassed by the intimacy she was about to admit. “It was amazing. The best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life. He was just… How many details do you want?”
“After a cup of coffee, all of them. For now, get to the point.”
“We woke up together. He was the sweetest man alive. I thought we were going to… you know, again,” she blushed. “And then his alarm went on, he completely freaked out, dressed, and left. He said he was going to text me, but I didn’t even give him my number.”
“I have his number,” Geillis said simply.
“That’s not the point, G!” Claire looked at her, her eyes pleading for a serious take on the situation. “I really felt we had a connection. I thought he felt it too! And then he just got dressed and left.”
Geillis looked at her with a mix of compassion and weary experience. “Darling, that’s how it works. It’s just a one-time thing. Ye didn’t think ye were going to marry him after one night, did ye?”
Claire groaned, falling backward onto the mattress.
“Oh, darling. Ye completely misread the situation.”
“I feel like a complete idiot,” she looked up at her friend. “He made it feel like it was real.”
“Do ye want to see him again?”
Claire nodded immediately.
“Ye can, if ye dinna get attached,” Geillis advised, her voice softening. “Can ye do that?”
“I won’t get attached to him,” Claire assured her, defensive determination hardening her features. “I can do the sex thing and nothing more, if that’s what he wants.”
“Can yer little romantic heart truly handle that?” her friend teased.
“Fuck you,” Claire rolled her eyes, throwing a pillow at her, which made both of them laugh.
Yes, she could handle that. She was sure it would just be a couple of weeks, maybe months, until one of them got bored, exhausted by the casual arrangement, met someone new, and moved on. It wouldn't be much more than that.