Don’t Let Me Fall, Chapter 10
A/N Here is the penultimate chapter of my Circus AU. By all rights, it should be two chapters, but I didn’t have the heart to split it in two, which means Chapter 11 will be an epilogue.
Mild warning for sexual situations, although it stays in the Classy Mature category, rather than the Kinky Explicit one (sorry!)
Also a trigger warning for mild reference to sexual assault and its aftermath.
For all previous chapters, please see my AO3 page.
Jamie had never been so grateful to see his drab little dorm room in his entire life. The twenty-four hours of travel from Melbourne to Montreal had been excruciating. His shoulder had twinged. His wrist, three days post-operation and heavily bandaged, had throbbed. But more than anything, his heart had ached to be putting half a globe between himself and Claire.
She’d spent every moment she could spare at the hospital, keeping him entertained, keeping him sane as hour followed solitary hour with nothing to do but stare out the window. When he was wheeled down the corridor for his surgery it was almost a relief, for at least he was going somewhere. And when he awoke in a nauseous haze in the recovery room, it was Claire’s sunflower eyes that greeted him, warm and concerned.
Doing the complicated mental arithmetic required to know what time it was in Australia, he placed his phone on the counter and dialed with his left hand after turning on the speaker.
“You’re home?”
Despite the thousands of kilometres that now separated them, Claire’s honey and sandpaper voice eased the tight ball of tension that had taken up residence between his eyes almost instantly.
“Aye, just got in. How was last night’s show?”
“You mean tonight’s show, Eastern Daylight Time? It went well. I don’t know what you said to John, but he’s performing like his very life depends upon it.”
That was actually a fairly close approximation of what he’d said to John. Not that Jamie ever intended to divulge that detail to Claire. Their late-night conversation had been equal parts helpful advice and dire warning, and Jamie was gratified to know at least the warnings had been heeded.
“I miss ye already, Tourist,” he confessed. He’d begun to miss her the moment he’d stepped out of her arms, lips still tingling from their goodbye kiss, and walked through airport security, the newly installed metal plate in his wrist setting off the metal detectors.
“I miss you too. It’s just not the same without you here.”
A weary sigh was his only response. This was their first of countless long-distance calls if Claire continued to perform for the circus, and he had no intention of standing in the way of her career. She’d already lost too many opportunities. They would have to find a way to make things work.
“Tell me what you’re doing right now,” she interrupted his gloomy thoughts.
“Jes standing in my kitchin, tryin’ tae decide if I’m hungry for breakfast or a late-night snack.”
“Ah, the joys of jetlag,” she laughed, seemingly relieved he’d made a joke. “Are the dorms busy?”
“Aye, there’s ano’er round of recruits. Some o’ them must hail from the Ukraine, because the hallway fair reeks of borscht. Mebbe I should go beg a bowl and be done wi’ cooking.”
“You hate beets!” she laughed.
“I ken, but tis an upside-down world I’m livin’ in right now, Tourist.” He’d meant it in jest, but the words struck true. A circus performer who couldn’t perform. A man in love with a woman he’d barely kissed. A citizen of precisely nowhere.
“It’ll work out, you’ll see,” Claire assured with her usual eerie prescience. “This tour will be over in a couple months, and we’ll find a way to be together. I know it.”
“I learned long ago no’ to doubt yer obstinacy. If ye say it will be so, then I believe ye.”
“Smart man. Now eat some cereal and get some sleep. You must be exhausted.”
“Aye. Stay safe out there, Claire.”
***
Perth, then Auckland, then Wellington. Night after night, John and I soared through the air to the accompaniment of live music and the audible wonder of the audience. I still loved the work, still nourished my soul with the crowd’s applause, but it wasn’t the same without Jamie by my side.
A small consolation was watching John come into his own. Whether it was Jamie’s advice, the confidence instilled by finally being the lead on a major show, or simply rising to the occasion, he was a different performer in the weeks since Jamie’s fall.
“Truly, Jamie, what did you say to him?” We were chatting during our usual mid-afternoon-late-evening phone call, and Jamie had asked after John. “He was always a competent athlete. Workmanlike, I would have called him. Now, he’s…” I hesitated, not wanting to rub salt into Jamie’s literal wounds by extolling John’s virtues as my partner.
“I’m happy to hear it,” Jamie replied without a drop of jealousy. “As for wha’ I told him, I merely spoke tae him in terms he’d appreciate.”
“Such as?”
“Weel, John’s an amateur horticulturalist, ye ken? I said his job was akin tae the stem, leaves, even the roots of a plant. Tae be strong and flexible, but no’ tae distract the eye from the centerpiece, the flower, as it were.”
I would never tire of Jamie’s poetic soul, hidden as it was behind solid muscle and an inscrutable expression.
“Have I told you today that I love you?” I asked rhetorically.
“T’day yer time, or mine?” I heard him grin.
“Both. Either. I love you, Jamie Fraser.”
“And I, you, Tourist. Come home tae me safely.”
“As quickly as I can,” I promised.
***
The hours between Jamie’s physical therapy session each morning and his evening call with Claire stretched on endlessly. It was still too slushy to run outdoors, so he put in long hours on the treadmill, listening to podcasts or just daydreaming as the miles slid by.
Thankfully, his dislocated shoulder had healed well, removing the impediment of a sling and freeing him to resume drawing. He wasn’t certain why he persisted working on The Lady of Balnain, only that he couldn’t compel himself to stop. She would come to him in dreams, easing his loneliness. It was always Claire’s face that she wore, gold and ivory, fierce and as stately as a queen. He often woke from such dreams sticky and rigid with want; another reason to be thankful that he was left-handed.
Wardrobe had never been his forte, so one afternoon Jamie strolled down the hallway to the costume department, hoping to find a designer with enough free time to look over his latest sketches. More and more he envisioned the Lady as a solo artist, rising from the stones in billows of pearlescent silk. How this raiment could be cut to still allow articulated movement was something…
“Good afternoon, James.”
He’d been so caught up in his creative musings that he’d failed to notice Gilles Lemieux walking towards him, impeccably dressed in his usual tailored suit.
“Good afternoon, Monsieur Lemieux,” Jamie replied, stepping aside to let the shorter man pass by.
“How’s the wrist?” the company president inquired, casting a quick glance at the athletic brace Jamie now wore on his right arm.
“Comin’ along. They say I should regain about ninety percent o’ my full range of movement, wi’ time.”
Gilles Lemieux shook his head sadly. “It’s a tremendous loss for Cirque des Etoiles, of course, but I’m thankful you weren’t more seriously injured.”
Jamie indicated his thanks and made to leave. The president was a tremendously busy man.
“Actually, James, I came looking for you. If you aren’t expected somewhere, could I trouble you to join me in my office?”
As he followed his boss back to the administrative wing, Jamie tried to imagine what was in store for him. By contract, the circus owed him twelve weeks of rehabilitation, even if there was no chance of him ever returning to the big top. Perhaps an issue with his work visa status, but that was far below the man’s pay grade. Jamie settled carefully into the stylish chair facing Lemieux’s desk, politely turning down his offer of a drink.
“Well, I won’t turn about the pot, as we say in French. James, it has come to my attention that you may have been the victim of inappropriate sexual advances by a former member of my staff.”
Jamie sat perfectly still, his heart suddenly a trip hammer in his chest.
“What you chose to divulge about this matter is entirely your business. I only asked you here today to express my deepest apologies for any harm or mental anguish you might have suffered. As you are no doubt aware, Cirque des Etoiles has a zero-tolerance policy regarding any kind of sexual harassment. Once the allegations against Monsieur Marylebone were substantiated earlier this week, he was dismissed without notice. I understand criminal charges may be brought in at least two of the cases.”
“Two of the..” Jamie felt as though he was drunk.
“Yes, one athlete came forward with proof of Mr. Marylebone offering to exchange career advancement for sexual favours… while on the Tropico tour, as a matter of fact… I can’t say who for reasons of privacy, of course… well, once word got out of the one allegation, a number of other cast members stepped forward as well. It makes me sick, knowing that this behaviour was going on right beneath my nose.”
Jamie nodded, still reeling from the turn of events. His leather portfolio of sketches sat heavy against his left thigh. He took a fortifying breath.
“Have ye replaced Monsieur Marylebone yet, sir?”
Twenty minutes later, Gilles Lemieux was still marveling over his drawings, turning between pages with a disbelieving shake of his head.
“And you’ve never had formal training?” he asked for the second time.
“Nay. My mam was an artist, so I suppose I learned from her,” Jamie explained.
“This is a remarkable concept, James. A major departure from the typical Cirque des Etoiles aesthetic. With your permission, I’d like to show these to our directorial staff to get their thoughts.”
Jamie’s stomach, already tight as a drum, sunk into his pelvis. Perhaps seeing his creation brought to life by others was the best he could hope for.
“I’m quite confident they’ll agree with me,” the president continued. “Yours is exactly the sort of vision we need to keep each new show feeling unique.”
The older man rose from his desk and came around to stand beside Jamie, who had also risen.
“Will yer staff be making a show from my ideas, then?” Jamie asked, still unsure what had just transpired.
Gilles Lemieux laughed. “Certainement pas. That will be your job, Monsieur Fraser. If you’ll accept my offer to become Cirque des Etoiles newest artistic director, that is.”
Jamie’s head spun. His pulse sizzled. It was his first day at circus school all over again. He couldn’t wait to tell Claire.
The president extended his left hand for Jamie to shake, a gentlemen’s agreement before working through the particulars.
“I will gladly accept yer offer, Monsieur Lemieux. On one condition…”
***
“The BAFTAs! I’d thank ye tae remember yer good friend an’ agent when ye become a household name, Claire. I dinna like tae mention it, but twas I who hauled yer arse off the couch an’ convinced yet tae give this circus thing a try. An’ now look at ye, rubbing shoulder wi’ the great and good.”
From seven time zones away, I laughed. No matter the situation, Geillis always seemed to know just what to say. This offer for a select few members of the cast of Tropico to perform at the British film awards in London had come just as we were wrapping up the final stop of our tour in Jakarta. I had been eager to return to Montreal, to finally reunite with Jamie, but the opportunity to perform again in Royal Albert Hall was too great to pass up. Jamie, bless his unselfish soul, had whole-heartedly agreed.
“Would a pair of tickets to the ceremony be a fitting way to acknowledge your steadfast support?” I dangled, holding the phone away from my ear as the predicted squeal shot down the line.
“I’m proud of ye, Claire,” Geillis said after she had settled down. “Ye took a shitty situation and ye turned it inta success through yer own hard graft.”
“Well,” I demurred, “I had a lot of help. I never would have made it without Jamie.”
“Oh, aye. The ginger demi-god. How is yer love monkey doin’?”
“He’s well. The physical therapist is thrilled with his progress. He only has to wear a splint to sleep,” I explained, feeling my skin tingle as it always did when I thought of Jamie.
“Do ye ken wha’ will happen once ye return tae Canada? Besides non-stop acrobatic sex, that is.”
“I don’t know exactly…” I hesitated.
“Wha’?” Geillis prodded, ever a slave to gossip.
“He mentioned he has something he wants to talk to me about but won’t say what it is until we’re face to face.”
In truth, Jamie had been acting strangely for the past week. Distracted, but not in a way that diminished his obvious pleasure in speaking with me. The other night he couldn’t stop yawning, which struck me as strange since his only scheduled task was an hour of physical therapy every day. I was trying not to let it worry me, but the extra week spent in London was another week before I could look into his fathomless blue eyes and know that everything was alright. That we were alright.
“Mebbe he’s plannin’ tae propose!” I could practically hear Geillis bouncing on her toes in excitement.
“That’s ridiculous, Geillis. We haven’t even… well, you know.” Not that I would have been averse to the idea, after the chastity of our bizarre courtship, but the man had been hospitalized and without the use of either of his arms the last time we’d been in each other’s company.
“Ye said he was a bit traditional,” Geillis defended her hypothesis. “Perhaps he believes in doin’ things the old-fashioned way. Holy shite, do ye think he could be a virgin?!”
From the details I knew about his relationship with Anna-Louise, I knew he wasn’t, but I did get the impression he wasn’t particularly experienced either. Rather than put me off, I found this facet of Jamie tremendously appealing. I hadn’t been with many partners either, and I loved the idea of us learning the ropes together.
“Well, whatever it is, I won’t find out until I’m back to Montreal,” I diverted. “I’ll send you the details of where to pick up your tickets. Rehearsals will have me busy until the ceremony, but let’s plan on getting together the following day, before I fly out.”
After hanging up, I paced around my hotel room, tidying up and getting ready for bed. The television in the room next door came on and for a foolish millisecond I thought it was Jamie. Disappointment torpedoed my mood while longing strangled my heart.
I’d put on a brave front while we were in Australia, but the truth was that I wasn’t certain if I could handle continuing to tour with the circus while Jamie was on the other side of the globe. I’d only just found the career and the man who were both meant for me, and I might be forced to choose between the two.
***
The cultured applause of the audience died away, and the television cameras shifted focus. I let out a deep breath, relieved that the abbreviated version of our routine from Tropico had gone off without a hitch. Beside me, John was glowing with all the radiance of a newly born star. He gave me a quick hug, then wandered off to sit in the audience, eager to absorb every moment of the experience.
I lingered backstage, taking in the familiar sights and smells of the theatre where I had performed as a ballerina countless times before. It felt like another lifetime ago.
“Claire!” Geillis’ high-pitched squeal was quickly shushed by a disapproving stage manager. Unrepentant, she threw her arms around me and bounced in place.
“Ye were absolutely brilliant! I fair fell off my chair when the lad was twirling ye above the stage by yer wee ankle. Oof, I’m still shaking!”
I chuckled as I extricated myself from her surprisingly strong grip. The laughter died on my lips as I caught sight of a familiar silhouette waiting in the wings, his copper hair catching the stage lights and glowing like fire.
“Jamie.” The word broke like dawn over my lips. He smiled, a little hesitant, a little shy. I blinked to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
“Claire.”
Jamie’s mouth hadn’t moved. I would know, as I’d been staring at it.
“Claire, it’s so wonderful to see you again.” The voice was familiar, yet foreign. It held none of the lilting bass of Jamie’s speech as it leapt and meandered like clear water in a rocky stream.
I looked to my right and saw Frank Randall, a bouquet of white roses held in his arms like an infant. He thrust these into my numb hands and kissed the air beside my cheeks.
“Fr.. Frank,” I stuttered, looking at Geillis for help.
“I’m sorry I didna warn ye,” she whispered. “He got wind o’ the fact I had a spare ticket, and wouldna rest until I agreed tae let him accompany me.”
When I glanced again, Jamie’s smile had vanished, replaced with an unfamiliar expression, as though he had tasted something spoiled. I beseeched him with my eyes, needing just a minute to gather my bearings and sort out this social train wreck. A dip of his chin let me know he understood.
“Frank,” I tried again, pulling my shoulders back in determination. “Thank you very much for the flowers. They’re lovely. Did you enjoy our performance?”
“Yes, well, it was certainly unusual. Quite bourgeois for the BAFTAs, appealing to the masses and whatnot.” Then, realizing his comment wasn’t exactly complimentary, he quickly added, “But you were lovely as always, darling.”
By now Geillis had caught sight of Jamie and was grinning like an imp.
“Weeel, we should let Claire see tae her other, errr, adoring fans. Call me tomorrow about that coffee, hen. If ye can still walk, that is,” she added sotto voce.
“What? No! Claire, come back to be my partner!” Frank cried as Geillis tried to pull him towards the stage door. “You’re too good for this, this, carnival sideshow. You belong to the world of ballet!”
Already walking away, I cast a quick glance over my shoulder.
“Not anymore, I don’t. Thank you again for the flowers, Frank.”
***
Jamie couldn’t get over how beautiful she was. Had her hair always framed her face like a thundercloud? Was her skin constantly aglow with the sheen of a hundred pearls?
He’d barely drawn breath during the entirety of her and John’s performance, moved and terrified in equal measure. Then, when he’s realized they had reversed the routine and that John was about to hold Claire aloft by her injured ankle, he’d nearly been sick. The joint had held, though. There was no sign of discomfort at all on Claire’s expressive face. She was healed.
The tentative brush of finger against finger brought him around to the present.
“You’re real,” she whispered. “You’re here. I thought maybe I was dreaming.”
“Nay, Tourist. I’m flesh and blood. See? I can touch ye now.”
With trembling hands, Jamie reached out to frame her face, tilting her chin upwards into his heavy gaze.
“I’ve missed you.”
“Aye. I’ve missed ye as well.”
“How? I mean, what are you doing here?” A tiny wrinkle of confusion bisected her brow and he rubbed it smooth with the pad of his thumb.
“I’ll tell ye everything, but first, I would very much like to kiss ye. May I?”
Their mouths met before the sibilant of her acceptance had died on her lips. This too felt like uncharted bliss, the softness of her kiss, the warm puffs of breath against his cheek, the tiny noises that seemed to travel through her very bones and into his own. Surely, they had never kissed before if kissing Claire felt like entering paradise. How had he ever managed to let her go?
A smattering of applause, too nearby to be the audience, infiltrated the tiny universe of two they had created. The Tropico stage crew obviously approved of their romance. Embarrassed, Jamie still gave them a mock bow while Claire hid her face against his bicep.
“Is there somewhere we can go that’s a wee bit more private, Tourist?”
“My hotel is down the street. Just let me grab my coat.”
***
The BAFTAs had put us up in the Mandarin Oriental, a considerable upgrade from the downtown business hotels Cirque des Etoiles tended to favour. Walking into the lobby with my hand firmly enveloped in Jamie’s, I couldn’t help noticing what a striking figure he cut. Always handsome and astonishingly fit, he was now imbued with an internal luminance that drew attention to him like a magnet. His chiseled jawline, smooth from a recent shave, the bronzed waves of his hair, the effortless tailoring of his sport jacket and indigo jeans echoing the depths of his eyes.
Those eyes looked my way, a twinkle of merriment reflecting in their depths.
“Verra fancy lodgings ye’ve got here, Tourist. Are ye sure ye’ll be willin’ tae return tae the prosaic life of a circus performer?”
Despite the teasing tone, I read the underlying insecurity in Jamie’s question. Thankfully, it was a fear I could easily and whole-heartedly put to rest.
“It’s like I told Frank, Jamie. The circus is where I belong now. With you.”
He bent towards me, fixated on my mouth before he froze with a grimace.
“Can we gang tae yer room? I’m tired of sharing ye wi’ an audience.”
I looked around us and sure enough, more than a few curious gazes were turned our way, standing as we were in the middle of the opulent room as guests and staff parted around us.
The elevator ride felt endless. Jamie stood across from me, his still healing fingers tapping morse code against his thigh. I focused on them, worried that if I met his look we would be mid-coitus by the time the doors opened on my floor.
The discrete snick of a well-oiled bolt sliding home sealed us from the outside world. I didn’t even bother turning on a light, stepping into Jamie’s open arms instead. We both released months’ worth of patience and disquiet in simultaneous soughing breaths. Jamie rocked us side to side, probably subconsciously, with the gentle insistence of a redwood in the breeze.
When my heartbeat had calmed and the jangling nerves of the night’s events dissipated, I lifted my chin towards Jamie’s face, asking for his kiss. To my surprise, he denied me.
“I ken I asked ye tae bring me back tae yer room, and ye may have some idea of us fallin’ into yon bed and ne’er getting out again,” Jamie began. “And I’m sore tempted tae do jes that. But first, there are some things I must say tae ye, Claire.”
My stomach went into freefall at his words and his serious tone. A million possibilities chased around my head, the foremost of which was that he’d had second thoughts about pursuing a relationship with me. How could I blame him, when I’d had similar doubts? The logistics were near insoluble.
A warm palm cupped my jaw.
“Nae, no’ that, Tourist. There isna a doubt in my mind tha’ we belong t’gether, should it still be what ye want.”
“I want,” I replied decisively. “But how did you…?”
“I can read ye like an open book, Claire,” he explained.
“I’m at a disadvantage, then,” I pouted.
Rather than give way, Jamie insisted I wash up and change out of my costume before our talk. I considered reapplying some make-up or searching through my luggage for something approximating sexy underwear but settled for a tiny dab of perfume beneath my jaw and leaving my madcap curls loose, a look I suspected he appreciated given the fact he lost words each time I left them that way.
When I returned to the main room, Jamie had shed his jacket and was sitting at the foot of the bed like a pupil sitting an exam. His look when he saw me washed away any lingering apprehension I held. Whatever he had to tell me, he was still mine.
I stepped between his knees and rested my hands over his muscled shoulders, waiting for him to speak.
“Gilles Lemieux has offered me a job as artistic director,” he said without fanfare.
“What? Jamie, that’s incredible! Congratulations! Did you show him the sketches?” the words spilled over each other in my excitement.
“No’ at first. But he approached me the other day, wanting to speak. It hasna been announced yet, but Clarence Marylebone has been fired.”
If his first piece of news had surprised me, this information sent me spinning.
“Monsieur Lemieux heard Marylebone had propositioned me, offering tae trade sex fer his influence. Apparently I wasna the only one, and someone finally came forward wi’ proof. The whole house o’ cards came tumblin’ down. He may even go tae jail.”
“But how did Lemieux know that you were one of the victims if you didn’t tell him yourself?”
“Only three people kent what that man said tae me: ye, John and myself..”
“Jamie, I never…” I began to insist before he cut me off.
“I ken, Tourist. And I didna breath a word either. Sae that leaves John. I dinna ken whether I want tae hug the man or throttle him fer goin’ behind my back.”
Piece by piece, the facts rearranged themselves in my mind.
“Oh my god, Jamie, I think it was John who brought Marylebone down!”
At his confounded look, I explained how I’d seen John go into Marylebone’s hotel room while the Tropico tour was in Singapore, and how the night of Jamie’s fall, he’d only be willing to divulge that what looked like an ill-advised tryst was ‘making amends’. With everything else that transpired that night, John’s strange words had mostly slipped my mind.
“Christ, if that’s so, Tourist, I owe John more than I could ever repay.”
“I don’t think he wants repayment, or even credit, Jamie. He was making reparations for causing you to doubt the sincerity of any woman’s attraction to you.”
Jamie leaned into my sternum and lifted those perfect blue eyes to mine.
“I dinna care if any woman’s attraction is sincere, Tourist. So long as yers runs true.”
Unable to resist, I kiss his smiling lips, humming with want as they parted beneath me.
“When do you…” a series of moans as our tongues met and danced, “…start your new job?”
“I told… Christ, Tourist, dinna make those wee noises if ye expect a man tae think!” he panted. For my part, I was totally unrepentant. He had only himself and his talented mouth to blame, after all.
“I told,” he tried again, “Gilles that I had tae speak wi’ ye first.”
This brought me up short.
“Whatever for? I’m thrilled for you, Jamie. It’s what you were working so long for.”
Gathering himself with difficulty, Jamie stood and began to pace. I’d noticed from the first that movement soothed his nerves. If the path he was wearing in the Oriental carpet was any indication, he was very nervous.
“When Monsieur Lemieux came across me, I had my sketchbook fer the Lady of Balnain in hand. Once he’d told me about Marylebone and I’d got over my shock, I showed it tae him. He wants it produced. Right away.”
I nodded my understanding but didn’t interrupt. It would be hard, with both of us working on different shows, but I was determined to make it work.
“I told him I would only accept if ye can tour wi’ me. I dinna want tae be away from ye anymore than absolutely necessary, Claire.”
“I feel the same way,” I replied immediately, happy we were on the same page.
Jamie stopped pacing and stood in front of me again, his hands holding my own like we were pledging a vow.
“I still believe ye’re the best choice tae be my Lady of Balnain. But Claire, I canna have ye thinkin’ ye got the role wi’ anything o’her than yer talent. Nor do I want ye tae hear the vicious whispers of those who might say otherwise. I ken wha’ that’s like, and I dinna want it for ye. Tis why I told Monsieur Lemieux that I would abstain from any casting decisions where ye were a candidate fer any of my shows.”
My heart could not decide whether it wanted to shrink to a tiny ball of heat or explode into galaxies of love. I had wanted Jamie as a partner, then as a boyfriend and a lover, but what he was offering was so much more.
“You are the most remarkable man, James Fraser.” I raised his battered right hand and kissed each knuckle, ending with the fresh red scar over his surgical site.
“Are ye happy, then?” he asked, still sounding unsure.
“Insatiably happy,” I assured him. “It’s everything I could have wished for. For you to pursue your passion for creating. To be by your side. To perform myself.”
“Ye intend tae try out for my wee show, then?” Jamie asked with a sideways grin.
“Oh, make no mistake, Fraser, I intend to star in your wee show,” I retorted, breaking contact to bend and remove my socks. “I’ll look into it as soon as we’re back in Montreal.”
“What are ye doin’?” Jamie asked, a bit breathless, as my hands drifted to my waistband.
“We’re finished talking,” I pronounced, unbuttoning my pants.
“Oh, aye?” Jamie choked out, eyes round as Delft saucers.
“Aye,” I whispered back, stepping out of my pants as they hit the floor.
The blue in Jamie’s pupils was on the ebb, the muscles of his throat constricting as he tried to swallow around a visible lump. Speaking of visible lumps…
“Don’t you think you’re a little over-dressed for bed, Jamie,” I husked. I wasn’t certain where my sudden bravado had arisen from, but I was more than happy to take it for a spin.
“For bed? Or for sleep?” Jamie clarified, obviously still disbelieving the quick turn events had taken.
“I’m sure we’ll sleep. Eventually.”
***
Claire was reaching for the hem of her t-shirt. A slow, lazy blink and Jamie sprang into action.
“I’ll see tae that, if ye dinna mind.”
Not as dexterous as he would like, he was still able to maneuver the white cotton upwards until it caught beneath Claire’s armpits. She took over from there, tossing the garment into the air over her shoulder with a laugh. He was charmed by her playfulness, so different from any of his previous amorous encounters.
Any light-heartedness evaporated as soon as his focus returned to the woman before him. She was startlingly beautiful, with clotted cream skin generously sprinkled with cinnamon freckles and feline eyes that spoke the secrets of her soul. Tempestuous curls spilled in a sable cascade over her shoulders. In fact, most things about Claire reminded him of water: the fluidity of her movement, the soothing murmur of her speech, the sinuous long lines of her body. Everything except those eyes, that warmed his very heart like fire.
“Ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve e’er seen,” he pledged, startled by the raspy depths of his own voice.
“I want to look at you too, Jamie.”
Cursing the stiffness of his right hand, Jamie was entirely focused on the fastening of his jeans when Claire’s nimbler hands took over and made quick work of the button and zipper. As the pants slid from his hips, he could no longer rein in the urge to kiss her senseless.
Jamie would never suggest he had some vast experience of woman, but he’d kissed more than a handful in his day. In every one of those situations, he’d never had cause to consider the raw intimacy of the act. Caressing hyper-sensitive flesh, sharing breath, inviting a lover into the sanctuary of oneself; as he welcomed Claire’s tongue beside his own, Jamie imagined what it might be like for a woman to accept a man inside her body.
Impatient to the point of roughness, Claire’s fingers tore down the placket of his shirt, pushing the material aside to pair her hands to the furrows of his ribs. Kissing him like they’d come to the end of a very long war, a frustrated hum still vibrated in her throat.
“Wha’ is it?” he gasped as they parted for oxygen.
“I just… I can’t get enough of you, Jamie. I want to crawl inside you and never leave.”
A startled laugh burst forth. “Christ, Tourist, do ye think I mind?!”
With more caution than he would have preferred, Jamie lifted Claire’s underwear-clad form onto the massive bed. She followed his movements with a predatory gaze as he shed his shirt. He hovered over the waistband of his boxer-briefs, momentarily self-conscious. As someone who had made his living with his body, Jamie knew he was well-formed in an athletic sense. Yet there was some vestigial part of his brain that worried he wouldn’t measure up to whatever expectations she had of him.
Inhaling through his nose, Jamie pushed the elastic over his hips, trusting that even if Claire was dissatisfied, she would never be so cruel as to laugh. His eyes were closed, awaiting judgement. When no sound came, he peered down towards the bed.
Plump coral lips were parted so that he could see her bottom teeth. The pace of her breathing had accelerated until her breasts, still encased in her pretty lavender bra, were rising and falling as though riding a choppy sea.
“I’m not particularly religious,” she began, still not meeting his eyes yet knowing they were on her, “but if ever there were proof of the hand of god at work, you’re it, Jamie.”
He blushed, flattered and perhaps a touch scandalized by her casual blasphemy.
“Come to me,” Claire commanded, arms outstretched, and like the loyal supplicant he was, he obeyed.
***
I’d spent countless hours being held in Jamie’s arms while both of us were next to naked. What transpired on the eleventh floor of the Mandarin Oriental hotel that night was nothing like that. Jamie as an aerials partner was solidity and strength. His hands were firm and certain, but utterly business-like. Jamie as a lover was like sharing a bed with an earthquake, all devastating power that trembled and shook, mere moments away from bursting forth with cataclysmic force.
I was so overcome by being with him in this new way that it took several minutes for me to realize the tremors that ran rampant up and down his body were not merely passion held in tight control. He was shaking like a leaf.
“Why are you trembling?” I asked as he kissed the span of my collar bones, nose nudging experimentally at my bra straps.
“I dinna ken,” he mumbled before separating his lips from my skin reluctantly. “Tis jes’… things, good things, dinna come easily tae me. I wouldna call my life a perpetual struggle, but perpetual effort, mebbe? I’m a Scot, and that means hard work is the only virtue guaranteed its reward.”
I played with the contours of his cheekbone where it rested by my side, letting him find the path to his thoughts in his own time.
“It’s been sae easy wi’ ye, Claire,” he continued after a pause. “Our work, bein’ yer friend, this…” he gestured to the pairing of our bodies. “I suppose I dinna ken how tae believe it’s real when I’ve wanted it sae badly and done nothin’ tae deserve it.”
“I’ll stop you right there,” I interrupted. “First of all, no-one deserves to be loved. It’s a gift freely given. But if anyone were to be deemed deserving, it would be you, Jamie. Your kindness and gentleness. Your generosity and self-sacrifice. Your passion and creativity. I probably walked off that practice mat the day we met half in love with you, and nothing you’ve said or done since then has diminished my regard in the slightest.”
Watching this man who I claimed as my own purse his lips and blush to the tips of his ears was an unexpected treat. I reminded myself that for all his size and ability, Jamie was still relatively new to relationships, especially healthy ones without any ulterior motives at play. He would likely need a certain amount of guidance and reassurance, and it would be my very great pleasure to provide them.
“I can’t promise it will always be easy,” I said, reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra. “But I can promise it will always be worth the effort. We were made for each other, Jamie.”
As I removed the last vestiges of clothing, the sonata of our lovemaking picked up pace and moved into a major key. Using his forearm to prop up his body weight on his bad side, Jamie took full advantage of his left-handedness to explore every hill and vale of my skin. Featherlight, his touch was a stark contrast to the long bones and heavy muscles that slid into the cradle of my hips and began a questing, eager pulse. Already aroused to the point of gnashing my teeth, I keened as our bodies rubbed together, providing just enough friction to invite delirium.
“I want ye so much I can scarcely breathe,” Jamie panted near my ear. My hands were conveying much the same message as they polished the contours of his torso from shoulder to powerful buttocks.
“Condom?” I gasped, praying that he’d thought about protection because there was no way we were stopping now.
A long arm reached for the night table while his mouth continued to do unspeakable things to my neck, earlobes, nipples.
Knowing he was temporarily handicapped, I grabbed the foil package from him and tore it open with my teeth. Before I rolled the condom into place, I dragged my free hand down the length and heft of him, pausing at the base to cup his heavy balls. Above me, Jamie went cross-eyed with pleasure.
“Please, Tourist,” he begged. “I dinna want this tae end wi’ me spending all o’er yer wee tummy.”
That didn’t sound like a terrible calamity, but I took pity on the poor man and slipped the rubber into place. No sooner had my grip loosened than Jamie’s good hand took its place, guiding himself into position and making a few exploratory passes that saw me seeing stars.
“Tell me I can have ye now,” he demanded around an iron jaw.
“You can have me forever.”
His first thrust sent me skyward. My hips canted up to meet his descending force, causing a collision that had us both crying out. Slick and hungry, my body protested any movement that threatened the feeling of indescribable fullness he brought to me. My neck and spine were curved like a well-strung bow, my partner the musician who could make me sing. And sing I did, over and over again until my throat was sore with it. In the pause between retreat and advance, Jamie made music of his own, a medley of broken groans and fluent curses that told me he was savouring the experience as much as I was.
The tension between wanting our bliss to last forever and the primal urge for completion built until I was being torn apart by its force. Soon, all too soon, it became more than I could bear. There was only one thing standing between me and soul-rending release. Grasping Jamie’s jaw in both hands, I pushed him back until I could see the madness dancing in his eyes. He was on the edge of falling as well.
“I love you,” I vowed. “I love you, Jamie Fraser.”
My words untethered the last of his control. Hips pistoning out of rhythm, lips parting on a feral snarl, Jamie was sent flying by my words, the simplest and most profound truth there was.
This time, I did not hesitate to fling myself into the abyss after him.
53 notes
·
View notes