Crash Course Love
Infinite thanks to @anna-swims and @elizabeth-beauchamp for being awesome betas.
AO3 :: Previously
16: Roses [Claire]
Tears spilled over, and I wiped them away angrily. Not again—not ever again.
I’d instinctively grabbed my mobile to get an Uber before I remembered there was no signal. Bloody fuck. I thought to my original plan to get a castle employee to call me a cab, and was just about to search for one when Jamie burst through the ballroom doors, frantically pulling his hands through the beautiful red mop of hair.
No, it’s not beautiful, you can’t think like that anymore, Beauchamp.
He spotted me immediately and I ran again, clumsily pulling up the hem of my dress.
“Sassenach—would you listen to me, please, it’s no’ what ye think—”
So he knew I’d seen them kiss. Why he felt the need to explain was beyond me. We were only each other’s alternative to loneliness, fake dates, no more than a convenient placeholder.
Why are you running then?
This small bit of logic caught up with me; I stopped abruptly in my race to the car park and Jamie ran into me, almost knocking me down. He grabbed me by the arms to keep me upright and turned me to face him. I hoped to hell I was not crying anymore, but my makeup had to be smeared across my face. I pasted what felt like a horribly false smile and slowly pulled my arms out of his grasp.
“Mr. Fraser! Thank you for accompanying me to this… event. It is almost over, though, so I think it’s alright if you leave now.” My voice shook, but I couldn’t help it.
“Sassenach, I just—”
“Don’t call me that!” I burst out, my hands cupping my elbows across my stomach. I was shivering and couldn’t seem to stop. I’d forgotten my coat inside. Jamie noticed and pulled off his fancy jacket, throwing it like a cape over my shoulders. I tried to shrug it off, but he held it firmly.
“Ye might no’ want to listen to me, but I willna have ye suffer cold or sick, Claire. Annalise and I—”
“Are none of my business. I know I’ve no right to complain; I was with you for selfish reasons too, but I have a small bit of pride left, you know.” I looked down at my fancy heels, mumbling that last bit.
When Jamie didn’t say anything, I stole a glance; I saw his expression—completely dumbfounded, mouth working open and closed but no words coming out. I huddled inside the jacket, much too big for me and inhaled the wonderful scent that permeated it.
No, stop it, Beauchamp, you can’t do that anymore.
Finally, Jamie sighed, shaking his head. “Sass—Claire, first of all, I didna ken she would be here. It turns out she’s an old family friend of the bride. Bein’ French and all, I suppose, ‘twas a great coincidence. Secondly, she kissed me. She was spoutin’ off some nonsense about makin’ a mistake, and that she wanted us to try again. I was workin’ out a way to put her off and go find you, when she was kissin’ me. I want ye to ken that I did not encourage her, or want it at all.” He shook his head again; crimson waves fell over his forehead but he made no move to push them away. I resisted the urge myself.
“What I realized then, Claire, is that the one person I did want—was you. At some point in this pretend relationship, ye became the person I wanted to see all the time, to talk to, to laugh with, to touch.” Jamie stood motionless, holding a hand over his heart. I trembled, but with something more than mere cold. “Do ye feel somethin’ like it, as weel?”
Forced on me by circumstance, he would force himself on me no longer, if I chose to reject him. We probably could not remain friends after this, however; we knew too much about each other and had endured things that took friendship off the table for good. But here was my chance to let him know, that he too had become my refuge, a best friend of sorts, in a short time—that little by little, he had provided the mortar with which I had filled the gaps left in me. I took a deep breath, my eyes drowning in the blue sea of his gaze.
“I do. Feel something like it, I mean. But Jamie… you know as well as I do what would happen if we didn’t work out. I survived it once, but I don’t think my heart could take it again.”
James Fraser, damn him, smiled widely and reached into his sporran. “Aye, Claire. Maybe this will convince ye.” He pulled out a sheaf of thick papers, and held them out to me. “Jenny made it—I just told her what I wanted to say.”
I reached out slowly, perplexed. Once in hand, it seemed like a small picture book, sewn together with twine. The cover read simply Sassenach in beautiful modern calligraphy. Scrollwork decorated the space around my name. It took me a minute to recognize the small flowers embedded in the loops—gladioli. I opened it gingerly, and my breath caught at the first image.
Bright purple heather leaped off the page. I rifled through some of the pages quickly, and realized they were all flowers. Heather meant admiration and beauty, as well as being singularly Scottish. Page two – daffodils, meaning new beginnings. Page three – violets. Loyalty and devotion. Page four – red asters for patience. Then, chrysanthemums for honesty, white camellias for destiny, morning glory for affection.
I traced the outline of a gardenia next, as tears began to pool in my eyes; like the flower, my tears symbolized joy, and I began to understand the depth of his message. A blue iris for faith and hope. I dared glance up at Jamie, who stood before me with a slight smile touching the corner of his lips, and the fingers on his left hand tapped nervously on his kilt-covered thigh. I gave him a watery smile, and tried to speak.
“Jamie, this… you—”
“Roses, Claire.” He reached over with a sure hand and turned to the last page. “Red roses.”
I heard myself gasp quietly as I took in the deep red of unfurling roses, my own name cleverly spelled out in the petals. Red roses meant longing, desire, and love.
Jamie loved me.
I felt as fragile and as brilliant as glass, as though I would shatter with a touch, and fall in glittering fragments on the floor. If I had meant to spare either Jamie’s emotions or my own, it seemed I was very much too late—I loved him too. I couldn’t speak, but I held out my hand to him, fingers trembling. I was glad of my glass face for once, and while I worked past the knot in my throat, I hoped my expression conveyed my own feelings.
He pulled me close against him, and I felt the heat of him radiating through the layers we wore. Cradling my face in his hands, he wiped away the tears with his thumbs and his mouth inched closer to mine.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me what ye want, Claire.” His lips touched mine fleetingly, the barest brush. The words slipped out before I could think.
“You. I want you.”
- - -
“Will it ever stop?” Jamie half-whispered, half-groaned in my ear. “The wanting you.”
“God, I hope not,” I said fervently, gasping at the sensation of his mouth on my neck. Frantic fingers made short work of my dress, his shirt and waistcoat, my undergarments, and his kilt. Jamie was indeed a true Scot.
As he lay me down on the plush duvet, I thanked God over and over in my mind that Crossbasket Castle was a hotel of sorts. After our car park declaration, we’d been too eager for a temporary refuge. Jamie then proceeded to explain the absence of his Jeep and his phone while I cackled with insane relief about the absurdity of our situation. We loved each other, we desperately wanted each other, and had no way of getting home.
“Well, I suppose I could ring Mary from the castle landline and have her drive us back after the party, but that would mean—”
“Sassenach, we need not go anywhere,” Jamie interrupted after rummaging in his sporran. Producing a credit card, he took my hand firmly in his and took me to the front desk. Right—Crossbasket had rooms as well. I stood breathlessly at his side while he booked us a room and tried not to blush as we received our key, waved the concierge away when he inquired about our luggage, and practically ran for the staircase that led to our room.
Now, in the room, I stifled a cry as Jamie’s tongue met the sensitive flesh between my legs. Arms encircling my thighs, his hands held my hips as I bucked and tried to both pull away and get closer.
“The walls are thick enough, mo nighean donn,” Jamie grinned, stopping in his task for a moment. “I want to hear ye.”
I obliged until release flooded through me, my back arching so I thought my spine would break in half. Jamie climbed his way back up my body, kissing and nipping and licking as he went. I took hold of his anatomy briefly and captured his mouth. Jamie gasped, shying away and I stared at him in confusion, my own body still tingling with aftershocks.
I half rose on my elbows. “Don’t you want me to—”
“Sassenach—Claire—I want to be inside you. Please.” His expression was that of pure lust mixed with wonder and adoration. All I could do was nod, but it was not enough for him. Jamie now came closer, his hands delicately framing my face. “I want to hear ye, lass,” he reminded me, his nose butting mine. “Will ye have me?”
“Yes, Jamie,” I breathed, tugging at his waist until he was positioned right above me, the length of him pressed against me. “Yes, I’ll have you. With all of my heart.”
That was the consent and encouragement he needed. Jamie entered me with exquisite slowness; I could feel every inch of him until he was seated to the hilt. There he paused, savoring the moment with a soft kiss. My roaming hands mapped the firm grace of the muscles and bones of his back as he began to move, sliding in and out creating a delicious friction.
“I mean to make ye mine, Sassenach,” he whispered, his forehead touching mine as our hips met again and again, my nails raking his sides, legs around him, trying to push him deeper and deeper. “Mine, and mine alone.”
Jamie paid me court with a humble patience I recognized as reparation—reparation for the previous year of pain, loneliness, and insecurity. While none of that had been of his own making, he understood my need, which I recognized was his own as well.
Together, we sought pleasure for each other; I pushed against his shoulder, and he took my meaning, flipping onto his back. I rode him for all I was worth, his hands on my breasts, on my neck, between my legs again. My vision finally fractured, lights bursting, spiraling sweetness coursing through my body. Jamie was not far behind; he shook in my arms at his own finish, shuddering with the effort not to move, not to hurt me by thrusting, letting the moment shatter him as it would.
I lay against Jamie’s chest, trying to catch my breath and he did the same. I was reluctant to sever our connection, and so it seemed was he. Jamie shifted my body, and we lay facing each other, his hand on my face and mine on his. I memorized the tilt of his eyebrows, the slant of his cheekbones, the slight dent in his chin. He traced the edge of my nose, the bow of my lips, and my tongue darted out to nip his finger. We laughed together, which did interesting things to the way we were joined. With a soft sight, Jamie rolled on top of me once more, the weight of him heavy and perfect in the hollow of my thighs.
“Ye were no’ the first lass I kissed, but I swear ye’ll be the last.” As I felt him move inside me, Jamie’s words crept into my ears, persistent enough to almost drown out my cries for him. They finally found their way to my heart, where they settled for good.
