This is my first ever fanfic. I am so nervous and terrified about posting this, but here goes nothing. I want to thank LadyVioletHummingbird for her support and encouragement. Without it, this fanfic would not be here.
Just a wee bit of background about this story. I live in a suburb of NYC. This weekend it was predicted that there would be snow, turning to rain followed by freezing temperature, an arctic blast by Monday. The Mayor of my city sends out public service phone calls to the residents of the city with helpful information as to what to do for different emergencies. This led me to wonder what would happen if Jamie and Claire got such a call.
Please enjoy. Any constructive thoughts, comments would be appreciated. I give you:
A CALL FROM THE MAYOR
My phone rang disturbing the peace and quiet of the morning. Without a thought as to who would be calling, I unlocked the phone and mumbled a soft "Hullo?"
A smile broke out on my lips. "Why, yes. Of course, you are most certainly right. I will take every precaution. Thank you for calling." I ended the call and replaced my phone on the bedside table wanting nothing more than to snuggle down into my cozy bed and return to the land of Morpheus.
A large warm arm reached out and pulled me closer to an equally warm chest.
"Who was that, Sassenach?"
I turned to face the large Scot lying in bed with me, "Oh, just the mayor of the city is all."
"And, what did his honor want at this hour?" Jamie said in a low husky voice which I attributed to his just awakening. He began nuzzling and nipping at the tender skin of my neck. His hand moved from around my waist upwards over my ribs stopping to cup my breast, gently circling around my nipple causing it to raise, harden, and pebble beneath his expert touch.
"Ah,...well... mmmm." I was becoming distracted by his ministrations.
"Sassenach, ye were saying, hmmmm?" Jamie ran his tongue over a tender spot on my neck that he had bit then began to blow on the area to cool the sting of the bite. He pinched my nipple hard between his thumb and index finger causing me to squeak.
I shifted myself around so as to face him. His eyes, normally a beautiful clear deep blue much like the ocean, had become tempestuous, dark, and churning like waves in a hurricane. I could see the want in his eyes. The want for me.
Jamie's calloused hand slid down over the planes of my body in a quest to reach my arse. Upon arriving at the objet d'amour, he began to fondle, squeeze, and knead it almost to the point of pain. Slowly his hands rose over my back, almost reverentially, pulling me closer to him so as to meld our bodies together.
No beginning, no end.
His scent assailed me. Sleeping male, musk, and something uniquely just Jamie.
His breathing was slow, heavy, warm on my skin causing my breath to hitch.
He smiled at me wickedly. He was a predator and I his prey.
I felt the need for him building deep in my belly, an aching, wanting need. There was a growing wetness, slickness between my thighs. I knew I was lost.
He brought his lips to mine in a kiss that was ever so tender perhaps even best described as chaste which I found to be incongruous with his look and behavior.
"Mo ghraid, ye still havna told me what the mayor wanted." Jamie's hand slipped between my legs, feeling the warmth and wetness of me. My legs parted giving him the room he needed for access to the most intimate part of my body. His thumb had found my core. He stroked it lightly at first in a circular motion then began applying increasing pressure. One finger slowly stroked along my entrance, finally entering me. It was soon followed by another.
"He, ah, he, ah. Well, that is to say. Mmmmm. YES, just there. Oh god! Jamie don't stop."
"Give me yer mouth Sassenach" he growled.
And I did. He kissed me hard, hard enough to bruise. His tongue caressed my lips seeking entry. My lips opened to him; his tongue began the journey to seek out its quarry. His tongue began it duel with mine, thrust, and parry, swirling, probing, tasting. We broke apart only for the need for air.
I felt his warm mouth take my nipple one then the other and sucked it hard increasing the sensations coursing through my body. I could feel myself reaching my peak, coming closer, ever closer to the precipice. Trembling, I was trembling, writhing in ecstasy, grasping the linen of the bed. Breath uneven, mewling sounds, profanity graced my lips.
"Oh god, oh god! Jamie, I need ...I, I,... ahhhh."
"What do ye need lass, tell me, tell me what ye want. I want ye to feel good," he whispered as his teeth raked over the shell of my ear.
He left wet kisses trailing across my body; his eyes never leaving mine.
"I..I..you, I want you, now inside me. Jamie, please."
"Do ye now?" somewhere in the fog of my mind, I thought I heard him chuckle sounding rather pleased with himself.
He rose over me kneeing my legs further apart and in one swift movement entered me sheathing himself to the hilt. A sword and its scabbard. We were one and riding the waves of our pleasure together surging forward coming to an inexorable completion.
We lay sated and happy wrapped in each other's arms, limbs twined together. The glow of love around us. My head rested on his chest, moist from his exertions listening to his heartbeat, for me. I sighed contentedly and closed my eyes planning to return to sleep.
"Claire."
"Hmmm?" I purred contentedly.
"What did the mayor want?"
"Oh! He placed a public service call, telling the citizenry of the impending snow storm and what precautions they should take in case of things like power outages and downed trees. He also urged everyone who is not needed to stay home because of the ice that will accompany the snow. Roadways are expected to be treacherous. You know things like that."
"And ye thanked the recording for calling?" Jamie quirked a ruddy eyebrow and looked questioningly at me as if I had taken leave of all my senses.
"Well, yes, I mean if the mayor took the time to make the recording, I thought I should at least thank him for it. You know be polite. Don't you think?"
"Lass, ye ken he that he canna hear ye. He will never ken that ye thanked him, don't ye? It was just a wee recording." His eyes were alight with love as he gazed at me. He smiled that half smile that curled up his lip that I so loved.
"Jamie", I sighed with exasperation, "I am well aware that it was only a recording and not a real person. I know that his honor will never know that I thanked him." I looked at him as if he were the one who was daft for thinking I couldn't tell the difference.
"What I really was doing was thinking out loud. I was just stating the fact that no one had to worry about the Frasers as they would be spending the weekend safely tucked in bed doing what we just did." I turned my head looking at him over my shoulder and gave him my most sultry and seductive smile. Or at least I had hoped so.
He looked at me for a long moment taking me in and then roared out a laugh that shook the bed. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, gasping for breath, and turned the most lovely shade of rose from laughing so hard.
Jamie slowed his breathing allowing it to come back to him while rubbing at his eyes wiping away the tears.
"Oh Christ, lass, loving ye will be the death of me. Come here my wee vixen and let me love ye again."
I apologize for the granite that I can not draw it ☺☺☺
But I know how tombstones from the 18th century look.
And you, @lenny9987, you know what I drew, right? ♥♥♥
So... I know I’ve been MIA for months now. Rather than write a rather dull dissertation on the reasons why, I thought I’d pop my head back into the Outlander fandom with my favorite part of the fandom--the fanfic and its writers. Thus I’m resurrecting something I started last year, the Fanfics Classics Series, to point out some slightly older stories that are worth reading again (or for the first time, for those who missed them on the first go-round).
This isn’t just one story, but is a group effort from all the mods of Imagine, who deserve heaps and heaps of thanks for working so incredibly hard to consistently put out high quality, exquisitely written, enthusiastic portrayals of the Outlander world. It comprises 7 individual ficlets bound together. @mybeautifuldecay engages in a little wish fulfillment, @westerhos indulges us with some lovely Claire x Fergus time, @gotham-ruaidh breaks our hearts, @bonnie-wee-swordsman reminds us of the sisterhood between Claire and Jenny, @writtenthroughtime gives us a glimpse of Claire with the grandkids, @dingbatland reminds Laoghaire to whom Jamie belongs, and @lenny9987 gives us a classic moment viewed through Jamie’s eyes.
From one lazy, out-of-practice fanfic writer to all those writers (and artists and gif-makers and fans) who are putting great stuff out there--
Merry Post-Christmas to all - especially @lenny9987 !
Here is the 2nd chapter of my gift to her in the Outlander Secret Santa 2017, “In the Quiet of the Night, Candour”. (First chapter here, both chapters now also posted in AO3).
Chapter 2 – Things Needed To Be Said
There was no question about getting any sleep, at least not for Lord John. The pain in his ankle had changed from a raw jolt to a dull but insistent throbbing, and he was cold, so cold. Jamie had been right; staying alone without the ability to move about freely to stave off the cold would have been his undoing. Even now, lying side by side so that their bodies touched at length so that he could feel warmth emanating from Jamie, John was shivering. He tried to subdue it as to not disturb his companion, but there was only so much he has control over his body.
“Ye rattle and shake like a wee rabbit in a fox hole. Are ye very cold?” A low voice so close to his ear startled John and he drew in an involuntary breath.
“I’ll live,” he muttered.
“Would it help if we laid closer, maybe on our sides?” The suggestion was tempting; spooning would increase the touch points of their bodies and preserve the precious body heat even more effectively than the soggy layers of cloth on top them. But how? John couldn’t imagine Jamie turning his back on him, but equally how would he feel pressing against John’s back?
Without waiting for an answer Jamie turned, his chest towards John.
“Aye?”
Submitting to his fate – and only slightly disturbed by the notion - John rolled on his side and felt Jamie pressing against his back.
And sensed the moment when Jamie’s whole body became rigid, hardly suppressed tension of his every muscle vibrating through the thin layers of cloth between them. His breathing changed too; withheld breath, air through his nostrils, then another moment of stillness. Without seeing his face John could imagine it; clenched jaw, furrowed brow.
Jamie’s left arm was draped on top of John’s shoulder, and it trembled slightly.
The relief of his warmth was immediate, but was soon replaced by discomfort. Why Jamie was doing this for himself when it was clear that his whole being was repulsed by it, John wondered, getting annoyed. Whatever was at the root of Jamie’s anxiety had nothing to do with him – why should he feel guilty about it?
Without stopping to think John blurted out his irritation.
“Really Jamie, if you believe that in this situation, our lives hanging on by the thread, I could think of anything else but survival, you are simply flattering yourself.”
Jamie stiffened.
“I canna help it. It’s nought to do it with ye,” he murmured, and immediately shame and regret flushed over John. It was abundantly clear that Jamie has suffered something so traumatic that even his iron will couldn’t overcome it, and he felt ashamed of challenging him on it.
Again, without consciously planning to, the question that had been lurking at the back of his mind for a long time dropped from the tip of his tongue.
“What happened to you? Who made you react this way?”
Long silence ensued and another wave of regret for John. It was not for him to be privy of Jamie’s personal tragedies; why would he imagine being entitled to them and cross the boundaries they had set on the limits of their friendship already a long time ago?
As John was trying to find words to take his question back, Jamie inhaled loudly.
“A redcoat. Captain of His Majesty's Eighth Dragoons in the army of King George I.” His voice raised hardly above whisper, his words low, cold, menacing. “Captain Jonathan Wolverton Randall, Esq.”
It was Johns turn to stiffen. It was one thing to suspect something, another to have it confirmed.
A redcoat. No wonder his reactions towards Lord John had been so visceral, especially at times when he had been still carrying his uniform, proudly.
That Jamie knew the name implied that it had not been a random attack, not like his own experience all those years ago. The memory of it still came back to him every now and then, but John had made his peace with the incident long time ago including a conclusion that it was probably for the best that he had never learned the identity of his assailant.
He regretted bringing the matter up – the last thing he wanted was to bring Jamie’s nightmares from the past back – especially in this time and place. Hoping to close the matter swiftly he faltered to find the words.
“I do apologise sincerely for asking - I shouldn’t have done it. It is not for me to know your private matters.”
A slight relaxation in Jamie’s posture, a huff of warm air past his ear.
“And…I am sorry. So sorry,” John added, quieter.
“Dinna fash. Maybe ye should know, should have known earlier. To see why it was so hard for me to accept ye as ye were. Are. Although I ken that ye are nothing like him.”
“This man…he took you against your will?” Since it appeared that the door had been opened and Jamie was not in a hurry to bang it shut again, John was curious to know more. A captain of Dragoons – must have been at the time of the Rising. After Culloden, perhaps, before Ardsmuir?
“In a way, aye, and in a way, no. I was to be hangit in the morning and he had Claire too in his grip. He threatened to…” Jamie swallowed, the motion of his throat against the back of Johns head, “…so I told him that if he lets her go, I wasna going to resist. And I dinna. Even though he made me do things…” Rest of the sentence was inaudible and John was glad of it.
God’s grief! To be forcibly coerced was one thing, but at least one had the comfort of knowing that one wasn’t playing any part in one’s own humiliation. But to be forced to act? To willingly submit oneself to machinations of a madman?
“But you were not hanged after all?” What a foolish question it was, of course he hadn’t been! John winced. But how long had he been…
“Aye. Claire came back to me that morning – with my kinsmen and a herd of Highland kine. They took me out of there and I lived.” Once again Jamie’s voice lowered almost to a whisper. “I dinna want to, at first. But Claire dinna let me go. She can be stubborn like that.” A hint of smile creeped into his voice. Lord John could imagine; if Jamie was unremitting with his love for his wife, Claire Fraser was his equal. Neither of them would let the other one go, not without a fight.
Momentarily Lord John wondered if he would ever know a love like that.
“And that one night did the damage? To your soul, to your whole self?”
“It wasna just that night. That demon had been after me for years. He was the one who did my back – over hundred lashes, two times, hardly a few days in between. And then he had the gall to admire his handiwork when he had me at my word.” The hate and venom dripping at every word Jamie spoke was unnerving and despite his shivering having subsided Lord John felt a cold chill at the back of his spine.
“What happened to him?”
“I killed him. At Culloden.’
Jamie spoke matter-of-factly and if John had felt a chill before, now he realised that he had been much closer to death than he could have ever imagined that day in Ardsmuir, all those years ago at a game of chess.
“I am glad you did. I am so sorry it happened to you.” There was not much else he could say, nothing would change what had been done to Jamie and what scars he had been carrying in his soul ever since.
“The worst thing was that I reacted to it.“ Now that Jamie had started talking it seemed he wanted to get it all out. John recognised it for what it is; the burden of holding something buried deep inside one’s chest for years, then finally letting it go. It could sweep a man on its path, so irresistible was its pull.
“He conjured my wife into that cell with us, and I was being delirious of the pain of my hand – he had broken my fingers with a hammer and driven a nail through my palm,” Jamie offered as nonchalantly as if he had spoken about a casual meeting over a tables of cards. “And he touched me and I… I reacted.’
Oh. John had heard of that shame. Men having been forced to have sex blaming themselves for the way their bodies had reacted as if it meant that they had been willing in the act. The life of men like him was not without its darker side and without the protection of law, bad things happened.
“You know it was not you, do you? It was just your flesh reacting. The same as if you stick your fingers down your throat and vomit – it is just a reaction that has nothing to do whether you feel nauseous or not.” If he could provide this little bit of comfort to Jamie, even after all these years, he wanted to do his best.
“A flesh reacting? But isn’t mind the master of one’s flesh?”
“Not always. Like now; if my mind could tell me not to shiver I would stop doing it. But it can’t, and I shan’t.”
“Hmmm.” An added Scottish noise at the back of his throat suggested that Jamie was not prone to take John’s word for it. “How would ye ken such a thing?”
“In my social circles I hear things,” John said dryly. “Take it from me, you are not the only one.”
“You too?” A tone of surprise.
In the face of Jamie’s confession John had no option but to be totally honest.
“Once. Years ago. I was young, newly joined the army. It was nothing like what happened to you; just a quick fumble in the dark, by force - I never knew who it was. From thereon I went nowhere without a dagger.”
“You dinna like it then?”
Dear Gods! Sometimes thickness of men made John want to weep. Even Jamie, as educated and sophisticated man as he was, could be such a dullard at times.
“Would you like it if a woman would take you by force, submit you to her desires and under her power, and there was nothing you could do about it? If the autonomy of your body would be stripped away from you and you had no bargaining power, no choice - not whatsoever?” A flash of anger spiced his words with harshness he had not intended, but – really?!
John knew that there had been something sinister behind Willies conception. He had never had an impression that it would have been an act of true love, or that Jamie would have taken advantage of Geneva and seduced her by his own free will. Some kind of coercion must have had taken place, and knowing Geneva John had no doubts where it had originated. Yet she couldn’t have taken him by force – so whatever it had been, it couldn’t have been an experience tinged with forced submission and utter sense of powerlessness.
Still huffing his righteous indignation John felt more than heard Jamie’s act of contrition; a swift squeeze on his shoulder, a muttered apology.
“Nay, I canna say I would enjoy it. I havena. That wasna verra kind thing to say, I am sorry.”
John’s irritation left him as soon as it had arrived and his mind returned back to Jamie’s confession. A captain in His Majesty’s army, clearly prone to sadism and manipulation, pursuing a Scottish laird for his own nefarious purposes – and Jamie being forced to give his word to submit to him. “…he made me do things…,” Jamie had said and suddenly John felt bile rising at the back of his throat.
He was as familiar as any with the dark underbelly of the world he and his kind inhabited, and how the rejection by the civilised society encouraged dark men and dark deeds, fully aware how their wickedness could often lead to no repercussions because of the stigma of shame and lawlessness. And Jamie, still surprisingly naïve about the ways of human reactions…
“Surely your wife told you that you can’t blame yourself for any of it?”
“Aye she did. But she wasna there, in that cell. She didna have to…”
“I am sorry but I beg to differ - she is a very wise woman and a healer and I am convinced her knowledge is superior to yours about how human body works. And for what it’s worth, I am telling you the same thing. And I know some things she may not.” John tried to deliver his words as convincingly as he could, knowing how self-doubt and self-hate could eat even the strongest man from the inside. He himself hadn’t been immune to their effects either – if not exactly on the same matter, there had been enough mornings when he had looked at himself in the mirror and hated everything he saw.
Jamie had finally seemed to let go some of his tension; the long limbs pressing against him might not have been exactly fully relaxed, but some of the earlier rigidity was gone. John didn’t dare to move, afraid to break the precious moment. He tried not to think of the shape of Jamie’s thighs or the swell of his shoulders, both much too close to him in a way that could not be described as anything else but intimate. He tried not to think of things that he had schooled himself over the many years to shut out of his mind. Yet every shift and every slight movement steered his thoughts to those forbidden paths, edged him closer to the precipice – and he welcomed it, and he hated himself for it.
What kind of a sick mind can do such a thing, after hearing that?
Silence followed but somehow John didn’t think the conversation was over yet. The restlessness of the man behind him was palpable, the tossing and turning in their confined conditions. He didn’t press on it though – sometimes things took their time and words were hard to come by. If Jamie still had something to say, he would do it in his own, good time.
“Ye ken, I could never understand what is it in ye that makes ye wanna… ye ken?” There was no accusation in Jamie’s voice, only genuine puzzlement. Yet the fact that he seemed to be willing to discuss the matter John knew to be an anathema to his faith and disgust him in a way that went deeper than the ordinary kind of revulsion common with other people, touched him.
John remembered the argument they had once had about the nature of the Sacred Band of Thebes – a band of Greek warriors consisting of pairs of male lovers – and the revulsion Jamie had shown then towards the whole notion that such relationships could be anything more but feeble indecency of cowardly men to relieve their lust.
“I don’t know either – all I know is that I can’t help it. It is not a choice – I wish it was, as surely I would have chosen differently to make my life easier.” John chose his words carefully, tiptoeing around the subject as if walking on a field of shards of glass.
“Hmmph,” was Jamie’s eloquent response.
Well, at least it was better than a tirade how only men who lacked the ability to possess a woman or were cowards who feared them, or an outright denial of John’s true self.
John had accepted a long time ago that his feelings for Jamie were always going to be one-sided and in an odd way had still gained comfort from the simple existence of them – better to have loved and not loved back than not to have loved at all, and all that. He had accepted that the most he could expect from the object of his affections was friendship and respect and turning of a blind eye to his failures as a human being – and on most days that was more than enough and he was happy to have it.
And yet every now and then he found himself wishing he would someday get more; an open-eyed acceptance of himself as he truly was, warts and all. Suddenly an urgent need pushed itself forward and compelled by it to act John turned slightly to face Jamie.
“It is who I am. It is who I have always been – and I dare say, will be until the day I die. I am sorry if it doesn’t suit your views of the world or the teachings of your God, but I can’t lie to you. Oh, I know, I have lied most of my life; to my family, my friends, my comrades in arms, everyone. I must, as otherwise I will be doomed.”
Jaime stared at him, his eyes narrowed. Moonlight illuminating the landscape was just enough to outline his features and a glint of his eyes.
“But I refuse to lie to you,” John finished, sucking his cheeks in defiantly. Part of him felt a bit ridiculous – maybe not the best idea to lay down ultimatums in such a gregarious situation.
Jamie didn’t let go his scrutiny, his eyes sweeping over John’s face. They trapped him – those slanted eyes, dark pools in the feeble light.
“Aye, there is honesty between us and I’ll not want to see it change.” Jamie finally said, slowly. “I see you, I hear you. I canna say I understand any of it – but there are other things in this world I canna work out and I accept them all the same.”
“I being what I am does not mean that I would be like some other men – like that captain from your past. I hope you give me the courtesy of believing that.” John’s moment of defiance was draining in the face of cold and hunger and throbbing pain and most of all, Jamie’s silent acknowledgment of its righteousness, and suddenly he felt tired, so very tired.
“I ken. I ken that well. I am sorry if I have ever given you to believe otherwise.” Jamie lifted his hand and squeezed John’s shoulder, a cumbersome move but sincere.
“I am sorry too. And now that I know what is behind it – not that I wouldn’t have figured out that it must have been something horrid – I am twice as sorry for ever putting you through it.”
John rolled back on his side, staring ahead at the edge of their crudely constructed resting place, broken roots of plants sticking out of bare earth in front of his face. Jamie scooted a little closer, pressing his whole body flush against his. John felt warm, he felt protected, he felt all kinds of ridiculous things a man of his age and stature should have left behind to his youthful years.
“Try to sleep, a charaid. Time goes faster that way.” With that muffled expression against John’s neck Jamie sighed deeply and relaxed – this time genuinely.
Charaid. Friend.
Lord John didn’t find sleep for a long time, too busy cradling the small expanse of unbearable tenderness and contentment inside his chest. It ebbed and flowed at Jamie’s every breath against his neck, and those of his own, taking on the same rhythm. Yet eventually his eyes grew heavy and he slipped into a deep sleep.
And that was how Claire found them in the morning, still in the same position, only parts of their faces peering under the garments that had frozen stiff.
