#yes i am wearing the sae shirt i really like it ok
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there's nothing in my system so i'm feeling what i feel for you
#waterparks#waterparks piano cover#not warriors#yes i am wearing the sae shirt i really like it ok#also i was balancing my phone on the door knob so it shifted lol
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Ok so you just wrote me a gorgeous drabble and here I am wanting more, bc you’re just too good. On my way to the gym this morning I almost crashed my car bc I saw sexy construction workers and was wondering if sometime in the future you would maybe consider ConstructionWorker!Peeta? Maybe Katniss almost crashed her car staring at that ass? Lol sorry for being so needy... 😘
I hope you enjoy @mrspeetamellark, trying to think up a story title and story cover concept right now because I’m liking this Everlark so much.
Thanks for the prompt, doll! <3
_____
“Yes, move that meeting to the afternoon,” Katniss told her sister. “Snow wants to meet about the Gilmore divorce proceedings.”
“Got it,” Prim replied from the speakers of the car. “Where are you?”
“Just turning onto our block,” she informed her. “It looks like they’re finally renovating the building next to the office…”
Katniss’ eyes were suddenly drawn to a figure standing out against the rest of the men gathered at the site. He was leaning against one of the wood slats that surrounded the property, blond and broad wearing a fitted white t-shirt.
Suddenly, his eyes drew up to meet hers.
Azure blue greeted her own steel ones, the man’s mouth widening into a smile, his expression warm and sweet.
Before morphing into panic—
“Holy fuck!”
Katniss swerved just in time to avoid a squirrel crossing the street and just barely maneuvering her car from crashing into a tree. She managed to save face, making the turn into her office’s parking garage and then into her assigned space.
“Are you alright?” Prim called out. “For a moment there, I thought I lost you.”
Katniss turned off the engine, taking in a calming breath.
“I’m fine. I’ll be up in a minute,” she responded before hanging up.
This is what she got for even looking at a man. It was a sign from the gods telling her to focus on work and not on her lack of a social life.
Too bad, though. The man was awfully cute.
++++++
“Peeta!” Turning, Peeta found Finnick—one of the other construction workers and his childhood friend—heading towards him. “Your dad said that we could take our lunches now.”
“Fine with me,” Peeta agreed, pulling off his construction helmet and tucking it under his arm.
The two headed down the street, grabbing some sandwiches from a nearby deli before heading back.
“So,” Finnick began, as they sat down at the tables set-up in front on the construction site. “I saw that your lady almost damn near crashed into a tree this morning.”
“She isn’t my lady,” Peeta muttered, unwrapping his sandwich to avoid his friend’s teasing eyes. “She’s just a beautiful woman who I happen to admire—who would never look at someone like me.”
“She did notice!” his friend exclaimed. “That close call happened because she was looking at you. Maybe you should go over to her office building and introduce yourself, ask if she’s okay—”
“No, no, no…” Peeta shook his head. “She’s high class and I am…me.”
“Peeta—” Finnick looked to him in concern. “You are a good guy. Stop being so hard on yourself. Just because one woman couldn’t look past your circumstances, doesn’t mean they all will.” His friend’s sea-green eyes darted behind him. “In fact, I’m going to help you out—”
Sticking his middle and index fingers into his mouth, Finnick let out a loud whistle.
“What are you doing?” Peeta asked in confusion.
His friend ignored him, looking behind Peeta and pointing at him.
Then, he was being yanked by the forearm from his seat and being slammed against one of the wood slats of their construction site.
Up close, her eyes were smoky and full of fire—because she was pissed.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded. “I am not the kind of woman who needs to get whistled at to feel like she’s hot. In fact, it’s downright demeaning! If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was introduce yourself like a normal person—”
“Wait!” She stepped back, but her grip on the front of Peeta’s shirt didn’t let up. “I never whistled at you. It was my friend; the idiot with the red hair who is currently trying to skulk back into our construction site, so you won’t manhandle him like you’re doing to me.”
The woman turned just in time to see Finnick guiltily rush into the construction site.
She immediately released her grasp, her olive complexion flushing scarlet.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” The woman let out a nervous laugh. “It’s just been a hell of a day so far. I almost crashed my car this morning—” Her grey eyes widened. “It’s you!”
He held out his hand to her. “Peeta Mellark.”
She took it and Peeta let his thumb brush against her rich skin. “Katniss Everdeen.”
“Now that we’ve officially met,” he started. “Are you okay? It was a close call this morning.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “It’s just been so busy with meetings and I have to go grab lunch—”
“Split my sandwich with me,” he offered. Peeta nodded at the still wrapped sandwich on the now empty table. “Or I’m pretty sure there are few birds that would be happy to take your half.”
Katniss flushed. “You sure?”
“I insist.” He led her towards the table, pulling out a chair for her. After sitting, he pulled one of the wrapped pieces out and handed it to her. “Turkey and provolone, no tomatoes.”
“That is my exact order at Sae’s Deli!” Katniss said as she unwrapped her half.
Peeta grinned. “It’s where I got it.”
“So—” She placed her sandwich down and turned to him. Peeta examined her, perfect posture, a heart-shaped face, and smooth shoulder-length waves greeted his appreciative eyes. “—why did your friend whistle at me?”
Peeta let out a breath.
“The first time I came by to examine this construction site, you came to your office,” he explained. “You were wearing a red romper and your hair was in a braid. You were about the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Ever since, I guess I just looked out for you. Finnick just happened to notice and thought he could help things along…”
Peeta waited for her to recoil or grimace. It sounded pathetic, the way he always made sure to look out for her black BMW in the mornings. However, to him, it was just not a good day if he didn’t see her lovely face, even if it was just through her car window.
“Did you want to have dinner?”
He turned to her, his jaw dropping. “What?”
Katniss blushed, her eyes going to her lap.
“I think you’re cute and I almost crashed my car looking at you,” she revealed slowly. “And it seems like a sign that we should look into whatever this is. Also—” Her eyes met his, glowing brightly. “No one has ever called me beautiful.”
“I find that hard to believe,” he said softly. “I would love to have dinner with you. You have to let me pay, though.”
“Is that some sort of manly-man bullshit?” she retorted with a grin.
“No, my mother would kill me if she found out that I didn’t pay on the first date,” Peeta explained. “She’d think that it would be a horrible start to our epic love story.”
“I like your mom already,” Katniss told him. “How’s six sound?”
“Perfect.”
“Katniss!”
They turned to find a pretty blonde and a dark-haired woman with a squared gaze approaching.
“My sister and one of my associates,” Katniss told him. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a small case and taking out a business card. “My cell number is on it—text me when you can, and we can go over details for tonight.”
“Sure,” he replied in a daze.
Taking her sandwich—they both had foregone eating—Katniss stood, but not before pressing a kiss to his cheek and giving him a breathtaking smile.
“I’m looking forward to tonight.”
+++++++
Over texts, Katniss and Peeta decided to meet at an Italian restaurant close to her apartment.
“I can’t believe you asked that guy out!” Johanna, her roommate and one of the other lawyers in the firm, said from her seat on Katniss’ bed. “You, who won’t even agree to coffee when any other man offers, asked a construction worker out to dinner.”
“He’s not just a construction worker,” Katniss protested. “He’s Peeta Mellark, a guy who I think is really nice and easy to talk to—”
“And let’s not forget the ass,” came a shout from Prim, who was searching in Katniss’ walk-in closet. “Don’t act like you weren’t looking at it when he got up to go back to work, Katniss.” Prim stepped into her bedroom, holding a deep-purple dress with a v-neckline and three-quarter sleeves. “I knew you tried to hide my birthday present! Put this on so he can rip it off you.”
Katniss scowled at her. “Who taught you to talk like that?”
“You did,” Prim retorted with a cheeky grin. “Now, go and get ready. I’ll lay out some underthings for you.”
Katniss headed towards her bathroom.
“Prim, I’m not sure how long it’s been since anyone’s been down there,” Johanna quipped. “You might want to pick something that covers that jungle.”
“I’m on it,” her sister replied as Katniss was about to close the door. “Tonight, we’re just emphasizing her boobs.”
“Good luck with that,” her friend retorted.
++++++
Their dinner was going surprisingly well.
Katniss hadn’t been on a date for almost a year and she had worried over the thought as she walked over to the restaurant
That was until she saw him.
Peeta cleaned up nicely, meeting her in a dark green sweater, fitted jeans, and brown oxfords. In his hand was a single pink peony, which he held out to her after kissing her cheek in greeting.
They both settled at their table, ordering quickly (eggplant parmigiana for her and lasagna for him) before falling right into easy conversation.
Peeta’s family owned the construction company that he worked for though, he was the only family member who worked onsite besides his father. Peeta’s mother worked at the home office as the company’s administrator. He had two brothers, one of which owned his own bakery business and ran it with his wife who had been his high school sweetheart.
“I think you’d like Delly,” he told her. “She’s very down-to-earth which works out perfectly because Rye is all sorts of insane. He’s the kind of guy who will wake up in the middle of the night to make the perfect chocolate cake. Luckily enough, Delly is the kind of girl who will stay up and write out everything he’s done because he’s forgotten by morning.”
“And, your other brother?”
“Runs a small hotel upstate. It’s the perfect place for Christmas,” Peeta said. “Andy and his partner Gale turned the place into one of the top hotels to experience wintertime. It does help that they both have a great sense of style.”
“So, your brother is—”
“Gay as the day is long as he would put it.” Peeta grinned. “He and Gale have been together forever. They’re one of the most stable couples I know.” He met her eyes. “How about you?”
“I grew up about an hour out of the city. My parents were high school sweethearts, married right out of high school. Had me about a year after their wedding and four years after me, Prim was born.”
Katniss stopped for a moment, taking a long sip. This part was always the hardest to explain.
“My father passed away when I was six and Prim was two,” she continued. “My mom brought us here to the city to stay with my Uncle Haymitch while she got back on her feet and find a job. We woke up the next day after arriving at his place and she was gone.”
“Oh God, Katniss—” Peeta reached over, covering her hand with his. “—I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t feel sorry for us. It was probably the best thing she could have done for us,” Katniss told him, her voice still a little thick. She gave him a wet smile. “Feel bad for my Uncle—single guy in his prime having to take on two young girls. Did you know when I got my period, he bought five different types of pads? I know, too much information—”
“I like learning about you, Katniss,” he told her. “Every little bit I’ve learned, I like.”
“I feel the same way.”
It was true. Everything she learned about man before her had only compounded the growing feelings inside her. Peeta was breath of fresh air in her staid routine and every bit of time with him made her feel like she was slowly coming back to life.
Peeta squeezed her hand, she didn’t realize their hands were still pressed together—but she didn’t mind it.
“Go on,” he urged with an eager smile. “Tell me more.”
“When I was in sixth grade, my uncle came for a parent-teacher conference and met my teacher, Effie Trinket. A year later, he married her. She’s great, got me through those tough girl years. She and my Uncle are disgustingly in love.” She snorted, taking a long sip of water. “That’s my odd little family.”
“Have you heard from your mom?” Peeta asked curiously.
Katniss shook her head.
“I don’t have a real desire to. I’m not mad at her anymore, but I can’t say I’d be thrilled to see her again. Prim doesn’t even remember her. She calls Uncle Haymitch and Aunt Effie Mom and Dad.” She sat back, giving him an embarrassed smile. “That was more unloading than I intended for a first date.”
“Honestly, I’ve been watching you for a while,” Peeta revealed. “Finnick is sick to death of hearing me talk about the gorgeous brunette next door. That’s why he whistled at you; it was to save his ears from my own insecurities when it came to you.” His face had gone red. “I know you’re some big-time lawyer and I’m just some guy—”
Katniss shook her head. “You’re not just some guy.”
Peeta grinned. “I hope not.”
After he paid for dinner, they decided to walk to her apartment since it was a warm night.
As they strolled down the block, his hand brushed against hers before carefully grasping her fingers. Katniss took the initiative, entwining their fingers together, and Peeta turned to her, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.
She felt the heat rise up her body, her center twisting at the feel of his rough lips to her skin. She had to wonder how those lips would feel against the rest of her body, specifically between her thighs.
It had been a long time since she had sex.
“Nice place,” Peeta said as they approached the luxury apartment complex. “I know the company that worked on them, Beetee Latier is a smart guy and I’m willing to bet that this place is very up-to-date when it comes to virtual assistance.”
“I’ve never tried it, but Johanna has said that she can tell the apartment when it’s too cold,” Katniss told him offhandedly. “And it raises the temperature according to what is comfortable.” They stop outside the entrance and she turned to him. “Thanks for dinner and the conversation.”
“Thank you for giving me a chance,” Peeta replied.
His hand reached, cupping her cheek and his thumb brush against the edge of her bottom lip before dropping to his side. Katniss felt every nerve pulsate at his touch and she had desperately fought the urge to take his thumb into her mouth to taste him.
She wanted to ask him to come up, but her need to not seem so desperate dampened her longing.
Reaching into her purse, Katniss took out her keys, giving him a shy smile. She quickly kissed him on the cheek.
“Good night, Peeta.”
His hand reached to a tendril of her hair, caressing it with his fingers as if he were trying to memorize the feel of it between them.
When Peeta met her eyes, her breath caught at the desire in his darkened blues. “Good night, Katniss.”
“Fuck it—”
Katniss snapped, her keys dropping to the ground in a loud clink, as her arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled his mouth against hers. Peeta gasped in surprise before catching himself and circling his arms around her waist to pull her close.
He tasted delicious, her tongue surrounding his as she feasted on him. Her hand reached to grasp at his hair and the moan that tumbled from his mouth cause the fire inside her to flare. She had never wanted anything or anyone as much as she wanted the feel of him against her.
His lips slid off hers, pressing to her neck, his tongue sampling her.
“What are you doing to me, Katniss Everdeen?” he asked breathlessly, the intensity of his question sending shivers through her skin.
Katniss met his eyes, her chest heaving as she felt the rapid beat of her heart.
“I’m taking you upstairs.”
So, there’s going to be a 2nd part to this. I’m having too much fun.
Yeah, I’ve been shipping Gale with the eldest brother since TWC.
#mrspeetamellark#request#constructionworker!Peeta#lawyer!Katniss#Everlark#Everlark Fanfiction#Modern AU#Rated MA#Rated E in later part
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Just a Friend
Thank you all so much for your support with this story.
Sorry for the delay with this next chapter. Hope you enjoy it.
thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta
AO3
Previous
Chapter 10: From Posing to Plus One
I adjust the numerous cushions behind me on the purple velvet chaise longue and take another sip from my glass of champagne. This luxurious moment is marred somewhat by the underwire in my strapless bra digging painfully into soft tissue. With my free hand, I surreptitiously try and manoeuvre it into a more comfortable position.
“Claire, after this we have tae get ye a new bra, fer the dress.” Geillis has noticed. She notices everything.
She is sitting on the edge of a lavender boudoir chair, so full of excitement, I can practically see the air humming around her. She can’t seem to keep still, her legs constantly jiggling while the fingers of one hand beat a tattoo on the arm of the chair. Despite all the movements, the champagne in her glass remains unspilt, unsurprisingly.
Eventually, the sales assistant enters holding aloft a large white garment bag. “Here ye go, ma pet. If ye jes’ want tae pop behind the screen over there, we’ll get ye sorted.”
Geillis disappears behind the screen, while I continue to savour the champagne and take a good look at my surroundings. This room is like being in a big fluffy cloud. The walls are white with huge white wooden open wardrobes, filled with masses of lace, frills and satin. One wall has a full length mirror set in an ornate gilt frame. The floorboards are painted white as are the shutters at the windows. The only splashes of colour are from the chaise longue and two boudoir chairs, which do look somewhat incongruous against the overwhelming whiteness, like burlesque performers stuck in a room full of angels.
But perhaps they couldn’t risk white seating. All the shuffling bottoms, fake tan and spilt wine would play havoc with pristine upholstery—less virginal and more slightly seedy and used. The velvet decadence is probably preferable.
“How’s it going, Geillis?” I call across the room.
“Fine,” a muffled voice responds.
I am certainly enjoying this experience—wedding dress shopping with Geillis. It’s not something I ever imagined doing for myself, so to share it with my best friend is great. Even when I was a little girl, I never seemed to dream about weddings. I never played weddings with my dolls— I was far too busy bandaging them up, healing their imaginary diseases and, on one memorable occasion, amputating the left leg of my Tiny Tears. (In my eight year old self’s defence, it was a necessary intervention to save her from imminent death—her leg had already turned black with marker pen and all it took was a sharp pair of kitchen scissors and some red wool to stitch up with.)
And so I am thoroughly enjoying this new experience of visiting bridal shops and choosing dresses. All the pleasure and none of the wedding planning. Geillis has already dropped a dress size due to pre-wedding stress and I hope she doesn’t drop anymore—this is our final fitting.
I take the last sip from my glass. While Geillis is still being manhandled into her dress, I quietly lean over, take her half full glass from the (white) side table, pour some into my glass and relax back against the cushions.
And just in time as Geillis emerges from behind the screen.
The expression ‘take my breath away’ is often used, but in this case it is genuine. I’ve seen the dress before. I was with her when she chose it, but to see her in it now, well, I’m speechless. I want to rush over and hug her, but of course, I can’t for fear of spoiling the pristine fabric.
It’s a simple dress. Cream chiffon pleated Grecian style with a fitted strapless bodice and a long floaty skirt full of tiny intricate pleats that make the fabric lift and swirl around her as she moves. A plain cream veil cascades from the back of her head adding to the ethereal image. She looks like a goddess.
A goddess until she opens her mouth. “What d’ye think, then? This dress is bloody gorgeous, is it no’?”
She stands in front of the mirror, and twirls around, trying to glimpse it from every angle.
I feel my eyes prick with tears. “Oh, Geillis, you look absolutely beautiful. It’s just… just… lovely. You’re lovely and it fits like a dream. Dougal is a lucky man.”
“He is. And I make sure he knows it.”
The sales assistant is hovering around, straightening imaginary creases, checking the dress. Finally, Geillis stops moving and allows her to cast a professional eye over the fit. Once satisfied, she directs Geillis behind the screen once more, for the reverse transformation.
Geillis pulls a face as, clad again in jeans and t-shirt, she sits down and picks up her glass. She views it with suspicion, before shooting me a glance and taking a gulp. I try to look innocent.
“All ma clothes are sae boring now,” she pouts. “ I want tae wear that dress every day and never take it off.”
“Not very convenient in theatre, though, love,” I console her. “And think how special it’s going to be when you put it on for your wedding.”
“Aye, I suppose ye're right. And now it’s yer turn. C’mon now.”
The sales assistant returns with another garment bag and I follow her behind the screen.
There’s something quite uncomfortable about being dressed by someone else, I decide as I stand in my bra and knickers, arms stretched above my head waiting for the dress to slither down my body. I mean, obviously my parents would have dressed me when I was little, not that I can remember that, but by the time I went to live with Lamb, I was fully able to dress myself. He would have to do the occasional rebuttoning of cardigans, or zipping up of anoraks, but that was all.
The dress slips over my head and down my body. Now is the moment of truth as the sales assistant lifts my arm and pulls up the side zip. I breathe a sigh of relief (yes, I can actually breathe); the dress fits like a glove, or rather like a dress that’s been tailored to my exact measurements.
I step out from the screen to a round of applause from Geillis. “Claire, ye’re gorgeous. Ye look stunning in that dress.”
I sashay towards the mirror, enjoying the feeling of the fabric as it dances around my calves. In style, it’s not dissimilar to Geillis’, the same intricate chiffon pleats on the bodice and skirt. But my bridesmaid dress has one shoulder and is, as I was informed, ‘seafoam’ in colour.
That name is so descriptive; neither blue nor green yet both at the same time, and, as my skirt swirls around my legs, it’s easy to picture the ocean waves lapping against my ankles.
“D’ye like it?” Geillis sounds genuinely concerned.
“I love it.” And I do, I really do.
There’s just one thing, I realise as I continue to twist around. Geillis was right. I do need a new bra.
***********
With the two garment bags safely stowed in the wardrobe of Geillis’ spare bedroom, we celebrate with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.
I curl my legs up on the sofa and watch as Geillis switches on her laptop, ready to update all her wedding preparation spreadsheets with today’s activities. She sticks her tongue out in concentration as she scrolls through all her information, finally finding the appropriate worksheets. A few taps of the keyboard and it’s done. She doesn’t switch off but continues to look at the screen.
Eventually she speaks. “Claire, I need tae know. This weekend we’ve tae give the numbers tae the hotel and I want tae do the seating plan. Are ye bringing a plus one? I mean, it’s ok if ye’re no’.”
I feel really bad about not letting Geillis know sooner. I mean, after the rugby club, it appears that Jamie and I have somehow become each other’s ‘plus one’, but I haven’t yet decided whether to ask him to the wedding. That somehow seems more intimate—and the thought of him being interrogated by my friends fills me with dread.
“I haven’t asked anyone yet. When do you need to know?”
“By ‘anyone’ I take it ye mean Jamie? Who else would be yer plus one? Frank?” She pulls a face at that idea. “And I need tae know by tomorrow night. It doesna matter if ye dinna bring anyone…Angus isna bringing anyone either. He’d be thrilled tae accompany ye.”
I grimace instinctively. I met Angus, Dougal’s brother, at Geillis’ last New Year's Eve party and he was more than a little, shall we say, full on. I could cope with his hands, although it was rather like trying to wrangle an octopus. Midnight was a different matter as he tried to turn a polite peck into a full snog, tongue and all.
“Ok, I’ll ask Jamie tomorrow. We're going running.”
Geillis bursts out laughing, which rapidly turns into a coughing fit. “Running? Ye?” she croaks between coughs. “Oh ma love, I’d pay good money tae see that.”
******************
I don’t consider myself unfit. I try to do yoga every week and all those hours in theatre keep me pretty active. But running isn’t something I ever imagine myself doing, let alone actually enjoy.
Jamie first suggested it to me a couple of weeks ago. As usual, I didn’t have to say a word, my face told him what I thought of the idea. He then proceeded to agree with me, declaring that he didn’t think I had the stamina for that kind of exercise. I knew exactly what he was doing—a blatant attempt at reverse psychology. Did he really think I would fall for that?
Anyway, I’ve arranged to meet him in the park at our bench. I eye the coffee kiosk wistfully. It’s too early in the morning for it to be open, or indeed for anybody to be around, save a few fellow runners and some dog walkers. Perhaps, it will be open by the time we’ve finished.
I hold onto the bench and practice a few lunges, trying to look as though I know what I’m doing.
“Ye’re wobbling a bit,” a familiar voice calls from behind.
Immediately I stand up and turn to face him.
“Morning, how are ye? Looking forward tae this?” He sounds far too cheerful for this early on a Sunday.
“Of course.” I don’t tell him that usually all I want on a Sunday morning is coffee and a cinnamon bun.
He checks his watch. “Well, mebbe yer man’ll be open fer coffee when we get back.”
I don’t believe it. Are all my friends mind readers?
I shrug, trying to look like it never crossed my mind.
“Sae,” he continues. “We’ll start off wi’ 5 minutes brisk walking tae warm up, then mebbe 15 minutes alternating between slow running and walking and finish off wi’ 5 minutes walking tae cool down. I dinna want ye tae do too much as it’s yer first time and I think that’ll be more than enough fer ye.”
Here we go—Jamie and his reverse psychology again. How obvious.
“Oh well,” I reply. “I think we can do more than that. I’ll be fine.”
He smirks as he sets the timer on his watch. “OK, Sassenach, whatever ye say.”
*************
I don’t think I’ve ever seen so welcome a sight as the open shutters on the coffee kiosk. It may be my imagination but, even from this distance, I can smell the freshly brewed coffee. And, boy, do I need it.
I let my pride override my commonsense and actually ran-slash-walked for ten minutes more than Jamie had planned, finishing with a totally unnecessary sprint, or rather my pathetic attempt at one, before the cool down. And now I’m paying the price. My face is burning hot, my t-shirt is one huge sweat patch and my legs feel like they’re made from rubber.
Jamie, on the other hand, is strolling towards the kiosk looking as though he’s barely broken into a sweat. I think it literally was ‘a walk in the park’ for him today.
I sit down on the bench, shifting awkwardly as the sweat trickles down my back and between my cheeks. What I really need is a long, hot shower…
Jamie comes and joins me on the bench, his hands full with coffee and a couple of mysterious bags. He deposits his purchases between us and settles himself. I hope he’s not downwind of me. I don’t think I’m smelling my sweetest at the moment.
He passes me a coffee and a bag.
“Here ye go, I reckon ye’ve earned it. I didna ken what ye wanted. That’s an almond croissant, but I’ve a pain au raisin here if ye’d prefer.”
I accept the almond croissant and coffee gratefully.
“How d’ye feel now?” He asks as he takes a large bite of his pastry.
“I feel fine.” I lie.
“Hmm. Actually, ye did well today. Better than I thought. Ye’ll be running a five k before we know it.”
I stare at him, not sure if he’s being sarcastic, but, no, there’s a genuine smile on his face as he takes another bite of his pastry.
“Not sure about that.” I’m thinking that once is enough.
“Nonsense, ye should do this regularly. I’ll help ye, if ye like.”
“But won’t I hold you back with my slow pace?”
“Doesna matter. I run a couple of times a week anyway. I can do this as well.”
“I’ll think about it.” I break a piece of my croissant off and pop it in my mouth. It is delicious and totally guilt free. I’ve earned it.
We are quiet for a moment, both of us savouring the coffee and treats. I am also pondering how best to ask Jamie about Geillis’ wedding. I know I have to ask him today, but I don’t want him to feel obliged to attend, I need to offer him a way to decline without feeling guilty.
“So,” I begin, a bit hesitant. “I was wondering…of course, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to… but you know I’m a bridesmaid at Geillis’ wedding and I was wondering, well, if you wanted to accompany me…be my plus one.”
“I won’t mind if you don’t want to come. That’s fine too.” I add quickly.
“Ye sound like ye dinna want me tae come.” He watches my face, maybe looking for clues as to what I actually want.
“I do…but only if you want to. You don’t have to.” I’m still giving him a guilt free way out.
“But, ye want me tae come, do ye?” He looks a little bit perplexed, unsure what to do.
“Yes, obviously—“
“Well, Sassenach, in that case I accept. It will be ma pleasure.”
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[💌] 21 questions game
tagged by : @guktwt (thank u angel <3)
:: nickname. sae, sae sama, saesae, psy, psy boi, sai, dAddY. actually i was called psy, which was shortened from my cringey ass username from this other site i used to be active on. my friends on there used to called me sai but then i got into kpop and landed here... so i changed it to sae bc i wanted to match with my tae bae :( wOw iT rHymEd
:: zodiac. gemini
:: height. almost 5″3. almost there.
:: hogwarts. uh,,, ravenclaw? i’m sorry i have no idea lol
:: the last thing I googled. "acknowledge synonyms"... yikes c:
:: favorite musicians. uh, take a wild guess? lol other than the obvious (and within kpop) i like ateez, exo, got7, seventeen, twice, monsta x, more like almost half of the kpop industry.
:: song stuck in my head. mist by ateez. i had it on repeat this whole week and still listen to it religiously every morning i'm serious.
:: following. uh, like 27 o.o
:: followers. 4k something
:: do you get asks. ahah, rarely. very rarely. idk why tho, i mean maybe it's bc i don’t exactly seem like an interactive person on here (don’t worry, it’s a real-life problem for me lol) but i rarely get asks, so... once or twice in a few months maybe? lmao.
:: amount of sleep. i'm currently done with my classes for this sem bc exam season is at my doorstep so i sleep at like 3 am and get up at noon. during classes, i sleep for like 6 hrs or smtg i think?
:: what are you wearing. a dead expression which says “i’m done with this life” bc someone is yelling lyrics of the opening song of doraemon on the top of their lungs, like two rooms away (lol sorry, i’m in my gray and pink pyjamas).
:: dream job. my tae-baby’s personal caretaker no but actually i aspire to be a successful software engineer pls bear with me.
:: dream trip. like most, japan. i was always fascinated by their culture since a kid uwu (and maYbE anime contributed to it too but shhh u.u)
:: instruments. used to play the keyboard as a kid but now i only remember the “happy birthday” song on it so hAh.
:: languages. fluent in sarcasm, thank u very much u.u lol uh, my native language, its bunch of different dialects and english obviously... perks of being asian lol.
:: favorite songs. keeping it within kpop, i really wanna say BTS' ENTIRE DISCOGRAPHY no but like as i always say STREAM 'LET ME KNOW' other than that,,, bet bet by nuest, goblin's ost stay with me (it's literally my ringtone), trauma by svt hip hop unit, let's not fall in love by bb, L.O.V.E. by park jihoon, baekhyun's whole album city lights, someone's someone by mx, aaaaand i can go on all day so let's just sToP oof
:: if you were an animal, what would you be. a panda maybe? i love their lifestyle man :/
:: favorite food. !!!ANYTHING HOMEMADE!!! what? i live in a dorm ok u.u
:: random fact. i can’t swallow big pills oops
:: my aesthetic. guava chapsticks - sweater paws - tight black jeans - hair in buns- oversized t-shirts - high end sneakers - little earrings - cat eye eyeliner - huge ass glasses - pyjamas 24*7 - solid colours - all black accessories
tagging: @falsemaknae @ange1c0re @la-vie-en-tae @notreyoon and you. yes you, the person reading this. do this and tag me in it okay? ♡
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101 things I’ve said while playing Persona 5
((Me and my siblings play persona sometimes when we’re real tired. I’m bad at video games. It’s a fun time.))
Yes, I did name my protag Enrique De Garza. I have headcannons about the spanish crimeboy if people want them.
1. *Long and drawn out conversation about sexual favors on the school rooftop*
2. *Torero (by Chayanne) lyrics* “Appropriate music.”
3. “I’m blind and I don’t understand…”
4. “What is Shakira doing right now?” “Body rolls?” *Sings Tight pants / Body rolls really loudly and obnoxiously*
5. “There are two periods in the day: morning and even—” “I just want to be friends with my dad, okay?”
6. “I want kindness! I wanna work at the flower shop!” “Nope, flower shop gives you kindness. You want charm.” “FUCK!”
7. “What do we do in these safe rooms?” “MAKE LOVE”
8. “I’m deaf. I’m deaf, I’m blind, I’m a baby kitten.”
9. “David, you’re in my shirt.”
10. “Ambush him!” “HAH!” *Opens menu* “…Fuck.”
11. “Oh no, Ryuji’s dead. What can I do?” “Items. Or you can use skills if you have them. Or you can just kill him.” “WHAT?!”
12. “Y’know, the Hairies are weak to gun. … Wait.”
13. “Great, only one of my people has a brain, and that’s… Ryuji.”
14. “Our father, who art in heaven, Safe Mode be thy name…”
15. *Fergalicious lyrics* “Appropriate music. I make the best playlists.”
16. “I hope you’re happy with yourself. You were ambushed by two guys in flip-flops.”
17. “I don’t wanna go back to the boobs…”
18. “Menacing Owlman.” “Tag yourself. OMG. TAG YOURSELF.”
19. “Well, obviously. It’s an authority figure. We need Ryuji.”
20. “I mean… Ryuji’s tits are pretty fine, soo…”
21. “Does it bother you that Igor goes *clacks teeth like a dinosaur* and still manages to make M and N sounds?”
22. “Your BOY needs to chill the fuck out.” “My BOY takes after ME. I’m not sure he CAN.” “… Also your boy doesn’t say fuck.”
23. “You aren’t allowed up here.” “Yeah, but what about the secret blowjobs? Can’t do that in the library, Makoto.”
24. “I didn’t know we could make a bus uncomfortable.” “Bus blowjobs. Super secret.”
25. “This just in: Ryuji is actually several majestic flip-flaps in a trench coat.”
26. “Can I take a bath? I haven’t taken a bath in two weeks.” “YOU SMEEELLLLYY!”
27. *Ann threatens to tear down Madarame’s shack* “Also, tearing that house down probably involves breathing lightly on the walls.”
28. “Somehow I think ‘I gotchu Boo’ is a little out of character for Enrique.”
29. “You know, cats can’t equip undies.” “Shame.”
30. “Yeah, I do like your lady’s dress, Iwai.”
31. “Y’all, I got three boys in undies who’re ready to fight.”
32. “My nose is all itchy…” “AWWW…” “He’s a jock.”
33. “Who is attacking me?” “GUYS!!!”
34. “Um, excuse me, that was my… FUCK!”
35. “It’s called PAINting for a reason!!!”
36. “That will be your exfiltration route.” “I hate that.”
37. “I am thou, thou art I. I exist amongst the merchandise as a frowny face.”
38. “You know who I just figured out that Yusuke dresses like?” “Who?” “Mary Berry.”
39. “Coffee Dad is unimpressed with my choice of friends.” “Your friends are unimpressed with your choice of friends. Look at Yusuke.”
40. “Does she actually day-dream about Ryuji?” “Only angstily.”
41. “Oh, he’s actually going to corner me in a broom closet.” “Actually, I think you’re the one cornering him in a broom closet, but that’s beside the point.”
42. “Is Enrique a dick?”
43. “Enrique, being the bisexual beast that he is…”
44. “Has the prick been bothering you, Yusuke? Do we need to go on a date to take your mind off it?”
45. “If anyone was a hooker, you’d expect it to be Ryuji…wait.”
46. “We pray for the skinny gays, and hope that they learn…something.”
47. “I feel like they’ve become my Tamogachis. I need to feed them…”
48. “Where is the D?” “Down at the top.”
49. “’I walked Yusuke back to the station.’ Like a good date.” “We then made out obscenely in the train station.” “We made everyone uncomfortable.” “It was great.”
50. “I’m sorry Ann, this is a boys-only treehouse.” “Except for Makoto.” “Oh, yeah.”
51. “’Show me your true form!’” “NO!!”
52. “Ruyji is blinged the fuck out. Like, look at him.” “He’s also inside you.”
53. “It’s called High Pixie, and not… some mean name.”
54. “Why is my boy so elegant?” “He does the Naruto run. It makes me angry.”
55. “What about my security!?” “It was a bitch… But I’m bitchier.”
56. “I am that jiggly sinner elephant.”
57. “Where’s the *pterodactyl screech*??”
58. “Stop giving genders to inanimate objects.” “Fuck you, I do what I want.”
59. “And here we see the wild Joker, knocked on his ass.” “Isn’t he pretty?”
60. “Yusuke! Where in your space pants are you keeping an assault rifle?”
61. “You can’t make Ryuji hungry! He’s always hungry. It’s like trying to make the hulk mad.”
62. “It’s knowledge going up, not charm…” “It’s always charm with Enrique.”
63. “Oh, OK. So you’ve got eight days until your nudes are leaked.”
64. *Mona, wearing a rainbow afro* “Wait, guys, something isn’t right…”
65. “How do I get rid of the slime?” “You say ‘Release the Slime.’”
66. “I like the one where Ryuji yodels and Ann tells him he’s cute.”
67. “What? You don’t want to teach Zorro to break wind?”
68. “Is that an assault rifle in your space pants or are you just happy to see me?”
69. “If I wasn’t so opulent, I’d be a bit more peeved.”
70. “Hey, Mishima. You want to join the harem?”
71. “Yusuke, if you want to draw sexual tension, you have friends for that…”
72. “Exactly. He’s a bus, and the wheels on the bus go round and round, motherfucker.”
73. “Ugh, you scared him away!” “He can’t help it. Ryuji is spooky.”
74. “WE NEED AS MANY PHANTOM THEIVES AS YEW CAN THROU DAUN”
75. “So Yusuke is now lightly boiled…” “You mean…sleeping?”
76. “Sword, how do you feel about smacking dem snake tiddies?”
77. “You scared him off with your fuckin’ snoring, ya spoopy bastard.”
78. “Fuck off, Kris. We can’t all have a level five knowledge stat, so shut your damn nose.”
79. “Fuck, I just made out with Ann too. Accidentally. … Shit.”
80. *continues to be distraught about having Ann as a side ho*
81. “Yeah, Ryuji will just bust a move up in here and it’ll be shocking! …Ha! Puns.” *Nobody laughs*
82. *Competent players having a legit conversation about comparative SP usage* “Hey! Can I talk to the box?!?” “… No.”
83. “What? Your teammates? That one’s a mouse now, because fuck him, and your other guy friend? He is now a beautiful snake.”
84. “You know what else is really beautiful?” “Mishima?” “ME.”
85. *Far too many dick monster jokes for general health*
86. “Damnit, they aren’t weak to smack!”
87. “First I had to convince Sojiro to let me keep a cat, now I have to convince Sojiro to let me keep a Yusuke…”
88. “Why do I get the sense you’re enjoying this?” “Because he’s fucking the culprit!”
89. “I do want to spent my Hot Night with the Mishiman.”
90. “Oh, hi Akechi.” “What?” “You see the guy buying Cinnabuns? Right there?”
91. “Urgh… Morgana just needs to chill his beans.” “BEANS???”
92. “They give you great spiritual power…” “And gas.”
93. “No, I do not like that Fox. I would like him… in a box.”
94. “Ya done spooked the Ryooj…”
95. “Oh, yeah. Sae is ready to cut a bitch.” “And that bitch is Akechi.”
96. “You wanna say that a little louder, Akechi? For the people in the back? Especially your…self.”
97. *To Iwai* “You betcha, sweetums! …that is not the right name for you, sir. I’m so sorry.”
98. “Fuck off, Friendly Girl.” “That was rude!” “Well, she was rude to me, so she’s not very friendly.”
99. “God, Kawakami… It’s fine. I brought condoms.
100. *Competent players having a legit discussion about social link points* “GUYS, we need to focus more on the important issue at hand! Mishima is still wearing clothes??” “… what?”
101. “Yusuke doesn’t have cleavage!”
#//Talk to me// (OOC)#//A pretty boy in eyeliner// (the mun)#persona 5#persona#persona trash#I'm very sorry
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Just A Friend
And onto the next chapter. Thanks for your support for this story, it means a lot to me.
Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta.
Hope you enjoy the next chapter
AO3
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Chapter 8: From Dresses to Disco
I don’t have a huge wardrobe but, generally, I can lay hands on an outfit for most situations. For work, if I’m not in scrubs, I tend to wear plain black trousers and a shirt; for relaxing, I have more than enough jeans, leggings and comfy sweaters; for holidays, I have the usual range of shorts, t-shirts and sundresses.
I realise as I flick through the hangers in my wardrobe that what I am missing are outfits in the ‘dinner-dance-purely-platonic-plus-one’ category. And, what’s more, I don’t actually know how formal this thing is going to be.
Jamie was no use at all when I spoke to him about it.
“What sort of thing will your sister be wearing?” I asked as we met for coffee and a bacon sandwich two days ago.
“I dinna ken. A dress?” He hazarded a guess, looking a bit perplexed that I would even ask him.
“Long or short?” I persisted.
“Yes.”
“Well, which? Long or short?”
“Aye, one of them.”
“What are you wearing then... kilt? Black tie? Lounge suit?” This might give me a clue as to the dress code.
“I dare say I’ll be wearing a suit and tie.”
And that was as much assistance as I got from him.
I make the decision to go short. Partly because I don’t want to feel overdressed on Saturday, but mainly because the only long dress I have in my possession was purchased for a university Medics’ ball in 2008. And it’s crinkly satin with a side split and a wide leather belt that went with an over the top diamanté headband around my forehead.
Obviously, I will never wear it again, but I’m loath to part with it anyway. It reminds me of my time at university. Plus, it may come in handy… for a fancy dress party perhaps?
********
Geillis has decided, on the spur of the moment, to ‘jes’ pop ‘round fer a wee glass of wine’. That’s just a cover. What she actually wants is a ‘wee glass of wine’ while supervising my dress selection.
She takes a sip and reclines on my bed, casting a critical eye as I pull a few dresses out of my wardrobe and lay them next to her. She’s not giving much away as she continues to study them.
“Well?” I stand at the end of the bed and stare at her, waiting for her comments.
“I canna give ye ma answer ‘till I’ve seen them all,” she replies.
“That’s it. That’s all my fancy evening dresses.”
She stares at me in disbelief, before gazing once more at the three dresses displayed on the bed.
“Ye dinna have any more cocktail dresses, then?”
I shake my head. “‘Fraid not. When I go cocktail drinking, I tend to wear something more casual. There’s not a great call for fancy frocks when it’s two for one cocktails at the ‘Slug and Lettuce’.”
She sighs very loudly and grimaces. We’ve had these conversations often enough over the years. She despairs about my lack of interest in fashion. It’s true, I can’t tell a Marc Jacobs from a Marks and Spencer. Well, I possibly could, but you get my drift. I tried to be fashionable back in 2008 and look where it got me— wearing a dress that resembled a sweetie wrapper with a headband that brought me out in a rash.
I sometimes wonder if the real reason that she has asked me to be a bridesmaid has less to do with being best friends and more to do with being able to control what I’m going to wear. I’m joking of course, it’s because we’re best friends— Geillis choosing my dress is just an added perk for her.
“So, I think ye wear this one.” She gets up, moves me to one side and quickly rifles through the wardrobe, giving a cry of triumph as she finds what she’s looking for.
I knew it—I knew she would remember that dress. She was with me when I bought it— a late night Sauvignon Blanc fuelled online purchase. She describes it as my “hello boys” dress. I’ve never worn it and this is not the occasion for its inaugural outing.
I mean, it’s a lovely dress— black with an off the shoulder bardot neckline and very, very form fitting. But totally not the message I want to send to Jamie.
I shake my head. “Nope… no way. Not that one.”
I point instead to a dress lying on the bed, originally bought for a hospital fundraiser last year. It’s very nice and infinitely more suitable— black with sparkly red splodges; a slight v neck and fitted bodice going into a flared skirt. It even has pockets.
Geillis raises her hands in exasperation. “Fine. Have it yer way. But, Claire, do ye no’ want tae mebbe try it?”
I grab the dress from her and stuff it back in the wardrobe, ignoring her last comment. But she doesn’t give up so easily.
“See what could happen, eh?”
I turn to face her. “I know what could happen. He’ll think that I’m after him and that I’ll be it. End of friendship.”
“But mebbe—“
I interrupt her. “No maybe about it. Besides all this is missing the point. I want Jamie in my life as a friend, the same way that you and Mary and Anna are in my life. I don’t want anything more from him. I don’t need any romance. Can you understand that?”
“Aye but—“
She’s still not willing to drop the subject and I’ve had enough. I drain my glass of wine and start to walk out of the bedroom.
“No buts. That’s it. Just drop it, please.” At the doorway, I pause. “Now, do you want another glass?”
She starts to follow me. “Of course. And sorry,Claire, I dinna mean tae annoy ye. It’s jes’—“ she stops herself before saying anymore.
“Ok... Shall we order a takeaway,then?”
As I head into the living room, with Geillis following, I’m pretty sure I can hear her muttering under her breath about taking chances.
***************
Jamie said he would pick me up at seven. I’m clearly still working on Frank time, as I’m ready with fifteen minutes to spare. I perch on the edge of a chair, trying not to crease my dress, smudge my mascara or run my fingers through my hair.
I must admit, I have enjoyed the whole formal dressing up process. It’s not something I do too often— my socialising tends to be of a more relaxed nature. But this makes a welcome change.
With five minutes to spare, the bell rings. I gather up my pashmina and clutch bag and make my way downstairs, my high heeled sandals making a clacking sound against the old floor tiles.
Jamie is waiting outside, next to his old french blue Triumph Stag sports car. Like he said, he’s wearing a suit—dark grey instead of his usual navy blue. Still with a white shirt and a rust coloured paisley tie. His auburn curls nestle against his jacket collar. He looks immaculate.
In a parody of a chauffeur, he touches his forelock, bows and opens the passenger door for me. “M’lady,” he adds with his customary half grin.
“Thank you, Parker,” I reply primly and arrange my skirt under me as he scoots around to the driver side.
I do like this car. It’s old, a bit threadbare in places and smells slightly of damp. But it positively oozes vintage style and glamour. Fortunately the hardtop is on as the clouds are gathering ominously overhead.
“I thought we were getting a taxi. Are you not drinking?” I ask as he starts to drive.
Keeping his eyes on the road, he snorts with laughter. “No’ drinking? What kind of rugby ‘do’ d’ye think this is? No, I’ll leave the car at the club and we can get a taxi, if that’s ok wi’ ye.”
We drive on in silence for a couple of miles. Not an awkward silence, just a we-don’t-really-have-to -make-small-talk kind of silence.
“I’d have thought you’d be wearing a kilt tonight.” I comment.
“Hmm, weel, I do like tae wear it fer special occasions, but, when the rugby lads get together, who kens what can happen. Trousers tend tae be the safer option.”
“You could always wear underpants,” I suggest.
He looks horrified at the suggestion. “Dinna be saying that tae a true Scot, Sassenach.”
“I consider myself suitably chastised.”
“Glad ye realise that.” He smiles and changes the subject totally. “Sae, on our table this evening, there’ll be ma sister Jenny and her husband Ian, and Rupert, ye ken Rupert, and his wife Morag.”
“Oh, so you know Rupert— outside of work, I mean.”
“Aye, we grew up together. And Ian too. Mind, he was a couple of years older than Rupert and me— same age as Jenny—and always used tae follow her around like a wee pup. I’ve only known Morag a couple of years though. She’s nice but verra quiet. She lets Rupert do most of the talking.”
“I liked Rupert.”
“He’s a great bloke. Best decision I made, asking him tae join me at FraserFoods. Ian’s a great bloke too. Ye’ll like him.”
Jamie pulls the car into the rugby club car park, and switches the engine off. He sits still for a moment, staring through the windscreen. I can hear music coming from the large marquee lit up with lanterns and residing on one of the rugby pitches. Even though it’s early in the evening, there’s plenty of raucous laughter coming from that direction too. No doubt the bar has already seen plenty of action.
“Well?” I elbow him in the ribs.
“Sorry. I was jes’ thinking about how best tae describe Jenny.” He turns and smiles. “She’s the best sister a chap could want and a true friend— once she gets tae know ye. She can be a wee bit, shall we say, prickly, at first. And she thinks she kens what’s best fer me, as only a big sister can. She thinks ma life is no’ complete… no’ wi’out a wife and a couple of bairns.”
“Have you explained that this isn’t a date… that we’re friends?”
“Aye, I’ve told her that,” he gives a little laugh and nods his head towards the marquee. “Sae she’ll most likely be in there right now scouring the place fer any suitable contenders.”
He gets out of the car and is at the passenger door before I’ve had a chance to unfasten my seatbelt and gather my pashmina around my shoulders.
“M’lady,” resuming the chauffeur role, he opens the door for me.
I clamber out, somewhat ungainly and wait as he locks the car. Even with my highest heels on, I still have to crane my neck to look at him as he stands up straight and adjusts his jacket.
“Shall we?” He gestures the marquee with his hand.
“God, yes. I could do with a gin and tonic. I’m parched.” Plus, I reckon I need a stiff drink or two down my throat before I meet Jenny. She sounds formidable.
“C’mon then.” And he leads the way into the marquee.
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Just A Friend
Just another Sunday and just another chapter. Thanks to all of you who read, like, reblog, comment. i appreciate it more than you know.
thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta
previous
AO3
Chapter 4: From Park to Parlay
There’s something rather special about this time of year with the transition from spring to summer when everything is still so fresh and green. The long, light evenings make me feel like I’ve been given an extra couple of hours in my day.
My flat has a balcony. It’s small—just enough space for a bistro table, two chairs and a few pots of herbs—but I love it. I come home from work and sit out there, sometimes with a cup of coffee, sometimes with something a bit stronger. Of course this is weather dependent — I am in Scotland, after all.
But sometimes, like tonight, sitting on my balcony isn’t enough. I want to be outside in all that fresh air and sunshine. Plus, one of my neighbours has acquired a new hobby, apparently. It’s either learning the violin or strangling cats. Although it sounds more like the latter, I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt and say it’s the former. I have finally managed to identify the piece she’s having a crack at. It’s from ‘Frozen’ — ‘Let It Go’ and I really wish she would.
Besides, if I wander into the park, there’s a certain ice cream kiosk that might still be open. My mouth waters at the thought of their cherry bakewell ice cream. So, I grab a cardigan, keys and a bit of cash, and head out.
As I stroll through the park, I’m thankful that I brought my cardigan. The sun is still warm, but there’s a distinct chill in the shade. Not enough of a chill to put me off an ice cream, though.
The kiosk is just on the verge of closing for the day, but he spies me doing that stupid little pretend run that’s actually no faster than walking and waits. I smile gratefully as I hand over the money in exchange for a double cone. Turning away, I can hear the shutters closing.
There’s a bench nearby, overlooking the pond and still in the sun… unoccupied. I sit down ready to enjoy my ice cream in peace. After the cacophony of a violin bow being scraped painfully across strings, this is sheer bliss — only the sound of a few argumentative ducks and the occasional playful dog. No-one to disturb me, no-one to—
At first, all I can hear are two voices, coming from the path behind me. Nothing above a murmur — one low pitched, the other higher. I can’t make out what they’re saying. Not that I would want to. The higher voice, a female, is definitely getting louder now. She’s not happy by the sound of it. The other, clearly male, keeps to a calm murmur.
“Are ye telling me I’m imagining things, then?”
I can’t hear the response, but it’s obviously not to her liking.
“I ken she works fer ye. But she has her eye on ye. I’m no’ stupid. D’ye think I’m a mug?”
The voice sounds a bit familiar but I can’t place it anywhere. Perhaps we go to the same coffee shops or bars or—
“That’s it, James Fraser. I’m going, I mean it... Ye ken where tae find me… this is me, going… bye… I said bye. Fine, dinna answer me, then.”
The annoyance in her voice registers in my brain. I know why she sounds so familiar— it’s little Miss James-Fraser-isn’t-here-don’t-call-again-ever. Which means that, at any moment, one or other of them might be rounding this corner and think that I was eavesdropping.
Quickly I get to my feet ready to walk away —slap bang straight into Samsonite-owning Jamie Fraser. I take a step back. The first thing I notice is he’s not wearing a white dress shirt this time. He’s far more casually dressed in a plain white t-shirt… a plain white t-shirt now adorned with a large splodge of pink ice cream right in the middle of his chest.
“Oh, gosh, I’m — I’m so sorry,” I stammer apologetically as I fumble in my pockets for a paper serviette or tissue.
He looks up. The vexed expression on his face gives way to one of amusement.
“Claire Beauchamp,” he announces. “I didna recognise ye without yer suitcase.”
“I am sorry,” I continue to apologise as I pass him a somewhat crumpled but clean tissue.
He makes no attempt to leave, but settles himself on the bench and starts to dab ineffectually at the pink stain.
“Was it good?” He nods at the battered cone I am still holding.
“Oh yes, the best. I’d buy you one as compensation but they’re closed now.”
“It’s fine. If I feel the need I can always suck on ma shirt.” He looks down at the stain, glaringly obvious against the pristine white of his t-shirt. “Sae, how are ye doing?”
I perch on the bench next to him. Apparently we’re having a conversation.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I answer politely. “And how are you?”
“Me, I’m no’ sae bad,” He looks annoyed, then shakes his head and gives a little half smile. “Look, I’m sorry if any of that… er…weel, if ye heard any of that.”
Do I lie? Pretend that I heard nothing? I’m not a very good liar. Geillis always says that I have a glass face, you can see every emotion clearly etched on it and I think she’s right. So I choose to answer noncommittally.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s jes’...” he pauses for a moment, considering his choice of words. “Jes’ … tricky.”
He seems lost in thought. Maybe I need to remind him that his wife-partner-girlfriend-housekeeper has just stormed off and will clearly be awaiting some sort of reaction from him.
“Shouldn’t you be… ?” I gesture towards the path in the direction she must have taken.
“Nah, I’m no’ going after her… no’ this time.” He adds the last bit under his breath.
“Oh, ok.”
“That's what she wants, ye ken. The attention, me chasing after her, making promises…” his voice tails off as he realises what he’s doing.
He looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I shouldna be blathering like this tae ye. I dinna ken why.”
I do. Sometimes it’s easier to vent, to get things off your chest, to a stranger rather than family or friends. You can pretty much say what you like, confident that it’s not going to come back and bite you, or spread like chinese whispers around your peer group.
“No need to apologise. It can be easier explaining things to strangers, sometimes.”
He smiles. “Ah, but, I dinna think we’re strangers. After all, I’m well acquainted with yer holiday… er...shall we say, accessories.”
If his intention was to make me blush, he’s succeeded. I feel myself redden. “It was a hen party. I had to get into the spirit.”
“So ye say.” He raises an eyebrow as if to question my explanation. “Och, dinna mind me, I’m jes’ teasing.”
I screw my face up in mock disgust and he chuckles.
“My mam told me never tae pull faces else ye’ll be stuck like that if the wind changes.”
I assume a serious expression.
“That’s much better, Miss Beauchamp,” his face becomes serious too. “But, aye, I get what ye’re saying— about talking tae people ye dinna ken. Ye’ve no horse in this race, as it were. Everyone else that I ken seems tae have an opinion.”
I’m suddenly conscious that the remains of my cone are still in my hand, now totally melted. Noticing my awkward fidgeting, he returns the crumpled tissue to me. I wipe my hands and deposit all the debris in the bin by the bench. He settles back, obviously keen to continue our conversation.
“Sae, are ye up fer giving me yer opinion then about ma situation?”
I’ve never thought of myself as an agony aunt, but I’m curious to know more about him. It’s reassuring to know other people have complications in their love lives too.
“I don’t know enough to give you my opinion, but feel free to unload, if you want to.”
He leans forward, his large hands resting on his denim clad knees and sighs. He has very nice hands with neatly shaped nails, no ragged cuticles or bitten nails. There’s a smattering of reddish hairs on the back. I always notice a man’s hands. Frank had very smooth, elegant hands with long, slim fingers. Jamie’s are much broader than Frank’s, which fits with his whole Viking throwback vibe. I force myself away from his hands and focus on what he's telling me.
“Ye see, ye get tae an age where all yer friends are in couples and having bairns. And ye feel that’s what ye should do, have a proper ‘relationship’.”
I inhale sharply at the way he says the word, so similar to my own thoughts. He glances at me, and continues.
“Ah, ye ken what I mean. And sae ye go along wi’ it when ye friends introduce ye tae a lass. And ye date… and it’s nice, but there’s always that feeling that they want something more, that they want the whole ‘relationship’ thing. They want more than ye can give. And that leads tae disappointment and arguments. They push, trying tae force ye to commit.”
He sits back and looks at me. “Mebbe it’s…och, i dinna ken. Jes’ ignore me. I’m a stupid dolt.”
“No, I don’t mind at all. Honestly.”
“I mean, Laoghaire is a nice enough lass, but it seems the more she pushes, the more I back away. It makes her more suspicious. If I dinna want her, then she reckons I must be after another. What do ye think?”
Do I tell him about her answering his phone? I mean, it seems like he’s coming to a conclusion all by himself. I decide not to volunteer any more information. And I know I said I wouldn’t give an opinion, but I just can’t help it. This is all too familiar to me.
“It is difficult but, ask yourself, is this fair to Laoghaire, or fair to you? Will this keep happening? I mean, I don’t know her, but will she be satisfied with what you are prepared to give? I think you already know your answer. And I think you know what you must do.”
He sighs again. “Aye, I do. But it’s no’ a pleasant thing, is it?”
I shake my head. The image of Frank’s devastation is still fresh in my mind. “It never is.”
The bench is now in shade, and it’s cooled down a lot. I shiver and wrap my cardigan tightly around me. Time to head home, I think.
“Aye, ye’re right. Time tae go.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking about the evening chill, or what he needs to do about the whole Laoghaire situation.
We both stand up at the same time. He extends his hand, and I take it in mine, which is more than a bit grubby and sticky, with the odd bit of tissue still stuck to it.
“Thank ye for listening, Claire, and fer yer opinion. It’s been a big help tae me. I dinna ken what it is but I feel I can talk tae ye. And I promise, next time, it’s yer turn. Ye can vent like ye want tae me and I’ll do the listening.”
“Will there be a next time?”
He smiles. “Oh aye, I’m sure there will be.”
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Just A Friend
The response to this story has been lovely, so thank you all for reading. liking, reblogging and commenting on this piece of fluff. Hope you continue to enjoy.
Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta
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Chapter 6: From Irritation to Interrogation
And just like that, we’re friends, Jamie and I. It’s strange how quickly you can go from strangers to acquaintances to friends. After that walk in the park, something seems to have clicked with us, there’s an ease in our friendship that doesn’t happen too often. Despite our vastly different upbringings, we have many things in common: a shared love of irreverent comedy, a fondness for very good quality chocolate and wine and a determination to succeed in our chosen careers.
Of course, it helps that we don’t have the whole fancying-sexual-tension-romantic thing lurking in the background. As I’ve said before, Jamie is not my type and, judging by the pictures on his Facebook timeline, I am definitely not his, which appears to be doe-eyed, tanned, petite blondes— their pneumatic breasts frequently struggling to break free from their restraints. No tall, wild-haired brunettes with only-slightly-above-average breasts usually firmly encased in sensible lingerie.
I may even invite him to Geillis’ wedding as my plus one. We’ll see. I don’t think I’ll be dating by then, I quite fancy a few months without any of those complications.
********
One of life’s pleasures, for me, when I’m not on-call, is to walk to the local newsagents on a Sunday morning for the newspaper. If it’s fine, it’s another opportunity to sit on my balcony and read it at my leisure. A mug of freshly brewed coffee and a cinnamon bun enhances this experience.
Today, it’s not so fine, but sitting on my sofa while listening to the rain pounding against the window is pretty good too. I’m just about to start the crossword when my phone rings. I quickly swallow my mouthful of bun and glance at the screen—private number. I offer up a silent prayer that it’s not the hospital as I answer it.
“Claire Beauchamp?” The female voice sounds familiar.
“Yes.” I answer cautiously.
“Jes’ a wee word of warning. Karma can be a bitch, ye ken.” The voice grows louder and angrier. I recognise that tone, last heard berating Jamie. “Ye’ll get what ye deserve. Ye canna trust James Fraser, but ye’ll find out soon enough—the hard way, like I did… thanks tae ye.”
“Look, I—“ I begin, but before I can finish my sentence, she’s gone.
My initial reaction is irritation. Laoghaire, no doubt looking around for someone to blame for her recent break up, has cast me in the role of home wrecker, clearly using my carefully honed feminine wiles to lure Mr. Fraser from her clutches. Like Frank, she can’t quite believe that anyone could break up with her, without there being another waiting in the wings, ready and willing to take her place.
My irritation dissipates as I begin to see the funny side of this. She’s obviously thought long and hard about this—checking his Facebook friends, keeping records of his phone calls when they were together. Perhaps she sees herself as Jennifer Aniston against my Angelina. I hope Jamie can see this for what it is and laugh. Besides, in this scenario, that makes Jamie what? Brad Pitt?
*****************
Two days later, Jamie and I have arranged to have a quick drink after work in a mutually convenient bar. Summer has not yet returned to the city. Whilst not actually raining, the air is damp and there’s a definite nip in the air. I do a cursory check of the outdoor seating, just to see whether Jamie is heroically braving the elements, but there’s no sign of him.
I make my way into the bar and have a quick walk around before snagging a corner table. The seats are comfortable and it’s in a prime position for me to keep an eye out for his arrival. This bar has always been one of my favourites in the city. It feels grounded, like it’s been here forever. The stone walls and dark oak beams are unchanging and watching the inebriated trying to negotiate the uneven wooden floor on their way to the toilets always makes for good entertainment. In fact, people come from miles around to marvel at its very crookedness.
I check my phone for any messages. There’s one from Geillis, accepting my invitation for girls’ night on Friday at my flat. I reply and put the phone down just in time to see Jamie heading toward me. He’s obviously come straight from work as he’s still in his navy blue suit and white shirt. I’ve come straight from work too but am not nearly so smartly dressed. Having worn my blue scrubs all day, I’m now clad in jeans and a wrap around top which used to be orange, but has faded to a light amber colour. I feel somewhat underdressed next to him.
“Drink?” He asks, before even sitting down.
I nod. “I’m parched. Think I’ll have a shandy, please.”
“Lager shandy? Half pint?”
“Bitter,” I clarify, not being a great believer in girlie drinks. “And pint.”
He returns a couple of minutes later with a pint and a packet of crisps in each hand.
He takes a huge slug of beer. “Sae, what do ye ken? What’s new wi’ ye?”
And so, I recount my day of surgery to him. And, bless him, he looks interested all the way through my narration. He does turn a bit pale as I begin to explain my use of the bone mallet and chisel, and his crisps remain untouched, but he soldiers through.
“In other news,” I change the subject as his colour returns and he rips the crisps open. “I had an anonymous phone call from your ex, warning me about you and blaming me for your break up. But, never fear, I’ll get what’s coming to me when you do the same to me—“
A bout of coughing from Jamie breaks into my conversation. I get up and thump his back a couple of times. The coughing stops as he takes a swig of beer.
“Sorry,” he clears his throat and continues. “Crisp stuck in ma throat. She did what? How does she ken who ye are?”
“Presumably she kept a record of your phone calls and is monitoring your Facebook friends. Maybe you need to check your phone, see if she’s set up any other little apps so she can track where you are or what you’re doing.”
He shakes his head. “Aye, I’ll do that. I canna believe she would go tae such lengths. Although…” he pauses for a moment. “... mebbe I can. She was always the, er, suspicious type—asking me about women at work, convinced they were ready tae pounce on me. Perhaps I’m not the best judge of character, Claire. Ye need tae advise me.”
I laugh. “Ok. I’ll be your wingman, if you like. Or vet all your potential girlfriends. How about that?”
Jamie joins in with the laughter. His eyes twinkle and it’s funny the way he wrinkles his nose as he laughs.
“How about you? How’re the Spanish influenced dinners going? What are you up to?” I ask him.
“The plans are going grand. We’ve three dinner options planned out.” As usual, his face lights up as he explains the various menus to me.
“They all sound delicious. I’m looking forward to trying them.” And that's the truth.
“Weel, funny ye should mention that. We are looking fer people willing tae test them. How about it? Fancy trying one out? This week, mebbe? Free, of course.”
My weekend plans are getting better and better. Girls’ night at my flat could be turning into a bit of a Spanish fiesta, a mini replay of our Barcelona trip.
“I’d love that. Thanks. I’m having Geillis, Mary and Anna ‘round on Friday for a catch up. I could give you their opinion on the meal too.”
Jamie types something into his phone. “Great, I’ll sort it. So, good weekend plans then?”
“Oh yes, what about you?”
“Oh, I’ve got a sort of date type thing,” he mumbles into his pint and, to my surprise he goes a little bit red. Is he worried about telling me? Does he think that I will mind?
“That’s nice...isn’t it?”
“I dinna ken, really. I… I suppose so. It’s ma sister, Jenny’s, idea. A friend of hers from university. Ma sister canna quite believe that I’m no’ yet married and she keeps trying tae make it happen. And Jenny, weel, let’s jes’ say that she’s a force of nature. Ye dinna want tae mess wi’ her.”
***************
I’m not exactly the most gifted cook, but I think it would be hard to go wrong with the box of food and wine that Jamie has delivered. The asparagus is waiting to be cooked, the mouth-watering smell from the simmering chicken and chorizo fills my flat and bowls of juicy Spanish olives— some plain and some with garlic and chilli are dotted about the dinner table. Feeling inspired, I root out a large jug and begin to cut up fruit for sangria.
Like alcohol-seeking missiles, I’ve no sooner prepared the sangria when the doorbell rings. With many hugs, Geillis, Mary, Anna and I greet each other. I accept their gifts of wine, chocolate and flowers as we head into the flat.
As usual, everyone gravitates to the kitchen as I pass the drinks around, complimenting me on the wonderful aromas. Geillis’ stomach rumbles in eager anticipation.
When the four of us are together, the conversation flows as freely as the wine. Honestly, you would swear that we had not seen each other for months, when, in fact, I saw Anna on Tuesday in theatre, and squeezed in a coffee catch-up with Mary and Geillis only two days ago. The topics we cover are wide-ranging and random. Sangria and olives are accompanied by Anna’s search for a new flat, then the conversation turns to the destructive tendencies of Mary’s kitten as I serve the asparagus and Serrano ham starter.
For the main course, we have the tale of Geillis’ father refusing to wear a kilt for her wedding—he is prepared to don tartan trews but, according to Geillis, that will spoil the whole symmetry of the wedding photos. Neither, at the moment, seem willing to back down but, having known Geillis for so many years, it’s obvious to me who will win.
By the time I bring out the selection of Spanish biscuits and turrón, the conversation has moved on to men, more specifically Mary’s crush on a locum doctor newly arrived in the department. There’s a lot of good natured teasing about this—Mary seems to develop a new crush every couple of weeks, and why not?
Geillis drains her wine and turns to me. “Fantastic meal, Claire. Better than yer usual offerings.”
She pulls me close to her as she says this, and squeezes my arm to show she’s joking.
“Well, I have to confess. I did have a bit of assistance. I mean, I did the cooking, apart from the cookies, but everything came from FraserFood.”
“In that case, give me those chocolates back. I’m no’ sure ye’ve earned them.”
“But I have,” I moan. “I did all the cooking…and made sangria.” I reach across Geillis and help myself to another biscuit. They are melt-in-the-mouth delicious.
“It’s part of a new range they’re launching,” I try to explain as Anna and Mary start to squabble over the last biscuit. “Three course dinner party boxes. Everything you need. Jamie asked if I would test one of them out—“
Immediately Anna and Mary shut up, the last biscuit now abandoned on the plate.
“Woo-hoo,” Anna grins at me.
Geillis nudges me in the ribs. “Jamie, is it? And what else has Jamie given ye, eh?”
“Nothing, we’re friends, that’s it.”
“But we’ve seen pictures of him. Don’t ye want there tae be more tae it? I mean, c’mon look at him.” Now Mary joins in the questioning.
I sigh. “We can just be friends, you know.”
“Friends with benefits, mebbe?” Geillis isn’t giving up.
“No, just friends. Although…” my friends lean forward expectantly, perhaps awaiting some heartfelt confession from me, as if I’d suddenly realised my undying love, or, at least, a good bit of lust for Mr. Fraser. They’re going to be disappointed.
“...Although, I suppose you could say this free food and drink is a benefit. So,yes, I guess that makes us friends with benefits.”
Anna and Geillis look as if they don’t believe me, but say nothing. Mary isn’t prepared to drop the subject.
“So,” she starts. “So, suppose I meet yer—“
“Not mine,” I mutter under my breath.
Mary shrugs her shoulders and continues, “—yer Jamie Fraser. And suppose he asks me out and one thing leads tae another… ye’re telling us that ye wouldna mind?”
“No, I wouldn’t mind. Might be a bit awkward if you break up. I mean, can I still be friends with both of you?”
Geillis, laughing, joins in now. “Suppose our Mary marries Jamie Fraser and asks ye tae be a bridesmaid. Would ye mind then?”
I pretend to give this some thought. “Ah, now that does depend. Just how awful will the bridesmaid dress be, Mary?”
“Och, just hideous. We’ll be having a Disney themed wedding.”
All talking and laughing at once, we try to decide which would be the worst Disney outfit for a bridesmaid and finally settle on Moana.
I get up from the table to go and make coffee, but not before making one final statement on the whole platonic situation with Jamie.
“Look, I know it’s hard to believe, but I have no romantic interest in Jamie and neither does he. In fact, he told me that he’s got a date this weekend and that’s totally fine with me.”
Geillis grabs my hand in passing. “Ok, as long as ye’re fine. We jes’ dinna want ye getting hurt, Claire. We love ye too much fer that.”
I smile at my closest friends gathered around my table and feel a rush of warmth and love for them too. They’re my family, these girls, and, for all the joking and teasing, they have my best interests at heart.
“I know. Thank you for looking out for me. But, Jamie and I are friends, nothing more.”
And with that I head into the kitchen, giving Anna, Mary and Geillis, no doubt, the opportunity to continue to speculate about Jamie’s and my friendship. But really I don’t mind, they’ll get fed up soon enough when they see I’ve been telling the truth all along.
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Road To The Aisles
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Once again, thanks to all of you who take the time to read, like, reblog and comment. I am very grateful.
Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge, @happytoobserve and @wickedgoodbooks for the continuing support.
Note - it’s not really NSFW, just a bit suggestive!
Chapter 4: A Sartorial Confluence
There is nothing more admirable than when two people who see eye to eye keep house as man and wife, confounding their enemies and delighting their friends.
― Homer, The Odyssey
The pub was quiet as Jamie and John settled themselves in their usual corner table, gym bags discreetly placed out of the way. Not that the space was crowded so early in the evening, but at least it kept the landlord happy.
They sat quietly for a minute, drinking their whisky, before Jamie pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and started flicking through the screens.
“See here, John, these are the latest pictures I took of William, yesterday. See how he’s growing awfa big... what?”
John couldn’t hide the smirk on his face. He pursed his lips and tried to look serious. “I’m sorry. Go on.”
“Am I going on too much about the bairn? I dinna mean tae but I canna help it.”
John shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. It’s not that. I just can’t help but think about you at university. You’d run a mile at the merest whiff of commitment… as soon as any girl started talking about plans for the next week, let alone long term. And to see you now… getting married, baby, the works.”
Jamie smiled and put his phone down. “Aye, weel, I was young and foolish and I hadna met Claire. Turns out commitment is easy when ye’re with the right person. But what about ye, John, do ye no’ fancy that commitment… marriage, maybe a baby? Do ye ever think about that?”
John picked up his whisky glass and stared into it, unwilling to raise his eyes to Jamie. “Yes, I do… sometimes.”
He paused, then quickly continued. “But I don’t want a baby without a relationship and obviously the whole baby thing is more difficult for me. No little accidents… sorry Jamie. It takes more planning if I… we… wanted a family. So I don’t know if any of that will happen. But I’d like to think it might… one day. Up ‘till then, I’ll just be Uncle John to your William.”
Jamie glanced at this watch and took a final swig of his drink. “I best away. Claire’s round at mine… soon tae be ours… this evening and we are planning what needs to be done at the weekend, before the official move. So all her stuff can fit in the house too. She said she’s planning on hiring a rubbish skip.”
“She is joking…” He stood up and looked at John. “I think.”
*************
“So, I’ve got a spreadsheet we need to work to,” Claire said happily as she opened up her laptop. “See, this column here is the list of things I’m bringing over from my flat, here’s where they’re going to go and this column is what we have to do to fit them in.”
Jamie studied the spreadsheet, then looked over at Claire. “What we have tae do with ma stuff?”
She nodded.
“And what’s C… R… B?”
“Charity, Recycle, Bin. Come on, I’ve gone through all my stuff at the flat. Over half the stuff’s gone to charity. Time for the same here. I bet you’ve not had a good clear out since you moved in, have you?”
“There may be a good reason why I keep things…”
“Is there?”
“Shush, Sassenach, I’m trying tae think of one… anyways... an Excel spreadsheet and ye look mighty proud of it.”
“I am and I thought you’d appreciate it, as an accountant and all. Just think of it as a balance sheet as we merge our assets.”
Jamie watched as Claire gathered up the laptop and roll of black bin bags. He couldn’t help but smile. This was the start of another chapter, so many new beginnings this year. It was exciting knowing that he would be waking up every morning next to Claire. He realised that they were practically living together already, but soon it would be official. And then they would be able to start planning the wedding.
But first came the hard work: sorting through all his belongings to make room for Claire’s. Mind you, he knew he would willingly give it all away as long as he had Claire… but there was really no need to tell her that, just in case.
“Shall we start in the bedroom?” Claire asked as she headed upstairs.
“Aye,” Jamie replied with a failed attempt at a wink. Claire, fortunately, was too far up the stairs to notice.
He joined Claire in his (their) bedroom, where she was standing in the middle of the room, hands on hips and contemplating the wall of fitted wardrobes. He walked straight over and proudly opened the doors of a double wardrobe. “See, made a start. This wardrobe is cleared and ready for yer clothes. If I give ye half the storage here, is that enough space?”
Claire nodded in agreement before walking across to another cupboard which she opened to reveal large evenly spaced shelves, each filled to capacity with an assortment of men’s clothing.
“How about here? Can I have a couple of these shelves too?”
“Aye, of course. I just need to have a wee look through the shelves…" Jamie began as Claire systematically scooped the contents of each shelf up in her arms and placed them in piles on the bed. The black bin bags hovered ominously at the edge of Jamie’s vision.
“Ok, so…” Claire reached across the bed. “What do we have here?”
She swiftly flicked through the pile of trousers. “Four pairs of cargo pants and two pairs of cargo shorts… really?”
“Aye, weel, they’re awfa practical, ye ken. Look at all the wee pockets… sae useful fer carrying all yer stuff. Ye have a handbag, I can use the pockets.”
“But I’ve never seen you wear them. When did you buy them?”
Jamie moved and sat on the edge of the bed next to the items in question. He gathered a pair up as he answered.
“A while ago…” he said evasively. “I thought mebbe I could wear them with William, keep things in the pockets… wet wipes… tissues… fresh nappies…”
“And,” he continued excitedly. “See this pair, look at the wee zips on the legs. Ye can even turn these intae shorts. Useful in Scotland when ye dinna ken what the weather’s going tae be.”
Jamie started to unzip one of the legs before Claire stopped him.
“That’s ok, no need to demonstrate. But when you’re out and about with these ‘useful’ trousers-slash-shorts, where would you put the bits of legs that you’ve unzipped? I mean, according to you, you don’t need a bag, and the pockets are going to be full of William’s stuff.”
“Is that a ‘no’ on the shorts then, Sassenach?”
“Up to you, Jamie, but how about you try them on and then make a decision?”
Jamie mumbled agreement as Claire turned her attention to her next pile of t-shirts.
“Ed Hardy? How long have you had these?”
“Probably while I was at uni.”
“And you’ve kept them all this time?”
“They’ll be classics, ye ken. Mebbe worth a bob or two.”
“All the more reason to give them to charity. Try one on if you like. Here you go.”
Claire tossed one of the t-shirts to Jamie. He stood and started to unbutton his shirt.
“Wait a second.” Claire stopped him.
“Eh? Ye dinna usually stop me taking ma clothes off, Sassenach.”
“Let’s just see if there is anything else for you to try on.”
Claire efficiently rifled through a pile of gym wear, plucking an item from the middle. She held up a pair of midnight blue Lycra cycling shorts, still complete with labels.
“And you don’t even have a bike.”
“Aye, I do, up at Lallybroch. I bought them and then decided they were a wee bit too revealing tae wear. And I must have forgotten tae take them back.”
Claire watched as Jamie quickly stripped off his black jeans and checked shirt before trying on the beige cargo pants and Ed Hardy t-shirt.
Jamie pulled the trousers up, meeting some resistance over his thighs. It took a considerable amount of wiggling and gentle tugging, but the trousers were on. Claire suppressed a smile as he breathed in, sucking his stomach in and trying to force the waistband to meet. With the fly zip not even half way up, he conceded defeat, let out the breath and turned his attention to the t-shirt. After struggling to get his head through the t-shirt, he finally managed it, the shirt’s hem landing a couple of inches above his navel.
Claire burst out laughing as Jamie stood in front of her, his arms held awkwardly at his sides, his muscles clearly defined through the straining fabric of the t-shirt.
“I canna move ma arms much, nor ma legs and I think I’ll need yer help to get me out of these.”
Jamie bent over as Claire grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it back over his head, snagging his ears in the process.
“So, alright, charity shop they are then.” He reached for his shirt.
“Just a minute,” Claire interrupted. “One more thing for you to try on.”
She pointed at the cycle shorts.
“Nah, they're fer the charity shop too. I told ye they’re a bit indecent.”
“I know. Just try them on… please.”
Jamie gave a chuckle as he turned away from Claire, quickly shimmied the cargo pants and his underpants off and pulled the cycle shorts on. He briefly adjusted himself before facing Claire once more.
“Weel, I canna give these tae the charity shop. Not now ma cock has touched them.”
“Er… that’s fine. I don’t think I want you to get rid of these.” Claire unashamedly stared at Jamie’s body, her gaze working its way down -- the broad shoulders, the muscles of his chest and abdomen narrowing to his hips, the strong thighs. She reached out and lightly touched his cock, the stirrings of his erection clearly visible through the Lycra. She stepped closer and grabbed his backside, bringing him tight against her.
With his breath hot against her neck, she let out a little sigh.
“Do these turn ye on?” he whispered in her ear.
“Oh god, yes.” She moaned as she pushed Jamie onto the bed.
***********
“Jamie.” Claire giggled. “Really… already?”
“Mmm… eh… what?” Jamie’s voice was sleepy in Claire’s ear.
Claire reached behind her, fingers groping for the persistent hardness pushing against her back, only to find the roll of black bin bags. This had obviously been missed earlier when Jamie had roughly swept everything off their bed in his haste to satisfy Claire’s urgent excitement, thanks to his cycle shorts, which were now wrapped around one of his ankles. He shook his leg to free himself from them.
“What?” he repeated, now slightly less drowsy. He could feel Claire laughing, causing her whole body to shake.
“I thought you’d made a quick recovery. Turns out, it was only the bin bags, though.” She brandished the offending items aloft.
“Good girth there, I’ll take that as a compliment, Sassenach.”
“I need to get up.” Claire made to sit up but Jamie held her back, wrapping his arms tightly around her.
“Rest a while longer…”
They lay quietly together for a moment before Jamie started to speak.
“Ye ken this is our anniversary today”
“No, Jamie, you’re wrong. That’s at the end of the month”
“Ah, weel, I ken that’s the proper one, the anniversary of our first date. But it’s Rupert and Fiona’s wedding anniversary today, and that’s where I first spotted ye at that hotel. I sometimes wonder what would’ve happened if I’d have followed yer arse instead of just staring at it heading up those stairs.”
“Or if I’d have gone looking for you once I’d seen you with Jenny…”
“Imagine, nae more Geneva tae deal with in our lives.”
“Mmm, lovely as that sounds, it would mean no William.”
Jamie pulled Claire onto her side to face him. “Aye, and I truly couldna be without him now. I can be sorry for many things, and I am sorry for what ye have had tae go through but I am no’ sorry that we have William.”
Claire stroked Jamie’s face, rubbing the weekend growth of ginger bristles with her finger tips. “And you know, Jamie, neither am I.”
#outlander fan fiction#outlander fanfic#Road To The Aisles#claire beauchamp#Jamie Fraser#modern au#Cargo pants may be involved
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The Ties That Bind
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Thanks for reading so far.
Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta and support. Thanks also to @happytoobservenolongerdistant @faeriesfanficblog @futurelounging for the support.
OK, angst warning - I’m sure everybody knows what this chapter is going to be about...
Chapter 29: An Anticipated Delivery
James: Look, you gotta use Lamaze. It works. My sister-in-law used it. You don't use drugs, and it's better for the kid.
Mollie: You know, the only people who say stupid things like that are men, because they're idiots!
-Look Who’s Talking
Claire woke with a start, suddenly conscious of the cold space next to her. The bedroom was still dark, the clock flashing 6:30. It had been a fitful night’s sleep for both of them. Jamie had turned to her in the night, assuming their spooning position, but with his hand wrapped around his phone, rather than its usual place gently cupping her breast.
Shivering, she slipped out of bed and quickly donned her onesie.
Downstairs, she could see Jamie sitting in the dark in the conservatory, sipping a coffee. She poured herself a mug and went to join him. Without a word, he caught her hand, bringing it to his lips as she sat next to him. She leant into him, relishing his body heat though his old hoodie.
“Everything’s going to change.” Claire said quietly.
“Aye.” Unfocused, Jamie stared out into the garden, his mind a million miles away. Then suddenly he refocused, shook his head, and spoke clearly.
“Weel, no’ everything. What willna change is ye and I, Sassenach, and the way I feel about ye. We’ll adjust, we’ll manage… it’ll still be us. Promise me ye’ll stick around?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good, because…”
The phone suddenly interrupted their conversation. Jamie pressed the speaker button and positioned it between himself and Claire, his hand trembling slightly.
“Jamie, he’s here. Arrived about thirty minutes ago.” Isobel’s voice sounded thrilled but exhausted. “Normal delivery. No complications. They’re just sorting Geneva out now, but the baby is fine. Nine pounds one. And a fine pair of lungs on him. Screaming fit to burst as soon as he emerged.”
“Ah, that’s great news. Thanks for this, Isobel. When can I come and see him?”
In the dawn light, Claire could see Jamie’s eyes: the tears shining brightly, ready to fall.
“Come at eleven, if you can. Hopefully, they can come home later this afternoon, if all goes well. See you later then, Jamie.”
Jamie turned and buried his head in Claire’s neck, his tears now falling freely. Eventually, with a huge sniff, he composed himself and pulled back slightly.
“Do ye...are ye...do ye mind…?” Jamie struggled to find the right words.
“I’m not coming to the hospital with you today.” She interrupted his struggle, saving him from having to say those words to her. Today was not the day for Claire to deal with Geneva, or, God forbid, her mother.
“I’ll have plenty of time to meet your son. Today is between you… and your son.”
And just like that, she felt a little piece of her heart break.
************
Isobel was waiting for Jamie at the maternity reception. Greeting him with a warm hug whilst managing to avoid the large hamper and flowers he carried, she beamed with happiness. “Jamie, he’s beautiful, just you wait and see. And Geneva did so well too, she really surprised me. Anyway, come and see for yourself.”
Jamie followed Isobel through the hospital corridors, just another father excitedly heading to see his child, and much less excitedly, that child’s mother.
He stood for a moment at the door of the private room Geneva was in. She was sitting on top of the bed covers, chatting animatedly to her mother. Unsurprisingly, Geneva’s face looked weary, but fully made up.
When she spotted them, Louisa Dunsany rose from her chair and made her way to Jamie and Isobel. She caught Jamie’s arm momentarily, preventing him from entering the room and spoke in a whisper.
“Geneva’s been magnificent. Look at her, I mean really look at her and think about what she’s done for you… and how you should repay her for it.” In a louder voice, she added: “Come on Isobel, let’s go and find a cup of tea that’s half decent… I don’t know what some of the staff here have been making but it certainly isn’t tea.”
Jamie barely registered the comments. His eyes were fixed on the little Perspex crib by the side of the bed. As Isobel and her mother left in search of a proper cup of tea, he rushed into the room, depositing the hamper and flowers carelessly on the table, desperate for the first glimpse of his son.
He gazed down at the baby lying asleep in the crib. He had seen newborns before, but this one was more beautiful, more perfect than any other. He reached out a finger and stroked the red down on his head, running it around the shell-like ear and on to a tiny fist, practically hidden in the sleeve of a white babygro, too big for the newborn boy. The baby let out a tiny half-cry then settled back into the regular pattern of breathing.
“I hope your hands are clean.”
Staring at his son, Jamie had forgotten the presence of Geneva.
“Aye,” he responded. “I used the hand gel on the way in. Can I hold him? Let me take a couple o’ photos first.”
Geneva nodded. Having taken multiple snaps of the baby, Jamie carefully picked him up, head nestled in one large hand, bottom in the other. He sat down as the baby lazily opened his eyes to stare at his father for a few seconds. Approval having been given, the baby yawned and resumed his nap. Jamie shifted him in his arms, bringing him close to his chest.
“Geneva, he’s beautiful. Thank ye, thank ye. I dinna ken what else tae say. God, he is just sae.. .sae… beautiful… jes’ amazin’. Can ye take a picture of us, me and him on ma phone, please? I want tae have a memory of this moment.”
Geneva obligingly took Jamie’s phone.
“How are ye feeling? I bought ye some flowers, by the way, and the hamper is a gift fer the two o’ ye,” Jamie continued.
“I’m tired and sore and achy. I don’t think I can stand upright. I’m still feeling nauseous from the pain relief. I need a long bath. My breasts are painful and I am forced to wear an industrial strength bra. But, he is lovely isn’t he? Sweet William…”
“William? Ye’ve decided on a name, without discussing it wi’ me?”
“William, it’s a family name. William Dunsany, it’s something Mummy wanted, well, we all wanted.”
“It’s a fine name, but could ye no’ have spoken tae me about it? What about middle names? I ken his surname is Dunsany, but could we mebbe include Fraser as one of his names?” Jamie tried to keep his patience and focus on what really mattered - his son, here in his arms.
“I’ve not decided yet. It depends.”
“Aye? On what?”
Geneva remained silent. Jamie, focusing only on his son, did not question the lack of response.
“Weel, we need tae decide afore we register his birth. We have three weeks tae do that, and I have tae come wi’ ye, ye ken. Then we can start tae make plans.”
“Plans, what sort of plans?”
The hopeful tone in Geneva’s voice made Jamie finally tear his eyes away from his son and look at her. She was staring intently at the two of them, father and son.
“Plans for how we share lookin’ after this bairn, when he’s a bit bigger and can stay wi’ me overnight. And how much child support I’ll give ye. We’ve been decorating a spare bedroom as a nursery for Wee Willie…”
“His name is William, not Willie.” Geneva interrupted harshly.
William began to stir, turning his face into Jamie’s chest, rooting for milk.
“Och, Lad. I’m yer Da, there’s nothing there fer ye. Let me pass ye tae yer Mam.”
Reluctantly, Jamie passed William over to Geneva as she unbuttoned her shirt. He turned his head away, for Geneva’s sake, as she guided the baby to latch on, turning back once he heard the rhythmic sucking sound.
“I’m glad ye’re tryin’ the breast feedin’.” He smiled encouragingly. “Jenny says it’s no’ always easy, mind.”
“Hmm, spare me the details from Saint Jenny, please. I’ve been told, it’s very good for helping lose the baby weight. And also, do not refer to me as ‘Mam.’ If you’re talking about me, please say Mummy.”
“I’ll try tae remember.”
Having managed to find an acceptable cup of tea, Louisa popped her head around the doorframe.
“Everything alright?” she asked her daughter, who gave a tight smile and a small head shake in response.
Louisa immediately came bustling into the room, settling herself on the bed next to Geneva. “Well, I think it’s time we started to get sorted. Doctor will be round in a minute and then we can get off home. Jamie, I expect you’ve got lots of things to think about at home too.”
Jamie recognised the tone of dismissal in her voice. Regretfully, he bent to kiss William a final time.
“Once again, Geneva, thank ye, he is the bonniest bairn I’ve ever seen. Can I come ‘round tomorrow and see him again? I’ll give ye a call first. Oh, and can we arrange a time when Da and Jenny can meet wi’ him? Mebbe bring him round to ma house, if that’s easier. I ken it’ll take a while tae adjust. Goodbye, Louisa, Isobel.”
************
Once Jamie left, Claire needed something to occupy her mind, to save her from dwelling on what was happening at the hospital.
Wandering around the house, she searched for something to do that would engage her fully. As she washed the coffee cups, she decided that she would prepare dinner, add a couple of recipes to her somewhat meagre repertoire.
A quick search of the internet and she found a couple of recipes that seemed simple enough- chicken cacciatore and an apple and cinnamon crumble. Grabbing her coat, she hesitated for a moment. Did this make her seem like she was somehow competing for Jamie, proving she had value as a partner? She let the thoughts cross her mind, but quickly decided not to over-analyse her actions and headed to the shops.
**********
Jamie opened the front door to be greeted by a tantalising smell of casserole, apples and cinnamon. He sniffed appreciatively, his stomach suddenly remembering that he had not yet eaten today, excitement having overridden the usual hunger pangs.
“Sassenach…” he called out as he walked into the living room.
Claire greeted him with a huge hug.
“How is he?”
Jamie disentangled himself from Claire’s arms and, grinning, delved in his pocket for his phone. He quickly flicked to the photos, first of the baby in his crib and then in his arms.
“He is the bonniest bairn ye ever saw. Christ, I tell ye, the sight of him and ma insides turned to jelly. And the little noises and snuffles he was makin’... he looked at me, he kens his Da already. And look...”
Jamie pulled a small photo out of his wallet. “See, this is me as a baby. We could be twins. His name may be Dunsany, but nae doubt he’s a Fraser.”
Claire studied the pictures. She could see the obvious look of joy on Jamie’s face as he held his son. As happy as she was for Jamie, she suddenly felt like crying. Why was she suddenly feeling so sad? Would Jamie’s love for the baby make him reconsider their relationship? And how terrible a person must she be to have these thoughts, to doubt Jamie?
“He is beautiful. And how is Geneva?” Claire tried to keep her voice level.
“Geneva is as she ever was. Havin’ a bairn has no’ improved her personality. But Isobel said she was verra good durin’ the birth, and she is tryin’ tae breastfeed William.”
“So you’ve decided on a name then?”
“Weel,” Jamie admitted. “I had no say in that. She had already decided. I’m hopin’ tae include Fraser as a middle name, but she’s no’ decided on that yet.”
“I canna wait fer ye to meet him, Sassenach…” Jamie continued. “But I havena mentioned that tae Geneva jes’ yet. I dinna ken how she’ll react. I have said that I want Da and Jenny tae meet the bairn. And ye will soon, I promise.”
Claire forced a smile. “I know. Do you want some food?”
“Aye, I havena eaten today. The food smells grand. Who made it?”
“Me,” Claire said proudly. “All by myself, from scratch. Chicken Cacciatore and apple crumble.”
Jamie drew Claire close to him, her cheek pressed against his chest, his chin resting on the top of her head. “Thank ye, Sassenach.”
“It's only dinner…”
“Nah, it’s no’ the food. Thank ye for everything… fer today, fer lettin’ me blather on about the bairn, fer yer patience, fer still bein’ here, fer lovin’ me. Today will have been difficult fer ye, I ken. And ye dinna complain..ever.”
He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her tighter. “We'll work it out, together, Claire. It'll all sort out.”
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The Ties That Bind
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Thanks for reading so far... A slightly longer chapter than usual, hope that’s ok?
Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta and encouragement
Chapter 21: A Spurious Misapprehension
There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
Jamie sat in the conservatory, fingers drumming against the arm of his chair, waiting for the call to connect. He needed to get something clear in his mind.
“Hello, Isobel? It’s Jamie here, Jamie Fraser.”
“Oh, hi Jamie. Hope you’re ok. Sorry for rushing off the other day. I just felt it was possibly for the best.”
“No, dinna fash, I understand. It’s jes’, weel, before Geneva arrived, when I introduced ye tae Claire, ye seemed a wee bit confused. I ken Geneva had told ye about the bairn, but did she no’ tell ye anything else?”
“All she told me was about the baby, and that you’re the father. She said she had told you and that you were supportive. She never mentioned a girlfriend. In fact…”
Jamie urged Isobel to continue. “Go on, Isobel, what?”
“Now don’t get mad, she didn’t actually say this, but I got the impression that it was only a matter of time before you and her, well, became an item again.”
“I told her straight away about Claire, ye ken. Geneva did suggest tae me that we could try again, but I told her clearly that Claire was ma future.”
Jamie could hear Isobel’s sigh through the phone.
“I have no doubt you did, Jamie. But since when has being told no ever stopped Geneva? You and I both know how much she gets, and has always got, her own way. Privilege of being the favoured child, I guess. I wouldn’t know. Anyway, Claire seems really nice. I’d like to meet her properly.”
Jamie was touched by Isobel’s initial reaction to Claire. “She is and ye shall. We can sort something out. I get the feeling we will need tae keep in regular touch anyway over the next few months.”
“Agreed. Oh and one more thing, Jamie. Geneva’s now told Mummy, who plans on making frequent visits up here during the pregnancy and is planning a prolonged stay when the baby is born…”
Jamie instinctively clenched his fists, nails digging in his palms, and grimaced.
“I can tell you’re pulling a face even over the phone!” Isobel continued. “Mummy wants to be involved. Perhaps she feels Geneva’s the only one who’s likely to give her grandchildren. She’s always seen me as a bit of a non starter in that respect.”
“Nay, Isobel, any man’d be lucky tae have ye.”
“Oh, yes, I’m just fighting them off. Bye Jamie. Speak soon.”
*************
It was another glorious day in the heatwave that Glasgow was experiencing. Claire longed to be outside in the warmth, strolling around the park, enjoying an ice cream or perhaps a slushie. Instead she was being led, patiently it must be said, around chilly air-conditioned department stores by Geillis. She only had herself to blame.
When she happened to mention to Geillis that she was Jamie’s plus one at his friend’s wedding, Geillis immediately took charge of the situation, promising her an outfit that would ‘have all eyes on ye, and fer all the right reasons.’
Claire would have been happy to browse several internet sites, with a glass of wine in hand, and order a few outfits. She could then have tried them on in the comfort of her own bedroom before making her decision and returning the unwanted items. But she knew how much Geillis loved this - the shopping, the style advice, even down to helping with makeup. And, Claire had to admit, Geillis did have a pretty good knack for this type of thing.
So Geillis systematically moved from rack to rack picking out dresses that she thought might be suitable for the occasion.
“What do ye think ye’ll fancy tae wear, Claire?” Geillis asked over her shoulder as she carried on flicking through the rows of hangers.
“Well, G, it’ll be the first time I’m meeting some of Jamie’s friends, so what I really want is a dress that says classy, understated elegance but that also says sexy and that Jamie finds irresistible.”
“Plus it also has tae say ‘in yer face, Geneva’.”
“Really, G, that thought never crossed my mind.” Claire giggled. “She’s not even going to the wedding.”
“But there will be friends there who’ve seen Jamie wi’ Geneva in the past and nay doubt you want tae make a favourable impression. Make them think our Jamie’s gone fer an upgrade.”
Claire bit her lower lip. “I’m not sure about that. Honestly, when I met her after the scan… you should see her. Immaculate, sophisticated, not even dressing for comfort now she’s pregnant. And no hint of a bump. If it were me, I’d be hitting the Jaffa Cakes as soon as I knew I could get fat without being judged.”
Claire’s voice cracked a little. Geillis stopped and turned round to her. Her hand poked through the armful of dresses that she held and squeezed Claire’s.
Claire continued. “But not just that, you should have heard her. It was all ‘Jamie and I’ and ‘we’ and ‘us’. Like they were the couple.”
“But ye ken, that’s all in her head, do ye not? Ye have nothin’ tae worry about. Jamie is no’ Frank, who was a git on a epic scale. That relationship has left ye wi’ these insecurities and feeling that ye’re no’ good enough. But ye are… and I ken it… and more importantly Jamie kens it too. Dinna think that he will treat ye like Frank did. Alright?”
Claire nodded with a small smile.
“So, let's go try these dresses on and whichever dress says ‘who the fuck is this Geneva anyway’, that’s the one ye buy.” Geillis smiled sweetly at the woman browsing the racks next to them, who was visibly shocked by the casual profanity.
******
Claire stood in the changing room in her bra and panties waiting for Geillis to pass her the next dress to try. Every one so far had looked good on the hanger but each had something not quite right - too short, too long, too baggy, too tight. Geillis’s hand appeared in the doorway, passing another dress to Claire.
“G, this is red. I’m not really sure about red.”
“Actually, I think ye’ll find this colour is oxblood. Jes’ try it on and let me see.”
Claire looked at herself in the mirror before stepping out of the changing room to show Geillis. Quite a simple dress, really. A red, no, oxblood, sheath dress with black lace overlay, the v-neck gave the merest hint of cleavage, the above the knee length highlighted her long legs, while the cut of the dress accentuated her curves without clinging. Claire loved it and she loved Geillis for choosing it.
Claire stepped out of the cubicle. Geillis wolf whistled. “Wow, Claire, this is the one. And I think ye ken that too. Ye jes’ need yer high black shoes and I’ll lend ye ma black clutch bag and pashmina.”
She leaned forward and looked at the store label. “And it’s on sale too!”
Claire peered down at the label. “That’s the sale price? Gosh, I’ve never spend that on a dress before!”
“Dinna fash, Claire. It’s an investment.”
“Investment in what?”
“In yer future, Claire. Money well spent.”
*************
Claire applied her lipstick and blotted it carefully for the fifth time. She gently patted her hair, feeling the unfamiliar carefully styled ringlets, so different from her usual unruly curls. She put her shoes on and smoothed her dress over her hips as Jamie’s knock reverberated through the flat. With a final glance in her bedroom mirror, she headed for the front door.
Claire was unprepared for the vision on the other side of the door. Whilst she had glimpsed him briefly in a kilt, Jamie, looked incredible close up. His kilt was predominantly red and dark blue with touches of green. The dark blue carried through to his jacket, waistcoat, and tie, worn with a crisp white shirt. The red of his hair blazed in sharp contrast to the dark tones of the jacket. At the front of his kilt he wore a simple black sporran, unadorned save for a silver clasp.
She reached out and stroked his hip, enjoying the roughness of the wool on her fingers. He appeared even more masculine in the kilt than in trousers. Or perhaps, Claire thought, it was the confidence that he exuded in this traditional attire, as if this was what he was born to wear.
Jamie watched as Claire moved her hand over the woollen fabric. He had never seen her dressed up like this. Much as he loved her jeans that showed off her luscious arse so well, this dress tantalised him, revealing hints of her body: the swell of her breasts, the curves of her waist and hips, her long legs encased in sheer black…
He drew closer to her, pressing her against the wall. “Are those stockings ye’re wearin’?” he asked.
Claire nodded. “Yes.”
“And…” he lifted a hand and traced a line with his finger from her chin, down her neck to her breasts, gently cupping one before continuing his path down to her stomach. His hand rested there, just above the pubic mound. “... do ye have yer panties tae match? Are they black and lacy?”
“Perhaps... something for you to find out later.”
“Dinna be saying that, Sassenach. How am I goin’ tae concentrate on the wedding, when all I will be thinkin’ about is when I can have ye alone and naked, save fer yer stockings and mebbe those shoes.”
Jamie nuzzled her neck, breathing in the light floral fragrance she always wore. His warm breath against her skin sent shivers over her body. Her hands crept around his kilt to hold his buttocks and pull him closer. He moaned slightly before pulling away.
“Sassenach, ye canna be doing that tae me now. How am I goin’ tae get through this when jes’ the thought of ye is making me sae hard?”
“Thank goodness for your sporran then, hiding all evidence. Shall we go?”
“Aye, suppose we must, ye cruel temptress.” Jamie sighed.
“Jamie…you’re being a true Scot, aren’t you?”
Jamie looked quizzically at Claire before he realised what she meant. A grin spread across his face. “Aye, I am.”
“Now how am I going to concentrate on the wedding, knowing that under that kilt it’s just you?”
Jamie kissed her cheek before pushing her out of the door. “Guess this afternoon is going tae be hard work fer the both o’ us, then.”
*************
Jamie stood next to a large pink and white flower arrangement as Claire ‘nipped to the bathroom, while she had chance’. He noticed that the hotel air conditioning thankfully was functioning very well as his woollen jacket, waistcoat and kilt was not an ideal outfit for this unusually warm day. It was not, however, helping with the heat in his groin which had been building up ever since they drove from Claire’s flat to the hotel. Just the sight of Claire next to him, crossing her legs and the rasp of her nylon stockings made him feel like he would burst into flames on the spot. Christ, he thought, it’s goin’ tae be a long, long day.
He spotted the rotund figure of Rupert coming over to greet him.
“Jamie, lad, it’s been a wee while. Sorry ye werena at Angus’s stag do, it was a rare old pub crawl. I dinna think I’ve ever seen Angus sae shitfaced. He doesna remember how he got home nor why his underpants were in his pocket!”
“Aye, I’m sorry I missed it, but it couldna be helped. I had a bit of urgent business tae attend tae up at Lallybroch.”
“Weel, we ken ye said that, but then when I was talking tae Angus last week, he reckoned it was that he didna get permission tae come from Ge…”
Jamie felt a light touch on his arm as Claire joined him and Rupert. He smiled down at her, still feeling a reciprocal tug in his nether regions.
“Rupert, can I introduce ma girlfriend Claire tae ye?”
As Claire held out her hand to Rupert, there was no mistaking the look of confusion on his face. He quickly recovered and shook her hand.
“Hello, Claire. Very nice tae finally meet ye. So, remind me, how long have the two o’ ye been together, now?” Rupert looked between the two of them.
“About four months, give or take.” Claire answered.
“Och, the things I could tell ye about our Jamie here. It would fair make ye blush.” Rupert teased.
“Dinna be saying that, man. Ye’ll be putting her off me.” Jamie put his arm round Claire and drew her closer. “Anyway, I ken Jenny and Ian are savin’ us seats, so we’d better all head in, eh?”
As Jamie and Claire moved across to the function room, he was aware of the look in Rupert’s eyes, tongue sticking out slightly, moving his fingers, clearly doing some calculations.
******
With the dinner and formal speeches over, the wedding guests all started to relax as the alcohol continued to flow. Belts were loosened, shoes slipped off, ties undone and buttons unfastened.
Jamie and Ian both sat with their jackets off and shirt sleeves rolled up. Jamie rested one hand on the back of Claire’s chair, while the other held a glass of whisky. Claire sipped her red wine, her carefully applied lipstick long since worn off, her hair reverting back to its usual wild curls.
Jenny leant her elbow on the table, eyes glazed, her fingers wrapped tightly around a half-full wine glass. Ian gently tried to prise the glass out of her hand.
“Dinna do that, Ian Murray. This is my first real drinkin’ for nigh on a year and I dinna mean tae stop jes’ yet.”
Ian smiled apologetically. “Are ye no’ sure ye’ve had enough?”
Jenny stared accusingly at her husband. “Nah. I spent the best part o’ the morning tied up tae a bloody milking machine so Maggie doesna have tae have my alcohol-y milk. So I’m goin’ tae bloody enjoy myself.” She turned to her brother. “And it was ye, James Fraser, who drove me back tae drink wi’ yer news, so ye canna lecture me either.”
And with that she reached over for the bottle and topped up her glass of wine.
Jamie caught the eye of John making his way across the room.
“Hello, John. Jes’ come fer the evening do, then?”
“Yes, I’m here with my brother. He’s gone to the bar for drinks.”
“John, this is Claire.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Claire. I’ve heard so much about you from Jamie.” John pulled a chair up.
“Nothing bad I hope.” Claire smiled.
As Claire and John talked, John watched Jamie out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t think he had ever seen Jamie like this, the constant need to watch Claire, or touch her, insignificant yet incredibly intimate gestures such as the way he pushed a rogue curl behind her ear or lightly ran his fingers down her forearm. Claire was the same, as she rested her hand on his thigh or rubbed his back between his shoulder blades.
John’s brother, Hal, appeared carrying two gin and tonics. He greeted Jenny and Ian warmly before directing his attention to Jamie.
“Jamie, how the devil are you? I heard…” Hal stopped suddenly as he registered the closeness between Jamie and Claire.
“Hal,” Jamie growled. “This is my girlfriend Claire. Now can ye please tell me what is wrong. I’ve had Rupert, Angus and now ye stammerin’ around.”
Hal stared meaningfully at Claire.
“Hal, Claire kens all my secrets and I do mean all, so come on, tell me.”
“It’s just I bumped into Geneva the other week and she told me the news… about the you-know-what and she, well, kind of inferred that you and she might be… you know. Sorry Claire.” Hal smiled apologetically at Claire and continued. “She didn’t exactly say that but somehow managed to give me that impression.”
Jamie smacked his hand on the table, causing guests on neighbouring tables to look up. “Shite. Hal, the truth is, aye, Geneva is having a bairn and it’s mine. It happened afore I met Claire. I’m no proud of it, but it is what it is. Claire and I are verra much together and that willna change, bairn or no’. So whatever Geneva had led ye tae believe, that’s no’ true. And I must explain that tae Rupert too. Sorry Claire, I have tae find Rupert now and sort this out.”
Jenny, who had been resting with her head on Ian’s shoulder, half asleep, suddenly roused. “Claire, come on. I need tae dance, its ‘Night Fever’. Ye canna beat a bit of Bee Gees.”
Grabbing Claire’s hand, Jenny stood up and dragged Claire to her feet.
Laughing, Claire bent over to kiss Jamie’s cheek. “You go, talk to Rupert. I’m fine. I’m going to boogie on down.” She joked.
Claire had forgotten how much she enjoyed to dance. There hadn’t been a lot of it with Frank. He had once classed Claire’s dancing as an ‘act of public embarrassment’ which had made her stop that activity pretty quickly. But now, as she shimmied and twirled around with Jenny, she realised that her real friends would never think of her as an embarrassment.
A few songs later, Jenny was obviously flagging. Ian escorted her off the dance floor, saying their goodbyes en route. As Claire started to wander back to the table, an arm snaked around her waist, halting her.
Jamie pulled her to his chest. “Will ye dance wi’ me?” He asked.
She wrapped her arms round his neck and nodded. As if by magic, the song changed to ‘You’re The First, The Last, My Everything’. Jamie’s hands stroked up and down her back as they swayed in unison to the music.
“Did you ask for this song?” She asked, pulling away slightly.
“Aye, I may have done. I want ye tae know ‘tis how I feel. We’re goin’ tae ignore any stupid rumours. Ye are ma first, ma last, ma everything.”
Claire reached up and kissed his mouth. “I love you.”
Jamie smiled. “And can we ring fer a taxi, please? I’ve been thinking about ye in yer stockings all day and I dinna think I can wait much longer.”
Claire pushed her hips into his. “I’ll go and get my bag.”
#outlander fanfic#outlander fan fiction#the ties that bind#Jamie Fraser#claire beauchamp#bit more Jenny#bit more Geillis#chapter 21#never intended it to be so many chapters
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The Ties That Bind
AO3
Previous
Thanks for reading so far.
Gaelic translations are at the end. Apologies if they’re not correct, had to rely on internet translation!
Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta and encouragement.
Chapter 19: A Problem Shared
Manny: I understood "crazy old witch," "go kill yourself," then "I love you."
Jay: I'll never get this; how you all yell at each other.
Gloria: That's how you know that your family loves you, when they feel free to scream at you.
- Modern Family
Geneva: Ultrasound is on 15th. 11:40. Princess Royal Maternity hospital.
Jamie: Fine. I will meet you there, coming from work.
Geneva: I will be telling people after this scan, so better tell your family before then.
Jamie: I’m going up to Lallybroch this weekend, will tell them then
Geneva: I can come with you to tell them.
Jamie: Thanks but that’s ok. Claire is coming with me
Geneva: ok.
******
The weather was perfect for the journey through the Highlands, another day of blue skies and warm sunshine, thanks to an unusual but very welcome heatwave.
Jamie should have been in his element driving his favourite route home to Lallybroch. Instead he clenched the wheel with grim determination, eyes focussed on the road ahead, willing the journey to be over.
Claire was silent and did not even comment when they sailed past their customary stopping point. She realised he was best left to his own thoughts at the moment.
Jamie still hadn’t planned how to break the news to Brian, Murtagh and, God help him, Jenny. He knew none of them would be thrilled with the news, but it was Jenny’s quick temper and razor sharp tongue that he was dreading.
Claire glanced over at Jamie, noting the tension in his jaw, teeth clenched tightly together. She rubbed his arm, feeling his strong muscles through the thin shirt. His strength was obvious, but this weekend, she knew he would be relying on her to be strong for him.
Jamie smiled tightly. “The thing is, ye ken,” he spoke as if they were just continuing a conversation, rather than having spent the previous fifty minutes in silence.
“The thing is, Mam told me always tae think about my actions, and whether I would be ashamed tae tell her and Da about it. If I felt ashamed and wanted tae keep it hidden, I shouldna do it. Weel, I’m no’ exactly ashamed, but I’m no’ verra proud either. Although...”
He paused, working out how to put his thoughts into words. “...no, I am ashamed. Ashamed of no’ considerin’ the consequences of my actions, ashamed of sleepin’ wi’ a woman I dinna really care for, ashamed of conceivin’ a bairn in this way.”
Jamie picked up Claire’s hand and brought it to his lips. “But, one thing I am verra proud of is ye. And, idiot dickhead that I am, that ye still love me.”
Claire smiled. “You may be many things, James Fraser, including an idiot dickhead, but I do… I do love you.”
******
Claire was relieved when they turned into the driveway to Lallybroch and finally pulled up outside the house. She clambered out of the car, her legs stiff after four hours with no breaks, and headed for the side door with Jamie just behind.
Before they reached the door, Brian appeared around the side of the house, stooped over a vision in Spider-Man blue and red. Clad in a Spider-Man tracksuit, with a Spider-Man helmet perched on his head, Wee Jamie sat astride a Spider-Man tricycle, making no attempt to pedal whilst his grandad steered and pushed him forward. He rang the tricycle’s bell.
“Stop now… pease, Grandab.” He instructed his grandfather.
Wee Jamie quickly dismounted and rushed over to his uncle who scooped him up in his arms for a kiss, tickling the lad’s cheeks with his bristles. Wee Jamie pushed him away, giggling helplessly, and held his arms out to Claire. She held him tight, pretending to bang her head on the helmet he was still wearing before giving him a kiss.
“And what is all this finery ye have here, mo laochain?” Jamie asked his nephew with mock seriousness.
“‘S from Maggie. Imma big brover… a good one, aye?”
Jamie caught the eye of Jenny, who had just emerged from the house, and smirked.
“From yer wee sister, eh?”
“Aye,” Jenny said firmly. “Because he is such a good brother and Maggie loves him.”
“And ‘afore ye say anything,” Jenny spoke to Jamie in a low voice. “It’s no’ a bribe, it’s jes’ reinforcing good behaviour towards the baby.”
“Right.” Jamie laughed and hugged his sister.
Brian abandoned the little tricycle and came over to join them.
“Ah, Claire, ‘tis good tae see ye again.” He kissed her cheek. “Murtagh has jes’ gone tae the village fer some provisions. Mrs. Crook’s no’ too well, so we have tae do some cookin’ tonight. If we pitch in together, we can manage, nae doubt… but not ye, Jamie, son. Anyway, come in, come in, and we’ll put the kettle on and mebbe a wee bit of cake. Here, Claire, gi’ the lad tae me. Ye can freshen up if ye want.”
Brian held out his arms and his grandson flung himself into them. He led the way into the kitchen.
“Where’s Ian?” Jamie asked.
“Och, Maggie had a wee accident, a wee bit o’ nappy leakage. He’s jes’ cleanin’ her up.”
Claire looked across at Jamie and nodded at him meaningfully. He blushed slightly and pushed Claire ahead of him into the house.
******
In Mrs. Crook’s absence, dinner had been surprisingly good, thanks to Murtagh creating his version of beef chilli, served with enough rice to feed the whole village. Now the adults all sat companionably round the kitchen table. The baby monitor, placed on the dresser, provided a background of gentle snores and snuffles from Wee Jamie and Maggie asleep upstairs.
Jenny picked up her cup of decaffeinated tea reluctantly, staring at the strong coffees and whiskies of the others with jealousy. “It’s no’ fair.” She muttered. “No alcohol, no caffeine.”
She looked at her husband accusingly.
Ian smiled. “Tell ye what. Fer the next bairn, I’ll gi’ them all up wi’ ye. Is that fair?”
“It’ll no’ be fair till we can share the pukin’ and the swellin’ and the pain too. Still I appreciate the offer. But, Ian Murray, yer daughter isna even six weeks old, and ye’re thinking about another! Gi’ me a break first, please.”
Jamie felt Claire’s hand squeezing his knee, her finger tapping against his skin repeatedly, prodding him to start his confession. He took a sip of whisky and sat back in his chair. His eyes sought hers, begging: ‘I’m no’ ready yet… let me enjoy this family moment a wee bit longer, please.’ Claire stilled her finger but her hand remained on his knee.
“Wee Jamie seems tae be gettin’ more used tae sharin’ his Mam.” Brian began. “I ken the wee gifts help, but it’s good fer him tae learn tae share his Mam, his Da, weel, all of us wi’ other bairns. Call me a sentimental old fool, but I love it when Lallybroch is filled wi’ family and bairns rather than jes’ Murtagh and me rattlin’ ‘round all these rooms. The more the merrier, I say.”
Jamie felt his cheeks start to burn. He dropped his gaze and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the bubbling sensation in his stomach. Claire squeezed his knee reassuringly as he sat up straight.
“I have something I have tae tell ye all.”
He noticed Jenny’s eyes leap straight to Claire’s left hand, wrapped around her whisky glass.
“It’s no’ about Claire and me. Weel, I suppose it is… no’ directly… I mean, it affects Claire… and me.”
Conscious of his ramblings, he paused before blurting his confession out in one breath. “I’m having a bairn. Geneva’s pregnant wi’ ma baby. I’m no’ wi’ Geneva. But I will support her with the bairn. No’ sure how yet. Claire kens all this. And, as ye’re nae doubt thinkin’ about it, ‘twas ‘afore I met Claire.”
The room was silent. Jamie looked at each of his family members in turn. Brian had closed his eyes, processing the information. Murtagh’s thick brows were drawn together in a deep frown. Ian gazed into his whisky, shaking his head slightly. Jenny, God help him, had gone white, her lips pursed together, her chest heaving, ready to let rip. Claire brought her arm up and slid it around Jamie’s shoulders, bringing him closer to her, a visible show of support.
Suddenly, a baby’s cry rang out. Jenny stood up and stared at her brother. “I have tae see tae Maggie, but this isna over, brother. I have a few things tae say tae ye.”
Claire could feel Jamie untense slightly as Jenny left the kitchen. “Weel, does naebody want tae say anything tae me, or are we tae wait fer Jenny tae gi’ me a tongue lashing?”
Brian spoke first. “Lad, I canna say I’m no’ shocked at yer news and, truth be told, a wee bit disappointed. And I have tae question what ye were thinkin’ tae be sae irresponsible. I could sit here and lambast ye fer what ye did. But lookin’ at ye, I dare say ye’ve been punishin’ yerself plenty over it. If it’s yer bairn, as ye say, and ye’re man enough tae accept responsibility, then that’s as it should be. We’ll welcome the child intae the family. Jes’ gi’ us time tae get used tae the news. But, Geneva… nah, I’ll no’ say anything about her. She’ll be my grandchild’s mother.”
“Weel, if ye willna say anythin’ aboot that, I will.” Murtagh interrupted. “Sgliùrach! Tè innleachdach! I never liked that one.”
Claire looked questioningly at Jamie who shook his head slightly.
Murtagh turned to Claire and continued. “And are ye alright, m’eudail? If yon bod ceann isna treating ye right ye tell me now. If ye stick wi’ him, it’s a lot fer ye too.”
Claire was touched by the usually gruff Murtagh’s concern. Although she didn’t understand the Gaelic words he used, she understood enough from his tone of voice and his hand reaching across the table to pat hers.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Jamie looked across at Ian. “And have ye nothin’ tae add?”
Ian smiled weakly. “I dare say Jenny will have enough tae say for the pair o’ us. Good luck wi’ that.”
Everyone grew silent again, awaiting Jenny’s return. Finally, with Maggie settled, they heard her footsteps along the stone corridor. Claire felt Jamie tense once more. Jenny came and stood by Jamie, leaning against the table.
“Sae,” Jenny started, sounding surprisingly calm. “Has everyone said their piece? What’s the thoughts?”
This was obviously a rhetorical question as, poking her finger at Jamie and now sounding significantly less calm, she continued without pause.
“What were ye thinkin’ man? Tae get yer end away in a one-night stand is one thing, and I’ll let that pass for the moment, since we all know how easily men can be led by their cocks. But, tae bed her wi’ no thought fer protection, like some sort o’ desperate teenager, that is jes’ too much. And this is Geneva, ye ken what she’s like. Did ye no’ remember? Or were ye sae consumed wi’ lust, ye jes’ had tae go fer it. And bugger the consequences. ”
Jamie tried, against his own better judgement, to interrupt. “She said…”
“Ah, she said, she said. Nae doubt she said, ‘oh, it is absolutely fine. Do not worry about it James. I will take care of that.’” Jenny affected a high-pitched posh English accent in some sort of impression or caricature of Geneva. Then, mindful of the current audience, she added. “No offence, Claire.”
“None taken, Jenny.”
“Aye, but lots taken here, sister…”
“Did I ask ye, James Fraser? No?... well then… Cast yer mind back tae Rupert’s wedding. Correct me if I’m wrong, bràthair, but did I or did I no’ say to ye that I could see the way she was lookin’ at ye like ye were a catch and she meant tae reel ye in again? And that’s exactly what she’s tried tae do. Unfortunately for her, a combination of ye fallin’ fer Claire here and Geneva’s awfa personality means ye got off her hook again. But, mark me, she’ll no gi’ up tryin’.”
Jenny took a sip of her now cold cup of tea and grimaced. Ian handed her his whisky glass and she took a large gulp.
“Christ, that’s good…” She forgot herself for a moment as she savoured the taste of the whisky before getting back to the task of berating Jamie. “See what ye’ve driven me tae, Jamie, ye’ve driven me tae drink. Now I canna feed my own child for hours because of this.”
“I think ye’ll be ok with that wee bit…” Ian began, then quickly stopped as Jenny shot him a withering look.
“What I will say tae ye then, Jamie, is this. Ye have been a damn fool and an absolute arse with nae more sense than a sixteen year old trying tae get laid fer the first time. I wouldna blame Claire if she upped and left ye. Ye’ve given her a lot tae put up with. And more yet tae come, nae doubt, because I dinna think that Geneva will gi’ up so easy. She’ll try to catch ye again, this time wi’ a bairn as bait. But I will be civil tae Geneva if I have tae be, for the sake of my niece or nephew. And we will all love the bairn because, in spite of the fact of who its mother is, it will be yers.”
And with that Jenny gave Jamie a kiss on his cheek and sat down next to Ian, taking another swig of his whisky, as Murtagh gave her an exaggerated thumbs up.
******
Jamie lay in his bed, watching Claire potter around his bedroom. He loved how well she fitted into his life and his family. This would have been so much more difficult without her here. He felt fully relaxed for the first time in a couple of weeks. Claire rummaged in her bag for her night shirt.
“Leave that, Sassenach, please?” Jamie asked. “I dinna want ye tae wear anything. I want tae feel yer skin on mine. In the night, I love tae know there’s nothing in between us.”
Claire didn’t answer but stripped her clothes off, leaving them neatly by her bag, then walked over to join him in bed.
“Ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Claire. Christ… wi’ the coldest feet. There’s a heatwave in Scotland, how can yer feet still be cold?”
“It’s this house, the stone floors downstairs.” Claire laughed as she curled her legs up and manoeuvred her feet to press against Jamie’s thighs.
Jamie switched the light off and they lay curled up together in the dark. He thought that Claire had drifted off to sleep when she started to speak.
“You said you love to know there’s nothing in between us, but there still is something. You know, when we make love.” Fearful of being misunderstood, she quickly continued. “Do you want me to go on the pill?”
“I wouldna ask ye tae do that, unless ye wanted tae.”
“I do want to. I want there to be nothing in between us either, but… would you get tested, please? I’ll do it too. Although Frank and I always used condoms and I know you believe that she… er, Geneva didn’t sleep with anyone else, you can’t know for sure. So would you?”
Jamie moved to rest on top of Claire. “Aye, ye ken I’d do anything fer ye…” he whispered as he placed a trail of kisses down her body.
“...anything at all.” His voice became muffled as his mouth reached its exquisite destination.
**********
mo laochain - my little hero
Sgliùrach - Slut
Tè innleachdach - Scheming female
m’eudail - my dear
Bod ceann - Dickhead
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The Ties That Bind
Previous
AO3
Thanks for reading this far. Hope you enjoy the next chapter. Just a wee visit to Lallybroch. Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta
Bit NSFW below the cut
Chapter 11: A Home Visit
I never realise how much I like being home unless I’ve been somewhere really different for a while. Juno MacGuff, Juno
As they drove out of the Glasgow suburbs and into the countryside, the clouds lifted and the sun shone out of a perfectly blue sky. They had not spoken much since Jamie picked Claire up and dumped her overnight bag in the back of the car next to his rucksack, walking boots and walking poles. Somehow, the silence between them wasn’t awkward. It seemed calm and peaceful, as though they had no need to fill it with meaningless chatter. As Claire’s hand rested on Jamie’s thigh, she turned to gaze at him, admiring his chiselled profile, high cheekbones and full lips. She thrilled at the thought that he was hers and happy to be so.
Jamie briefly turned his head to Claire as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“What ye staring fer, Sassenach? Have I got food on ma face?”
“No, sorry. I was just wondering, can we have the roof down?”
Jamie smiled and pressed a button. As the roof retracted, swirls of wind invaded the car, whipping Claire’s hair into a Medusa-like tangle of curls.
“I hadn't really thought this through!” Claire shouted, pulling the hair from her mouth.
“What?” Jamie yelled back as he pushed the car faster.
Eventually, the car began to slow as Jamie pulled into a picnic area at the side of the road. He laughed as Claire frantically ran her fingers through her hair, wincing as she pulled at the tangled mass. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head before climbing out of the car.
“Look at this, Sassenach, just look around ye. Have ye ever seen anywhere more beautiful? On my way hame, I always stop here. Just tae take in the scene. The peaks, the waterfalls, everything. Doesna matter what the weather is… sunny and the colours sae bright, or grey wi’ great dramatic clouds. It doesna matter. Ye must have been here afore, aye?”
Claire moved around to join Jamie.
“Oh yes, quite a few times… Frank’s area of expertise at the university was the various Jacobite risings, so he’d come up here to Glencoe many times...”
She turned to face him, noticing the unconscious look of distaste that passed over his face at the mention of Frank’s name. “But we never really stopped to look around. Frank was not an outdoor kind of guy.”
Jamie headed back to the car. “Come on then. I want tae get ye hame tae Lallybroch.”
With the roof of the car firmly in place (“I am not turning up to meet your father looking like something the cat dragged in, James Fraser!”), the drive to Lallybroch continued. Up through Fort William and Fort Augustus to the lower reaches of Loch Ness, then alongside the Loch to the instantly recognisable sight of Urquhart Castle, where Jamie veered from the main road to a series of smaller roads.
Claire had visited Fort William and Fort Augustus in the past, had even gone as far north as Inverness and Culloden, but those journeys had inevitably been accompanied by details of the quashing of Highland uprisings, English army manoeuvres and a way of life condensed into a series of bloody statistics. All delivered with Frank’s characteristically detached manner. This journey was very different. Jamie recounted a stream of stories about the areas they passed through. Some true historical events, some fanciful myths, their origins lost in time, but all delivered with the passion and pride of the Highlander with an accent becoming more pronounced the further north they travelled.
“Tell me about Lallybroch.” Claire prompted as Jamie finished his tale of kelpies.
“Och, weel, the family ha’ lived there for nigh on three hundred years. Da still lives there, wi’ Murtagh, who’s a cousin and looks after the production side of the distillery. Since Mam died, and Jenny and I moved tae Glasgow, the hoose is tae big fer them, but they willna move. There’s always been Frasers at Lallybroch, he says, and he willna be the last. No’ even the English redcoats could force the Frasers tae leave. Ye can still see the marks of the English swords in the door frames … always there tae remember.”
“Oh dear, will I be welcome do you think? Or should I practice my Scottish accent?”
“Dinna mock,” Jamie chided gently. “‘Twas a long time ago. Besides...”
His lips made a lopsided smile as he reached out and squeezed her knee reassuringly.
“Ye may be a sassenach, but ye’re my sassenach and ye’ll always be welcome in our hame.”
Eventually, they pulled off the road and onto a short drive and Claire caught her first glimpse of Lallybroch. While not huge, it was certainly much larger than the average family home, spread over three floors with, Claire was sure, attics and cellars in addition. An imposing grey stone house, designed for function rather than beauty, built to withstand the fiercest of Scottish weather and hostile visitors. And it was home for Jamie. Claire had never had that attachment to one place. The flats and houses that she had shared with her uncle had all been nice, but they had always moved to the next without a pang of regret or sorrow.
Jamie lifted their bags out of the car and walked round to a door at the side of the house. Claire followed him through a small hallway filled with wellies, walking boots, waterproof jackets and umbrellas into a large square kitchen dominated by a huge wooden kitchen table. Jamie dropped the bags and headed for the tall American-style fridge. “Ah, Mrs Crook has left us a wee snack. It’ll be a fair while till dinner and we havena had lunch. So, how about we go and drop our bags upstairs, then we can have a wee bit of refreshment afore I show ye round.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
Before Claire had chance, Jamie picked up her bag and led the way out of the kitchen, down a stone floored passage and through a door into a large wood panelled hallway, with several doors off it and a large wooden staircase ascending to a first floor galleried landing.
“When ‘twas built, the kitchen was no’ fer guests,” Jamie explained as Claire looked round admiringly. “And sae the panelling and the finery ended at that door.”
He pointed to where they had come from. “Now the kitchen’s the room we use the most.”
Jamie climbed the stairs as Claire trailed behind, looking at all the family pictures on the walls. This was a place that Uncle Lamb could happily have called home. He opened one of the heavy doors on the landing. Claire stepped into a bedroom with oak furniture and a massive stone fireplace, currently unlit.
“Am I in here?” She asked.
Jamie nodded. “Aye, we’re both in here. This is ma room.”
Claire tried to imagine this room as it had been when he was a boy, full of toys and books with Lego strewn across the carpet, or when he was a teenager with posters and video games and that particular adolescent male aroma - three parts testosterone, two parts stinking sports wear and one part sheer horniness.
She wandered around, noticing the framed photographs dotted round the room, the various rosettes and silver cups and the airfix model airplanes placed on the highest shelves of the bookcase - the room of a man too old for such juvenile pastimes, yet loath to get rid of his boyhood achievements. She guessed there was probably a Nintendo N64 tucked away in some cupboard, ready to resume a Super Mario game last played in 2004.
Her attention fixed on the large bed in the centre of one wall. “Is your father OK with us both sleeping in here?”
She kicked off her sandals and primly sat on the edge.
“Sassenach, I’m thirty-two years old. I have my ain hoose. I think he kens what goes on between a man and a woman.”
Jamie pulled off his shoes and joined her, grabbing her around the waist. “Besides, I’m living oot fifteen year old Jamie’s fantasy, a bonnie woman in his bed, with a round arse jes’ made fer fondling.”
“So, I’m not going to find anything I might regret here in your room, am I? Like porn magazines or...”
“Porn mags, Sassenach?” Jamie appeared horrified. “What d’ye think I am? There are no porn mags in this room, I promise ye... ye can get everything ye need off the internet nowadays.”
Claire playfully punched him on the shoulder. Jamie responded by drawing her closer to him.
“I dinna need porn,” he whispered, his breath hot on her neck. “I have ye… and my imagination.”
Bringing his lips to meet hers, he teased them open and his tongue ran between them. She moaned against his mouth as she felt his arms tighten around her and she met his tongue with her own, rubbing it seductively around, licking the inside of his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair.
“Claire, what ye do tae me...” he breathed as he pulled away, looking into her eyes.
She smiled and ran her hands down his back to the bottom of his shirt scraping her nails lightly over the bare skin she slowly uncovered. He moaned and closed his eyes briefly before lowering his head again and claiming her mouth.
Jamie’s lips moved lightly across her cheek to her neck and he smiled as he felt her quiver in his arms. His fingertips traced her jawline as he sucked her ear lobe, loving the feel of her pressed against him, her head thrown back in pleasure. His hands slid along her body, pulling her on top of him as he sank back on to the bed.
Copying Jamie’s actions, Claire began to kiss his neck. He inhaled sharply as her warm mouth found his earlobe and nibbled at it gently. Rising up, she threw one leg over his body to straddle him. As her hands caressed the hard muscles of his arms and shoulders, she instinctively moistened her lips with her tongue. Jamie grew harder as he watched his Claire astride him, her breathing becoming more ragged as he ground his hips against her.
Jamie’s hands reached up to fondle her breasts through her t-shirt. She moaned at his touch and instinctively rolled her hips. Her hands roamed over his muscled stomach and chest as she unbuttoned his shirt.
Claire moved her head back a little and smiled at him. “What time does your dad get home?” She teased.
"Oh god, is this like a teenage makeout session then?” Jamie groaned as he began to push at her top, trying to get it off. She moved her hands down to help him, and together they removed her top and her bra.
“Kind of, although I think we may be going all the way this time.” Claire giggled as she climbed off him.
Lying next to him, she pulled off her jeans and panties. Jamie watched momentarily before quickly stripping off his own jeans and underpants. Claire ran her eyes over his naked body. “Jamie...” she reminded. “...socks.”
There was a playful quality to their lovemaking. Laughing together as they sought each other’s mouths, limbs entwining with accidental collisions of elbows and knees, their movements together becoming more heated and urgent with every breath.
Jamie paused momentarily, and leant over the side of the bed, fumbling with his rucksack before returning to Claire, foil packet in hand. Together they eased the condom on before Jamie positioned himself and entered her. Claire’s body wrapped around him, her thighs around his waist, arms around his neck. Locked into another deep, passionate kiss, she clung to him as their moans blended together.
Their bodies grew slick with sweat as they moved in unison. Claire closed her eyes as she began to feel her orgasm wash over her. Jamie felt her tighten around him, pushing him over the edge as she cried out his name.
Still panting, Jamie rolled off Claire and lay on his side to face her.
“I need a shower now…” Claire began.
Jamie interrupted her with a gentle kiss. “Fifteen year old Jamie thanks ye, from the bottom of his heart. Better than any of his imaginings!”
#outlander fan fiction#outlander fanfic#the ties that bind#chapter 11#Jamie Fraser#claire beauchamp#lallybroch
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