Where did you learn to kiss like that?

Deo gratias

What are you thanking the Lord for?

it often feels a lot longer to finish a chapter than it actually takes, I realised. I mean, sure, it’s been close to two weeks, but it’s a damn meaty chapter (not quite 6k words, so buckle up!). Anyhow…I’m still very glad that I decided to end the last chapter where I did, because, initially, this was supposed to be still part of it.

special thanks to my providers of feedback and critical thought 

anyhow…without much further ado, I give you their date. :D and some definite nsfw

[read Part I]   [read Part II]    [read Part III]    [read Part IV] 

Part V – Sweat

As a living, breathing human being, I was no stranger to sweat. Clammy hands before the pathology exam counted as one of the minor symptoms of fear as a medical student. Being a trauma surgeon, spending hours on end bent over the operating table, beads of perspiration coating my brow were an almost daily occurrence. Like most people, I, too, had had the occasional fever that left me disgusted with myself and had rendered my bedclothes an inhospitable environment for the next night’s rest. Heat-induced sweat was a bit harder to come by in a climate like Scotland’s, but I was more than familiar with the kind that accompanied me under heavy layers of sun-warmed leather jackets and protective gear.

So, yeah…I knew sweat all right. What I was not familiar with, however, was the lack of it with a first date looming on the horizon.

Its absence was most conspicuous as I gave myself another once-over in the full-length mirror. Especially so because all the other typical signs of nerves were there: a racing heartbeat that pulsed in throat and groin, the swarm of raving butterflies throwing a party in my belly; even the half-crazed look of exhilaration—the kind my friend Gillian would call ‘fuck me eyes’—was there.

I was beyond thrilled to see Jamie again, though even that was an understatement. The bouncy excitement of knowing that I’d soon find myself close enough to kiss that devilish handsome smile right off his face was almost impossible to contain.

And yet, despite the heavy anticipation coursing through my veins, there was no sweat—not a single drop of moisture anywhere. Neither at the nape of my neck, where thick curls fell freely down to my shoulder blades, nor between my leather-booted toes. Wherever my probing fingers brushed over the creamy expanse of my skin, it was dry and pleasant to the touch. I had no need to hastily blot armpits and apply another coat of antiperspirant or change into darker clothes that would hide potential pit stains throughout the evening.

Many thanks to @notevenjokingfic​ for reading this and helping me get to where I want to be with this Claire and this Jamie. I love these two, even though I have (again) grossly underestimated the space it would take to tell their story. 

I am so in love with this chapter, these two, and where they are headed.

Part I (Adso), Part II (Dislocated), Part III (Entryway), Part IV (Pizza & Beer), Part V (Croissants & Coffee), Part VI (SMS), Part VII (Desktop), Part VIII (Sunday Sunflowers & Sundresses), Part IX (Caught Out), Part X (Netflix & Advil), Part XXI (Ben Nevis & Loch Lomond), Part XII (Non-Negotiable), Part XIII (Same), Part XIV (Toothbrushes & Eyeglasses), Part XV (Renovation & Dresser Drawers), Part XVI (Letters & Mattresses), Part XVII (London & Broch Mordha), Part XVIII (British Airways & Kittens), Part XIX (Airports & Antigua), Part XX (Sawny & Ellen), Part XXI (Dice & Doorknobs), Part XXII (Tears & Truth)

(AO3 link)

One Summer Part XXIII: Chip Stands & Second Chances

The Inverness Airport marketed itself as the gateway to the Highlands.

After deplaning following a brief flight from London (ears having barely ceased their popping from takeoff by the time they landed), Claire inhaled. The airport smelled like every other airport, but with the notable addition of the best chips she’d ever eaten in her life (his lip-smacking incredulity that the wee airport had her favorite chips, his chuckled disappointment in her bad taste). The airport was small (two gates, ten check-in desks), but no less bedecked in the Harris Tweed in a kaleidoscopic assortment of colors, coo stuffies with fuzzy ginger beards, thistle-emblazoned beauty products, and whisky of varying qualities to taunt travelers. It was the kind of spot where one could land, gather a checked case, hire a car, and be gone within fifteen minutes of landing, and she appreciated that wholly as she made a dash for the toilets.

After splashing some water on her sleep-creased face, Claire wandered back towards the gates. Her stomach ached with hunger, and the idea of hitting the road to Broch Mordha without something to eat for the ride only magnified the pang. She queued up behind what appeared to be a school group from London – a chattering, mildly disinterested crew – and dug through her purse for a handful of coins to purchase her bounty.

As the gate agent announced that Logan Air flight 2221 (“to rainy London Gatwick”) was finishing its final boarding, the school group dispersed, and Claire found herself at the front of the queue. As one student giving up the wait for chips knocked her firmly in the shoulder and turned to the gate, Claire’s handful of coins scattered. “Bloody hell,” she muttered to the kiosk attendant, who shrugged rather blandly. Engaging in a veritable tsunami of furious cursing, Claire went to her knees and began sweeping the coins from the dusty floor into her palm.

At that moment, fate proved itself to be a funny thing to no one in particular.

However, this was an observation that would miss Claire Beauchamp entirely. From her vantage point – on her hands and knees, telling herself that her chips (saturated to the point of sogginess with malt vinegar) would be worth whatever it was that was so sticky on the floor – she was blind to it.

And it was not an observation that any person could make, really, given that no one else keyed into the fucking bed-and-breakfast owner’s particular circumstances.

But it was at precisely that moment, when Claire was tucked out of sight scooping coins into her hand, that James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser barreled towards his soon-to-depart flight to London-Gatwick to make his Grand Gesture.

Jamie “triggered” Fraser

Bonus:

Hi Anon!

We’ve got two that may fit what you’re looking for:

Scatter the Night by @owlish-peacock36

Shades by @gotham-ruaidh for @imagineclaireandjamie

While the Band Played On by @fierceweebadger

Happy Reading!

I think this is one of the finest scenes in the whole season.  Both actors contribute their marvelous performances. All the delicate facial expressions and looks from Claire, all the sexy-as-hell voices from Jamie and the strokes of his fingers, and the shadows cast by the candles make the scene heady.  The sex tension is so strong and wonderful, though none of them shed any clothes.

Sam: My friend...

Sam: My friend knows my wake up and workout times...

Sam: My friend has great boobies I look at and fondle...

Sam: My friend likes my dick jokes...

Sam: So I tell her dick jokes... a lot

Sam: I confuse my friend with her character Claire, my ideal woman...

Sam: My friend who I work ‘together with and ARE together with’...

Sam: My friend. We are the sexiest couple...

Sam: Oh no...we’re friends...

Sam: She’s just my friend

A/N: well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?

that means Downhill was going really well, and I’m glad that was the case. While GR is more of a fun side-project for me, believe me when I say I’m not going to forget about it and that this bold pairing of Jamie and Claire means a lot to me.

as per usual, my intentions and plans have been thwarted by the story itself. Initially, this was supposed to be a one-shot—now it’s a multi-chapter. it was supposed to be light and fluffy, no drama, just a bit of smut in every chapter. It’s still that, only, this chapter doesn’t have any NSFW I’m sorry to say. I had something planned, but it just got longer and longer, and the place it ends just felt like a natural chapter break. So, once again, I’m going with my gut, and gonna do what the story feels like I should be doing. I hope you can live with one smut-less chapter, rest assured, the next one will have it again. :)

as always my gratitude to the people who help me get my writing into shape: @happytoobserve​, @isitgintimeyet​ and @lcbeauchampoftarth​ thanks also @ecampbellsoup​ for lending me her critical ear.

And special thanks to @https://twitter.com/trashyKT for the moodboard that inspired this :)

[read Part I]   [read Part II]  [read Part III]

or read on Ao3 [click]

Part IV – A New Constellation

Maybe I should have shown more restraint; played it cool, acted as if I didn’t care as much about him wanting to see me again as I did. The smile that crinkled Jamie’s deep blue eyes when I’d over-eagerly accepted his invitation for a date, however, was worth much more than any upheld pride or respectability. Whatever that was, anyway.

Palms slippery with a slight sheen of nervousness, my fingers skidded clumsily over the shiny screen of Jamie’s smartphone. Maybe it was a bit much to check four times whether I’d typed my number correctly, but I wasn’t going to give him an excuse not to call or text. Not that it seemed he would need one, but still.

When I handed him my phone, the ruddy brows first furrowed and then arched in surprise, his wide mouth quirking with barely restrained amusement as his fingers, seemingly way too large for the tiny device, flew over the raised keys with remembered expertise.

I was still a bit distracted, my gaze once more drawn to the delicious outline of pectoralis major as they twitched now and again beneath the fitted grey shirt, when Jamie handed my phone back to me with a smile.

He called her a druid the first time they met and saved her, and brought her to Jamie. 


They’d been through so much together, they had their song. 


He was the only one Claire would trust Jamie with in a battlefield. 


He was the only one in 18th century other than Jamie who knew Claire’s secret, believed her and kept it.