I’m re-watching 01x01 “Sassenach” - which is a truly fun experience. So much has changed since I first saw it back in August 2014 - in terms of who the characters are, how they react to different circumstances - and also in terms of the production itself.
Anyway, was really struck with this shot - where Claire and Frank make love, right after he kind of accuses her of being unfaithful (a conversation prompted by Frank seeing Jamie’s ghost down in the square).
Look how far apart their hands are - they’re not even touching, during this very intimate moment. Frank and Claire use their hands to hold on, to prop up - not to caress. Not to worship. Not to connect.
Now let’s compare this to two times when Claire and Jamie make love. Both times, their hands are used to savor, to worship, to forge an even deeper connection.
Of course we have this absolutely gorgeous shot from 01x09 “The Reckoning”:
Right after they reach completion, Jamie gently reaches for Claire’s hand, and holds it so carefully, slowly bringing it to his face. So that she can see - and feel - his smile. Just look at how intimate the gesture is - just the position of his hand, holding hers, screams protection and devotion. And intimacy.
As does this shot from 02x02 “Not in Scotland Anymore:
A bit hard to see, but at the lower left - their fingers are intertwined as they make love. Claire is just ecstatic to be with Jamie. This is just about the same position as with Frank in the first shot - but look how Jamie just looks at her. Look at how their hands are as closely linked as their bodies - truly connecting on all levels.
This is an off-shoot of that, helped along by @suhailauniverse and her vision of Jamie bathing.
THANK YOU WTT for editing this bad-boy! You absolute legend.
—- —- —- —-
“Where are you, James Fraser?” She muttered, wandering up and down by the window, eager to have him in her arms once more. He had ten minutes, she decided, unwilling to wait any longer.
Claire’s eyes flittered away from the path leading away from the house at the sound of Bree and Roger. She smiled, the easy love between the pair warming her to the bones.
Jamie still hadn’t arrived home, it was pitch black outside, the moonlight only just penetrating through the dense treeline to shed light sporadically over the Ridge. She wasn’t particularly worried but she was losing patience.
– – —- – –
Pitch black surrounded him as he washed himself off in the ice cold water. In the valley to the side of the ridge ran a small brook, this lead around the base of their little homestead and into a pool. This pool was just big enough to bathe in.
Claire didn’t approve, after all, they did have their own ‘bath’-room up in the new big house. But Jamie missed his occasional brushes with nature, and since they’d all been reunited, he liked to find wee snippets of time where he could sneak away and wash -au naturel-.
Chuckling, he scrubbed the muck from his thighs, bringing to mind Claire’s protestations on the matter. ‘Catch your death’ had been thrown around a few times, as had ‘anyone could come across you down there’ and occasionally ‘if your back goes, who’ll drag you back up the hill?’. The soap slipped from his hands as he shook with silent laughter. He bent over to fish for it in the depths, his fingers missing it a few times before finally getting hold of the canty beast.
– – —- – –
Sneaking down through the sweeping expanse of forest, Claire gripped the tree trunks, as her feet slipped on the damp leafy floor. She knew Jamie would hear if she were too loud –his ears still highly attuned to any little change in environment– but she was still eager to creep up on him. He’d done it to her several times before back at the house, and knowing him, he’d be arse deep in that freezing stream.
– – —- – –
Crouching to his knees, he splashed the water over his tired shoulders. A small smile crept over his lips as a thought came to him. The leaves rustled behind him breaking his line of thought, as the distant sounds of profanity floated through the woodland.
As if he’d magicked her there.
Continuing with the task at hand, he stood and began to run the –now incredibly foamy– soap over the exposed expanse of his buttocks.
She’d probably just about reached the bank, he decided.
The last of the birds flapped about, squawking in protest after being woken from their nightly slumber.
– – —- – –
Shuffling, Claire slid down onto the sand bank.
– – —- – –
The distinct sound of the pebbles on the shore echoed across the clearing. To the untrained ear it could easily be passed off simply, as the shifting of the earth, but Jamie knew better.
Running a hand over his hip, he turned, picking his foot up and placing it precariously on a rock just under the surface. He began massaging the suds into his skin, drawing his palm from the underside of his thigh up and through the dark patch of hair that lead from his belly to his groin.
A shot of pleasure ran through him at his own touch, the image of Claire standing on the banks, watching, seared in his brain. It spurred him on, and he licked his lips as he sunk back into the pool once more, washing the soap from himself with slow, measured maneuvers.
– – —- – –
Watching him clean himself, that’s all she was doing, and yet her blood was boiling. The heat of his actions causing the hairs on her arms to stand on end.
She took one cautious step forward, bringing her toes to the edge of the water, letting it lap against the tips of them. Any thoughts that it might cool her off evaporated the moment he ran his hands underneath himself and up, his head falling back with a pleasured groan, eyes closed as he contented himself.
Another step forwards, her feet covered now, the slow rise of the pool tickling her ankles.
– – —- – –
“Come t’ me, Claire.” He whispered, tilting his head in her direction.
He’d heard her make her move, heard the water swish and slap against her as she waded in. He didn’t think he could sit there and wait for her to make her mind up. So he’d rubbed himself, with one slow, languid stroke; up and down. His fingers wrapped tightly around himself as he’d imagined her doing it.
– – —- – –
“Yes, Jamie.” She replied, her body responding only seconds before her brain caught up with it, before she’d even answered him. She wanted to be the one pleasuring him.
Frantically she tugged at the ties that held her shift together eager to get to him. She undid the loose knot, letting the drift carry it downstream as she paddled out to meet him.
She should have noticed the cold, should have felt the gooseflesh rise on her legs and back as she waded closer and closer, but she didn’t. She had one sole focus.
She needed him.
And he needed her, that much was obvious.
– – —- – –
Listening to the soft sweeps of the water as she moved ever closer, Jamie turned in slow motion towards her. Still with his hand wrapped around himself, he opened his eyes and held hers as he continued his leisurely pace.
– – —- – –
They came together in a clash of mouths, their lips finding each other almost instantly. Letting his hands come around her waist now, he pulled her deeper into the pond, deeper and deeper until Claire could lift herself up and wrap her legs around him.
He was inside her in an instant, the flurry of activity causing large waves to flow out from them, their jointed bodies moulding and forcing a swell to pulse and coat their backs in a fresh splurge. Neither of them really noticed. Their soft moans, a cacophony of sound that rang out across the vast calm of the North Carolina night.
“I love you.” They both whispered at the same time, a break in their almost unending kisses.
As they grew accustomed to their–precarious–position, the ice cool liquid began to calm, the relaxing splash of it mingling with their groans as they thrust themselves ever closer to the oblivion they so desperately craved. To the edge of the earth and beyond they pushed themselves to a sacred place they could only reach together.
– – —- – –
Overhead, the full moon slunk behind a bank of clouds. It’s bright white light concealed intermittently as the soft winds carried them through the inky blue sky–hiding the lovers as they lost themselves in each others bodies–the thick black enveloping them, hidden from all but their lovers embrace.
What's j/c moment from voyager (besides printshop and turtle soup) are you most looking forward to seeing s/c bring to life?
These two scenes I want to see more than the turtle soup:
1) The post “daddy” fight
“Do ye know what it is to live twenty years without a heart? To live half a man, and accustom yourself to living in the bit that’s left, filling in the cracks wi’ what mortar comes handy?” “Do I know?” I echoed. I struggled to loose myself, to little effect. “Yes, you bloody bastard, I know that! What did you think, I’d gone straight back to Frank and lived happy ever after?” I kicked at him as hard as I could. He flinched, but didn’t let go. “Sometimes I hoped ye did,” he said, speaking through clenched teeth. “And then sometimes I could see it—him with you, day and night, lyin’ with ye, taking your body, holding my child! And God, I could kill ye for it!” Suddenly, he dropped my hands, whirled, and smashed his fist through the side of the oak armoire. It was an impressive blow; the armoire was a sturdy piece of furniture. It must have bruised his knuckles considerably, but without hesitation, he drove the other fist into the oak boards as well, as though the shining wood were Frank’s face—or mine.
2) The fireside reconciliation.
I watched the rise and fall of his breath, and the play of light and shadow on the strong, clean lines of his face, and knew that nothing truly mattered between us but the fact that we both still lived. So here I was. Again. And whatever the cost of it might be to him or me, here I stayed. I didn’t realize that his eyes had opened until he spoke. “Ye came back, then,” he said softly. “I knew ye would.” I opened my mouth to reply, but he was still talking, eyes fixed on my face, pupils dilated to pools of darkness. “My love,” he said, almost whispering. “God, ye do look so lovely, wi’ your great eyes all gold, and your hair so soft round your face.” He brushed his tongue across dry lips. “I knew ye must forgive me, Sassenach, once ye knew.” Once I knew? My brows shot up, but I didn’t speak; he had more to say. “I was so afraid to lose ye again, mo chridhe,” he murmured. “So afraid. I havena loved anyone but you, my Sassenach, never since the day I saw ye—but I couldna…I couldna bear…” His voice drifted off in an unintelligible mumble, and his eyes closed again, lashes lying dark against the high curve of his cheek. I sat still, wondering what I should do. As I watched, his eyes opened suddenly once again. Heavy and drowsy with fever, they sought my face. “It willna be long, Sassenach,” he said, as though reassuring me. One corner of his mouth twitched in an attempt at a smile. “Not long. Then I shall touch ye once more. I do long to touch you.” “Oh, Jamie,” I said. Moved by tenderness, I reached out and laid my hand along his burning cheek.
So I’ve been getting multiple asks about where to find certain stories and where to find my Master Fanfiction List. I have a separate page on my blog linked here where you can find this full list below.
Here is the Master List for all of my current completed and works in progress Fanfictions for Outlander. All of my stories can be found on AO3 under the same name of WrittenThrough Time. I do NOT write about real people, so please don’t ask or expect to find those on here.
Changing History - One shot AU where Jamie and Claire were successful in getting the Bonnie Prince to go back to Italy and not start the rebellion. Their experience after with a certain Captain of Dragoons. COMPLETE
Just a Man - Currently a one shot, but soon to be multi-post, from Jamie’s point of view. Current post is set (book world) right after the wedding when Claire faints. COMPLETE
Untitled Ramblings- Meet cute for Jamie and Claire set in an unidentified Modern Universe. (completely separate from Mo Chridhe.) This fic could also be continued for now marked complete. Untitled Surprise
Wanting to Be….A Daddy’s Girl- Fic about Brianna never bonding/having that fatherly relationship with Frank and her reaction when she finds out who her father really is. AU with wee Bree and Frank dies early, Part 2COMPLETE
Neighboring Love - Set in the 18th Century. Young lovers Jamie and Claire. Prompt: So there’s this post on tumblr that’s like “the most beautiful man in the world lives in my building but every time I see him I’m a mess” and I was like OMG THIS NEEDS TO BE A FIC, so imagine Jamie and Claire in this situation. Part 2: 362 Days…
Èirigh na Grèine- Set in the 18th Century where Bree is born and grows up then. Jamie talking to, showing, and explaining things to a baby Bree. COMPLETE
Away with the Faeries- In season 2 finale, Bree said Claire is always away with the faeries…Coult you do a prompt of instances of Bree at different ages like 5,9, 14 and 20where she notices Claire is far away (thinking about Jamie and such) and at those different ages what Bree thinks of her mother because thoughts change when you get older :) COMPLETE
Of Innocents & Voyeurs - Imagine if Mary and/or Louise walked in on Jamie and Claire in the throws ;) SMUTCOMPLETE
Sticky Fingers - #5 Claire catches a bairn in her surgery. (this is a multi-fic post where each of Imagine’s mods wrote a piece based on a list of prompts. You’ll find Stick Fingers as number 5 on the list) COMPLETE
Cruinne Malartach - Imagine there are stones that don’t send you through time but into alternative universes.
Owl Post - Imagine Bree explaining Harry Potter to Jamie. Gotham graciously let me borrow her Modern Glasgow world and add this little gem to the universe. Gotham’s Modern Glasgow
“If I did that to you, would it feel the same?” “Well, you know,” I said, slowly, “I don’t really know."
“Tell me, Sassenach. Why don’t ye want me to do that?” He rubbed his cheek against the inside of one thigh, ferocious young beard rasping the tender skin. “Be honest. Why not?” He rasped the other side, making me kick and squirm wildly to get away, to no avail.
I turned my face into the pillow, which felt cool against my flushed cheek. “Well, if you must know,” I muttered, “I don’t think—well, I’m afraid that it doesn’t—I mean, the smell…” My voice faded off into an embarrassed silence. There was a sudden movement between my legs, as Jamie heaved himself up. He put his arms around my hips, laid his cheek on my thigh, and laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks.
“Jesus God, Sassenach,” he said at last, snorting with mirth, “don’t ye know what’s the first thing you do when you’re getting acquainted with a new horse?”
“No,” I said, completely baffled.
He raised one arm, displaying a soft tuft of cinnamon-colored hair. “You rub your oxter over the beast’s nose a few times, to give him your scent and get him accustomed to you, so he won’t be nervous of ye.“ He raised himself on his elbows, peering up over the slope of belly and breast.
“That’s what you should have done wi’ me, Sassenach. You should ha’ rubbed my face between your legs first thing. Then I wouldn’t have been skittish.”
He lowered his face and rubbed it deliberately back and forth, snorting and blowing in imitation of a nuzzling horse. I writhed and kicked him in the ribs, with exactly as much effect as kicking a brick wall. Finally he pressed my thighs flat again and looked up.
“Now,” he said, in a tone that brooked no opposition, “lie still.”