@FastPash So chuffed to meet @SamHeughan and @caitrionambalfe at the #Outlander filming today 😁 thanks so much for taking the time to stop and say hello and sign our books 😍 it was worth waiting in the freezing cold!
The first gif cracks me up. They are so cute. Always so damn cute. We know Sam is protective of Caitriona. In the second gif - when he reaches out to touch/rub her hand along with the look on his face and how he shakes his head - says a lot to me about intimacy and privacy. This is a relationship that came into the public eye too soon. What unfolded between them (and we might never know) unfolded with a thousand and more eyes watching. Who’s to say they wouldn’t do anything to keep certain aspect of their private lives, private?
Don’t fight me on this.
**gifs not mine, so if they are yours, let me know and I’ll credit you**
“So long as my body lives, and yours - we are one flesh,” he whispered. His fingers touched me, hair and chin and neck and breast, and I breathed his breath and felt him solid under my hand. Then I lay with my head on his shoulder, the strength of him supporting me, the words deep and soft in his chest.
“And when my body shall cease, my soul will still be yours. Claire - I swear by my hope of heaven, I will not be parted from you”.
You would move heaven and earth, you would risk arrest and death–even hell. You would do it as easily as a prick of a pen, you would set me free from this cell, help me rescue the woman I love from her kidnappers. Until you risk all, you cannot speak of love.
Ladies, think we’ll get this jokey-porny-horny banter?
“One more thing, Maitland,” I said.
“Oh, yes, mum?”
“Will you go down to the galley and ask Mr. Murphy to send up a bottle of his strongest vinegar? And then find where the men have put some of my medicines, and fetch them as well?”
His narrow forehead creased in puzzlement, but he nodded obligingly. “Oh, yes, mum. This directly minute.”
“Just what d’ye mean to do wi’ the vinegar Sassenach?” Jamie observed me narrowly, as Maitland vanished into the corridor.
“Souse you in it to kill the lice,” I said. “I don’t intend to sleep with a seething nest of vermin.”
“Oh,” he said. He scratched the side of his neck meditatively. “Ye mean to sleep with me, do you?” He glanced at the berth, an uninviting hole in the wall.
“I don’t know where, precisely, but yes, I do,” I said firmly. “And I wish you wouldn’t shave your beard just yet,” I added, as he bent to set down the tray he was holding.
“Why not?” He glanced curiously over his shoulder at me, and I felt the heat rising in my cheeks.
“Er…well. It’s a bit…different.”
“Oh, aye?” He stood up and took a step toward me. In the cramped confines of the cabin, he seemed even bigger—and a lot more naked—than he ever had on deck.
The dark blue eyes had slanted into triangles of amusement.
“How, different?” he asked.
“Well, it…um…” I brushed my fingers vaguely past my burning cheeks. “It feels different. When you kiss me. On my…skin.”
His eyes locked on mine. He hadn’t moved, but he seemed much closer.
“Ye have verra fine skin, Sassenach,” he said softly. “Like pearls and opals.” He reached out a finger and very gently traced the line of my jaw. And then my neck, and the wide flare of collarbone and back, and down, in a slow-moving serpentine that brushed the tops of my breasts, hidden in the deep cowl neck of the priest’s robe. “Ye have a lot of verra fine skin, Sassenach,” he added. One eyebrow quirked up. “If that’s what ye were thinking?”
I swallowed and licked my lips, but didn’t look away.
“That’s more or less what I was thinking, yes.”
He took his finger away and glanced at the bowl of steaming water.
“Aye, well. It seems a shame to waste the water. Shall I send it back to Murphy to make soup, or shall I drink it?”
I laughed, both tension and strangeness dissolving at once.
“You shall sit down,” I said, “and wash with it. You smell like a brothel.”
“I expect I do,” he said, scratching. “There’s one upstairs in the tavern where the soldiers go to drink and gamble.” He took up the soap and dropped it in the hot water.
“Upstairs, eh?” I said.
“Well, the girls come down, betweentimes,” he explained. “It wouldna be mannerly to stop them sitting on your lap, after all.”
“And your mother brought you up to have nice manners, I expect,” I said, very dryly.
“Upon second thoughts, I think perhaps we shall anchor here for the night,” he said thoughtfully, looking at me.
“And sleep ashore, where there’s room.”
“Room for what?” I asked, regarding him with suspicion.
“Well, I have it planned, aye?” he said, sloshing water over his face with both hands.
“You have what planned?” I asked. He snorted and shook the excess water from his beard before replying.
“I have been thinking of this for months, now,” he said, with keen anticipation. “Every night, folded up in that godforsaken nutshell of a berth, listening to Fergus grunt and fart across the cabin. I thought it all out, just what I would do, did I have ye naked and willing, no one in hearing, and room enough to serve ye suitably.” He lathered the cake of soap vigorously between his palms, and applied it to his face.
“Well, I’m willing enough,” I said, intrigued. “And there’s room, certainly. As for naked…”
“I’ll see to that,” he assured me. “That’s part o’ the plan, aye? I shall take ye to a private spot, spread out a quilt to lie on, and commence by sitting down beside you.”
“Well, that’s a start, all right,” I said. “What then?” I sat down next to him on the berth. He leaned close and bit my earlobe very delicately.
“As for what next, then I shall take ye on my knee and kiss ye.” He paused to illustrate, holding my arms so I couldn’t move. He let go a minute later, leaving my lips slightly swollen, tasting of ale, soap, and Jamie.
“So much for step one,” I said, wiping soapsuds from my mouth. “What then?”
“Then I shall lay ye down upon the quilt, twist your hair up in my hand and taste your face and throat and ears and bosom wi’ my lips,” he said. “I thought I would do that until ye start to make squeaking noises.”
“I don’t make squeaking noises!”
“Aye, ye do,” he said. “Here, hand me the towel, aye?”
“Then,” he went on cheerfully, “I thought I would begin at the other end. I shall lift up your skirt and—” His face disappeared into the folds of the linen towel.
“And what?” I asked, thoroughly intrigued.
“And kiss the insides of your thighs, where the skin’s so soft. The beard might help there, aye?” He stroked his jaw, considering.
“It might,” I said, a little faintly. “What am I supposed to be doing while you do this?”
“Well, ye might moan a bit, if ye like, to encourage me, but otherwise, ye just lie still.”
He didn’t sound as though he needed any encouragement whatever. One of his hands was resting on my thigh as he used the other to swab his chest with the damp towel. As he finished, the hand slid behind me, and squeezed.
“My beloved’s arm is under me,” I quoted. “And his hand behind my head. Comfort me with apples, and stay me with flagons, For I am sick of love.”
There was a flash of white teeth in his beard.
“More like grapefruit,” he said, one hand cupping my behind. “Or possibly gourds. Grapefruit are too small.”
“Gourds?” I said indignantly.
“Well, wild gourds get that big sometimes,” he said. “But aye, that’s next.” He squeezed once more, then removed the hand in order to wash the armpit on that side. “I lie upon my back and have ye stretched at length upon me, so that I can get hold of your bu**ocks and fondle them properly.” He stopped washing to give me a quick example of what he thought proper, and I let out an involuntary gasp.
“Now,” he went on, resuming his ablutions, “should ye wish to kick your legs a bit, or make lewd motions wi’ your hips and pant in my ear at that point in the proceedings, I should have no great objection.”
“I do not pant!”
“Aye, ye do. Now, about your breasts—”
“Oh, I thought you’d forgotten those.”
“Never in life,” he assured me. “No,” he went blithely on, “that’s when I take off your gown, leaving ye in naught but your shift.”
“I’m not wearing a shift.”
“Oh? Well, no matter,” he said, dismissing this. “I meant to suckle ye through the thin cotton, ’til your ni**les stood up hard in my mouth, and then take it off, but it’s no great concern; I’ll manage without. So, allowing for the absence of your shift, I shall attend to your br**sts until ye make that wee bleating noise—”
“And then,” he said, interrupting, “since ye will, according to the plan, be naked, and—provided I’ve done it right so far—possibly willing as well—”
“Oh, just possibly,” I said. My lips were still tingling from step one.
“—then I shall spread open your thighs, take down my breeks, and—” He paused, waiting.
“And?” I said, obligingly.
The grin widened substantially.
“And we’ll see what sort of noise it is ye don’t make then, Sassenach.”
“Jamie knows that’s who she is. He doesn’t want her to go, but she’s like, ‘I have to go.’ He doesn’t want to lose her again after just getting her back, but that’s part of what’s great about their relationship; he never stops her from being who she is. And she doesn’t stop him. If he says, 'I have to fight this battle,’ she kisses him and sends him off to battle because that’s who he is. She can’t say, 'I don’t want you to get killed,’ and Jamie can’t say, 'I don’t want you to get kidnapped, or killed, or be on this dangerous ship,’ because there’s no stopping Claire or Jamie Fraser, and each of them let each other be themselves no matter how much danger [there] is."
“It wasn’t a thing I had consciously missed, but having it now reminded me of the joy of it; that drowsy intimacy in which a man’s body is accessible to you as your own, the strange shapes and textures of it like a sudden extension of your own limbs.”
Hello everybody! Myself and @mybeautifuldecay are on the cusp of finishing the artwork for the calendar so I thought I would give you a taster of what you will see month by month. And all of it Voyager/ Season 3 inspired.
The artwork as you can see is a lovely mix of plain pencil, coloured pencils and watercolour. Our styles are very complementary so we hope you like our choices! We have endeavoured to represent a wide range of emotions - angst and heartache, hope and longing and above all, the epic love!
The calendar all being well will go to print on Monday, so if possible I need accurate order numbers. I have already heard from several of you, thank you so much, but for everyone else who would like a calendar, can you please say a definite yes on this post, or DM me, by Monday!
The price will be £10 per calendar plus P+P, and payment will be done through paypal. I will only contact buyers once I have received the calendars myself from the printers, which will be early December. Hope that all makes sense!
And If there are any other questions, please don’t hesitate to ask..