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Behind the Camera

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When Caitríona sees the turquoise dress hanging on the door of her temporary dressing room, she knows exactly how this photoshoot will end. There is no guesswork, no prediction, no uncertainty. She can happily say with one hundred percent confidence that at some point this evening, she will be on all fours, ass in the air as Sam fucks her into the downy hotel room mattress.

 

Although, if she’s being completely honest with herself, that is likely the direction they would have been headed in, beautiful gown or not. 

 

She reaches a hand out, running her fingers over the silky fabric before beginning the process of getting changed, carefully slipping out of her dress. As she undresses, she allows her mind to wander, finally having a moment’s peace amongst all this wonderful, unbelievable chaos, and thinks of just how lucky she is to be here. Being given the opportunity to take on this role in Outlander has changed her life, truly, and in the interviews she has done so far, she’s not shy about admitting that, though she does gloss over the details. Playing Claire is career defining for her, but there’s a far more important reason why she’s so grateful to be here.

 

Sam.

 

He’s a true romantic, and often tells her that even if they had not found one another through Outlander, that fate would have intervened and brought them together anyway, because he was born to be hers. She’s never met a man quite like him, with such a way with words but also an earnestness that soothes the insecurities she has, calms her nerves and allows her to believe that he’ll always be there for her. Her flight or fight response has always told her to run at the first sign of danger, but she had made a different choice that day, when he poured his heart and soul to her. 

 

She had taken flight, straight into his arms, and thus far, he hasn’t given her cause to regret it.

 

They had met during their chemistry test, the final barrier between her and this newfound stardom, and it had started off as a disaster, as things often did. She had turned up late and buzzing with energy; he had sweated up a storm, apparently very anxious for their first meeting, but the moment their gazes had met, everything fell into place. 

 

“I knew ye belonged here, with me, almost since the first time I laid eyes on ye.”

 

Sam had quoted this line from one of the later scripts in season one to her, just days before, and she does wonder how she had not seen it. His eyes always seemed to follow her around a room, tracking her every movement, and if she ever needed anything he was there, at her side, before she could even lift a finger. He told her stupid jokes which made her laugh at an embarrassing volume, spent so much time with her outside of work and was always there to support her, be a shoulder for her to lean on. She had been oblivious at first, hadn’t realised the extent of his feelings for her, and of her budding feelings for him, until a drunken night out with the cast and crew to celebrate the end of a block of shooting. 

 

He had offered to walk her back to her apartment, and by some miracle they managed it without maiming themselves or each other, and then promptly collapsed on her couch, laughing at some untold joke. They were both sloshed and he had wrapped his arms around her, looked her dead on and proclaimed that “the stars should be embarrassed to shine because they don’t compare to the sparkle in your eyes.” In her drunken stupor, she had giggled like a child, shoved at him, and told him to take the piss out of someone else. Even now she still remembers the way his body froze, the colour draining from his face, and the quiet way he had whispered, “I guess I’ll be going then”. Entirely uncoordinated, thanks in part to the alcohol, she had shot towards him, preventing his untimely exit from her apartment, and done the only thing she could think of at that moment.

 

The only thing she had been thinking of all evening. 

 

She had kissed him, and she’s not sure how many times they fucked that evening, but it marked the start of a wonderful relationship. 

 

Months later and they’re here, working on the promotional portion of their obligations; events, interviews and photoshoots, the latter of which she is most comfortable with. Taking in a deep breath, she escapes her memories and focuses on the present, very carefully tugging the zipper of her dress into place. She smooths the fabric into place, as if using her hands to iron out the invisible wrinkles, and turns, studying herself in the mirror. 

 

Perhaps she had miscalculated with her earlier assessment, because she’s quite sure they won’t make it out of the photoshoot without engaging in some behind the scenes hanky panky. 



She arrives last to the photoshoot, because the make-up artists, plural , had insisted on applying powder not only to her face, but also arms and neck, to ensure that her skin tone was even and unblemished. There are so many things she wishes she had responded with, but that’s neither here nor there, because as she makes her way over, she sees Sam, already casually positioned on a stool, looking far more relaxed than she knows he feels. She pauses just just before reaching the backdrop that has been set up, pretending to readjust her dress and squeezing her legs together, grateful that she was able to wear panties underneath this dress. 

 

They had not informed her how expensive the gown was, but she is glad there will be no embarrassing stains to explain away to the designer. 

 

She feels him watching her, the intense gaze in her direction and she smiles, admiring his current style, trying to ignore how her panties are growing damper by the minute. His dyed copper locks are brushed back into a low bun, and she’s never found long hair on men quite this attractive before. The black suit and shoes contrast with the stark white shirt, and she takes a moment to appreciate the triangle of exposed chest, remembering the bite mark she had left just below, barely concealed by the fabric. 

 

The photographer beckons her over and informs her that the style they are going for is classy but casual, instructing them to interact as they normally would. She’s comfortable with that, knowing that they’ll receive more direct instructions if the correct shots are not achieved, and makes her way over to Sam. He greets her with a quick kiss on the cheek, and her skin tingles from the contact as it always does. 

 

“You look hot, babe,” she tells him with a smile, pulling back and trying not to laugh when she hears the low growl he emits before masking the sound with his own laughter. He opens his arms to her and she turns, trying to somehow situate herself on his knee, but the fabric of her dress against his pants makes for a slippery situation and she slides off, stumbling a little. His hands automatically reach out to grip her waist, holding her in place and she leans into him, her arse brushing against his-

 

Oh, hello there. 

 

Caitríona is no stranger to Sam’s cock; she’s well acquainted actually, familiarising herself with it on an almost daily basis, and she knows that it is only half-hard and already digging into her backside. She shifts backwards a fraction more and his grip on her tightens; it’s a warning, to stop moving around before he loses control, but as much as she is not a fighter but a flyer, she also can’t help but play with fire. With a smirk at the camera, she repositions herself, angles her body so her hip is digging into Sam’s now full-fledged erection, remembering the way it had felt when he fucked her last night. Her man is an excellent actor, she’ll give him that, because if she didn’t know any better, she would be entirely oblivious to his arousal.

 

“Cait.”

 

He whispers her name through clenched teeth, still smiling widely, gaze trained away from her, and she reaches a hand back, rubbing her fingertips along his stubble, feeling the pinpricks of the short hairs against her skin. It’s her way of soothing him, promising him that she’ll take care of him, and he drops his head, resting his chin against her shoulder as the cameras flash again, the bright light momentarily blinding them. 

 

It feels like an eternity before the photographer is satisfied with the shots he’s taken, but she knows that it’s really only been minutes. Sam has fantastic control, but she also knows that they didn’t have a chance to entertain one another in the morning, their schedules filled to the brim, and she fears that this may end in a similar fashion to an event they had attended previously, when the poor guy had to sit in cum-stained pants for an hour because she had been a tad overzealous with her teasing. 

 

When they’re given the go ahead to leave, she grabs his hand and they high-tail it away to the first area of privacy they can find, which happens to be a single-stall unisex bathroom. She wonders if anyone had noticed their abrupt departure and the way that Sam was almost limping as they rushed off, but then he’s shoving her inside and locking the door behind them and all other thoughts are pushed from her mind. 

 

“Fuck, I want you so badly,” he tells her, hands skimming up and down her sides, grabbing a fistful of her arse and forcing her body against his. The heels on her feet, despite being uncomfortable has hell, are just high enough so that their crotches are almost entirely level, and she feels his bulge pressing against her clit through the layers of fabric and wishes they had gone back to her room instead, because she cannot ruin this dress, no matter how much she wants to let him tear it off her. 

 

“You’re so hard for me,” she says, slipping a hand between them to roughly squeeze him, earning her a loud groan before he’s capturing her lips with his, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her closer.

 

“God, yer arse in this dress,” he growls as they pull apart for air, lips red and swollen. “I want nothing more than to bend you over, hike up that skirt and fuck you, feel those soft round cheeks against my thighs, watch them quiver as I pound into you.” 

 

Sam’s penchant for dirty talk had only increased once he realised how much it turned her on, and he never misses an opportunity to detail to her all the things he has done, or wishes to do to her. She doesn’t mind it, encourages it in fact, but her panties are already completely soaked through and she’s in danger of destroying this dress if they don’t get on with it already. 

 

“Babe, we don’t have time and I can’t ruin this gown. Just let me suck you and I promise we can fuck tonight,” she tries to reason with him, running a finger along the column of his neck and pressing a gentle kiss against his cheek.

 

“But I want to be inside you.” 

 

The words come out as almost a whine, and she can’t help but chuckle at his response to being denied. 

 

“Tonight,” she tells him, punctuating her statement with a firm squeeze of his cock. “I’ll even let you do that thing with my-”

 

His growl drowns out her response and he nods, eyes clenched tightly shut, breath coming out in short pants. Satisfied, she reaches for his belt, quickly undoing it even as his fumbling hands try to help. She slaps them away, giving him a pointed glare, and unfastens his pants, before shoving them, along with his briefs, down his legs. His erection springs free in a manner that is so comical she might have laughed if she didn’t find the sight of it so arousing; standing tall and proud, vein throbbing at the side and the tip darkened to an almost purple hue, contrasting starkly with the bead of white pre-cum, nestled like a pearl. She pauses for a moment, just admiring his cock, and ponders the logistics of giving her boyfriend a blowjob in a cramped public bathroom. 

 

“Hop up on the counter babe, I can’t kneel in this dress.”

 

Wordlessly, he obeys, looking over his shoulder to check his relative positioning before reaching back, and pushing himself easily onto the area beside the sink, letting out a low hiss. Caitríona thinks that the cool marble must be a shock to the heated skin of his arse. 

 

Thank fuck for up-scale bathrooms.  

 

Unwilling to let another moment go to waste, she descends upon him, placing her palms flat against his thighs as she bends over, taking the tip of his cock into her mouth. The sound that escapes Sam at the sensation of her lips around him sends a jolt of arousal down her spine and she shudders, trying to focus on the task at hand. She begins to suck him in earnest, a mixture of her spit and his pre-cum running down the side of his cock; he’s trembling beneath her touch, and she knows this is not going to last very long, but needs to make this experience as pleasurable as she can. Breathing through her nose and catching the familiar scent of his arousal, salty sweat and heady seed, she moves one hand to join in on the action, pumping the length of his cock that does not fit within her mouth. 

 

“Oh fuck- Cait, Christ! Your mouth feels like- ughh- heaven. Suck me harder, please - I love when you run your tongue against my- oh God.”

 

She knows exactly how he likes it; even without the words of encouragement falling from his lips, pushing the tip of her tongue against the tip of his cock, as she hollows out her cheeks and takes more of his cock into her mouth. He’s bigger than any man she’s ever been with, and even then she had never quite mastered the art of deep-throating during a blowjob, but she’s been practising, forcing herself to go down on him a little further each time. She’s not quite there yet. Soon

 

“Please babe, can you...God, my balls are achin’ something fierce.”

 

She chuckles around his cock, earning her a series of muffled curses, and when she looks up, she sees Sam’s arm is pressed across his face, trying to drown out the sound of his pleasure. 

 

Well, that just won’t do. 

 

She pulls off him with a loud smacking sound, her lips slick and reddened from being stretched around his girth. 

 

“I want to hear you,” she tells him, and she sees the way his throat moves as he gulps, a very serious expression on his face - she can’t quite decipher if it’s just for show, but she appreciates it just the same. He nods, tersely, and she resumes her earlier activities, sucking him down with fervour as her hand slips down to tease his balls. They’re tight, ready for release at any moment, and so she increases her speed and suction, revelling in the unrestrained groans that Sam makes above her. 

 

It takes another twenty seconds, a nip of her teeth and a less than gentle tug with her fingers and he’s coming, a primal growl ripped from his throat as he releases into hers’, seed filling her mouth with each pulse. She swallows, drinking him down, and begins to gently suck him clean, using her tongue to catch the spilled drops. 

 

“Cait, I fuckin’ love you, but if you keep that up, we won’t be leaving this bathroom without that pretty gown being ripped from your milky white flesh.”

 

She laughs, kissing the tip of his now flaccid cock just once more before pulling away, wiping at her mouth with the back of one hand. They clean up quickly; she washes her hands in the sink, sneaking glances at him as he tucks himself back inside his briefs and fixing his pants. She can’t help but smile at the way he smooths his shirt and straightens his colour, and he shakes his head at her, extending his arms towards her. 

 

“What did I do in a past life to be so lucky in this one?” he asks, cradling her in his arms, and the moment is so sweet, so tender, it’s like they hadn’t just gotten frisky in a public bathroom, so desperate for one another they hadn’t been able to wait for the evening. 

 

“I love you,” she tells him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, allowing herself to be snuggled. Sam is always so cuddly after sex, and apparently being less than a metre away from a toilet is no deterrent. 

 

“I can’t wait for tonight, Cait. I’ll have you laid out and spread open for me; taste your cunt until you can’t take it any longer and then flip you over and fuck you.” 

 

She slaps his chest, giving him a disapproving glare. They still have half a day’s worth of events to get through before they are free of obligations, and at this rate she’ll need to pop back to her room for an extra change of underwear, because the clean pair in her purse won’t last long. Pulling away, she unlocks the door, moving as if to exit and pausing only when he calls out to her. 

 

“And I believe you promised that I could fuck those lovely tits of yours.”

 

Fucking bastard.

 

He’s smirking, with the smugness of a man who has just been thoroughly satisfied, and she flips him off before leaving, letting the door swing shut behind her. 

 

Tonight would not arrive soon enough.