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If You Listen, You'll Find Your Heart

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As pleasant as it is to have the weight of her husband against her naked body, pressing her into the furs, he radiates heat like a bloody furnace, and Claire ends up nudging at him until he rolls onto his back beside her. She stretches, feels the dull pops in her joints and then turns on her side, propping herself up on one arm and resting her other hand over the taut muscles of his very toned middle.


“Are we really going to stay here all day?”


He tilts his head to smile up at her, looking exactly as content as she feels.


“Weel, if ye dinna mind it Sassenach, I have no desire tae leave ye.”


Claire presses her lips together, trying to come up with a suitably romantic response, but her thoughts turn up empty. She bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to lose herself in the depths of his gaze, and then reaches forward to cup his cheek, drawing them closer together.


“Come here,” she whispers, concentrating on stealing his breath. When they pull apart, she brushes his bottom lip with her thumb, over the area where she might have bitten down a little too hard. Jamie pays it no mind, nuzzling his cheek against her palm and she finds herself endeared to him once more. 


“You said we have two more days here, all to ourselves?”


If their wedding night is to be an indication of how they might spend the following days, she has a fair idea of what that might entail — a fair bit of food, an over-indulgence in drink and copious amounts of sex. Jamie it seems has far more innocent expectations. The look in his eyes can only be described as adoring as he lays his hand over hers, lacing their fingers together. 


“Aye. I wanted tae make sure we could spend time together,” he says, and she knows that he would be genuinely happy if all they did was curl up beneath the covers and laze about the entire day. But judging from the state of his arousal, his body has other ideas.


“And what would be doing during all this time we're spending together?”


She means to tease him, not-so-subtly shifting until her thigh is resting is pressed right up against him, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. He swallows, throat bobbing, the muscles of his cheeks tightening ever so slightly. 


“I thought we might get tae know one another better, away from pryin’ eyes.”


His fingers travel up her bare arms, dancing against her skin, until finally, his hand is cupping her jaw. Even the slightest touch makes her feel as though she's on fire, and she responds by slipping her own hand lower, from just above his navel to rest on the inside of his upper thigh. 


“Is that all?” she asks, voice low. 


“Aye, weel…”


The flush begins at the centre of his chest, slowly spreading to his neck, cheeks and the tips of his ears. She can't help but grin at the sight, pressing herself a little closer and whispering, “Tell me.”


He looks adorably confused, and she finds herself biting her lip, peering up at him between dark lashes. 


“Tell me what you want to do to me.”


She knows he’s still shy about it, always seeking permission before touching her, whether it be through words or actions. After their first time the night before, he’d flushed red as his hair as he tried to ask whether or not she’d be amenable to doing it again. He’d grown bolder after she’d ordered him to take off his shirt, but the moment they’d reached completion and separated to lay side by side, the hesitance and awkwardness had returned. 


“Sassenach—,” he manages to choke out, looking very much unsure of his next move. 


“Tell… me…,” she urges, punctuating each word with a squeeze of his thigh. 


“I want tae wake up with ye in my arms always, and kiss ye each night before we sleep.”


It's almost sickeningly sweet and far from where she's trying to direct their conversation. She tries not to show her amusement but ends up letting loose a giggle at the crestfallen expression on her poor husband’s face. Letting out a quiet sigh, she leans forward, giving him a quick kiss. He smiles into it, follows as she pulls back, pouting when she shakes her head. 


“That’s not exactly what I meant,” she says, giving him a pointed look. He blinks, slow and deliberate, like a big ginger owl, and she decides to take matters into her own hands.


Or well — hand.


Holding his gaze, she slides her hand from his thigh to hover over his cock, grinning as she closes her fingers around the length of him. 


“Tell me, Jamie,” she whispers, beginning a slow and torturous rhythm, one that has him squirming beneath her touch. His eyes are squeezed shut, his jaw clenched and his fingers have quite the grip on her curls- as though he's trying to tether himself to reality by clinging to her. 


“Mo ghràidh, I dinna wish for ye tae stop, but I canna think wi' yer wee hand touchin’ me so.”


She gives him a gentle squeeze, and he groans, throwing his head back. The vein in his forehead is protruding, his brows tightly knitted — a sight that has desire flooding her body, leaving her hot and damp between her thighs. She rather likes seeing him like this, in the throes of pleasure, fighting to maintain control. It’s something she’s missed in all their previous encounters, too lost in her own bliss to focus on anything other than the sensations overwhelming her. Even when she’d taken him into her mouth, her eyes had squeezed shut in concentration, trying her best to make his first experience memorable. 


She’d swallowed him down and he’d invaded her senses-


The taste of him on her tongue.


The sound of his groans a harmony to the pounding of her own heartbeat.


The feel of his body, solid, like carved marble, nothing like her own. 


A grin tugs at her lips as she replays the memory in her mind, and needing more, she increases pressure and speed, causing his eyes to fly open.




“Tell me what you want.”


It’s a demand, one accompanied by a vice-like grip from her hand and he chokes out his response, one hand reaching wildly for purchase on the furs beneath them.


“I dinna ken, Christ, what ye mean, Oh God, woman.”


She shifts until her body is half-draped over his, tongue deliberately darting out to wet her lips before she speaks. 


“Well, I want you inside me, your hands on my body, your lips on my own.” His eyes are cloudy with arousal, deep blue eclipsed by black, but she sees clarity returning with each word, as he finally understands what she's asking of him. “What do you want?” 


He groans, breathing in deeply and flushes beet red as he makes his confessions. 


“I want tae hear ye, Sassenach. Listen to ye cry out as I take ye, God, when I heard ye say my name as I tasted ye, I near spilt myself.”


For someone unfamiliar with such lewd talk, he’s rather fantastic at it. She feels the rumble of his words against her chest, marvels at how his accent thickens and finds herself grinding against his hip, seeking friction, pressure, anything to relieve the ache between her thighs. 

“Oh,” is all she manages, breathless and needing more. 


“I sound like a right lecher, sayin’ these things to ye,” he mumbles, burying his face against the side of her neck. He teases the sensitive skin there, sinking his teeth into her flesh and then swiping over the area with his tongue, making her gasp in response. 


“Don’t stop,” she pleads, urging him on by moving her hand faster. He reaches down and clasps his fingers over hers, inadvertently tightening her grip, and the guttural groan he releases has her trembling in anticipation. 


“I canna even begin tae describe it,” he murmurs, lowering his voice as he continues, “What it feels like when I'm inside ye.” 


She hears the implication in his tone well enough and knows she could easily roll over onto her back and drag him to lie above her, let him pin her to the bed and bury himself inside her. Wanting to try something new, something different, she releases him, grinning at his noise of displeasure. He falls silent as she climbs astride his body, lying rigid, fists clenched by his sides as she concentrates, lowering herself onto him. 


The sands of time seem to come to a stop as she sinks down, little by little until she’s completely seated and there’s no room left for air between them. 


“How does it feel?” she whispers. He’s hot and hard inside her, stretching her, filling her and she clenches around him, impatient, wanting to move but needing to hear his answer first.


“Like ye’re squeezin’ me so tightly I might burst.”


She laughs, but it’s cut short as he bucks his hips, driving impossibly deeper inside her. His hands find their way to her thighs, fingers spread against her skin as his thumbs press into her hipbones. She finds her own purchase, laying her palms flat over his chest and rocking against him, slowly at first and then faster and faster, chasing bliss even though he’d brought her over the edge not so long ago. 


Evidently unwilling to lie there and let her do all the work, Jamie does his best to thrust up into her, his muscles tensing with each movement. One hand gravitates slowly upwards, mapping the skin of her waist and then up to her breast. He squeezes gently and she whines, pressing into his hand, urging him on, needing more, needing him to be rougher with her. 


“Touch me,” she implores, giving him no further direction, letting him make sense of it for himself. He flicks her nipple with his thumb, roughened palm cupping the swell of her breast, and she yelps, clamping down around him. 


Jamie is clearly spurred on by the sounds because he repeats the motion, and then his other hand is moving, inching closer to where they are joined. His eyes still seek permission and she doesn’t think she’s ever felt so many emotions at once, looking down at him, having him completely under her power.


And happy to be there.


Claire nods furiously and begins to increase her pace, feeling the bed creak with the force of the movements. He explores for a moment, brow furrowing as he concentrates on finding the right spot, bearing down when he locates it. Her reaction is instantaneous —  moan tearing from between her lips, back arching and body rocking forward, trapping his hand between them. 


The room is filled with only sounds of them — their cries of pleasure, each urging the other on, moving faster and faster until their vision is flooded with a bright white light. 


She’s boneless, slumping against him. 


His arms immediately find their way around her, cradling her to his chest and the position is a little awkward, but she’s not ready for him to slip out from inside her. It feels foolish to say, but there’s a sense of completion when they’re joined. She can’t explain the feeling — it’s primal perhaps, ingrained within the very essence of what makes them human, but everything is easier when they’re touching. 


They lie there in silence for a while. She catches her breath, feels her heart rate finally slow back down to normal. Jamie’s breath ruffles her hair and she tilts her head back to find that he’s half-asleep. With a content sigh, she presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw and shifts further up his body so they can curl up face to face. 


Even drifting off into unconsciousness, his arms like iron bands around her body, holding her against him, keeping her safe.