#and the real world where sometimes female orgasms take a bit of teamwork!

[imagineclaireandjamie]

What if Claire made Jamie's first time amazing?

[Happy to oblige, anon, but lbr, is there any universe in which Claire *doesn’t* make Jamie’s first time amazing?  ; ) -Mod Bonnie]

Hail Mary, Part X 

[Quite NSFW]

Premise: What if Jamie and Claire had 1) been more openly affectionate in those early days, and 2) not *had* to get married?

Part I  Part II  Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

When I awoke, I was startled to find that I wasn’t on Jamie’s horse, but tucked up snugly in a blanket under a rowan tree. 

Alone. 

“Jamie??” I bolted into a sitting position, scanning the darkened clearing, feeling my senses reeling as they struggled to place me in space and time. The air when we’d handfasted had been moist and deliciously cool, not this warm, dry stillness that was making the silence of the wood resonate so ominously; and I could have sworn the elevation had changed—that I was up very much higher indeed than any other time on our journey from Leoch. And most terrifyingly of all, the horses were tethered nearby, but there was no sign of Jamie or our baggage anywhere. 

“JAMIE?” I called again, panic starting to gather as I staggered to my feet. “JAMIE??” 

I whirled as hasty footsteps came crashing through the underbrush behind me, but thank God, it WAS Jamie. “Och, so she’s awake, at last!” he said, grinning. His face fell as he saw my expression, and he caught me up tight against him as I threw myself into his arms. “Oh, lass, ye didna think I’d ever leave ye?”

“No, you brute, but you could have been captured—” I gasped out against his neck as I kissed it, not crying, but my heart thundering even as I tried to hide my lingering panic, “I thought Dougal had caught up with you.” 

“No’ a chance, a nighean,” he promised warmly, holding me close. “All safe and sound.” 

I leaned my head against his shoulder. “How long was I asleep, then?”

“Nearly a full day,” he said, confirming my suspicion. “Ye fell asleep on the horse wi’ me last night and havena woken once, ‘til now. Had to wake and check on ye every few hours to make sure ye hadna up and died!”

“You smell good,“ I blurted.

He laughed and stepped away, doing a little turn to show off. “Had a wee bath in the burn. Cold enough to freeze my bollocks off, but glad to hear it was well worth it.” 

He showed me the way to the stream, just through the trees to the south. Cold or not, I was dying to get the Eau de Two Days of Horse and Panic-Sweat off me.

“When ye get finished,” he said, sounding tentative, “ye might…come join me up at the top of the hill?” 

“What’s at the top of the hill?” 

He shrugged, far too casually. “I’ve…made a sort of place for us, for….ken?”

I’d like to get started wi’ worshiping your body. 

For one wild moment, I wanted to forget the bath and have him right there, right then. But I really did smell atrocious, and there is nothing less romantic than being the filthy one when being intimate with a squeaky-clean partner. 

“I’ll be there soon,” I promised, my voice trembling just a touch; but he heard it, and I could have sworn he quivered.  Jesus H. Roosevelt CHRIST.

Finding the small stream, I washed quickly. I would have loved to wash my hair, but waiting for it to dry would have been a two-hour ordeal for which I wasn’t willing to make Jamie wait—or myself, to be honest. Despite that, the ice-cold water, and even the fact that I hadn’t any soap, it was heavenly to scrub off the worst of the filth and stink, and I came out shivering, but distinctly refreshed. I bent for my discarded clothes, then thought better of it, walking naked back to the horses and wrapping myself instead in the same blanket I’d slept in. No use putting clothes back on, dirty or otherwise, given— 

I wolfed down some cheese and bannocks that Jamie had left for me, then—with a deep, bracing breath—began my barefoot walk over the soft grass up the hill. I didn’t have to guess the direction, just followed the smell of the woodsmoke that floated on the warm air. It was a bit of a steep climb, and when the grade finally evened out I could see despite the darkness of the terrain beneath that we were very high up indeed; but it was the sight straight ahead that took my breath away completely.

It must have been a mountaintop chapel, once, though there was no longer a roof of any sort atop the three half-standing stone walls. It would have had a vaulted ceiling, high for its tiny size, with tall, graceful windows. The pale stone—overgrown in places by creeping, floral vines— must have had some sort of quartz in the grain, for the firelight and moonlight together seemed to illuminate the sanctuary all-round like phosphorous, casting the place in a warm, twinkling glow. 

Jamie was there, smoothing out the pallet of blankets he’d made overtop a makeshift mattress of heather and soft grasses in the far corner. Bless him, he’d even gathered flowers to grace the sill of the glassless window above the bed. I should have laughed. I should have teased him, but…but it was too breathtaking to say anything but an awed, “Jamie…” 

He whirled, his expression a little wild and startled, until it softened into a warm smile. “Hello, Sassenach.”

“Jamie,” I said again, gawping in wonder at the haven he’d appointed for us as I came around the fire toward him, “this is… absolutely beautiful.”

He nodded shyly, taking in the surroundings himself. “Murtagh said it was where my parents came, ken, for the first few days after they were marrit. He thought it would be verra peaceful. Private.”

As well it was. It was almost a shame—if Jamie had desired to be married in a church, this would have been an exquisite substitute. True, it would have taken Murtagh too far from the route to follow the post rider, which was too important to risk. What we would do here, though…yes, it would be an exquisite setting for that, too. And hopefully not a sacrilege. 

“But are ye cold, Sassenach?” my husband asked suddenly, seeing how tightly the blanket was wound around me from chin to toes. “I can add more wood to the—”

“No,” I promised, laughing a bit, though feeling as though all air had been sucked from the mountaintop.  “I’m not wearing it for the cold.” I let the blanket drop, just slightly, just enough to let him see my bare shoulders underneath. 

His face slackened, his nostrils flaring as he dropped his head and breathed carefully. “Aye…well…”

Somehow, I sensed he wouldn’t make a move before I did; so I gripped my blanket tight with one hand and came forward to lay the other on on his chest, my fingertips just grazing the warm hollow of his throat. I could feel it bobbing under my hand, hot, alive. “I think you’d better get out of these clothes,” I said, my voice husky. 

His eyes went wide, but he obeyed. He turned his back to me, pulling off his shirt and making a to-do over folding it into a pillow for the pallet. I came a few steps closer, wanting to see him. The scars shone in the moonlight, full of the memory of his pain, but taking away none of the beauty of him or his body. 

He was moving slowly; very slowly, in fact. Was I only imagining that he seemed loath to begin? 

As he rose back to his feet, I stepped even closer and pressed my cheek against his back. He tensed instantly, and I laid a kiss on the deepest scar. “Is everything alright, love?” I said, running a hand around to his stomach, the other still clutching the blanket.

“Aye– well…Claire, I need to tell ye something.”

What could possibly be relevant to tell me RIGHT NOW? He’d murdered someone? He was…impotent? No, I’d had plenty of evidence that Jamie Fraser was capable of an erection. “Tell me,” I said with no little trepidation. 

He turned to me, and he looked positively wretched as he admitted, “I’ve never—done this, before.”

He’d expected her to laugh; to grin and tease and ask how on earth he’d managed THAT, and was there something about his anatomy that had frightened the lassies away for so long??? He’d not have minded, to be honest—perhaps humor would have eased the tension he felt stringing his back as tight as a bow. 

But what she did do—what his wife did, erasing his fear at the root—was make a small, tender sound deep in her throat, run her hand up to rest on his cheek, and say, “Then this will be all the more beautiful.” She rose on her toes and kissed him, deeply, and he melted into her, bringing his hands to rest on her blanketed hips.

“How do you want it to be?” she asked, breathing heavily, all of the sudden. 

”…How?”  How many ways *were* there? 

“Your first time,” she said, carefully. “Shall I be gentle with you?”

His wame dropped. 

His mouth went dry. 

And he felt the growl of need tearing from him as he reached for her: “No.”

And she growled back just before her mouth crashed into his: “Thankgod” 

They were going to devour each other. She was against him and her blanket was gone. She was grappling with his belt and he felt the plaid fall to his ankles. He gasped and groaned in the same breath as he felt the length of her naked body pressed full against the naked length of his. “Wait,” he whispered raggedly, “wait….wait…” 

She was reaching raggedly but she stilled without question and waited, holding him close.

He held her, too, savoring her despite the roaring in his blood, the aching in his cock as he whispered. “I want to see you, mo nighean donn, before….”

She smiled and nodded, kissing his chest right next to his heart. “I love you, Jamie,” she whispered, happily, sweetly, softly as breaking dawn.  

“And I, you, mo chridhe.” 

 She tilted her chin up so that her golden eyes shone up at him. “Together?”

Always. “Together.” 

They each stepped back; and Jamie felt as though he’d been shot through with a javelin. 

There was a statue in one of the Sorbonne gardens, he remembered: white marble, and lovely, a likeness of a mythical goddess that stood radiant and beautiful; a work of true art. But Claire was the original; Artemis, shining in the moonlight, perfect in every seamless, curving inch of her; every dark curl; every quivering muscle, poised for the hunt. Her hips were wide, her breasts fuller and rounder than he’d ever dared imagine. Her lips—those soft, flushed lips were parting. “Dear God,” she was whispering, seemingly awestruck, herself, “Jamie, you’re beautiful.”

ME? A Dhia, look at YOU, he meant to say but couldn’t manage even a syllable. 

She shivered and gave a little smile at his muteness. “Have you ever seen a naked woman before, love?”

“Not up close,” he admitted, feeling foolish.

“Is it…?” she started, then shook her head and broke off, smiling in embarrassment. 

“It IS,” he vowed, and meant it with all his being. “You are.” And it seemed she couldn’t help but glow a bit brighter.

He had seen glimpses of women before, of course, but nothing like this; nothing like the glory of his wife. It seemed so idiotic, to be so undone by superficial beauty; but he deemed it a blessed surfeit of unmerited riches, that his sorcha, the light of him, was also the most beautiful person he’d ever beheld.

Before he could voice that he didn’t know how to begin—should he just… turn her around and bend her over? Would the windowsill be of help to keep her from toppling forward?—Claire was stepping past him to the bed…lying down on her back…spreading her legs…  

“Jesus,” he moaned, dropping to his knees harder than he’d intended. It felt fitting, though, to prostrate himself before her. He crawled closer and ran a hand down her thigh from the knee, so cool and so soft. 

She shivered at his touch. “Come here,” she whispered, firelight in her eyes as she reached for him, beckoning him to come kiss her. Face to face? Aye, he could see how that would get things properly aligned, but he couldn’t tear himself away, yet. “May I touch you?” he begged.

From the way she blinked, she hadn’t expected him to say that, but she nodded, and as he reached for her, she rolled her hips slightly to meet him. His fingertips met the soft, hot flesh of her, the moisture there, and the choked, “Oh—GOD,” echoed in his chest and around the walls of stone. To his shock, though, it had come from Claire. 

He looked up at her in utter astonishment and delight, grinning like a fool. “It feels good, lass?” 

She moaned in what must have been assent, for she moved closer to him, seeking more. He moved his fingers again, gently tracing the delicate folds of her, and could have died to hear her groan his name like that. 

He felt drunk—he was drunk on the euphoria of feeling her arousal coursing through his blood. She liked to be touched…and even HE could give her pleasure, it seemed, in whatever small way. He’d heard most women didn’t enjoy the deed itself, overmuch, but —Claire liked his touch, between her legs—Maybe she would like—

Heart thudding, he moved to the proper spot—dear God in Heaven, he *hoped* it was the proper spot—and slid a finger inside her.

He’d been gentle about it, he thought, but she arched immediately and cried out as she sat halfway up and looked at him in wide-eyed shock. “Oh, Christ, lass, I’m—” He snatched his hand back, mortified, “Forgive me, that wasna–”

But she grabbed his wrist, hard—and she met his gaze with what he swore was lust as she pressed him back inside her, until his palm was cupping her. He moaned to feel her tighten around him, feeling the silky-wet heat of her, all rough and smooth and alive against his skin. Her eyes fluttered shut as she began rolling her hips forth and back against him. He understood and he took up the motion himself, moving slowly in and out of her. She fell onto her back again, making the most exquisite sounds Jamie had ever heard.

Well, this *certainly* makes me feel more at ease about my own chances, soon to come. If just one finger can—

The next time he withdrew from her, he replaced two fingers. She cried out, throwing back her head and arching her back, her hand darting between her legs. He thought she meant to push him away, but she was only stroking herself at a spot just a bit higher up from his own hand that seemed to heighten her sensation. He could feel the difference of it around his fingers. He’d have to ask her about that spot later, whether or not it was something that he might help her handle in some fashion, the next time; but he wouldn’t interrupt her pleasure for the world, and he drank in the gift of it. 

He trailed kisses down her leg and up to her hipbone, watching her with fascination, not knowing what to expect or when to stop—Christ, he would go on with this bliss forever, if she wished it.  “Faster,” she moaned, as if hearing his thoughts. The sounds of her grew and swelled as he obeyed instantly and moved faster, hard enough that he thought surely he would break her in some way; and just as that thought crossed his mind, suddenly she was breaking, clenching tight around him, fast as a flutter of wings around his fingers, but hard and strong as a vice as she cried out so loudly it made the walls of the church resonate…with the sound of her. 

JESUS

He lay there, draped between her legs and over her heaving belly, shuddering under his own aching desire and with delight at what hers had just shown him. It was what he had felt that cold night on the road, when she’d woken and moved against him in sleep, that iron-hot blaze of her need reaching out for him—but no Hail Marys, this night; only desperate cries of thanks and joy—and pleas for more, more, praise be to God, MORE.  

Her breaths gradually slowed and she opened her eyes. “Oh, lass,” he groaned to see her so, glistening and panting, so ready and— “Mo chridhe—” 

His fingers within her were shaking and she pushed them free of her. “I need you, now.” Her hands were strong and urgent as she reached for him. “Now—now—now—”

“Take me, Claire.” He barely heard his own desperate words, completely in the thrall of her, the cry of his body moaning, “—Show me.” 

With unbelievable strength for someone of her size, she flipped him onto his back and the sight of her moving to straddle him, the feel of her thighs on either side of his hips as she poised herself above him, was—

He moaned her name, begging her—

—and it was her name, again — curse and prayer together  —that sent countless wings skyward from the treetops as she took the whole of him inside her with one sure movement. 

He gasped for air over and over before he could form more words. “You feel—”

“You too,” she breathed, her face exquisite with sensation and something like relief. “God, you too.” 

“—Sassenach—” He moved in her, and it was all the leave she needed. 

Jamie thought the entire world would come apart from the way she made every inch and every fiber of him sigh and scream from pleasure in the same instant. He grabbed her hips in both his hands to feel the power of her, the power of her over him. And the sight of her—the goddamned sight of her—her head thrown back and her eyes closed but her face alight with triumph and furor as she leaned backward and writhed along his length was—

“Claire—I canna–” he gasped out, his fingertips surely bruising her as he gripped her harder. “I willna last—verra much longer—”

She fell forward and somehow his body knew what hers wordlessly commanded. They rolled together until she was under him. 

“Wait,” she groaned, and she was slipping her hand down between them to touch that place again, and the sight of it, the feel of her touching herself practically against him was so arousing that—

“Jamie, *now*—” she gasped with an intensity that nearly undid him in and of itself as she grabbed both his shoulders, “—now—now—Hard.” He thrust in to the hilt, over and over, hard and fast, every stroke absolute, blazing joy; and when he heard her cry out and felt that iron tremor beginning around his cock, he let her take him, body and soul, let her drag him into an explosion of pleasure and color and sound that enveloped them both and vanished the world in flame and breath. 

He had fallen forward, at some point; had her head cupped in his hand; was still sheathed in her.  Every few seconds, a wave of sensation jolted through him and he shivered and moaned from it. He leaned his forehead against hers, his voice a broken shell. “….I want…to die like this.”

“Please don’t,” she laughed weakly. She was slick with sweat underneath him, heaving, running her hands along his back, his face.

“I want….to do this wi’ you…” he amended, smiling with every once of strength left to him, “….every possible moment… for the rest of my life.”

She glowed as she kissed him and whispered, “It’s a bargain, Jamie.” 

[one more chapter to come]