Work Text:
June 21, 2018, London, England
Sassench: Do you have plans later Fraser?
Wee Fox Cub: depends r u making a better pffer?
Sassench: Meet me out front at Joe’s. 4pm.
Wee Fox Cub: :thumbs up emoji:
Sassench: And Jamie? Wear something tight. Preferably leather.
Wee Fox Cub: ...
***
He couldn’t imagine what Claire had in mind, but he’d cancelled his plans to watch the England South Africa test match with the lads and was instead haunting the kerb in front of her temporary lodging, wearing fitted black jeans and his leather jacket, despite the sunny mid-summer weather. When his date hadn’t emerged from the building by 4:05, he pulled out his phone. An approaching mechanical thrum interrupted him mid-text.
The first thing he noticed were her boots: black, with a thick rubber sole and chunky heel. These were zipped over leather pants that clung to her coltish legs like a second skin, matching the matte gleam of the motor between them. A leather jacket, the tailored twin of his own, hugged her narrow waist. By the time his eyes had scrolled upward, a visored helmet was being removed, and Claire’s familiar hair and teasing brass eyes appeared.
“You’re staring, Jamie,” she remarked. The fact that the voice was his roommate’s usual no-nonsense tone, seasoned with a touch of humour, was a necessary dash of reality.
“Aye,” he admitted. “Tis a verra beautiful... machine ye’re ridin’, Sassenach. Is it yers?”
Her curls danced in the sunlight as she shook them out.
“God, no. Joe only let me borrow it after I promised to cover his next two on-call shifts. But don’t worry! I practically grew up on a motorcycle. I’ve had my license since I was sixteen.”
He filed this information away in the cluttered part of brain entitled Things I Never Expected to Learn about Claire Beauchamp. Accepting a second helmet, he swung himself onto the seat behind her. His legs bracketed her hips in an unfamiliar, but by no means unpleasant, inversion. Claire revved the motor, sending a shiver up his spine. His arms wrapped around her waist, and they pulled into the slow flow of traffic.
“Comfy?” Her voice startled him, low and intimate, coming from directly behind his ear. He realized belatedly that the helmets were furnished with a communications system.
“Aye,” he asserted, although comfortable wasn’t exactly the word he’d use for his current state. Somewhere between apprehensive and exhilarated would be more accurate. “Will we make it tae our destination afore sundown, do ye think?”
She chuckled warmly, reaching back with one hand to tap him on the knee.
“Never you fear, my lad. I have our urban escape route all planned out. We’ll be flying in no time.”
She wasn’t wrong. After a series of abrupt stops and starts, they dipped below the Thames in a well-lit tunnel, the echo of passing lorries muting all other sound. Soon after that they were picking up speed on a wide motorway, the bike crouching against the wind. He watched the throbbing mass of the city peel away, slowly giving way to greenery and the pastel light he associated with freedom. He thought they were heading south along the Orbital into Surrey, but beyond that he had no notion of their whereabouts.
Giving himself up into her care, he settled against Claire’s back, the crescent of her arse fitting neatly into the bowl of his thighs. He was aware of being aroused, but it was a hazy rather than a sharp feeling, blunted by contentment. If Claire was offended by the firmness pressing into her rump, she gave no sign.
After several hours of almost meditative motion, they turned onto a country lane, overhung by a leafy canopy. Tidy Tudor buildings overlooked the road, their leaden windows glowing orange in the setting sun. Their motorcycle joined a parade of vehicles ascending a low hill in a series of sharp turns. Each time the bike navigated one of these, he was forced to tighten his grip on Claire’s torso, which by now felt like an extension of his own body. He glowed like one of those panes of glass, molten and reflecting back the warmth that radiated from the core of who she was.
The forest thinned into green hillside as they reached a parking lot. He couldn’t help but feel disappointment as he observed the crowds. Wherever they were, it was obviously a popular destination. On the bike, he’d felt peculiarly isolated, alone with Claire, their conversation eased by the intermediary of the microphones. Now he’d have to share her with the world.
He groaned as he unfolded his long legs to stand upright, and Claire grinned.
“They don’t make motorcycles in your size, I’m afraid.”
“An’ wha’ size is that, Sassenach?” he hummed suggestively while stretching his arms high above his head, untucking his shirt in the process.
Claire’s eyes dipped to where his belly was briefly exposed, then lower.
“Large,” was her bold answer, and he shot her a wickedly pleased glance.
After a beat she visibly gathered herself, reaching into the storage compartment behind where he had been sitting and pulling out a small bag and his plaid, which had somehow stayed in her possession after the fire.
“Are you up for a short hike?”
“For ye, Sassenach, anything.”
They meandered through an oak wood, then up a series of crude steps, until finally arriving on a grassy slope, the land falling away steeply to the south. Low ridges and shallow valleys furled below them like gentle waves, reaching out to the horizon where the sun was preparing to set. The air was fragrant, the ground releasing the heat of the day.
“One of my many boarding schools wasn’t far from here,” Claire explained as she spread the blanket near their feet. “I must have been fourteen or so, and having a terrible time fitting in. Uncle Lamb came to visit, probably at the headmaster’s behest, and this is where he took me. I don’t remember what he said, but by the time we left, I felt better. More at peace. In lockstep with the larger order of things. I’ve come back, now and then. Any time I needed to find that feeling again.”
As she spoke, Claire emptied the small bag of its contents. He recognized the logo from a deli they both frequented on two wrapped sandwiches, along with a pint of strawberries, some crisps, a lemonade and a bottle of his favourite summer ale. She’d thought of everything, and it snagged at his heart.
“Tis bonnie. I’m honoured ye wanted tae share it with me, Sassenach.”
They ate slowly, savouring the simple meal as the sky above their heads smudged from orange to pink to ever-deepening shades of purple. One by one, the stars twinkled to life, like so many travelers lighting their fires for the night. Away from the city, they numbered in the thousands, each a signpost on someone’s journey. His mind spread out to fill the space between them, taking his thoughts to Lallybroch, moments from his youth long forgotten, the steadying hand of his parent’s guidance. Claire was right. Something about the place invited serenity. He sighed with pleasure, tension he hadn’t even acknowledged draining slowly down his spine.
Claire’s hand crept across the blanket, and their pinkie fingers met, then overlapped. As the air around them cooled, the breeze picked up, and he felt her shiver.
“Ye’re cold. We should be on our way, aye?”
“Wait. There’s one more thing I want you to see.”
He could think of several more things he wanted to see, but they were well hidden by leather and her guarded nature. He’d known when he proposed this season of courtship that the road to Claire’s heart would be long and arduous, with many twists and lay-bys. There could be no rushing the voyage. He was confident the destination, should he be granted entry, would be worth any hardship. And thankfully the views along the way were spectacular in their own right.
He’d been watching her profile out of the corner of his eye when the horizon burst into multi-coloured song. Purple starbursts and red streamers exploded across a black canvas, followed by a pulsing yellow orb. In the milliseconds before his consciousness caught up with the evidence, he was captivated. Then he physically recoiled, expecting pain in the form of a cascade of memories. Instead, the symphony of light continued without a corresponding bang. He looked to Claire in awe.
“The wind is to the north, so it’s blowing the sound in the other direction. I checked before I picked you up,” she explained.
The fireworks continued for another ten or fifteen minutes. He’d never be quite sure, because he was lost in sensation. The beautiful display was completely over-shadowed by the beauty of the woman beside him, her tiny finger still laced with his own.
“Ye ken tis I who’s supposed tae be courtin’ ye, don’t ye, Sassenach?” he commented when a final fury of light gave way once again to stars.
“Says who?” she sniffed, but he could see the corner of her mouth twitch upwards.
After performing a mental inventory of any and all physical impediments, he leaned slowly into her side, his intention unmistakable. His heart thrilled when Claire met him halfway, her mouth damp and tart from the lemonade. It was a kiss that walked the boundary between chaste and sensual, and he wished it could last forever.
“Thank ye, Claire. Truly.”
At a loss for words for once, she dipped her head in acknowledgement. They silently gathered their things and walked hand-in-hand to the bike.
The ride back to London was swift, with music taking the place of conversation. A particularly beautiful song, poetic and stirring, left him feeling that Claire was speaking to him through its words; words she could not yet find the courage to say. Accompanied by only a single guitar, a male voice rose in wistful intensity.
So I lie alone, and risk each night, I long to let you in
But there's a life I lost, drifted out, before
You let me in.
His fingers found their way beneath her jacket and rested on the warm skin of her belly. He felt her soft skin give a shudder, like a ripple of wind across the still surface of a pond.
The motorway ribboned out beneath them. The journey had only just begun.