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“Oh God,” Claire choked as the ferris wheel lurched, and her stomach with it. The Pepto-Bismol pink carriage in which they were seated tipped and rocked precariously, and she braced a sweaty palm against the siding. “We’re going to die.”
Jamie barked out a laugh, draping a steadying arm around her shoulders. “Ye’ve been sayin’ that all evening, Sassenach, and we’re no’ dead yet.”
She shot him a look. “The night is young.”
Blue eyes rolled skyward, but Jamie’s smirk didn’t waver. Squeezing his wife’s upper arm, he reminded her, “This is supposed to be fun, aye? Whee! Fun! Remember fun?”
“Mm… no.” Claire squinted, pursing her lips. “No, not ringing any bells.” She let out a yelp as the ferris wheel ground to a sudden halt, pitching their carriage into a violent swinging motion again. “ Jesus H. Bloody Christ!”
Her husband threw his head back and laughed at her outright. “Ye’re fine."
“Famous last words,” she ground out through clenched teeth, peering nervously over the edge of the carriage to the weed-choked pavement thirty feet below. “Do you know how many people die on these things? They’re bloody death traps!”
Jamie reached out to take her chin in the crook of his finger, drawing her face up to look at him. He brushed his lips over hers once, smiled, then repeated it a second time — lingering and tender, as though he might infuse some measure of calm into her through his kiss. “D’ye honestly think I’d let ye set foot on this ride if I thought any harm would come to ye?”
Claire’s gaze softened, though she maintained the stubborn set of her chin. “No,” she admitted. “But given your level of risk perception, I’m not sure that’s saying much.”
“Are ye sayin’ I’m reckless, then?” he asked, his eyes glinting with a subtle undercurrent of mischief.
It was a dare; one Claire had no idea whether or not to accept.
She narrowed her eyes, smiling at him inquisitively.
Jamie tipped his chin up at her, his own smile deepening until dimples cut into his cheeks.
It was cheating.
And it worked.
“I... suppose one might say that about you, yes...” she agreed quietly, dropping her lashes as she leaned into him. By his posturing alone, Claire thought she had a fairly good idea of what sort of recklessness her husband had in mind. She fully anticipated a hot and heavy makeout session, wherein his greedy hands would slip beneath her ribbed tank top, fondle and tease her over the lace of her bra, until she was forced to smack him breathlessly away and remind him that they were in public.
… She woefully underestimated him.
Jamie’s eyes went soft and hazy as he leaned down. True to form, his tongue darted out to wet his lips just shy of brushing hers, and Claire drew in a deep, quavering breath to brace herself. Her husband stopped short at the sound — hovering, smiling — letting their warm breath mingle and their noses graze.
“How long d’ye reckon one of these rotations takes, Sassenach?” he asked in a low murmur, gently taking the edge of her top lip between his. “If you were to wager a guess?” He tasted like the mint chip ice cream he’d wolfed down in line for the ride, and Claire slid her tongue forward to capture the lingering sweetness, barely registering the question.
“Thirty seconds, mebbe?” he pressed hoarsely, extricating himself from the kiss only to ease off to one side, dragging his mouth along her jaw. “Forty-five?”
“Depends,” she answered, breath hitching as his teeth closed over her earlobe. “On whether it… stops t—to… load and unload passengers…”
“Mm. Aye, that would give us a bit more time.”
She felt her pulse quicken, a dull burn kindling low in her belly. Eyes rolling half shut as his mouth found the bend of her neck, she breathed out, “Time for what?”
He didn’t bother to answer her. As the ferris wheel lurched into motion again — the last of the passengers finally loaded — his broad hand slid from her neck down the curve of her spine, then out over the round of her buttock, her hip, her thigh. When his fingertips slipped beneath the hem of her floral-print muslin skirt and began to skim up the inside of her leg, she immediately clamped her knees shut, eyes flying wide.
“Jamie! ” she hissed.
“Claire!” her husband mimicked unapologetically, snagging her lips with his.
“There are people everywhere!”
“They canna see us up here,” he assured her. “I was watchin’ the whole time we were on the ground.” Glancing over his shoulder, he jabbed a thumb at the passengers on the opposite side of the ferris wheel. “And they’re all facin’ the other way.”
“Someone will hear us!”
“No’ if we’re quiet about it.” He pulled back to eye her thoughtfully, then added with a shrug, “Weel, and by we, I do mean you.”
Claire huffed out an indignant sound, mouth agape.
Began to say something, stuttered, and fell silent.
Jamie stared back at her unblinkingly, a smile spreading slowly across his face as he watched her process the suggestion.
God almighty, he was serious about this.
She breathed out an incredulous laugh, bit her lip, then shook her head. “You’re mad.”
“Mmphm,” he agreed softly, eyes aglow. He drew his hand back to rest on her kneecap, replacing the fabric of her skirt modestly as their carriage completed its first circuit and re-entered the visual field of those few last-minute stragglers waiting on the ground. Nuzzling into the curve of her neck, he pressed his lips to her carotid pulse until they had bottomed out and begun to rise again into the next rotation of the wheel. Only once they had lifted to a height he’d deemed to be safely out of view did his thumb begin to work in small, rhythmic circles along the inside of her knee. His breath shook in her ear as he confessed quietly, “Can ye blame me, Sassenach? Christ, ye make me mad wi’ wanting ye.”
There was no question after that.
She took the dare.
Sidling closer on the fiberglass bench, Claire let her thighs fall open for him. Jamie’s breath hitched as he looked up at her face, his eyes darkening to match the navy hue of the night sky.
Already a quarter of the way through the ferris wheel’s rotation, she thought he would be hasty with her, his mouth and hands urgent, insistent. After all of their years together, doing this, she should have known better than to think something so inconsequential as time constraints would force Jamie to rush her. His fingers traced lazy waveforms along her inner thigh, weaving a languid trail inward; all the while, his gentle, supple lips moved against hers, gliding and sucking unhurriedly until she was well and thoroughly melted against him. He made a soft sound in his throat when her tongue slid forward to touch his, and she responded in kind, tilting her head and opening in invitation. Jamie didn’t hesitate to take his turn, tasting deeply of a mouth he’d charted a thousand times (and then a thousand more), but never seemed to tire of exploring.
They finished an entire circuit doing just that — just kissing, tasting, breathing one another in — before her husband dared to try anything more. Somewhere near the top of the ferris wheel on the third rotation, blunt, broad fingers parted her, probed the familiar flesh of her sex experimentally. Finding her unready after the adrenaline, the fear — the unexpected intimacy sprung on her too quickly — Jamie carefully drew the very tip of his index finger higher, tracing feather-light circles so faint they almost tickled.
Almost.
Humming breathlessly into their kiss, Claire found her tongue instinctually mirroring his rhythm as her skin flushed, warm and tingling from cheeks to belly to the tender flesh blooming beneath his delicate fingertip. After a few seconds of exquisite torture, she pressed her mouth harder against Jamie’s in a wordless request for more, and he immediately took his cue, increasing the pressure. Arching into the sudden swell of pleasure, she broke their kiss with a gasp in the same moment that his fingers slid away, hurrying to push her skirt back down.
Bleary-eyed and disoriented, she blinked up at her husband with an outraged protest on her lips, then glanced with dawning realization over his shoulder at the people in line. Cheeks flaming, she buried her face in his pectoral muscle. “Shit,” she hissed into his t-shirt. “ Shit, did they see?”
Jamie’s chest rumbled with a laugh. “Nae. I’m payin’ attention, Sassenach, dinna fash. You just enjoy yerself, mm?”
With a glance down at the prominent bulge pressing against the front of his jeans, she looked up at her husband with a sudden flood of guilt. “Well, what about you?” she asked, trailing her fingertips absently up and down the centerline of his chest.
Jamie smiled, brushing a curl back behind her ear. “One of us has to keep our heid, here, mo ghraidh. Ye can return the favor some other time, aye?”
She nodded eagerly. “Of course. Right, of course.” Peering over his shoulder, she watched with mounting anticipation as the heads of the people in the crowd fell out of sight. Acutely aware of the ticking clock now, she hooked a leg over his knee, took his face in her hands, and pulled his mouth down to hers.
Grinning against her lips, Jamie murmured between frantic kisses, “So ye — mm — like this wee game of mine, do ye?”
She bit down on his lip in retribution, making a soft growling noise. “Shut up and touch me.”
With a breath of a laugh, he pulled back from her long enough to suck his first two fingers into his mouth, then kissed her again hungrily as he dipped the saliva-moistened fingers down to find her clit again, rolling and circling faster now as he coaxed the tightly knit bud into full bloom. Claire’s mouth fell open against Jamie’s chin, breathing hard; still, vaguely cognizant of the passengers in the carriages ten feet above and below her, she mustered the self restraint to bite back any blatantly damning noises.
A point that her husband seemed to take as a personal challenge, regardless of the very public setting.
He’d just managed to finagle a sharp, shuddering “ah!” out of her in the last few seconds before they had to scramble apart again, righting her skirt and trying to look inconspicuous as they looked away from one another, panting and pink-cheeked.
Struggling to pump oxygen into lungs that felt caught in a vise, Claire closed her eyes and counted to five before deciding it had been quite long enough. Exploding into action quickly enough to rock the carriage, she rucked up her skirt and climbed into Jamie’s lap, her mouth sealing to his with a feral noise deep in her throat. An echoing groan rumbled against her tongue as her husband’s palms splayed out across her buttocks, fingers gripping into the soft flesh so hard she knew she’d have bruises in the morning. Desperate to feel him, she ground her hips down against the delicious friction of his jeans, earning a choked “oh God” from Jamie.
“Shh!” she laughed breathlessly, smashing her fingers over his lips, her hips never pausing in their punishing assault.
“Claire, ye canna—” Jamie rasped, beads of sweat gathering on his brow. “One of us has to—”
Her fingers went frantically to his zipper. “I want you.”
“There’s nae time.”
The carriage was already beginning its descent; they had mere seconds before they were within view again. Jamie gripped her wrists to stop her, kissed her hard, and forcibly lifted her off of his lap. Claire whimpered at the loss of contact, and he released her wrists to soothe his thumbs down her cheeks.
“Shh, mo chridhe.” He kissed her forehead, holding her steady. “Bide just a moment, aye? Ye’ll no’ thank me if we’re arrested for public indecency.”
“Jamie,” she whispered, her voice wavering, fingers gripping into the fabric of his t-shirt. “I need—”
“I ken,” he assured her, with a kiss to the temple this time. “I’ll see to ye, Sassenach.”
The moment they lifted safely out of sight again, he made good on that promise.
With his left hand, he quickly pushed aside the strap of her tank top and bralette, then peeled back the delicate black lace cup to bare her to him. His grunt of hunger was smothered against her smooth, pale skin as he licked a scorching circle around her breast. Claire arched into him with a gasp when he finally closed his mouth — lips, teeth, tongue — over the flushed peak of her nipple; suckling, nibbling, tugging, until she begged him hoarsely, “ Jamie, please...”
He sucked her breast deeper into his mouth as he reached down, pushed her skirt aside, and curved two long fingers inside of her. She was more than ready this time, slick and pulsing, warm and slippery wet. Fully anticipating her inability to keep quiet, Jamie clapped his free hand over her mouth just in time to muffle her shrieking gasp. Claire’s lips smeared over his palm as she sucked in a breath, and she sank her teeth into the calloused flesh as he began to slide in and out of her, probing a bit deeper, curling a bit higher with each stroke.
When his fingertips found just the right spot, Claire’s hips jerked, and she sobbed open-mouthed against his hand. His thumb began to work her then, massaging in tandem with the fingers inside of her, his tongue on her breast, until she was certain she would fly apart at the seams. She saw white, then black — bit down, cried out against his palm — forgetting where they were, forgetting anyone could hear, forgetting anything but the white-hot pleasure burning beneath his fingers, his mouth, raising her closer and closer to the brink...
And then it stopped, all of it; ripped suddenly away as Jamie frantically worked to cover her back up, stormy eyes flashing with apology.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, lips pressed to her brow as he tugged her straps back into place. There was a determined set to his jaw as he cradled her to his chest, kissing the top of her head while she panted and shook against him. “One more, a nighean. One more time around, and I’ll finish ye.”
As Claire nodded against his chest, pressing a kiss to the sweaty hollow between his clavicles, the ferris wheel suddenly lurched to a halt. They both looked around, frowning, and Jamie leaned back to peer over the side. A muscle in his neck twitched as he looked back over at his wife.
“Christ. They’re lettin’ people off. For fuck’s sake.”
Claire closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself and take a deep, steadying breath. Once she opened them again, she held her hand out to Jamie. Hesitantly, he took it, looking for all the world as though he’d failed her somehow. Shaking her head, she drew him back to her and captured his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. “It’s alright,” she murmured when they parted for air, resting her forehead against his. Smiling at him through her lashes, she confessed, “I’d rather find a place where I can have my way with you properly.”
“Aye,” Jamie breathed, brushing her curls back from her face. “Aye, we’ll find somewhere.”
There was only one carriage ahead of them in the queue to disembark — just enough time to straighten their clothes and hair and wipe any incriminating lipstick stains from Jamie’s face. At the last moment, he looked down at his crotch, bit his lip, then muttered to his wife, “Switch places wi’ me? I’ll follow ye out.”
Claire nodded, smirking at him with a hair tie between her teeth as she knotted her mass of tousled curls into a sloppy bun. He pecked her appreciatively on the cheek as she scooted over, taking up the spot closest to the exit. She tried to look as nonplussed as possible when the blue-haired, teenage ferris wheel operator opened the door for them, taking heart from the fact that he looked bored to tears.
“How was your ride?” he asked in a monotone.
Claire smiled a little too brightly. “It was great, thanks!” she chirped in the same moment that her husband grumbled “Too feckin’ short.” She reached back to flick Jamie’s thigh as he took her by the shoulders — ostensibly for support — and urged her forward down the metal ramp.
If the teenager heard Jamie’s remark, he didn’t react. “Just so you know, the park is closing in five minutes. Bathrooms and exits are to your right. Have a nice night.”
“Thanks, you too!” husband and wife said in unison. Jamie marched her down the ramp and out to the main walkway, where a stream of late-night carnival goers were meandering toward the exits, pushing crabby toddlers in strollers, chatting on cell phones, and munching on funnel cakes and cotton candy.
Jamie and Claire exchanged a glance, then headed purposefully for the emptying attractions off to the left.
“What do ye think, Sassenach?” her husband murmured, his breath hot in her ear as his fingertips drew up and down the bare skin of her upper arms. “That spinning teacup ride might work, once everyone’s gone.”
“It’s too out in the open!” Claire protested with a laugh. “Someone will see us. A janitor or something.”
“So I s’pose that rules out the carousel, then?” he asked, lips brushing the soft baby hairs at the nape of her neck. “I’ve always had this fantasy of bendin’ ye over one of those wee horses…”
Blushing at the mental images conjured by the thought (and filing that particular bit of information away for another time), she hummed with laughter and shook her head. “Mmm, nice try, but no.” She scanned the horizon thoughtfully, then pointed off to a grassy meadow just beyond the fairground. “What about back there?”
“Midges.” He spat the word as if it were a curse.
She slowed her stride, beginning to wonder if heading out to the car park for a quick romp in the back of their SUV might perhaps be their best option, when an employee’s voice drew her eyes to a brightly lit, colorful building off to their left.
“Have a good night, folks. Drive safe.”
A couple and their school-aged children headed down the sidewalk and out toward the exit, and a pair of employees in bright orange vests clipped a rope across the metal poles in front of the attraction.
“That it?”
“Yeah, they were the last ones. Took their sweet fuckin’ time, Jesus.”
“Oi, you got a cigarette?”
“Yeah, mate. Hey, come with me, I wanna grab a Coke before the concession stand closes.”
Jamie and Claire stepped off to one side, near a hedge of bushes and an overflowing trash can, while the two employees slumped off together, passing a lighter between them.
Husband and wife looked up at one another in the same moment, contemplation giving way to matching grins.
“Well?” she asked, eyebrows raised suggestively.
“T’would certainly shed a whole new light on the meaning of fun house.” Jamie attempted a wink, taking her by the hips and swaying side-to-side with her. “Aye,” he chuckled, dipping to capture her lips. “Aye, I think it’ll do nicely. So many options , ye ken...”
“Mm, I like the sound of that,” Claire purred, taking one of his hands and turning to walk up the path, pulling him along behind her. Once she reached the rope, she clasped her hands in front of her, raised her chin and cleared her throat pointedly until Jamie leapt ahead to unclasp it for her and wave her forward with a deep bow.
“After you, milady.”
“Thaaank you,” she said primly.
Jamie swatted her on the arse as she passed, looking innocently off to one side. She scoffed at him with faux-outrage while he re-clasped the rope to its post, but the pretense dissolved the moment he turned back to face her, his eyes nearly black with desire. Breathing shallowly, a slow, seductive smirk curled at the corner of her lip as she beckoned to him with the crook of her finger, then turned and slipped through the open entryway.
The moment Jamie followed her around the first corner, she launched at him, grabbing twin fistfuls of his shirt and slamming him against the wall with the full weight of her body. Their mouths clashed in a moaning, panting fury while their hands tugged at whatever clothing they could find, searching desperately for bare skin.
“Should we—” Claire gasped for air as Jamie pulled the tank top over her head. “Leave some of — this on — in case someone—?”
“No.” His tongue surged into her mouth, effectively halting that line of questioning. Persuaded without any great effort, Claire began to fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans, aided by his own hands to wriggle them down once she got them open. As he tugged off his own shirt, kicked off his shoes and hopped on one foot at a time to free the jeans from his ankles, she seized the opportunity to unclasp her bralette and push down her own skirt and knickers into a heap at her feet. When Jamie grabbed her against him again, there was nothing left between them; their mouths crushed together in a searing kiss, and they both moaned appreciatively at the sensation of being skin-to-skin, the heavy, pulsing length of him pressed between their bellies, fingers molding to the flesh of one another’s backs, trying to grip each other closer, closer...
“Do ye want tae—?” Jamie panted, pulling back to meet her eyes for a moment. “ Here, or—?”
Blinking rapidly, chest heaving, Claire looked around at the unremarkable cement walls of the entryway, then managed, “No… no, we should… I mean, if we’re here, we should at least see if there’s—”
“Aye,” he agreed quickly. “It’s no’ likely we’ll get the opportunity again.” Smiling tremulously as he panted, he brought her hand to his lips, then entwined their fingers and led her further down the hall.
When the entry corridor opened up into the first feature of the funhouse, the look on Jamie’s face made Claire sputter with laughter.
“I, uh—” he stammered, snapping his fingers and pointing at the revolving cylindrical barrel that one was meant to walk through with no small amount of balance and coordination— “I’m goin’ tae go ahead and say I’m no’ agile enough for this one, Sassenach.”
“No?” she teased, nipping playfully at his shoulder. “You don’t think we can handle it?”
“I think it might be fun tae watch us try,” he admitted, raising an eyebrow at her.
Claire scrunched her nose at him. “Mm, pass. Go on through, let’s see what’s next.”
She was just far enough behind him that she heard her husband’s delighted exclamation of “ooh!” before she saw what he was reacting to. When she came out on the other side of the cylinder, she was promptly bonked in the nose with a soft red plastic ball.
“Jesus H. Christ,” she groaned, rolling her eyes to find Jamie gesturing grandly at a massive ball pit.
“Eh?” he suggested, waggling his eyebrows. “This could be fun.”
She snorted with laughter. “Ridiculous human being.”
“Spoilsport,” he retorted, tossing another ball at her and missing this time. She lunged at him without warning, making to shove him back into the ball pit, but he caught her by the wrists, feigning a few halfhearted attempts to wrench her over into the pit instead. They struggled against one another, Claire giggling and grunting with the effort, until at last Jamie gave up the fight he could have easily won and wrapped her up instead, kissing her breathless.
“Christ,” he rasped, parting from her mouth to kiss the white column of her neck, the downy spot behind her ear. “You and yer wee noises, Sassenach. I’m a patient man, but I dinna think I’ll last much longer like this.” He nuzzled into her hair, breathing so hard the stray curls lifted with each breath. “I need to be inside ye.”
“I need you, too.” Claire exhaled shakily, eyes heavy-lidded. “Let’s just try one more room, alright? If nothing else, you can have me on the bloody floor.”
“Deal,” he agreed, pulling back to seal the promise with a kiss.
Hand in hand, they crossed one final threshold.
And rounded a corner into a room made entirely of mirrors.
For a long moment, the silence was broken only by their shaking, shallow breathing. Electricity sparked in the space around them, heavy and humid and crackling like the air before a summer storm. Palms sweating, they gripped one another’s fingers tighter. Jamie swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as he led his wife slowly into the center of the room. They both watched their reflections, repeated infinitely in different directions, as he turned to face her, reached down to hook his hands beneath her thighs, and lifted her effortlessly into his arms.
Trembling, Claire took her husband’s face in her hands, eyes locked on his as he walked them over to the mirrored wall and braced her back against it. She gasped softly at the shock of cold against her flushed skin, her limbs wrapping tighter to Jamie’s warmth on instinct. The effect made him harden even further against her belly, his own breath hitching.
Leaning forward to brace her weight and shift her into one strong arm, he brought a shaking hand between them to grasp his cock and slide it down to the slick heat between her legs. He took a moment to tease them both with the tip, making Claire’s head fall back against the mirror with a dull thump, before slowly feeding himself inside of her, deep.
Claire shivered, gasping, her eyes rolling shut at the sensation of being filled, stretched — the heat of him pulsing so deep within her she wasn’t sure if it was her own heartbeat or his she felt throbbing at her very core of her being. Jamie’s arm came back to wrap snugly around her thigh, pulling her flush against him, impossibly deeper. Still unmoving inside of her, he dropped his forehead to hers, their chests heaving.
“Give me your mouth, Sassenach,” he begged.
She gave it to him willingly; her lips, her tongue, her body, her very soul, his and his alone.
And together, they began to move.
Slowly, at first, subtly; he stayed buried deep, giving shallow thrusts where Claire needed them most. The lingering arousal from his attentions on the ferris wheel had not yet subsided, and it was seconds before she began to tremble, her walls clenching tight around him. Desperate for oxygen, she broke their kiss with a mewling sound and gasped, her head falling back, mouth open. Jamie nuzzled a curl back from her forehead and kissed her sweaty brow, making a soft, contented hum.
“That’s it, mo ghraidh,” he murmured, drawing his lips across her cheekbone as he began to rock into her again. “Move wi’ me, that’s it.” She moaned his name brokenly, muscles shuddering against him, and he smiled against her skin. “I mean to make ye come again, Sassenach. Figure I owe ye that much for my teasin’ on the ferris wheel, aye?”
She couldn’t answer; her throat was raw, lungs tight, body on fire and threatening to blaze even hotter with every deliberate movement of his hips. Jamie began to withdraw further from her each time, his rhythm still tortuously slow, but harder now, his hips snapping up at the end to lift up against her. The pressure of it was almost unbearable; she cried out with each pistoning motion, clawing her nails into his back so viciously she thought she might draw blood. His name became a four-syllable moan on her lips, punctuated by sobbing gasps.
And then he started to move faster.
His teeth raked up her neck, leaving serrated pink trails along the white skin. Grunting with the exertion of each thrust, he dropped the weight of his head against hers, eyes half-open and watching their reflection in the mirror over her shoulder.
He tilted his head so that his stubbled cheek pressed to hers, forcing her to follow his gaze.
“Look,” he commanded, his voice so deep it was nearly unrecognizable. “I want you to watch. Watch while I take ye.” He began to drive into her with abandon — harder, faster — and Claire’s face contorted with pleasure, her head dropping forward, eyes squeezed shut. He grabbed her by the chin, forcing her face back up. “Watch, damn you!” he hissed, lips smeared against her cheek.
She forced her eyes open, feeling dizzy, so high on pleasure her vision wavered and blurred.
Still, she watched.
Watched his golden skin drawn tight over sculpted muscle, curving around and against the milky white of hers.
Watched the sweat trickle down the center of his chest and between the shivering mounds of her breasts.
Watched his thighs tremble, the tendons in his arms strain.
Watched her back and neck arch, ribs bowing into him; watched the expression on his face when she did.
Watched, at last, the veined, powerful length of his cock, slick with her arousal, disappearing into the stretched pink of her and reemerging again…
And oh God…
She broke all at once, curling forward, shaking, clenching, sobbing, cursing, screaming.
Jamie didn’t stand a chance; he watched her reflection, felt her against him, thrust twice more — stiffly, out of rhythm — and then buckled against her, flattening her to the mirror with his full weight as he spilled into her in hot pulses.
“Claire,” he gasped, when his throat loosened enough to draw in a breath. Shivering, he tucked his face into her neck, breathing her in. “Claire…”
Her grip on his back relaxed, then, becoming soft, soothing. Still drawing in sharp, hitching pants for air, she smoothed her fingers over his hunched shoulders, the muscles of his arms, then tangled them into his hair, cradling him against her as she stroked the sweat-matted red curls.
Neither of them said anything as they breathed down from their shared high, the sweat cooling against their skin. He made no move to push away or slip out of her, and she was glad for it; the pressure of his body weight against her was calming, containing.
After a while, though, the unforgiving surface of the mirror against her back grew to be terribly uncomfortable. Claire wriggled a bit, and Jamie took the hint, finally easing back to let her down. She unwound her legs from his hips and dropped them to the floor, grateful when her husband had the foresight to brace her, as they wobbled like a newborn foal’s.
She bit her lip with an embarrassed breath of a laugh, one arm slung over Jamie’s neck for support. “Jello legs,” she explained needlessly.
Jamie made a Scottish noise of understanding, and kissed her.
And quite suddenly and without warning, there was a dull mechanical whine, and the two of them were cast into total darkness.
Pitch black.
With their cell phones several rooms away, in the pockets of their clothing, discarded in a heap on the floor.
The silence was deafening.
Then suddenly, Jamie snorted with laughter.
“Well, shit.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…”
Jamie laughed harder, and finally Claire began to laugh too — a bit more high pitched and nervous of a sound than her considerably-more-reckless husband.
“What do we… what do we even do?”
With her hand still wrapped around his shoulders, she felt him shrug. “Dinna ken. Wait a bit, see if our vision adjusts?”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Weel, either we die here , or… ye ken… try to feel our way back? It’s no’ that hard, we’re only a few rooms in. Worst case scenario, we take a tumble into the wee ball pit.” He didn’t sound the slightest bit perturbed.
Claire groaned, dropping her forehead against his chest. “Oh my God. I can’t believe this."
“S’all right,” he murmured, planting a reassuring kiss at the crown of her head and wrapping his arms around her. “Canna say I’ve ever minded bein’ alone in a dark room wi’ you before, Sassenach.”
She smiled against his skin, despite herself. Nuzzling the soft chest hairs, she kissed him just above his sternum, then tipped her face up to his. “I suppose that’s true.” Jamie found her lips without any difficulty, and after a few gentle kisses, he pulled her in tighter, his mouth growing heated against hers.
“While we wait…” he panted after a moment, “ye ken, tae see if our night vision gets better… we could…” He let the thought trail off suggestively.
“What, again? ”
“Well...” He shrugged, as if to say, what else are we going to do?
Seven hours later, when the first grey light of dawn found them entwined on the floor, dozing, heavy-limbed with satisfaction, and thoroughly exhausted, they’d learned that indeed, their night vision did not improve with time.
And it hadn’t mattered one bit.