Work Text:
Jamie’s hands wrapped around his waist and pulled him in closer. 'If I’m going to burn then so are you,' they said. The sweet taste of ale and smoke filled John’s mouth. He felt the sharpness of Jamie’s teeth biting at his lower lip and wanted nothing more than to have the man, then and there.
At last they broke away, reluctant and breathless. “I swear upon that, you stubborn bloody Scot,” John said, still trying to catch breath and bearings. Jamie, still leaning against the tree, adjusted his shirt and kilt, and smiled a little crookedly. “Aye, that’ll do.” He stood and began to walk away, but stopped, turning to look over his shoulder. “For now.”
The air of Fraser’s Ridge was so deeply changed from the last time he’d been there as to be almost unrecognizable. He recalled vividly the feeling of celebration, excitement, some small uneasiness to be sure, but a general festivity and cheer. Now everything seemed damped and unnaturally quiet. Even the laughter of children playing in the creek seemed not to reach the house, and all the noises of the forest around them seemed somehow muffled by grief. The air wasn’t the only thing changed by the tragedy of recent events.
Grey walked into the Big House, as they called it, hoping they’d be expecting him. He’d written to Jamie before leaving Tryon’s Palace, to inform him that the Governor had sent him with a substantial offer of land for the MacKenzies. Some small and likely ineffective token of apology for what had happened to poor Roger.
He shook his head, noticing that his hand had inadvertently gone to his throat in imagined sympathy for Roger’s ordeal. He shivered at the thought of it.
Jamie was sitting at his desk, spectacles resting on the bridge of his long straight nose, looking over papers. Grey stood in the doorway for a moment admiring the sight. Jamie was lovely even in the most mundane of tasks, his brows knit together in concentration, frowning slightly at whatever it was he saw.
Jamie shifted then, glancing over his spectacles with a distant look in his eyes, not seeing John but something past him, lost in his mind. Then he focused and the blue eyes twinkled, a broad grin filling his face.
“John! I didnae expect you for a week or more. Welcome back, my friend.” Jamie stood and crossed the office in a few long strides, grasping Grey’s hand in greeting.
The touch was warm and reminded John all too much of the last time he had been on the Ridge. The fire, the creek…the willow tree. Grey withdrew his hand more quickly than he had meant to, flushing at the memory. He saw a flash of recognition in Jamie’s eyes and then it was gone, though he thought the slightest hint of humor remained.
“I was fortunate to meet with pleasant weather and good roads. And I felt some urgency in my message. What little peace it may bring, I did not wish to delay any longer than necessary.” He dropped his gaze, searching the floorboards for something to say which might convey the depth of his sadness, for Brianna and Roger, and for Jamie as well. He knew the loss of Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser had cut Jamie to his very core.
“Aye, and what peace might that be? You said Tryon had some offer to make Roger and Brianna?” Jamie spoke the words as though they were some despicable thing.
“He certainly has, and it is substantial.”
Jamie and John made their way to the still, talking over Brianna’s reaction to the governor's land grant, and Roger’s conspicuous absence from the conversation. Jamie was deeply saddened, and Grey wished there was something, anything, he could do to ease his friend's heartache.
“And this,” Jamie interrupted Grey’s train of thought, handing him a rough earthen mug, “Is the James Fraser Special. You wilnae like it, but it’s the best I have. Aged a few years now, it might resemble whiskey.”
Jamie smiled wryly as Grey took the cup from him and, not bothering to sniff the liquid, drank it in one gulp. It was smokey, earthy, and it burned his throat as he drank. But the warmth that filled his belly was welcome. It also seemed to make him instantly bolder, and he reached out his hand to grasp Jamie on the shoulder.
“I am sorry. For Roger. And for your own loss as well. Is there anything I can do to provide comfort?”
He knew what he would like to do, were he not afraid of making a misstep and once again distancing himself from Jamie.
“Aye,” Jamie said, smiling sadly, “You can help me say a proper goodbye to the auld man. I’ve been…avoiding it. I could do with a friend by my side while I raise a glass to him.”
“It would be my honor,” Grey said, meaning it most sincerely. He was honored to be considered Jamie’s friend, and more so that the man felt his presence a comfort.
Jamie rolled a barrel toward him, likely full of whiskey and heavy as lead.
“Here, help me take this up to where he’s buried. We’ll drink to his memory.”
And so they did, the two of them pushing the giant barrel up to the top of a lovely hill, each growing more intoxicated as the day went on. The sun beat down upon them and Grey felt warmed from both inside and out.
When at last they’d made it to the cairn of stones that marked Murtagh's final resting place, they stood, breathing heavily from exertion and the heat.
They spoke of Brianna and Roger, of Stephen Bonnet and his haunting of their lives. They spoke of ghosts. Of fears and struggles.
They spoke of Murtagh. They laughed, eyes unfocused and blinded by the sun. They raised their glasses and said a toast in his honor.
Whatever comfort Jamie might have found in saying goodbye to his godfather, he found it with John by his side. He could feel the tension easing as the day went on.
They sat for a long time in the tall grass of the hill, not speaking, or talking only in short bursts. It was easy, relaxed.
Jamie had moved closer as time passed and now leaned on his arms so near Grey could have reached out and stroked the strands of hair that fell loose from his leather que. He could, but he knew better than to do so.
He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the late afternoon sun warm on his face, thinking of nothing at all.
“John?” Jamie asked after a time.
“Hm?” Grey replied.
“The last time ye were here…”
He opened his eyes and glanced over, Jamie was sitting up now, looking at him intently.
“Yes,” Grey began carefully, “The wedding was a most splendid occasion.”
Jamie’s lips quirked up in a playful smile. “Aye, it was. But I’m thinking of the oath taking, just now.”
Grey’s heart had already begun to beat harder in his chest, but now it felt as though it would leap right out at the slightest provocation.
“Ye recall that night, I hope?”
It was phrased as a question, but they both knew that there was no possible reality in which Grey would not remember kissing Jamie Fraser passionately under the light of the moon, sheltered by the sweeping branches of the old willow tree.
“I recall a number of things, yes.” Grey kept his voice even, averting his gaze.
He heard the rustling of movement beside him, soft as a whisper of wind, and then one large hand was holding his cheek.
Jamie’s lips pressed to his, warm and strong and tasting of whiskey. He stiffened for a moment, so used to avoiding any contact, to remaining proper and distant. But the feel of Jamie’s tongue, the gentle scrape of his teeth, and the memory of that moment in the moonlight all cascaded down upon him, melting his hesitation in a breath.
He reached up, fingers tracing the line of Jamie’s jaw, reaching around to draw him closer. If the previous kiss had been born of fire and passion, this was born of something else, of trust and of gentleness.
Grey gave himself fully into the sensation, a wholeness and peace he’d rarely felt in his life. When at last Jamie pulled away, brushing his nose to John’s before whispering his name like a prayer, he felt the loss most acutely.
He opened his eyes at last, to find Jamie, again staring at him, but this time with a boyish grin on his face.
Grey laughed at the sight, heart still fluttering in his chest. “What?” He asked, flushing.
“Nothing,” Jamie said. “It’s just…well, I like your lips.”
The way Jamie spoke took his breath away, and he sat speechless, and painfully aware that he was incredibly aroused, very warm, and gazing open mouthed at Jamie.
Jamie grinned again, shifting so that his leg fell across Grey’s, their bodies touching in several places now.
“Now, do ye recall that night a wee bit better?” Jamie asked.
He nodded.
“I said the oath ye made was enough, aye?”
Dawning realization flooded through his mind. “Aye, that’ll do. For now.” Jamie had said then.
“For now.” Grey said.
“For now.” Jamie repeated. “But that was then.”
“You would ask for more?”
“I would.”
Grey started to speak several times but came up mute.
Jamie laughed, face lighting like a new candle as the setting sun cast a halo around his head. He was drunk, as was John, and had that easy, uninhibited way about him. Perhaps that’s why he stood, brushing bits of dirt and grass from his breeks before reaching a hand down to Grey and drawing him up.
Perhaps that’s why Jamie kissed him again, in full sight of the house and fields.
Perhaps it was something else that caused him to act so boldly. It didn’t matter.
“Follow me,” Jamie said. And he did, of course he did.
Back into the woods they walked, the trees growing thicker as they climbed up and up, away from the house.
The sun had almost set now, and Grey spared a moment to worry slightly that they might not find their way back, but he trusted Jamie.
At last they stopped, pressing through a small grove of saplings and into a rocky overhang. It was cool there, and quiet, and for the first time, Grey realized that the man actually intended to follow through on what he had said.
“I haven’t got a dagger now, either,” Grey said, careful.
Jamie turned to him smiling.
“I dinna want you to swear on a dagger, John,” Jamie said, leaning down so that his lips brushed Grey’s as he spoke. “I want to know what those lips feel like around my cock.”
In all his years on earth, in all his wildest and most secret fantasies, in every hopeless dream, he’d never once imagined he would hear those words coming out of that mouth. Christ.
“Jamie what…”
“Did I no’ speak plainly enough?” Jamie said, teasing kisses down John’s neck. “No one can see us. We are alone here.”
Grey was breathing so hard he thought he might pass out, though he still felt as if all the air was being sucked from his chest at once. His heart was pounding desperately, but seemed to have given up trying for a steady beat and was fluttering in anxious anticipation like the wings of a hummingbird.
Jamie reached for him again, the strong arms steadying around his middle, and kissed him, hard, stealing what little remained of his control.
He reached down to Jamie’s breeks, deftly unbuttoning them without breaking the kiss. He slid them down over Jamie’s hips, running his fingers across the bare, exposed skin of Jamie’s backside and up under his shirt.
He felt the scars, long since healed, but still knotted and rough, and at last he did pull away. Guilt, fear, and sadness surrounded him as he looked up at Jamie. He’d known about the scars, he’d created some of them…how could he…?
“Touch me, John,” Jamie said. “Please, I need you to touch me now or I think I’ll die of wanting you.”
Grey fell to his knees, the rocky ground rough and bruising. It did not matter. He traced a line up the inside of Jamie’s leg, carefully watching for any hesitation or change of mind, but it did not come.
Instead, Jamie reached down, untying the ribbon that held John’s hair in place and casting it aside. He ran his fingers through the loose strands, gently, and then with both hands guided John’s head closer to his own hard prick.
“Please,” Jamie said, and it was neither question, nor command, but invitation.
Grey’s tongue flicked out, teasing the tip of Jamie’s cock, tasting the salt and sweat of him. He moved slowly, working up and down the length of it with his tongue and lips before taking him at last fully into his mouth. Eyes never leaving Jamie’s face.
He began to move in a steady rhythm, relishing the smooth feel, taking him deeper inch by inch until he felt Jamie’s cock brush the back of his throat.
Without intending to, he let out a low moan. Jamie gasped and thrust deeper still, his eyes closed as he whispered, “Oh God, John.”
He stopped thinking then, stopped doubting, but kneeled before the man he’d loved for most of his life, worshiping every inch of him until he felt Jamie unraveling at the touch.
Jamie looked down at last, eyes wide and wanting. “I canna stop myself, John, I…”
“Don’t stop,” Grey said, pulling his mouth away only for long enough to speak and setting back to his task with renewed fire.
Jamie gasped and bucked into him, clinging to his head and thrusting roughly several times before spilling his hot seed into John’s throat with a rasping cry that echoed through the trees.
They both stilled for a moment, breathing each other in. At last Jamie collapsed to his knees, pulled Grey to him and kissed him so gently it hurt.
“God, John…”
He brushed Jamie’s hair away from his eyes, he was hot with sweat and several strands stuck to his cheeks. He was breathtaking.
“Jamie.” Grey sighed, as their foreheads pressed together.
He was conscious of the oncoming night. The music of the woods shifted all around them from the bright sounds of late afternoon to the quiet, secret whispers that come only after the sun has set.
They needed to return to the house, or they would certainly be missed. He said as much to Jamie, who nodded in reluctant silence.
They adjusted themselves back into some semblance of orderliness. After John had re-tied his own hair, he reached up to Jamie’s, stroking the wayward strands back into place and tying it off with the thin strip of leather he used instead of ribbon.
He could see the soporific effects of alcohol and release wearing off, the tension of the past few weeks returning. He wished he could do more.
“God…” Jamie whispered.
Grey knew he did not refer to what had just taken place, rather that the momentary ease of pain and heartbreak had come back like a thunderclap and struck him hard.
“You will get through this, Jamie,” Grey said, reaching out to hold his face in gentle comfort. Some part of him still expected Jamie to recoil at the touch, but instead, he leaned in, softening.
“Thank you, John.” He said, and then straightened his shoulders and turned toward the path they had taken earlier, wordlessly guiding them back home.
They walked along in silence, eventually seeing the flickering lights from the Big House. The sun had set and the night air was cool on their skin, the darkness obscuring their shadowed forms.
Jamie hesitated at the edge of the thick, brushy growth and turned again to face John. He planted one last kiss on John’s lips, light and soft and strong, before sighing heavily and turning toward the house.
Grey paused, trying to reassemble himself into the man he had been a few short hours before. The man who had only known Jamie as a friend, had only felt his lips in a handful of stolen, secret kisses.
He could’t find that man, exactly, but he squared his shoulders, fixed his features, and told himself it had all been a dream. A wonderful, heart stopping dream.
And then he followed Jamie up to the big house, silently wondering what might pass between them the next time he came to Frasers Ridge.