Fall Into the Sky, a monarch of the glen fanfic

Title: Fall Into the Sky

Author: LuxKen27

Fandom: Monarch of the Glen

Universe: Canon (Series 1)

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Rating: M

Warning(s): Innuendo, sexual content

Word Count: 2,585

Summary: Episode 1x7. If the 'damn fine snog' that Archie and Lexie shared on the sleeper train from London hadn't ended when it did…

Author's Note: Written for the 2015 Summer Mini Challenge prompt cajole.

DISCLAIMER: The Monarch of the Glen concept, storyline, and characters are © 2000-2005 Michael Chaplin/Ecosse Films/BBC Scotland. No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.

.xxxxx.

This feeling is heavy

Makes my body ache, and I'm ready

To fall into the sky, I see now

The reason why…

.xxxxx.

It was just a dream, when she felt his lips brush against her cheek.

Without thinking, she returned the favor, planting a kiss on his forehead.

She was sure that she was still dreaming, in fact, until she felt him shift beside her, his mouth finding hers in the darkness, his lips warm and pliant in a soft caress – and when she felt the tip of his tongue trace her lower lip, it was as if a white hot bolt of electricity had suddenly scored her spine, bringing her almost immediately to full consciousness.

Her heart began to thud heavily in her chest as the world came back into focus around her: the gentle rocking of the train beneath them, the wind whistling between the carriages of the sleeper, the stiff sheets and thin blankets covering her, doing little to ward off the chill of the August night air. She became aware of her body, the fact that she was flat on her back in a tiny, narrow bed, with warm, masculine arms wrapped around her in a gentle embrace.

And when she remembered that it was Archie lying there beside her, she didn't want to open her eyes and break the spell. He was gorgeous and sophisticated and alluring, even when he was brooding, as he had been for much of that evening. She'd thought nothing of it when she offered him a cuddle after his stagnated phone call to Justine, but now – in the dead of the night, in the middle of nowhere – things had very obviously taken quite the different turn.

She turned her head and lifted her chin, her lips finding his again, and she smiled, burrowing closer to him. He shifted beside her, lifting the arm that cradled her head, drawing her more intimately into his body. She did open her eyes then, her heart skipping a beat when she realized that he was still asleep, his eyes still closed, the rise and fall of his chest still deep and even, his breath warm against her cheek.

She nibbled at her lower lip as she studied him, contemplating whether or not to seize the golden opportunity he'd presented to her. She'd fancied him for some time now, but she'd maintained a respectful distance from him. It was all well and good to flirt with the guests at Glenbogle, and to tease poor puppy-dog Duncan, but Archie was the laird of the estate – far above her station.

At that very moment, however, he was lying beside her in bed, not as her boss or lord of all the lands, but simply as a man who was seeking a bit of comfort in his dreams.

She kissed him again, long and slow and deep, rolling onto her side and sweeping an arm around him, smoothing her hand up the plane of his back. He responded in kind, closing his arms around her, and their kisses began to cascade into each other, one on top of the other, hotter and wetter, on the edge of desperation. She fisted her hand in his shirt, digging her nails into the skin of his back as he opened his mouth to her fully, allowing her tongue entrance. She tugged at him, wanting to feel the weight of his body on top of her as she explored the contours of his mouth, and her eyes cracked open just in time to see his eyes open as well, and to see the smile on his face suddenly fall away as he realized just who it was he was kissing.

"Lexie!" he cried in a hushed voice, scrambling to get away from her, though the only way out was halfway up the side wall of the carriage. He dragged the bed covers around himself, as if he was completely scandalized to find her there beside him, in his bed.

"Well, who did you think it was?" she laughed, pushing aside the lump of rejection that had welled up in her throat at his horrified reaction to their tête-à-tête.

He gazed at her with haunted eyes. "We can't do this," he said somberly.

She arched a sardonic brow. "You're not enjoying it, is that what you're trying to tell me?" she replied, trying to sound flippant, though she felt anything but.

He swallowed hard. "Well, no," he admitted, "but – "

She stood up then, throwing back the covers and crawling out of the bed.

"What are you doing?" he called after her.

"Where are we?" she asked, tossing a grin at him over her shoulder as she went for the window. "I want to know where it happened." She lifted the shade, sticking her head out the window for a moment. When she turned back, her expression was coy.

"Penrith," she informed him with a sly smile as she sidled over to the bed. "You know, that's where Bonnie Prince Charlie fought his last battle in England."

She reached for the covers again, but he tugged them out of her hands. "Lexie, no," he said firmly. "You're not getting back in this bed!"

"Oh, come on," she cajoled playfully, redoubling her grip on the blankets. "Move over, it's freezing out here!"

The mirth drained out of her completely when she saw the shadow that passed over his features. "Lexie, we can't," he reiterated solemnly, burrowing into the blankets and retreating against the wall. "We shouldn't."

She loosened her grip on the bedcoverings and lowered herself to sit beside him on the lower bunk. For a long moment, she simply stared at him, taking in his tortured expression and his weary, downcast eyes.

"I don't want to hurt you, too," he said, breaking the silence in their tiny carriage. "Considering that's all I seem capable of doing these days."

She reached out to him, brushing her fingers through his hair. "Oh, my poor wee laird," she sighed. "You haven't hurt me. And you won't."

He lifted his gaze to meet hers. "How can you be so sure?" he asked in a guarded tone.

She traced the crest of his cheek with her thumb. "Just trust me," she replied.

He nodded, his eyes falling closed as he pressed a kiss into her palm. He didn't resist this time when she lifted the bedsheets and slipped in beside him, but he didn't open his eyes again, either.

She laid on her side, facing him, her gaze steady and assessing. She could study him forever and never get enough. He was beautiful, yes, but there was something else about him that drew her in. Perhaps it was the fact that, beneath all those layers of London snobbery, he was a decent human being. He'd stopped insisting every five minutes that he was leaving Glenbogle forever, and seemed to be taking a genuine interest in the estate, and it was quite obvious how attached he was to his family.

His feelings ran quite deep, it seemed, if his ongoing struggle with Justine was any indication. He'd certainly made a go of it, this long-distance relationship; goodness knows he was always banging on about their restaurant and how much it meant to him, and today he'd proven that. Not just any man would have accepted a ride from Carlisle to London in a Mr. Slurpy ice cream truck, with two cases of decaying fresh game and a loud Geordie on board. But he'd gritted his teeth and bared it, the endlessly long ride punctuated with intermittent phone calls to Justine, giving updates on their progress and receiving a truckload of grief in return every time. And, even though his nerves were pressed thin, he'd taken her side in the great kitchen battle against Lenny, after she'd stood up to the arrogant Aussie when he had the audacity to call her a stupid cow to her face. It almost made her feel bad for nicking the most expensive bottle of red wine from the restaurant's stash, but any time she started to feel guilty about it, she'd remember Justine's taunts and Lenny's leers and feel quite justified in her actions.

Besides, her loyalty was to Archie, not them, and in her estimation, he deserved the best from all of his endeavors.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder what he thought of her – how he felt about her, and if their little drunken snog had changed anything for him. It certainly had for her, as she'd discovered just how absolutely electrifying a kiss could be, so amazing and intense that it could pull a person completely out of a dead sleep.

She wondered if he'd felt it, too. Surely it was more than just the tequila and the wine that had done it for her? Usually imbibing that much alcohol made her dead to the world, yet at that very moment, she felt anything but.

"Who was she?" Lexie suddenly blurted out, the words pouring forth before she could stop them.

"Hmm?" Archie mused, his head mere inches from hers on the pillow.

Lexie swallowed hard, still asking herself if she really wanted to open this can of worms, but her mouth had other ideas, apparently. "Who were you dreaming about while you were kissing me?"

Archie was silent beside her, his eyes still closed, though he was obviously still awake. "Do you really want to know?" he finally asked by way of reply.

No, she thought, though she found herself saying "Yes."

The corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile. "Ms. O'Henry," he admitted, "my sixth form teacher."

She didn't know what she was expecting him to say, but it certainly wasn't that. She clapped her hand over her mouth as she snorted in response, working hard to contain her laughter. "What?" she finally managed. "Are you putting me on?"

He opened his eyes then, lifting his gaze to meet hers. "No," he said softly, still smiling, the hint of a dark flush burnishing his cheeks. "She was gorgeous – blonde hair, blue eyes, legs for miles." He sighed, curling up in his share of the sheets and blankets. "She tortured us, that wretched woman."

"Yet you still want to have your way with her?" Lexie joked.

He considered his response. "Perhaps in the dark recesses of my mind," he replied with a smirk.

She tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "I hope I was a decent stand-in then," she murmured brazenly, "because that was some pretty hot stuff. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind a second round of it."

His smile slowly faded, and he averted his eyes. "It wouldn't be wise, Lex."

"Because we're pished?" she mused aloud.

He looked at her again, the sheer sadness in his eyes searing straight through her. "No."

She swallowed hard. "Because you don't want me?" she whispered.

He shook his head as he reached for her, twining his fingers in her hair. "I don't know what I want anymore," he confessed.

She shifted closer to him, reciprocating the gentle caress. "What if I wanted it?" she murmured, unable to keep her voice from wavering. "Would that be enough for you?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, pain lancing through his expression even as he curled his hand around her neck. "I'll only end up hurting you, just like I'm hurting everyone else," he choked out.

"No, you won't," she argued, grabbing a fistful of his hair. "This is me, Arch – this is us. Just us."

"Just us?" he echoed, tracing his thumb down the line of her jaw.

Her eyes searched his for a long moment. She nodded, and then he nodded, and she lifted her chin as he lowered his head, their lips meeting in a fiery, passionate kiss.

She tugged him close, until his body was flush against her own, their kisses lengthening and deepening, rising and falling on the edge of desperation. She pushed him back against the wall of the carriage and then he was on top of her, the weight of his body warm and welcome on hers. His hands slid down under the covers, finding and cupping her bottom with an appreciative squeeze. She gasped when she felt the heaviness of his arousal pressing into her most intimately, raking her nails through his hair before taking fistfuls of his shirt and attempting to divest him of it.

He resisted her ministrations, reaching up to untangle her hands and using the leverage to his advantage, the weight of his body pressing her into the thin, hard mattress. She moaned, feeling her eyes rolling back in her head as his lips slid down the length of her neck, his nose brushing against the collar of her silken pajamas.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, but again he stayed her, laving his tongue over her collarbone.

"No clothes, then?" she breathed, and he shook his head, nipping at the delicate skin at the base of her neck.

"Hmm," she mused, skimming her fingertips over his underwear. "Doesn't that make this" – he exhaled sharply as she closed her hand around his rock-hard erection – "a bit difficult, then?"

He chuckled, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. "Not if you're creative," he responded with a smile. "Besides, it's freezing in here – you left the window open, you know."

She grinned in the darkness. "I wonder where we are now?" she pondered aloud as she gave him a squeeze.

"Treading on very dangerous ground," he growled in response, his tongue sweeping over her lower lip before dipping into her mouth. "Oh, God, Lexie, I want you so much – "

But she was already two steps ahead of him, wriggling out of her pajama pants while at the same time freeing him, and in the next moment, he was inside her, and she thought her entire body might burst into flames.

"Ohhh, Lexie," he breathed, pressing his cheek to hers as their bodies moved together, burrowing deeper into the blankets with each rocking thrust. She could feel the heat of his body radiating into hers as he held her close, the way his heart raced in his chest, thudding heavily and in time with her own. She reveled in the fervor of their passion, even as she felt the alcohol still sloshing around in her head.

She wanted it to last forever. She wanted to freeze this moment in time, when Archie MacDonald held her so close and loved her so fiercely, when he whispered her name at the climax of his orgasm, when he made her feel as if she was the only person in the universe who mattered. For that single, solitary moment, she could give him what he wanted and needed – and her heart, as well, without the burden of obligation.

As she spiraled back down to reality, she realized that he still held her close, possessively, as if he never wanted to let her go. She exhaled softly, deeply, flush with lasting satisfaction.

They would return to their real lives soon enough. He would once again be the laird with the sad eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders, and she would be the carefree, irreverent housekeeper and chef – but for this measured moment of time, they could be together, as equals, in that tiny narrow bed, the gentle motion of the train lulling them back to sleep.