Chapter Rating - M, for non-graphic married nookie, and discussion/implication of bodily fluids.

Scottish Pearls

Jamie pulls away from me, and flips onto his back, landing on his pillows with an enormous sigh of deep content. I smile slyly to myself, ridiculously proud that I was the one who got him to make that sound.

I doubt either of us will ever again feel exactly like we do right now. Jamie, clearly indescribably content, with a fresh, new shine about him, and me, balanced precariously between the familiar warmth of heavy, breathless anticipation, and an unfamiliar, confusing sort of chill. My body isn't used to being left quite so abruptly - or at all - while I'm still unsatisfied. But, because it's Jamie next to me, so happy he's practically humming with it, it's surprisingly easy for me to forget the state of my own body, and focus on his.

I turn a bit so I can look at him, all stretched out and relaxed, much like Adso or Alec do after a particularly busy day's worth of napping.

I smile wider at the comparison to cats, since Jamie has done his fair share of purring in the last few minutes. And growling and roaring too, for that matter. . .

No one ever told me just how wonderful being someone's first could be. I'm not really surprised - it isn't exactly the sort of thing that has much weight to it when it comes to the more popularly idealized notions of intimacy - certainly not about men, at least.

But here, now, with him, that seems a tremendous shame. This isn't just about pleasure, after all – it's about us. The two of us, being together. Whatever else he's done tonight – or hasn't yet done, specifically – he has, most certainly, let me into the innermost circle of his heart. I have pride of place, both in his mind and in his soul, I have no doubts at all about that. He may not be touching me at all at the moment, but I've never felt nearer to him than I do right now.

I let my mind drift, appreciating the sight and sound of him.

My dear, dear lad. . .

All of a sudden, he grins, and grabs me, pulling me close, sliding our limbs together and burying his face in my neck.

Oooh, and he's an after-cuddler too? Will this man ever stop being perfect?

I give a long, happy sigh. Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to, Beauchamp.

He pulls back just far enough to look in my eyes. His mouth works a bit too, and I wonder what he's going say. I'm expecting some sweet endearment, or a happy, cheery quip of some sort, but the first words out of his mouth are the last ones I expected from him tonight.

"I'm sorry."

I scrunch up my face, utterly baffled, "Sorry? Whatever for?"

If he weren't already flushed, I'm sure his cheeks would be going red right now. "Weel. . . I'm only ceartain there's nae way ye enjoyed that anywhere near as much as I did. . ."

"Oh, Jamie," I smile indulgently, "In one sense, you're right. But in another. . ." I kiss him, softly lingering on the edges of his mouth, "I was just thinking how unfair it is that male virginity is so underrated."

"Oh, aye? Were ye really?"

"Yes. I was." I curl into his side, and murmur against his shoulder, "You trusted me, my lad. You let me see you – really see you - let me watch as you discovered something new and wonderful. It was an unbelievable honour – but it wasn't just that. . ."

I inhale deeply. The earthy-sweet, freshly-baked scent of him has deepened into a sharply spicy tang I've never smelled from him before. It's heady, rich and dark, like the first billow of steam that rises as boiling water is poured over tea leaves. I hum, thoroughly intoxicated. I think I love the scent of post-passion Jamie even more than that of freshly showered Jamie.

"You were gorgeous, my dear. So beautiful. So full of joy. So splendidly. . ." I twine an arm around him and snuggle into his still-glowing skin. "Splendid. I could watch you enjoy yourself like that for hours, I really could."

He chuckles softly, "Ah, ye'er a rare woman, mo Sorcha, an' I love ye more than I can say."

My heart leaps at his words. He said it. He actually said it, without my asking him to. I grin foolishly at him, then roll onto my back and stare dreamily at the canopy above us, "Oh, I do like my wedding gift, Jamie. Say it again?"

He leans over to whisper in my ear, "I love ye, mo nighean donn."

A shiver runs though me, so sweet and good that for a minute I almost forget that he's just humouring me. . . "Mmm. That's the stuff," I sigh contentedly, then twist onto my side, propping myself up on one elbow, "So. . . how does being fully un-virgined feel?

"Hmm," he grins playfully, "Like I might need a shower?"

He looks at me askance, and we both burst out laughing.

"Well, that's a good sign you're enjoying my wedding gift. . ." I chuckle, and lean in to kiss his cheek.

"Aye. I am. Incredibly so. . ." he is still smiling, but he trails off, a strange look crossing his face.

"What? What is it?"

He shrugs, "Oh, no' much. It's only. . . this. . . all this. . . it's so different than I evar dreamed it would be. No' less-than, mind – only. . . so very, very different. I wish. . ."

"Yes?"

"I wish I had more tae give ye. Both for taenight an' for the rest of our marriage. More tae offer ye. For the future, ye ken?"

"Oh, Jamie, you're offering me yourself. Your partnership. That ought to be enough for any decent woman."

And he is, by any measure, far, far more than I deserve. . .

"Aye, mebbe in theory. But jus' partnership doesnae put food on the table, or clothes on yer back, or a roof over yer head."

"No. Hard work does that. Hard work, planning, determination, and a little bit of luck. Or bull-headed stubbornness if you can't find luck. And do you think either one of us is lacking in any of those things?"

"Nah. . . it's just. . ."

I wait for him to continue. In a minute, he does.

"It's only that I've always dreamed of what this night would be, and what our gifts would symbolize. An' taenight is just so different than I ever thought it would be. . . I dinnae ken what tae think o' most of it, yet."

You and me both, my lad.

He's speaking as if he really has imagined a future with me in it. As though I'm not just a dream-woman, there to be a convenient living face in his romantic fantasies. No, he's speaking as if he really, truly wants me for his mate and life-partner – me, myself - even Human and flawed and terribly, terribly fallible as I am. . .

And I have no idea what to make of that. . .

If he brought very little into this marriage, then I brought nothing. I own an old steel bottle with chipped enamel, a linen dress, a woolen cloak, a pair of soft leather shoes, and a knitted woolen bag, and that's literally it.

Well, and three crocheted necklaces, but still. . .

Regardless, I'm taking them all and going to Craigh na Dun. . . soon. So very, very soon. . .

He's worried he can't give me anything more yet.

Suddenly, I'm terrified I can't give him anything at all.

Neither a future, nor a present, nor a past. Not even a wholesome memory, if he truly does want me – me, not just his idealized perceptions of me.

If that's the case, then. . .

Leaving would be the worst thing I could do, no matter what the danger is, no matter how many explanatory letters I leave. It would destroy him.

And just the possibility of that would destroy me. . .

But I'm in far too deep to be thinking of that right now. . .

"What was your dream wedding present, Jamie? If you don't mind telling me?"

He grins, "A'coorse no'. I always dreamed my wife would gi' me a genuine antique Fraser dirk – wi' the original scabbard. I'd ha' gi'en her the traditional shilling for it a'course."

"A shilling?"

I have no idea what a shilling is. . .

"Oh, aye. A blade must nevar be given as a gift – 'specially no' between lovers."

Ah. Money. It must be like a sixpence. . .

"If it's no' bought an' paid for, it'll cut the pair of ye in twain, sure as steel."

The symbolism alone is enough to cut me to the heart. . .

"Oh."

"I dinnae truck wi' most superstitions, as ye ken. Bu' that one I doo."

I shrug off a feeling of eerie foreboding, and sigh a bit, "A harmless enough tradition, all things considered."

"Aye. An' it would'ha symbolized the continuation of the Fraser clan. Of the Laird of Lallybroch finally bringin' hoom his bride."

He kisses my cheek, and I smile at him, "Sounds lovely. But where could a discerning bride have found such a thing?"

He shakes his head, "Oh, no one could. No' these days. Most of the known ones have fetched up at the Castle Beaufort armoury long since. T'was jus' a dream gift, aye?"

"I see. . ."

"An' a'course I wanted tae give ye the Fraser jewels. Those are accessible enough, thank god, an' I c'n give them to ye jus' as soon as it's safe for us tae go tae Lallybroch. They'd have symbolized ye truly becoming a Fraser. Bein' fully inducted inta our family traditions an' all." He sighs happily, eyes unfocusing as he looks at his visions of the future.

His visions of the future, and his memories of the past. With me connected to both of them.

He really does want me there with him, throughout all the plain mundanities of life, for whatever future we can build together.

He may not truly love me - yet - but he does want me for me, and not as some storybook fairy queen.

Have I really misread him so utterly? And for so long?

My heart is screaming with self-reproach. And how do I even know he doesn't love me truly? Have I misread that about him too?

But no. That can't be so. He never said it. He never told me he loves me until I asked him to. Jamie is the kind who says things - he always comes right out with his intentions, even if his trust follows later. And still he never said it. It must be because some part of him knew he was just infatuated with me, not really, truly in love.

Right?

"The 'Fraser Jewels' sounds so grand, Jamie. Will you tell me about them?"

I must keep him talking. Keep him distracted. Then maybe he won't notice the terror and self-loathing behind my eyes. . .

"Och, they're nae sae much when it comes tae value, ye ken. There's moor plain silver than anything else, and some gilt, most set with garnets, or enamels. There's some good auld amber in there too, an' a few great walloping lumps of jasper and carnelian. They're all pretty things – oor are tae me, a'least - bu' there's nowt grand about them. They're mostly bracelets, necklaces and brooches – but the best stones are actually set inta a pair of ancient wedding crowns, would ye believe? Slightly ratty auld things they are, save the stones, a'course - but there's a charm tae them. An' of course there's plenty of rings an' earrings too. There's a set of smoky yellow Cairngorm ear drops I'd love tae see on ye, and an auld, auld Fraser brooch of mother-of-pearl for yer earasaid that I cannae wait for ye tae use."

He runs his fingers lightly down my neck and across my shoulders, "But the thing I most wanted tae gi' ye taenight was a long string o' freshwater pearls. Scotch pearls, they are. Rare beasts, even if they arenae worth much. They're worth a chest full of gold tae me. One of the few things da contributed to the collection himself. Mam usetae wear them all the time, 'specially when she was paintin'. She said they inspired her. I've always loved them, glowing with all their soft, subtle colours, so smooth and cool. . ." He hums, and runs his lips down the length of my throat, "Jus' like yer skin. . ."

I shiver a bit, and run my nails lightly over his chest in response. Somehow his voice is washing my mind clean, and his touches are carrying me away. . .

He hums again, and kisses me very softly at the crook of my neck. "There's those as say pearls are the only true gems in all the world – did ye ken tha'?"

I shake my head, wordlessly pleading for him to continue speaking.

"For ye see, they are the only ones just as beautiful at the start as when they're in the finished piece. No' like diamonds, or sapphires or such that need tae be cut an' polished. Or like gold an' silver ore that mus' be melted an' refined. A pearl is just a piece of pure loveliness, made from hardship and endurance already transformed inta brightness an' joy the minute it's created." He leans further down, and gently kisses above my left breast, just over my heart, "An' I soo wanted tae see them on ye taenight. Tae see them gently gleaming, all ovar yer skin. . ." he traces a long line with his lips, across my chest and down, halfway to my stomach.

I practically purr in contentment, then stop, as I realize exactly what he's been telling me.

"Wait, wait - you. . . you wanted to give me a necklace on our wedding night? A pearl necklace?"

"Aye," he says, dreamily, "I still wish I could. . ."

I snort a laugh, "Really? Really really?"

He looks at me, eyes wide, the picture of confused innocence, "Aye, an' what's wrong wi' that?"

My heart quite overflows with affection. This man. This man. How can someone be so deliberately naughty and so deliciously crystal-pure at the same time?

"There's nothing wrong with that," I give him a soft smile, "Not a single thing, Jamie darling. It's just. . . oh, my sweet, sweet man. . ." I draw his face to mine and run a line of tiny kisses down his jaw, ending with a peck to the cleft in his chin, "There is a way you still can. . ."

"I can? Bu' how?"

I grin at him, and run the tip of my nose along the bridge of his, "You might have only been a technical virgin, my lad, but you still have a very great deal to learn yet. . ."

"Aye, I ken that. An' that I'm blest tae have the bonniest teacher this side of-" He breaks off as I lean down to nibble my way across his chest. I'm not rough, but neither am I entirely gentle, enjoying seeing the imprint of my teeth in his skin far more than I ever thought I would.

I glance back up at him, checking to make sure he likes it too.

The look on his face is heart-meltingly eager.

My own heart soars. I've never inspired such a look before. Frank was an exemplary lover, but he was unfailingly plain in his tastes. To him "experimenting" meant trying a new flavour of toothpaste, or different coloured sheets. A wild night of passion was making love twice on the couch. I always found him more than satisfactory in bed – he was thoughtful, thorough, scrupulous and generous - but he was never adventurous, and now I realize, never inspiring. It was the one area where he never challenged me. I didn't ever have to investigate, didn't ever have to explore to find what pleased him. I never had to exert myself for him, since he always took what I gave – happily, passionately – but never curiously. For someone as unrelentingly curious as I am, this often left me strangely flat in ways I am only just now beginning to notice, let alone understand. . .

I run my hands over Jamie's chest, and over his smooth, warm skin, enjoying the contrast of textures as his body hair goes from rough, tight curls, to soft, flat tufts. My lips follow my hands, and slowly, I follow a pattern down his breastbone to his belly, nipping and kissing as I go.

I very rarely felt any great need to. . . well, to service Frank, nor felt that it was especially appreciated whenever I happened to do so. He never asked for it.

But, here, now, with a different man, in a different time. . .

The bare thought of discovering exactly how Jamie likes to be serviced has me more excited than I've been since. . .

Since. . .

Since maybe ever, actually.

Huh. How odd. . .

I shake aside my bafflement, and get back to work. . .

The fact that Jamie himself only partially knows what he likes, and will be discovering a lot of his preferences at the same time I do, only adds to the appeal, as far as I'm concerned. Let him associate this with me – let me give this to him, at least – let him learn thoroughly, entirely how it should be done. . .

Let our eyes lock in the midst of intimacy once again, and let a flood of communication flow, hot and wordless, along that powerful, endless glance.

I'm busy exploring the skin rippling over his ribs when he finally catches on to where I'm headed.

"What. . . what are ye aiming tae do tae me, lass?"

"Why, I'm going to get my Scottish pearls, of course." I nip him in the side, teasingly, and enjoy seeing his stomach muscles jump in response. "I want my necklace, right now, and I'm going to make you give it to me," I lick my lips, ostentatiously, "I'm going to drag those pearls out of you, Jamie Fraser, and drape them all over myself. One way, or another. . ." I dig my nails into the thick muscle of his thigh, and he groans, helplessly. I grin, "What did you expect? You can't promise to give a girl jewelry and then not follow through. . . husband. . ."

He swallows audibly, "Ye. . . ye dinnae have tae-"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," I growl, "I want to, okay? I'm not the sort of woman who offers anything like this without wanting it myself." I meet his worried eyes for a second, then lower my head and sigh into his skin, "My aim is to enjoy you, James Fraser. Every bit of you. In every way allowed by the Church. And in several ways that aren't. Are we clear?"

He cups the back of my head, running his fingers reverently through my hair, "Agch, ye'll be the death of me, mo Sorcha."

I chuckle, low and mischievous. Then, overwhelming all the teasing, pushing past all the innuendo, a strangely unexpected power trip blazes through my veins. If just the suggestion of this makes him react this strongly, what will happen when I actually. . .

If I was excited to do this before, now I'm desperate.

"Death, he says!" I moan, "Oh no, my lad, not that. Never that." I look up, meet his eyes again, and smirk, "We-ell. . ." I draw out my vowel as I draw one finger up his hip, settling my hand on the flat of his belly, "Maybe. . . just a little. . ."

I lick my lips again, achingly slowly.

"A very, very little. . . death. . ."

He snorts softly, picking up on my irony, because there is virtually nothing little about what is going to happen next.

In fact, neither of us are even capable of speech for the next several minutes, but afterwards. . .

Afterwards, we both definitely need a shower. . .