Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
24th Jun 2013 from TwitLonger
[This was my contribution to the Late-Night Sex-Scene Readings at the Historical Novel Society conference.]
#DailyLines #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #OutMarch25th #loveinthetimeofmosquitoes
“Come and lie down,” I said softly to Jamie, and rose from my seat with a muffled groan. “It won’t be for long, but you need _some_ rest—and so do I.”
“Aye, all right, but I canna be under canvas,” he said, low-voiced, following me. “I feel half-smothered; couldna breathe in a tent.”
“Well, plenty of room outside,” I said, nobly suppressing a twinge at thought of sleeping on the ground. Fetching a couple of blankets, I followed him, yawning, a little way along the creekbank, until we found a private spot behind the scrim of willows that dragged their leaves in the water.
In fact, it was surprisingly comfortable; there was a thick growth of springy grass on which to spread the blankets, and so close to the water, the air was at least moving, cool on my skin. I shucked out of my petticoats and took my stays completely off, with a blissful shiver of relief as the coolness stirred gently through my damp shift.
Jamie had stripped to his shirt, and was rubbing his face and legs with mosquito ointment, the presence of hordes of these insects accounting for the lack of company near the water. I sat down beside him and helped myself to a small scoop of the mint-smelling mixture of sunflower oil and beeswax. Mosquitoes seldom bit me, but that didn’t stop them whining past my ears and poking inquisitively into my mouth and nostrils, which I found disconcerting in the extreme.
I lay back, watching as he finished his more thorough anointing. I could feel the distant approach of morning, but longed all the more for whatever brief oblivion I could get before the sun rose and all hell broke loose.
Jamie closed the tin and stretched out beside me with a low groan, black leaf-shadows trembling over the paleness of his shirt. I rolled toward him just as he rolled toward me, and we met with a blind and groping kiss, smiling against each other’s mouth, wriggling and squirming to find a good way of lying together. Warm as it was, I wanted to be touching him.
He wanted to be touching me, too.
“Really?” I said, astonished. “How can you possibly—you’ve been up for hours!”
“No, only the last minute or two,” he assured me. “I’m sorry, Sassenach. I ken ye’re tired and I wouldna ask—but I’m desperate.” He let go of my bottom long enough to pull up his shirt and I rather resignedly started disentangling my shift from my legs.
“I dinna mind if ye fall asleep while I’m about my business,” he said in my ear, feeling his way one-handed. “I willna take long about it. I just—“
“The mosquitoes will bite your arse,” I said, wiggling my own arse into a better position and opening my legs. “Hadn’t I best put some—oh!”
“Oh?” he said, sounding pleased. “Well, it’s all right if ye want to stay awake, of course…”
I pinched his buttock, hard, and he gave a small yelp, laughed, and licked my ear. The fit was a bit dry, and he fumbled for the tin of mosquito ointment.
“Are you sure—“ I began dubiously. “Oh!” He was already applying the half-liquid ointment, with more enthusiasm than dexterity, but the fact of his enthusiasm was more arousing than skill might have been. Having a small amount of oil of peppermint vigorously applied to one’s private parts was a rather novel sensation, too.
“Make that noise again,” he said, breathing heavily in my ear. “I like it. Oh, god. Oh…god!”
He was right; it didn’t take long. He lay half on and half off me, panting, his heart beating slow and hard against my breast. I had my legs wrapped round him—I could feel the flutter of tiny insects on my ankles and bare feet as they swarmed, avid for his unprotected bare flesh—and didn’t mean to let him go. I squeezed him close, rocking gently, slippery and tingling and…I didn’t take long, either. My quivering legs relaxed.
“Shall I tell you something?” I said, after a bit of mint-scented heavy breathing. “The mosquitoes won’t bite your cock.”
“I dinna mind if they carry me off to their lair to feed to their bairns,” he murmured. “Come here, Sassenach.”
I pushed sweaty hair out of my face and settled contentedly in the hollow of his shoulder, his arm around me. By now, I had reached that sense of accommodation with the humid atmosphere, where I stopped trying to keep track of my own body’s boundaries and simply melted into sleep.
I slept without dreaming and without moving, until a touch of cramp roused me enough to shift a little. Jamie raised his arm a little, then replaced it as I settled again, and I became aware that he wasn’t asleep.
“You…all right?” I murmured, thick-tongued with drowsiness.
“Aye, fine,” he whispered, and his hand smoothed the hair from my cheek. “Go back to sleep, Sassenach. I’ll wake ye when it’s time.”
My mouth was sticky, and it took a moment to locate any words.
“You need to sleep, too.”
“No,” he said, soft but definite. “No, I dinna mean to sleep. So close to the battle…I have dreams. I’ve had them the last three nights, and they get worse.”
My own arm was lying across his mid-section; at this, I reached up involuntarily, putting my hand over his heart. I knew he’d dreamed—and I had a very good idea what he’d dreamed about, from the things he’d said in his sleep. And the way he’d wakened, trembling. _They get worse_.
“Shh,” he said, and bent his head to kiss my hair. “Dinna fash, _a nighean_. I want only to lie here wi’ you in my arms, to keep ye safe and watch ye sleep. I can rise then with a clear mind…and go do what must be done.”
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