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Just What the Doctor Ordered

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A Downhill Ficlet – Just What the Doctor Ordered

Whisky eyes followed the brand-new minivan’s license plate as it went past the stone arch and down the alder-framed driveway. Even after it was well out of view, Claire lingered at the topmost window. Only when she was confident that Brian and her sons wouldn’t be stomping back up the flagstone steps any time soon, did she grab her phone and sent off a text. Innocent enough to look at, that message set a plan into motion that had begun to form the instant she realised she’d have the family estate to herself.

One hand resting atop the still-small but steadily expanding bump of her belly, Claire’s other toyed with a brontosaurus-shaped paperweight. The latest addition to Ellis’s ventures into non-dangerous handicrafts was a particularly violent shade of green, ornamented with googly eyes that made her smile every time she caught a glimpse of it sitting at her desk. Fingertips moving restlessly along its lumpy spine, she fixated on the grandfather clock across the room. One, two, three, four .

Any minute now.

No matter how hard she tried to keep her breathing even, her insides were still tumbling about in a poor imitation of the macarena. Watching the seconds tick by only seemed to heighten the suspense, so Claire shut her eyes and listened intently for her cue. Amidst the many noises ancient houses were wont to make, she almost missed it. Almost. There was no mistaking that gnarly creak, and the footsteps that followed were just as distinctive, making her heart jump with joy.


Her husband’s call echoed down the stone-walled hallway and inside her chest.

“Office,” Claire answered, fingers shaking slightly. 

Setting the paperweight down, she pushed herself off the desk and smoothed over the front of her white coat. She didn’t bother trying to get her curls in order—she’d given up on that several years and two adventurous boys ago—but the rest of her looked as well as an uninterrupted shower and a layer of honeysuckle moisturiser could manage.

The seconds it took Jamie to make his way to her office felt like a small eternity to Claire. She could almost taste her nerves by now—a sensation that made her question whether her idea had been a good one after all.

What if he didn’t like it? Was she about to make an utter fool of herself? Nothing had happened yet , she could still—

A knock on the door interrupted her taut line of thought. “I got yer text. Can I come in, then?”

“Yes,” Claire heard herself say in a voice that was much steadier than she felt.

“It’s really none sae bad anymore,” the door opened to reveal a strong, shirt-clad arm followed by her favourite windswept face. The sight of her husband—slightly flustered and cheeks pink beneath his five-day scruff—was enough to renew her determination. “We dinnae ha’ tae do this in yer off—" Jamie broke off.

Before he could ask what was going on, Claire pressed her advantage in what she hoped was a seductive tone, “Oh, but I think we do.” Adding a little sway to her hips, she took a few steps forward and gestured at the chair generally reserved for her patients. “Please have a seat, Mr Fraser.”

Apparently too stunned to do anything else, Jamie complied without uttering a single word. His eyes, however, were anything but silent. Endlessly blue and infinitely irresistible, those deep-set orbs possessed their own brand of magic, and Claire had to exercise considerable force of will to not fall under their spell right away.

Emboldened by his reaction, she resumed her initial position, perched on the edge of the antique desk, and crossed her legs. It was a subtle but conscious movement that drew Jamie’s attention downwards. If the widening of pupils and slight flare of his nostrils were anything to go by, he very much appreciated the long expanse of milky-smooth skin ending in a pair of lacquered high heels. A gift from her best friend-cum-maid of honour intended to ‘spice up their wedding night’—which they most definitely had—they hadn’t seen the light of day in years, owing to the fact that Claire found them ridiculously uncomfortable and couldn’t walk in them for longer than five minutes. Tonight, though, she wasn’t concerned with such trivialities, and walking was the farthest thing from her mind.

“How may I help you today, Mr Fraser?”

If Jamie hadn’t caught the formal address before, he sure had now, his expression changing as the penny dropped. Claire held his gaze, waiting on bated breath for him to make the next move. Was he going to accept her invitation to this little fantasy, or—

“Aye, weel, I ha’ these pains, ye see, doctor.” The way he rolled the r’s sent a thrill down her spine, releasing the tension in the tiny muscles surrounding it. “They come and go, and I cannae seem tae get rid o’ them on ma own.”

“I’m more than happy to assist you with that.” A playful smile curled Claire’s lip as she straightened her legs and approached in slow, measured steps. “What kind of pains are you experiencing?”

Always good at hiding his thoughts behind a neutral face, the only signs betraying Jamie’s growing excitement were the intensity of his slanted gaze and the staccato his fingers were drumming against the seam of his jeans.

“It’s hard tae describe. Changes from day tae day.”

Heels clicking against the hardwood floor, she moved closer still—close enough for her to be able to smell the rain-filled Highland air clinging to his softly curling hair.

“Can you tell me how it feels right now?”

“I’m aching all o’er,” he shifted a little in his seat, “And ma heart is racing something fierce.”

Claire’s own heart was palpitating eagerly against her ribcage at the nearness of its mate. Their knees were almost touching now, and the familiar electric current surged between them, prickling her skin with goosebumps.

“I better take a very good look at you then, Mr Fraser.” 

Jamie spread his legs a little wider and croaked, “Aye,” as she stepped neatly between them.

Bracketed by the hard, capable columns of his thighs, feeling the heat of his body seep into her own, it was getting harder and harder for Claire to stay focused. She wasn’t going to give in to her baser desires, though. Not yet.

“Show me where it hurts.”

He merely blinked, at first. Then, his eyebrows travelled some way up his forehead, and he swallowed heavily, recognition flashing in the depths of his eyes. Good. He remembered just as well as she did, then. Not that it surprised her, really. Despite the fact that it had taken place over a decade ago, the small moment initiated by that very line had been of monumental importance to Claire and Jamie’s relationship. After all, an absence of seven lonesome years had concluded because of it, their bodies finally coming together again to reforge a connection first established in a nondescript Madeiran hotel room.

“Show me exactly where it hurts, Mr Fraser,” she repeated, her own voice becoming throatier with each second in his vicinity.

This time, Jamie responded by lifting his left arm. The movement was sluggish to the point of trance-like, but the blue of his eyes shone bright with intent.

“Here,” he said, low and soft, just as he’d done then, and pointed at his mouth.

Claire leaned in close enough that his breath fanned out over her face, a slender finger ghosting over the bow of pink lips. “Here?”

Adam’s apple bobbing with another hard swallow, he nodded.

Slowly—agonisingly so—Claire lowered her face and placed a delicate kiss to the corner of his mouth. The contrast of soft skin and raspy whiskers was at once familiar and more than a little exhilarating, and she repeated the action on the other side, adding the tip of her tongue to the tease.

“Any better?”

A boyish smile tugged at the edges of the wide, sensual mouth. “I cannae quite say. Can ye try again, doctor?”

Claire’s face was alight with joy and something a little headier beneath. Only too willing to fulfil his request, she moved as close as the space between his legs allowed and cupped his neck with both hands. There was nothing soft or teasing about her kiss this time. Eager and supple, their lips fell into a well-known rhythm, yielding and claiming in equal measure.

Withdrawing from the heat of his mouth was a feat of its own, but Claire managed it with a satisfyingly wet sound and his face chasing after hers.

“How does it feel now?” The question was as breathless as the air that filled the minimal space between them.

“I,” he cleared his throat, “I think it’s mebbe getting worse.”

Jamie did look a little worse for wear. His skin was flushed from the collar of his shirt up to his ears, the redness deepening gradually as it went up. Whisky eyes fixed on blue, Claire sought the pulse point at the base of his neck. She could almost feel it hammering beneath her fingertips before even touching the skin.

“I think you might be right.” Her tongue darted out as if trying to catch another taste of him. “I think we better make sure your heart is doing okay.”


Her gaze drifted down to his chest. He was wearing one of her favourite shirts. A blue as deep and dark as the Scottish waters that gave birth to legends, it brought out the colour of his eyes whilst contrasting beautifully with his long, flaming hair.

“Open your shirt, Mr Fraser.”

Jamie did as asked, large fingers working the buttons one by one. Chewing her lower lip, Claire watched the progress as each deliberate movement exposed more of the wiry auburn thicket covering the muscled plains of his upper body. Growing ever darker in colour the further down it went, it was so dark a russet as almost to be black by the time it disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“Let’s see,” Claire said, fingers traversing down from his neck over the sculptured curve of clavicle to the centre of his chest. “It’s going a little fast.”

His only response was a low noise of affirmation.

Pretending to examine him further, she let her hands and gaze roam. Even musky and dishevelled as he was from a day of hard, manual labour, Jamie was easily the most beautiful man she’d ever known. Wherever her eyes went, there seemed to be something that fanned the embers of heart and libido into a bright flame. A faded line that cut across the bridge of his long, straight nose—legacy of their youngest son’s runaway hammer stroke. Muscles shaping his hips into a sharp V, practically begging to be touched and tasted. Broad, calloused hands that possessed the strength to hoist her up and ravish her against a wall but were more tender than the stroke of a feather when tracing the outlines of the new life sheltering in her belly.

“You seem excited, Mr Fraser.”

A shudder of pleasure rippled over his skin as she dragged her nails over the sensitive indentations around his nipples. “Mmphm.”

“And why is that?”

“Be—” His breath hitched as her hand strayed even further down. “Because ye’re touching me, doctor.”

The hunger in his voice shot straight down to her core, stoking the already building fire within.

“You like that, do you?”

“Can ye no’ tell?” Jamie countered with a crooked smile and a glint in his eye.

Claire’s thighs rubbed unconsciously together. She could tell, all right. Jamie’s arousal was as tangible as her own, even if her leg hadn’t been wedged against his crotch.

She returned his cheek with a smile of her own, “I have a rough idea.”

Her hands didn’t stay idle during the continued exchange. Purposely grazing the back of her hand past the prominent bulge at the front of his jeans, Claire earned herself a pointed hiss. It was a sound as potent as a well-placed touch, but she craved more. She wanted the sighs and screams and everything in between. And most of all, she wanted to be the one to tear them from him.

Looking straight at him, she could see the desire to let her do just that mirrored on his face. Her fingers kept circling, drawing closer and closer, withdrawing at the very last moment. Claire watched his neck arch back and chest heave until he almost whimpered in frustration. Then, she dropped the tease and cupped him fully. Wound up tightly by her ministrations, Jamie bucked into her palm, groaning deeply at the contact.

It was the signal she’d been waiting for.

“Does it hurt, Mr Fraser?” Claire asked, giving him a good squeeze.

His response was barely more than a hoarse croak, “Aye.”

“Do you want me to make you better?”

“Lord, yes.”

She straightened and took a couple of steps back. “Then look at me.”

Jamie’s head snapped back up at the tone of her voice, and his eyes, though half-lidded, burned into hers.

The heels pinched her toes painfully but flooded with adrenaline as she was Claire didn’t really feel it. Holding his hungry gaze, she unbuttoned her coat and let it fall to the floor behind her.

“I think I know just what to do for you.”

The way his eyes devoured her from head to heel made Claire’s blood sing. If she’d thought that Jamie had appreciated the shoes with the white coat, he was absolutely mad for the current ensemble involving nothing but bits of pink lace hugging her curves.

“Take those off.”

Jamie was still staring with his mouth slightly open, but he followed the meaning of her outstretched index finger just fine, divesting himself of his jeans without so much as blinking. She waited for as long as she had it in her, but the sight of him—open, ready, and so clearly wanting—was almost enough to do her in on the spot.

Placing one hand on his shoulder, Claire swung her leg over his lap. With the other hand, she took one of his, and placed it on her waist. Being this close to him, feeling the heat from their bodies collide and multiply made her knees weak, and she was glad of the extra support.

“You’ll have to help me a bit,” she panted.

Jamie nodded, the muscles in his neck taut, like a panther ready to pounce.

She kissed him, then.

The impact was at once startingly soft and decidedly explosive. Within less than three heartbeats, their tongues were tangled and sucking, skin searching for more skin, and what little fabric there was still between them was unceremoniously shoved aside, opening them to one another.

Claire’s remaining self-control crumbled under the gentle urgency of his palm, and they both sighed contentedly as she lowered herself onto him at last.

Connected as fully as one soul sharing two bodies could, they touched forehead to forehead, and closed their eyes.

She couldn’t tell who made the first move, or when, but Claire couldn’t have cared less. All she did care about was the man against, beneath, inside of her. Her mouth sought his, fusing their lips together once more. Sharing the same breath and moans and gasps, their hips gyrated in a rhythm as old as time.

It was a slow glide, meant to savour and celebrate. But amidst raking teeth and claiming hands, the fire of their passion couldn’t be contained for long, and their gentle rocking soon turned fast and desperate. Claire slung an arm around his shoulder and gripped at the soft hairs at the base of his skull, trying to ground herself. With his pubic bone grinding exactly right against the apex of her thighs, however, that was a futile endeavour. Each movement sent sparks of pleasure through her veins, and she climbed higher and higher towards a joint peak.

In the end, Claire reached it just ahead of Jamie. The ghost of his name disintegrating from her lips, her back bent in a graceful curve, and she rode out the waves until he joined her in the rapture of completion.

They sat for a while, panting and weightless, with their bodies and hearts still entwined.

Claire found her voice first.

“Better now?” she breathed into his neck, enjoying the feeling of his hand drawing idle patterns on her lower back.

Jamie chuckled softly against her temple. “Aye, Sassenach. Much.”

“I’ll admit,” he went on, brushing loose strands of hair behind her ear, “I always wanted tae do that.”

“We’ve done this,” she licked at the shell of his ear, delighting in the tiny shudder of pleasure that ensued, “plenty of times, Fraser.”

“In yer office, I meant,” he retorted with a playful pinch of her left butt cheek. “Though I was picturing more o’er there.”

Face slightly dislodged by the jerky movement of his head, Claire lifted her own, and followed the direction of his gaze. “At the desk?”

“Aye, I meant tae bend ye o’er it, o’ course. If ye’d been willing.”

Claire’s insides fluttered with excitement. Sheathed to the softened hilt as he still was, Jamie didn’t miss it, and plastered a winning smile on his face.

“Ye’re no’ opposed tae the idea then?”

She kissed the tip of his nose. “Not at all.”

Back down from the high of climax, Claire could ignore her aching feet no longer. The shoes needed to come off. Now. Peeling herself off his chest, she made to move off him, but Jamie held on to her hip. 

“Stay, Sassenach.” His plea was tender like a blade of grass in the breeze as he put his large palm over the bump of her belly. “I want tae feel ye a wee bit longer.”

Cradling him against her chest, Claire kissed the crown of his head and listened as he whispered sweet nothings to their unborn child.

“I love ye, Claire,” Jamie said after a while, and she could feel the words warm on her skin and her heart.

“And I, you.”