Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The office struck Jamie as having been designed by some kind of 18th century aristocrat. The decor consisted of a massive antique globe, two large wingback leather chairs and a sofa, floor to ceiling bookshelves, and several works of art that seemed like they should be in a museum somewhere. It was welcoming, he supposed, if a bit pretentious. 

Claire had chosen this particular clinic after much research, insisting that they try therapy for a few months before giving up entirely. He wasn’t going to argue, after all he was the one who wanted to stay married. Even if Claire wouldn’t touch him. Even if he’d come home to find his wife on the living room floor, straddling another man.

Dammit, where was the therapist anyway? Wasn’t it unprofessional to keep them waiting? Jamie stood and wandered over to the bookshelf, if he sat next to Claire in uncomfortable silence any longer he’d scream. 

There were dozens of finely bound classics, Shakespeare, Tolstoy, volumes of poetry and history kept perfectly clean and organized alphabetically by author. The lower shelves were full of what Jamie assumed were some sort of self-help books along with copies of Psychology Today organized by date. A finely framed diploma touting a Doctorate in Clinical Psychology from…Oxford, because of course it was.

This therapist was becoming insufferable and they hadn’t even met yet. 

“Jamie honestly, can’t you sit in one spot for more than three minutes at a time?” Claire asked, not bothering to look up from her phone. Jamie ignored her, assuming that any words that came out of his mouth would be unkind. 

He reached for a copy of Don Quixote just as the door opened and a man, presumably the insufferable therapist, walked in. 

“I’m so sorry for the delay, thank you both for your patience. I’m Dr. Grey.” 

Claire, finally putting down her phone, stood and shook the man’s hand.

“I’m Claire Fraser and this,” She nodded to Jamie without meeting his eye, “Is my husband. Jamie.” 

How she managed to imbue the word ‘husband’ with such hatred he would never know. One of his wife’s many skills. 

“Pleasure,” Jamie said, extending his hand. The man was about thirty years younger than Jamie had expected, well dressed in a stylish sport coat, dark hair falling down his forehead like some kind of cartoon Prince Charming. Jamie wondered if Claire had chosen based on the man’s picture and nothing else. He had to stop his eyes from rolling. 

“Lovely to meet you both. Please, have a seat and we’ll get started.” Dr. Grey said, sitting in one of the chairs with a notebook balanced on his leg. “Thank you for filling out the questionnaire online, I know it's tedious but it really helps us get down to the important subjects more quickly.”

“Of course,” Claire said, in that voice of hers that she reserved for polite company and people she disliked. “I’m only glad you had an opening so soon. We’re in rather dire need of…”

“Help.” Jamie put in cheerfully, giving the doctor an awful grin just to see if he could ruffle the man. 

“Well then, it’s good you’re here,” Dr. Grey said, unruffled. 

The issue at hand, as they explained with a probably inappropriate level of bluntness, was that Claire had cheated on Jamie, managing not only to sleep with the man but fall in love with him as well. This all occurred while Jamie was on a year-long assignment in Johannesburg for work. He’d had to go. They talked about it for months before he left and both agreed they would be alright. They were madly in love, after all. What was a year, Jamie had told his wife, when you had a love that would last many lifetimes? 

Apparently he’d been an idiot. Claire hadn’t even lasted six months without falling back into the arms of Frank, her ex-fiance who Jamie suspected she’d never actually gotten over. First loves and all that. 

When Jamie had returned, Claire had wanted to end the marriage but Jamie was convinced that if they just worked on it, if they just found their way back to each other, they would be ok. Even after all the pain, all the shouting and slammed doors, he still loved her madly. She was his world and he’d be damned if he didn’t fight for her. 

So there they were, sitting on a shockingly comfortable vintage sofa, sharing their darkest secrets with Claire’s pretty boy shrink who barely said a word the whole time, only taking notes and listening. 

“Why are you here?” Dr. Grey asked when they’d both finished their own sides of the ill fated story. 

It struck Jamie as odd, hadn’t they just covered that? But then he turned to look at Claire for the first time since sitting down, the sight tugging at his heart as only his wife could. All the pain, the fear and sadness in her lovely warm eyes. He’d been so heartbroken he hadn’t stopped to wonder what this was like for her. Without thinking, he reached over and took Claire’s hand in his own. 

“I’m here,” Jamie said, “Because Claire is everything to me. She’s the love of my life, my heart and soul, and I will fight for her until my last breath.” 

Claire’s face, always expressive even in the simplest moments, was a study of conflicting emotions. He squeezed her hand tighter. 

“I love you, Sassenach.” 

She sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I’m here because I’m not sure I love you anymore.” 

He dropped her hand like a hot coal, the words sticking straight in his gut. The room felt suddenly less like an office and more like a crypt.

The silence went on for far longer than Jamie thought was acceptable, but he wasn’t going to say anything. Not after that revelation from Claire. Shouldn’t Dr. posh-and-fancy with the nice hair say something? He looked up and the man was just sitting there, letting their silence stretch on. Wasn’t their time up? He wished he’d worn a watch. 

Jamie was just about to simply get up and leave when Claire burst into tears, face going red as she looked over at him. 

“I didn’t mean it, Jamie, I’m sorry…I just…I’m so afraid of what comes next. I’m afraid of losing you, but I’m afraid of letting go of Frank too. He was my lifeline while you were gone and I don’t know who I am without him anymore. I don’t know what I want and I’m terrified.” 

He moved closer and wrapped her in his arms without a second thought, holding her as she sobbed, kissing her head, fingers combing through her hair.

“I do love you, Jamie. I promise I do.” 

It was as if the whole world had faded away and only the two of them remained. Maybe it really could be this easy? Maybe they’d go home and curl onto the couch together, holding each other like they always had. Maybe. 

Once she’d calmed they parted, but only long enough to wipe the tears and try for some semblance of order. 

Dr. Grey, who had seemed to disappear into the decor while they had their moment, set down his notebook and leaned forward. 

“None of this is easy, there’s a lot of pain and heartbreak on both sides of this and, frankly, I think you’re both doing remarkably well considering all you’ve been through. You’re here, that’s the first step. You’re talking. You love each other. All of that matters a great deal.” 

He went on to give them homework, or at least that’s what it felt like to Jamie, and scheduled their next session for the following week. 

As they said their goodbyes, Dr. Grey shook Jamie’s hand, the warmth of his touch oddly comforting, though Jamie wouldn’t have admitted that under torture. It seemed the Doc was more than just a pretty face after all. 

The car ride home was silent, a different kind of silence than he’d grown accustomed to since his return, a silence that reminded him of what he’d come to think of as ‘before’.

Before everything had gone to hell, he and Claire had been able to sit together not talking for hours, the peace of being with someone you loved and trusted unconditionally, comforting in its ease. After…well. The silences lately were heavy, more than heavy, leaden. So full of words left unspoken that they felt loud.

This was something in between and it felt miles better than anything had in weeks. 

It was raining, no surprise there, puddles of uncertain depth popping up at regular intervals and splashing the windscreen. The morning had started out bright and sunny and he’d thought maybe to take Claire for a picnic like they’d used to, back when she was in medical school and could barely step away to eat, let alone have a date. He supposed now they had both the time and money for a real date, one that involved a roof and proper chairs, but it lacked romance. And they desperately needed romance. 

“I was thinking I might have an early night,” Claire said as they let themselves into the townhouse they’d purchased three years earlier. Four bedrooms and a little back garden, room to grow they’d said. It felt cavernous now. 

“Of course,” Jamie said, kicking himself for not suggesting a date sooner. He should have planned something, Claire deserved that. 

“Goodnight, Jamie,” Claire said, turning to walk up the stairs. 

“It’s not even 5 o’clock.” He hadn’t meant to sound irritated, he was sure he’d missed the mark, but he felt off balance again, like everything was shifting around him and he couldn’t find a firm grip on anything. “I mean, you haven’t eaten dinner. I’m sure you’re not hungry now, not after…that. But you will be, come midnight. I’d love to take you to dinner or…or bring something back? Or we could order delivery and eat on the floor like we did when we first moved in here?” 

Claire gave him a look halfway between a smile and a grimace.

“We didn’t have a table when we first moved in here. We had to eat on the floor.”

“I know that,” Jamie said, looking up at his wife, “But it was…romantic. I’ll light your bloody candles and we can put on the elevator music you like so much-”

“It is not elevator music, it’s called jazz you uncultured-”

“Smooth jazz maybe.”

“Says the man who thinks music peaked in the 70s.”

She was smiling fully now, eyes bright as she teased him. He dared to reach out and take her hand, drawing her toward him. They hadn’t so much as kissed in a month, and the feel of her soft skin against his rough palm sent a flash of heat through his body. 

“Really, you ought to expand your taste,” Claire murmured, pressing herself against him. 

“You’re right,” Jamie managed, though his brain wasn’t really connecting with his mouth at the moment. 

Claire leaned forward, chin tilted up, lips parted. “Can I get that in writing?” She whispered.

“Claire.” Was all he managed before slipping a hand into her hair and pulling her to him. 

Kissing Claire had always been a singular experience. The taste of her, the soft fullness of her lips against his, it was never anything short of heavenly and he had to stop himself from actually crying with joy. Wrapping his free arm around her waist he tugged her closer, deepening the kiss. Whatever they’d paid that bloody pretty doctor they ought to double it. Triple. 

“I love you, Claire,” He whispered against her mouth, wishing he could stop time and live forever in this perfect, beautiful kiss. 

Claire pulled away, her eyes shining with tears. 

“Oh, my love,” he said, reaching out to brush her cheek, “It’s alright, all is well.”

She sniffed and took a step back, wiping her face on her sleeve.

“It’s really not.”

She looked devastated, her expression sending a stab of pain through his own gut. He moved to her, wanting to hold her or comfort her or…anything but stand there while his wife wept. 

“Jamie I…I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I can’t…I don’t…” She swiped at a tear, angrily, as if it were the cause of her distress. “Jamie, I don't want you. What I said in Dr. Grey’s office, it wasn’t true, I do love you, very much, but I can’t touch you without…without thinking of Frank. I can’t even imagine sleeping with you, it seems…impossible.” 

“You think of him when I touch you?” Jamie said, feeling his temper rise despite his best efforts. “That bastard who thought he could waltz in here and steal my wife!” 

“He came because I called him, Jamie! Because I was lonely and heartbroken and scared! Don’t you dare blame him for this.”

“I’ll blame any man who comes into my home and beds my wife dammit!” 

“Enough!” Claire’s voice echoed off the walls, rattling the frames of pictures from when they were happy. “That’s enough. I’m going to bed, please continue to sleep in the guest room downstairs. I’m working overnight for the next few days, it will give us some space. Space will be good. Good night, Jamie.” 

The following week's therapy session felt a bit like pulling teeth, the week after that like surgery. Or dissection. Finding the tiniest details and sticking points in their relationship. Delving into their history and poking at tender, unhealed wounds. Jamie oscillated between loathing Dr. Grey and wanting to kiss him whenever they had a breakthrough. The man was, in fact, quite brilliant and damn good at his job. Even if he was a posh, overly well dressed pretty boy with unrealistically good hair. 

Toward the end of their session, they began to delve more deeply into the topic of infidelity, having skirted the issue in favor of other topics. Like abandonment. And poor communication skills. 

Claire was being obstinate as usual when the topic of Frank was involved and Jamie had had about enough. 

“For fucks sake, Claire,” Jamie said, trying to keep his voice down, “I ken why you thought you had to jump into bed with him, but did you have-”

“Oh come on,” Claire shouted over him, “Get off your fucking high horse and tell me you’ve never messed around while on assignment. Christ, Jamie, do you think I’m an idiot?”

“That’s not the point, ye fell in love -”

“So you’re not even going to try and deny it?” Claire said, slumping back on the chaise and shaking her head at Dr. Grey. “See? He cheated too.” 

Dr. Grey turned to Jamie, brows raised. 

“If this is something you both wish to discuss now you certainly may,” Dr. Grey said, “However we don’t have to go down that path right this minute. We can focus on Mrs. Fraser’s situation first as that seems to be a large part of why you’re here.” 

“I don’t see how he can be angry at me for infidelity if he’s been unfaithful too,” Claire huffed. 

Jamie groaned. He couldn’t believe it, turning this all back on him as if it had been his fault that Frank had come around to ruin everything.

“You’re awfully quiet, Jamie. Choosing your words carefully?” Claire asked with acid in her voice.

“I think perhaps we might do well to establish some general consensus on what is and is not considered infidelity,” Dr. Grey cut in, “I can share the clinical definition to start, and then you two can weigh in on how you feel personally. That may help direct the conversation.”

Jamie was not in the mood to hear a lecture on infidelity.

“Someone kissed me. Once, in Joburg. It never happened again and it didnae mean anything. There, happy?”

Claire all but jumped out of her seat. “I told you! And then you have the audacity to come home and start yelling at me-”

“I never yelled!” Jamie yelled.

"Yelling at me about Frank! Meanwhile you were kissing some hussy at work! What, 5’3” and blonde? Huge tits? Christ, Jamie.” 

Dr. Grey cleared his throat, his surprisingly effective albeit somewhat schoolmasterly way of telling them to stop yelling at each other. 

“Do you think it would be helpful to talk about her now, Mr. Fraser?” Dr. Grey asked after a moment's silence. “We’ve spoken about Frank, perhaps this might help to rebuild some of the trust that has been broken on both sides, if you’re feeling up to it.” 

Shit. Fuck. This wasn’t where Jamie had wanted this conversation to go, not at all, not even a little bit. He’d dealt with the kiss at the time and then blocked it from his memory as best he could, not appreciating the unsettled feelings it stirred in him that had nothing to do with feeling unfaithful to his wife. But now he’d said it, there was no way out but through. Dammit.

“I don’t particularly want to talk about it, no,” Jamie said, eliciting a scoff from Claire. “But if I must then I will.” 

Deep breath. What was the worst that could happen? His life was already falling apart, what was one more log on a wildfire? 

“He… was a local gentleman we used as a guide and translator. A resource we called on regularly. We were friendly, drinking buddies and the like. He developed feelings which I, obviously, did not return and that was the end of it. We kissed, just the once. It was…fine. I told him I was married and we never talked about it again.” 

For his trouble in telling the story, Jamie was rewarded by seeing the perfect mask of civility on Dr. Grey’s face drop clean away for a moment, replaced with something like…curiosity? Interest? A flash of humor, perhaps? There was certainly a glint in his eyes, which Jamie noted were a very clear blue. The doc was quick enough to recover, resuming his usual expression of mild professional interest.

Claire, on the other hand, was not in the least bit surprised or interested. 

“A drinking buddy, honestly Jamie. I should have known. So you’re what, into men, now?” 

“Obviously not if I’m married to you, you irritating woman!” 

“Oh obviously! Obviously nothing.” Claire was nearly shouting when Dr. Grey held up a hand, stopping the fight before it could escalate. 

“Look, there are many different facets to attraction and sexuality, I am happy to provide resources if you’d like to learn more on the subject. But for now, I think we’d be better off focusing on how this affects the relationship as a whole, and how it plays into the lack of trust between you two. Man or woman, Mr. Fraser did kiss someone else while he was away, and that might inspire some feelings of betrayal.”

He looked to Claire who was smiling and shaking her head, as if she’d had enough of this topic. 

“I don’t have feelings,” Claire said, “I really don’t care! Which is why I don’t see why Frank-”

“Ye fell in love with him!” 

“Yes! Yes I fell in love with him because he was here, Jamie! He was here and you weren’t.” Claire stood, grabbed her coat and bag and turned to go. “I’m done for the day. I need…space. Thank you, Doctor.” 

She made her way to the door, seeming to put extra effort into slamming it as loudly as possible on her way out.  

Jamie leaned back and let out a long breath, then another, and then a third for good measure, counting the tiles on the ceiling. He hadn’t expected to ever have to talk about the kiss to anyone, especially not Claire. It really hadn’t meant anything, Pierre was a good man and a good friend, things had just gotten complicated that’s all. Jamie liked women, so even if he hadn’t been married…

“You said there were different…facets? To attraction…” Jamie said, still looking up, afraid if he looked at Dr. Grey he’d say too much, or too little or…something. 

“Certainly,” Dr. Grey said. “Human sexuality isn’t my area of expertise, exactly, but I suppose it would be enough to say that things like that are rarely black and white, there’s often isn’t a simple answer.” 

“So being interested in women…doesn’t necessarily…” Jamie faltered. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking or why, other than that they had at least another ten minutes left and he didn’t feel like chasing after Claire just yet. 

“Attraction to one gender does not preclude attraction to another, no,” Dr. Grey said patiently. 

Jamie knew that, of course. But knowing it and acknowledging it, in front of another person no less, felt different. 

“Pierre,” Jamie started, then sat up, looking at Dr. Grey as he spoke, “His name was Pierre and he was a good man. I…I liked him quite a bit.”

“As you said, it sounds as though you had a friendship with him?” 

“Yes, he was a good friend. I suppose if I hadn’t been married…” he trailed off, he’d never let himself consider that because he was married and he wasn’t about to break his promise to his wife. In Jamie’s mind, it hadn’t mattered that Pierre was a man because Jamie wasn’t available. 

But he had been a man and Jamie’s heart had stirred at the kiss just as it would with a woman, his body had felt the familiar tug of desire at the touch of Pierre’s lips and the gentle flick of his tongue. Feelings that he refused to acknowledge bubbling up inside of him. 

“What would it mean,” Jamie continued, feeling utterly stupid and ridiculous for asking, “If someone, a man that is, were to kiss someone else and that person was also a man and it felt sort of…the same? Not the same, I suppose but…not…bad?” 

If there were a more roundabout way of asking the question, Jamie certainly didn’t see it. Why was this so difficult?

Dr. Grey blinked, taking a moment's pause before answering. Jamie always appreciated that about the doc, he was ok being silent, letting his thoughts come together before speaking. 

“As I said, it's complicated,” Dr. Grey began, “I can’t tell you what it means, that’s a conclusion you have to come to on your own I believe. Sexuality as we define it is generally about emotional, romantic, or sexual attraction, or perhaps all three. If you were to explore those concepts in your own mind, you might ask yourself who you experience that kind of attraction to. That might be a place to start.”

Attraction. What did attraction really mean? Jamie had only ever slept with women. Woman, really, only Claire. He’d never been intimate with any men aside from Pierre, and that only a brief and meaningless kiss. Well, perhaps not entirely meaningless. 

But there were certainly men he found attractive, actors or musicians. Wasn’t it normal to look at a handsome man and appreciate the way he looked? He loved Claire, he wanted Claire, everything else was just aesthetic appreciation. Right? 

“I’m afraid that’s our time for today,” Dr. Grey said, and Jamie realized he’d been staring blankly for quite a while. 

“Of course, thank you so much.” 

As Jamie stood to go, Dr. Grey spoke, his voice softened a bit from the usual formality.

“Mr. Fraser, I do hope…I hope you find some answers. If there’s any way I can help, please don’t hesitate to reach out.” 

It wasn’t an unusual thing to say, but something in the way he said it made Jamie’s breath catch a little. He nodded and went to collect Claire.

Jamie hadn’t been to a proper grocery store in ages. Claire was bloody particular about what she bought and generally didn’t trust him to do any of the shopping. Tonight, though, he’d intended to have food ready for her when she woke up for her night shift, something hearty and filling instead of her usual banana on the run. Really, how anyone could go twelve hours on a single banana was a mystery. 

He’d been to this particular shop before, years ago, and it felt comfortingly familiar. A little corner store full of freshly baked bread and a ‘soup of the day’ special that smelled divine. He wandered the aisles in no real hurry, collecting a few things in the little canvas tote bag that Claire insisted on using, which held all of about three apples. 

The plan was waffles, thick-cut bacon, and fresh fruit. All things Claire enjoyed, all things he could, probably, cook. They had a waffle maker in the shape of a heart that had been a wedding present. He’d used it perhaps twice, both times when Jamie’s nieces and nephews had been to visit many years ago. But how hard could it be? 

There was a wide variety of fruit, though none of it looked quite like what he’d enjoyed in South Africa. He’d been spoiled there, at least in that regard. Pierre had always said…well, it didn’t matter what Pierre had said. 

Jamie had been staring for far too long at a selection of below average looking oranges, colorless strawberries, and rather squished blueberries when he heard a voice behind him, familiar in its clear, sure tone. He turned to see Dr. Grey across the store, chatting with a woman. She was quite short, with a bright and cheerful face that was currently alight with laughter at something the man had said. 

Not wishing to disturb them, Jamie stepped around one of the displays. He ought to leave but seeing the doctor in this context felt strange, as if he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to. He liked it. 

Grey, as usual, was dressed flawlessly, though this time more casually in jeans and a very soft looking blue sweater. Jamie had the insane urge to walk over and run his hands along the sleeve. 

The woman held a box of scones in one hand and teacakes in the other, Grey shook his head and waved his hand, murmuring something to the woman that made her laughter bubble up once more. She had a contagious, delighted sort of laugh that Jamie felt instantly resentful of for reasons unknown.

Was that the doctor's wife? He hadn't seen a wedding ring on the man's finger, but that didn’t mean much, plenty of people chose not to wear them. Jamie himself had only worn his for a year or so before breaking it, never bothering to replace it. Claire had never minded. 

Jamie watched as Grey and the pretty woman walked to the checkout and began unloading the basket together like they’d done this dance before many times.  

Feeling a bit like a stalker, Jamie moved to the next aisle over where he could pretend to be examining protein powders while still keeping an eye on…

What the devil are you doing you idiot? 

Was spying on one's therapist a normal part of marriage counseling? He didn’t think so, in fact, he was fairly sure it was at the very least creepy if not straight up wrong. 

But something about the way Grey looked was captivating, his movie star handsome face relaxed and at ease, hair just a little bit tousled, smile easy and bright. He was magnetic and Jamie couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

The woman, he noticed, did wear a ring. A massive, sparkling diamond. 

Wife, then? 

Something about that seemed wrong, though Jamie couldn’t have said what that was. They were comfortable together and clearly enjoyed one another, but something seemed missing. A spark perhaps? He had a feeling anyone lucky enough to catch Grey’s eye would be remarkable, the chemistry undeniable. God, he was good looking. Not just attractive in an average sort of way, he was beautiful, in a ‘steal your breath and make you giddy’ way. Jamie wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a man look like that in real life. It was unsettling.

“Can I answer any questions about our protein powders?” A chipper young associate asked, causing Jamie to jump.

“Uh, no, thank you,” He said, tearing his gaze away from Grey and the woman with great reluctance. “Just looking.” 

Yeah, just looking. At your therapist. Like an absolute madman. 

“Of course! Just let me know if you have any questions at all! I’d offer to grab anything off the high shelves for you, but I think you’ve got that covered!” The associate laughed at her joke and wandered off down the aisle. 

Jamie looked back, irrationally irritated that he’d been forced to turn away for those few brief moments. 

Grey was gone, and the woman too. He ought to feel nothing, move on with his shopping and go home. Instead, he stood, staring at a wall of awful looking protein powders, wondering what it would mean if he had a crush on his therapist. 

Chapter Text

John Grey was completely soaked from the sudden downpour he’d been caught in on the way back from lunch. He'd peeled off his drenched sport coat and flung it over the radiator, hoping it would dry a little before the next appointment. The white cotton button-down clung to his skin like damp tissue paper, sticky and very translucent, not exactly the image one wished to present in a professional setting. 

There was, apparently, a reason Hal kept a spare suit in his office and Grey made a mental note to stash a change of clothes in the closet for future such emergencies. 

Most of the time he worked through lunch, preferring to stay focused rather than break up his day to leave and eat a mediocre meal that he was perfectly capable of preparing himself, thank you very much. But Harry, charming, devil-may-care, swore he'd never settle down Harry, was getting married and the bastard had been kind enough to ask Grey to be his best man. It had come as something of a shock, but he was so thrilled for Harry that he'd accepted immediately. Consequently every Tuesday afternoon he met with Harry to go over preparations, for the stag party, rehearsal dinner, and the big day itself. 

Grey prided himself he knew what he was doing. After all, his own wedding would have been the talk of the society pages, if it had taken place. As it was...he wouldn't think about that. Five years later the pain was still there. Hector was gone and nothing would bring him back and Grey would never fall in love again, widowed before he was wed.

But Harry, well, he'd be a dazzling bridegroom if Grey had anything to say about it, even if it did mean getting caught in a rainstorm on the way back from lunch. 

He was in the middle of making a cup of tea to try and stave off the chill that seemed to be settling into his bones when there was a knock at the door. Was it time for his next appointment already? He supposed time moved faster when one was battling hypothermia. 

Who was it again? The Beardsley’s? No, it was Tuesday. The Frasers, that was it. Damn. 

The Fraser’s were fine, there really was nothing wrong with them as clients aside from the fact that they were both breathtakingly beautiful to the point of distraction. Which, obviously, was not even a slightly appropriate thing to think about one's clients. He wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, about them that made it so difficult to keep his wayward thoughts in line but each week it was becoming more of an issue and he’d have to keep a tight rein on that if they were going to continue seeing him.

It didn't help matters at all that he'd caught Mr. Faser staring at him during a run to the shop the other day. He'd seen Fraser first, standing in front of a pile of fruit looking very much out of his depth. As was Grey's usual practice when bumping into a client out in public, he had ignored the man completely, focusing instead on his sister-in-law and their search for the perfect pastry. Fraser on the other hand had spotted Grey and, like a madman, had watched him. He had felt the man's eyes on him as he moved about the store. The awareness made his skin tingle. 

Aside from that, they were perfectly decent clients and Grey could, and would, be a damned professional if it killed him. 

“Come in,” he called, making one last futile attempt to fix his appearance into something resembling presentable. 

Mr. Fraser entered, alone, and apologized for his wife’s absence. 

“Claire's uncle's been ill, he's the only family she has, so she’s gone to be with him,” Mr. Fraser said. “I thought perhaps we could still work on things even without her here? It might be helpful, aye?” 

Fraser then shook his head and sighed, looking a bit sheepish. 

“That’s a lie. I…forgot to cancel the appointment. I can go if you prefer. I mean, if Claire has to be here. But, well, I mean I’m half the problem. At least. And I’ve been thinking a lot about the…about what we talked about last week. The…attraction thing and I thought maybe, since I did a lot of thinking and…soul searching, if that’s something you say in this field, probably not. Um. Should I…”

Grey smiled and gestured to the sofa. Something about the man made him want to smile, there was a sincerity there that drew him in. In a clinical way, of course. 

“Not at all,” Grey said, “You’re welcome with or without your wife.”

Mr. Fraser exhaled and plopped down onto the couch with relief. 

“Thank God,” Fraser said, “I’ve been going mad.” 

Always a good way to start. 

“Really? What would you say has been forefront in your mind to make you feel that way?”

Fraser bit his lip and looked up at Grey. Who definitely wasn’t looking at his lips. Because that would be incredibly unprofessional. Fraser was an attractive man, that was simple observation. He was allowed to observe. 

“Robert Redford.” 

“I’m sorry?” Grey asked. Had he missed something?

“I’ve always said my celebrity crush was Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy. No one ever questioned me, I never questioned myself because he’s handsome, right? Who wouldn’t think so? But I guess men who only like women don’t think other men are hot. Not like that, at least. Not in a ‘if he kissed me I’d let him and I’d probably enjoy it’ way.” 

He’s got good taste in movies at least, even if his taste in men is questionable. Could he not pick someone born less than eighty years ago? Grey thought, then mentally scolded himself. 

“So you’ve been contemplating the idea of attraction that we talked about last week?” Grey asked, trying to steer his mind back in the right direction. 

“I’ve barely thought about anything else. I’ve been with Claire for so long it never seemed to matter but…I mean, you don’t want to fuck Robert Redford, right? That’s not a normal ‘guy’ thing?”

Jesus wept what a way to ask that question. 

“Uh, well,” Grey faltered. 

“Sorry, dammit, that was a weird thing to say,” Fraser said awkwardly, “I’m not sure how to say it, and I don’t know if I should because then it will be real.”

“It?” Grey asked, thinking he had a good idea what ‘it’ meant, but wanting to be sure.

Fraser bit his lip again, hard, then ran his hands through his mess of red curls. “I just mean. I think…maybe I am attracted to…women, obviously, but also…well…men?”

You think? 

“It sounds like you’ve certainly put a lot of thought into the subject. How do you feel, having come to that conclusion?” 

Fraser leaned back again, he appeared much more at ease without his wife around, Grey noted. His hands came to rest behind his head and Grey couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he did. Clinically noticed. In a detached, professional way. What did the man do for work again and why were his arms so...big?

“I feel like I want to fly to Johannesburg and find Pierre again and apologize,” Fraser said, still staring at the ceiling, making the sharp cut of his jaw even more pronounced. “He was attractive. Gorgeous really. I even told him so, no wonder he thought I was into him. I remember telling him, ‘You have beautiful eyes’. Fuck, I owe him an apology.” 

“Were you unkind to him or did you just set a boundary?” Grey asked, forcing his eyes to his notebook. Away from Fraser’s arms and the sliver of abdomen that was showing beneath his shirt.

“I don’t know. I just told him I had a wife and that was that. We stopped going to the pub and eventually he moved on to a different town. Never said goodbye.”

"Was that difficult for you?" 

"He was my friend," Fraser said, contemplating, "We talked every day. I confided in him, asked his advice on things. He would bring me little gifts from time to time, things that were hard to get there, just small stuff. I think...well, I think having Pierre made Johannesburg feel like home. We were only ever friends, at least the way I saw it. But after the kiss he seemed...well, heartbroken."

So he was completely in love with you. Grey thought in spite of himself. What was wrong with him? He took a sip of tea, trying to clear the swirling, wildly inappropriate thoughts from his mind, licking his lips absently as he set the cup down. 

He looked up to see Fraser staring at him, mouth open slightly as if in surprise. Fraser’s own tongue darted out in a subconscious mimic and then the man's frustratingly blue eyes traveled slowly down Grey’s neck and to his chest where the bloody damp shirt still insisted on clinging to his skin. Fraser inhaled sharply. 

Christ. Was Fraser checking him out? He felt hot all over as if the room was suddenly boiling, the walls closing in on him. He was frozen, unable to move under the weight of Fraser’s heavy gaze, pulse racing in some horrible mixture of discomfort and interest and...

“Excuse me for a moment, will you?” Grey said, standing quickly and heading to the door, at last regaining his ability to function, “The phone is ringing and it seems our receptionist isn't able to answer. I just have to…make sure…emergencies and all…”

Grey all but ran down the short hallway to the waiting room. The phone really had been ringing and Tom really wasn’t there. He answered just in time to catch his next client who had called to inform him they had to cancel. Well enough, he’d have time to calm down and bloody get control of himself, stop acting like a horny teenager and start acting like the professional he bloody well was. 

And he needed to figure out where the hell Tom had gone. 

Taking a few deep breaths and sneaking into Hal’s empty office to steal a jacket, Grey made his way back to find Mr. Fraser once again standing and perusing his bookshelf. 

“I’m so sorry,” Fraser said as soon as he walked in, “That was…I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just, all week I’ve been trying to figure out this thing. To decide if I really am, you know, attracted to men and women both and so I’ve just been looking. Movies and magazines and people on the telly and…I forgot you weren’t a picture in a magazine, because you look so-”

“All good, really,” Grey said before he could finish that sentence, “I understand how something like this might seem to throw things off balance.”

He sat, adjusting the slightly too-large coat to cover as much of his chest as possible. Not because he didn’t want Fraser to look but because he did. If he caught one more of those furtive glances, the tiny shred of self-control he was already hanging on to would break and his mind would run away with thoughts he did not want to allow. What was it about Fraser that seemed to burst right past all his defenses and leave his mind spiraling into chaos? 

“Right,” Fraser said, still standing by the bookshelf, “Off balance feels right. I…I don’t know if it even matters anyway.” 

He moved back to the sofa, pausing for a moment before sitting down, hands clasped in front of him. 

“Can I be honest about something?”

“Please.” 

“I’ve never…” Fraser hesitated, looking down at his shoes, “I’ve never been with anyone besides Claire. We married young and I…she was my first. My only. Part of me feels that all of this… introspection…doesn’t even matter. What’s the point of acknowledging this thing if I’m never going to do anything about it?”

Do you want to? The words flooded his mind before he could stop them. He took a deep breath. Get it the fuck together Grey. You’re better than this. He’s a client for fucks sake. 

“Again that is something that you have to decide for yourself, really,” Grey said, “If it is worth exploring, putting a name to, or if you feel comfortable with how things are. Of course, you don’t need to, as you said, ‘do anything about it’ for it to be a very real part of your identity, if that's what you want. You might have been with a hundred women, but that wouldn’t lessen the truth of your attraction to men.” 

Grey felt like he was regaining control of himself and the situation as a whole, and relaxed just a little in his chair, feeling his breathing return to normal. 

Fraser seemed to be considering, drumming his fingers on his leg in a nervous habit. 

“What if…” Fraser began, then hesitated, “What if I…want…Have you ever wanted something, or someone, that you know you can’t have? That would be a disaster, would blow up your whole life? But even still you want?” 

“I…” Grey faltered. Yes. 

“Of course you haven’t,” Fraser went on gesturing at him, “Look at you, you’re the most put-together person I’ve ever seen, even your hair is perfect. I suppose that’s how it is when this is your job. I’m sorry…I just wasn’t ready to add this to the ever-growing list of ‘ways Jamie is fucked up'.” 

“Being interested in men doesn’t make you fucked up,” Grey said, then, softening his tone, “I understand it isn’t easy to process, especially given everything else that you have going on at the moment. But do be kind to yourself. You’re not…wrong, there’s nothing wrong with you.” 

Fraser burst out laughing at that, smiling in a way that caused Grey’s belly to clench tightly. 

“Well Doc, you’d be the first to say that to me,” Fraser said. 

They finished the session talking about nothing in particular and planned to meet in a month when Claire Fraser was sure to be back.

As the door closed, Grey exhaled and slumped in his chair. He needed to snap out of whatever this was, this strange, visceral attraction. It wasn’t as if he’d never had good looking patients before. For goodness sake, he’d seen models and professional athletes who had graced the covers of magazines. It had never once driven him to distraction. Not until James bloody Fraser walked through his door and made his entire brain stop functioning. 

Grey gave it a few minutes, allowing plenty of time for Fraser to leave, before heading out front to check on Tom, who was still not at the desk. 

He looked in the bathroom and Hal’s empty office but the man was nowhere to be seen. On a whim, he checked the supply closet where they kept the extra boxes of printer paper, pens, and an assortment of supposedly soothing bits of wall art that Grey had always hated. Sure enough, Tom was on the floor with a pile of used tissues surrounding him like a disgusting blanket, red-eyed and crying which could only mean one thing. 

“How bad?” Grey asked, sliding down to the floor beside Tom. 

“He said he needed space. Space, John, space!” Tom cried, letting out a fresh round of sobs as Grey put an arm around his shoulder. Tom and his boyfriend- ex boyfriend?- Stephan, broke up seemingly monthly. Grey had never known a couple more perfect for each other when they were functional, which was about ten percent of the time. 

“Well, how much space did he want?” Grey asked, probably already knowing the answer. 

“He said I needed to go back to my own apartment for a while,” Tom croaked, “As if I was an imposition, I’ve only been there for two months! It’s not like I moved in, only a few boxes and some clothes. And the cats. God, he hates me doesn’t he?” 

Ah. Stephan was a meticulous housekeeper, allergic to cats, and very attached to his pet dachshunds. Tom was wonderful at helping other people stay on top of things, but he was more or less a hurricane of a human with three cats and a bit of a shopping addiction. They were two of Grey’s best friends and also the leading cause of most of his headaches. 

“I’m sure he’ll come around Tom,” Grey tried to comfort him, “Did you get your cats or should I go collect them?” 

Tom sat up straighter at that, face flushed with anger.

“He dropped them off at my apartment! He said Miss Mittens bit one of the stupid dogs, as if she ever would do that, she’s a perfect angel. Oh I could have killed him, I told him I never wanted to see his stupid face again.” 

Right. He’d have to call Stephan later and check on him. In spite of his outwardly sturdy appearance, the six-foot-something blonde was nothing but a big softie with a gentle nature and he’d need cheering up, maybe at a club, dancing always helped. But first Tom.

“Alright you, wipe your nose, we’re going for chocolates and then I’m taking you home,” Grey said, patting Tom on the back. 

At least the latest lovers tiff took his mind off Fraser, he’d take all the distraction he could get. 

The club seemed to be having some sort of ‘70s throwback’ night. The dance remixes of ABBA and the Bee Gees pumped out of the speakers loud enough to shatter Jamie’s eardrums. In fact, he was pretty sure he could see the room move with the beat. It wasn’t the worst club music he’d ever heard though, far from it, so he leaned back against the wall and tried to enjoy the atmosphere. 

Ian had insisted on buying him some atrocious fruity drink as a 'thank you' for agreeing to come out with him, which felt like more of a punishment the more he sipped on it. At any rate, he'd planned to stay sober in order to get Ian back home safe and sound and in relatively one piece. 

The Gay 90’s was packed, a sea of patrons dancing and writhing shoulder to shoulder, or hip to hip, up and down the balcony and the main floor where the flashing lights and frankly overzealous smoke machine gave everything a dreamlike haze. Well, maybe not a dream, more like some kind of disturbing hallucination. Ian had been right about one thing, it was exactly what Jamie needed to take his mind off Claire and all the bullshit with bloody Frank. 

Honestly, he wasn’t even angry about Frank anymore. Jamie had been gone for a year and Claire wasn’t a woman who liked to be alone, he knew that. But he was home now and shouldn't that be enough? Apparently not. Apparently they’d had to go to therapy and dredge up all those old feelings and talk about Pierre and now Jamie was questioning everything he thought he knew about himself all because of fucking Frank. 

Damn. Maybe he was still a little angry.  

“You look like you’re thinking about La Dam Blanche again!” Ian shouted directly into his ear, his breath smelling of weed and coconut or something like that. 

“Don’t call her that,” Jamie snapped, pushing Ian away. ‘La Dam Blanche’ was a not-so-flattering nickname Ian had come up with for Claire when they’d first gotten married. Jamie had begged him to stop using it as it made Claire furious, and he’d stopped for a while, but when Jamie had returned home to find his wife in bed with another man Ian had decided that it was fair game again.

“Come on you bloody wonder, you do not reserve...deserve that is…you dinnae deserve to stand around moping all night. Relax, enjoy the music, have a dance!” Ian grabbed Jamie’s hips and moved them back and forth to the beat. 

“It's a gay club Ian, I’m not here to dance I’m here to make sure your drunk arse gets home safe, now off wi’ ye before I lose my temper.” 

“I said dance not have a bloody shag!” Ian said, then shrugged, finishing his own drink before plucking Jamie’s from his hand and slipping off into the crowd of sweaty bodies. 

The notion of a dance, or a shag come to that, was frankly too much. After his ridiculous behavior in therapy earlier in the week he needed to keep his thoughts on a tight leash, lest he get caught staring again. Once had been humiliating enough. 

"That's it, I need a beer," Jamie said to no one in particular, making his way over to the bar. He'd left Dr. Grey's office the other day red-faced and sweating, seriously contemplating jumping headfirst into the nearest body of water just to snap out of whatever state he'd managed to get himself worked into. Then, once he'd calmed down, the very real question of finding a new therapist had taken up an indecent amount of space in his brain, though in the end he'd dismissed the idea. Nevermind why.

Thanking the bartender, Jamie turned around just in time to crash into the man behind him, spilling beer down his own shirt and onto the other man's shoes.

“Oh!” The man cried, “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I’m so clumsy!” 

Jamie thought he detected some kind of accent, German maybe? The man was as tall as Jamie with hair that was just a little too blonde to be completely natural. 

“All good,” Jamie said, brushing the front of his shirt. Soaked through to the skin, of course. 

“Please, you must let me buy you another beer.” The man insisted, but Jamie merely shook his head and wandered back to his corner to sulk until Ian was ready to go home. Honestly, the night was a bust and nothing could remedy that except maybe being knocked unconscious. One could dream.

The beer lasted about three songs and Jamie’s feet were hurting and his head was throbbing in time with the music. Really, hadn't they ought to be going? 

Jamie was about to go find his friend and drag him home when movement caught his eye and he acted without thinking, reaching out and grabbing hold of the man in front of him before he could fall to the ground. He held tight around the man’s middle as he righted himself, breathing hard, and looked up into Jamie’s face with a brilliant smile. 

Brilliant and very familiar. 

“Mr. Fraser?” 

“Dr. Grey?”

They said in unison, probably wearing twin expressions of shock as well. 

“What the devil are you doing here?” Dr. Grey asked.

“I…uh…” Jamie faltered, realizing how it looked for a married man to be hanging around a gay nightclub a few days after he’d had what appeared to be a crisis of sexuality. “I’m here with a friend! A gay friend. I’m just here to make sure he gets home safe. Sober friend, you know...” 

He realized he was still holding Dr. Grey around the middle, wondered briefly what business a therapist had being so trim and muscular, then let go quickly, taking a step back. 

“You don’t smell very sober,” Dr. Grey said, arching one of his perfectly shaped brows. 

“Oh, that!” Jamie laughed awkwardly. “I spilled. Or rather, someone ran into me and spilled…I’m sober. Promise.” 

Dr. Grey merely nodded. 

“Uh,” Jamie said, lost for words, “What are you doing here?” 

“Oh,” Dr. Grey said, staring down at his feet for a moment before looking up with eyes so blue Jamie could make out the color even in the darkened club, “Well, uh, I’m…gay?” 

“Ah.” 

“Yeah.” 

Jamie shifted a bit from side to side, feeling he should say something, anything. 

“I wouldn’t have known,” Jamie said, regretting the words as they left his mouth.

What are you thinking you idiot? Why the hell would you say that? Of all things, to him of all people?

Dr. Grey seemed to be trying to hide a smirk, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.  

“Well," Dr. Grey said, "It’s good to see you, but I really should…be moving along. Not really appropriate to um…”

“Right,” Jamie said, probably too brightly, “Wouldn’t want to be seen fraternizing with the enemy.” 

Another truly awful example of his conversational skills. What the hell was wrong with him? 

“I’m sorry, did you just refer to yourself as the enemy?” Dr. Grey asked. As well he might. 

“No, no, please just ignore me, I, uh…” Well what the hell did it matter anyway? “I just mean, Claire found you and she’s the one insisting on this therapy thing and it’s pretty clear you’re on her side in all of this and I’m just there to be the bad guy.”

“Hold on a minute,” Grey said, stepping a little closer to Jamie. That wasn’t good, Jamie wasn’t sure why that wasn’t good but his heart started beating a lot faster and so he knew it was bad. “What have I ever said to imply I’m making any kind of judgment on you? I’m not here to judge you, Mr. Fraser, I’m here to help your marriage.” 

He emphasized the last word in a way that made Jamie stand up a little straighter, defensive at the implication. For his part Grey seemed to get control of himself, stepping back and shaking his head. Jamie felt a sudden draft in the space between their bodies, strange in the sticky hot club.

“Look, I’ve already said too much, I shouldn’t even be speaking to you. I’m going to walk away before I get myself in trouble. Good evening, Mr. Fraser.” 

Jamie really should have let that be that. He wasn’t even sure why he stopped the man, but he did, reaching out and grabbing his arm as he turned. 

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Jamie said, his hand burning where it gripped Grey’s bare wrist. Did he have some kind of fever? Why was he so warm? 

“Really, I shouldn’t-” 

“Johnny! There you are, I have been looking for you!” A booming, decidedly German-accented voice cut in. 

The blonde man from earlier appeared beside Johnny, throwing his very large arm around Dr. Grey’s shoulders. 

“Stephan,” Grey said with a smile Jamie was certain seemed forced, “Yes, sorry, I ran into an acquaintance. We were just saying our goodbyes.” 

“Ah! The man with the beer!” Stephan said with another bright smile. “How nice! How do you know my dear Johnny?” 

“Oh, we met briefly in Edi-”

“He’s my therapist!” Jamie said, a little too loudly in an effort to match Stephan’s enthusiasm.

Grey stared at him like he’d grown horns. 

“How nice!” Stephan nodded, showing no signs of reacting to this likely breach of protocol. “Well I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal your therapist away now, he owes me a dance.” 

Without waiting for them to say their goodbyes, Stephan dragged Dr. Grey. Johnny. Down onto the dance floor where they disappeared into the crowd. 

Or at least, Jamie was waiting for them to disappear, as Ian had, into the mass of writhing bodies. But instead his gaze followed their progress, watching as Stephan took Grey’s hands and they started moving to the rhythm, graceful and sensual. 

The past week's revelation about Pierre and Jamie’s perhaps not-so-hetero-sexuality had seemed to send him spiraling sideways. He’d always thought he simply had an appreciation of beauty in all its forms. He loved a nice sunset or a beautiful amber Scotch. He enjoyed views of the mountains as well as the seaside. He valued art galleries and statutes and even beautiful architecture alike. And he knew a beautiful person when he saw one. 

But now all of Jamie’s aesthetic appreciation of beauty seemed to be tangled up with his contemplation of attraction and sexuality and who he wanted to do what with, all of which seemed to come to a fine point on one person in particular. 

A person who was currently tearing it up on the dance floor to a remixed version of ‘Gimme Gimme’ with an eight foot tall German man. 

Were therapists supposed to be able to dance like that? It wasn’t that anything he was doing was so complicated or technical. But he moved with joy, his face lighting as he connected with the people around him, sliding his arms around Stephans neck before being pulled away laughing when another man grabbed his hips. 

Watching him, Jamie felt like a voyeur, privy to a sight he ought not to be seeing. But he couldn't turn away. Not from Dr. Grey - did he go by Johnny to his friends? John? Jonathan? What about in bed, surely he couldn’t be called Johnny in bed. 

“Shit,” Jamie said out loud, startling a man walking past. 

He had no business thinking thoughts like that about his therapist. Not just his therapist but his marriage counselor for Christ's sake. It was wrong on so many levels he couldn't even count. He needed to find Ian and go home.  

Dammit. 

But then Grey’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips and the man behind him wrapped his arms around that firm trim waist and Jamie felt a hot flood of jealousy. He’d held that waist just a few minutes past. What would it be like to saunter up behind him on the dance floor and just…

It was stupid and reckless and probably the worst decision he’d made since he’d gotten on the plane to South Africa. But his feet were carrying him down the steps to the dance floor and he couldn’t stop them if he tried. 

Grey was facing Stephan again, the two of them tangled together in a frustratingly synchronized rhythm as ‘Heart of Glass’ started to play. It was absolute madness to be jealous of a total stranger for having his hands all over a man he scarcely knew. A man whose job was to try and help save Jamie’s marriage. A man whose stupidly blue eyes were closed as he let his body move with the music. 

Jamie pushed- shoved, really- his way past half a dozen couples as he made his way to where Grey and Stephan stood, giving in to the inexplicable magnetism that drew him toward Grey. 

Stephan cast him a curious look as he approached, Jamie gave a perfunctory nod and moved behind Grey as he’d seen other men do, exhaling with relief as he slid his hands down, placing them on those tantalizing hips. 

Grey barely seemed to notice, lost as he was in the music and dancing, but he moved back toward Jamie slightly and Jamie took his chance, wrapping his arms around Grey’s waist before he slipped away again. 

God but this was good. At last the chorus of voices in his head, the ones that hadn’t stopped shouting since he got back, were silent. Just the music and the dance floor and the body of the man in front of him. 

He smelled like summer, fresh and warm. Jamie thought if he could just keep touching the man he might be alright, if he just stayed right here everything would work out in the end. 

Grey reached his arm back, caressing Jamie's neck and drawing Jamie down toward him. What did he want? Jamie wondered. But the skin of Grey’s neck was exposed, pale in the dim light and Jamie leaned down and kissed it. That was madness, surely that was taking things too far. But he heard a hum of pleasure from Grey’s throat and he suddenly didn’t care if it was mad. It was worth it. 

Stephan stepped back, smiling at the two of them and nodding, winking at Jamie as he turned and started dancing with another man, leaving Grey entirely to Jamie. 

The song changed and with it the rhythm, a slow and grinding version of 'Stayin' Alive'. Jamie wasn’t much of a dancer, but it didn’t seem to matter. He let his hands explore the man in front of him, running them up along his arms and down, taking hold of the slim wrists and drawing them up over Grey’s head as he moved to the beat. 

Jamie was so lost in the moment that he hadn’t even contemplated what would happen if - when - Grey turned around and realized it was him. 

That moment came far sooner than he’d hoped, Grey turning, wrapping his arms around Jamie’s neck and looking up at him with bright, sparkling eyes. 

The sparkle very quickly changed to confusion and then shock. 

Without thinking, not that he’d been thinking much at all that night, Jamie grabbed Grey’s face and kissed him. 

What the fuck are you thinking you absolute lunatic, he’s going to kill you. 

For a moment Grey seemed to resist, but then, as if his defenses had all crumbled, he relaxed. Grey’s mouth was warm, like the rest of him, and soft, opening to Jamie as his tongue flicked out experimentally. 

Then they were kissing in earnest, openmouthed and desperate and Jamie’s lips would almost certainly be swollen in the morning. Grey’s body pressed flush against his own and he could feel the man's cockstand through the flimsy excuse for jeans he was wearing. 

Jamie groaned. 

This was too much, surely one of them would come to their senses. Any minute now they’d stop. 

Three minutes later they burst out the back door of the club into a damp alleyway. Jamie gasped, grateful for the fresh night air even if it did smell a bit like piss and garbage. Grey pushed him up against a wall and they crashed back together like starving men, all teeth and tongues and hot breath. Grey dragged Jamie’s hands to his hips, pressing their bodies together as if he couldn’t get enough of Jamie.

Wasn’t that something. 

Jamie gasped as he felt their hips connect, the promise of what lay beneath their clothes so tempting he felt dizzy. He wanted to cry out, to murmur in Grey’s ear, but he wasn’t exactly sure what to call him. Johnny, that’s what Stephan had said. 

“God you’re good at this…Johnny,” Jamie tested the words, they felt strange. 

Grey pulled back, looking at him with surprise. 

“Only Stephan calls me that. And my brother. Don’t make me think about my brother while we’re doing this, I beg you.” 

“Oh,” Jamie said, flushing, “What should I call you, then?” 

Grey looked up at him for a long moment, searching, serious. 

“Really you shouldn’t call me anything. We should leave each other alone and never speak of this again.” 

“Is that what you want?” Jamie asked, even as his hands trailed down Grey’s backside, drawing him in closer. 

“God, no,” Grey said, “No I want to take you back to my apartment and fuck you til you forget your own name.” 

Jamie’s knees actually buckled. He’d have fallen if he weren’t propped against the wall. 

“Sorry,” Grey continued, “I’m not thinking straight I…you…I’m not in my right mind when it comes to this, damn you.” 

Then they were kissing again, tongues tangling, rough and needy. Jamie’s hands seemed to move of their own accord, snaking under the plain white t-shirt that did little to hide the body underneath. Grey’s skin was smooth and hot to the touch, deliciously pliant under Jamie's exploring fingers. 

“Call me John.” 

The words were barely a whisper in Jamie’s ear, like a secret shared with great reluctance. A gift. A surrender. 

“John.” Jamie murmured, trailing kisses down John’s neck. 

The voice in his head had been blessedly silent since their kiss on the dancefloor, but it seemed to sense one last chance to swerve and avoid running headlong into a brick wall. 

So this is how you’re going to act now? An alleyway with your marriage counselor? Revenge won’t get you anywhere good. You’ll be hurt, she’ll be hurt…John might be hurt as well. You could stop this. It’s not too late, not yet. 

But the thing was he didn’t want revenge. He wasn’t doing this out of some misguided desire to get back at Claire for cheating. He wasn’t even doing this because he was touch starved and desperate for someone to want him, though that was certainly true. 

No, he was doing this because the man in his arms was electric. He was like something out of a harlequin romance, irresistible and magnetic. 

And Jamie was turning into a fucking sap. 

Slamming the door on his conscience, Jamie dropped down to his knees, the pavement hard and unforgiving. Probably that was fair. 

He heard John inhale sharply and looked up, grinning at the sight of the man. 

"Has anyone ever told you you’re really fucking hot?” Jamie asked as his hands traced the skin just above John’s waistband, settling on the button of his jeans. 

John laughed, the sound of it like starlight, transforming the dingy alleyway into somewhere magical. 

“At least five people tonight alone, but none of them looked quite as good as you do right now,” John said, running his fingers through Jamie’s hair. Jamie flushed at the compliment, leaning into the touch of John’s fingers like a damned cat, desperate for affection. He brushed John's zipper lightly with his thumb and smiled.

“May I?” 

“God knows I should say ‘no’. This is reckless and irresponsible, not to mention deeply unethical…but I am apparently reckless and stupid when it comes to you,” he sighed.

“Uh,” Jamie hesitated, “Is that a yes or…”

“God yes, please. Ethics be damned.” 

Ethics be damned. 

Jamie carefully undid the jeans, not even a little surprised to find that John wore nothing under them. Tugging them down over John’s arse, he freed John’s prick holding it in one hand. He’d never actually done this, what on earth had compelled him? He knew what he liked, but that somehow seemed less helpful at the moment. 

He must have been frozen for a long time, only realizing he hadn’t moved when he felt John’s hand under his chin. 

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” John said, thumb tracing Jamie's lower lip. Then, as if realizing,  “Or, you do want to? But…You've never…um…” 

To hell with this. In one go, Jamie took John all the way to the back of his throat, choked and pulled back, startled. Then tried again, more slowly.

It was strange but not unpleasant. Not unpleasant at all when he got used to it, the size and smoothness, the taste. He started to move a bit, letting his tongue explore. Did all cocks feel like this or was there a difference? John let out a low moan, leaning his head forward against the wall as Jamie sucked gently. So it was alright then. 

Jamie continued, gaining confidence as he worked John’s prick with his lips and tongue, sometimes pulling back and using his hands just to hear the little gasps and moans that elicited. His knees ached from the hard ground and his cock had been throbbing since he’d stepped foot on the dance floor, but somehow that didn’t matter half as much as John. Only John, his pleasure, his voice. God, that voice. 

John whispered breathless words of praise, encouraging Jamie or guiding him gently. "Yes, just like that, you're so good." Or "Softly, now." Even once tangling his fingers in Jamie's hair and pressing a little deeper into Jamie's mouth and rasping, "That's it, you can take it." 

If this lasted forever, Jamie thought, that wouldn't quite be long enough. 

“Wait, Fraser, I’m…God I can’t hold on any longer you have to stop or I’ll come.”

Maybe he should have cared, should have pulled away and finished the man with his hands, but some animal desire in him kept his lips wrapped tight around John’s cock as he stuttered and moaned. 

“Christ, move your head now or…” Grey’s whole body tensed as if to keep himself from thrusting madly into Jamie’s mouth. Jamie wished he would. 

A rush of seed spilled out onto the back of his tongue, surprising him a bit with its heat. What did one do now? Was he supposed to swallow? He wasn't sure how with John's cock still filling his mouth.

“Spit,” John said gently, pulling away. Jamie did as he was told, eliciting another groan from John who reached down and hauled him up to standing. 

John kissed him, openmouthed and slow. Jamie realized he was tasting himself on Jamie’s lips. The thought made him, if possible, even more desperately horny than he’d been before. 

“Fuck that was good,” Jamie said, resisting the urge to grab his cock just to feel some relief. 

“You’re a bloody fast learner,” John whispered against his lips, hands moving down his chest, pausing just above his hips. “Yes?” 

“Yes, God, yes,” Jamie rasped, pressing his hips forward, seeking friction or touch or something to provide relief from the aching deep inside. 

John didn’t need any instruction, his fingers deftly undoing Jamie’s zipper, taking him in hand with a firm, sure grip. Then John was kissing his mouth and stroking him and shoving him hard against the wall, possessing him. Jamie was a large man, it wasn’t often he felt helpless. Taken. 

The thought made him moan into John’s mouth, against his smiling lips. 

“That’s it,” John murmured, “God this is so wrong but you’re so worth it. Fuck you’re beautiful.”

It was going to be an embarrassingly short encounter if he kept that up, Jamie closed his eyes trying to ride the wave of pleasure without crashing too soon. 

“I’d take you in my mouth but I can’t bear to stop kissing you.”

“This is…” Jamie stammered, “Fine…”

Fine? It was better than fine. It was glorious, the pleasure of it beyond anything he’d felt in years. 

“God, look at you, you're fucking perfect."

Jamie felt the heat rising in him, a slow boiling rush as John's deft fingers worked him, faster, drawing him ever closer to that edge. He never wanted this to end. 

"Oh the things I could do to you if I had you in my bed,” John whispered in his ear, free hand tugging at his hair, “I would have you screaming in pleasure. Yes, just like that!” 

“Fuck!” Jamie cried out as his climax came with dizzying intensity. He was fairly sure his eyes were crossed, he might have just gone blind. Was he still standing? Was he even still alive? 

It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. He was wanted. Desired. Beautiful. 

Dear God, it was good.

Chapter Text

“Dr. Grey? Doctor? Oh for fucks sake, John!” 

Grey sat up, turning to the door of his office where Tom stood with his hands on his hips. 

“Sorry, Tom, what is it?” Grey said, setting aside the pen he’d been unconsciously chewing on. It leaked ink onto his desk and he swore under his breath. 

“Ok, you know I try not to pry but come on,” Tom said, closing the door and coming to stand in front of the desk,  “What the hell is going on with you today?” 

I hooked up with a client who is here to fix his broken marriage and I can’t stop thinking about his lips or his body or the way he smelled and I think I’m losing my mind because I desperately want to see him again because he made me feel things I haven’t felt in years and I should probably just quit my job and shred my license and possibly leave the country because if anyone ever found out…

“I just stayed out too late with Stephan last night, I’m tired is all. Getting too old for the club scene I suppose.” 

“Fine, don’t tell me then. God forbid you open up to anyone.” Tom rolled his eyes, leaning against the desk. “Out with Stephan, eh? How is he, anyway?” 

“He’s fine, Tom. He says hi.” 

“Really?”

“No. Now did you need something work related or are you just here to make my headache worse?” 

Sighing heavily, Tom handed him a stack of mail that was probably mostly junk with a few bills scattered in there. Hal could deal with all that. 

“Oh and Claire Fraser called, she wanted to see if they could get in sooner. I told her you’d call back since I wasn’t sure what your plan was for them.”

Grey’s mouth went dry and he was fairly sure that he was going into cardiac arrest. Would Tom know what to do if he was? On the other hand that might make things easier. He couldn’t speak to her. Definitely couldn’t see the Frasers again professionally. But what excuse would he make? How would he explain it to Tom, or worse yet, Hal? His brother would ask a million pushy, prying questions if he dumped a client without good reason. He didn’t think ‘I fucked the husband in an alley’ would fly. 

“JOHN!” Tom shouted, probably not for the first time. 

“Sorry, uh, I’m not sure I can get them in sooner. I’m afraid I don’t have any openings.” 

Surely in a month he’d be able to find some reasonable excuse. Or die in a freak accident. He didn’t really care which. 

“Um, ok,” Tom said skeptically, “But you have three open slots this week and five the week after.”

“They’re working on their marriage Tom,” John snapped, feeling guilty as soon as the words left his mouth, “They need time to do that. They won’t make any progress if they're not doing the work. Now if that’s all?” 

Tom stared at him for a minute, then simply nodded and left, closing the door behind him. 

Grey buried his head in his hands and wished for a lightning bolt to strike him down. 

The rest of the day dragged on for what felt like weeks. He managed to struggle through his last two appointments, giving them just enough of his attention that he didn’t feel too guilty for not rescheduling, and decided to walk home instead of dealing with the rush hour crowd. Besides, he needed time to process and make sense of his tangled thoughts. To work out what to do, how to fix the mess he’d gotten himself into. 

Never, not in a million years, would he have anticipated fucking up so badly. Running into a client was one thing, it happened often enough that he was used to the awkwardness, always trying to make the encounter as brief and professional as possible. 

Maybe he ought to have left the club when he saw Fraser. He wouldn't have even spoken to the man if he hadn’t, quite literally, fallen into his arms. Stupid hidden steps. Really, he’d been so thrown off that he’d completely forgotten how to behave. Had he even been drunk? Trying to keep up with Stephan was always a bad idea, so he supposed there was probably alcohol involved. None of it was an excuse. 

But Fraser had also acted out of line, following him onto the dance floor, touching him like he had. Oh those hands…they’d left a line of sparks along his skin...And his mouth? No. He couldn't think about that now.

It didn’t matter. It was done, he’d messed up terribly and there was nothing to do but make things right with the Frasers. He would find them someone new to work with and then he’d never think of Jamie again.   

He was used to that, to blocking off memories, pieces of himself that he’d never look at again. It happened all the time with Hector, memories of their life together falling away lost to time until all he could recall was the feeling of being with him.

That feeling wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried to force it. It served him well enough, though, keeping everyone at arms distance because nothing ever lived up to the memory of how things had felt with Hector, his one and only love. Life was easier if you didn’t let anyone in, when things inevitably went south you could just…forget. 

So for five years, John had forgotten. Forgotten what it was to be loved or cared for, forgotten intimacy or comfort, he’d forgotten the names of the one-night stands he refused to bring back to his apartment.

Easy. Safe. 

At least until a certain temperamental redhead had waltzed into his office and turned his world upside down in the blink of a sparkling blue eye. He had a sinking feeling that Jamie Fraser wouldn’t be quite so easy to forget.

The walk home seemed to help clear his thoughts and he threw himself into preparing a nice supper of risotto with asparagus, paired with a bottle of his favorite chardonnay. Cooking had long been a comfort to him, a way to settle a restless mind. When he’d first met Hector he’d relied on takeaway and microwave dinners to sustain him, but Hector was a trained chef and they’d spent many happy hours in the kitchen together, preparing meals for friends and family and strangers alike. It had been an act of pure love for Hector, though since his death John refused to cook for anyone but himself, and only did that out of an irrational fear that he’d be haunted by Hector’s shade if he dared to open a frozen dinner. 

Feeling somewhat lighter thanks to the wine and a reprieve from thinking about anyone named ‘Fraser’, John was singing along to a Backstreet Boys song and definitely not doing a silly little dance in his kitchen when the doorbell rang, startling him as he was trying to grate some parmesan, which he dropped on the floor. 

Who the hell would stop by unannounced and at this time of night? Hal was in the Lake District until the following week, Tom had said he was going to visit his brother, Stephan had tickets to the opera on Thursday nights…he couldn’t think of anyone else who knew his address. 

Careful to turn off the stove he went to the door, wishing he had a spyhole, but the apartment had been built long before such a thing existed. He opened the door slowly and almost slammed it again as soon as he saw who his visitor was. 

Jamie Fraser took a step forward, stopping the door with his boot. 

“Dinna shut the door! I’m just here to talk,” Fraser said. 

“What the hell,” Grey started, feeling flushed and flustered and excited and mortified in quick succession, “What are you doing here? How did you get my address?” 

Fraser had the sense to look sheepish, at least.

“I called the office pretending to be your cousin, visiting from up north and asked were you still in. Your receptionist was very helpful, gave me your personal number and address.” 

Dammit Tom! Grey thought, making a note to review privacy guidelines with Tom first thing in the morning. 

“I…uh, I don’t think you ought to be here, whatever you have to say…” Grey faltered, he’d intended to tell Fraser to wait for his next appointment but realized both that the appointment would never take place and that whatever it was the man wanted to say likely wouldn’t be something he could discuss in front of his wife. Not without dire consequences for the both of them.

This is a terrible idea, Grey, whatever you do, do not invite him in. 

“I only need a moment, John,” Jamie said, barely above a whisper.

“Alright, come in. But just for a minute.” 

Dammit. 

They walked back to the kitchen where Grey gestured to one of the barstools and Fraser sat, not looking up from the floor. 

“What is it, Mr. Fraser?” Grey asked, trying to keep his voice even. His heart was racing and he was fairly sure he was shaking. 

“Well, first of all I…I wanted to apologize,” Fraser said, “For last night, it was…wrong. I behaved inappropriately, I should have left you alone and I didn’t. I pushed you to do…what we did and I’m sorry.” 

He sounded genuinely contrite. But it wasn’t as if he’d forced Grey to do anything, they’d both made a choice. A terrible, stupid, unethical choice, but a choice nonetheless.

“Look, I appreciate you saying that, I really do, but it isn’t necessary. We both knew it was a mistake and we did it anyway, and now we must live with the consequences. On which subject, I’m going to find you a new practitioner to work with, at a new clinic. I’ll do so before your next appointment.” 

Fraser looked stricken but nodded. “Of course. I understand.” 

Neither of them spoke, the distant sounds of evening traffic and muffled voices from the hallway providing the soundtrack to their silence. Grey was keenly aware of the tension in the air, thick with unspoken words and shared memories. The way his body had lit like flame at the touch of Fraser’s hands, the taste of the man’s mouth, better than the finest wine money could buy. 

Shit. He could feel his cheeks heat, his skin felt as if it might spontaneously combust. And his traitorous prick was making its opinion known with some urgency. 

It was definitely time for Fraser to go. 

“Well,” Grey said, nodding as if all was settled, “I’ll show you out.”

Jamie followed Dr. Grey down the hall, kicking himself for being so damned awkward and flustered around the man. He felt like an idiot, getting tongue tied and blushing like a fool. 

He reached for the door but paused, turning back to Grey in one last desperate attempt to force himself to say what he’d actually come here to say all along. The man’s eyes were wide, his lips parted in the most tantalizing manner, did he do it on purpose? Did he know the effect he had on people? 

Deep breath. 

“I just have to say,” Jamie managed in a strained half whisper, “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt wanted. Since I felt much of anything, besides anger I suppose. All I mean is, thank you…for wanting me.”

Grey seemed to freeze, his eyes searching Jamie’s. He wished he knew what the man was looking for, he’d give it in a heartbeat. 

“I’m glad,” John said, his voice a little shaky, “That is, you’re welcome. It was easy.” 

“Easy?” Jamie said, lost in the intensity of John’s gaze.

“Wanting you.”

“Oh.”

John’s mouth was on his before he knew what was happening, crushing their lips together in an almost violent kiss. Jamie grabbed John’s face, holding him close as they stumbled against the door. He tasted like wine and Jamie felt drunk off of his mouth. 

“You’ve ruined me,” John rasped as he trailed kisses down Jamie’s neck, biting and sucking at the tender flesh there. “You’ve driven me out of my mind, I can scarcely think when you’re around, can barely draw breath I want you so badly. It is madness.”

Jamie felt his knees give as they had in the alleyway the night before, but John’s arm was around his waist, holding him, pulling him close as they kissed. Slowly this time, soft and searching. It felt like a dance, one they both knew the steps to. 

“What do you want?” Jamie asked, “I’ll give you anything. Everything.”

John pulled away and looked at him, eyes dark with lust in a way Jamie would remember for the rest of his life. Pure desire and all for him. 

“I…”

“Have me,” Jamie said, ready to surrender to his lover's touch, to feel that pleasure once more, whatever the cost. “I’m yours.”  

“Fuck,” Grey moaned as Jamie grabbed his hips, “You don’t mean that.” 

“I do,” Jamie tilted John’s chin up, “Please. I need you.” 

John sighed, pressing his forehead to Jamie’s and for a moment Jamie worried he’d refuse.

“Bed. Now. Come with me.” 

Thank God. 

They managed to make it to the bedroom without too much delay, only stopping once to kiss fiercely, tugging at each other's hair and clothes like animals, uncontrollable and mad with lust. It was the best thing Jamie had felt since…well, the night prior in a dank alleyway. 

John’s bedroom was just as posh and put together as his office and kitchen and bloody everything else about his life. Jamie was very much looking forward to seeing him come completely undone. 

He started to say as much but John shoved him down onto the bed before he could speak, climbing on top of him while managing to peel off his own shirt and undo Jamie’s jeans. 

“What do you want?” John asked, his voice a low purr, “My mouth? My hands?”

Demonstrating the aforementioned options, John sucked at Jamie’s lower lip with some force while his hand moved over Jamie’s erection with just enough pressure to make him gasp. He thought of the previous night's pleasures and spoke without hesitation.

“You...in my mouth…”

A glimmer of surprise flickered over John’s face, but he smiled, eyes gleaming.

“Enjoyed that, did you? Open up,” John murmured and Jamie complied. His reward was John’s tongue drawing lazily over his lips. 

Jamie wasn’t sure what kind of sound he made, but it was awfully close to a whimper. He opened wider, squirming in desperation. 

“If you want something, use your words,” John asked, teasing. “I don’t do subtlety.”

“I…” Fuck, he was going to come without actually doing anything. He took a deep breath and blurted out, “I want your cock, I want it now.”

With a devilish grin, John straddled his chest, positioning himself just over Jamie’s mouth as he undid his jeans, once again conveniently not wearing anything under them. Was that a habit of his? Did he often need to take his clothes off in a hurry? 

There was no time to wonder, everything else faded away as it had the night before, just their bodies, just John’s voice, his pleasure and Jamie’s surrender. That blissful nothingness awaited him. 

He started slow, having learned his lesson, leaning up and wrapping his lips around the leaking head, licking, tasting, already lost in the pleasure, eager to hear more of John’s groans and sighs.

“Show me how much you love this,” John said, thrusting in very gently, careful not to choke Jamie, though Jamie thought he wouldn’t much care. He wanted it, longed for it, his lips and tongue working John’s length, the noises vulgar and messy, spit dripping down his jaw. 

“Look at you, Jamie, you’re perfect.”  

He sped his movements, wanting to bring John to his climax, to feel the power of it, the possession. All he could think of was this, here, John…

John pulled away, leaving Jamie gasping, feeling horribly empty. 

“What…?”

“God I want to kiss every inch of you,” John hummed, sliding down alongside Jamie and kissing him roughly. John’s hand trailed down Jamie’s body, pressing against the bulge in his jeans, his neglected cock painfully hard, desperate for some relief. “I want you inside me and all over me, I want-”

“Last night,” Jamie cut in, “You said you wanted to take me back to your apartment and-”

“And fuck you til you forget your own name,” John finished for him, “I remember.”

Jamie tugged at John’s neck, pulling him into a kiss as he bucked up against him, not caring if it made him seem needy. He was needy, dammit.

“I want that. I mean I want you. Make me…forget. Make me yours.” 

John’s tongue flicked out, tasting Jamie’s mouth, pressing into him greedily. When he finally spoke, Jamie could feel the smile against his lips. 

“Are you saying you’d like to fuck?” 

Firm hands trailed along Jamie’s arms, taking hold of his wrists, lifting them above his head, that same feeling of possession from the night before causing him to gasp. He was helpless once more, completely overpowered and at John’s mercy.

“Yes, please,” Jamie managed. Whatever other words might have come out of his mouth in reply were stopped by a rough kiss. 

God, yes. Whatever John wanted, he’d have it. 

Wasting no time at all, John rolled over, stripping down to nothing and nodding for Jamie to do likewise. Jamie complied, flinging off the rest of his clothes in a mad rush, then laying back on John's bed, bare skin brushing against the soft cotton duvet, entirely exposed and willing. 

Then John’s hand was on him again, stroking him as he reached for the bottle of lube he’d collected from the nightstand. The touch sent sensation flooding through Jamie's body once more and he muttered incomprehensibly. 

John’s free hand traced Jamie’s cheek, fingers brushing across his lips as Jamie took in the vision before him. John, naked, all beautiful muscle and soft skin, the set of his strong shoulders and sharpness of collarbone, the fine dark hair that trailed down his chest and belly. Jamie wanted to take his time, kissing his way along every inch of that perfectly tempting body, but equally, he wanted to flip John over and fuck him til they were both rendered insensible with pleasure. 

Seeming to read Jamie’s mind, John grinned, kissing a line down Jamie’s chest, nipping at the sensitive flesh of his upper thigh, hard enough to leave a mark, claiming Jamie as his own.

“I want you inside me,” John said, flushed and breathing hard, stopping for a moment to mouth the tip of Jamie’s cock. “Would you-”

“God, yes,” Jamie had to stop himself from crying out at the thought, “Please, yes.” 

“Mmmm,” John hummed before pulling away and coating them both in a generous helping of lubricant. Jamie felt once again like he might lose himself right then and there. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, he wanted this to last and he thought he would die if he had to wait any longer. He’d beg if he had to.

Thankfully, John seemed just as eager, and with a slow exhale lowered himself onto Jamie, inch by devastating inch. Jamie had to fight to keep hold of his senses, his eyes seemed to want to roll back in his head, his hips to buck, his breath to abandon him completely. 

“Fuck.” 

It felt good. Better than good, better than he ever could have imagined. Ecstatic perhaps or…some other word he’d never be able to remember because John was moving, slowly, too damn slowly, and it seemed to start a fire in his belly. If he wasn’t careful this would be the shortest shag he’d ever had. 

“You’re beautiful,” John said, eyes bright as he rolled his hips, “Look at you.”

Dreamlike, Jamie brought his hands down, caressing John’s firm thighs, feeling the muscles tense with his movement, taking his time to touch and squeeze. It seemed impossible that someone as flawless as John could ever think Jamie was beautiful. Beautiful. 

“You’re perfect,” Jamie rasped.  

His fingers dug into John’s hips, holding him in place as he gave a tentative thrust, testing himself with the movement. The look on John’s face as he did so was reward enough, never mind the tight heat - so bloody hot - that surrounded him. Jamie swore he could feel the man's moans rather than hear them. 

“Oh you are a bloody fast learner,” John sighed, his hands pressed against Jamie’s chest to steady himself. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Well if it was good…He thrust up once, hard, and then again and soon they found a rhythm, lost in a sea of cries and breathless pleas. Jamie’s hand found John’s cock and he started to stroke along the length but John stopped him.

“Wait,” John whispered, leaning forward and kissing him urgently, “Slow, my darling. There’s no hurry.” 

Jamie wanted to argue, to proclaim that if he didn’t finish this instant he’d likely die of combustion and wouldn’t that be a mess? But instead, he slowed and John shifted a little so that he was leaning over Jamie, face to face, so close they felt like one body. 

Oh. That changed things. Eye to eye, their unsteady breaths mingling in the space between them, the smooth skin of John’s back under his hands, every bit of it shockingly intimate. No, there was no hurry at all.

“Do you have any idea how lovely you are?” John asked, caressing Jamie’s cheek, eyes bright and warm. 

“Me? I’m rough and scarred and a complete mess,” Jamie said, though in truth he wanted to weep at the tenderness of John’s touch. 

“A beautiful mess,” John whispered against his mouth, starting to roll his hips again, slowly. Kissing him, caressing him, all so slowly it felt like a dream. 

Jamie leaned into the kiss, chasing the taste of John’s tongue, the softness of his swollen lips. 

They found their rhythm again, panting, skin slick with the sweat of their exertions. Jamie could feel that familiar fire in his belly, building in strength and need. He ran his hands down John’s chest, once again taking hold of his cock. John didn’t stop him this time. 

“John,” Jamie moaned, no other word made any sense anymore, just this, just John. 

John shifted, seeming somehow to take him even deeper than before, crying out as Jamie rocked up into him, throwing his head back and tensing. 

"Oh, that, yes, don't stop."

All Jamie could manage was a guttural moan as he stroked and fucked and kissed, greedy for the man before him, needing every bit of him. John was rasping a string of curses mixed with moans, his fingers clawing at Jamie’s skin, leaving welcome marks. 

“Tell me you want me,” Jamie said, feeling his climax grow inevitably closer by the second. “Tell me…”

For a moment all John could manage was a whimper. 

“I’ve never wanted anything so badly. You’ve ruined me and I’ll thank you for it and beg you to do it again…God, Jamie…I want you, I need you now…Fuck. Me. Please.” 

The desperate, stuttering plea was enough to send Jamie crashing over the edge, and he came with a ragged cry as waves of pleasure wracked his body, emptying himself entirely into John. 

He could feel John clench around him as John found his own release, the sensation sending stars shooting across his vision, and if he hadn’t just come harder than he’d ever remembered doing, he’d have lost himself again at that. 

They stayed just as they were for a long time, Jamie’s hand still gripping John’s cock, slick with his seed. Their foreheads pressed together as they tried to recover their breath. The room seemed to fade away, the only sound their hearts thumping madly in their chests. 

Jamie tried to recall the last time he’d felt so utterly boneless with satisfaction, but his mind was a blank. 

At last, John inhaled, nuzzling against Jamie’s neck as he whispered, “Still remember your name?”

Jamie grinned, turning to catch John’s lips in a lazy kiss. 

“No fucking clue.” 

They’d cleaned themselves up and fallen back into bed, not bothering to dress. They didn’t talk, which was probably for the best. John was trying not to think about anything outside the four walls of his bedroom, that would be a disaster and this thing, whatever it was, was too good to ruin with the horrors that certainly awaited once reality set in. 

Some while later they’d started kissing, slow and lazy at first but growing more passionate. John would have, if asked, said that he was utterly spent and did not have enough energy left in him to move, let alone go for another round with Jamie Fraser. He would have been wrong. 

Jamie really was a fast learner, and a wild, passionate, willing lover. He hadn’t experienced anything like it in many years. 

“Look at me,” Jamie had whispered, almost pleading. 

John turned to look over his shoulder as Jamie took him from behind, still a bit uncertain, but so damn eager. He lost himself in pleasure once more, his body given over entirely to Jamie’s touch, and it was good, so damn good. 

Their third round was slow and tender in a way that left John feeling entirely raw and exposed. Startlingly close to lovemaking. Something he’d never expected to feel again and wasn’t at all sure how to handle. Jamie was so damn open and warm, giving himself over to tenderness and passion with such easy willingness it frightened John. Frightened and intrigued, which was no good at all. 

When they stood at last to dress, suddenly too shy to meet each other's gaze, John thought his legs would give out entirely. As they walked to the kitchen he tripped over the upturned corner of the rug and stumbled right into Jamie’s arms. 

“Careful,” Jamie whispered, wrapping an arm around John's middle, “It was you falling that got us into this in the first place.” 

Instead of pulling away as he ought to, John merely melted into Jamie’s strong embrace and sighed. He’d already made as big a mess of things as was humanly possible, so he might as well enjoy the comfort while it lasted. 

He listened to Jamie’s heart beating, inhaled the lingering scent of his cologne, pulled him tighter. It had been a long time since he’d felt so good with anyone, so safe and, well, right. Of course, it wasn’t right in any sense of the word. But he could pretend for another desperate moment. 

“Thank you,” he said at last, “For catching me. You’re a virtual Prince Charming.” 

Jamie chuckled and smoothed the hair around John’s face. 

“That’s what I thought about you the first time I saw you, you were so perfect you didn’t seem real.” He leaned forward, capturing John’s lips. “That was before I knew how filthy your mouth could be.”

John gave him a swat on the arse and they separated. He felt a sharp pang in the vicinity of his heart at the knowledge that he’d likely never touch Jamie again, not if he was smart, not if he did the right thing. One day, they’d gotten one day. Roughly twenty-four hours of foolishness and poor choices. Now it was done and they were done and that was alright. It had to be. 

John put together a container of, now cold, risotto and some reasonably fresh bread, brushing off Jamie’s protestations by insisting he’d never finish it all before it got old. In truth, he had no appetite anymore. Not now that reality was creeping steadily toward him. 

Jamie paused at the door, looking down at him, eyes unreadable.

“I’m sorry, John, I don’t know what to do now…Do I…can I kiss you?” 

Every cell in John’s body wanted to say yes, to lose himself in that heavenly comfort once more. 

“Better not, I think,” John said with a forced smile. “Goodbye, Mr. Fraser.” 

Chapter Text

Tom was his usual self again the next morning, suspiciously cheerful considering his most recent breakup. Grey took a moment to wonder if perhaps the lovebirds had made up already, and then another moment to realize he didn’t care. 

“The usual, boss,” Tom said, handing John a coffee and a croissant, which he accepted gratefully but didn’t eat.

The weight of what he’d done had settled on him fully sometime around dawn, and he’d been sick to his stomach twice already. He’d made mistakes in his life, certainly. But sleeping with a patient was beyond anything he’d ever have believed himself capable of doing. It was the kind of thing he’d heard horror stories about, shaking his head in disbelief or making some flip comment asking how anyone could be so stupid. 

How indeed. 

“Johnny, is that you?” Hal called from his office. “Come in here a moment, I have a question.” 

Oh God. Does he know? How could he know?

Grey cleared his throat and stepped into Hal’s office. 

“Morning, want a croissant?” He set the paper bag down on Hal’s desk without waiting for a reply and took a seat across from his brother. 

“Oh is that from the delightful little shop round the block? Don’t mind if I do. Tom bring this? Jolly good chap, though I should ask why he never brings me anything.” 

“Probably because you’re always yelling at him to wear a tie and stop ordering the cheaper tissues.” 

Hal glared at him mid bite. Grey shrugged. 

“I thought you were with Minnie all week.” 

“Came back early so I could prepare for the conference next week, which, by the way, you ought to be doing as well.”

Grey rolled his eyes. “I am. The presentation was on your desk weeks ago Hal, you didn’t lose it, did you? Was that all? I have work to do.” 

“Mm,” Hal finished chewing and reached for his coffee. “I spoke to Claire Fraser this morning.” 

Grey’s heart skipped several beats and he was certain he could feel all the blood leaving his body at once. What had she said? What did she know? How could she know? Had Jamie told her? Dear God, he was about to lose his job, his license, possibly be sued or arrested…did they arrest people for this? It must be illegal but would he actually go to jail or-

“She said she had hoped to get in sooner, she’s doing couples counseling with you if you’ll recall, her and her husband. Said she was told the soonest you could see them was three weeks out but I see you have several openings in your calendar.” 

“Openings?” Grey said stupidly. 

“Yes, for an appointment. For therapy? As you are a therapist?” Hal sounded annoyed. He was annoyed. Simply annoyed, not furious. He didn’t know. 

Of course he doesn’t know you idiot. Pull yourself together. 

“Ah, yes,” Grey said, nodding, “The Fraser’s, that’s right. I’d forgotten. I am going to give them some recommendations for other clinics, I don’t believe I am the best fit for what they need at the moment. Unfortunate I know, but what can one do?” 

He thought he’d handled that marvelously. Hal seemed to disagree. 

“John, you realize Fraser is a highly regarded surgeon. She’s a legend in her field and a very generous donor to several of Minnie’s charities. She attended the gala last fall with some odd fellow, a professor of some kind, not her husband but I don’t recall the name. Doesn’t matter, point is you cannot simply cast them aside because they are difficult, though I recognize that is how you prefer to deal with issues. Not this time.” 

“That’s not fair, I’m not casting them aside I just don’t think I’m the best fit for them. I’m making a choice that is best for all involved!”

“And I am telling you to un-make that choice. Dr. Fraser is an important person and I do not want to piss her off. I’ve put them on your calendar for this afternoon.” 

John stared at his brother. Meddling, impossible, stupid Hal. 

“If I refuse?” 

“Then you can start looking for other clinics.”

One more session. Just get through one more session. He could speak to Jamie and tell him to convince his wife to go elsewhere. It would be fine. 

“Fine.” 

The day went by in a blur, his thoughts a tangled mess, guilt and anxiety gnawing at his insides until he felt well and truly ill. It had been a fairly slow morning, two cancellations and one client who needed nothing more than a friendly ear. He spent his lunch break crashed on the sofa with exhaustion and only woke when he heard the door to his office open. Had he overslept? What time was it?

“I’m so sorry,” A woman’s voice sounded from the doorway. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

Claire Fraser stood in his office, smiling at him warmly. He was surely going to be sick again. 

“Mrs. Fraser, do come in,” He stood, straightening his shirt and running his fingers through his hair, certain he looked a mess. “I’m terribly sorry, I must have dozed.” 

“No need to apologize, I’m a doctor, I understand the importance of sleeping when you can,” she said, coming to stand next to him, “I can’t tell you the number of sleepless nights I’ve had, on and off the clock. Anyway, I brought you something that might help. If you’re allowed, that is. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

No no, please no gifts. I can’t accept on ethical grounds. Fucking your husband is fine, though. All above board. 

“That’s too kind,” Grey said, accepting the small bag she held out to him. “And I must apologize, I hadn’t realized...You’re a surgeon. You never mentioned.” 

She shrugged. “Professional courtesy, I suppose. Only space for one doctor in the room and this really isn’t my area of expertise.” 

“Well, be that as it may. Thank you, Doctor Fraser,” Grey said, opening the bag, the smell of freshly ground coffee beans filling the air. It was marvelous.

“From my favorite coffee shop, I hope you’re a coffee drinker?” She sat, smoothing the fabric of her skirt. “I know you squeezed us in at the last minute today and I wanted to thank you. It really does mean a great deal.” 

She was poised and gracious. And kind. A good person, from what Grey could tell, extramarital affairs notwithstanding. She’d trusted him to help rescue her marriage and he’d betrayed that trust in the most heinous manner imaginable. Christ, he ought to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness. 

“Yes, about that,” he began, deciding that there was no time like the present to tell her that he could not continue working with them.

“Things have been so awful since Jamie returned,” She said, cutting him off, “But my visit to Uncle Lamb convinced me that I need to try harder. To do better. I haven’t been fair to Jamie and I’m so grateful that you’re here to help us.” 

Shit. This was getting out of hand. 

“Jamie’s a wonderful man and he’s just trying his best,” She continued, "I know that. I need to be kinder to him. You’ve helped me see that.” 

What time was it anyway? Had they started the session without Jamie? 

“I’m…glad you find things are improving,” he said, eyeing the clock as casually as he could. They still had fifteen minutes before their appointment, what was she doing? Could he tell her to wait? Would Jamie’s presence make things better or worse?

“I wouldn’t say improving, exactly, I just…I want it to improve. When we started I wasn’t sure. Although now I’m plagued with other worries. Like the fact that every time my husband tries to touch me all I can think of is Frank, because Frank was there when Jamie wasn’t and I don’t know if I can go through losing him again.” 

Grey felt a new stab of pain, not the guilt he’d been carrying around with him for two days, but a different kind of pain. A recognition of the woman before him and what she’d been through. She’d felt lost and alone as if her husband didn’t want her. Christ Grey, you’re a real bastard.  

“I suppose you’d probably tell me that my fear of abandonment stems from childhood issues, that I’m afraid of people leaving because my parents died when I was young. But I honestly don’t know if that’s true. Maybe it is, or maybe I’m just an awful person and I can’t be alone with myself because I’m miserable company.” 

“What makes you think you’re an awful person? You certainly spend a great deal of time helping others, at least professionally.”

She laughed, a bitter, harsh sound.

“So that makes cheating on my husband alright, then?” 

“It makes you a good person who made a mistake.” 

Something flickered across her face, on anyone else he might have called it blushing, but on her, the word seemed insufficient. She was too composed, too elegant for the humble act of a blush. 

“You’re very kind, Doctor. But I think you’re wrong. I’m what they call a ‘bad apple’. I make everyone around me worse, I’m sure of it.”

If you’re a bad apple, what does that make me? Grey wondered to himself. He suspected the answer was something closer to ‘the snake in the bloody garden’ than he was comfortable admitting. 

“I think you’re very harsh with yourself because of one mistake. You’re trying to make amends, that must count for something.”

“Yes, but I’m afraid I’ve messed up too badly. I don’t deserve someone as good and kind as Jamie. You heard him, he was faithful to me even while I was carrying on with Frank and I went and broke his heart. I think I’ll always feel unworthy of his love.”

Grey took several breaths as the weight of that settled on him. What would she say if she knew how Jamie had spent his night?

For a moment they sat in silence, then suddenly she sat up, straightening her blouse and smoothing her hair. “Dr. Grey, do you think I am attractive? Sexually, that is.”

He could actually feel his jaw drop. 

“I know, I shouldn’t ask. And it’s not a trick question I just, I wondered, really.” 

“Mrs.-er, Dr. Fraser, I’m not sure that I am in a position to answer that question. But if you’re concerned perhaps we can discuss it with your husband during your session.” 

With her husband. Who had shared John’s bed last night. Whose scent he could still smell on himself in spite of the cold shower he’d taken, who had left bite marks along his shoulder and neck, whose desperate cries he could still hear echoing in his mind.

Bloody awful mess, Grey. Bloody awful.

“I realize that you shouldn’t answer me,” Dr. Fraser continued, leaning forward so that her shirt fell open, revealing the lace edges of her undergarments. “But you are a man, after all. And you’re not on the clock yet.” 

Dear God in heaven. 

“I’m sorry, but I do have some work to get done before our appointment if you don’t mind? I’ll escort you to the waiting room.” 

He started to move toward the door but she stopped him, jumping up and grabbing his sleeve. 

“Wait, please, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn't have said that I just…I’m afraid.” 

“Afraid?” 

“I want to fix my marriage, but I’m afraid that Jamie won’t want me anymore. That I’m not enough for him…that he won’t be attracted to me. I just thought if you could offer me some sort of objective confirmation that I wasn’t…I don’t know, hideous? I thought it might help. I’m sorry.” 

Her hand was still on his sleeve and, against his better judgment, (judgment which had seemingly decided to go on holiday without his consent) he took her hand in his.

“You are the farthest thing from hideous, my dear.” Why was he saying this? Why was he touching her? That was bad, all of this was bad but the words fell from his mouth before he could stop them. “I think you are both looking for the same thing. You and Jamie both want, more than anything, to feel wanted. That’s all."  

Shit. He’d said too much. Called Jamie by his first name, why had he done that? Would she be suspicious? Ask him why he’d said that, why he was being so familiar? 

But she did none of that. She just stood there, her hand in his, staring at him. Had he said something wrong? He had confirmed that she wasn’t hideous, hadn’t he? They were still far too close- so close he could smell her perfume. 

Then she stepped closer and, by God he should step back, push her away if he had to because this…this was beyond unthinkable, this was…

“You’re certainly not hideous,” She whispered, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes so blue in all my life.”

Was this all some horrendous scheme? Had Hal hired actors to test him, to see if he was up to the standards of the practice? If so he had surely already failed a hundred times over. 

“Please, Mrs- Doctor Fraser-”

“Can’t you call me Claire?” She said, stepping closer again, the toes of her shoes brushing his own.

“I really shouldn’t,” He said, feeling as if he were drunk or hypnotized by her touch or…was that her hand wrapping around his middle? Dear God. 

Claire bit her lip and pressed her body against his and really, how come his limbs had stopped working along with his brain and grasp of the English language? He tried to step back but his body had gone numb.

Most of it. 

“Oh,” Claire hummed with delight, “So you do think I’m attractive. Sexually.” 

He was going to quit. As soon as the day was over he’d give Hal his notice, or better yet, just leave. He’d given it a go, it hadn’t worked. Perhaps he’d get a job at a coffee shop, he liked coffee.

Claire’s other hand ran up his chest, up his neck, tangling through his hair. The long, slender fingers pulled him towards her. 

He turned away from her and hurriedly stepped behind his desk, trying to control his breathing. 

“Perhaps we ought to cancel our session, Clai- Mrs….Um…Yes, I think it’s best if we just…I’ll have Tom send over some recommendations for a new clinic... Uh, the door is just there, If you please.” 

That was good. Right? He’d put an end to whatever the hell she was doing. Not that it was her fault, of course, he was equally to blame, surely. 

She stood contemplating him for a moment, like a panther contemplating her prey. Calculating, sure of herself, deciding whether to go for the throat or the guts. His stomach clenched in a mixture of fear and…well. Damnit. He wasn’t even attracted to women. Most of the time. This particular woman was…testing that theory in the extreme as she came to stand in front of his desk, leaning forward onto her hands, giving him a very direct view down her shirt. If he looked, which he wasn’t. 

“This is-”

“Inappropriate?” Claire murmured, “Unethical? Against all the rules? Yes, you’re right.” 

She turned so that she was half sitting half leaning on the desk, reaching out a hand and toying with the buttons of his shirt. 

“I bet you’re a stickler for the rules, aren’t you?” She asked as she undid the top button with remarkable efficiency. 

Stop her now you idiot! Step away, yell for Tom, pour the bloody pitcher of water over your head and stop her! 

“I’m sorry if I led you to believe that this was what I wanted, truly I am,” he said, gently brushing her exploring fingers away from his chest. 

“Oh you’re good,” Claire said, holding her hands up in surrender, “You’re very good. See? I am a bad apple.” 

She seemed to deflate then, looking down at the desk, biting her lip again, in contemplation more than seduction. 

“I ought to thank you,” she continued, “At least now I know I can still feel desire. And you’re right, I do want to be wanted. Only who knows if Jamie even wants me anymore.”

Grey spoke without thinking. “You’re beautiful, any man would be a fool not to want you. He’s no fool.” 

The air between them lit with electricity, Claire’s eyes snapping to his with the light of a victor.

Shit. Fucking damnation. Grey you absolute idiot. 

Claire slid toward him, careless of the papers and books that scattered the desk. 

“You’re no fool, are you, Dr. Grey?” 

You have no idea. 

He couldn’t have said who started the kiss, but suddenly their lips were locked together, hands tangled in each other's hair, grabbing madly. Claire managed to wrap her legs around his hips, bucking up against him and eliciting a moan. 

It was a blur, her hands under his shirt, his mouth on her neck, kissing the delicate skin of her chest. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d kissed a woman, but he’d never met a woman quite like her. It was clear what Jamie saw in her. 

Jamie. Oh dear lord, Jamie. 

“Don’t stop,” Claire whispered, and he realized he’d pulled back at the thought, “Please don’t stop.” 

She was like wildfire, flames licking at him from all sides, burning him to ashes at her touch. He wasn’t sure how, but his shirt was undone and Claire’s hands were on his chest, scratching and grabbing. She would leave marks. The thought only made him burn hotter. 

Somehow her skirt was up around her hips, his hands caressing her thighs, wrapping around to her arse, which was absolutely bloody perfect. He pressed her forward, chasing her mouth as she nipped at his bottom lip. 

“I don’t even like women,” He said, stupidly, between kisses, “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Claire laughed, the sound somehow both deep and bubbly, palming his cock through his trousers. 

“You seem to be getting on just fine,” Claire rasped.

He was getting on fine, shockingly fine, reaching up to cup her breast, wishing there wasn’t a layer of fabric between his hand and her soft, porcelain skin. 

“You’re so…” He stammered.  “Oh, God.” 

Her shirt had to go, he all but tore the buttons open, still blessedly aware that she’d need to walk out of the office eventually and would need her blouse in order to do so.

Whatever she was wearing underneath could scarcely be called a ‘bra’, the thin lace barely covering anything. He leaned down, biting at the exposed skin like a brute, causing her to cry out. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, pulling away. Her answer was to wrap her legs tighter around him and pull him in so he could feel the wet heat between her legs, conveniently not covered by anything at all. 

“Fuck,” he moaned. 

“Yes, please,” Claire cried, shifting a little in invitation. “Right here on this desk, if you don’t mind.”

He was possessed, surely, by some evil spirit that wanted nothing more than to fuck the last two people on earth he ought to be fucking. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried, though he had to admit he had no intention of trying. Claire was rocking against him, moaning and gasping and he nudged her legs wider, relishing the smoothness of her. He fell to his knees, looking up to see her watching him, wide-eyed and panting. 

“Dear god you’re lovely,” He whispered against her thigh, head very nearly underneath her skirt. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d do when his mouth reached its destination, he’d never actually been in this position with a woman before, other things, yes, but never this. He supposed the finer points of pleasure were more or less universal. Listen to your partner and mind your teeth. 

“You don’t have to…” she panted as his kisses neared her sex, “I mean you can just…fuck me. If you want. Whatever you want.”

He stood, leaning against the desk and kissed her, hard. If he was going to do this, which it seemed like he was, against his better judgment and all, he was damned well going to make it good for her. “What do you want?” 

“I want everything.” She purred against his ear, biting the sensitive flesh of his neck.  

That was enough for him. He sank back to his knees as Claire’s fingers threaded through his hair and she leaned back. 

This was extraordinary. It was no doubt a terrible decision that would lead to dire consequences, but it was extraordinary all the same.

Settling himself between her legs once more he kissed a line up the inside of one thigh, then the other, licking and teasing until she was practically squirming under his touch, desperate little noises escaping her mouth. 

Finally relenting, he flicked his tongue, delicately exploring, tasting the sweetness of her arousal. The warmth of her struck him, the softness, the most wonderful noises coming from her kiss-swollen lips as he swirled his tongue in just the right place. The louder cry as he slipped a finger slowly inside, then another, teasing sensation from her inside and out. 

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” The words came out in a breathless burst, her body lifting off the desk a little, seeking more pressure. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.” 

He wasn’t planning on stopping, he was utterly at her mercy, her word his command. His cock was stiff and aching, constricted by the tight fabric, but it hardly seemed to matter. Just her. Her breaths, growing shallow, her grip tightening on his hair, her husky voice mumbling incoherent pleas. The knock at the door.

The knock at the bloody door.

Chapter Text

The knock at the bloody door.

“Fucking hell.”

“Dear God!” 

They spoke in unison, twin expressions of panic mirrored on their faces. 

“One moment please, Tom,” Grey called, as calmly as he could manage. No one else save Tom would knock on his door, surely. 

But the voice that answered wasn’t Tom’s. Instead, a low and decidedly Scottish voice replied. 

“Your fellow up front said I should come straight back.” 

They scattered apart, knocking the lamp and several papers off Grey’s desk in the process. 

“Right, yes, one moment please we’re…talking privately.” It was a terrible excuse said with about as much guilt as anyone could muster when discovered moments away from fucking the wife of a client. Which was to say a considerable amount. 

Claire didn’t meet his eyes, though she seemed more composed than he thought possible. Calmly readjusting her hair, tucking in her shirt, and moving to sit on the sofa as if they’d merely been sharing a pleasant chat. 

Grey fixed himself up, redoing the buttons on his shirt and running a hand through his hair, perhaps Jamie would simply take his disheveled appearance as a sign of how badly he felt about the previous night. 

“Come in, please,” John said, self-consciously wiping his mouth. He could still taste Claire and the thought sent a shudder through his body. Taking a seat, he picked up his notebook hoping it would hide the significant cockstand that was currently making his trousers feel far too tight.

“Sorry I’m early, I…” Jamie looked from Claire to John, a scarlet flush suffusing his face from neck to hairline. “I’ve interrupted…” 

“Not at all,” Grey said, clearing his throat and praying that he’d done his buttons right, “Please, have a seat.” 

“Yes, join us,” Claire said, a little breathless as she looked up at her husband.

Yes, join us. Just a normal session between husband and wife and their absolute arsehole of a therapist who has no morals or sense of professionalism. 

“Right. Aye.” Jamie sat, awkwardly, at the very end of the sofa, hands folded in his lap like a schoolboy about to be reprimanded.

Grey looked at his notebook for a moment and commended his soul to whatever deity out there would take him. 

“So, uh, the last time we were all here we discussed-”

“Infidelity, I believe, “ Claire said, pressing a hand to her mouth as soon as the words were spoken. Jamie tensed, gaze fixed on his shoes as if he were intent on burning a hole in them with his eyes.

“Yes,” Grey said, trying to remember how one was supposed to talk and breathe at the same time. That sounded impossible. He took another deep breath before forcing himself to speak. “Infidelity amongst other things. Perhaps we could start with a check-in. How are you both feeling at the moment? Clai- or Mrs…uh. You mentioned your time away seemed to change things?”

One hour. Just get through one hour. You’re a damned professional, or you were until these two came into your life. You can do this. 

“Yes,” Claire said, fiddling with the collar of her blouse, “It gave me some much needed perspective, I suppose. I haven’t been sure that I even wanted to fix this. But something shifted when I was away and now I see that I haven’t been fair. Jamie, I haven’t given you a chance and I want to. I want you back, want us back.” 

Jamie looked at her, eyes wide with panic. 

Grey knew he should say something, it was his job after all, but his mouth had gone dry and his voice seemed to have abandoned him. 

What have you done? Have you ruined this for them?  

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, after everything I’ve put you through,” Claire continued, words tumbling out in a rush, “I regret hurting you, Jamie, I truly do. I know I’ve said it was your fault for leaving, but we agreed you would go and I knew that and still I turned to Frank and all the while you were faithful and kind and you would never…”

“Stop,” Jamie said, holding a hand up, “Please, Claire, just…wait a moment. I thought when you left for your uncle’s you said-”

“I said I didn’t care if you were still my husband when I got back or not. I remember.”

Jamie hadn’t mentioned that, either in their session or any of the other times they’d seen each other. Not that they’d talked about anything at all while they’d been together, focused as they had been on other...activities. Still, it was a shock. 

“So now you’re saying you…want me?”

The hurt in Jamie’s voice clenched at John’s guts, he wanted to scream at the both of them, to grab their hands and tell them ‘You’re the same! You want the same thing!’. Instead, he looked between husband and wife, hoping his voice wouldn't shake as he spoke.  

“Why don’t we take a step back before things get out of hand,” Grey said.

“A bit late for that,” Claire said, burying her face in her hands. 

“What do you mean, ‘late?'” Jamie asked, looking to John in panic, “What does she know? Claire, what do you know?” 

Grey started to shake his head, to assure Jamie that Claire knew nothing at all, but Jamie was already standing . 

“I have to…I can’t…” Jamie turned and bolted from the room.

“Shit.” John cursed before he could stop himself.

Claire cast a questioning glance to Grey before running out after Jamie, leaving him alone with his spiraling thoughts. 

What had he been thinking?  Was he so lacking in self control that he couldn’t even manage the most basic of decencies? Thank God Fraser had walked in when he did. Not that it made any difference in an ethical or moral sense, but at least he hadn’t…dammit. 

He tore a piece of paper from his notebook, thinking for no more than a second before scribbling a hasty letter of resignation. 

Hal had gone home before lunch, so John simply placed it on his desk. He’d deal with his brother when he had to, and God willing he’d be struck down by lightning before then. 

Grabbing a few empty boxes from the supply closet, John returned to his office, feeling dreamlike and dizzy, as if the room was moving in circles around him. This place had been his whole life for so long. Could he just walk away? 

Yes, he could, he must. 

The larger items would have to wait, he’d take only the essentials and simply leave. Or perhaps, he thought, hearing the slam of a door followed by what seemed to be footsteps approaching at a fast pace, he should pack nothing and leave out the back door. Except there was no back door. 

“You bastard!” Jamie shouted, voice ringing down the hall.

Grey had a brief, insane urge to laugh hysterically, followed by a very strong desire to run away. There was time for neither, so he stood, ready for whatever Fraser had in store for him. 

“How could you?” Jamie crashed through the door, red-faced and furious. 

“I’m so sorry,” Grey said, not knowing what else he possibly could say. 

“Jamie!” Claire screamed, running into the office and grabbing hold of her husband's arm, “Don’t you dare shout at him. I pushed him to it, I wanted him. If you’re going to be angry-”

“I am angry!” Jamie snapped, “But I wilnae yell at you when he is the one who-”

“Shut up!” John shouted at the room, at the sky, at anyone who would bloody listen. Everyone fell silent, gaping at him. “You are truly made for each other, you know that? You are the most…insufferable, most ridiculous people I have ever met! You have both driven me to madness in ways I couldn’t have possibly imagined before meeting you. You are both so bloody stubborn and pig headed and goddamned impossible. But you’re the same! Don’t you see? You both want the same thing! To be loved and desired, to possess one another with whatever black magic is in your souls that makes people lose their minds when they look at you. I have never met two people better suited to each other than you. Now please, for heaven's sake, leave me the fuck alone.”

“What do you mean ‘both’?” Claire asked, looking from Jamie to John. 

Of all the twisted, horrible, fucked up situations you could have gotten yourself into, Grey.  

John glared at Jamie who stared back, lips moving as if trying, and failing, to form words. He wasn’t one to shy away from responsibility but he did feel that in this particular case it would not help anything if he were the one to tell Claire Fraser that he and Jamie had shared a bed, and much more, the previous night. 

He needn’t have worried.

Claire’s eyes went wide, a realization dawning on her face even as Jamie turned to reach for her. She slapped Jamie across the cheek, the sound resonating through John’s own skin. 

“You goddamn bloody bastard,” Claire shouted, “You fucked our marriage counselor?” 

Jamie’s face, already as red as it could possibly get, drained in an instant and he dropped onto the sofa.

“I’ve made a mess of everything,” Jamie said, shaking his head, a man defeated.

“Damn right you have!” Claire cried.

“I just needed to feel again, Claire! To be wanted and desired!”

“So you went off behind my back and jumped in bed with the prettiest man you could find, is that it?” 

“No! I just…Dammit Claire, I’ve been losing my mind over you for months and I made a mistake.” 

Grey turned away from the screaming couple, turned back to his desk and began to pack up a stack of papers and notebooks. Anything confidential ought to go. His pens were quite expensive, he’d bring those. Perhaps the paperweight- his mother had brought that home from Australia, custom engraved in crystal. She’d been so proud when he’d graduated from Oxford top of his class. She’d probably disown him now. 

“If you say ‘Frank’ one more time James Fraser I swear I will kill you! I will!”

“Frank, Frank, Frank bloody fucking FRANK!” 

There was nothing else he needed really, the books could stay for whoever Hal found to replace him. Grey loved his books, dearly, but there was no chance he’d get them all out before Hal got his letter and came to strangle him. He could buy new books. Perhaps he’d sell his apartment and leave the country, become a nomad, maybe buy a sailboat and sail to Argentina. He wouldn’t have space for books on a sailboat. Could one learn how to sail on the go? How hard could it be, some ropes and a bit of canvas, he’d be fine.

“Then you shouldn’t have bought the damned car in the first place!”

“I bought it for you, you idiot!”

“You never let me dri-”

“You’re a hazard!”

Definitely he’d leave the country. Perhaps he could change his name, though, really, John Grey wasn’t exactly original or notable in any way. There was really nothing unique about him at all, save the fact that he was relatively good looking and educated. He could fix both of those things easily enough. Where had he left that ugly old jumper he’d taken from his mother’s closet at sixteen? Damn, had Tom stolen it? 

“I don’t even LIKE bananas and you ought to know that by now!”

The first box was quite full, he moved on to the second, opening several drawers and simply dumping the contents haphazardly into the box. There was an old picture frame and a note from Stephan he’d forgotten about, a gift card he thought he’d lost, several coins of varying origins- dollars, pounds, euros. Nothing important, tidbits of life he’d leave behind happily if it meant leaving behind the rest of this madness. 

The silence in the room shook Grey out of his Fraser-induced hysteria. That was odd. Had they left without him noticing? 

“Oh God, Claire!” Jamie’s husky voice filled the quiet of the room and Grey turned to see the two of them wrapped in a fervent embrace. 

“Yes, Jamie, please!” Claire cried as Jamie’s hands tore at her clothing. John wasn’t at all sure if he should say something or simply leave them to it. Hadn’t someone ought to at least close the door? 

Claire’s shirt was off, followed immediately by her bra. Christ, Jamie worked quickly, his mouth closing around one of her nipples, sucking and biting, eliciting all sorts of needy sounds from Claire’s mouth. 

“What do you want?” Jamie asked, bending Claire backward, her elegant neck exposed to his ravishing kisses, “I want to hear you say it.” 

She tugged Jamie to her lips, nipping at him, her tongue tangling with his for a moment before she spoke. 

“I want you to fuck me, James Fraser. Right here, right now."  

Grey carefully gathered his small box of belongings and started to make his way quietly out the door. Who was he to judge? He’d have had Claire on the desk if Jamie hadn’t walked in. As far as he was concerned, they were welcome to the room. 

“Where the devil do you think you’re going?” Jamie’s voice stopped him in his tracks before he’d made it half a dozen steps. 

He turned, not quite sure Jamie was talking to him, but unable to make sense of the words otherwise. 

Jamie Fraser stood, holding his half-naked wife in his arms, lips red from Claire’s kisses, staring at John with a dangerous smile. 

“I…I thought I’d leave you to it,” Grey said shakily, debating the merits of simply dropping the box and making a run for it. 

“That’s no fun,” Claire said, running her fingers up her thigh, lifting her skirt to reveal her completely bare arse, “I seem to recall we have unfinished business on your desk, Doctor Grey.”  

He was surely on the brink of death for the third time in as many days. He couldn't form words, couldn’t move his limbs, couldn’t even seem to take a breath. He’d pass out from lack of oxygen soon and then Claire Fraser would have to revive him and the police would be called and he would once again ruin everything. 

Claire pulled away from Jamie, the two of them sharing a look that could only be described as ‘marital’, before walking over to him. 

“You’re the reason we’re here, after all. Without you, we’d just be sitting at home not speaking to each other.” She reached out and plucked the box from his hands, setting it down before closing the door, the lock clicking like a gavel, sentencing him to one final act of complete stupidity. 

“Join us, John,” Jamie said as Claire took his hand and placed it on her bare, perfect, breast. 

Last chance to walk away, Grey. The voice of reason whispered in his head. He told the voice to fuck off. 

“Unfinished business?” John asked, letting his gaze travel down Claire’s body in open lust. She smiled and turned, sauntering over to the desk and leaning against it. 

“We were in the middle of something very pleasant when we were so rudely interrupted,” Claire glanced at her husband, “Jamie will be a gentleman and let us finish, won’t you, my love?” 

Claire looked to Jamie who grinned at her, nodding. This was absolutely the most insane thing she’d ever done in her life, and that was saying something. She hadn’t meant to kiss Grey, hadn’t meant for anything to happen between them at all. She wasn’t a monster, didn’t wish to hurt Jamie any more than she already had. But now that everything had unraveled and the truth of their situation was out in the open...

Doctor Grey had been a mistake, she’d known that as soon as they’d walked in that first day. The man was so bloody handsome she could hardly focus on a word he said. With his soft, shining hair, impeccably tailored clothes that left just enough to her wandering imagination, that smile that lit his eyes. Such lovely eyes, she'd caught herself lost in them countless times during their session, no doubt seeming more irritable than she'd meant to, hiding her embarrassment. She’d been practically drooling over him for weeks to the point where she woke up dreaming of him in the middle of the night, shockingly aroused and sweating. It had gotten so bad she’d run away to her uncle’s, faking an emergency, just to avoid seeing Grey.

The time away had given her a new perspective, and she’d come back determined to make things right with Jamie. Except then John fucking Grey had been there, uncommonly disheveled, his dark hair a mess, a shadow of stubble covering his firm jaw, shirt open to show a tantalizing hint of chest hair. 

God, she’d cracked like an egg and practically begged him to fuck her. Helpless against the charms the man seemed entirely unaware he possessed. Apparently her husband was no more immune to the doctor's charms than she was, and thank bloody goodness for that because she wanted this, wanted the two men before her, and goddammit she’d have them. 

Claire hopped up onto the desk, smiling at John, who took a tentative step towards her. 

“Go on, John,” Jamie said, moving to stand behind John and whisper in his ear, “Finish your business while I tend to some of my own.”

Jamie’s hands ran across John’s chest, down toward his waistline, thumbs tracing under his belt, familiar in their movements. Claire's mouth went dry. 

“Have I died and gone to heaven,” John asked in disbelief.

“Seems more hell’s purview,” Jamie grinned at Claire over John's shoulder, looking altogether too pleased with himself. 

“It’s bloody purgatory while you two make me wait, let’s get on with it shall we?” Claire demanded, skirt hiked around her middle. 

“You heard her,” Jamie said to John, “Best not keep the lady waiting.”  

John exhaled as he fell to his knees, hands resting on Claire’s thighs, blue eyes turned dark with lust as they gazed up at her.  

“I wouldn’t wish to keep Mrs. Fraser waiting, certainly,” John said, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, a light, teasing brush. 

“Please don’t,” Claire said, squirming a bit to indicate she was more than ready to pick up exactly where they’d left off. 

“Oh, I wont,” John said, turning to kiss the other thigh, sucking at the tender skin, leaving a red mark as he pulled away. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Bloody Bastard.  

He kissed his way down toward her knee, licking and biting, the scrape of teeth leaving a line of red along her pale skin. His eyes, the eyes she’d seen in her most illicit dreams, locked with her own. A challenge and she’d already lost. 

“Will you fucking get on with it?” Claire growled, throwing her head back in frustration. She knew how that mouth felt, that clever tongue, those kiss swollen lips. And he knew that it damned well wasn’t her thighs she wanted him to be kissing.

“Ask nicely,” John said, his breath warm against her skin.

Bloody fucking teasing bastard.  

“Please.” 

A laugh. He was laughing.  

“Please what, Doctor Fraser?” 

A whimper of desperation escaped her and she was very much contemplating getting up and walking away. Who did he think he was, teasing her like this? But the wet heat between her legs was reminder enough that she would most certainly regret that.  

“Please get the bloody hell on with this and put your mouth on my cu… Oh God!” Claire exclaimed as John’s mouth moved, at last, between her legs, licking and tasting her with desperate passion. “Oh, yes that's...yes.” 

For a man who claimed to have no interest in or experience with women, he damned well knew what he was doing. His tongue worked her clit, fingers slipping easily inside her, sending sensation coursing through her like electricity. She reached down, grabbing a handful of John’s soft, dark hair and holding him close to her, he groaned against her skin making her shiver and cry out. 

Claire bucked shamelessly against John’s hand, wanting more of him as she felt the heat build inside her. 

“Don’t. Stop.” She cried, echoing their encounter moments before Jamie burst in. She’d nearly forgotten Jamie’s presence and opened her eyes to look for him, only he’d disappeared. Where the hell had he gone?

“Oh fuck, Jamie!” John pulled away, gasping at something Jamie was doing, out of Claire’s sight. She had no idea what or how he was doing anything, with John kneeling in from of the desk, but whatever it was, John looked as though he’d been transported to another dimension. That wouldn’t do at all. 

Claire leaned forward, reaching for John’s hair once more and tugged him back to her, pushing her hips up toward his open mouth. The smile on his perfect face was nothing short of devilish and he returned to his task with enthusiasm, twitching and moaning occasionally but never pulling away. Working her sensitive skin with fingers and mouth until she was ready to scream.

Her climax was as sudden and powerful as she’d ever felt, shaking her whole body, leaving her gasping and clutching at nothing, crying out incoherent words. 

She could feel John panting between her legs, the breaths teasing against the overly sensitive flesh. Whatever Jamie was doing beneath the desk…

“Stop, wait, Jamie…I…” John gasped his reluctant potest, leaning against Claire’s thigh. 

Jamie’s head popped out of nowhere with a sideways smirk, his lips damp and red, and Claire suddenly had a very clear picture of what exactly her husband had been up to. As she was contemplating the fact that this picture seemed to make her belly clench quite pleasantly, Jamie leaned forward and caught John’s mouth in his, kissing the man wildly, the both of them leaning over one of her bare thighs. 

Two men. Two beautiful, clever, passionate men. And they were both hers for the taking. 

Oh. This will be fun.  

“Well,” Claire said, still catching her breath, “That was quite…”

She trailed off, realizing that the two beautiful, clever, passionate men were so entirely caught up in one another that they weren’t listening to a word she said. 

We’ll see about that.  

“So,” Claire said, “Which one of you is going to fuck me properly, then?” 

Two pair of blue eyes turned on her, back to each other in silent communication, and then to her once more. 

“Claire,” Jamie sighed her name as if he’d been waiting to say it for years. She supposed perhaps he had, in a way. “Will ye have me?” 

It had been over a year since she and Jamie had shared more than an awkward kiss, but desire for her husband burned through her, stronger than anything she’d ever felt before, for anyone. 

“Yes,” She whispered, “I’d like that.” 

Jamie’s smile might have lit the room, red curls already a messy tangle, falling into his face. John reached out and brushed them out of the way with such tenderness Claire felt a blush spread across her cheeks, as if she were interrupting a moment of terrible intimacy. 

“Would you like me to…I don’t know, leave you to it?” John asked, without any jealousy or heat. 

“Stay, John,” Jamie said, kissing John’s knuckles one at a time. “I should like to have you both, if I might.” 

“Both?” Claire asked, intrigued at the notion. “How do you propose…” 

Before she could finish Jamie was standing, lifting her bodily from the desk and carrying her over to the sofa. They’d spent hours sitting on opposite ends of that damned sofa, fighting and yelling, poking all the tender wounds left unhealed, trying so desperately to find each other again without success. Now here they were, aching, burning, for each other. And John, the catalyst for it all. 

I suppose this means the marriage counseling worked after all. Claire thought and burst out laughing. 

Jamie looked down at her, eyebrow raised as he tossed his jeans aside. “What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Claire said, and pulled him into a kiss. Wet and open, everything she’d dreamed of. 

“I love you, Claire,” Jamie murmured against her lips.

“I love you too, Jamie,” Claire said, the tenderness of the moment stinging her eyes with tears. 

“May I?” Jamie asked, tracing a line up her inner thigh, still sticky with arousal. 

“Please.” 

He pushed in, gently at first, but as she dug her fingernails into his very firm arse he seemed to remember she’d never cared for gently.  

“Oh God, Jamie,” Claire gasped into her husband's shoulder, curling up to touch and feel every bit of him, the muscles of his arms, the taut skin of his abdomen, belly clenching with each thrust. God, he was a rare and beautiful man. She looked up at him, arms and legs wrapping around him, clinging to him as he filled her, two bodies becoming one. 

“Claire,” Jamie rasped, stuttering with each deep thrust. “My love…my beautiful…wife…” 

She thought he might be on the precipice of climax, but he slowed, tracing her cheek and pushing the hair away from her eyes, as John had done for him moments earlier. 

John. She turned to glance at the desk where John leaned, casually as if he were having a conversation about the weather, not watching his two lovers fuck each other on his sofa. He’d done up his trousers, though his shirt was still in disarray and his hair a wild mess. The sly smile on his lips told Claire he was very much enjoying the view. 

“Jamie you said both,” Claire panted, eyes meeting John’s. 

Jamie stilled as if he’d forgotten they weren’t alone in the room. 

“I did…” Jamie managed, voice thick with the tension of holding back as he looked over at John. 

“Do you want me?” John asked, cool and collected as ever. Jamie seemed unable to produce words, but nodded, eyes slightly glazed with desire. Claire wondered briefly how they’d manage the three of them, but John seemed to know the answer to that as well. He moved toward the sofa, slowly undoing his zipper and pulling his prick, causing Jamie to inhale sharply. 

“Open your pretty mouth for me then, Jamie,” John said, teasing the tip of his cock against Jamie’s red lips, “I know how much you love this. Suck me while you fuck her.”

Claire could feel Jamie’s cock twitch inside her as he took John in his mouth with a whimper of need. She had to admit the sight of it sent a thrill through her own body, the two of them, the sounds Jamie made, the way his body moved with hers even while he pleasured John. Every bit of it felt wonderful and right.  

One of John’s hands moved to caress Jamie’s hair, holding his head steady as he thrust into Jamie’s willing mouth, the other took firm hold of Claire’s breast, thumb flicking and teasing at her nipple, causing her to cry out in pleasure, bucking up against Jamie's hips.

Two can play at that game. She thought, reaching out to cup John’s balls, hearing him gasp as she did. She’d never wanted this before in her life, the thought had never even occurred to her to have two men at once. But this…this was extraordinary. The beauty, the passion, the feeling of rightness. She never wanted it to end. Or, well, she supposed endings were inevitable as she felt her own climax growing for the second time, letting herself be swept away by it, overwhelmed with sensations, Jamie inside her, John in her hand, the grunts and sighs of the two men, her own desperate desires being met at last. 

Then Jamie was crying out around John’s cock, thrusting into her once, twice, hard and trembling movements that sent her spiraling over the edge as well. She lost all sense of time or space then, eyes closed against the flood of pleasure filling her entire being. 

“God, Jamie...” John’s voice was muffled and distant, a rasp, a groan of relief, then silence.

Strong hands shifted her so that she was laying on top of Jamie, cradled in his arms, the two of them resting on John’s lap as he sat on the sofa at last. No one spoke, they just lay curled together, breathless, hands running through hair, fingers tangled together, lips pressing soft kisses. 

Claire had no idea how long they stayed that way when at last she heard Jamie’s voice, low and filled with gentle humor. 

“Please tell me ye dinna have another client coming in any time soon, John,” Jamie murmured. John laughed, leaning down to kiss first Jamie’s head, then Claire’s. 

“No more clients. Not now, not ever.”

“Hm?” Was all Claire could manage. 

“I quit,” John said, correctly interpreting her grunt, “Technically this isn’t even my office anymore.” 

“That’s no fun,” Jamie teased, and John pushed him playfully. 

“Pleasant as this is,” Claire cut in, feeling her shoulders begin to cramp from their rather crowded position, “Shall we move along to somewhere more comfortable? Perhaps with a bed?” 

They sat up and began reassembling themselves, the silence between them peaceful and comfortable rather than strained. Jamie helped her to zip her skirt, John’s fingers combed through Jamie’s messy curls, Claire did up the buttons of John’s shirt.

So good, so right.  

“Well,” John said, breaking the silence at last, “More comfortable you said?” 

“Our townhouse has plenty of space.” Claire offered with a smile, but Jamie shook his head. 

“At this time of day, it’ll take an hour at least to get there. John’s apartment is closer.” 

Claire was about to ask how the devil Jamie knew where John lived, but the look on John’s face stopped her short. His fine features were shadowed with worry, an expression she’d not seen before.  

“I don’t…” He began, then stopped, shaking his head. He took a breath and looked between them. “I don't normally...I mean to say it’s been a very long time since I’ve truly cared for anyone, and I’m very much concerned that I already care a great deal about the both of you. More than I should, probably. I’m…afraid.”

Claire and Jamie moved as one, wrapping John between them in a way that felt natural as if they’d been doing so for years. 

“It's alright,” Jamie said gently, eyes bright as he looked over at Claire, fingers tracing soothing lines along John's back, “It’s all new and frightening, aye? We’ll take it one day at a time. If you decide tomorrow that this doesn’t work, well, that’s alright. There’s no rush, my darlings.”

“No,” Claire agreed, “There’s no rush at all." 

Claire thought she heard a sniffle, but couldn’t be sure until John spoke, voice thick with emotion. 

“Well then, I’d very much like it if you both came home with me, and I…uh, I’d like to cook you dinner.”

Chapter Text

They barely made it in the door before stripping each other's clothes off in a mad rush. Three bodies felt crowded in the entryway, tripping and stumbling over feet that didn’t quite know where to go and hands that wanted to touch everything all at once. 

Claire was naked before they made it to the kitchen, unsure who exactly had unzipped her skirt and tugged off her blouse, but much too caught up to care.

“Dinner, you said?” Jamie rasped, pulling away from John long enough to offer him a sideways smirk before diving back in, biting at his neck leaving little red marks as he did. 

“Yes,” John said, “Yes I did but…perhaps…later.” 

“I’m famished,” Claire said, walking decisively toward what she thought was the bedroom.

They fell onto the bed, the soft sheets luxurious as they sprawled together limbs a tangled mess. No one seemed to know where to begin, so Claire took hold of the situation. And John’s cock. 

“Finish what we started earlier?” She whispered, tugging him toward her naked body. 

“It would be my pleasure,” He hummed against her neck, kissing his way down to each breast, then lower, ravishing her with kisses and touches. 

“You’re a goddam tease you know that?” Claire said and heard a soft chuckle in her ear. Jamie, she realized, had nestled behind her, managing to take her in his arms without her noticing. His hands now joined John’s in caressing her body, doubling the sensation and increasing her urgent need to be fucked as soon as possible. 

“He didnae tease me at all, Sassenach,” Jamie said, “I reckon it’s because it gets ye so worked up.” 

He punctuated these words with his own teasing swirl of the finger in time with John’s tongue and Claire had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. These two men might just be the death of her. What a way to go. 

“Ah, my secrets out,” John said, moving to take her mouth once more and she bucked up toward him, fingers digging into his hips and pulling him close, she wanted…needed…

John pulled away for a moment, brushing the wild curls out of Claire’s eyes, thumb tracing her swollen lips. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, “I want you.”

“Have me.” 

John took her with great tenderness, slow and measured as if trying to wring every last ounce of pleasure from her body before finding his own. It wouldn’t take long, she knew, sensitive as she already was, every inch of her aflame. Jamie still held her, touching her everywhere John wasn’t, his cock hard as a rock and pressing against her arse. Someday she’d have them both inside her at once. The image of that possibility filled her with a wave of heat and suddenly she was gasping, clinging to someone's hand, Jamie, or John or both, kissing her hard as she trembled and collapsed feeling completely boneless. 

Jamie was not, however, boneless. He slid out from under her, moving slowly, deliberately, behind John, taking hold of his hips.  

“God, yes,” John sighed as Jamie caressed his arse.

They were quick about their business, and, Claire noticed, a great deal rougher with each other than they had been with her. Well enough for now, though she made a mental note to remind them both that she was no shrinking violet to be treated so delicately. The sight of the two of them was truly something, and she found herself staring shamelessly as they fucked, crying out together and falling onto the bed beside her. 

Some while later they all lay tangled, Jamie on one side of John, Claire on the other, all three sweaty and limp with satisfaction. Claire had thought perhaps three in a bed would be too many, too many limbs and bodies and feelings. But this felt…just right. 

"Well," John said eventually, a small and slightly sheepish grin on his face, "Will you two stay for dinner? Proper dinner, that is?"

Jamie caught Claire's eye and they smiled at each other in a rare moment of silent communication. 

"Unless you'd like to...leave, or..." John trailed off, body going suddenly tense with worry.

"I think..." Jamie began, draping his arm over John and Claire, "I think if it's all the same to you John, we'll stay for a wee bit more than just dinner." 

"Yes," Claire agreed, "I was thinking somewhere between 'overnight' and 'forever'."  

Eighteen Months Later

Claire strolled into The Minds Eye used bookstore to find John up a ladder, searching the top shelf for a customer who was all too blatantly admiring his arse as he did so. Claire laughed and jumped up onto the counter, picking up the first book on the pile. The cover featured a ginger haired man in a kilt, no shirt, holding a scantily clad maiden in his arms in a position that defied both physics and biology. No doubt a romance novel John had pulled out to give to Jamie when he returned, knowing this would lead to a heated tangent on the subject of objectification and general lack of respect for Scottish history or geography. John enjoyed pushing buttons and Jamie fell for it every time. 

She flipped absently though the first few pages before setting it down and turning back to look at John. He was happy, relaxed and comfortable in his shop, surrounded by his books which, for a bookseller, he was always reluctant to actually sell. 

Even now, as he went back and forth with the customer, who, Claire noted, was batting her eyelashes at him, he shook his head, taking the book from her hand and climbing back up the ladder to carefully replace it. She wondered what the problem was this time, smiling at the woman as she huffed out of the store. 

“Lost another customer?” Claire asked as John came over to her.

“She wanted to tear out the pages and turn them into Christmas ornaments!” John said, scandalized. 

“Criminal!” Claire teased, wrapping her arms around John’s neck. 

“Truly,” He replied, very serious, “She wanted the gold leafing because it was ‘more aesthetic’. God, do people have no decency anymore? Then she had the audacity to offer double, as if that would make up for it!”

“Heaven forbid you make money off a book.”

“Exactly,” John said, leaning his head against hers, then, realizing, “You’re taking the piss aren’t you.” 

“How could you tell?” Claire giggled, pulling him into a playful kiss. John’s hands came to cup her face, holding her tenderly, no regard for the customers remaining in the shop. 

“Should I kick everyone out and have you on the counter?” He whispered against Claire’s ear.

She laughed and pushed at his chest, feigning surprise. “In your place of business? How very improper!” 

“Here for dinner, then?” He asked, grinning and letting go, to Claire’s great disappointment. 

“Only if you have something, I can always go out.” 

Once again scandalized, John shook his head and made for the back room. He’d bought the shop from a gentleman who’d lived and worked there until he was in his eighties, so the place had a tiny bedroom and even smaller kitchenette, neither of which he used of course, but it was convenient for times like these. 

John returned a moment later, arms full of whatever mouthwatering meal he’d prepared, Claire was quite spoiled in that regard. 

“I made beef bourguignon, fresh bread and a fruit smoothie because, for a doctor, you’re frustratingly bad about eating anything with color in it.” 

Claire laughed and plucked the smoothie out of his hand, eyeing it suspiciously.

“No spinach this time, I promise,” John said, setting napkins and silverware onto the counter. 

This had become their habit when Claire worked nights. The hospital was walking distance from the bookshop and so she would come in early and eat dinner with John before her shift, seated precariously on hundred year old wooden stools, using the counter as a table. 

“Have you heard from him at all?” John asked, his voice straining to sound casual. 

“Not since Tuesday,” Claire said, the knots in her stomach returning with full force. 

Jamie had been sent to New Zealand for work, given the choice to go or find new employment. It was a six month contract this time, instead of a year, but none of them had been anxious to be apart, given what had happened last time. Although that worked out well enough, all things considered. 

He’d been gone three months, calling whenever he could, sending letters and postcards, and generally staying in communication. It wasn’t like him to go three days without anything. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” John said, tearing off a piece of the bread and slathering it with butter. “He said he might lose signal, I’m sure…”

“I’m sure he’s fine. Brilliant, even,” a warm Scottish voice said from the door. 

Claire and John turned, blinking against the evening sunlight that streamed in and sent sparks flying off of the wild red curls.

“Jamie!” Claire cried, leaping off the counter and running to him, jumping into his arms before she could contain herself. He lifted her in the air, kissing her, humming with pleasure as their lips met. 

“Look at you, Sassenach,” Jamie said, hands going to her hips, then tangling in her hair and pulling her into another kiss. “I’ve missed ye badly.” 

“What are you doing here Jamie? I thought you had months left!” 

“Just a wee surprise,” Jamie grinned, “I’ll explain later, but for now kiss me again.” 

She obliged happily, melting into his arms with that familiar ease. When they’d kissed about as much as anyone might be allowed to in a semi-public place, they pulled apart, Jamie turning toward the counter. 

John stood, hands twisting together behind his back, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Of the three of them, John needed the most consistent convincing that he belonged, that he wasn’t merely an unwanted interloper into their marriage. 

“Welcome back, Jamie,” John said, tone careful and measured. 

Jamie smiled, glancing at Claire before striding behind the counter and lifting John in his arms just as he had Claire.

“Kiss me you bloody beautiful man,” Jamie said with a laugh, and John complied, showering him in sweet, gentle kisses.  “I’ve missed you, my love, my heart.” 

“I’ve missed you, Jamie,” John said, tears staining his cheeks. 

There were a handful of customers still in the shop, Claire saw some now glancing around corners and whispering quietly to one another as they observed the rather odd reunion. John had noticed as well, stepping away from Jamie’s embrace to call out to the shop at large. 

“Shop is closed! We’ll open again some other time. Come back or don’t, I don’t really care.” 

Several of the customers left at that, some shaking their heads in disbelief at the treatment, others simply accepting that was how it went with tiny old used bookshops. 

A young man came up to the register holding a stack of worn paperbacks, looking rather sheepish. 

“I just have these, sir,” The man said, “If you don’t mind…”

John, who was in the midst of being not-so-subtly fondled by Jamie, looked at the young man with a raised brow. 

“We’re closed,” He said, then, seeing the disappointment in the young man's face added, “Take them, they’re yours.” 

The lad lit up, nodding his thanks and leaving, treasures clasped tight to his chest as if he thought John might change his mind.  

“Still doing everything in your power not to actually sell any books, I see,” Jamie said, wrapping his wide arms around John and Claire together. 

“My life’s calling, you know,” John quipped, turning back to Jamie, eyes bright, “Now where were we?”

“I presume you still have a bed in that back room?” Jamie asked, leaning down to kiss Claire’s neck. 

“He certainly does,” Claire replied, a hand moving between Jamie’s legs, “The bed’s plenty sturdy as well, we’ve tested it regularly.” 

Jamie turned to her, grabbing her around the middle and kissing her fiercely. 

“Not with me, you haven’t,” Jamie said, picking her up and tossing her over his broad shoulder, “We’ll see how sturdy it really is.”

The following morning Claire came home, exhausted and starving after her night shift, to find Jamie in the kitchen, naked to the waist and sipping a cup of coffee. His hair was a tangled, hopeless mess and there were several bite marks on his neck that Claire hadn’t put there. The boys had been busy. 

“Good morning, my love,” Jamie said, standing and coming to kiss her, “How was the hospital?” 

“The usual,” She shrugged, throwing her bag and raincoat down on the table and pouring herself a cup of coffee. Normally she’d go right to bed but Jamie was home and she didn’t want to miss a second with her husband, not if she could help it. “Relatively slow, I suppose. A good thing since I was very distracted.” 

She punctuated her words with a kiss, leaning against Jamie’s warm, firm chest and breathing him in. 

So much had changed in the last year and half. When Jamie had returned from his time in Johannesburg she’d barely been able to look at him, let alone stand his touch, without thinking of Frank and being wracked with guilt. She’d been utterly miserable, convinced she’d never love again, never feel again, so many were the ghosts that haunted her. 

Then John, sweet, warm, kind, funny John, had swept in and turned her world upside down. Even before that last, fateful, therapy session, something in him had awoken something in her. Now she had more than she’d ever dreamed. Two men who adored her, who loved each other to distraction. All her fears of being left alone and unwanted tamed by the pure love and passion that the three of them shared. It was a beautiful life and she’d never stop being grateful. 

Speaking of which. 

“Where on earth is John? It’s half past noon,” Claire asked. 

“Er, he’s still sleeping,” Jamie said, more than a little sheepish.

“Good lord, Jamie, what did you do to the poor man?”

“Nothing!” Jamie protested, a bit too strongly, “Well…it’s mostly what he did to me…”

A voice called from the stairs, rough and gravely with sleep. 

“Now, now you two, there’s no need to kiss and tell,” John said, coming into the kitchen in one of Jamie’s t-shirts, which hung a bit too big on his smaller frame. His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, and his hair in such a tangle it almost rivaled Jamie’s. But his eyes, they sparkled like sapphires in the morning light. 

“No kissing and telling,” Claire said, leaning up to take John’s mouth in hers, “But I’ll expect a full demonstration later on.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Jonn said, kissing her back, hands cupping her face. “I hope work was alright. Wednesday, was it fairly calm? Oh, and I hope you told Joe I’d be happy to bring the cake for his son’s birthday, sorry, I forgot to remind you.” 

“Of course I did and he was thrilled, he and his wife asked us for dinner next week,” Claire said, glancing at Jamie. “They’ll be over the moon to hear Jamie’s home as well.” 

Joe and Gail had been perhaps the most accepting of Claire’s new romantic situation. It was Joe who had pushed Claire to make things more permanent by inviting John to move in with her and Jamie. It had been over a year of them living together, the best year of her life, and while she couldn’t speak for Jamie or John, she’d wager they would agree. 

“And you, love?” Jamie asked, kissing John’s forehead, “Did you sleep well? I don’t even remember shutting the lights off after…well…” 

John smiled, biting his lip.

“Yes, you fell asleep about as fast as humanly possible I think.” 

“Jetlag.”

“I’m sure that’s it.” 

“Boys, boys,” Claire cut in, now sandwiched between the two of them, “No arguing before breakfast.”

“It’s lunchtime,” Jamie pointed out.

“For me it's really bedtime,” Claire added. 

“You’re both irritating,” John put in, adding, “I’ll get to cooking. Then…maybe a nap.”

“Don’t you have a bookstore to run?” Jamie asked. 

“Only if I must.” 

Afternoon sun streamed into the kitchen as the three lovers talked and laughed, blissfully happy to be together once more. 

Claire supposed they were all guilty of some terrible sin, immoral acts that many would condemn them for. But as she looked around, at the two men she loved more than anything in the world, she thought she was quite alright with the condemnation of those who would cast stones without ever knowing how true, how pure, their love was. If her crime was loving, and being loved, too much…she supposed she was guilty as sin. 

Epilogue

Claire stretched her neck as she sat curled in her favorite chair, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. She had a rare three days off in a row and intended to enjoy them to the fullest, either in bed with her beloveds or reading until her eyes were tired. Since John was at work and Jamie was still sleeping, she’d picked up the latest Cat Sebastian novel and lost herself in the warm, fluffy sweetness of a 1950s baseball romance. 

Her coffee was long gone and she’d made her way through nearly a third of the book before Jamie wandered down the stairs, yawning as he came over to kiss her good morning, or good afternoon as it was. 

“How’s your book?” He asked sleepily as he went to pour himself a cup of, now cold, coffee. 

“It’s very romantic, you’d hate it.”

“Hmph.” 

Jamie sat on the sofa and picked up his phone, frowning for a moment before holding it to his ear. Claire sat up, watching her husband's face as he listened to a voicemail, seeing first surprise, then disbelief, then what she hoped was excitement. By the time he put the phone down, she was practically dying to know what that had all been about. 

“Pierre!” Jamie said excitedly as if the single name would make everything quite clear. 

“Who?” Claire asked, clearly not putting together the puzzle pieces as Jamie hoped she would. 

“Pierre! Remember? The guide I kissed in Joberg? The man?” Claire shook her head again. “The reason I realized…well, you know…I like men?”

Of course, how could she have forgotten the handsome French South African who’d turned Jamie’s world upside down with a kiss? She wasn’t sure if she’d like to punch Pierre or kiss him herself in thanks. 

“Yes, of course,” she said, “What about him?” 

Jamie stood, pacing, unable to contain his excitement. 

“He’s started his own company and, well, he wants me to run the London office. No more leaving, Claire, no more six-month assignments in another hemisphere!”

“Darling that’s wonderful!” Claire exclaimed, Jamie’s happiness contagious. “Are you going to accept? It won’t be…I don’t know, awkward, will it?” 

“Sassenach, we live with our marriage counselor-”

“Former.” Claire interrupted. 

“Former marriage counselor, aye, whatever, point is I don’t care much about awkward.”

“What’s awkward?” John’s voice called from the entryway. He was home early, but that was no surprise. The bookstore hours were whatever he wanted them to be, and given the choice between opening the shop and being home with Claire and Jamie, the latter option usually won out. 

“Jamie’s been offered a job by his former crush.”

“It wasn’t a crush!” Jamie protested as John came to sit on the arm of Claire’s chair.

“Oh, the return of the infamous Pierre? How fascinating. What’s this job then, escort?”

Jamie growled even as Claire and John giggled to each other. 

“He’s opening an office here and wants me to run things on this end. I wouldn’t have to leave, or at least not for long.”

“Congratulations,” John said, standing and wrapping his arms around Jamie, “I think it's a wonderful idea, awkwardness be damned.” 

Claire nodded her agreement. “Seconded, anything that allows us to keep you around all the time is fine by me.” 

Jamie practically beamed at them both. 

“And this means you will be here for the wedding! You can be my second plus-one,” John said, “I am serving as best man to both of them after all, that warrants two dates.” 

Stephan and Tom had been, happily and healthily, engaged for a year, having worked out their many differences in therapy, of all places. Their wedding was sure to be a party to remember. 

“Oh your brother will love that,” Claire said, trying to hide the smirk that threatened to break through. 

“Hal hasn’t approved of anything I’ve done since meeting you two. To hell with him. I think it’s marvelous.” 

“I agree!” Claire said, standing and setting aside her book. “Now, Jamie you ought to call Pierre and accept his offer before he changes his mind, then I’m going to the store to buy several bottles of expensive champagne to celebrate, and if the two of you aren’t naked in bed by the time I get back-”

“Oh we will be, Claire,” Jamie grinned, “Don’t you worry.”

John shook his head, but he was already undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“Very good.”

“Mhmm, yes, very good indeed.” 

~*~and they all lived happily ever after~*~