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“We thought you were dead you bloody areshole!” he said, furious. “Both of us! Dead! And we - we - took too much to drink one night- very much too much… We spoke of you…and…Damn you, neither of us was making love to the other - we were both fucking you!”
The blow missed him by a hair’s breadth, as if at the very last second Fraser had changed direction just enough to spare his life. Again.
Fraser was breathing heavily, his eyes filled with berserk fury. Why wasn’t he murdering Grey already, damn him? This was too much.
“Say something, you bastard!” Grey shouted, beyond caring.
Fraser’s hands fisted into Grey’s shirt, tugging him so close Grey could see only bloodshot eyes.
“Why ye filthy wee…I swear I’ll-”
“You’ll what?” Grey cut in, “Kill me? Go ahead! I’m tired of being so goddamned careful all the time, tired of worrying what you’ll think every time I open my mouth, and frankly, I’m tired of you, so please do us both a favor and just fucking kill me.”
Did it count as suicide, some muffled part of his brain wondered, egging Jamie on like this? He wasn’t actually laying hands on himself, but still…
“Don’t tempt me!” Fraser spat, mouth close enough to Grey’s own he could almost taste the ale on his hot breath. Grey shoved against him, breaking Fraser’s grip.
“I said,” he pushed again causing Jamie to stumble back a half step, “Just. Fucking-”
One massive hand grabbed hold of the back of Grey’s head, tugging at his hair so that he was forced to look directly up at Jamie, he had to stop himself from crying out in pain.
“Just…fucking…kill you?” Jamie said, something shifting in his voice and manner, the darkness in those blue eyes taking on an expression Grey hadn’t seen before.
Before he knew what was happening Fraser shoved him backward, causing him to lose his balance and stumble onto the ground, leaves scattering around him. He hadn’t even time to catch his breath. Fraser was on top of him in a heartbeat, straddling him and pressing him into the forest floor, a bruising hold on both his wrists.
So this was it then, Fraser would strangle him. Or beat him to death, he supposed. There were worse ways to die and it would be over soon, probably. Unless Fraser decided to draw it out…but no, he was furious. It would be fast.
Only the bloody man wasn’t killing him, or even beating him within an inch of his life, he was just…sitting there. On top of him. Staring down like a wild beast about to go in for the kill, eyes hungry and gleaming.
Grey’s prick chose that particular moment to give an unfortunate twitch of realization at the closeness of their hips. Could Fraser feel it? Did it matter?
“Taking your bloody time about it, aren’t you?” Grey asked testily, shifting under Fraser slightly as if he might throw him off, but the man was as solid as a rock on top of him.
Solid, and stiff. Christ.
A split second of mutual recognition and then Fraser’s mouth was on his, hands gripping the sides of his face, lips crushing together and they were kissing frantically. Biting and gasping and… oh dear God could this really be happening? Fraser’s tongue in his mouth, hands tugging at his hair, at his coat, hips grinding into Grey’s hips, up against his aching cock.
“Jamie…” He gasped faintly before diving back in, starving for more of that beautiful, dangerous mouth.
Jamie’s hand had managed to work its way under Grey’s shirt, hot against his chilled flesh, clutching at bare skin. He wanted to do the same, to touch every inch of the man, but his own hands were tangled in Jamie’s hair and he feared if he let go some spell would be broken and this would all stop.
Fraser growled as he struggled to slide his coat off John’s shoulders, a futile effort as John was pressed firmly into the bed of leaves, held down by Jamie’s significant weight.
Wrapping a leg around Jamie’s hips, Grey flipped them both so that he was on top, shedding the coat with haste as Fraser’s hands went to the placket of his breeks.
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” Grey asked, not waiting for an answer before leaning down to claim Jamie’s mouth once more. It was foolish, they were entirely exposed, anyone might pass by and see them. No matter. If Jamie wanted to kiss him, Grey really didn’t give a damn if he did so in front of the whole bloody army, King George, or God himself for that matter.
“You’re a madman,” he said between kisses, whether to himself or Jamie he truly wasn’t certain.
“Fairs fair,” Fraser rasped as he undid the final button of Grey’s breeks, “You were both fucking me. It’s my turn. Unless you’ve changed your mind? Regret your words now ye ken the consequences?”
Consequences…
Grey’s mouth was dry, so damned dry, he needed water or…
Fairs fair…
He couldn’t feel his arms. Or legs. Had his mind separated entirely from his body?
It’s my turn…
The blasted ringing in his ears grew louder and louder and he could scarcely hear himself think.
“I said do ye regret saying it?!” Jamie shouted, shaking his shoulders.
Oh dear God.
“I regret nothing.”
Fraser was fast, and strong, flipping him over and dragging him up to hands and knees in one easy motion, manhandling Grey’s hips back until they were pressed against his solid cockstand.
Jamie tugged John's breeks down, trapping his legs and exposing his skin to the sharpness of the air. The ground was damp and rough beneath his knees, far from comfortable, or safe for that matter. But as Jamie moved his hands along John’s arse and around his hips, taking his cock in hand with a firm, calloused grip, none of it mattered. Nothing mattered but this.
“This’ll hurt, aye,” Jamie said, a statement not a question.
“Yes.” John said, breathless.
It would hurt. A lot.
He felt the heat of bare skin against his own, a firm pressure at his entrance, waiting. He could stop this now. Jamie was half-crazed with fury and jealousy and God only knew what else, but he was giving John a chance to say no if he wished to. Kind, but unnecessary. Grey knew what he was doing and he wasn’t about to turn back now.
“Please,” John whispered, pressing his hips back in invitation.
Generally speaking, Grey did not like to be fucked. Generally speaking, the damp forest floor, a bit of spit, and a lover with more power than skill were not a combination destined to make for a pleasant experience.
It was ecstasy.
Jamie fucked like a man possessed, his need tearing through them both until there was nothing left. Grey tried to speak, but all that came out was a moan- no, a whimper - a desperate and needy sound that should have mortified him but didn’t. That seemed to please Jamie, the ghost of a laugh escaping his lips as he tangled his fingers into John’s hair.
“Like that, aye?” Fraser grunted, voice tense with his efforts.
“You’re…a…madman…” Grey said again, turning to look over his shoulder as Jamie thrust into him, the sight very nearly sending him spiraling over the edge.
“And you…will get what you deserve.”
Jamie shoved him forward, one hand pressing hard between his shoulders, the other firm on his hip, trapping him there, face down on the cold earth.
If there had been any tenderness at all to begin with it had been chased away entirely, all that remained was the animal. As if Jamie were trying to own and destroy him all at once. Pouring himself into John in the hope that one might consume the other.
I hate you. Jamie’s body seemed to cry. I love you. John’s replied.
The woods were silent, the birds in the trees gone quiet and the breeze stilled. The only sounds were those of their joining, rough breaths and strangled groans, flesh against flesh. They might very well have been the sounds of a fight save the little murmurs of pleasure that escaped their lips upon occasion.
I hate you. I love you.
“Harder,” John rasped, fingers clutching pointlessly at the dirt. Jamie said nothing, only stilled his movements. “I said…Fuck me harder you bastard. You wanted to hurt me so fucking hurt me.”
If Jamie was surprised by his words he gave no sign of it, gave no sign at all that he’d even heard Grey save a low grunt.
But he had heard. Both hands moved to John’s hips, fingertips digging painfully into the skin, fucking harder and deeper, making Grey’s eyes water with the sheer force of their bodies colliding.
I hate you. I love you.
His arse hurt. His whole body ached. His head was spinning and he could scarcely draw breath between the violent, angry thrusts that shuddered through him. But he would never be this close to Jamie again. None of it mattered, he would hold on to this moment as long as he could.
Which, given the sound of Jamie’s breathing and his own leaking prick, wouldn’t be long at all.
Jamie leaned forward, weight bearing down on John’s smaller frame until his legs were shaking with the effort to hold them both. Then he slowed, biting down hard on John’s shoulder with a muffled growl as if stopping his movements physically pained him.
They stayed locked together in stillness, breathing heavily, neither one moving. It occurred to Grey that perhaps he wasn’t the only one who wanted the moment to last. That somewhere between the violence and anger there was a bone-deep need that had been building for decades.
They both needed this, this snarling, vicious, desperate thing. To be shattered so completely that whatever happened next would be new and unknown. Frightening. Painful, but necessary.
Jamie’s voice when he spoke was almost gentle.
“Do ye regret it?”
“No.”
Jamie pulled nearly all the way out of him, drawing a groan of protestation from Grey’s lips, only to be replaced by a cry of pain mingled with ecstatic pleasure as he slammed back in, hard, again and again until John thought he might burst. Then the movement stopped once more.
“Do you regret it?” Jamie asked again, voice harder this time.
“Never,” John replied with what little breath he could muster.
Again Jamie growled, again Jamie thrust into him, driving the air from his lungs. Again the pain was drowned out by the exquisite pleasure of being taken by the person he loved more than life itself.
“I’ll ask one last time,” Jamie said, not bothering to stop this time, “Do you regret it?
“You could kill me here and now and I still would not regret it,” John said, the words rushing from his lips, straining his neck to look back at Jamie, “Do you hear me, dammit? I regret nothing.”
Jamie wrapped an arm around John’s middle, tugging him back, his own strength enough to hold them both. He didn’t ask again, didn’t speak, but his hand wrapped around John’s aching cock, bringing him off with the same fingers that might just as easily have wrapped around his neck to strangle him, simply a different sort of violence.
I hate you. I love you.
It was too much, he felt his climax building low in his belly, heat and need too powerful to contain. Jamie’s rough touch, their ragged breaths, his own desperate, overwhelming desire. He spent, biting his lip bloody to keep from screaming his pleasure, shaking with the force of it, and all the while Jamie fucked him through it. Fucked him as he poured his heart and soul into Jamie’s hand along with his seed, continued driving into him with powerful thrusts that ripped another stifled cry from his lips as Jamie came inside of him, falling forward onto him as they both collapsed in a heap on the ground, panting and spent.
I love you.
They lay there as if frozen in time, sweat cooling as the breeze caressed their bare skin, still joined together, neither yet willing to snap the thread that bound them.
John thought he might speak, to say something kind or gentle, to put Jamie at ease, but words never came. What did one say to the pain and violence, pleasure and passion, to the thin line between true love and pure hatred? Did the words exist to encompass all that he was feeling? To describe the certainty that nothing would ever be the same again?
“I’m sorry.”
The words took John utterly by surprise, such a faint whisper they might have been imagined save he could feel the heat from Jamie’s breath as he spoke.
“Don’t be,” Grey replied because it was all he could say.
Jamie withdrew, leaving John on the ground feeling cold and empty and unreasonably satisfied. He ought to stand, to put himself back together, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, not yet.
Time passed, a rustle of clothing, of leaves crunching under boots, then a sudden warmth as Jamie’s coat was draped gently over his body and for a moment he was once again embraced. Everything still and peaceful.
The sound of footsteps moving away stirred him at last from his stupor and he managed to drag himself up to look in the direction of the sound.
Jamie was walking back toward the road, away from John. Toward Philadelphia and his wife, without so much as a backward glance at the man whose world he’d just turned upside down.
John stood, carefully tidying his rumpled clothing, watching the retreating form of his one great love. He was about to call out, to say something, anything, to stop their inevitable parting, but then Jamie turned, looking back over his shoulder at John. They stared at one another for a long while, everything changed but everything just the same.
“I dinna regret it either,” Jamie called out, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. John nodded, not knowing what else to say, Jamie bowed his head in reply, turned and walked away.
“I love you,” John murmured to the empty woods, finding the words too late.