stripebacked: (Default)
ᴊᴀᴍɪᴇ "ᴍʏ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ɪs ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ" ғʀᴀsᴇʀ ([personal profile] stripebacked) wrote2017-07-28 06:07 pm
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originallutece: not of you booker it's never of you (happy; reluctantly fond)

[personal profile] originallutece 2018-03-21 07:58 am (UTC)(link)
[She laughs, quietly and surprisingly lightly, but an orgasm does wonders for her spirits. Besides: of all the people she knows here, she knows she has little to fear from Jamie Fraser. He won't hear her laugh and think her suddenly foolish or incapable.]

I bet you wouldn't.

[She squirms pointedly, pleased despite herself he'd finished in her. It is claiming, though she'd never admit it out loud, and though they might never be in love, it's nice to be claimed.

He ought to finish on her next, she thinks, and tips her head, nosing idly against him.]


Filthy thing . . . what was that you were saying?

[Those curses, she means, and her tongue is clumsy as she tries to repeat them.]
originallutece: in the friscalating dusklight (talk; and they rode on)

[personal profile] originallutece 2018-05-01 05:34 am (UTC)(link)
Hmm . . . you'll have to teach me someday.

[But she's content to know the general shape of them, if not the specific meanings. Squirming again (just to tease this time, and the curve of her smirk says as much), Rosalind runs her hands over him again, against his shoulders and down his back, and--

Ah. There's that scarring, thick and overlapping against his back. A whipping? Possibly, but Rosalind knows she hasn't the imagination to know what kinds of weapons might leave those marks on a man. But if it was a whipping, it must have been several over a long period of time; there's so many she's certain he would have died if it was all in one go.

Her eyes flicker up, meeting his, and she tips her head in silent question.]