fic: Full Dress
Title: Full Dress
Author: fengirl88
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV)
Pairing/Characters: Grant/Strange
Rating: NC-17
Content notes: voyeurism, masturbation, dirty talk
Wordcount: 2001
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Summary: Strange enjoys watching Grant put his uniform on.
A/N: Written for this prompt at jsmn-kinkmeme:
"Strange/Grant, post-sex uniform kink
I have a mighty need for Strange watching Grant get dressed into his full uniform while he's lying back on the bed they've just screwed in, all sated and satisfied, and finding it perhaps the most erotic thing in the world."
[additional inspiration provided by the extensive and lively discussion in the prompt thread]
Thanks to
theicescholar and
unforgotten for their encouragement in writing and posting this.
Morning came all too soon in a comfortable bed, Grant reflected, especially after such a night as he and Strange had just passed in the abandoned gatehouse. He would have liked nothing better than to lie here for hours yet, savouring the unaccustomed luxury of time and space together, so different from their usual snatched and hasty couplings. But the day's duties would soon be calling him, and he must not run the risk of falling asleep again. As it was, he had lost more of the night to slumber than he could have wished, and awoken shortly before dawn to find Strange pressing urgently against him and demanding a renewal of his attentions.
Of the two of them, the magician was the more in need of sleep after his exertions of the previous day. To move a mountain with as much apparent ease as if it had been a child's drawing on wet paper... Grant felt slightly breathless even now, thinking of it. He had not yet grown accustomed to witnessing Merlin's magic; he did not think he would ever see it without something of that same wonder that had gripped him the first time.
Grant was never sure whether Lord Wellington knew, or guessed, what he had set in train when he ordered him to look after Strange, as if the army's magician were a prize racehorse or a complicated piece of machinery. Not much escaped his lordship's eye, but if he knew how closely duty had become entangled with pleasure in this case, he never showed it. At times like these, Grant needed all of the discipline instilled by his training and kept up by strict adherence to routine. With a sigh of resignation he heaved himself out of bed and began dressing.
Putting on his uniform, as always, he put on soldiering, put on readiness: each action must be done methodically and with care, regardless of circumstances. It was rare that he slept naked, so now he must begin with his smallclothes, then his shirt. His waistcoat, buttoning it and smoothing out the creases. Drawing on his breeches and buttoning them, then pulling on his boots. Tying his neckcloth just so. Rubbing the buttons on his scarlet coat with his sleeve to bring out their shine before doing them up. Straightening his epaulettes. Fastening his sash -
A quiet gasp from the bed made him look up from his task. He had not realized Strange was awake again, but saw that he was staring at him, wide-eyed and apparently transfixed. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing uneven.
“Merlin?” Grant said.
Strange did not answer.
“Are you quite well?” Grant asked anxiously. “Is something the matter?”
“God,” Strange muttered. He was trembling, Grant saw with astonishment, and the sheet covering his nakedness was unmistakably tented.
This was so unexpected a turn that Grant did not know what to do about it; or rather, the things that immediately occurred to him were things he knew he must not do.
“Merlin,” he said stupidly “Are you - you can't be again, not so soon.”
Strange only groaned by way of answer.
“What has put you in this state?”
“Your - uniform,” Strange got out, with some difficulty.
“But you see me in that every day,” Grant said.
Strange groaned again. “I know.” He seemed to be struggling for words. “Never - seen you - put it on before.”
“Oh!” Grant said, startled and half incredulous. “Truly, it affects you so much?”
“As you see,” said Strange tightly.
He pushed the sheet down around his thighs, and oh, Grant thought he could never tire of that sight: Strange's cock standing proud and flushed with arousal, Strange's pale skin still marked from a night and early morning of passion. Grant's mouth watered at the view: it was as much as he could do not to fling himself upon Strange and begin marking him all over again.
“Dear god, what a very indecent picture the two of us do make,” said Grant; “you so naked, and I so dressed.”
Strange's prick jerked upwards, as if at the touch of an unseen hand.
Grant had never before witnessed so extravagant a bodily reaction to any thing he had said. It might have been coincidence, yet he did not think it was: Strange had responded to his utterance as if to an intimate physical caress. He could not help wondering how far this unexpected power of speech might extend.
The thought made his pulse quicken, as if he was about to unlock a door giving onto a vast and uncharted space. As eloquent as he might be outside the bedroom, with his lovers Grant was usually all but silent, letting his actions speak for him. Words were for daylight and command, not for an intimacy of this sort. Words were things to be used dressed, not naked.
But he was dressed, Grant reflected: that was very much the point. That was what Strange had responded to so powerfully, both the sight of Grant putting on his uniform and his remark about the indecent contrast between them. There was a clue to follow here, if he could only keep hold of it and choose his words with sufficient care. The temptation to pursue it was irresistible.
“So,” he said, as if musing aloud, “how are we to deal with this charming but ill timed cockstand?”
Strange groaned and put his fist to his mouth, as if trying to push the sound back into his body.
“I can't very well take my uniform off again,” pursued Grant. “If watching me put it on affects you so, we will never succeed in leaving this room.”
That earned him a small whimpering sound from Strange, which started a curl of heat in the pit of his stomach. Grant bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself steady: he would need his wits about him in this new game.
“I should very much like to have you just like this,” he said, still in the same meditative tone. “With my uniform on, boots and all.”
“Oh god,” Strange said. He sounded dizzy at the thought of it.
“You would like that too, I think,” said Grant, openly teasing now. “But I fear I would have the devil of a time afterwards explaining how my coat came to be so splashed and stained with your emission.”
“Please,” Strange said. The roughness in his voice forced Grant to bite the inside of his cheek again.
“So,” Grant said, “how can I bring you off while I still have it on?”
“Please,” Strange said again, and his hips jerked upwards.
An idea came to Grant at the sight, so deliciously perverse that it robbed him of breath for a moment.
“Well, then,” he said. “Put your hand to your mouth, Merlin.”
Strange gave him a wild incredulous look, but did as he was told, covering his mouth with his palm.
“Like that, yes. Now lick it,” said Grant. “Wet it thoroughly.”
“Oh god,” said Strange again, evidently guessing what would come next. He put out his tongue and began to lick.
Grant watched him avidly, unable to stop himself from imagining how good Strange's tongue would feel on his cock, now heavy with arousal. He forced himself to breathe deeply, to keep in mind that the end here was Strange's pleasure, not his own.
“Good,” he said. “Now frig yourself, and look at me while you do.”
Strange gasped and wrapped his hand around his cock, gripping the base tight and still for a long moment, as if to steady himself. Then he began to move, a rapid jerky motion, working himself hard and emitting a string of soft “ah”s.
“That's right,” Grant said thickly. “Show me how it affects you. Show me how you would have me touch you.”
“I - ohh,” Strange moaned, his hand moving faster as he stared at Grant, his eyes wide and hazy. His skin was blotched with scarlet, a sure sign that his crisis could not be far off. He babbled something Grant did not quite catch, but in which he thought he could make out the word gloves.
“Next time you undress me,” Grant said, though God only knew when they would have the chance again, “I will have you take my gloves off with your teeth.”
Strange gave a sharp cry and began to thrust up into his fist, bracing his feet on the bed.
“Or just one, perhaps,” Grant said breathlessly, “so that I can touch you first with my bare hand, then with my gloved one.” The thought of it, and the sight of Strange's frantic movements, made his own cock ache with want, pushing hard against the confines of his breeches.
“Have you thought how that would feel,” said Grant, “My gloved hand on your bare prick?”
“Christ, yes,” Strange bit out. “Yes.” He arched his back and spent, crying out and shuddering helplessly as the waves of pleasure went through him.
Grant pressed the heel of his hand hard against his own erection, as if trying to will it away, though he knew there was no chance of that. He could hardly breathe for lust and triumph and astonishment. He watched dizzily as Strange gasped and shook and finally lay still, breathing hard, his eyes closed, gradually coming back to himself even as Grant was lost.
Strange used the sheet to wipe himself clean, shivering a little at the touch. He looked up at Grant with a mixture of amazement and something close to laughter.
“I did not know you could do that,” he said.
“I did not know I could either,” said Grant hoarsely. The desire to be touched was now so urgent that he scarcely knew what he was about.
Strange looked at him more narrowly, evidently becoming aware of Grant's troubled state.. He licked his lips and grinned.
“Come here, Major Grant,” he said, in a tone of command that Lord Wellington himself would not have disdained.
Grant was by the bed before he knew he had moved, and Strange was fumbling with the buttons on his breeches, Grant's hands fumbling with them too, both of them on the edge of laughter and desperation.
“Let me do it,” Strange said impatiently. “Your hands are shaking.”
“So are yours,” Grant retorted, “just as m- aaah.”
Whatever else he might have said was lost, as Strange finally succeeded in freeing his cock and took it in his mouth, sucking him so ardently and with such skill that Grant thought he would die of the pleasure. Strange's hands were bruisingly tight on his hips, holding Grant on the edge as he teased him with his tongue. Grant's hands twisted in Strange's hair and Strange groaned, taking him in deeper again. Strange's mouth felt impossibly good, a delicious torment; Grant cursed and cried out and spent with such force that he almost fainted.
Strange swallowed him down and licked him clean, his expression smug as a cat's. “There, Major,” he said. “All done without spilling so much as a drop on your pretty coat. I don't know what you make such a fuss about.”
Grant had no reply to make to that, and no breath to make it with. He collapsed onto the bed and lay panting, seeing stars. Strange was saying something, laughing at him, but he could not hear for the noise of his own blood pounding in his ears. He felt languorous and slow, the tides of pleasure moving like honey through his veins.
They must go soon, he knew, once he could recover himself enough to move again. It would be doubly hard now to leave this blissful warmth and heaviness, his own and Strange's; he had known this, but could not resist. There was never world enough and time for all the things he would like to do to this impossible man, Grant thought; perhaps there never could be, not even if this war were to last for ever.
Also posted at http://fengirl88.dreamwidth.org/191168.html with
comments.
Author: fengirl88
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV)
Pairing/Characters: Grant/Strange
Rating: NC-17
Content notes: voyeurism, masturbation, dirty talk
Wordcount: 2001
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Summary: Strange enjoys watching Grant put his uniform on.
A/N: Written for this prompt at jsmn-kinkmeme:
"Strange/Grant, post-sex uniform kink
I have a mighty need for Strange watching Grant get dressed into his full uniform while he's lying back on the bed they've just screwed in, all sated and satisfied, and finding it perhaps the most erotic thing in the world."
[additional inspiration provided by the extensive and lively discussion in the prompt thread]
Thanks to
theicescholar and
unforgotten for their encouragement in writing and posting this.
Morning came all too soon in a comfortable bed, Grant reflected, especially after such a night as he and Strange had just passed in the abandoned gatehouse. He would have liked nothing better than to lie here for hours yet, savouring the unaccustomed luxury of time and space together, so different from their usual snatched and hasty couplings. But the day's duties would soon be calling him, and he must not run the risk of falling asleep again. As it was, he had lost more of the night to slumber than he could have wished, and awoken shortly before dawn to find Strange pressing urgently against him and demanding a renewal of his attentions.
Of the two of them, the magician was the more in need of sleep after his exertions of the previous day. To move a mountain with as much apparent ease as if it had been a child's drawing on wet paper... Grant felt slightly breathless even now, thinking of it. He had not yet grown accustomed to witnessing Merlin's magic; he did not think he would ever see it without something of that same wonder that had gripped him the first time.
Grant was never sure whether Lord Wellington knew, or guessed, what he had set in train when he ordered him to look after Strange, as if the army's magician were a prize racehorse or a complicated piece of machinery. Not much escaped his lordship's eye, but if he knew how closely duty had become entangled with pleasure in this case, he never showed it. At times like these, Grant needed all of the discipline instilled by his training and kept up by strict adherence to routine. With a sigh of resignation he heaved himself out of bed and began dressing.
Putting on his uniform, as always, he put on soldiering, put on readiness: each action must be done methodically and with care, regardless of circumstances. It was rare that he slept naked, so now he must begin with his smallclothes, then his shirt. His waistcoat, buttoning it and smoothing out the creases. Drawing on his breeches and buttoning them, then pulling on his boots. Tying his neckcloth just so. Rubbing the buttons on his scarlet coat with his sleeve to bring out their shine before doing them up. Straightening his epaulettes. Fastening his sash -
A quiet gasp from the bed made him look up from his task. He had not realized Strange was awake again, but saw that he was staring at him, wide-eyed and apparently transfixed. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing uneven.
“Merlin?” Grant said.
Strange did not answer.
“Are you quite well?” Grant asked anxiously. “Is something the matter?”
“God,” Strange muttered. He was trembling, Grant saw with astonishment, and the sheet covering his nakedness was unmistakably tented.
This was so unexpected a turn that Grant did not know what to do about it; or rather, the things that immediately occurred to him were things he knew he must not do.
“Merlin,” he said stupidly “Are you - you can't be again, not so soon.”
Strange only groaned by way of answer.
“What has put you in this state?”
“Your - uniform,” Strange got out, with some difficulty.
“But you see me in that every day,” Grant said.
Strange groaned again. “I know.” He seemed to be struggling for words. “Never - seen you - put it on before.”
“Oh!” Grant said, startled and half incredulous. “Truly, it affects you so much?”
“As you see,” said Strange tightly.
He pushed the sheet down around his thighs, and oh, Grant thought he could never tire of that sight: Strange's cock standing proud and flushed with arousal, Strange's pale skin still marked from a night and early morning of passion. Grant's mouth watered at the view: it was as much as he could do not to fling himself upon Strange and begin marking him all over again.
“Dear god, what a very indecent picture the two of us do make,” said Grant; “you so naked, and I so dressed.”
Strange's prick jerked upwards, as if at the touch of an unseen hand.
Grant had never before witnessed so extravagant a bodily reaction to any thing he had said. It might have been coincidence, yet he did not think it was: Strange had responded to his utterance as if to an intimate physical caress. He could not help wondering how far this unexpected power of speech might extend.
The thought made his pulse quicken, as if he was about to unlock a door giving onto a vast and uncharted space. As eloquent as he might be outside the bedroom, with his lovers Grant was usually all but silent, letting his actions speak for him. Words were for daylight and command, not for an intimacy of this sort. Words were things to be used dressed, not naked.
But he was dressed, Grant reflected: that was very much the point. That was what Strange had responded to so powerfully, both the sight of Grant putting on his uniform and his remark about the indecent contrast between them. There was a clue to follow here, if he could only keep hold of it and choose his words with sufficient care. The temptation to pursue it was irresistible.
“So,” he said, as if musing aloud, “how are we to deal with this charming but ill timed cockstand?”
Strange groaned and put his fist to his mouth, as if trying to push the sound back into his body.
“I can't very well take my uniform off again,” pursued Grant. “If watching me put it on affects you so, we will never succeed in leaving this room.”
That earned him a small whimpering sound from Strange, which started a curl of heat in the pit of his stomach. Grant bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself steady: he would need his wits about him in this new game.
“I should very much like to have you just like this,” he said, still in the same meditative tone. “With my uniform on, boots and all.”
“Oh god,” Strange said. He sounded dizzy at the thought of it.
“You would like that too, I think,” said Grant, openly teasing now. “But I fear I would have the devil of a time afterwards explaining how my coat came to be so splashed and stained with your emission.”
“Please,” Strange said. The roughness in his voice forced Grant to bite the inside of his cheek again.
“So,” Grant said, “how can I bring you off while I still have it on?”
“Please,” Strange said again, and his hips jerked upwards.
An idea came to Grant at the sight, so deliciously perverse that it robbed him of breath for a moment.
“Well, then,” he said. “Put your hand to your mouth, Merlin.”
Strange gave him a wild incredulous look, but did as he was told, covering his mouth with his palm.
“Like that, yes. Now lick it,” said Grant. “Wet it thoroughly.”
“Oh god,” said Strange again, evidently guessing what would come next. He put out his tongue and began to lick.
Grant watched him avidly, unable to stop himself from imagining how good Strange's tongue would feel on his cock, now heavy with arousal. He forced himself to breathe deeply, to keep in mind that the end here was Strange's pleasure, not his own.
“Good,” he said. “Now frig yourself, and look at me while you do.”
Strange gasped and wrapped his hand around his cock, gripping the base tight and still for a long moment, as if to steady himself. Then he began to move, a rapid jerky motion, working himself hard and emitting a string of soft “ah”s.
“That's right,” Grant said thickly. “Show me how it affects you. Show me how you would have me touch you.”
“I - ohh,” Strange moaned, his hand moving faster as he stared at Grant, his eyes wide and hazy. His skin was blotched with scarlet, a sure sign that his crisis could not be far off. He babbled something Grant did not quite catch, but in which he thought he could make out the word gloves.
“Next time you undress me,” Grant said, though God only knew when they would have the chance again, “I will have you take my gloves off with your teeth.”
Strange gave a sharp cry and began to thrust up into his fist, bracing his feet on the bed.
“Or just one, perhaps,” Grant said breathlessly, “so that I can touch you first with my bare hand, then with my gloved one.” The thought of it, and the sight of Strange's frantic movements, made his own cock ache with want, pushing hard against the confines of his breeches.
“Have you thought how that would feel,” said Grant, “My gloved hand on your bare prick?”
“Christ, yes,” Strange bit out. “Yes.” He arched his back and spent, crying out and shuddering helplessly as the waves of pleasure went through him.
Grant pressed the heel of his hand hard against his own erection, as if trying to will it away, though he knew there was no chance of that. He could hardly breathe for lust and triumph and astonishment. He watched dizzily as Strange gasped and shook and finally lay still, breathing hard, his eyes closed, gradually coming back to himself even as Grant was lost.
Strange used the sheet to wipe himself clean, shivering a little at the touch. He looked up at Grant with a mixture of amazement and something close to laughter.
“I did not know you could do that,” he said.
“I did not know I could either,” said Grant hoarsely. The desire to be touched was now so urgent that he scarcely knew what he was about.
Strange looked at him more narrowly, evidently becoming aware of Grant's troubled state.. He licked his lips and grinned.
“Come here, Major Grant,” he said, in a tone of command that Lord Wellington himself would not have disdained.
Grant was by the bed before he knew he had moved, and Strange was fumbling with the buttons on his breeches, Grant's hands fumbling with them too, both of them on the edge of laughter and desperation.
“Let me do it,” Strange said impatiently. “Your hands are shaking.”
“So are yours,” Grant retorted, “just as m- aaah.”
Whatever else he might have said was lost, as Strange finally succeeded in freeing his cock and took it in his mouth, sucking him so ardently and with such skill that Grant thought he would die of the pleasure. Strange's hands were bruisingly tight on his hips, holding Grant on the edge as he teased him with his tongue. Grant's hands twisted in Strange's hair and Strange groaned, taking him in deeper again. Strange's mouth felt impossibly good, a delicious torment; Grant cursed and cried out and spent with such force that he almost fainted.
Strange swallowed him down and licked him clean, his expression smug as a cat's. “There, Major,” he said. “All done without spilling so much as a drop on your pretty coat. I don't know what you make such a fuss about.”
Grant had no reply to make to that, and no breath to make it with. He collapsed onto the bed and lay panting, seeing stars. Strange was saying something, laughing at him, but he could not hear for the noise of his own blood pounding in his ears. He felt languorous and slow, the tides of pleasure moving like honey through his veins.
They must go soon, he knew, once he could recover himself enough to move again. It would be doubly hard now to leave this blissful warmth and heaviness, his own and Strange's; he had known this, but could not resist. There was never world enough and time for all the things he would like to do to this impossible man, Grant thought; perhaps there never could be, not even if this war were to last for ever.
Also posted at http://fengirl88.dreamwidth.org/191168.html with
comments.