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jsmn_kinkmeme2015-08-30 12:20 pm
jsmn_kink) wrote in jsmn_kinkmeme2015-08-30 12:20 pm
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☆ Round Two!
Welcome to the second round of the Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Kink Meme at jsmn_kinkmeme!
Below are some basic guidelines, but please make sure you also check out our complete Rules & Guidelines.
Guidelines:
■ Anonymously comment with your request – a character/pairing/nthsome, and a kink or prompt.
■ Only one prompt per post.
■ Fillers please link your fills in the Fills Post!
■ Have fun! :)
Keep in mind:
■ Any kinks welcomed!
■ The fill/request does not need to be sexual or porny.
■ Multiple fills are allowed.
■ Fills can be any sort of creative work: fic, art, song, photomanip, etc.
■ Beware of spoilers! Prompters and requesters are encouraged to warn for spoilers, but this rule is not enforced.
■ Warning for non-con, dub-con, abuse, slurs/language, and other potentially disturbing subjects is encouraged but be aware we do not enforce this.
■ Would fillers please make sure when posting a fill in multiple parts that they thread their comments by replying to previous parts.
Links:
☆ Mod Post
☆ Fills Post
☆ Discussion Post
☆ Misfire deletion requests
☆ Previous Rounds: Round One
jsmn_kinkmeme!Below are some basic guidelines, but please make sure you also check out our complete Rules & Guidelines.
Guidelines:
■ Anonymously comment with your request – a character/pairing/nthsome, and a kink or prompt.
■ Only one prompt per post.
■ Fillers please link your fills in the Fills Post!
■ Have fun! :)
Keep in mind:
■ Any kinks welcomed!
■ The fill/request does not need to be sexual or porny.
■ Multiple fills are allowed.
■ Fills can be any sort of creative work: fic, art, song, photomanip, etc.
■ Beware of spoilers! Prompters and requesters are encouraged to warn for spoilers, but this rule is not enforced.
■ Warning for non-con, dub-con, abuse, slurs/language, and other potentially disturbing subjects is encouraged but be aware we do not enforce this.
■ Would fillers please make sure when posting a fill in multiple parts that they thread their comments by replying to previous parts.
Links:
☆ Mod Post
☆ Fills Post
☆ Discussion Post
☆ Misfire deletion requests
☆ Previous Rounds: Round One
FILL: Strange/Grant bathing
(Anonymous) 2015-09-16 03:14 am (UTC)(link)Grant had not eaten a morsel since before the wretched ordeal of the Neapolitans that day. He prayed he might find a scrap of salty ham to keep him sated through the night while he spread out his maps to plan the approach to rescue Wellington’s artillery. He would lead a small patrol out of camp at dawn. He’d sent his men to sleep for a few hours, but knew that he himself would not shut his eyes. Too many plans and too many terrors of the day racing in his mind.
Those voices gasping their Hellspeak through rotted throats, whispering, pleading with breath that smelled of brimstone.
He shuddered and steadied himself with a long draught of red wine. Not as fast as cheap English gin for removing inconvenient memories, but good enough for tonight. Grant’s sigh of satisfaction as he swallowed another draught echoed a moment later behind him.
“Ahhhh. The earth and rain are good for the vineyards in this otherwise bleak and lonely land, aren’t they, Major?”
Grant turned toward the voice and saw a grey shape at the far end of the long room. A dark, curly mane and one arm draped over the edge of what appeared to be a deep trough for watering swine or cattle. He heard a soft splash and another echoing sigh.
“What the devil . . . Merlin?”
“Forgive me, Major Grant, I felt the need to cleanse my mind and body. Please don’t let me disturb your feast, but do look behind the kettle on the hearth, and you will find a secret store of butter and Wellington’s precious marmalade. I highly recommend it.”
“Grant smiled and felt his breath come a little easier suddenly, now that he had a companion with whom to share the blackest hours of the night. He did not care to question why a sort of giddy joy animated his step as he gathered bread and butter and a dollop of only slightly mouldy marmalade. It was enough to enjoy this feeling for the moment. He knew it would not last.
“I don’t blame you, Merlin. I still feel the filth of those corpses upon me as well, but how can you bear a cold bath on a night like this? Is your skin impervious to the chill by some magical means?”
The magician’s laugh echoed into the rafters, and Grant caught a glimpse of white teeth and shining eyes reflecting the crackling flames in the fireplace. The Major felt warm inside and out, a small ripple of longing emerging somewhere deep in his belly and traveling into his chest, arms, and cheeks. He turned away as he saw Merlin lift himself up for a moment to grab at something on a chair near the trough.
“It’s all right, Major Grant. I’m not a modest man, and I may need your assistance. Bring your supper and come close—sit beside me while I try to clean this wound on my hand. You will see one of the benefits of the magical arts is that a hot bath is only a few incantations away.”
Grant pulled up a small barrel near the trough, allowing his eyes to glance, but not linger on long, muscular arms and shoulders, the strong chin and weary, maddening, brown eyes. To the major’s surprise, thick clouds of steam rose from the water before condensing into glittering, crystalline droplets on the magician’s nose and cheeks.
Grant touched a finger to the water, then looked away from Merlin and declared, “Dammit, sir! You’ve fashioned your own Roman baths in the middle of this wilderness! Well done!”
Merlin smiled and nodded, then winced as he tried to untie the cloth that bandaged his palm. Moving on instinct, Grant lay aside his food and took over the task of gently peeling away the scarlet linen and bathing the wound in warm water until there was no visible sign of the dust and grime of the mill and corpses.
Merlin’s hand began to tremble violently as Grant let go of it in order to tear a corner of his own shirt to cover the wound.
“I am no soldier, sir. I apologize. Forgive this weakness. I find I am afraid, quite overcome with fear sometimes, and I . . .”
Grant could not find the words he wanted, nor did he think it right to offer this gentleman the kind of comfort and physical release he had offered young De Lancey months ago when he expressed a paralyzing fear of setting forth into the front lines for the first time.
Grant said nothing because there was simply too little and too much to say. He finished the bandage and rolled up his own sleeves. He took the small piece of rose-scented soap from Merlin’s hand. The soap was surely a token from the man’s lovely and lonely wife, but Grant put thoughts of her out of his mind. He rubbed the soap in his palms, growing almost dizzy from the scent and the feel of steam upon his face.
He moved behind Merlin and began to rub the soap into the man’s neck, his shoulders, arms—in small circles that grew larger as the pressure of his fingers increased. He massaged deeply the taught muscles of the magician’s neck and stroked his throat and cheeks with long, tender movements using just the tips of his fingers.
Grant’s own skin shivered and dimpled as he coaxed a sigh and then a moan from Merlin’s lips, and the Major grew bolder. Grant cupped his hands in the water and scooped it up, pouring streams over the mad curls. He tugged at the curls and Merlin let out a rasping, almost pleading sigh as Grant tangled his fingers deeper.
When Grant felt the heat of his own desire building uncomfortably, pressing against his breeches and clouding his mind with want and need, he stood quickly and walked away toward the fire. He was sure that he could gather his wits and bring the scene to a close, blaming it—as was half-true at least—on the presence of demons in their midst today. The magician was a man of the world. Grant was fairly sure he could be trusted not to speak of this moment of weakness.
Merlin coughed, mumbled something incoherent, and then demanded. “You must join me, Major Grant. How long has it been since you had a good, warm bath? It will make the long journey tomorrow more tolerable, I think.”
When his clothes fell to the floor and how he stepped from the hearth and into the bath with Merlin, Grant had no memory.
After a few minutes, Grant leaned close in to Merlin, their noses almost touching, arms laid lightly against each other; skin to skin; knee to knee. In a steady voice, as if he were talking of yesterday’s weather or tomorrow’s breakfast, he told the story of his own first days in battle: the revulsion he felt at the sight of limbs and organs scattered crimson and black across a snowy field; the curses he spat out at God and King and Country. The Major said that when he began in Wellington’s service, he thought the General’s sneering jokes and callous insults were of the grossest sort, but now he had adopted the same dark humor and careless attitude because it was the best—perhaps the only—way to survive. Grant looked into Merlin’s eyes, and touched his stubbled face,
“My hands trembled too, just as yours do. You must learn to behave as if it is all a game, for that’s what it is. Roll the dice. Move forward and live one more day. Do your best to gain some ground, so that one day we will be free to go. We are all afraid, Merlin. But the game must be won before we can go home.”
Merlin touched Grant’s hair and put his good hand around the man’s neck, pulling him closer. “Returning home to wives and mistresses, as Wellington says? Women who cannot understand who we are, what we have done?”
Merlin’s wet lips brushed against Grant’s. A question, an offer lingered in the damp air between them.
Grant hesitated, staring down into the blackness of the water, unsure how far he should go, unsure whether this was just the magician’s version of a tease or a joke. Strange made a graceful gesture across the water, and suddenly Grant saw two figures entwined in an embrace of passion—one dark-haired and one light.
He pressed his lips to Merlin’s, licking into his mouth and spreading his own legs wide as the magician hovered above him.
Grant could not concentrate on anything beyond the warmth and feel of hands and lips on his skin. Hot breath against his ear, whispering nonsense words about stones and trees and skies. A tongue at his neck and fingers opening him, stroking, and spreading him. Merlin entering him, again and again in a rhythm that made Grant gasp and curse.
Merlin’s arms held the Major tight and they moved as one, weightless in the water. Finally, Grant felt a peak of pleasure so strong that he could bear it no more, and begged for relief and release.
They lay together, half-asleep until the sound of barn owls seemed to signal it was time for Grant to return to his maps and Merlin to his tent.
As they lingered over one more kiss, Merlin asked, “Do your hands still shake, Major Grant? Will mine ever stop?” The magician held out his wounded hand, visible as a trembling outline against the light of fading embers.
“Indeed. Mine do still shake sometimes, and I believe that yours may not be still for a long while, knowing all you have seen and done these past months. Sometimes, we are all afraid, and we must let the fear have its way.”
Grant took the palm of his friend’s hand and held it to his lips. “But sometimes—sometimes, Mr. Strange, we tremble in wonder and awe.”
Re: FILL: Strange/Grant bathing
(Anonymous) 2015-09-16 07:07 am (UTC)(link):D
Re: FILL: Strange/Grant bathing
(Anonymous) 2015-09-16 08:48 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Strange/Grant bathing
(Anonymous) 2015-09-16 03:04 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Strange/Grant bathing
(Anonymous) 2015-09-16 03:56 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Strange/Grant bathing
(Anonymous) 2015-09-19 05:27 pm (UTC)(link)