Title: The Sands of Faerie
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV)
Pairing: Grant/Strange
Rating: NC-17
Content notes: no warnings apply
Length: 600
Author note: This is for sevenswells, inspired by her beautiful art for Found In The Sea.
Summary: The shells of Faerie, lying in a glowing heap at Strange’s feet, cannot be mistaken for the shells of this world. The sands of Faerie, by contrast, look much the same as any English beach under a cloudy summer sky, but appearances are deceptive.




The shells of Faerie, lying in a glowing heap at Strange’s feet, cannot be mistaken for the shells of this world. The sands of Faerie, by contrast, look much the same as any English beach under a cloudy summer sky, but appearances are deceptive.

Grant stands patiently ready with Strange’s shoes and stockings and watches him as he scrubs discontentedly at his toes with his handkerchief, trying in vain to dislodge the grains of sand. He is glad that he kept his own boots on, in spite of Strange’s teasing: better staid than sorry.

It could all have been much worse, given the powerful temptation of Strange’s dishevelled state. He had pulled his shirt free of his breeches to carry the shells, and the strip of bare skin above his waistband made Grant’s mouth water with longing to drop to his knees and make Merlin forget everything but the heat of Grant’s mouth on him. Fortunately for both of them, the cool sea breeze and the risk of discovery had strengthened his wavering self-control. The memory of a certain afternoon in the early days of their acquaintance, when he and Strange had not been so careful about coupling out of doors, makes him wince now, imagining the discomfort of Faerie sand in those intimate tender places.

“Is there no spell to get it off?”

“None that I know of,” Strange grumbles.

“Soap and water, then,” Grant says, cheerfully prosaic. He hopes Strange can remember how to get them home again.

***

“Hold still, can’t you?” Grant says as Strange twitches and tries to pull away. He holds Strange’s right ankle to his chest and wipes the suds from his foot carefully with a damp cloth, cleaning the last traces of sand from his toes. “Now the other one.”

Strange shifts uneasily on the hard wooden chair, but surrenders his left foot to Grant’s attentions. It takes a long time to remove every last grain of sand. By the time Grant has finished, Strange is breathing hard. Grant looks up at him and sees the flush across his cheekbones, faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. Not pain, but something more familiar, though unexpected.

Grant drops the damp cloth back into the basin and pats Strange’s feet dry with a clean towel. Strange makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. Grant strokes him, deliberate and gentle, caressing first one foot and then the other, until Strange groans deeply and lets his knees fall open in invitation. Grant leans closer and noses at the warm curve of Merlin’s prick through his breeches. Everything feels deliciously slow and unhurried; he could stay like this happily for hours.

“Don’t tease,” Strange says tightly. His hands twist in Grant’s hair.

“Ha,” Grant says, teasing on purpose now. “Is there something you want, Merlin?”

“You know perfectly well what I – ah!”

Grant rubs him with the heel of his hand as Merlin whimpers and jerks his hips, small helpless thrusts that send sparks of desire shooting through Grant’s veins. He opens Merlin’s breeches and frees his cock, heavy and flushed with arousal. Grant takes the wet tip of it into his mouth and sucks, caressing the underside of the head with his tongue. Salt and heat and a faint bitterness; he’s close already. Grant wraps his hand around the base of Merlin’s cock and squeezes him, working him with hands and mouth until his moans turn to sharp cries and his toes curl as he spends.

“So,” Grant says, when Merlin has brought him to an equally satisfactory conclusion, “when are we going back?”