They fumbled their way out of their clothing. Childermass and Norrell finished at roughly the same time, Childermass due to efficiency, and Norrell due to having less to remove from Strange. He missed one stocking, but no one thought of it.
Childermass had been considerably more put together, and Strange’s hands shook as he struggled. Norrell joined his efforts, but was even less useful. In the end, it took all three of them, though mostly Childermass himself, to rid him of the rest of his clothing.
And then there was a blur of exploration. Childermass lost track of whether he was touching Norrell or Strange, which he kissed, and whose fingers loosed the queue in his hair and sent it tumbling about his face. At last he managed to maneuver Norrell between them, and with Strange and Norrell once again lost in kisses, Childermass pressed his lips to the back of Norrell’s neck, then the top of his spine. He shuddered, for there was indeed something more he wished to shew the magicians, but now that he had come to it, it seemed to him a great and dreadful risk.
But Childermass was no stranger to risk, and he had dared a great deal more in service to Mr Norrell. He rose on silent feet and moved over to the candles, which were burning low. He gathered the tallow in his hand and went back to his companions, still lost in one another. He trailed his fingers down Norrell’s spine, and they were all of them slick with the tallow. “Sir,” he whispered in Norrell’s ear, “I would like to do something, but you may find it unpleasant. Tell me to, and I shall stop.”
He slid his fingers further down, pressing inward until he found the small pucker of muscle. Mr Norrell stiffened, but did not push him away. Childermass took this as tacit permission, and breached the ring with a single fingertip.
Mr Norrell hissed, his face screwed up as though he was not certain whether he enjoyed this or not. Mr Strange let out a harsh groan when he realized what Childermass was about, then reached down, hooked a hand behind Norrell’s knee, and drew it up. Norrell very nearly overbalanced, and clung to Strange’s shoulders tightly as the other magician urged him to wrap his leg about Strange’s hips. This proved more of a challenge than Strange had perhaps anticipated, given their height differences.
Childermass was feeling generous, and whispered into Norrell’s ear, “Would you like to hold onto Mr Strange while I see to you, sir?”
Norrell gulped and nodded, not taking his eyes from Strange’s. Childermass looked to Strange, and then wrapped an arm about Norrell’s waist. With a soft grunt, he lifted the small man off his feet, and Strange caught his other leg, drawing them both up about his waist. Norrell gasped as he and Strange were pressed tight as they could be, and Strange’s prick bumped Childermass’ knuckles where he pushed his finger into Mr Norrell.
The spread of Mr Norrell’s legs made it easier for Childermass to drive his finger deeper in, using his body to bolster Norrell’s position and take some of the strain off Strange. Strange and Norrell were kissing hard and sloppy, and as Childermass worked he peppered kisses to their throats until Strange caught his mouth and kissed him in a most ungentlemanly way, his tongue thrusting as deliberately as his prick.
Childermass drew away from him and kissed Mr Norrell, lest he feel neglected, even as he pressed the tip of a second finger to his opening. Norrell whined into his mouth as he was breached, squirming in Strange’s grasp, but held tight and open.
“Breathe through it, Mr Norrell,” Childermass whispered to him.
“I’ve no idea why anyone would enjoy this,” Norrell complained.
Childermass knew some incentive was in order, and thought he had enough leverage to get it. He twisted his hand, the angle of it awkward, until he found the bump that long ago some obliging sailor had shewed him. Norrell let out a wail of shock and pleasure, and rocked back against Childermass’ hand. “That is why, sir,” Childermass said, and pressed it again and again, using the distraction to scissor his fingers and then add a third. Norrell gasped and wriggled, trying to get more friction and more pressure all at once. “I am grateful to see you appreciate it.”
Childermass kept at him until Norrell’s shifting gave way to a boneless sort of ecstasy, and the the clench of him fluttered and relaxed. Childermass was panting out his desire, but he knew, much though he was loath to admit it, that Norrell was still looking at Strange as though he had hung the moon. Childermass did not need twenty-six years of service to understand what it was that Norrell wanted; what he had wanted for years, ever since Jonathan Strange had sauntered into their lives and lit Mr Norrell up like a bonfire.
Childermass shook his head, but took hold of Strange’s prick with his free hand. Strange gasped and looked at him with wide eyes.
“If you hurt him,” Childermass warned, “I shall do the same to you.”
Strange nodded to him, a look of worry and care settling over him. Perhaps he understood the honor he was being given, or perhaps he was simply worried about his own hide. Childermass was not certain, but whichever it was, Childermass believed he would indeed take care.
He guided Strange’s prick to the place where his fingers were buried in Norrell’s body, and then drew them out, coating Strange in the rest of the tallow. Norrell’s breath was short in anticipation, and as Strange lined himself up, every breath Norrell took was a soft whimper. Childermass felt the head of Strange’s prick snug up against Norrell’s opening, and then slide past it.
Norrell cried out, his head falling back against Childermass’ shoulder and his knuckles going white where they clung to Strange. He looked transfixed, as one lost in visions. Childermass pressed his lips to Norrell’s slack mouth, enjoying how pliant it was. He hadn’t realized how closely he’d crowded until he felt his own prick brushing against Strange’s and nudging against the stretched rim of Norrell’s hole.
Norrell’s eyes snapped to Childermass’ and he whispered, “John.” Childermass gasped at the sound of his Christian name on his employer’s lips, a sound he had heard so few times he would not need a full hand to count them. “John, I am not certain I can …”
Childermass stroked Norrell’s cheek and said, “Nor are you expected to.” He thought about it for a moment, and then took the risk of whispering, “Gilbert.”
He steered them toward the nearest wall, Strange murmuring his protests at being made to stop his movements. Then Childermass slipped out from behind Norrell and let the wall support him, and Strange was content once more. Childermass watched as he pressed his forehead to Norrell’s, their eyes locked and lost in one another. Norrell touched Strange’s face, and Strange kissed him softly as he moved between his legs with a slow and easy purpose. He whispered something, and Norrell’s smile pulled on strings in Childermass’ heart he had thought plucked out.
Childermass shook his head hard against it, and then moved to the candles once more. He gathered tallow and returned, pressing up against Strange’s back and sliding a finger into him without preamble.
“Oh!” Strange said.
“Objections, Mr Strange?” Childermass whispered into his ear.
Strange blinked, then relaxed his body back a bit. “None at all, Mr Childermass. I would only request only that you go slowly. This is all rather new to me.”
Childermass watched for a second the easy way Strange moved inside Norrell, and the way Norrell rested his head against the wall and looked at them both with a perfect trust Childermass rarely saw on his face. That he was enjoying himself was certain, and whatever discomfort he might have suffered was quite forgotten.
“You are in good hands, sir,” he told Strange, and meant it. For that moment, with Strange holding Mr Norrell as though he were precious, Childermass saw a bit of what Norrell saw in Strange. He was a decent man beneath the arrogance and the self-absorption; an idiot, but a decent man.
FILL: A Distraction (5/6)
Childermass had been considerably more put together, and Strange’s hands shook as he struggled. Norrell joined his efforts, but was even less useful. In the end, it took all three of them, though mostly Childermass himself, to rid him of the rest of his clothing.
And then there was a blur of exploration. Childermass lost track of whether he was touching Norrell or Strange, which he kissed, and whose fingers loosed the queue in his hair and sent it tumbling about his face. At last he managed to maneuver Norrell between them, and with Strange and Norrell once again lost in kisses, Childermass pressed his lips to the back of Norrell’s neck, then the top of his spine. He shuddered, for there was indeed something more he wished to shew the magicians, but now that he had come to it, it seemed to him a great and dreadful risk.
But Childermass was no stranger to risk, and he had dared a great deal more in service to Mr Norrell. He rose on silent feet and moved over to the candles, which were burning low. He gathered the tallow in his hand and went back to his companions, still lost in one another. He trailed his fingers down Norrell’s spine, and they were all of them slick with the tallow. “Sir,” he whispered in Norrell’s ear, “I would like to do something, but you may find it unpleasant. Tell me to, and I shall stop.”
He slid his fingers further down, pressing inward until he found the small pucker of muscle. Mr Norrell stiffened, but did not push him away. Childermass took this as tacit permission, and breached the ring with a single fingertip.
Mr Norrell hissed, his face screwed up as though he was not certain whether he enjoyed this or not. Mr Strange let out a harsh groan when he realized what Childermass was about, then reached down, hooked a hand behind Norrell’s knee, and drew it up. Norrell very nearly overbalanced, and clung to Strange’s shoulders tightly as the other magician urged him to wrap his leg about Strange’s hips. This proved more of a challenge than Strange had perhaps anticipated, given their height differences.
Childermass was feeling generous, and whispered into Norrell’s ear, “Would you like to hold onto Mr Strange while I see to you, sir?”
Norrell gulped and nodded, not taking his eyes from Strange’s. Childermass looked to Strange, and then wrapped an arm about Norrell’s waist. With a soft grunt, he lifted the small man off his feet, and Strange caught his other leg, drawing them both up about his waist. Norrell gasped as he and Strange were pressed tight as they could be, and Strange’s prick bumped Childermass’ knuckles where he pushed his finger into Mr Norrell.
The spread of Mr Norrell’s legs made it easier for Childermass to drive his finger deeper in, using his body to bolster Norrell’s position and take some of the strain off Strange. Strange and Norrell were kissing hard and sloppy, and as Childermass worked he peppered kisses to their throats until Strange caught his mouth and kissed him in a most ungentlemanly way, his tongue thrusting as deliberately as his prick.
Childermass drew away from him and kissed Mr Norrell, lest he feel neglected, even as he pressed the tip of a second finger to his opening. Norrell whined into his mouth as he was breached, squirming in Strange’s grasp, but held tight and open.
“Breathe through it, Mr Norrell,” Childermass whispered to him.
“I’ve no idea why anyone would enjoy this,” Norrell complained.
Childermass knew some incentive was in order, and thought he had enough leverage to get it. He twisted his hand, the angle of it awkward, until he found the bump that long ago some obliging sailor had shewed him. Norrell let out a wail of shock and pleasure, and rocked back against Childermass’ hand. “That is why, sir,” Childermass said, and pressed it again and again, using the distraction to scissor his fingers and then add a third. Norrell gasped and wriggled, trying to get more friction and more pressure all at once. “I am grateful to see you appreciate it.”
Childermass kept at him until Norrell’s shifting gave way to a boneless sort of ecstasy, and the the clench of him fluttered and relaxed. Childermass was panting out his desire, but he knew, much though he was loath to admit it, that Norrell was still looking at Strange as though he had hung the moon. Childermass did not need twenty-six years of service to understand what it was that Norrell wanted; what he had wanted for years, ever since Jonathan Strange had sauntered into their lives and lit Mr Norrell up like a bonfire.
Childermass shook his head, but took hold of Strange’s prick with his free hand. Strange gasped and looked at him with wide eyes.
“If you hurt him,” Childermass warned, “I shall do the same to you.”
Strange nodded to him, a look of worry and care settling over him. Perhaps he understood the honor he was being given, or perhaps he was simply worried about his own hide. Childermass was not certain, but whichever it was, Childermass believed he would indeed take care.
He guided Strange’s prick to the place where his fingers were buried in Norrell’s body, and then drew them out, coating Strange in the rest of the tallow. Norrell’s breath was short in anticipation, and as Strange lined himself up, every breath Norrell took was a soft whimper. Childermass felt the head of Strange’s prick snug up against Norrell’s opening, and then slide past it.
Norrell cried out, his head falling back against Childermass’ shoulder and his knuckles going white where they clung to Strange. He looked transfixed, as one lost in visions. Childermass pressed his lips to Norrell’s slack mouth, enjoying how pliant it was. He hadn’t realized how closely he’d crowded until he felt his own prick brushing against Strange’s and nudging against the stretched rim of Norrell’s hole.
Norrell’s eyes snapped to Childermass’ and he whispered, “John.” Childermass gasped at the sound of his Christian name on his employer’s lips, a sound he had heard so few times he would not need a full hand to count them. “John, I am not certain I can …”
Childermass stroked Norrell’s cheek and said, “Nor are you expected to.” He thought about it for a moment, and then took the risk of whispering, “Gilbert.”
He steered them toward the nearest wall, Strange murmuring his protests at being made to stop his movements. Then Childermass slipped out from behind Norrell and let the wall support him, and Strange was content once more. Childermass watched as he pressed his forehead to Norrell’s, their eyes locked and lost in one another. Norrell touched Strange’s face, and Strange kissed him softly as he moved between his legs with a slow and easy purpose. He whispered something, and Norrell’s smile pulled on strings in Childermass’ heart he had thought plucked out.
Childermass shook his head hard against it, and then moved to the candles once more. He gathered tallow and returned, pressing up against Strange’s back and sliding a finger into him without preamble.
“Oh!” Strange said.
“Objections, Mr Strange?” Childermass whispered into his ear.
Strange blinked, then relaxed his body back a bit. “None at all, Mr Childermass. I would only request only that you go slowly. This is all rather new to me.”
Childermass watched for a second the easy way Strange moved inside Norrell, and the way Norrell rested his head against the wall and looked at them both with a perfect trust Childermass rarely saw on his face. That he was enjoying himself was certain, and whatever discomfort he might have suffered was quite forgotten.
“You are in good hands, sir,” he told Strange, and meant it. For that moment, with Strange holding Mr Norrell as though he were precious, Childermass saw a bit of what Norrell saw in Strange. He was a decent man beneath the arrogance and the self-absorption; an idiot, but a decent man.