So time went on. Bathing and salve and correspondence in the days. At dinner-times he would have a prompt and regular meal served by Childermass, who appeared to have the gift of coaxing his appetite by sharing food. He seemed to be getting a lot less indigestion than he had when he'd had bad habits of missing meals when he was distracted, or getting so fractious that he took against what was given him, and all it took was Childermass showing him how delicious the food was by eating some, and hand-feeding him the rest of it. What a delightful way to manage his tricky appetite--and what a pity he'd have to stop soon, when he got better. Especially since both of them usually enjoyed the hand-feeding enough to want some attention. Norrell had felt self-conscious at first about demanding things that surely no gentleman would, but it didn't take him long to figure out that Childermass seemed to like him being bluntly, lewdly specific about exactly what he wanted. He wished it wasn't just a matter of giving him a hand while necessary. He was going to miss it when things went back to normal.
Perhaps thanks to the salve, perhaps thanks to giving his hands a rest sensibly rather than pushing on, after a week and a half he felt quite better. He didn't say a word about it to Childermass, but tried to get on with his work stealthily during the days while trying to give the impression to Childermass he was no better.
It only took two days before Childermass came in with dinner and found Mr Norrell in flagrante delicto with a book. Norrell trembled like a guilty thing surprised, but Childermass just sat down with dinner and shared the food by hand, just the same.
Norrell complained, after dinner. "It's not the same if you know. I feel such a fool for trying to trick you, and what's the point of feeding me when I can feed myself?"
"The point is, I can give you any attention you want," said Childermass. "I like doing it, sir."
Norrell looked at him mistrustfully.
"In terms of food, maybe not all the time," said Childermass. "It's not an efficient way of having your dinner if you want to save time, though it's nice if we've got the time. As far as the other thing goes, I can be at your service most times you ask."
"Most?" said Norrell.
"Unless I'm ill, or busy with another thing you asked me to do."
That, Norrell considered, was far more than he'd considered at all likely in the long term. In fact, it was news to him that there might be a long term.
He said, "Put this book away, then, and let's go to bed," interested to note that he must trust Childermass, at least somewhat. He couldn't imagine preparing for bed with anyone else and not feeling the urge to get up and check the book had been put away correctly.
It was strange, starting to undo his own clothes, and Childermass only helping with the odd recalcitrant button instead of doing everything for him.
He felt a lot more naked, somehow, without the assumption that Childermass was merely helping him. Because he was well, and he still wanted Childermass to come to bed with him and satisfy him rather thoroughly, and maybe cuddle up and go to sleep.
Childermass was eating him all up with his eyes, which was embarrassing and exciting at the same time. He kept wondering if he should look behind him for a better-looking person that Childermass should clearly be looking at, even as he turned when Childermass asked so he could see all of him.
"You know, sir," said Childermass, "I spent years determined not to kiss the arses of my so-called superiors. At the moment I'm thinking I wouldn't mind at all."
Norrell presented himself on his front, spread over the edge of the bed, demanding that Childermass should kiss his hole, very gently, pressing his lips there and slipping his tongue-tip right round the edge, and just keep doing that while playing with his cock... He'd forgotten how Childermass liked him to be blunt about what he liked, and he hadn't quite realised how depraved--and exquisite--and altogether abandoned he would feel, with his prick rubbed and his arsehole softly licked. That tongue was only giving him the slightest, tiniest of licks, but it was wonderful, and the hand in front was just short of perfect. He was feeling as if he could hold there, just on the edge of coming, for hours... He moaned, complainingly, because he knew he couldn't.
Childermass murmured something wordlessly inquiring where his mouth was pressed.
"Do it hard!" Norrell gasped, because however delicious it felt he'd faint if he couldn't come--and he thrust forward as Childermass squeezed, a flood of pleasure streaming from his cock as he groaned with utter relief.
"All right?" said Childermass, when they'd both come back to themselves a bit.
"Mm," said Norrell, and asked him what he wanted for his turn. Apparently that little act of depravity had left Childermass both excited and exhausted, for all he wanted was to lie there with his eyes closed while Norrell stroked his cock and described how good it had felt to have his arse licked and cock fondled. Only a little work had the desired effect--luckily, since he was not sure how his newly-recovered hand would stand up to much use--and they were both ready for sleep.
Norrell nestled up.
"I'm glad you're better, sir."
"You can keep the 'sir' for when we're being polite," said Norrell. "You don't need to call me 'sir' when you've just had your mouth on my arse."
"I'm glad you're better...Gilbert."
Norrell twitched a little. He'd never liked the name, but he didn't want the distance of 'sir' right now. He slipped his hand into Childermass's, and went to sleep.
FILL: A Helping Hand (Childermass/Norrell, 3 of 3)
Perhaps thanks to the salve, perhaps thanks to giving his hands a rest sensibly rather than pushing on, after a week and a half he felt quite better. He didn't say a word about it to Childermass, but tried to get on with his work stealthily during the days while trying to give the impression to Childermass he was no better.
It only took two days before Childermass came in with dinner and found Mr Norrell in flagrante delicto with a book. Norrell trembled like a guilty thing surprised, but Childermass just sat down with dinner and shared the food by hand, just the same.
Norrell complained, after dinner. "It's not the same if you know. I feel such a fool for trying to trick you, and what's the point of feeding me when I can feed myself?"
"The point is, I can give you any attention you want," said Childermass. "I like doing it, sir."
Norrell looked at him mistrustfully.
"In terms of food, maybe not all the time," said Childermass. "It's not an efficient way of having your dinner if you want to save time, though it's nice if we've got the time. As far as the other thing goes, I can be at your service most times you ask."
"Most?" said Norrell.
"Unless I'm ill, or busy with another thing you asked me to do."
That, Norrell considered, was far more than he'd considered at all likely in the long term. In fact, it was news to him that there might be a long term.
He said, "Put this book away, then, and let's go to bed," interested to note that he must trust Childermass, at least somewhat. He couldn't imagine preparing for bed with anyone else and not feeling the urge to get up and check the book had been put away correctly.
It was strange, starting to undo his own clothes, and Childermass only helping with the odd recalcitrant button instead of doing everything for him.
He felt a lot more naked, somehow, without the assumption that Childermass was merely helping him. Because he was well, and he still wanted Childermass to come to bed with him and satisfy him rather thoroughly, and maybe cuddle up and go to sleep.
Childermass was eating him all up with his eyes, which was embarrassing and exciting at the same time. He kept wondering if he should look behind him for a better-looking person that Childermass should clearly be looking at, even as he turned when Childermass asked so he could see all of him.
"You know, sir," said Childermass, "I spent years determined not to kiss the arses of my so-called superiors. At the moment I'm thinking I wouldn't mind at all."
Norrell presented himself on his front, spread over the edge of the bed, demanding that Childermass should kiss his hole, very gently, pressing his lips there and slipping his tongue-tip right round the edge, and just keep doing that while playing with his cock... He'd forgotten how Childermass liked him to be blunt about what he liked, and he hadn't quite realised how depraved--and exquisite--and altogether abandoned he would feel, with his prick rubbed and his arsehole softly licked. That tongue was only giving him the slightest, tiniest of licks, but it was wonderful, and the hand in front was just short of perfect. He was feeling as if he could hold there, just on the edge of coming, for hours... He moaned, complainingly, because he knew he couldn't.
Childermass murmured something wordlessly inquiring where his mouth was pressed.
"Do it hard!" Norrell gasped, because however delicious it felt he'd faint if he couldn't come--and he thrust forward as Childermass squeezed, a flood of pleasure streaming from his cock as he groaned with utter relief.
"All right?" said Childermass, when they'd both come back to themselves a bit.
"Mm," said Norrell, and asked him what he wanted for his turn. Apparently that little act of depravity had left Childermass both excited and exhausted, for all he wanted was to lie there with his eyes closed while Norrell stroked his cock and described how good it had felt to have his arse licked and cock fondled. Only a little work had the desired effect--luckily, since he was not sure how his newly-recovered hand would stand up to much use--and they were both ready for sleep.
Norrell nestled up.
"I'm glad you're better, sir."
"You can keep the 'sir' for when we're being polite," said Norrell. "You don't need to call me 'sir' when you've just had your mouth on my arse."
"I'm glad you're better...Gilbert."
Norrell twitched a little. He'd never liked the name, but he didn't want the distance of 'sir' right now. He slipped his hand into Childermass's, and went to sleep.