jsmn_kinkmeme | ☆ Round One!

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☆ Round One!

Welcome to the first round of the Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Kink Meme at

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Hi OP :) So I got a little carried away with this and once I was on a roll I couldn’t stop - thank goodness for weekends! There’s some footnotes too, which are at the end. I hope you like it!

**********

Mr Norrell knew that if he feigned anxiety over something, a social gathering perhaps, that Childermass would somehow talk him out of it. But a headache! Only a doctor, and Childermass certainly wasn’t one of those, could prove whether or not Norrell indeed was suffering with one. Even then it could only be via asking a series of questions. There were no obvious symptoms to a headache, which made them so easy to fake. This is not to say that they were always fabricated. Quite the contrary. Mr Norrell would only stoop to create a headache in the direst of circumstances (such as not wanting to argue further with his pupil). For a magician however, he was a notoriously bad liar. Norrell’s master-illusion of suffering was to repeatedly inform his company of his headache until they left him in peace to continue reading or to sit in welcomed silence. Childermass could easily see through his master’s charade but would never question him on it. It was not his place to.

Despite these instances of fraudulence, Childermass knew a real Norrell headache when he saw one. He saw one now. Norrell had called for him just before midnight and quietly apologised for getting him out of bed (the first sign that he was out of sorts.) Dark bags hung under his eyes and the whites were bloodshot, watery. His palm was flat against his forehead as Childermass crept closer, careful not to tread too heavily. Norrell looked immediately fragile as he sat up against the pillows, lit only by one flickering candle – as much light as he could bear. Childermass’s instant reaction was to take care of him, protect him. As was his usual method, Norrell announced that he had a headache, seeking sympathy from the one man he could think might give it him. Coming to sit on the edge of the bed Childermass asked if there was anything he might do to help.

Today had been stressful to say the least. Strange’s review had spread tension through the house like a contagious disease, caught even by some of the staff. (Childermass on the other hand was quite unperturbed. He found the situation rather amusing.) Mr Lascelles had been shouting, throwing various objects about and making those around him on edge vicariously. When Strange had arrived and announced his withdrawal from Mr Norrell’s tutorage, it had sent him into despair.

Childermass could see the trail of tears upon Norrell’s cheeks in the candlelight. Perhaps he’d cried so much he’d made himself suffer further for it, the pressure of the released emotion thumping into his skull until he could cry no more. Whatever the circumstances, Childermass was in no doubt that Norrell was in pain. He also had absolutely no clue how to help soothe it.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Norrell said, almost angrily, as if it were obvious. Childermass gave him a soft but lengthy look. A look that asked, well what then am I doing here? Norrell seemed to understand it, for he quickly made well on his snapping. “I would just like you to sit with me.” The request sounded odd from his lips. Norrell so often wanted to be alone. So often he thought he was alone, only for Childermass to clear his throat at his desk and scare him silly. This would happen in succession, Norrell forgetting he was there time and time again.

“Would you prefer us to sit in the library? I can fetch some tea?” Norrell shook his head.

“No, no here is fine. I – I am quite too much in agony to move.”

Childermass tried to remember the best remedies he knew for headaches. His mother once said, a long time ago, that crushing heather into one’s palm and inhaling the scent could help.¹ Childermass couldn’t remember the last time he had seen heather growing wild, not since coming to London. There was also a time from his own experience, when he had been suffering from yellow fever, wherein he had placed a strip of wet cloth to his brow. The cool water had seeped into his head and helped ease the pounding a little. Once during a ride to Thurlstone, Childermass’s horse had tripped mid-canter and sent him tumbling out of the saddle and onto his back.² Coming back to consciousness with the aid of the horse’s guilty licking, he had walked them both the rest of the way. Upon reaching his destination (a small cottage owned by a Miss Saunderson) with perhaps a worse headache than the one that had accompanied his yellow fever, his host had sat him down and immediately begun to massage his head, speaking softly into his ear. It had helped enormously and for a while he felt the most contented he had in a long time.

Perhaps, he would try the same with Mr Norrell.

Shuffling a little closer to him, he reached out to touch his forehead with the back of his hand. His skin felt hot, as though he might be developing a fever. Perhaps he had just been crying for too long. He was not assessing his temperature however. The touch had been a test, to see how he would react to his hands on him. Encouragingly, Norrell seemed to almost lean into the coolness of his servant’s skin. He closed his eyes against him and did not pull away. Turning his hand over, Childermass softly stroked his master’s forehead with the pad of his thumb, using the gentlest pressure. Norrell opened his eyes in reaction, looking at Childermass with blank confusion. But then Childermass made a little circle in the centre of his forehead and it felt... pleasant.

After a few minutes of this gentle petting, with which Childermass assumed blanket permission from Norrell to do so, Childermass raised his other hand. With gentle strokes he dragged his thumbs along the skin above Norrell’s eyebrows, from the centre outward. Norrell relaxed into it, letting out a little hum of pleasure.

“Is this helping Sir?” Childermass asked. His voice seemed to break Norrell out of a bubble of bliss for he jumped, opening his eyes sharply. Childermass thought he may have just been drifting off to sleep, his voice the step one falls over in a dream that jolts us awake.

“Hmm..? Yes. Yes, keep doing it,” he mumbled.

Childermass smiled and curled his fingertips over the dark hair at Norrell’s temples, circling them gently, which forced another satisfied sound from him. He quite enjoyed having this command over his master’s body. For the briefest moment a flicker of memory came to him, of resting his head against Miss Saunderson’s lap, and her delicate fingers twisting in his hair. She had been lonely, and neglected of human contact. The wound he had suffered from the fall from the horse hadn’t been so bad, just a nick on the chin and a grazed jaw, and he was but a stranger to her, but she had treated him as though he were the dearest thing to her, scarred from battle or protecting her honour. Norrell could never feel loneliness, not the way she did. He would be happy to be locked in a box until the end of time, if only he had books to accompany him there. But perhaps he might crave the touch of another. When, he thought, in his decades of service, had he ever witnessed Norrell physically engage with anyone? Childermass assumed he hated such contact, but as he felt his master rest his weight into his hands, cooing in contentment, his assumption became invalid. Maybe Norrell was only happy to be touched by those he trusted completely. These people were few and far between.

It was easy to slip off Norrell’s nightcap, for his intruding fingers had already loosened it considerably. Norrell’s hair was soft and a little too short to gain purchase upon. In the candlelight it appeared almost black, with the odd flash of grey here and there. Childermass massaged his scalp, changing the pressure upon his skull and trying to conceive which he liked the best. He decided it easier to ask.

“What soothes the most,” he asked it quietly, not wanting to scare him out of the moment again, “gentle, or a little harder?”

“Nnnggg, I don’t care,” Norrell muttered, his eyes opening a crack before closing again. No preference then, Childermass thought. He could continue to do what he wanted with him.

Fingers crept around to the nape of Norrell’s neck, clawing upward through the short prickle of hair there. His hands continued over his crown, forcing him to arch forward as they made their way to his hairline, pushing tresses over his forehead. He did this a few times, and felt a flush of heat in his stomach at the sounds Norrell made every so often in response. He appeared much calmer now, more like a cat purring than the shuddering whining thing he had been when Childermass first came to him. Childermass’s fingertips had drawn the headache out of him, pacified him. The stresses of the day all but evaporated.

“Do you feel you might rest now?” Childermass whispered.

The bliss of the unusual attention had slackened Norrell’s features. His lips were loose and parted.

“Yes,” he breathed, “yes thank you Childermass.”

Childermass let him sleep, his head resting back against the pillows the moment his hands came away from him. He was asleep within minutes.

When he was back in his own bed, Childermass thought about what had just happened. It was perhaps the most intimate encounter he had had with Mr Norrell, yet at the same time it felt as normal as one of his everyday duties. He could not imagine anyone else wishing to offer the same comfort to Norrell. When he really thought about it, he could not imagine Norrell wanting anyone else to. Without dwelling on it too much, he briefly pondered the possibility of Norrell doing the same for him. He pictured his master combing his fingers through his loosened hair, and stroking the top of his head as he sat at his feet. The thought made him feel warm and oddly at home. Norrell would never. Surely? But then, he had never asked…

A couple of days later, when no one was around, Childermass groaned melodramatically into his book. When Norrell had asked him what was wrong he’d answered with a complaint so often abused by his master, but never heard from Childermass’s mouth until now.

“I have a headache Sir.”

-

-

-

----footnotes-----

^1. Black Joan was happy to broadcast the numerous uses for the plant, as she often sold it on street corners to make extra money. After spending a morning picking it from a nearby moor, she would collect the heather into small bundles and tie each of them with a straw ribbon. The bundles would then be displayed in a Moses basket. Despite the abundance of freely growing Yorkshire heather available to the townsfolk, they sold well.

^2. The reason for Childermass’ ride to Thurlstone (a small farming village in Sheffield) early in his service of Mr Norrell, was to collect a quantity of books. A blind mathematician by the name of Nicholas Saunderson had passed his small collection of mathematical volumes to his only daughter upon his death. She had decided to sell them during a period of penury and had advertised that amongst the books she had read to her father countless times were a number of magical texts. This had of course caught Mr Norrell’s attention and he bought them immediately.

What a lovely story! I love the little quiet interludes people sometimes write here, and this is absolutely delicious! I loved the hint of shipping, while still being largely gen, and I loved the trust that existed between them. You've captured the sweeter parts of their relationship so well, Anon, and it was a pleasure reading your story!

I can't explain to you how much I love this, A!A. The gentleness. Childermass's protectiveness. The intimacy!! Aaaaaah it's adorable and wonderful and I'm so glad you wrote it. The ending is hilarious and sweet, too. Just a really wonderful little fic.

aw that was awesome! great work.

OP here and OMG A!A this is absolutely PERFECT and everything I could've hoped for and MORE!

I loved the little flashes of Childermass' past with the memories of him resting his head on Miss Saunderson's lap and associating that intimacy with that of the moment he was sharing with his master! *clutches this OTP close to chest*

This was just, ugh so adorable and fluffy and cute and I love love LOVED the little bit of Childermass at the end, groaning melodramatically and seeking that same intimacy he'd shown Mr Norrell !! What a sneaky little so and so. (What happened from there I'd very much like to know!!) ;)

Thank you, thank you so much for this, I shall now forever think of Childermass massaging my noggin whenever I have a headache!!

I feel EXTREMELY lucky to have posted a prompt and have it filled within the same DAY! You are a saint my friend.
<3 <3 <3 <3

Your A!A is so happy you're pleased with your fill :)
What happens next is up to you... but I'd like to think Norrell would be happy to return the favour hehe. As for the speed of this, your prompt just GRABBED me op! so thank you for a great prompt!

This is so adorable, gah! Thanks for writing!

Oh, this is so comforting and nice. I like how careful Childermass is to make sure his touch is welcome, and how far he's prepared to push it once he's allowed. Very well done, A!A, this was brilliant.

This is so lovely. Excellent work, A!A!

A!A here, thank you to everyone who left a nice comment above, you're all very kind and have made my day several times over :)

If it is helpful to anyone, I have recently added this to my AO3.
You can find it here:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/4645515

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☆ Round One!

Fill: 'I have a headache'

Re: Fill: 'I have a headache'

Re: Fill: 'I have a headache'

Re: Fill: 'I have a headache'

Re: Fill: 'I have a headache'

Re: Fill: 'I have a headache'

Re: Fill: 'I have a headache'

Re: Fill: 'I have a headache'

Re: Fill: 'I have a headache'

Re: Fill: 'I have a headache'