jsmn_kinkmeme | ☆ Round One!

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☆ Round One!

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

jsmn_kinkmeme!

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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.

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At the time, Henry Lascelles was in the mood to feel superior. He was an elegantly featured man in his middle thirties, with expensive and unimpeachable tastes; he had what might be considered a stylish income; he was disliked by many society ladies, which meant that they did not encumber him with their affections, but that they were acquainted with him enough to remember his name. He had just published a very scathing review in a minor literary journal, which gentlemen spent a week quoting in all of the clubs, and he had a mind to write a play that would be twice as scathing. He had not yet decided upon its name.

He was in the mood to feel superior, and he had every reason to do so. Yet he did not feel superior, and this irked him. In fact, it began to irk him, and then very quickly the irk turned into an injury, for which he felt he was entitled to recompense. This had happened to Lascelles before, and in his experience some form of recompense generally presented itself. Such was the nature of the universe and its justice. So he was quick to recognize Christopher Drawlight as having been offered to him as a kind of relief.

For here was this boy, this little bit of nothing: no more than seventeen or eighteen, little and sulky-lipped, with extraordinary eyes. Self-educated, Lascelles thought; strong sense of resentment; rather a forced-flower charm that was blooming now and would very rapidly wither away. No accomplishments and nothing nice about him. Just those lips and those eyes and that narrow waist, and oh, Lascelles thought, they would eat him for breakfast, they would eat him up and pick their teeth with his bones for tea. He felt gleeful just thinking about it. He would feel very superior indeed when he introduced Drawlight.

In fact he was feeling so now. He sat on a chaise-longue with his legs idly crossed, and he looked Drawlight up and down in a very explicit fashion. It left little question what he was contemplating. He said, "And whose name did you drop to get in my door?"

Drawlight flushed just a little, high in his cheeks. He would have to get rid of that habit. He said, "The Duke of—"

"I am not interested. Tell me, has he had you already?"

An even dark blaze of a flush. Interesting, Lascelles thought. "I do not know what you mean."

"You do, but you are pretending not to. Why so prim, little Ganymede? I thought surely you'd whored your way to the top." Because the top, he thought, was what this was; what he was, for a man like Drawlight. This thought brought satisfaction to him.

Drawlight did not say anything. He pressed his lips together tightly.

"But clearly," Lascelles said thoughtfully, "you did not, in fact, do so. This begs the question: why not? You do, if I may say so, have the goods to sell, my dear, and if I may say so you strike me as the kind of person who believes in selling what he has got." He paused. "Are you saving yourself for someone special, Ganymede? Dreaming of that happy night of love, the marriage bed...?"

"Maybe I haven't found the right buyer," Drawlight retorted. So he had a little spirit, then. Not much wits, though; for he had just implied—

"Oh, Ganymede!" Lascelles drawled, mimicking shock. "Are you a virgin?"

"Surely it is an item which has its own kind of price," Drawlight shot back. Much better. A much better effort.

"Mm. But, you see, then you have sold it. And what will you sell after that?" Lascelles sighed, as though the question troubled him greatly. "Whereas skills can be sold again and again. No one likes a clumsy boy, even one who's pretty. Better to be common and useful. Commonly useful. Commonly enjoyable. That's what people want from your kind of man."

He had dropped his head back and was watching Drawlight lazily. He knew already where this was going; he thought the boy knew it to, and now it was only a matter of how long it would take him to submit. Lascelles enjoyed the anticipation. He spread his legs ever-so-slightly and saw Drawlight notice.

Drawlight looked at him, and then looked around the room, as though he were thinking about it. After a while he remarked, "Really I came to ask you for an introduction, to Lady M-----."

Lascelles waved a hand, still a little mocking. "Oh, yes. Oh, yes. All the little introductions. You want me to take you around as my friend, pretend that I think you are very clever, lend you money... all of that."

"So," Drawlight said.

"So," Lascelles repeated softly. He spread his legs a little wider.

Drawlight walked unflinchingly forwards. He was already shrugging his coat off. He folded it neatly, with just a touch too much attention, and began to tug at his cravat.

"Not like that," Lascelles said disdainfully. "You're not a prostitute. You've got to make me believe it."

For just a moment, the boy looked uncertain, a little confused.

"Make me believe that you are giving yourself to me," Lascelles elaborated. "Make me believe that you are seduced. You are oh so very young, and oh so very tender, and so overcome are you, and so desirous, that you want to give it all to me."

He waited. A hot curl of enjoyment moved through him. This was the part he liked.

Drawlight drew closer. He loosened his neckcloth and dropped to his knees. He looked up at Lascelles through those long eyelashes— someone had clearly taught him how to use his charms, oh yes— and very slightly caught his breath, and bit at his lip, and put his hands upon Lascelles' thighs. "Please," he said in a low voice. "I— I want to be taught. I've been told that I'm a very quick learner."

Delighted, Lascelles murmured, "Oh, very good. A quick learner indeed. But what if I'm reluctant? What if I think, perhaps, I would not like to ruin my reputation?"

Drawlight stroked his hands up very slowly. He leaned forwards slightly, fixing Lascelles in his mesmeric indigo gaze. He murmured, "But I'm just so hungry for it. You don't understand. You're so much more... experienced than I am—"

Lascelles reached out and shoved his face to one side, taking a cruel grip on his chin. "Don't emphasize your inexperience. You're trying to make me want to fuck you. Emphasis is everything."

He saw a flash of hate in Drawlight's eyes before he released him. Drawlight had thought, he supposed, that this would be a seduction, that at some point the tables would turn and he would gain the upper hand. Well, this would be a good corrective for him.

Lascelles reached down and, one-handed, unbuttoned his trousers. He pulled his shirt-tail loose, then lifted his cock out. It was mostly limp. "For someone who wants what you want," he said to Drawlight, "you're not doing a very good job of getting it."

He supposed the boy hadn't done even this much. Or, on the other hand, perhaps he had; he didn't seem entirely unfamiliar with the notion. He bent his head between Lascelles' legs fairly quick, and set himself to bringing his cock to attention with a reasonably deft application of his lips. Lascelles rested a hand at the back of his neck. Arousal stretched through him, a sharp and pleasant sensation. When he was very close to hard, he said, "Look at me. No, look up. I'm sure you've been told your best assets are your lips and your eyes. You should look at me like all you want in life is to suck my cock. And– yes, that's good; you have a good mouth for it." He reached out and traced half the shape of that mouth, where it was stretched and moving over him. He thrust up experimentally; Drawlight choked a little. Perhaps not so familiar, then. Lascelles said, "Well, you will have to practice."

He let him work a little longer, largely because he was feeling quite lazy and did not really want to get up. Then he said, "This is very nice, but it does not seem to be leading anywhere, unless you would like me to finish in your mouth." It was not a bad idea. He would enjoy it at some future juncture.

Drawlight pulled off resentfully and wiped his hand across his face. "I have not ever, so how do I know—"

"I'm sure you are acquainted with the idea. You want to show me that you want my cock in you. Surely you have some imagination you can use."

He seemed to think about this. He unbuttoned his waistcoat as he did so, and placed it carefully to one side. Then, with an air of hesitation, he also stripped his shirt off. The effect was to add to a certain vulnerable air. It was not unappealing, though almost certainly constructed. He did look aroused; his nipples were taut. Lascelles reached out and played with one; Drawlight gave a breathy gasp. He pushed forwards, into Lascelles' hand.

"Good," Lascelles said. "Yes. Good."

This seemed to give Drawlight the right idea. He leaned in and pressed his bare upper body against Lascelles' cock. One had to give him points for creativity, and it was surprisingly good, seeing the wet trail the tip of his cock left against that skin when Drawlight pushed himself up against it, twisting his face like he was enjoying it. From there, he managed to crawl up into Lascelles' lap. (There was something rather cat-like about him, Lascelles thought.) Squirming against Lascelles' cock like he was faintly desperate, he caught Lascelles' mouth and kissed him— a wet open-mouthed kiss into which Lascelles thrust his tongue. Drawlight moaned when he did this, and squirmed more, so Lascelles caught his head in a very firm hold and thrust his tongue in and out of that mouth in a sort of allegory of fucking. Drawlight did a very credible impression of excitement. Lascelles rewarded him by slipping a hand down the back of his breeches and stroking a finger between his buttocks.

"Yes," Drawlight murmured. "I want you to." He was looking at Lascelles through his lashes again, very coy.

"Good," Lascelles said, and shoved him back. "Get your breeches off and get onto the bed."

He saw the very brief scowl before Drawlight concealed it.

Lascelles said, "That doesn't make me want it."

He thought Drawlight would have quite liked to make a sharp rebuttal, perhaps pointing out his obvious excitement, but to his delight the boy seemed to swallow it back. Instead he affected that coy look again and said in a breathy voice, "Aren't you going to undress?"

Lascelles said, "I don't need to undress to fuck you. I don't even need to take off my breeches."

He did not see Drawlight's reaction to that; he had gone to the bed table to fetch the oil. By the time he came back, Drawlight was naked upon the bed, stroking his erection. He had an indifferent cock, but a showy way of touching himself that would, no doubt, serve him well.

Lascelles said, "On your hands and knees. No, do not put your face into the pillow; I want to see you enjoying it."

He cupped the swell of Drawlight's buttocks, running his hands consideringly over them before parting them, spreading his legs, reaching for the oil. He was not especially merciful with his first finger; he thrust it very steadily in, as firmly as Drawlight's body would allow. All he got for this was some strangled gasping. He moved his finger, thrusting forwards and backwards, stroking at the inside to loosen it. After a while he pressed another finger alongside; the stretch was still very slow.

"God, you really are a virgin, aren't you," he said.

Drawlight managed, "Yes. Yes, I— ohh." This last as Lascelles pushed the tip of a third finger into him.

Some more very forceful fingering got him open. By the end, he was quite enjoying it; or at least doing a plausible impression.

Lascelles slicked his cock, but for a while merely thrust against him, pressing against the crevice of his buttocks. "For future reference," he said, "now is when you should be begging me to put it in you."

"—Please," Drawlight said tightly. "Yes, please, I want it."

Lascelles said, "That is not very convincing." But he pushed in anyways, which was very slow going, and before he had gotten in really more than an inch, Drawlight was shaking, barely holding himself up, so Lascelles had to pause before pushing forwards again. There was something, he supposed— or, more accurately, privately admitted— about the thought that he was the first, that Drawlight had never taken anyone before, that in a sense Lascelles was despoiling him; and that made Lascelles act a little more kindly than he might otherwise have done. When he had almost, almost pushed all the way in, he waited a long time for Drawlight to grow used to him, admiring the sight of his quivering body, which was overwhelmed by how much of Lascelles was in him.

When he withdrew and thrust a little, Drawlight said, "It's too much, it's— it's too much!"

"Good," Lascelles said, a little breathlessly. "That's good; people like to hear it's too much. They like to hear you say how full you are." He found that his own monologue rather pleased him. "I can understand the appeal, I suppose— filling someone up, bringing them right to the brink where they cannot bear it—"

That actually made Drawlight's hips jerk. He cried out, but it was a very different sort of cry.

"Oh," Lascelles said in satisfaction. "You like that. You like being full of me, don't you, my little Ganymede?"

Again, Drawlight's hips jerked. He said shakily, "Yes, please, I— please, I need more—"

"No. Trying too hard," Lascelles said, and he thrust very deep. It was easier going by now. He tried, experimentally, sliding almost all the way out and then shoving back in. That was good, and it made Drawlight emit a little hitched sound. He was in fact aroused, actually, as Lascelles discovered when he groped for his cock. So that was unexpected and amusing. Lascelles stroked him for a bit to get him into the spirit, and Drawlight dropped his head and gasped. Then Lascelles went back to plotting the course of his own pleasure. He got bored easily, and he liked to experiment; for a while it was long fast strokes, then staying very deep inside Drawlight, thrusting short and hard just there, then teasing him with very small shallow thrusts before slamming back into him. A little bit of everything, in other words; Lascelles liked it all, or he liked watching how Drawlight would react. When he began to feel himself approaching a climax, he started to drag himself out and in slow, and bent over and whispered, "Do you want me to finish in you or on your face?"

Drawlight made a strangled sound, and it was a moment before he answered, "—In me. In me."

"Convince me you want it. Make me want it." He kept moving at the same leisurely pace.

Drawlight thrust his hips back a little, then more confidently, trying to take them faster. He seemed to figure out how to roll his hips, and that this would be pleasurable for him; indeed his own breath sped up. "Oh God," he whispered, "I want it, I want to— I want to feel you in me— feel you in me after—"

"Hmm," Lascelles said, though in truth he was not unaffected by Drawlight's rather desperate attempts.

"Please," Drawlight said. "Please, oh God, I want to feel it when you—"

Lascelles thrust hard against him. Good enough, he thought. Good enough to make him want it. He took a firm hold of Drawlight's hips and fucked him more relentlessly, the kind of brutal strokes that were concerned with only one person's pleasure. This got him to the edge very quickly, and he savoured that for a bit, savoured the realization that if he had thought, previously, he was engaged in despoilment, there was nothing quite so despoiling as this act: spilling himself inside Drawlight's body, leaving him sticky and marked and wet.

He took a moment after pulling out to admire the image, even going so far as to push a finger back in just to enjoy that wetness, thrusting in and out slowly. This made Drawlight gasp and stiffen. He was still hard, of course, wanting it; his hips rode against Lascelles' finger until Lascelles pulled away again.

"Turn over," Lascelles told him brusquely, "and touch yourself." He himself reclined back on the bed, languorous in post-coital relaxation. He watched as Drawlight slowly obeyed. He was very hard indeed, his chest and cheeks flushed, but he seemed reluctant to comply with the second part of the order. Something in him suggested shame.

"Go on," Lascelles said, licking his lips deliberately, turning his gaze into a predatory weight.

Drawlight wrapped a hand around his cock and pulled, then a little faster. He seemed unable to stop his head tipping back. Those beautiful eyes fluttered closed, and he swallowed convulsively. After a moment he moaned, and then tried to stop himself moaning. An especially good stroke of his hand made his whole face flinch, his eyebrows draw up in an unaffected expression of pleasure.

"Very good," Lascelles said softly.

Drawlight's eyes flashed open and, self conscious, he looked away.

"No," Lascelles said. "Look at me."

That got him another flinch of hate. But Drawlight stared at him, his eyes almost drowning, as his hand worked faster and faster— "Not too fast," Lascelles told him, and Drawlight groaned in frustration— and he made noise after noise, little raw noises of breathing, all the noises that men typically made. He worked himself till he was trembling, his cock straining through his fist. His desperate eyes sought Lascelles as pushed himself towards the edge of climax, and Lascelles watched with a faintly interested air as he tripped himself over it: mouth hanging open as his cock pulsed white against his chest, all the muscles in his arm quivering. He was still making dazed noises two minutes later.

"Acceptable," Lascelles said. "We can revisit the matter." He stood and carelessly stripped himself of shirt and trousers, going to wash. Behind him, Drawlight did not make a sound.

When Lascelles had finished cleaning himself and donned a blue dressing gown over his bare skin, he returned to find that Drawlight was, in fact, in almost the same position: stretched out on the bed, drowsy-eyed.

"I don't know what you're waiting for," Lascelles said. "Your clothes are there." He pointed to Drawlight's neatly folded items.

He watched as Drawlight's mouth curled and he went to retrieve the items. He did not seem to want to deign to speak to Lascelles, but he said finally, "Am I permitted to wash?"

"Oh, I suppose so. If only because your clothes are so very expensive. Dare I ask where you got them from? No; do not answer; I am not interested at all." He stretched himself out upon the chaise-longue. "I suppose you ought to dress well if I am going to put you about. Do not worry; I will see to it."

"I am so very grateful," Drawlight said scornfully.

"Do not be like that, Ganymede. You are very lithe and charming, and I have enjoyed having you, and I am sure I will enjoy having you again. And so will everyone else. And you will do very well for yourself off it."

This did seem to temper Drawlight's resentment. By the time he was dressed, he looked merely sulky. Lascelles deigned to stand to straighten his waistcoat and pet his hair back into place.

"There you are," he said. "Not good as new, but presentable nonetheless. Come back on Friday, and I shall have a use for you then."

He watched Drawlight leave with a strong sense of achievement. Theirs, he thought, was going to be a profitable partnership.

Ooooh I loved this. They are both perfectly in character. Lascelles calling Drawlight Ganymede, oh <3

You really nailed Lascelles (that was not intended to sound like a euphemism), I love that this is both hot and kind of darkly funny.

YOUR TRASH IS A GIFT AND A TREASURE

The two of them just being their horrible selves with each other is pretty much my constant favorite. A++ Would read again. Would read more.

I....... I kind of want to write more? — trashy a!a

I would devour every last bit of it should you choose to do so. You are beautiful and perfect and so is everything you write.

PLEASE DO SO! <333333

For real though. The Continuing ~~trashy~~ Education of Christopher Drawlight is something I suddenly find myself invested in.

Same. It's conflicting. I'm both invested and wanting to protect my poor trash son. You and other author anons capture his asshole side but also his sympathetic side so well, you're tearing me apart! (Don't stop!)

I would read the hell out of anything more that you choose to write.

Bloody HELL! This was completely fantastic.

Your Lascelles was the perfect blend of narcissistic and twisted, and poor helpless Drawlight who just wants to do well in life. His beauty will be enjoyed thoroughly.

Seriously, I want to sink my teeth into this fic and bite it, it's so juicy and tempting. Thank you for writing it! (I do hope you write more of this pairing.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

☆ Round One!

FILL: the quintessence of trash (1/2)

Re: FILL: the quintessence of trash (2/2)

Re: FILL: the quintessence of trash (2/2)

Re: FILL: the quintessence of trash (2/2)

Re: FILL: the quintessence of trash (2/2)

Re: FILL: the quintessence of trash (2/2)

Re: FILL: the quintessence of trash (2/2)

Re: FILL: the quintessence of trash (2/2)

Re: FILL: the quintessence of trash (2/2)

Re: FILL: the quintessence of trash (2/2)

Re: FILL: the quintessence of trash (2/2)

Re: FILL: the quintessence of trash (2/2)

Re: FILL: the quintessence of trash (2/2)