☆ Round One!

[jsmn_kink]

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Fill: What the Master Doesn't Know (2/6)

[(Anonymous)]

The house at Hanover Square had been busy all day, with various important personages coming and going throughout, not that the servants ever saw the likes of Sir Walter Pole or even the other two gentlemen who were such frequent visitors (excepting Mr. Norrell's man of business, of course, for John Childermass had a hand in just about everything that happened about the house, whether in the larder or the library.)

And even though he'd been at the Bank of England in the morning and was due to be far further afield by evening, John Childermass took time out of his day for the single afternoon that Hannah had off each week. They sat together in the servants' hall with a book between them, discussing the more difficult words and concepts in one of Shakespeare's plays.

Oliver Priddy was hard at work in the kitchen, and Dido swung around them quite often with this and that as she went about her duties, but there was nothing to interrupt them until the tinkling of the library bell.

Childermass frowned up at it and asked Dido as she swished by, "Have you seen the lads?"

"Not since this morning," she replied.

So Childermass sighed and excused himself and made his way upstairs.

= = = = =

In the library, Mr. Norrell sat perched upon his desk (much like his wig was perched upon his head) with his tidy feet side by side upon a chair and his knees primly pressed together.

Childermass raised an eyebrow.

"A mouse," Mr. Norrell told him.

"I'll fetch the traps," Childermass answered.

He sighed and dismissed himself, returning downstairs to an all-purpose storeroom in a faraway corner of the house where was kept anything that would not be spoiled by cold and damp.

Much to his surprise, he opened the door to find Davey and Lucas with their breeches undone and their hands wrapped around one another's pricks, faces flushed and mouths panting.

When the door flew open, one of them shrieked, the other gasped. One turned red, the other white, and - in their haste - nearly overturned the box they shared as a seat in their flurry of desperation to cover themselves.

Childermass narrowed his eyes at them.

"S-sir," Lucas managed, though Davey looked ready to cry any moment.

"Make yourselves presentable. Go to your room and do not leave it again."

"Yes, sir," Lucas acknowledged, standing so abruptly that it knocked Davey off the box to land upon the brick floor.

Davey gained his feet with some difficulty and they finished tucking themselves away and they slunk out of the storeroom together, heads bowed.

John Childermass stood in the low light that filtered in from the hall, replaying the scene in his head: Lucas with his fair, curly hair and hollowed cheeks flushed red in his panting fascination, brows drawn together in something like pain, eyes fluttering closed, the lashes dark and fine as moth wings. Davey was an equal picture (if opposite) with his bonny blue hair clinging to his pale forehead as lips (far too generous for a man's) pouted plump and pink in ecstasy, the swanlike bend of his neck redolent of the allure of Adonis.

Childermass locked the memory in place and gathered all that he needed: the mousetraps, as well as a small glass bottle and - after a short search amongst the scrap lumber - a wedged sliver of wood, roughly triangular.

He swung by the kitchen to beg a bit of bait from Oliver, then to the servants' hall to let Hannah know she must finish her Shakespeare alone, and then returned to the library, where Mr. Norrell still balanced upon his desk, book in hand and insensible to all else.

Well-used to Mr. Norrell's own brand of eccentricity (and obliviousness), Childermass went about the room and laid the traps in the usual places (out of sight, but easily retrieved), all the while keeping an eye on his master.

"We could get a cat," Childermass suggested in as offhand a manner as he was able, going about the room, finding the little places where a mouse might creep.

"No cats," Mr. Norrell replied, glancing up severely at him before returning to his book.

"Cats chase mice," Childermass pointed out.

"Cats… shed," Mr. Norrell retorted, though it sounded more like a conjecture than statement of fact.

Childermass made a face that somehow conveyed both his amusement and his disbelief as he continued his prowl about the perimeter of the library.

"You have everything you need for your journey tonight?" Mr. Norrell asked.

"As ever," Childermass answered, kneeling to set another trap. "Just need to give some instructions to Lucas and Davey before I go."

"Ah," Mr. Norrell replied before returning his focus to the book.

Childermass ensured the light was good enough for it before excusing himself with the slightest of nods, not that Mr. Norrell even noticed, embroiled again as he was in the text.

As Childermass wound his way through the London house, he thought again of the boys, Lucas and Davey. And then had to remind himself that they were not boys any longer. They were men, sure enough, able-bodied and smart as tacks, for all they lacked much book learning. Not smart enough to hide themselves away in a place that made sense, though: something that must be rectified, and would be directly if Childermass had his way.

Their youthful indiscretion in the storeroom spoke of ignorance and shame and this, too, would not do.

Childermass remembered how the light from the open door was cast upon them, and realized they must have been alone in the dark there, too shy even to glimpse one another in their folly.

Before he gained the door to their shared room below stairs, he snatched up an unlit candelabrum.

He opened the door to their room to find Lucas sitting upon his bed, elbows upon his thighs as his hands trembled before him and his head bowed so low that only the fair curls could be seen. Davey moved about the room with short, jerky movements, packing all his worldly possessions into the shabby black case he'd brought to Hurtfew Abbey not so long ago. He faltered in his motions when Childermass ducked his tall head to enter the room, but did not stop. Lucas did not look up.

Childermass shut the door.

There was no window in their room below stairs, and a scant two candles lit them, both their actions and inaction.

Childermass asked Davey, "What are you doing, lad?"

Davey flinched and looked up, met his eyes with what defiance he could muster despite the tears that had started to fall and told him, "Packing my things, sir. I'll see myself out shortly." And he turned back to his task.

"Stop that, now," Childermass told him. "I'm not sending you anywhere quite yet."

While Davey merely stilled, as though a wind-up creature had ground to a halt, Lucas's head shot up for the first time, hope alight in his desperate eyes.

"You don't mean to dismiss us, sir?" Lucas asked, half begging.

"Not at the moment, no," Childermass assured him, setting the candelabrum upon a low stool beside the door.

"But," Davey said, turning slowly toward him, "We've done wrong, sir."

"I'll say you have," Childermass answered. "Committing such acts with nothing between you and the world but a closed door. What were you thinking?"

The lads exchanged looks, unsure. This seemed an odd criticism, and certainly not what they'd been expecting.

"Well, it's far removed from the rest of the house, sir," Lucas suggested.

"And our room doesn't lock," Davey added.

"No," Childermass agreed. "Servants' rooms never lock, but nor does the storeroom. Did you not think you'd be safer here, for who would enter without knocking first?"

Again, Davey and Lucas looked at each other. They had not particularly thought of this.

"Would any of the womenfolk below stairs think to open your door without knocking first?"

No answer.

"And what of Oliver Priddy? Does he not knock to announce himself?"

They slowly nodded. He did.

"And myself?"

"Generally, sir," Lucas admitted. "'Less it be some emergency."

"And the storeroom. Is it often visited by many below stairs?"

They nodded miserably.

"And who would knock upon a storeroom door?" he asked.

No answer.

Childermass withdrew the scrap of wood from some hidden pocket. "Do you know what this is?" he asked.

"A… shim," Lucas told him, nonplussed.

"And what is its function?" he quizzed them.

"To… shim things up," Davey suggested, not quite sure he'd got it right as he shared a glance with Lucas.

"To fill in space?" Lucas offered.

It was a very confusing conversation for both of them.

"Yes, and serves an unlocked door very well," Childermass said. He dropped the shim, toed it into place under the door, aligned with the handle, and gave it a kick to wedge it in. "The harder a push from outside, the further the door is jammed into place." He gave both of them his most serious expression. "There's your lock," he told them.

One of them blinked in astonishment. The other gave John Childermass a near-worshipful look.

"Now," Childermass said, "as to your… private pursuits." He gave a raised eyebrow, the expression full of insinuation.

They both bowed their heads and Davey slowly sat upon his own bed, mirroring his friend.

"Right," Childermass went on. "Do you - either of you - have any notion what you're doing?"

They did not answer.

John Childermass folded his arms across his chest, leaned back against the door, and crossed one leg over the other in the very picture of eternal patience.

He would not prompt an answer this time.

"It's only…" Davey finally tried, "it feels rather nice."

"And we wouldn't want to trouble the maids," Lucas quickly added.

"Trouble the maids," Childermass quietly echoed, rumbling in the back of his throat. "Some of the maids might not mind such trouble," he told them.

"…Really?" Lucas finally asked, his interest perked.

John Childermass suppressed his look of amusement by narrowing his eyes at them and frowning severely.

"And you, Davey?" he then asked. "Would you be interested in bothering the girls?"

"I… I quite like Lucas, sir," Davey said, pale face taken over by a confused blush.

"Mmm," Childermass answered, maintaining his position at the door and looking between them both. "And you, Lucas, would you have an idea of what to do with -- Dido perhaps? -- should you get her?"

Lucas's expression betrayed the fact that he had not the slightest clue. He did not give a verbal answer.

"Would you like to?" Childermass asked.

"Would I like to have her? Or would I know what to do with her? Which is your question, sir?" Lucas asked, his first sign of rebellion.

Childermass broke away from the door, strode across the small room, towered over Lucas like a great thunderhead about to erupt, and demanded in his fierce, rumbling timbre, "Would you like to know what to do with a woman?"

Lucas shrank back, his face flushing red again, Cupid's bow lips shuddering open as he shivered all over.

"Or with a man?" Childermass asked, glancing back at Davey.

Davey unconsciously licked his full lips.

Childermass let slip the smallest smile as he slowly stood upright again.

"Would you like a lesson then, the pair of you? Since it seems you're sorely in need of it."

Lucas did not quite take his meaning.

It was Davey who said, "Do you mean it, sir?"

"Have I ever said something I did not mean, Davey?"

Davey shook his head and looked about him, as though wondering how to prepare for such a lesson.

"And you, Lucas?"

"A… a bit of knowledge never did a man poorly," Lucas proposed, still unsure what exactly was on offer.

"Mm-hmm," Childermass said and unbuttoned his jacket.

Lucas and Davey watched him like mice uncertain if the cat would pounce.

Childermass pulled at the door handle to ensure the door was indeed secure and then hung his jacket upon it. He looked about the room, ignoring the lads as he examined it and undid his vest. He eyed the cleanliness of it. Hannah and Sarah kept all the rooms clean and shining (excepting his own which he guarded with a certain paranoid selfishness). He examined the few personal effects: a battered deck of cards, a pair of whittled dice, an old pocketknife with its carefully kept edge, the footman's livery kept brushed and clean on a shelf of its very own.

He placed the bottle he'd fetched from the storeroom upon the night table between their beds.

"Davey, light the candles," he said, with a rough gesture to the candelabrum as he hung his vest atop his jacket.

Davey hurried to do so, and the place soon glowed with a warm and cheery light.

A curt gesture from Childermass instructed Davey to sit beside Lucas, and Davey did so, though at a respectable arm's length away from his fellow servant.

Childermass strolled up to stand before them and regard them thoughtfully, as though deciding on how to proceed.

"Take off your breeches."

"But…"

"Um…"

Childermass sat opposite, on the other bed, and told them, forthright, "I'll not force you, but I do intend to teach you, lest you pass the rest of your lives in miserable ignorance."

Davey moved first, somehow stripping off his breeches without either standing or removing his dark stockings, which remained folded in place below his pale knees-- an odd but enticing contrast.

Lucas stood and removed everything but his shirt, which hung low and hid him well as he quickly sat down again.

"What is it you've done?" Childermass demanded.

Lucas and Davey exchanged looks, guilty and uncertain.

"What began it?" Childermass tried again.

Re: Fill: What the Master Doesn't Know (2.1/6)

[(Anonymous)]

"Well," Lucas offered, "it was quite cold one night, and we thought there'd be no harm sharing a bed… it was certainly warmer together."

"But, being so close to Lucas," Davey took up the story, "I couldn't sleep. It was… I was…"

"Yes, I understand," Childermass said. "You'd a cockstand. And then?"

"I-- It must have woken Lucas, and… well, I was afraid, but he said it was alright, because we were both… that is…"

"I thought there wasn't much harm in it," Lucas said. "Not… but then, we slept for a while. But in the morning, we…" It took courage, but he forged ahead, "We both had standing pricks, and so, we… that is…"

"We rubbed together," Davey said, biting that luscious lower lip and looking at Childermass as though expecting disapproval any moment.

"And we cleaned it up as well as we could, so the laundress would not see."

"And did it happen again?" Childermass asked deliberately, "whenever it turned a bit chill, perhaps?"

They nodded, looking anywhere but at their superior.

"And today?" he asked. "What prompted this assignation in the storeroom?"

"Only Miss Dido has been tormenting me, sir, little though she knows it," Lucas said earnestly.

Childermass grinned. It was not exactly a friendly expression.

"And Davey," Lucas went on. "He's always-- I mean…"

"You're young, yet, the both of you," Childermass suggested. "Such things do come easily."

"Aye," Davey agreed quietly. "So, Lucas said maybe we would be safe in the storeroom, and we might touch each other like we did in the night--"

"I see. And did you never kiss?"

"Kiss a man, sir?" Lucas asked. "But…"

"But what?" Childermass asked. "It's how such things often start. Much like a greeting, or a question. You can learn much from such undertakings, not to mention build the ardor… not that you need it, at your age." He looked at Davey then. "Davey, might you oblige me?"

"'Sir."

Childermass stood and sat between them, one young man warm and close at each side and their eyes all full of wonder.

"You might try it like this," Childermass suggested and turned to Davey. Childermass cupped his peach-fuzz jaw and met his gaze with something remarkably closer than just looking, and finally drew him forward. Childermass kissed his forehead, the tip of his chin, and then his lips just long enough to show him what might be worth the having. He pulled back to ask, "Would you say it warrants an experiment, Davey?"

"Oh, yes sir."

"Other times, you might try it like this," he taught them, and leaned in to kiss Davey firmly, and then longingly, and then overpoweringly as his mouth plundered those plump lips to taste the heat beyond. His large hands framed Davey's head and then smoothed along his firm shoulders and drew down his strong arms over the fabric of his white shirt for a final clutch of hands to hands before drawing away completely, leaving Davey open-mouthed and powerless and unmoored, as though he might float off any moment.

"Oh," Lucas said, as though having witnessed some awesome miracle. For him, it was - indeed - a revelation.

Childermass turned with a rather self-satisfied air to regard Lucas. "Would you like a go?"

Lucas gave a sort of choked nod.

"Me or him?" Childermass asked.

Lucas looked between them. They were both dark with pale Northern skin, but that was where it ended, as Childermass had his usual day or so's worth of scruff and his long hair all at odds and the thin lines at his eyes that spoke of things neither of the younger servants had ever known, but with his lips well-used and pink-looking now, and wet. Then there was Davey, his dearest friend, all flushed with arousal and sweat pricking his forehead and eyes astounded and hair sticking up every which way… he was debauched, though Lucas did not know the word at the time.

Since Lucas could not find his voice, it was Davey who spoke up with, "I'd very much like to try it with you, Lucas."

So Childermass stood, returned to the other bed, and sat down, as though he'd like nothing better than to watch these two youths thoroughly enjoy the practice of kissing. When they did not move, Childermass folded his arms and arched a peevish brow.

They slowly inched toward each other on the bed, suddenly shy, like they hadn't known each other for years (and rather more besides, already).

"May I, Lucas?" Davey asked, as his hand fluttered up towards his friend's fair face.

Lucas nodded, and so Davey pressed his hand to his cheek and leaned in, not bold exactly, but not afraid either as he kissed the side of Lucas's mouth with a firm press of lips, and then slid over to kiss him more directly.

Lucas opened beneath him and Childermass could see his entire body straining forward, as though he could complete the kiss if only he could use the whole of himself instead of only his lips.

When Childermass stood up, they both turned to regard him warily, but the man said, "Don't stop on my account," as he moved to sit behind Lucas and take up the bottle he'd brought.

They still had their eyes trained on him, though, and so seriously that Childermass wanted to laugh. He doubted they'd ever pay such close attention to a tutor under more bookish circumstances.

"Do you know what this is?" Childermass unstoppered the bottle and held it out.

Lucas took it and sniffed, turned it to pour a tiny amount into the palm of his hand.

"Oil, sir. The good kind, for cooking."

"Yes. Most any kind will work, though you'll find this pleasanter than most." Childermass reached out to take it back and Lucas returned it to him.

"May I touch you, Lucas?" Childermass asked, and his eyes were the burning of shadows as he looked into him.

Lucas knew he did not mean in any casual sense, but slowly nodded his permission.

Childermass brought himself up alongside Lucas's back and leaned into him, wrapped an arm around him to pull the shirt out of the way and reveal the fine standing cock that had been hidden.

Davey watched with avid fascination.

The presence of Childermass behind and around him made Lucas's breaths come quicker and he watched as though hypnotized as the long-fingered hand rested on his pale thigh and drew in closer to the needing part of him.

Lucas let out a sound like the desperate mew of a small cat when Childermass touched him, just thumb and two fingers at the very head of his cock.

"It feels well enough?" Childermass asked as he kept his touch firm but light and dragged his hand down and back up.

All of Lucas's inhibitions suddenly vacated. He transformed all at once from a tense and hunched and embarrassed poppet to a man of singular need. He fell back into Childermass's arms, his head at the man's broad shoulder, one arm flung out to clasp Davey's hand as the other met on his own pego with the one already tending him so expertly.

"Sir!" he managed.

Childermass let him swoon in his own pleasure this way, silently showing him all the ways a hand might serve for pleasure.

Childermass went on with the lesson: "You've already learned the touch of someone else far exceeds that of your own. But unwanted friction does no one any good."

He ceased his ministrations - Lucas gave a delicious little whine - and brought up the bottle with his arms still around Lucas, to pour a measured amount into his hand. He thrust the bottle at Davey with a curt, "Stow this somewhere safe," before rubbing his hands together to coat the palms and fingers generously.

Davey clutched the bottle in two hands, too enraptured to look away for even a moment.

Lucas watched, half gone already with the lust of it.

But then John Childermass wrapped two oiled hands around his curving member and squeezed.

Lucas convulsed and moaned and thrust wildly into the tight heat of those slick hands.

Childermass eased his grip, kept one firm hand sliding up and down as the other reached below to stir the balls in their tight purse of furred skin.

"Davey," Childermass muttered and his firey-dark expression caught Davey's eye. He nodded at the bottle. "Slick your hands."

Davey fumbled to do so, almost spilling all in his eagerness. Childermass watched those strong hands smooth the oil on, between the fingers and rubbed together until they glistened in the candlelight.

Childermass slowly withdrew until his hands settled on Lucas's thighs, gently kneading.

Davey scooted as close as their muddle of legs and knees would allow and reached with hardly any hesitance at all. He settled his fingertips on Lucas's knees and slid slowly inwards, teasing touches until his hands passed overtop Childermass's - Davey cast him a brief, heated look - and continued on their way toward the prize of Lucas's attractively darkening prick.

Unlike all the blind fumblings of their nighttime transgressions, Davey took his time, and he looked all his fill as his own hands wrapped around the ready cock. He moved them up and down, together and apart, light and tight, fast and slow.

And all the time Childermass coaxed him.

"That's right, Davey, take it slow at first. Watch his face; you can see what he likes. Keep him guessing, though; don't make it easy. Squeeze the base for a moment. Did you see him shudder. Stroke him again. Again. Then squeeze. Tighter. Just there. Smooth your thumb over the tip-- see if he likes that… Oh, he does. Do it again."

Davey's gaze jumped from his own hands at their work to Childermass's dark, enflamed eyes to Lucas's handsome face transfixed with ecstasy.

Lucas's hips moved in small helpless thrusts, unable to move very far at all, pressed as he was between two strong men.

"Shall we let him spill?" Childermass asked, the faintest smirk at the corner of his mouth as he met Davey's eyes.

Davey bit his lip and nodded, and Childermass finally moved his hands to rejoin them.

Four oiled hands moved on him, squeezing and stroking. One rough hand eased up under his shirt, massaging as it went until clever fingers pinched a nipple and twisted.

Lucas shouted out and pressed his head back into the crook of Childermass's neck and thrust forward into the mess of oiled hands.

Childermass dragged the scruff of his cheek up Lucas's neck and let his curly head drop down just enough to kiss him. He pressed his tongue past the confused lips and sharp teeth.

Lucas spilled forth with a series of shallow, erratic thrusts and a cry into the mouth that covered his.

Childermass cradled him then, let him catch his breath and close his eyes to the joy of it all for just a moment.

"Up with you, lad," he instructed after a time. "The lesson's hardly done, yet."

"But," Lucas complained, "I can't…"

"No, you can't. Not yet," Childermass agreed, wiping his hands on a handkerchief he'd pulled from somewhere, and then pointed out, "But what about poor Davey? Would you have him stewing there while you regained your wits?"

"No, sir," Lucas said and scooted around him to sit up against the iron headboard and let his head fall back onto the wall, eyes bleary with pleasure and lids half-mast as he watched them both.

This left nothing between Davey and Childermass, who stared the former down like some wild predator.

"Sit at the edge of the bed," Childermass told him.

Davey slowly dropped his other foot to the floor until he sat in an attitude much like earlier, but his anxiety this time came not from fear and stress but from arousal and anticipation as his eyes alit with expectation.

"Do you think hands are the only manner of pleasure?" he asked, "or base frotting?"

"I… I'm afraid I don't take your meaning, sir," Davey said.

Lucas looked equally bewildered when Childermass cast a glance his way.

"Then watch," Childermass instructed, sliding slowly to his knees upon the floor.

As though either of them could possibly do anything else when their dark and burning idol fell with such grace to his knees, still in his shirtsleeves and breeches and hose-- all worn thin and ragged, much like he himself seemed at times, and then eased Davey's knees apart to kiss the inside of a pale, quivering thigh.

Lucas made some curious noise in the back of his throat and the shivering of Davey's legs traveled all through his body to his hands until he steadied himself with a death grip on the mattress's edge either side of him.

Childermass's hands gripped his ankles over the thick, dark stockings to circle the bony protrusions there and then ease up over the fabric that encased the strong calves of a footman and man-of-all-work until his thumbs scraped over the pale protruding knees. All the time he looked up at the young man, his pale flesh quickly flushed with such pretty pinkness that Childermass wanted to see how far down it went.

"Off with your shirt, Davey."

There was no hesitation this time and Davey ripped the inconvenience over his head and sent it into a far corner of the room, revealing pale skin all over lean muscles and intriguing shapes like clavicle and nipples and navel.

The blush went half down his chest and Childermass drank in his fill through his eyes as his learned hands pressed into the flesh of thighs and moved nearer their apex.

Davey had resumed his anguished hold upon the bedding.

Childermass's hands, still slick with the remainder of the oil, grasped him firmly and worked the head of him and drew out the sack from beneath to roll them in his palm.

Then he leaned forward to take the crown of the handsome, slender prick into his mouth and suck.

Two cries - one of pleasure, one of astonished delight - rang in the room and Childermass drew back for but a moment to rumble, "Do I have to tell you to be quiet?"

His willing pupils hushed themselves with effort as Childermass returned to the task at hand, dragging the scruff of his cheek up the pinking thigh to mouth at the nest of curls around the base of the standing prick.

His tongue was long and hot and found all the most thrilling places as he worked, nor were his hands idle as they clutched and soothed at turns and occasionally dug in his nails for something more exciting.

Davey was a mass of nerves and it was only by the most Herculean of efforts that he emitted nothing but little panting puffs of need and astonishment.

Throughout this stimulating display, Lucas sat up with interest - having recovered himself - and slowly moved closer until (with a curt nod of approval from Childermass) he eased behind Davey, his own back pressed to the wall, and encircled the young man with his legs and arms. Lucas gave his hands free reign to explore the hollow of hips, the peaked nipples, the reddened throat, the curving ear. He pressed the smallest of kisses to what he could reach: neck and shoulders and the curve of a strong jaw.

Davey was in such raptures he hardly knew who was where and then lost himself almost completely when hot lips enclosed the tip of him and then slowly slid down so that he was constricted inside a hot, wet mouth and even nearing the throat.

Lucas gave him the meat of his own palm for Davey to bite into as he shrieked in surprised elation and tried to thrust forward and found he could not and tears pricked his eyes at the devastation of it all.

Childermass pulled back and calmly asked, "Does it please you, Davey?"

"Sir… I-- I'm all a'tremble."

Re: Fill: What the Master Doesn't Know (2.2/6)

[(Anonymous)]

He then went on, nearly as dry as Norrell upon some obscure magic, "If it's your mouth at work, be prepared for the mess, whether to catch it in a cloth or spit it out into one. Unless you swallow. The taste is… a learned one."

Childermass licked his lips and resumed his work, winking at Lucas over Davey's shoulder.

He soon began to bob his head up and down and let Davey's slender prick enter the back of his throat on every fourth thrust or so. Davey was nearing his peak and Childermass was frankly surprised he'd lasted this long, so he pulled back and this time asked, "Might I show you something, Davey; something I think you'll like."

"Anything, sir."

"You ought to have more care with your words. Watch me now, the both of you, and learn what must be done if you haven't any oil to hand."

Two pairs of enraptured eyes watched as Childermass brought his own hand to his mouth and sucked in his forefinger. He showed them how to wet it thoroughly with saliva until it dripped and glistened.

"Trust me, now," he said and reached beneath Davey to slide in toward the puckering rosebud behind his balls. The pad of his finger tapped gently as though requesting entrance and Davey shuddered and leaned back heavily onto Lucas to expose himself to Childermass's curious finger.

"There's a muscle here," Childermass instructed. "Bare down in the usual way; it will help."

And that's how Childermass eased a finger into the incredible heat of Davey's bottom hole, with nary a sign of pain or complaint.

"Let me know at once if there is pain or any unpleasantness, but if you allow me my way I think you'll find it worthwhile."

Davey gave a shuddering nod and tears leaked from his eyes, but whether they were tears of pain or overstimulation no one could say.

Childermass eased his finger in as far as seemed comfortable and then withdrew it, adding oil and kissing Davey's thigh to calm him. "Tell Lucas what you're feeling," he suggested and reintroduced his finger.

"Oh," Davey whispered, turning his head to breath into his friends's ear, "it's quite unlike anything. I've never known something so strange, like it shouldn't be there, but it fills me up in some unpleasant but strangely satisfying way, I don't know that I can quite-- for the love of god what was that."

"Davey?" Lucas asked, quite worried.

"That," Childermass informed them, "is a unique facet of the man's body."

Davey could speak no longer as Childermass stroked that sacred spot inside him.

All Lucas could tell was that Davey was in agonies of delight and quite overcome.

Childermass withdrew and said, "Come down here, Lucas, and I'll show you."

So Lucas clambered out from behind Davey, who groaned and laid back fully on the bed, his pego standing straight up in the air like a flagpole.

Lucas kneeled on the floor beside his mentor, who added yet more oil. "You must be generous with such penetrations, no matter your kind of partner." Then he told Davey, "Lift you legs; hold up your knees, if you can."

Davey did so with eagerness, unashamedly exposing all of himself to their feasting eyes.

Childermass again breached him with a single finger, his hand rotating so that his palm faced the ceiling.

"You'll do this in a minute, Lucas. When you're in just past the second knuckle, curve your finger up to find the knob to press against. Do it gently, and learn how much pressure he can take. Stroke him from the inside. Oil your fingers well."

Lucas inexpertly did so, but his fingers were well-slicked in the end, and Childermass guided his hand to the opening. "You'll want to trim your nails better if you do this with any frequency, and it's best to clean yourselves well before hand, but this will do for today. Go ahead, press inside, neither too fast nor too rough."

Lucas experimented freely, never going too far in and smiling with delight when he found the spot that made Davey swear and gulp in great breaths of air.

Childermass eyed Lucas with interest. He said, "Would you know what it feels like?"

"…Yes, sir."

"Up on the bed with you."

So Lucas laid himself out beside Davey and bit his lips for nerves as he raised his heels to the bed, revealing himself.

Childermass sat back to regard with satisfaction the two young men spread out before him.

He turned all his attention to Lucas first, introducing wet touching, and slow breaching, before moving his finger farther in, all with quiet words of encouragement. He ensured both hands were well oiled, dedicated one to each fluttering hole, and curving his fingers.

They cried out in unison, stilling the cries as soon as they were made, and then wriggling delightfully.

Childermass gave them some small respite by leaving that stimulating organ alone and concentrating on filling them the best he could with a single finger, his eyes lingering on Davey's poor pego, red and straining, fit to burst with pleasure, while Lucas was only just regaining a measure of hardness after his earlier spending.

"There is another place a woman has, and you must be even gentler with her, and never without her permission, am I understood?" This he addressed to both of them, but aimed his warning glare at Lucas, who nodded through his unexpected pleasure. "Nor never with anyone without their say," Childermass added, with a forceful thrust of his finger into Davey, who moaned, "Yes, sir…"

"Right then. Do you know what sodomy is?"

"My brothers would joke about buggery," Lucas whimpered, "but I never knew what it was."

"Davey?"

"No. I'm sorry, sir. I know it's meant to be a vile thing, but you… Is it?"

"It's only as vile as any other bodily joining. If I were to put my own prick inside you here, that would be sodomy."

Davey gasped with unmistakeable delight while Lucas merely shuddered with something too like pleasure to be mistaken for disgust.

"And any caught at it are severely punished, which is why you must never be caught, eh?"

"Yes, sir," came the twin response, and Childermass nodded in approval when they turned upon the bed to kiss one another at their ease.

Then Davey broke away to ask, "And would you, sir? Sodomize me?"

"It would give me the greatest pleasure," Childermass answered, "but I'm afraid you are not ready for it."

"I'm ready for anything, sir!" Davey promised, glaring at him with open defiance.

So, Childermass slowly added another finger beside the first.

"Ah! Stop, sir!"

Childermass withdrew from both of them and stood to undo his breeches and display his cock, hard as anything and reddened with lust, purpling at the head for lack of attention.

Davey's lashes fluttered as though he couldn't quite focus on it and Lucas's eyes grew slowly wider.

"It would take a great deal of work indeed to fit this in you, don't you agree?"

"Y-yes, sir." Davey did agree, somewhat disheartened.

Childermass examined them both with a thoughtful expression as they lay spread out there on the bed beneath him.

"You're not like to hurt me, though," he murmured, half to himself.

Davey and Lucas just tilted their heads in curious question.

"How did you ever make it out of Yorkshire so innocent?" Childermass asked and removed all of his clothes.

Davey and Lucas watched, transfixed, at this revelation of skin and hair and muscle and lean determination. When he turned to set aside his clothes, Lucas gasped and sat forward.

"Your back, sir…"

"Yes, Lucas?"

"You…"

"There's more than one reason I would not dream of whipping the servants, even when they do such stupid things as hide in storerooms or misplace the silver."

"Mr. Norrell didn't…"

"No. It's much older than that and nothing to worry yourselves over."

"But--"

"You think I'll share all my secrets, now?"

"No, sir."

"Fetch up the oil, then, and see what you can do about preparing me."

He kneeled on the bed opposite and spread his knees.

Davey and Lucas jumped to their feet, sharing the oil between them and Childermass soon had four curious hands massaging the meat of his buttocks and probing between them.

"Easy, now. There's no rush."

They took turns breaching him, easing their forefingers in and out with Childermass telling them all the while what to do.

"Have some regard for your fingernails. The inside is sensitive and even a scratch will not do. Turn your hand the other way now. Och, there it is… Add more oil. Lucas, try two fingers. Slowly, now. Slow as you can, but keep going. Are you all the way in? Curve the tips of your fingers, press in hard…" Childermass shivered with it but kept in the sounds of his own pleasure like a stopped cork.

"Your turn, Davey, see how easily they fit with some stretching? Think about the size of your pricks and how well-open I must be before I can accept them. Add another finger, if it will go."

They whispered together between them and Childermass could feel them working together to open him. A finger from each of them sliding inside and exploring before someone added a third and filled him well up.

Childermass panted and rocked back toward their hands.

Then: "You first, Davey, you've waited long enough. Slick your cock well and start in slowly."

Davey lost no time in preparing himself and soon the head of his cock pressed forward. To Davey's shock, Childermass bore down and moved backwards, taking him in like magic.

Davey lost much coherence but clasped Childermass's hips in a death-grip and pushed forward to the utmost limit, despite Childermass hissing through his teeth like a tea kettle.

Nature informed him how to move and Childermass said, "Slowly, Davey, lest it be spoiled too soon. There's pleasure in the spending, true enough, but plenty more to be hand in the gaining of it."

So Davey slowed his thrusts and worked himself in and out of the extraordinarily tight body bent before him, trying new rhythms and depths.

And this time when Davey would have his pleasure, Childermass gave no word, but only tightened his muscles and moved against him until Davey was mad with it and thrust in and in and slammed himself in yet again, coming in fits of rapture.

Davey was draped over Childermass, who bore his weight without complaint and gave him all the time in the world to recover himself and slip from him in his own time.

"Your turn, Lucas, if you're willing."

Lucas had already smoothed the oil all over his prick and he moved into place after Davey had returned to the other bed to lay in a dazed stupor.

Lucas eased carefully forward, but the way was well open to him now, after such stretching and oiling and Davey's copious spending. Once he was fully seated, he naturally hooked his fingers into Childermass's waist to anchor himself and began to thrust.

Childermass let him work himself in and out, moving gently with him before interrupting, "It'll be different with a woman, who has her own sensitivities, and you'll find maidens will have great pain their first time without a great deal of stretching, and there will sometimes be a tearing of the maidenhead, even with as much care as you can take. So don't either of you go thinking you can forge ahead without such practices as I've showed you today. ...Now, if you just angle down a bit, and--- oh fuck yes!"

Lucas was a quick study. He remembered what he'd learned and figured out that by the right alignment of various parts, he could use his own cock to brush along that sweet spot inside, which Childermass seemed to enjoy very well.

They moved together and Childermass was more or less willing to let Lucas take his pleasure however he liked, which turned out to be strong, deep thrusts that sped over time to become a rollicking good fuck resulting in Lucas's finally spending himself in a great flood of lubricity, hiding his panting moans with his open mouth pressed against Childermass's scarred back.

Lucas stroked him with weak hands and kissed down his back as he withdrew.

Lucas and Davey sat side by side on Lucas's bed - one in just his white shirt, the other in only black stockings - naked and sated, heads lolling to together, light and dark.

Childermass eased onto his side on Davey's bed to regard them, his own leaking cock sorely unattended and hard as anything as he looked his fill and settled into the pleasurable ache that thrummed through him.

"Listen to me, lads, while you can still attend. It's a fine thing we just did, and can be done with a woman, as well, should she enjoy such things, but do you know what happens if you spend inside her womb?"

"She'll get with child," Lucas said, some understanding finally alighting in his eyes. A farmer's son would know.

"Yes. And that's called harm when you do so to a woman who is not your wife. Spend in her mouth or her arse or your own hand but always take care not to do her harm."

"Yes, sir," Lucas said.

"Not to mention there are diseases can be spread if you do not choose your lovers with care, men and women alike."

Davey just lolled onto Lucas's shoulder and appeared to all the world fast asleep.

Childermass rolled his eyes, turned on his back, and took himself in hand.

"There's something to be said for reciprocity, as well," he suggested.

He was rather surprised how quickly two tired youths could jump to their feet, cross the room, and manhandle a fellow as tall and sturdy as Childermass.

Lucas bent over to kiss him and clutch at his lean waist and broad shoulders while Davey settled between his legs and applied his mouth and hands with the most cunning he could muster.

Childermass let himself be loved in that moment, kissing Lucas with an ardor that was neither teaching nor showing off, but was felt keenly and returned with passion, while Davey tested the limits of his own mouth and keep his teeth reasonably clear and used his tongue to marvelous effect and then introduced a finger to Childermass's dripping hole, probing in and up and stabbing him there with the same rhythm as his mouth.

"Davey, I--" was the extent of his warning before he spent in a torrent of sperm and powerless thrusting and gasping through his crisis.

Davey swallowed what he could and wiped away the rest with the back of his hand as he grinned with devilish charm up at Lucas, who could not help but grin back as he petted through Childermass's tangled black hair.

"That'll, do lads," Childermass huffed out, calming his breath with a great deal of effort as he lay still and quiet. "I've riding to do today," he remembered with a touch of annoyance. "Let me up, now."

Lucas and Davey watched Childermass dress himself, uncaring of the mess, until he was as presentable as ever he was (still a bit worn and ragged and hair rather more a mess, but otherwise none the worse for wear, all shrouded in his black like shadows.)

"Make yourselves reasonably decent and I'll send Sarah with hot water. Mr. Norrell will need tending in my absence. See that he eats, and mention my name if he doesn't. Tell him there's been a mouse in the traps and it's gone, even if it isn't."

Lucas and Davey nodded and began their search for the clothing scattered about the room.

"Keep in mind all I've told you," Childermass instructed as he tied his neckcloth into place and toed the shim out from under the door. "And I've no doubt you'll learn more yet, from each other… or elsewhere. Good night."

And he was gone.

= = = = =

Re: Fill: What the Master Doesn't Know (2.2/6)

[(Anonymous)]

This is awesome! I love how practical Childermass is and his concern for the welfare of Lucas and Davey's future partners. It is also smoking hot!