☆ Round One!

[jsmn_kink]

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

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■ Anonymously comment with your request – a character/pairing/nthsome, and a kink or prompt.
■ Only one prompt per post.
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■ Have fun! :)

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Re: Fill: What the Master Doesn't Know (3.1/6)

[(Anonymous)]

"I told you the chill is no great thing to me. And you still shiver, even with the fire so near." He withdrew his hand and observed, "Your glass is empty."

He retrieved the bottle from the floor beside him and when she held out the glass, he poured in a good measure.

"It's powerful generous of you, Mr. Childermass."

He ducked his head in a nod for her praise.

"Dido tells me you're generous in many things, Mr. Childermass," Lucy went on.

"Does she?"

"Would it be too forward to tell you I long for something to warm me on so cold a night?"

"Something more than the port and the fire, you mean?"

"Aye, I do."

Childermass turned to regard the dark, narrow hallway that led upstairs, though where his thoughts took him exactly none can say. He finally turned back to her and said, "Then you may be as forward as you like, Lucy."

"Do you know what I should like very much, Mr. Childermass?"

"I would know, if you're willing to tell it me."

"I should like to sit here with you, and drink my port, and watch the Yule log burn down, be it even so late."

"Late as it may be," Childermass said as the midnight bells tolled in the square, "it would be a fine thing with me, also."

"And then I should like for you to give me your arm, to walk with me like a lady to the doorway where the mistletoe hangs."

"It's a thing I should like as well."

"And would you kiss a lady under the mistletoe, Mr. Childermass?"

"A lady would slap a rascal like me for trying."

"I guess I am not a lady after all," Lucy said, quirking her head at him and sipping from her glass.

Childermass only raised a brow and smiled, his teeth showing behind curled lips.

This easy flirtation and promise of more had lightened Lucy's spirits for a moment, and the proof of it shone in her twinkling eyes and at the corner of her mouth, but the longer she sat still and unspeaking, the more the melancholy settled back around her like an over-heavy mantle about her shoulders.

Her eyes dulled as though she looked through a fog at the past. She said, "I shouted till I was hoarse and my brothers came running, thinking me half-mad. All the neighbors round set out that day to find Laura. But no sign of her was ever seen again. …And no one believed me about the bells. They thought I dreamed it, or the crueler ones thought I'd made it up. But I know what we heard."

"I believe you," Childermass said.

"You do?" she asked, looking sharply at him. "Then you're the first to do so. Even my mother wanted to believe me, but said in the end that all the fairy ways closed long ago."

Childermass gave a shrug of his shoulders (it was not meant to be an elegant gesture, but appeared one nonetheless) and said, "Who's to say what ways are open on a solstice night, or on a fair morning, or in the presence of twin girls who longed for something better?"

The Yule log shifted then, breaking itself apart and dwindling as it burned.

"I miss her in my bones," Lucy said. "And the cold always makes it worse." Lucy tried to recover herself and went on to speak about what had happened during his absence.

"You missed a cheery evening below stairs, Mr. Childermass. Even I felt gay and light-hearted for a time. Oliver made the wassail and Lucas chased down every girl for a kiss-- all but Hannah who blushed and turned away. Even little Sarah offered up a cheek and we all laughed to see her giggle so. We sang carols until Mr. Norrell called down that we disturbed him, and so we went outside to sing at the neighbors for a time. Then we came back in to play games and Mr. Norrell had to come down to chastise us for being so loud-- and he asked after you and we had to remind him you'd gone. Then he forgot to yell at us and went back above stairs. He must have gone to bed because we did not hear from him again after that.

"There were even a few gifts to be had. Hannah drew up sweet little cards with bible verses on them with that fine paper you brought for her. I crocheted a shawl for Sarah, and she cried when I gave it to her. With your help, we all pitched in to buy Hannah a book-- that new novel she's been wanting by the lady author. And Dido vowed to take any chore of our choice for the next week, for she already spent all her money. Davey and Lucas gave everyone the finest candles they could afford-- 'to help keep winter at bay,' they said. Oliver and Dido and Sarah made us the most wonderful dinner… All yours are on the mantel there." Lucy nodded to the mantelpiece where a few things sat in a tidy stack, some in neatly tied ribbons.

"The port was for you all to share," Childermass said. "But it looks like we've made good headway, just the pair of us."

"It was kindly meant, even if we are the only beneficiaries."

Childermass stood and removed a few things from his saddlebags. These he placed on the mantel and then retrieved the little gifts that had been put aside for him.

"You are all over-generous," he said, carefully fingering the pair of white candles before slipping them in a pocket. He examined the card that Hannah had written out in her careful hand, as well as a handful of matching black buttons in a small tin. He glanced aside at Lucy.

"I know you're missing some from your second-best pair of breeches. I got those for a good price and will sew them on for you later."

"Thank you, Lucy."

"Happy Christmas, sir."

"Happy Christmas."

She stood then to examine what now lined the mantel. "Let's see," she mused, picking up a plain box to examine it. She gave it a light sniff and then smiled at Childermass. "Chocolates for Oliver." She absently slid over a neatly wrapped package of crisp brown paper, pressing in to feel the softness of it. "New gloves for Davey." Another small package was declared, "A new cap for Sarah." A little box that rattled was, "Nibs for Hannah's pens." Lucy picked up the next package and examined it closely. "New stockings? For Dido? Very forward of you, sir." This she set back down and then tapped the box at the end of the mantel thoughtfully. "For Lucas…" she wondered. "Ah! His playing cards have worn awfully thin. You've got him a new deck."

"You are a marvel, Lucy," Childermass said, a touch of wonder in his voice.

"I've learned a good deal from you, you know."

"Have you?"

"Mm," she said noncommittally and then pretended to examine the mantelpiece again, as though counting the presents. "Have you forgotten me, John Childermass?"

"Of course not, you being my oldest friend in the household."

"And yet I see no box, no brown paper here for me."

"Maybe you want to come upstairs to receive it," he suggested.

"Maybe I do."

"The fire's all but cinders now," he observed.

Lucy looked down in surprise. "So it is," she agreed. "And my port's all gone," she pointed out.

Childermass set their glasses upon the table with what remained of the port, and then turned the chairs back to their places and tucked his saddlebag safely away.

He turned to Lucy, bowed in the low light, and offered her his arm. "M'lady."

Lucy gave a quiet laugh and took up the candle that would light their way.

"I see it does not matter which doorway," Childermass observed, "as Lucas has covered quite all of them in mistletoe."

"Lucas and Dido together, sir. Thick as thieves these days."

"I shouldn't wonder," he said as he escorted her to the narrow servants' stair where they turned to face one another.

"Are you such a lady as to refuse a rascal a kiss?"

"Come here, you," Lucy said. One hand held the candle carefully away from them as she reached with the other for the back of his head to tilt him toward her.

Childermass kissed her lightly and with reverence and whispered to her, "Shall we go upstairs now, Lucy?"

"Aye."

So Lucy led the way with her candle up the stairs to the servants' corridor at the top and then even further to the little stair that led to Childermass's garret room.

They settled themselves comfortably side-by-side upon the bed, the door latched up tight and the candle a soothing glow in the darkness.

"Will you have your present now, Lucy?"

"I would, sir," she said with a smile.

From within an inner pocket, Childermass pulled a small twist of tissue paper and handed it to her.

With a wry look, Lucy accepted the little thing. "And what is this?" she asked. "A bit of dirt left over from your travels?"

"If it is, it's very fine dirt," he answered dryly.

Lucy untwisted the paper and then gasped as a string of gold slithered out onto her fingers. Her hands began to shake.

"I noticed the one you wear is but thread plaited together. You deserve something finer."

"I…"

"May I see what it is you're always wearing about your neck?" he asked gently.

One of her trembling hands clutched the golden chain and the other reached up to pull at the carefully braided thread about her neck. Lucy lifted and revealed an ancient and battered locket.

"My fingers shake. I cannot open it."

Childermass reached out carefully, his dirty nails prizing it open to reveal a curl of straw-blonde hair carefully wound in each half.

"Yours and your sisters?"

"Yes. My mother cut it when we were six. When she passed, I got the locket. But I never could afford a proper chain."

"Now you have one," Childermass said.

With her permission, Childermass used a small knife to cut off the thread that had been knotted into place years ago, and he slipped the locket onto the chain, and he slipped the chain about Lucy's neck, and he clasped it in place with care.

"There you are," he said.

Childermass sat back and regarded Lucy without expectation, but still with some degree of pride.

Lucy leapt forward and flung her arms around him.

Childermass laughed and returned her embrace, holding her close for a moment, just holding her. And finally they relaxed into one another and he whispered in her ear, "Are you well now, Lucy? Or do you still seek warmth on this cold night?"

"I am always cold in winter, sir. And I-- I think we would please each other?"

"You please me very much already, but I would take more if you gave it."

"Then take it, sir."

And Childermass slipped one sleeve down her shoulder to kiss her there.

Lucy shivered with more than cold and bowed to press her forehead to his shoulder, somewhere between disbelief and surrender.

Childermass's clever fingers found all the little ties at the back of her gown and slowly pulled them free, massaging his rough fingers over her chilly skin as he went.

Her hands found their way under his jacket and her fingers curled themselves into the fabric of his waistcoat as though she might break apart if she did not hold him so.

Childermass let her cling there, though it would prove an impediment to his undressing her. He simply loosened her gown and rubbed warmth into her back, and then nuzzled into that soft place beneath her ear, which had a delightful effect upon her breathing.

His attentions seemed to press the nerves from her until her hold upon him loosened. Instead of clutching helplessly at the fabric that encased him, she pressed though it to discover the shape of him, to learn that he was little more than skin and muscle beneath the flagrantly out-of-fashion layers that shrouded him.

Childermass tugged at her loosening gown to reveal the edge of her shift at her bosom. He traced a finger slowly above its border, drawing a line of fire on the skin that made Lucy sit up and regard him with astonishment.

"Do such touches agree with you?" he asked.

"Oh Lord yes."

"Good," he said, and leaned in to kiss her, his hand settling over her decolletage, fingers at her neck, thumb repeatedly chaffing the dip above her breasts just below the locket as she began to work the buttons of his waistcoat.

"You have far too many buttons, sir."

"Then why did you get me more?" he asked, smiling into her as he kissed along her jaw and to her neck.

She laughed and let him pull the top of her dress down her arms, her chest heaving in delight as he regarded her with an intense expression of ardent something that she could not quite name.

She pushed the jacket from his shoulders as he attempted to undo his own waistcoat at the same time.

With his arms momentarily pinned to his sides, she laughed at him and gave kittenish little kisses to every part of his face before standing up to let her gown fall away.

Childermass freed himself of jacket and waistcoat and began on the buttons of his shirt, watching Lucy all the while.

The candle lit her from behind, showing the shape of her through the shift.

"Does my form please you, sir?" she asked, less flirtatious than uncertain.

"Your form delights me, Lucy." He examined her closely and asked, "Why do you wear a question upon your face?"

"Only… why have we never done this before, Mr. Childermass?"

"It's unbecoming a fellow to take advantage of those beneath him."

"Were you waiting for an invitation?" she asked.

"Something of the like," he agreed, his loose shirt billowing around him now, revealing his chest as he worked at the knot at his throat.

"There are many times I've thought of you with desire," she confessed, delicately reclaiming her seat beside him on the bed.

"And you never thought to question if I felt the same?"

"I never--" Lucy stopped, thought, tried again. "You aren't like any other man I've ever known."

"How's that?" he asked, slipping the cloth from about his throat.

"They're obvious in what they want-- servants and gentlemen both. They touch without permission, and make clear their sentiments." All this was said rather slowly as Lucy had difficulty looking anywhere but his chest. "But you, John Childermass, have remained a mystery to me in many ways, even so long as I've known you."

"I don't think I'm so mysterious as all that."

"Oh? Then why is your attic room barely chilly, when it should be as cold as ice up here?"

John Childermass smiled.

Lucy leaned in to confide, "I suppose Mr. Norrell thinks he's very clever, but he has nothing on you, sir."

"Mr. Norrell sees what he expects to see," Childermass said, "unlike you, Lucy-- you see a deal more."

"I'd like to see a great deal more," Lucy suggested, the tips of her fingers settling on the firm muscles of his thigh over his old breeches.

Re: Fill: What the Master Doesn't Know (3.2/6)

[(Anonymous)]

Childermass drew the shirt from his arms and then plucked at a strap of her shift. "And are you so modest as to keep this on?"

"Not at all, sir," Lucy said, reaching behind her to loosen the ties as she stared at his arms.

They shared a bit of silence then, as she undid the buttons at his knees and he attended to those at his waist.

Lucy took the opportunity to seek out the lines and planes of him as she did so, finding the sort of strength in his legs that one might expect in someone who spent a good deal of time riding and walking.

And Childermass took the opportunity to peek down the front of her loosened shift at the swell of breasts, firm and inviting as they teased him.

Lucy looked up to catch his eye.

They shared an expression that was more than a smile but less than a smirk as she sat back up and drew her hands up him as she did. She pressed along the muscles of his thighs and up his firm arms to his bare chest, where her hands alighted as though mesmerized.

"Has it been so long since you've seen a man?" he asked.

"I don't think I've ever seen a man like you," Lucy said and leaned in to kiss him again.

Childermass returned the kiss with a more pressing passion, one hand smoothing up her arm as the other settled at her waist only briefly before searching higher to explore the tempting swell of a breast.

"Oh yes," she breathed, the air harsh in her throat, "your hands…"

"Like my hands, do you?"

Lucy made a vaguely approving sound as she nodded and leaned into his touch.

Childermass bent his head to apply his lips as well, slowly drawing her shift down and kissing the flesh he revealed.

Lucy's incoherence spurred him him on and she eventually had to push him away so that she might draw the shift away completely, exposing herself to the cool night air and breathing hard, as though she'd just won a dare with herself.

Childermass's hands - warm as summer - drew patterns along all of her: thighs and belly and arms and breasts as he kissed whatever seemed appealing, but especially her breasts, for she emitted the most awed and delighted moanings when he did.

He concentrated his mouth on one nipple, his expert attentions fit to drive Lucy mad as she began begging nonsensically under her breath, and clutching at whatever part of him she could reach. One of his hands played at her unattended breast while his other hand sought southward, finding the swell of her belly, the flare of her hips, and then delving (hot and easy) between her legs to card at the soft curls there.

"God, your hands," Lucy said and shivered all underneath him, finding that he'd bent her back onto the bed and she could not for the life of her recall exactly when. But she spread her legs and clutched at his arms and sent up prayers and pleas most breathlessly in her excitement.

Childermass slid a finger inside her and rubbed at her clitoris with his thumb and teethed her nipple until she reached her crisis.

She swore at him like a sailor, and every muscle of her was strung tight for a few seconds as she held her breath, savoring it in an extended moment until she absolutely had to breathe, and then she sucked in great gasps of air and let him sooth her like a child, petting her face and arms and kissing through her straw-blonde hair.

"You're not a man, John Childermass," she finally whispered, "you're a force of nature."

"Nothing so unfathomable, I'm sure," he denied, laying close beside her and speaking low and rough, his voice thick with desire.

When she had sufficiently recovered, Lucy sat up to work his breeches off him, finding he wore naught underneath, but was one of those men who preferred to use the long tails of his shirt to cover what needed covering, and she was more than delighted with what she found there: a ruddy cock heavy and wanting her.

"Only think I might have been enjoying this sooner, had I thought of it."

Childermass let out a soft groan as she wrapped him in her cool hands and stroked. Her touch was light and teasing, and then firm on the crown of him, but Childermass did not move, his face only reddening a bit as he held very still and watched her in the light from the candle, which lit up her wisping blonde hair like a halo.

Lucy worked him slowly and very admiringly, squeezing out that little trickle of viscous fluid from his slit to help oil him.

Gooseflesh raised on his arms and he reached out to carefully pill the pins from her hair until it fell about her, a headful of straw and gold.

She smiled very pleasantly at him and leaned over so that her hair trailed along his chest, and she leaned slowly in as though to kiss him, but then pulled away, coy as anything even with her hands all over his prick. And then she said, "Would it be all right if I sat atop you in this way, sir?"

"Lucy, you're like to kill me if you don't do something."

She slowly laid down atop him, his cock pressed between their bellies as she let him have her lips while her feet nuzzled his still-stockinged legs, her breasts squeezed hot (the locket a shock of cold) against his chest.

"It's been a long time for me, sir. I'll have to take you in slow."

"And how would this be different from the rest of our evening?"

Lucy dropped her forehead to his shoulder to laugh, and then sat up, resting her hands upon his firm chest as she wiggled, her wet cunt sliding along his prick. She slowly eased her hips up and reached between them to grasp him firmly and rub the blunt head against her opening, slick from her own spending and eased a bit more by the leaking of his own evident excitement.

Childermass watched her very closely, from the intent expression on her face to her breasts (still rosy from his earlier attentions) hanging pendulously above him to her belly taut with the tension of holding herself up and then to that place where she was joining with him, slowly easing him in, her impossible tightness opening to him by agonizing degrees.

Full minutes passed as Lucy worked him in, seeming to take perverse pleasure in the unhurried pace of it, and though her face sometimes scrunched up in open-mouthed feeling, he suspected it was not only pain that caused it; he felt her flutter around him, and the sounds she made - though not words - spoke of wanting.

The further she took him in, the slower she moved until she breathed in some special rhythm and finally sank down as far as she could.

He was fully seated within her, and she was in no way cold now.

They burned where they pulsed together, and waves of heat rolled from one to the other of them as they fought to breathe in a manner than did not sound completely ridiculous.

"Shall I move for the both of us?" Lucy asked, sitting upright and looking down on him with hazy eyes.

"If you do not move, I shall…"

"Yes? You shall what?" Her smiled pierced her voice.

John Childermass looked up at her, a grin growing on his face as he muttered, "You're the very devil, Lucy."

She slowly rocked in place, earning from him a shocked groan and quick burst of panting before he settled again.

Lucy slowly leaned over until their eyes aligned and she whispered, "I've never been so full."

His eyes flared and he had to employ every effort to keep his hips still.

"You'll drive me mad," he said.

"I think it would take more than a good fuck to ruin your sense, John Childermass… but I must say I quite enjoy the sight of you arrayed beneath me, and your muscles all strained with tension and your face flushed with desire." Then, she leaned even lower until she could speak directly to his ear, "Would you like to spill in me? Have no fear; my loins are not fruitful, or I should have had a fat belly long before now."

He made some noise in the back of his throat, but was unable to give her an actual answer.

So Lucy sat back up again, braced her hands on his upper chest, and slowly rose up.

It was only a minute gesture, just enough to register the friction before she eased back down. And again. And again. Like the gentlest waves upon the seashore of a calm bay.

Her movements were never quick, always purposeful, never abrupt, but smooth and assured.

Childermass flared his nostrils and sucked in his breath and let her do as she would.

When her hands eased up to find better purchase on his shoulders, she rose a bit higher, and when her hands slid down to his elbows, she decided upon a rolling motion of her hips, and when her hands moved to settle over his hands on the blankets, she slowed again to a subtle rocking with him buried in her.

Then, she pressed down hard on his wrists as though to pin him there and she closed her eyes and ground down on him in little twisting plunges until she cried out her pleasure, her eyes opened wide and her chest heaving as all those fluttering muscles inside tried to milk him.

John Childermass smiled to see her, but he did not spend, not yet, and when her hands relaxed and she leaned over him again to rest, he wound his arms around her to hold her tight.

She stayed there, content, rubbing her smooth cheek upon the sparse hairs of his chest, panting out little puffs of air, curled up atop him and trembling all the while.

Soon enough, though, she sat up, grinning as she began to move on him, more quickly now, as though determined to pull his pleasure from him.

His hands travelled from her thighs to her waist to her breasts, touching everywhere as she moved over him, not only to please him, but to find her own ecstasy again, chasing it down-- this time with uneven fervor as she moved on him.

She tugged on his hands until their fingers intertwined, laced together, palm to palm as she increased the tempo, bounding up and down upon him, her head thrown back with the thrill of it as she began chanting, "Yes," over and over, whether in affirmation or appeal neither of them knew.

As Lucy approached her peak for the third time, she squeezed his hands in a vice-like grip and stared into his eyes as she quietly begged, "Fuck me, fuck me…"

Childermass finally moved against her, thrusting up forcefully as she slammed down on him. Each impact jolted a cry from them both until Lucy spent herself a final time with something like a sob. Childermass continued to thrust mindlessly up into her until he reached his climax, spilling into her with abandon as she collapsed atop him, breath ragged and chest heaving.

At first, Childermass barely had the strength of mind to hold her, but as he returned to himself, he smoothed her hair back and quietly asked, "Are you warm enough now, Miss Lucy?"

Lucy gave a good thump to his shoulder and laughed as he slowly withdrew from her, that they might burrow under the covers together to sleep the rest of the cold night away in the arms of one another.

= = = = =

Re: Fill: What the Master Doesn't Know (3.2/6)

[(Anonymous)]

Oh yes, oh wow - OH THANK YOU ANON! *cold shower time for me* This is gorgeous!!