☆ Round One!

[jsmn_kink]

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

Below are some basic guidelines to get started. Please make sure you also check out our complete Rules & Guidelines to minimise any confusion.

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.

Links:
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☆ Mod Post
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Comments

Re: Fill: What the Master Doesn't Know (4.5/6)

[(Anonymous)]

Oliver was surprisingly silent throughout this operation, raking his eyes up and down Childermass's still clothed form, lingering upon the man's clever hands and handsome face. (Oliver knew Childermass would never call himself handsome. Oliver sometimes thought John Childermass did not give himself quite enough credit.)

Once this task was done, Childermass eased himself over Oliver, displaying his lean bulk to the best of his advantage before leaning down to kiss Oliver like they used to in the woods behind Hurtfew.

Messy and hard and biting and then somehow easing into sweet and tender in a way that always caught Oliver off-guard, no matter how often Childermass pulled the trick on him.

Not that it lasted. As soon as Oliver's guard was down, Childermass sucked into his mouth like some screaming Sidhe come to siphon the life out of him. Oliver wondered if he was mixing his mystical creatures before just about every thought was driven out of his head together.

John Childermass left off his mouth and licked (with little bites) behind his ear, beneath his jaw (with a firm tongue), and then laved over his Adam's apple (wetter than water) in a way that was completely unfair because Oliver could not retaliate by paying such attentions to all those similar places he'd found on John Childermass that turned the man mad. Because, of course, being tied up had seemed such a good idea at the time. Now all he could do was lay there and buck up into the man and curse at him.

"Jesus fucking Christ John Childermass, you fucker, you devil--"

Childermass calmly undid his own neckcloth and wrapped it round Oliver's head, over his mouth until words became no more than muffled sounds, and the Yorkshireman smirked all the while.

"You're like to bring the whole house down if you go on so," Childermass explained. "And there are some, at least, who have no need to hear such things."

Oliver had a smart answer for this, but it was lost in the cloth across his mouth. John Childermass kissed him over it and laughed at him and then smacked him on the hip and told him, "Turn over."

Still somewhat pinned beneath him, Oliver managed with a clever bit of wriggling to lay down on his front and then press his arse up against the hot length behind him.

Childermass pulled away and grabbed the ends of the neckcloth he'd wound about Oliver's mouth, using them as reigns to pull him into a kneeling position, or as much as could be managed with the man's hands bound still above him.

Oliver laced his fingers together and pressed down against the pillow in an attempt for some leverage, and helplessly pumped his hips against the air, for he had nothing to press down into nor to press back against. He could feel the weight of Childermass somewhere on the bed behind him, but the man was frustratingly out of reach.

But then John Childermass touched him, one burning-hot hand settling between Oliver's shoulder blades, just a firm presence and pressure.

"Shall I remind you of better times, Oliver? Or shall I force thought of every other man out of your head?"

Childermass slowly descended upon him, his rough old clothes dragging all along Oliver's sensitized skin until Childermass could speak directly to his ear: "The one could be sweet. The other… not."

Oliver tried to answer through his gag and pushed eagerly back against Childermass.

"Easy, now," Childermass calmed him as though Oliver were a worried horse, patting his sides and speaking low and calm. "We've all the night ahead of us, Oliver, and no matter how we go, you know it won't be quick."

Oliver simply writhed, begging for contact until he dropped to hump desperately against the bed.

"None of that now," Childermass told him, grabbing the traitorous hips in a vice-like grip and lifting him up again. "What shall I do with such disobedience?" Childermass muttered, as though to himself.

Oliver wiggled his arse in offering.

Childermass snorted, unimpressed, and instead reached out to pinch the man's sides in relentless nips.

Oliver squirmed and screamed, writhing desperately.

"You are making this far too easy," Childermass said, slapping him once on the arse before parting those tempting cheeks to press inward with a spit-wet finger.

But for the shivering that ran through his limbs, Oliver suddenly stilled, as though every bit of focus narrowed down to a single point.

"You're well open already," Childermass observed, his tone still casual and unimpressed.

Oliver made to speak, and then groaned with frustration through the gag.

"I'm thinking you're more desperate than you let on," Childermass said, withdrawing completely.

An obscene moan was pressed through the gag as Oliver looked over his shoulder to see Childermass thoroughly coating himself with the oil, eyes shadow-dark as they regarded Oliver all trussed up and helpless on the bed.

Childermass shrugged off his jacket, but this was his only concession to intimacy before he grabbed Oliver's hips, dragging him to the foot of the bed, arms now forced straight above his head, the cloth tied to the headboard stretched to its limit.

Oliver hooked his feet over the edge of the thin mattress and thrust his arse back, even as his shoulders and head were forced down into the blankets. He sobbed.

Childermass pressed up against him, the length of his hot prick settling into Oliver's crease and dribbling onto his lower back. One firm hand along Oliver's spine stilled any squirming, and Childermass rubbed his oiled prick up and down, pretending to ease in a number of times without actually breaching him.

If Oliver could speak, Childermass had no doubt of the curses that would be tumbling out. Childermass laughed briefly before finally pressing forward, past the tight ring of muscle. He halted, but Oliver pushed back in quest of more, so Childermass thrust in as far as he could easily go. He clasped Oliver's hips and set into an easy rhythm, testing how far he could press in before Oliver squealed, and then drawing back to try again.

It was not long (he knew it would not be) before Childermass could sink in to the hilt without much difficulty.

Childermass advanced the pace almost ruthlessly, knowing exactly how much Oliver could take, and more significantly, exactly how much Oliver wanted it.

The man positively writhed in pleasure, howling through the gag and straining against his bonds in furious rapture.

Childermass put his head to one side, admiring the mess of him before reaching out to drag the nails of one hand down Oliver's heaving back.

The man panted and shuddered, and so Childermass did it again. Hard. And the red welts he left behind were so pretty that it did it again.

He left off such artful efforts for a time to concentrate his forceful thrusts just where Oliver wanted them, angled slightly down and hard as could be.

When Oliver took up an endless wailing behind the smothering fabric, Childermass slowed, pulled out, and let Oliver collapse onto the bed.

His cock still standing proud before him, Childermass went round to the head of the bed to carefully untie the neckcloth.

Oliver's face was drenched in tears, the neckcloth wet through with saliva, his mouth reddened with the chaffing of it.

"You're all right," Childermass muttered, bending down to kiss him slowly.

"Which kind of fucking was that…?" Oliver muttered, batting his eyelashes and smiling through his ill-usage.

"Can you remember your coachman?"

"My who?"

"Exactly. Roll over. Onto your back now."

Oliver let Childermass shift him back up on the bed, easing the strain of his arms before parting and lifting his legs out of the way.

"Fuck," Oliver muttered as Childermass knelt half-beneath him and butted his cock at the ready hole before sinking in all the way.

Childermass began a slow and steady cadence, though deep, as he watched the various transformations of Oliver's face: obvious ecstasy, delight-tinged pain, red-faced pleasure, and wicked bliss.

One hand was hard at work keeping Oliver's hips roughly where they needed to be, but with his other hand, Childermass reached out to begin chafing one of Oliver's pert nipples.

"Oh god, you remember that…" Oliver moaned.

"I remember everything," Childermass vowed, a fire burning deep in his voice, lighting his promise like a flare in the night.

He pulled relentlessly at the stimulated nipple and Oliver's neck strained with the tension of having to keep his own silence now.

Childermass kept his thrusting tempo as steady as a metronome, but the hand that was not engaged in supporting Oliver's bulk eased away from the nipple, dragged nails down his heaving stomach, to settle at the base of Oliver's leaking cock.

"Oh fuck, don't, you bastard," Oliver wheezed.

Childermass grinned. He delicately took Oliver's cock in hand, gathering the dripping fluid from the tip and smoothing it down his cock with a touch light enough to tickle. Then dug a cruel fingernail into the slit at the head.

Oliver cut off a scream, transforming it with what willpower he had into a low groan that scraped his vocal chords raw.

Childermass squeezed the base of Oliver's cock to forestall any premature excitement.

"Not yet," Childermass said calmly. "You know you don't want to yet."

"Yes, I do," Oliver argued pettishly, practically breathless. "I've had enough…"

"I'll tell you when you've had enough."

Oliver threw his head back and sucked in breaths like a hard-ridden horse.

Childermass worked his cock hard for a few strokes, then clutched round the base again, ruthless.

And all the while he fucked into Oliver, steady and relentless.

Finally, Oliver was only capable of lying there, fiercely whispering, "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you…" over and over again.

Childermass played their little game a few more times before letting go of Oliver's cock to scoop his knees up under his elbows and fuck into him hard.

Oliver held his breath as he came with only the smallest friction against his prick.

Childermass fucked him through it and then finished by bending Oliver over completely to thrust into him like an animal and loose himself in a fiercely hot spending inside Oliver's quivering body.

Oliver's wheezing breaths altered very little as Childermass slowly withdrew, gently let down his legs, and slipped from the bed, wiping himself carelessly on the sheets before tucking himself away.

Childermass unbound the cook's hands to retrieve his neckcloth. He took one of Oliver's hands and kissed and laved the inside of his wrist until Oliver pulled away, murmuring, "Too much, you right sod."

Grinning, Childermass knelt upon the floor to bring their faces on a level.

Oliver picked up his head and closed his eyes and Childermass granted him a kiss as slow and loving as near-perfection can manage.

"I'm not able to keep up with you anymore, Oliver," Childermass said, stepping back and finding a blanket to pull over Oliver's rapidly cooling body.

"Now that is a shame," Oliver muttered, sleep dragging already at his eyes.

"You know Lucas has taken up with Dido," Childermass conversed, shrugging his jacket back on.

"Of course."

"It's left Davey quite out of it."

"Really?" Oliver asked, perking up at once.

"Truly," Childermass said. "Only remember he's young yet and not up for such games as we play."

Oliver chuckled with delight and said, "You old goat. Were you a matchmaker in another life?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Go to sleep and no more insolence from you around the young ones."

"Welshman's honor," Oliver promised.

"No such thing," Childermass whispered with fond affection before kissing Oliver's brow.

He blew out the candles and left the room like a shadow.

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