Alas, the promised treat proved disappointing. However lovely it was to admire or touch, and however much he'd had occasional wild dreams of having men, well, put it in him, the result was a decided...pain in the arse. It didn't get any better. He, in his innocence, had imagined that the man would just hold still, in the right place, while he himself worked his way to ecstasy around the man's organ, and it would feel rather similar to when Mr Strange had fingered him inside. But Jonathan Strange just didn't...come to a stop. He just kept going, too deep. So it wasn't going to get any better.
He froze up and yelped. Mr Strange, very fortunately, appeared able to tell it was the wrong sort of response, because he instantly withdrew himself as quickly and painlessly as possible.
Mr Norrell was crying, small hiccupping sobs, hiding his face in his hands. "I've ruined it. The one thing I really wanted, except for magic, was to be with you, and it's cruel to find out we're physically incompatible."
Mr Strange kissed him. "This is entirely my fault, Gilbert, my love. I tell you we need practice, and time, and then what do I do? Rush in just the way I've told you not to. I got it wrong pretty-much immediately."
"I'm the wrong build," complained Mr Norrell.
"You're smaller-built, it's true. But all that means is we have to use care. I'm larger, and more experienced, but I was randy enough to let you talk me into doing it the wrong way. Now, come and have a comfortable chat on the sopha."
That was warmer, and cosier, and more relaxing.
"Where I went wrong," said Jonathan Strange, "was not getting us comfortable, and not talking about it the right way. I said the right things. More or less. But I got you prickly and defensive about your lack of experience. I was absolutely right that the best thing for you would be a nice, slow, comfortable fuck--and then instead of taking you to your safe warm bed where you could relax, I bent you over a chair.”
Mr Norrell thought about it. He nodded. He had been excited, but tense.
“Not content with that, I touched you the wrong way,” went on Mr Strange. “Oh, not painfully, just the way I'd touch an experienced man who wanted preparation. But you were so ready; what I should have done is just make you come that way, get you used to the pleasure, not shove something three times as thick in and terrify the wits out of you. Then I'd have encouraged you to please me, we could have had a good night's sleep--and we'd have had a decent chance of having a good fuck the next day, or in the next few days. If you don't remember any thing else I'm telling you about physical love, remember this: there's always another chance, at least if what you did was merely a bit embarrassing."
Mr Norrell said. “It was partly my fault. I was so sure I wanted you to do that to me!”
“To be fair, you do want me to do it to you,” said Mr Strange. “You just didn’t want me to push ahead like a brute when your nerves made you tense up. Now, tomorrow, when you’re all sleepy and relaxed in the morning, I’ll massage your back, then I’ll put some oil in you, trying not to get you worked up. Then I’ll try fucking you, and if you’re still not ready, you’re still not ready, and we’ll wait.”
Mr Norrell muttered, “Not fair,” sulkily.
“Oh, what is it now, for heaven’s sake! I happen to think that is a very handsome offer,” said Jonathan Strange.
“Yes, but don’t forget... the being-frightened was only the last five minutes of something I seemed to enjoy to start with. Now, when you described doing it slowly, I also remembered both of us are going to have to wait."
Jonathan Strange exclaimed, "All right, that explains why you were looking as though you lost a shilling and found sixpence just now."
After explaining that idiom of mild, sulky disappointment to Mr Norrell, Jonathan Strange continued: "Well, I certainly am not going to wait that long to come--and nor are you, you randy little devil!" Jonathan Strange sniggered, slapped him on the rump, and said, “Bed. Now."
They went to Mr Norrell's bed, that being slightly bigger, and better up to his exacting standards for warmth, and undressed.
“I'm first," said Jonathan Strange. "I don't trust you not to go straight to sleep after I've done you."
Mr Norrell thought about it. Of course it was most unfair. On the other hand (and probably overflowing both his hands) he would be able to come to a closer acquaintance with Mr Strange's impressive endowment, enjoy that thoroughly, and then lie down and be comprehensively pleasured.
“I defer to your greater experience, sir," he said.
Jonathan Strange's lips twitched in a grin. "Meaning, no doubt, that you'd like a feel of it. Well, go ahead!"
Mr Norrell started gently, caressing his thighs and balls and letting the anticipation rise up. Then he took him in hand. (Both hands. He had been quite right about that). He had only himself to go by, so of course it would be Mr Strange's own fault if Mr Norrell proved atrocious through mere inexperience.
Apparently he wasn't too bad. There was an attractive flush on Jonathan Strange's cheeks and body, and he shifted restlessly on the bed as Mr Norrell stroked him and handled him, gently at first.
Mr Strange started swearing again, under his breath.
Mr Norrell handled him a lot firmer.
Mr Strange said, "Hold the base in your one hand, sir, and really go at it with the other at the tip; short, hard strokes."
This sounded almost painful to Mr Norrell, but he seemed to be able to provide, and Mr Strange came off in a real gusher, groaning and gasping.
Mr Norrell said, "Can I be disgraceful?"
Mr Strange (still panting) said, "After that you can have anything you like!"
Mr Norrell whispered in his ear, "I should like to play with my own prick while you get your fingers all wet with your own seed and stroke my hole." He reached for himself. It was quite the most depraved thing he'd ever thought of. He whispered, "Sorry! You don't..." he began to say. He meant, of course, "You don't have to!" but he was unable to finish the sentence because a couple of wet fingertips had slid unerringly into that most sensitive place. Rubbing and rubbing, as he frigged himself eagerly, and the only thing out of his mouth was a deep groan of pleasure as he brought himself off. He'd wanted that!
"I'm really looking forward to tomorrow now," said Mr Strange, with a huge yawn and a squeeze of Mr Norrell's bottom.
Mr Norrell sighed complainingly. "Don't do that. I like it."
"Not even you could...oh. Do you not have the normal limits human men do?"
Mr Norrell sighed again, slightly more crossly. "Of course I can't get it up again, but if you say and do something suggestive, the blasted thing can manage a slight twitch."
"My vocabulary has affected you. Sorry."
"Damn nuisance!" said Mr Norrell ambiguously, and went to sleep.
Fill: A Spell for Changing Places, thus Discoueryng the Right Place 8/9
Alas, the promised treat proved disappointing. However lovely it was to admire or touch, and however much he'd had occasional wild dreams of having men, well, put it in him, the result was a decided...pain in the arse. It didn't get any better. He, in his innocence, had imagined that the man would just hold still, in the right place, while he himself worked his way to ecstasy around the man's organ, and it would feel rather similar to when Mr Strange had fingered him inside. But Jonathan Strange just didn't...come to a stop. He just kept going, too deep. So it wasn't going to get any better.
He froze up and yelped. Mr Strange, very fortunately, appeared able to tell it was the wrong sort of response, because he instantly withdrew himself as quickly and painlessly as possible.
Mr Norrell was crying, small hiccupping sobs, hiding his face in his hands. "I've ruined it. The one thing I really wanted, except for magic, was to be with you, and it's cruel to find out we're physically incompatible."
Mr Strange kissed him. "This is entirely my fault, Gilbert, my love. I tell you we need practice, and time, and then what do I do? Rush in just the way I've told you not to. I got it wrong pretty-much immediately."
"I'm the wrong build," complained Mr Norrell.
"You're smaller-built, it's true. But all that means is we have to use care. I'm larger, and more experienced, but I was randy enough to let you talk me into doing it the wrong way. Now, come and have a comfortable chat on the sopha."
That was warmer, and cosier, and more relaxing.
"Where I went wrong," said Jonathan Strange, "was not getting us comfortable, and not talking about it the right way. I said the right things. More or less. But I got you prickly and defensive about your lack of experience. I was absolutely right that the best thing for you would be a nice, slow, comfortable fuck--and then instead of taking you to your safe warm bed where you could relax, I bent you over a chair.”
Mr Norrell thought about it. He nodded. He had been excited, but tense.
“Not content with that, I touched you the wrong way,” went on Mr Strange. “Oh, not painfully, just the way I'd touch an experienced man who wanted preparation. But you were so ready; what I should have done is just make you come that way, get you used to the pleasure, not shove something three times as thick in and terrify the wits out of you. Then I'd have encouraged you to please me, we could have had a good night's sleep--and we'd have had a decent chance of having a good fuck the next day, or in the next few days. If you don't remember any thing else I'm telling you about physical love, remember this: there's always another chance, at least if what you did was merely a bit embarrassing."
Mr Norrell said. “It was partly my fault. I was so sure I wanted you to do that to me!”
“To be fair, you do want me to do it to you,” said Mr Strange. “You just didn’t want me to push ahead like a brute when your nerves made you tense up. Now, tomorrow, when you’re all sleepy and relaxed in the morning, I’ll massage your back, then I’ll put some oil in you, trying not to get you worked up. Then I’ll try fucking you, and if you’re still not ready, you’re still not ready, and we’ll wait.”
Mr Norrell muttered, “Not fair,” sulkily.
“Oh, what is it now, for heaven’s sake! I happen to think that is a very handsome offer,” said Jonathan Strange.
“Yes, but don’t forget... the being-frightened was only the last five minutes of something I seemed to enjoy to start with. Now, when you described doing it slowly, I also remembered both of us are going to have to wait."
Jonathan Strange exclaimed, "All right, that explains why you were looking as though you lost a shilling and found sixpence just now."
After explaining that idiom of mild, sulky disappointment to Mr Norrell, Jonathan Strange continued: "Well, I certainly am not going to wait that long to come--and nor are you, you randy little devil!" Jonathan Strange sniggered, slapped him on the rump, and said, “Bed. Now."
They went to Mr Norrell's bed, that being slightly bigger, and better up to his exacting standards for warmth, and undressed.
“I'm first," said Jonathan Strange. "I don't trust you not to go straight to sleep after I've done you."
Mr Norrell thought about it. Of course it was most unfair. On the other hand (and probably overflowing both his hands) he would be able to come to a closer acquaintance with Mr Strange's impressive endowment, enjoy that thoroughly, and then lie down and be comprehensively pleasured.
“I defer to your greater experience, sir," he said.
Jonathan Strange's lips twitched in a grin. "Meaning, no doubt, that you'd like a feel of it. Well, go ahead!"
Mr Norrell started gently, caressing his thighs and balls and letting the anticipation rise up. Then he took him in hand. (Both hands. He had been quite right about that). He had only himself to go by, so of course it would be Mr Strange's own fault if Mr Norrell proved atrocious through mere inexperience.
Apparently he wasn't too bad. There was an attractive flush on Jonathan Strange's cheeks and body, and he shifted restlessly on the bed as Mr Norrell stroked him and handled him, gently at first.
Mr Strange started swearing again, under his breath.
Mr Norrell handled him a lot firmer.
Mr Strange said, "Hold the base in your one hand, sir, and really go at it with the other at the tip; short, hard strokes."
This sounded almost painful to Mr Norrell, but he seemed to be able to provide, and Mr Strange came off in a real gusher, groaning and gasping.
Mr Norrell said, "Can I be disgraceful?"
Mr Strange (still panting) said, "After that you can have anything you like!"
Mr Norrell whispered in his ear, "I should like to play with my own prick while you get your fingers all wet with your own seed and stroke my hole." He reached for himself. It was quite the most depraved thing he'd ever thought of. He whispered, "Sorry! You don't..." he began to say. He meant, of course, "You don't have to!" but he was unable to finish the sentence because a couple of wet fingertips had slid unerringly into that most sensitive place. Rubbing and rubbing, as he frigged himself eagerly, and the only thing out of his mouth was a deep groan of pleasure as he brought himself off. He'd wanted that!
"I'm really looking forward to tomorrow now," said Mr Strange, with a huge yawn and a squeeze of Mr Norrell's bottom.
Mr Norrell sighed complainingly. "Don't do that. I like it."
"Not even you could...oh. Do you not have the normal limits human men do?"
Mr Norrell sighed again, slightly more crossly. "Of course I can't get it up again, but if you say and do something suggestive, the blasted thing can manage a slight twitch."
"My vocabulary has affected you. Sorry."
"Damn nuisance!" said Mr Norrell ambiguously, and went to sleep.