jsmn_kinkmeme | ☆ Round Two!

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☆ Round Two!

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

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☆ Previous Rounds: Round One

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He leant back, wiping his mouth, breathless. He stared at her. She had shucked her dress over her head, and was dappled red as though with sunburn, sweat curling tendrils of hair to her neck, and he had never desired someone more. He wanted to do it to her all over again, to make her make those sounds, to feel her hands clutch at his head, and to feel the quiver of her most sensitive flesh where it was subject to his tongue, leaving her quite helpless.

He rested his hot face against her thigh and touched her lightly as she recovered, slipping two of his fingertips just inside her, just enough to feel her wetness. She made little noises at this, but they were noises of delight, so he pushed the whole fingers in and she took them eagerly, riding lightly against them. He had to push a hand against his prick at this, for it was painfully hard and her eagerness made it jump.

"I want to," he said dazedly, "can I, again, I want to— give you your pleasure..."

"Oh," she said in a low dark voice. "Yes, yes, only— I do not know if I am able."

"You are," Segundus said rather boldly, and he thrust his fingers sharply in before bending his head and giving her the full intensity of his tongue: the broad flat of it in heavy licks, and the sharp edge in delicate patterns. He was aware of her crying out almost ceaselessly above him. For a time he had mercy and immersed himself in licking his way inside her, beside his fingers, as though he were fucking her slowly with his tongue, emerging occasionally to tease her into noisiness once more. At last she grew very desperate and began begging him for it, tugging at fistfuls of his hair, so he gave himself over to evoking her pleasure. He felt he was dragging it out from under her skin, pulling all her nerves into a point of high tension. He scraped his teeth against her and felt her thrash, and then he was giving her the hard fast tonguing that sped her towards her climax. She seemed to hover at the edge of it for a very long time— her body bowed, straining, quivering all against him— and then he could feel the instant of it under his hands. It was extraordinary, watching her give herself to it. He had never given another person so much pleasure.

"You are astounding," he told her, kissing her thighs, her belly; lifting his head to kiss her breasts. "Astounding, wonderful, please let me, please—"

He was half-lifting her out of the chair, and she half-stumbled into his arms with a great deal of laughter, and then she was unbuttoning his breeches hastily, pulling him out, and lying back upon the floorboards, so he could enter her and fuck her frantically. She was so wet and so hot, and welcomed him into her; after a moment, she lifted her legs up to his shoulders, which changed the angle of his thrusting in a way that was intensely delightful. He was shuddering already, so overcome by the intensity of being inside her. At one point she clenched very hard around him and let him push his way against her, and he had to clench his eyes shut and cry out. She seemed to enjoy this effect.

"Beautiful," she murmured. "Yes, take your pleasure, give yourself to it." She put a hand against his overheated cheek, which was cool and welcome.

"Oh, God," he choked out, desperate, and thrust wildly forwards, and climaxed very violently.

It took all of the strength out of him. He could do nothing afterwards except lie limply upon her, breathing wetly, feeling as though someone had wrung him out like a cloth.

Miss Absalom stroked his back. She remarked, "It astonishes me that you have no other lover. I think you are the most delightful lover I have ever had. You have so much zeal for the act. It is very charming."

"Mm," Segundus said. He felt very warm and contented, and was happy to be petted, but he was not quite up to conversation yet.

She laughed at him, and pushed his hair back from his face. "Truly. And I have had my share of lovers. Are you as talented at magic as you are at pleasure?"

Segundus groaned. He hid his head at her shoulder. "I am quite hopeless. I fear you would abandon me entirely if you saw me perform magic."

"I doubt that very much."

"I am the humblest of scholars. I fear I am artless."

"But you have love," Miss Absalom said. "With love, a great many things are possible, you know. You may find your artfulness yet."

And she kissed him very tenderly, and began to tell him a long story that she claimed had been told to her by the ghost of Ralph Stokesey. It involved a young girl who wished to ask the Raven King a favour, and who undertook a great many trials to win this right. Segundus kept interrupting her to ask questions, but Miss Absalom never seemed to mind. Indeed, she had the scholar's delight at digressions. The unfortunate consequence of this, however, was that by the time she came to end of the story, Segundus was so very sleepy that he could not keep it straight in his head. He did not think that she had reached the conclusion by the time he drifted away into weightlessness.

This is an amazing combination of adorable and very, very hot. Miss Absalom, you are certainly making the most of your dreamscapes! Also, Segundus offering to defend Childermass' honour is both sweet and hilarious when they're both so grumpy about it. This is lovely!

This fic is just adorable. I particularly love how Childermass and Maria are perceiving Segundus so differently (and am not surprised she is finding him irresistible). The whole thing is incredibly charming and yet ridiculously hot.

Oh my god, this fic (and prompt) is amazing! So wonderfully charming, funny and HOT at the same time. Love Segundus giving into his desire and just losing himself with Maria Abasalom and also the bickering with Childermass (I'm so used to reading the latter, I feel oddly safe and comforted whenever it happens). Can't wait to read the next instalment!

To whom it may concern: I wish to be reincarnated as Maria Absalom in this fic, so I can seduce eager young magicians with a talent for cunnilingus and eat lots of cake. Thank you.

This continues to be a beautiful story! I am a particular fan of the interplay between Childermass and Segundus, but I'm also half in love with Miss Absolom thanks to you!

Your writing is so delightful! It is so much fun and so hot! I normally find het a little difficult to read but I AM ALL OVER THIS. I... Segundus confessing to touching himself, and then double cunnilingus and... So good. So adorable. Oh Mr. Segundus!

Segundus confessing to touching himself

I think we can all agree that was a particularly fine moment.

This is making me wish I could draw, because it's given me such a charmingly lascivious mental image of Maria Absolom.

The next morning, he awoke feeling drowsy and satisfied. He lay in bed for a long time, contemplating the dream. It had not really felt like a dream, and Miss Absalom had remembered him. She had called him her lover. She was not a figment, in the manner of dreams. He had not ever really thought she was, only— it seemed very presumptuous, at the same time, to imagine that she was anything but. Jonathan Strange might have gone about summoning enchantresses up at a whim, but John Segundus was far more meek. He could not think how he might merit Maria Absalom's time, however great his zeal might be... though a small, painful part of him wanted very much to have this power, to win her attention through being extraordinary. She was so very beautiful, and rather rambunctious, unabashed in her pleasure, and every time she looked at him he felt as though the sun itself had turned and singled him out directly.

Oh, he thought: what a quandary. She was real and yet unreal. He wanted her to be real, and did not believe she could be, yet he only disbelieved she could be because he thought her real! It was quite impossible! But still, he found himself so generally pleased that he was all smiles as he dressed in his bedroom. He even whistled a small phrase of music, which was not very like him. The alteration wrought by his dreams was astonishing.

Upon descending the stairs, he found that the house was oddly silent. This, of course, was because Childermass had left. Childermass had left because Segundus had asked him to leave. His absence could surely be counted a success. Yet there was no denying that without him Starecross felt very empty. Presumably this would change when the school opened in the autumn; then the house would be very busy indeed. But for now he was the sole creature rattling about it. He thought somewhat dolefully that he would be quite pleased for his housekeeper to arrive the next day, or for someone from the village to seek magical assistance, for at least this would afford him some companionship.

To distract himself, he took his morning cup of tea into the garden, and sat cross-legged beside the rosebushes. It was a very fine Yorkshire day. A little damp, but not rainy: with only a refreshing hint of rain in the air. The smell of the garden was a riot of herbs, a tangled and almost medicinal scent. Segundus spied a snail making its way over a stone. "You will refrain from eating my plants, sir," he instructed it with a frown.

Then he turned his attention to the rosebushes. "Hello," he said. "I fear we have got off on the wrong foot. You must think me very demanding. It is only that I wish to enjoy your splendid flowers! I am also starting a school, and I believe it would benefit the students greatly to be surrounded by beauty. You could be part of that. In a way, you could be said to teach them. It is a very noble undertaking, I think. I should be honoured if you would join me in it."

He waited, but there was no sign of response from the rosebushes. He sighed, and thought that he at least had made the effort, and went back into the house to finish his tea.

To his surprise, when he returned the next day, he found that every rosebush was now in half-blossom: dense with buds that had begun to unfold. He counted several colours amongst them: a deep dark red, a pale and lightweight creamy pink, an ivory shade, and a yellow-peach pink. Each was wonderfully charming in its own right, and Segundus made sure to compliment the bushes individually. Miss Absalom had been correct, or at least her advice had been sound— he wondered if he ought to consider this a mark in favour of her existence as more than a simple figment of dreams. He could not quite reach a conclusion.

Though he was pleased about the roses, by the time the week drew to a close he had begun to feel rather bored. No one from Starecross village had arranged to encounter a magical problem— which was not to say that Segundus wished the villagers to be beset by magical problems, and indeed he had sometimes lamented how often they seemed to be so troubled, especially on those occasions when it interrupted his research— but it was the only context in which he seemed able to befriend them!

"I suppose I am not a socially graceful man," he said to Miss Absalom one afternoon, resting whilst in the midst of digging the hole in the garden. "I do not share a great many interests with other people, assuming they are not interested in magic. They wish to talk of farming, or the weather, or— if they are gentlemen— of politics, and business, and such."

Miss Absalom was lounging upon a calico picnic cloth, sipping pink wine from a champagne coupe. Beside her was a silver tea-tray bearing an array of iced cakes. She did not seem at all concerned that the ants would get into them. "I have always suffered from much the same trouble," she said. "Well! And it is very much worse if one is a woman. It is all frocks and servants and men. I am quite happy to talk of frocks and servants and men, but to talk of nothing else! It becomes very wearying, especially when one would rather talk of magic."

"Mm," Segundus said, to indicate his agreement. "I suppose I assumed, when magic returned to England, that it would alter matters. But society proceeds much as it did. Even many magicians prefer to talk of business. I cannot comprehend it!"

"Can you not?" Miss Absalom asked, amused. "Magicians are only men and women, after all. Chiefly men."

Segundus sighed. "It is enough to make me wish I had not sent Mr Childermass away. Extraordinarily irritating he may be, but at least he is not dull. I am most eager to see his reaction when he hears I have conquered the roses, and without a jot of his aid!" This reminded him that he had not, in fact, informed Miss Absalom that he had conquered the roses. He did so now, describing their various pleasing colours. "You were quite right," he said; "they only needed their confidence built up."

"Of course I was right," Miss Absalom said. "Half of being a magician is the diplomacy of wild things. And I was a very great magician in my day."

"You still are, I suspect," Segundus said. He frowned. "That is to say, if we are in any particular day. Are we? I can never decide if I am dreaming when I am with you."

"You are dreaming," Miss Absalom said. "But that does not mean it is not real." She sipped her wine and smiled enigmatically.

"So you are real," Segundus said uncertainly. "You are not simply a fantasy of mine."

At that, Miss Absalom gave a full-throated laugh. "How flattering!" she said. "No; I am not your fantasy, though it is sweet of you to make such an accusation. Do I really please you so much?"

"Oh, yes," Segundus said. He abandoned his digging and clambered over to where she sat. "I think you are the most pleasing person I have ever encountered!"

Miss Absalom looked very satisfied by this answer. She beckoned him closer and lifted the glass of wine to his lips. "Drink," she said. "This is a very fine vintage from the year that John Uskglass quarreled with winter, and the grapes ripened for four full summers."

Segundus tasted the wine. It was like green apples and clean linen, gold wheat and crushed berries and days of sunshine. He gazed at Miss Absalom over the brim of the glass. She was watching him with a lazy expression of want. She tipped the glass forwards and he drank again. A droplet of wine spilled past his lips. She set the glass aside and leaned forwards to capture it: tracing its path with the tip of her tongue.

Segundus found himself very short of breath. When she pulled away he chased her mouth with his own, and they met in a slow, hot kiss. Segundus was surprised to find after a few long, delicious moments that what he chiefly wanted was to continue that kiss. It was so nice to be sitting with her there in the sunlight, tasting the faint trace of wine on her lips, with one of her hands combing through his hair. He said rather shyly, "May I kiss you for a while?"

"I would like that very much," Miss Absalom said.

She drew him down beside her on the calico picnic cloth, and they kissed for a very long time like that: Segundus smoothing his hand along the white slope of her shoulder— at one point touching all the little marks of freckles that he found, for he was very fond of all her freckles— and stroked her copper-coloured hair, which gleamed in the sun.

"It seems most unfair," he said, "that you should be so lovely and so kind and so gifted. You are like a cup that is constantly running over."

Miss Absalom screwed up her nose at this idea. "That sounds rather messy," she said with a laugh. "Though perhaps I should say— if I am a cup, then you should drink from me!"

And in the end, after a great more heated kissing, drink from her he did: pushing her skirts above her waist to sink his head between her legs, practicing meticulously the art of bringing her to her climax. Scarcely had he finished than she was climbing forwards, pushing him flat onto his back, and taking him into her small warm hand.

"I want to taste you," she murmured. "Would you like that? For me to take my time, tasting you all over, taking your pleasure from you inch by inch?"

Segundus gasped out something that approximated a yes. She undressed him slowly, pausing as she removed articles of clothing to kiss the most startling places: his nipples, which was astonishingly pleasurable and made him arch up towards her, and his elbows and wrists, and the soft skin over his ribs, and his hipbones, and— after removing his stockings with a great deal of amusement— the bones of his ankles, which was oddly erotic. She was very thorough. He had never been kissed so thoroughly before. By the time she settled herself between his legs, he was very erect. She did not do as he had expected, though, or as he had understood the act to be practiced, but rather began by licking every part of him thoroughly. She applied the broad flat of her tongue to his prick, which made him gasp and pant, and then to the soft skin of his scrotum, which made him writhe, and then dipping lower licked daringly at another place entirely. This caused him to rake his hand through the grass, for he had never imagined that such a thing might be so exciting. But the longer she lingered there, the more exciting it became, and by the time she penetrated him with a firm, deliberate finger while mouthing wetly at his scrotum again, he was quite ready to climax on the spot.

But Miss Absalom did not permit him this. She paused in her efforts and looked up at his moan, smiling crookedly at him. "You are so hasty," she said. "Rushing towards the final pages. You must learn to enjoy where you are in the book."

This was such a delightfully scholarly metaphor that it made Segundus moan again. But she forced him to enjoy the point where he was a great deal more, moving her finger inside him slowly, making him feel as though his whole body were throwing sparks like a lightning storm, and licking his prick in little, gentle tongue-strokes that quickly became almost tortuous.

"Oh," she said, "you are very beautiful like this, wild with your desire for release. Look at you." Indeed, she was gazing at him with fascination, touching herself with one hand. "I should make you satisfy me again before I let you have it. Would you like that?"

Segundus had to bite his lip from uttering an obscenity. He nodded his head frantically.

So with one last hard thrust of her finger and a long, wet kiss to the head of his prick, she crawled up his body and settled herself at his shoulders. She had shed her frock by this time, and was fully naked— gloriously, exquisitely, mouth-wateringly naked. There was something very imperious about the way that she spread her legs and lowered herself onto his mouth so that he could press his tongue against her. He did so fervently, parting the lips of her with his fingers working his tongue fervently where it excited her the most. At the same time she ground herself down against him, panting with the intensity of her pleasure, almost as though she were fucking his mouth. He kept making little helpless noises against her, noises that expressed how overwhelmed he was by arousal. He thought he might finish just from this, he was so desperate for it— and the sounds she made, and the wet heat of her quivering at his tongue-tip— but he did not, and when she had stiffened and said in a drugged voice, "Oh, yes— just a little more, a little more—" and climaxed shortly thereafter, she moved to take him once more with her mouth. This time she did not hold back, but applied herself with fervour, and almost immediately— feeling dazed and intoxicated— he spent.

Afterwards, they lay side by side upon the picnic cloth, naked and comfortable.

Segundus said, "You seem a scholar of the art of love as much as that of magic."

"They are surprisingly similar," Miss Absalom said. "As I told you: a form of diplomacy. You are gifted in both, I think. One must either want happiness for other creatures or to subdue them. Sometimes both. The former is your quality. Perhaps next time I see you, we will work on spellwork. If I can keep my hands off you."

Segundus quite liked the idea that she could not keep her hands off him. He had never before had this effect. He wriggled closer to her and laid his head upon her shoulder. He felt a great surge of contentment. He entirely forgot that he had been lonely, or that he was in fact asleep in Starecross in his bed, and instead breathed in the fragrance of her warm body, enjoying the sense of being wanted.

This fic is just adorable and lovely in every way.

Your Segundus is just the most delightful character - modest, eccentric, sweet, thoughtful, a little bit cranky and hot as hell. I think I'm in love.

Aaaaaah I love it. I LOVE Maria Absalom and her tumbledown yet very cosy house. I love Segundus' joy in lovemaking. I love his loneliness in the waking world despite making himself very useful. And I love Childermass being a pest and Segundus not appreciating how much they have in common till he's gone.

Basically LOVE.

Over the next few days, Segundus thought a great deal about what Miss Absalom had said to him— about magic as a form of diplomacy. He was familiar with the many ways in which magicians made petitions to various persons, and naturally he knew of the Raven King's many contracts with the earth and sky of England, but he had never before thought of English magic in quite this way. He supposed he had not thought of himself as having the authority to negotiate with England, or with any of its component parts— even so much as a rosebush or bramble. He was, after all, no Raven King. He did not have anything to offer England, apart from an occasional poorly-composed sonnet or jar of blackberry jam. Even Archibald Unsig the raven seemed at times unconvinced of Segundus's mastery. He eyed Segundus as though considering that perhaps he ought to be the owner, and Segundus ought to be the pet in the cage.

Yet Miss Absalom obviously felt he held a negotiating position. Miss Absalom had been very encouraging to him, and he was inclined to think she did not dissemble. So Segundus began to consider how he might go about negotiation. It was quite plain to him that Childermass's method of intimidation and sternness would not suit him well. The snail, for instances, which he had very strictly admonished not to consume his garden, had now made its home amongst the rhubarb plants.

Segundus sighed heavily when he saw this. He crouched down close to the snail. "Sir," he said, "this is most inconvenient. I shall have to remove you from the garden if you cannot restrict yourself to the weeds. I am very fond of rhubarb. I plan to make a cake with it."

He became aware that he had the snail's attention, and that in some sense he had the rhubarb's attention as well.

"Perhaps you could feast upon the hair-grass," he suggested to the snail. "I have no particular use for it, and it keeps sending up patches where I would not have them grow. Would that do?"

The snail considered that it would, so long as Segundus would not exercise his raven in the garden. The presence of the raven was why there were not more snails.

"That seems reasonable," Segundus said. "Yes; I think it will do very well. And if I see any more weeds, I shall inform you of their location."

The rhubarb was very pleased with Segundus's bargain. It did not mind being eaten; it viewed itself something in the nature of a collective being made up of a unity of many generations of rhubarb. It wished for Segundus to ensure the life of its future generations through careful and sympathetic replanting, which snails did not regard, being limited creatures. Therefore the rhubarb viewed Segundus as its benefactor, and would henceforth put special effort into its ripening.

Segundus left the garden feeling that this had been a very successful encounter, and also that possibly the rhubarb regarded it as its king, or at the very least a feudal lord and overseer, which did not really suit his principles— he being far more inclined to a constitutional system— but which he supposed he could manage. He did not know if what he had done was precisely magic, but he found that he was satisfied by it.

That evening, as he was enjoying a light supper that his housekeeper had left for him (a portion of jugged hare and some very nice bread, which, however, left him thinking rather longingly of Miss Absalom's iced cakes), he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

It was the same boy from the village who had come to inform Segundus about the drunken magician. This time, he had come to inform Segundus about an angered water spirit. Segnds asked him, "What is your name?"

"Jeremy, sir," said the boy. "Jeremy Hopper. They always send me on account of I am not afraid of you."

"Afraid of me?" Segundus asked in astonishment, in the act of putting on his coat. "Surely you mean afraid of the other magician. My colleague, Mr Childermass."

"Oh, no, sir," said Jeremy Hopper. "We have known Mr Childermass this year and more! He would not hurt a soul! He is all powder and no shot, as my father would say."

As they hurried off, Segundus reflected on this astounding description of Childermass. He had cause to be aware that Childermass was certainly not all powder and no shot; Childermass was enough of a shot to have once occasioned someone to shoot him, and to have caused dear meek Mr Honeyfoot to have strongly considered it. It was true that Childermass was also a great deal of powder, (a significant amount of this powder tended to be visible under his fingernails), but shot there certainly was. Segundus, on the other hand, was neither shot nor powder. So why on earth would someone be afraid of him?

"Because you are silent and remote and fix your mind upon the cosmic matters," said Jeremy Hopper. "You are always thinking about them. The cosmic matters. So you might at any moment quarrel with the dark or cause a lightning storm in the village."

"I might certainly not!" Segundus said, taken aback. "That would be most unlike me!"

Jeremy Hopper looked a little disappointed by this answer. "You might cause the river to be filled with horrible sea monsters," he suggested.

"I do not know of any horrible sea monsters," Segundus said, "and if I did, I certainly should not wish them to fill the river! Why should I? The logic of these theories seems very thin!"

There was a long pause as they crossed the market square of the village. "You might be enraged," Jeremy Hopper said. He sounded rather sulky. "You might work yourself into a magical tempest."

"I am sorry to disappoint you," Segundus said. "Truly. But such an event is very unlikely to occur. I am the most even-tempered of fellows! If anyone, it is Mr Childermass who might work himself into a magical tempest; he—"

He stopped because they had arrived at the little mill pond where Jeremy Hopper claimed the angered water spirit to be. The sun was setting behind a far ridge, casting mauve light and blue shadows across the placid scene. There was no sign of the water spirit as such; however, as soon as they had left the road the sound of birdsong had ceased, which made the tableau an eerie one. Indeed, there was no sound at all: not the wind rustling in the bushes, not the hum of dragonflies, not crickets calling to one another in the bushes. There was only the water lapping in the mill pond. Segundus felt very uneasy about this indeed.

"What is it that the water spirit did?" he asked Jeremy Hopper. He supposed he ought to have asked this to begin with. He had assumed the water spirit was more-or-less simply splashing about in an angry fashion.

Jeremy Hopper's eyes lit up. "It stole three cows!" he said. "Just sucked them up in a sort of waterspout! Do you suppose it crunched their bones for bread?"

"You are a very gruesome young man," Segundus told Jeremy Hopper severely. "I shall try to speak to it and see what it wants."

He approached the mill pond. "Excuse me, sir!" he called out towards it. "My name is John Segundus. I am the local magician. I have come to discover why you have stolen these good people's cows! Perhaps you did not realize that such an act is most improper?"

The water lapped sullenly against the shoreline. Segundus had a sense that he was being attended to, however reluctantly. But there was no response.

He tried again. "I often find," he said, "that I am more amenable to conversation when I have a nice cup of tea. Would you like a cup of tea? Perhaps some cake? I have a very nice cloudberry cake back at my home."

There was a pause. Water seeped up under Segundus's shoes. He had a strong sense of a sulky voice telling him that if he were a magician, he would know that was improper to negotiate after sundown, certainly far more improper than it had been for the voice to steal the cows, which anyway he had not stolen, but removed at their own— that is, the cows'— request, for their lives were very dull, and they grew tired of being milked every day, and they wished to visit the Other Lands.

Segundus lifted his feet up gingerly, attempting to preserved them from the water. "I am sorry to have made such an inappropriate suggestion, in that case. Perhaps I might return tomorrow, in the morning, and at that hour bring you some tea and cake, and then we might chat?"

The water spirit grudgingly admitted that this was possible. It withdrew into its little pond, leaving Segundus's shoes sodden and smelling of moss.

So the next morning, Segundus bumbled his way back down to the millpond, with a wide hat on and a large hamper carried on his arm. It was raining, a light warm summer mist, and the ground beneath his shoes was soggy and wet. It was not his idea of preferable picnic weather. But he supposed that a water spirit might have different standards. Perhaps the damp day and drizzle would have made it better-tempered. But if a river spirit thought a damp day was the finest weather, would it still enjoy a cup of tea? Segundus pondered this rather profound question.

Jeremy Hopper, though his presence was not required, had chosen to observe the proceedings from the branch of a nearby apple tree, where he sat swinging his legs and eating small green apples that Segundus suspected did not belong to him.

Segundus spread a chequered cloth upon the damp ground and produced a china teapot. He had cast a spell upon it to keep it hot, and another so the china would not be chipped. He had also brought china cups and saucers, and little china plates for the cake, and silver forks. He felt a bit silly laying out the tea things at the edge of the pond, with rain speckling his coat-sleeves but he was determined not to allow this to affect his behaviour.

"Now, then," he said to the water spirit. "Do you take any sugar?"

The water spirit took two lumps of sugar. It did seem somewhat appeased by the damp weather, or perhaps by Segundus's cloudberry cake. As Segundus sipped his tea, it complained at length about its life. It was dreadfully bored. No one ever spoke to it except the cows and the geese, and occasionally a few tadpoles that turned into frogs. The earth spoke, but it did not speak the same language, and the sky— well, whoever got any sense out of skies? In the old days, there had been magicians everywhere, traveling here and there on John Uskglass's business, or getting themselves into trouble, or needing favours. But now they all stayed in York or Leeds or London! No one ever needed favours anymore. The water spirit had been very happy to send the cows to the Other Lands, because they had asked him so politely, and it had been nice to be needed again.

"I see," Segundus said, listening sympathetically and folding his arms around his knees. "Well, I cannot say that you have done wrongly. I find it very difficult myself, being the only magician in the locality. It can be a dull business, and no mistaking. But, you know, the cows were not really free to do as they wished. The farmer has put a great deal of work into their upkeep! He has fed them and cared for them! You can see why he is a little put out."

The river spirit admitted that perhaps it could see. But, it said petulantly, it was the farmer's own fault for failing to entertain the cows!

"The farmer did not know," Segundus explained. "He is not like you or I. I shall explain to him, and then perhaps he may tell the cows stories, or sing the cows songs, or send them on holidays." He did not really look forward to this conversation, as he could imagine the look on a Yorkshire farmer's face when a magician explained to him that his cows required holidays, but he was willing to undertake it.

—Oh, very well, the river spirit surrendered with a certain amount of bad humour. It felt, however, that if it did this, Segundus would owe it a favour.

Segundus hmmed thoughtfully. "I do not suppose," he said, "that you might be interested in a relocation?"

A short while later there was a great disturbance in the water, very like a water spout, and a noise of unhappy mooing emanated from the mill pond. Three large dappled cows hurtled through the air and landed gently upon the pond's bank, where they lashed their tails and gazed balefully at Segundus.

Jeremy Hopper said, "You've got Old Jack's cows back! They wasn't all horribly gnashed up!"

Segundus sighed and experienced a strong urge to bury his face in his hands. He turned towards the mill pond. "All right," he said. "Come along, then."

A little wave of water splashed itself meekly into the teapot. Segundus put the lid on the pot and loaded it back into the hamper, accompanied by the chinaware, the forks, and the chequered cloth.

"Whata day it has been!" he announced to no one in particular. Then, clapping his hat onto his head, he was off— leaving Jeremy Hopper to inspect the cows dubiously, prodding them with a suspicious finger, as though he would not at all have been surprised to discover they were sea monsters after all.

Every bit of this story is UTTERLY DELIGHTFUL. I gush.

What they said!

"well, whoever got any sense out of skies?"

How charming is this? There are some parts of this fic that feel as if they have dropped straight out of the book, the tone is so right. Every now and again I have to stop and remind myself that it's not actually canon.

Re: FILL: John Segundus/Maria Absalom, Dream Seduction (6/?)

(Anonymous) - 2015-09-13 09:01 (UTC) - Expand

I am struck by a feeling that - whether they are read stories or taken on holidays or not - Mr. Segundus has just made enemies of the cows. I can't stop laughing.

This legitimately made me laugh for almost five minutes, imagining how the cows might enact and communicate this enmity. -a!a

Re: FILL: John Segundus/Maria Absalom, Dream Seduction (6/?)

(Anonymous) - 2015-09-13 18:53 (UTC) - Expand

This is so lovely, and completely hilarious. I feel that I am writing the same comment every time, but it's true. This is the fictional equivalent of an erotic comfort blanket.

The water spirit settled very happily into a small pond on the left side of the garden. Segundus laboured for most of that day till the pond was dug and he had laid a flat bed of stones for its base. Then he poured out the water from the teapot, and felt a very peculiar rush as the water spirit went with it. In a short time he had filled the rest of the pond as well, and it was bubbling contentedly as the snail investigated it.

That evening, as Segundus enjoyed a small glass of sherry and read a new magical journal that had just arrived from London— the journal endorsed making use of the principles of natural science to investigate and classify English magic; Segundus rather wondered what its editors would make of the water spirit, or indeed of cows wishing to go on holiday— he was startled to hear the unmistakable sound of a horse approaching in the lane.

Frowning and wondering if the village had experienced further magical trouble, Segundus left his comfortable dining room and went to the gate. He was astonished to see that the horse he had heard was Brewer, and that Childermass was astride him.

"Mr Segundus," said Chidermass forbiddingly.

"What are you doing here?" Segundus asked rather rudely.

"I heard there was trouble hereabouts," Childermass said. "I thought it best that I keep my eye on it."

"Well, there is no need for that," Segundus said. "I have resolved it already."

This seemed to give Childermass pause. "Did you now," he said at length.

"It may surprise you to learn that I have some small skill at magic, and also that I have other skills, many of them unknown to you, sir— many of them skills which you yourself are lacking!"

This gave Childermass even further pause. He peered at Segundus closely, looking very suspicious. "There is something different about you," he said. "What have you been up to?"

Segundus said, "I have been resolving magical problems, with a good deal of success. I have convinced the rosebushes to bloom, and instituted a number of reforms to my garden, and I have fed your slice of the cloudberry cake to a water spirit. He lives in the little pond to your right. He is a more congenial conversationalist than you have ever been."

"No; that is not it." Childermass frowned at Segundus some more. "Are you not going to invite me in?"

Segundus crossed his arms over his chest. "Why should I?"

"Because I have ridden a very long way."

For a moment, Segundus tried to summon up the strength to refuse him. He thought indignantly: no one asked him to ride a very long way! He did not bother to send word! It is his own fault if he sleeps in a field! But he was not the sort of man who could be so firm-hearted. He sighed heavily. "All right," he said. "You may come in. But I am not offering you any sherry!"

Childermass's mouth quirked in amusement, but he said nothing.

Once Brewer was in the stable, and Childermass had settled by the fire with a glass of sherry in his hand— "I have ridden a very long way," he had repeated, gazing with a certain profundity of sorrow at the sherry bottle, and Segundus had said, bad-tempered, "Oh, very well! But there will be absolutely no cake!"— Segundus discovered that in addition to his unpleasant demeanour and his dreadful habits, Childermass had brought a large number of magical magazines with him, including several from Edinburgh which Segundus had not known existed. The two of them therefore passed a very pleasant night reading quietly and drinking, occasionally offering observations on topics of mutual interest. With Childermass, there was no need to offer pleasantries, since he himself did not observe the art, and Segundus found this quite comfortable. From time to time, he caught Childermass staring at him a little fixedly, as though trying to perceive some unexpected dimension of him, but Childermass said nothing further on the topic of Segundus's apparent alteration.

Only, just before they both retired to bed, Childermass said, "I believe you are happy." His tone was one of accusation and displeasure.

Segundus considered this statement. "I cannot say for certain," he said at last. "I suppose I am."

In his dream that night, he was already naked, stretched out upon a rather sumptuous bed, which had wine-coloured sheets and more pillows than he thought were strictly necessary. He was thinking of Miss Absalom— how filthily she kissed him, how her long ginger hair tumbled down her back as she rode his prick, taking it inside her, letting him pierce her where she was hot and wet and tight— the loud cries she made whenever he pleased her, and how very demanding she could become, pressing herself down against him, greedy with desire... Before he knew it, he had taken himself in hand, and his breath was coming fast as he pleasured himself.

Then Miss Absalom, also naked, was crawling into the bed, giggling at his guilty look. "Oh, do not stop. Do not stop," she said, and gently placed his hand back on his prick. She did not remove her own hand, but guided him to continue touching himself in slow strokes. "Were you thinking about me?"

"Yes," he said fervently. "About— about being inside you. Pleasing you, while I—"

"Mm," she said, her eyes heavy-lidded. "While you fucked me. Is that what you were going to say?"

Segundus could feel himself flush, but he also felt his prick jump. He knew that Miss Absalom felt it as well, for she laughed low and delightedly. "Is that what you would like?" she asked him. She still had not moved her hand.

"Yes," he said, hoarse, gazing up at her.

"Then come and take me," she said, releasing him and lying back in a seductive pose. Against the dark red sheets of the bed, her skin looked especially soft and creamy, her body like something from a Botticelli painting, though it had also a quality of the English rose to it.

Segundus stared at her, breathing hard, his mouth dropping open. Then he was crawling towards her, frantic with desire, and draping himself against her, and pushing into her with his prick. It was so good— so good, to be tangled in that double embrace, the hot wet grip of her body around his prick, and the close sweet tangle of her limbs around his body as he pressed her back against the bed. She did not lie still, but instead was in constant motion: her hips rocking forwards to him so that on each stroke he was pushed as deep into her body as it was possible for him to go; her hands moving ceaselessly against his chest, his shoulders, his back, stroking in almost an inquisitive manner, as though investigating all the parts of him; even her toes trailed up and down his legs, the feeling of which had an odd power to arouse him. He, for his part, could not stop himself trying to kiss her, even as the coordination required to do so became so difficult that he was reduced to mouthing shakily at her jawline and neck.

He could have finished quickly, but he did not wish to. He wished to savour every slide of his prick inside her, the way her eyelashes fluttered when he pushed very deep, the short cries she uttered, the disarray of her hair like a cloud of copper silk floss around her head. He had to stop and move slowly, closing his eyes, pushing in very carefully, one stroke at a time. But this made her impatient, and she pulled him flush up against her, then pushed him forcefully over so that she was now astride him.

This robbed him of his breath. For she then kissed him passionately and immediately began to ride him, rolling her hips while keeping him pressed inside her, working him according to her own pleasure. She grew increasingly vocal, moreso when she reached her hand down to pleasure herself. "Oh," she moaned, sliding sharply up and down him, "yes, you feel perfect, so deep inside me..."

Segundus reached his hands up to touch her breasts, half to pleasure her, and half because he could not resist them. He loved the feel of her nipples hard between his fingers, the small swell of each breast under his hand. But his touch did pleasure her, and in a very short time she came to her climax upon him. He barely managed to hold off his own climax so long, and finished in fact perhaps a beat before she did, so that they shuddered through the aftermath more-or-less together, breathing hard and touching one another gently, given over to that small kind of flinch that arises after orgasm like the small shocks before sleep, perhaps marking one's transition between waking and dream.

Segundus stretched his arms out langorously, but was in no hurry to move her. He gazed up at her rather foolishly, feeling enormously happy and very comfortable. "That was lovely," he said. "I loved that. I—"

She kissed him very sweetly, lowering herself to lie curled beside him with her head upon his shoulder. "Yes," she agreed airily. "It was very lovely. I thought we were going to talk about spellwork. But then you showed up naked in my bed, and all thought of spells flew right out of my mind."

Segundus said dryly, "I do not believe you." He had a great deal of experience with what it means to be a magician.

"Well, most thoughts of spells flew right out of my mind. Quite a few. Perhaps half my thoughts of spells. A few remain. Shall I teach you a spell now?"

"Oh, I would like that!'

"All right. Hmm. Let me see." She drummed her fingers thoughtfully upon his thigh, which sent a pleasant shiver through him. "A spell to banish dust from your house? A spell to make a star tell you all that it is seeing? A spell to cause someone to speak in sonnets?"

Segundus was quite taken by the idea of causing Childermass to speak in sonnets, and for a moment he strongly considered it. However, he had a feeling that Childermass would not care to be enchanted, so with some regret he said, "Perhaps the first. It seems very practical."

"It is! But very complicated, because it involves every object in the house— every object past, present, and future. You must account for all of them." Miss Absalom launched into a long, complicated, and interesting theoretical explanation. It had to do with webs of obligation, which she called liege-cloths, for she was in the habit of picturing magic as weaving. Segundus thought a little drowsily that Childermass would be interested in this, and that he might see a way to use it upon the roof, which was prone to leaking in various places when rainstorms came.

He had just asked Miss Absalom what he thought was a fascinating question about obligations between the past the present when he had the strange sense that a bird was whistling directly into his ear, though there did not seem to be such a bird in the dream. He frowned and shook his head, but the birdsong was not silenced.

"Oh, bother," he said vaguely. "It is going to wake me up!"

Miss Absalom made a noise of complaint and nuzzled against him, stretching a leg across his body. "How inconvenient! I was almost going to propose that we go again!"

Segundus groaned aloud, for now he very much wanted this to happen. Her small hand was wandering towards his prick, which had begun to rise at the thought of having her once more. "Tonight," he said desperately. "Come back tonight, will you, please?"

He did not receive her answer, for he woke then. A chorus of birds was singing in extremely shrill tones outside his window. He did not recall ever having heard such a racket before. He dressed in a very bad temper as the birds went on singing, and thudded down to the kitchen in search of some tea.

Childermass was there, eating ginger biscuits. He had piled the kitchen table with library books. He turned a very suspicious gaze on Segundus, eyes following him about the kitchen. "Why is there so much magic in this house at night?" he asked.

Segundus turned an innocent look on him. "I've no idea what you mean."

"I have noticed it before. At night, the house fills up with magic."

"Why are you creeping about my house at night, making such measurements?"

"I am not," Childermass said, "creeping about your house at night. I—"

"It is a disturbing habit, this creeping about; do you also stand outside my bedroom door?"

"I do not creep about your house! Nothing about your bedroom is the slightest bit interesting to me." Childermass affected to return his attention to his book, ignoring Segundus, though he appeared a little flustered.

Segundus set himself to brewing tea. "It is a very magical house," he said at length. "It was Miss Absalom's, after all. I dare say you are only sensing the house itself."

"Perhaps," Childermass allowed. But he did not seem convinced. Over the course of the morning, he directed a number of sceptical looks at Segundus, which grew more and more confounded throughout the day.

Ah! The plot thickens. I am enjoying this so very much.

I literally read this fic with a smile on my face, it's that perfect. Suspicious!Childermass is a joy. I can't wait to find out how he reacts when he discovers what Segundus has been up to. Omg.

A TREASURE AND A GEM

Oh this fic gets more and more delicious by the chapter :D Suspicious!Childermass is making me giggle so much, Segundus is about to get rumbled methinks ;-)

Indeed, a great many things confounded Childermass that day: the water spirit in the garden, which he viewed with frank and unfriendly disbelief— though the water spirit, in contrast, took to him at once, and further seemed somewhat besotted with him, and began to spout little fountains of water whenever he was nearby, a showiness for which Segundus rebuked it— and the flourishing rosebushes, and many other aspects of the garden, and the spell for ridding the house of dust, which Segundus was determined to try.

"Where did you learn such a spell?" Childermass asked with a dubious expression when Segundus had finished explaining this spell.

"Oh, in a book," Segundus said vaguely.

"Which book?"

"I do not recall exactly."

Childermass stared at him hard for a long time. "There are very few books of magic in this realm."

"And whose fault is that?" Segundus asked— precipitating a short heated argument on the topic, followed by a long and sullen silence.

Childermass trailed after him while he went from room to room in the house, setting the parametres of the spell. The nature of the magic required that Segundus make a number of marks upon each doorway, indicating that any object entering through it would become subject to the spell's law. Childermass seemed very interested in inspecting these marks, though Segundus was very concerned that he would disturb the chalk, and in consequence kept worriedly batting his hands away.

"Your spell implies an entire theory of magical alliances," Childermass observed as they were finishing a light lunch. "I did not know you had such a theory. Or was it contained in this mysterious book as well?" He raised a dark eyebrow and took a delicate sip of wine.

"It was," Segundus said cautiously, and proceeded to explain about liege-cloths, and sewing the rooms of the house together, and the importance of time as a substance in spells. He could see Childermass attempting not to be interested. It was like watching someone try not to fall asleep. Every so often Childermass's attention would wander and he would lapse into enthusiasm, which for him was a fierce, sharp-edged, and full-force kind of thing. Then he would recall that he had meant to be suspicious rather than interested, and he would go back to pretending to be disengaged. Segundus was quite amused by this deception. Childermass, he thought, had many considerable talents, but he was not very good at hiding his nature, and his nature was at root one of curiosity.

The conversation went on for quite a while. Childermass smoked two pipes during it. Segundus made a show of complaining about this, for he felt it did not do to encourage such habits indoors, but secretly he very much enjoyed the scent. It seemed to belong, in some indefinable way, to a home. This was very curious, for his family home had not smelled of tobacco; nor had he ever felt a strong attachment to that home. He did not know how one formed an idea of home. The process was wholly mysterious to him.

The sun had begun to set by the time they fell into silence. Late sunlight streamed through the high panes of the windows.

Childermass cleared his throat. "Well," he said. "I must beg your pardon for colonizing such a deal of your time."

"It has been my pleasure," Segundus said, and was surprised to find he meant it. "It is a delight to me to talk of magic with those who understand it; they are fewer than one would imagine, I find. However, I am aware that I may keep your from your own researches; in which case—"

"Not at all," Childermass said. He had said it a little too quickly, and seemed to realize it. "But your own researches—"

"What a pair of retired old gentlemen we sound," Segundus said wryly. "Soon we shall sit at our writing desks all day, penning vituperative letters to the editors of scholarly publications."

Childermass assumed a rather guilty expression.

"I too," Segundus admitted shamefacedly. "The Ivy and Sceptre, after last April's debacle. Not one of which they have so far chosen to print. I believe they view me rather as a nuisance."

"They are the poorer for it," said Childermass.

It was such an unexpectedly kind comment that Segundus flushed. "Well," he said, "they are all London magicians. I have quite affiliated myself with the country. There is a divide."

Childermass made a dismissive sound. "Magic comes from the North," he said. "It does not come from London, nor from gentlemen in nice houses."

"No," Segundus said. "I suppose that is true. I do not find them all that interesting, either, I must confess."

"No," Childermass said.

They looked at each other. This time it was Segundus who cleared his throat.

"I was," he said, "thinking of adapting the spell I previously described. There are a number of leaks in the roof. I do not think you have observed them. You have not been here during a very hard rain. But the question of additions to the house is a queer one; that is, of structural additions, and so I wonder if you might offer your input..."

Childermass was very happy to offer his input. They walked about Starecross inspecting various elements of the ceiling, sticking their fingers into niches and nooks, and getting altogether covered in dust and plaster. Once, Segundus accidentally put his hand through a wall that turned out to be little more than paint and sawdust.

"It is like restoring the hall all over again!" he complained. "I thought I would only have to do it once. I come to find it is more like gardening than I expected."

"But you do not mind gardening," Childermass said gravely. He had laughed when Segundus put his hand through the wall, and been reprimanded, and now affected an air of mock-solemnity.

"I suppose I do not." Segundus frowned, and squinted at a spiderweb in the corner of a hallway. "One never seems to achieve very much. But then perhaps achievement is a young man's game."

"Hark at you," Childermass said dryly. "The Old Man of the Mountain."

Segundus waved a dusting cloth at him, which made him sneeze.

That night, after the oddly peaceful evening had concluded and he had seen Childermass off to bed, Segundus retired with a certain amount of anticipation. Not only did he have a great deal to discuss with Miss Absalom, he felt, but he had not at all forgotten what he had postponed.

And, indeed, she was waiting for him, clad in a Chinese silk robe the colour of spring moss and stretched out on the bed. Segundus began shedding clothes as soon as he saw her, which resulted in his hopping awkwardly for a moment as he pulled off his stockings, and then in his half-tumbling forwards onto the sheets as he stripped his shirt off. He did not very much mind this, as they were both laughing, and then he was pressing her down and kissing her, and then she was tumbling him over and kissing him, her hair falling in a ripe and jasmine-scented curtain, her mouth tasting faintly of rosewater.

"You owe me," she said, smiling breathlessly against his mouth. "How will you repay me for your desertion?"

"Mm," he said contentedly, pushing the robe off her shoulders. "I think you shall have to take whatever payment you like from me."

Miss Absalom seemed to find this amenable, for she kissed him again.

Then all at once she pulled back and cocked her head as though she listening to something— a noise that Segundus could not hear. Her face grew very exasperated. "What a nuisance—!" she said. She made a sharp gesture with one hand, and abruptly they were both wearing clothing— a state that Segundus did not very much wish to be in— though her own clothing consisted of the Chinese silk robe, now belted, and some very expensive items of jewellery— notably ruby earrings that had the appearance of blood-drops, and a ferocious amber dragon pendant fully as big as Segundus's hand.

"What—?" Segundus protested. He might have protested more, but he was rather awed by the sight of her in this regalia.

Miss Absalom tossed her hair behind her shoulders and flung herself back beside him on the bed. "There," she said, and snapped her fingers at the ceiling.

Childermass crashed spectacularly out of it.

It was not a very dignified position for a man to be in. The house being a dream-house, one might have supposed there was not much to it in the way of construction, but— perhaps because Miss Absalom was extraordinarily irritated— Childermass was covered in grey dust to the point of being ghost-like and spitting plaster-chips out of his mouth nevertheless. He was also sprawled on the bedroom floor looking thoroughly dumbfounded.

"Childermass?" Segundus demanded, outraged, just as Miss Absalom said, "John Childermass!"

Childermass's gaze flickered from one to the other. His forehead creased as though he were attempting to absorb some difficult notion. "In my defense," he said at last, "I had no notion that I was intruding upon a lady's boudoir. Nor, mi..."— he appeared to mentally run through the range of options— "...ss, have I had the pleasure, so far as I know."

"You certainly have not," Miss Absalom said very scornfully. She was capable, as it turned out, of a blisteringly high degree of scorn. Segundus was quite impressed, and a little frightened. "My name is Maria Absalom, and you, sir, are trespassing in my house."

"And in my dream!" Segundus said. He did not wish his indignation to be overlooked."

"Yes," Childermass said. "That part I knew." He did not look very apologetic.

"You knew?" Segundus said, aghast.

Childermass shrugged. "You would not be honest about the matter." He blinked at Miss Absalom. "I perceive it would have been a trifle difficult to explain."

Miss Absalom said fiercely, "What right have you to any explanation?"

Childermass was silent for a moment. "None, I suppose," he said. His face and voice were both very composed. He stood, and, brushing more plaster off his sleeves, he made a little bow. "I beg your pardon," he said to Miss Absalom. "I am sorry to have intruded." To Segundus, he said: "I will go."

Something about the way he said this made Segundus realize that he did not mean he would leave the dream. He meant he would go. A strange, blind surge of panic rose up within him. He did not wholly understand it. He stared at Childermass. He felt tremendously angry, and hurt, and as though something very small and nascent— a damp baby bird or a vulnerable crocus— had been stamped out ruthlessly. Most of all, he felt very unhappy.

Miss Absalom was looking between Segundus and Childermass with an air of bewilderment. "... Oh!" she said suddenly, at last.

Childermass was turning to go.

"Why did you not say so?" Miss Absalom demanded of Segundus. She had turned an accusatory stare on him.

"Say what?" Segundus was very honestly befuddled, and also inexplicably forlorn.

"That you wanted him! It is very convenient that he wants you as well. We could have arranged it ages ago."

Segundus felt even more befuddled. "I don't..." he said. "But he... does he? Do I?" He gazed helplessly at her.

"Oh, honestly," Miss Absalom said. "You cause me to recall why I never married. No," she said, turning to Childermass and making an impatient gesture, "I rather think that for the time being you'd better stay here."

Childermass slunk back into the room, looking distinctly unexcited. "You are wrong," he said to Miss Absalom. "It is better that I go."

Miss Absalom sighed irritably. "Do not lie to me; you only further your disrespect. It is in your face when you look at him."

"That is not what I meant."

She blinked. "Well, of course he does; I cannot think why I did not see it before."

Childermass said, "But you—" He gestured.

"I am not proposing to give him up!" She laughed incredulously. "Certainly not! Would you?"

Childermass's eyes flickered to Segundus. "No," he conceded.

Segundus covered his face with his hands. "I am not a valise!" he complained. He thought he was probably flushing rather red. "Why must you talk about me as though I am not here?"

Childermass shrugged. "You did not seem to be saying very much."

"That is because I do not understand!" Segundus could not keep his voice from rising. He sounded, he thought, sad and petulant, which was not how he wanted to sound, but was perhaps a fair representation of his heart. He had never felt so—

Childermass kissed him.

This was so astonishing an act that for a moment Segundus was not quite sure what to do. He floundered. It was a very appealing kiss. It tasted slightly of tobacco and slightly of Segundus's apple wine, which they had shared by the fireside before going to bed. They had been arguing about the extent to which a London magician could be said to truly understand
English magic, and whether it were necessary for such a person to seek out a sort of baptism in the North in order to cleanse himself of his London-ness. It had not been a terribly serious conversation. Segundus had confessed to the shame of coming from Oxfordshire. "But," he'd said with a wry smile, "perhaps my soul was always of the North." Childermass had not returned his smile. "Perhaps there is a bit of the North where-ever there are souls such as yours," he'd said. It had been such an oddly solemn comment. Like a love letter, Segundus thought. Like something you would write in a love letter.

Oh, he thought.

He kissed Childermass back— a little tentatively at first. He did not feel he quite knew what he was doing yet. He had a great sense that he did not want to break what he was holding, although he was holding nothing. And then he was holding Childermass in his hands, touching his hands very carefully to Childermass's face. And then suddenly he did not feel very tentative at all. He did not know what he was doing, but he knew, he thought, what he wanted.

FILL: John Segundus/Maria Absalom, Dream Seduction (4/?)

Re: FILL: John Segundus/Maria Absalom, Dream Seduction (4/?)

Re: FILL: John Segundus/Maria Absalom, Dream Seduction (4/?)

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Re: FILL: John Segundus/Maria Absalom, Dream Seduction (4/?)

Re: FILL: John Segundus/Maria Absalom, Dream Seduction (4/?)

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FILL: John Segundus/Maria Absalom, Dream Seduction (5/?)

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FILL: John Segundus/Maria Absalom, Dream Seduction (6/?)

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FILL: John Segundus/Maria Absalom, Dream Seduction (7/?)

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FILL: John Segundus/Maria Absalom, Dream Seduction (8/?)