☆ Round Two!

[jsmn_kink]

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

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FILL REPOST: Disinhibition (Childermass/Norrell, 1 of 3)

[(Anonymous)]

It was all Norrell's fault. Of course it was.

A coward in the face of anything, particularly his own desires, he was determined not to so much as mention how he felt about Childermass. How the sight of Childermass leaning on walls made him think how wonderfully louche and dirty and not-like-him the man was. How that low voice thrummed through him, and (when he was in the mood) went straight to his balls and filled him with the desire to hear it right in his ear in bed, saying wicked things. How stolen glimpses of how muscular he was made Norrell think of being vigorously handled, held in strong arms, feeling warm thighs and a big prick rub against him.

So of course he did nothing, and of course the issue did not go away. And of course, when he failed to unpack his heart with words, magic was there to fill the gap.

Which explained why he was to be found a while later, stealthily casting a lose-all-inhibitions spell on Childermass in the evening, when Childermass had brought a book to his bedroom. After all, it wasn't so wicked, was it? If the man had no such response to him, he'd simply wander away without noticing. It was only if he...wanted, too, that he would speak.

It wasn't the first time he hadn't controlled for the right variables. He simply hadn't thought about all the other inhibitors that weren't of an erotic nature...nor, being
himself, was he quite aware that he seemed to irritate people so much.

Childermass usually seemed to be quite accustomed to thinking before he spoke, and considering both his situation (which Norrell thought he by-and-large liked) and Norrell (Norrell thought he by-and-large liked him, maybe, although he was very doubtful and couldn't figure out why, if so).

But now things were different.

Norrell's first real intimation of this was Childermass turning the air blue with the sort of swearing he would, he supposed, have assumed Childermass knew but would never have thought Childermass would use in front of him. Still less at him. "Bloody buggering useless fucking fuck!" was only the start of it. His attention (not being able to turn on a sixpence) was still caught up in wondering when they'd get round to the actual fucking, and was only slowly coming up to "oh, hell, how do I get out of this one?" by the time Childermass drew a breath and wound down with the invective.

"What crossed what passes for your mind...sir," said Childermass in cold, furious rage, "to think casting that sort of spell might possibly be a good idea?"

He knows! thought Norrell, in horror. He wondered if he should have cast for "subject is unaware" before running full-tilt into the awareness that no, this was why it was morally-wrong, and if he had done so, Childermass would have put two and two together later, and still realised the truth and been angry. How had he not realised that even if he'd got what he wanted, Childermass would know he'd done something, and there would be a reckoning!

There would be now. Childermass looked magnificent in a fury: strong, dangerous...uncontrollable. Which left Norrell with an equally-horrified realisation that the truth had done nothing whatsoever to shrivel his state of erotic tension. The very last thing it was safe to do was shew quite how much it was affecting him. Childermass would think he had engineered the situation to enjoy it, and while that was of course true, he wasn't such a fool as to want to do it when it wasn't safe...well most of him wasn't. Oh god, he was getting hard, wasn't he?

He marshalled his sternest mental voice to snap Damn you, sir! Down! at his
inconvenient anatomy, which...had no effect whatsoever. Evidently it was true: a standing prick really did have no conscience.

Childermass slapped him in the face--and Norrell could tell it wasn't with his full force, but it was still hard enough to knock his head back for a moment, and sting. He knew his cheek would be reddened, and his eyes wide with fear. It didn't take his mind off the desire, and nor did it when Childermass grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and...shook him. He wanted more, and in a long and cautious life he'd never even considered this.

Even at school, where most of the boys had felt the rough of someone's hand and whatever instruments the masters used, he had used the first magic book he had for a spell to make himself...unnoticeable. It probably wouldn't have worked for a boy who wanted to make himself noticed in any way, or for a boy who was more attractive or less determined. He'd faded into the background, at school and since, and when he finally let the spell drop it was almost still there out of habit. Nobody had touched him, for good or ill. So he'd spent his life ruled by fear, and now he was considering letting blows fall on him, and liking it.

It was only a brief, overheard and sniggering conversation he remembered from his schooldays that gave him the least idea people might like such a thing. That was the other way round--a couple of the schoolmasters liked giving beatings rather too much. He had never even heard of the victim liking it, and if it weren't for the rather determined evidence in his mind (and balls, and prick) he wouldn't be thinking of it now. It wasn't even that he wasn't scared; he was scared, and horrified by his own perversity, and had no rational intention of doing anything about it.

He didn't know what he wanted Childermass to do, and that was terrifying in itself. He'd often thought about becoming...close to Childermass, and in his least ambitious daydreams he'd merely thought about holding and maybe kissing him. For the rest of it, he knew enough about physical pleasure to know that if Childermass had offered to...touch him, maybe to suck or fuck him, he would likely have enjoyed himself thoroughly, and maybe never have realised this other matter. But such an idea was definitively off the table, and now he wanted something else. He didn't know what it was, but when Childermass manhandled him it made his prick sit up and beg like a dog for a bone. For the first time in his life, he wished he had long hair, because the thought of having it pulled was exciting.

They were both breathing hard. Childermass dragged him up, to glare--a little wildly--into his face. Suddenly he thought of Childermass spitting in his face--or biting him--and had to screw his eyes tight shut because he thought Childermass might read want in his face.

He thought momentarily of those masters at school, and had a brief moment of relief, because whatever he wanted it was not that: whips or canes or such would seem frighteningly distant, would give him time to dread the blow falling. He might want violence, but...strangely intimately. He wanted to feel Childermass's strength, perhaps even to feel that he himself mattered, even in this incomprehensible way.

"Against my will--no, that's not it, you didn't even think of asking me what I chose." He shook Norrell again, looming over him, frighteningly close. Norrell still wanted him, and was afraid there was nothing Childermass could do that would make him stop wanting. It still frightened the life out of him, and Norrell realised that if Childermass knew how excited he was, he wouldn't realise how scared he was.

"You might have had my attention, if you'd ever bothered to ask! We'll never know now. You ruined this--yes, you--by messing around with spells sooner than treat me as a man with my opinion to ask on the matter."

Again, Childermass reached to shake him, but even rougher this time, that hand between neck and shoulder.

It was going to bruise him. His prick swelled in his small-clothes, and it wouldn't take much to make him spend, like this, and no matter how good it would feel there was nothing he wanted less. Because it would be the final betrayal, for Childermass, the final confirmation that Norrell only cared for his own wants, no matter how unhappy they made somebody else. Childermass would not only leave, but he would leave feeling used and angry, and his last memory of Norrell would be of Norrell caring precisely nothing for anything but his own pleasure. Which was not the case. He'd do anything not to feel like this.

Then, just to make things worse, Childermass noticed the...the state he was in, and looked even angrier.

Of course Norrell reached for the spell--if only he could take it back, take it down, there might be a breathing-space; and of course, under stress and without his beloved books, he fumbled it. He thought nothing had happened, and then he felt tears streaming silently down his own face, and realised he had merely extended it. Now he had lost all inhibition.

"I--I didn't know! I'd have done anything sooner than hurt you! And now I'm afraid--I'm terrified, because I still want to...I don't know what I want...and it's all ruined, and I never even knew, never even knew there was such a thing!"

Childermass sighed, and looked like Childermass again, and that dear familiar expression made him almost choke with sobs of relief.

"Don't talk so fast, give me a chance to hear you, and don't make yourself ill," said Childermass firmly.

Norrell scrubbed at his face and tried to choke the tears down, mastering himself with an effort.

"I thought," he said wretchedly, "I thought if you...wanted me, it would make you speak. So I wouldn't have to. I was sure if you didn't there wouldn't be any effect."

"Happen you got that wrong," said Childermass, very dryly.

Norrell nodded. "I'm sorry."

"You're an idiot."

Norrell nodded again.

"I may be a bit less angry, but I'm still not going to bed you."

"Yes, Childermass, I believe I took that point some time ago!"

Childermass rolled his eyes. "At least you can learn."

"I will try to."

"What did you never know?" Childermass asked curiously, "If you were trying to get me into bed--the stupid way--you must have had some idea what you were about."

Norrell sighed, and--face hot with shame--tried a rather mumbled explanation of the...the thing. That had happened.

"Properly," said Childermass. "In words. Because I don't quite see what you're getting at."

Norrell glared at him. "I wanted you to hurt me and I didn't even know there was such a thing! I didn't even know what I wanted you to do, or where it would end. There was a point, when you were...handling me, when I thought I was going to spend, and I thought you'd never forgive me, because you would think all I cared for was selfish pleasure." In a lower tone. "I was so afraid, and I was sure you wouldn't even realise I was afraid. So I tried to take the spell off, and only got it landing on me."

"Just as well to clear the air," Childermass said practically. "If I hadn't realised you'd just got yourself into a silly mess, again, I'm not sure what I'd have done.

"Probably left," said Norrell, quietly.

"I doubt I'd have actually done it, but I wouldn't have minded storming off in a huff. And no doubt you'd have made yourself sick with worry. Now, I think the most sensible thing to do is have a rest from each other for a bit--no, I'm not leaving. I am going to the tavern, to settle down with a pipe and a quiet pint, and if I were you I'd take care of that..." he nodded at Norrell's erection, "...and go to sleep."

"But I don't deserve to!" Norrell said, surprised. "I'd better wait for it to go down."

Childermass sighed, pointedly. "So it's not that you don't have morals, it's just that they're odd."

"I tried to get something you weren't willing to give," Norrell explained, "so I don't deserve to gratify the desire."

"You're not allowed to influence me against my own will. Where in that did I tell you you couldn't have the use of your own hand?"

"That's not helping,"

"Only if you think the object of the exercise is to make your prick subject to conscious control," said Childermass. "I want to see you comfortable when I come back, not trying to work yourself into a fit of nerves until you have blue balls, a headache, and can't sleep all night. Because that would be stupid."

Childermass turned his back and went to the door, and by the time the door shut Norrell undid his breeches. He took some salve from the bedside table, just in case he was a little over-sensitive by now, and treated himself to one finger sliding up his arse while his lubricated left fist squeezed his aching prick. It felt glorious--and just this once he wasn't thinking about Childermass, but about how wonderful it felt to be safe, on his own, getting comfortable, blissfully ready to spend, just one more lovely, lovely stroke, coming, ahhh... mm, that had been a good one! His problems could come back tomorrow--they always did. He had just enough practicality to clean up.

Late that night, Childermass came in to check on him, and he mumbled something and went back to sleep.