Chapter Text
At first it is a lovely day that shows a lot of promise. Childermass approaches Segundus earlier that morning and asks if he would perhaps be available to help with a magical mission in the small wood that butts up against the property of Starecross Hall. The dark, gruff man says he has spied a special species of flower there that he thinks will aid them in translating the Kings Letters. A small, pale blue bloom, that when crushed with mortar and pestle turns into an inky sort of poultice. Once this poultice is spread thinly over the words on a page, it will translate them into whatever language the creator of the poultice so chooses. A small spell is involved to help imbue the flowers with this magical property, and they are apparently an excellent conduit for magic. Or at least this much is stated in one of the many books Childermass remembers reading while in the employ of Gilbert Norrell.
Childermass promises to teach the spell and the process of making the poultice to Segundus so that he may assist with its application in the future. Or simply teach it to his students. Segundus eagerly agrees and dons his forest-tromping boots and a wide sun hat to join Childermass in the courtyard of Starecross Hall early the next morning.
“I saw the flowers perhaps a half an hour’s walk to the southeast, through there,” Childermass says, squinting at the forest’s edge at a shady opening in the wall of young saplings that skirt the clearing. He has a leather satchel swung across his shoulders and is in his shirtsleeves, rolled to the elbow.
It is a warm, sunny, early spring day and there isn't a cloud in the sky. The birds are singing their hearts out in the trees and bushes surrounding Starecross, and Segundus feels an answering echo of their joy inside his breast. It had been a long, cold winter. A fever had swept through Yorkshire, taking many old and sick with it. Segundus had come down with it. Had lain in bed for weeks, coughing and sweating until the doctor had pronounced him out of danger. He’d seen Childermass’ shadow darkening the doorway of his room a few times. Had sworn he’d smelled a whiff of the man’s pipe smoke (not fresh of course, for no one dared smoke near Segundus’ sick bed). He thought he had heard the low rumble of the other man’s voice in the hall, and had wondered if Childermass had been watching over him while he’d been lost in feverish nightmares.
After he’d recovered, Starecross’ mysterious guest had been noticeably more attentive to Segundus. Childermass had begun approaching Segundus for after supper chats in the library. He’d begun offering cups of tea if he were fetching one for himself. If Segundus was busy and could not immediately get up from the table to fetch a plate of food from the maid’s hand, Childermass had been quick to rise and pass it to him.
Segundus had been humbled and pleased, and had dared to hope that perhaps this increase in solicitousness and aid was a sign that Childermass considered him a true friend. He’d long been fascinated by Norrell’s former servant. Had wanted to engage him in conversation, learn more about him and his prodigious magical abilities. Ever since that fateful day when Childermass had urged him to do magic to help Lady Pole, Segundus had been afire with curiosity about the man.
At first, Childermass had kept to himself. His visits to Starecross had been regular, if sporadic in length, and he’d gently thrown his weight behind the work of getting the Starecross School of Magic up and running. Segundus had been grateful, but Childermass had still been somewhat aloof.
Then, after Segundus’ long illness, Childermass had warmed significantly. He’d begun greeting Segundus, wishing him a ‘good morning’ and a ‘good day’ and a ‘good evening’. He’d even begun offering Segundus a rare, sly smile now and again.
The result had of course been that Segundus finds himself foolishly, hopelessly smitten with Childermass. This is a thing he’d never dream of revealing to the other man. Such feelings are not decent, nor are they legal, and even were Childermass to return his feelings, what could ever possibly be done about them? Segundus is a virgin, and one of advanced years, and Childermass (of possibly even more advanced years than Segundus), does not seem the sort to blush and kiss in dark hallways. And still… Segundus cannot seem to keep his thoughts from what might happen… if the stars were to align and they could one day be together. He’s committed many acts of self stimulation while thinking these things. But that is the (shameful) extent of it.
Now, he can’t help but let his eyes play across the breadth of Childermass’ shoulders, more narrow than he’d pictured when seeing him in his large greatcoat, as he follows his companion beneath the shadows of the trees.
They walk in silence for a little while, until Childermass remarks on the appearance of a robin on a nearby branch and asks if Segundus knows a spell to converse with birds. Segundus does not, and so Childermass teaches him the words and the motions involved, and the two of them spend an enjoyable time hearing little cries and chirps of “hello!” “hello!” “Who?” “Where?” echoing through the trees around them. Birds as it turns out are rather inarticulate, but still, it is a lovely spell, and one Segundus is very grateful for being taught it.
Soon they arrive in the large glen that is carpeted by the little blue flowers they are seeking. Segundus and Childermass take some time, bending and crouching to rip up fistfulls of the flowers and put them in Childermass’ satchel. The glen is sizable, and the flowers are numerous, so Segundus does not feel like he is harming their growth by taking a bagful of them.
He is bent over, facing away from Childermass, one hand full of soft petals, the other reaching for another bunch, when he sees the boots. They are ornate and made of soft leather, and they are planted not a half a foot from where Segundus is standing, at the very edge of where the forest meets the glen. Segundus yelps and leaps backward. His eyes flick up and take in the sight of a pair of legs, clothed in tight breeches, then a narrow waist, then the sharp featured face of what is most definitely a fairy. The fairy gentleman has white hair, long and straight and falling about his shoulders. He wears a tunic of the same soft leather as his boots, in a bright green colour, and he has a haughty expression upon his face.
“He-hello sir!” Segundus stammers out nervously, taking a few steps back. He is dimly aware that Childermass has stepped up beside him.
“You must be the magicians,” the fairy says, and the disdain in his voice is unmistakable.
“And who sir, are you?” Childermass asks, his voice far steadier and far more authoritative than Segundus could have hoped to manage.
The fairy sneers at Childermass, his cold, pale blue eyes narrowing. “My name is not important,” he says. “What is of great importance however is the fact that the two of you, and your filthy, meddlesome predecessors have spent far too much time sniffing around our forests and valleys. You’ve stuck your noses in where they don’t belong and have treated me and my people as little more than dogs to do your bidding.”
“Oh! I promise you sir, we mean no disrespect-” Segundus’ earnest attempt at an apology is cut short by Childermass’ hand on his arm.
“We’ve done nothing wrong sir. You are mistaken,” Childermass says, stepping ever so slightly in front of Segundus in a protective manner.
“Oh but you have,” says the fairy. “You’ve done more harm than you realize. And for your mischief and your meddling, I shall punish you both. If you wish us to be little more than faithful and obedient dogs to English men and women, then as dogs you shall both be to each other.” His eyes flick from Childermass’ face to Segundus’ and then his mouth slides into a wicked smile. “You,” he says, jutting his chin imperiously in Segundus’ direction, “you small and pale little man, you shall be the alpha.” He looks then at Childermass and lets out a delighted chuckle. “And you… the serious one, you shall be the bitch.” He says the last word with a sort of precise, threatening enunciation that makes Segundus’ stomach twist, though he knows not why.
With that, he waves his hand imperiously. Magic has been done. Segundus can feel it tickling across his skin, feels the resulting swell of nausea and disorientation he often does in the presence of fairy spells. He sways slightly and lets out a soft moan. Beside him, Childermass grunts and bends a little at the waist as if someone has struck him in the gut with a sharp fist. By the time they both come to their senses, the fairy is gone.
“What… what has happened?” Segundus is confused and his head is hurting. He glances at Childermass and sees the other man frown, looking as if he’s just woken from a long sleep.
Segundus takes a deep breath in through his nose, meaning to fill his lungs with fresh forest air and clear his senses, but then, he is struck with the most compelling and unusual smell. It is musky and lush and thick. An enticing scent made of pipe smoke and sweat and sun warmed cloth, but beneath all that, there is a whiff of something tantalizing. And it is coming from the man who stands next to him.
Segundus has a mad urge to press his face into Childermass’ armpit and breathe deep. To shove his nose into the other man’s crotch, or the cleft of his arse and inhale that scent deep into his lungs. He feels his cock stiffen immediately and is barely self aware enough to feel embarrassed over this fact.
One more look at Childermass’ face tells him something similar must be happening to his companion. Childermass cheeks are bright pink and he is panting as if he’d just run a long distance. His eyes, dark and wide, are fixed to Segundus’ face and as Segundus watches, he sees Childermass’ tongue, quick and wet, dart out to lick his lips.
Before he can stop himself, pulled as if by some uncontrollable force, Segundus has Childermass in his arms and is kissing him quite enthusiastically. Childermass lets out a loud moan and kisses back with equal enthusiasm. He is making low pitched grunting noises and Segundus thinks he himself might also be making some very strange noises, but he can’t hear himself. He’s far too focused on the taste and feel of Childermass’ mouth. The smell of his hair and skin, and that sharp tang of something wild and smoky underneath that make his brain seize up and tilt sideways as the kiss continues. It is a wild and messy thing, the kiss. Like nothing Segundus has ever considered doing with another person. A mad rush of slick lips and tongues, a biting, frenzied smashing of mouths against each other. Segundus, without quite believing the actions of his body, has one fist clenched in the hair at the back of Childermass’ head, has Childermass’ neck gripped in his other hand, and is eating at his mouth, biting his lips and sucking at his tongue. Childermass responds in kind, matching him bite for lick, and the smell of lust is coming off him in waves that make Segundus light headed, dizzy and faintly nauseous with the strength of his sudden arousal.
They tear at each other’s clothes impatiently. Segundus hears buttons snap off and the rip of fabric beneath his desperate hands as he tears open Childermass shirt and delivers a bite to the base of his neck. Childermass lets out a loud cry, head lolling back to give Segundus as much access to his throat as possible as Segundus lavishes the tender flesh with kisses and nips and sharp grazes of his teeth. Childermass is undoing his own breeches, shoving them down to mid thigh, undoing and pulling down Segundus’ as well. It is more than abundantly clear what they want from each other, and a small, faraway part of Segundus’ mind marvels at how his lust for Childermass had, only a few moments ago, been a secret that lived exclusively inside his head. Now it is writ large by his lips and hands and arms. Proof of his desire is spread all over Childermass’ body in the paint of his spittle, the tracks of his tongue. He is open, fully. His true desires bared for another to see for the first time in his life.
Childermass breaks the kiss to turn his back to Segundus, and then, oh...oh my, he’s presenting his arse to Segundus, pressing against him, arching his back and gasping. Segundus feels his cock throb in response. He doesn’t know much that is sound and rational in this current situation, but what he does know is that he wants his piece inside Childermass’ arse. That his cock belongs there, buried deep. He must spend his seed in that tight, hot place, and he must do it as soon as possible.
Unfortunately, when he takes his aching cock in hand and presses desperately with the head at Childermass’ hot, tight opening, there is too much friction and Childermass yelps a bit and jerks away from him.
Luckily, Childermass seems unharmed by the misstep. In fact, within seconds he is once more writhing against Segundus. Segundus is distantly embarrassed that he has a thick shock of Childermass’ dark, wet-oak coloured hair in his fist, and that he is biting his shoulder repeatedly. Instead of putting his piece where he so desperately wants it, he begins to rub himself between Childermass’ thighs from behind. His cock is slicked by sweat from the heat of the day, and slides blissfully between Childermass’ upper thighs and against his sack, grazing the base of his hard cock with every thrust. Childermas cries out his approval and continues bucking back up against Segundus, reaching back with his hands to grasp at Segundus’ hips to help him along.
It is over very quickly. Segundus feels himself grow tight and hot and tingling as he pumps himself into that slick cleft, and he hears Childermass making desperate gasping noises. He is biting Childermass’ shoulder repeatedly now, like some sort of animal in heat, but Childermass only bucks back harder with every press of Segundus’ teeth into his soft, sweat damp skin. Segundus feels his crisis approach and then erupt in a swell of sharp pleasure, and he groans, loudly and obscenely as he spills between Childermass’ legs. Childermass must have reached his pleasure as well, because he lets out a particularly loud and rough cry and twitches in Segundus’ arms.
They stagger and fall apart, both still standing, though Segundus is uncertain as to how this can be after what they’ve just done. His senses return to him very slowly, and as they do, as his breathing slows, as his rational mind reasserts himself and he watches Childermass clumsily try and pull his breeches back up, he feels a stab of panic clutch at his throat and curl coldly in the pit of his stomach.
What has he done? He has taken obscene advantage of his dear companion. He has forced himself onto Childermass like some sort of insatiable beast! Segundus feels as if he might wretch. “Oh...oh God… Mr. Childermass.. I...I…” he stammers, unable to put words to the wave of dread that’s washed over him, that threatens to pull him under. “I cannot…I... I do not…” He hurriedly works to raise and refasten his own breeches, notes with deep shame that even though the mad haze of lust has receded significantly, his piece is still as hard as when this all began. He feels betrayed by his own body. He has betrayed Childermass as well.
“Mr. Segundus,” Childermass is looking at him in astonishment. His cheeks are still flushed and his hair is a bird’s nest of tangles. His mouth is hanging open and his eyes are so very piercing and dark.
Segundus cannot bear to be seen in the aftermath of his crime. He lets out a high pitched squeak of dismay, stammers out the words “I am so very sorry,” and flees the clearing. He runs and runs and dares not look back to see whether Childermass is following him, or if he is still standing, lost and abused and rumpled in the middle of the clearing. He runs until his lungs burn and his legs feel like porridge. Runs until he is almost back at the grounds of Starecross Hall. Then he slows, his rational mind reasserting itself and reminding him that he cannot burst into the Starecross School of Magic red faced, sweating and wild eyed like a man being pursued by the devil himself. He bends double, puts his hands on his knees and gasps for breath, allowing his pounding heart and heaving lungs to calm themselves, while still sheltered inside the perimeter of the forest’s edge. Once his breathing is back to normal, or at least can be easily enough disguised as normal, he straightens and re-tucks his shirt and redoes his neckcloth swiftly before stepping out of the shadows of the trees. It is not until he is lifting his hand to open the kitchen door that he realizes he’s left his sun hat behind.