Chapter Text
The first time it happened, there was a simple explanation. It seemed that Starecross lay quite close to a fairy orchard, now that the borders with Faerie were open, or lay very near to a fairy road that led to one. Come the first spring after the return of magic to England, the trees in this orchard began to bloom. They wafted sweet-smelling pollen and showers of petals across the Faerie border, down the road, straight into the Starecross garden. Had they been apple or pear trees, this would not have caused problems. However, they were not apple or pear trees. Apple and pear trees were, it transpired, unheard-of in Faerie, whose gardeners preferred to grow pierced-heart, and terror-of-darkness, and past-despair, or, in this case, arrows-of-desire.
Starecross was not, at this time, operating as a school for magicians. It was serving as a residence for only three persons: John Segundus, John Childermass, and Vinculus the Book— Segundus having offered lodgings to Childermass following the disappearance of Hurtfew Abbey, before he understood quite how unpleasant the man was, and Vinculus being something akin to an appendage of Childermass.
On the morning in question, Segundus and Childermass were engaged in a heated argument. This was far from an unusual occurrence. Indeed, it would have been an unusual occurrence if they were not; since Childermass had come to Starecross, they had, by Segundus's reckoning, argued at least daily. Many of these arguments concerned incidents that were no longer really current, such as Gilbert Norrell's treatment of various persons (including Segundus) and Childermass's enforcement of this. Others stemmed from Childermass's grating personal habits (to wit: furtiveness, indifference, a disobliging nature, and a tendency to appropriate other people's magical supplies) and what Childermass chose to insist were Segundus' equally grating personal habits (pedantry, credulity, over-finickiness, and a habit of staring at other people in a reproving fashion). Occasionally an argument would begin in one place— why had Childermass not replaced the red ribbon that he took from Segundus' magical service? did he not appreciate how very many spells made use of red ribbon? had he not just two days ago been in York, where it was perfectly possible to purchase red ribbon?— and journey to another place entirely— did Childermass not find it objectionable to take advantage of other people, for instance by using their red ribbon and not replacing it, but also by swindling them out of books and intimidating them out of magic and ruining their various livelihoods? did he think this a correct way to behave?— before taking a very sharp left turn: really, Mr Segundus need not go on feeling ashamed that Childermass had so thoroughly put paid to his little society of friends; it was quite understandable that after giving up so easily to Mr Norrell, Mr Segundus might feel nervous and inadequate about magic, and that he might then become very insecure about all of his little magical supplies, but not to worry, Childermass would replace his red ribbon, and then he could feel all nice and comfy again.
And so it went. They had just reached the stage at which Childermass offered, with an air of mild exasperation, to pack up all of his things and leave, since his presence was such an inconvenience to Segundus; this was calculated to drive Segundus to distraction, as it implied both that he was being a poor host and that his generosity was so inconsiderable that refusing it would trouble Childermass very little. Segundus was aware of this ploy; nevertheless it did drive him to distraction. He found himself stuttering with outrage immediately, which outraged him further, which then caused him to stutter further. Childermass wore a smug look of amusement.
Segundus said, "And another thing—!" He stopped then, and looked around in vague confusion. He and Childermass were out in the garden by then, where their arguments tended to migrate in a "mysterious" fashion that seemed always somehow calibrated to allow Childermass a timely escape from them.
"Well, spit it out, then," said Childermass. He leant against the garden wall in a pose that suggested condescension.
"Do you smell something?" Segundus asked.
"No," Childermass said. But he furrowed his brow, distracted.
"You do!" Segundus said, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You are wholly absurd, sir! You would deny such a thing, simply because it was I who said it? You are the very definition of contrary!"
"I—" Childermass said.
Segundus could quite definitely smell something now. It was slightly tart and slightly sweet, slightly sour and yet overpoweringly delicious. Something about the ripe edge of its flavour made him want more and more. He felt dizzy for a moment. He stared at Childermass's face.
Childermass was staring at him. There was something quite extraordinary in his gaze, something heavy and dark and melting as chocolate. Delicious, Segundus thought. It looked delicious. It looked like everything promised by that scent.
Aloud, Segundus said uncertainly, "Why do I want to touch you?" Though he was puzzled by the impulse, he really did: he wanted to press his whole body up against Childermass's. He wanted to shove his mouth against the crook of Childermass's neck. He wanted to push both his hands in Childermass's long hair, rake it out of its queue in a raw silky weight, and then he realized hazily that he was doing this already, running Childermass's hair through his hands, and it felt absolutely electric under his fingers, and Childermass was stroking his jaw with a fascinated look, running rough hands over the line of it, caressing the bare inches of skin above his neckcloth, then tugging very forcefully at the neckcloth till it came off, then— Childermass was pulling him forwards by the collar, and he was dragging Childermass's head down, and their mouths met, messy and desperate.
Kissing Childermass was the most tremendous sensation, like his whole body was made of butterflies in rich exotic colours, a whole dense fragile swarm of them, and every time Childermass kissed him they shivered slightly. But butterflies were— they weren't hungry insects, and hungry was the right word for it, the need Segundus had to get more of Childermass's mouth. He kept making little urgent wanting wordless noises, and Childermass was groaning under his breath, a sound which made every exposed inch of Segundus's skin prickle. Somehow there were a lot of exposed inches, because Childermass had shoved the coat off of him, and torn open his waistcoat, sending the buttons flying, and kept trying to push the cuffs of his sleeves up his arms, which sent his thumbs stroking along Segundus's wrists, which made Segundus make more dazed and panting noises, but which was not an efficient way to get a shirt off, not at all, not— no— but he couldn't conceive of how to get his shirt off, certainly not when his hands were pushing up under Childermass's waistcoat, which had far too many buttons on it. Eventually he gave up on the waistcoat with a plaintive, frustrated sound and started trying to undo Childermass's breeches. He didn't get very far before Childermass wrenched his shirt off with a grunt of impatience, hauling it over his shoulders and head, leaving it tangled around Segundus's elbows when he became distracted by Segundus's suddenly naked chest. His hot mouth settled on the collarbone there, and it was good, it was wet, and his tongue!— but Segundus struggled against his knotted-up shirt, because he needed to get his hands on Childermass.
Childermass laughed breathlessly against his skin at his noise of protest, which made all the butterflies of Segundus shudder again. Segundus managed, not very coherently, "No, no I must— I must—" So after a delay of agonizing seconds, Childermass yanked the shirt off his arms, and Segundus tackled him back against the wall, stumbling and frantically kissing him.
At some point, something happened to Childermass's waistcoat. Quite probably it was something magical, because it seemed to cease to have buttons, and Segundus did know a spell to accomplish that effect, though he was not really conscious of uttering it— only that he was ripping it off, and the shirt underneath it, and running his hands across Childermass's darkly haired chest, and Childermass was breathing hard and saying something filthy in his ear, the filthiest promise Segundus had ever had made to him, which made him unable to do anything except make shocked gasping moans for a minute as Childermass rubbed up against him. Childermass was still smiling that dark amused smile. "Oh, you like that," he said.
Segundus liked it. He was riding against Childermass's thigh, and his liking it could not have been more evident, but he nodded helplessly against Childermass's collarbone anyhow, then thumbed a nipple, then lowered his head and bit.
Shortly after this they ceased to have breeches, which must have been Childermass, because Segundus did not know that spell. Then Childermass tumbled them over against the wall, so that he was pressing Segundus up against it, and hiked Segundus up as though he weighed nothing at all, so he could get a hand around where their cocks met. But though Segundus's mouth dropped open in the shock of how good this was, and he liked his legs around Childermass's waist, to press him in, he refused to be manhandled every-which-way in this manner, and he told Childermass so in imperious (though very breathless) tones before squirming out of his grasp.
"Fine," Childermass said in apparent impatience before all but knocking him to the ground, pinning him there with a starving kiss and rough hands on his shoulders that Segundus used as leverage to tumble them over. Then he was lying on top of Childermass, thrusting against him, seizing onto his face with both hands to pant against his mouth and bite at his lower lip, and then Childermass got a hand around him and pulled very slowly, in a very deliberate motion, and Segundus clenched his eyes shut, dropping his head down as a galvanic surge of pleasure struck him, and Childermass was working him so deliberately, and it was so good, his hips jerked forwards in sharp, sharp thrusts, each one building its electricity from the last, and—
And it had been a dirty trick, because Childermass used this distraction to tumble the both of them over again, and he was rutting against Segundus' stomach, tangling a hand in his hair to pin his head down hard and kiss him.
"Cheat," Segundus accused him between kisses. "Oh! You— you—"
"Shut up," Childermass growled at him, and closed his eyes as he got a hand around them both once more, and they both gasped more or less at the same time at the feel of them sliding together, all that slick skin sliding against slick skin. Segundus dug his hands into Childermass's back as his own back arched upwards. Then he managed to get a leg around his hip, dragging him down, forcing his tempo a little faster. Childermass dropped his face against Segundus's neck and moaned there, and then bit quite hard, which made Segundus arch against him again and dig his hands in harder, uttering a raw little cry. After that, Childermass seemed to give up, and just fucked them fast and rough together until Segundus too had given up and was making loud shameful noises, thrashing his head back and forth in Childermass's grip, and had a sense of shoving himself into Childermass's hands, surrendering some central part of himself, like he was crawling out from inside his own skin.
He was aware of climax as a gut-punch moment of release. He thought it might have forced a tear from his eye, it was so intense. Childermass worked a few moments longer and then bit off a sharp sound and came all over him.
They lay gasping heavily in the wrecked earth of the garden. Childermass had half-collapsed over Segundus, though he had artfully done this in a way that avoided where their mingled emissions were cooling on Segundus' body. Both of them were covered in sweat and incredibly filthy: dirt and leaves stuck to their skin, twigs snarled in their hair.
"What," Segundus asked after perhaps ten minutes had passed, "just happened?"
Childermass groaned in the vicinity of his arm pit.
It was another ten minutes before Childermass could be persuaded to move, at which point came the discovery of their breeches' disappearance, Childermass's buttonless waistcoat, the two large bruises above Segundus' collarbone, and the red claw-like welts over Childermass's ribs. Neither could quite meet the other's eye following this inspection.
Shamefaced and in their shirtsleeves, they returned to the house.
"Some sort of spell," Segundus said finally, as they were creeping barefoot up the staircase. "Something in the garden. There was a smell, I smelled—"
"Good," Childermass said. "You smelled good."
They accidentally looked at each other.
Segundus blushed. He was aware of it as a heat rising slowly from his chest. "I will do some research," he said hurriedly.
Childermass said drily, "Somehow I imagined you would."
"And I suppose I need not say that—"
"No," Childermass said. "Never."
"Never," Segundus agreed less certainly. He felt quite weak-kneed, and horrified at himself, but it had been—he thought of Childermass's promise. He thought, and was even more horrified at himself for thinking it, of Childermass holding him as though he weighed nothing. He blushed even more ferociously.
Childermass had glimpsed this. He was smiling slowly. It was a very, very dangerous smile. "So," he said. "Not so prim." He sounded almost satisfied.
Then he turned down the hallway with an easy, ambling stride, as though he were greatly cheered by something he had discovered.
Segundus watched him till he vanished. A slow sense of apprehension seized him.