(Untitled)
In the late afternoon, Jeeves is still out playing chess with Redding. The rooms have of course been cleaned to perfection before the manservant's departure, so the handwritten letter on the silver tray on the end-table is all the more noticeable. It reads, in familiar cursive scrawl:
Bertie ( Read more... )
Bertie ( Read more... )
I swallowed down my apprehension and reached for the catch of my trousers, fiddling with it slightly in my awkwardness. Now, it may have just been the old cerebellum imagining things, but I'm fairly sure I heard a little gasp from Jeeves at that- just the faintest catch of breath, you understand, and I suddenly felt much surer about all this. I smiled a little, though I couldn't bear to meet his eyes (surely I'd either faint or simply collapse from the intensity of it if I dared), and slipped them down, lifting first one foot than the other. Even my toes, I noticed, seemed to be blushing.
The shorts quickly followed the way of my trousers and I laid them over a chair (no need to upset Jeeves with undo wrinkles, after all) before sitting back on the bed and bouncing, feeling a tad foolish. I was naked as the day I was born, and under Jeeves's gaze, certain parts of the anatomy had perked up rather a lot. I looked up at the chap from under my eyelashes.
'Done and done, Jeeves old thing.'
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"Very good, sir. If you would now recline..." Already, he is moving to the foot of the bed. He has to tilt his head fairly far down to look Bertram in the eye, who is currently level with his stomach. (Nearby areas of interest are also, well, of interest. And interested.)
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It was a touch unnerving, having him just staring at me like that, as if he'd a mind to pounce on me and simply ravish me right then and there, and I had to work one hand into the bedding to keep from slipping it in between my legs. Habit, you know.
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As Bertram gets comfortable, Jeeves begins to unbutton his own shirt, which is dutifully folded and placed on the chair. And Jeeves in only trousers is, well. Do we really need to describe how that looks? Tall, broad-shouldered, and not a little fit.
And almost immediately, he makes a space for himself above Bertram, one thigh between the other man's legs - he is just a few inches above him, one arm supporting him and the other stroking Bertram's cheek.
"You are breathtaking, sir." He means it, too.
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'Tish and piffle, Jeeves.' I muttered distractedly, still rather taken in by the sight of his glittering eyes and unclad chest, 'Your own physique, well... all those fishing trips must have done you good, what? It's positively corking.'
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It was somewhere around this point that my hands seemed to decide they weren't going to have any more of this lying still nonsense, not when there was a shirtless Jeeves above me. That in mind, I lifted them to rub down the man's arms, and then up onto that broad, strong back. I could feel the muscles flexing and tensing under the skin, and a delicious sort of shiver ran through me.
'I say; this is bally marvellous, Jeeves.' I informed the ceiling in a breathy sort of voice. 'That is, I never really thought, you know, this could ever actually happen, and turns out it's better than any pale image the Wooster grey matter could conjure up.'
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This said, his tongue trails its way east, to the flare of one jutting hipbone. This spot, unlike Bertram's throat, stays hidden in polite society. To leave a mark here would not be inadvisable.
Gently, at first, Jeeves sinks his teeth in.
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Now, though, as Jeeves's white-and-pearlies scraped over my hipbone, the fizzing sens. under my skin increased tenfold, as if I'd suddenly downed one of Jeeves's corking morning-after beverages. I let out something of a moan, squirming on the mattress under the chap's touch.
'Jeeves...' I breathed, 'God, man-'
I couldn't find it in myself to finish the sentence, though. Didn't even know what I meant to say, come to that, only that.
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He's beginning to feel a bit light-headed. Not to mention more enticed than he's been in... well. A very long time indeed. It's beginning to show ever so slightly in his breath.
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Now, as much as I ordinarily insist that I am not the sort of bird who's kept by his valet, who bows to the fellow's every whim and lives his life at his g.p.g'a convenience, I had to say, in this particular instance, the idea of somehow being owned by Jeeves seemed dashed appealing indeed. Sort of... going back to animals and all that; primitive homo whatsits- the idea of being marked by the fellow. Down in the area of my decidedly interested groin, Jeeves moved a bit lower, and I could feel his breath on the skin of my hardness, which gave a definite, excited sort of leap, clearly begging for attention from the man. I had to bite back a groan.
I was doing rather a lot of that- biting back of various g's and m's- at the moment. So much that I felt a bit like a beaver with a guilty conscience, and I looked down at Jeeves, with something I imagined was nigh close to desperation.
'If you're going to do something, Jeeves, please do, before the young master runs entirely mad. You are making yourself entirely too tempting.'
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There's a flash of motion, and then the last of Jeeves's clothes are getting folded neatly on the bedside chair. Truly, the man is a marvel. He pauses a moment then, studying his master from his place on the bed, before moving forward and aligning himself with Bertram.
He slides one hand between them, trembling slightly before taking their arousals together and giving a slow, gentle squeeze. Jeeves covers his quiet moan by kissing Bertie then, not a little passionately. "I trust this is... acceptable?"
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The sound of Bertram's pleasure was soon silenced, though, as Jeeves once again claimed me in a corker of a kiss, and I found one more tongue in my mouth than generally resides there. I kissed back with all the vim I could muster, and stars winked at me from the inside of my eyelids.
I had to laugh at Jeeves's question, when he spoke, but even the laugh sounded rather more like a whimper or a groan or something similar. But, well- a chap can't help it in this sort of circ. 'Acceptable, Jeeves? Hah! It is-' a short gasp, 'It is ever so much more than that.'
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Sweat is starting to bead on Jeeves's forehead, but his hand is steady now, moving in time with the thrusts as he drops his head to pant against Bertram's throat. Too breathless for kissing right now. "Oh."
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Epitome of eloquence though I ordinarily am, all thought had fled the Wooster cerebellum. It was rather as if the rest of the world had fuzzed out somehow, leaving only the fantastic heat of Jeeves's body and the touch of his hand and his eyes, which seemed to burn as much as his body. Every square centimetre of skin seemed to tingle with the great washes of pleasure that swept through me, leaving me entirely at their mercy, rather like I was being dashed against rocks by a vast ocean.
Oh, but what rocks! And what an ocean! The sensation, the feel and sound and smell of it all was almost painfully exquisite, and it was not long before it all became entirely too much and I cried out Jeeves's name, arching up into his hand. My vision tunneled inwards as the corpus turned entirely to liquid and I collapsed back upon the bed.
My entire being was swamped with a familiar sluggish, sleepy pleasure, but Jeeves, I saw, had not yet reached his own peak. I felt suddenly rather abashed, as if I'd done something wrong, but hastily I reached out to lay a hand flat on Jeeves's chest, meeting those dark eyes with a little smile.
'Er, do let me, old fruit.'
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Jeeves's body is halfway through some aborted movement of rolling off of Bertram, perhaps to simply lie back and watch the afterglow for a while, but he stops at the touch of the hand to his chest. There's a brief pause.
"Of course, sir." Which is obviously Jeevesian for Yes, please, now.
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