Fic: Oceans, part 12 (NC-17)
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I have no claim on the lovely works of Wodehouse.
Mr. Wooster was bold in leading me to his bed, but once we arrived, bashfulness overtook him once more. He pressed a kiss to my lips, and then bowed his head, his hair brushing my nose and his own nose in my collar, for we were standing very close. He slipped his arms around my shoulders, and I held him by the waist, rocking him slightly against me. His breathing was hard, and his ears were red with his blushing, his body faintly trembling in excitement against me. I had known this shyness once before, and the thought that I was, in a sense, to take his virginity twice in his eyes sent a shiver of lust through me.
I kissed his temple, where the red, ragged scar began, and lowered my lips to his ear. “Are you certain that you want this, sir?” I whispered, genuinely concerned.
He nodded fiercely. “Yes, dash it! I want…” He raised his wide, blue eyes to meet me.
I allowed myself a small, teasing grin. “What is it that you would like, sir?”
He blushed furiously, and broke my gaze. Mr. Wooster is more suited to action than words, and his hands began to scramble over me, seeking a piece of clothing to undo, a button, a shirt tail, it seemed not to matter which. I took a step back, and loosened his tie. He allowed me to undress him with as much reverence as I applied to layering the garments on him. His fingers hurried to undo my own buttons, and I helped him speed the process, allowing him to press a trail of kisses against my bare throat. I finished my task, and gently pushed him back onto the mattress.
“Jeeves…” he sighed, his eyes half lidded with lust. I gazed at him, spread before me, and sucked in my breath. I must confess that I have lost count of the number of fantasies this man has inspired in my mind, but even my darkest, most powerful fancies are nothing compared to seeing him in the flesh. His skin is pale and soft, as only a noble born man’s can be. It is marred only by the terrible scars which he acquired at sea, and though they spoil the creamlike surface of his body, the gratitude they inspire in me, knowing that I am able to have him again despite this, make me love him all the more. His nipples are pert and pink, surrounded by a soft cloud of crisp, dark golden hair, which grows sparsely until the slight trail leading to his groin. My gaze lingered on his eager erection, which was already seeping slightly. Unable to resist, I ran the tip of my tongue over the slit, just enough to taste him, as my fingers slid up his inner thighs, where the skin was as soft as petals. His cock twitched under my lips, the slight caress being almost too much for him to bear.
“Jeeves!” he hissed, his eyes now wide open. He was straining to control his hips from thrusting under my light, teasing touches. He reached for me, a strange, small sound emitting from the back of his throat, and I crawled into position over him. He pulled me down into another fierce kiss, and urged me onto him, so that I was pinning him to the bed. One he was securely under me, he seemed content to grind against my thigh, finally shifting so that his thrusts ground into my own strained erection.
“I’ll do anything for you.” He whispered, which was probably true. Though I have shared his bed only once, I can attest that Mr. Wooster is a trusting and adoring lover, willing to dote on any desire I might have. I knew, however, that what was left unsaid was the fact that he knew precious little of what do in bed , and his offer was open to suggestions. I was wondering if he had recalled anything at all, when his hand slipped between us, making it apparent that he wished to do more than merely rut. His fingers found my shaft, and he gave it a tight squeeze, making me buck fiercely. With a bit of prodding, I rolled onto my side, and watched in amazement as he ducked down to take it into his mouth. His fumbling movements were uncertain, and as his tongue lashed against me, he threw concerned glances my way, wondering with those lovely blue eyes if he was doing everything correctly. He needn’t have worried, for I could do nothing but groan and writhe under him, the mere sight of him in such a position being the core of a fond fantasy.
“Sir…” I gasped. I had somehow taken hold of his hair, and was guiding his rhythm. Somehow I knew this was wrong, even in the throes of passion. I had fantasized about this precious encounter for so long. I was going to be a perfect, considerate lover. I was meant to be pleasing him, worshiping him, but he had thwarted my plans by enthusiastically reducing me to a desperate creature of need. He pulled away at one point to catch his breath and rub his sore jaw, and I used the moment to regain my control and pull him up against my chest. I pinned him to me with my left arm, and used my right hand to take hold of him and stroke him, pausing to gently pinch the head, to roll his foreskin back and forth between my fingertips. He cried out, and gripped his hand over mine, urging me forward.
“You liked that, when we made love that night.” I whispered in his ear, huskily. “I will never forget what you like, Bertram." Another pinch, just a bit harder this time, and he moaned. “I will always give you what you want in the end.” I continued pulling him off until his back arched, and his seed sprayed across my fingers. His heart thundered against the grip of my palm, and I licked a bead of sweat coursing down the side of his throat.
He turned in my arms, pressing a deep kiss to my lips. His hand had found my shaft again, and he finished me off, whispering endearments against my lips between kisses.
I clutched him to me like a lifeline. The room stilled at last, and I focused on the sound of our breathing, becoming softer and deeper each moment.
“Thank you, Jeeves.” He whispered, smiling as he cupped the side of my face with his hand. It seemed bizarre that he should thank me, when I had done nothing but ache and want for so long.
“Not at all, sir.” I replied, not masking the volume of affection in my voice. He clung to me, lazily kissing my chest here and there, until he dozed. I brushed back his hair with my fingertips, gratitude steeling into a new found pride as I regarded my prize. It seemed impossible that I had won him, twice. This lovely, sweet, noble man loved me, desired me. I was the only one to ever see him in such a state, and I knew that his loyalty was such that it would remain that way as long as I saw fit.
I basked in these happy thoughts, and I must have drifted off as well, for I awakened to find that he was clinging to me in his sleep , sobbing quietly, caught in the vice of a nightmare. I pulled him against my chest, and kissed his brow. I rubbed my hand across his back, smoothing his hair and murmuring reassurances until he stilled in my arms, and slept soundly once again. I knew that he must have suffered similar episodes for months, perhaps every night, and I felt a deep remorse for not being able to comfort him before now. With a sigh, I drifted off to sleep again, to wake at dawn, when I was accustomed to rising, perhaps a few minutes earlier, even. Mr. Wooster would be hungry after his exertions, and we had forgone dinner for each other’s company. I told myself that a particularly impressive meal would do wonders to quell any shadows of the nightmare from his mind in the morning.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I have no claim on the lovely works of Wodehouse.
Mr. Wooster was bold in leading me to his bed, but once we arrived, bashfulness overtook him once more. He pressed a kiss to my lips, and then bowed his head, his hair brushing my nose and his own nose in my collar, for we were standing very close. He slipped his arms around my shoulders, and I held him by the waist, rocking him slightly against me. His breathing was hard, and his ears were red with his blushing, his body faintly trembling in excitement against me. I had known this shyness once before, and the thought that I was, in a sense, to take his virginity twice in his eyes sent a shiver of lust through me.
I kissed his temple, where the red, ragged scar began, and lowered my lips to his ear. “Are you certain that you want this, sir?” I whispered, genuinely concerned.
He nodded fiercely. “Yes, dash it! I want…” He raised his wide, blue eyes to meet me.
I allowed myself a small, teasing grin. “What is it that you would like, sir?”
He blushed furiously, and broke my gaze. Mr. Wooster is more suited to action than words, and his hands began to scramble over me, seeking a piece of clothing to undo, a button, a shirt tail, it seemed not to matter which. I took a step back, and loosened his tie. He allowed me to undress him with as much reverence as I applied to layering the garments on him. His fingers hurried to undo my own buttons, and I helped him speed the process, allowing him to press a trail of kisses against my bare throat. I finished my task, and gently pushed him back onto the mattress.
“Jeeves…” he sighed, his eyes half lidded with lust. I gazed at him, spread before me, and sucked in my breath. I must confess that I have lost count of the number of fantasies this man has inspired in my mind, but even my darkest, most powerful fancies are nothing compared to seeing him in the flesh. His skin is pale and soft, as only a noble born man’s can be. It is marred only by the terrible scars which he acquired at sea, and though they spoil the creamlike surface of his body, the gratitude they inspire in me, knowing that I am able to have him again despite this, make me love him all the more. His nipples are pert and pink, surrounded by a soft cloud of crisp, dark golden hair, which grows sparsely until the slight trail leading to his groin. My gaze lingered on his eager erection, which was already seeping slightly. Unable to resist, I ran the tip of my tongue over the slit, just enough to taste him, as my fingers slid up his inner thighs, where the skin was as soft as petals. His cock twitched under my lips, the slight caress being almost too much for him to bear.
“Jeeves!” he hissed, his eyes now wide open. He was straining to control his hips from thrusting under my light, teasing touches. He reached for me, a strange, small sound emitting from the back of his throat, and I crawled into position over him. He pulled me down into another fierce kiss, and urged me onto him, so that I was pinning him to the bed. One he was securely under me, he seemed content to grind against my thigh, finally shifting so that his thrusts ground into my own strained erection.
“I’ll do anything for you.” He whispered, which was probably true. Though I have shared his bed only once, I can attest that Mr. Wooster is a trusting and adoring lover, willing to dote on any desire I might have. I knew, however, that what was left unsaid was the fact that he knew precious little of what do in bed , and his offer was open to suggestions. I was wondering if he had recalled anything at all, when his hand slipped between us, making it apparent that he wished to do more than merely rut. His fingers found my shaft, and he gave it a tight squeeze, making me buck fiercely. With a bit of prodding, I rolled onto my side, and watched in amazement as he ducked down to take it into his mouth. His fumbling movements were uncertain, and as his tongue lashed against me, he threw concerned glances my way, wondering with those lovely blue eyes if he was doing everything correctly. He needn’t have worried, for I could do nothing but groan and writhe under him, the mere sight of him in such a position being the core of a fond fantasy.
“Sir…” I gasped. I had somehow taken hold of his hair, and was guiding his rhythm. Somehow I knew this was wrong, even in the throes of passion. I had fantasized about this precious encounter for so long. I was going to be a perfect, considerate lover. I was meant to be pleasing him, worshiping him, but he had thwarted my plans by enthusiastically reducing me to a desperate creature of need. He pulled away at one point to catch his breath and rub his sore jaw, and I used the moment to regain my control and pull him up against my chest. I pinned him to me with my left arm, and used my right hand to take hold of him and stroke him, pausing to gently pinch the head, to roll his foreskin back and forth between my fingertips. He cried out, and gripped his hand over mine, urging me forward.
“You liked that, when we made love that night.” I whispered in his ear, huskily. “I will never forget what you like, Bertram." Another pinch, just a bit harder this time, and he moaned. “I will always give you what you want in the end.” I continued pulling him off until his back arched, and his seed sprayed across my fingers. His heart thundered against the grip of my palm, and I licked a bead of sweat coursing down the side of his throat.
He turned in my arms, pressing a deep kiss to my lips. His hand had found my shaft again, and he finished me off, whispering endearments against my lips between kisses.
I clutched him to me like a lifeline. The room stilled at last, and I focused on the sound of our breathing, becoming softer and deeper each moment.
“Thank you, Jeeves.” He whispered, smiling as he cupped the side of my face with his hand. It seemed bizarre that he should thank me, when I had done nothing but ache and want for so long.
“Not at all, sir.” I replied, not masking the volume of affection in my voice. He clung to me, lazily kissing my chest here and there, until he dozed. I brushed back his hair with my fingertips, gratitude steeling into a new found pride as I regarded my prize. It seemed impossible that I had won him, twice. This lovely, sweet, noble man loved me, desired me. I was the only one to ever see him in such a state, and I knew that his loyalty was such that it would remain that way as long as I saw fit.
I basked in these happy thoughts, and I must have drifted off as well, for I awakened to find that he was clinging to me in his sleep , sobbing quietly, caught in the vice of a nightmare. I pulled him against my chest, and kissed his brow. I rubbed my hand across his back, smoothing his hair and murmuring reassurances until he stilled in my arms, and slept soundly once again. I knew that he must have suffered similar episodes for months, perhaps every night, and I felt a deep remorse for not being able to comfort him before now. With a sigh, I drifted off to sleep again, to wake at dawn, when I was accustomed to rising, perhaps a few minutes earlier, even. Mr. Wooster would be hungry after his exertions, and we had forgone dinner for each other’s company. I told myself that a particularly impressive meal would do wonders to quell any shadows of the nightmare from his mind in the morning.