Sky (skyblue_reverie) wrote,

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Yes, Sir, Jeeves, Part II

...and, Part II.

Title: Yes, Sir, Jeeves, Part II (the entire story can also be found here.)
Author: Sky Blue Reverie skyblue_reverie
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Pairing: J/W
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: Approximately 14,000
Summary: Jeeves and Bertie swap roles at an upstate New York manor house as part of a plot to help Bertie's friend Larky. Wacky hijinx, along with a large helping of slashiness, ensue. This is a standalone, not part of my continuing J/W series.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2006 yuletide challenge, for the lovely notpoetry. Infinite gratitude to my beta-goddess Essie for beta work far above and beyond the call of duty. Massive thanks also to ennui_blue_lite, rivers_bend, and everyone else whose encouragement and support got me through this project. I love you all!
Disclaimer: I only wish Jeeves and Bertie belonged to me.
Feedback: Very much appreciated, as always.

Part I

I woke to morning sunshine streaming benevolently through the window. The room appeared to be empty of any occupants but self, and Terrence's bed was neatly made. He must have already risen and biffed off to do whatever it was that he did in this house. I stretched leisurely, oddly refreshed for such an early hour. I felt rather satisfied and languorous as well, and began humming a sprightly tune. The s. t. was abruptly cut off when I shifted position a bit and felt an unusual wet stickiness in my pyjamas. I immediately blushed, although there was no one there to observe me. This was dashed embarrassing, and hadn't happened to me since I'd been a pimple-faced lad of about sixteen. I cast my thoughts back and tried to remember the subject of my dream, but all I could recall was a vague impression of dark, glossy hair beneath my fingers and a set of nicely arranged features. I certainly hoped that I wasn't developing a tendre for Pauline Stoker! Not that she wasn't a pippin, but Chuffy was welcome to her and her thug of a father - I had no desire to be hitched to the girl. I gave a shudder at the thought and hastily took myself out of bed to go wash up.

After I'd made myself presentable - rather difficult to do without Jeeves's help - I toddled over to the main part of the house. I wasn't sure whether I ought to stop in at the kitchen and bring him coffee or tea or something to eat, and perhaps something for myself as well, since I hadn't had my usual morning tray and was feeling rather hollow round the middle, but in the end I decided that I didn't have the internal fortitude to face the disapproving kitchen staff this early in the morning and I went straight to Jeeves's chambers. I was still turning over in my mind the question of love, and wanting to discuss the matter with Jeeves, so I was disappointed to find that his room was quite vacant.

Feeling a bit at a loss, I wandered downstairs, where I ran into Larky. "What-ho, old chap," I said.

"Hello, B- er, Harris," he replied. I was somewhat relieved to know that I wasn't the only one having difficulty with this switched-identity gag. I lowered my voice and spoke to him confidentially.

"I say, have you seen Jeeves? I've got rather an urgent matter I need to discuss with him."

"Oh, yes, he was up at the break of dawn to go out fishing. My uncle lent him some gear. The pond's about a half a mile from here."

I legged it outside and had a pleasant walk over to the fishing hole. I found Jeeves reclining in a chair, dangling his line in the water, looking at peace with all of nature, except, one supposes, any unfortunate finned creature who happened to bite on his hook.

When he saw me approaching he rose respectfully. "Good morning, sir. Do you require my services?" he asked. The words were nearly the same the ones he had used the last time I'd seen him, and I had a sudden mental picture of how he had looked at that moment - in a state of near-undress, hair disarrayed, skin glistening - and I flushed. With some difficulty, I pulled my thoughts back to the subj. at hand.

"Good morning, Jeeves. Er, well, as a matter of fact, there's something that I wanted to discuss with you."

He looked at me with solicitous attention, every inch the impeccable manservant. I came within a toucher of changing my mind about asking him, fearing it would offend his sense of propriety, but this was too important to lose my nerve. I steeled myself and plunged ahead.

"I, er, that is, well, something that Roberts fellow said last night got me thinking."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Yes. He made me realize that I, well, I love you, Jeeves."

The most extraordinary thing happened to Jeeves's face. His normal stuffed-frog expression disappeared; a whole panoply of emotions shot across his map, there and gone before I could even identify them. Then he closed his eyes and when he opened them, they seemed to be shining with a strange light. His words, however, were oddly toneless.

"You - love me, sir?"

I was a bit put out at this. I hadn't stuttered, after all, and the words were quite simple; surely an intelligent chap such as Jeeves could understand them. "Well, yes, Jeeves. After all, I've often told you that you're like a mother to me, or an uncle, and well, you're more family to me than most of the infernal blisters who share my blood."

A change came over his features - I thought I glimpsed something like deep sadness, then it was gone, and the impassive stuffed-frog expression was back in place.

"Have I said something wrong, Jeeves?" I hadn't meant to upset the fellow. Now I was concerned - was my love a terrible burden? Perhaps now Jeeves felt an unwanted obligation to me because of my blundering declaration.

"No, sir, you have said nothing wrong," he replied, but he didn't look at me when he said it, and he sounded awfully distant. I had planned on asking Jeeves whether he loved me as well, but suddenly the words stuck in my throat and I couldn't voice the question - the very subj. seemed to be painful to him, and I didn't want to put him in an awkward spot. Perhaps... perhaps he didn't care for me at all, and that was why he seemed so distressed by this topic.

"Well, Jeeves, I'll leave you to your fishing. I just... thought you should know, that's all," I finished dejectedly.

The walk back to the house seemed much longer than the walk out had been, and I trooped moodily through the front door, ignoring the scandalised glare of the butler, back through the house, and into the room I was sharing with Terrence. I felt the urge to give the blighter a piece of my mind, but luckily for him, he wasn't there. I fell onto my bed and closed my eyes, wanting nothing more than for this day to be over. I must have dozed off, because I awoke to a hand shaking my shoulder.

I opened my eyes to find Terrence looming above me. "Oh, it's you," I said.

"Paul, what are you doing? It's the middle of the afternoon! Shouldn't you be with your gentleman?"

I glared at him. "Yes, well, thanks to you, he no longer desires my company."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, after we talked last night, I - well, I told him that I loved him. It made him dreadfully unhappy and he clammed up like a stuffed frog and it was awkward and awful and now here I am and I know you meant well but it's your fault, you know, old chap." I brought my confused explanation to a halt.

He sat on the bed next to me and was silent for a time. "I... I'm not sure what to say, Paul," he said in a subdued sort of way. "I'm awfully sorry. I could have sworn... but, well, I seem to have blundered."

The fellow looked so remorseful that I couldn't bear to rub it in any further. "Yes, well, you were only trying to help," I said miserably.

"Let me make it up to you," he said with a goodish amount of throb in his voice.

"Er, what did you have in mind?" I asked somewhat suspiciously. I didn't need any more of his schemes, which seemed to have the tendency to go hideously awry, much as my own sometimes have an unfortunate way of doing.

He gazed at me with melting eyes in a way that was deuced familiar... if only I could place it. He rested his hand in an uncomfortably chummy sort of way on my leg, causing me to start a bit. I gave him a puzzled look.

"Oh, just some innocent fun," he said. "Or perhaps not so innocent, but still fun." And with that, he moved the hand that was resting on the Wooster leg to a portion of the Wooster corpus which cannot be mentioned in polite society.

I let out a yelp and scrambled out from under his hand, ending up wedged against the wall, with Roberts moving towards me with intent in his eyes. Suddenly I recognized that look - it was usually plastered on the face of some dratted beazel who had decided that Bertram was everything she had always wanted in a mate.

"It doesn't have to mean anything. We could just have a good time," he cajoled.

"A good time?" I bleated. "I rather think that, well, I don't think - "

"I know you're not over him, and I'm not trying to take his place," he said, inching closer.

"Take whose place?" I asked somewhat desperately, flattening myself further against the wall.

"You don't need to pretend with me, Paul," he said. "I know you still love him, even if he doesn't love you in return. It's all right. I'm not asking for your heart, just your - "

"I say!" His hand had once again descended, and this time I propelled myself past him, off the bed, and right across the room to the door. In fact, I was out of the house and into the gardens before I finally stopped for breath. I was feeling rather unsteady on my pins, and I sank gratefully onto a handily placed bench, conveniently located in a small, secluded nook.

It was beginning to dawn upon me that there had been some sort of colossal misunderstanding. The Roberts cove apparently felt about yours truly the way that Madeline Bassett, Florence Craye, and a whole host of other females had professed to feel about Bertram Wooster - that is, a sentiment deeper and warmer than ordinary friendship. But the fellow was, well, a fellow - I had never heard of such a thing!

Although... now that I came to think of it, there had been a few birds at school who had been rather cosy with one another. In fact, one time I had walked into Bingo Little's room and found him wrestling Boko Fittleworth on the bed. I had thought it deuced odd at the time, and had asked them why they couldn't just work out their differences like gentlemen, then I'd shaken my head and left the room. Now, in retrospect, their actions took on an entirely different - and altogether less adversarial - complexion.

Thinking back on my conversations with Roberts, it appeared he had assumed that Jeeves and I shared such an understanding. I wondered what on earth could have led him to that conclusion. After all, there had never been anything even slightly improper in the way that Jeeves behaved towards me. And he hadn't attempted anything at all, er, amatory when I had told him that I loved him -

Good lord, what an ass I had made of myself! I wondered if Jeeves had thought I meant, well, that I loved him in the Bingo-Boko sense of the word.

Well, don't you? a small, quiet voice seemed to ask.

I looked around wildly, but there was no one there. This was getting dashed serious - now I was hearing voices! Still, the s. q. v. had posed a reasonable question, and it deserved an answer. I mulled it over, picturing Jeeves, the quietly dignified expression and bearing, the perfectly pressed vestments - I fleetingly thought of him again in that towel and wondered how he'd look without it - the unfailing loyalty and devotion, the astounding fish-fed brain, the finely chiselled features, and I wondered how anyone could not love the man.

I felt an utter imbecile. I had apparently developed a passionate attachment to my valet, and I hadn't even noticed. I had even confessed my love to him before I understood what I actually meant. It didn't matter, though; clearly he didn't return my feelings. Jeeves was the only person I had ever truly loved - and I knew somehow that he was the only person I ever would love - and he didn't love me at all; in fact, the mere existence of my affection caused him deep pain. How could it not? Why would anyone, much less a marvel like Jeeves, want to be loved by a bumbling half-wit such as myself? I closed my eyes, and a whimper escaped my lips. I felt a lump in my throat the size of a smallish island, and I tried to swallow it down, but it didn't want to go.

Just then, I heard a familiar restrained cough. "Are you quite all right, sir?"

My eyes flew open, and I quickly scrubbed away the suspicious dampness that had gathered there. I must have looked a fright - red-eyed, hair and clothing rumpled from my nap and subsequent flight across the grounds - because Jeeves was eyeing me with concern.

"Oh, yes, Jeeves, fine," I said with forced heartiness.

"If I may make the observation, sir, you appear to be somewhat distressed. You have also been absent for several hours. Is something amiss?"

"Oh, well, I've just been thinking, Jeeves. I was in my bedroom before, having a bit of a lie-down, but I had to get out of there - that Roberts fellow - he, well, he..." I trailed off, unsure of what to say. I wasn't looking at Jeeves, so I was unprepared for what happened next.

In a fraction of an instant, Jeeves was gripping my shoulders, his face only inches from mine. "What did he do to you, sir?" he asked in a tone of deadly calm that I had never heard from him before. I'd never seen anything like the look in his eyes, either - he looked as if he could wrestle a grizzly bear to the ground without breaking a sweat and then go back for all of its aunts, uncles, and cousins as well. The look wasn't directed at me, you understand, but I wouldn't have put odds on Terrence surviving the hour unless I spoke up forthwith.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," I said hastily. "That is, he, well, he, er, expressed an interest in the Wooster person." Jeeves's face darkened even further, and I hurriedly continued. "But nothing happened! I, er, well, I rather fled, and ended up out here," I concluded lamely.

He searched my eyes for a moment longer and then, seemingly satisfied by whatever he found, he released my shoulders - a bit reluctantly, it seemed to me. He straightened and said, "Very well, sir. Are you certain that you are well?"

"Well, no, Jeeves, to tell the truth, I'm not well, but it's got nothing to do with that Roberts fellow," I said, remembering the thoughts that had brought me so low, and feeling the old despair creep over me. "I expect you'll be wanting to find a new place. You needn't worry; I'll write you an excellent letter of reference."

"Find a new place, sir? Why should I wish to do that?"

I looked at my shoes - they were perfectly polished, as always. My chin trembled slightly at the thought that Jeeves would never again polish my shoes. "Jeeves, I made a blasted fool of myself this morning, and obviously my words upset you, so I thought that, well, you wouldn't want to stay on with me. I understand completely, Jeeves." I closed my eyes again as they threatened to spill over with rather unmanly moisture.

I heard him heave a small sigh, and then the bench creaked as he sat down beside me. "No, sir, I don't believe that you do," he said quietly. "I wish to apologize for my conduct this morning. Your words... took me by surprise, but they were not unwelcome, sir. Far from it, in fact."

I felt a faint stirring of hope. "But then why did you look so bally sad, Jeeves?"

"If you will recall, sir, it was not your expression of affection which caused the emotion to which you refer. It was, rather, the words of explanation which followed it."

I felt somewhat bewildered - I wasn't in the mood for riddles, and I wished that Jeeves would just speak plainly. But this was important, and so I resolutely cast my mind back to the morning's uncomfortable interchange. I had told him that I loved him, and he had looked... well, now that I thought about it, he hadn't looked sad at all. He had looked... hopeful. As if he were a young lad again, about to be given a Christmas gift that he had always wished for but never quite imagined he would actually receive. What had I said next? I wrinkled the brow in thought. I had said... something about Jeeves being like a mother to me, or an uncle. Why on earth had I said such a thing? That wasn't how I felt at all! It had caused Jeeves to look as if that corking Yuletide treasure had been cruelly snatched away and replaced with a pair of woollen socks - still a serviceable gift, but not exactly the stuff of a boy's dreams.

Suddenly an idea burst upon me - the brightest, happiest, most smashingly brilliant thought to ever cross the Wooster bean. It seemed quite too good to be true, but perhaps... perhaps Jeeves did love me! Perhaps, in fact, he loved me in the same way that I had only just twigged that I loved him. Perhaps that was what caused his sadness when I compared him to an aged relation. The idea was jolly well incredible, but it seemed to fit the facts of the case.

The result of these cogitations brought to mind the old wheeze about being blinded by the light, and I realized that I was blinded because my eyes were still shut. I hurriedly opened them, and turned to look at Jeeves, still on the bench beside me. He was watching me silently, and I could see that it was up to me to undo my earlier bloomer. There was some risk involved in wading back into these deep waters, but the prospect of having Jeeves's love was worth any amount of danger. I screwed the Wooster courage to the sticking place, if that's how the gag goes - never made much sense to me; courage isn't sticky, after all, not like lemon-drops or ginger-beer. In any case, I screwed up the old courage and ventured forth.

"Jeeves, when I told you how I felt about you this morning, I'm afraid I misspoke," I began.

"Indeed, sir?" he said, and his eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch. His face was still carefully blank.

"Yes, Jeeves," I said firmly. "I do love you, you understand, but those feelings in no way resemble any sort of familial bond. I fancy, in fact, that my emotions toward you are, ah, rather more romantic in nature, and they seem to be accompanied by certain, er, improper thoughts, largely centring around the sight of you in a bath towel."

At the conclusion of this speech, Jeeves bestowed upon me a look of such undisguised ardour that my heart nearly pounded itself right out from between my ribs. If we had been in a film, this would have been the bit where the music swells and a passionate kiss ensues. Although there were no violinists about, the p. k. was still a distinct, and quite appealing, possibility, at least until Gerald Larkmeade came bursting into the scene, spoiling the mood entirely.

"Ah, there you are, Devin," he panted, rather red-faced and out of breath. "I've been looking for you." Then he noticed me, and he squinted at me disdainfully for a moment before turning back to Jeeves.

"Has your valet been crying?" he asked incredulously.

"He became lost in the gardens and was most upset. It happens not infrequently, I'm afraid," Jeeves said smoothly.

"You really are a sterling fellow," Gerald replied obsequiously. "That man of yours would try the patience of a saint." I bristled at this, but Jeeves shot me a warning glance and I reluctantly subsided.

"Very true," Jeeves said, turning once more to Gerald. "However, he has many fine qualities, not least of which are his open, honest nature and his kind heart." I thrilled to hear these words, and a rather soppy smile spread itself across the Wooster dial.

"Well, you know best, of course," Larkmeade said doubtfully. "Anyway, what I've come to tell you is that a dear old friend of mine is coming to visit, a lady from your own country. I haven't seen her in many years - since before her marriage, in fact. She was quite a spirited girl, was young Agatha Wooster."

Jeeves and I shared a look, and I knew instantly that we were of the same mind. Skinflint uncles and overly amorous servants were one thing, or rather two things, but when my fire-breathing Aunt A. hove into view, it was time to execute a strategic withdrawal to our cosy digs in the metrop.

"When will the lady be arriving?" Jeeves asked.

"I should think in no more than two or three hours," he said. I gulped.

"Oh dear, this is most unfortunate," said Jeeves sombrely.

"My dear fellow, what is it?" asked Larkmeade.

"Harris was attempting to find me because I have just received an urgent communication from my publisher in New York that my presence is required in the city. I'm afraid some difficulty has arisen with my latest manuscript and I must leave with all due haste. I apologize most profusely, Gerald."

Old Larkmeade looked dreadfully disappointed, but he rallied gamely. "Ah, well, such is the life of an author, I suppose. It can't all be autographs and high-society balls, can it?"

"Indeed not," Jeeves replied. "On the subject of high-society balls, I have been meaning to speak with you about your nephew. I do apologize for my forthrightness; however, I have noticed that Abelard seems not to have sufficient funds to dress in an appropriate manner at the many social events that we must attend, or to live in a desirable part of the city. I do wish that I could increase his salary; however, the royalties I earn are not large, and I must support Harris as well as myself. I hate to impose in such a way, but if you could see your way clear to increasing his quarterly allowance..." Jeeves trailed off delicately.

"Say no more," Larkmeade declared. "Consider it done. I'll double it - triple it!" he amended when Jeeves cleared his throat. I myself was well aware of the persuasive power of the Jeevesian throat-clear, and evidently old Gerald wasn't immune either.

"You are exceedingly generous," Jeeves said. "And now, I'm afraid, I must supervise Harris's packing. I have greatly enjoyed your hospitality, Gerald."

With that, I found myself whisked off to the house with Jeeves, and in a trice he was packed and ready to go. I had to venture back to Terrence's bedroom to retrieve my belongings, and when I poked my head in, he looked up from the book he was reading and broke into a rather rueful smile.

"All's well that ends well, eh?" he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I can tell by the look on your face that all is well with your gentleman once again. I take it he does return your feelings after all?"

I blushed and began stammering. "Oh, ah, well, that is to say, er, I suppose..."

He chuckled. "He really is lucky, you know. Your loyalty to him is touching, and you blush so fetchingly as well."

"Oh, well, thanks, old bean," I said, blushing even harder. "I'll just be getting my things; we're going home a bit earlier than expected."

"Enjoy yourselves," he said. "Perhaps we'll see more of each other someday." And with that, he gave another of his winks and went back to his novel.


The ride back to the city was torturous. Larky was practically bursting with gratitude and glee at the success of the scheme and his newly increased allowance. I was happy for the fellow, but I rather urgently wanted to be alone with my valet, and the most I could do was sneak glances at him. Jeeves was the very epito-whatsit of decorum, but when Larky wasn't looking, he shot me a few heated looks of his own, while flexing his gloved fingers on the steering wheel in a most distracting manner. I'm afraid we barely contributed to the conversation, but luckily Larky was fully capable of maintaining a constant stream of chatter all on his own.

Finally we bunged the chap and his things back into his apartment, and then Jeeves was steering me out of the lift and into our own flat, depositing the luggage as softly as he would a basket of eggs. No easy feat, that. I know.

Just as I was beginning to feel a touch awkward, wondering how to get back around to one of those music-swelling and passionate-kiss moments, Jeeves resolved my quandary by taking matters into his own hands. Or, well, by taking me into his own hands, that is. I suddenly found myself encircled by Jeeves's strong arms, staring into his deep blue eyes. I wound my own arms round his neck and sighed happily. This time there were no blasted Larkmeades to interfere, and as Jeeves lowered his mouth to mine, I could practically hear the violins.

The first touch of his lips to mine was soft, almost tentative. I hadn't been quite certain of what to expect from Jeeves's kiss, but it was bally well perfect, just like Jeeves himself. I pressed up against him eagerly, wanting more contact, and he tightened his arms around me, pulling the young master flush with his own body. He kissed me again, this time with more vigour, and I moaned appreciatively. Then his tongue got into the act and matters instantly became much more heated. As his tongue stroked along my own, I thought vaguely that I had never known that anything could feel so corking.

Then he began rubbing himself against me in a way that felt even more corking, and all rational thought was lost. When I next had enough wit to look around, I found that we were in the master bedroom. I wasn't entirely certain how that had happened, but I wasn't about to object. In the time that it took this thought to zoom through the old coconut, I found myself lying on the bed, with Jeeves on top of me. Somewhere along the way we'd lost our shoes and jackets, but the rest of our clothing was still intact. It would take too much time to do anything about that now, and I wanted to get back to that awfully pleasant rubbing thing we'd been doing earlier. Apparently Jeeves felt the same way, because he was pressing his fully clad body against mine, causing the most delightful sensation of friction. His arms were braced on either side of me, and as he leaned in for another kiss, I finally got the chance to run the Wooster digits through that captivatingly glossy hair of his. It felt just as topping as it had in my dream... good lord! Suddenly I remembered the sequence of events of that rather risqué dream that I'd had at The Maples - it had involved Jeeves and self, in just the positions we were in now, but with a dashed sight less clothing. I'd been combing through his dark locks with my fingers, and he'd been staring into my eyes as he pressed our nether regions together, just as he was doing now. The remembrance, combined with the reality, caused a flood of excitement that was bally well overwhelming and suddenly I realized that I'd better warn Jeeves.

"Jeeves!" I gasped. "I'm going to - "

"Yes, sir," he breathed as he dexterously unfastened my trousers and pulled me free of my undergarments. At the first touch of his hand, I released explosively, throwing my head back and squeezing my eyes shut as a strangled "Jeeves!" escaped from my throat. He held me in his arms as I shook in the aftermath, murmuring soothingly in my ear. I was far too blissfully dazed to make out what he was saying, but I suspect it was more of that Brennan-whatsit fellow's not-poetry, and I found I didn't mind it so much this time.

Some indeterminate quantity of time later, I floated back to earth enough to notice that I had been stripped of my garments and that Jeeves's arms were no longer around me. I was rather new to this intimacy thingummy, but I had the sinking feeling that it was meant to last a bit longer than it had, and involve more than one simple touch. Apparently I was as hopeless a bungler at this as I was at the valeting wheeze - I must have been an awful disappointment to Jeeves. I opened my eyes and turned to him to apologize, but what I saw stopped the words in my throat, my mouth still hanging open.

Jeeves was completely nude, apparently having discarded his own apparel along with mine. He looked just as appealing as I remembered, bringing to mind the old saw about not hiding one's light under a bushel - Jeeves had certainly not been heeding that advice, and it seemed to me that he had been quite unfairly hoarding his considerable luminescence. He was lying on his side facing me, his head propped up with one hand. With the other hand, he was stroking himself deliberately as his eyes travelled up and down the Wooster frame. His complexion was ruddy, and his breathing somewhat laboured. When his eyes met mine and he saw me watching him, his hand stilled and he let out a low groan.

"May I...?" I asked uncertainly.

"Please do, sir," he said, moving his hand. I studied his length for a moment - it was similar to my own, and yet not the same - it was fascinatingly large, just for a start. I hesitantly reached out and touched it, causing Jeeves to let out a hiss like air escaping from a tyre. I snatched back my hand immediately.

"Did I hurt you, Jeeves?" I asked with alarm.

"Not at all, sir," he reassured.

I reached out and touched him again, this time stroking the tips of my fingers up and around him. The skin there was delightfully soft, and yet the flesh underneath was impressively firm. Jeeves was watching my explorations intently, still breathing heavily. I noticed that a drop of moisture had appeared at his tip, and I brushed it away with my index finger, then, feeling a bit curious, I brought that digit to my mouth and licked away the drop - it tasted pleasantly tart. Jeeves let out another of those deep groans and closed his eyes momentarily while clenching his hand into a fist at his side. I felt a thrill of pride that I could so easily wring such a reaction from my manservant.

Then I noticed that his hips were thrusting forward minutely, and I realized that he was surely rather desperate for his own release by this time. I didn't want to prolong his suffering, so I grasped him firmly in my hand and began stroking up and down in the manner that I had occasionally employed on myself. I had always found it a dashed agreeable sensation, and apparently Jeeves enjoyed it as well, because he moaned in an encouraging manner and increased the movement of his hips. The angle was different than I was accustomed to, and it was a touch awkward, but worth it to see the expression on Jeeves's finely chiselled features. Then I remembered the last time I'd seen that e. on his f. c. f.'s, and on a sudden whim, I increased the speed and pressure of my hand just a bit, leaned in, and, locking my eyes with his, said in a low voice, "How does that feel... sir?"

With that, he gave a wordless shout and surged forward, throbbing in my hand as he spattered us both liberally with the unmistakable evidence of his pleasure. I was somewhat gratified that my normally immaculate valet had made an even larger mess than I had done just a few moments ago. He pulled me to him forcefully and I willingly yielded, wrapping my arms around his bare torso as he drew me in for another of his thrilling kisses.

Eventually, our rather inconvenient need for oxygen overcame our need to continue exploring one another's mouths, and I settled contentedly into his arms, my head resting on his chest, listening to the thumping of his heart as he combed his fingers through my hair. It seemed that I wasn't the only one with a fascination for the other's coiffure.

Now that the urgency of the situation had passed, there was something I'd been meaning to discuss with Jeeves since I'd made my confession to him, before old Larkmeade had come bursting upon us.

"You do love me, don't you, Jeeves?"

"Of course I love you, sir," he said, sounding somewhat affronted at the mere suggestion that there could be a contrary answer.

"And I suppose... it's the forever kind of love? You're not going to biff off and leave me alone, are you?" I queried with some trepidation.

"Never, sir," he said seriously. I sighed happily.

"How long have you been in love with me, Jeeves?"

"Since shortly after I entered your employ, sir."

"I rather fancy that I've loved you for an equally long time, only I didn't tumble to it until just recently. I'm sorry I was such a dunce, Jeeves. I don't suppose you... knew how I felt?"

"I had suspected it, yes, sir, but it was clear to me that you were not aware of your own feelings in the matter."

"Why on earth didn't you just slosh me on the head with some handy obj. to knock a bit of sense into me?"

"It would not have been proper, sir," he said severely. "I will confess, however, that I entertained the hope that our recent reversal of roles would prompt an awakening of sorts on your part. I will further admit that such hope was one of the reasons I suggested the plan."

"Jeeves, you are one in a million. You must have been full to the brim with fish when you thought up that scheme; it truly was one of your best efforts to date. Why, just look at how splendidly things have turned out for all concerned - even old Larkmeade got to spend a weekend in the company of a man he supposed to be his favourite writer - "

I broke off as a sudden, highly unwelcome thought hit me with the force of a thunderbolt. "Great Scott, Jeeves!"

He looked at me with concern. "Sir?"

"My Aunt Agatha! Well, you heard old Larkmeade - she's here, in America! As soon as she's finished sucking all the joy out of The Maples and its surrounding environs, she'll be moving on to suck the joy out of our own environs. I have no desire to face the blasted nephew-crusher. I don't suppose you could come up with some scheme to get rid of her?"

"I believe, sir, that the simplest method of handling the threat will be to absent ourselves from the area."

"Jeeves, you never fail. I don't suppose there's any location that's equally free of both overbearing aunts and chums wanting favours, is there?"

"If you will recall, sir, some time ago I proposed a visit to the American West. I believe that such a trip will render you safe from the importunities of both friends and relations."

"Ah, and you'll have the opportunity to get in a bit of fly-fishing, eh, Jeeves?"

"The thought had occurred to me, sir."

"Well, it's as good a place as any to make our escape. I've always wanted to see San Francisco, Jeeves - I think we should add that to the itinerary as well."

"That would be most enjoyable, sir."

"Jolly good. Er, on this trip, I imagine we'll be able to conduct further, ah, mutually agreeable explorations?" I asked hopefully.

"Indeed, sir," he said with a slight quirk of the left side of that delectable mouth, bringing an end to the conversation as I applied my lips to said d. m.

We suited word to deed, and before the dreaded Aunt A. could darken our doorstep, we had skipped town, as I believe the phrase has it, leaving no forwarding address. I had anticipated a quiet, peaceful sojourn out West, but of course things never seem to turn out that way for old Bertram. Instead, Jeeves and I faced our most gripping affair yet, when... but that's a story for another day, what?


Feel like some J/W PWP action?

Tags: fic: jeeves & wooster
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