Sky (skyblue_reverie) wrote,

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Mr Wooster and the Birthday Gift

Hello, my darlings! This J/W PWP is brought to you in honor of weaselwoman13's and leaper182's birthdays. I'm just a leetle bit late for one (by her time zone anyway) and a bit early for the other, but ah well. It's the (extremely porny) thought that counts, right?

Title: Mr Wooster and the Birthday Gift
Author: Sky Blue Reverie skyblue_reverie
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Pairing: J/W
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: Approximately 2300
Summary: A D/s-y PWP loosely set in my J/W-verse. Jeeves and Bertie visit the tailor shop.
Author's Notes: Endless gratitude, as always, to my beloved Essie for extremely fast and helpful beta work. Dedicated to the utterly corking weaselwoman13 (January 20th) and leaper182 (January 30th), upon the occasion of their respective natal anniversaries. Happy birthday(s), old things!
Disclaimer: The characters and settings aren't mine, more's the pity.
Feedback: I live for feedback.

Early in our association, long before we had reached our current understanding, my employer had inquired as to the date of my birth. I had not expected him to remember it, but Mr Wooster often surprises me, even now, with his thoughtfulness and generosity of spirit.

This particular day had started, as had become our routine, when I disentangled myself from his embrace and rose from our bed. He made a sleepy murmur of discontent when I left his arms, but quickly fell back into a deeper slumber. I bathed, dressed, and completed my morning duties before preparing his tea-tray. When I brought it into the bedroom, he was just waking, and he sat up in bed with a stretch and a yawn, not yet alert enough to form coherent sentences.

After he had drunk his first cup of tea, he revived, and bade me good morning with his usual cheer. He then pulled me to him for our customary morning kiss. When it was concluded, he blinked up at me and said, somewhat breathlessly, "Happy birthday, Jeeves."

"Thank you, sir," I said.

"Jeeves, I want to do something for you for your birthday. Not a dull improving book or a staid - if staid is the word I mean - new bowler hat, but something you'll really enjoy. I've come up with a corker of an idea."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Yes, Jeeves. I'm going to take you to my tailor's and let you pick out a few new coverings for the Wooster corpus. I know how it pains you when I choose something of which you don't approve. Well, I shall be at your disposal today. Select whatever you like, and I shall order it and wear it with nary a complaint. Then we can take in a show of your choosing and ankle round to whatever restaurant you'd like."

There are times when my employer's "corking" ideas are rather alarming, as when his fancy was briefly taken with the notion of purchasing a house to share with his sister and three young nieces, and then there are times when he is truly inspired. This was one of the latter occasions. Although to the outside observer, Mr Wooster's gift may have seemed selfish, since it would result in more fine clothes for him, and nothing tangible for myself, in fact nothing could have given me greater pleasure. He instinctively understood that I would rather be given free reign over his wardrobe than order new clothing for myself, for which I would have very little use.

I allowed the left side of my mouth to quirk approvingly, causing him to brighten. After he had eaten his breakfast, I assisted him to bathe and dress, and we set forth from the flat.

Mr Wooster's tailor, Mr Levinson, was pleasantly surprised to see us enter; my employer is a favoured customer, for his friendly nature, for his elegant physique, which showed off his tailor's creations to their best advantage, and, of course, for his liberal purchasing habits. We were immediately shown into the private fitting room at the rear of the shop, where Mr Levinson brought in samples of fabrics and showed us sketches of the latest in men's fashions. True to his word, Mr Wooster instructed that I was to be given carte blanche. He then retired to the lone chair in the room, reading a newspaper, while Mr Levinson and I engaged in a detailed discussion of which fabrics and styles would best suit my employer's slender frame and fair colouring. After I had selected several new daytime suits and one set of formal evening wear, Mr Levinson asked my employer to disrobe to his undergarments so that he could check his measurements. I retired in turn to the chair to read the newspaper, covertly admiring Mr Wooster's form while Mr Levinson went to work with his measuring tape.

During this procedure, the bell at the door of the shop sounded. Mr Levinson looked up, distressed. "Oh dear, my shop assistant is ill today. I shall have to attend to the matter myself. I do apologise, Mr Wooster."

My employer waved his hand airily and said, "Think nothing of it, old chap. Take all the time you need."

Mr Levinson left us with a bow, and I followed him to the door of the fitting room, looking out into the shop. The gentleman who had just entered was a well-known peer of the realm, a duke famous for his wealth and infamous for his demanding ways. He immediately began a long-winded tirade about his latest order and certain changes that he wished to be made. Mr Levinson threw me a helpless glance, indicating wordlessly that he would be occupied for some time, and I nodded in understanding.

I withdrew once more into the fitting room, locking the door behind me. An opportunity had presented itself, and I quickly weighed the risks and found them negligible.

Mr Wooster was still standing on a platform in the middle of the small room, in front of a large mirror which consisted of three full-length panels, hinged to allow the customer to see all sides of himself. He looked at me questioningly as I stepped up onto the platform and stood behind him, placing my hands on his shoulders. I then lowered my head to his neck and kissed the soft skin there. He let out a soft, somewhat embarrassed moan and arched his neck, giving me fuller access. I allowed my hands to drift down his frame as I continued my attentions to his neck. After a few moments of this diversion, I stopped and took a step backward, drawing another moan from him, this time of disappointment.

He had already stripped to his undershirt and shorts for the purpose of having his measurements taken, and now I eased those remaining garments off of his body, while his eyes followed my movements in the mirror. Soon he was standing in front of me, completely bare, his nipples hardening in the cool air of the room, and a delightful flush spreading from his face down his chest. His nudity was all the more shocking in this setting, and in comparison to my own fully clothed state.

He was already partially erect, and growing more so as I watched him intently in the mirror. I yearned to take his flesh into my hand, but I forbore, having something else in mind. I stood just behind him, the lapels of my jacket barely brushing his shoulder blades, causing him to shiver. I leaned in toward his ear, not close enough to make contact, but near enough that he could hear my low whisper, and feel my breath upon his skin.

"I want you to touch yourself, sir," I said.

He swallowed nervously, and a deeper blush immediately stained his cheeks. This was something that I had directed him to do before as part of our intimacy, but never outside of our darkened bedchamber, and certainly not in front of a mirror. Our eyes met in the reflection, and I gazed at him steadily. I would not force this upon him if he demurred, but a slight amount of embarrassment and even reluctance on Mr Wooster's part was an aspect of our relations which we both enjoyed. I judged that he would accede to my request after only a moment's hesitation.

My supposition was proved correct when he gave a slight nod, and a quiet, "Yes, Jeeves." I removed a small bottle of oil from my inner breast pocket and smoothed a few drops onto his hand. He then moved to grasp his erect member. He began stroking himself tentatively, his hand moving slowly, his face flaming. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on mine in the mirror, but I had other plans. I once more leaned forward and spoke into his ear.

"Look at yourself, sir."

He let out a small whimper, but did as I asked, flushing an even deeper shade of crimson as he continued the motion of his hand while gazing at his own image in the full-length mirror. He attempted to move back against me, but I firmly grasped his hips and kept him at a slight distance. I was painfully aroused, but I would take my own satisfaction later, when there was sufficient time and privacy for what I had in mind. For now, I merely enjoyed the spectacle in front of me, my beloved employer pleasuring himself at my command.

I revelled in the view from every angle as his embarrassment faded and he began to lose himself in the sensation. His breathing became heavier, and he moaned my name. I reached up and caressed his chest, at first gently, and then roughly, flicking my fingernails over his nipples. He gasped at this and increased the speed of his hand, his hips now thrusting forward to meet his strokes.

In the distance, muffled by the door, I could hear the duke still rumbling angrily, interspersed with Mr Levinson's placating replies. I judged that we still had some time before we would be interrupted. Accordingly, I bent my head and murmured into Mr Wooster's ear.

"Not yet, sir," I said. He groaned softly and slowed the motion of his hand before stopping altogether, letting his hand fall to his side and shaking slightly with the effort of restraining himself. I soothed my hands down his shoulders and back while he stood gazing at himself, still erect and straining for release. I then stepped back and nodded for him to continue. He immediately took himself into his hand and began to stroke once again, blushing at his own eagerness. Twice more I let him nearly reach the peak before halting him.

Finally, when he had nearly reached the end of his endurance, he breathed, "Jeeves, please," and I nodded my assent. His hand sped to a blur as he raced toward the finish, the only sounds in the room those of his laboured breathing and low moans, the sliding of skin on skin, and the distant hum of voices from the front of the shop.

Anticipating his imminent release, I pressed a clean handkerchief into his free hand. As soon as he brought the handkerchief around to the front of his body, he climaxed powerfully. The force of his release brought him surging up onto the balls of his feet as he spent himself into the cloth, his eyes closing helplessly as a strangled whimper escaped from his throat. As he sank back down, his knees buckled and I held him as he collapsed against me.

He was trembling slightly as I turned him around and kissed him deeply, supporting his still weakened form. I took the handkerchief from his nerveless fingers and tucked it into my pocket as he leaned against me, head buried in the crook of my neck. After a few moments, he recovered somewhat, and his hand searched out my own arousal. He moved his long, elegant fingers against me through the fabric of my trousers and murmured against my shoulder, "Jeeves, will you let me... that is, I want to... take you in my mouth."

I groaned softly and my hips involuntarily thrust forward, pressing my length more firmly into his hand. The flood of mental images that his words had conjured was truly tempting. But I could hear that the duke was concluding his business with Mr Levinson now, and there was no time. "Later, sir," I said with feeling, stroking my fingers through his soft hair.

I assisted him in donning his undergarments, firmly suppressing my own urges until a more opportune time. I then unlocked the door and returned to my chair. When Mr Levinson rejoined us some few minutes later, he found us in the positions in which he had left us - Mr Wooster standing on the platform in front of the mirror, humming the latest hit from the music-hall stage, while I perused the newspaper.

"I'm terribly sorry for the interruption, gentlemen," the tailor said. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

"Not at all, old bean," Mr Wooster said expansively. "The time flew by, didn't it, Jeeves?"

I concurred, and Mr Levinson finished the necessary measurements. After Mr Wooster had re-dressed and arranged a date to pick up his purchases, we left the shop, and he turned to me.

"Well, Jeeves, there's plenty of daylight left on your birthday. What would you like to do, old thing? The world is your oyster; your wish is my command."

"I would like to return home, sir," I said.

"Home, Jeeves? But surely you'd rather get a bite to eat somewhere, and then take in a painfully serious play written by one of your favourite depressed Russian blokes."

"Perhaps later, sir. For now, I'd like to return home," I said meaningfully.

"Oh! Oh, right-ho. Yes, well, by all means," he responded, flushing slightly.

We turned homeward, and as it happened, we never did leave the flat again that day. Nevertheless, I was able to assure Mr Wooster in all honesty that it was the most satisfactory birthday I had ever spent.


Tags: fic: jeeves & wooster
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