Title: Jeeves and the Silver Tongue
Author: Sky Blue Reverie skyblue_reverie
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Word Count: Approximately 1900
Summary: Just a short little PWP loosely set in my J/W-verse, but you don't need to have read them for this to make sense. Bertie is feeling mischievous and decides to test out a newly acquired skill in a garage at Totleigh.
Author's Notes: Thanks ever so much to the wonderful rivers_bend, leaper182, fenriss, veronamay, and cicerothewriter for fast and helpful beta work!
Disclaimer: The characters and settings aren't mine, but they're such fun to play with! I'm sure Plum is spinning in his grave at what I'm doing to his boys. *g*
Feedback: I live for feedback.
Jeeves – my man, you know – has rather a silver tongue. I'm not talking about his general gift of articu-whatsit, or even his command of foreign languages, although those are indeed impressive. No, I mean something a dashed sight less proper, and rather more enjoyable as well. I mean to say, when we're tucked up in bed together as snug as two bugs in a rug, he does the most unbelievable things with that tempting mouth of his. He has this one particular trick – sort of a flutter of his tongue – that never fails to bring me to my knees. Well, my metaphorical knees, anyway, if metaphorical is the word I want, since I'm usually flat on my back at the time. I never quite manage to reciprocate the favour – he won't hear of it, and besides, he usually has other plans in mind, not that I'm complaining. Far from it, in fact.
Nevertheless, and I blush to admit it, I was rather curious whether I could manage the same thing with my own tongue, and what effect it might have on Jeeves. I had been practising in the mirror while in the salle de bain to brush my teeth and whatnot, and when it looked like I had it right, I poked one of my digits into the old Wooster mouth and tried it out. It wasn't easy, and it took me a deuced many tries before I got the knack of it, but finally I was satisfied that I had got it down. Now I had to find an opportunity to test it out.
My chance came a few weeks later, when we were at a fancy-dress ball at Totleigh Towers. Normally I wouldn't be caught within 100 leagues of that blasted heap, but Aunt Dahlia had insisted that we go and retrieve some silver objet d'art that Uncle Tom had bid on at auction but Sir Watkyn Bassett had managed to bag instead. Jeeves and I were attired as cat burglars – his idea, of course, and rather a clever one since that's what we were actually there for, after all. After a decent interval, we snuck away from the ball, retrieved the knick-knack, and bunged it safely in the motor-car, which was stowed away in the garage.
We were about to leave the garage and head back to the party when a rather daring notion popped into the old bean. This would be the perfect opportunity to test out my newly acquired skill! I must admit that the idea of committing the most awfully lewd acts in a location where we could easily be found was rather exciting. If only I could work up the bally nerve to follow through with it. Well, we Woosters may not be the toast of the town for our good sense, but our bravery has never been found lacking. I screwed up a bit of the old courage and sallied forth.
I stopped Jeeves from opening the door with a hand on his shoulder, then I turned him around and backed him against the wall, peeling off my eye-mask and his as well. Then I leaned into him for a kiss. He was somewhat surprised at first, but soon got into the spirit of the thing, kissing me back with enthusiasm. When I reached a hand in between us to re-introduce myself to his lower anatomy, which seemed quite pleased to renew the acquaintance, he broke off the kiss, gasping, "Sir, we cannot. It isn't safe."
"Utter bunk, old fellow," I returned in a low voice. "Everyone's enjoying themselves at the ball, and anyway no one's likely to come popping into the garage."
"Sir, I must insist that you stop. I cannot risk your reputation in this way. You will remember, sir, that the last time we stayed at Totleigh Towers, Mr Fink-Nottle concealed himself in our armoire – " he broke off again when I playfully nipped at his neck. He was right, of course; there was some risk, but I wasn't about to be put off now.
"Jeeves, I must say I'm surprised. I always thought you had a rather adventurous spirit – that Viking blood of yours and all. Besides, the possibility of being discovered rather adds to the enjoyment of the thing. It's quite like pinching policemen's helmets, in fact. One doesn't nick them to obtain an article of fashionable headgear, but because one may…" and here I unbuttoned his trousers, "get…" I slid his trousers and undershorts down his legs, "caught." With this final word I dropped to my knees in front of him. The action caused me some regret, as I hadn't quite thought ahead to the fact that the garage floor consisted of some deuced unforgiving stony material. I could tell that the old Wooster knees would suffer for my lack of foresight. Nevertheless, I pushed forward with my plan.
Now that I was kneeling, I was face-to-face, as it were, with the evidence of Jeeves's regard for me. And what evidence it was! Rather daunting, in fact. It had never looked quite so bally intimidating when we were comfortably ensconced in bed together. If I'd known the true size of the thing, I'd never have let Jeeves… well, never mind that. I was somewhat apprehensive, but I swallowed my nervousness with a gulp, looking up at Jeeves's face. He looked down at me at the same moment, and as soon as our eyes met, he let out a low moan and clenched his hands into fists at his sides. I was rather pleased at this response – the sight of the young master on his knees certainly seemed to have quite an effect upon my manservant. After gazing at me for a brief moment, he squeezed his eyes shut and let his head drop back against the wall, exhaling a shaky breath. I perceived that no further objections to my plan would be forthcoming.
I returned my gaze to the scene of the intended crime, as it were. I placed one hand on his hip, and with the other reached out and tentatively took hold of his length, leaning forward and licking gingerly at the very tip. I heard a gasp from above me, but ignored it. He tasted – well, he tasted bally marvelous. I eagerly opened my mouth and took him in, trying not to graze him with my teeth. That would call a dashed speedy halt to the proceedings, which wouldn't do at all. I felt his hands thread into my hair and an encouraging sort of moan drifted down to my ears.
By this time I was rather worked up myself, but I resolutely ignored the tightening in my trousers as I concentrated on the task at hand. Well, the task at hand and mouth.
I redoubled my efforts, moving up and down his length, using the old digits on what I couldn't fit into my mouth. He seemed to like it especially well when I focused my efforts on the tip, so I did that, alternating between swirling my tongue around and sucking for all I was worth. I carried on like this for a time, while Jeeves's noises grew increasingly more frantic, his hands tightened in my hair, and he started thrusting his hips forward slightly. I gamely took more of him in as he pushed into my mouth.
I could tell from the noises he was making that he was getting close, so I unveiled the pièce de résistance – I did The Thing with my tongue. That fluttering thing that I had been practising so assiduously, I mean to say. The effect was dashed gratifying, I must say. He immediately let out a deep groan and his fingers tightened so suddenly that I was quite afraid I'd have bald patches, which might have been deuced difficult to explain. I did The Thing once more, and that was game, set, and match. He groaned again, even more loudly, and bucked his hips a final time, releasing his warm seed. I swallowed eagerly, continuing to suck as he pulsed in my mouth. The flavour was unexpected – slightly bitter, but not unpleasant at all, and uniquely Jeevesian. As he softened, I continued to suck and lick him gently, gathering the last few drops of fluid before releasing him.
As soon as I pulled back, he used his grip on my hair to urge me to my feet, then he pulled me in for a bruising kiss. With the taste of his release still on my tongue, and the taste of his mouth on mine at the same time, combined with the forcefulness of his kiss, I felt quite overwhelmed and I must confess I nearly fainted like a maiden from one of Madeline Bassett's soppy fairy tales. At this point I was nearly as hard as that blasted surface I had just been kneeling on, so it was a blessed relief when Jeeves roughly yanked my trousers open and took me in one hand, his other arm moving to wrap around my back, supporting my swooning form as he plundered my mouth. With only a few strokes of that large, strong hand of his I reached my own release, whimpering helplessly into his mouth as I spilled over his fist. He held me until I could support my own weight again, kissing me thoroughly, but more gently now that our urgency had passed. Eventually he stepped back, producing a handkerchief from somewhere and cleaning us both up a bit before rearranging our clothing. Then he smoothed our hair down with his hands, finally restoring our eye masks from where I had dropped them earlier. Once all this had been accomplished, no one would ever have supposed that anything untoward had occurred. Dashed handy, having a valet as one's paramour, what?
"Well, Jeeves," I said, with a slightly self-satisfied air, "I know you don't approve of all of my ideas, but you must admit that one was a corker."
"Indeed, sir," he said, with the tiniest flicker of the corner of his mouth.
"Not bad for a beginner, eh, Jeeves?" I asked.
"No, indeed, sir," he said warmly. "Your technique is… remarkable."
"Ah, well, thank you, Jeeves," I said modestly. "I learned from the best, after all."
"Thank you, sir," he said demurely. "Perhaps we should rejoin the festivities now."
"Yes, quite," I said. I stole one last kiss from him before he opened the door.
We slipped back out to the masquerade and I allowed myself to be drawn into the crowd, losing sight of Jeeves. From time to time, I caught sight of his tall, handsome form out of the corner of my eye, and each time, I turned my head to look at him. He always seemed to know when I was watching him, and he would catch my eye and turn up the corner of his mouth infinitesimally – I daresay no one else even noticed a change in his expression, but to me it was as if he were holding up a large, boldly-lettered sign proclaiming his happiness. I knew then that regardless of the smiling faces and glittering adornments to be found all around me, and despite my own bruised knees, I was the luckiest chap in the whole bally place.