Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Challenges: Washing, Transformation, Hand
Type: Fic
Characters/Pairing: Jeeves and Wooster
Word Count: ~1600
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Jeeves and Wooster learn that kisses can be sweeter than wine. Crossover with Works of the Flesh epiphany challenge.
Jeeves
Although I did not realize it for many months, I fell in love with Mr. Wooster at first sight. I had seen him from a distance at house parties and thought him amiable enough, although lacking in intellectual acumen. So, what was it to me that his hair shone brighter than the sun? Or that the sweetness of his temperament rivaled that of the most exotic honeys? Or that his heart was purer than gold? Nothing at all. Or so I told myself. Somehow, I knew not to stir up such feelings until I was certain of a return.
I went to Berkeley Mansions never suspecting that these old feelings would be revived and transformed into a deeper affection. The agency, fortuitously, had omitted Mr. Wooster’s name, only saying that the young man was in need of immediate help. He was even more beautiful than I had remembered him.
I found myself happy in Mr. Wooster’s employ, save for the recurring dreams. I sought him in the city, in the fields, in a country house, all the while knowing I sought him as a lover. A willing lover, but that, I knew well enough was pure fantasy, so needlessly often did he engage himself to young women. I extricated him from these entanglements, willingly or unwillingly, I never knew. I saved up his thanks and treasured them in my heart.
Some months after hiring me, Mr. Wooster surprised me at my ablutions. I had taken to washing myself in the large back sink on evenings when he was expected to be late. Never before had an employer seen me less than fully clothed, and I had great difficulty in controlling my facial expression. Unfortunately, other portions of my anatomy were less pliable. I could have perished from mortification.
Bertie
Bertram lost all power of speech at the sight of the dark and handsome chassis left bare to the masterly gaze. Scripture knowledge had been chief among Bertram’s meager scholastic achievements and the Song of Someone flitted through the noggin.
To wit:
His teeth were like whatsits and his muscles voluptuous like a rather fine thingummy and his legs like twin whatchamacallits and his whole corpus together like a topping great—well the grey cells elbowed each other for a chance at description, but left the Last of the Woosters gaping rather like a large whale of the type that swallowed Jonas before regurgitating—if that is the word I want—him back on the children of Israel.
“I say,” I gargled, trying to get the lower decks back into some type of working trim as the little Jeeves rose to the occasion. It was the work of an instant for the knees to buckle in the manner of a paper crown in Aunt Agatha’s fist, sending the willowy frame crashing toward the floorboards like the walls of Jericho, but with rather better tailoring.
Luckily, nothing ever really hampers the Jeevesian grey matter, and he dove for the slender corpus like Stinker Pinker playing rugby for the nation, setting the y.m. back up on the wobbling pins just short of a wicket.
The paws of him were firm yet gentle, his touch sweeter than the rather brackish sort of wine favored by La Basset, and the breadth of his shoulders like something broad and manly and shoulder-y.
“I apologize for the liberty, sir,” Jeeves intoned, as if he was not naked and dripping like Adam having just wandered out of some Edenic bathing spot, hoping that no serpents were about to chat him up about the latest in forbidden fruits. “It would do your suit no good…”
The Jeevesian voice trailed off as he took in the wet handprints on the Wooster tweed and realized that water spots were not a la mode this season.
The time had come for the young master to speak with authority and thingness, and this is what he said, “Jeeves, my man, you smell absolutely topping. Honeysuckle and musk have nothing on your heady scent. The heart leaps and bounds like a hart or roe deer or similar leaping and bounding the mountains and whatnot.” Pithy, no. Appropriate, even less so. Yet true nevertheless.
Meanwhile, back at the sink, Jeeves had shimmered slightly and was in the midst of wrapping a towel about his throbbing manhood. He came up short and the lower lip gaped like that of a well-bred trout missing its pinstriped trousers.
Wooster tried again to inject some whatsits into the sitch. “Your corpus is simply corking, Jeeves. A work the angels should dwell on with some preoccupation. Not to mention the finer qualities of the fish-fed brain.”
Dash it. There’s the cat out of the spilled milk.
Jeeves
Aside from any feelings of carnal attraction, I am very fond of Mr. Wooster, and his declarations melted my heart. However, it would not do to succumb to the feelings of the instant. I mustered enough will to wrap a towel around my waist.
“Sir,” I said, cursing the tremor in my voice. “I do apologize….”
Generally, Mr. Wooster is the slower thinking party in our cozy bachelor establishment, but on this occasion, he unequivocally took charge. “No apologies necessary, Jeeves,” he said, stepping forward and gently brushing the hair off my forehead. I felt my professional mask slip from my face, leaving me more naked than I had ever been before.
I felt my lips part and saw my own desire mirrored in the limpid depths of his clear blue eyes. He continued “I won’t insist, but you are most welcome…” I stopped his words with my eager lips. Our kisses were sweeter than honeyed wine, and I made not the slightest effort to stop him as he loosened my towel and took my most private regions in a soft, slender hand.
He pulled away, gasping, and for a moment, I feared that he had done this to use my proclivities against me, but he was only struggling to unfasten his trousers. I felt an overwhelming wave of tenderness as he tangled his arms in the damp tweed jacket, then wrenched it off and tossed it across the dish rack.
I opened the door to my room, which was closer at hand than his own. Our pent up sexual energy loosed itself and after some minutes, we found ourselves spent and tangled atop my narrow bed, me naked and Mr. Wooster in his underthings and shirt. He trailed sensitive fingers down my body, teasing me back into a state of arousal. I divested him of his remaining clothing and used my mouth to bring him off again.
“Jeeves, in this as in all things, you are a marvel,” he murmured.
“Indeed, sir?” I gasped.
“Indeed, Jeeves.”
Bertie
Long have I said that Jeeves works in mysterious ways his wonders to perform, but in this case, the young master was the p-er of w’s. It had been many weeks since Bertram had determined that the heart belonged to the paragon of valets, despite his many flaws.
Jeeves had once called the young master mentally negligible, which rather rankled at the time and the memory rose up like that whatshisname in Macsomething-or-other—ah, Banquo, there’s the chap—at the sight of the p. of v.s in his altogether.
When the old bean stopped reeling after hearing Jeeves’s estimation of young Bertram’s mental faculties, if that is the word I want, the most obvious course of action would have been to tick him off soundly, but as has been chronicled, one doesn’t do that with Jeeves.
The current circs opened another opportunity… to make sure he knew that I knew that he knew that I knew not… er, whatsit. Viz: What kind of dimwitted blighter accidentally takes a bath in the back kitchen with the door open? Clearly, it was some type of ruse or trick designed to get under the young master’s skin.
During the pashing portion of the evening, Bertram pulled back roughly, intending to declare himself not mentally negligible. Unfortunately, the sight of the bare Jeeves, covered delightfully with dark hair in all the right places and panting like a winning racehorse, rather overpowered the cranial matter. It was the work of a moment to yank open the trousers and become tangled in the tweed jacket. Several hours later, the willowy form stirred to life, nestled in the warm embrace of the keeper of its heart.
“Jeeves?” He smoothed the golden locks from the dial and kissed the forehead.
“I trust you enjoyed your rest, sir?” he said, nibbling the slender neck.
“Yes.” It took some effort to concentrate. “I don’t understand why you were all naked when I was expected back.”
Jeeves went stiller than patience on a thingummy and raised the onion. “But, sir, you were engaged to have supper at Mrs. Gregson’s and then to meet with the Drones committee on the arts. Those meetings generally run into the early morning hours.”
Bertram boggled. “Ah, then, you had nothing to do with Barmy getting a sudden message calling him to an important engagement elsewhere?”
Jeeves smiled. “No, sir. I appreciate your estimation of my abilities, but I had no thought other than to prepare for the week ahead.”
“With the door open?” The young master let loose the dogs of mystery, revealing the final clue. The manservant’s smile grew wider and the e’s twinkled.
“I need to be able to hear the doorbell, sir.”
Betram grew pensive. “But, Jeeves, clearly, you meant for the young master to happen upon you.”
And he laughed. Before that day, I had never before seen him so much as smirk. “No, sir, I assure you, I was quite mortified at my lapse.”
Betram kissed him soundly before continuing. “You appear quite amused neverthewhatsit, Jeeves.”
“Forgive me, sir,” said Jeeves, “I am pleasantly surprised at the take-charge attitude you have brought to our carnal relationship. It is most agreeable.”
The words flew out before I knew what happened. “Shall we continue, then?”
His e’s darkened. “Very good, sir.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Challenges: Washing, Transformation, Hand
Type: Fic
Characters/Pairing: Jeeves and Wooster
Word Count: ~1600
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Jeeves and Wooster learn that kisses can be sweeter than wine. Crossover with Works of the Flesh epiphany challenge.
Jeeves
Although I did not realize it for many months, I fell in love with Mr. Wooster at first sight. I had seen him from a distance at house parties and thought him amiable enough, although lacking in intellectual acumen. So, what was it to me that his hair shone brighter than the sun? Or that the sweetness of his temperament rivaled that of the most exotic honeys? Or that his heart was purer than gold? Nothing at all. Or so I told myself. Somehow, I knew not to stir up such feelings until I was certain of a return.
I went to Berkeley Mansions never suspecting that these old feelings would be revived and transformed into a deeper affection. The agency, fortuitously, had omitted Mr. Wooster’s name, only saying that the young man was in need of immediate help. He was even more beautiful than I had remembered him.
I found myself happy in Mr. Wooster’s employ, save for the recurring dreams. I sought him in the city, in the fields, in a country house, all the while knowing I sought him as a lover. A willing lover, but that, I knew well enough was pure fantasy, so needlessly often did he engage himself to young women. I extricated him from these entanglements, willingly or unwillingly, I never knew. I saved up his thanks and treasured them in my heart.
Some months after hiring me, Mr. Wooster surprised me at my ablutions. I had taken to washing myself in the large back sink on evenings when he was expected to be late. Never before had an employer seen me less than fully clothed, and I had great difficulty in controlling my facial expression. Unfortunately, other portions of my anatomy were less pliable. I could have perished from mortification.
Bertie
Bertram lost all power of speech at the sight of the dark and handsome chassis left bare to the masterly gaze. Scripture knowledge had been chief among Bertram’s meager scholastic achievements and the Song of Someone flitted through the noggin.
To wit:
His teeth were like whatsits and his muscles voluptuous like a rather fine thingummy and his legs like twin whatchamacallits and his whole corpus together like a topping great—well the grey cells elbowed each other for a chance at description, but left the Last of the Woosters gaping rather like a large whale of the type that swallowed Jonas before regurgitating—if that is the word I want—him back on the children of Israel.
“I say,” I gargled, trying to get the lower decks back into some type of working trim as the little Jeeves rose to the occasion. It was the work of an instant for the knees to buckle in the manner of a paper crown in Aunt Agatha’s fist, sending the willowy frame crashing toward the floorboards like the walls of Jericho, but with rather better tailoring.
Luckily, nothing ever really hampers the Jeevesian grey matter, and he dove for the slender corpus like Stinker Pinker playing rugby for the nation, setting the y.m. back up on the wobbling pins just short of a wicket.
The paws of him were firm yet gentle, his touch sweeter than the rather brackish sort of wine favored by La Basset, and the breadth of his shoulders like something broad and manly and shoulder-y.
“I apologize for the liberty, sir,” Jeeves intoned, as if he was not naked and dripping like Adam having just wandered out of some Edenic bathing spot, hoping that no serpents were about to chat him up about the latest in forbidden fruits. “It would do your suit no good…”
The Jeevesian voice trailed off as he took in the wet handprints on the Wooster tweed and realized that water spots were not a la mode this season.
The time had come for the young master to speak with authority and thingness, and this is what he said, “Jeeves, my man, you smell absolutely topping. Honeysuckle and musk have nothing on your heady scent. The heart leaps and bounds like a hart or roe deer or similar leaping and bounding the mountains and whatnot.” Pithy, no. Appropriate, even less so. Yet true nevertheless.
Meanwhile, back at the sink, Jeeves had shimmered slightly and was in the midst of wrapping a towel about his throbbing manhood. He came up short and the lower lip gaped like that of a well-bred trout missing its pinstriped trousers.
Wooster tried again to inject some whatsits into the sitch. “Your corpus is simply corking, Jeeves. A work the angels should dwell on with some preoccupation. Not to mention the finer qualities of the fish-fed brain.”
Dash it. There’s the cat out of the spilled milk.
Jeeves
Aside from any feelings of carnal attraction, I am very fond of Mr. Wooster, and his declarations melted my heart. However, it would not do to succumb to the feelings of the instant. I mustered enough will to wrap a towel around my waist.
“Sir,” I said, cursing the tremor in my voice. “I do apologize….”
Generally, Mr. Wooster is the slower thinking party in our cozy bachelor establishment, but on this occasion, he unequivocally took charge. “No apologies necessary, Jeeves,” he said, stepping forward and gently brushing the hair off my forehead. I felt my professional mask slip from my face, leaving me more naked than I had ever been before.
I felt my lips part and saw my own desire mirrored in the limpid depths of his clear blue eyes. He continued “I won’t insist, but you are most welcome…” I stopped his words with my eager lips. Our kisses were sweeter than honeyed wine, and I made not the slightest effort to stop him as he loosened my towel and took my most private regions in a soft, slender hand.
He pulled away, gasping, and for a moment, I feared that he had done this to use my proclivities against me, but he was only struggling to unfasten his trousers. I felt an overwhelming wave of tenderness as he tangled his arms in the damp tweed jacket, then wrenched it off and tossed it across the dish rack.
I opened the door to my room, which was closer at hand than his own. Our pent up sexual energy loosed itself and after some minutes, we found ourselves spent and tangled atop my narrow bed, me naked and Mr. Wooster in his underthings and shirt. He trailed sensitive fingers down my body, teasing me back into a state of arousal. I divested him of his remaining clothing and used my mouth to bring him off again.
“Jeeves, in this as in all things, you are a marvel,” he murmured.
“Indeed, sir?” I gasped.
“Indeed, Jeeves.”
Bertie
Long have I said that Jeeves works in mysterious ways his wonders to perform, but in this case, the young master was the p-er of w’s. It had been many weeks since Bertram had determined that the heart belonged to the paragon of valets, despite his many flaws.
Jeeves had once called the young master mentally negligible, which rather rankled at the time and the memory rose up like that whatshisname in Macsomething-or-other—ah, Banquo, there’s the chap—at the sight of the p. of v.s in his altogether.
When the old bean stopped reeling after hearing Jeeves’s estimation of young Bertram’s mental faculties, if that is the word I want, the most obvious course of action would have been to tick him off soundly, but as has been chronicled, one doesn’t do that with Jeeves.
The current circs opened another opportunity… to make sure he knew that I knew that he knew that I knew not… er, whatsit. Viz: What kind of dimwitted blighter accidentally takes a bath in the back kitchen with the door open? Clearly, it was some type of ruse or trick designed to get under the young master’s skin.
During the pashing portion of the evening, Bertram pulled back roughly, intending to declare himself not mentally negligible. Unfortunately, the sight of the bare Jeeves, covered delightfully with dark hair in all the right places and panting like a winning racehorse, rather overpowered the cranial matter. It was the work of a moment to yank open the trousers and become tangled in the tweed jacket. Several hours later, the willowy form stirred to life, nestled in the warm embrace of the keeper of its heart.
“Jeeves?” He smoothed the golden locks from the dial and kissed the forehead.
“I trust you enjoyed your rest, sir?” he said, nibbling the slender neck.
“Yes.” It took some effort to concentrate. “I don’t understand why you were all naked when I was expected back.”
Jeeves went stiller than patience on a thingummy and raised the onion. “But, sir, you were engaged to have supper at Mrs. Gregson’s and then to meet with the Drones committee on the arts. Those meetings generally run into the early morning hours.”
Bertram boggled. “Ah, then, you had nothing to do with Barmy getting a sudden message calling him to an important engagement elsewhere?”
Jeeves smiled. “No, sir. I appreciate your estimation of my abilities, but I had no thought other than to prepare for the week ahead.”
“With the door open?” The young master let loose the dogs of mystery, revealing the final clue. The manservant’s smile grew wider and the e’s twinkled.
“I need to be able to hear the doorbell, sir.”
Betram grew pensive. “But, Jeeves, clearly, you meant for the young master to happen upon you.”
And he laughed. Before that day, I had never before seen him so much as smirk. “No, sir, I assure you, I was quite mortified at my lapse.”
Betram kissed him soundly before continuing. “You appear quite amused neverthewhatsit, Jeeves.”
“Forgive me, sir,” said Jeeves, “I am pleasantly surprised at the take-charge attitude you have brought to our carnal relationship. It is most agreeable.”
The words flew out before I knew what happened. “Shall we continue, then?”
His e’s darkened. “Very good, sir.”
- Mood:Happy
- Location:United States, New York, Syosset
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chasethestars
chasethestars
Comments
I will gladly post it to the Ao3 collection, but not until after the amnesty is finished.