give_satisfaction | Let The Kinkiness Begin!

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Let The Kinkiness Begin!

And we're off! Don't hold back! It's anonymous so let your freak flag fly! Not confident about your creative skills? Practice here! The fills can be anything you want. Fics, videos, artwork and anything else that strikes your fancy. Prompts do not have to be Bertie and Jeeves only! All of the other characters are fair game (Honoria and Madeline tentacle sex, anybody?). As are characters from other books and stories. This meme might be slow to start, so please spread the word!

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Please warn for:
Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Major Character Death
Rape/Non-Con
Suicide
Attempted Suicide
Incest

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I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

WOoo!

"Jeeves’ company is worth a hundred songs." awwwwwwwww

Thanks a lot!

Bertie likes them big, luckily for him Jeeves is pretty well hung. Jeeves build him up to the main event with a series of increasingly bigger sex toys.

We were well concealed inside Lord Tinklewee’s enormous wardrobe – I felt certain that we were in no danger of being detected. The man himself had at present completed his evening ablutions, shoved cotton into his ears and sat in bed reading a book. Mr. Wooster watched him through the slit of the wardrobe doors. He then turned to me with a sigh.

‘I suppose we’re stuck here,’ he whispered.

‘It would appear so, sir,’ I replied.

‘Why did I ever let Stiffy drag me into this rummy business?’ he complained, ‘‘No, Stiffy old girl, you shall have to steal your own bally pince-nez,’ is what I should have told her.’

‘Indeed sir.’

There was a moment of silence. Mr. Wooster slumped against the back of the wardrobe.

‘There’s nothing to do but wait now, what?’

‘I’m afraid so, sir.’

We waited quietly. Lord Tinklewee continued reading – I counted the pages by the sound of him turning them. Beside me, Mr. Wooster had started tapping his left leg against the wood. At first I thought nothing of it, knowing he had a tendency to fidget. But as the minutes passed, his unfortunate twitching increased, and I feared the worse.

‘Er, Jeeves,’ he said, scratching his neck, ‘do you have an inkling of how long we might be in here?’

I pursed my lips. ‘When we first arrived I had the chance to meet Perkins, the butler. He intimated that his Lord’s reading habits are something of a legend amongst the staff.’

‘A legend?’

‘Yes, sir. On one occasion, Lord Tinklewee is said to have sat reading for an entire night and half a day, barely stopping for food and water.’

Mr. Wooster went pale. I watched the bob of his Adam’s apple in his throat as he swallowed fearfully.

‘I see. Well, let’s hope the old man falls asleep before dawn then,’ he laughed nervously.

After that, the fidgeting intensified. He tapped his feet frantically against the wardrobe, then against each other. I coughed.

‘Yes, Jeeves?’

‘If you will forgive the indiscretion, sir, and allow me to ask; are you claustrophobic?’

‘Claustro-whatnow?’

‘Are you afraid of enclosed or narrow places, sir?’

‘Oh. No, not really, I don’t think. Are you?’

‘No, sir.’

Only a moment of stillness, then Mr. Wooster was bouncing on his toes. I raised my eyebrows at him.

‘Oh, dash it, Jeeves,’ he said, ‘I really must – I mean to say – I find myself in a rather, er, awkward situation.’

‘Sir?’

‘It’s embarrassing but – well, nature is calling, if you know what I mean, and I don’t think I can put off answering much longer.’

Despite the darkness, I could see his face, the way he bit his lower lip, the tension in his shoulders. I allowed myself to stare. He was very attractive in his distress. Something in me stirred – as it always did whenever we were this close – and then something more. Trapped in the wardrobe, our arms were touching. His eyebrows were drawn together in a frown, his pink tongue darting out to lick the corner of his lips…

I looked away. Shame painted my cheeks red, and I hoped he would not notice.

‘Most distressing, sir,’ I said quietly.

Mr. Wooster nodded slowly. I noticed his fingers clutching the front of his trousers. I felt suddenly very warm beneath my collar. He was taking slow, deep breaths, his eyelids trembling over a flustered gaze. The thought of him struggling to retain control was, for some reason, exceptionally arousing.

‘Good lord, this is agony,’ he whined.

At his words, passion flickered in my loins. I recoiled from my own depravity. He was troubled, and I was deriving cruel pleasure from it. I leaned my shoulder against his slightly, hoping it would be a small comfort.

‘Lord Tinklewee must be weary from the day’s exertions: you will recall, sir, that he took a brisk walk down to the village this afternoon,’ I offered.

‘Yes, you’re right, Jeeves. He’ll fall asleep any minute now,’ Mr. Wooster looked at me, a spark of gratitude in his eyes. I lowered my gaze to the floor, guilt wrapping itself around my chest, but I burned for him nonetheless. His thigh was twitching, almost touching mine. I could feel the warmth his body emitted.

We stood there silently, waiting. From time to time he bit his lip or moved his hips, and I could not stop my heart from pounding. I discreetly lowered my arm to cover the evidence of my desire – an unseemly bulge in my trousers that had formed, it seemed, almost against my will.

But my torment was far from reaching its end. Slipping his pretty fingers into his hair, Mr. Wooster closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wardrobe, revealing his soft, pale throat. I could not look away; I was entranced by the arch of his neck, the curve of his eyebrows as he raised them beseechingly, as if begging… as if pleading…

My trousers had become painfully tight. I watched him shudder, watched his stomach and thighs quiver. Suddenly, a vision filled my mind: I saw myself standing in front of him, my lips teasing his neck, my palm pressed against his lower abdomen as he begged, ‘Please, Jeeves, I can’t…’

As if in answer to my wicked thoughts, Mr. Wooster bucked his hips and whimpered. I thought I would go mad with lust.

‘Oh Jeeves,’ he moaned, ‘I’m not sure I can bear this anymore.’

Neither am I, I wanted to answer. But I steadied myself against the side of the wardrobe, gathered my composure and said, ‘It should not be long now, sir.’

Mercifully, I was correct. Lord Tinklewee placed his book on the bedside table and turned off the lights. With a shuddering breath, Mr. Wooster opened the wardrobe door and we stepped out.

‘The window, sir,’ I whispered. I knew that Lord Tinklewee always slept with the key to his bedroom door hidden under his pillow.

We climbed down the window, both of us swaying on our feet. Once in the gardens, Mr. Wooster wasted no time – he did not even turn away from me. I watched his handsome profile as he undid his trousers. I heard the steady stream of his release. He heaved a sigh of relief, throwing his head back, a contented smile on his lips.

It was that image of him that remained with me late at night, in the privacy of my rooms.

God DAMN, I had no idea something like this could be so hot!!

(Inspired by the last fill )Bertie is claustrophobic. The problem is now Jeeves and him are stuck in a wardrobe and will have to stay there for quite some times. H/C and fluff desired but if you want the comforting to be sexy I would not protest overly much <3

wings!kink but can be pure and fluffy. Bertie discovers Jeeves' secret. Jeeves is an angel.

Um. Wow. YES. Thank you!

Well done! Very, very well done!

If someone wanted to do another variation on this theme, but this time with the wetting/accident, well, I would definitely, absolutely read that, too!

I had a rubbish day so I would really love to see Bertie getting comforted by Jeeves, like full on hurt/comfort with lots of fluff and cuddles in front of the fireplace and then Bertie can fall asleep in Jeeves arms and Jeeves can carry him to their bed.

Wow! I'm breathless. Such a flawless fill! So dashed hot and in character. I love the way you wrote Jeeves' point of view. It's so rare in life to get exactly what you wish for but here it was the case for me. Thank you so much for taking your time and writing this! I really appreciate it. Much love from the OP <3

He found me on the sofa. I wasn’t much to look at – shirt rumpled, hair sticking up at odd angles, eyes puffy and red. I hid my face in my hands, ashamed. I didn’t want him to see me this way. What would he think of the young master now? I tried to straighten up but my body was numb. ‘What’s the point, Bertram?’ it seemed to tell me.

So I slumped there on the sofa and hid my face in my hands like a child. My eyes were wet, and I hated them for it. He would see – he would see my tears and my emptiness and my ugliness, and he would not love me like before.

‘I need – I need you to leave, Jeeves,’ I lied. My voice was shaky and weak.

For a moment there was silence, and I thought he’d left. But then I felt the sofa shift under his weight, and his voice, soft and clear, ‘If it is truly what you need, I will leave. But – I would grateful if you would let me help.’

I looked up at him. Calm, wise, handsome, perfect as always; he was sitting next to me, both his feet firmly on the ground when mine were folded beneath me. His grey eyes held infinite tenderness, infinite trust, and pain that I knew was my doing. I wished I had the strength to stand up straight and smile, to say ‘Oh that was nothing, Jeeves. A momentary lapse. Carry on, now.’

Instead I reached out and traced his jaw with my finger, refusing to let him see my weakness, but not quite willing to let him go. ‘I had the most bally awful day,’ I muttered.

‘Do you –’

‘No, I would rather forget… Talking about it will only make it worse.’

I felt his body lean into mine, ever so slightly, and I leaned into his. He gently cupped my face in his hand. ‘This is not weakness,’ he whispered, ‘You do not need to hide it from me. I will love you, always, and I will be by your side. I consider it my greatest privilege.’

I bit my lower lip in an effort to contain the tears, but they came nonetheless. They ran down my cheeks and dropped onto his shirt, and suddenly I was sobbing, and I had not cried like this since I was a boy. His arms were around me, a fortress, a haven. He kissed my forehead again and again, his fingers drawing invisible circles over my arms, as if he would absorb my pain, as if he wished it would hurt him instead. And perhaps it did.

I cried in his arms, drawing wobbly streaks of tears down the front of his shirt. He held me, his lips comforting my skin, his entire body cradling mine. Like rain, I cried and cried, and he stood in the downpour, saying ‘nothing can hurt you now’, ‘I am here’, ‘you will never be alone’.

At last I stopped crying. I noticed then that I was shivering. Jeeves gently pulled back, his eyes locked on mine, and said, ‘I will light the fire.’

I watched him as he did, grateful for his presence, for the way he turned to look at me every few seconds. Once the fire crackled reassuring in the fireplace, Jeeves covered me with a blanket and took me in his arms again. I leaned my head against his shoulder.

‘You will never be alone,’ he said softly. His fingers were in my hair, as gentle as a summer breeze, and his scent was in my clothes, my skin – sandalwood and warmth and home. My eyelids fluttered over my tired eyes.

‘Say my name, Jeeves, please.’

He would object, usually. But I only felt him tense for a second, then, ‘Bertie…’

I smiled. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered, and his hand stroked my cheek.

‘You are loved,’ he hummed soothingly; ‘I love you, Bertie.’

‘I love you too, Reggie,’ I closed my eyes.

I was relaxed, comfortable, safe in Jeeves’ embrace. A moment before falling asleep, I felt a great peace, and a certainty: that nothing could harm me, that no troubles were insurmountable, no problems unsolvable. I was safe, I was loved, I would never be alone.

And, dear reader, you are safe. You are loved. And you will never be alone.

Hello, I'm the writer. I'm never sure if I should answer here or not! So far I haven't, because I don't want the kink_meme to be crammed with my comments. But I had a bad day and seeing your comment made me smile so thank you! I'm so happy you enjoyed it, and that it was exactly what you wanted!

((A thousand hugs for this fill!))This is so sweet. I hope the prompter loves it!

Edited 2019-05-05 22:50 (UTC)

This isn't exactly what you're looking for but it's an excellent wing!fic WIP:

Jeeves And The Pulchritudinous Plumage
https://archiveofourown.org/works/13052013/chapters/29854461

What does this mean? Kissing a chicken?

If a writer wants to reply, he/she/they should.

Not OP but I assume it means they're "playing chicken" with kissing, that is, playing a sort of unspoken game where they both continue to push the boundaries until someone chickens out or goes for it. Basically escalating things by daring each other to make the first move.

I've been thinking all day of what would be the best reason for Jeeves to be sweaty. It's been a good way to spend the day. Still haven't decided though.

Yes, this is it. ^ Thanks for explaining, anon. It's playing the game of chicken with kissing. Like that "game" with the two cars approaching on collision course where the drivers want to find out who's the "braver" one. Just a less dangerous version of it. ;)

I love it when writers reply.

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Let The Kinkiness Begin!

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Re: FILL: Wet Clothes | Part 1

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FILL: You Will Never Be Alone

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