It is late afternoon, and it is raining. Sunlight falls onto the floor white and withered, and the zigzagging raindrops on the window make light shadows dance across the flat. There is only the peaceful pitter-patter of rain– until a sigh is heard, and a soft thud as Reginald Jeeves is gently pushed against the front door, and Bertie Wooster leans in to kiss him.
Jeeves pretends to turn away, a secret smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Playfully, he turns his head to the side to avoid his master’s kiss. It lands on his cheeks.
‘Oh come now, Jeeves,’ Bertie reprimands him, but there’s laughter in his voice.
‘I’m afraid I have work to do, sir,’ Jeeves persists, teasingly sliding his arm around Bertie’s waist, only to push him away.
Bertie bites his lower lip. He isn’t good at hiding what he feels: his face always mirrors his emotions, and this is no exception. He smiles, even though he tries not to. He can’t stop himself from smiling when he’s with Jeeves. ‘Surely it can wait,’ he says, diving once more to claim his valet’s lips.
Jeeves gives in this time, but only briefly. ‘No, sir, I fear it cannot.’
Bertie’s fingers are already fumbling with Jeeves’ tie, unbuttoning Jeeves’ shirt, pulling his undershirt up and pushing the fabric away to reveal soft, flushed skin. ‘Hmm, there’s only one thing left to do then…’
This isn’t what Jeeves is expecting. The game is supposed to end with Bertie begging, like it always does. But this is different. The novelty of it sends a shiver down Jeeves’ spine. ‘Sir?’ he breathes, eyelids drooping as Bertie places a kiss on his neck.
‘Yes,’ Bertie says, mouth still pressed against Jeeves’ skin, ‘If you absolutely must go – well then, old fruit, go… but not before I show you what you’ll be missing.’
Jeeves likes the hunger in his master’s voice, the slight trembling in his hands as they tug at Jeeves’ jacket, which is soon on the floor. Jeeves almost wants to object – but oh, Bertie’s slender fingers are so soft on Jeeves’ chest, wandering downwards… across his stomach… slipping under his trousers…
And then they’re gone. Jeeves does not try to supress his grunt of frustration. He looks at Bertie, questioning, and Bertie only smiles. His big blue eyes travel up and down Jeeves’ body possessively. There’s pride in the way he reaches out, rests his palm over Jeeves’ pounding heart. The moment stretches, and they start to wonder if the game is already over.
But quite suddenly, Bertie’s smile widens. He tilts his head forward and with his tongue traces a line from Jeeves’ throat to the center of his chest. Then, ever so slowly, he turns. Jeeves feels his young master’s warm breath tickle his skin. For a second, they do not move.
Then Bertie covers Jeeves’ nipple with his mouth. Jeeves gasps. There’s something exceptionally sensual about the way Bertie’s lips part to take in the delicate flesh, the way they capture the skin, claim it. Jeeves cannot look away. This, paired with the heavenly sensation of Bertie’s mouth on such a private, sensitive part of his already-eager body… Jeeves shivers.
Bertie’s lips part again, only slightly, and his tongue darts out to stroke the erect nipple. Jeeves’ mouth falls open in a silent cry of pleasure. He will not moan, not now, not yet – it would please Bertie too much. But oh, the pleasure…
Bertie’s tongue is now circling Jeeves’ nipple, slowly, so slowly… and Jeeves is struggling not to plead, please, sir, please more… more… faster… His head falls back against the door behind him and he sighs. Bertie, tongue still moving, reaches down and pats Jeeves’ erection through his trousers.
‘Hmm,’ he hums his approval, and it reverberates through Jeeves’ body.
It’s too much now, too much, and Jeeves allows himself to press his hardness into Bertie’s palm. A mistake – as soon as he does, Bertie removes his hand and chuckles.
‘I’m sorry Jeeves, but we don’t have time for that. You have work to do, don’t you remember?’
And with that he moves to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment as the first. Jeeves’ eyebrows tilt upwards, and he finally cannot take it any longer: a moan escapes him, so desperate and undignified that it shocks even him.
Bertie looks up, eyes dark with lust. ‘Good lord,’ he mutters, ‘Jeeves, don’t hold back. I want to hear you moan.’
‘Very… good… sir…’ Jeeves pants, blushing.
Once more Bertie’s lips and tongue tease and prod and pull at Jeeves’ now aching nipple, and Jeeves does as he is told: he moans, without affectation or artificiality, but he moans. At first words – ‘good heavens…’; ‘more, sir!’; ‘oh, sir, please!’ – but then Bertie is sucking hard, and Jeeves is too far gone, too consumed with desire to do anything but groan. He bucks his hips once, so desperate that he thrusts against the air itself. In response, Bertie bites him.
It sends tremors through Jeeves’ body.
Just then, everything stops. Bertie takes one step back and looks at Jeeves the way one would look at a painting near its completion. Satisfaction is written over the young master’s handsome face.
‘Right ho,’ he says, licking his lips, ‘Carry on, then.’ Jeeves is panting against the door. He is so painfully hard. ‘You do not truly expect me to work now, sir?’
Bertie’s eyes gleam. ‘I certainly do, Jeeves. You insisted earlier.’
Jeeves stares at his master, disbelieving. He cannot move, not even to pick up his jacket or button his shirt. He stays there against the door, hair falling into his eyes, both nipples hard, tender and pink. Bertie kisses him chastely on the cheek. ‘You’ll think of me while you work, won’t you?’ he bats his eyelashes innocently, then he leaves, disappearing into his room.
That evening, Jeeves finishes his work even faster than usual, and they stay up rolling in bed until dawn.
FILL: Tease
Jeeves pretends to turn away, a secret smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Playfully, he turns his head to the side to avoid his master’s kiss. It lands on his cheeks.
‘Oh come now, Jeeves,’ Bertie reprimands him, but there’s laughter in his voice.
‘I’m afraid I have work to do, sir,’ Jeeves persists, teasingly sliding his arm around Bertie’s waist, only to push him away.
Bertie bites his lower lip. He isn’t good at hiding what he feels: his face always mirrors his emotions, and this is no exception. He smiles, even though he tries not to. He can’t stop himself from smiling when he’s with Jeeves. ‘Surely it can wait,’ he says, diving once more to claim his valet’s lips.
Jeeves gives in this time, but only briefly. ‘No, sir, I fear it cannot.’
Bertie’s fingers are already fumbling with Jeeves’ tie, unbuttoning Jeeves’ shirt, pulling his undershirt up and pushing the fabric away to reveal soft, flushed skin. ‘Hmm, there’s only one thing left to do then…’
This isn’t what Jeeves is expecting. The game is supposed to end with Bertie begging, like it always does. But this is different. The novelty of it sends a shiver down Jeeves’ spine. ‘Sir?’ he breathes, eyelids drooping as Bertie places a kiss on his neck.
‘Yes,’ Bertie says, mouth still pressed against Jeeves’ skin, ‘If you absolutely must go – well then, old fruit, go… but not before I show you what you’ll be missing.’
Jeeves likes the hunger in his master’s voice, the slight trembling in his hands as they tug at Jeeves’ jacket, which is soon on the floor. Jeeves almost wants to object – but oh, Bertie’s slender fingers are so soft on Jeeves’ chest, wandering downwards… across his stomach… slipping under his trousers…
And then they’re gone. Jeeves does not try to supress his grunt of frustration. He looks at Bertie, questioning, and Bertie only smiles. His big blue eyes travel up and down Jeeves’ body possessively. There’s pride in the way he reaches out, rests his palm over Jeeves’ pounding heart. The moment stretches, and they start to wonder if the game is already over.
But quite suddenly, Bertie’s smile widens. He tilts his head forward and with his tongue traces a line from Jeeves’ throat to the center of his chest. Then, ever so slowly, he turns. Jeeves feels his young master’s warm breath tickle his skin. For a second, they do not move.
Then Bertie covers Jeeves’ nipple with his mouth. Jeeves gasps.
There’s something exceptionally sensual about the way Bertie’s lips part to take in the delicate flesh, the way they capture the skin, claim it. Jeeves cannot look away. This, paired with the heavenly sensation of Bertie’s mouth on such a private, sensitive part of his already-eager body… Jeeves shivers.
Bertie’s lips part again, only slightly, and his tongue darts out to stroke the erect nipple. Jeeves’ mouth falls open in a silent cry of pleasure. He will not moan, not now, not yet – it would please Bertie too much. But oh, the pleasure…
Bertie’s tongue is now circling Jeeves’ nipple, slowly, so slowly… and Jeeves is struggling not to plead, please, sir, please more… more… faster… His head falls back against the door behind him and he sighs. Bertie, tongue still moving, reaches down and pats Jeeves’ erection through his trousers.
‘Hmm,’ he hums his approval, and it reverberates through Jeeves’ body.
It’s too much now, too much, and Jeeves allows himself to press his hardness into Bertie’s palm. A mistake – as soon as he does, Bertie removes his hand and chuckles.
‘I’m sorry Jeeves, but we don’t have time for that. You have work to do, don’t you remember?’
And with that he moves to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment as the first. Jeeves’ eyebrows tilt upwards, and he finally cannot take it any longer: a moan escapes him, so desperate and undignified that it shocks even him.
Bertie looks up, eyes dark with lust. ‘Good lord,’ he mutters, ‘Jeeves, don’t hold back. I want to hear you moan.’
‘Very… good… sir…’ Jeeves pants, blushing.
Once more Bertie’s lips and tongue tease and prod and pull at Jeeves’ now aching nipple, and Jeeves does as he is told: he moans, without affectation or artificiality, but he moans. At first words – ‘good heavens…’; ‘more, sir!’; ‘oh, sir, please!’ – but then Bertie is sucking hard, and Jeeves is too far gone, too consumed with desire to do anything but groan. He bucks his hips once, so desperate that he thrusts against the air itself. In response, Bertie bites him.
It sends tremors through Jeeves’ body.
Just then, everything stops. Bertie takes one step back and looks at Jeeves the way one would look at a painting near its completion. Satisfaction is written over the young master’s handsome face.
‘Right ho,’ he says, licking his lips, ‘Carry on, then.’
Jeeves is panting against the door. He is so painfully hard.
‘You do not truly expect me to work now, sir?’
Bertie’s eyes gleam. ‘I certainly do, Jeeves. You insisted earlier.’
Jeeves stares at his master, disbelieving. He cannot move, not even to pick up his jacket or button his shirt. He stays there against the door, hair falling into his eyes, both nipples hard, tender and pink. Bertie kisses him chastely on the cheek. ‘You’ll think of me while you work, won’t you?’ he bats his eyelashes innocently, then he leaves, disappearing into his room.
That evening, Jeeves finishes his work even faster than usual, and they stay up rolling in bed until dawn.