Give Satisfaction

“I think I’d like a demonstration,” Acton’s voice is low, “I’ll watch alone for now, but maybe Scotland Yard will join us later.”

Jeeves shakes his head, unbelieving. “Mr. Wooster is my employer –”

“Don’t insult me,” Acton says, “I’ve been trailing you for months, I know everything. You want him: well then, take him.”

Jeeves does want Bertie. More than anything. He has dreamed of it, a thousand, thousand times. But not like this. God, not like this.

“What are you waiting for?” Acton is losing patience, the gun shaking in his hands.

Jeeves cannot look at Bertie, although he feels the young man’s eyes on him. For a moment, he considers letting the brute shoot them both. But then Acton grabs Bertie by the hair and presses the gun to his temple. “If you don’t bugger him against this table right now, I’ll do it – and I won’t be gentle,” he says. Bertie struggles, whimpering through the gag.

Jeeves cannot breathe, cannot think – he stands there shaking his head. Acton bends Bertie over the table, pressing his head into the wood. “Your choice, Jeeves. You can do it yourself, or watch me demonstrate on him what I’ve learned in prison.”

“No!” Jeeves cries, “I’ll do it.”

“I knew you would,” Acton snickers.

Bertie looks up just as Acton lets go of him, and Jeeves hurries to his side. He quickly removes the gag and unties Bertie’s hands. “I am sorry, sir,” he whispers, and Bertie’s eyes are full of fear, and confusion, and something else.

“Jeeves...” is all he can say, pleadingly. He is shaking like a leaf.

Jeeves wants to hold him, keep him safe, but Acton is there, hovering behind them. “Get on with it,” he yells.

Bertie shakes his head. “Oh my God, Jeeves… Please…”

“Forgive me, sir,” Jeeves closes his eyes. He cannot look at Bertie’s face as he turns him around, bends him over the table. He uses his spit to prepare him. He tries to be gentle, soothing, but his hands are trembling. He has no choice. It is this or the unspeakable, the unthinkable. So he lowers Bertie’s trousers and underclothing, and tears sting his eyes as he thinks ‘I have dreamed of this for so long… but never this way…’

Bertie is crying. Jeeves hears him sob, sees the tears staining the wood, and he is sure he is going to be sick. When he lowers his own trousers, he stops. He will not be able to… not like this…

“I – I cannot…” he says.

“You’ll have to,” Acton replies, “You know what happens if you don’t.”

Bertie’s hands grip the table until his knuckles go white. Jeeves touches his hip, trying to comfort him. He wishes he could hold him in his arms, dry his tears. After this – if he ever walks out of here freely – Bertie will hate him. He will look at him with disgust and anger and he will fear him, and loathe him.

“Come now, Jeeves,” Acton smiles, clearly enjoying this, “he’s laid out for you like you’ve always wanted.”

And that is when something happens, a small movement, but it is enough. Jeeves sees it, and he knows that whatever comes, they will bear it together. The moment Acton speaks those words, Bertie turns his head to look up at Jeeves, and beneath the tears and the fear and the anger there is love. Love so strong, so pure, that it cuts through Jeeves’ heart like a knife. Utter devotion. Loyalty and understanding.

He forces his body into arousal. He strokes himself until he is ready. “I’m sorry,” he leans in and whispers into Bertie’s ear, placing a soft kiss on his back.

“It’s not your fault, old thing,” Bertie whispers back. It breaks Jeeves’ heart.

The moment before it happens, they are both very still. Then Jeeves is pushing into Bertie, and Bertie is moaning. He is warm and soft and everything Jeeves dreamed he was. He hates himself for enjoying this, hates himself for getting harder as he slides all the way in. He moves slowly, carefully. He wants to come quickly so it will all end, but he is horrified by what that entails.

Suddenly he feels Bertie move too, matching his slow thrusts. Jeeves looks down at the place their bodies meet, and he cannot help the moan that escapes him. Bertie looks up at him. “I’ve… wanted this… for so long…” the young man says, breathlessly.

“You – you wanted… me?” Jeeves thinks he must be delirious with pleasure and guilt and shame.

“Yes…” Bertie moans, “I – I love you, Jeeves. I have… always… loved you…”

He comes, gasping, pushing hard into Bertie’s body as he spills into him. For a moment, there is only heat, and those three words. Then Bertie comes too, spurting onto the table with a cry of pleasure.

Jeeves turns him around and takes him into his arms. “I love you too… more than anything or anyone…”

It is the one thing Acton had not anticipated. The one thing he dismissed and the one thing that ruins his cruel plans. For when the police arrive, Bertie does not expose Jeeves. No, Bertie stands next to Jeeves and describes him as a hero, his saviour. “It was that man,” he says, pointing to Acton, “who abused me… Jeeves tried to prevent it.”

Acton is furious to the point of madness. He raises his hand to fire the gun, but the police are fast in seizing him.

“What you have done is a crime, Mister Acton,” Jeeves says as they carry the revolting man away, “but love is not.”