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FILL: Stamina of the Vikings

[vensre]

Content notes: mistaken dubcon groping, brief angst, embarrassment and awkwardness! Also inspired by this gifset.

•••••

Admittedly it was a long opera, even for an opera enthusiast. To me the appeal was not in the content of the entertainment, but the occasion and the company: it was the first time Mr. Wooster bought us tickets to attend a formal show together. Previously we had gone together to a horse race, as well as being embroiled in various schemes and bound to attend a few village fêtes and small concerts. The opera seemed to me a milestone, and I hoped for many more like it.

I had been seven months in Mr. Wooster's service, and I had my stride. I thought he seemed comfortable with me as well. If the first three months can be said to be a period of learning the basics of how to exist in a situation, the following nine demand the particulars of how to thrive. To be in service as I am, not only as a career, but as my home for years at a time, is a way of life that rarely allows for true breaks. For that reason it is crucial to secure a position where one can live sustainably.

One might easily imagine the cracks that ran through my sense of safety and easily-met expectations when, giving no warning, my gentleman slipped his hand inside my coat, his palm warm and moving over my belly.

Where I had at first been mildly embarrassed by the extravagance, I was immediately grateful for the privacy of the dedicated box, then doubled back in my thoughts, wondering if he had planned this. I stilled beneath his hand, my gut tensing against his gentle touch. That much was involuntary, but I also made a series of choices within the first moment of his caress. First, I would allow him to touch me. It would have been within my rights to refuse him, of course, and it was extremely shocking that he telegraphed nothing of his intentions even in that secluded space. Second, if he attempted to open my clothing, I would move his hand away, and if he pressed his suit after that, I would leave. There was still too much risk involved while we were in a public arena.

My blood was rushing in my ears, sped by my sudden hard heartbeat. I gripped the arm of the seat, and dropped my thigh to the side slightly. My head tilted back, my lips opening to try to breathe silently beneath the crashing music and embattled voices of the opera.

I found myself disappointed in Mr. Wooster, even as I accepted his touch. It was entirely outside of my estimation of his character for him to fondle a servant without permission. My understanding of the Psychology of the Individual was by necessity as accurate as possible, but here it had failed me. All the same, there was a part of me that said, just this once, I will. He was attractive, kind, and generous. Even if this meant a risk to my position with him, the risk already existed independent of my reaction to it.

So it was no great harm to give in. I could let him put his beautiful hands on me.

All of this flashed through my mind and body as his hand insinuated itself within the cloth. My mind balked, but my body acceded. I could try to blame tensed muscles and rushing blood, but it was his touch that caused my arousal.

I dared to look at his face. He was looking down at my lap, squinting oddly. I felt a jerk on my waistcoat, and recognised with some grief that I would have to refuse him.

"Sir," I said.

He fumbled out my pocketwatch, peering at it in the dim light, and looked up at me guilelessly. "Yes, Jeeves?" he whispered. Looked down. "Oh."

He dropped my pocketwatch on a most sensitive area at once, scrambled to snatch it up, obviously just barely prevented himself from patting my cockstand apologetically, and put his hand back inside my coat to replace the watch, also in a matter of seconds.

"Good Lord love a duck," he said. "Jeeves, I'm so sorry. Er. Do you have the time? I left mine." He made some hand motions, the meanings of which were quite opaque.

"I... you just looked at my watch, sir."

"I did, yes. But I didn't actually see it. The information didn't, erm, land."

"Could it suffice to say that this is the final scene, sir?"

"Ah! Jolly good."

He sat back in the seat. His eyes were enormous.

"Things you can't un-know, what?"

I swallowed. My throat was dry, my heart still hammering.

"I may try anyway. Isn't there a bar in this bally place? We ought to have ordered drinks, I can't think why we didn't."

"Perhaps unwise, sir," I said, and he interrupted me, agreeing,

"—Perhaps not, old chap. Just an impulse, you understand."

"Yes, sir."

"Getting thoroughly under the surface, I mean, it might help both of us!"

"Or not, sir."

"Yes, very, or not." I was looking past him, but my peripheral vision is excellent. I saw him glance sidelong down at my lap, and wished my overcoat and hat were closer at hand. "Golly!" he said.

"Mr. Wooster..."

"I'm sorry, Jeeves. You're doing well for yourself. Fucking Christ, Bertram," he said, and put a hand over his eyes. "Far too salty. Not thinking or speaking, right."

"Might I direct your attention to the performance, sir?"

"Which one, old thing?" He used the hand that was already over his eyes to smack himself in the face, gentle and earnest, a few times. "I'm so dashed sorry. Er! Do... do you understand Italian, then, Jeeves?"

"I do not, sir. It bears some similarity to other Romance languages, so familiarity with other tongues assists in comprehension, but generally I read through a description of the plot and characters before attending if I do not speak the language."

"Maybe that's our problem, Jeeves. Romance is in the air or somesuch."

"Sir, Romance languages are—"

"I know. I know, Jeeves. I hate to slander the old institution, but, well, the fact is I went to Oxford about it. Classics and whatnot."

There was little I could politely say to that, aside from correcting his misuse of 'slander.' I attempted to find my program at this juncture, as my gentleman glanced again at my lingering difficulty. "I must have dropped my program, sir."

"Oh, take mine!"

I regretted everything so richly, just then. (Except that he wasn't trying to touch me without my permission, he wasn't a sweet shell with an exploitative soul underneath. He was good, he was still my golden prince, but now I had to acknowledge that.) I finally registered a note of relief while he located the booklet and handed it to me. With a short sigh, I opened it and placed it face down over my lap.

"Jeeves, really."

"I shall be better directly, sir."

He doubled over, gasping with laughter, while I pushed my lips down sternly to keep them from any kind of smile-like shape. "You can't be better directly here! We're in public, man! Worse than the Drones' All-Nighters, you are. But I can't believe you're still... Stamina of the bally Vikings. If it's my fault anyway, let me give you a scenario. I'm going to buy a tie at a costume shop. It's too short. It's not even silk. And it's fuchsia. Come and put it on me, Jeeves."

"Please stop," I managed to say with what felt like my last scrap of dignity.

"Lord, I'll try," he said, shaking his head. "You're an absolute scream tonight." His eyes went sideways again. "Did it work, though?"

There exist questions to which there are no good answers. I nodded curtly.

I avoided his eyes by turning myself towards the opera we were meant to be watching. The singers on stage were having some kind of climactic duel. I supposed, actually, that their characters were having the duel, but I would hardly know the difference, having entirely lost the plot.

Mr. Wooster was quiet beside me, his hand raised to his face. When I flicked my eyes in his direction at last, I noted that he was absently touching his lips with a pensive expression that sat jarringly on his bright face.

It was perhaps seven minutes later that, as my employer might say, the other item of footwear made its descent. He leaned close to me, carefully touching not at all, and said beneath the massive crescendo of music,

"If you didn't want me to apologise... I'm sorry for that, too."

The hall resounded with a welter of applause, and my heart pounded nearly as loudly.

•••••

Re: FILL: Stamina of the Vikings

[(Anonymous)]

OMG this is so hot!!!!!! Thank you for writing this!

Re: FILL: Stamina of the Vikings

[(Anonymous)]

Very nice. Love the Jeeves POV and idea of Jeeves not knowing how to handle a situation.