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Bertie checks himself carefully in the mirror each morning, swearing his hair is going to start falling out with frustration-- and with the way he tugs at it, one hand buried in those just-long-enough golden strands, while his other is busy with something quite different at night. Though the Wooster pate continues to show no outward signs of his agitation, Bertie can hardly express his own relief on the day when he finally figures it all out.
It's a harmless bit of flirtation, really, the kind he and Ginger have exchanged since before either of them needed to shave. It's not as though Jeeves walks in to find them in fragrant dereliction... no, Bertie thinks, that's not quite right, but it'll come to him later. It's just the look Jeeves sees on Bertie's face, a look that curls in all the right ways, the one Bertie is sure Jeeves has never been privy to before. Jeeves catches the tail-end of that look, and suddenly he's standing absolutely still, more stone-faced than ever, and a lightbulb turns on in Bertie's brain. Ginger doesn't see that momentary change in Jeeves, nor would he understand it if he did, but he certainly notices that Bertie is suddenly far away, and takes Bertie's none-too-subtle hints that the time has come to leave. Jeeves has shimmered off by this time, but he always knows when Bertie wants him-- that is, when Bertie wants him in some more immediate sense than the way Bertie always wants him-- and is back, waiting by the piano, within a few moments of Ginger's departure. Bertie is standing looking out the window, one hand on the glass and his hips quirked just a bit too dramatically, and when he hears in Jeeves' "Sir?" a shiver so slight that it ought to be undetectable to the human ear, Bertie knows for certain what was, before, just a guess.
Bertie turns and looks at Jeeves, and suddenly every atom of his body oozes sex.
Jeeves is as well-trained to unresponsiveness as it is possible for a human being to be. His instincts keep him standing where he is. But even Jeeves cannot stop his eyes from widening, just as far as they will go, at the sight of Bertie Wooster-- sweet, pure, unworldly Bertie-- looking at him that way. Or he thinks it's as far as they will go, anyway, until Bertie starts to move, stalking towards him. Simply watching the unadulterated sensuality of every shifting of muscle is the most erotic experience Jeeves has ever had, in a lifetime which he hadn't until now thought tame, and Jeeves is saved the need to admonish himself for not protesting by the knowledge that there is no possible way that his voice would function just now.
"I've been mentally negligible again, Jeeves," Bertie purrs, when he's just a foot or two away. Jeeves knows now that this must be a dream. A lifetime of good works could not possibly earn him the right to hear his name slide from between Bertie's lips quite that way. "I had it figured all wrong. Not surprising, considering this is me we're talking about, but two years is a bit thick even for yours truly."
Jeeves makes an attempt to reply, just to be sure, and is unsurprised to find that his earlier diagnosis of utter speechlessness was entirely accurate. Bertie smiles, and licks his lips so quickly that Jeeves is sure he must have imagined the lascivious gesture, and then he's walking again, this time circling Jeeves slowly, near enough to touch if he wished but too far away for accidental contact. Jeeves isn't sure which of those bothers him more.
"I'd thought you a man like other men this way, you see. Which was stupid of me, considering I knew you were unlike any man I'd ever known, but there it is. I've met so many others--at Eton and Oxford and since then, too--who want a man who blushes and wilts. And I'm well set up to play the part, blond-haired and blue-eyed and sev...siv... what's the word I want, Jeeves?"
It's a reflex, and supersedes his shock. "Svelte, sir," he replies. Bertie grins at the roughness of Jeeves' tone, and continues.
"That's the chappie. Thank you, Jeeves. Blond-haired and blue-eyed and svelte. Not to mention my naturally sunny disposish." Bertie smiles a real smile, then, a Bertie smile, and it's more terrifying and more reassuring than everything that has come before, reminding Jeeves that it truly is Bertram Wooster saying these things, standing that way, looking at him with those unfrightened eyes. "The basic ingredients are already me; acting the naïf is so instinctive that even I sometimes forget I know more about such things than I let on. I'd got into the habit of assuming that any man who wanted me wanted the doe-eyed innocent, and as I was so very eager for you to want me, I played it up even more where you were concerned. Which seems to have been dashed silly of me."
Jeeves still can't manage more than a few words at a time, but he gets as far as, "To want you, sir?"
"You do want me, Jeeves," Bertie says, with marvelous self-confidence, his body language still screaming seduction at a thousand decibels. "Don't you?"
Even in this woolly-headed state, Jeeves knows that he can't possibly answer that question truthfully, but something seems to be stuck in the gears of his mind, stopping them from turning, blinding him to what it's best to do. He tries to stall-- "In what sense, sir?"-- and almost flinches the moment it's out of his mouth, realizing what he's just let himself in for. Bertie's smirk is merciless, and Jeeves knows he's going to take full advantage of the mistake.
"Well, right this minute, I'd say, in the sense of wanting to tear my clothes off, pin me against the piano, and bugger me until I..." It's too much, even for the legendary Jeevesian self-control. Bertie finds suddenly that he is indeed being pinned against the piano, and that Jeeves' hands are on him everywhere at once, and it's barely a quarter of a second before Bertie is responding to Jeeves' kiss, returning in spades the same unrestrained fervor he gets. It feels like Jeeves is going to devour him whole. Bertie has never experienced anything so marvelous, and he's sure he'll explode if Jeeves stops, and he's sure he'll explode if Jeeves doesn't stop.
Jeeves' morning coat and Bertie's jacket and waistcoat have disappeared somewhere, but Bertie finds, to his utter amazement, that the hands on his shirt buttons are unsteady, and it is this, even more than the kissing and shedding of clothes, that brings home to him the reality and the intensity of Jeeves' desire. "To bed, Jeeves," he gasps, in one of their brief pauses for breath.
Jeeves pulls off Bertie's tie and tosses it over his shoulder. "No." His mouth affixes itself squirm-inducingly to the spot where Bertie's neck meets his shoulder.
Bertie's eyebrows raise at the sheer unprecedentedness of it, both the outright refusal and the absence of the usual honorific. "I say, Jeeves, who's in charge here?"
Jeeves pulls back and fixes Bertie with a look which Bertie is sure will melt his recalcitrant buttons straight off his shirt, as it has certainly managed to melt most of his insides. "Here, Bertram?" Jeeves asks, and then, while Bertie is still reeling from the sound of his own name passing those lips, Jeeves slides his hands to the backs of Bertie's thighs, pushes Bertie's back against the curve of the piano, and lifts him. Bertie's legs go around Jeeves' waist instinctively, and Jeeves' hands move to cup the very particular portion of Bertie's anatomy currently most in need of supporting. "I am."
It's Bertie's turn to go tongue-tied and saucer-eyed. He lets out a breath so jagged it's a wonder it doesn't poke someone's eye out, and manages to squeak a "Right ho" before Jeeves is once again pillaging his mouth (another symptom of that Viking blood?). Only this time, of course, he's doing said pillaging with one of those magnificent hands on Bertie's arse, and the other against his spine, and with his predictably impressive erection grinding against Bertie's through the fabric of their trousers, and the kissing which Bertie had thought was unsurpassable has thus become a million times better. Only the 'trousers' bit strikes a discordant note in the small unmelted corner of Bertie's brain, and he reaches down his hands--which have been on the back of Jeeves' head, indulging in the until now impossible-seeming pleasure of actually mussing Jeeves' hair--to fiddle with Jeeves' flies. It'd not be a simple procedure even with no distractions, not at that angle, but getting Jeeves naked seems...
"In flagrante delicto!" Bertie cries, only without bothering to remove his mouth from Jeeves, and so it comes out as more of an "mmmmmph!" than anything. Jeeves seems about to pull his mouth away to ask for a clarification, which certainly won't do, so Bertie moves one of his hands to Jeeves' neck, just to be sure. As the other is still hanging about in the general vicinity of Jeeves' waistline, and there's no hope whatever of managing all those buttons without his other hand to help, he slides his fingers beneath those pesky layers of cloth and indulges instead in a friendly bit of groping.
Jeeves hisses-- how precisely Bertie can tell it's a hiss mid-liplock he's not sure, but he knows-- and then does the very thing Bertie was hoping to avoid, viz., stops kissing him. Bertie gives Jeeves an unabashed pout as he curls his fingers snugly around Jeeves' cock. "What's wrong, Jeeves? You don't want me to stop, do you?"
There's a hint of something strangled about Jeeves' voice. "I think it would be advisable, if you would truly like me to..." Jeeves hesitates, and Bertie, once he realizes why, lets out a laugh.
"To bugger me, Jeeves?" he teases, touched and oddly aroused by Jeeves' reluctance to say what he is obviously not unwilling to do. "Would you prefer a different term? I could insist that you sod me. Or take me. Or fuck..."
Bertie's first thought is that Jeeves' legs have given out, but that's a notion too absurd to consider for more than a moment. No, Bertie decides, it was a far too controlled a maneouvre to merit that description. It was more that Jeeves seems to have decided that a shift to the horizontal plane was an advisable step, and, as the floor happened to be the nearest one available, that's where they ended up. Not that Bertie is thinking any of this very clearly, as Jeeves is very much on top of him, and must at some point have regained control of his fingers. Bertie is suddenly a good deal nuder than he had been, his shirt unbuttoned and vest pushed up and trousers only a memory, and Jeeves is tugging at his pants in a way that leads Bertie to believe that they will be off his body before he's taken another breath-- though whether they'll be all in one piece is another matter. It's an odd contrast to Jeeves' still essentially clothed state. Bertie blames himself for the latter circumstance, and once more he moves his hands to the fastenings of Jeeves' trousers. This time he actually manages to get one of the buttons undone, and then, for the first time, Bertie actually catches a glimpse of that unbelievable quickness that permits Jeeves to appear and disappear at will as Jeeves darts down Bertie's body. For a fleeting fragment of an instant Bertie considers protesting, and then he realizes that Jeeves has by now managed to render him entirely naked, and that Bertie's cock has just vanished into Jeeves' mouth.
As Bertie has never been the sort of chap who could pat his head and rub his stomach at once-- in despite of many hours' worth of attempts during slow days at the Drones-- it's odd that he now manages to throw his head back and screw his eyes shut and fling out his arms and scream "Good Lord, Jeeves!" in the same moment, but needs must, he supposes. Jeeves is just as good at this as he is at everything else, which is to say, positively superhuman, and when five seconds elapse without Bertie coming down Jeeves' throat it's a miracle on the order of that Lazarus fellow (which only shows how much Bertie deserved that scripture knowledge prize, that he can remember such a thing at a time like this. Then again, scripture has some rather stern things to say about the act in which he's currently engaged, so perhaps not). Still, he'd not bet a shilling, even at a hundred-to-one, on lasting five minutes, and tries to tell Jeeves so. "Jeeves," he gasps, but no verb seems forthcoming. "Jeeves, old thing," he tries again, but the only noticeable differences are that his voice has raised by half-an-octave and that he's a few seconds nearer to the orgasm which he's sure will be more spectacular than any other in the history of the human race. "Jeeves, wait!" he finally manages, his satisfaction at succeeding diminished in the face of Jeeves actually obeying and pulling his mouth away. Jeeves glances up at Bertie rather repproachfully, and Bertie explains, "I didn't want..." His inability to finish a sentence seems to have returned. "Not without you," he finishes, knowing that Jeeves will understand. Bertie bites his lip, and then says softly, "Please take your clothes off, Jeeves? I...I'd like to see you." For the first time this afternoon Bertie is blushing, the whole thing having suddenly come home to him, and, from the way something softens in Jeeves' face, Bertie'd wager it's done the same for him.
Jeeves kneels, his legs on either side of Bertie's, and strips with quiet efficiency, his eyes never leaving Bertie's. It's unbelievably intimate, that gradual uncovering of skin, and when Jeeves is done he moves to lie beside Bertie, pulls him into his arms, and kisses him, a kiss no less passionate than their earlier ones but in a very different way. For a moment afterwards they just look at each other, ignoring temporarily the way they are pressed up against each other. Bertie moves a hand up, his thumb on Jeeves' cheekbone and his fingers behind Jeeves' ear.
"Jeeves," he says, falteringly, "you do know that this means more to me than just..." He's interrupted by Jeeves turning into his hand, kissing his palm. "I love you," Jeeves replies simply, the straining solemnity of his voice and the earnest openness of his eyes leaving Bertie no room to doubt that he means it.
Bertie's eyes flutter shut and he sighs, his face crinkled with emotion. "Oh, Jeeves, again," he breathes. Bertie can't see Jeeves' smile, with his eyelids so inconveniently placed, but he hears it in Jeeves' "I love you, Bertram." Jeeves has barely finished before Bertie is kissing him, trying with all his might to pour his entire self into Jeeves by way of the lips, which ought to be an odd and unpleasant image but very much isn't. "I love you too, you know," Bertie mentions, as Jeeves' mouth comes to rest on his neck and his hips start to move against Bertie's. "I was aware of it," Jeeves murmurs into Bertie's ear, and Bertie can tell how nearly he escapes the siren lure of an added 'sir,' "but it is incredibly gratifying to hear you say so."
There's nothing more to talk about, after that. Bertie knows that, despite all his salacious suggestions, for their first time it's going to be like this, and he's glad of that, somehow. Not that he isn't very much looking forward to the feeling of Jeeves inside him, but there's an equality in the way they are now, two insistent erections pinned between two clinging bodies, and something beautifully metaphorical in the fact that, the closer they get, the more intense the pleasure. Jeeves' hands are on Bertie's hips and he's grinding into him with maddening steadiness, but so firmly that Bertie can't possibly think clearly enough to ask him to speed up. Nor does his body seem to be able to respond in any way but to hold on for dear life, clutching at Jeeves' back, as that sweet hot all-engulfing something that is sex builds up in him. Bertie knows he hasn't got much building left to do-- frankly, he's been in serious danger of finding himself unexpectedly sticky since the first touch of lips on lips-- but, from the frantic way Jeeves is kissing every bit of Bertie within reach, and the speed of the heartbeat which Bertie thinks isn't his own, he's betting Jeeves isn't any too far off himself. And suddenly Bertie realizes that there apparently is still something left to say, and it's Jeeves' name, and he has been saying it, over and over, and that he's not precisely breathing, and that either he's shut his eyes or gone blind with bliss and he doesn't really care which, and that Jeeves' fingers have just tightened on his hips to a degree which should be painful but doesn't feel anything but right...
The next thing Bertie knows he's edging sideways in the direction of being able to remember his own name, and feeling that it may have been some time since last he could say as much. When finally he manages the Herculean labor of opening his eyes (and is pleased to learn that he isn't blind after all), it is to find Jeeves' face only a few inches from his, those deep blue eyes studying him intently, and yet tenderly too. Having made it only as far as "Bertram W." by this time where his own appellation is concerned, Bertie's sure that any deeper foray into the realms of language is inadvisable, but he gives Jeeves the widest smile his face will allow. From the way Jeeves' own lips curl, Bertie thinks he's got his message across.
Bertie gives an experimental sort of stretch, and becomes aware suddenly that the surface on which he's lying is rather scratchy, and not particularly soft. "Jeeves," he begins-- he could never forget that name-- and, once it's passed his lips, the rest seems somehow easier, "why precisely did you proffer the nolle prosequi on the matter of the bed?"
There's an ominous rumbling from somewhere just in front of him, and Bertie realizes that Jeeves is laughing, really laughing. He's never heard that sound before, and he can't think how he didn't miss it every hour of his life.
"In that moment, sir, it seemed much too far away," Jeeves replies, between laughs.
Bertie makes a sulky sort of face. "Are you really going to start "sir"-ing me already, Jeeves? I understand if you want to save "Bertram" for special occasions, but can't we at least wait until we've got our clothes on before jumping back into all that again?"
Jeeves gives him a look which can only be described as 'smouldering'. "In that case, Bertram, I anticipate that it will be quite some time before I have occasion to revert to that form of address."
It takes Bertie a moment. By now he's an adept at decoding Jeevesish, but even he doesn't always get it right away. When he does, however, Jeeves is presented with another face-splitting grin. "That sounds absolutely spiffing, Jeeves. Then may we now retire to the bedroom?"
Jeeves considers for a moment. "No, Bertram, I think not."
Bertie's face betrays his puzzlement. "But Jeeves..."
It happens far too fast for Bertie to register it properly. Theoretically, he knows that Jeeves must have scooped him up and deposited him on the chesterfield, but he's dashed if he can recall quite how. Not that there's much time to care about that anyhow, as Jeeves is on top of him and kissing him in the most delicious way. "Still too far away, in my opinion," Jeeves says, looking down at Bertie with twinkling eyes.
"You know best, Jeeves," Bertie replies, and gets back to more important things.