Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Pairing: Wooster/Jeeves (mention of OFC)
A/N: Major direction and hand-holding by Beta Goddess Carol as I nervously make my first attempt at writing in this fandom. Con-crit apprehensively welcomed.
It appeared to be a splendid day in the making as I awoke to the warbling of birds and a warm breeze wafting in through the window. However, once my faculties had fully engaged themselves, it soon became evident there was a situation brewing under the covers which required the attention of my invaluable manservant.
I rang the bell and he appeared, prompt as the 6:10 to Cheltenham and precise as a Swiss watch.
“Good morning, sir. I trust you slept well.”
“Quite well, Jeeves. Feel like I’ve been under for at least ten hours.”
“In fact, sir, I believe you have slumbered for slightly more than eleven hours following your rather late arrival home from the theatre last night.”
“Yes, well, the old noggin can always do with an extended trip to the land of nod.”
“Indeed, sir. Shall I bring breakfast or will you be repairing to the kitchen?”
“Actually, Jeeves, I’ll be needing your assistance for another matter first.”
“Having some of that stiffness in the nether regions, if you know what I mean.”
I cast aside my blanket to show him the extent of the current predicament.
“Ah. I see, sir. Shall I administer the usual remedy?”
“That would be absolutely topping, Jeeves.”
“One moment then, sir.”
I must confess that when Jeeves first took my affairs in hand, it hadn’t occurred to me that he might be doing so on quite such a literal level, until one morning he came to my room unbidden, possibly fearing for my safety. He caught me full-on in the act, at a point where I could no more stop than a stallion in full gallop at Royal Ascot. Rather than turn heel and leave me to my self-gratification, he stood there, observing the technique that had stood me in good stead since I learned it at Malvern House, not in the classrooms mind you, but plenty of education going on among the lads in the dorms.
While those halcyon days had provided less in the way of privacy than I was now accustomed to, I believe it was the cool appraisal that threw me off my preferred rhythm, causing me to bellow in a tone quite different from my usual calm demeanour, “What is it, Jeeves?”
He responded to my uncharacteristic outburst with merely a raised eyebrow and a purse of the lips followed by what would prove to be fateful words.
“I believe we can do better, sir.”
Truer words were never spoken. The things the fellow knew about manipulating the old wang-doodle were nothing short of extraordinary, and adding that slippery stuff he’d gone to fetch was a stroke of the purest genius.
So impatient was I, waiting for Jeeves to bring the accoutrements, that I found myself reaching down to address the issue myself, only to have him return at just that moment, his very expression a reprimand to my lack of self-control.
He had removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, baring rather muscular forearms. In his hands was a tray, which instead of the master’s first meal of the day held the small blue bottle which contained the magical emollient and a damp flannel. He put the tray down on the bedside table before assuming his customary position adjacent to mine on the bed.
The sight of Jeeves pouring out a bit of the bottle’s contents and rubbing it into his hands until they glistened caused my manhood to swell even further in rising anticipation. I closed my eyes and conjured up images of the ingénue in last night’s stage production, whose less than modest costume had no doubt provoked the appearance of the Wooster largesse this morning, as it were. She was a particularly appealing bit of femininity and I’d had half a mind to make my presence known outside her dressing-room door until Tuppy pointed out a large-boned gent of a thuggish visage already guarding that bastion like a self-assigned sentry, and advised me that this was in fact her “manager” and any attempts at contacting the young lady, even for the completely innocent purpose of complimenting her performance, might be misconstrued and lead to general unpleasantness.
I thought now of her shapely ankles and fetching features, trying not to focus too much on her “singing” voice, which had been a bit shrill in the high notes, but who could carp at such a small imperfection amidst so many wonders?
Yes, the ankles, I thought. Lovely things, they were.
Most emphatically, I was not thinking of Jeeves himself, even though it was his large, capable hand reaching into the opening of my pyjama bottoms, enfolding my length and proceeding to demonstrate, yet again, his complete understanding of all things having to do with the master’s well-being. The refinements of his touch far surpassed anything known at Malvern Hall, especially the deft twist at the end of each stroke that quickly brought my need for release to a desperate pass. His other hand cupped my sac with such tenderness that it might have been Jeeves’ own child, until the familial baubles tightened to the point where he could squeeze them with an impunity that would have shocked me were it not causing me to gibber like the most insane baboon in the zoo.
The speed of the slicked hand increased to such intensity that I could hardly stand it and the world burst into many colours, leaving me with no sane thought other that I must be the luckiest cove in all of London.
I sighed in deep satisfaction, the ankles of the ingénue having long since melted away into nothingness.
So relaxing was the whole exercise that I hardly noticed that Jeeves had withdrawn from my side until I felt the touch of the damp cloth and realized that the necessary ablutions were underway.
“Jeeves, you’ve outdone yourself. That was an absolute rip-snorter, I must say.”
I expected an immediate reply, and when one failed to arrive I opened my eyes to find Jeeves gazing down at my supine form. On a female I might have attributed his expression to the more sentimental inclinations, but since it was Jeeves, I supposed he was admiring the results of his labour, as an artist might appreciate his own creation.
“Thank you, sir,” he finally replied, tucking me back into my pyjamas before leaving to fetch breakfast. “I endeavour to provide satisfaction.”
“You jolly well do, Jeeves. Provide satisfaction, that is.”
After a bit of lying back and considering my own good fortune, it occurred to me that Jeeves was taking a dashed long time to return with the yummies. Normally my eggs and b arrive with the speed of summer lightning.
On the other hand, his absence gave me time to consider my plans for the rest of the day. It would be a while before I could request Jeeves’ estimable talents in this field again, but there were ways to hurry along the process. After breakfast, a nice bath, and then I might ring up Bingo Little and see if he fancied a night at the theatre.
I wouldn’t mind another look at that ingénue.