Hallo, hallo, hallo! Here is the second part of my Jooster fic. Hope you all enjoy. Again, not betaed so any mistakes are mine and I apologize.

Title: Jeeves and the Rummy Interruptions Part 2/4
Rating: R for slashy goodness
Summary: Bertie is feeling homesick in New York. He and Jeeves get to talking about England and their childhoods. They also get to drinking...


Part 2

            Now, I shall assume that some of my readers are men of the world, rakehells and rascals who have shared a kiss or two, whether with men or women; but I feel I can say without fear of contradiction, that none of those locking of the labial and maxillary muscles could compare with a Jeeves kiss. But I am perhaps a bit biased.

            His mouth was soft and warm as it rubbed sensuously against mine and he remained that way for a moment, content with a delicate press of lips, but after a time he disengaged and sighed,

“ Oh, Bertram, I want more. May I taste you sir? I so want to—“

 And he ducked down to lick and nip at the corner of my mouth, begging for entrance. It felt so good I fear I let out a not very manly moan of surprise. Jeeves, brilliant man that he is, seized the opportunity and plunged his tongue into my mouth. It snaked in, then darted out just as quickly, beginning an irresistibly erotic advance and retreat that made no little amount of blood rush to a certain part of the Wooster frame, I’m not ashamed to admit. If you were the recipient of any sort of labial attentions from Jeeves I’m sure your blood would rush about a bit too(not that I plan on anybody else ever being a recipient of laid l. a., but I digress).  This persisted for some minutes and really I would have been content to let it continue for the rest of the day if possible, when Jeeves lifted his head and looked up at me.

It took me a moment to ascend from the cloud on which I had been floating during the previous oral activities, but when I opened my eyes the old heart plummeted; for as I looked into Jeeves’ face I saw that he was still very much asleep, or if not that, then certainly not fully conscious.

The Code of the Wooster’s seemed to demand some sort of action. My finer sensibilities rebelled don’t you know. I couldn’t let the cove continue on his stated course without making certain he was fully aware of what said s.c. was.

But sleep-muddled Jeeves seemed to have other plans.

He began torturing me by kissing a line along my jaw before making his way to my neck. My skin became instantly sensitized, sending pleasure careening about my body at his slightest touch. So when he reached the crook of said neck and gave a little nibble to the Wooster corpus, I cried out again and bucked pleasingly against him. In the back of my mind I kept reasoning that in a moment I would sound the alarm and alert Jeeves to the fact that he probably wasn’t in his right mind, but dash it all, the sensual bliss that was coursing through my veins would have been enough to make anyone desirous of enjoying the proceedings for as long as possible. When one has some six foot of delicious, dreamy valet pressing up against one and placing temptingly wet kissing on that most sensitive spot behind one’s ear that makes one squirm like a kitten, what can a fellow do? Can anyone blame me?

Soon Jeeves readjusted us, turning so I lay underneath him , never once removing his lips from my flushed skin. He pressed his hips against mine and I gasped as I felt an answering hardness push against my own shaft. I could feel his warmth through the fabric of our trousers and we both groaned. Jeeves paused his movements for a moment and breathed into my ear,

“ Oh sir, you’re just as I’d dreamed--”

I squirmed

“Call me by my name again. Call me Bertie” I begged shyly

I could feel his smile,

“Oh, Bertie, you feel wonderful. Exquisite.” He began moving his hips again, his arousal brushing the throbbing head of my shaft and sparks lit up behind my eyes.

“Jeeves!”

“Call me Reggie.”

I moaned and sighed with pleasure.

“ Reggie, God Reggie, it’s so good!”. It was the first time I’d ever used Jeeves’ first name and I savored it on my lips like sweet melted chocolate, especially since it was the more intimate Reggie, not the stiff Reginald that everyone else saw. The thought of that intimate name made me red hot and needy and I began to thrust against Jeeves as he did against me.

Suddenly, I felt my man’s hands underneath my shirt(the devil knows how it got unbuttoned; Jeeves really is a genius with getting me undressed) and he bent his head to put that marvelous tongue to work, sucking at my tender nipple. I gasped, pleasure rushed southward and I exploded. I saw stars. I swam in the pure ecstasy of it. And as I floated back down to earth, I heard Jeeves give a shivering, leonine groan and one final thrust before he collapsed, reaching his own climax

Well, I mean to say, what! It was all we could we do to lie there . I wrapped my arms delicately and soothingly around Jeeves’ broad back, running my hands over his shoulders, knowing that this might be the only time I got to fulfill my schoolboyish fantasies in such a way. Our breathing slowed, all of the world seemingly frozen in time. All was languid aftermath and satiety…

Until the doorbell rang.

Both Jeeves and I shot up faster than you could say, “Who the deuce is ringing the doorbell?” and looked first in the direction of the door, and then back at each other. It rang again, shrilly. If there had been any doubts as to whether Jeeves had been conscious or not during our amorous activities, he certainly was now. I swayed a little as I sat up, still weak from the brain-meltingly erotic orgasm I’d just experienced in the arms of my valet, and lay limply against his shoulder. Surprisingly, Jeeves clutched at the back of my head as though to hold me there soothingly. He looked once more towards the door calculatingly before saying,

“Quick sir, you must go to your room. Stay there. I will see who is at the door.”

I could only nod. We both got up and I stumbled to my room and threw myself down onto the bed, shaking, not only from fright, but also from the not completely dissipated passion that had been so recently coursing through my veins. My heart still beat in that pleasurable post-coital rhythm, my cheeks were still on fire and my nipples were still hard and aching, begging for more of Jeeves’ loving attention.

The doorbell had certainly woken me up a bit as well and I was now in quite a state of shock. I mean it isn’t every day a fellow’s deepest fantasy comes to life and he gets to be ravished my his hunk of a gentleman’s personal gentleman, what?!  I brought a hand slowly up to my kiss swollen lips and touched them, not daring to believe that something so wonderful had happened; and yet I saw the darkening clouds gather overhead as I heard the doorbell ring impatiently once more before the slightly muffled, yet unmistakably dulcet tones of Jeeves floated through the air, the same dulcet tones that had so recently been moaning my name…

I sighed and lay my head back down to stare nervously at the ceiling. I’m not exactly sure you can stare nervously, but if you can’t I gave it a good go. Suddenly, while I was counting the number of smudges on the wallpaper, and trying not to think about the luxurious way Jeeves’ hips had moved against my own, I heard the man himself approaching. The door opened and there he was.

To anyone else he would have looked his normal self, stiff stoic Jeeves, standing very properly and awaiting his orders. But I fancy I’m more observant than the average fellow, especially when it comes to my man. A veritable Sherlock Holmes and all that! And I, with my keen eye, was able to notice the few strands of dark hair that were still slightly mussed, the ones I had so wanted to brush from his face; that and a telltale pinkening of the cheeks upon entering and locking eyes with the young master told me he was not altogether unaffected. My heart speed up a bit in response; at least I was not the only one astonished by what had taken place in the shadow of the early morning on our sitting room couch. I sat up and looked at the man. For a brief moment it seemed that no sort of eloquence was forthcoming on either side; we were both left rather dumbfounded until Jeeves, after a brief optical sweep of the Wooster person said,

“Your shirt is still unbuttoned sir.”

I looked down and saw that the man was right; come to think of it I’m sure I looked quite a sight; a veritable wanton don’t you know?

“ Oh yes.” I said somewhat numbly, trying to get the good old melon functioning again, “I suppose I ought to change…who was at the door?”

“ A Lady Malvern and her son Lord Pershore sir. She says she is a acquaintance of Mrs.Gregson and wishes to speak with you.” There was a pause and I shifted, avoiding Jeeves’ eye,

“ Jeeves’—“ I began, attempting some sort of explanation of the disposish we were currently entangled in; but Jeeves interrupted.

“ We will speak of it later sir. Now is not the time. Lady Malvern is waiting.” A pained expression crossed his face for a moment and a note of pleading came into his voice as he said,

“ I must go sir.”

“ Of course Jeeves.” I said meekly, but the man had already turned tail and shimmered out.

Well, I must say, no matter how miffed I was about the man’s sudden about face out of my room, I must admit I didn’t relish talking about the secretive, passionate thingummy that had taken place downstairs any more than he did. I was in no hurry to put my heart on the bally line and possibly have it danced upon rather vigorously. In that moment I almost wished the thing hadn’t happened because it might end with Jeeves leaving me; I would have rather had Jeeves puttering about as usual, even if the Wooster heart twinged with pain at the very sight of the man, than loose him altogether because of some foolish, though pleasurable, dalliance. The idea of my life without Jeeves…well it would be like the living in a perpetually cloudy, rainy world; life could still continue, but it would be grey, colorless and wet.

I dressed myself rather morosely and prepared to address this Malvern menace. Jeeves, dash the man was right, now was not the time to speak of what had happened. We would talk of it later. I took a deep breath. Later…

Jeeves and the Rummy Interruptions

Part 1

It’s rather rummy when you look back on a thing and find yourself saying “Gosh if I’d only known.” It makes a fellow feel like a right chump, I mean, when you’re sitting in the metaphorical aftermath of some dashed important event in your life, looking back on the battle plans and only then realize that you should have seen it all coming a mile away. The telltale signs and foreshadowings don’t you know. What I mean is, it seems perfectly apparent, looking back on the story I’m about to tell, that there were signs with huge neon letters telling me what I should have done, but when I was in the thick of the thing I couldn’t tell a sign from a whole in the ground as the American’s say.

            “ Now hang on just a moment,” I’m sure you’re saying, “this Wooster is a bally imbecile! He’s started his story by jabbering on about something we’ve no notion of! What a chump!” Now I won’t deny I can be a right fathead; my various aunts would willingly testify to that in a court of law. So I apologize old boys and girls, and shall endeavor to begin at the beginning.

            The story takes place during my sojourn in America and I had been in New York for quite some time, at least six months. And the truth was, despite the manifold attractions, I had begun to feel dashed homesick. That’s not to say that America wasn’t a thoroughly all-right place, and not that I hadn’t met squads of the right sorts of fellows; but there were times at night I could hear the lilting call of the lush green homeland floating through the air across the sea. I yearned for the good old flat in Berkley square and to see the much beloved, if sometimes rather goofy, faces of all my pals at the Drones. In short, I became a regular shadow, moping about the apartment like the good old Ghost in Hamlet moped about Ellsinore. Neither food nor drink could revive my usual joie de vivre, though Jeeves certainly made a good try of it, whipping up libations that could tempt even my Uncle George, whose stomach lining is known to rebel at the slightest movement. But all of his efforts were for naught; I still ached to walk once more upon England’s good old mountains green.

            Now, I’m sure some of you may be scratching your heads and wondering why I didn’t simply hijack the nearest yacht and paddle across the pond to the good old place of birth. But, dear reader, the problem lies in the fact that though I craved the good old London air like La Basset craves wee fluffy bunnies, who when they sneeze, give fairies their wings, England also contained my Aunt Agatha. Notoriously a battle axe wielding, nephew crushing kind of a Amazon, it was she who had first sent me to America, with the expressed purpose of dissuading my cousin Gussie from marrying an actress. Well, you have only to trip over to the Broadway premiere of the musical comedy, “My Pal Marmaduke” featuring both Gussie and his young fiancé in order to see how abysmally I failed at the task. At first it had seemed quite all right to simply stay in America and wait for the time I could return to England without being beheaded, but six months would make any chap yearn for his own flat and in the throws of my homesickness it was dashed hard to wait for Aunt Agatha to reconcile herself with Bertram.

            I was deep in said T’s of H one night, sitting in the drawing room and sipping a mournful b and s, when Jeeves shimmered in. As I had said before, Jeeves had been doing his dashed best to cheer up the young master, but sadly to no avail. And I must say I think that my despondency was getting to him; as he appeared at the side of the couch that evening, he had a surprisingly deep look of concern on his face. That is to say his forehead was wrinkled about half an inch, but I, knowing him as I do saw the genuine worry etched in that brow.

            “Can I get anything for you sir?”

            “ No thank you Jeeves.” I answered, staring sullenly at the fire.

            “Perhaps I could refresh your drink sir?”

            I looked down and saw that I had, indeed, polished off my glass without even realizing it.

            “Best not, Jeeves. I’ve already had three. Or was it four? I can’t remember. Anyway, don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

            “Very good sir.”

            He went to shimmer out again, but something seemed to stop him and he turned back.

            “If you will pardon the liberty sir, might I ask if you are feeling well?”

            “What do you mean Jeeves?” I said, giving the man a look.

            “ You have, if I may say so, not been yourself.” He took a few step closer till he was standing by the arm of the couch again, “ Is there anything wrong sir?”

            Perhaps it was simply because of the man’s unexpected concern for your’s truly or perhaps my dejected state had weakened me. Whatever it was, something inside me softened and my heart sort of twitched in a rather rummy way, don’t you know, and I almost felt like crying.

            “ Sit down for goodness sake, Jeeves, there’s no need to stand on ceremony, no matter how strong your feudal spirit may be.” He hesitated, “Please Jeeves, just sit down.”

            He obliged, though rather stiffly, before inquiring,

            “ If you are feeling depressed sir, perhaps you could go out and see a show, or go out to one of the many clubs—“

            “ Oh, hang it Jeeves, I don’t want to do any of that. I’m just so bally homesick Every time I go out, everything just reminds me of the fact that I’m not in England. I’d almost be happy to see Honoria Glossop or Stiffy Bing if only to find relief from these American girls and their dashed shrill laughter.” I turned to give him a pained look, “ Have you heard them laugh Jeeves?”

            “Indeed sir.” He said, with a slight smile.

            “ Yes, like some sort of screeching parrot.”

            “ The comparison, is not undeserved sir.”

            “ Makes a fellow yearn for old Blighty, doesn’t it Jeeves?”

            “ Yes, sir.”

            “ Makes me think of my old house; the one I grew up in, you know, in the good old English country-side.” I said, beginning to reminisce. It was probably the hooch, but I was starting to feel awfully nostalgic. “ It was so wonderful,” I continued, in what I fear was not altogether a non-soppy voice, “ We had a lovely country manor, much like Brinkley actually, full of atmosphere: green grassy hills and woods a boy could get lost in all day. I was never extremely athletic, but I loved to just walk across our estate and see all there was, the flowers, the trees, the animals.  I suppose that’s why I so enjoy going to Brinkley whenever I can, reminds me of the old homestead, don’t you know.”

            “ Yes, sir.” Jeeves said; and he said it with such a sincerity that I was quite touched. And it was then that I realized I felt quite comfortable with Jeeves. I mean, with some of the people one employs, you think about them just as often as you think about your digestive system: you just assume their doing their job and there’s an end(Unless you’re my Uncle George, but that’s another story). But Jeeves was one in a million, and I had become conscious, over the last month or so that Jeeves had become more than just a valet: he was also a friend, don’t you know. Someone I could talk to, and certainly someone I could depend upon, if the numerous occasions that  he had fished me out of the not to shallow soup are any evidence. And it was dashed nice to have a sympathetic ear, especially an ear with a voice that didn’t have the flat, harsh American vowels.

            “ Where did you grow up Jeeves? I don’t think I’ve ever asked you much about your childhood. I just assumed you sprang from your mother’s womb fully formed, brilliant brain included.”

            “ Decidedly not sir,” he said with a Jeevesian smirk, “I was born and raised in Canterbury. Near the coast, as it happens. I believe that is why I have such a fondness for fishing; my mother and I used to go to the shore for a day, sitting and simply staring at the sea and she would often allow me to fish.”

            “ Sounds dashed pleasant.”

            “It was very pleasant, sir.” Said Jeeves and I detected the hint of a nostalgic smile. Well! It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one succumbing to the softer feelings; I should have to watch it though to make sure neither of us started spouting absurdities about the stars being Gods daisy chain. One must always keep a eye out for these sorts of things. But it was rather pleasant having someone to talk to; it bally well relieved the melancholy mood I had been suffering from. Once I had begun to get the stuff out into the open for someone else to hear, the whole situation seemed less bleak don’t you know?

            “ What about your father Jeeves, what did he do?”

            Jeeves frowned slightly in a sort of rummy way.

            “ He was the stable master on a country estate. My mother was the cook.”

            “You speak of your father in a somewhat soupy voice Jeeves. Rather reminds me of the one you get when speaking of a pair of overly flamboyant spats of mine that you’ve developed a distaste for. Why the unpleasantness? If you don’t mind me asking.”

            “Not at all sir,” he replied, looking thoughtfully into the fire, “He did not like me very much. I was a quiet, bookish sort of child and he was more stout and sporting, a huntsmen. I often believed that he thought more of his horses sometimes than he did of me. I suppose I disappointed him somewhat as far as sons go. When I got my first valeting job for a young gentleman of the house that we worked for, he accused me, because of my pension for intellectual pursuits and my new duties,  of being ungrateful and attempting to rise above my parents and my station in life. We never got on very well, to put it plainly. My mother died when I was fourteen and we drifted even farther apart.” He took a pause and it became apparent to me that he was, despite his outwardly stony appearance, quite affected. My heart bled for the man.

            “ I’m dashed sorry Jeeves. Would you care for a drink?” I offered, thinking to sooth the fellow a bit. I felt like a bally ass, poking and prodding at what was obviously a touchy subject. Jeeves looked over at the assortment of liquor, clearing yearning for a splash of the liquid,

            “ I fear it would not be proper sir.”

            “ Oh come now Jeeves! I shall drink with you if it will make you feel any better. But I warn you, I’ll liable to get soppier as the night goes on.”

            The man finally relented.

“ Thank you for the warning, sir.” He said sarcastically as he got up to pour us our drinks. He came back and we both downed a bit before I broke the rather matey silence that had been reigning,

            “ You’re lucky to have had your mother for so long.”

            “ Indeed sir.”

            “ Both my parents died when I was eight.” I took another swig and stared once more into the fireplace.

            “ How did they pass, if I may ask sir.”

            “ A fire.” I said simply, “ They were on their way to visit me at school and they were staying overnight at some Inn or Hotel. Someone got careless I suppose.”

            “ I am sorry sir.”

            “ No need to be. It was an accident. And besides I always try to remember that there are people who have their parents for far less time than I did. And I had squads of Aunts and Uncles to look after me, though not all of them as felicitous as some. But still, I could have had a much worse life.”

            Jeeves smiled at the young master,

            “ A very enlightened view sir.”

            “ Thank you Jeeves. One tries. But enough of these depressing dirges! We must talk of lighter things. What of the young Jeeves? Were you as bright and promising as a child as you are now?”

            “ I did enjoy reading sir. I was never happier than when sitting and reading with my mother.”     

            “ And I was, as we have already seen, quite a carefree, trouble maker in my youth. Some things never change, do they Jeeves?”

            “ Indeed sir.”

            And so the conversation continued well into the night. We talked of this and that, schools we had gone to, amusing anecdotes and childhood adventures. It was dashed pleasant. And I don’t mind admitting that we drank quite frequently as we talked, getting not a very little under the surface.

 And it was this slightly sloshed state, I believe, that caused us to find ourselves, the next morning asleep on the couch.

I don’t know how it happened, but it appeared, as I blinked my eyes, like a new born babe in the late morning light, that we had lost track of time and simply drifted off.

The thing was that after the night we had put in, I should have been feeling like I had an angry rhinoceros dwelling in my skull, who had invited over six of his rowdiest rhinoceros buddies. But aside from a slight fuzziness and inability to remember where I was for a moment, I didn’t feel at all bad. In fact I felt rather, warm and serene, don’t you know. Birds singing in the treetops, God in his heaven, and all that.

            Just when I was thinking how bally lucky I was to still have my brain in working order, I looked down and saw something I had never expected to see.

It was Jeeves.

I blinked.

I blinked again. But he was still there.

            Apparently, at some point during the good old eight hours of the dreamless, we had shifted somewhat, with the result that I had ended up lying ensconced in Jeeves’ arms with my head on his shoulder.

I blushed as I looked at Jeeves’ sleep softened face. It would perhaps be pertinent to mention some things at this slightly awkward moment, that might illuminate why these particular memoirs aren’t available to the general public. The truth is that, despite what my numerous engagements might suggest, I don’t have much fondness for the fairer sex. What I mean is that this Wooster had long since realized that I found other lads much more comely and attractive than any Philly could possibly be. A nice pair of broad muscular shoulders(much like those I had been sleeping on during the night, if I might add) has always, in short, held much more fascination for me than long flowing locks and curvy hips. I know it may come as a shock to your sensibilities, but there it is. Break out the smelling salts and revive yourself if you must, I shan’t lie to you.  I had known it from quite a young age, but hadn’t done much in the way of relationships, the cove on cove action being somewhat frowned upon by the constabulary. Bingo and I did actually have a brief stab at it. He is rather handsome certainly, and a dear old boy. The thing was, it never really went anywhere past hand holding and the occasional stolen kiss in dark hallways, it being difficult to find privacy for that sort of fruitiness in the crowded dormitories at Eton. Nonetheless, we came out of it friends, thankfully and Bingo soon turned after the females, never to bat for the home team again, don’t you know. I had been content since then to go about admiring Johnnies from afar, happy to look, and keep the rest to myself.

Until Jeeves, that is. You see, since he had entered my employ I had found myself rather falling for him. He was certainly a fine looking cove. Tall, broad shouldered, muscular, dark haired and features that reminded one not a little of that Adonis chappie that Shakespeare wrote of. All in all quite a looker, if you’ll pardon the phrase, though I’m sure Jeeves would find it undignified. And the fact that he turned out to be someone who had become a friend and downright pal over the time of his employment certainly didn’t help my pie-eyed state. The truth was, especially in recent days, I do believe I’d quite fallen in love with him. If I hadn’t, my heart was giving a dashed good imitation. It fluttered every time he entered the room, or whenever his deep, smooth voice awoke me in the morning.

So you can understand why I would be rather uncomfortable to find myself in the present situation, i.e. enveloped in a strong, warm pair of Jeevesian arms, while the man himself slept peacefully at my side. I paused to sigh as I looked at his face; he really was beautiful, especially while under Morpheus’s spell. His normal stony, imposing façade had fallen away during sleep, and he now appeared tender and more human; a few locks of his ink black hair had fallen in front of his face during the night and I had to resist the impulse to reach out a hand and brush them away. Damn it, the man even smelled good, a combination of minty brilliantine and a deep masculine scent I took to be his aftershave that made me shiver in my skin. My heart ached don’t you know, looking at him, for though I could look, I wasn’t sure if I would ever be allowed to do any more.

The thing was, though I pretty well knew my own feelings on the matter, it was dashed impossible to fathom Jeeves’ side of the thing. I couldn’t simply come right out and say cheerfully, “By the by Jeeves do you happen to be an invert? Really?! Me too! Shall we hop into bed together and live happily ever after? Tally ho, pip pip, let’s get to the buggering then my good man!” You can imagine how something like that would go. And usually I would have simply assumed the man to be completely uninterested, but there were little things, don’t you know, that gave me suspicions. The way his voice sort of purred when he woke me in the morning, or when he said good night to me in the evening that sent shivers down my spine. Or the fact that  I had even caught him on occasion, observing me while I played piano, with a simmering look in his eye which I can only describe as, well, dare I say it, sexy? Even our domestic battles over clothing had a decidedly playful air to them in recent days; I’d even gone so far, on occasion, as to purchase something I knew would incur his ire just to see the slight disapproving smirk on his face he got when he knew a battle was about to ensue. But I had no idea if these were all in the Wooster melon or not, and I certainly didn’t want to risk the tentative situation that we had now. If Jeeves left me because I was of the Oscar Wilde persuasion, I didn’t know what I would do.

So it was with no little trepidation that I decided I should play the gentleman and awake Jeeves before he did so on his own and discovered our position. But before I got the chance to give a tentative “What ho!” as it were, Jeeves stretched in a rather sinuous way and blinked a few times in rapid succession.

I froze.

Perhaps I might have done something on the spur of the moment to rectify the circumstances , but I was caught off guard by Jeeves’ dark piercing eyes giving me a sleepy, almost dreamy look. We were rather close at this point, almost nose to nose. We stared at each other for a moment where the air positively sizzled and my heart seemed to be trying to beat it’s way out of my ribs. I flushed even more if it is possible, my cheeks going as red as roses. I had no idea what to say, feeling that anything in the way of an explanation would fall about as flat as a pancake in a frying pan, not to mention that the vocal chords seemed to have dropped out of the picture altogether. But I was saved the trouble of speaking. Jeeves suddenly gave a slinky sort of smile which didn’t help either my maidenly blush or my heart rate, and said in that deep, purring sort of voice I spoke of earlier, what I still believe to be the most shiver-inducing phrase to leave this sterling mans lips,

“Good morning Bertram.”

And before I could protest(not that I would have anyway) he closed the space between us and pressed his lips to mine.