when correctly viewed, everything is lewd
Aug. 16th, 2004 01:28 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
dryadwoman.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
indeedsir_backupNew smut. Finally.
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Pairing: Reginald Jeeves/Bertie Wooster
Rating: um....NC17 I guess, whatever that means.
Disclaimer: it was in another country, and besides, the author is dead
Betas who deserve chocolate, and shameless quoting:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
maudlinrose "I was too distracted by the hotness of the porn to notice any grammatical errors", and manic_subbie "so cute! =D"
The Return
*****
End episode three, season four
*****
My valet presented me with an unspeakably welcome whiskey and soda.
“Jeeves,” said I, “you look quite ridiculous.”
We Woosters do not beat about the bush, particularly after playing at the Ancient Mariner for more months than I cared to remember. From a distance of several miles, and viewed from the back, Jeeves might well look the perfect gentleman’s gentleman, but from my vantage point the worse-for-wear suit and the straggly beard lent him the preposterous look of an expatriated Mandarin. I preferred not to think about my own appearance.
Jeeves’ twinkling of eye from behind his facial foliage put me in mind of Santa Claus.
“And you look perfectly ravishable, Sir,” he quipped.
I rather regretted that he was not the one naked but for the semblance of a loin-cloth.
“But the beard will have to go,” he continued, ever practical and ever smirking.
“Well yes, Jeeves. Ready the shaving things, will you?”
“I will do so directly, Sir.”
He returned presently with the tub, the razor, and the towels, all of which he placed upon the occasional table in front of me before sitting beside me on the sofa. For us this was a rare pose, particularly so given our seagoing adventures of late. Now he looked at me for some moments with a mischievous expression.
“Well,” said I, “toodle-pip to the chin-jungles then, what?”
He caught my hand as I reached for the razor.
“Do you not think it would be prudent, Sir, to explore the tactile possibilities of said tresses before sentencing them to elimination?” so saying, he raised our combined hands to my none-too-smooth cheek. Here he released my hand and ran his fingers down to my chin, holding my gaze all the while. Finally he grasped my beard where it grew free of my face, and gently tugged my willing mouth to meet his own.
Having never kissed a gorse-bush, I haven’t the slightest notion why the comparison leapt into my mind. But I was rash in my thinking; both our circumoscular thickets had been growing for long enough to dispel any sense of prickliness. The kiss was undeniably muffled, but that made no difference to the fact that I was here, home, with my beloved Jeeves, who was even now embracing my back and drawing me to him, here in our own private flat, on our soft couch. I was safe to let go of months of fear and denial.
I clawed at his clothing. He displayed a degree of consent in allowing me to remove his jacket, but did little to ease my struggle with his shirt, as he would not detach his lips from my throat and shoulder. His whiskers lent an altogether new sensation to this favourite activity of ours, and I was soon powerless to continue my attempts to undress him. He pushed me into a reclining position and busied his mouth with my chest, kissing and tonguing his way down to engulf a nipple with disarming warmth and moistness. I cried out.
“By gad, Jeeves, I’d forgotten how good this feels…” My body arched up towards him, needing to be closer to him. It was with much effort that I tugged him back to my mouth, that I might begin a further assault upon his shirt-buttons.
“Jeeves, this is most unfair - you haven't taken off your clothes!” I complained into his whiskers. He helped me undress him then, only to use his advantage of superior strength to press our bodies tightly together so that I gasped, due not only to the newness of the sensation but also to the sudden confinement of my lungs. He resumed his nuzzling upon my neck, and I refamiliarised myself with the feel of his back, the way the bones and muscles moved as he petted me. I let loose a moan, unspeakably relieved that we were safe and home and together, and yet oh so aroused in our rediscovering of each other. I became conscious of our twin erections straining inside our clothing, and I suspect Jeeves’ awareness had wandered in a similar direction, as he chose that moment to detach himself from my person and look into my face. Again he stroked my beard.
“A further experiment is required,” was all he said. His hands elaborated on the point, pulling aside my towel-like garment to reveal my growing arousal. He held my gaze while dropping to his knees, looking away at last to touch lightly the balder, more sensitive parts of my groin with his beard.
“Oh God.” I was aware I was becoming ridiculously pious, given the circumstances, but, to quote certain of my friends and relations, in times of heated emotion, I was not responsible for my actions. The touch was maddeningly teasing; I knew I needed him to go further, but I knew equally well I needed to do the same to him.
Now, I freely confess that under normal circs - I mean, without the beards and the loincloth and the sub-Amazonian spear and all - I would have allowed myself to flow along with the enjoyment of the moment. But if a Wooster is a man of action, how much more so when united with his lover at long last after an impromptu world cruise!
“Jeeves!” said I.
“Sir?”
“Would you be so good as to move that table a few inches awaywards?”
A puzzled look hovered over his features – insomuch as they were visible, given the face-fungus thereupon. He assented, complied, and returned to my lap.
I may not have the strength of ten – or even of one, if Jeeves is the sample in question – but I am swift, and scarcely had Jeeves’ face touched my privates but I had wriggled down to the floor at his side and started undoing his trousers. If he was surprised, he did not show it, but continued nuzzling my groin with that woolly beard of his, and stretched out to aid me in my task.
It had been months since I had last had the pleasure of pleasuring Jeeves. Such was my eagerness that I only took a few moments to admire his firm, symmetrical member before nuzzling my cheek against it in a familiar fashion. I felt his whole body tense abruptly, and not so much heard as felt his moan vibrating around my own shaft. Seized by an apparent frenzy, he began sucking and licking me with all his might. I tried valiantly to continue petting him, but his attentions to me proved too vigorous, and I was reduced to lolling and moaning on the carpet. Had I been able to master the power of speech, it would have been to say something along the lines of: “you always get your way, Jeeves.”
Nor was there any rest for me after he drew my shattering climax from me. A few calming, cleansing tongue-strokes, and he was kissing my mouth with equal fervour, while I lay trembling in his arms. I hasten to add here that, in my adult life, Jeeves is the only soul to have seen Bertram Wilberforce Wooster shed tears, as was happening now.
He held me against his shoulder and stroked my head. His beard tickled my ear.
“Jeeves,” I murmured, “I wanted…” I couldn’t finish.
“You shall have it,” he said.
He helped me up onto the sofa and stood before me: tall, strong, and, yes, I think beautiful is the word I want. I rested my hands on his hip bones – a little more pronounced than I remembered – and guided him towards me. He needed little encouragement in resuming my earlier project, rubbing his erection against my hirsute cheeks. I was a little frustrated at the barrier said hirsuteness provided between his skin and mine, and impatiently tried to catch him in my mouth as he moved from one side of my face to the other. After a few minutes he complied with my wishes; I fancied he shared my desperation for our union after all those careful months. I grasped a furry thigh to pull him deep into my mouth, until the hair on my chin merged with that of his groin. I heard his sharp intake of breath, which in Jeeves is equivalent to a moan of abandon in any normal mortal, and set about the project of eliciting further sounds from him.
The pressure of my hand move to his buttocks, my fingers dabbling in the first drops of sweat at the base of his back. I flattened my palm and pressed firmly, relishing the sensation of the swollen head on the roof of my mouth as I contorted my tongue to massage the shaft. I cupped both his buttocks in my hands and sucked hard on him. I thought I heard the softest of moans somewhere in the ether above my head.
When I moved a hand to caress the scrotum that was nestled against my chin, I became aware of a shift in his angle, and realized he had bent over to steady himself on the back of the sofa. While I freely admit that I felt a certain smugness at this admission of his fr- do I mean to say fragility? I was minutely piqued that the change in position necessitated a complementary adjustment on my part, the result of which left me supporting my svelte frame entirely with my wrists and abdominals and placing not inconsiderable strain on the back on the neck. I endeavoured to concentrate on the more pleasurable sensations inside my mouth, which were shortly enhanced as my lover began to thrust minutely into my throat. He had never done this before without vocal or manual encouragement from myself, so this independent action of his pleased me greatly, despite the fact that my current position rendered me incapable to expressing the fervour it aroused in me. I did what I could, namely, turned up the suction gear and thus the friction of his thrusting against my lips and tongue, to which he responded by picking up speed before suddenly stilling. I heard his quick, aspirated gasps just before his body seemed to buckle, and I had no option but to release my stance and collapse prone to avoid being smothered by his descending belly.
Presently I found myself observing the pattern of wet spots on the carpet and wondering as to the soundness of my assumption that they could be traced to the shaving-basin. My hip was being tickled by Jeeves’ beard as he rested his head on my abdomen, while the rest of his body was folded on the floor in repose. His breathing, although still somewhat belaboured, had calmed considerably. I admired the planes of his back, a view all the more delectable for having been denied me of recent months. A square hand rose to stroke my thigh – I noted with some smugness that his recovery had been slower than usual. I saw his body begin to move, and his head turned to face me from its perch beyond my chest. The smile which shone through the beard-thicket appeared less preposterous than it had earlier.
“My suggestion,” said he, “should you care to hear it, is that we repeat this experiment directly after immediate depilation.” Which, I have learnt, is a variation of Jeeves-speak for “That was bally good, let’s do it again, what?” I scrambled down and reached for the shaving things.
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Pairing: Reginald Jeeves/Bertie Wooster
Rating: um....NC17 I guess, whatever that means.
Disclaimer: it was in another country, and besides, the author is dead
Betas who deserve chocolate, and shameless quoting:
maudlinrose "I was too distracted by the hotness of the porn to notice any grammatical errors", and manic_subbie "so cute! =D"The Return
*****
End episode three, season four
*****
My valet presented me with an unspeakably welcome whiskey and soda.
“Jeeves,” said I, “you look quite ridiculous.”
We Woosters do not beat about the bush, particularly after playing at the Ancient Mariner for more months than I cared to remember. From a distance of several miles, and viewed from the back, Jeeves might well look the perfect gentleman’s gentleman, but from my vantage point the worse-for-wear suit and the straggly beard lent him the preposterous look of an expatriated Mandarin. I preferred not to think about my own appearance.
Jeeves’ twinkling of eye from behind his facial foliage put me in mind of Santa Claus.
“And you look perfectly ravishable, Sir,” he quipped.
I rather regretted that he was not the one naked but for the semblance of a loin-cloth.
“But the beard will have to go,” he continued, ever practical and ever smirking.
“Well yes, Jeeves. Ready the shaving things, will you?”
“I will do so directly, Sir.”
He returned presently with the tub, the razor, and the towels, all of which he placed upon the occasional table in front of me before sitting beside me on the sofa. For us this was a rare pose, particularly so given our seagoing adventures of late. Now he looked at me for some moments with a mischievous expression.
“Well,” said I, “toodle-pip to the chin-jungles then, what?”
He caught my hand as I reached for the razor.
“Do you not think it would be prudent, Sir, to explore the tactile possibilities of said tresses before sentencing them to elimination?” so saying, he raised our combined hands to my none-too-smooth cheek. Here he released my hand and ran his fingers down to my chin, holding my gaze all the while. Finally he grasped my beard where it grew free of my face, and gently tugged my willing mouth to meet his own.
Having never kissed a gorse-bush, I haven’t the slightest notion why the comparison leapt into my mind. But I was rash in my thinking; both our circumoscular thickets had been growing for long enough to dispel any sense of prickliness. The kiss was undeniably muffled, but that made no difference to the fact that I was here, home, with my beloved Jeeves, who was even now embracing my back and drawing me to him, here in our own private flat, on our soft couch. I was safe to let go of months of fear and denial.
I clawed at his clothing. He displayed a degree of consent in allowing me to remove his jacket, but did little to ease my struggle with his shirt, as he would not detach his lips from my throat and shoulder. His whiskers lent an altogether new sensation to this favourite activity of ours, and I was soon powerless to continue my attempts to undress him. He pushed me into a reclining position and busied his mouth with my chest, kissing and tonguing his way down to engulf a nipple with disarming warmth and moistness. I cried out.
“By gad, Jeeves, I’d forgotten how good this feels…” My body arched up towards him, needing to be closer to him. It was with much effort that I tugged him back to my mouth, that I might begin a further assault upon his shirt-buttons.
“Jeeves, this is most unfair - you haven't taken off your clothes!” I complained into his whiskers. He helped me undress him then, only to use his advantage of superior strength to press our bodies tightly together so that I gasped, due not only to the newness of the sensation but also to the sudden confinement of my lungs. He resumed his nuzzling upon my neck, and I refamiliarised myself with the feel of his back, the way the bones and muscles moved as he petted me. I let loose a moan, unspeakably relieved that we were safe and home and together, and yet oh so aroused in our rediscovering of each other. I became conscious of our twin erections straining inside our clothing, and I suspect Jeeves’ awareness had wandered in a similar direction, as he chose that moment to detach himself from my person and look into my face. Again he stroked my beard.
“A further experiment is required,” was all he said. His hands elaborated on the point, pulling aside my towel-like garment to reveal my growing arousal. He held my gaze while dropping to his knees, looking away at last to touch lightly the balder, more sensitive parts of my groin with his beard.
“Oh God.” I was aware I was becoming ridiculously pious, given the circumstances, but, to quote certain of my friends and relations, in times of heated emotion, I was not responsible for my actions. The touch was maddeningly teasing; I knew I needed him to go further, but I knew equally well I needed to do the same to him.
Now, I freely confess that under normal circs - I mean, without the beards and the loincloth and the sub-Amazonian spear and all - I would have allowed myself to flow along with the enjoyment of the moment. But if a Wooster is a man of action, how much more so when united with his lover at long last after an impromptu world cruise!
“Jeeves!” said I.
“Sir?”
“Would you be so good as to move that table a few inches awaywards?”
A puzzled look hovered over his features – insomuch as they were visible, given the face-fungus thereupon. He assented, complied, and returned to my lap.
I may not have the strength of ten – or even of one, if Jeeves is the sample in question – but I am swift, and scarcely had Jeeves’ face touched my privates but I had wriggled down to the floor at his side and started undoing his trousers. If he was surprised, he did not show it, but continued nuzzling my groin with that woolly beard of his, and stretched out to aid me in my task.
It had been months since I had last had the pleasure of pleasuring Jeeves. Such was my eagerness that I only took a few moments to admire his firm, symmetrical member before nuzzling my cheek against it in a familiar fashion. I felt his whole body tense abruptly, and not so much heard as felt his moan vibrating around my own shaft. Seized by an apparent frenzy, he began sucking and licking me with all his might. I tried valiantly to continue petting him, but his attentions to me proved too vigorous, and I was reduced to lolling and moaning on the carpet. Had I been able to master the power of speech, it would have been to say something along the lines of: “you always get your way, Jeeves.”
Nor was there any rest for me after he drew my shattering climax from me. A few calming, cleansing tongue-strokes, and he was kissing my mouth with equal fervour, while I lay trembling in his arms. I hasten to add here that, in my adult life, Jeeves is the only soul to have seen Bertram Wilberforce Wooster shed tears, as was happening now.
He held me against his shoulder and stroked my head. His beard tickled my ear.
“Jeeves,” I murmured, “I wanted…” I couldn’t finish.
“You shall have it,” he said.
He helped me up onto the sofa and stood before me: tall, strong, and, yes, I think beautiful is the word I want. I rested my hands on his hip bones – a little more pronounced than I remembered – and guided him towards me. He needed little encouragement in resuming my earlier project, rubbing his erection against my hirsute cheeks. I was a little frustrated at the barrier said hirsuteness provided between his skin and mine, and impatiently tried to catch him in my mouth as he moved from one side of my face to the other. After a few minutes he complied with my wishes; I fancied he shared my desperation for our union after all those careful months. I grasped a furry thigh to pull him deep into my mouth, until the hair on my chin merged with that of his groin. I heard his sharp intake of breath, which in Jeeves is equivalent to a moan of abandon in any normal mortal, and set about the project of eliciting further sounds from him.
The pressure of my hand move to his buttocks, my fingers dabbling in the first drops of sweat at the base of his back. I flattened my palm and pressed firmly, relishing the sensation of the swollen head on the roof of my mouth as I contorted my tongue to massage the shaft. I cupped both his buttocks in my hands and sucked hard on him. I thought I heard the softest of moans somewhere in the ether above my head.
When I moved a hand to caress the scrotum that was nestled against my chin, I became aware of a shift in his angle, and realized he had bent over to steady himself on the back of the sofa. While I freely admit that I felt a certain smugness at this admission of his fr- do I mean to say fragility? I was minutely piqued that the change in position necessitated a complementary adjustment on my part, the result of which left me supporting my svelte frame entirely with my wrists and abdominals and placing not inconsiderable strain on the back on the neck. I endeavoured to concentrate on the more pleasurable sensations inside my mouth, which were shortly enhanced as my lover began to thrust minutely into my throat. He had never done this before without vocal or manual encouragement from myself, so this independent action of his pleased me greatly, despite the fact that my current position rendered me incapable to expressing the fervour it aroused in me. I did what I could, namely, turned up the suction gear and thus the friction of his thrusting against my lips and tongue, to which he responded by picking up speed before suddenly stilling. I heard his quick, aspirated gasps just before his body seemed to buckle, and I had no option but to release my stance and collapse prone to avoid being smothered by his descending belly.
Presently I found myself observing the pattern of wet spots on the carpet and wondering as to the soundness of my assumption that they could be traced to the shaving-basin. My hip was being tickled by Jeeves’ beard as he rested his head on my abdomen, while the rest of his body was folded on the floor in repose. His breathing, although still somewhat belaboured, had calmed considerably. I admired the planes of his back, a view all the more delectable for having been denied me of recent months. A square hand rose to stroke my thigh – I noted with some smugness that his recovery had been slower than usual. I saw his body begin to move, and his head turned to face me from its perch beyond my chest. The smile which shone through the beard-thicket appeared less preposterous than it had earlier.
“My suggestion,” said he, “should you care to hear it, is that we repeat this experiment directly after immediate depilation.” Which, I have learnt, is a variation of Jeeves-speak for “That was bally good, let’s do it again, what?” I scrambled down and reached for the shaving things.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-08-16 02:51 am (UTC)*You* are a goddess among women.
(Hah, oh dear God, that last bit did me in.)
no subject
Date: 2004-08-16 07:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-08-16 04:50 am (UTC)..."toodle-pip to the chin-jungles then, what?
I'm still grinning over this line. Yes, I know, you hand me a fic full of porn and pick out a line about shaving to titter at. Go figure. ^_~
Porn *is* better a la Wodehouse.....
Had I been able to master the power of speech, it would have been to say something along the lines of: “you always get your way, Jeeves.”
I believe the phrase I want here is "Amen". *grin*
Didn't notice
no subject
Date: 2004-08-16 04:53 am (UTC)Yeah. Odd, that.
no subject
Date: 2004-08-16 07:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 05:13 am (UTC)Seeing as how Wodehouse never went to NC-17 territory, you were brave enough to do so, and it paid off handsomely. Granted, using beards during sex would be incredibly strange -- I keep thinking more in terms of Scottish ticklers instead of flavor-savors -- but here, it's a fun little variation that lovers familiar with each other are willing to try. It's fun and funny and delicious, and I'd love to see more, if ever your muse returns with more Wodehouse-ian smut.
:D
*translates to Fangirl*
EEEEEEEE. OMG LIEKWOAH PLZ RIT MOR!!1!
no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 10:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 02:06 pm (UTC)::eyes icon::
Okay, now that's just adorable. I could see Jeeves being hit with a truth serum, and it compels him to --
Dammit, not another bunny. Or maybe I could make this work to my advantage. :D
no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 10:43 pm (UTC)Truth Serum! That just screams....
MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E. CROSSOVER!!!!
I don't know how, it would probably have to involve time travel....or J&W not getting it on until they are really quite old....down bunnies, down!
no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 10:59 pm (UTC)I've never seen MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E., but I did act on the bunny in question. I just need a credible backstory for it, and then I'll be able to post on my fic journal. *blush*
no subject
Date: 2006-02-25 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-23 04:59 am (UTC)Nor was there any rest for me after he drew my shattering climax from me. A few calming, cleansing tongue-strokes, and he was kissing my mouth with equal fervour, while I lay trembling in his arms. I hasten to add here that, in my adult life, Jeeves is the only soul to have seen Bertram Wilberforce Wooster shed tears, as was happening now.
He held me against his shoulder and stroked my head. His beard tickled my ear.
“Jeeves,” I murmured, “I wanted…” I couldn’t finish.
“You shall have it,” he said.
I love undone!Bertie and comforting!Jeeves. This is just so... perfect, and sweet, and hot, and lovely, and so in character. *luffs*
no subject
Date: 2006-07-23 05:32 am (UTC)And this, is believe, is the last fic I wrote in this fandom...so far...
no subject
Date: 2007-02-13 04:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-13 09:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-27 12:45 pm (UTC)“toodle-pip to the chin-jungles then, what?”
was fantastic.
*Triple thumbs up* (Fangirls have as many thumbs as they require)
no subject
Date: 2007-02-27 07:57 pm (UTC)