indeedsir_backup | A one-shot written in half an hour (Reply)

ohidosay . Here you are!
(Will likely be reposted to my LJ at some point for inventory's sake).
Title: Indulgence
Rating: R? NC-17, I suppose.
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves, ish.
Summary: Jeeves reserves the start of the day, while all else is in slumber, for some ~~well-deserved wanking~~ relaxing indulgences. He takes inspiration from an unexpected but likely willing source.
Warnings: Mastubation, nothing horridly explicit. Angst. Probably should technically be considered non-con... although there's nothing stopping us from saying "NO BERTIE'S FINE WITH THAT." Oh, and un-beta'd.

I arise at the very pinnacle of the morning; 6 AM. I wash, then dress, but I dress for no one, for my employer is not yet awake, and I do not need to begin my chores until eight, to have them finished by ten thirty, when I wake my young master with his morning Darjeeling. The time until then is mine.

My golden hour from 6.30 to 7.30 is one of self-indulgence and painful selfishness. It is in that time that I allow myself to indulge in that most hedonistic and sinfully decadent or pastimes; that of masturbation.

The life of a valet, some would say, is a lonely one. Normally, this is an accurate depiction. But my life is not lonely enough. Each day I am tormented to a love unrequited and a lust unfulfilled; each day I act as valet to Bertram Wooster, a man like no other.

To say I love him would be pinning an attachment that I can not afford; to say I lust after him would be condemnable and disgusting. But I pine for him, and I long for him, and it is he that reawakened my base instinct, this detestable emotion. This love, whose name I dare not speak.

I am fetching the lubrication soundlessly from his bathroom when a noise catches my attention. It is as I dreaded and I can not avoid looking to find the face of my beautiful master, lying in the arms of Morpheus, when I would so rather he lie in my own.

There is a peacefulness upon his sleeping face that is never seen once he wakes. He is so expressive, so animated, and that in itself is unbearably beautiful. But the relaxation in his features and the apparent texture of his sleep softened curls… He is asleep. This I repeat to myself wordlessly, drawing nearer the master bed. My hands tremble, holding two washcloths, one damp and one dry, for to solve the aftermath of my climax.

I am nearer his pillow than ever I would allow myself to be when he was awake, but he is sleeping soundly. A small smile in his pleasant dream signals he will not wake unless woken by an outside force.

That damnable emotion runs full-throttle through my veins, and collides with a quick surge of lust coursing through my libido. It is too much; I undo the front of my trousers, and begin, condemning him and blessing him.

He sighs in sleep after a few strokes, tossing gently to face away from me. With my eyes I trace the outline of his figure, curled under the blanket, safe and warm. Lithe, willowy, and dreadfully seductive as he lies careless of observation and oblivious to my sins. Such blithe innocence, the devil whispers in my ear, and a renewed rush of lust redoubles my efforts.

He turns again, and I still for a moment, realizing his eyes are the slightest bit open. Fear is added to this orgy of emotion stirring my veins, but with it a strange fill. So nearly caught.

They open further, and catching the bleary blue I am nearly brought to orgasm; his smile widens, though I know he has seen me.

He shuts his eyes slowly, lethargy overcoming him, and I know he has not realized fully what is happening. The blend of urgency and fear causes me to move faster still, and the pleasure is such that the sight of him licking his lips in sleep brings me off into ecstasy. I catch my seed in the dry washcloth, still thrusting, and biting my lip until I am sure I am bleeding.

I hear over my panting as I wipe my hands with the damper washcloth. "Good old Jeeves" he smiles sleepily, and turns over to face away from me once more. Shame washes over me; and, assured I have left no mark of my presence in the morning, I leave to prepare his breakfast tray, shuddering to myself. Such trust, the devil whispers in my ear, and a wave of self-loathing prepares me for a day of love unrequited and lust unfulfilled. Such trust, misspent.