indeedsir_backup | Fic: Love Never Dies chapter 7

Fic: Love Never Dies

Chapter 7

Author: Emerald

Beta: jestana and windysame

Thank you for the wonderful look over!

Disclaimer: Jeeves and Wooster belong to Wodehouse, and I thank him for them.

Rating: R for this story.

All my stories including previous chapters are here:

www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml

During the days that followed Jeeves' dream of Sevilen and Bayram, the valet busied himself with preparations for the evening he planned to declare his love for his employer. Through the Junior Ganymede Club, he found a butler who had lived in Istanbul with his master for a few years. The man had gladly shared his recipes and his knowledge of where to obtain items with Jeeves. Finding a place that sold skyr was harder but when that, too, was accomplished, Jeeves went to Mr. Wooster to discuss his employer's plans.

Mr. Wooster was in his study, typing. This was a new activity that he had commenced in the last week, and it aroused great curiosity in Jeeves. Occasionally Mr. Wooster would call out and ask his valet for a synonym for some word but for the most part, he did not speak about what he was doing. When Jeeves tried, in what he hoped was a subtle manner to ask what his master was so occupied with, the man had smiled and said, “When I'm done, I'll show you.”

Jeeves stood in the study's doorway for a moment and admired his employer. Mr. Wooster's sudden habit of working in his study was not the only thing that had changed recently. There had also been an increase in friendliness toward Jeeves.

Five days ago, Jeeves had helped Mr. Wooster into his jacket before the man had departed for the Drones Club. In a farewell, his friend had brushed his valet's arm. It had been a light, swift touch; unusual in the fact that Jeeves could not recall Mr. Wooster ever caressing his arm on parting. The servant had been profoundly grateful that his master had touched him before leaving and not on returning, as his employer's departure had given him time to regain his composure. It had been only a simple, quick brushing of fingers across his arm, but the passion it had roused in Jeeves had been both delightful and dismaying. Delightful since it gave the valet hope that his plans would have a favourable outcome, and it promised that intimacy between them would bring ecstasy. It was dismaying because Jeeves did not believe he could successfully continue to hide such intense emotion from his master for very long.

Along with the increased friendliness came additional time spent at the flat. Mr. Wooster seemed to delight in staying at home in the afternoon, and playing tunes on the piano that he knew Jeeves loved in the evening.

Another thing that had changed recently had been Mr. Wooster's mood. He had returned to the happy, cheerful man he had been before the rift over the banjolele. Jeeves was a good judge of his master's moods, and he knew that his employer was happy. He hoped that his actions were at least part of the reason for Mr. Wooster's renewed gladness.

The day after his last dream, Jeeves had placed a single red rose in a vase by Mr. Wooster's bed while his employer slept. The second day, he had put two roses on his friend's breakfast tray. Mr. Wooster had given Jeeves a beaming smile. On the third day, the valet had waited until his master was home in the late afternoon. Then he had quietly slipped into the room and added a vase with three red roses to the stand by the settee where Mr. Wooster was reading.

Jeeves had continued the pattern each day. He had kept the expense as low as possible by only replacing the roses with a different one when a blossom was no longer fresh. He was not, however, overly concerned with the cost. Jeeves had sufficient savings and felt that no price was too high in expressing his love for his employer.

Today was the eighth day, and the valet moved silently into the room where his employer was hard at work. He placed the vase with eight ruby roses on the desk.

Mr. Wooster ceased typing. Jeeves was aware that his employer knew of the additional flowers put in the vase each day. Now his friend glanced at him before inspecting the flowers. The valet could discern that his master was doing a quick count of the blooms. Finished his employer looked up at Jeeves; his face filled with joy.

“Thank you, Jeeves.”

“You are welcome, sir. Sir, might I inquire if you will be having dinner at home Wednesday evening?”

Mr. Wooster considered the question and said, “Do I have any plans for Wednesday?”

Jeeves was conscious that his employer was not repeating his servant's question; Mr. Wooster was asking if his valet knew of any appointment on Wednesday. “You have not informed me of plans for that evening, sir.”

“Jolly good. Do you wish me to lodge the frame here or is it the night free that you desire?”

Gathering his courage, Jeeves said, “I wish for you to share dinner with me, sir.”

The instant flood of happiness that surged into his master's features told Jeeves that he was not going to be rejected.

“Absolutely! I would love to have a meal together. In fact, I don't suppose that we could make a habit of it, what?”

“I will consider the idea, sir.” If all went as Jeeves hoped then he would willingly partake of many meals with his master.

************************

Bertram Wooster had told himself not to get hopeful when the first rose had arrived by his bed. He had held to that viewpoint until the fourth day and four fragrant red roses had appeared in the vase that had suddenly been set on the piano. Hope had taken wings and soared then, and Bertie could not force it back into a box.

In addition, there had been one night where he had, in a dream, talked to Ramose and another night with a dream of a different time. Both of these dreams had fuelled Bertie's hope and had given him courage. One afternoon before leaving the flat, he had brushed Jeeves' arm in farewell. He was not completely sure of his manservant's reaction, but one thing he was positive about: for a second there, delight had been openly displayed on his beloved friend's features.

Bertie had done a great deal of thinking, too. He had decided to wait to see if Jeeves continued to place roses in his master's presence. Should the day arrive when twelve red roses appeared at his side; Bertie would gather courage and speak of his love. He had considered the possible consequences including the fact that Jeeves might walk on him again.

The very fact that Jeeves had left his service once actually gave Bertie courage. His man had left and had broken his employer's heart doing so, but Bertie had survived. Now he had confidence that while it would hurt to have Jeeves leave; somehow he would survive. His heart might never completely heal, but Jeeves' absence, while reinforcing how much he needed his servant, had also taught him that he could go on with life.

When Bertie awoke on the twelfth morning, he felt hopeful that the day would end in happiness yet he was braced for whatever might happen. He watched Jeeves closely when his gentleman's personal gentleman served him breakfast and believed he detected a certain nervousness in his man. This observation had added excitement to Bertie's hope, and he had to remind myself that it was possible that he was viewing matters wrongly.

Jeeves also appeared to be occupied with his own thoughts. When Bertie had finished breakfast, he asked, “What time do you want the Wooster person home today, old chap?”

“Would five o'clock be convenient, sir?”

“It would. I'll be here around four-thirty and change into the fish and soup myself.”

“That would be ideal, sir.”

Bertie knew that if Jeeves was agreeing to allow him to dress himself, the dinner must be a special one. He had expected a firm refusal.

Bertie made sure that he was punctual. He arrived back at the flats at four twenty-five and waited outside for five minutes, so he could be certain that he was exactly on time.

Anxiety made him take longer to get dressed, as did the desire to get his clothes perfectly right, so Jeeves did not regret permitting him to dress himself. It was a few minutes before five o'clock when Bertie sensed Jeeves'

presence. Turning to his manservant and opening his arms, he asked, “How did I do?”

Jeeves' dark eyes swept over Bertie and suddenly he felt hot, nervous, and very certain that he had done something that his valet considered to be dreadfully wrong.

When he replied, Jeeves' voice was low and there was something in it that Bertie had never heard before. “You did very well, sir.”

Feeling flushed, Bertie allowed Jeeves to escort him into the kitchen. At the doorway, he halted in surprise. The table was groaning under the weight of dishes from which steamed delectable smells. Candles, the only light in the room, gave the area a warm, welcoming radiance.

Dazed, Bertie made it to his seat. His attention centred on the vase holding roses in the middle of the table. As he slid into his chair, Bertie made a quick count of them; ecstatic when the number came to twelve. He scrutinised the room and arrived at a conclusion. Jeeves had to know how a candlelight dinner and roses would appear to someone. It certainly was not the way a servant informed his employer that he was leaving.

'Tonight,' Bertie resolved, 'Tonight when I'm finished with dinner, I'll speak. If I'm mistaken about what this means, he can hardly blame me for getting the wrong impression.'

Bertie's gaze flitted over the table, spying cuts of lamb, fish, and... “Is that pilaf, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir.”

Little else was said until Bertie tasted the lamb. “Delicious, Jeeves. Just the way I like it.”

Indicating another dish on his plate, Bertie said, “I don't know what this is, but it's a real corker, too.”

“It is lamb in a tomato sauce served over chopped flat bread.”

Throughout the meal Bertie complimented Jeeves. He gave a cry of delight when the creamed apricots were served and exclaimed in happiness over the helva. The apricots were all he expected them to be, but the helva was a different matter. Bayram had loved it; it had been his favourite food. Bertie, however, after taking a huge bite in anticipation of delectation, had been surprised at the taste.

It's not what I remembered, he thought. This notion was quickly followed by understanding: he may have been Bayram, but he was Bertram Wooster now. He had his own likes and dislikes. Bertie believed that he was probably influenced by past lives as he had some of the same loves that he had before, but he was his own person. For a brief second this worried Bertie. If he was not the same as Weni; did Jeeves still love him?

That fear was over as quickly as it had arrived. Ramose might be a figment of his imagination, but that figment loved Bertram Wooster. Jeeves surely did, too. Why else would he go through the extra effort to make this special dinner? And why cook these particular meals unless he, too, had had dreams of past lives or at least some buried remembrance of them? If Jeeves did not love him then there was no reason for a candlelight dinner. Very certain now that his friend must love him, Bertie started to speak, just as his valet placed a bowl in front of him.

Bertie glanced at dish and said, “Skyr! Thank you, Jeeves!”

“You are welcome, sir.”

Bertie filled his spoon and started to take a big bite. Suddenly remembering the helva, he took a hesitant taste instead. It was just as wonderful as he recalled it being. He looked up from his skyr. Jeeves was studying him with that intense expression that Bertie had seen when he had asked his valet if he had dressed himself well. A shiver ran through Bertie. The memory of Jason seizing Bion in the pretend capture raced into his mind.

“I wouldn't mind if it was done again,” Bertie muttered to his skyr.

“Sir?”

“I... well, I...” Bertie sighed and glanced down at his dessert for guidance. He had the strange feeling that he was the one that should speak; that if he waited for Jeeves, nothing would ever be spoken. 'If I don't speak, I'll be waiting all eternity for something to be said between us. Literally,' the man thought wryly. Two more bites, three at most, and then Bertie would tell his valet how much his master loved him.

Jeeves cleared his throat, and Bertie looked over at his servant. “Yes, old chap?”

“With your permission, I would like to tell you a story, sir.”

For no reason that Bertie could fathom, his heart suddenly beat faster. He should not delay in speaking but with the roses and the dinner having given him confidence, Bertie had no fear that delay would prevent him from declaring his love. He said, “Carry on, Jeeves.”

Jeeves said, “Many, many years ago there was a young boy whose mother died when he was only five years old. He was very sorrowful but believing it would cause his father more pain if he talked about his mother; he tried to keep his grief inside. He ate little and took to wandering through the house at night. His father was terrified that his son might soon follow his mother.”

Bertie almost choked on his last bite of skyr. Jeeves did know! And if he knew that meant the dreams were true. He was not loony! For a moment, the realisation made him feel dizzy with relief and happiness. His attention centred on Jeeves, and he listened intently as the story unfolded. He noted that his servant never said the names of the two men the tale was about and that whenever Jeeves referred to Ramose's master, his tone held love and devotion.

There was an ease in Jeeves' voice when he spoke of Weni that Bertie was positive was never there when it was Bertram Wooster that his valet discussed. Bertie understood why. Ramose had had several lives with Weni, and he had not been his beloved's servant for all of those times.

When Jeeves arrived at the place in the account where the two men had become lovers, he paused and studied his employer. Bertie had the impression that he was trying to determine if his master was upset by the direction the narrative was taking. He felt he should encourage Jeeves, but he could not think of how to continue the story without embarrassing himself. Remembering all the rot that had sprung from Bertwald's lips, Bertie braced himself with a silent, 'If he can do it, so can I.'

He spoke, “It was not just their bodies and hearts that were united that night. They joined their souls. I'm not sure how, but I know it was deliberately done. It was their choice and one they never regretted.” Embarrassed, Bertie addressed his plate. When he reached the last sentence, however, he looked up and met Jeeves' eyes. Still holding his friend's gaze, he said, “I can tell you where Ramose and Weni went after that first life.”

Bertie paused at the almost imperceptible intake of breath from Jeeves. Their eyes met in recognition and understanding. Bertie beheld the same relief and happiness that had been in his own thoughts earlier when his manservant had begun his story.

Quietly Bertie said, “They went to Greece. It was Weni's decision more than Ramose's. Weni thought it would be fun. He even found the battles exhilarating. It was all an enjoyable game to him, and Ramose was happy because his beloved was.”

He halted as Jeeves had reached out and took his hand. His valet's fingers, warm and strong, curled around his hand. Bertie was certain that all the love he felt for Jeeves showed in his face.

Jeeves said, “You are still my beloved. I love you. I always will. Do you still love your devoted servant?”

Happiness captured Bertie, and he felt he could stay forever under the spell of hearing Jeeves tell him that he was loved. Yet he did not want his man to have even one second of anxiety due to waiting for his answer. Quickly, Bertie said, “I love you, too. I will love you forever.”

Jeeves stood up and held out his hand to his employer. Bertie's chair clattered to the floor as he rushed into his valet's arms. His eyes closed in bliss as his friend's body pressed against his for the first time. The man smelled of spices and the food he had cooked. It felt so good to finally be in his servant's arms that Bertie wondered how he would survive anything more between them. He must have spoken his doubt out loud for to his happy surprise, Jeeves laughed.

Jeeves said, “I will take care of you. I love you.”

Bertie looked into Jeeves' eyes; his love for the man evident. For a brief moment, as his friend's lips slowly descended to meet his, he believed that he was dreaming once more. Firm and warm his valet's lips covered his own and suddenly Bertie knew it was no dream but blissful reality that had captured him. Dreams and other times were all forgotten as everything centred on this time and this place and the man he loved with all his heart.

It was a kiss unlike anything Bertie had ever experienced. As Jeeves' tongue slowly stroked over his own and began gently exploring his mouth, Bertie felt not just ardour; he felt cherished. Jeeves' love poured over him, touching every fibre of his being. His man's hands were firm on his back, and once Jeeves separated from him to whisper against his lips, “I love you so much.”

For several years, Bertie had wondered what it would be like to kiss his man. One thing he had felt certain about was that Jeeves would be confident and self-assured in all he did. He experienced surprise and pleasure when Jeeves trembled against him and the fingers on his back gripped him in a clinging manner, as if he was the only stability his man had. The thought ignited fiery passion in Bertie, leaving him gasping and holding on to Jeeves with all his strength. He could feel an answering desire, pressing hard and needy against his leg. It took only a small shift on Bertie's part to bring their erections together. A loud gasp came from Jeeves and Bertie thought, 'He feels as much passion for me as I do for him!' It was a heady realisation, and he barely heard Jeeves' husky whispered question due to the ecstasy it gave.

“Would you like to....”

The quiver in Jeeves' voice produced an answering shudder in Bertie.

Unable to complete his sentence, Jeeves asked, “Bed?”

Speechless with love and passion, Bertie simply nodded. The candles were quickly extinguished and then he followed Jeeves into his bedroom.

It was an endless dance that had been repeated many times through the years yet it was a new beginning for Bertram Wooster and his valet.

***********************************************

Brandon took the steps two at a time. He was excited about his plans for the evening and eager to see Jonathan. Lately there had been a constant strain between them, but that would end tonight. Tonight would begin a new era in their life. There would be no more late night quarrels and Jonathan's eyes darkening with sadness.

“Why?” Jonathan would ask. “Give me one good reason why we can't get married.”

Brandon would answer with talk about their careers. “They'll be ruined before we've started,” he would protest.

Jonathan would sigh and reply, “Not in this day and age. When will you realise that no one cares? You act as if we live in the bloody nineteenth century. I'm telling you no one cares!”

And Brandon would answer, “There is always some prejudice. You're blind, if you can't see it. Geez, and I thought you were the smart one! Besides we're young still. We've plenty of time. I'm happy with what we have. Why can't you be content with what we have?”

Jonathan's eyes would get a pained look, and he would say, “Of course, I'm happy.”

Happy, perhaps, Brandon would think, but not content.

Brandon was not sure what made him dislike the idea of marriage. It was certainly not a lack of love for Jonathan. He loved the man so much that he could not imagine life without him. Jonathan was his life.

The trouble was that every time he thought of marriage, he felt frightened and got this uneasy feeling of being forced into circumstances he didn't like. Marriage scared him, for reasons he had spent hours trying to define, always with the same result: he was afraid for no good reason at all.

All that was over. Brandon had had a long talk with his aunt that morning, and she had said, “Which is stronger; your love for Jonathan or your fear?” And suddenly the answer to their troubles had been clear and the path plain before his feet.

Now upon entering their apartment, Brandon called out, “Jonathan? Love?”

There was a strange silence that seem to hang thick over the place. Puzzled, Brandon glanced at the clock and frowned. Jonathan was always home by this time. He joked that he had to start dinner before Brandon got it into his head to try to cook and possibly poison both of them.

“Jonathan? You don't need to cook. I thought we'd...” Brandon halted, the silence grabbing him by the throat and choking the words.

In that instant, Brandon knew. He walked slowly to their bedroom, already knowing that Jonathan's clothes would no longer be hanging next to his own attire in their closet.

Jonathan had given up on him.

Fic: Love Never Dies chapter 7

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