Fic: Oceans, part 21
May. 30th, 2010 10:30 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
hazeltea.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
indeedsir_backupPairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not profit from the lovely works of Wodehouse.
part 19: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/829666.html#cutid1
part 18: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/826139.html#cutid1
part 17: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/813370.html#cutid1
part 16 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/804475.html#cutid1
part 15 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/750867.html#cutid1
part 14 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/743385.html#cutid1
part 13 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/741218.html#cutid1
part 12 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/727612.html#cutid1
part 11 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/723716.html#cutid1
part 10 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/722065.html#cutid1
part 9 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/715646.html#cutid1
part 8 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/709635.html#cutid1
part 7 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/707880.html#cutid1
part 6 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/704354.html#cutid1
part 5 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/701596.html#cutid1
part 4 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/695505.html#cutid1
part 3 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/693063.html#cutid1
part 2 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/689461.html#cutid1
part 1 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/687730.html#cutid1
Arrived safe in metrop. No need to worry. At Drones mostly. Aunts told I am away. Bertie.
This was the telegram I received upon waking my first morning at my cottage in Herne Bay, the official communication between us. Now that I have been casting out my nets for the shrimp for two solid days, I was eager to recover the post from the village. I had fabricated a story about handling the personal business for an ailing aunt when I let the address, for one cannot be too careful. I collected a letter from a Mrs. Beatrice Shipley, London, without any notice.
My love,
The flat feels beastly empty without you. The days are all well enough, I suppose, but the night seems longer and colder without you beside me. It reminds me of all those dreadful nights I spent across town, only now I know what it is that I long for. When you return to me, you will know just how much I’ve missed you by the way I will kiss you, hard against your teeth and deep into your mouth, so that you shall only have enough breath to groan. I will taste your sun darkened skin and savor it, although not as much as I might enjoy the bits of you left pale… good lord, love, I can’t go on like this. I’ll drive myself mad if I continue thinking such things. Already I’m quite short of breath. If I continue in this vein, I’m afraid that I‘ll become so distracted that this will never be posted.
Forgive me, this love letter is not quite as grand as I’d wanted, but already I’ve burned half the papers in the desk trying to get it right, having to be careful of my words.
I love you, old thing. So very much.
B
I read the missive twice through, my heart warming at the thought of Mr. Wooster carefully choosing words that would not incriminate us even as he poured his soul into ink. Mr. Wooster’s thoughts ramble, and no doubt he’d mentioned names or places that could infer our relationship numerous times before burning the evidence, or perhaps what he had written had been explicit enough to embarrass him when read back. I pressed my lips to the paper, hoping to detect a scent reminiscent of him, his spicy lime aftershave or the rich Turkish tobacco which he favored. Unfortunately, there was only the faint smell of paper and ink.
I could see how his hand tensed when he wrote of his desires, so carefully worded, and the letters bunched together tightly, quite unlike his usual flowing hand. Mr. Wooster has a side of his soul which is oddly bohemian, expressing itself chiefly in his need to write about his world and all that he considers important in unfettered speech. I could tell that he was not satisfied with the content, and that it pained him to deliver a letter to me that was less than the absolute sum of his emotions. I must assure him of its worth.
Beloved,
Parting from you has naturally caused me a great deal of worry, however, I place explicit trust in your ability to lead your life as you once had, before our misfortunes. I was greatly touched by your missive. I could sense the devotion and love which you were not able to put into words, and these things sustain my spirit.
As you know, this separation is essential. Content yourself with the thoughts that you were not able to write of, my dear. I shall return to you directly. Tonight, however, I will amuse myself with dreams of what will be, much as I suspect you have done for some days now. Did you ache to touch yourself, love, when you took your pen in hand? Or were you not able to resist?
Perhaps you imagined my tongue as you slicked the salve over your cock from the jar at your bedside. Would that be enough to gratify you? Perhaps for a moment, but I know your desires too well. It is far likelier that you rolled your bollocks between greased fingers, delaying satisfaction as you imagined the preparation for sodomy. Did you grip your fist tightly, as you are wont to do, so that each stroke wrings a jagged gasp from your throat? Or were you dreaming of being buggered yourself, rocking back on your slick fingers as I have taught you?
Commit these words to memory, my dear, before you burn them. Consider them my promise to you.
I leave you now, with all the love in my heart.
I did not sign the letter, not even with my initials as I might a less questionable note which might be attributed to a lady of loose morals. I sealed the paper in an envelope, and neatly printed the address in London that we had let for just such occasions, care of Mrs. Beatrice Shipley. I placed the letter on the desk and leaned back in the chair, quickly undoing my flies so that I could take my cock in hand. I thought of Mr. Wooster, of his pale skin, dripping wet from the lake in France. I conjured impossibly blue eyes, soft lips, and the rugged scars marking his temple and side. I remembered his primal groans as he draped his body over mine, the heft of his cock, the frantic arch of his back as I drove him over the edge, dozens of times. I finished quickly, desperately, and within minutes I had made myself respectable enough to post the letter.
Once it was safely in the care of the Royal Mail, I informed the clerk that I would like to post a telegram.
Will return to London by rail Tuesday evening. Jeeves.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not profit from the lovely works of Wodehouse.
part 19: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/829666.html#cutid1
part 18: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/826139.html#cutid1
part 17: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/813370.html#cutid1
part 16 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/804475.html#cutid1
part 15 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/750867.html#cutid1
part 14 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/743385.html#cutid1
part 13 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/741218.html#cutid1
part 12 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/727612.html#cutid1
part 11 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/723716.html#cutid1
part 10 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/722065.html#cutid1
part 9 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/715646.html#cutid1
part 8 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/709635.html#cutid1
part 7 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/707880.html#cutid1
part 6 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/704354.html#cutid1
part 5 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/701596.html#cutid1
part 4 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/695505.html#cutid1
part 3 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/693063.html#cutid1
part 2 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/689461.html#cutid1
part 1 http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/687730.html#cutid1
Arrived safe in metrop. No need to worry. At Drones mostly. Aunts told I am away. Bertie.
This was the telegram I received upon waking my first morning at my cottage in Herne Bay, the official communication between us. Now that I have been casting out my nets for the shrimp for two solid days, I was eager to recover the post from the village. I had fabricated a story about handling the personal business for an ailing aunt when I let the address, for one cannot be too careful. I collected a letter from a Mrs. Beatrice Shipley, London, without any notice.
My love,
The flat feels beastly empty without you. The days are all well enough, I suppose, but the night seems longer and colder without you beside me. It reminds me of all those dreadful nights I spent across town, only now I know what it is that I long for. When you return to me, you will know just how much I’ve missed you by the way I will kiss you, hard against your teeth and deep into your mouth, so that you shall only have enough breath to groan. I will taste your sun darkened skin and savor it, although not as much as I might enjoy the bits of you left pale… good lord, love, I can’t go on like this. I’ll drive myself mad if I continue thinking such things. Already I’m quite short of breath. If I continue in this vein, I’m afraid that I‘ll become so distracted that this will never be posted.
Forgive me, this love letter is not quite as grand as I’d wanted, but already I’ve burned half the papers in the desk trying to get it right, having to be careful of my words.
I love you, old thing. So very much.
B
I read the missive twice through, my heart warming at the thought of Mr. Wooster carefully choosing words that would not incriminate us even as he poured his soul into ink. Mr. Wooster’s thoughts ramble, and no doubt he’d mentioned names or places that could infer our relationship numerous times before burning the evidence, or perhaps what he had written had been explicit enough to embarrass him when read back. I pressed my lips to the paper, hoping to detect a scent reminiscent of him, his spicy lime aftershave or the rich Turkish tobacco which he favored. Unfortunately, there was only the faint smell of paper and ink.
I could see how his hand tensed when he wrote of his desires, so carefully worded, and the letters bunched together tightly, quite unlike his usual flowing hand. Mr. Wooster has a side of his soul which is oddly bohemian, expressing itself chiefly in his need to write about his world and all that he considers important in unfettered speech. I could tell that he was not satisfied with the content, and that it pained him to deliver a letter to me that was less than the absolute sum of his emotions. I must assure him of its worth.
Beloved,
Parting from you has naturally caused me a great deal of worry, however, I place explicit trust in your ability to lead your life as you once had, before our misfortunes. I was greatly touched by your missive. I could sense the devotion and love which you were not able to put into words, and these things sustain my spirit.
As you know, this separation is essential. Content yourself with the thoughts that you were not able to write of, my dear. I shall return to you directly. Tonight, however, I will amuse myself with dreams of what will be, much as I suspect you have done for some days now. Did you ache to touch yourself, love, when you took your pen in hand? Or were you not able to resist?
Perhaps you imagined my tongue as you slicked the salve over your cock from the jar at your bedside. Would that be enough to gratify you? Perhaps for a moment, but I know your desires too well. It is far likelier that you rolled your bollocks between greased fingers, delaying satisfaction as you imagined the preparation for sodomy. Did you grip your fist tightly, as you are wont to do, so that each stroke wrings a jagged gasp from your throat? Or were you dreaming of being buggered yourself, rocking back on your slick fingers as I have taught you?
Commit these words to memory, my dear, before you burn them. Consider them my promise to you.
I leave you now, with all the love in my heart.
I did not sign the letter, not even with my initials as I might a less questionable note which might be attributed to a lady of loose morals. I sealed the paper in an envelope, and neatly printed the address in London that we had let for just such occasions, care of Mrs. Beatrice Shipley. I placed the letter on the desk and leaned back in the chair, quickly undoing my flies so that I could take my cock in hand. I thought of Mr. Wooster, of his pale skin, dripping wet from the lake in France. I conjured impossibly blue eyes, soft lips, and the rugged scars marking his temple and side. I remembered his primal groans as he draped his body over mine, the heft of his cock, the frantic arch of his back as I drove him over the edge, dozens of times. I finished quickly, desperately, and within minutes I had made myself respectable enough to post the letter.
Once it was safely in the care of the Royal Mail, I informed the clerk that I would like to post a telegram.
Will return to London by rail Tuesday evening. Jeeves.
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Date: 2010-05-31 02:41 am (UTC)Corking job, my friend.
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Date: 2010-05-31 02:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-31 02:58 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2010-05-31 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-02 05:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-31 09:45 pm (UTC)Well done as always, of course...
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Date: 2010-06-02 05:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-31 11:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-02 05:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-01 11:03 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2010-06-02 05:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-02 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-29 03:39 am (UTC)Also, now I desperately want a cup of tea, and I can't have one. *pouts*