Word Count: 5460
Summary: Happy birthday, Bertie!
Disclaimer: Neither of these amazing characters belongs to me; I'm only borrowing them temporarily. Thank you, Plum!
Author's Note: This started out as rather a different story, but thanks to the insight and good taste of my corking and ultra-talented beta queen skyblue_reverie, it is the infinitely improved work you see before you. Thank you ever so much, old fruit!
I roused from sleep that morning feeling rummy. Dashed rummy, to be more exact. Even still half asleep, the fact that today represented the thirtieth anniversary of my existence had managed to pull me down with the wines and spirits.
It wasn't the birthday itself or the number of years it represented that had me in such a state. I'm not usually one for deep thinking; I leave that to Jeeves. Jeeves is my man, you know… my valet… but over the past months our relationship had turned into something deeper, something I'd never found before with anyone else, especially not with any blasted beazel whose only intent seemed to be to get me to slap on the mourning coat and spongebag trousers for a slow walk down a long church aisle.
As I say, I usually leave the thinking of a weighty nature to Jeeves. But lately, I had been r… rum… dash it, you know that word when you're thinking very hard about something? I can't seem to pull it from the grey matter right now. Anyway, I had been doing that rum-whatsit thing about my life.
My parents had passed on many years ago, while I was rather a young child. I have memories of my mother summoning me to the drawing room to give visitors a glimpse of the shy young Wooster. Mother would tell her friends how well I recited, and I'd be called on to give forth with "The Charge of the Light Brigade" or some other such poesy. I was never comfortable in these circs, and when I could I'd tuck myself away in some small nook or other. But I was always found and pressed to deliver my little oration. Without fail I made at least one bloomer during a performance; Mother never minded and always told me what a good lad I was and how proud she was of me.
This and similar memories had been much in my mind. Ruminating! That is the word… you remember, the thinking very hard word I couldn't conjure earlier. I still missed my parents, not that I didn't have enough aunts and uncles and cousins and one-time fiancées to keep the loneliest hermit in good company. But I warmly remembered how, every year on my birthday, the mater and pater would go out of their way to make both the day and Bertram feel especially important. After they were gone, no one did.
Of course my friends and family marked the day as it rolled around each three-hundred-sixty-five, but I never again felt quite as loved or quite as special to anyone after my mother and father were gone. Oh, I got by happily enough the rest of the days of the year, busy with assorted relations and chums who no doubt cared for old Bertram. But another natal anniversary had arrived, and familiar feelings of loss and loneliness seemed to be settling on me again.
So you see why I say I woke feeling dashed rummy. As was his habit, Jeeves had risen from our bed at his usual time, hours earlier than was my wont. I would have preferred he remain beside me, but compromises must be made when an early bird and a night owl desire to share the same nest. While he had long since ceased being simply my valet, he still was devoted to arriving at my bedside exactly two minutes after I lifted the lids, breakfast tray in hand.
"Good morning, sir." He set the tray on my lap; the customary rations were sitting there, waiting for me to commence tucking.
I sighed in reply, "Good morning, Jeeves."
"Am I correct in thinking, sir, that you did not pass a restful night?" He'd already crossed the room to the armoire and begun laying out my rags for the day. Jeeves was a marvel the way he could effortlessly oil about a room, over by the window one second and over at the wardrobe the next. The man must have wings on his heels like that old Greek chappie whose name I can't think of right now. You know the one I mean.
"Quite so, Jeeves. In fact, I found the peepers ajar more often than not."
"I'm sorry to hear that, sir. Is there something amiss for which I may provide assistance?"
Again, I let out a small sigh. "No, Jeeves, unfortunately not." I hadn't ever told Jeeves when my birthday was, so I couldn't possibly expect him to know; it didn't seem sporting to lay such news on him while I was in this frame of mind. I took a few oz. of the old invigorating, but the o. i. didn't invigorate with the same punch, and the meal before me held little appeal.
"Forgive me, sir, but you are most certainly not yourself this morning. Are you feeling quite well?"
"Oh, it's nothing, Jeeves, really. I'm sure I'll be feeling full of the old vim and vigour again in no time." I didn't quite believe it myself; the grey cloud that engulfed the Wooster canuba had no hint of turning inside out to reveal any lining at all, much less a silver one.
By this time, Jeeves had finished with my clothes, filled the porcelain with water and salts, and stood by my bedside. His face took on an expression I can barely describe except to say that I immediately sensed said grey c. hint at not just a silver l. but of lifting completely to be replaced by its whitest fluffiest counterpart.
"I am extremely gratified to hear so, sir." He leaned down so that his soft lips were by my ear. "Happy birthday, sir. I'll be waiting for you in the sitting room. After you've finished your breakfast and have bathed and dressed, may I suggest that you join me there so we may commence our celebration." He placed a delicate kiss on my temple and stood.
My eyes were positively shining as I looked up at him; his acknowledgement of the day meant the world to me. "Thank you, Jeeves. Thank you." My face couldn't possibly be wide enough to hold the smile it wanted to form. I took his hand and held it against my cheek. He responded by dipping down briefly to brush his lips against mine.
"On with the day, then, sir." He bowed slightly then moved toward the door and, reaching it, exited the room to leave me to my toilette.
I had no idea how he'd found out, but was I really surprised that he had? I know I repeat myself but, dash it, the fact cannot be overstressed: Jeeves is a marvel. I jolly well believe there is nothing he can't accomplish. While the day held great promise, if it had ended right then I would have considered it one of my best birthdays ever. Looking down at the tray on my lap, I suddenly realized how hungry I was and happily tucked into my delicious eggs and b. like a tapeworm that's been on a reducing diet for weeks.
True to his word, Jeeves was patiently waiting for me when I emerged ready to face the day. He sat on the divan, reading what was, no doubt, an improving book by some brainy cove or other. I sat beside him and rested my head on his shoulder; immediately he draped his arm around me, pulling me closer to him. He turned to the back of his book and pulled out a small envelope, which he handed to me.
"What's this, Jeeves?" I asked.
"I believe, sir, that if you open it, you will be able to easily ascertain the contents."
I didn't need to be asked twice. The front of the envelope showed "BWW" in Jeeves's strong script. I opened the back flap and removed the contents. It was a sumptuous piece of cream-coloured vellum; on it was written the following.
Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.
On the reverse was the day's date and a birthday greeting.
I was truly touched. Jeeves was not normally given to such displays of emotion, and I knew this was something I would treasure forever.
"Thank you, Jeeves. The sentiment is perfect. You have, you know, old top, brought a heaven into my despair."
"As have you to mine, sir. For which I shall be eternally grateful." Saying this, he put down his book and bent his head to kiss me.
It occurs that I have not yet described Jeeves's kisses. You remember I said earlier that his talents seem to have no end? His kisses are as crackerjack as those corking restoratives he prepares for me after a particularly late evening. Each has a rather electrifying effect on the Wooster person, but where I could gladly give up the restoratives if pressed, I never want or intend to be without those kisses again.
We were now rather caught up in our embracehands were exploring, lips were pressing, tongues were entwining. After a time, I felt him take my face in his hands and pull slightly away from me, breaking the hold of our mouths. His thumb caressed my lips, now quite pleasantly damp and swollen; I kissed the digit lightly.
"Again, sir, happy birthday. I have taken the liberty of procuring a few small tokens in remembrance of the day; would you like them now?"
"Gifts, Jeeves? Gifts for me?" Before we came to our current understanding, he demonstrated a nearly inexhaustible feudal spirit in seeing to my comfort; now it seemed his dedication extended to ensuring my joy as well. I was stunned that he would go to such trouble for me.
"Yes, sir. I believe it is tradition, is it not, for one's loved ones to bestow mementos honouring one's natal observance?" His look was one of fond indulgence.
"And you are my loved one, eh, Jeeves? My one true love?"
"Indeed, sir. As you are mine." He bent his head to deliver another of those electrifying kisses to the lips, and I melted into him.
When we came up for air, he pointed out that I'd not answered his previous question about wanting my gifts.
"Jeeves, you know that this," I pointed to him and then to myself, "is the most precious gift I've ever received and more than I could have ever hoped to have." It was true; I'd never dreamed I'd find such fulfilment. "But when one is brought face to face with gifts, one must be gracious. Bring them on, old chap; do your worst, says I!" I was as giddy as Gussie Fink-Nottle the day he gave the prizes at Market Snodsbury Grammar School.
The left side of Jeeves's mouth took a slight upward tilt. To the untrained eye, it appeared not more than a small moué but to one as well versed in Reading the Face of Jeeves as myself, it was a beaming grin. "Very good, sir. I shall return presently." He rose and disappeared into the kitchen.
On his return, he carried a number of packages. They were of varying shapes and sizes, and all were beautifully wrapped. He laid them on the dining table and bade me to join him there, which I did post-haste.
As I took a seat, he laid the first gift in front of me. It had a familiar size and shape, but I couldn't quite place what it could be. Not unlike the child Wooster had done in years gone by, I tore greedily into the wrappings.
"Jeeves! This is corking! I didn't even know this had been published yet!" It was a copy of Rex West's newest who-dun-it, The Mystery of the Pickled Herring. I opened the cover, and the pages of their own accord flipped to the flyleaf where I noticed writing in an unfamiliar hand: "To Bertie Wooster, My best wishes for the future, Rex West."
I looked at Jeeves in utter astonishment. "Jeeves, I'm utterly astonished! How did you manage this?"
He looked well pleased with himself. "I'm afraid I cannot reveal my secrets, sir."
Immediately, my mind returned to our first meeting. "Secrets of the guild and all, what?"
His face glowed. "Quite, sir. Quite."
The rest of my gifts were as corking as the first. There was a selection of sheet music, including some of the modern tunes that I know Jeeves would rather never hear me play again and some that suited his classical taste. The blue and gold tie that he'd picked for me was dashed handsome, and he asked me if he could help me try it on. I would have been just as happy to keep the old gullet decorated with the cravat already in place, but how could I refuse when he'd gone to such trouble for me? I waved a nonchalant hand.
"Of course, old fruit."
He undid the tie I was wearing and removed it from me. I slid the new tie in place, and he tied it perfectly in no time flat. He took a step back and gave me an approving glance.
"Most satisfactory," he uttered rather softly. By now I knew Jeeves well enough to understand that he had given both the tie and me in it high praise indeed. "The neckwear enhances your natural colouring most attractively, sir." When I looked down at myself, I realised the corking wheeze he had played on me this morning as the clothes he'd laid out for me matched the tie perfectly.
The last gift was without doubt the most overwhelming of all. As I unwrapped it, I uncovered a small leather binder with a small buckle closure. I was overwhelmed to open the cover and find a photograph of my parents staring back at me, looking besotted and happy in their wedding clothes. I lightly ran my fingers over the picture as if I could actually feel them there and realised I was smiling back at them. I turned the pages and found more photographs: one of the two of them together on holiday at the seaside, another of my mother standing beside my Aunt Dahlia, and yet another of my father posed with all of his brothers and sisters.
I felt tears come to my eyes as I found a photograph of Mother holding a small baby in her arms; across the bottom was written in her delicate hand, "Our precious Bertram." The last picture showed me as a young lad in short pants standing with my parents and my sister. Mother was seated between the children with her arm around our waists; Father stood behind us with a hand resting on my shoulder. I was speechless for some long span of minutes, wavering between tears and laughter. Finally, I had enough wits about me to speak.
"Jeeves, this is… this is the most bally perfect gift I have ever received. How did you manage this? And no 'secrets of the guild' this time!"
He smiled at me indulgently. "Mrs. Travers advised me that she had found these photographs and wondered if you would like to have them. I took the liberty of accepting them on your behalf and felt that you would appreciate having them bound in this small album."
My guess is that Jeeves was being much too modest in his explanation; if I were to ask Aunt Dahlia the true circs I venture to guess that she would tell a different tale. His acquisition of the photographs was the true gift; his understanding of how much I would appreciate and treasure them demonstrated the depth of understanding he has for his Bertram. There is no need for us to speak of it in words; the actions tell us both everything.
"Thank you, Jeeves. You're right; I very much appreciate having them, and the binder itself is perfectly corking. It shall have a place of pride in the flat."
"I'm pleased to hear it, sir."
"And thank you, Jeeves, for everything else as well. This has been a most splendid birthday celebration! Much more than I ever expected, old thing!" I truly was touched at the care Jeeves had taken in selecting each gift; each one was perfect in its own way.
Then Jeeves cleared his throat.
"I was merely wondering, sir, if you would like to play some of your new music."
"I would love to, Jeeves. You must sit with me."
"Of course, sir, it would be my very great pleasure."
For the next hour or so we sat side by side at the piano. I played some of the classical pieces that Jeeves had purchased, and his joy at hearing the notes was beautifully obvious on his face. He encouraged me to play and sing a few of the modern pieces, saying that his pleasure would come from knowing the happiness I got from indulging in such melodies. It was a splendid time, and we both agreed that we needed to repeat it more frequently in the future.
Afterwards, we decided to take a stroll around the neighbourhood and then ankled to a local pub for a late luncheon. He asked me about my parents and what I remembered of them, and I shared my happiest memories with him.
The day had been perfect; now all I wanted was to be back in our flat, together in each other's arms. We had finished lunch, and Jeeves asked what I would like to do next.
"I say, Jeeves, I believe I would very much like to go home now."
"Really, sir? Are you sure you wouldn't like to pass some time at your club?"
I looked at him with undisguised intent. "No, Jeeves, I would bally well not like to spend some time at my club." I lowered my voice so only he could hear me. "I should like to return to the flat immediately, Jeeves, and commence spending time with my man."
Jeeves quirked the side of his mouth. "Very good, sir."
We barely had the door closed when he reached for me, and I pressed into his arms and wrapped my own around his form. Our lips met in a brief soft kiss. Another immediately followed, and then one or two more after that. Each kiss pressed a little harder and lasted a little longer than the one before. Each rocked through me like electricity, and it wasn't long before I parted my lips against his, offering my mouth to him.
He needed no further invitation. I felt his tongue trace over my lips and teeth, then probe my mouth thoroughly and caress my tongue. At the same time, his hands travelled over me, stroking first my back, then my arms. I writhed against him, totally responsive to his touch, and opened my mouth even wider to his explorations.
When we broke the embrace, he stood back from me a pace or two.
"What is it, Jeeves?"
"Nothing in particular, sir. I want merely to look at you."
"At this old frame, Jeeves?"
"Of course, sir. I derive great pleasure in regarding how aroused you become. It pleases me to look at you like this, knowing that it is our mutual passion that draws us together, and that my touch raises such a response in you."
I could feel the Wooster face begin to flush. That tends to happen whenever Jeeves calls attention to how easily and intensely my passion is aroused. I find it all somewhat embarrassing, although Jeeves never seems to mind. In fact, it seems that he finds it rather corking.
"I would see more of you, sir. I should like you to disrobe for me."
"Disrobe, Jeeves? What-ho, do you mean here?" I looked around. "In the living room?" I was happy to oblige him in anything, of course, but until now, our intimate moments had been confined to our shared bedchamber.
"Yes, sir. Right here, and right now." His tone had taken on rather an edge, and he arched a slight eyebrow. It would take a duller man than Bertram Wooster not to understand his seriousness about this matter.
After a sharp intake of breath and a hasty "Yes, Jeeves," I bent down to remove my shoes and socks. After tucking one into the otherthat is, the socks into the shoes, not the other way roundI set about the task of opening buttons. First to go was my jacket, which Jeeves took from me and carefully folded and placed on a nearby chair. The man's feudal spirit rarely takes a holiday.
The waistcoat was next, and then I reached to undo the beautiful blue and gold tie he had given me earlier that day. Just as I'd unknotted the knot at my throat, he reached out, took one end in his hand, and slowlyvery slowlypulled until he had the whole strip in his hand. The feeling was rather like long, lingering caress on the back of my neck.
I was fairly simmering with excitement as I unbuttoned each shirt button and pulled the garment from my body. Immediately after, I began to skim off my undershirt, pulling the tail from its tucked posish inside the waistband of my trousers and then crossing my arms in front of me to grasp the hem. I pulled up, covering my face with the garment for a mere second before I would straighten my arms to remove it completely.
At that precise moment, with my elbows still bent and the lightweight fabric obscuring my vision, I felt Jeeves's hand on my forearms, pushing down against my pulling up. Then I felt his other hand on me. Using the barest touch of his fingertips, he lightly skimmed down my left side and then up my right. The goose-flesh rose immediately, as did specific other areas of the Wooster person. He repeated that motion a few more times, until I was vibrating like a tuning fork. I hissed when I felt the tip of his tongue explore my nipple, and when his lips closed and he began to suck, I moaned deeply and pressed myself to his talented mouth. He pulled away slowly, holding my flesh between his lips as long as possible, stretching the tender skin.
He used his hands to pull my arms up. The undershirt came away from my body and was immediately dropped to the floor forgotten as we locked in an embrace and allowed our mouths and tongues to press together, rather more roughly than before. He ran his fingernails up and down my back in maddeningly light scraping strokes, which caused me to wriggle against him. The fabric covering his chest stimulated my bared skin; the buttons scratched lightly as I twisted against them with my movements.
I reached for the front of his shirt, wanting to reveal him and feel my skin against his, but he held my wrists tightly.
"I prefer for the moment, sir, to remain in my current clothed state. You, however, I wish to see completely devoid of covering. Please complete disrobing for me now." With that, he took one or two steps back, leaving me standing alone to fulfill his desire.
I had never in my life felt myself under such scrutiny before. Even those embarrassing recitations as a child were nothing compared to this. I could only imagine the shade of my face and throat from the intense heat I could feel. In spite of it all, I was equally aroused, and there was no question that I would do bally well anything he asked me to do.
I reached my rather unsteady hands to the front of my trousers. I undid the fastenings somewhat slowly, which I feared might irritate Jeeves but seemed to have rather the exact opposite effect. Was it my imagination, or did he become more aroused and breathe more heavily as I slowed down? By Jove, I believed I was on to something and decided to test my theory.
When my trousers were completely unfastened, I held them up rather than letting them immediately fall to pool at my feet. I slid them down carefully over the Wooster hips, then pulled out one leg at a time. And instead of merely dropping them, I carefully folded them and turned to place them over the arm of the nearby divan.
The look on Jeeves's face when I turned back to him was nearly indescribable. He looked rather like a young lad who has been given ten quid and permission to spend it all at the local sweet shop. Come to think of it, I'd say his expression had the intensity of a score of such children, which is to say that his look was hungry and desirous and impatient all at the same time. I instantly decided I found this look intriguing and would make a point to do what I could to ensure seeing it more often.
Before I could divest myself of the last stitch covering the Wooster person, Jeeves moved to me, took me somewhat roughly into his arms, and kissed me hard. I let myself be enveloped by him and happily gave myself over to the caresses of his hands and mouth. I clutched at his jacket, so intensely aroused and wanting him that it was all I could do to keep myself under control and not reach my release merely by writhing against him.
"Please, Jeeves, I'm so close, but I don't want to… yet. What I want is… well... I want to… please you."
"You do please me, sir, most agreeably." But he understood my greater meaning, and I felt his hands move to my shoulders and lightly push down. Not that Bertram needed any such encouragement. I fell to my knees and traced my hands slowly over his thighs. Dash it, but that slow wheeze was having the same effect as before; when I looked up, his face had the most rapturous look. Is rapturous the correct word? I must ask Jeeves next time I think of it.
I continued caressing him a bit longer, feeling him startle as my fondling reached nearer and nearer to his growing arousal. I wasn't ready to touch him there yet, though. I'm not usually a patient man, preferring instead to move right to the heart of the matter, as it were. But I've learned that taking my time in circs like this is most rewarding as Jeeves becomes astoundingly undone, which is a bally wonderful sight to behold.
I didn't make him wait too long, however. I undid his trousers and slowly slid them down his legs; his undershorts followed soon after. He was now fully exposed to me, and it was indeed a most wonderful sight for my impatient eyes. I was eager to take him into my mouth, but I didn't allow myself that pleasure at first. Instead, I pursed my lips and forced a stream of my breath up and down his entire length two or three times, first the top then each side. I could hear him moan above me as the cool air caressed his hot skin.
Then I caressed his exposed thighs, feeling his tender skin beneath my fingertips. He uttered an unintelligible expression of delight as I traced my fingers on the front and outside of his upper legs. I slid one hand between his legs; he spread his feet a bit wider so that I could access him more easily. I stroked his inner thighs, tracing closer and closer to his arousal.
By now his hands were reaching for the back of my head to pull me close to him. I still wanted to prolong the feelings for him, though, and merely allowed my tongue to graze the tip of his erection. I was gratified to taste the moisture that had already been forming there, and I licked hungrily to take as much as I could. Each time the Wooster tongue touched his skin, Jeeves gave a low guttural moan. Those were some of the most exquisite sounds I had ever heard, but I knew there were even sweeter noises yet in store.
Before long, he'd had enough of my teasing and took firm hold of the back of the old coconut and propelled me forward. This was a moment to which I looked forward every time we were together; the feel of him taking command of me to do something we both wanted so completely never ceased to thrill me.
I eagerly took him into my waiting mouth, just a quarter of the length at first. Then I pulled away, pushing back against his hands, and then let myself be propelled forward again, taking him more completely into my mouth.
This was repeated a number of times; each time I was thrust forward, he was buried deeper and deeper into me until at last I had taken him as deeply as I could. He held me there for some moments, and I allowed myself the luxury of running my tongue over and around, marvelling at the contrast of his smooth supple skin and the rigid hardness just beneath.
The whole time I was working him with my mouth, I continued to touch and caress him with my hands. I reached down to stroke the tender sac between his legs, alternating between hefting the weight in my hands and pinching and tugging at the skin. At one point, I pulled back from him just long enough to take my own finger into my mouth, readying it for what I next had in mind. That preparation complete, I took him back into my mouth completely at the same time reaching behind, stroking the skin there and running my fingers up and down the cleft, working in the moistened digit to stroke the opening therein.
When I pushed my finger inside, his reaction was positively corking: Jeeves moaned loudly, shuddered, and began stroking himself in and out of my mouth as he held my head in place. The effect was that he alternately was buried in my mouth and then enveloped my finger deeper into himself as he shifted himself back and forth. When I felt my finger was as deep as possible, I curved it slightly, pressing against the precise spot that he always seemed to know exactly how to find in me that caused me to become utterly beside myself.
The effect on Jeeves was the same. He thrust back and forth one or two more times, letting out noises of sufficient volume and quality for me to know that my efforts had hit their mark. He released himself hard in my mouth, and I hungrily swallowed as much as I could. Even when he had finished, I continued to lap and suck at him, wanting him fully sated. When I pulled my finger from him, he groaned once more and then pulled my face away, unable to withstand any more of the overpowering sensations.
After a moment or two, he'd recovered sufficiently to reach for me and pull me to my feet. He embraced me tenderly, and I melted into his arms happily. As we kissed, I knew he could taste himself in my mouth, and the idea of that aroused me even more than I already was.
Breaking our kiss, he looked deeply into my eyes. "That was most wonderful, sir. Thank you."
"Pish posh, old thing, you know how much I enjoy pleasing you."
"Yes, sir, indeed I do. However, I do believe that this is your birthday celebration, is it not?"
"By Jove, it is, old fruit! And that was a jolly good celebration for me, to be sure."
"Perhaps, sir, but I should like very much to reciprocate. That is, if you approve."
I waved a nonchalant hand. "I approve most heartily, Jeeves. Reciprocate away."
This was the prelude to the activities that occupied us for the rest of the afternoon. Jeeves did indeed reciprocate exceptionally well. As usual, I was aroused to heights of ecstasy under his talented hands and mouth, and I believe it would not be untrue to say, as Jeeves might put it, that I succeeded in my subsequent endeavours to give him satisfaction.
By the end of the day we found ourselves tucked into our bed, sated and wrapped up in each other's arms and legs. As we lay there together, I made a mental note to celebrate all our future birthdays with similar activities. I drifted off to sleep counting the days until Jeeves's next special day rolled around.