JEEVES AND THE ESCAPE
By Lucylou
Intro: This was my second J/W lurve tale. I got lots of help and encouragement from my darling friends on IndeedSir, and adore each of them for the special little snowflake pervs they are!
Now, I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I tend to be a pretty chipper chap, to say the least. Ask anyone; in times of dire emergency, this Wooster can be found with a tilted chin and a solution at the ready (if not supplied by Jeeves) – a determined light cast upon the old dispoisish.
We can all fall prey to panic, though, in certain situations. Exceptions must be made when one's very lifestyle, -- one's very HEART is at stake.
"I refuse to take your word for it! In fact, I'm quite sure your word can stuff itself sideways, you odious fathead!"
As I mentioned, I'm not usually one to react so violently, especially to a relative stranger, but this was, as I have already explained, a severe circumstance. I made every attempt to disguise the quaver in my voice, even as it shrilly broke like that of a distressed female, over the word "stuff."
"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, gov," said the obsequious man behind the pane of glass. His unshaven cheek rested in the sweaty palm of his meaty hand. I tore my eyes away from his dirty fingernails with the preoccupied thought that Jeeves must be utterly revolted, and attempted, once more, to reason with him.
"You obviously don't understand. I'm in a great hurry, and, you see, it's something of an emergency," at his nonplussed expression, I attempted another tact. "I'm… I'm needed." Excellent. That should do the trick.
"Well, Mr. Needed, I'm still afraid there's nothing I can do. The train's all full up with the convention members, and all I have is the one sleeper bunk. Take it or leave it, but make it quick, I don't have all day."
The situation was entirely rum.
Jeeves leaned past me towards the counter, as I sputtered my indignation towards the glass panel. "Surely you have something else, my good man. A serving-class seat, perhaps?" Jeeves' voice, for once, did little to calm my rattled nerves, even at its most persuasive gentle tones.
"I tol' you a hundred times already! It's all that's left! Look, you seem like a reasonable chap," he was addressing Jeeves, and I felt a brief moment of irrational affront creep through the haze of panic.
"Alls I can tell you is that you're gonna have to share, but they're wide bunks, as far as sleepers go. You'll have to make do. Even the standing room is fullup."
Jeeves looked to me, for the first time in my memory at a loss for a solution.
Just then, as I conjured the most colorful curses I could recall from the recesses of my mind, I heard a blood-chilling noise above the hubbub of the station.
"BERRRTIEEE!" Above the heads of the crowd, I could see the sharp point of a closed beige parasol, making it's way steadily towards us.
"Dash it! Here!" I flung the train fare beneath the glass towards the decidedly unhelpful and hirsute ticket-vendor, and snatched at the proffered tickets.
As I spun away from the window, I could hear the vendor shout, "Doncha want yer change, gov?"
I had no breath to reply, though, as I flew towards the steaming locomotive ahead of us. I could hear Jeeves behind me, and couldn't resist a peek at him as he ran. I have always admired his ability to remain poised in every event, even when sprinting towards a train, with the vicious jaws of a frothing Aunt Agatha snapping at our heels.
My eyes slid past the sight of Jeeves, his hand effortlessly bracing his hat upon his head, to the pursuers in question, and saw that my aunt was dragging, by the wrist, the ridiculous tyrant to whom I had been sold.
Now, do not misinterpret me, I'm quite sure Agatha Monroe and I would have been the portrait of blissful matrimony, despite her namesake's regular whims to fry me up and serve me battered. In fact, even Jeeves seemed surprised when I immediately balked at my aunt's intention to marry me off to her. The bird was certainly lovely, long of leg and bright of eye, and not entirely horrible, to be honest… But the truth is, it's been over a year since the female form – any female form -- has turned this Wooster's head.
The only trim waist and shiny lock of hair that's, of late, managed to ensnare my apparent undying admiration, has been those of a rather less appropriate figure than Agatha Monroe's.
"BERTRAM WILBERFORCE WOOSTER!" The roaring call of the vicious aunt-beast rose above the churn of the locomotive. I jumped aboard just as the first chug of the train's engines huffed away beneath my feet, and pulled Jeeves aboard, gripping him by the hand, presumably to steady him against the lurch of the now moving train. After a moment, I dropped the appealing appendage reluctantly, and leaned out of the door to watch the terrifically angry figure of my aunt recede into the distance. The train whipped through the damp air, and the sight of her, angrily brandishing her umbrella like a saber, grew tinier and tinier until it was no more than a speck. The wind in my hair and the exhilaration of escape had me grinning like some madcap rogue, and I turned to my personal gentleman to remark, "Corkingly exciting, isn't it all, Jeeves?"
"Indeed, Sir. I shouldn't lean out too far, though…"
"I mean, what a life, eh? Fugitives from the very jaws of capture!" I gripped the door's side-handle with my left hand, imagining myself as the dashing hero in one of those adventure books I so enjoy.
"Sir…"
"Headed onward, to parts unknown! Thrilling, what?"
"Yes... Sir."
I leaned out further, heedless of his warning. "Why, I don't think I've ever felt more exhilarated in—"
Suddenly, Jeeves darted forward, grasping me around the chest and pulling me back in towards the cabin of the train, just as a signpost whizzed past my ear. I seem to vaguely recall shrieking in an entirely undignified manner.
"Are you quite alright, Sir?" he asked, after a moment of frightened stillness. His arms had stayed around me to steady me from my near-demise by way of signpost, and I felt the odd swoop my stomach takes every time he touches me.
"Yes, thanks to you, Jeeves. Where would I be without you?"
"I shouldn't like to contemplate it, Sir," he said, with that thrilling little quirk of his mouth. I was still feeling warm and excited from our adventure, his brilliant rescue, and, to be honest, his arms around my waist, when I recalled our current predicament and felt the blood drain out of my face.
My horror was interrupted by the conductor, who rudely intruded into our cozy alcove at the door to the traincar.
"You'll have to take your seats in your compartments, now, gentlemen. The train is quite full, and the standing passengers will need the space."
"Ah, yes, of course." I glanced at the sweaty tickets in my palm, before handing them to Jeeves.
"I believe we're headed in this direction, Sir," he said, as always rescuing me from myself, and gestured me gently towards the front of the train.
As we squeezed past the standing passengers, I contemplated the grim night that awaited me. I've certainly spent my share of ghastly nights, in cars, or in the close confines of a cell in the clink, or whatnot, but this would certainly take precedence. How on earth, I wondered, would I manage to sleep, with the object of my unspoken adoration not two feet from me? Or how, for that matter, would I manage to conceal said U. A? I sidled between two ladies who were perched on the fold-down seats in the aisles that are reserved for standing passengers. The train was full of ladies, all attending a kind of meeting in the country to discuss literature or that sort of thing. The ticket-vendor had mentioned it briefly, but I hadn't much paid attention after he had informed us of our accommodations.
"I believe that this compartment on the right is ours, Sir."
"Ah, thank you Jeeves," I said, feeling heartened by the door, which, hopefully, led to a spacious, luxury sleeper cell.
I was mistaken in my hope.
Rot.
The room consisted of a folded cot against the wall which, when unfolded, would likely take up the entirety of the compartment. The rest of the space was nothing to remark upon, unless you mentioned the window, which allowed for a view of the passing English countryside, now decked in the evening colors– cows, fields, bushy briars, that sort of thing. I'm sure I looked decidedly pale.
I heard Jeeves' distinctive cough behind me, and turned to see him regarding the room with distaste.
"Dashed unpleasant, what?" I managed to utter, pulling off my jacket with shaking hands.
"It's certainly a far more abbreviated accommodation than I had hoped for." He took my jacket and hung it against the door.
"But, as Izaak Walton said, Sir, 'Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter,' and, if you'll pardon me for mentioning it, judging by your aunt's apparent wrath, it's quite felicitatious that we should be aboard any method of transportation that assisted our escape…Now if you will excuse me, Sir, I'm going to see about the possibility of locating additional seating in which to spend the journey." He touched his hat lightly and I "righto-ed" him and turned to regard the diminutive sleeper-compartment.
There were no seats to speak of, so I applied myself to the task of unfolding the cot from its place against the wall. This proved to be considerably more difficult than I had anticipated, and after much heave-ho-ing, I found myself in an uncomfortably sticky situation. The cot had somehow managed to come unstuck from the wall, but I had not expected it to be quite so large, and had wound up pinned against the far wall, quite immobilized by the weight of the cot against my upper legs. No amount of lifting or squirming could extricate me from the position, and I was contemplating a horrific night spent standing upright, imprisoned by a mattress, when I heard the familiar, level tones of my personal gentleman outside the door to the compartment. The walls must have been made of paper to be able to hear so perfectly, and I once again cursed the dratted train and all it's inhabitants for my current state of undoing.
"Are you quite sure we couldn't arrange for—" He was rudely interrupted by the same gruff conductor we had encountered earlier.
"I'm sorry, but you and your employer are just going to have to share. As it is you both have far more room than most of the passengers. There's simply no available seating or standing space. It's either buck up and make room or you'll both be off at the next stop!"
"I see," said the frosty tones of my polite valet, and then I heard the conductor stalk off down the corridor. The door opened outwards, and I stood defeated as Jeeves peered around the corner, taking in my current predicament with no discernable sign of amusement other than the slight quirk of his eyebrow I've come to recognize.
"Sir? Are you quite alright?" His glittering eyes wandered down my frame to where I was pinned against the wall by the mattress, and I felt a shiver of trepidatious anticipation at the thought that he would soon come to my rescue once again. It helped to dwell on my current embarrassment and entrapment, to distract me from the fact that I was faced with a long and uncomfortable evening.
"I seem to be stuck, Jeeves. You wouldn't mind…" I needn't have continued, as Jeeves nodded and effortlessly raised the cot to a folded position, allowing me to squeeze out of my prison and over to where he stood in the doorway. The room was still dominated by the cot, and I was once again forced into close contact with Jeeves' shirtfront. I felt distinctly warm from the smell of him, and, reeling, concluded that the coming night was sure to be the longest of my life.
Chapter two
To be fair, he had offered to wander the corridors, braving the conductor's wrath, but I had been consumed with guilt at the thought of him pacing the train all night long, and I had insisted he stay, despite his protests of impropriety.
We had disrobed slowly, uncomfortably. I stripped down to my underthings with violently shaking hands, and clambered aboard the cot where I surreptitiously watched as Jeeves quietly folded my clothes before undoing his tie and shimmering out of his clothing, which he also hung and folded immaculately. I could hear a strange thudding in my ears at the sight of him in his undershirt and shorts, and squeezed my eyes shut against this latest onslaught to my emotional sanity.
Over the years, Jeeves and I have been in a number of strange situations. Never, though, had I chanced to spend the night sleeping in a bed beside him. To say the least, I was beside myself – both with elation and horror.
I felt a dip in the cot, and then his warmth at my left. His scent surrounded me – the gentle musk of his aftershave, mingled with the lightly minty smell of the stuff he puts on his hair to affect that tantalizing sheen.
I was doomed.
"Goodnight Jeeves," I said, turning to him with what I hoped was nonchalance. I had to force my face into a normal arrangement of features as I took in the spectacle of him stretched out beside me in his underthings. Even his feet were attractive. The sight of him lying there beside me called to mind at least a thousand imaginings I've had over the years, and I struggled to find a part of him to focus on that didn't tempt me. My gaze traveled from his lips to his shoulders to his waist, then swiftly to his hands, where it settled distractedly. He has beautiful hands, you know, smooth and large and capable. I have always admired his hands.
"Goodnight, Sir," he replied, reaching above him to turn out the light, and then we were plunged into partial darkness.
I turned over and away from him, attempting to still my racing heart and force out the image of him -- the heat of him beside me.
When one is lying next to the object of his most ardent desire, at night in such close quarters, it so happens that certain… problems tend to arise. One in particular was becoming difficult to ignore, let alone disguise. The gentle rocking motion of the train didn't alleviate my predicament, and I soon found myself in a decidedly rummy situation.
I tried to ignore Jeeves' unusual position at my side in bed, and instead attempted to focus on Aunt Agatha, on the horrible facades of some of my more unpleasant potential fathers-in-law, on hunting, on the chill of an English February… Nothing seemed to work. Exhausted by the effort to distract myself, I eventually drifted off.
I must have been asleep for some time before I hazily awoke to the novel sensation of being enveloped in strong arms and the scent of Jeeves' aftershave.
Having had this dream many times previously, I burrowed further into the warmth, pressing my face against skin and inhaling deeply. A distant rocking motion caused a delicious friction against my phantom valet, and I instinctively parted my lips to taste the skin against my face.
It was only after I heard a distinctly masculine moan coming from somewhere above me, that I came to the heart-stopping conclusion that this was, in fact, not a dream at all. Of course, this not only served to horrify me, but arouse me further, and I knew that, in our current entanglement, that fact could not be overlooked.
I had managed to burrow against Jeeves' side in my sleep, curling into his nocturnal embrace, and pressing my face against his neck. My hand was curled against his chest, which, I noted with some degree of interest, was rising and falling far more quickly that usual.
The compartment was silent, though, and I was willing to bet that Jeeves was still asleep. Why else would he allow this current positioning?
My heart clenched with the thought that this might be the closest I would ever be to the man I loved, and his only reciprocating physical remuneration could only occur in his sleep. I felt the bloom of melancholy, but reminded myself to take pleasure as it came, and pleasure was the man holding me at present.
With this thought in mind, I absently parted my lips again to fully taste his skin. If this was the only time I would be allowed such privileges, I would bally well commit it to memory.
The taste of him was indescribable. The smooth, clean whiteness of his neck in the moonlight through the window was almost enough to make me cry. I opened my mouth wider, unable to resist applying a light suction to his neck, before soothing it with my kiss. My hand absently wandered over his chest, and I thanked whatever deity there was above to have this opportunity to touch him unhindered, if only for so brief a period, and while he slumbered.
The train rocked my hips against him, and I shuddered with the pleasure of it. This slow, tentative physical torture was drowning me, and I felt drugged by the sensation of wanting nothing more than to fully possess him, but being stayed by my knowledge that, were he to wake, he would certainly rebuff me.
My mouth traveled up to behind his ear, where I laved at the hot skin. A shudder ran through him, but I was too drunk with his taste to pay it any mind. I concentrated on his pulse, feeling the throb on my mouth echo in placed on my own body. My hand had wandered up to the other side of his head, where my fingers could dive into the silken hair there. Nothing could ever compare to that feeling against my fingertips.
Carefully, slowly and uncontrollably, my mouth wandered over the graceful temple, the high cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, and I paused there, hovering over the one thing I would most like to taste.
In the moonlight, his red mouth was still temptingly dark. I attempted to reign in my breathing, my lips parted and breath fanning that delicate Cupid's bow. I knew that I needed to control myself, convince myself to turn over and away from him before I destroyed all the trust he had in me and sent him out of my life forever. It had been my most horrific nightmare for some time, but I still couldn't bring myself to move, frozen as I was, inches from the mouth that I could not tear my gaze from.
It could have been hours that I was paused there, torn between stolen pleasure and freezing terror, and it wasn't until he spoke that my reverie was broken.
"Please, Bertie, don't stop."
My eyes flashed to meet his, glittering in the darkness, and then I knew; He had been awake all along.
I think he had expected my utter shock and paralyzed disbelief, for he met my eyes as he gently raised my hand to his mouth and proceeded to kiss each fingertip in succession. The feel of his soft lips against my hands were almost my undoing. I felt my eyes slip closed, and a shaky moan surface from my chest. He flicked a tongue out to taste my palm, and my hips rolled against him inadvertently. I watched his mouth curl upwards, and then part to allow entrance of my thumb. He licked at the lucky digit, curling his tongue in such a way as to make me tremble, and I let my head bow to meet his shoulder.
As I panted and shook, his arms came around me once more, comforting me, reassuring me. I collected myself enough to meet his eyes again.
"Jeeves, I –" but my voice trailed off as his hands smoothed over my shoulders and up to my jawline, where they rubbed at the skin there.
"Bertie, I believe you were contemplating kissing me, a moment ago. I should very much enjoy it if you would continue along that train of thought."
I could only gape. How was it that this paragon of brilliance, the object of my long-time adoration actually reciprocated my unconventional yearnings? I felt a surge of hope.
"Are – is – I mean to say –"
"With due expediency, Sir," he said, with a raise of his eyebrows, and I noticed how quick his breathing had become.
Not one to dawdle in the face of Jeeves' welcome suggestion, I gulped nervously and leaned in to finally allow myself the feel of his mouth against mine.
A trifling explanation of lip-against-lip, suction and moisture and other such things, could never have done justice to this particular kiss. In fact, the feel of his tongue against my own was enough to convince me that mere words could never really amount to much, even from Jeeves' extensive vocabulary and knowledge of quotations. I might be somewhat loquacious at times, but at the moment, I was struck utterly dumb.
With the vibrations of the quiet moan that rumbled from him once my teeth had captured his lower lip in a gentle bite, and the added experience of the train throwing our lower-regions into repeated contact, I wasn't betting on a lengthy amount of time before we were both spent. In no time, he was stripping the undershirt from my chest, where his capable hands ran roughly down my torso before settling at my hips. He pulled me to him, and I felt the overwhelming bliss of his mouth at my clavicle. He smiled up at me, and I returned it enthusiastically, and then his lips traveled lower, before reaching my stomach, where his tongue proceeded to do delightful things to my navel.
I couldn't help it, "Jeeves!" I gasped, bucking my hips against his pinning hands. He glanced at me, leaning up to bestow another astounding kiss, before his mouth fell to my ear, where he whispered, "I hadn't imagined it would be like this the first time, Bertie, but I'm afraid we're going to have to remain quite quiet for the moment. The walls are extraordinarily thin, and I fear that we might disturb the other passengers."
Ordinarily, the sound of his voice is enough to thrill me. At present, though, with it's gentle rebuke and the rough timbre of his arousal, as well as the feel of his moist breath so close against my ear, I had to bite my lip to suppress another fevered gasp.
He noted my shaking, pursing his lips with smug satisfaction, and I suddenly was aware that Jeeves was no doubt as proficient a lover as he is a valet.
I managed to nod a response to his request, and he returned to his ministrations to my stomach.
Through the door from the hallway, with complete clarity, was the sudden sound of a passenger and the dashed uncooperative conductor. I simultaneously cursed and blessed him.
"Excuse me, but when will we be arriving?"
"We should be getting in around ten o-clock tomorrow morning, Missus."
"Excellent, my good man."
Jeeves looked up at me, and I detected, with no little amount of fear, a hint of mischief in his expressive eyes. He bent slowly at the waist, his eyes on mine the entire time, and gently kissed the hollow of my hip, where his tongue flicked out to taste my skin.
According to Jeeves, my entire body bowed in half, my head snapping back to raise my chest off the cot, and my eyes rolled up into my head, all that sort of thing. All I can recall is gritting my teeth so hard to prevent being overheard, that my breath made a sort of shrill whistling sound. I couldn't be blamed, though, and at least I wasn't bally well shrieking the whole dratted train down!
I suppose Jeeves would have thought up some brilliant way to extricate us from blame, but nonetheless it was a blessing to note that the conversation had faded down the corridor.
I collected myself enough to reach down to the hem of his shirt and tug it up over his head, baring his beautiful torso to the moonlight. I wanted to tell him I adored him, I wanted to shout his name and sing to him every song I knew, but I had to remain quiet, and so instead I just splayed my hands over his shoulder blades as he bent over my stomach, and rubbed my thumbs in circles there.
As always, he knew me better than I knew myself, and I could tell from his look that he understood all I had intended to convey.
He placed a delicate kiss at the waistband of my shorts, and looked up at me as if to inquire my permission. In response, my hips bucked reflexively again, and he took the opportunity (ever resourceful, Jeeves) to strip me of the garment.
So there I was, bared before my beloved, as they say. I tugged Jeeves up to me by the arms, and engaged in another long, honey-drunken kiss, while my hands, as if by their own motivation, crept down his torso and beneath the elastic of his shorts.
He gasped violently when my hand curled around him, and I was mesmerized by his telling reaction. I squeezed with loving slowness, running the pad of my thumb slowly over the very tip, and watched, dumbfounded, as his eyes shut languorously. I'd never seen such a beautiful sight.
So captivated was I at the image of my manservant lost to his pleasure, that it came as something of a surprise when I felt his own hand against me. I bit back a yelp as his lightly calloused palm cupped and treasured me, clenching and releasing to the same rhythm I had established in my own technique.
The cabin was filled with the sound of our labored breathing and quiet, gasping moans. I stifled my whimpers against his adam's apple, his own husky voice falling lightly against the top of my head. The train hummed through the countryside, throwing our hipbones into contact, and our hands worked swiftly at their tasks.
I bit his collarbone, feeling myself tense, and he spasmed against me with a muffled cry. The sight of his face contorted with pleasure was enough to trigger my own release.
I came to with my nose buried in the crook of my manservant's neck. His scent surrounded me, and I took a good long whiff. I was reveling in the intoxicating smell when a noise that had hitherto never graced the ears of this Wooster, interrupted my olfactory exploration.
Yes it was deep, yes it was rich, and yes it shook me to my very core, but the truth is that Jeeves' chuckle could only be described as relieved. Having never heard such a sound emanating from the enigmatic man who now lay in my arms, I reared back in astonishment to lay eyes upon the miraculous sight.
And there, his hair tousled from my own doing, Jeeves lay against the sheet looking utterly ravished and positively delighted.
I couldn't help but return his smile. "And what, pray tell me Jeeves, has provoked this veritable deluge of mirth?" I asked, returning my head to lie against his shoulder, where it fitted quite nicely, if I do say so myself.
"Actually sir, two things. The first being that there is not likely to be any curiosity on the part of the conductor, as to the origins of the earlier noise he might have heard." He paused here, and as if cued by Jeeves, himself, the locomotive's whistle pierced the air shrilly, to which he raised an eyebrow at me.
"And the second?"
"I was simply wondering what it might require to provoke that sound from you again…" I couldn't see it, but I could practically hear his eyebrow climbing impossibly higher. I grinned from beneath his chin.
"You're not fooling me, Jeeves. You know very well that you can conjure that particular impression from me with the slightest effort." My hand was making itself comfortable on the warm surface of his stomach.
"Well then, with the understanding that you're already quite convinced, I should very much like to prove it to myself, if you wouldn't mind, Sir."
"Not at all. Wouldn't want to interfere with your sterling record. Carry on, Jeeves."
"With pleasure, Sir."
END