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Chapter Text

Fic: Jeeves and the Lessons on Love (Part 1)

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It all began late one night, when I trickled into the homestead after a diverting evening at the Drones. Jeeves met me at the door as usual, taking the hat, coat, and stick with his trademark deftness and efficiency.

"Good evening, sir. I trust you passed an enjoyable few hours?" Jeeves asked, ever the consummate caretaker.

I frowned like a frowning thing. "No, Jeeves, in fact I did not." I strode into the sitting room and availed myself of an armchair, plunking down the corpus with a heavy sigh.

"I am sorry to hear that, sir." In a flash, a cocktail appeared on a small salver at my elbow. I took it and, just as instantaneously, Jeeves produced the silver box of special cigarettes. It wasn't until I was well ensconced in my chair, puffing away at one thing while sipping judiciously at the other, that Jeeves ventured further inquiry. "May I ask what is weighing on you, sir?"

"You may, Jeeves, you may." I licked the lips, head cocked to the side in a fashion not unlike a curious parrot. "I was at the Drones, you see, and Bingo arrived fresh from his honeymoon. He sends his regards, by the by."

Jeeves inclined his head in acknowledgment, but otherwise continued floating about the room, replacing the box of cigarettes on the mantle and returning the salver to the sideboard.

"Anyhow, Bingo was chatting with Boko and Beefy and all the other chaps who've taken the oath in the spongebag trousers. A goodish amount of what they were talking about went over my head, Jeeves, and Boko must have noticed my look of downright confusion, because he clapped me on the back and said, 'Do try to speak slowly for old Bertie, gents. He still thinks the stork is going to deliver a Bingo Junior in nine months!' And then everyone burst into peals of laughter! I mean to say, of all the bally nerve."

"Am I to understand, sir, that the married gentlemen were discussing certain marital issues which you yourself are not comfortable speaking of?" Jeeves fluffed a pillow on the chesterfield in an idle fashion, or as idle as Jeeves ever appears.

I took a long pull of my cig. and expelled the smoke through my nose. "I am not comfortable with the topic as it appears I am the only member of the Drones who does not have intimate knowledge of what happens in the bedroom between husband and wife." I threw my hands up in the air and ducked my head, the picture of surrender. "There it is. I've said it. I'd never in a million years let the chaps at the club know that, but that's that."

"Well, sir," Jeeves said, standing straighter as he sometimes did to show he was exerting all his focus on a problem, "it is true that the majority of your acquaintances have achieved the state of matrimony. As you have thus far avoided taking a wife, you cannot be blamed for being unfamiliar with the process."

I shot the man a glare calculated to wither, though it did no such thing; Jeeves is immune to withering. "Exactly the argument I used, Jeeves. I told Boko that I was still a bachelor and was therefore excused from the conversation, but then Oofy bally Prossor roared with laughter and said he had a girl in every city from here to Madrid, and that I wouldn't know what to do with a girl if she threw herself at me." I took the final swig of the drink and handed the glass to Jeeves, who held out an empty salver for it. "I must say, Jeeves, it stings when a room full of your closest chums are howling themselves silly at your expense."

"The experience would seem to be an unpleasant one, sir," Jeeves said.

I eyed Jeeves' back as the man turned to the sideboard to fix another cocktail. When Jeeves had added the last ice cube to the glass and enough of a pause had filtered through the room, I said, "Oofy was right, though. Of course I wouldn't have the faintest idea what to do. Suppose I meet the girl of my dreams. Our wedding night would prove to be a disaster, if indeed I even got that far. These modern women, Jeeves. They must expect some sign that their prospective fiance isn't a complete dud."

"As you say, sir." Jeeves delivered the second drink to my waiting hand. I lifted the rim of the glass to my lips, thought better of it, and then put the glass down again.

"Jeeves," I said, "are you very experienced in the art of love?" Now, normally, I would never ask such a thing of my valet. The man's privacy was something sacred in my eyes. His mysterious ways stayed so, including the ingredients of his morning pick-me-ups (a continual bone of contention with my friends who wished they could recreate it in their own homes). However, my desperation and my curiosity had gotten the better of me, I suppose. I added very quickly, "I only ask because, well, you're very experienced in everything."

"It is kind of you to say so, sir." Jeeves stood somewhat stiffly; there kicked that dashed feudal spirit. However, Jeeves gave one small cough into his fist before stating without a blush or a blink, "Yes, I have had ample opportunity to explore intimate relations with a number of trusted persons. I would hesitate, sir, to divulge specifics to you; I'm afraid it would not be proper to betray that trust."

"Oh, of course, Jeeves. Not very preux for a gentleman to kiss and tell, what?"

"Indeed, sir."

"Can't bandy a woman's name about, certainly."

"Precisely, sir."

I found myself nibbling at my thumbnail, a nervous habit that I'd thought defeated in grammar school. I gave the attached thumb a disapproving look and then raised my eyes to Jeeves once more. "I've been considering a brothel, Jeeves."

There is a certain look that Jeeves adopts when seriously stricken. I have seen it when Jeeves is presented with fruity hats, ties, or spats that he deems unsuitable. And I saw it now as Jeeves stared back with said soupy expression.

"I could not advise it, sir," he said.

"Yes, but dash it, Jeeves, how else is a young man like myself going to learn the ways of love?" I cried. "Oofy made it quite clear that he avails himself of professional ladies every so often. I can't say I find the idea anything but distasteful, but there really isn't any recourse as far as I can see."

"I could not advise it, sir," Jeeves repeated.

"Well, what could you advise?" I huffed. "Oofy says he has the perfect girl picked out already. Name of Gillian or Lillian or something. Though I suppose it wouldn't matter. Egad, what a sad thought, Jeeves."

Another cough as from a sheep on a distant hillock. Jeeves looked up at the ceiling with just a flick of his eyes. I sometimes wonder if that's his version of asking for guidance from the Heavens or if it's his way of expressing his displeasure with the comparatively flawed Almighty. "It is apparent that you trust me with the knowledge of your lack of sexual education, sir. Do you perhaps trust me to be your teacher?"

I blinked. Took a sip of my neglected drink. Blinked again. "You would do that, Jeeves? Take the young master under your capable wing and share all your secrets of lovemaking?"

"I would, sir."

"But Jeeves, I see a small hitch." I squinted up at him. "Surely I need a filly on which to practise. Can't expect to absorb everything from your lectures, what?"

It happened like this: Jeeves took two delicate steps forward, planting himself firmly in the personal space of the young master; he leant down, bending at the waist with his hands still clasped behind his back; and his lips brushed against mine as light as a feather. I may have forgotten to breathe. Jeeves' lips then went to my ear, where they whispered, "My lessons will be of a very practical nature, sir. In my experience, such as it is, there is little difference between the genders when it comes to the fundamentals of pleasure."

To say I was gobsmacked would have certainly won some sort of prize in the Understatement of the Year category. I leaned back in my chair to look Jeeves fully in the face. "Good Lord. Is that true, Jeeves?"

Jeeves assured me it was.

"That is," I licked my tingling lips, "very convenient." My mind was still reeling at this. It had never occurred to me before tonight that Jeeves was as susceptible as any man to the temptations of the flesh, and it would have never crossed my mind that Jeeves had dallied with coves as well as women. But then again, who was more thorough than Jeeves? He leaves no stone unturned, what?

"If such a scheme is amenable to you, sir, I would gladly proceed," Jeeves spake again, interrupting my t. of thought. "Of course, such activities would be purely for your elucidation."

"Come again, Jeeves?"

"There would be no complications of feeling, sir."

"Ah, no strings a., you mean?"

"Indeed, sir."

"Right ho. Do you think these lessons should begin tonight?" My gaze dropped completely unbidden to Jeeves' quirked mouth. It was nearly a smile, that. "I suppose the sooner I get cracking, the sooner I'll graduate with floating colours."

"Flying colours, sir. A nautical term indicating victory in battle. And it is rather late, sir. Would you care to perhaps begin tomorrow?" Jeeves asked, standing straight, once more the paragon of valets instead of the enterprising Don Juan.

"Oh, rather." I hauled himself out of the armchair and bid Jeeves a goodnight. "And Jeeves?"

Jeeves turned, silhouetted in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Thank you for this," I said with a grin, putting my eyes into it, if you get my meaning. I was really rather touched.

"My pleasure, sir."

The next morning dawned early, for I had spent much of the night in a sleepless daze. It wasn't first-day-of-school jitters, exactly, but my mind wasawhirl with unanswered questions. How in blazes was Jeeves going to demonstrate how to touch a female, for instance? I would admit to being no expert on these matters, but I knew enough to see that birds like Jeeves were not anywhere near ladylike. Jeeves had said there would not be much difference, but dash it, I didn't see how that was possible. And so my fretful mind caused me to toss and turn.

Trust Jeeves, was the only solid truth I could manage to grasp.

Finally giving up on getting any blasted rest, I sat up in bed and waited precisely three minutes; Jeeves then wafted into the bedroom, bearing the usual cup of Darjeeling. "Good morning, sir," he said blandly enough, bunging the tea down on the bedside table and beginning his routine. I watched him as he spirited round the room: curtains opened, clothing laid out, bathwater running, shaving things readied, lint brush employed, etc.

"Morning, Jeeves." I sipped at the tea. "Jeeves, when shall we begin these lessons of yours?"

Jeeves levered an eyebrow an eighth of an inch up his map, as if he had doubted I would remember the pact from last night. "I leave that decision to you, sir," he said.

"Well, no time like the present. If it 'twere done, 'twere hey nonny nonny and all that." Another small sip. "I'd rather like to get the first bit over with, you know. Like ripping plasters."

Jeeves' dark brows drew down in his classic look of disapprobation, if that's the word I want. "Your teeth, sir."

"My what?"

"You have not yet brushed them or gargled, sir."

"I say!" This was a bit thick. I mean, I may not be as fresh as a daisy upon waking at nine in the ack emma, but I certainly didn't see how I could reek so much that Jeeves noticed from the opposite side of the room.

"You have also not bathed, shaven, or dressed. I am sorry, sir, but a very large part of courtship relies on presenting a complete picture of cleanliness," Jeeves said. "This is, I fancy, the first lesson I must impress upon you, sir."

"But Jeeves, you ensure I'm scrubbed and polished every day. You know I always—"

"Yes, sir. And you shall continue to exert such efforts when preparing for a kiss or lover's embrace, even if they are only practise. Such actions are key in showing a woman that you've thought of her comfort; many, I'm told, find this an attractive quality." Jeeves flicked an invisible bit of lint from the charcoal check. "Once you've completed your ablutions, sir, we may proceed."

Feeling not a little cheesy from the schoolmaster-like lecture, I finished my tea and slunk toward the bath. Jeeves' words rang in the Wooster ears, so I therefore paid extra attention to cleaning under my fingernails, between my toes, and behind the ears. The morning shave took about twice as long as normal, as I was determined to get the closest shave possible. The toothbrush got some vigourous use as well as the bottle of gargle. When I finally emerged from the bathroom in my dressing gown, I was as pink and clean as I'd ever been, and I hoped Jeeves would give his seal of approval.

Jeeves was waiting in the offing, setting out shoes and whatnot. He kept his attention on these things, as was proper, until I had donned the underthings and gave a "what ho" to indicate I was ready to put the day's raiment on the Wooster frame. Jeeves turned, looked me up and down from stem to stern, and nodded once.

"A very pleasing effect, sir," he pronounced.

"Really? I mean to say, I hope I didn't forget anything." I allowed Jeeves to bung me into my shirt.

"If I may speak freely, sir?" Jeeves asked as he attached the braces to the anchors on my trousers.

"Jeeves, I think if this wheeze of ours is to be successful, you must be allowed to be frank with me at all times. Brutal honesty, that's the ticket. Now, do you find something lacking in the young master's appearance that might drive away any prospective paramours? That is to say, something that can be helped; my nose can't be made smaller, you know." I crossed my eyes very briefly to get a look at the thing. For as long as I can remember, my beak has been my most ungainly feature.

"I do not allude to your nose, sir. I am concerned, however, that in your fervor, it seems you have applied a bit too much aftershave." Jeeves held my trousers open for my feet.

My face fell like a sack of hammers from a long way up. "Oh. I suppose I did overdo it just a touch." I stepped into the trouser legs with a defeated air. "Shall I go scrub my face?"

"No, sir. It is a very small detail of no major consequence." Jeeves applied the waistcoat to my form and saw to the cuff-links as well. "For all intents and purposes, you measure up to the required standard."

"Does that mean I'm actually kissable, Jeeves?" I asked with a grin.

"I would say so, sir." The suit coat fell on my shoulders, and I looked at the finished product in the full-length mirror. Jeeves fiddled with the knot of my tie and the peaks of my pocket square, but it was only out of habit; everything was just right. I don't mean to sound like a narcissi-whasit, but I cut a fine figure that morning. I met Jeeves' eyes in the mirror.

"Well, then. Well, well, well." I expected Jeeves to start with the liplock lessons then, but the man merely biffed off. I gaped for a moment, then followed on swift feet. "I say, Jeeves! Erm, the young master is quite ready for your pointers on kissing. That is, if you'd like."

"Certainly, sir." Jeeves indicated the chesterfield with a sweep of his arm, and I took a seat as bade. Jeeves remained standing. "The first order of business on that front, sir, is to gather as much information on your past experiences as possible. Forgive me, but I must ask you about your past romances and exactly what they entailed."

My hand crept into my suit coat where my cigarette case beckoned, but then I considered that smoking a gasper would necessitate another teeth-cleaning before the labial lessons could begin. And so I abstained, letting my hand fall to my lap. "Not really much to say, Jeeves. Of course I've kissed plenty of fillies. Florence, Madeline, Pauline, erm, when we were engaged, of course."

"And how would you describe these kisses, sir?"

"Oh, you know." I gave a wave of my hand. "They were, that is to say, just, well." The truth was, I had been kissed more than done the kissing. My usual role was that of a helpless victim, smooched by one fiance or another. "Brief, I suppose?" I finally finished.

Jeeves remained unmoved beside the chesterfield. He seemed distinctly unimpressed with my rendering of these facts.

"Dash it, Jeeves, I could just show you," I pointed out. "You kissed me last night. No need to stand on ceremony now."

"Sir," Jeeves adopted that twinkle in his eye that meant he was as close to laughing as he ever was, "do you believe that small gesture I bestowed upon you last night was a kiss?"

I frowned in confusion. "Well, yes. Your lips on mine. I believe that's the accepted definition of the thing. Am I misinformed?"

"Very much so, sir." Jeeves bent down, his face very close to mine. His eyes did not drift shut, but held my gaze unerringly. "Would you like me to correct your misapprehension?"

"Carry on, Jeeves."

My valet lifted a hand and caressed my hair, running his fingers through the damp strands and mussing them terribly. I was about to protest this, as so much care had been taken in getting it just so, but then Jeeves' hand was sliding round the back of my head and I was unable to move in any direction other than the one Jeeves was now guiding me. My eyes drifted shut; I could smell the subtle scent of Jeeves' aftershave mingling with my own overdone brand. Then there was a soft puff of breath on my cheek as Jeeves bent lower.

His warm mouth covered mine in a way very similar to the chaste press of lips we had shared the previous night. But then something shifted: Jeeves deepened the kiss, his hand tightening in my hair, not in a way that hurt, mind you, just reminded me he was there. I gasped at the suddenness of this passion and Jeeves must have taken that as a sign to slip his tongue, wet and hot, into my mouth. My eyes flew open, though my vision was swimming with sparks and I could see nothing but the close-up of Jeeves' face. A noise escaped my throat, a bit of a manly exclamation of surprise, you know. Certainly not a plea for anything.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Jeeves lifted his head, released his death grip on my hair, and stood with placid calm. Only the slight reddening of his lips told the story of what had just happened.

"That, sir," he said to me, "is a kiss."

I touched my swollen mouth with shaky fingertips. "My word." It was obvious that this was a technique I had to have in my quiver, to borrow a phrase. I looked up at Jeeves with all the right Wooster spirit I could muster. "Come, sit with me, Jeeves." The cushion beside me was patted in invitation.

Jeeves seemed to hesitate, and I gave a bit of a snort. "Your tongue was just in my mouth, Jeeves. I don't think sitting in the presence of the young master will mean the end of the world."

With a flick of his coattails, Jeeves deigned to sit on the very edge of the cushion. It constantly amazes me how a man of Jeeves' towering height and broadness of shoulders can move so daintily. It's like watching an elephant do ballet, which, so I hear, is something that happens at that PT chap's shows in New York. But that's beside the point.

"Can I give it a go now?" I reached for my man, eager to jump right in, but Jeeves stopped my progress with a raised hand.

"May I suggest you start slowly, sir?" Jeeves said. "Many people operate under the mistaken assumption that a kiss deals only with the lips, but as I hope I have just demonstrated, there are myriad variables that go into a memorable embrace. Your hands, your breath, the anticipation, all of these things must be contemplated."

"Right ho." I nodded. "I—I'll give it my best." I gave him a little of the baby blues. It's not often that I employ them to much effect but I thought it couldn't hurt; eyes being the w. to the s. and all that.

Jeeves gave a nod of assent, and I lifted a palm to his jaw. I cupped it carefully, feeling the strength in that sinewy skin, the virile pulse in Jeeves' throat. With a silent prayer that I wasn't mucking up too badly, I lifted my other hand as well, framing Jeeves' face with both palms. I drew Jeeves forward. And then stopped.

We were so bally close. My nose brushed against Jeeves' cheek, and I fought to keep my lungs from doing their impression of a bellows. I don't know when my eyes closed, but they did. Seeing seemed less important than feeling the heat of Jeeves' skin and smelling the soft woodsy-soapy scent of his hair and clothes. I don't think you could blame a person in my position for quailing.

Here was this paragon of men before me, awaiting my, that is, Bertram W. Wooster's, kiss. How absolutely wonderful and frightening. I watched my hand trail down Jeeves' throat to hold onto his tie, just below the perfect knot. "Jeeves . . ." I whispered, though I found I could not finish the thought. I shook my head and pressed a kiss to Jeeves' soft lips. Jeeves did nothing, do not lift his hands in return, did not make a sound. Worried that perhaps he wasn't feeling the proper amount of pressure, I deepened the kiss and touched the tip of my tongue to Jeeves' mouth.

Jeeves opened to me, thankfully. He tasted of mint and coffee, and I realised that Jeeves must, at some point in the morning, eat breakfast like any normal person. Well, I say, the young master was learning all sorts of new things. The time came for me to reacquaint myself with air, so I pulled away reluctantly, and then pressed a final kiss to Jeeves' jaw.

My eyes drifted open to see that we were still so very close. My hand was now wrapped round Jeeves' tie, so I felt the rumble in Jeeves' chest when he spoke: "A strong first showing, sir."

"Thank you, Jeeves." The absolutely level way Jeeves spoke gave me the pip. My own heart pounding in his chest like I had just ran four marathons in a row! There was sweat beading at my temples and my hands still trembled. But Jeeves was as cool as a bally cucumber. "I suppose, with more practise, I'll be able to complete the manoeuvre without coming so close to fainting, what?" I tried for a laugh, but it came as more of a breathy hiccough.

"It is likely, sir," Jeeves said, and kissed me again. Needless to say, his were still the better kisses.

We stayed on the chesterfield for several hours, trading kisses back and forth: gentle ones, violent ones, thoughtful ones. Jeeves explained to me that many people had sensitive ears, and lavishing attention on them was generally thought to be a solid idea. I accepted Jeeves' practical demonstration, which resulted in the Wooster eyes rolling back into the Wooster head. I was then given a chance to try the same on Jeeves, though Jeeves did not shudder like a leaf in the wind as I had expected. So I licked the back of Jeeves' neck just to give that a try, and that produced the proper response.

"You've got a sweet spot here, Jeeves," I murmured, my overworked, puffy lips brushing the little hairs on Jeeves' nape.

Jeeves craned his neck further to give more access. "It is a weak point of mine, sir."

"I suppose everyone has one, what? That is, I need to take the time to learn all these spots with each lover I meet." Remembering what Jeeves had taught me when he'd bitten my lower lip a few minutes ago, I applied my teeth to the skin on the back of Jeeves' neck. My valet gasped once, just a sharp intake of breath really, before he pulled away as quick as a shot. He looked over at me blankly.

"I should have stipulated before, sir: please, no marks."

I remembered then, this didn't mean anything, and no one could ever know. Good Lord, no one could ever, ever know. If someone spied a Wooster-shaped bite on Jeeves' person, then it was curtains for us both.

"I'm so sorry, Jeeves." I hung my head. "Got carried away, I suppose."

"No harm done, sir. Luncheon will be ready in one hour." And just like that, Jeeves swept out of the room, leaving me alone on the chesterfield.

Have you ever noticed how bally quickly switches get into gear once they're flipped? One second, on. The next, off! That was exactly how the week progressed. Every day for an hour or two, Jeeves would take me aside to continue my "sensual education," as he put it. I was soon taught every sort of kiss under the sun, every type of caress of the damask cheek. My lips became chapped, and Jeeves produced a pot of ointment. My mouth became dry, and Jeeves fetched a glass of ice water. The necking would continue until the switch flipped and Jeeves deemed the lesson over for the day. Then he would float about the flat as if everything were normal.

There was more to it than the labial press, of course. Jeeves also ensured I was taught all the little gestures that would hopefully one day lead to kissing with the right lady; offering to light a cigarette, helping with a coat, that sort of thing. I had had no idea that such things were supposed to be infused with passion. Jeeves' favourite lesson was that of eye contact during these courtesies.

"The eyes have the unique ability, sir, to convey your message. There is no need to be crass in your courtship, but be firm. If you allow just a fraction of your ardour to show in your gaze, the object of your attention will realise your intent," Jeeves stated. And he had me lock eyes with him for a long moment, until finally I looked away with a flush on my neck.

I was beginning to wonder if I could survive it, to be honest. Not that is wasn't dashed pleasant; I appreciated Jeeves' efforts in showing me how to woo. But the lessons would always leave me with legs crossed to hide the painful evidence of my, shall we say, ardour. I'd ruined several perfectly decent hand towels in the past few days, ducking into the privacy of the bathroom and pulling myself off with a speed that would have impressed even my twelve-year-old self, for whom a stiff wind was liable to bring about the telltale hardness in his trousers. But at least I was receiving proper instruction.

"I feel quite accomplished in this lovemaking field, Jeeves," I said one afternoon as I smoked in the sitting room. We had been practising for almost every day for two weeks, and I had good reason for wanting to be up to speed.

"Indeed, sir?"

"Indeed, Jeeves. And not a moment too soon. Bobbie Wickham is going to be in town next week-end." I examined the glowing end of my gasper, wondering if Bobbie would have an aversion to kissing right after a smoke; Jeeves had told me he, at least, had no such aversion.

The temperature seemed to drop by several hundred degrees when Jeeves answered, "May I inquire as to why Miss Wickham's arrival in the metropolis is so highly anticipated, sir?"

"Now, Jeeves, I know Bobbie is not the stuff fiances are made of—"

"I could not agree more, sir."

"—but she's always had that certain special something about her. I like her spirit, Jeeves. As far as kissing partners go, I could do far worse than Bobbie. I hope this week-end will lead us down that path, what?" I smiled up at the man, proud for having come up with the wheeze all on my lonesome.

Jeeves coughed into his fist. "If you will forgive me for saying so, sir, I do not think your amourous education is complete. Would it be wise to leap into the fray, as it were?"

I pointed to myself and grinned. "Wooster. That's what we do, Jeeves."

"Very good, sir," Jeeves answered, as chilly as a penguin at the South Pole. "However, I strongly suggest you attempt to prepare yourself for this liaison with Miss Wickham. It would not do, sir, to embarrass yourself."

I stubbed out my cig. and frowned. "What d'you mean, embarrass myself, Jeeves?"

"Please, sir, take a seat here on the piano bench and I will show you."

Well, when a man like Jeeves tells you to sit at the piano, you sit. So I made my way over to the old girl, taking my place on the bench and facing the keys in the normal way. Jeeves cleared his throat and said, "A quarter turn to the right, sir, if you would be so kind."

I wasn't sure what he was on about, but I had trusted Jeeves thus far and decided it would be folly to stop now. So I turned and straddled the piano bench, one leg on either side. I squirmed. "Not very comfortable, I'm sorry to say."

"My apologies, sir. I fear your comfort will not be assured today."

I sat up a little straighter; I mean to say, what? Jeeves had always gone to great lengths when kissing the young master to ensure I was at ease. What could this change in protocol mean? But I had no time to ask, as Jeeves had already stepped lightly over the piano bench and sat behind me.His arm came round and snugged across my ribs, and with that arm, Jeeves gently guided me into leaning back against his strong chest.

"Today's lesson revolves around the importance of self control, sir," Jeeves said, his voice a low murmur in my ear. One large, square hand travelled down my waistcoat, playing along the buttons as if I were a musical instrument of some kind. "A proper lover always sees to his partner's pleasure before allowing his own to overcome him. If you cannot hold back, you will appear quite selfish."

"All right, but I don't see—" I tapered into a loud gasp; Jeeves had latched his sharp teeth onto my earlobe and was nibbling on it as if it were a delicious morsel. "Jeeves, you know that's a sensitive spot for me," I choked out.

A brief kiss to the shell of my ear followed. "I know, sir. I have seen you harden at the lightest brush of my lips to this area."

Hot colour flooded my cheeks. I was certainly glad now that I wasn't facing my valet; I must have looked ridiculous. "You weren't supposed to see that. Lord-love-a-duck, it's an embarrassing reaction—"

"One that you will learn to control." Jeeves worried my earlobe between his teeth once more, and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning. My arms lifted to encircle Jeeves' neck, but Jeeves gathered both my wrists in one large hand and held them captive behind my back. "I am sorry, sir, but this is a necessary torture. You need only endure for fifteen minutes." His other hand trailed down my body once again, pausing as it encountered the tented material of my trousers. His fingertips stroked at just the very tip of my hardness through the wool, and I positively thrashed in Jeeves' arms but could not find freedom.

"Good God, man! S-stop!"

"You would have me release you and leave the room, sir? Our lessons would be at an end, if you so wish it," Jeeves said in that coal-dark voice of his that he only used during our lessons. His grip on my wrists lessened, lending his threat some merit.

"No, no, no," I babbled, "just, please. Let me go to my room." The pressure building in my body was getting to be unbearable, and it was imperative that I be allowed to finish in peace.

"I'm afraid that is not an option." Jeeves laved my ear once more. "If you cannot do this, then how do you plan on pleasing your lover for more than the briefest moment?"

"Couldn't I just see to her after I was finished?" I pleaded. Jeeves must have disliked that sentiment, for he merely pressed the heel of his palm even harder into my cockstand. "Holy Christ!" I cried out.

"I've never heard you curse in such a way, sir. Are you close?" Jeeves asked.

I shook and panted, slumped back against Jeeves' chest. Although I gulped great lungfuls of air, none seemed to stay with me. "So close. Please, just let me—"

"Eleven minutes."

I gritted my teeth and tried my damnedest to not feel Jeeves' fingers on my cockstand, the solidness of his body behind me, the hot breath in my ear. Of course, such a thing is impossible. You've probably never been in that exact position, but you can take my word for it: there's nothing for it. A desperate sob escaped my lips.

"I'm not like you, Jeeves. I'm not made of stone. I can't—"

"Eight minutes," Jeeves said against my neck.

"Finish me off, damn you," I groaned. "Oh Lord, oh my Lord."

The crooked line of Jeeves' nose pressed against my cheek. "Seven minutes and forty seconds."

For the second time, I struggled to free my hands from Jeeves' iron grasp. They were still trapped behind my back, squashed between our bodies. I managed to spring my left hand free, only to have nowhere for it to travel but downwards, where a small hollow between Jeeves' firm stomach and my spine lay. And there, despite Jeeves' best attempts to recapture it, my hand found an answering hardness in Jeeves' lap.

"J-Jeeves?" I tried to turn my head to look at the man, but I couldn't move a muscle; Jeeves' arms had turned into iron bands, holding me in place with not an inch given.

"I am not, in fact, made of stone, sir," Jeeves hissed in my ear. "Watching you writhe like this is enough to make anyone react in carnal sympathy. But I will not allow these urges to control me, sir, and you can learn to do the same if you try." His palm gentled, cupping my cock once more. "Five minutes."

I sagged in my valet's arms, my limbs doing a fair approximation of San Francisco during the quake. The smell of Jeeves, so musky and warm, was making my head swim and knowing that Jeeves' arousal was nestled against the small of my back, knowing that it was Jeeves' hand playing along my trouser seam, knowing that Jeeves knew exactly where and how to touch me to bring me off in under fifteen minutes: it was too much. My hips jerked of their own volition, my mouth dropped open to release a pained mewling noise, and I shook like billy-o. I could have cried in relief, or shame.

Jeeves lifted his hand and I could see the dark stain now spreading across the front of my trousers. "I just couldn't," I whispered. My face was on fire at this point, and I wanted nothing more than to sink through the floorboards and be gone.

In an instant, Jeeves had removed himself from my personal space and stood next to the bench. I lifted my gaze and noticed Jeeves was offering his handkerchief to me. With numb fingers, I took it and began dabbing at my trousers.

"I have faith that you will improve in time, sir," Jeeves said quietly, "but you are not yet ready for what Miss Wickham would demand of you." And he biffed off to do whatever it was Jeeves did in the kitchen. I stared glumly at my ruined trousers and then dragged myself to the bedroom to change.

For several days, neither I nor Jeeves brought up the topic of the lessons in lovemaking. Bobbie Wickham came and went from the city and I did not attempt to see her during her visit. It was clear that any dallying done with Bobbie would be a disaster, as Jeeves had shown. I was determined to overcome this horrible weakness in my character before exposing my future bedmates to my amourous advances. During the long and lonesome nights in my bedroom, I would bring myself to an erect state and then ball my hands into fists in the sheets, refusing to touch myself for as long as I was able. My best time was about seventeen minutes, which seemed laughably short. It was not pleasant work, I can tell you, and when I woke in the mornings I was much like an angry honeybear that had been roused in the middle of his long winter nap. The dumps were deep, and I could not haul myself out of them.

Then, one stormy afternoon, while I was sitting at the window watching the progress of the raindrops on the window pane, Jeeves approached with a soft cough.

"Sir? Have you any plans for this evening?"

"No, Jeeves," I sighed. "This blasted weather. It puts one in a mood, what?"

"Perhaps this would be a fine opportunity to continue with your lessons, sir," Jeeves said.

I scoffed like a scoffing thing. "Pah! I don't think I'm cut out for these sorts of activities, Jeeves. No, best to leave it to experts." I waved the man away, but Jeeves stood his ground.

"It occurs to me that I have made an error, sir," Jeeves said. Somehow the world did not stop turning. I turned to face him, stunned at this confession, but he merely continued lightly. "I did not intend to discourage you so. Although you will need to learn how to give pleasure, you also must learn to receive it. I should have begun with the latter lesson, sir. It is . . . a more pleasant task for the pupil."

"Receive—?" But before my question could even make an appearance, Jeeves had somehow materialised on the floor, kneeling at my feet. His hands, warm and sure, rested on my knees.

"It is likely that your lovers will bestow this kind of oral pleasure upon you," Jeeves said, his eyes not leaving mine for an instant. "Would you like me to show you how to proceed in such a case?"

Not trusting my voice, I nodded and watched as Jeeves unbuttoned my flies with deft fingers. "A considerate lover must show appreciation for this act, sir, as it is so one-sided. Unless your partner has indicated a liking for roughness, you should refrain from thrusting too vigourously."

It then dawned on the Wooster brain exactly what was about to happen. It was but the work of a moment for my body to go from a normal resting state to hard and wanting. Jeeves reached into my trousers and pulled out my stiff cock. It was the first time he had touched my naked flesh in this way, and I shuddered at the feeling.

"How long shall I try to last?" I asked breathlessly. I wanted to tell him I'd been practicing, but then thought better of it and held my tongue; it wouldn't do to have Jeeves think I was cheating at this little game of ours.

Jeeves looked up at me with that spark in his eye. "If you last too long, your partner's jaw will become sore. Therefore, in this instance, speed is an asset, sir."

"Oh good. Because I have a notion that I may be reduced to jelly in two ticks." I allowed my head to fall back against the armchair, my eyes squeezing shut as Jeeves licked at me. "Oh, that's bally marvellous."

Jeeves hummed, whether in agreement or what have you, sending tiny vibrations through my body. A cry of ecstasy was wrenched from my throat, and Jeeves' strong hands clamped onto my hips like vices. His hot mouth engulfed my arousal entirely. I stared down at the sight, noticing the rather pleasing cupid bow shape of Jeeves' lips for not the first time. My own hands, empty and wishing for some work to do, fidgeted on the arm rests of the chair. Jeeves took my hands in his own, without even looking up, without even missing a beat in his rhythmic sucking, and guided them to his hair.

I dug my fingers in those black tresses, unsure of what Jeeves wanted me to do. I had found that, when kissing Jeeves, it was best to ask for help if one felt completely at a loss. So I went by the same policy. "Do you want me to, erm," I swallowed audibly, "stroke your hair, Jeeves?"

Jeeves paused in his ministrations for a moment to look up and me and say, "If you would." He returned to his chosen task, and I set about attempting to run my fingers through Jeeves' hair without mussing it too badly. I'd never seen him without a perfectly combed and oiled head of hair adorning his cranium, and I was certain he wouldn't appreciate a hair out of place. But once again, I was proven wrong.

"Sir," Jeeves said, downplaying a small slurping sound as he ceased his sucking, "your hands feel hesitant."

"Yes, well," I settled my silly hands on his shoulders for a moment. "I know you always look your best, Jeeves. I didn't want to—"

"When making love, it is acceptable and expected for a gentleman to rumple the appearance of his bedmate, and to appear disheveled himself." Jeeves plucked my hands from his shoulders and directed them to his hair once more, really digging them in this time. "I find it heightens the sensuality of the act, sir."

"Right-o. I will rumple with the best of th~aaaaaaah!" My declaration turned into a bit of a fluttery cry as Jeeves sucked me once again. My fingers clutched at his hair of their own accord, and I didn't even have to think of directing them. The Wooster hands seemed to know just what to do re: rumpling that head of jet-black hair. I watched as they ruined the perfect, glossy strands, mussing it into wild dark waves. "Jeeves," I said in what turned out to be a very shaky voice, "I-I'm about to come off. You should—" I tried to pull him away, yanking at his hair quite violently, but he only shook his head and continued sucking.

"Oh, Jeeves," I gasped, "you don't mean to, to let me finish in your mouth, do you?" He hummed again, this time bobbing his head in assent, still without looking up from his task. I could only see the top of his head, but the set of his shoulders and the fervour with which he laved my cock spoke of his intense concentration. Without my consent, my thighs began trembling as if I were having a spell or something. One of Jeeves' warm hands wrapped round the base of my cockstand and pumped a few times, and that was all she wrote. I fisted my hands in Jeeves' hair, causing him to lift his head a bit so that just the tip of me remained in his mouth. My spine arched like a bridge off the chair and I let loose a high-pitched noise that sounded a bit like "Haaaaaaaaa!" Or maybe it was more of an "Uhhhh!" It is difficult to keep track of these things when Jeeves is swallowing you down.

When the last wave of pleasure had coursed through me, I opened my eyes and hastily released my death grip on Jeeves' hair. His eyes were still closed, though not so much in concentration as self-congratulatory Jeevesness . He pulled away and let slip my still-twitching member. For a moment, a thin strand of white fluid connected the tip of my cock to his lips; when it snapped in half, Jeeves blinked his eyes open, reached for his handkerchief in his trouser pocket, and patted his mouth clean as if it were nothing more unusual than dealing with the soup course.

I could have come off straight away once more, if I hadn't already been spent.

"Good Lord, Jeeves," I finally said into the heavy silence that had taken up residence in the sitting room. "That was— Is there a word that means topping, corking, brilliant, and boomps-a-daisy all rolled into one?"

"None comes to mind, sir," Jeeves said, tucking his handkerchief back in his pocket. My gaze followed his movements, and I saw that the front of Jeeves' black trousers were tented most awfully. Bally carnal sympathy, I mused.

"Allow me to return the favour, Jeeves." I reached down for his flies, practically unseating myself in the process, but Jeeves rose smoothly to his feet and turned away from me.

"Thank you, sir, but that is not necessary."

He began to float away, but I held onto his wrist like a tether. "You've gone to great lengths, Jeeves, to teach me the importance of reciprocation in these circs. Surely I'd be a cad of the first order if I did not see to my bedmate's pleasure, what?"

Jeeves looked down at my grasping hand with that icy stare of his. "In actual practice, sir, it would be the recommended course of action. However, within the scope of our lessons, you need not be concerned with such things."

"But Jeeves—" I stood, but was promptly cut off.

"It would be a waste of time, sir, to instruct you in the giving of oral pleasure to a male," Jeeves said, tucking a stray strand of black hair behind his ear. "If your lovers are to be female, as you have implied, then I cannot provide the proper substitute for that particular lesson. Now if you will excuse me, sir." He trickled into the kitchen in the blink of an eye while I stood rooted to the spot.

Finally I managed to do up my flies and light a cigarette. Jeeves was correct, of course. If I were to pursue the likes of Bobbie Wickham, et. al., there would be little need for me to know the specifics of a chap's body. But when that chap was Jeeves, and his cockstand was so evident in his trousers, and his hair was so incredibly mussed— Well. It seemed to me to be a different sort of animal.

I regained my seat and smoked a gasper or two, staring at the kitchen door. What in the world could Jeeves be doing in there after each of our lessons, I wondered. Did he take his mind off his body's urgent cries for attention by polishing the silver? Or did he perhaps seek refuge in the dark pantry and pull himself off into his dirty handkerchief?

"Oh, good Lord," I muttered to myself, crossing my legs to ease the pressure once again building in me. But it was impossible, when one's mind wanders into territory like that, to remain unaffected. The thought of Jeeves reaching his peak like that, biting the heel of his hand to keep from making a sound, made me harden instantly.

As a sort of experiment, I tried to imagine Bobbie Wickham in the pantry with her hand up her skirt. And failed miserably. What would she need with a pantry anyway? If any filthy self-pleasure was to occur, it would be Jeeves', I concluded. It stood to reason. It . . . .

I stubbed out my cig. and sighed. It was official. I was lusting after my valet. My body wanted him like a whatsit wants a thingummy. And why shouldn't it? Jeeves was as deft at the tender arts as he was at all other arts, and he was but one door away at the mo'.

Resolved to see the thing through, I stood and strode to the kitchen door, prepared to swing it open and find my man biting his hand and stroking himself in the pantry. I would take to my knees as he had, I told myself, and give him as good as he gave. I was a novice at this, yes, but I would approach the thing with all the aplomb that Jeeves had taught me thus far.

I swung open the door. And found Jeeves polishing the silver at the table.

"Is there something you require, sir?" he asked, laying aside a bright soup spoon. His hair was once more coiffed, and his whole appearance was that of a perfectly pressed valet.

"Erm, that is, well." I waved a hand. "Carry on, Jeeves."

"As you say, sir."

For the next few days, I admit I avoided Jeeves like the rat-borne illnesses of old. It's a rummy thing, when you know you want something very badly, something that doesn't actually relish the thought of you in return. For Jeeves, these lessons of ours were nothing more than a very thorough education for the young master. A few sympathetic bodily reactions aside, the entire experience appeared to have left Jeeves unmoved. And it seemed he never would be moved.

That is, had it not been for an evening spent drinking like a fish at the Drones.

I hadn't set out to become three (or fourish) sheets to the wind that night, but it turned out that old Boko had decided to throw a birthday fete at the last minute. It wasn't his birthday, but that didn't stop the chaps down at the Drones from joining in wholeheartedly, and to be honest, I thought I could use the distraction. Pondering all these imponderables in re: Jeeves was taking its toll on my mind.

I toddled home at a late hour, and called for Jeeves as I entered before I could even remember that I was supposed to be avoiding him. Luckily, as I was met with nothing but silence in the dark flat, I recalled this was his evening off. I dropped my hat and stick in the general direction of the hall closet and set about making myself a nightcap. It seemed just the thing.

I was attempting to catch an ice cube which was skittering for freedom at the edge of the buffet table when I heard the front door creak open.

"Jeeves, is that you?" I called even as the bally ice cube slipped from my hand and disappeared forever under a coffee table.

A tall Jeeves-shaped shadow appeared in the sitting room and answered, "Yes, sir. I had thought you'd be abed by this time. Do you require any assistance?"

"None that I cannot muster on my own, my good man." I closed my fist around a whole new set of cubes in the ice bucket and plunked the lot of them into a glass with a triumphant cry. "Would you like a drink, Jeeves? I'm pouring one for myself." I took up the bottle of brandy and turned with the intention of showing him what was on offer, but the man had shimmered almost directly behind me without my notice, so we ended up colliding rather badly. It was only due to Jeeves' legendary reflexes that the bottle was saved from the same fate as that first ice cube.

"Perhaps I should get that for you, sir," he said.

"Oh. Oh, yes, quite. You never imbibe anyway, isn't that right, Jeeves?" I distinctly remembered him telling me so ages ago. But now, standing so close to him, I could smell the sweet scent of sherry on his lips. At least I thought it was his lips; it couldn't have been mine, as I never touched the stuff. "Jeeves," I asked slowly, "have you been imbibing tonight?"

He dropped his gaze and side-stepped me neatly to place the decanter back on the table. "Yes, sir, though I do so rarely. There was a fete at the Junior Ganymede and I was expected to share in the toasts." His story seemed solid, except I noticed his stalwart hands were not arranging the glasses and ice bucket with their usual swiftness. Jeeves was slow enough to be mistaken for a mere mortal, by Jove.

"It looks to me like you've had more than a few toasts," I said. His eyes, bright and blue in the little bit of light that came through the window from the streetlights, glared at me.

"Am I mistaken in thinking this was my free evening, sir?" he asked with not a little ice in his voice and even more in my cocktail glass.

"Yes, I only meant—"

"And am I mistaken in thinking I am allowed to do whatever I desire on my free evening, sir?" he continued.

"Of course, Jeeves, it's just—"

"Then you might consider letting the matter lie, sir." Jeeves held the finished drink out to me, and I took it out of habit.

I regarded the glass in my hand then, in a strange gesture of apology, offered it right back to my valet. He quirked an eyebrow, but finally took the b. and s. from me, draining it in one long swallow.

"You probably needed it more, what?" I said softly. Jeeves gave a little near-smile as he set the glass down, and then I kissed him. Really kissed him, grabbing at his collar and the whole bit.

"Sir?" he panted against my mouth when we broke for breath.

I knew I was making a mistake. I had been drinking, and so had Jeeves, and I wanted him so badly I would have done any number of stupid things to have him. I was supposed to be distancing myself, dash it, and here I was throwing caution to the w. and doing whatever I liked. One part of my addled brain kept repeating, "I can worry about all that in the morning." And the other part said, "Sounds like a foolish plan but I've had much too much drink, so what do I know?"

So that settled that. "I'd like another lesson tonight, Jeeves," I said with a lick of my dry lips, "if you are so inclined."

I don't remember clearly what happened next. The memories come to me in little flashes: seeing Jeeves' tanned hand pressed against the whitewashed hallway wall to keep us both balanced, his mouth on mine, suit coats crumpled on the carpet like deflated gentlemen, my fingers scrabbling blindly for my bedroom light switch, Jeeves' unearthly growl to leave it be. I remember hitting the mattress and cracking my melon on the headboard, but I took no notice of whatever injury I might have sustained from it. Jeeves had enough presence of mind to make some inquiry, but I think I waved him off with another kiss.

I became tangled a bit in my waistcoat when Jeeves tore it from my shoulders, and I reached to do the same for him, but he batted my hands away. "We needn't disrobe completely, sir," he said in a low voice in my ear.

"Oh?" I said, and even to my inebriated ears I sounded like quite the idiot. But then Jeeves took hold of my hips and ground his body against mine, and I felt his cockstand against my thigh. My own erection was rubbed between our bellies, and the feeling was so perfectly topping that I forgot how idiotic I might sound. "Oh!"

"I want you to come off while grinding against me," Jeeves whispered, his teeth traveling down the length of my ear. "Take your pleasure as you will. Let me feel it in your limbs, let me hear it from your mouth."

"Oh, Lord. Jeeves." I took hold of his shoulders and pulled him even closer to me, wriggling to position his cock in the best possible way against mine. He hissed through his teeth and the world spun suddenly: instead of lying on our sides, Jeeves was now atop of me, staring down into my face, his dark hair impossibly mussed and hanging in his eyes. "You're a mad thing," I said, kissing him soundly.

We rocked together, our hips moving in some primal way that even my body knew. Jeeves was red-hot even through the layers of wool trousers, and the warm length of him seemed to be melting me, dissolving me into nothing more than steamy air. Jeeves, for once, seemed equally affected. His thrusts were erratic and frenzied, as if he believed the scenario could end at a moment's notice.

"Jeeves, please," I begged, "tell me you're close to the edge."

"Yes, I am." He licked at my ear and wrapped my tie round his fist.

"I won't finish until you do," I promised. "Please, please finish soon. Right now, here, against me. I want to feel you, Jeeves." I was babbling, delirious with need, my fingers combing through his wild hair, grasping at his creased and ruined shirt. I noticed his arrow collar had come loose, leaving his neck bare, and I pressed kisses to the skin there. "I want to feel you."

With an animal snarl, Jeeves pulled us as close as two people could be while still separated by their disordered clothing. I was crushed against his barrel chest, our legs tangling, our hips thrust together as if life depended upon it. I felt the muscles under my hands bunch, then spasm, then shake like the dickens. And then I felt Jeeves come off, warm and damp against my cockstand through the layers of cloth. And that was all it took to wring my own peak from me. I can only say that it was a few fleeting moments of complete and utter ecstasy, and then I drifted in a sort of over-heated, panting delirium.

I was roused from this state when I registered a sort of cool draft over my sweaty face. I cracked open my eyes to see that Jeeves was no longer with me. I turned my head and spied him sitting on the edge of my bed, trying desperately to put right the studs of his shirt, it looked like. I could only see his broad back from where I was, of course, but with his arms working in that manner, he could only be doing one thing.

"Jeeves." I lifted a weak hand and patted his back. "Just sleep for now, old thing."

"I will, sir," he said in the soupiest tone that's ever trickled forth from the paragon. "I need only recover my collar and I shall retire to my room."

"What? No. No reason to worry about that. Just lay here beside me, Jeeves," I said sleepily as my hand rubbed at the patch of empty bedding next to me. I wanted him to be still for once, and propriety be damned. We'd face it all in the morning.

"A very generous offer, sir, but tonight's lesson is at an end. Good night, sir." And Jeeves rocketed from the master bedroom without looking back. I gaped at the suddenly empty space where he had been, my mind slowly clawing its way up to speed. My hand trembled on top of the bedclothes, and somehow or other my fingers found his missing collar. He'd exited without it.

"Jeeves," I said quietly, curling my hand with the still-warm collar to my chest. I thought to chase after him, demand to know exactly what had just happened, but my head was pounding and the bed was swaying like a ship at sea. I closed my eyes for a mo' just to get my bearings, but when I opened them again, it was morning and I had slept through the night.

I fastened my gaze on the stiff collar I held crushed in my now-slack fist just a few inches in front of my face. I knew I had about four or five minutes before Jeeves came in with the morning refresher; he was devilishly good at knowing when I awoke. Four or five minutes to understand what we'd done last night, then.

In under three minutes, I had the thing concluded. I was no longer lusting after my valet. I was in love with him. I wanted him in my bed, certainly, but I also wanted to awaken pressed against his sleep-softened skin. I wanted to kiss his lips, but I also wanted those lips to profess his undying devotion to me. The sight of his mussed hair drove me mad with desire, but so did the sight of the same hair perfectly combed. Last night, I knew, was not just the drunken fumblings of two indifferent men. To me, it had been the most wonderful night of my heretofore lonely existence. And perhaps, just perhaps, Jeeves could be persuaded to share that sentiment.

The bedroom door cracked open, and Jeeves materialised with his special morning-after concoction.

I thought it best if I got right into the thing. "Jeeves—" I croaked.

"Sir, before you exert yourself needlessly, I would appreciate it if you listened to me for the moment it will take you to drink this." He offered the reddish drink to me, and I seemed to have no choice but to take it and begin gulping. Jeeves continued, "I do hope you realise, sir, that last night concludes our lessons in the amourous arts."

With the mouthful of spicy restorative, I couldn't voice my protests, but my raised brows and wide eyes said it for me. Jeeves took this in and nodded.

"It is my feeling that you have absorbed all I have to teach you in this arena, sir. You are now adept in several important areas and will make a very serviceable lover."

I finished swallowing my drink. "But I—"

"The next act for you to experience is sexual intercourse, and it is my understanding that you should reserve that for a lady whom you cherish, sir."

"But dash it—"

"You will surely remember, sir, how you pointed out at the beginning of our lessons that I am no woman. However, I am certain that your newfound knowledge will see you through satisfactorily."

"But—"

"Sir, I must insist that the matter be dropped," Jeeves said sharply. "If needs must, I will hand over my letter of resignation."

That stopped me in my tracks. It wasn't sporting, if you ask me, to use a threat as drastic as that. Jeeves' resignation is not to be taken lightly. He has only had cause to leave my service once, and we both agreed after the matter was sorted that we preferred it to never happen again. Well, we didn't actually say words to that effect, but it was clear to me. So I sat up in bed, speechless, wanting nothing more than to thresh out this whole bally matter, and biting my tongue instead.

My baby blues must have communicated something of my anguish, for Jeeves added, "I do not wish to resign, sir. Please do not force my hand." And then he took the glass from my nerveless fingers and vanished like he always does.