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Bertie gaped at himself in the mirror, blue eyes like saucers.
“Jeeves, this is beyond the pale.”
His skin was mottled with love-bites of all shapes and sizes. Absolutely riddled with them.
They ranged in intensity. Some blazed purple and maroon; others were like a faint memory as if caused by a simple brush of lips. Most had been bitten into the skin around his collarbone, yet there were a couple that had skipped up his neck and were tempting fate: they sat almost where his collar would lay, and Bertie wasn’t entirely certain that they wouldn’t be visible.
He turned his head slowly from side to side, and his eyes caught on a very faint mark just below his ear. He gasped. Good lord, would he ever stop discovering them? It was simply never-ending.
Jeeves entered the bathroom, looking the very picture of innocence, all buttoned up in his valeting togs and carrying a pile of towels. Bertie looked at him through the reflection of the mirror, eyebrows raised meaningfully.
“I look like I’ve been in a brawl with a particularly vicious limpet. And lost. Rather badly.” He pressed at the bruise which lay in the hollow of his throat with the tip of a finger, wincing at the slight tenderness.
“Yes, sir.” Jeeves said, “Your skin is much more susceptible to bruising than I had imagined It would be.”
It took Jeeves a moment to deposit the towels on the side of the bath before he shimmered over to stand behind him and leant forwards to link his arms around the trim waist. Meeting Bertie’s open gaze in the mirror, he kissed the back of his nape, lips grazing a love-bite which hadn’t yet been noticed.
Bertie’s gaze proceeded to track down to his hips and thighs, which had been ravaged in a similar way to his neck. He shivered with delight.
“Perhaps my skin doesn’t bruise easily.” He teased with a curled smile, “Perhaps your mouth is just especially wicked! Did you ever think about that, Jeeves? Hmm?”
It gave Bertie a start to see the Jeevesian eyes gleam with remorse, before that noble face became tucked against his neck and his expression was obscured.
“I can be gentler in the future, if you so wish.” His voice was hushed: a clear attempt to disguise the mournful tone he had adopted, seemingly against his will.
Bertie simply could not allow this wallowing to continue. Not when it was entirely uncalled for. He raised one hand to point directly at Jeeves in the mirror, lifting one stern eyebrow.
“Banish that notion from your mind, Jeeves. Expunge it. I like your handiwork very much! In fact, I think I should like you to whatsit our encounters like this regularly! No holding back, I mean to say. You know I enjoy it. It’s just that I was rather surprised by the… vividity of the aftermath. I mean, just look at them, old thing!”
Jeeves lifted his head a little from his hiding spot, moving to rest his chin on the conveniently placed Wooster shoulder. He gazed at Bertie’s blemished skin; eyes tracing every bloom of colour, with cheeks flushed a respectable light pink.
“You look like a painting, sir.”
The words were reverent. Bertie let out an involuntary giggle, his own cheeks flushing to match the deep red of the love-bites.
“Jeeves, that’s ridiculous.” He protested, dimples appearing; his head rolled to the right to knock their foreheads together affectionately, like a cat would do.
“It is not ridiculous. You are beautiful, sir.” Jeeves murmured.
It was but the work of a moment for Bertie to reach his decision. He adopted a devious grin.
“Right! That is it!”
Spinning in his arms, Bertie began to attack Jeeves’ neck, employing all the teeth and eager tongue at his disposal. Jeeves huffed out a shocked laugh, a rare smile gracing his features.
“I am not letting you out of my sight until you are absolutely bitten and bruised!” Bertie promised feverishly, laughing and littering Jeeves’ skin with what romance novels often describe as ‘burning kisses’. It was only fair.