I’ve never seen the sun shine so brightly

I’ve never felt the cold so keenly

Everything is a hyperbole

Whenever I’m with you.

I’ve never heard the raven’s caw

I’ve never heard the crack of straw;

Everything and everyone has a flaw

Except when I’m with you.

You’ve been the heat to help me shine

You’ve been the definition of divine

And nothing will ever be so fine

Now that I’ve lost you.

I’ve never seen the sun shine so brightly

I’ve never felt the cold so keenly

Everything is a hyperbole

Whenever I’m with you.

I’ve never heard the raven’s caw

I’ve never heard the crack of straw;

Everything and everyone has a flaw

Except when I’m with you.

You’ve been the heat to help me shine

You’ve been the definition of divine

And nothing will ever be so fine

Now that I’ve lost you.

Title: Our Hell
Rating: PG-13 for psychosis, and possibly disturbing images.

Sebastian sat stiffly against the cold brick of the café, holding Rory to him as though he were the Last Thing on Earth. Rory’s electrocution had been enough to send his friend sailing into panic, and though there was little question that he would be fine given rest, still Seb held him fast against the cold night air of New York’s early spring. Though he shivered, Sebastian could tell by the touch of his skin that Rory, unconscious and bleary-eyed, was overheated, and would not be bothered by the cold.

Have some time to kill? Read,
1.A brief rant about the mistreatment of Native Americans and a brief overview of my own abundant Cherokee background. In celebration of Columbus Day, don't you know.
2. A brief OMGITZBACK to QI
3.A search for a well-reviewed controversial play by (you know him you love him) Stephen Fry continues
4. A friend mocks Fry and Laurie's relationship
Right! A lot to gush about.
And the best place to gush when you don't use Twitter is...

 

~Pip

Title: Jeeves and the Sweetness of an Enemy
Chapter: 2/5
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves; Stinker/ Stiffy
Summary:  The other night I had a dream in which Stiffy convinced Bertie to house Harold in the guest room for some reason. One day, during a luncheon visit from Stiffy, the engaged couple slipped off to the guest room. Bertie began to hear unusual noises coming from that direction and insisted on investigating, until Jeeves explained everything (in moderate detail, due to Bertie's endless questioning). Later that night, it led to the two of them making their own noises.

Alright I’ve found this nifty thingummy on my lappy that lets me blog… apparently without truly being online. And it has a spell check that’s more efficient than the one on LJ.

All well and good.

But who thinks this shit up?

Along the way looking for how to operate my webcam I found something called “Speech Recognition”, and as the lappy comes already equipped with a microphone, I clicked it.

Oh, my god. People, they have to be stopped.

This “Speech Tutorial” thing allows my lappy… and INANIMATE OBJECT… to obey my VOICE COMMANDS. I say something, and it, (I quote) “Listens”. All I need do is say, loud and clear, “Start listening.” Lo and behold, Speech Command turns on. “Stop Listening” and it’s back to (quoting again) “Sleep”.

Ho-ly-Shit. This is Big Brother- style technology. That’s creepy enough.

My only questions, are:

WHY, OH WHY, OH WHY: CAN MY LAPPY UNDERSTAND AND PROCESS WHAT I SAY, WHEN WE HAVEN’'T FOUND A BLOODY CURE FOR CANCER? WHERE IS THE TECHNOLOGY THIS COUNTRY HAS TO OFFER REALLY GOING?

Collin disapproves.

So, on that note…  I bid all adieu.

~Pip.

Well I suppose an explanation for those who want to know...
 

 Title: Jeeves and the Sweetness of an Enemy
Chapter: 3/5
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves; and Stinker/ Stiffy but who cares about that? :]
Summary:The noises continue. Bertie reads Conan Doyle but remains oblivious and frustrated. Berite and Jeeves have a faceoff. Well not really...
Rating:Erm PG  Wodehouse and 13 because I like that number.
Words:3505 Because it's half of 7010 which, as we all know, means absolutely nothing
Disclaimer: Plot bysunsetsinthewes. All else is mock- Wodehouse.

Thank you for shopping at Wodemart.

Got fired today. Goddamn deli is closing with the recession. Wondering when Obama is going to stop shaking hands and bitching about food campaigns that mention his daughters and DO SOMETHING.
Had to convince the FUCKING GODDAMN JOKE OF AN ELECTRIC COMPANY KNOWN AS LIPA that they had the WRONG GODDAMN APPARTMENT
God damn mouse got out of its god damn exersize ball and made damn good her goddamn escape into the corner of the goddamn room with goddamn boxes and goddamn guitarsfrom my late father.

 Immensely Happy
 

He was perfect; his skin smooth as abraded glass, yet twice as refined, his body crafted into a subtle hourglass shape. His hip bones protruded slightly from the rest of his body, and his legs were svelte and strong from his daily walks and various adventures. His manhood was erect already, and nearly reached his naval, flushed and dark with the familiar glistening bead already visible at its head. He was the epitome of absolute perfection, in my eyes.

He seemed, however, to be thoroughly interested in my own corpus coanscey for reasons I’m sure I could not explain. He recounted a list to me of several positive aspects at the time, but I confess I was still incredibly distracted.

He guided and adjusted me to lie properly on the bed, my head resting on the pillow. He lowered himself onto me, and kissed me deeply as he ran his hands along my chest, his fingers occasionally gliding smoothly over my mammary papilla. His hands were so attenuate and serene, and having him touch me so gently after so many wearisome trials of violent contact was like a breath of open air after years of imprisonment. His toungue, meanwhile, massaged my own with a delightful balance of docility and vigor.

Despite my previous fantasies to be his compete slave being ironically subdued by my desire for mutual equality, I still found myself wanting to be submissive for him, to please him before he pleased me. I conveyed this to him, and although the demeanor of doubt fleeted across his face, I saw his trust in me return in his earnest, calm expression.

“You’ve always known best, Jeeves. Very well.” At my request, he found two random articles, and used them to tether my wrists to the headboard. Somehow, being bound in this moment of intimacy did not seem as depraved or even masochistic by comparison to the previous times I had endured the painful bindings.

“You couldn’t know how long I’ve wanted this, Jeeves.” He whispered into my ear, and bit my neck with sufficient force, and I gasped at what I knew would be a bruise by the morning.

He trailed further down my body, pausing frequently to deliver kisses, licks and even gentle bites to the flushed skin beneath him. I confess at several points the phrases I uttered may have been less-than-gentlemanly and what my dear young master would certainly refer to as ‘not fit for print’.

He made his way down my torso and purposefully ignored my wanting phallus to attend to my legs. He licked at my inner thighs, periodically pinching an area of skin between his teeth and tugging briskly upwards, only to lick and kiss the offended flesh until the pain dissolved into streams of pleasure. By the time he was finished trailing up and down my legs, which he frequently complemented me on through murmurs of delight, I was quaking and quivering under him, in desperate need of release—not just my own release. I wanted to see him—to feel him experience orgasm in a way I had yet to witness. I begged him, begged him to take me completely. I told him the best way to keep me with him was to possess me, not through false slavery, but through the sexual possession I had realized I’d always wanted from him. Ever the eager spirit, he agreed whole-heartedly with the sentiment.

He then procured a bottle of lubricant from his dresser across the room and returned to me by jumping atop me enthusiastically, causing our membra virile to collide. He threw his head back at the pleasure of the impact, and my quivering was renewed to an absolute shake.

He lathered his fingers in the lubricant, and lowered so that his face was aligned with the aperture in need of penetration. Before I could ask what he was doing, he began to tongue the ring of sensitive muscle, which sent me into a spasm of pleasure and shock.

He finished, and began to ease his fingers into me to further stretch my opening to accommodate him. My breath shortened, and I felt my heart race with each added digit. At long last he breathed huskily, “Are you ready, Jeeves?”

“Yes. Please, sir…” I could not finish my sentence for lack of breath.

He placed the tip of his member at my orifice, and slowly sank into me. I ignored the initial discomfort with the knowledge that soon the pleasure would overcome the pain.

And it did. Ardently so.

With each thrust he brought himself closer to the spot that invariably sends men into ecstasy. He moaned passionately to me, and just as he hit the aforementioned euphoria-centre, he told me he loved me. While the implication had always been there, hearing him utter the three words I had always longed to hear in combination with the outmost physical pleasure had an unpredictable impact on me. It gave me cause to throw my head back and, without care for any one else in the building, I shouted his name to the headboard, declared my love as eloquently as I could manage, and begged him to drive harder into me.

He groaned fiercely and I could feel his member pulse inside me as he came nearer his summit. The peak was extraordinary to witness. His face contorted in earnest ecstasy at the height of his orgasm, and he shouted, moaned and growled my name repeatedly. I milked him through it, managing just enough clemency from my binds to gently drive my hips along his length. I repeated that I loved him in between his panting of my name. His seed flooded into me, warm and .

He lowered himself onto me once more, and lay his head on my chest. After a few breathless moments, he kissed the skin under his lips and pulled out of me discreetly.

“That was…” I felt the need to assure him further of my trust in him, “amazing, sir. To say the very least.”

“Couldn’t agree more, love.” He raised his head to mine and brushed our lips together, then pulled me into another heart-stoppingly-thrilling kiss. I hardly cared where that mouth had been, as the mere feeling of my beloved young master overwhelmed me. He held me there for quite some time, and I longed to hold him back, but my restraints would not allow it. My own need was pressed firmly against his thigh, and the contact with his skin filled me with urgency. He seemed to acknowledge my desire just as I began to involuntarily buck against him.

“Hm… let’s see… what have we here?” He teased, and sat back to further examine my member. He lowered his head to it, and ran one of his long, nimble fingers along the corpus spongiosum of my pulsing vertebrae, sending waves of uncontrollable need crashing into every nerve of my body.

In between tantalizing the slit with that delightfully talented muscle, he murmured against my flesh, “Are you happy?”

Of all the times to ask such a question, I could not understand why he should choose now. This was the first night my young master’s action had been completely beyond even my reasoning on the surface.

“I couldn’t be happier.” That is what I wanted to say. That is what should have been said. Would that my mind was not overtaken by this uncontrollable lust, ‘twould have been said.

What I actually said was “Ahhhcauldhapp-AH YES!” as it was at that moment that the young master chose to take oral interest in my lower portions.

He resurfaced, “Pardon me? Couldn’t hear you. I asked you if you were happy.” he said with a whole new tone, and I realized that he knew very well I would not be able to answer. The gleam in his eye was unmistakable—he was giving me what I wanted, at the price of my own frustration. “I want an answer before I bring you off.” He said, taking another bow to take the tip of me back into his mouth.
            “Yaahha-y-Yes!” I finally managed after several strenuous tries, constantly being interrupted by a repetition of the question.

His eyes met mine before his head raised, and the sight of him with half of my member in his mouth looking at me with the most wicked trace in his blue eyes nearly tipped me over the peak I had so desperately wanted, but he withdrew from me. I screamed for him to keep going.

“Not until you tell me how happy you are.” He began rolling my stones in one hand and stroking gently along my hip with the other.

“Please…” I could feel the white heat building in the base of my spine,

“How happy are you!?” He seized my member and began tugging fiercely at me, still rolling with his other hand.

“Immensely!” I ejaculated, in every sense of the word, and he bowed his head once more to suck me through the rest of my orgasm.

                “But, Tuppy! It was all Angela’s idea!” Down one hall. “I promise!” Around a corner. “And Madeline broke the engagement between us!” A shorter hall. “What was I to do?” “I ask you!” “What could I do?” Up the stairs, pausing occasionally to throw pleads to the wind, though all sailed over the receding hairline of his pursuer.  They dashed, prey and predator, in and out of rooms, down passages and out and about the grounds.

It was those newts, Tuppy was sure of it. Too much time shut up with those blasted newts had changed Gussie completely. Oh he’d loved the slimy little creatures as long as Tuppy’d known him, but being shut up for years in that little cabin with the amphibi-whatsits had gone to his brain.  No, this was not the same Fink-Nottle that helped him pass his Latin exams, nor that begged for his manhood the very first day back from summer holiday while they were at Eton. This was a Gussie altered, deformed, deranged; and he had to pay.

Back inside, up the stairs, and finally Gussie’s frantic thought-process kicked in from panic mode to survival mode. He made a beeline for his room, nearly knocking over several maids, two other houseguests (friends of Tom, he’d assumed, stopping by to speak to the man of the house about some dashed piece of silver or another), Seppings, and Jeeves, all individually. Tuppy was, as the phrase goes, in “hot pursuit”, however. Being slightly larger than Gussie, he really did knock over several maids, two other houseguests, and Seppings. He did not knock over Jeeves, partly because nobody could knock over Jeeves, but also because Jeeves was no longer in his way to knock over. Jeeves had guided Mr. Fink-Nottle discreetly into his own employer’s room.

                “If you’ll just remain here, Mr. Fink-Nottle, I’m sure Mr. Wooster would not be averse to aiding your predicament.”

“Oh, thank you, Jeeves.”

Footsteps.

“Mr. Fink-Nottle perhaps you could...”

“Already there, Jeeves.” Gussie whispered from where he hid under the bed.

“Very good, sir.” Jeeves busied himself fidgeting with some knickknack or another as his master entered the bedroom.

“Jeeves...”

Oh, thank god, it was only Bertie. Still, Jeeves hadn’t signalled him to come up. Yes, yes, best to follow Jeeves’ lead. Bertie always spoke so highly of him and his fish-fed brain.

They talked for a time about seemingly inconsequential things. ‘Good lord! Did they just... what did he just say?’ Gussie thought he heard Bertie say... well, who’d have thought Jeeves was interested in men?

Who’d have thought Jeeves was interested in anybody?

The man in question silenced Bertie before he could expand upon the proposition.

“Jeeves, what... Oh very well. I just wanted to get my mind off of all this bally nonsense at Brinkley. Jeeves, do you know what’s happened? Gussie went and got himself engaged to my cousin Angela!”

“Gentlemen who are discarded by one young lady are apt to attach themselves without delay to another, sir. It is what is known as a ‘gesture’. My Uncle George...”

Gussie stopped listening, no more interested in Bertie’s whinging than he was Jeeves’ Uncle George.

“Mr. Fink-Nottle, sir?” Jeeves called for him to reappear, and stirred him from his reverie, where he was thinking of an alternative escape route. He peeped his horn-rimmed spectacles out from under the bed.

“Gussie?!”

“Is the door locked?”

“Yes, sir...

Gussie was about to heave the breath he just realized he’d been holding, when there was a knock at the door, followed by his pursuer’s voice harshly intimating a strong desire to enter the room.

Gussie slid out from under the bed like a newt from under his pond-rock, and popped back up to a standing position on the other side of the room, promptly squeaking and squawking for assistance from the gentleman and gentleman’s gentleman in the bedroom. He flailed about the room, desperate for an exit. Jeeves appeared behind him, opening a wardrobe door. Gussie slipped into his new hiding spot with another squeak of gratitude. Just then Bertie opened the door for Tuppy, who marched in like an angry, plump man marching into a room.

                Hildebrand Glossop began his search in aggressive earnest. Perhaps, Gussie thought, he’d have a chance. After all, Bertie and Jeeves wouldn’t let Tuppy come too close to him. Perhaps he was finally free.

                Perhaps even Bertie and Jeeves hadn’t been aware of the faulty door hinge on the barrier between Gussie and Tuppy.

                The door’s squeak sealed Gussie’s fate, as he was exposed once more to the light of the bedroom. More importantly, however, he was exposed to Tuppy.

The larger man growled as he neared his prey, slowly, and then sprang at the same moment Gussie decided to try his hand at defying gravity. They stumbled over the bed and out the door before Bertie could shout a “Now, look here!”

                Gussie bolted, reverting to his old plan of getting back to his room. Yes, if he could just get in there, he could tie the sheets together and lower himself out of Brinkley Court just like he’d read in the mystery novels when he was a child. Almost there, he thought.

“You snake in the grass!” Closer, closer.

“You rotten little—” Yes, he was in. He was safe now.

He propped himself tight against the door, and finally heaved a sigh of relief.

“Fink Nottle!” Tuppy shouted from the hallway. His patience was wearing thin, his blood boiling to a temperature unlike nearly anything he’d felt before. No, this task would require the Glossop cunning.

He had to leave the door if he was going to tie the sheets, Gussie thought as the double-lock clicked into place. Perhaps the locks would be enough. Perhaps, if his lucky stars had anything to do with it, Glossop would wait for him outside his room, only for him to never return.

                But then... what about Angela?

                What about Madeline? Gussie went slack against the door.

                No... Blast all women. Blast them right to...

                Tuppy’s third heave sent him soaring—or, rather, falling—into his victim’s bedchamber, and the door came down on Gussie with a smack.

                While Gussie could only whimper in pain, the one thing he did manage to realize was that Tuppy was somehow now situated on top of him, straddling his hips as he would a Dapple Grey. His hands, however, were pressed rather tightly against his throat, as he would a bucking stallion Dapple Grey.

                He looked in the eyes of his assailant, and for a moment, Hildebrand Glossop stopped strangling the man he thought he hated.

                Angela’s voice rang from behind them, “I’m not going to ask what you’re doing, Glossop... only that you not consume my fiancé, and you repair that door immediately. Mummy will be most distressed. She’ll probably throw you out of the house. Then again, perhaps you could just leave it. Really wreck it, in fact. Leave the splinters. Seppings will clean them up once he’s shown you out.”

                “A-Angela!”

                “Yes, Gussie dearest?”     

                “He’s trying to kill me!”

                He tried to make eye contact now with his fiancée, but her blue eyes were cold and icy, and lacked any sympathy.

                “Well, fight for your honour, man! Fight for me! His weight is mostly fat, anyhow. You’ve got more muscle.”  

                “But Angela! I’ve got no muscle!” Angela turned and started to walk down the hall, but turned her head sharply back to call out the best encouragement she could offer her pathetic excuse of a champion.

                “If you won’t do it for your honour...”

                “What honour?”

                “And you won’t do it for me...”

                “But so is Tuppy!”

                “Do it for those blasted newts of yours. Turn Glossop into a jelly, or I’ll pull the plug on their bathtub. Good luck, darling.”

                “Ang- Ow!” Angela had disappeared around the corner, and Tuppy stood on his feet with sufficient struggle, stepping on Gussie’s hand in the process.

                “Right, Fink-Nottle. You’re going to help me repair this door, out of respect for Angela and the lady of the house.”     

                “But, I-”  

                “DO IT.”

                “Right!” Gussie sprang to his feet. Then his cunning mind kicked back in.

                “I say, Tuppy... Perhaps it would fix better if you were on the other side.”               

                “Don’t even try it, Fink-Nottle.”         

                “Alright... it was worth a shot...” They positioned the door back in the cavity and twisted the screws back into their places on the hinges. It only took a matter of ten minutes, but it seemed to calm Tuppy down enough to focus on the door rather than his friend’s traitorous behaviour. His blood was no longer pumping in his ears, and he felt the red heat leave his collar. The locks, too, were set back into place, and the two men tried opening and closing a few times.

                Tuppy caught Gussie’s eye once more, his memory playing in front of him: a time at Eton when he didn’t concern himself with women. He’d known Angela well enough to call her a friend then, since he knew Bertie and he’d spent time at Brinkley in the summers, but she was different then. Pretty enough girl, surely. But there wasn’t the same spark as when he saw her as a woman.

                No, those were the days when any and every need a boy had could be satisfied with the aid of their own palm, or sometimes, with other boys.

                Bertie, Bingo and Gussie where the favourites in their house, as he remembered; Bertie because he was good-looking, Bingo because he was easy, and Gussie because of his shy enthusiasm. There was something highly attractive about innocence in the bedroom. Something about it that stirred the protective, masculine instinct in the boys of the dorm, and Tuppy was no exception. In fact, came the time when Gussie was Tuppy’s particular favourite, and vice versa.

                Gussie had admired that Tuppy was... more of a man, or boy. As a younger man, Gussie was fonder of the boys with a little extra to offer, and Tuppy, although certainly not the biggest boy in their house, was the best endowed of the heavier set boys. His manhood was not disproportioned to his stomach, that is. And that was just when they were sixteen... imagine, now that they were twenty-six...

                Their thoughts trailed off simultaneously and their vision blurred so that although they stood behind the locked door staring at one another, they saw nothing but the happy childhood they left behind. For what? To be tied down to a temporarily beautiful profile for the rest of their lives? To grow old with some beazel that hated them after the first decade of marriage?

                Bertie was lucky to have Jeeves, Gussie thought. Someone who, it seemed, cared a great deal about him. Someone he had a relationship with, but whom he’d never have to marry. Someone to live with, sleep with, and love without all the drawbacks that woman seemed to collectively have.  

                But a lifestyle like Bertie’s had too many risks. There was certainly something suspicious about a man who turned down all possibly fiancées to carry out a comfortable “bachelor” life with his valet. Surely the day would come where he would be caught with something, convicted of something, and charged with something. No, marrying off would be best in the long run.

                But what if... just this once...

                “Gussie,” he was stirred from another contemplation, one that had not only clouded his thoughts, but that also hoarded the attention of certain unmentionable parts of his body. Between the swell of his manhood and the severe and familiar heat he felt pressing on the inside of his face, he was sure none of the blood was making its way to his brain. Rendered speechless, he simply gaped at his friend and the object of his daydream.

                Tuppy, too, was reminded of reality only by the sharp sting to his groin that meant he’d thought far longer than was gentlemanly on the subject of Gussie’s arse. His fingers still seemed to remember that warm gentle curve from all those years ago. Maybe, just maybe...

                “Gussie,” he repeated. He wasn’t sure how or why he’d said the name in the first place, but now he had incentive. If he could just set his trap, Gussie would come. Oh, would he come.

                “You know, what you did... going and getting engaged to Angela... that just wasn’t cricket, Gussie. It’s not the done thing.”

                “But, Tuppy, Angela-” Oh no, was he going to go back to chasing him like a wolf would a rabbit.

                Yes, that was it. Now it could be turned around on him: he had Fink-Nottle now. “Gussie, women have no morals! Especially Angela. She’d do anything to spite me. She doesn’t understand that I love her more than she could know! In fact, plain and simple, she doesn’t understand anything! She’s almost as thick as her cousins! Look at Claude, Eustace... look at Bertie, for Heaven’s sake! Between all of them they haven’t a modicum of propriety or discretion or sense of real moral value. When I marry her—and I will be the one marrying her—I’ll make her a proper, honest woman. But first...” Here he snatched at Gussie’s lapels, pulling him close. “I’m going to make you an honest man.” He forced his mouth to the smaller man’s labials as he would one of Anatole’s steak-and-kidney pies. But unlike one of Anatole’s steak-and-kidney pies, Gussie was still intact four seconds later.

                But by the fifth second the noted newt-fancier had turned into an absolute jelly: his legs wobbled and abandoned their solidarity. Years of celibacy, locked up in a Lincolnshire cabin with Salamandridae had left Gussie overly-sensitive. And, while he might not have been as good a kisser as the ginger prefect he’d once known at Eton, Tuppy certainly was certainly a unique experience.

                “Do you mean...”

                “Yes, Gussie...” Gussie wondered inconsequentially where his jacket had gotten to, while Tuppy focused intently on the collar of his companion, and more specifically, its removal.

                “Like at school, when you...”

                “Yes, Gussie...” The larger man exposed more flesh with each undone button of the white shirt, and began nibbling intently against Gussie’s thin, pale neck. The nibbling, delightful as it may have been, did not last long. Gussie was just beginning to undo Tuppy’s jacket when he was grabbed by the sides and half-thrown, half-carried across the room to the bed. Once there, Tuppy reinforced his authority over the other man by ripping off the remainder of his clothes as Gussie sat beneath him, trying in vain to repeat the gesture being performed on him.

                Finally Tuppy had Gussie in the altogether, still squirming frantically beneath him. Gussie, meanwhile, pulled at the buttons of Tuppy’s trousers, and Tuppy disrobed with haste. He stared hungrily at the lighter man, his eyes moving from the dark curls above his brow, to the faintly defined chest, the trim waistline and finally the curve of his hips, between which lay the beading evidence of his arousal.

                It was the work of a moment for Gussie to gently push Tuppy on his back and place the twitching arousal at his soft, pursed lips. He bowed his head and took the head of Tuppy’s cock into his mouth. With each dip lower he took in more of the sensitive appendage, and with each dip lower he earned a louder moan of appreciation. Occasionally Tuppy would murmur an instruction or encouragement, but for the most part he was reduced to low groans and hisses.

                For once, Tuppy’s mind shot ahead of his body, and he stopped Gussie’s bobbing with sufficient effort.

                “Tup-” Before Gussie could utter another sound, he was manoeuvred to lay back on the bad

Tuppy positioned himself in much the same way he had when they were boys. Gussie spread his long lanky legs eagerly, and Tuppy situated himself between them, gently aligning his and Gussie’s members.

Gussie gasped at the rush of pleasure he experienced as Tuppy’s lips met the small patch of pink, now hardened flesh situated conveniently on his chest. His gasp turned into a breathy moan as Tuppy continued his exertions with the addition of friction between their members. One of Tuppy’s hands passed their abrading membrane and grasped at Gussie’s stones, earning a higher, more playful squeal, which trailed into another soft moan as he rolled them. He lifted his head to kiss Gussie once more, biting the moist lower lip for good measure when he was finished.

Gussie writhed under the other man, his arms wrapped tight around the soft, broad back that spread across him. He nipped at Tuppy’s earlobe, and the latter uttered an “Oh, God,” into his neck. They moved in their established rhythm, revelling in the heat and tension building between them.

Gussie reached for the pillow above his head, only successfully grasping it at his fourth try. He pulled it down closer to him, and gripped it tightly in his clenched fist. Tuppy’s spare hand wrapped tightly around Gussie’s wrist, the other hand still alternating between stroking their rocking members and rolling Gussie’s stones in his palm. He wanted Gussie to orgasm first, and tried his best to stave off his own need by focusing on inducing Gussie’s release.

It was not a difficult task.

His fist twisted the corner of the pillow he held as he violently came, his screams rendered into a murmur by Tuppy’s forceful kiss. Tuppy was brought off, too, after a few more strokes against the sticky heat between them. Their releases covered them both, and they lay panting and groaning lightly in post-coital almost-bliss. Tuppy rolled over on his back after kissing Gussie one final time, and they entered their petit morts.

Gussie sighed from his place perched on the roof. Perhaps if Tuppy hadn’t been quite so smitten with Angela, he could forgive an old school friend. He’d always been a fathead, but his violence and aggression had only gotten worse since he’d latched himself to the Travers beazel. She changed him, no doubt about that. There was a time when his fantasy might have come true; when he might have made it into his room safely, or he might have seduced Tuppy and gotten away without a broken bone. Now, however, all he could do was wait for Mrs. Travers or Bertie or Angela to come along and rescue him. His pursuer shook his fist once more and shouted something about snakes and traitors and Fink-Nottles, but Gussie continued his musings, wondering once more what Jeeves and Bertie really were all about, and trying very hard not to panic.

Some have eyes that flicker like Christmas lights
Others stay in the compassionless dark
Some eyes, I see, burn till your soul is bright
Others can try but will only draw sparks.
But I, your admirer, have round eyes
Forever fixed in a forsaken gaze
Forever unable to say good-byes,
Forever trapped in your brainwashing blaze.
Forever fixed on a flaming fervor
Forever watching its spell casting glow
Forever to remain an observer
Forever watching others come and go.
Wicker man never will snuff his fire
And your wax feeds my endless desire.

1. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2. The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4. Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6. The Bible
7. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8. Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9. His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11. Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12. Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14. Complete Works of Shakespeare
15. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16. The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18. Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19. The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20. Middlemarch - George Eliot
21. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22. The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25. The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky28. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33. Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34. Emma - Jane Austen
35. Persuasion - Jane Austen
36. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38. Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40. Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41. Animal Farm - George Orwell
42. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46. Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50. Atonement - Ian McEwan
51. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52. Dune - Frank Herbert
53. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66. On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68. Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
69. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72. Dracula - Bram Stoker 
73. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75. Ulysses - James Joyce
76. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78. Germinal - Emile Zola
79. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80. Possession - AS Byatt
81. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87. Charlotte's Web - EB White
88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Alborn
89. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92. The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94. Watership Down - Richard Adams
95. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98. Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100. Les Miserables- Victor Hugo