Log in

No account? Create an account
Psmith and Eve

September 2014

Powered by LiveJournal.com
Keep Calm & Ring For Jeeves

laughinggas13 in psmith_fans

Continuation of Locked Drawers

 What-ho, Cosy Moments!

lawnnun  has written a rather wonderful smutty continuation to my fic Locked Drawers that you might be interested in. (NC17. Also, not necessary to have read Locked Drawers beforehand.)

“So, Psmith. You love me?” Mike was sitting in an armchair; Psmith perched elegantly on its arm.

With a quiet groan, he buried his face in Mike’s neck and murmured, “Please don’t make me say it again.”

“But I like hearing you say it.”

“Very well. I love, nay, I adore you, Comrade Jackson. Would you like me to recite poetry for you? I do a passable line in Catullus.”

“Oh do hush now,” said Mike, wrapping his arms around Psmith’s body and pulling him onto his lap. With a contented sigh, Psmith let his head rest on Mike’s chest. This business of being in love was an exhausting one, and he was glad to curl up in Mike’s strong arms and rest for a moment. “…I--” Mike swallowed, determined not to let speech flee him utterly until he had gotten the most important thing across. “--I love you too, you know.” He coughed. “I mean, I suppose it goes without saying, but I should. Say it, that is.”

Psmith beamed. “Comrade Jackson, your declaration has all the simple directness and humility that drew me towards you as a moth to a flame from the very beginning of our acquaintance.” Mike blushed and buried his face in Psmith’s hair, which smelled nicely and not overpoweringly of the pomade he always used. When one languid hand trailed down the front of his shirt, catching at the buttons without undoing them, he shivered, and pressed forward automatically. Mike wasn’t averse to a fight, and no one could call him weak, but he had been truly shocked to find out lightly he liked to be touched. He hadn’t thought it was anything odd by himself, but having a point of comparison made him realize that he was, as Brady had put it ‘most awfully sensitive’. When Psmith’s hand slid between the buttons of his shirt and stroked him lightly, he couldn’t help a soft, puffing exhalation of pleasure. Psmith tended to serve as an audience for the great pageant of Life, and this translated into the softest hands Mike had ever felt on anyone not of the female persuasion. Psmith hummed contentedly and started unbuttoning the shirt.


“Hush.” He put a finger to Mike’s lips, and Mike sighed, sucking it into his mouth and making Psmith stop and whimper nearly inaudibly. “C-comrade Jackson, we will never get anywhere if you insist upon distracting me.” Mike smiled with his eyes only, as his mouth was otherwise engaged, but he made his point. “God, you are beautiful.” Psmith whispered, with that strange seriousness that overcame him sometimes despite his best efforts. “I can’t compare you to any member of the Greek pantheon, though you are tanned and lithe and powerful and perfect. Do you know why that is, Comrade Jackson?” He pulled his finger from Mike’s mouth and reached into his open shirt, rubbing the slick digit in gentle circles on one nipple.

Mike panted and wriggled, blushing a dark red. “Why?” Psmith pinched lightly and he whimpered, biting his lip.

“Because you are too good. You have none of the selfishness and spleen of the childish gods of Greece.” He undid the last few buttons of Mike’s shirt and untucked it from his trousers, bringing his other hand to Mike’s chest to work on both sides at once.

“Oh.” He whispered, his head tipping back. Psmith suspected that he was no longer listening, but decided not to press the issue, opting instead to lower his head to lick one hard little nub. He heard and felt Mike suck in a deep breath like someone rescued from drowning, and slid one hand down his belly to rest at his waistband.

“Besides which, you’re out of proportion with all of them but Priapus.”

“…Smith.” He croaked, “I don’t suppose you could—“

“Oh, Comrade Jackson.” He kissed him softly, his mouth curled into a wicked and loving smile. Mike had never noticed the exact petal pink color of his lips before, and was wondering just how he had managed such a thing. “Your plea brings a tear to my eye, but I must deny you.” He began to unbutton Mike’s fly. “It will not do to simply bring you off with my hand, delightful as the activity would surely be.”

“Oh.” He stared down at Psmith as he slid to kneel on the floor in front of him. “You’re—oh!” And after that he was quiet, staring breathlessly down as his friend deftly freed him from his pants and swallowed him with the same easy grace with which did everything else, sliding perfectly pink lips down until he could nuzzle Mike’s belly, which he did, purring softly. The only thing Psmith disliked about this was that he could not tell Mike how perfectly delicious he was, how hot and wet and fragile, stretching his mouth enough that he knew he would ache and burn. And Mike, for all his many wonderful qualities and great abilities, was not really a man of words. He was mostly down to inarticulate vowel sounds, little whimpering noises, and harsh breathing, which Psmith chose to take as a compliment to his prowess. He hummed with pleasure, and Mike bucked under him. So he did it again, and when Mike reached down to gently but firmly pull him off, he obeyed only with great reluctance.

“I must admit to being quite surprised at you, Comrade Jackson.” He was panting slightly, licking his lips. “Psmith is baffled. Stumped, even, as our American cousins say.” His eyes were as bright as a bird’s, and he trembled, nuzzling Mike’s palm like a friendly cat.

Mike shook his head. “Need to do something for you.” His voice had dropped to a warm, husky purr, and as usual when he felt strongly about something, it was hard to find words. What did come easily was to slip his feet out of his pants and trousers, stand, and gently herd Psmith onto the bed, flinging aside the covers and pressing him down onto his back. For once, the creases of his trousers did not concern him in the slightest as he stared up at Mike, looking uncharacteristically helpless. He mewled when Mike lightly touched his lips, and shuddered all over as he began to carefully unbutton his shirt. “Look here.” Mike managed to growl, untucking the shirt from Psmith’s trousers. “Are you putting me on?” He didn’t mean to sound accusing, but it was hard to believe the reaction he was inspiring in someone so collected.

“I can assure you,” Psmith breathed, sliding his hands up Mike’s arms to cling to his shoulders. “I am nothing if not genuine with you.” He whimpered and raised his hips to help Mike get his trousers off. He was straining against the front of his pants, which were by now faintly stained. Mike swallowed and pulled them off as well, stroking Psmith and shivering at the way he turned his head to bite the pillow, a strained, high-pitched sound barely escaping him. “Please…” He reached for Mike, pulling him down and holding him tightly, long legs hugging his hips. He moaned softly as Mike reflexively rocked against him, so he did it again, staring intently down into his eyes. It was a silly sort of impulse, but he didn’t want to miss anything. Every tiny, muffled sound, every flicker of expression in those wide grey eyes was precious to him as Psmith surrendered, graciously and completely, hanging onto Mike like a clinging vine and letting him stare all he liked. When Mike pressed two clumsy, tender fingers to his lips, he took them in with a soft moan. He kept his mouth wrapped tightly around them to muffle a cry as he shuddered and jerked a few minutes later, making Mike’s belly and his other hand sticky. His climax was enough to end things for Mike as well, who abruptly realized how close he was and just had time to bite Psmith’s shoulder to hold back a shout, holding him more tightly than he meant to, crushing his lithe frame against his chest. He growled softly as the shaking passed, and fell to slowly licking the mark he had left before he really knew what he was doing. “…Oh.” Psmith whispered, shuddering. For once, he didn’t seem capable of much more.

“Beautiful.” Mike growled, as if daring him to make any reply. He didn’t, still apparently unable or at least deeply unwilling to move. What he seemed to want to do more than anything was to smother himself in the side of Mike’s neck, which he did, clinging to his friend as though afraid of being blown away. “Smith?” Mike asked after a long moment, beginning to worry.

“Yes, Comrade?” He whispered.

“Are you all right?”

“Much better than all right, dearest.”


“As usual, Comrade Jackson, you have cut to the heart of the matter with a single word.”

“We’ll have to clean this up, you know.”

“An unpleasant task to postpone, Comrade.” He kissed the soft skin under Mike’s jaw, and gloried in the little purring noise he made.

“Good point.”

“Like most of mine, I hope. For the moment I propose a nap.” As he so often did, Mike let Psmith lead the way, dragging a the blankets over both of them as his friend nestled down comfortably and went to sleep at once. Mike smiled, and kissed his forehead, closing his eyes and drifting into a dream of bright sun and endless grass. He woke about an hour later to an immaculate Psmith, sitting beside the bed, reading. “Ah, Comrade Jackson, I am very obliged to you for regaining consciousness on your own.”

Mike made an incoherent noise and rubbed hand across his face. “We’ve got to do something about this bedding.”

“Well, if you’d get out of it, I could perhaps spill something on it, justifying a trip to the laundry.” One pot of tea later, everything was in order. Or wretchedly out of it, depending upon the eye of the beholder. Mike was of the former camp, and proved it by kissing his partner in crime breathless.


Lovely and hot, just like all your writing. Though I enjoy Psmith's long speeches, it's fun to see him reduced to whimpers and groans.

Good show, old egg.
That may have been the most fun part about this. XD
Oh, I adored this! You make such lovely smuttery as a rule, but this was particularly sweet, as well. Delicious. The word goes 'round the comms, Lawnnun has done it again!


EDIT: A trifling spelling issue

Edited at 2011-03-04 06:34 pm (UTC)

lulz i didn't even know this was up

I am a firm believer in good porn being like a good cinnamon bun: extremely hot, sweet, and sticky. XD
As a matter of fact, I do not know that, especially since this has been my first sustained effort at pslash, let alone psmut. Thank you! :D
Rrraarr, hotness! Very nice. ;D
It's so rare we get Psmith Pslash! Thank you so much, this was lovely!
There is not nearly enough psmut in the world. I can understand it, not only are we a small fandom, but it's a bitch to write until you really find the swing of it. XD

And you are very welcome, of course.
Awesome story!
Hooray! I love finding a new Psmith story. Very hot and rather brilliant (much like Psmith himself).
We aim to please. I really want to read Leave it to Psmith so I can write bisexual fourways. Every fandom needs more bisexual fourways.
You haven't read it yet? *gasp!*

Would you like me to try and procure a copy for you?