Mon, February 06 2012
| TITLE: | Of Mice and Men (or The Really Secret Adventures of Jules Verne) |
|---|---|
| AUTHOR: | Ladyaine |
| CATEGORY/TYPE: | Romance |
| RATING/WARNINGS: | NC-17, implied and not-so-implied sexual situations, languageAdult-Het, Adult-Slash |
| MAIN CHARACTERS: | Phileas\Jules, Rebecca\Passepartout |
| DESCRIPTION: | Musical Beds -- something for all ... |
| STATUS: | Complete |
| DISCLAIMERS: | The characters don't belong to me, I'm just having a bit of fun with them (and they with each other) |
| AUTHOR'S NOTE: | I can only attribute this silliness to a fit of temporary insanity, which hopefully will pass so I can get back to some more "serious" writing, but no guarantees. Oh, and just so you know: No mice, goats or Parisian law students were harmed in the making of this story. With that said... |
Sitting in his little Parisian hovel trying to warm his hands over a candle flame, Jules Verne decided that being poor in the middle of winter pretty much sucked. He was always cold, couldn't afford a decent meal, and his favorite café was closed while the owner spent the winter in Nice. Poor Jules was left huddling under his threadbare blanket, drinking watered down wine, and cursing his meager circumstances. Unfortunately, the one person who might have been able to make him happy and warm was far away in London, probably sitting next to a roaring fire that very minute, sipping his expensive brandy and wearing soft, fluffy slippers.
Jules sighed with longing. It had been weeks and weeks since he and Phileas Fogg had shared the pleasure of each other's company and Jules was feeling the strain of separation most acutely. In fact, it had been so long that even Madame Ludek's goats were beginning to look good to him (although he drew the line at Madame Ludek herself).
Jules shook his head, thinking that it was probably a good thing that his garret was so cold after all, and tried to concentrate on his law books.
Just then a bright light glared through his window and he shielded his eyes as a shadowy figure stepped into his room quite unannounced. Jules' heart pounded, wondering if this was a friend or foe. It was really so hard to tell these days.
"Verne?" A familiar voice called.
"Fogg!" Jules cried, leaping to his feet for joy. Finally, his savior had come to rescue him!
Phileas surveyed the room quickly then motioned for Jules to follow him.
"Hurry, Verne, we've no time to lose. The situation is critical."
"Are we going on a mission to save the world again?" Jules asked hopefully.
"It's more serious than that, I'm afraid," Phileas said grimly. "We need a fourth for bridge."
Jules wasn't about to argue if it meant getting somewhere warm, sponging a meal and maybe eventually finding his way into Phileas' bed. Dutifully, he followed his friend up the loading ramp of the Aurora and found Rebecca and Passepartout waiting impatiently in the salon, cards in hand.
"It's about time," Rebecca grumbled.
Phileas leaned over to whisper in Jules' ear. "She's a bit miffed because her last partner unwisely trumped her queen at a crucial moment."
Jules winced. "What did she do to him?"
"She asked him to depart the Aurora immediately."
"That's not so..."
"At three thousand feet."
Jules gulped as Phileas pushed him down in the chair across from Rebecca and they began to play.
Some hours later Jules was officially bored out of his skull. He was the dummy *again* and Rebecca showed no signs whatsoever of wanting to give up the game. Plus, he was becoming increasingly aware of his need to get Phileas into a compromising position as soon as possible and those thoughts were necessarily distracting him.
Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Jules slipped off one of his shoes and began rubbing his foot up and down Phileas' trouser leg in a seductive manner. To his frustration, Phileas didn't seem to notice, or he refused to give any sign that he noticed.
*So he thinks he can just ignore me, does he?* Jules thought with mischievous glee. *I'll show him.*
Quite deliberately he slid his foot further up, over Phileas' knee, along the inside of his thigh, right up to his...
At that moment Passepartout yelped and leaped to his feet, causing Jules to realize his mistake with some chagrin.
Phileas frowned at his valet. "What on earth is the matter with you?"
Passepartout looked seriously discomfited. "I...I am thinking that I see a mouse," he stammered, pulling at his collar and giving Rebecca a sharp, sideways glance, much to Jules' relief. "I must be getting the mousetraps...right away!"
With that he scurried into his workshop/sleeping area and Rebecca threw down her cards in disgust.
"Damn it to hell! I was just about to win the rubber."
"Oh, now *there's* a surprise," Phileas muttered then he quickly faked a yawn when Rebecca eyed him menacingly. "My, it's rather late," he continued. "Time for us all to turn in, wouldn't you say, Rebecca?"
She gave him one last scowl, but then stood up to leave. "Fine. But in the morning I want a rematch."
As soon as she was up the stairs Phileas turned to Jules with a come-hither smile.
"I thought they'd never leave," he murmured. "I've been wanting to get you alone all night."
Jules shivered as Phileas leaned in and kissed him, thrusting his tongue to the back of Jules' throat with a passion that left them both breathless.
*This is more like it*, Jules thought as he reached down to unbutton his trousers. Phileas then slid his hand down the front of said trousers to find the treasure of Jules' manhood impatiently waiting for attention. Phileas growled softly and stroked the treasure with expert care until Jules was nearly cross-eyed.
At that point, however, they both heard movement from the back of the Aurora as Passepartout went about doing something that, presumably, had to do with mice and they had to separate to keep from being discovered.
"I'm sorry, my love, but we'll have to continue this later," Phileas whispered as he nuzzled against Jules' neck. "Come up to my room after the others are asleep."
Jules was not the least bit happy about being left in such a dissatisfied state, but he supposed there was no help for it. He threw himself down on the divan, arms crossed over his chest, and tried to ignore the intense pressure in his groin. What had his father always told him to do at times like this? Oh right. Think about something else.
Jules tried. *Um, fishing...sailing...football (no wait, that hasn't been invented yet)...e=mc2 (what the hell is that??? Goddamn visions again)...*
Finally, after listening to Passepartout clank around for what seemed like hours (what *was* he doing anyway?), all was quiet on board the airship. In the darkness, Jules crept across the salon, stopping only once to vent a few choice expletives when he slammed his knee into a table. Then he felt his way up the stairs, padding along in his stocking feet, until he reached the bedroom of his beloved Phileas. Silently he opened the door and then closed it behind him as he slipped inside. Immediately, he could hear the slow rhythmic breathing of his lover across the room, though he could see nothing in the blackness. It sounded like Phileas was asleep already.
*So, he couldn't even stay awake for me?* Jules thought with some annoyance. *Well, I'll just have to think of an interesting way to wake him up, then, won't I?*
Smiling maliciously, Jules took off his shirt and trousers and approached the bed in his underwear. He leaned over to feel for the blankets and pull them down, but his hands unexpectedly came in contact with large amounts of hair. Not the curly-rough chest hair he was used to finding on Phileas, but *hair*. Long, silky hair.
Jules froze in shock, recognizing his error. Somehow he had wandered into Rebecca's room by mistake!
*Oh, merde.*
Slowly he tried to back up without waking her, but it was too late. Abruptly Rebecca's breathing changed and Jules heard her sit up.
"Who's there?" she asked.
It was times like these that Jules really wished he had actually paid attention in all those law classes. Maybe then he could have come up with a perfectly logical answer. As it was, the most intelligent thing he could think of was,
"Uuuum..."
In the next instant Rebecca was behind him and Jules felt the cold steel of a knife at his throat.
"Rebecca!" he croaked in alarm. "It's me!"
"Jules? What in heaven's name are you doing in here?"
"I...I thought I saw a mouse run into your room. I was going to get rid of it for you."
Rebecca giggled and released him. "Oh my, that really *is* the oldest line in the book." She came around in front of him and he felt her hands slide around his waist. "All right, Jules, I'm willing to play along. Where shall we look for this mouse?"
"I...that is..."
"Don't tell me you're going to be shy now? How adorable." She took his earlobe between her teeth and nipped him playfully. "I know. Why don't we start by exploring my bed?" she suggested in a throaty voice.
The proposition was not unattractive (after all, Rebecca was a hell of a lot better looking than Madame Ludek's goats), but the real object of the young man's desire was waiting next door and Jules was impatient to get to him.
"Uh, I'd really like to, Rebecca, but, I have to go..."
"What?"
"To go... on a call of nature. Yes, that's it. I *really* have to go."
"Oh," she said in a disappointed tone. "But you'll be back, of course." It was not a question.
"Of course," he lied. "You just wait right here."
Freeing himself from Rebecca's rather amorous grip, Jules bent to pick up his discarded clothing and then made a hasty retreat out the door and closed it behind him. He leaned against it for a moment to catch his breath and then smiled as thoughts of Phileas made him giddy with anticipation.
He was just about to make his way down the hall when there were footsteps on the stairs and a moment later Passepartout appeared carrying a candle.
"Mister Jules? I am thinking I hear something. Is everything being good?"
Jules thought fast. "The mouse."
Passepartout frowned. "Mouse?"
"Yes. I saw the mouse go into Rebecca's room. Just now. You'd better go in and get rid of it before Rebecca sees it."
The loyal valet seemed suddenly distressed. "There are real mouses?" He looked frantically down at his feet.
"I think there's only one," Jules told him helpfully. "But you don't want Rebecca to find out or there will be hell to pay."
Passepartout nodded emphatically. "Oh yes, you are being very right. I will go at once."
"Oh, but you'd better put out the candle, Passepartout. I mean, you don't want to scare the mouse away."
"Good thinking, Jules," Passepartout agreed as he blew out the candle. "There, now I am being ready."
Jules clapped him on the back encouragingly. "Good luck, my friend."
As soon as Passepartout had disappeared into Rebecca's room, Jules made a dash for Phileas' doorknob before anything else could stop him. Once inside the cabin - the right cabin this time - Jules found that Phileas was still awake, sitting on his bed methodically oiling his dueling pistols by candlelight.
"What the devil took you so long?" Phileas groused at him.
"Sorry. I got detained. By mice."
His lover arched one eyebrow in warning. "Verne..."
"But I'm here now."
Phileas couldn't argue with that. "So you are." He tossed the pistols aside with a shrug. "Well, are you going to stand there all night or are you going to let me prove that I finish what I start?"
Jules grinned and launched himself at Phileas, who then engaged him in some rather sportive secret adventures that involved all kinds of wrestling, nibbling and sucking-type activities until both were divested of their remaining clothing. Then Jules reclined on his back while Phileas went undercover to search again for that treasure he so longed for and, perhaps, taste of its ambrosial elixir.
Sometime later, after Phileas had successfully relieved Jules of all his pent-up frustrations, an impassioned cry suddenly emanated from the next room.
Phileas came up from under the blankets with a most curious look on his face.
"Did I just hear Rebecca scream your name?" he asked.
Jules purred and stretched languorously. "I wouldn't worry," he said as he turned over on his stomach to allow Phileas some secret adventures of his very own. "It's probably just the mice."
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