Bertie Gets a Clue - Yuletide fic
Jan. 6th, 2007 01:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
small_henTitle: Bertie Gets a Clue
Fandom/Pairing: Jeeves and Wooster, J/W
Word Count: 5,395
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Bertie awakens on Christmas morning and finds himself short one valet.
A/N: Written for Yuletide Exchange. As always, enormous thanks to my wonderful beta![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
skyblue_reverie, who knows Bertie and Jeeves forwards and backwards. I consider myself quite lucky to be allowed her insight into these characters.
Bertie Gets a Clue
One positively artic Christmas morning, I awoke to find shimmering icicles hanging out my window like stalactites, and also found myself short one valet. Dashed rummy, this, as I had, over the past year, grown quite accustomed to waking engulfed in Jeeves’s tender embrace. Of course, I was also accustomed to fall back into several more hours of the dreamless once Jeeves’s t.e. vacated the bedroom for the morning, but that was beside the point. Said point was that Jeeves and his t.e. were noticeably absent.
“Jeeves!” I called across the flat. No response. Well if this didn’t just take the giddy biscuit! Imagine a chap leaving his one true love alone on Christmas morning – it was the stuff that tragic novels were made of. Well, save for the fact that, instead of a brooding hero abandoning his lady, my b. hero had abandoned his chap. More interesting to my mind, thought it’s unlikely that my version would sell as well to the population en mass.
Feeling decidedly dejected, I made my way out of bed and into the sitting room, still bundled up in the duvet (and doesn’t Jeeves just hate it when I drag it off of the bed – serves him right, says I.) I had just taken a seat on the sofa, well prepared for some serious moping, when I noticed a small scrap of paper stuck to a branch of the tree that Jeeves and I had set up in the corner.
My curiosity had been strummed. Climbing out of my cosy cocoon, I went and plucked the note from the prickly branch. It read:
Good morning, sir. Perhaps you have noticed my absence. If you wish to find me, follow this note and discover a parcel, and an additional clue, in the location where we first expressed our feelings for one another.
“Jeeves,” I called. “Are you hiding somewhere in the flat? Just what is this note business about?” Again, no response. In that case, what was there left to do but follow the note? The place where we first expressed our feelings…well, that had to be the piano, then. A sort of warm flutter fluttered in my belly at the joyous memory; I had been at the keys for an extended period of time that day, practicing a corking romantic song – not one of the slow, sappy songs favored by Madeline Bassett and her type, but an r.s. with a bit of bounce in the melody. I was already suspicious of my feelings in re: Jeeves by then, and thoughts of him flitted through my mind as I sang on the topic of eternal love.
“Come here, Jeeves,” I said. “I want you to hear this. It sounds somehow…off to me.”
“Very good, sir,” Jeeves said in that way that he does, and he floated over to keep me company at the piano bench.
I began to play, and then sing along. Only, I realized after a few moments that I was no longer watching the keys, but instead was watching Jeeves. And I found that he wasn’t watching the keys either. In his eyes was the most intense glint I had ever seen, and I felt a blush creep out of the old collar. By some marvellous bit of luck, I kept my hands steady and continued to play.
“And by now I know that if ever you were to go, there would be nothing left for…” I trailed off. My fingers struck a sour note, which was understandable, as they felt more like sausages than digits by this point.
As Jeeves continued to plunder my soul with his eyes, I shifted over on the bench, growing hot. He took it as an invitation to sit. “If I might make a suggestion, sir,” he said, in a voice that could only be described as “throaty”. “If you were to strike this particular chord a half beat later and…” he said more, I’m sure, but hanged if I heard what, because at that exact moment, he covered my right hand with his own strong h. I melted; a puddle of Bertram now sat on the piano bench.
All the while Jeeves was arranging my hands against the ebonies and ivories, my stomach began to twist like it was caught in a whatsit. You see, a notion had, at that very moment, sparked in my grey matter. An impossible notion. I was terrified by it – I’m certain I’ve never been so bally terrified by an idea in all my life, and my first inclination was to leap to my feet and dash out of the room as if a tiger were at my heels. I would have too, except…it was quite an enticing notion as well (if enticing is the word I mean. Some kind of –icing, anyhow.) One of Jeeves’s poetic quotations struck me - something about "the sad words of tongue and pen,” I think. I wasn’t altogether certain. I knew it was said by some cove with the unfortunate middle moniker of Greenleaf. Anyway, the point of the quote was that if you want something, you’d better shoot for it, or you’ll be stuck for your remaining years wondering if you could have done it.
So I kissed Jeeves.
Just a small smooch on his cheek, but the intent was clear as crystal. He let go of my hand and I cringed. Oh, what catastrophe had I set in motion this time? I should have known better than to trust in my feeble brain.
Somehow, I forced myself to meet his eyes – never before had I seen such pure shock on his chiselled features. “I-I-I’m sorry, Jeeves,” I stuttered. “I, ah, I should have… er, that is, I shouldn’t have-”
I never did settle on how to apologize. That was as far as I got before he kissed me back.
That was 10 months ago, and Jeeves and I have been like Damon and Pythias ever since (who, as it turns out, were not just very dear friends, as my professors had taught me in school). That is, we’ve been practically inseparable. Until this morning, of course. “Very well, Jeeves,” I called. “To the piano I go.”
Well, if there were any notes or parcels attached to my piano, I couldn’t see them. It looked just the same as always; impeccably dusted, lid closed, bench tucked in. Rather out of options, I lifted the lid and took a gander at the strings. Nothing hiding for me there. Unless Jeeves was referencing a different set of feeling altogether, I was, frankly, stumped. “Jeeves!” I hollered once more, “I think I need another clue, what?” I may as well have been talking to myself (and perhaps I was – for all I knew, Jeeves wasn’t even in the flat). Like Napoleon at Waterloo, I knew defeat when I saw it. Irritated with the whole note scheme, I took a seat on the piano bench.
And then, in the very back of the Wooster noodle, a spark flew. The bench!
Feeling not unlike the proverbial ass, I soon found myself flat on my back, sliding my noggin between the two wooden legs of the bench, staring up at pinewood and a small red package that was hanging upside down by a strip of tape.
“Ah-HA!” I ah-ha-ed, snatching the gift and attached note, and sliding my head out from under the piano bench (although, not before taking a moment to marvel at the fact that the underside of my piano bench was just as spotless and dust free as the top. I really should take the time to thank Jeeves more often). Rather into the spirit of the thing by now, I tore into the note:
DO NOT OPEN YOUR GIFT AT THIS TIME!
Disappointed, I continued:
Your boldness that day set in motion a partnership that has brought me more joy, more ecstasy, and more peace than I ever could have dared wish. Each day I am thankful that you bravely proceeded where I feared to tread. If you wish to progress to the following hint, along with a suggestion on how we could pass the morning, you will find it in the place where we first made love.
A blush ran from my head to my toes. Jeeves meant our bedroom, of course… more specifically, our bed. Er, well seeing as how no one but Jeeves will be allowed to read this, no harm in bunging down the incriminating (and dashed personal) details of that particular evening – the same evening, it just so happens, as our first kiss. Actually… about three minutes afterward. Give or take.
There was one truth that I very certainly learned that evening – on the subject of kissing, as on all subjects, Jeeves does not perform by halves. Monuments could be erected to that kiss; in the little picture-house of my mind, I can still recall every second that his tongue danced against mine, and the way my knees went all wobbly when he slid it along my lower lip, and the way his hands… his hands! There is no describing Jeeves’s hands when they journey ‘round the frame, grasping and caressing...
Er… but back to the story. Somehow, while keeping my mouth hostage with his own, Jeeves managed to steer us from the piano bench into my bedroom, while simultaneously discarding his vest – the man works miracles, I’d swear it under oath. Once there, he finally came up for air and was reaching for my shirt buttons when he suddenly stopped and pulled back.
“Sir,” he breathed – we were both fairly worked up and breathy at this point, you understand, “is this moving too quickly for your liking?”
Too quickly? I was flabbergasted. Didn’t he realize how much lost opportunity we had to make up for? Travelling backwards in time would have been too slow for me now. “Carry on, Jeeves,” I said, my shaking fingers grasping the button at his collar, but failing to undo it.
He undid the button, along with all the rest and my own, and before I knew it, we were collapsing onto the bed, cool air against the skin of our upper selves. “I say, Jeeves,” I said, before I was cut off by a dashed talented pair of lips. Then there was a good deal of moaning and groaning of the frenzied variety, and plenty of caressing and touching in general, all of it delivering sensations that were positively corking.
“I say, Jeeves, you are a gorgeous specimen,” I said, as Jeeves left the mouth for areas south. “Has anyone ever offered to sculpt your likeness and place it in a museum full of other gorgeous specimens from history?”
“No, sir,” he said, and then his mouth descended on my right nipple, and I gave a shout that likely startled someone making breakfast in Hawaii.
“You should hear it daily,” I groaned, arching my back against that mouth, that perfect mouth.
“Good of you to say, sir,” he said between kisses as he continued further south, toward my belly button. Not seconds later, he was undoing the clasp of my trousers, as well as his own, and soon we were naked before one another.
Jeeves retreated for a moment to take a gander at the Wooster frame in full view, and I found myself growing rather flustered under the scrutiny. In other words, I was squirming. Jeeves didn’t seem to mind too much, though. “Beautiful,” he murmured, - yes, murmured is definitely the word for it, “you are beautiful.” I flushed all over again, but before I had a chance to deny this ridiculous claim, he was upon me again.
Have I taken adequate time to describe the wonder of Jeeves’s lips? I’m certain the answer is no, but I’d only run short of adjectives if I tried, so I’ll simply put it like this: Jeeves’s lips are beyond description. Brushing a circle around my belly button, they continued their journey south, via a thin trail of hair, kissing every which place but… er… that is, every place but the part of me that was most urgently standing up and taking notice.
“Jeeves…” I whimpered, and he must have taking the hint, because the next thing I knew, something warm surrounded me, all of my nerves sang out at once, and I howled.
Moments after gluing my head back together, I glanced down and watched as I disappeared into Jeeves’s mouth. It really was a thing to see – there I was, and then Jeeves’s lips slid around me, until nothing was left but a bit, which he enclosed in his hand. Even the sight had me moaning desperately, and that’s to say nothing about what Jeeves’s tongue was up to. I couldn’t see that part, but I certainly felt it, darting and swirling all about and for a fleeting moment, I wondered what kind of books Jeeves was reading at night that had taught him about this. Whatever they were, I’d happily buy him a dozen more.
Then Jeeves’s head started to do some sort of up-down motion, and I started making noises not unlike those you would expect to hear on safari. My hand clutched the duvet, squeezing the life out of it (if a duvet had life, that is). “Jeeves!” I cried, and then he did a sort of funny move with his tongue, sucked in, and the universe fell through my ceiling and landed on top of me.
“AahhhahhaaahhyeeeesssbyjovedashityesJeeves!” At least, I believe that’s what I said. It’s hard to recall insignificant details when your vision is blanking to white and your muscles are dancing the shimmy with one another. Through the onslaught, I felt him swallow around me, lapping up every drop, until it was ended and I collapsed a heap of quivering Wooster.
“Jeeves,” I breathed, feeling otherwise speechless as he crawled up and lay next to me, wrapping his arms around my frame, which was still shuddering with little spasms. Feeling so bucked I thought I might dance on the ceiling, I grasped him back and kissed him. He tasted odd, and it took me several seconds to realize why.
“Jeeves, I… er… thank you. Ah, that is, what I mean to say is…” I ducked my head, feeling like a babbling fool. “What I’m trying to say is, I love you,” I finally got out.
He smiled, his eyes bright and his face flushed. “I love you too, sir,” he said, reaching up and stroking my cheek. I thought that I might die of happiness, and then I realized something was poking against my thigh. And then I realized what that something was.
The thought made my stomach feel a bit fluttery. Not that I didn’t want to do it, you understand, it’s just that… well… my experience in these matters wasn’t quite… ah… existent. Jeeves deserved to be pleased by an expert in the craft; he deserved to be treated like royalty. He, at the very least, deserved someone who knew what the deuce he was doing. Well, failing that, at least I could make sure that I gave him my all. Grasping Jeeves by the shoulders, I laid a corker of a kiss on him.
So far, so good. Jeeves seemed to like it, anyhow, if the moan that vibrated against my lips was any indication. Taking a cue from Jeeves’s own performance, I found myself headed downward, kissing and sucking against his neck, and then his shoulders.
“Mmmph… Jeeves, you taste wonderful,” I said against his skin. He didn’t reply, possibly because I was dashed hard to understand with my tongue tickling circles down his chest.
I ran into his nipple, then. Now, what was it that Jeeves had done to make my head turn ‘round the wrong way? Ah yes. Covering the dark peak with my mouth, I slid my tongue along it, just barely touching the tip. I was rewarded with a groan. I tried something different – placing the tip of my tongue against the tip of his nipple, I wiggled it like it was a slightly loose tooth.
The results were gratifying. “Sir!” he cried out, twisting his fingers into my hair and tugging it. I smiled around him and did it again, feeling rather proud of myself.
Downward I went, and eventually, I found myself at the crux of the matter, so to speak. My stomach did that fluttery thing again – earlier, I had not noticed that Jeeves’s length was so, well, lengthy. I – well, I sort of froze up, if you understand what I mean. The trouble of the thing was, I simply had no idea what I was supposed to do here. Jeeves had taken me into his mouth, and that part I could do, I suppose, to a point, but there seemed to be a lot more involved. Lots of tongue stuff, and suction things, and the up-down part, and keeping teeth out of the way, and…I would hate to disappoint him. If only I could ask him about some of the how’s before getting down to the actual business.
I must have been lying there for longer than I thought, because a moment later, I felt a hand close around mine. I looked up to see Jeeves watching me, and I went about ten different shades of red across the dial. A rare smile quirked his mouth, and he guided my hand over to his length, wrapping it around him. A rhythm started, by him or me, I can’t recall, though I do recall my overwhelming relief. I could do this. I knew how to do this already, as it wasn’t so different from all of the times when I had…er…that is Jeeves, would you remind me to edit out this bit later? Thanks awfully.
Jeeves pulled me up next to him then, and kissed me. I readjusted my hand to the new angle and sped up, practically sozzled off the sound of his moans. I felt as though I’d downed three rounds of stiff ones at the Drones.
On top of that, I was dashed near hypnotized by the repetitive stroking motion of the thing. Never before had my hand been involved in something so captivating. I noticed a bit of that fluid that gathers at the tip (you know the stuff) gathering at Jeeves’s tip. Without thinking (which is how I do most things, I’m told), I reached down with my other hand and touched it gently, wiping it off.
Jeeves gave a holler then – yes, a holler, and I never thought I’d see the day – and bucked his hips right up into my palm. The pulsating part came next, and my hands got rather wet.
Collapsing in a quivering heap of his own, Jeeves gathered up the Wooster frame into his arms and kissed me. A much softer kiss than before, this, and I was certain that I’d never been happier.
“Jeeves, I’m certain that I’ve never been happier,” I told him.
“Nor have I, sir,” Jeeves said, and kissed me again.
We stayed like that for the rest of the evening, and even when night fell, Jeeves did not biff off to his own quarters. Not since then have I passed a night solo in that bed, going on eleven months. But now, unless I wanted my Jeeves to be absentee forever, I’d better flit off and find the man.
“I’m headed to the bedroom, Jeeves,” I yelled, heading to the bedroom. Once again, I found myself sans notes, sans suggestions, and sans valet – for such a tall cove, Jeeves really was an expert at this hiding business. I imagine that, when he was a nipper, the other children refused to let him take part in their games of hide and go seek, lest they be stuck scouring the schoolyard for hours on end. But I didn’t dwell on that thought for long, as it struck me, oddly enough, as quite sad.
If you have ever been under the assumption that Jeeves is the sort of chap who would clean a room, but ignore the under-the-bed dust bunnies, let me assure you now – the underside of my cosy little nest was vacuumed to a high shine. I learned this while on my hands and knees peering under the thing. I also learned that there was no note to be found there. No doubt he couldn’t go for the obvious place – not Jeeves, no, he had to make this challenging. Exasperated, I sat down on my duvet-less bed with a sigh. That was when I noticed the small corner of paper peeking out from under Jeeves’s pillow. Tossing the thing aside, I discovered the next clue – as well as Jeeves’s suggestion. Beside the note was a small bottle of that…dashed oily stuff which, when applied to the correct areas in sufficient quantities, greases the wheels of an intimate two-chap relationship. Setting the bottle down, I scanned the note:
I will forever treasure the memory of that evening, and those of the many repeat performances that followed. Perhaps, if you are in a like mind, we could enjoy one of these performances during the morning. First, however, I am still waiting to be found. Your last clue is located in the place where we once shared a sad goodbye.
If the other clues were simple matters of read and recall, this one was dashed rummy. Jeeves and I have said the word “goodbye” to each other hundreds, if not thousands of times. We say it every day, when he biffs off to the market, or when I fancy a drink at the Drones. I couldn’t possibly remember every single “goodbye” of our association!
Well, most of them, I reasoned, were likely shouted (and later, kissed) from the entryway. Good a place as any to investigate, I suppose. “Jeeves!” I called again. “I’m going to look by the front door… er, wait.” I halted halfway there, a bit of vibration running through the grey cells. I had misunderstood, as usual. He wasn’t talking about any old everyday goodbye. “I’m going… to your old room, Jeeves,” I said, making a detour.
This particular goodbye had occurred in the blast-it-all and God-help-us month of June. Jeeves had been engaged in the matter of shirts. That is, he was plucking shirts from his wardrobe (still located in his old room, as majority of his things were – no need to raise suspicions, as two chaps in love can never be too cautious) and bunging them away in his suitcase. I was… well, nothing to be gained through lying about it, what? I was whinging.
“A week, Jeeves!” I complained.
“Five days, to be precise, sir,” he said coolly. He was still a trifle on the miffed side, in re: a new pair of snappy yellow braces I’d felt a kinship with in the shops.
“Practically a lifetime.”
“I’m quite confident that the time will fly by for you, sir,” he said. “I’ve called the service for a temporary valet-”
“I don’t want any blasted replacement!” I said. “Jeeves…I know you have to go. I wouldn’t think of asking you to play hooky from your great uncle Henry’s funeral – even if you did only meet the chap once. But…dash it, Jeeves, can’t I come with you?”
The question had something of a softening effect on his c.f. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’ve been through this. For me to attend a family function with my employer would be regarded as highly…eccentric. For us, that particular type of eccentric behavior must be avoided most assiduously. Were people ever to suspect-”
“People can go boil their heads,” I said, and then turned my back to him.
A hand touched my shoulder. I wanted to be angry with him, and I wanted him to know it, but as he took me into the safety of his arms, I could no more shove off than I could stop drawing breath.
“Would that it were it so simple, sir,” he said as I burrowed my face against his neck, “I would inform the population at large that they should…boil their heads. I would tell the King himself, if it would allow me to remain at your side. But it is not that simple. Not for us.”
I’d never though in all my puff that I’d hear Jeeves utter the words “boil their heads,” and I laughed in spite of myself. “I love you, Jeeves,” I said, a particle of dust floating into my eye. “I love you as much as any chap has ever loved anyone. More, even. Had I been born a beazel instead of a cove, no one would have a word to say about where we went together. It’s just not fair.”
“No, it isn’t,” he said. “Nonetheless, I am exceedingly glad that you weren’t born female, sir.”
“I don’t see why they should care either way. It’s not as if we’re asking them to join in.”
“Damnant quod non intelligunt, sir,” he said.
I wasn’t sure precisely what he meant by that, but it sounded rather important and deep, so I figured he knew what he was on about. “Right ho,” I sadly replied, and then added, “Jeeves…do what you will with the braces. They’re yours to destroy. I couldn’t stand it if you left angry with me. Please.”
If the kiss against the top of my head had been any softer, I might have thought it a product of hopeful imaginings. “Thank you, sir. But I’m not angry.”
“Oh,” I replied, wondering for a fleeting whatsit if I could reclaim the rights to my braces.
“Goodbye, sir,” he said, giving yours truly a final squeeze.
“I’ll miss you, Jeeves,” I said.
“And I you, sir,” he said, and he sounded like he meant it. “I shall long for you as Apollo longed for Hyacinthus.”
“Greek fellows?” I asked. Comparing us to Greek fellows had become a favorite pastime of Jeeves’s as of late.
“Precisely, sir.” He kissed me again, on the lips this time, and let me go in favour of his suitcase.
“Goodbye Jeeves,” I said, and a moment later, he was gone.
I believe I mentioned earlier that I had not spent a night solo between my sheets since the night Jeeves and I became romantically entangled. Well, it’s the God’s honest. Not once in those five days and nights did I ever so much as nap in my own bed. Instead, I curled up in Jeeves’s sheets. What a dashed lonely time that had been – no one in the flat to converse with, not even the replacement valet, as I had rather moodily asked him to shove off the moment he arrived.
Why it was that Jeeves had got it into his head that he should start in on the sad stuff now was beyond me. What a dashed rummy memory for him to lay on a chap who was just getting all chuffed about recalling the happy times. Nonetheless, I went to his room as instructed and found the note stuck to his wardrobe.
My heart ached to leave you that day, sir, and were such events under my power, I would never allow us to be parted again.
As for your discovery of yet another clue, you have done an excellent job, sir. I applaud your perseverance. If you are so inclined, you will find me in the very location where you began your quest.
Rummy, that. I suppose he was referring to the sitting room, and I had just been through there. Certainly I would have noticed if he had been ducking behind the sofa, or crouched behind a chair. Still, Jeeves moves in mysterious ways, and if he wanted me to biff off to the sitting room, then to the sitting room I biffed.
“Jeeves!” I exclaimed as I entered the room and found him seated calmly on the sofa (the duvet, I noted, was no longer there). “I was just here! How did you..?”
“A good magician never reveals his secrets, sir,” Jeeves said.
“Yes, but, Jeeves,” I began, but it was clear that I would get no further in the matter of the teleporting valet. “All right then, have it your way. You glide like a zephyr even when not engaged in stealthy matters, anyhow. I suppose I should hardly be surprised.”
That said, I took a seat beside Jeeves and laid an ardent kiss on him. “Merry Christmas, Jeeves,” I said, curling up beside him.
“Merry Christmas, sir,” he said, wrapping an arm about my shoulder and drawing me into his embrace. “Perhaps you would like to open your gift?”
“The Wooster mind brims with curiosity,” I said, drawing the small box out from the front pocket of my pajamas. The thing was so beautiful and so impeccably wrapped that I almost hesitated to open it, but a thirst for knowledge won out, and I tore into it with vigour.
“Oh, thank you, Jeeves,” I said as I flipped open the lid of the box. I wasn’t exactly sure what I thought of it yet, but thank you seemed like a good enough place to start.
In the small box, on a pillowy-cottony thingummy, was a small elephant figurine, about two inches high. Brass, I believe, with white tusks and, from the looks of it, quite old.
I held it between my thumb and index finger and gave it the once over. Pretty, certainly, with a sort of masculine charm – this particular elephant had been done up with a blanket over its back, and small gold rings around its tusks, fit to be ridden by an Indian prince. “It’s corking, Jeeves,” I said, wondering if I should call the little fellow Stanley, and on which shelf Stanley should sit.
“It was,” Jeeves said, with a clearing of his throat, “a gift to my grandfather from my grandmother upon her return from a trip to India. My father inherited it years later, and he kept it on a bookcase in his study. As a child, I would frequently fetch it down from the shelf to play with it. When I left home to begin my apprenticeship, he gave it to me.”
“Jeeves,” I said, rather gobsmacked, “this is a family heirloom. I couldn’t possibly-”
“My father told me that I was to always keep it in the family, sir, and I honour that wish now.”
Had I been on my feet, I would have swooned. I was not, however, on my feet, but sitting on the sofa, curled up with the love of my life, who had just told me in so many words, that he counted me as his family. I’m not ashamed to admit it – the pebble behind my epiglottis swelled to a rock, and my eyes brimmed.
“Jeeves, are you saying that…you love me… in the forever kind of way?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“In that you’ll never leave me, even when tempted by the promise of a beach house in the south of France and a library full of improving books?”
“No, sir,” he replied, sporting a slightly amused look .
For perhaps the first time in my life, I was speechless. “Oh, Jeeves!” I finally managed, throwing myself at the man and kissing him with all I had.
“It’s like that for me as well,” I said, once I was back in possession of my lips and tongue. “Forever, I mean. That is, I love you, Jeeves, and I will always love you, and there could never be anyone else but you. I doubt I could even function without you – likely if I were to lose you, the Wooster coconut would crack for good, and I would be stuck without-”
There was more after that, but I never did get to voice it, as Jeeves once again took control of my mouth. It’s just as well. My babbling didn’t hold a candle to Jeeves’s kisses when it came to expressions of love and affection. Or anything else, for that matter.
As he kissed me firmly, laying me down on the sofa and covering my body with his, I thought of the other object in my shirt pocket. My hands drifted downward and I smiled, looking forward to Jeeves’s brilliant morning-passing suggestion with fervent enthusiasm.
Fandom/Pairing: Jeeves and Wooster, J/W
Word Count: 5,395
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Bertie awakens on Christmas morning and finds himself short one valet.
A/N: Written for Yuletide Exchange. As always, enormous thanks to my wonderful beta
skyblue_reverie, who knows Bertie and Jeeves forwards and backwards. I consider myself quite lucky to be allowed her insight into these characters. Bertie Gets a Clue
One positively artic Christmas morning, I awoke to find shimmering icicles hanging out my window like stalactites, and also found myself short one valet. Dashed rummy, this, as I had, over the past year, grown quite accustomed to waking engulfed in Jeeves’s tender embrace. Of course, I was also accustomed to fall back into several more hours of the dreamless once Jeeves’s t.e. vacated the bedroom for the morning, but that was beside the point. Said point was that Jeeves and his t.e. were noticeably absent.
“Jeeves!” I called across the flat. No response. Well if this didn’t just take the giddy biscuit! Imagine a chap leaving his one true love alone on Christmas morning – it was the stuff that tragic novels were made of. Well, save for the fact that, instead of a brooding hero abandoning his lady, my b. hero had abandoned his chap. More interesting to my mind, thought it’s unlikely that my version would sell as well to the population en mass.
Feeling decidedly dejected, I made my way out of bed and into the sitting room, still bundled up in the duvet (and doesn’t Jeeves just hate it when I drag it off of the bed – serves him right, says I.) I had just taken a seat on the sofa, well prepared for some serious moping, when I noticed a small scrap of paper stuck to a branch of the tree that Jeeves and I had set up in the corner.
My curiosity had been strummed. Climbing out of my cosy cocoon, I went and plucked the note from the prickly branch. It read:
Good morning, sir. Perhaps you have noticed my absence. If you wish to find me, follow this note and discover a parcel, and an additional clue, in the location where we first expressed our feelings for one another.
“Jeeves,” I called. “Are you hiding somewhere in the flat? Just what is this note business about?” Again, no response. In that case, what was there left to do but follow the note? The place where we first expressed our feelings…well, that had to be the piano, then. A sort of warm flutter fluttered in my belly at the joyous memory; I had been at the keys for an extended period of time that day, practicing a corking romantic song – not one of the slow, sappy songs favored by Madeline Bassett and her type, but an r.s. with a bit of bounce in the melody. I was already suspicious of my feelings in re: Jeeves by then, and thoughts of him flitted through my mind as I sang on the topic of eternal love.
“Come here, Jeeves,” I said. “I want you to hear this. It sounds somehow…off to me.”
“Very good, sir,” Jeeves said in that way that he does, and he floated over to keep me company at the piano bench.
I began to play, and then sing along. Only, I realized after a few moments that I was no longer watching the keys, but instead was watching Jeeves. And I found that he wasn’t watching the keys either. In his eyes was the most intense glint I had ever seen, and I felt a blush creep out of the old collar. By some marvellous bit of luck, I kept my hands steady and continued to play.
“And by now I know that if ever you were to go, there would be nothing left for…” I trailed off. My fingers struck a sour note, which was understandable, as they felt more like sausages than digits by this point.
As Jeeves continued to plunder my soul with his eyes, I shifted over on the bench, growing hot. He took it as an invitation to sit. “If I might make a suggestion, sir,” he said, in a voice that could only be described as “throaty”. “If you were to strike this particular chord a half beat later and…” he said more, I’m sure, but hanged if I heard what, because at that exact moment, he covered my right hand with his own strong h. I melted; a puddle of Bertram now sat on the piano bench.
All the while Jeeves was arranging my hands against the ebonies and ivories, my stomach began to twist like it was caught in a whatsit. You see, a notion had, at that very moment, sparked in my grey matter. An impossible notion. I was terrified by it – I’m certain I’ve never been so bally terrified by an idea in all my life, and my first inclination was to leap to my feet and dash out of the room as if a tiger were at my heels. I would have too, except…it was quite an enticing notion as well (if enticing is the word I mean. Some kind of –icing, anyhow.) One of Jeeves’s poetic quotations struck me - something about "the sad words of tongue and pen,” I think. I wasn’t altogether certain. I knew it was said by some cove with the unfortunate middle moniker of Greenleaf. Anyway, the point of the quote was that if you want something, you’d better shoot for it, or you’ll be stuck for your remaining years wondering if you could have done it.
So I kissed Jeeves.
Just a small smooch on his cheek, but the intent was clear as crystal. He let go of my hand and I cringed. Oh, what catastrophe had I set in motion this time? I should have known better than to trust in my feeble brain.
Somehow, I forced myself to meet his eyes – never before had I seen such pure shock on his chiselled features. “I-I-I’m sorry, Jeeves,” I stuttered. “I, ah, I should have… er, that is, I shouldn’t have-”
I never did settle on how to apologize. That was as far as I got before he kissed me back.
That was 10 months ago, and Jeeves and I have been like Damon and Pythias ever since (who, as it turns out, were not just very dear friends, as my professors had taught me in school). That is, we’ve been practically inseparable. Until this morning, of course. “Very well, Jeeves,” I called. “To the piano I go.”
Well, if there were any notes or parcels attached to my piano, I couldn’t see them. It looked just the same as always; impeccably dusted, lid closed, bench tucked in. Rather out of options, I lifted the lid and took a gander at the strings. Nothing hiding for me there. Unless Jeeves was referencing a different set of feeling altogether, I was, frankly, stumped. “Jeeves!” I hollered once more, “I think I need another clue, what?” I may as well have been talking to myself (and perhaps I was – for all I knew, Jeeves wasn’t even in the flat). Like Napoleon at Waterloo, I knew defeat when I saw it. Irritated with the whole note scheme, I took a seat on the piano bench.
And then, in the very back of the Wooster noodle, a spark flew. The bench!
Feeling not unlike the proverbial ass, I soon found myself flat on my back, sliding my noggin between the two wooden legs of the bench, staring up at pinewood and a small red package that was hanging upside down by a strip of tape.
“Ah-HA!” I ah-ha-ed, snatching the gift and attached note, and sliding my head out from under the piano bench (although, not before taking a moment to marvel at the fact that the underside of my piano bench was just as spotless and dust free as the top. I really should take the time to thank Jeeves more often). Rather into the spirit of the thing by now, I tore into the note:
DO NOT OPEN YOUR GIFT AT THIS TIME!
Disappointed, I continued:
Your boldness that day set in motion a partnership that has brought me more joy, more ecstasy, and more peace than I ever could have dared wish. Each day I am thankful that you bravely proceeded where I feared to tread. If you wish to progress to the following hint, along with a suggestion on how we could pass the morning, you will find it in the place where we first made love.
A blush ran from my head to my toes. Jeeves meant our bedroom, of course… more specifically, our bed. Er, well seeing as how no one but Jeeves will be allowed to read this, no harm in bunging down the incriminating (and dashed personal) details of that particular evening – the same evening, it just so happens, as our first kiss. Actually… about three minutes afterward. Give or take.
There was one truth that I very certainly learned that evening – on the subject of kissing, as on all subjects, Jeeves does not perform by halves. Monuments could be erected to that kiss; in the little picture-house of my mind, I can still recall every second that his tongue danced against mine, and the way my knees went all wobbly when he slid it along my lower lip, and the way his hands… his hands! There is no describing Jeeves’s hands when they journey ‘round the frame, grasping and caressing...
Er… but back to the story. Somehow, while keeping my mouth hostage with his own, Jeeves managed to steer us from the piano bench into my bedroom, while simultaneously discarding his vest – the man works miracles, I’d swear it under oath. Once there, he finally came up for air and was reaching for my shirt buttons when he suddenly stopped and pulled back.
“Sir,” he breathed – we were both fairly worked up and breathy at this point, you understand, “is this moving too quickly for your liking?”
Too quickly? I was flabbergasted. Didn’t he realize how much lost opportunity we had to make up for? Travelling backwards in time would have been too slow for me now. “Carry on, Jeeves,” I said, my shaking fingers grasping the button at his collar, but failing to undo it.
He undid the button, along with all the rest and my own, and before I knew it, we were collapsing onto the bed, cool air against the skin of our upper selves. “I say, Jeeves,” I said, before I was cut off by a dashed talented pair of lips. Then there was a good deal of moaning and groaning of the frenzied variety, and plenty of caressing and touching in general, all of it delivering sensations that were positively corking.
“I say, Jeeves, you are a gorgeous specimen,” I said, as Jeeves left the mouth for areas south. “Has anyone ever offered to sculpt your likeness and place it in a museum full of other gorgeous specimens from history?”
“No, sir,” he said, and then his mouth descended on my right nipple, and I gave a shout that likely startled someone making breakfast in Hawaii.
“You should hear it daily,” I groaned, arching my back against that mouth, that perfect mouth.
“Good of you to say, sir,” he said between kisses as he continued further south, toward my belly button. Not seconds later, he was undoing the clasp of my trousers, as well as his own, and soon we were naked before one another.
Jeeves retreated for a moment to take a gander at the Wooster frame in full view, and I found myself growing rather flustered under the scrutiny. In other words, I was squirming. Jeeves didn’t seem to mind too much, though. “Beautiful,” he murmured, - yes, murmured is definitely the word for it, “you are beautiful.” I flushed all over again, but before I had a chance to deny this ridiculous claim, he was upon me again.
Have I taken adequate time to describe the wonder of Jeeves’s lips? I’m certain the answer is no, but I’d only run short of adjectives if I tried, so I’ll simply put it like this: Jeeves’s lips are beyond description. Brushing a circle around my belly button, they continued their journey south, via a thin trail of hair, kissing every which place but… er… that is, every place but the part of me that was most urgently standing up and taking notice.
“Jeeves…” I whimpered, and he must have taking the hint, because the next thing I knew, something warm surrounded me, all of my nerves sang out at once, and I howled.
Moments after gluing my head back together, I glanced down and watched as I disappeared into Jeeves’s mouth. It really was a thing to see – there I was, and then Jeeves’s lips slid around me, until nothing was left but a bit, which he enclosed in his hand. Even the sight had me moaning desperately, and that’s to say nothing about what Jeeves’s tongue was up to. I couldn’t see that part, but I certainly felt it, darting and swirling all about and for a fleeting moment, I wondered what kind of books Jeeves was reading at night that had taught him about this. Whatever they were, I’d happily buy him a dozen more.
Then Jeeves’s head started to do some sort of up-down motion, and I started making noises not unlike those you would expect to hear on safari. My hand clutched the duvet, squeezing the life out of it (if a duvet had life, that is). “Jeeves!” I cried, and then he did a sort of funny move with his tongue, sucked in, and the universe fell through my ceiling and landed on top of me.
“AahhhahhaaahhyeeeesssbyjovedashityesJeeves!” At least, I believe that’s what I said. It’s hard to recall insignificant details when your vision is blanking to white and your muscles are dancing the shimmy with one another. Through the onslaught, I felt him swallow around me, lapping up every drop, until it was ended and I collapsed a heap of quivering Wooster.
“Jeeves,” I breathed, feeling otherwise speechless as he crawled up and lay next to me, wrapping his arms around my frame, which was still shuddering with little spasms. Feeling so bucked I thought I might dance on the ceiling, I grasped him back and kissed him. He tasted odd, and it took me several seconds to realize why.
“Jeeves, I… er… thank you. Ah, that is, what I mean to say is…” I ducked my head, feeling like a babbling fool. “What I’m trying to say is, I love you,” I finally got out.
He smiled, his eyes bright and his face flushed. “I love you too, sir,” he said, reaching up and stroking my cheek. I thought that I might die of happiness, and then I realized something was poking against my thigh. And then I realized what that something was.
The thought made my stomach feel a bit fluttery. Not that I didn’t want to do it, you understand, it’s just that… well… my experience in these matters wasn’t quite… ah… existent. Jeeves deserved to be pleased by an expert in the craft; he deserved to be treated like royalty. He, at the very least, deserved someone who knew what the deuce he was doing. Well, failing that, at least I could make sure that I gave him my all. Grasping Jeeves by the shoulders, I laid a corker of a kiss on him.
So far, so good. Jeeves seemed to like it, anyhow, if the moan that vibrated against my lips was any indication. Taking a cue from Jeeves’s own performance, I found myself headed downward, kissing and sucking against his neck, and then his shoulders.
“Mmmph… Jeeves, you taste wonderful,” I said against his skin. He didn’t reply, possibly because I was dashed hard to understand with my tongue tickling circles down his chest.
I ran into his nipple, then. Now, what was it that Jeeves had done to make my head turn ‘round the wrong way? Ah yes. Covering the dark peak with my mouth, I slid my tongue along it, just barely touching the tip. I was rewarded with a groan. I tried something different – placing the tip of my tongue against the tip of his nipple, I wiggled it like it was a slightly loose tooth.
The results were gratifying. “Sir!” he cried out, twisting his fingers into my hair and tugging it. I smiled around him and did it again, feeling rather proud of myself.
Downward I went, and eventually, I found myself at the crux of the matter, so to speak. My stomach did that fluttery thing again – earlier, I had not noticed that Jeeves’s length was so, well, lengthy. I – well, I sort of froze up, if you understand what I mean. The trouble of the thing was, I simply had no idea what I was supposed to do here. Jeeves had taken me into his mouth, and that part I could do, I suppose, to a point, but there seemed to be a lot more involved. Lots of tongue stuff, and suction things, and the up-down part, and keeping teeth out of the way, and…I would hate to disappoint him. If only I could ask him about some of the how’s before getting down to the actual business.
I must have been lying there for longer than I thought, because a moment later, I felt a hand close around mine. I looked up to see Jeeves watching me, and I went about ten different shades of red across the dial. A rare smile quirked his mouth, and he guided my hand over to his length, wrapping it around him. A rhythm started, by him or me, I can’t recall, though I do recall my overwhelming relief. I could do this. I knew how to do this already, as it wasn’t so different from all of the times when I had…er…that is Jeeves, would you remind me to edit out this bit later? Thanks awfully.
Jeeves pulled me up next to him then, and kissed me. I readjusted my hand to the new angle and sped up, practically sozzled off the sound of his moans. I felt as though I’d downed three rounds of stiff ones at the Drones.
On top of that, I was dashed near hypnotized by the repetitive stroking motion of the thing. Never before had my hand been involved in something so captivating. I noticed a bit of that fluid that gathers at the tip (you know the stuff) gathering at Jeeves’s tip. Without thinking (which is how I do most things, I’m told), I reached down with my other hand and touched it gently, wiping it off.
Jeeves gave a holler then – yes, a holler, and I never thought I’d see the day – and bucked his hips right up into my palm. The pulsating part came next, and my hands got rather wet.
Collapsing in a quivering heap of his own, Jeeves gathered up the Wooster frame into his arms and kissed me. A much softer kiss than before, this, and I was certain that I’d never been happier.
“Jeeves, I’m certain that I’ve never been happier,” I told him.
“Nor have I, sir,” Jeeves said, and kissed me again.
We stayed like that for the rest of the evening, and even when night fell, Jeeves did not biff off to his own quarters. Not since then have I passed a night solo in that bed, going on eleven months. But now, unless I wanted my Jeeves to be absentee forever, I’d better flit off and find the man.
“I’m headed to the bedroom, Jeeves,” I yelled, heading to the bedroom. Once again, I found myself sans notes, sans suggestions, and sans valet – for such a tall cove, Jeeves really was an expert at this hiding business. I imagine that, when he was a nipper, the other children refused to let him take part in their games of hide and go seek, lest they be stuck scouring the schoolyard for hours on end. But I didn’t dwell on that thought for long, as it struck me, oddly enough, as quite sad.
If you have ever been under the assumption that Jeeves is the sort of chap who would clean a room, but ignore the under-the-bed dust bunnies, let me assure you now – the underside of my cosy little nest was vacuumed to a high shine. I learned this while on my hands and knees peering under the thing. I also learned that there was no note to be found there. No doubt he couldn’t go for the obvious place – not Jeeves, no, he had to make this challenging. Exasperated, I sat down on my duvet-less bed with a sigh. That was when I noticed the small corner of paper peeking out from under Jeeves’s pillow. Tossing the thing aside, I discovered the next clue – as well as Jeeves’s suggestion. Beside the note was a small bottle of that…dashed oily stuff which, when applied to the correct areas in sufficient quantities, greases the wheels of an intimate two-chap relationship. Setting the bottle down, I scanned the note:
I will forever treasure the memory of that evening, and those of the many repeat performances that followed. Perhaps, if you are in a like mind, we could enjoy one of these performances during the morning. First, however, I am still waiting to be found. Your last clue is located in the place where we once shared a sad goodbye.
If the other clues were simple matters of read and recall, this one was dashed rummy. Jeeves and I have said the word “goodbye” to each other hundreds, if not thousands of times. We say it every day, when he biffs off to the market, or when I fancy a drink at the Drones. I couldn’t possibly remember every single “goodbye” of our association!
Well, most of them, I reasoned, were likely shouted (and later, kissed) from the entryway. Good a place as any to investigate, I suppose. “Jeeves!” I called again. “I’m going to look by the front door… er, wait.” I halted halfway there, a bit of vibration running through the grey cells. I had misunderstood, as usual. He wasn’t talking about any old everyday goodbye. “I’m going… to your old room, Jeeves,” I said, making a detour.
This particular goodbye had occurred in the blast-it-all and God-help-us month of June. Jeeves had been engaged in the matter of shirts. That is, he was plucking shirts from his wardrobe (still located in his old room, as majority of his things were – no need to raise suspicions, as two chaps in love can never be too cautious) and bunging them away in his suitcase. I was… well, nothing to be gained through lying about it, what? I was whinging.
“A week, Jeeves!” I complained.
“Five days, to be precise, sir,” he said coolly. He was still a trifle on the miffed side, in re: a new pair of snappy yellow braces I’d felt a kinship with in the shops.
“Practically a lifetime.”
“I’m quite confident that the time will fly by for you, sir,” he said. “I’ve called the service for a temporary valet-”
“I don’t want any blasted replacement!” I said. “Jeeves…I know you have to go. I wouldn’t think of asking you to play hooky from your great uncle Henry’s funeral – even if you did only meet the chap once. But…dash it, Jeeves, can’t I come with you?”
The question had something of a softening effect on his c.f. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’ve been through this. For me to attend a family function with my employer would be regarded as highly…eccentric. For us, that particular type of eccentric behavior must be avoided most assiduously. Were people ever to suspect-”
“People can go boil their heads,” I said, and then turned my back to him.
A hand touched my shoulder. I wanted to be angry with him, and I wanted him to know it, but as he took me into the safety of his arms, I could no more shove off than I could stop drawing breath.
“Would that it were it so simple, sir,” he said as I burrowed my face against his neck, “I would inform the population at large that they should…boil their heads. I would tell the King himself, if it would allow me to remain at your side. But it is not that simple. Not for us.”
I’d never though in all my puff that I’d hear Jeeves utter the words “boil their heads,” and I laughed in spite of myself. “I love you, Jeeves,” I said, a particle of dust floating into my eye. “I love you as much as any chap has ever loved anyone. More, even. Had I been born a beazel instead of a cove, no one would have a word to say about where we went together. It’s just not fair.”
“No, it isn’t,” he said. “Nonetheless, I am exceedingly glad that you weren’t born female, sir.”
“I don’t see why they should care either way. It’s not as if we’re asking them to join in.”
“Damnant quod non intelligunt, sir,” he said.
I wasn’t sure precisely what he meant by that, but it sounded rather important and deep, so I figured he knew what he was on about. “Right ho,” I sadly replied, and then added, “Jeeves…do what you will with the braces. They’re yours to destroy. I couldn’t stand it if you left angry with me. Please.”
If the kiss against the top of my head had been any softer, I might have thought it a product of hopeful imaginings. “Thank you, sir. But I’m not angry.”
“Oh,” I replied, wondering for a fleeting whatsit if I could reclaim the rights to my braces.
“Goodbye, sir,” he said, giving yours truly a final squeeze.
“I’ll miss you, Jeeves,” I said.
“And I you, sir,” he said, and he sounded like he meant it. “I shall long for you as Apollo longed for Hyacinthus.”
“Greek fellows?” I asked. Comparing us to Greek fellows had become a favorite pastime of Jeeves’s as of late.
“Precisely, sir.” He kissed me again, on the lips this time, and let me go in favour of his suitcase.
“Goodbye Jeeves,” I said, and a moment later, he was gone.
I believe I mentioned earlier that I had not spent a night solo between my sheets since the night Jeeves and I became romantically entangled. Well, it’s the God’s honest. Not once in those five days and nights did I ever so much as nap in my own bed. Instead, I curled up in Jeeves’s sheets. What a dashed lonely time that had been – no one in the flat to converse with, not even the replacement valet, as I had rather moodily asked him to shove off the moment he arrived.
Why it was that Jeeves had got it into his head that he should start in on the sad stuff now was beyond me. What a dashed rummy memory for him to lay on a chap who was just getting all chuffed about recalling the happy times. Nonetheless, I went to his room as instructed and found the note stuck to his wardrobe.
My heart ached to leave you that day, sir, and were such events under my power, I would never allow us to be parted again.
As for your discovery of yet another clue, you have done an excellent job, sir. I applaud your perseverance. If you are so inclined, you will find me in the very location where you began your quest.
Rummy, that. I suppose he was referring to the sitting room, and I had just been through there. Certainly I would have noticed if he had been ducking behind the sofa, or crouched behind a chair. Still, Jeeves moves in mysterious ways, and if he wanted me to biff off to the sitting room, then to the sitting room I biffed.
“Jeeves!” I exclaimed as I entered the room and found him seated calmly on the sofa (the duvet, I noted, was no longer there). “I was just here! How did you..?”
“A good magician never reveals his secrets, sir,” Jeeves said.
“Yes, but, Jeeves,” I began, but it was clear that I would get no further in the matter of the teleporting valet. “All right then, have it your way. You glide like a zephyr even when not engaged in stealthy matters, anyhow. I suppose I should hardly be surprised.”
That said, I took a seat beside Jeeves and laid an ardent kiss on him. “Merry Christmas, Jeeves,” I said, curling up beside him.
“Merry Christmas, sir,” he said, wrapping an arm about my shoulder and drawing me into his embrace. “Perhaps you would like to open your gift?”
“The Wooster mind brims with curiosity,” I said, drawing the small box out from the front pocket of my pajamas. The thing was so beautiful and so impeccably wrapped that I almost hesitated to open it, but a thirst for knowledge won out, and I tore into it with vigour.
“Oh, thank you, Jeeves,” I said as I flipped open the lid of the box. I wasn’t exactly sure what I thought of it yet, but thank you seemed like a good enough place to start.
In the small box, on a pillowy-cottony thingummy, was a small elephant figurine, about two inches high. Brass, I believe, with white tusks and, from the looks of it, quite old.
I held it between my thumb and index finger and gave it the once over. Pretty, certainly, with a sort of masculine charm – this particular elephant had been done up with a blanket over its back, and small gold rings around its tusks, fit to be ridden by an Indian prince. “It’s corking, Jeeves,” I said, wondering if I should call the little fellow Stanley, and on which shelf Stanley should sit.
“It was,” Jeeves said, with a clearing of his throat, “a gift to my grandfather from my grandmother upon her return from a trip to India. My father inherited it years later, and he kept it on a bookcase in his study. As a child, I would frequently fetch it down from the shelf to play with it. When I left home to begin my apprenticeship, he gave it to me.”
“Jeeves,” I said, rather gobsmacked, “this is a family heirloom. I couldn’t possibly-”
“My father told me that I was to always keep it in the family, sir, and I honour that wish now.”
Had I been on my feet, I would have swooned. I was not, however, on my feet, but sitting on the sofa, curled up with the love of my life, who had just told me in so many words, that he counted me as his family. I’m not ashamed to admit it – the pebble behind my epiglottis swelled to a rock, and my eyes brimmed.
“Jeeves, are you saying that…you love me… in the forever kind of way?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“In that you’ll never leave me, even when tempted by the promise of a beach house in the south of France and a library full of improving books?”
“No, sir,” he replied, sporting a slightly amused look .
For perhaps the first time in my life, I was speechless. “Oh, Jeeves!” I finally managed, throwing myself at the man and kissing him with all I had.
“It’s like that for me as well,” I said, once I was back in possession of my lips and tongue. “Forever, I mean. That is, I love you, Jeeves, and I will always love you, and there could never be anyone else but you. I doubt I could even function without you – likely if I were to lose you, the Wooster coconut would crack for good, and I would be stuck without-”
There was more after that, but I never did get to voice it, as Jeeves once again took control of my mouth. It’s just as well. My babbling didn’t hold a candle to Jeeves’s kisses when it came to expressions of love and affection. Or anything else, for that matter.
As he kissed me firmly, laying me down on the sofa and covering my body with his, I thought of the other object in my shirt pocket. My hands drifted downward and I smiled, looking forward to Jeeves’s brilliant morning-passing suggestion with fervent enthusiasm.
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Date: 2007-01-06 08:07 pm (UTC)LOVE this. So adorable, then so HOT, then so sad, and then so sweet. Definitely one to add to the memories!
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Date: 2007-01-06 08:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2007-01-06 10:41 pm (UTC)Such a lovely way of telling the story, with the memories. I love it.
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Date: 2007-01-06 11:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2007-01-11 05:28 pm (UTC)*Get* a live journal account, anonymous poster, it's the only life.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 07:08 pm (UTC)M'dear, this is absolutely exquisite. The flashbacks are a wonderful method of telling their story. And I adore semi-confused-but-he's-so-proud-when-he-figures-it-out Bertie!
Hee! dust bunnies
I shall now commence fangirly mode.
bundled up in the duvet (and doesn’t Jeeves just hate it when I drag it off of the bed – serves him right, says I.)
Why, Bertie, you passive-agressive little thing, you!
As Jeeves continued to plunder my soul with his eyes, I shifted over on the bench, growing hot.
*melts* Is it rude to say, "me too"?
I soon found myself flat on my back, sliding my noggin between the two wooden legs of the bench, staring up at pinewood and a small red package that was hanging upside down by a strip of tape.
I had an odd flash of Stimpy looking at his magic nose goblin collection. But that's totally my problem, not yours. ;D
I love, love, love Bertie talking to himself through the entire treasure hunt. I would so do the same thing.
the same evening, it just so happens, as our first kiss. Actually… about three minutes afterward. Give or take.
Heh. Jeeves is slick and a fast mover, eh?
Travelling backwards in time would have been too slow for me now. “Carry on, Jeeves,” I said, my shaking fingers grasping the button at his collar, but failing to undo it.
So, so wonderful this entire part. Sweet and hot and romantic and did I say hot?
I wondered what kind of books Jeeves was reading at night that had taught him about this. Whatever they were, I’d happily buy him a dozen more.
FTW, darling, FTW! The fact that Bertie even slightly contemplates that Jeeves reads sex manuals after hours makes me giggle madly. And want to be there having him read them out loud. ;)
a heap of quivering Wooster
Indeed.
That Bertie wants and tries to give Jeeves a blow-job even though he has no clue what he's doing and fearing to disappoint is incredibly precious. And that Jeeves exactly understands and makes it right for both of them. Sweet, hot, and romantic, like I said.
And I know I already told you in another comment how incredibly moving I found the gift and Jeeves's explanation of it. I still get tears in my eyes every time I read it.
I love this story, and I love you for writing it.
I have now gushed to an embarassing degree and will officially end fangirly mode.
♥ ♥ ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-20 11:49 pm (UTC)Bertie talking to himself = love. I seriously think that he does it all the time. A chap like him probably would have to, just to help him through simple tasks.
Hee! Not rude at all to admit feeling hot! It's quite flattering, actually, as that's what I was going for.
Sex manuels? *snort*
I am so thrilled that you found the gift moving, hon. I aginized over it for days.
Thank you so much for re-reading and re-reviewing, Msliz!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-10 10:02 pm (UTC)I could really visualize Bertie padding around the flat feeling somewhat miffed on Christmas morning, and Jeeves' notes were a brilliant way to recall the significant (and goodness, so very *hot*) moments of their relationship. I loved the combination of Bertie's enthusiasm and inexperience, and the fact that Jeeves understood exactly why Bertie was panicked in bed was totally adorable.
The ending, with the declarations of love 'in the forever kind of way' brought real tears to my eyes. This is exactly how J/W should be!
Have you by any chance written any other J/W pieces that you wouldn't mind sending me links to? Thanks very much!
PurpleFluffyCat x
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-29 03:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-30 10:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-18 12:08 am (UTC)LOL!! It takes real skill to make such a hot sex scene so funny as well. :-)
Mmm, lovely fic!