Remember
Title: Remember, Remember
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Characters/Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH
Summary: Bertie and Jeeves are ready to celebrate their second anniversary. If only the world were ready!
Disclaimer: All this happened, more or less
Author's Notes: Something for bubbles for a comment Here
Life, is an annoying thing. I, your narrator, one Bertram W. Wooster, have a high tolerance for all things that pull me away from my comfortable life in the Metrop. Except on this most holy day, the fifth of November. Bertie, you may well ask, since when is that a holy day? Are you, inheritor of the noble title Lord Yaxley, in fact a traitor to Old Blighty? In one very important way, I was persuaded to commit an act against my beloved country of birth.
Before that day, the fifth of November involved the turn of phrase. ‘Remember, remember the fifth of November, rum te tum te took.’ I never could remember what I was supposed to r. so Jeeves gave me something really important to r. That is to say, his confession of undying tender pash for the young master. Which I’ve returned for far longer than even I can say.
There would be no marriage for two of nature’s bachelors, so it was decided our day of declaring would be our day of remembering, the fifth of November would never be forgotten in my mind. Our day of treason against the unjust law meddling in what a bloke did in the privacy of his own heart.
As our second anniversary, our second fifth together approached, I’d made elaborate plans to be ensconced in a Jeeves heavy apartment. I was having a supper brought in from a fancy place that had the Jeeves stamp of approval, a romantic dinner for two that he didn’t have to cook. Then, my carefully crafted plan called for cozying in front of the fire, exchanged a gift or two, snog as much as we could stand and then hie away to the bedroom for the exchanging of nature’s gifts.
Instead, I’d been dragged to the country estate of my Aunt Dahlia, where her chef was threatening to leave if he wasn’t allowed fresh garlic whatever the season. She, rather wisely, insisted I bring Jeeves to calm the chef’s ruffled chef’s hat, though I thought those were supposed to look like that.
A houseguest of Aunt Dahlia’s received an unexpected visit from his daughter, who was abandoning her bloke after a row about window sashes, so it was fate guiding her to my doorstep, even though it wasn’t my doorstep and was unlikely to ever be. I’m still not sure how the gelatin came into it, or how it got into Aunt Dahlia’s prized hunting hounds, nor, indeed, why said p. h. h. were in the attic of Aunt Dahlia’s house for three nights.
It matters not, because I know Jeeves was behind it and I trust him. So as the sun sets on this fifth of November, Jeeves is driving like a bat hell-bent for leather, or something that means as fast as a very fast thing. My engagement to that girl is off, her former fiancé is back in the picture, and Jeeves and I have been dismissed from my Aunt’s clutches days early.
I lean forward, grinning into the road before us. I had to tell Jeeves of my grand plan for our second fifth, so he could cancel the meal, which he did with only a regretful twitch of his left eyebrow and a quick snog since we were alone. Nothing more, as our little rebellion only took place in my flat, under lock and key.
My two seater couldn’t go fast enough to beat the sun, though, so Jeeves pulled over to feed me. He parked beside a nice hotel, and I publicly, loudly forced him to sit with me, even pretending I was sloshed to let the small crowd know why I was breaking societal conventions. He suggested we get rooms and push on in the morning, but I could tell his heart wasn’t in waiting. I insisted we push on, and p. o. we did.
Our bit of soup must have been too much for the left rear tire, as it gave out shortly after we p. o. Jeeves fixed it, allowing a bit of pique to show, which cheered me to no end, that Jeeves wanted our second fifth as much as I. No more troubles until we reached the Metrop, but Jarvis, the elevator attendant, informed us a set of twins were waiting outside my door. Jeeves shook Jarvis’ hand, no doubt thanking him for this warning, and then Jarvis deposited us on the floor above ours.
Before I could voice my surprise, Jeeves was walking away with our luggage, so I followed. He lead me down the servant’s stairs, so we entered my flat from the kitchen, bypassing Claude and Eustace. The hand on my mouth suggested expressing my relief might let them know we had arrived. I headed to the bedroom, and only occasionally needed Jeeves to pull me away from tripping over random objects in the darkness. He turned on the small lamp in our room and had me in pajamas before I could protest. A gentle kiss, and he biffed off to work some of his wonders. I took a moment in the salle de bainto tidy up before climbing into bed, to warm the sheets for him.
I was roused from my doze when he got in bed, blushing when I realized I feel asleep. I turned to apologize, or point out that he could have woken me, but his eyes were already closed. He wasn’t asleep yet, but he wasn’t reading which was enough to make me pay attention. Reg was tired, as I was, probably to do with the way hounds in the attic sounds so much like ghosts and the like, keeping a bloke up at night.
I snuggled up to him, grateful I could at least do this, which I couldn’t at my Aunt’s house. We curled together in our sleeping curl, but I didn’t expect to sleep. It was still a bit early for me, and I hadn’t even had an evening cocktail or three, much less the exchanging of natural gifts I had been looking forward too. After a final yawn, I found my dreams were so much like my waking I couldn’t easily tell them apart, as long as Reg was in both.
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Characters/Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH
Summary: Bertie and Jeeves are ready to celebrate their second anniversary. If only the world were ready!
Disclaimer: All this happened, more or less
Author's Notes: Something for bubbles for a comment Here
Life, is an annoying thing. I, your narrator, one Bertram W. Wooster, have a high tolerance for all things that pull me away from my comfortable life in the Metrop. Except on this most holy day, the fifth of November. Bertie, you may well ask, since when is that a holy day? Are you, inheritor of the noble title Lord Yaxley, in fact a traitor to Old Blighty? In one very important way, I was persuaded to commit an act against my beloved country of birth.
Before that day, the fifth of November involved the turn of phrase. ‘Remember, remember the fifth of November, rum te tum te took.’ I never could remember what I was supposed to r. so Jeeves gave me something really important to r. That is to say, his confession of undying tender pash for the young master. Which I’ve returned for far longer than even I can say.
There would be no marriage for two of nature’s bachelors, so it was decided our day of declaring would be our day of remembering, the fifth of November would never be forgotten in my mind. Our day of treason against the unjust law meddling in what a bloke did in the privacy of his own heart.
As our second anniversary, our second fifth together approached, I’d made elaborate plans to be ensconced in a Jeeves heavy apartment. I was having a supper brought in from a fancy place that had the Jeeves stamp of approval, a romantic dinner for two that he didn’t have to cook. Then, my carefully crafted plan called for cozying in front of the fire, exchanged a gift or two, snog as much as we could stand and then hie away to the bedroom for the exchanging of nature’s gifts.
Instead, I’d been dragged to the country estate of my Aunt Dahlia, where her chef was threatening to leave if he wasn’t allowed fresh garlic whatever the season. She, rather wisely, insisted I bring Jeeves to calm the chef’s ruffled chef’s hat, though I thought those were supposed to look like that.
A houseguest of Aunt Dahlia’s received an unexpected visit from his daughter, who was abandoning her bloke after a row about window sashes, so it was fate guiding her to my doorstep, even though it wasn’t my doorstep and was unlikely to ever be. I’m still not sure how the gelatin came into it, or how it got into Aunt Dahlia’s prized hunting hounds, nor, indeed, why said p. h. h. were in the attic of Aunt Dahlia’s house for three nights.
It matters not, because I know Jeeves was behind it and I trust him. So as the sun sets on this fifth of November, Jeeves is driving like a bat hell-bent for leather, or something that means as fast as a very fast thing. My engagement to that girl is off, her former fiancé is back in the picture, and Jeeves and I have been dismissed from my Aunt’s clutches days early.
I lean forward, grinning into the road before us. I had to tell Jeeves of my grand plan for our second fifth, so he could cancel the meal, which he did with only a regretful twitch of his left eyebrow and a quick snog since we were alone. Nothing more, as our little rebellion only took place in my flat, under lock and key.
My two seater couldn’t go fast enough to beat the sun, though, so Jeeves pulled over to feed me. He parked beside a nice hotel, and I publicly, loudly forced him to sit with me, even pretending I was sloshed to let the small crowd know why I was breaking societal conventions. He suggested we get rooms and push on in the morning, but I could tell his heart wasn’t in waiting. I insisted we push on, and p. o. we did.
Our bit of soup must have been too much for the left rear tire, as it gave out shortly after we p. o. Jeeves fixed it, allowing a bit of pique to show, which cheered me to no end, that Jeeves wanted our second fifth as much as I. No more troubles until we reached the Metrop, but Jarvis, the elevator attendant, informed us a set of twins were waiting outside my door. Jeeves shook Jarvis’ hand, no doubt thanking him for this warning, and then Jarvis deposited us on the floor above ours.
Before I could voice my surprise, Jeeves was walking away with our luggage, so I followed. He lead me down the servant’s stairs, so we entered my flat from the kitchen, bypassing Claude and Eustace. The hand on my mouth suggested expressing my relief might let them know we had arrived. I headed to the bedroom, and only occasionally needed Jeeves to pull me away from tripping over random objects in the darkness. He turned on the small lamp in our room and had me in pajamas before I could protest. A gentle kiss, and he biffed off to work some of his wonders. I took a moment in the salle de bainto tidy up before climbing into bed, to warm the sheets for him.
I was roused from my doze when he got in bed, blushing when I realized I feel asleep. I turned to apologize, or point out that he could have woken me, but his eyes were already closed. He wasn’t asleep yet, but he wasn’t reading which was enough to make me pay attention. Reg was tired, as I was, probably to do with the way hounds in the attic sounds so much like ghosts and the like, keeping a bloke up at night.
I snuggled up to him, grateful I could at least do this, which I couldn’t at my Aunt’s house. We curled together in our sleeping curl, but I didn’t expect to sleep. It was still a bit early for me, and I hadn’t even had an evening cocktail or three, much less the exchanging of natural gifts I had been looking forward too. After a final yawn, I found my dreams were so much like my waking I couldn’t easily tell them apart, as long as Reg was in both.