Fic: The Moustache Affair
Title: The Moustache Affair
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Pairing: mild Jeeves/Wooster
Rating: G
Author: shadow_truths
Disclaimer: Not mine, of course.
Notes: Just a little J/W silliness :)
After the latest rum business with Honoria Glossop, I felt the need, as one does upon narrowly escaping matrimony, to breathe the unsullied air of the countryside. I came to Brinkley Court (without Jeeves, to whom I had generously given a week's leave) positively bursting with enthusiasm, with plans to ride each morning, boat in the afternoon, and go for a brisk constitutional every night before bed.
In the event, I was waylaid by Anatole's crêpes à la Rossini and made it only as far as the drawing room before collapsing beneath a convenient copy of Milady's Boudoir. When I awoke some time later, I was forced to accept that my plans were destined to come to naught. I would have to find some other way to idle away the hours. My eye was caught at that fateful moment by a handsome chap in an advertisement who was sporting a truly heroic moustache, and it struck me - I should grow one myself! That would pass the time. Having thus settled the matter, I meandered toward the kitchens.
By the time Jeeves arrived, my strenuous efforts had resulted in what I fancied was a dashing, if slightly thin, moustache. I detected an instant coolness as he transmogriwhatsited into the room. Despite a sense of foreboding, I resolved to stand my ground.
"What ho, Jeeves!" I said, as if nothing in the world was amiss.
"Good day, sir."
"I hope you enjoyed yourself."
"Indeed, sir. But now that I have returned, perhaps you would appreciate my assistance in shaving."
"Not necessary," I said breezily. "I've been doing splendidly without you."
"Much as it pains me to mention it, sir, you appear to have missed a spot." He gestured delicately to the region of one's upper lip.
"I have not 'missed a spot,' Jeeves. It's rather manly, don't you think?" I asked, affecting an insouciant demeanour.
"A man's character is better displayed through his actions than his attempts at facial hair, sir."
"Dash it all, it just needs a few more days of loving care, and then you'll be forced to acknowledge its grandeur."
"Most certainly, sir. Will that be all?"
Purest ice hung in the air. There was nothing to do but brazen it out. "No. I intend to take an invigorating stroll by the river before retiring."
"Of course, sir," he said, presenting me with my green-flecked tweed jacket. "It is rather cool this evening."
As I trod the mossy path, I glowered. I may also have grimaced. True, I was well aware of Jeeves' feelings on the subject of moustaches. But I was well within my rights to adorn my upper lip however I bally well pleased! My resolve thus strengthened, I strode more briskly.
Taking a breather at the mid-way point of the old stone bridge, I saw a solitary figure in a rowboat drawing near. Whoever it was seemed to be struggling, for there were a couple of extended periods of bailing, and one near miss with a floating branch. "I say, is everything all right?" I hallooed.
To my surprise, the voice that floated back to me on the evening breeze was none other than Jeeves'. "I am afraid not, sir," he called. "This boat, which Mrs. Travers requested I bring about to its accustomed mooring-place, is manifestly unseaworthy. I would appreciate your assistance in bringing it ashore."
"Right ho," I cried, and legged it down to the riverbank. It was unspeakably muddy, but I persevered. Jeeves managed to bring the ailing craft close enough that when he extended one of the oars I was able to grab hold and pull it into the reedy muck that dared call itself a shore.
As I was lending Jeeves a hand with disembarking, our feet became entangled and we stumbled together like a pair of drunken morris dancers. In the process, his lips happened, inadvertently of course, to meet my own. It was not, I hasten to add, anything like a tender kiss - more of a rough smack. We said nothing of it, resuming the task of getting the half-sunk boat out of the reeds.
It was only afterwards, as we made our muddy way homeward, that Jeeves cleared his throat. "Sir, if I might speak freely…"
"Of course, Jeeves."
"I must insist in the strongest possible terms that you shave that… that thing, sir. It tickles most horribly."
Well. What can one say to such a plea from one's blushing manservant? I reluctantly conceded defeat and the moustache was gone before bed.
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Pairing: mild Jeeves/Wooster
Rating: G
Author: shadow_truths
Disclaimer: Not mine, of course.
Notes: Just a little J/W silliness :)
After the latest rum business with Honoria Glossop, I felt the need, as one does upon narrowly escaping matrimony, to breathe the unsullied air of the countryside. I came to Brinkley Court (without Jeeves, to whom I had generously given a week's leave) positively bursting with enthusiasm, with plans to ride each morning, boat in the afternoon, and go for a brisk constitutional every night before bed.
In the event, I was waylaid by Anatole's crêpes à la Rossini and made it only as far as the drawing room before collapsing beneath a convenient copy of Milady's Boudoir. When I awoke some time later, I was forced to accept that my plans were destined to come to naught. I would have to find some other way to idle away the hours. My eye was caught at that fateful moment by a handsome chap in an advertisement who was sporting a truly heroic moustache, and it struck me - I should grow one myself! That would pass the time. Having thus settled the matter, I meandered toward the kitchens.
By the time Jeeves arrived, my strenuous efforts had resulted in what I fancied was a dashing, if slightly thin, moustache. I detected an instant coolness as he transmogriwhatsited into the room. Despite a sense of foreboding, I resolved to stand my ground.
"What ho, Jeeves!" I said, as if nothing in the world was amiss.
"Good day, sir."
"I hope you enjoyed yourself."
"Indeed, sir. But now that I have returned, perhaps you would appreciate my assistance in shaving."
"Not necessary," I said breezily. "I've been doing splendidly without you."
"Much as it pains me to mention it, sir, you appear to have missed a spot." He gestured delicately to the region of one's upper lip.
"I have not 'missed a spot,' Jeeves. It's rather manly, don't you think?" I asked, affecting an insouciant demeanour.
"A man's character is better displayed through his actions than his attempts at facial hair, sir."
"Dash it all, it just needs a few more days of loving care, and then you'll be forced to acknowledge its grandeur."
"Most certainly, sir. Will that be all?"
Purest ice hung in the air. There was nothing to do but brazen it out. "No. I intend to take an invigorating stroll by the river before retiring."
"Of course, sir," he said, presenting me with my green-flecked tweed jacket. "It is rather cool this evening."
As I trod the mossy path, I glowered. I may also have grimaced. True, I was well aware of Jeeves' feelings on the subject of moustaches. But I was well within my rights to adorn my upper lip however I bally well pleased! My resolve thus strengthened, I strode more briskly.
Taking a breather at the mid-way point of the old stone bridge, I saw a solitary figure in a rowboat drawing near. Whoever it was seemed to be struggling, for there were a couple of extended periods of bailing, and one near miss with a floating branch. "I say, is everything all right?" I hallooed.
To my surprise, the voice that floated back to me on the evening breeze was none other than Jeeves'. "I am afraid not, sir," he called. "This boat, which Mrs. Travers requested I bring about to its accustomed mooring-place, is manifestly unseaworthy. I would appreciate your assistance in bringing it ashore."
"Right ho," I cried, and legged it down to the riverbank. It was unspeakably muddy, but I persevered. Jeeves managed to bring the ailing craft close enough that when he extended one of the oars I was able to grab hold and pull it into the reedy muck that dared call itself a shore.
As I was lending Jeeves a hand with disembarking, our feet became entangled and we stumbled together like a pair of drunken morris dancers. In the process, his lips happened, inadvertently of course, to meet my own. It was not, I hasten to add, anything like a tender kiss - more of a rough smack. We said nothing of it, resuming the task of getting the half-sunk boat out of the reeds.
It was only afterwards, as we made our muddy way homeward, that Jeeves cleared his throat. "Sir, if I might speak freely…"
"Of course, Jeeves."
"I must insist in the strongest possible terms that you shave that… that thing, sir. It tickles most horribly."
Well. What can one say to such a plea from one's blushing manservant? I reluctantly conceded defeat and the moustache was gone before bed.