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This is my first Jeeves/Wooster, and I hope there'll be more, when I find the time. There's a sequal roughly planned, but I need to work out what Jeeves decides to do first. Also, while some people declare themselves to be bad at writing summaries, I'm terrible at titling fics.
So without any more ado, may I present:
Title: 'The Marrying Kind'
Author: Liz
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Fandom: Wodehouse
Warnings: m/m, mild
Summary: Lunch with an Aunt leads to a series of discoveries
‘The Marrying Kind’
It all started, as things are wont to do, with an aunt. Left to my own devices my life tends to revolve comfortably around the Drones Club, restaurants and the theatre but as soon as you throw an aunt into the mix things start getting complicated.
The aunt in question this time was Aunt Agatha. She had telephoned one morning to inform me that she was in town and that I was to take her for lunch, as she had something that she wanted to discuss with me. This is never a good sign with aunts, so I popped round to the Drones beforehand for a couple of quick bracers and to check if any engagements had been called off recently; which they hadn’t. So, slightly reassured, I ankled round to the restaurant at the appointed hour.
The bracers having done the trick, I was able to greet Aunt Agatha with a cheery welcome, at which she requested me not to use such ‘vulgar music hall slang’ as she put it and, fixing me with a steely eye, stated that she had a matter of some importance to discuss. I intimated that I had understood that from her telephone call that morning, and she told me not to interrupt.
“I need to speak firmly to you, Bertie, about your marriage.”
“What marriage?”
“Precisely.”
This was to much. I had had rather more years of being badgered about marriage than I really cared to remember and I had, to be quite frank, had enough of it.
“Now listen Aunt Agatha” I said “To be frank I’ve had quite enough of being badgered about marriage. You keep saying that I must get married-“
“You must!”
“Well, you say so, but you’ve never yet given me a decent reason why. I’ve had a few stabs at it, but it’s never gone off, and I don’t see why, when I’ve wanted to get married and it hasn’t worked I should get married when I don’t. Want to get married, that is. No, I’m sorry, but there you are. Honourable estate conceived of by God and all that, but I’m not convinced that it’s conceived of for me.”
“Oh, you mustn’t say that! Please, never say that!”
She sounded genuinely upset. This threw me a bit, because although I’ve seen Aunt Agatha in a variety of moods, ‘upset’ was a new one on me. It looked dashed odd on her, I can tell you.
She continued,
“People are beginning to talk! They are beginning to say that you are not the marrying sort!
“Well, that’s what I’m saying too-” I started, and then it sunk in what she meant. I gazed thunderstruck at Aunt Agatha, who nodded mournfully back at me. Fortunately our lunch arrived at that point and gave me something else to think about- a chap needs some sustenance when it turns out that people are talking about him behind his back- and not in a way one might like. I mean, if someone wanted to put it about town that I’m a bit of a whiz on the piano, and a jolly good chap to liven up a party that starting to fall a bit flat, that’s perfectly all right by me. But lining me up for a two year stretch is something else again. Especially since I nearly inadvertently broke up an engagement through it being believed that I wasn’t necessarily, er, safe in taxis, as it were. Not that there was anything in it anyway, as I wouldn’t even if- er, I mean given that… well, it’s a long story but the thing of it was… oh dash it! It’s a silly rumour with no truth in it, and that’s all there is to it.
Once the waiter had withdrawn Aunt Agatha seemed disinclined to resume the conversation, or indeed any conversation, which was perfectly fine by me, and the meal passed in a relatively restful silence- so all in all it was the most enjoyable meal I’ve ever had in her company.
She legged it sharpish muttering about wanting to get an earlier train and I decided to wander back to the flat on foot, as I wanted to try and think about this bombshell that had been dropped in my lap.
Could it, possibly, be true and I not know it? After all, I’d be the first to accept that sometimes for me the penny doesn’t have to so much drop as hit me square between the eyes, and there were times back at school that would definitely fall under the relevant heading- no, that’s generally accepted to not count; ‘beastliness’ may have been publicly denounced and cold showers advocated instead, but I can’t really think of a single chap from the old alma mater that wouldn’t prefer a cosy moment in the changing rooms over a deluge of ice cold water any day.
I mean, just look at Bingo. His tendency to fall into adoring swoons over some Ganymede of a fag was legendary, but look at him now! All that amorous tendency now firmly expressed in the pursuit of the female of the species. And possibly with no little wisdom- I don’t really see any of his assorted Mabels and Agneses and Mildreds turning into Aunts. And I’ve always had an eye for a well turned leg or two supporting a suitably feminine figure, so I feel that I can say, with absolute certainty, that my safeness in taxis is purely down to my gentlemanly instincts, and nothing else.
Although it’s certainly true that my inclination towards marriage, never particularly strong, has shown a marked decrease in the last few years. At a time when most of the chaps my age are starting to find a nice girl and settle down, I’m happy to remain a gay bachelor. Not that I’ve been spending that much time out and about recently, rather I’ve been happy with a quiet night in with a whisky and nattering with Jeeves as he polishes the silver or some such. I think he’s trying to improve my mind; I’d asked him a little while ago where he got all his wonderful little quotations from and he suggested some stuff I might like to read- I hadn’t realised that that Shakespeare chap could be funny, but there are some rip roaring bits in ‘Twelfth Night’- I threatened him with cross gartered yellow stockings as a joke, although he just smiled slightly and said ‘Very good, Sir’. Odd, that. He seemed interested in my thoughts on that Orsino chap’s attitude towards the girl dressed as a boy, though.
No, all in all, I’m very well suited as I am, thank you very much, especially since Jeeves would be off like a shot if I were to get married, and I don’t fancy the thought of having to cope without him around. After all, we’ve been together for quite a few years now and we’ve grown accustomed to each other’s little ways, in fact we get on rather better than I do with most of my family. Of course, that may be because Jeeves isn’t always after me to get married or to steal some object from the house… I even rather miss him when he takes his two weeks holiday, no matter how good the chap he gets to fill in for him is… miss him rather a lot actually, it’s just not the same and rather lonely to… be… perfectly… honest….Good Lord! So that’s what it is! Not chaps in general, but Jeeves!
Well, I was thunderstruck. Again. Twice in one day. I stopped dead in amazement- not, maybe, the best thing to do in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, and I got roundly sworn at by a taxi driver. Well, what with that and the shock of suddenly realising that I seem to have fallen for my man, the only thing for it was a restorative glass or several in the Drones. I toddled along there fairly sharpish and was so perturbed that I nearly failed to notice Bustopher Jones who was on his way out and almost tripped right over him. I apologised profusely of course, but he stalked off with his tail in the air and refused to acknowledge it.
With a large brandy in my hand I dropped thankfully into one of the large wing chairs by the fire, hoping to express by my general demeanour that I was not At Home to any attempts at light conversation and wished to be left alone. I needed to try and think what to do about this very peculiar situation in which I found myself, but as all my instincts were along the lines of ‘consult Jeeves’ I wasn’t getting very far. I had managed to work out alright that the best outcome would be Jeeves declaring eternal love for me also (devotion I was fairly sure I had already, in weekly instalments), and was just trying to work out what the chances were of that happening when Bingo Little flung himself into the chair opposite.
“What ho, Bertie” he commented dreamily. He was in love again. You get to know the signs when they’ve been paraded under your nose for as long as they’ve been paraded under mine. His next words only confirmed my diagnosis.
“I’m in love, Bertie. With a truly marvellous girl… Ethel, her name is….”
“A tender goddess, no doubt” I muttered “And she’s, what, a sales clerk? A waitress? It’s been a while since there’s been one of those.”
“A hat-check girl” he murmured, oblivious to my cutting sarcasm. “I don’t suppose, Bertie, that you could…”
“No, I couldn’t. Whatever it is, I couldn’t.” Bingo stared at me, bemused. “I’m sorry, as you know normally I’d do anything to help a friend, but on this occasion I really can’t. Sorry.”
I chucked the rest of the brandy down my neck, stood up and made for the door. The brandy was starting to kick in so I took a taxi back to the flat and made up my mind to face this situation head on, no shilly-shallying about, the code of the Woosters demands direct action in these situations. Well, similar situations. I’m not sure that the code had actually been thought up with situations like this in mind.
I toddle up to the flat and rang the bell, and Jeeves lets me in.
“Good afternoon Sir. Was your lunch with Mrs Gregson satisfactory?”
“The food was, the company less so. And the topic of conversation was quite disturbing.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, Sir.”
I noticed that he had those funny sleeve things on, that mean he’s been doing something practical in the kitchen
“Oh, were you in the middle of doing something, Jeeves? Don’t let me distract you.”
“I was in the process of ironing some of your shirts, Sir”
“Oh, well, very good...er… carry on…”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He vanished back into the kitchen, and I sat down in a chair. Then I got up again. I had to deal with this now, I knew it, or I’d never get the nerve. Courage, Bertie, the code of the Woosters and all that- Oh, blast the code of the Woosters! I squared my shoulders and advanced.
In the kitchen Jeeves was bent over the ironing board, but turned as I walked in
“Is there anything you require, Sir?” he asked calmly
“I, ah, I need to speak to you about a matter that came up at lunch today. A topic of conversation came up which rather needs addressing.”
“I shall endeavour to assist, Sir, but might I continue with the ironing whilst you inform me of the particulars? The iron can be rather temperamental if left alone for long.”
I had no objection, in fact I was rather glad when he turned back as it was going to be easier to tell him about this when he wasn’t in fact looking at me.
“The thing is” I continued “my aunt has brought up the subject of marriage again. Only not with any particular girl in mind this time, instead she wished to impress upon me the necessity of my marrying to avoid being talked about.”
“Talked about, Sir?”
“Talked about, Jeeves”
“Ah. I venture to say that I understand.”
“Now, would you say that there was any basis to…well, such talk?”
“No, Sir.”
Well, that was direct enough, but did my ears detect a hint of, if not disappointment, then of wistfulness in the man’s tone? Emboldened by this faint glimmer of hope, I continued.
“Well quite. But, you know, mightn’t a chap feel one way about a thing in general, but a different way about a particular example of this thing? I mean, I’ve been quite keen on the idea of marrying in the past, but I can think of several girls I shouldn’t ever have cared to toddle down the aisle with.”
“Acutely observed, Sir.”
“And, well, of course, one might not view chaps in general in such a way, but one particular chap could be another matter entirely…” I trailed off, noticing that Jeeves had gone very still, but then rallied and went on;
“And of course, when two people spend a lot of time together things can happen, y’know, feelings develop and all that, and sometimes I suppose some rather odd feelings pop up and make themselves, er, felt, and, er, well, what I’m trying to say I suppose is that I, er, hmmm. Yes, well, that is to say, I… um… seem to have fallen for you. Hook, line and sinker, as they say.”
There. It was said. For better or worse, I’d said it, and immediately wished I hadn’t. Because I realised that I hadn’t actually thought properly about what his reaction was going to be. The fellow might be the prime exponent of the old feudal spirit, but I rather doubted that it was going to extend to putting up with being propositioned by his employer. Droit de seigneur now being but a memory on the statute books, and that. And I was pretty sure that it wouldn’t have been relevant anyway. So, unless by some miracle he felt the same way, I was bally well sunk. He’d leave me, and being honour bound to write this up in the Ganymede club book for anyone else who might have thought of entering my employ, the potential for blackmail… I turned and punched the wall. Dammit, what was I thinking of? I blamed the brandy.
I heard Jeeves put the iron down, and walk over. He’s going to pack, I thought. Even if he’s not totally cheesed off, he can’t stay here if he doesn’t… And then…
He stopped behind me, however, and placed his hand on my shoulder. Here it is, I thought, the last pitying farewell before he leaves my life forever. I couldn’t turn around to look at him.
“May I say, Sir, that I found your speech just now to be very moving and expressive. However, may I venture to suggest that there may be a more eloquent way to express those sentiments?”
Startled, I now turned and found myself gazing up into his eyes, which normally were cool and distant but now seemed somewhat warmer and more expressive. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say anything he leant down slightly and kissed me. Right on the mouth. And not just some minor peck, even, but a proper, full-on lip-lock. Well, I kissed back of course- good lord, was there nothing this man wasn’t good at?
Well, his arms went around me, my arms went around him, and how long we were like that I don’t know and don’t particularly care, to be honest, until we broke apart and stood staring at one another. We were both breathing hard, and Jeeves looked rather flushed. His hair was now mussed from my hands and the combination of order and disorder was both strange and devastatingly attractive.
“So you too…?” I managed at last. He inclined his head.
“Indeed, Sir.”
“For how long?”
“I cannot put my finger on the exact date, but I have been aware of these sentiments towards yourself for some time now.”
“Well!” I said, and as I couldn’t think of anything else to say I said it again; “Well!”.
Jeeves looked uncharacteristically uncertain of himself now. He coughed slightly, in his ‘I regret that this may be a slightly awkward topic’ way, and began;
“Might I suggest, Sir, that these new developments in our relationship may necessitate a re-examination of the boundaries. If you would permit me Sir, I would like to suggest that I pour you a drink, and with your permission one for myself as well, as I regret to say that I feel somewhat in need of a restorative, and that we then proceed to discuss the matter?”
It sounded like an excellent idea, and there was only one thing to say. I smiled, nodded, and told him;
“Carry on, Jeeves”.
So without any more ado, may I present:
Title: 'The Marrying Kind'
Author: Liz
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Fandom: Wodehouse
Warnings: m/m, mild
Summary: Lunch with an Aunt leads to a series of discoveries
‘The Marrying Kind’
It all started, as things are wont to do, with an aunt. Left to my own devices my life tends to revolve comfortably around the Drones Club, restaurants and the theatre but as soon as you throw an aunt into the mix things start getting complicated.
The aunt in question this time was Aunt Agatha. She had telephoned one morning to inform me that she was in town and that I was to take her for lunch, as she had something that she wanted to discuss with me. This is never a good sign with aunts, so I popped round to the Drones beforehand for a couple of quick bracers and to check if any engagements had been called off recently; which they hadn’t. So, slightly reassured, I ankled round to the restaurant at the appointed hour.
The bracers having done the trick, I was able to greet Aunt Agatha with a cheery welcome, at which she requested me not to use such ‘vulgar music hall slang’ as she put it and, fixing me with a steely eye, stated that she had a matter of some importance to discuss. I intimated that I had understood that from her telephone call that morning, and she told me not to interrupt.
“I need to speak firmly to you, Bertie, about your marriage.”
“What marriage?”
“Precisely.”
This was to much. I had had rather more years of being badgered about marriage than I really cared to remember and I had, to be quite frank, had enough of it.
“Now listen Aunt Agatha” I said “To be frank I’ve had quite enough of being badgered about marriage. You keep saying that I must get married-“
“You must!”
“Well, you say so, but you’ve never yet given me a decent reason why. I’ve had a few stabs at it, but it’s never gone off, and I don’t see why, when I’ve wanted to get married and it hasn’t worked I should get married when I don’t. Want to get married, that is. No, I’m sorry, but there you are. Honourable estate conceived of by God and all that, but I’m not convinced that it’s conceived of for me.”
“Oh, you mustn’t say that! Please, never say that!”
She sounded genuinely upset. This threw me a bit, because although I’ve seen Aunt Agatha in a variety of moods, ‘upset’ was a new one on me. It looked dashed odd on her, I can tell you.
She continued,
“People are beginning to talk! They are beginning to say that you are not the marrying sort!
“Well, that’s what I’m saying too-” I started, and then it sunk in what she meant. I gazed thunderstruck at Aunt Agatha, who nodded mournfully back at me. Fortunately our lunch arrived at that point and gave me something else to think about- a chap needs some sustenance when it turns out that people are talking about him behind his back- and not in a way one might like. I mean, if someone wanted to put it about town that I’m a bit of a whiz on the piano, and a jolly good chap to liven up a party that starting to fall a bit flat, that’s perfectly all right by me. But lining me up for a two year stretch is something else again. Especially since I nearly inadvertently broke up an engagement through it being believed that I wasn’t necessarily, er, safe in taxis, as it were. Not that there was anything in it anyway, as I wouldn’t even if- er, I mean given that… well, it’s a long story but the thing of it was… oh dash it! It’s a silly rumour with no truth in it, and that’s all there is to it.
Once the waiter had withdrawn Aunt Agatha seemed disinclined to resume the conversation, or indeed any conversation, which was perfectly fine by me, and the meal passed in a relatively restful silence- so all in all it was the most enjoyable meal I’ve ever had in her company.
She legged it sharpish muttering about wanting to get an earlier train and I decided to wander back to the flat on foot, as I wanted to try and think about this bombshell that had been dropped in my lap.
Could it, possibly, be true and I not know it? After all, I’d be the first to accept that sometimes for me the penny doesn’t have to so much drop as hit me square between the eyes, and there were times back at school that would definitely fall under the relevant heading- no, that’s generally accepted to not count; ‘beastliness’ may have been publicly denounced and cold showers advocated instead, but I can’t really think of a single chap from the old alma mater that wouldn’t prefer a cosy moment in the changing rooms over a deluge of ice cold water any day.
I mean, just look at Bingo. His tendency to fall into adoring swoons over some Ganymede of a fag was legendary, but look at him now! All that amorous tendency now firmly expressed in the pursuit of the female of the species. And possibly with no little wisdom- I don’t really see any of his assorted Mabels and Agneses and Mildreds turning into Aunts. And I’ve always had an eye for a well turned leg or two supporting a suitably feminine figure, so I feel that I can say, with absolute certainty, that my safeness in taxis is purely down to my gentlemanly instincts, and nothing else.
Although it’s certainly true that my inclination towards marriage, never particularly strong, has shown a marked decrease in the last few years. At a time when most of the chaps my age are starting to find a nice girl and settle down, I’m happy to remain a gay bachelor. Not that I’ve been spending that much time out and about recently, rather I’ve been happy with a quiet night in with a whisky and nattering with Jeeves as he polishes the silver or some such. I think he’s trying to improve my mind; I’d asked him a little while ago where he got all his wonderful little quotations from and he suggested some stuff I might like to read- I hadn’t realised that that Shakespeare chap could be funny, but there are some rip roaring bits in ‘Twelfth Night’- I threatened him with cross gartered yellow stockings as a joke, although he just smiled slightly and said ‘Very good, Sir’. Odd, that. He seemed interested in my thoughts on that Orsino chap’s attitude towards the girl dressed as a boy, though.
No, all in all, I’m very well suited as I am, thank you very much, especially since Jeeves would be off like a shot if I were to get married, and I don’t fancy the thought of having to cope without him around. After all, we’ve been together for quite a few years now and we’ve grown accustomed to each other’s little ways, in fact we get on rather better than I do with most of my family. Of course, that may be because Jeeves isn’t always after me to get married or to steal some object from the house… I even rather miss him when he takes his two weeks holiday, no matter how good the chap he gets to fill in for him is… miss him rather a lot actually, it’s just not the same and rather lonely to… be… perfectly… honest….Good Lord! So that’s what it is! Not chaps in general, but Jeeves!
Well, I was thunderstruck. Again. Twice in one day. I stopped dead in amazement- not, maybe, the best thing to do in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, and I got roundly sworn at by a taxi driver. Well, what with that and the shock of suddenly realising that I seem to have fallen for my man, the only thing for it was a restorative glass or several in the Drones. I toddled along there fairly sharpish and was so perturbed that I nearly failed to notice Bustopher Jones who was on his way out and almost tripped right over him. I apologised profusely of course, but he stalked off with his tail in the air and refused to acknowledge it.
With a large brandy in my hand I dropped thankfully into one of the large wing chairs by the fire, hoping to express by my general demeanour that I was not At Home to any attempts at light conversation and wished to be left alone. I needed to try and think what to do about this very peculiar situation in which I found myself, but as all my instincts were along the lines of ‘consult Jeeves’ I wasn’t getting very far. I had managed to work out alright that the best outcome would be Jeeves declaring eternal love for me also (devotion I was fairly sure I had already, in weekly instalments), and was just trying to work out what the chances were of that happening when Bingo Little flung himself into the chair opposite.
“What ho, Bertie” he commented dreamily. He was in love again. You get to know the signs when they’ve been paraded under your nose for as long as they’ve been paraded under mine. His next words only confirmed my diagnosis.
“I’m in love, Bertie. With a truly marvellous girl… Ethel, her name is….”
“A tender goddess, no doubt” I muttered “And she’s, what, a sales clerk? A waitress? It’s been a while since there’s been one of those.”
“A hat-check girl” he murmured, oblivious to my cutting sarcasm. “I don’t suppose, Bertie, that you could…”
“No, I couldn’t. Whatever it is, I couldn’t.” Bingo stared at me, bemused. “I’m sorry, as you know normally I’d do anything to help a friend, but on this occasion I really can’t. Sorry.”
I chucked the rest of the brandy down my neck, stood up and made for the door. The brandy was starting to kick in so I took a taxi back to the flat and made up my mind to face this situation head on, no shilly-shallying about, the code of the Woosters demands direct action in these situations. Well, similar situations. I’m not sure that the code had actually been thought up with situations like this in mind.
I toddle up to the flat and rang the bell, and Jeeves lets me in.
“Good afternoon Sir. Was your lunch with Mrs Gregson satisfactory?”
“The food was, the company less so. And the topic of conversation was quite disturbing.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, Sir.”
I noticed that he had those funny sleeve things on, that mean he’s been doing something practical in the kitchen
“Oh, were you in the middle of doing something, Jeeves? Don’t let me distract you.”
“I was in the process of ironing some of your shirts, Sir”
“Oh, well, very good...er… carry on…”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He vanished back into the kitchen, and I sat down in a chair. Then I got up again. I had to deal with this now, I knew it, or I’d never get the nerve. Courage, Bertie, the code of the Woosters and all that- Oh, blast the code of the Woosters! I squared my shoulders and advanced.
In the kitchen Jeeves was bent over the ironing board, but turned as I walked in
“Is there anything you require, Sir?” he asked calmly
“I, ah, I need to speak to you about a matter that came up at lunch today. A topic of conversation came up which rather needs addressing.”
“I shall endeavour to assist, Sir, but might I continue with the ironing whilst you inform me of the particulars? The iron can be rather temperamental if left alone for long.”
I had no objection, in fact I was rather glad when he turned back as it was going to be easier to tell him about this when he wasn’t in fact looking at me.
“The thing is” I continued “my aunt has brought up the subject of marriage again. Only not with any particular girl in mind this time, instead she wished to impress upon me the necessity of my marrying to avoid being talked about.”
“Talked about, Sir?”
“Talked about, Jeeves”
“Ah. I venture to say that I understand.”
“Now, would you say that there was any basis to…well, such talk?”
“No, Sir.”
Well, that was direct enough, but did my ears detect a hint of, if not disappointment, then of wistfulness in the man’s tone? Emboldened by this faint glimmer of hope, I continued.
“Well quite. But, you know, mightn’t a chap feel one way about a thing in general, but a different way about a particular example of this thing? I mean, I’ve been quite keen on the idea of marrying in the past, but I can think of several girls I shouldn’t ever have cared to toddle down the aisle with.”
“Acutely observed, Sir.”
“And, well, of course, one might not view chaps in general in such a way, but one particular chap could be another matter entirely…” I trailed off, noticing that Jeeves had gone very still, but then rallied and went on;
“And of course, when two people spend a lot of time together things can happen, y’know, feelings develop and all that, and sometimes I suppose some rather odd feelings pop up and make themselves, er, felt, and, er, well, what I’m trying to say I suppose is that I, er, hmmm. Yes, well, that is to say, I… um… seem to have fallen for you. Hook, line and sinker, as they say.”
There. It was said. For better or worse, I’d said it, and immediately wished I hadn’t. Because I realised that I hadn’t actually thought properly about what his reaction was going to be. The fellow might be the prime exponent of the old feudal spirit, but I rather doubted that it was going to extend to putting up with being propositioned by his employer. Droit de seigneur now being but a memory on the statute books, and that. And I was pretty sure that it wouldn’t have been relevant anyway. So, unless by some miracle he felt the same way, I was bally well sunk. He’d leave me, and being honour bound to write this up in the Ganymede club book for anyone else who might have thought of entering my employ, the potential for blackmail… I turned and punched the wall. Dammit, what was I thinking of? I blamed the brandy.
I heard Jeeves put the iron down, and walk over. He’s going to pack, I thought. Even if he’s not totally cheesed off, he can’t stay here if he doesn’t… And then…
He stopped behind me, however, and placed his hand on my shoulder. Here it is, I thought, the last pitying farewell before he leaves my life forever. I couldn’t turn around to look at him.
“May I say, Sir, that I found your speech just now to be very moving and expressive. However, may I venture to suggest that there may be a more eloquent way to express those sentiments?”
Startled, I now turned and found myself gazing up into his eyes, which normally were cool and distant but now seemed somewhat warmer and more expressive. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say anything he leant down slightly and kissed me. Right on the mouth. And not just some minor peck, even, but a proper, full-on lip-lock. Well, I kissed back of course- good lord, was there nothing this man wasn’t good at?
Well, his arms went around me, my arms went around him, and how long we were like that I don’t know and don’t particularly care, to be honest, until we broke apart and stood staring at one another. We were both breathing hard, and Jeeves looked rather flushed. His hair was now mussed from my hands and the combination of order and disorder was both strange and devastatingly attractive.
“So you too…?” I managed at last. He inclined his head.
“Indeed, Sir.”
“For how long?”
“I cannot put my finger on the exact date, but I have been aware of these sentiments towards yourself for some time now.”
“Well!” I said, and as I couldn’t think of anything else to say I said it again; “Well!”.
Jeeves looked uncharacteristically uncertain of himself now. He coughed slightly, in his ‘I regret that this may be a slightly awkward topic’ way, and began;
“Might I suggest, Sir, that these new developments in our relationship may necessitate a re-examination of the boundaries. If you would permit me Sir, I would like to suggest that I pour you a drink, and with your permission one for myself as well, as I regret to say that I feel somewhat in need of a restorative, and that we then proceed to discuss the matter?”
It sounded like an excellent idea, and there was only one thing to say. I smiled, nodded, and told him;
“Carry on, Jeeves”.