Fic: Jeeves and the Bed For Two
I have several writing projects I should be focusing my attention on: my LARP this summer, the still-on-hiatus epilogue for my LARP last summer, the essay about my volunteer work that will earn me my $150 stipend, and a poem for homework due on Monday.
So naturally I wrote a Jeeves and Wooster fanfic.
This plotbunny has actually been nibbling at me for a while, but it was whitequeenwalks' recent bed-prompt that got me to actually writing it. This is my first Jeeves and Wooster fanfic ever (unless you count Young Brits With Hats). Also, I thought I'd try my hand at the idea that "bed" does not always equal "sex".
Oh my god, semi-platonic!Jooster ahead.
Title: Jeeves and the Bed For Two
Pairing: light Jooster
Summary: This was ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT during the brief stateroom scene in Bertie Sets Sail ("Where am I going to sleep?" "In here, sir.")
Rating: G, I guess
Words: 1,485
Disclaimer: May cause diabetes from sugary fluffyness
“I say, Jeeves, I’ve just noticed: there doesn’t seem to be any decent spot in our stateroom for you to sleep!”
“I believe I shall be quite comfortable on the sofa, sir.”
“Oh, come now, Jeeves. We can’t have that! Look, the bed’s big enough for two.”
“…I’m afraid I shall have to decline your kind offer, sir.”
“Jeeves, the Wooster spirit sees no reason why an exceptional chap such as yourself, especially such as yourself, should be deprived of a sufficient station on which to nab the eight hours just because he happens to be away from home for a bit. I must insist.”
“…Very good, sir.”
* * *
Dashed awkward thing it must be, sharing a bed with one’s employer for the first time. “But Bertie,” surely you must be thinking to yourselves by now “It was your idea in the first place!” Well, I say to you “Let the record show that Wooster, Bertram W. is a man of chivalry and wants to see that his most-deserving valet gets an actual bed on this sea-journey and did not act on some sort of latent daffy feelings for the man.” Well, perhaps that last portion was a bit harsh. My man Jeeves stands alone, there can be no denying that, and I wouldn’t trade him for anything at all in the world. There most defiantly exists between us some sort of connection-thingummy that extends beyond the normal ties of gentleman and gentleman’s gentleman, but I’m not quite sure what to call the dashed thing yet.
Maybe I’ll think of a good name for it after what happened that first night.
The actual getting-into of the bed itself was of no large significance, save the fact that I had never before seen Jeeves in pyjamas. They were of a deep grey and almost cast the illusion that he had never removed his uniform, unless of course one actually bothered to stop and really look. We got in at a comfortable distance from each other, so as to avoid imposing on the other’s body, said our usual “good night’s” (differ-something from the everynight by the absence of this exchange being followed immediately by Jeeves leaving the room and switching off the lights), and tottered off to sleep. Some time later, I awoke.
Couldn’t tell what time it was, but being completely surrounded by mostly-but-not-quite-thanks-to-the-moon darkness seemed to drop a hint that all good chaps should be well into the waltz through dreamland. My first thought, naturally, was “what the dickens am I doing up?” but a few moments of rousing the old bean made two possible reasons quite clear to me:
1) Somehow, we’d forgotten to close the window before settling down for the night and now a cold sea breeze was making itself most unwelcome in our stateroom.
2) Jeeves had wound himself ‘round the Wooster corpus and was shivering ever so slightly.
The poor blighter was cold! And was clinging to me for warmth, no less! Well, hardly surprising after mulling over the facts for a mo’. I was, after all, the heat source in closest proximity. Funny thing, though. I felt the draft too, but it wasn’t enough to make me shiver-worthy. Jeeves’ body felt warm enough to send any worries of illness scampering on their merry way, but I couldn’t leave the old thing trembling like this. I tried shifting myself ever so slightly so as to get a better idea in the direction of disentangling myself from my valet’s pleading embrace. Got to get out of bed and close that bally window, now, what? While rotating myself to my back, I found Jeeves’ grip to be not as tight as I feared. His arms and legs slid from their position almost as fluidly as his feet (and the rest of him) entered rooms, but considering his current state, what was to stop them from shimmering back to their original p.? I slipped out from the folds of the sheets while I still could and padded over to seal off the offending chill from outside. My task completed, I started back towards the impending coziness.
Then I noticed two more things:
1) No wonder Jeeves was shivering instead of me. I’d hogged all the sheets in my sleep! Never even knew I did that until now. I’d have some apologies to bestow upon my man come the morning.
2) I’d also very nearly shoved him off the bed. Dashed surprised he hadn’t fallen already. Might even have had his legs dangling over the side if they hadn’t been drawn in Bertram’s furnace-like direction.
Thought I’d best be setting right what I could while I was up. As gently as the Wooster digits would allow without waking Jeeves, I attempted to slide him from the danger zone at the edge of the bed. Sorry to say that my confidence in this task shied and whinnied after a single prod and it took another minute or so for me to nab some sugar cubes and coax it back. The second time, my worries were nearly confirmed as my touch elicited a small Jeevesian groan, causing my fingers to leap back faster than if they had been electrocuted. Despite the recent circs of Jeeves sleepily taking Bertram as a personal heat-producing hug-pillow, I was quite unsure as to how well he would take to waking with his master’s hands all over him.
And by Jove! Would you believe it? Jeeves scooted back ever so slightly so slightly on his own! A marvel, that man, I tell you. I gingerly leaned over and grasped my subconsciously-selfish wad of sheets, draping them over his great frame with as gentle a touch as I could muster. As a drowsy afterthought, I made a motion completely defeating the purpose of my caution in the last few actions: I reached out with one hand and stroked Jeeves’ arm.
“That’ll start the warming process, like chappies who rub their hands together when they get cold” I must have been thinking. Either way, Jeeves continued to clock in the eight hours and I figured I had best be resuming my count as well. Nudging under the covers again, I didn’t put quite the same distance between us as we had at the beginning of the night. I weighed the possibilities of threatening him off the bed again with making sure he was close enough to heat to stop shivering and managed to find what was, I think, anyway, a happy medium on the mattress.
And I confess the iron will of the feudal spirit was all that prevented me from taking Jeeves in my own arms and fueling the healing furnace until his tremors ceased. Also, if he did happen to go over the side, we’d both go down together and he wouldn’t have to be alone in suffering the bruises.
Dashed curious thing, this bond-thingummy between us. Any other bloke you might meet would probably glance at his man shivering from cold in the night and think “well, what of it, then?” before popping off to his own comfortable chambers. But not B. Wooster and his Jeeves. All it took for me was to see said shivering and remember that the man was indeed just as human as the rest of us and deserved the same pity for having a chill as a child at the family cabin in wintertime. I’d never even seen Jeeves asleep before and the combination before me made him seem almost uncharacteristically vulnerable.
But, I’m afraid, as we had never entered into conscious physical contact of the aforementioned type, I didn’t want to startle the man now by, well, I think I’ve already said my piece about the hands-all-over-him. Body-all-over-him was right out. But with this development, I thought it might not be too impossible a possibility to introduce this idea in the waking hours when we were both fully waked (and fully clothed). The shut window, restored blankets, and brief arm-rub would have to take on the job for now.
I don’t understand how he does it. I really just don’t. Even in his sleep, as I think I stated before, the man amazes me.
He smiled in his sleep.
Not to say that I’ve never seen Jeeves smile ever, but this was a different kind of smile. The contented kind that seemed, if my moonlight-aided vision wasn’t pulling my leg, to accompany the closing of one’s period of cold-shaking. Well, I mean to say, be dashed if that didn’t bring smile to the old Wooster face to match. I felt like a jolly old fool at that mo’, quite honestly. I should’ve known Jeeves better; never long would he be out of the loop for any reason. My worries for my dearest valet could retire to the shelves for the night.
It was time for the more personal Wooster-worries to de-shelve themselves.
Next chapter will be more hurt/comforty!
Chapter 2 here.
So naturally I wrote a Jeeves and Wooster fanfic.
This plotbunny has actually been nibbling at me for a while, but it was whitequeenwalks' recent bed-prompt that got me to actually writing it. This is my first Jeeves and Wooster fanfic ever (unless you count Young Brits With Hats). Also, I thought I'd try my hand at the idea that "bed" does not always equal "sex".
Oh my god, semi-platonic!Jooster ahead.
Title: Jeeves and the Bed For Two
Pairing: light Jooster
Summary: This was ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT during the brief stateroom scene in Bertie Sets Sail ("Where am I going to sleep?" "In here, sir.")
Rating: G, I guess
Words: 1,485
Disclaimer: May cause diabetes from sugary fluffyness
“I say, Jeeves, I’ve just noticed: there doesn’t seem to be any decent spot in our stateroom for you to sleep!”
“I believe I shall be quite comfortable on the sofa, sir.”
“Oh, come now, Jeeves. We can’t have that! Look, the bed’s big enough for two.”
“…I’m afraid I shall have to decline your kind offer, sir.”
“Jeeves, the Wooster spirit sees no reason why an exceptional chap such as yourself, especially such as yourself, should be deprived of a sufficient station on which to nab the eight hours just because he happens to be away from home for a bit. I must insist.”
“…Very good, sir.”
* * *
Dashed awkward thing it must be, sharing a bed with one’s employer for the first time. “But Bertie,” surely you must be thinking to yourselves by now “It was your idea in the first place!” Well, I say to you “Let the record show that Wooster, Bertram W. is a man of chivalry and wants to see that his most-deserving valet gets an actual bed on this sea-journey and did not act on some sort of latent daffy feelings for the man.” Well, perhaps that last portion was a bit harsh. My man Jeeves stands alone, there can be no denying that, and I wouldn’t trade him for anything at all in the world. There most defiantly exists between us some sort of connection-thingummy that extends beyond the normal ties of gentleman and gentleman’s gentleman, but I’m not quite sure what to call the dashed thing yet.
Maybe I’ll think of a good name for it after what happened that first night.
The actual getting-into of the bed itself was of no large significance, save the fact that I had never before seen Jeeves in pyjamas. They were of a deep grey and almost cast the illusion that he had never removed his uniform, unless of course one actually bothered to stop and really look. We got in at a comfortable distance from each other, so as to avoid imposing on the other’s body, said our usual “good night’s” (differ-something from the everynight by the absence of this exchange being followed immediately by Jeeves leaving the room and switching off the lights), and tottered off to sleep. Some time later, I awoke.
Couldn’t tell what time it was, but being completely surrounded by mostly-but-not-quite-thanks-to-the-moon darkness seemed to drop a hint that all good chaps should be well into the waltz through dreamland. My first thought, naturally, was “what the dickens am I doing up?” but a few moments of rousing the old bean made two possible reasons quite clear to me:
1) Somehow, we’d forgotten to close the window before settling down for the night and now a cold sea breeze was making itself most unwelcome in our stateroom.
2) Jeeves had wound himself ‘round the Wooster corpus and was shivering ever so slightly.
The poor blighter was cold! And was clinging to me for warmth, no less! Well, hardly surprising after mulling over the facts for a mo’. I was, after all, the heat source in closest proximity. Funny thing, though. I felt the draft too, but it wasn’t enough to make me shiver-worthy. Jeeves’ body felt warm enough to send any worries of illness scampering on their merry way, but I couldn’t leave the old thing trembling like this. I tried shifting myself ever so slightly so as to get a better idea in the direction of disentangling myself from my valet’s pleading embrace. Got to get out of bed and close that bally window, now, what? While rotating myself to my back, I found Jeeves’ grip to be not as tight as I feared. His arms and legs slid from their position almost as fluidly as his feet (and the rest of him) entered rooms, but considering his current state, what was to stop them from shimmering back to their original p.? I slipped out from the folds of the sheets while I still could and padded over to seal off the offending chill from outside. My task completed, I started back towards the impending coziness.
Then I noticed two more things:
1) No wonder Jeeves was shivering instead of me. I’d hogged all the sheets in my sleep! Never even knew I did that until now. I’d have some apologies to bestow upon my man come the morning.
2) I’d also very nearly shoved him off the bed. Dashed surprised he hadn’t fallen already. Might even have had his legs dangling over the side if they hadn’t been drawn in Bertram’s furnace-like direction.
Thought I’d best be setting right what I could while I was up. As gently as the Wooster digits would allow without waking Jeeves, I attempted to slide him from the danger zone at the edge of the bed. Sorry to say that my confidence in this task shied and whinnied after a single prod and it took another minute or so for me to nab some sugar cubes and coax it back. The second time, my worries were nearly confirmed as my touch elicited a small Jeevesian groan, causing my fingers to leap back faster than if they had been electrocuted. Despite the recent circs of Jeeves sleepily taking Bertram as a personal heat-producing hug-pillow, I was quite unsure as to how well he would take to waking with his master’s hands all over him.
And by Jove! Would you believe it? Jeeves scooted back ever so slightly so slightly on his own! A marvel, that man, I tell you. I gingerly leaned over and grasped my subconsciously-selfish wad of sheets, draping them over his great frame with as gentle a touch as I could muster. As a drowsy afterthought, I made a motion completely defeating the purpose of my caution in the last few actions: I reached out with one hand and stroked Jeeves’ arm.
“That’ll start the warming process, like chappies who rub their hands together when they get cold” I must have been thinking. Either way, Jeeves continued to clock in the eight hours and I figured I had best be resuming my count as well. Nudging under the covers again, I didn’t put quite the same distance between us as we had at the beginning of the night. I weighed the possibilities of threatening him off the bed again with making sure he was close enough to heat to stop shivering and managed to find what was, I think, anyway, a happy medium on the mattress.
And I confess the iron will of the feudal spirit was all that prevented me from taking Jeeves in my own arms and fueling the healing furnace until his tremors ceased. Also, if he did happen to go over the side, we’d both go down together and he wouldn’t have to be alone in suffering the bruises.
Dashed curious thing, this bond-thingummy between us. Any other bloke you might meet would probably glance at his man shivering from cold in the night and think “well, what of it, then?” before popping off to his own comfortable chambers. But not B. Wooster and his Jeeves. All it took for me was to see said shivering and remember that the man was indeed just as human as the rest of us and deserved the same pity for having a chill as a child at the family cabin in wintertime. I’d never even seen Jeeves asleep before and the combination before me made him seem almost uncharacteristically vulnerable.
But, I’m afraid, as we had never entered into conscious physical contact of the aforementioned type, I didn’t want to startle the man now by, well, I think I’ve already said my piece about the hands-all-over-him. Body-all-over-him was right out. But with this development, I thought it might not be too impossible a possibility to introduce this idea in the waking hours when we were both fully waked (and fully clothed). The shut window, restored blankets, and brief arm-rub would have to take on the job for now.
I don’t understand how he does it. I really just don’t. Even in his sleep, as I think I stated before, the man amazes me.
He smiled in his sleep.
Not to say that I’ve never seen Jeeves smile ever, but this was a different kind of smile. The contented kind that seemed, if my moonlight-aided vision wasn’t pulling my leg, to accompany the closing of one’s period of cold-shaking. Well, I mean to say, be dashed if that didn’t bring smile to the old Wooster face to match. I felt like a jolly old fool at that mo’, quite honestly. I should’ve known Jeeves better; never long would he be out of the loop for any reason. My worries for my dearest valet could retire to the shelves for the night.
It was time for the more personal Wooster-worries to de-shelve themselves.
Next chapter will be more hurt/comforty!
Chapter 2 here.