Ficlet: Fall; Jeeves/Wooster; G
For posterity! Posted here at indeedsir.
Originally for Porn Battle VII, but sadly pornless.
Title: Fall
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Words: 927
Rating: G
Summary: "Do you trust me, sir?"
Disclaimer: My deepest apologies to Wodehouse.
Note: The Porn Battle prompt was "trust." Please excuse any sloppiness due to hasty composition. This is the uncut version. The slightly-shorter PB version is here if you want it.
"Do you trust me, sir?"
In normal circs, it was a dashed silly question coming from Jeeves. The man charged with the care and feeding of one Wooster, B, in possession of all the dirt and the deepest-darkest-- if I didn't trust him, I was a sight dimmer than advertised for keeping him around as long as I had, even if I had been secretly pining for him for what felt like the last decade (but couldn't really have been more than a couple of years at the outside). Yes, I'm afraid you read that right. You did notice the lack of binding and the distinct absence of typesetting? This is not a tale to be read to the family of an evening. But I digress, as I often do.
I'll say again, in normal circs, this trust question would have been a silly one. In the current posish, however, it was not the silliest q. that could have been asked, as said c. p. found self perched on a second-storey ledge of Brinkley Court with no way back in the window and my ladder absconded by some security-minded groundskeeper, with my cousin Angela to return and catch me in the act at any moment. I know I've got a habit of just depositing the reader in media res, as I think it's called, but the only really necessary information is that I'd had to steal back an ill-considered missive my bosom pal Tuppy had written to said cousin before she returned and found it, for the events leading up to afore-stated c.p. are not the point.
The point was that there was no way off but down, and Jeeves below the only chance for an un-flattened Bertram, however he proposed to accomplish it with no time to recover the ladder.
"I suppose I'd jolly well better," I responded, admittedly a trifle pipped at these inquiries delaying my removal from the windowsill, which seemed to shrink under my feet as the seconds ticked by.
"Then I believe the best course of action would be to jump, sir."
"Jump? Jump, Jeeves? Are you out of your head?"
"I will catch you, sir."
Well, I ask you, what alternative did I have? I might still end rather crepe-like, but at least I could meet my maker having once felt the Jeevesian arms about my person. It was better than nothing, and I did trust him, and I couldn't very well stay where I was. "Down I come, then," I said, the voice not as steady and courageous as I might have liked. I tried to sort of aim for him, but in doing so my foot slipped, and rather than a deliberate launching of the corpus, what occurred was more an ungainly flailing of limbs as I fell towards the ground.
I screwed my eyes shut and placed my fate wholly and literally in the hands of Jeeves. I released a winded 'oof' as the ground, rather softer than I'd been expecting, made contact with my front. The ground, in fact, said 'oof' right back and had wrapped me in a pair of strong arms. I unscrewed the eyes and looked down to find that the ground was none other than Jeeves, looking up at me with concern. I was dumbfounded, dumbstruck, all sorts of dumb things, because point the first, I was not a crepe, and point the second, I was held firmly and directly on top of Jeeves with our faces mere inches apart.
"Are you hurt, sir?" he asked, and I must've knocked the wind right out of him because it came over a bit breathy.
"I fell," I said (I will point you back to my dumbstruck state), unable to do anything but stare deeply and soppily into his eyes as a damsel-no-longer-in-distress might do to the avenging knight.
"Yes, sir," he said. His grip on me loosened a bit, but his hands remained at my waist.
"You caught me."
"Yes, sir." One of the hands at my waist sort of moved a bit; I might've called it rubbing, actually.
"I should... get off you." But I found I couldn't quite bring myself to move, because at this moment Jeeves licked his lips, and all I could do was stare at them.
"No, sir."
"N...no?"
The hand that wasn't doing the back-rubbing came up to my cheek, just the barest brush of fingers. I shivered. "Am I mistaken, sir?" He sounded as though he'd just spent the last few hours lighting one gasper off another, possibly with bouts of shouting in between. That is to say, hoarse. As I knew exactly how he'd spent the last few hours, I could only assume I was the cause of it, and had I hit my head?
"No, but I think I'm dreaming," I said. The only logical explanation was that I was, in reality, a Wooster crepe upon the ground and dreaming this.
"No, sir," Jeeves said, and if I was dreaming, I could just jolly well stay asleep, because he pulled my face down across those mere inches and kissed me. Then he rolled us onto our sides and kept right on kissing me. I had joined in by this point, of course, and I have to tell you it's rather lucky my fall had placed us squarely between a very tall hedge and a windowless bit of house, because a good bit more than kissing occurred. But other than to assure that I was not at all dreaming, the rest is a story for another day.
Originally for Porn Battle VII, but sadly pornless.
Title: Fall
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Words: 927
Rating: G
Summary: "Do you trust me, sir?"
Disclaimer: My deepest apologies to Wodehouse.
Note: The Porn Battle prompt was "trust." Please excuse any sloppiness due to hasty composition. This is the uncut version. The slightly-shorter PB version is here if you want it.
"Do you trust me, sir?"
In normal circs, it was a dashed silly question coming from Jeeves. The man charged with the care and feeding of one Wooster, B, in possession of all the dirt and the deepest-darkest-- if I didn't trust him, I was a sight dimmer than advertised for keeping him around as long as I had, even if I had been secretly pining for him for what felt like the last decade (but couldn't really have been more than a couple of years at the outside). Yes, I'm afraid you read that right. You did notice the lack of binding and the distinct absence of typesetting? This is not a tale to be read to the family of an evening. But I digress, as I often do.
I'll say again, in normal circs, this trust question would have been a silly one. In the current posish, however, it was not the silliest q. that could have been asked, as said c. p. found self perched on a second-storey ledge of Brinkley Court with no way back in the window and my ladder absconded by some security-minded groundskeeper, with my cousin Angela to return and catch me in the act at any moment. I know I've got a habit of just depositing the reader in media res, as I think it's called, but the only really necessary information is that I'd had to steal back an ill-considered missive my bosom pal Tuppy had written to said cousin before she returned and found it, for the events leading up to afore-stated c.p. are not the point.
The point was that there was no way off but down, and Jeeves below the only chance for an un-flattened Bertram, however he proposed to accomplish it with no time to recover the ladder.
"I suppose I'd jolly well better," I responded, admittedly a trifle pipped at these inquiries delaying my removal from the windowsill, which seemed to shrink under my feet as the seconds ticked by.
"Then I believe the best course of action would be to jump, sir."
"Jump? Jump, Jeeves? Are you out of your head?"
"I will catch you, sir."
Well, I ask you, what alternative did I have? I might still end rather crepe-like, but at least I could meet my maker having once felt the Jeevesian arms about my person. It was better than nothing, and I did trust him, and I couldn't very well stay where I was. "Down I come, then," I said, the voice not as steady and courageous as I might have liked. I tried to sort of aim for him, but in doing so my foot slipped, and rather than a deliberate launching of the corpus, what occurred was more an ungainly flailing of limbs as I fell towards the ground.
I screwed my eyes shut and placed my fate wholly and literally in the hands of Jeeves. I released a winded 'oof' as the ground, rather softer than I'd been expecting, made contact with my front. The ground, in fact, said 'oof' right back and had wrapped me in a pair of strong arms. I unscrewed the eyes and looked down to find that the ground was none other than Jeeves, looking up at me with concern. I was dumbfounded, dumbstruck, all sorts of dumb things, because point the first, I was not a crepe, and point the second, I was held firmly and directly on top of Jeeves with our faces mere inches apart.
"Are you hurt, sir?" he asked, and I must've knocked the wind right out of him because it came over a bit breathy.
"I fell," I said (I will point you back to my dumbstruck state), unable to do anything but stare deeply and soppily into his eyes as a damsel-no-longer-in-distress might do to the avenging knight.
"Yes, sir," he said. His grip on me loosened a bit, but his hands remained at my waist.
"You caught me."
"Yes, sir." One of the hands at my waist sort of moved a bit; I might've called it rubbing, actually.
"I should... get off you." But I found I couldn't quite bring myself to move, because at this moment Jeeves licked his lips, and all I could do was stare at them.
"No, sir."
"N...no?"
The hand that wasn't doing the back-rubbing came up to my cheek, just the barest brush of fingers. I shivered. "Am I mistaken, sir?" He sounded as though he'd just spent the last few hours lighting one gasper off another, possibly with bouts of shouting in between. That is to say, hoarse. As I knew exactly how he'd spent the last few hours, I could only assume I was the cause of it, and had I hit my head?
"No, but I think I'm dreaming," I said. The only logical explanation was that I was, in reality, a Wooster crepe upon the ground and dreaming this.
"No, sir," Jeeves said, and if I was dreaming, I could just jolly well stay asleep, because he pulled my face down across those mere inches and kissed me. Then he rolled us onto our sides and kept right on kissing me. I had joined in by this point, of course, and I have to tell you it's rather lucky my fall had placed us squarely between a very tall hedge and a windowless bit of house, because a good bit more than kissing occurred. But other than to assure that I was not at all dreaming, the rest is a story for another day.