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22 March 2009 @ 09:56 pm
Jeeves and the Sleepwalking Wheeze Part 1  
 Title: Jeeves and the Sleepwalking Wheeze 
Rating: NC-17 
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves slash 
Disclaimer: Jeeves and Wooster belong to P.G. Wodehouse, not to me. But they do need to get out of the house every now and then. 
Notes: This story was directly inspired by a drabble written by my efficient and very prompt beta,chaoschick13 . Please read that story first at the link below. My story follows on the second link. All mistakes in this wheeze belong to me. If you point them out, I can fix them. About 5,600 words. Please read the following drabble and then proceed to the story. Posted in two parts because I'm still trying to figure out the html thingummy.

community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/553477.html#cutid1  

 

Bertie Wooster pushed his rubber duck in clockwise circles around the tub, quacking occasionally as he did so. All was right with the world - the water was hot, an afternoon of shopping was planned and Jeeves was at his side. Well, not presently, he corrected himself. The great man had just biffed off to answer the door, but would return to the young master’s side at any moment. And if Bertie had his way, Jeeves would remain there forevermore.

“A telegram, sir,” Jeeves said as he entered the bathroom. He bent to kiss Bertie’s wet cheek. “Shall I read it?”

“Of course, old thing; I have no secrets from you.”

Jeeves opened the telegram and began to read:

Require your presence during Christmas and New Year’s holidays. Need another man to make up the numbers. That blasted Spode can’t make it. Ten days required. Arrive tomorrow. Do not try to weasel out of this or I shall be forced to hurt you. Love, Travers.

 

 

Bertie submerged his entire body under the water. There went plans for quiet and amorous holidays at home. Perhaps, he thought, as he struggled to hold his breath, he could stay in the hot bath for the rest of his life. It was quite pleasant, really.

He emerged, sputtering a bit, and rubbed his eyes. He opened them to find Jeeves still standing next to the tub, an expression of fond amusement on his face.

“Ten days, Jeeves? Are you certain? Read it again; she probably said two and it looked like ten. Tens often masquerade as twos, the little blighters.”

Jeeves perused the telegram. “I fear it says ten, sir.”

Bertie submerged his duck to the bottom of the tub then released it, watching it pop to the surface.

“Our duck is cooked, Jeeves,”

“I believe you mean goose, sir.”

Bertie grimaced. “Some poor fowl, at any rate.” He gave Jeeves a despairing look. “What are we going to do? I can’t keep my hands off you for ten minutes, let alone ten days. Remember what happened after the last time we spent a week at Brinkley Court?”

Jeeves’ eyebrows drew together a fraction. “I would prefer to forget that experience, sir.”

Bertie ran his fingers through his wet hair. “Not that I mind being thrown up against a wall and kissed senseless, but not having had you for a week previous to said wall-throwing, well, something unfortunate was bound to happen.”

“I should have prepared for that contingency, sir.”

Bertie rose from the tub and reached for a towel, unmindful of his nudity or his valet’s interested gaze. He wrapped the towel around his waist and knotted it, then took another towel and began drying his hair.

“I tell you, Jeeves, if we have to soldier on for ten days without the laying of hands on each other’s bits, I’ll go mad. I’ll end up drowning you when we get back.”

When Jeeves didn’t respond, Bertie pulled the towel away from his head. Jeeves was staring at him as if mesmerized. Bertie snapped his fingers in front of his valet’s face.

“Jeeves, have you even heard a single word I’ve said?”

Jeeves ran his fingertips through the damp curls on Bertie’s chest before answering.

“You doubt you can abstain from caressing my person in an intimate fashion for any length of time, sir.” He trailed his forefinger over Bertie’s right nipple. “Is that correct, sir?”

Bertie closed his eyes and sighed as Jeeves’ questing finger circled his nipple, every now and then rubbing the tip. “Jeeves,” he said and slid one hand to the back of his lover’s neck. “You know what I want.”

“Indeed, sir.”

 

“Jeeves, this has got to rate as your best wheeze yet,” Bertie said as their train approached the station nearest Brinkley Court.

Jeeves closed the poetry book he had been reading and placed it next to him on the seat. 

“Thank you, sir. I do have one concern, however. This wheeze, as you refer to it, will require some thespianic skills.”

Bertie waved a hand dismissively. “That should present no difficulties whatsoever. I was in a show at Eton.”

“Sir, that was many years ago.”

Bertie refused to be gloomy about the matter. “Like falling off a whatsit, Jeeves. I’m sure I can pull it off.”

Jeeves said something under his breath that Bertie didn’t quite catch, but he thought it sounded suspiciously like “the house is on fire.”

“I say, Jeeves, did you just say, ‘the house is on fire’?”

“I must admit I did, sir.”

“What a rotten thing to resurrect, Jeeves,” Bertie said, sitting back in a huff. “This situation is nothing like that bally show.”

Jeeves nodded. “True sir, but you must admit you froze at the worst possible moment.”

“Perhaps I did, but you must remember the result. That show sold out for weeks on end and it was all due to me.

“Now,” he said and rubbed his hands together, “let’s run through this wheeze one more time before we get to the station.”

 

Despite his excitement over Jeeves’ plan, Bertie managed to enjoy himself on the first day of the festivities. Aunt Dahlia’s guests were a jolly lot and included several of her friends and their husbands, all of whom enjoyed a friendly snort before dinner, after dinner and any time in between. Tuppy was due to arrive a day after Christmas, as was Gussie, which Bertie deemed a good thing because Madeline Bassett was starting to look at Bertie in an interested fashion. The only raindrop on the parade was the form of Aunt Agatha who, instead of greeting Bertie in an auntly fashion, immediately began to enumerate his many failings, foremost of which happened to be his lack of marital prospects.

But Bertie found himself casting more than one heated glance at his peerless valet as the valet in question helped to distribute drinks, light cigarettes and serve dinner. Jeeves managed to attend Bertie as well as the women on either side of him, and Bertie found himself anticipating the feel of Jeeves’ warm breath on the back of his neck each time he brought a new course. But that was nothing compared to the innocent touches Jeeves managed to bestow on him at odd times - the brushing off of imaginary lint, the adjusting of his tie or the lighting on his cigarette. It was that bally week all over again.

As soon as he decently could, which was well after ten o’clock, he wished the company good night and legged it up the stairs to his room. Jeeves was waiting, as usual. The bed was turned down and his pyjamas and dressing gown were in readiness.

Silently agreeing not to throw each other to the carpet and engage in carnal ecstasy, Jeeves divested Bertie of his evening clothes and helped him into his nightwear. 

“You’re sure this will work, Jeeves?” Bertie asked. He wrapped his dressing gown more tightly around his body and shivered a bit.

“It will if you can keep a glazed expression on your face the entire time, sir,” Jeeves said as he mussed Bertie’s fair hair. “You must look as if you are intent, yet do not know where you are. If someone attempts to wake you, you must jump in surprise, then mumble some sort of excuse and hurry back here.”

Bertie counted on his fingers. “Glazed expression, surprise jump, mutter excuses, beat hasty retreat.” He looked at Jeeves. “I believe I’ve got it.”

“Very good, sir. I will see you in the morning and you can relate to me what occurred.”

Bertie gave what he hoped was a sad, wistful smile. “I don’t suppose you can wait here for me.”

Jeeves shook his head. “Regrettably no, sir. I will have to be in my quarters or we might arouse suspicion.”

Bertie squared his shoulders. “All right then, Jeeves, I will endeavor to carry on without your bracing support.”

Jeeves gathered Bertie into his arms and kissed him gently. “You will do very well, sir, I have no doubt.”

Bertie held Jeeves tightly but pulled himself away again before inconvenient body parts could get inconvenient ideas. “Good night then, Jeeves.”

Bertie waited until midnight, then opened his door and slipped into the chilly hallway. It was dark and so quiet Bertie thought he could hear his own heartbeat. He tiptoed past several doors on the long hallway before reaching the staircase that led to the foyer. He reached the foyer without incident and then crept along the wall until he came to the drawing room. He opened the double doors, poked his head in and had a look around. No one was there. So far, so good, Bertie thought.

The grand piano stood near the window and Bertie hurried to it. Jeeves had told him to play a rousing tune, one that was sure to get the attention of anyone on the first floor. Seppings and the maids who had yet to retire, to be precise.

Bertie pulled out the bench, then sat down and flexed his fingers. Without stopping to think about how insane this wheeze was, Bertie immediately began to play and sing “47 Ginger-headed Sailors” at the top of his lungs. He got into the spirit of the thing and began to add flourishes here and there after the chorus.

“Mr. Wooster!”

Bertie jumped, genuinely surprised, as he had been enjoying his turn at the piano. “Seppings! What are you doing here?”

“I was doing my evening round before bed, sir. I always check to see the windows are locked.” He gave Bertie a sort of combination butler-uncle look. “The rest of the guests have retired for the evening, sir. Is there something I can get for you?”

Bertie managed to remember Jeeves’ instructions. “Uh, no, I, uh, I’ll just go to bed. Thank you, Seppings. Sorry. He jumped up from the bench and retreated through the double doors with looking backward, thinking if he did so he might turn into a pillar of salt. No sense risking it, he thought. He hurried to his room, confident the plan had worked. Tomorrow night he would be sleeping in his valet’s muscled arms. He couldn’t wait.

Follow the link to part 2

storyfan.livejournal.com/8765.html#cutid1

 

 
 
 
 
lady529: Magical Colinlady529 on March 23rd, 2009 03:34 am (UTC)
'The house is on fire' indeed : D

The Lady 529
I say! I may be stupid, but I'm not clever!: Yay!mxdp on March 23rd, 2009 09:12 am (UTC)
Oooooh...! *hurries to part 2*
lieka_deer on March 23rd, 2009 06:15 pm (UTC)
Loving it so far! I won't say much, Part 2 is a-calling to me. ^_^
emeraldreeve: holmes watson reallyemeraldreeve on March 24th, 2009 05:31 am (UTC)
I love this! I enjoyed every minute of reading. I love the hotness at the end of the bath scene. And this: Jeeves said something under his breath that Bertie didn’t quite catch, but he thought it sounded suspiciously like “the house is on fire.”

“I say, Jeeves, did you just say, ‘the house is on fire’?”

“I must admit I did, sir.”

“What a rotten thing to resurrect, Jeeves,” Bertie said, sitting back in a huff. “This situation is nothing like that bally show.”
is priceless. It made me laugh. I love Bertie's piano playing, too!
Nonsensical Whatnotterist: JW - Bertie Jeeves Luvrandom_nexus on March 24th, 2009 06:51 pm (UTC)
Hee hee! Enjoying very much!
I love the little references to other things in the canon! (the house is on fire!) *giggles happily*

Off with me to part two!