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27 March 2009 @ 01:52 pm
Jeeves and the Agony Aunt  
Title: Jeeves and the Agony Aunt
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jeeves/Bertie
Disclaimer: The boys belong to Wodehouse and not to me. But they wanted to visit Brinkley Court so I gave them permission.
Notes: Beta work done by the quick and efficient chaoticchaos13. All mistakes belong to me. If you point them out, I will fix them. This story is a sequel to Jeeves and the Sleepwalking Wheeze. I'll link this story to the second part of that one. Also, I'm more following TV series canon than book canon. Hopefully I haven't lapsed too badly on that. 

Bertie Wooster sprawled on the chesterfield, one long leg dangling over the arm, and pretended to read his latest mystery novel. He peeked over the top of it every time Jeeves, his paragon of a valet and the love of his life, passed through the room.

“I say, Jeeves,” he said after the third time the man glided across the sitting room. “Why am I sprawling here pretending to read when what I really want is to take you to bed?”

Jeeves stopped mid-glide and quirked his lip at Bertie. “I’m sure I don’t know, sir. In fact, I am not sure why you haven’t posed the question sooner. Your book has been upside-down for the past five minutes.”

Bertie turned his book to look at the cover. It was, indeed, upside-down.

“Well, yes, Jeeves, I suppose it is.” He closed the book, placed it on the side table and sat up.

“Now Jeeves, as I was saying...”

The door buzzer sounded, bringing their conversation to a halt. Jeeves unlocked the door, opened it, spoke quietly to the person without, locked it again and returned carrying a telegram.

He handed it to Bertie who reached out and grabbed Jeeves’ wrist instead. He pulled his valet onto his lap and arranged his impossibly long legs on the sofa itself. The chesterfield creaked in alarm.

“Sir,” Jeeves said as he struggled to rise, “this cannot be beneficial to the furniture.”

“But it’s beneficial to the young master, Jeeves,” Bertie said and wiggled against his man’s backside.

Jeeves was heavy but not unpleasantly so, Bertie thought as he wrapped his arms around Jeeves’ waist and squeezed him tight. Jeeves sat up straight, attempting to maintain his dignity, but Bertie was gratified to hear his quickened breathing and to see the light flush on his cheekbones.

“Would you like me to read the telegram, sir?”

Bertie ran his left hand down the length of Jeeves’ thigh to his knee, squeezing here and there as he did so. “Not particularly, no. But you may if you must.”

Jeeves opened the telegram, his fingers trembling so slightly another person wouldn’t have noticed it. But Bertie did. His wayward hand moved in the opposite direction, this time along Jeeves’ inner thigh. Bertie ran his fingertips up the inseam of the well-fitting striped trousers and grinned in satisfaction at his lover’s sharp intake of breath.

“I thought you were going to read my telegram, Jeeves,” Bertie said as his fingers approached the prominent bulge in Jeeves’ trousers. He slid his right hand behind Jeeves, underneath his morning coat and waistcoat, and went straight for the fastenings on his braces.

“Sir,” Jeeves said and groaned as Bertie’s fingers teased along his inseam again. “You are making this rather difficult.”

“Come, come, Jeeves,” Bertie said and smirked at his own joke. “You’ve been in tighter spots than this. Go ahead and read.”

“Very well, sir,” Jeeves said and began to read:

Clot,
Need your help. Come to Brinkley for a few days. You must bring Jeeves. Are you still sleepwalking? Love, Travers.



“Hmm,” Bertie said. “Did my Aunt Dahlia bung all those moans and groans into her plea for help?” Bertie gently cupped his fingers and palm around the hardness behind the striped trousers. “Or was that your version of punctuation?”

Jeeves grasped Bertie’s hand and pressed it hard against himself. “Sir,” he said, his voice unsteady. “Should we repair to the bedroom to discuss the upcoming trip to Brinkley Court?”

Bertie contrived to look aghast at the suggestion. “What? And make the chesterfield jealous? No, my dear Jeeves, we are fine where we are.”
Bertie undid the buttons of Jeeves’ morning coat, then performed the same action on his waistcoat.

“You know, Jeeves, you could lend a hand,” Bertie said in a conversational tone. “You being the most gifted valet in all of England.”

“Sir.” Jeeves sucked in a breath as Bertie fumbled with his fly. “I might remind you that this was your...idea.”

Bertie pushed the fabric open and then deftly unfastened the front portion of Jeeves’ braces. “So much bally clothing. If we lived in the South Seas, we’d be wearing nothing at all.” He nudged Jeeves’ thigh. “Lift up a bit, my love.”

Jeeves was panting heavily by this time. He lifted his hips at Bertie’s gentle command and Bertie took the opportunity to pull down his lover’s trousers and pants. He tugged Jeeves back onto his lap and pushed his clothing down to his knees.

For the millionth time, or what seemed like it to him anyway, Bertie gazed in awe at the beauty of his lover’s body. Jeeves’ cock was flushed and hard and already leaking in a heavenly fashion. His stomach muscles rippled with tension and his thighs trembled in anticipation. Bertie took Jeeves’ cock in his hand and stroked gently, all the while watching Jeeves’ face contort with pleasure.

“What do you want, Reggie?” Bertie whispered. “Tell me and I’ll do it.” He slid his hand to Jeeves’ sac and massaged it gently. “Just tell me, Reggie.”

Jeeves groaned as Bertie continued his feather-light touches on his cock, his thighs and his stomach. He braced his left hand on the back of the chesterfield, just behind Bertie’s head.

“Your mouth, Bertie.” Jeeves’ voice was nothing more than a raspy whisper. He turned his intense blue gaze on Bertie. “Please, Bertie. Take me in your mouth.”

Bertie smiled up at him. “With pleasure, my Reggie.” He brought his lover’s hardness to his lips, kissed it and then drew it into his mouth. He sucked gently, drinking down the bitter fluid that trickled down his throat in a steady stream.

“More,” Jeeves moaned as his hand moved to Bertie’s head. Bertie could feel Jeeves’ fingers tighten on his scalp. “Please, Bertie.”

Bertie took in more of the beautiful cock and at the same time stroked his lover’s hips and thighs and the soft skin between his legs. Jeeves bucked his hips, pushing more of himself into Bertie’s mouth, and Bertie took it, running his tongue around the head and then sucking hard.
“Bertie, Bertie!” Jeeves cried in desperation and then flooded Bertie’s throat with his seed. Bertie drank it down eagerly and kept sucking until Jeeves pushed his head away. Bertie kissed Jeeves’ stomach and ran his hand down one shaking thigh before wrapping his arms around his lover’s waist.

As Bertie stroked his man’s back and stomach and breathed in the earthy scent of his warm skin, he wondered again at his luck. Jeeves, with his brilliant mind and beautiful face and body, could have had anyone, yet he had chosen a thin, mentally negligible man who constantly needed to be rescued from one situation or another. A miracle, it was, Bertie thought. Best not to question it.

Jeeves was still breathing hard. But his eyes were open and he was looking at Bertie as if he were the miracle. You just can’t credit it, Bertie thought.

“Lift up a bit, will you Jeeves?” he asked. Jeeves lifted his hips once again and allowed Bertie to pull his trousers and pants back to their original positions. Bertie tucked Jeeves back into his clothes then hugged him again. His own erection was still painfully hard, but for the moment he was content to know he’d brought Jeeves to the height of pleasure.

“Sir,” Jeeves said after a few moments. “I believe we should repair to the bedroom now to discuss the sojourn to Brinkley Court.” He lifted Bertie’s chin and gazed into his eyes. “I should also like to give you what you’ve given me.”

“And what might that be, Jeeves?” Bertie asked.

“Excruciating euphoria, sir.”

Bertie nodded slowly as if considering the offer. “But let’s undress this time, what?”

Jeeves was already unbuttoning Bertie’s waistcoat. “Indeed, sir.”


Bertie sat on the bed, dressed in his traveling suit, smoking a cigarette and watching as Jeeves packed his clothes. He’d offered to help, but Jeeves had expressed a wish to arrive at Brinkley Court without immediately having to request an iron.

“What do you suppose is the problem with Aunt D, Jeeves?” He blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling, a trick Chuffy had recently taught him.

Jeeves paused in the folding of Bertie’s dressing gown. “I couldn’t say, sir. We shall have to wait and see.”

Bertie nodded. “Did you send the telegram, Jeeves?”

“Of course, sir. I told Mrs. Travers you had now taken to washing floors in the middle of the night.”

Bertie laughed and crushed his cigarette into the bedside ashtray. “That sleepwalking wheeze was your best yet, Jeeves. Wonder how long it’ll work.”

“You will eventually have to recover from your nocturnal malady, sir, but I suspect we might be able to use it to our advantage for some time yet.”

Bertie crossed the room and took Jeeves into his arms. “You are a marvel, my love,” he said against his valet’s neck. “What would I do without you?”

Bertie felt Jeeves’ arms circle his shoulders. He tucked his head under Jeeves’ chin and sighed.

“You shall never find out what it is to do without me, sir,” Jeeves said, his voice fierce and protective. “I will always be here for you.”

Bertie rested his cheek against Jeeves’ chest and closed his eyes, content to be held and protected and loved. It pleased Jeeves to do so and Bertie wasn’t going to argue with him.

“What time shall we leave, Jeeves?” Bertie asked.

“Directly after luncheon, sir, would be optimal.”

Bertie pulled away from Jeeves and ran his fingers through his unruly hair. “Well, let’s eat, then. I”m bally well starving.”

“Your morning exertions have sharpened your appetite, sir,” Jeeves said, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.

“You look rather peckish yourself, old thing.” Bertie patted Jeeves on the cheek. “Let us dine and dash.”

“Very good, sir.”


They arrived at Brinkley Court in plenty of time for dinner. They were immediately ensconced in the bedroom with the adjoining dressing room, the one they’d had during the December holidays. In their absence, Dahlia had ordered an extra lock installed on the door and had made an elaborate show of turning the key over to Jeeves.

“Don’t let that young blighter out at night, whatever happens, Jeeves,” she’d said. “Mrs. Clarence Benson is arriving tomorrow. That blasted woman writes a column that could make or break Milady’s Boudoir, and I don’t want Bertie up at night painting the walls pink. But come to my study later, both of you. I require your brain, Jeeves.

“Well, I like that, Jeeves,” Bertie said once Dahlia had left them alone in the room. “ ‘Bring Jeeves,’ she says. ‘I require your brain, Jeeves,’ she says.” He placed a palm on his chest. “And what am I? Chicken feed?”

Bertie fell backward on the bed, his arms spread wide. “I would like to think, Jeeves, that the old Wooster onion is capable of devising a scheme or two.”

When it was apparent that no comment was forthcoming, Bertie turned his head toward Jeeves.

“Jeeves?”

“Sir?”

“Oh, don’t ‘sir’ me in that soupy fashion. Why is it that it’s always your bean everyone wants?” he asked, knowing full well why Jeeves’ bean was in such demand.

Jeeves carefully hung away one of Bertie’s tweed suits. “I’m sure I don’t know, sir. I would advise we not jump to conclusions before we hear what Mrs. Travers has to say.”

Bertie sat up. “It bally well better be good. And it had better not have anything to do with pinching cow creamers.”


Bertie found his way to his aunt’s study after tea to find Jeeves already in attendance. He glared at Jeeves before addressing his aunt.

“So, what’s the wheeze, old girl? Who is Mrs. Clarence Benson and why should Bertram care?”

“Sit down, both of you,” Dahlia said. Jeeves tried to demure but she was having none of it. “This might take a while so you may as well get comfortable.

“Mrs. Benson is Yorkshire’s favorite agony aunt,” she began. “She writes a very popular column...”

“What’s an agony whatsit?” Bertie interrupted.

“If I may, madam?” Jeeves asked.

Dahlia nodded, then glared at Bertie.

“An agony aunt is a columnist to whom aggrieved persons write to request solutions to their daily travails, sir.”

“In English, Jeeves, if you don’t mind,” Bertie said.

“Readers write to her for advice, sir.”

Bertie sat back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. “You need advice, Aunt Dahlia? Why don’t you just ask old Bertram? I’m full of advice.”

“No, you clot. I want Mrs. Benson to let me publish her column. It’s very popular, as I said, and I’m sure she would draw readers from far and wide to Milady’s Boudoir.”

“So why not just ask her?” Bertie asked. “Why are you getting so pipped about it?”

Dahlia snorted impatiently. “She’s got another offer from a rival who can pay more than I can.”

“So don’t hire her.”

Jeeves coughed. “It appears this rival publisher is what could be termed as Mrs. Travers’ arch enemy, sir.”

“Yes, she is, blast her,” Dahlia said. “My pride is at stake. I must have that column. You two are here to help me get it.” She looked at Jeeves.
“Any ideas, Jeeves?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Well,” Dahlia said. “That is service. What do you have in mind?”

“Perhaps, madam, you could also appeal to Mrs. Benson’s pride. You could possibly tell her you have another candidate for a column and you wish to have some time to consider the work of both.”

“But Jeeves, I don’t have a second columnist. What if she calls my bluff?”

Bertie sat up suddenly. “Aged aunt, why don’t you produce some fake wheeze, you know, a few letters asking how to iron sheets and whatnot?”

“Iron sheets? Bertie, are you out of out of your mind?” Dahlia gave him a look to freeze water. “I know you want to help, Bertie, but please...”

“Actually, madam, Mr. Wooster has made an excellent suggestion,” Jeeves said.

Bertie looked at Jeeves in surprise. “I have? Oh, yes, I mean to say, yes, I have.”

Dahlia looked from one to the other. “What do you mean, Jeeves?”

“Mrs. Benson will wish to see her rival’s work, ostensibly to compare it with her own. A few of these samples can be easily produced. You, madam, could mention them and leave them where Mrs. Benson has easy access to them. You can then be called away from your meeting with Mrs. Benson on some pretense. While she is gone, Mrs. Benson will no doubt take a look at the samples. Her shock might induce her to accept your offer in an effort to drive away a rival agony aunt.”

“But,” Dahlia said, “how will we know she looked at them?”

Jeeves flashed Bertie a twinkling glance. “Perhaps Mr. Wooster would be willing to conceal himself in the room and watch her.”

“Well,” Bertie said, “perhaps he would if he were properly asked.”

“You’ll do it for me, won’t you, clot?” Dahlia asked. “You know how much this means to me.”

Bertie laughed, his good humor restored. “Anything for you, old fruit.”

Jeeves coughed again. Bertie and Dahlia turned to look at him. “Yes, Jeeves?” they said in unison.

“There is still the small matter of the writing samples. If you are agreeable, madam, I could produce the samples for you.”

Dahlia clapped her hands. “Would you, Jeeves?”

“Certainly, madam.”

“It’s all settled then,” Dahlia said. “Bertie, I shall see you at dinner.”

Thus dismissed, Jeeves stood first, then waited for Bertie to arise from his chair and precede him from the room.

“This is quite a wheeze, Jeeves,” Bertie said as they walked down the hall. “Can you really write an agonized aunt column?”

Jeeves nodded. “I had an aunt who was known far and wide for her excellent advice, sir. I had many occasions to witness her dispensation of said advice. This wheeze, as you call it, should pose no problems.”

“Well, you know best, Jeeves.”

They stopped in the large open foyer just at the foot of the wide staircase.

“I shall see you later, what?” Bertie asked and smiled a bit in the wistful way he knew tugged on Jeeves’ heartstrings.

“Of course, sir.” Jeeves allowed the corners of his mouth to lift a trifle, just enough for Bertie to know he also disliked parting in this fashion.
“Carry on, Jeeves.”


“Jeeves, must you write those bally samples right this minute?”

Bertie lounged naked under the sheets and thick warm blankets in their double-locked room and regarded his valet. Jeeves was naked and ensconced under the same sheets and blankets. But instead of applying his large, warm and capable hands to the young master, he was frowning over a sheet of paper.

“Jeeves,” Bertie said in a singsong voice. He turned on his side and placed his hand on Jeeves’ chest and toyed with the soft curls there. “Jeeves, my love.”

Jeeves sighed and picked up Bertie’s hand, kissed it and placed it on top of the blankets.

“Sir, I promised Mrs. Travers that I would have these samples read for her perusal in the morning. I am on the last one and if you will stop meddling with my person until I finish, I can promise you won’t regret it.”

Bertie raised his eyebrows in a suggestive fashion. “Then let me help you,” he said and sat up. “What have you got so far?”

Jeeves showed him one of the papers. “Perhaps you could read it aloud, sir, and see what you think.”

Bertie began:

Dear Ruth,

Bertie frowned. “Who is Ruth, Jeeves?”

“The fictional columnist needed a name, sir.”

“Ruth? Why not Celeste or Victoria?”

Jeeves put down his pen. “In rural areas, it often helps if the person offering advice has a strong, more common name, sir.”

“Right. Let me try again.”

Dear Ruth,
My mother-in-law is insisting she move in with us. She dislikes me and tells everyone I’m a poor wife and mother. What should I do?


Bertie put down the paper. “What should she do, Jeeves? She’s in the soup.”

“I will advise her to discover some common ground with her mother-in-law, perhaps something they can enjoy doing together.”

“Piffle!” Bertie shook his head in disbelief. “I’d tell her mother-in-law to bugger off.”

“One cannot be that crass in the newspaper, sir.”

“I suppose not, “Bertie said. “How many more questions do you need to write, Jeeves?”

Jeeves considered. “I should like to have one more, sir.”

Bertie nodded. “Right then. Hand me that pen; there’s a good chap.”

Jeeves raised a suspicious eyebrow but handed over the pen. Bertie scribbled furiously for a moment, frowned a bit, crossed out several words, then handed the paper back to Jeeves.

“What do you think? Read it aloud.”

Jeeves sighed in resignation, but read the question:

Ruth, old thing,
My handsome valet refuses to let me have my way with him. He insists on letter-writing when it’s clear He insists on writing these bally letters instead. What can I do to convince him otherwise?


Thanks awfully,
Anon, anony,
well, you get the idea



Jeeves gave Bertie a long-suffering look, then gathered the papers and pen and placed them on the bedside table, all except for Bertie’s effort. This he wadded up and neatly tossed into the blazing fireplace.

“Jeeves, why did you do that? That writer had a real travail for you to solve and you threw it away with no more regard than yesterday’s fish.”

“Sir,” Jeeves said as he pulled Bertie into his arms. “As entertaining a missive as it was, we couldn’t allow it to be found by anyone. I’m sure you realize that.”

“Oh, yes. Quite.” Bertie snuggled into his valet’s arms. “Destroy the evidence, what?”

“Unfortunately, sir.”

“Ah well, Jeeves,” Bertie said then gasped as he felt Jeeves’ hand between his legs. “I say, Jeeves,” he said breathlessly. “I wanted to have my way with you.”

“Sometimes, sir,” Jeeves said, his mouth just a fraction from Bertie’s, “one doesn’t always get what one wants.”

He closed the distance between their mouths, kissing Bertie gently, nibbling at his lips until Bertie thought he’d go mad. He rolled on top of Jeeves and it seemed to him that their bodies aligned themselves of their own accord: chest to chest, thigh to thigh, heart to heart.

They rocked together, slowly at first, their hands teasing and exploring, their mouths exchanging breathy moans and gasps of pleasure. But then Bertie felt Jeeves’ hands move to his hips, urging him to press closer and to move faster. Bertie fought the cries that threatened to give them away and ground his hips against his lover’s, desperate for release.

Then Jeeves was still beneath him and Bertie gloried in the sticky heat that spread between their bodies. He thrust once, twice and then arched his back in ecstasy. Jeeves pulled Bertie’s mouth to his own, muffling the one cry Bertie could never suppress.

“Sir, “ Jeeves whispered a long while later. “There is a towel underneath the other pillow. If you would be kind enough to get it.”

“Can’t move,” Bertie muttered against Jeeves’ chest.

“We must tidy ourselves, sir,” Jeeves said as he ran his palms down the length of Bertie’s back.

Bertie slid one hand under the pillow, searching for the promised towel. He located it, pulled it out and placed it on Jeeves’ head.

“There you are, old thing. Towel away.”

“Sir.” Jeeves voice sounded affectionate, yet amused. “If you roll onto your back, we could accomplish the task in a more efficient manner.”
Bertie did as he was bid, feeling like a deboned bass.

“I say, Jeeves, I feel like a deboned bass. Landed and filleted.” He opened his eyes to see Jeeves gazing at him with something close to soppy adoration. “You look quite relaxed yourself.”

Jeeves quirked his lip in his small, half-smile way and proceeded to wipe the stickiness from Bertie’s stomach and chest, then performed the same action on himself. When he rose from the bed to retrieve the pyjamas he insisted they wear each night, Bertie treated himself to the sight of his valet’s powerful form in motion. Gods would envy him, Bertie thought.

“I do wish we didn’t need these blasted pyjamas, Jeeves,” Bertie said a moment later as he dressed himself in the blue pin-striped bottoms.

“It is safer this way, sir, in the event someone knocks on the door and needs us quickly,” Jeeves said as he placed their dressing gowns at the foot of the bed.

Bertie climbed back under the bedclothes while Jeeves added a small log to the fire.

“Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’ve been thinking about the woman who’s devilish mother-in-law wants to move in with her. What if you tell her some wheeze that will make the old bat think twice about her dastardly plan?”

Jeeves picked up the paper containing that letter, perused it, then wadded it up and tossed it in the fireplace.


“I say, Jeeves, your idea wasn’t that bad,” Bertie said.
Jeeves climbed back into bed with the paper and pen, adjusted the pillow so that he could lean against it, then kissed Bertie’s cheek.

“Your idea, sir, is much better.”

Bertie watched, amazed, as Jeeves began to write. He smiled a little, happy to watch Jeeves’ great brain at work, then yawned and settled himself under the blankets.

“Mind if I make a start on the forty winks, Jeeves?”

Jeeves shook his head. “Not at all, sir. I shall finish this in a moment or two.” He looked up from his paper for a moment. “What shall we tell Mrs. Travers you did tonight?”

“Hmm. Tell her I was wearing your bowler hat and declaring my intention of becoming a valet. We haven’t used that one yet.”


“Jeeves, these are brilliant,” Dahlia said as she finished reading the sample columns. “And actually, they are quite a bit better than Mrs. Benson’s. You wouldn’t consider...”

Her voice trailed off and Bertie chanced a glance at Jeeves. His stuffed-frog expression was froggier than usual, which indicated extreme displeasure.

“I am honored to be asked, madam, but writing such columns is unbefitting a gentleman’s personal gentleman.”

“Well, yes, I’m sure you’re right, Jeeves.” Dahlia carefully placed the papers on her study table. “Shall we run through this one more time?
Jeeves nodded. “Yes, madam. You shall entertain Mrs. Benson in this room, mentioning an American columnist you are also considering for your newspaper. You can tell her you’ve already received her samples and casually indicate them here on the table. You may also tell her, madam, that you require more time to consider both candidates.”

He turned to Bertie. “You, sir, will conceal yourself behind the sofa and chair.” He indicated the furniture in question. “There is a small space between the two pieces that will allow you to observe the proceedings.”

“I, madam, will announce Mrs. Benson, serve tea, and will summon you from your meeting, thus giving Mrs. Benson the opportunity to peruse the sample columns.”

Dahlia smiled at them both then reached for the papers once more. “So simple, yet so devious. How do you do it, Jeeves?”

“He’s marvelous,” Bertie said without thinking. His stomach immediately knotted. One didn’t praise one’s manservant like that. He glanced at his aunt and saw with relief that she was rereading the columns and wasn’t paying him the slightest attention. Jeeves was another matter, however. The lifted eyebrows said everything.

“Ruth Clark,” Dahlia muttered. “Such a common name, Mrs. Benson won’t be able to locate her if she bothers to try.”

“I thought such would be the case, madam.”


Bertie stretched out behind the sofa and peeked through the space between it and a nearby chair. Jeeves had arranged the furniture so that Bertie had a clear view of Dahlia and her guest. Dahlia had just warned him to not so much as breathe when a polite knock sounded at the door.

“Come in.”

“Mrs. Clarence Benson to see you, madam.”

“Show her in, Jeeves.”

“Very good, madam.”

Mrs. Benson swept into the room with the energy of a gale-force wind. Dahlia rose to greet her while Jeeves faded into the background.
“Mrs. Benson, I’m pleased you can meet with me today to discuss your column. Please,” she said, indicating a chair near her own, “do sit down.”

“I can’t do a thing until I’ve had a cup of tea,” Mrs. Benson said as she tossed her gloves and bag on an end table.

“Of course.” Dahlia looked at Jeeves. “See to it, will you Jeeves?”

“Yes, madam.”

Jeeves shimmered from the room and Bertie watched as Mrs. Benson stared after him.

“Your footman certainly has unusual looks,” she said. “How long have you had him?”

Footman? Bertie winced. He would never report that remark to Jeeves.

“He’s been with us for years,” Dahlia said and Bertie could hear the annoyance in her tone.

“Good-looking in a stuffy sort of way,” Mrs. Benson said.

“Yes, well...”

“Good servants are difficult to find, don’t you agree, Mrs. Travers? I should like to find a handsome footman of my own.” She laughed a little. “Perhaps I’ll hire him away from you.”

Bertie missed his aunt’s answer. Jealousy, hot and sick, welled up in his chest. The blasted bat. First she insults him and then she wants to hire him? For what? The bally nerve!

Dahlia steered the conversation in a new direction, namely her garden. The pair had a desultory natter about tulips until Jeeves arrived with the tea tray.

Bertie watched Mrs. Benson watch Jeeves like a starving wolf. Jeeves was aware of the woman’s scrutiny and Bertie was gratified to see that he was less than pleased.

“Thank you, Jeeves, that will be all,” Dahlia said.

Jeeves straightened his back and turned to reply to Dahlia when Mrs. Benson touched his arm.

“Jeeves, if you’re every unhappy here, do write to me,” she said. “I could use a man like you in my home.”

Jeeves fixed her with a Jeevesian glare which, of course, meant that only Bertie could see it.

“I appreciate your offer, madam, but I enjoy my post with this family.”

“Yes, he does,” Dahlia interjected.

Jeeves turned to her. “Will there be anything else, madam?”

“No. Thank you, Jeeves.”

And with that, he glided from the room.

The women drank their tea and ate their dainty sandwiches until Bertie thought he’d die of boredom. Mrs. Benson chattered endlessly and pointlessly about seemingly nothing. Bertie was contemplating a nap when they finally got to the point.

“Mrs. Benson, I must tell you that another columnist just gave me a few samples, and I’m seriously considering her offer.” Dahlia indicated the papers on the table. “An American, but I believe her work would be accepted here with great enthusiasm.”

“An American columnist? In an English newspaper?” Mrs. Benson goggled. “What is her name?”

“Ruth Clark. And as I said, her samples are marvelous. She has quite a modern outlook, one that would also draw younger readers to my newspaper.”

“Does that mean you are rescinding your offer?”

Dahlia waved a hand dismissively. “Not at all. I’m considering asking both of you to do side-by-side columns. Perhaps a reader will offer a problem and we can see how you each would handle it.”

Bertie didn’t like the calculating expression on Mrs. Benson’s face, and he could see his aunt was so pleased with herself that she didn’t notice.

“You say you were just given these samples?”

“Why, yes...”

A polite knock sounded at the door. Jeeves shimmered into the room and bent toward Dahlia’s ear.

“That again? I must remember to print more issues from now on,” Dahlia said with false exasperation. “Mrs. Benson, I’m terribly sorry, but you must excuse me for a moment.”

“Certainly.”

Dahlia left the room with Jeeves. Mrs. Benson waited for a moment, then picked up one of the sample columns.

“Damn and blast,” she said to the empty room. “Ruth Clark. Never heard of her. But If anyone reads this, they’ll have no use for my column. I can’t let her publish that interloper.”

Bertie watched as she placed the paper back on the table. She was sipping her tea and still muttering to herself when Dahlia returned.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said, Mrs. Travers.”

“You have?” Dahlia sounded pleased.

“As you know, I have an offer from another publication. However, I’m willing to be fair. Let me think about your offer tonight and I shall come to see you at this time tomorrow.”

She rose to leave and walked toward the door with Dahlia right behind her.

“By the by,” she said. “Where can I meet Ruth Clark?”

“She’s here,” Dahlia said.

Bertie winced.

“Well, good. The three of us can meet tomorrow and talk everything over. Good-bye, Mrs. Travers. I’m sure your lovely Jeeves will see me out.”


“Bertie! Come out here!”

Bertie crawled out from behind the sofa. “You’re really in the soup now, aged aunt,” he said. “Where are you going to find an American columnist named Ruth Clark? Can’t be done, old thing.”

“Do shut up, Bertie. She caught me off guard.”

Jeeves entered the room then and looked at both of them expectantly.

“The game is up, Jeeves. My aunt has promised to produce Ruth Clark in the flesh.”

“Oh, Bertie, it wasn’t my fault. That horrible woman did it.”

Bertie shook his head in disbelief. “And this is the writer you simply must have in your stable. Very strange, that.”

Jeeves’ brows drew together a fraction. “What did Mrs. Benson say when she thought she was alone, sir?”

“What didn’t she say? The bally woman couldn’t quit talking if you glued her lips together.”

“Bertie, please,” Dahlia said. “Get to the point.”

“Only that she wasn’t going to allow Ruth Clark a toehold on the shores of England.”

Dahlia covered her face with her hands. “What am I going to do? I can’t produce an American, let alone a columnist.”

The three of them were silent for a moment, but then Bertie grinned at her. “Certainly you can, auntie. You once produced an American novelist.”

Dahlia brightened at once. “Jeeves, I do hate to ask...”

Jeeves shook his head. “Mrs. Benson has show an unfortunate interest in me, madam. I believe she would recognize me in an instant.”

Jeeves and Dahlia looked at Bertie. Bertie looked back at them. “What? Oh, wait just a minute. Aunt Dahlia, I’ve pulled you out of the soup a good many times in a good many questionable ways, but I’m not doing this. Absolutely not. Hard cheese for you, aged aunt, but nothing doing.”

“But why not, Bertie? It will only take an hour or so. Besides, you’ve done it before. And you’re family,” she added as if that would clinch the matter.

“I was just a maid. I didn’t have to be a writer with an American accent. And,” Bertie said, completely affronted now, “I sacrificed a perfectly fine mustache to that wheeze of yours.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Dahlia said, her voice triumphant.

“I don’t care. Why don’t you ask Tuppy? He’s almost family.”

“Bertie...”

Jeeves coughed. “Sir, if I may say so, you would do well in this role. You did tell me once, sir, did you not, that you were in a show at Eton?”
“But that was a long time ago, Jeeves.”

“Indeed, sir.”

Bertie looked from one to the other. “I can’t believe this. If I’d known it was coming to this I would have burned your blasted telegram, Aunt Dahlia.”

“But you didn’t and you’re here. And if you don’t help me I’ll tell Agatha you’re ready to discuss matrimony.”

“You wouldn’t!”

Dahlia fixed him with a glare. “Oh yes, I would. I want that columnist. I know she’s horrible, but she’ll help me sell hundreds of copies of Milady’s Boudoir. And you’re going to help me get her.”

She turned to Jeeves. “I will get some clothes together. Trace around his foot and I’ll send Angela to town to get some shoes.”

She turned toward the door but halted mid-stride. “Oh, and Jeeves?”

“Yes, madam?”

“He’ll have to shave his legs.”



Bertie sat on the edge of the tub the next morning, chin on one hand and a razor in the other. This could only happen to you, he thought morosely. Only you have nephew-crushing aunts. Only you are the target of women who could obviously do much better. And only you would fall in love with a paragon of a valet who isn’t doing a thing to get you out of this latest fiasco.

“Jeeves,” he said as the valet in question entered the bathroom and then locked the door. “Why aren’t you doing anything to get me out of this latest fiasco?”

“I am sorry, sir, but I do believe this ruse will work. We would both do well to keep Mrs. Travers happy.”

Jeeves was showing no remorse whatsoever, Bertie noticed. “I don’t know how to shave my legs, Jeeves. It might surprise you to learn I’ve never had occasion to do so.”

Jeeves took the razor from Bertie’s limp fingers. “If you like, I can assist you in this, sir.”

“Assist away, Jeeves. I don’t care what happens any more.”

“Very good, sir.” Jeeves removed his coat and rolled up his pristine white shirtsleeves, then turned to Bertie. “Sir, it would be wise to remove everything except your underthings.”

“I’d rather remove my head. Do you have a larger razor in your valet bag of tricks?”

“You are prolonging the agony, sir.”

Bertie stood up, shucked off his pyjamas and tossed them into a heap on the floor.

“Sir...”

“Stuff the nightwear, Jeeves. Let’s get this over with.”

“Very good, sir.”

Jeeves filled the tub with several inches of hot water. “Sir, if you’ll put both feet in the tub.”

“Very good, Jeeves.”

“Very funny, sir.”

Jeeves knelt on the floor beside the tub and taking a cloth, sluiced hot water up and down Bertie’s right leg, from his ankle to his knee. Bertie watched without interest as Jeeves reached for a bar of soap, dampened it and began to work up a lather in his hands.

“If you would prop your foot on the other side of the tub, sir, it would help,” Jeeves said.

Bertie propped.

Jeeves began soaping Bertie’s lower leg in smooth, slow strokes. His fingertips massaged the calf muscles as they slid up and down, and Bertie found himself relaxing in spite of his annoyance.

“That feels bloody marvelous, Jeeves.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Then Jeeves took the razor in his right hand and held Bertie’s calf in the other. He stroked the razor in short, upward motions, again from Bertie’s ankle to his knee. Bertie watched as the blond curly hairs fell from the razor into the tub, then reached out a tentative forefinger to touch the newly bared skin.

“That feels strange, Jeeves.”

“I shall be finished directly, sir.” Jeeves shaved carefully around Bertie’s bony ankle, then completed his task with deft, sure strokes. He rinsed Bertie’s leg, then ran his palm over the smooth skin.

“What are you doing, Jeeves?” Bertie was beginning to feel a little breathless.

“I’m checking for hairs I might have missed, sir.” He looked up at Bertie, his gaze a brilliant blue. “Does this bother you, sir?”

“No,” Bertie whispered. “It doesn’t.”

“May I shave your other leg, sir?”

“I really wish you would, Jeeves.”

Jeeves’ hands on his lower leg were enough to give one ideas one shouldn’t have in one’s aunt’s bathroom in broad daylight, Bertie thought. He needed a distraction.

“Jeeves, why do women shave their legs, anyway?”

“Well, sir, in 1915 the American magazine Harper’s Bazaar urged women to remove underarm hair so that they might indulge in the latest sleeveless fashions,” he said. “The shaving of the legs came a bit later.”

“So all women put up with this?”

“No, sir. Many women still do not see the need to shave the legs. However, more affluent women have generally adopted the custom. Mrs. Benson would be shocked to see a prominent American writer with hair underneath her stockings.”

The improving chat did not stop Jeeves from his appointed duty. He shaved Bertie’s left leg with the same maddening care as the right. The distraction hadn’t worked and now Bertie found himself shifting uncomfortably.

“Jeeves,” he said. “I can’t stand this any longer.”

“I hope I am not causing you any distress, sir.”

Bertie had to laugh. “I wouldn’t call it distress, no.”
“I will not be able to address the source of your distress until later this evening, sir.”

Bertie ran his own fingers down his pinkened calf. “After this, Jeeves, I think you owe me.”



Bertie picked up the tweed skirt and held it up to himself in front of the full-length mirror.

“Tell me again why I need to dress two hours before that blasted agonizing aunt arrives for tea,” Jeeves.”

Jeeves held up a pair of black shoes for Bertie’s inspection. “Mrs. Travers believes you will require time to practice walking in these, sir. Although the plan calls for you to be seated before Mrs. Benson arrives, there is always the chance you may be required to move, sir.”

“Ridiculous. How difficult can it be? I walked in women’s shoes myself, if you remember.”

“Those shoes were actually a pair of short boots, sir.”

“You would point that out,” Bertie said. “Tell me, Jeeves, how does it feel to wear a professional woman’s clothing? I suppose I was lucky in that all I had to do was slip on a maid’s uniform.”

“Quite uncomfortable, sir. I was happy when the affair was over.”

Bertie grinned at him. “Poor Stilton Cheesewright. He was positively potty over you, Jeeves.”

“An unexpected complication, sir.”

Bertie thought for a moment. “When I look back on that incident, Jeeves, I get quite jealous. I also didn’t care for all that rot with the dratted Mrs. Benson. What I don’t recall is you shaving your legs.”

“We had not reached our current level of understanding, sir, so there was no reason for you to know.” Jeeves paused and gave what Bertie thought was unusual attention to a pair of drab-looking shoes.

“Jeeves,” Bertie said. “What is it?”

Jeeves looked at him, his expression grave. “Sir, do you think you might have harbored feelings for me at that time? You have never said as much.”

“Yes, Jeeves, I did.” Bertie tossed the skirt onto the bed. “But I had no idea what to do about it. What does a chap do when he falls in love with another chap? If he says anything to the wrong person, he’ll be bunged in chokey.”

Jeeves’ expression softened. “I am happy we managed to come to our understanding, sir.”

“Happy? That’s not what I’d call it. It’s an “e” word, I’m sure.”
“Ecstatic, sir?”

“No, that’s not the chap.”

“Euphoric, sir?”

“That’s the cove.”

Bertie sat on the bed and fiddled with the skirt once more.

“Sir,” Jeeves said softly. “Now it appears you have something on your mind.”

Bertie looked up at him. “Jeeves, are you ever jealous of me? I mean to say, do you ever feel as if you’d like to keep me for yourself? Not allow anyone else in? I know I feel like that about you sometimes.”

Jeeves nodded. “Every day, sir. But that would not benefit either of us.”

Bertie stood then and removed his coat. He handed it to Jeeves and said. “Do you suppose we could leave for home after this blasted tea, Jeeves?”
“I have already taken the liberty of packing, sir. I, too, would like to return home.”

Bertie nodded and smiled at him. “Let’s get this over with, what?”

“Very good, sir.”




Bertie had practiced walking for an hour and his feet now ached unbearably. How did women do it, he wondered. All those straps and buckles and skirts with waistbands that didn’t take breathing into account. Not to mention the makeup. And the wig.

Jeeves had helped him to dress with the exception of the stockings. He had done those by himself after realizing that Jeeves’ hands and newly shaved legs were a dangerous combination.

Then Jeeves had escorted him up and down the long hallway so that he could practice walking in the low-heeled shoes. It was almost tea time before he’d mastered it.

“Keep your knees together, sir, and remember to cross your legs only at the ankles,” Jeeves had instructed. “Speak in a tone that is only a little higher than your own voice. Tall women generally have deeper voices.”

Bertie had tried out a number of voices, then hit on an idea. “What about a female version of Rocky Todd? His voice is already a little too high-pitched.”

“Mr. Todd does seem to have a more nasal vocal delivery, sir. That should be sufficient as a model.”

He continued, offering Bertie more bits of advice than he could possibly remember, let alone use.

“You shall have to improvise, sir, when Mrs. Benson asks questions. Mrs. Travers will be there at all times to assist you.”

Bertie snorted, less than impressed with this news. “She’s the one who got me into this dress and this mess. I will not be looking to my aged aunt for help.”


Bertie was exchanging glares with his aunt when Jeeves announced Mrs. Clarence Benson.

Dahlia rose to greet her, extending her hand and steering her toward a chair next to Bertie’s.

“Mrs. Clarence Benson, this is Miss Ruth Clark.”

Bertie and Mrs. Benson shook hands, with Bertie remembering just in time not to grip her hand too tightly. He’d thought about breaking it, but he was a gentleman, after all.

“I am so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Benson,” Bertie said and flashed her what he hoped was a brilliant smile. “I’ve read your work and I must say, it’s impressive.”

Mrs. Benson looked suspicious. “How could you possibly have read my work? You’re an American.”

Bertie laughed and decided to take control of the conversation. “Oh, my dear, Americans can read, you know. We’re not all rustics. Mrs. Travers was kind enough to share several of your little writings.”

“And I’ve seen your...” Mrs. Benson snapped her mouth shut.

“I would like to break into the English market,” Bertie said. He smiled at his aunt. “And I think Milady’s Boudoir would be perfect for my brand of advice.”

“And what is your brand of advice, Miss Clark?” Mrs. Benson asked. “What could an American possibly hope to tell Englishwomen?”

Bertie placed his hand on his aunt’s knee, gripped it tightly and was delighted to feel her wince. “The same things I tell American women, Mrs. Benson - take matters into your own hands to ensure the successful resolution to any problem.”

Dahlia beckoned to Jeeves, who had done his fading trick. Bertie had almost forgotten he was in the room.

“Jeeves, will you see to the tea?”

“Yes, madam.” He disappeared.

Mrs. Benson gave Bertie a quizzical look. “You say Englishwomen should take matters into their own hands, Miss Clark. What if they are married? Should not their husbands have an opinion in resolving the problem?”

Bertie waved his hand in an airy fashion. “Why should they? Men are usually the source of the problem. How on earth could they be expected to fix it? They simply haven’t got it in them.”

Bertie could sense his aunt’s nervousness, but he was having too much fun to care. He placed his hand on Mrs. Benson’s knee and was pleased to feel her recoil in shock.

“Now, Mrs. Benson, surely a writer of your stature would agree with me. The women of England must throw off their shackles, and perhaps take a lesson from the American Revolution. We threw off the bond of England; now you can learn to throw off the bonds of men.”

Jeeves entered the room carrying the laden tea tray. His upper lip had that slight tilt of amusement and Bertie suspected he’d been listening outside the door.

“Your tea, madam.”

Mrs. Benson got to her feet, her outrage obvious. “Mrs. Travers, I’m terribly sorry, but I must be on my way. Could I possibly talk to you on my way out?”

“Of course,” Dahlia said, casting Bertie an evil glare. “I shall return in a moment, Miss Clark. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Oh, I shan’t,” Bertie said and waved her off.

He waited for a moment then burst out laughing. “Jeeves, it was priceless. I’m almost sorry it’s over.”

Jeeves poured Bertie a cup of tea and handed it to him. “The expression on Mrs. Travers’ face was worth as much, sir. Well, done.”
“You know, Jeeves, perhaps I’ll go on stage. I believe I’m quite good at this.” He sipped his tea. “What do you suppose they’re talking about out there?”

“With any luck, sir, Mrs. Benson’s new contract.”

Dahlia returned moments later, her face lit up in a complacent smile. “Well, Bertie, my blister, you did it. I’m surprised, but there it is. Her contract is signed and she will appear in my newspaper twice each month.”

“What did she say?”

Dahlia snorted in disgust. “Some tripe about sparing the women of England these harmful American views. I’m quite sure she knows the women of England would have taken to Jeeves’ advice like ducks to water. She’s saving her own skin and in turn she’s saving mine. With her in my writing stable, Milady’s Boudoir will be that much easier to sell.”

Bertie stood, wobbling just a bit. “I’m getting out of these bally clothes. Don’t know how you women can stand it.”

Jeeves gave Dahlia a slight bow. “If you will excuse me, madam, I shall go and assist Mr. Wooster.”

“Very well, Jeeves,” she said. “And Jeeves...”

“Yes, madam?”

“The offer still stands. If you change your mind about writing an advice column, please let me know.”

“The contingency is a remote one, madam, but I shall keep it in mind.”

Once in the hallway, Bertie braced his hand on Jeeves’ shoulder and pulled off his shoes. “These can be deposited in the nearest dustbin, Jeeves.”

Jeeves took the shoes from him. “My sentiments precisely, sir.”

They reached the bedroom without seeing any of the household staff. Bertie was grateful for that; he had no idea how he would have faced Seppings dressed the way he was.

Bertie tugged off the wig and tossed it on the bed where it fell into a heap that resembled a giant spider. The suit jacket followed it. “I’ve got to wash my map, Jeeves. It feels like it’s covered in glue.”

“I shall lay out your traveling attire while you do so, sir.”

It took some time to remove the makeup, and Bertie wondered yet again about women’s standards for beauty.
“Jeeves,” he said as he reentered the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m starving. Should we nick some sandwiches from Anatole for the trip to London?”

“I’m sure Chef Anatole will see to it, sir. I shall ask him after you’ve changed.”

He moved behind Bertie to slip the shirt from his shoulders. Bertie shivered as the soft material whispered down his arms. Then he felt Jeeves’ warm fingers at his waist, deftly unbuttoning the skirt.

“I shall return in a moment, sir. Your shoes are in the bathroom.”

Bertie tugged the skirt down his legs, then pulled off the chemise or whatever Jeeves had called it over his head. He peeled off the pants he had worn over the garter and stockings, then went to work on unfastening those.

“Sir, your shoe has a scuff that...”

Bertie looked up at the sound of Jeeves’ voice. He was standing there, staring at Bertie as if he’d never seen him before. Bertie felt himself flush a bright red as he reached toward the bed for something to cover himself.

“No. Don’t.”

Bertie watched, mesmerized, as Jeeves moved slowly around the bed to stop just a few feet away from him. Jeeves’ gaze stripped Bertie down to his soul and he forgot how ridiculous he must look in the stockings and garter belt.

“Don’t ever cover yourself in front of me, Bertie.” His gaze lingered on Bertie’s legs and then traveled up to his flaming face. Bertie felt himself grown hard under his lover’s scrutiny.

“You are more beautiful than anyone I have ever seen,” Jeeves said in a strained voice. He reached out toward Bertie but then drew back his hand. “If I do not leave this room, I will lay you on that bed and make love to you until you beg me to stop, and damn the consequences.”
And with that Jeeves unlocked the door and left.

Bertie stared at the closed door for a long, breathless moment, then yanked off the stockings and garter and haphazardly pulled on his own, familiar clothes. He was tying his shoes and trying not to think about the way Jeeves had looked at him when there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” he said and felt a flush creep up his neck when Jeeves entered the room.

But Jeeves looked the same as he always did, as if that shocking moment had never happened.

“Chef Anatole is having a basket placed in the car, sir. We can depart as soon as you wish.”
Bertie tried for nonchalance. “That’s fine, Jeeves. Let me go and say farewell to the aunt and we’ll biff off home.”

He paused at the door and turned to Jeeves. The question came hard, but he knew it had to be asked. He wanted no misunderstandings between the two of them.

“Jeeves, do you ever wish, you know, for women? I mean to say, the way you looked at those stockings. I don’t want to wear things like that for...”

“I only wish for you, sir,” Jeeves said, smiling his quirky little smile. “And I have you.”

Bertie nodded, once, then twice. “Good.”


It was already dark when they arrived in London. The doorman assisted Jeeves with the suitcases while Bertie went ahead to unlock the door. It was always good to be back at the homestead, Bertie thought as he entered the flat.

Jeeves tidied away their coats and hats, but before he could take away the luggage, Bertie had him pressed against the wall beside the door.
“I have no hope of holding you here the way you do to me,” Bertie said, then kissed his lover’s soft, parted lips. “But I want to ask you something.”

“Anything, sir.”

“Will you take me to bed and make love to me, Reggie?” He began to unfasten Jeeves’ coat buttons. “And never stop?”

Jeeves cupped Bertie’s cheek in his palm. “With the greatest of pleasure, Bertie.”

Link to the 3rd story in the series
storyfan.livejournal.com/19769.html
 
 
Current Mood: bouncybouncy
 
 
 
applea: Orange Juice Appleaapplea on March 27th, 2009 06:43 pm (UTC)
AAAAaaaaiiiiie! <3

You may have my first born now.
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 11:42 am (UTC)
Thank you for your offer, but could you perhaps send virtual chocolate instead? Thank you for reading and for your always original comments!
applea: Orange Juice Appleaapplea on March 28th, 2009 08:28 pm (UTC)
*stops trying to cram baby through monitor* Oh all right...

*hands over chocolate*
(Deleted comment)
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 11:44 am (UTC)
You're very welcome. I'm glad you thought it was lovely and hot. Of course, the boys make it easy.
Lumpy Space Prince: Yesahstarlightkissu on March 27th, 2009 07:59 pm (UTC)
"Bertie did as he was bid, feeling like a deboned bass."

Yes-ah. That line is faboo.

The entire thing was faboo.

Your Aunt Dahlia was spot on!
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 11:46 am (UTC)
Aunt Dahlia is fun to write. She's a kind woman, really, with a heart of gold as long as she's getting her own way. And I like that she's always ready for a scheme and how she treats Jeeves with respect. And she loves Bertie even though he can be exasperating at times. Thanks for reading and your faboo comments.
I say! I may be stupid, but I'm not clever!: Jeeves & Woostermxdp on March 27th, 2009 09:25 pm (UTC)
O.
That's great stuff you got here. Funny, sexy and damn sweet. Absolute and utter win... ♥

I loved the little conversations between our two fellows, the questions!, the way Bertie slipped in front of Aunt D., calling Jeeves marvelous...

Brilliant.
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 11:47 am (UTC)
My beta encouraged me to keep the slip-up. I was going to remove it so I'm glad to read your comment. Thanks for reading and commenting.
Sebastienchaoticchaos13 on March 27th, 2009 09:51 pm (UTC)
Congrats on getting all of this into one long post, old thing!

This was just so sweet and cute and awwww.

Tops!
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 11:48 am (UTC)
Once again, I couldn't have done it without you. Thanks, old thing.
hazeltea: Bertie in bedhazeltea on March 27th, 2009 10:53 pm (UTC)
Fantastic, and hot, and I dare say Bertie might be shaving his legs for birthday presents from now on. LOL
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 11:49 am (UTC)
Now there's a thought. You're not the only one who thinks Jeeves might have a thing for this. Thank you as always for reading and commenting.
The Deadly Jelly Babylaughinggas13 on March 27th, 2009 10:58 pm (UTC)
Utterly wonderful! The tone is perfect throughout, especially your Aunt Dahlia voice. I love Bertie being so clever with nasty Mrs Benson too. :D
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 11:53 am (UTC)
It's good to have a scheming old lady to work with in these stories. She's a good gal, Aunt Dahlia is, and she's ready for anything, even if it's illegal. Thank you for all your kind comments.
euclase on March 27th, 2009 11:23 pm (UTC)
This was great! Sweet and yummy. I giggled a lot, especially at Bertie's letter to Ruth, signed Anony.

And this: “Very good, Jeeves.”

“Very funny, sir.”


LOL so adorable.
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 11:51 am (UTC)
Those were two things I liked very much, too, so I'm happy to know you liked them as well. Thank you for reading and for your kind comments.
Nonsensical Whatnotterist: JW - Bertie Jeeves Luvrandom_nexus on March 27th, 2009 11:24 pm (UTC)
Absolutely spiffing with some sprinkles of awesome! I say ditto to all the previous comments!
I also like that Bertie didn't botch it up. Unfortunately, a healthy portion of the J&W fic I have found tends to make poor Bertie just a little too doofish. I think you wrote him very well, not out of character in either direction.
Hee hee, I'm wondering if your Jeeves has a little kink for shaved legs? *giggle* Made me grin hugely!
All around bravo, you!
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 11:56 am (UTC)
I just couldn't let Bertie fail. He already doubts his mental capabilities and to have him fail would just be quite a blow to him. And if he had failed, I don't know where I would have taken the story, to be frank. I think it might have just petered out to nothing. Jeeves has a kink for shaved legs? Hmmm. Possibly, possibly. Thanks for reading, Random.
lady529: Magical Colinlady529 on March 28th, 2009 12:11 am (UTC)
Bertie with shaved legs, freaking out women on his Aunt Dahlia's orders. I love.

The Lady 529
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 11:57 am (UTC)
You're not the only one who liked the shaved legs. I must do something else with that sometime. Off topic, I like your avatar. I remember Colin on Who's Line is It Anyway and thought him to be funniest by far. Once they were doing battle cries and his was "Get me my brown pants." I laughed myself sick.
lady529: Magical Colinlady529 on March 28th, 2009 10:26 pm (UTC)
Why doesn't that surprise me?

Oh, I love the 'Get me my brown pants!' line (my fav's probably the 'Things you can say to your dog, but not your girlfriend', when he just goes 'Come!')! I'm one of those people who've seen every last episode of Whose Line, both Britline and Drewsline, and apart from when Stephen's on, it's Colin all the way for me. He rocks my nerdy wee socks <3

The Lady 529
waqaychay: jooster lovewaqaychay on March 28th, 2009 12:11 am (UTC)
this whole thing was brilliant! hilarious and very sexy. though i'm a bit disappointed we didn't get crossdressing!sex. eh, maybe another time. well done, love!
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 12:01 pm (UTC)
Well, thanks. That's good of you to say. I thought about a cross-dressing scene, but somehow I didn't think Bertie would like it. I even started it but it seemed awkward. I didn't even tell my beta I was considering it. Maybe I just wasn't writing it correctly or something, I don't know. Maybe next time I have a tricky situation like that I'll bung the story over to you and let you write it. With credit, of course!

Edited to fix a grammar error. Sheesh.

Edited at 2009-03-28 12:03 pm (UTC)
waqaychay: jooster lovewaqaychay on March 29th, 2009 12:08 am (UTC)
*lol* i'd love to be of help if i can. any time, hon! :D
storyfanstoryfan on March 29th, 2009 02:40 am (UTC)
Someday I will take you up on your offer. And I'm serious!
notchka88notchka88 on March 28th, 2009 03:00 am (UTC)
You have a mind for brilliant and creative plots. It was beyond wonderful. Dahlia was perfect. That abominable woman was Aunt Agatha-ish. Jeeves and Bertie were perfect and hot. I've run out of English words so magnifique!
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 12:04 pm (UTC)
Thanks awfully kind of you to say that about my plots and I'm happy with Dahlia, too. She's a great character to work with, always a lot of fun. Thank you for reading and commenting, too.
T: singtriedunture on March 28th, 2009 03:17 am (UTC)
OH THIS. This was such a joy. I loved the little ruse; it really rang true. And Bertie's legs...I felt unusually warmish at the idea. I, too, would have been A-OK with crossdressing!sex, but someone this was just as hot and sweet as if it had really happened.

MUCH LOVE FOR THIS. Memming.
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 12:09 pm (UTC)
Well, thank you. As I told waqachay, I just didn't think Bertie the way I wrote him would have liked have Jeeves so nuts about the stockings. I tried to get Bertie to like it, but he wasn't cooperating. Darn him. I'm very glad you liked the story.
Salfeanix on March 28th, 2009 03:48 am (UTC)
*gives you gifts of surplus kidneys and livers*

That was a fantastically good read, old thing. Loved the whole thing and you know, any time where Bertie has to dress as a woman is great. I can see a fic arising from Bertie in stockings...Hmm.

Bally good show, as always.
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 12:11 pm (UTC)
Ohh, surplus kidneys and livers! What shall I cook with them?

There seems to be a great desire to see Bertie in stockings once more. I'll have to think about this. Thanks for reading and commenting, as always.
emeraldreeveemeraldreeve on March 28th, 2009 08:58 am (UTC)
Very sexy, hot, and exciting! Great plot. I love this story, too! I really like how you write these two. I'm glad you are writing Jooster, and I hope you will continue to for a long time. Thank you for the stories!
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 12:13 pm (UTC)
Well, thank you for all those kind comments. I do plan to write for a long time. I've got other ideas; one is in the beginning stages right now. I want to write a couple of shorter pieces, but somehow these always seem to run long. I'm glad nobody minds that.
berry_filing on March 28th, 2009 05:50 pm (UTC)
Full of Sweetness, Light and Wistfulness. Very Nice.
storyfanstoryfan on March 28th, 2009 07:54 pm (UTC)
Thank you. These guys can't help but be sweet even when they're being a bit sour.
I say! I may be stupid, but I'm not clever!: QI astrologymxdp on March 29th, 2009 02:52 pm (UTC)
It's what makes Bertie Bertie! How could you ever consider leaving it out? :)

Story as great as ever!
storyfanstoryfan on March 29th, 2009 09:58 pm (UTC)
Those little slip-ups come quite naturally to Bertie. He does it constantly in the stories, that's for sure. Thanks again!
Sushi for Breakfast: come to bed jeevestourmaline1973 on March 29th, 2009 10:05 pm (UTC)
Lovely. Just read this, along with Jeeves and the Sleepwalking Wheeze, and adored them both. I love Jeeves' barely-contained passion, it really does feel as if he'd never let Bertie out of the bedroom if he could ♥
storyfanstoryfan on March 30th, 2009 12:52 am (UTC)
I'm glad you enjoyed both of them. I certainly had fun writing "Wheeze" and "Agony Aunt." Your avatar is quite cute, by the way.
froggyniektete on March 29th, 2009 11:17 pm (UTC)
I can't get over the fact that Bertie in drag appeals to me :P Wonderful hawtness!
storyfanstoryfan on March 30th, 2009 12:54 am (UTC)
Bertie in drag appeals to a lot of people. The trouble is, I'm just not sure what to do with him once he's put on his dress. And there are a couple of people in this community who have put him in drag and done wonderful things with him - quite fun to read.

Thanks for reading, as always.
Nonsensical Whatnotterist: Dark Fae Girlrandom_nexus on April 25th, 2009 08:26 pm (UTC)
Back again after a re-read and I noticed something I didn't previously. I'm wondering, what with Bertie-dressed-as-Ruth Clark grabbing knees and saying 'throw off the shackles of men' and whatnot... I wonder if Mrs. Benson thought 'Ruth' was a lesbian???

*gasp!* *giggle*

Sorry, I had to.
storyfanstoryfan on April 25th, 2009 08:59 pm (UTC)
Actually, I thought the same thing when I was writing that. I wondered if anyone would notice that.