Bertie and the Kitten, 3/?
Oct. 23rd, 2007 10:19 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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indeedsir_backupTitle: Bertie and the Kitten
Author: Melanthios V. Bathurst, Esq. (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mellifluous_ink)
Word Count: 1,629
Disclaimer: I forget to put these anymore, since I feel like by calling it 'fanfiction' we already have a disclaimer. Anyway, Wodehouse is awesome and I'm just romping a bit in his world with YET ANOTHER 'marry off Bertie' fic.
Summary: This was written after reading the wiki article on Bertie. The article has a section that compares all his fiancées, and in reading their traits I started creating an antithesis, wondering what would make the perfect wife for Bertie Wooster? Well, not a normal woman, certainly, so enter Felicia Hadley, lounge singer, smouldering temptress...and full-time drag queen.
Chapter One: In Which Florence Plays Matchmaker
Chapter Two: In Which Jeeves and Wooster Meet Kitty in Turns and There is Confrontation
Chapter Three
In Which There is a Ring and a Confession, Though Not in That Order
Kitty wore her black dress that night, not her violet one; the black gown was much more revealing, and usually Kitty only wore it on Halloween. Entirely backless, the black dress was a halter that dipped into a low ‘V’ at the front, and the slit up the right side was high enough to require pantyhose, not stockings. Unless, of course, said stockings were fishnet.
When she had initially set up Bertie and Kitty, Florence had the smug thought that Bertie wouldn’t know what had hit him. When Kitty first prowled onto the stage in her wickedly high heels, the statement was very true. Especially when she sang ‘Is You is or is You Ain’t my Baby’ in her simmering contralto, teasing the men around the edge of the stage. Bertie was surprised at the flare of bitter jealousy in his chest—she was his girl, dash it, what were they doing, thinking they had a right to look at her?
But then she turned her attention to him, and the world disappeared but for those luscious lips and kohl-rimmed eyes that sparkled in the low light under heavy lashes. She wasn’t sweet and cheery anymore—she teased him like a tigress on the hunt, tantalising him forward only to shove him back. When the velvet curtains hid the last fishnet-clad curve of leg, Bertie realised he hadn’t been breathing more than shallowly.
He also realised that he was pursuing a goddess, and suddenly felt the great urge to bolt for the door and tell Jeeves to return the ring because he was not worthy of this creature, not at all. What the deuce had he been thinking? Steadfastly, he shook his head to clear it. Mustn’t lose the resolve, old chap, he thought to himself as he applauded with the rest of the crowd. Getting to his feet, he picked up the single, long-stemmed rose Jeeves had gotten him, drained his drink for even more of the old r. and began for the back hall and the dressing room. On his way he met a large, imposing man that must have been a wrestler at some point. His green eyes and wild red hair only served to accentuate his fearsome appearance—but he gave Bertie a friendly smile, stepping aside to let him into the hall.
‘Good luck,’ he rumbled when he caught sight of the velvet box Bertie was holding. Bertie managed a nervous smile but his voice didn’t seem to be working.
~oOo~
Meanwhile, in her dressing room, just feet away from Bertie Wooster, Kitty was also having trouble with nerves. She had removed her make up, though the kohl stained around her eyes, and her hair was damp from the shower as she paced furiously in the small room. How would she tell him? What would she tell him? Jeeves had said Bertie was…but what if he didn’t want her after this? What if he’d been aiming for children, nothing more?
There was a knock at the door. Kitty nearly screamed, but managed to cut it to a strangled noise in her throat as she answered the door with trembling hands. Seeing Bertie, her mouth did all the work for her.
‘BertieI’vegottotellyousomething.’
‘Er,’ said Bertie, letting her usher him in and onto the sofa. She sat on the sofa next to him and tried to pour him a cup of tea from the blue-painted set but her hands were trembling too much. Bertie pushed her hands away gently, letting his own linger as he knew she wouldn’t think it forward (not that she was a girl of easy virtue, just that she didn’t seem to have hang ups about that sort of thing). He poured her tea instead, pressing the cup into her hands. Comforting her calmed Bertie’s nerves, and he could smile easily again.
‘Come on Kitty, buck up and all of that.’ He patted her hand. Offering the rose, he smiled widely as she took it, though when she looked up at him his smile disappeared—what on earth could make her eyes hold so much pain? ‘What is it?’
‘Bertie I…I’ve been keeping a secret from you.’ Seeing him about to interrupt, she put a hand up. ‘Please, if you interrupt I may not be able to…to finish.’ She felt her childhood stutter coming back and paused, swallowing and trying to take deep breaths, though her chest felt tight and her eyes were still full of tears. ‘I’m…’
Even though he’d been told not to interrupt, Bertie put a hand out to dry her tears with his handkerchief. He felt as though she needed to be held close, and so he pulled her closer to him, arms around her shoulders. True to her request, however, he held his tongue.
‘I’m a boy in a dress,’ the sentence came out in a whisper so quiet it could barely be heard. As such, it took a while for the words to sink in. Bertie looked down at Kitty, brows lifted in surprise before they knit in puzzlement.
‘Are you?’ Bertie said. ‘I say! You’re very good at it!’
Kitty smiled, despite everything, before her fear overtook her again. ‘D-does this mean you…you don’t want me anymore…as…as a girlfriend?’ Her voice quavered.
‘What??’ Bertie’s voice was nearly a yelp. ‘Have a care! I mean to say…I say, Kitty, what sort of chap would I be if I walked out on a girl just for something like that?’
‘Rather a normal one,’ she replied sullenly, looking gloomy. She felt him shift, and looked down to see that he’d…gotten down on one knee. Kitty gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as her eyes widened. She wiped them with the back of her hand to clear the tears and looked again.
Hiding behind the tiny velvet box, Bertie looked hopefully up at her.
‘O…’ Kitty breathed. ‘O…o God…o God…’
‘Kitty I…I’m dashed awful at these poeticky sorts of things…’
Kitty laughed, launching herself into Bertie’s arms before he could struggle on and kissing him all over. ‘O Bertie!’ She held him tight, crying now for a very different reason. ‘I love you!’
As Kitty assaulted his cheeks and face with that soft mouth, Bertie lost balance and fell backwards—luckily there was a soft sheepskin rug to break his fall. After the initial shock wore off, Kitty let Bertie up and gave him a look, truly puzzled at his reaction.
‘It…it really doesn’t matter to you?’
Bertie shrugged, brushing himself off a bit. ‘You’re still Kitty, old thing. It’s rather a relief to know you’re a chap. Also explains why we get along, what.’
Kitty giggled behind her hand. She’d heard the sentiment from a few of her Broadway friends before. There were other, vulgar yet oddly sweet things as well, such as the observation that if both partners were shaped the same it was easier to know how to give pleasure—Kitty doubted a gentleman like Bertie would ever say something like that, however. She felt him gently take her left hand and met his eyes, which were looking questioningly at her as he held the ring in his other hand.
‘So er, am I being presumptuous in thinking that burst of pecks on the Wooster person meant, “yes, old carrot, I’d love to tie the knot”?’
Kitty smiled and offered her hand. ‘Bertie I…yes. O yes, please do marry me.’ She giggled in embarrassment, her cheeks flushing; that had sounded so trite, as though she were some swooning heroine in a romance novel.
‘I hope it fits…’ Bertie murmured, seeing the humour in the situation despite his nerves as he slipped the ring over her left ring finger. ‘Be dashed silly if it didn’t, but I didn’t know your size.’ He smiled as it slid on easily.
Now that it was on, Kitty could examine it; she turned it this way and that. ‘How did you get a ring so quickly, Bertie darling?’ She didn’t need to ask how he’d known she preferred the blue of a flawed diamond over perfect white, nor how he’d thought to pick out a small, understated ring of white metal. Jeeves knew her taste in everything—he had been with them long enough, when Kitty was young.
‘Spared no expense for the girl of my dreams, you know.’ Bertie kissed her hand, his cheeks flushed. He was about to say more when he looked up, but something stopped him. There was silence for a few moments as the idea sank in; then Kitty leaned her head just forward a bit and suddenly it seemed a very good idea to kiss her. She hummed softly and put her arms about his neck as he pulled her closer on the rug—now that he was holding her close, Bertie realised she did have more smoothness than softness. When he pulled back, he noticed something and frowned slightly in confusion.
‘What is it?’ Kitty asked, suddenly dreading he’d had second thoughts.
‘I just noticed your chest is flat. It wasn’t, during the show.’
Kitty threw her head back and laughed, the sound free and easy. Bertie smiled and kissed her again, and she rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh of utter contentment.
‘I have to add them, you know,’ she said, silently memorising his smell of brandy, smoke and something beneath that, something soft and the exact colour of summer sunshine at three in the afternoon. She closed her eyes and snuggled into him, trying to imagine what it would be like to sleep next to him every night…she jumped as his hands strayed lower in curiosity, looking up at him with mischief. ‘That, however, is very much the real McCoy.’
Author: Melanthios V. Bathurst, Esq. (
mellifluous_ink)Word Count: 1,629
Disclaimer: I forget to put these anymore, since I feel like by calling it 'fanfiction' we already have a disclaimer. Anyway, Wodehouse is awesome and I'm just romping a bit in his world with YET ANOTHER 'marry off Bertie' fic.
Summary: This was written after reading the wiki article on Bertie. The article has a section that compares all his fiancées, and in reading their traits I started creating an antithesis, wondering what would make the perfect wife for Bertie Wooster? Well, not a normal woman, certainly, so enter Felicia Hadley, lounge singer, smouldering temptress...and full-time drag queen.
Chapter One: In Which Florence Plays Matchmaker
Chapter Two: In Which Jeeves and Wooster Meet Kitty in Turns and There is Confrontation
In Which There is a Ring and a Confession, Though Not in That Order
Kitty wore her black dress that night, not her violet one; the black gown was much more revealing, and usually Kitty only wore it on Halloween. Entirely backless, the black dress was a halter that dipped into a low ‘V’ at the front, and the slit up the right side was high enough to require pantyhose, not stockings. Unless, of course, said stockings were fishnet.
When she had initially set up Bertie and Kitty, Florence had the smug thought that Bertie wouldn’t know what had hit him. When Kitty first prowled onto the stage in her wickedly high heels, the statement was very true. Especially when she sang ‘Is You is or is You Ain’t my Baby’ in her simmering contralto, teasing the men around the edge of the stage. Bertie was surprised at the flare of bitter jealousy in his chest—she was his girl, dash it, what were they doing, thinking they had a right to look at her?
But then she turned her attention to him, and the world disappeared but for those luscious lips and kohl-rimmed eyes that sparkled in the low light under heavy lashes. She wasn’t sweet and cheery anymore—she teased him like a tigress on the hunt, tantalising him forward only to shove him back. When the velvet curtains hid the last fishnet-clad curve of leg, Bertie realised he hadn’t been breathing more than shallowly.
He also realised that he was pursuing a goddess, and suddenly felt the great urge to bolt for the door and tell Jeeves to return the ring because he was not worthy of this creature, not at all. What the deuce had he been thinking? Steadfastly, he shook his head to clear it. Mustn’t lose the resolve, old chap, he thought to himself as he applauded with the rest of the crowd. Getting to his feet, he picked up the single, long-stemmed rose Jeeves had gotten him, drained his drink for even more of the old r. and began for the back hall and the dressing room. On his way he met a large, imposing man that must have been a wrestler at some point. His green eyes and wild red hair only served to accentuate his fearsome appearance—but he gave Bertie a friendly smile, stepping aside to let him into the hall.
‘Good luck,’ he rumbled when he caught sight of the velvet box Bertie was holding. Bertie managed a nervous smile but his voice didn’t seem to be working.
Meanwhile, in her dressing room, just feet away from Bertie Wooster, Kitty was also having trouble with nerves. She had removed her make up, though the kohl stained around her eyes, and her hair was damp from the shower as she paced furiously in the small room. How would she tell him? What would she tell him? Jeeves had said Bertie was…but what if he didn’t want her after this? What if he’d been aiming for children, nothing more?
There was a knock at the door. Kitty nearly screamed, but managed to cut it to a strangled noise in her throat as she answered the door with trembling hands. Seeing Bertie, her mouth did all the work for her.
‘BertieI’vegottotellyousomething.’
‘Er,’ said Bertie, letting her usher him in and onto the sofa. She sat on the sofa next to him and tried to pour him a cup of tea from the blue-painted set but her hands were trembling too much. Bertie pushed her hands away gently, letting his own linger as he knew she wouldn’t think it forward (not that she was a girl of easy virtue, just that she didn’t seem to have hang ups about that sort of thing). He poured her tea instead, pressing the cup into her hands. Comforting her calmed Bertie’s nerves, and he could smile easily again.
‘Come on Kitty, buck up and all of that.’ He patted her hand. Offering the rose, he smiled widely as she took it, though when she looked up at him his smile disappeared—what on earth could make her eyes hold so much pain? ‘What is it?’
‘Bertie I…I’ve been keeping a secret from you.’ Seeing him about to interrupt, she put a hand up. ‘Please, if you interrupt I may not be able to…to finish.’ She felt her childhood stutter coming back and paused, swallowing and trying to take deep breaths, though her chest felt tight and her eyes were still full of tears. ‘I’m…’
Even though he’d been told not to interrupt, Bertie put a hand out to dry her tears with his handkerchief. He felt as though she needed to be held close, and so he pulled her closer to him, arms around her shoulders. True to her request, however, he held his tongue.
‘I’m a boy in a dress,’ the sentence came out in a whisper so quiet it could barely be heard. As such, it took a while for the words to sink in. Bertie looked down at Kitty, brows lifted in surprise before they knit in puzzlement.
‘Are you?’ Bertie said. ‘I say! You’re very good at it!’
Kitty smiled, despite everything, before her fear overtook her again. ‘D-does this mean you…you don’t want me anymore…as…as a girlfriend?’ Her voice quavered.
‘What??’ Bertie’s voice was nearly a yelp. ‘Have a care! I mean to say…I say, Kitty, what sort of chap would I be if I walked out on a girl just for something like that?’
‘Rather a normal one,’ she replied sullenly, looking gloomy. She felt him shift, and looked down to see that he’d…gotten down on one knee. Kitty gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as her eyes widened. She wiped them with the back of her hand to clear the tears and looked again.
Hiding behind the tiny velvet box, Bertie looked hopefully up at her.
‘O…’ Kitty breathed. ‘O…o God…o God…’
‘Kitty I…I’m dashed awful at these poeticky sorts of things…’
Kitty laughed, launching herself into Bertie’s arms before he could struggle on and kissing him all over. ‘O Bertie!’ She held him tight, crying now for a very different reason. ‘I love you!’
As Kitty assaulted his cheeks and face with that soft mouth, Bertie lost balance and fell backwards—luckily there was a soft sheepskin rug to break his fall. After the initial shock wore off, Kitty let Bertie up and gave him a look, truly puzzled at his reaction.
‘It…it really doesn’t matter to you?’
Bertie shrugged, brushing himself off a bit. ‘You’re still Kitty, old thing. It’s rather a relief to know you’re a chap. Also explains why we get along, what.’
Kitty giggled behind her hand. She’d heard the sentiment from a few of her Broadway friends before. There were other, vulgar yet oddly sweet things as well, such as the observation that if both partners were shaped the same it was easier to know how to give pleasure—Kitty doubted a gentleman like Bertie would ever say something like that, however. She felt him gently take her left hand and met his eyes, which were looking questioningly at her as he held the ring in his other hand.
‘So er, am I being presumptuous in thinking that burst of pecks on the Wooster person meant, “yes, old carrot, I’d love to tie the knot”?’
Kitty smiled and offered her hand. ‘Bertie I…yes. O yes, please do marry me.’ She giggled in embarrassment, her cheeks flushing; that had sounded so trite, as though she were some swooning heroine in a romance novel.
‘I hope it fits…’ Bertie murmured, seeing the humour in the situation despite his nerves as he slipped the ring over her left ring finger. ‘Be dashed silly if it didn’t, but I didn’t know your size.’ He smiled as it slid on easily.
Now that it was on, Kitty could examine it; she turned it this way and that. ‘How did you get a ring so quickly, Bertie darling?’ She didn’t need to ask how he’d known she preferred the blue of a flawed diamond over perfect white, nor how he’d thought to pick out a small, understated ring of white metal. Jeeves knew her taste in everything—he had been with them long enough, when Kitty was young.
‘Spared no expense for the girl of my dreams, you know.’ Bertie kissed her hand, his cheeks flushed. He was about to say more when he looked up, but something stopped him. There was silence for a few moments as the idea sank in; then Kitty leaned her head just forward a bit and suddenly it seemed a very good idea to kiss her. She hummed softly and put her arms about his neck as he pulled her closer on the rug—now that he was holding her close, Bertie realised she did have more smoothness than softness. When he pulled back, he noticed something and frowned slightly in confusion.
‘What is it?’ Kitty asked, suddenly dreading he’d had second thoughts.
‘I just noticed your chest is flat. It wasn’t, during the show.’
Kitty threw her head back and laughed, the sound free and easy. Bertie smiled and kissed her again, and she rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh of utter contentment.
‘I have to add them, you know,’ she said, silently memorising his smell of brandy, smoke and something beneath that, something soft and the exact colour of summer sunshine at three in the afternoon. She closed her eyes and snuggled into him, trying to imagine what it would be like to sleep next to him every night…she jumped as his hands strayed lower in curiosity, looking up at him with mischief. ‘That, however, is very much the real McCoy.’
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Date: 2007-10-24 07:34 am (UTC)Oh, Bertie! There is something so adorable to him, there really, truly is.
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Date: 2007-10-24 08:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-24 02:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-06 10:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-06 10:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-25 02:07 am (UTC)BTW, I see my disclaimer as a way to thank Wodehouse. :)
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Date: 2007-10-25 04:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-25 07:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-25 07:04 am (UTC)Gosh, I'm so happy you all like it! I was so nervous about posting Bertie with an OC.