Pslash Crossover: Sweet Tea (Jeeves/Psmith)

[mellifluous-ink.livejournal.com]

Not strictly JW, but I did promise, and a gentleman such as myself keeps promises.

Rated 15 (I refuse to use MPAA ratings). This chapter is actually rated 12. I hope you guys like it.

Psmith was fantastically restless. Already he’d convinced Mike to play badminton with him that morning, and then obliged him by playing a bit of cricket. Then he’d been shopping at the tourist traps, come back, and gone for a swim.

Holidays, Psmith decided, were for those with someone to bed. Depositing his wet form in the front porch’s hammock after a vigorous swim, Psmith was fully prepared to lay there until Kingdom Come.

A small cough made him open his eyes, to find a dark-haired paragon at his elbow, in black despite the sunny weather of the Riviera.

Psmith promptly fell out of his hammock. Struggling to his feet with the air of a cat who’s mis-stepped, Psmith regarded Jeeves with curiosity, then peered around down the beach—of which the cottage’s front porch had an excellent view—looking for Bertie. Finding no eye-candy, Psmith pursed his lips and looked at Jeeves again, this time in bemusement.

‘On holiday, comrade?’ he asked, trying not to sound too surprised.

‘I had heard you were here, sir, and I find myself without employment. One of the Junior Ganymedes said that you were in need of a valet.’

‘France is a bit far to travel for an employer, comrade,’ Psmith said. ‘And what of that charming little Wooster?’

Jeeves’ eyes darkened just slightly, as a cloud passing over the moon. ‘I have left Mister Wooster’s employment, sir.’

‘O dear,’ Psmith leaned back in the hammock, hands behind his head as he used a toe to push against the wooden porch and set the net swaying. ‘What awful instrument can he have taken up now?’

‘The French Horn, sir.’

‘Mm.’ Psmith opened an eye. ‘Exceedingly oblivious of him, considering his talent at the manual of the most under-appreciated percussion instrument.’

‘Indeed, sir.’

‘I don’t know why you were recommended to me, comrade.’

‘Sir?’

‘I patently do not need a valet.’

Jeeves begged to differ, but only enjoyed the view Psmith was granting him, of several well-sculpted limbs that were usually ensconced beneath well-tailored suits. Psmith’s legs would certainly have been more suited to the breeches and stockings of old, but Jeeves already had a host of ideas for how to get around that.

‘There are caveats.’ Psmith had shifted, now, and was standing to go inside. ‘Come inside, comrade Jeeves; tea seems a stifling offer, but the sentiment is there, I assure you.’

Jeeves stepped forward, remembering an acquaintance he had in the American South. ‘If you have ice, sir, I can make something as refreshing.’

‘There is a wealth of ice.’ Psmith held the door for his guest, letting the screen shut gently behind them, letting his eyes adjust to the lower light of the indoors. Jeeves was already in the kitchen, the kettle on the small stove of the closet-sized kitchen. A large glass pitcher was on the counter, and Jeeves was measuring tea from a canister that Psmith didn’t even know had been in the pantry.

Leaning on the bar, Psmith took in the clues with interest. His vision was slightly off due to the absence of the monocle, but he could surmise well enough. ‘Jeeves…are you making cold tea?’

‘It is known as “Sweet Tea”, sir. My acquaintance informs me it is quite refreshing in such weather.’

Perching on one of the stools, Psmith watched as the kettle began to boil. Jeeves made tea, dumping a generous amount of sugar into it before pouring it over the ice. Psmith took the glass of liquid with more than a little scepticism, but shrugged and took a sip. Fortune favoured the brave.

Jeeves was forcibly reminded of his first encounter with Bertie, and was struck with the desire to cry, laugh, and smack his former employer upside the head at the same time.

‘…Interesting,’ Psmith said thoughtfully.

‘Thank you, sir.’ Jeeves realised he couldn’t read Psmith; the man was nearly as inscrutable as he. A practise in observation, then, was required. ‘Sir?’

Psmith looked up, then slid off the stool. ‘The caveats, of course.’ Leaving his tea on the table, he lingered in the open doorway of his bedroom; Jeeves could see it littered with the evidence of a bachelor existence—clothes, periodicals, the occasional pillow. His hands itched to tidy up, but he was more curious. ‘O don’t look at me like that, comrade—I am perfectly aware you are not a houseboy.’

The realisation that Psmith was perhaps as good at reading the inscrutable startled Jeeves. An equal? His interest piqued, and his pain at having to leave Bertie was soothed, if only a little.

‘My bedchamber,’ Psmith was continuing. ‘Is my only place to privately entertain, and Mike is due home from his doubtless fascinating game of whatever-it-is soon.’

Jeeves had noticed the sportsman taking part in a lively game of volley ball down the beach, and tried to deduce whether Psmith had merely forgotten the name or had some disdain for it. Perhaps, Jeeves thought as he followed Psmith into the room, Psmith had a disdain for the strapping French and Italian boys that were playing with Mike.

Jeeves usually had a good meter for those sorts of things, and R.E. Psmith was very obviously as fit for a verdant carnation as Oscar Wilde, however understated and careful he was.

Psmith flung himself onto the bed, swim-suit and all, and Jeeves suppressed a cringe at how wet the mattress would be. ‘Close the door, would you, comrade?’ When Jeeves had obliged, Psmith looked at him for a long while, then said, ‘Aren’t you going to sit? I like eyes at a level.’

‘You are reclining, sir,’ Jeeves felt he should point out; Psmith gracefully shifted to lean against the pillows, and made a dramatic gesture. Though it was not something he was accustomed to, Jeeves could see no other place to sit, and so perched carefully on the edge of the bed.

‘Ever wonder why I go to the Drones?’ Psmith was studying a flower he’d plucked from a vase on the bedside table as he spoke, rolling the stem slowly between his long white fingers.

‘I cannot say I have, sir.’ Jeeves had, of course, when Bertie had told him of Psmith’s existence. The man hardly seemed as though he would enjoy most of the things the members of the Drones got up to, with the exception of Jeeves’ former pupil, Roger Clancey.

‘One singular fact about the Drones captures my attention—the scenery.’

Jeeves raised his customary eighth-of-an-inch of brow. ‘Sir?’

‘Little, Wooster, the Wooster twins…a lovely den of beautiful boys to look at, comrade. One does not touch, of course, but it is spectacularly cheering after a dreary day, to know one can go to one’s club and see young gods in shirtsleeves.’

Well, this was surprising. Jeeves had always assumed Mike and Psmith were more than inseparable friends, but apparently that was not so. ‘Sir.’

‘Mmyes, comrade?’ Psmith appeared half-absorbed in his daisy.

‘Your caveats, sir.’

‘What? O,’ Psmith seemed nonchalant as he answered. ‘Well, one thinks one has found gods, until one looks upon a true Greek figure.’ A slight smile tugged at his lips, and Jeeves found it too fascinating to ignore.

‘Comrade?’

Jeeves looked up at him, realising he’d been staring at those lips, and the smirk had travelled from the corner of Psmith’s mouth to his entire face, a few strands of damp, dark hair in his face. He looked devious, and slightly mad, and…utterly kissable.

Comments

[lady529.livejournal.com]

Oh, this is sweet! <3

The Lady 529

[mxdp.livejournal.com]

Argh! Awesome, I was really hooked on it, my face come closer to the screen by the sec... Well done! <3

[derien.livejournal.com]

Rrar! Psmith/Jeeves is terrifyingly hot... and also terrifying. Two such brains in one place - it shouldn't take them long to develope telepathy and then conquer the world.

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

I hope there's more soon! This is too awesome.

[mellifluous-ink.livejournal.com]

It all depends on how well my NaNo novel is going. Hopefully I'll keep up with it this year ^_^ I almost won last year, so it bodes well.

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

Cool! I'm NaNo-ing too! Same username if you want to friend me. Good luck :D

[mellifluous-ink.livejournal.com]

I'm Melanthios on the site.

My novel needs a title, though. I only have a tagline. Maybe that will become the ridiculously long title: 'You'd Never Suspect a Unicorn of Lifting Your Wallet, Would You?'