Fic: Redemption, part 4 (NC-17)
Aug. 19th, 2010 02:21 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
hazeltea.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
indeedsir_backupThis has been rattling around in my brain since I read Yours, Plum: The Letters of P.G. Wodehouse a few years ago.I wanted to try continuing the 1953 fanfic by J. Maclaren-Ross , which was lovingly trascribed here by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chaoticchaos13
Pairing:Jeeves/Bertie
Disclaimer: I make no profit from the lovely world of Wodehouse.
Part 1: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/849688.html#cutid1
Part 2: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/851698.html#cutid1
Part 3: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/853433.html#cutid1
Part 4: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/854770.html#cutid1
“Wooster… would you play for me?” His voice was quiet, and a bit wistful.
The request came after dinner one evening, broiled fish which I had leant to cook in the Junior Ganymede kitchen. (There had been smoke, yes, but the end result was quite edible, I‘m dashed pleased to say.) Jeeves gestured towards a piano which I guessed had seen little use, currently being used as a cloth covered table on which a vase rested. He needn’t have asked, for my fingers had been itching to touch the keys since I’d first set eyes on it. I hastened to the bench, and tested the keys with a scale- the pitch was rich and beautiful, unlike the piano at the Drones, which needed tuning sorely.
“Any requests, M’lord?” I asked, brightly.
“Anything you wish.” was his reply. He looked tired, and worried. I launched into a bit of Chopin which I knew he was fond of, though I was sorely out of practice. His eyes drooped closed to slits, but his expression told me that he was very much awake. What was this ministering wheeze doing to him? I’d be bally well fed up with him not telling me a word of it, if he didn’t look so dashed pitiful. To see Jeeves in such a state was unnerving, and put me on edge. I wished that I were half of what he had been to me, so that I could fix him, somehow, ply him with mysterious fluids which restored the tissues and invigorated the senses. Since I couldn’t, I played until my fingers cramped, and forced myself to finish the song once they had.
His lips moved, just a bit. Had he just called me ‘sir‘? A shiver shook through me. No, I was imagining things, wishing for the past.
“Thank you, Wooster. That was singularly beautiful.”
I beamed at the compliment, although my concern lingered. “I say, M’lord, let’s get you to bed, what? You look bally well exhausted.” He put up little resistance, and had fallen into a deep sleep a mere moment after his head hit the pillow. Hesitantly, I touched my fingertips to his silver-streaked hair, and worried on my lip. Had he stayed my man, perhaps his hair could be darker, his face softer. If there hadn’t been this blasted war, those evil fiends, and if I had managed to keep my money… I paced the room, before returning to his side. He was still breathtakingly handsome, despite everything. I pushed the thought from my mind, and tucked the covers around him before leaving.
That night, I gazed at the photograph from what seemed like a lifetime ago. It was impossible not to make comparisons, although I fought it. He had been perfect then, and he was perfect now, I thought, fiercely. How could I judge him when I looked such a bally wreck, myself? He was a hero, and he had rank, title, and fortune to boot, so much more important than an unlined façade. Still, how I missed his figure, all in black, as he shimmied about…
“I love you.” I whispered. I hadn’t meant to say it. I placed the photo down on the nightstand, and rolled over, turning away from it. My eyes burned, and my cheeks flushed. Of course, I’d meant it in general, as to say, I had loved what was. My life, our lives, as they had been. I simply couldn’t love Jeeves, that was out of the question. He was beyond having, and I wasn’t going to hope, or wish, or imagine things.
I must have dozed, because the next thing I was aware of, the sun was flitting through the window and the birds were chirping happily. I stretched, and yawned, not recalling a morning when I’d felt quite so spiffing in years.
Suddenly, my heart froze in my chest. I clamored across the bed and grabbed the clock beside me. Ten! Jeeves! As I made to scramble out from under the covers, I noticed a tray beside me, on which a pot of tea kept company with a cup and saucer. The lot had gone cold.
Jeeves had left the flat, then, and let me sleep- had even served me, when I ought to have been serving him. I poured out the tepid liquid, feeling like a failure.
There is a rum thing which I have always noticed, and that is that there are two sorts of days when things go utterly wrong. There are days which you dread, and keep the upper lip stiff as a new collar, but there are also days one isn’t expecting a thing to go wrong, and the more you muster up a sunny disposish, the more the world seems to conspire to thwart it. I believe that was the case this day, for no sooner than I tidied up the tea than the doorbell rang, and me still in my dressing gown. I debated hastening to dress myself, but the blighter would be gone by then, and if it were important, well, what then?
I summoned as much dignity as one can in such circs, and opened the door, just a crack. I must say, it was a day of shocks, for before me stood none other than the Reverend Harold Pinker.
Now, as you remember, said Stinker had given me the brush months before in a letter which could put ice on a bally bonfire. He and I had been chums throughout school, and had entertained an understanding of the most intimate sort during my stint as Secretary of the Drones. When one is accused of corrupting a man of the cloth by the man himself, there is little that a chap such as myself can do, for I had done quite dreadful, yet delightful things; not only to another man, but to a man who was married. I accepted the blame and the thought that it was done, and done it should have been in my mind, had not the man himself appeared before me.
“Bertie!” he exclaimed, stumbling through the door which he had meant to merely pry open. “Bertie, you are here! I heard that you’d been taken in by Jeeves, well, Lord Jeeves now, isn’t it. Dashed rum business, that, my friend. “
“Ah, yes, I suppose it is.” He was inside now, so I closed the door behind him, and remembering my duties, offered him a drink.
He took the w. and s. from my hand, and cast me a rueful look. “I don’t suppose you happen to have Jeeves’ ear any longer, do you, Bertie?”
I considered his words, and decided that I did not- not like I had, at any rate. I shook my head, and wondered if he still thought ill of me. “Lord Jeeves is busy enough without me adding to his load.” I said, looking down.
“Oh.” His voice was quiet, and forlorn. Curiosity got the better or me, and I asked why he was so put out.
“Ah, well. It’s Stephanie, you see.” He shuffled his feet. I nodded, I mean to say, isn’t it always?
“She’s been going missing a lot, lately. She missed two services this month already, and you know, that doesn’t reflect well on the congregation.”
“Ah, well yes, rather, I imagine.” I glanced up at him, becoming a bit braver now that he didn’t show any signs of malice towards me.
“I was rather hoping that Jeeves could shed some light on it all. You see, there’s been rumors that she’s been out to dinner with Lord Farthington. He’s serving in Parliament and all, so…”
“I couldn’t possibly trouble His Lordship.” It came out all feeble, not noble and dignified like Jeeves would have said it. “I’m sorry, old thing.” I added, for without that dignified tone, it did sound rather rude.
He sighed, and put down the glass. “I understand, Bertie, I do.” He peered at me strangely, then, and I began to think if perhaps he did not.
“I say, Bertie, is he treating you quite right here?” His voice had gone soft and comforting, and as I looked up, he grazed my cheek with his fingertips.
“I…” I was frozen in place as those dark eyes fixed me. His finger traveled, tracing my lips, then pressing on my lower lip gently, parting them. I shivered, despite myself, as he leaned close and claimed them.
I should have pushed him away, but the years had made me weak, and I so wanted the comfort of his mouth, the feeling of being held, being pinned down, guided, pleasured. His hands were under my robe, and a small sound in the back of my throat made him bolder, until he had me on the floor under him.
“Bertie, beautiful Bertie.” he sighed. He grasped my hand, and placed it between us, over his quickly hardening erection. I closed my eyes, and reached into his trousers for my prize. I could feel his pulse through it, quick and burning hot. He pushed my head downwards, and I took him into my mouth.
“Beautiful thing, my Bertie.” he sighed. His fingers through my hair were delightful and strong, the taste of him musky and male. His soft, deep voice echoed in my ears, and unbidden, the image of Jeeves’ manhood came to my mind. I groaned, and sucked harder. I might never have that, but I could take what I might elsewhere.
His fingers in my hair tightened, and he pulled my mouth from him. Pinned under him, I writhed, as he took me by the base of my own cock and squeezed. His hardness ground into my own.
“Beautiful Bertie, my sin.” he whispered. I whimpered, thrusting into his strong hand. “Beautiful sinner, my Bertie.” I was gone then, the delicious guilt of my vice mingling with the feel of his strong form against me, and the ghostlike image of Jeeves in my mind.
He finished across my stomach, and after a breathless moment, rolled off of me. I sat up, and began to put myself right, not meeting his eyes.
“I shouldn’t be here.” his voice was low, and gravelly.
A moment later, he was pressing some folded bills into my palm. Perhaps it was because I was sober, or because the Junior Ganymede had instilled in me a thread of feudal dignity, but whatever the reason, I was overcome with a sudden, deep shame. “I can’t. Not this time. I mean, I don’t need it, anymore.” I stuffed the money into his pocket, and he eyed me, oddly.
“Are you sure? You need…”
I shook my head. “I’m employed now.” I said, quietly. “I mean to say… If I hear anything about Stiffy, I’ll let you know.”
I showed him to the door, in a haze, and clenched my fingers until my knuckles turned white. I drew a bath of scalding water, and scrubbed myself raw.
chaoticchaos13 Pairing:Jeeves/Bertie
Disclaimer: I make no profit from the lovely world of Wodehouse.
Part 1: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/849688.html#cutid1
Part 2: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/851698.html#cutid1
Part 3: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/853433.html#cutid1
Part 4: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/854770.html#cutid1
“Wooster… would you play for me?” His voice was quiet, and a bit wistful.
The request came after dinner one evening, broiled fish which I had leant to cook in the Junior Ganymede kitchen. (There had been smoke, yes, but the end result was quite edible, I‘m dashed pleased to say.) Jeeves gestured towards a piano which I guessed had seen little use, currently being used as a cloth covered table on which a vase rested. He needn’t have asked, for my fingers had been itching to touch the keys since I’d first set eyes on it. I hastened to the bench, and tested the keys with a scale- the pitch was rich and beautiful, unlike the piano at the Drones, which needed tuning sorely.
“Any requests, M’lord?” I asked, brightly.
“Anything you wish.” was his reply. He looked tired, and worried. I launched into a bit of Chopin which I knew he was fond of, though I was sorely out of practice. His eyes drooped closed to slits, but his expression told me that he was very much awake. What was this ministering wheeze doing to him? I’d be bally well fed up with him not telling me a word of it, if he didn’t look so dashed pitiful. To see Jeeves in such a state was unnerving, and put me on edge. I wished that I were half of what he had been to me, so that I could fix him, somehow, ply him with mysterious fluids which restored the tissues and invigorated the senses. Since I couldn’t, I played until my fingers cramped, and forced myself to finish the song once they had.
His lips moved, just a bit. Had he just called me ‘sir‘? A shiver shook through me. No, I was imagining things, wishing for the past.
“Thank you, Wooster. That was singularly beautiful.”
I beamed at the compliment, although my concern lingered. “I say, M’lord, let’s get you to bed, what? You look bally well exhausted.” He put up little resistance, and had fallen into a deep sleep a mere moment after his head hit the pillow. Hesitantly, I touched my fingertips to his silver-streaked hair, and worried on my lip. Had he stayed my man, perhaps his hair could be darker, his face softer. If there hadn’t been this blasted war, those evil fiends, and if I had managed to keep my money… I paced the room, before returning to his side. He was still breathtakingly handsome, despite everything. I pushed the thought from my mind, and tucked the covers around him before leaving.
That night, I gazed at the photograph from what seemed like a lifetime ago. It was impossible not to make comparisons, although I fought it. He had been perfect then, and he was perfect now, I thought, fiercely. How could I judge him when I looked such a bally wreck, myself? He was a hero, and he had rank, title, and fortune to boot, so much more important than an unlined façade. Still, how I missed his figure, all in black, as he shimmied about…
“I love you.” I whispered. I hadn’t meant to say it. I placed the photo down on the nightstand, and rolled over, turning away from it. My eyes burned, and my cheeks flushed. Of course, I’d meant it in general, as to say, I had loved what was. My life, our lives, as they had been. I simply couldn’t love Jeeves, that was out of the question. He was beyond having, and I wasn’t going to hope, or wish, or imagine things.
I must have dozed, because the next thing I was aware of, the sun was flitting through the window and the birds were chirping happily. I stretched, and yawned, not recalling a morning when I’d felt quite so spiffing in years.
Suddenly, my heart froze in my chest. I clamored across the bed and grabbed the clock beside me. Ten! Jeeves! As I made to scramble out from under the covers, I noticed a tray beside me, on which a pot of tea kept company with a cup and saucer. The lot had gone cold.
Jeeves had left the flat, then, and let me sleep- had even served me, when I ought to have been serving him. I poured out the tepid liquid, feeling like a failure.
There is a rum thing which I have always noticed, and that is that there are two sorts of days when things go utterly wrong. There are days which you dread, and keep the upper lip stiff as a new collar, but there are also days one isn’t expecting a thing to go wrong, and the more you muster up a sunny disposish, the more the world seems to conspire to thwart it. I believe that was the case this day, for no sooner than I tidied up the tea than the doorbell rang, and me still in my dressing gown. I debated hastening to dress myself, but the blighter would be gone by then, and if it were important, well, what then?
I summoned as much dignity as one can in such circs, and opened the door, just a crack. I must say, it was a day of shocks, for before me stood none other than the Reverend Harold Pinker.
Now, as you remember, said Stinker had given me the brush months before in a letter which could put ice on a bally bonfire. He and I had been chums throughout school, and had entertained an understanding of the most intimate sort during my stint as Secretary of the Drones. When one is accused of corrupting a man of the cloth by the man himself, there is little that a chap such as myself can do, for I had done quite dreadful, yet delightful things; not only to another man, but to a man who was married. I accepted the blame and the thought that it was done, and done it should have been in my mind, had not the man himself appeared before me.
“Bertie!” he exclaimed, stumbling through the door which he had meant to merely pry open. “Bertie, you are here! I heard that you’d been taken in by Jeeves, well, Lord Jeeves now, isn’t it. Dashed rum business, that, my friend. “
“Ah, yes, I suppose it is.” He was inside now, so I closed the door behind him, and remembering my duties, offered him a drink.
He took the w. and s. from my hand, and cast me a rueful look. “I don’t suppose you happen to have Jeeves’ ear any longer, do you, Bertie?”
I considered his words, and decided that I did not- not like I had, at any rate. I shook my head, and wondered if he still thought ill of me. “Lord Jeeves is busy enough without me adding to his load.” I said, looking down.
“Oh.” His voice was quiet, and forlorn. Curiosity got the better or me, and I asked why he was so put out.
“Ah, well. It’s Stephanie, you see.” He shuffled his feet. I nodded, I mean to say, isn’t it always?
“She’s been going missing a lot, lately. She missed two services this month already, and you know, that doesn’t reflect well on the congregation.”
“Ah, well yes, rather, I imagine.” I glanced up at him, becoming a bit braver now that he didn’t show any signs of malice towards me.
“I was rather hoping that Jeeves could shed some light on it all. You see, there’s been rumors that she’s been out to dinner with Lord Farthington. He’s serving in Parliament and all, so…”
“I couldn’t possibly trouble His Lordship.” It came out all feeble, not noble and dignified like Jeeves would have said it. “I’m sorry, old thing.” I added, for without that dignified tone, it did sound rather rude.
He sighed, and put down the glass. “I understand, Bertie, I do.” He peered at me strangely, then, and I began to think if perhaps he did not.
“I say, Bertie, is he treating you quite right here?” His voice had gone soft and comforting, and as I looked up, he grazed my cheek with his fingertips.
“I…” I was frozen in place as those dark eyes fixed me. His finger traveled, tracing my lips, then pressing on my lower lip gently, parting them. I shivered, despite myself, as he leaned close and claimed them.
I should have pushed him away, but the years had made me weak, and I so wanted the comfort of his mouth, the feeling of being held, being pinned down, guided, pleasured. His hands were under my robe, and a small sound in the back of my throat made him bolder, until he had me on the floor under him.
“Bertie, beautiful Bertie.” he sighed. He grasped my hand, and placed it between us, over his quickly hardening erection. I closed my eyes, and reached into his trousers for my prize. I could feel his pulse through it, quick and burning hot. He pushed my head downwards, and I took him into my mouth.
“Beautiful thing, my Bertie.” he sighed. His fingers through my hair were delightful and strong, the taste of him musky and male. His soft, deep voice echoed in my ears, and unbidden, the image of Jeeves’ manhood came to my mind. I groaned, and sucked harder. I might never have that, but I could take what I might elsewhere.
His fingers in my hair tightened, and he pulled my mouth from him. Pinned under him, I writhed, as he took me by the base of my own cock and squeezed. His hardness ground into my own.
“Beautiful Bertie, my sin.” he whispered. I whimpered, thrusting into his strong hand. “Beautiful sinner, my Bertie.” I was gone then, the delicious guilt of my vice mingling with the feel of his strong form against me, and the ghostlike image of Jeeves in my mind.
He finished across my stomach, and after a breathless moment, rolled off of me. I sat up, and began to put myself right, not meeting his eyes.
“I shouldn’t be here.” his voice was low, and gravelly.
A moment later, he was pressing some folded bills into my palm. Perhaps it was because I was sober, or because the Junior Ganymede had instilled in me a thread of feudal dignity, but whatever the reason, I was overcome with a sudden, deep shame. “I can’t. Not this time. I mean, I don’t need it, anymore.” I stuffed the money into his pocket, and he eyed me, oddly.
“Are you sure? You need…”
I shook my head. “I’m employed now.” I said, quietly. “I mean to say… If I hear anything about Stiffy, I’ll let you know.”
I showed him to the door, in a haze, and clenched my fingers until my knuckles turned white. I drew a bath of scalding water, and scrubbed myself raw.
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*applause* for fine writing
Date: 2010-08-19 06:33 am (UTC)The line of 'I don't need it any more' just breaks my heart. He doesn't just mean the money, does he - because it was never about the $$. Poor lad. Bertie is willing to settle for so very little.
I honestly wonder if the man every had any friends... beyond Jeeves of course. (I still think Jeeves is kick-worthy, but he's not a bastard like Bishop Bum there. He's just... in severe need of a sharp bend-over. Which I mean in the most G-rated way, natch.)
Re: *applause* for fine writing
Date: 2010-08-19 06:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 06:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 06:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 07:13 am (UTC)wrongright buttons. Utter guilty-pleasure, this chapter. And that whispered 'sir' was spectacular.no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 07:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 07:16 am (UTC).....
You do realise this made me cry, right.
*pouts and refuses to read until happiness happens!*
...
*reads anyways cause she loves the boys so much <:(* YOU'RE KILLING MY HEART HERE!!!!!
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Date: 2010-08-19 07:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 05:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 11:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 09:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 11:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 01:41 pm (UTC)*cough* What I mean to say is, this was a very emotional chapter. Poor Jeeves. Poor Bertie. Not-poor Stinker. I can't wait to read more!
(Not a Jooster icon, but that is the face I am making at the Reverend Pinker!!)
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Date: 2010-08-19 11:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 01:46 pm (UTC)This chapter is WOW. There is SO much going on here, I wish Bertie or Jeeves would open their eyes a little more because they both mirror each others wants and emotions so perfectly. Bertie stares at a picture of jeeves' past, Jeeves asks for piano playing and whispers "sir" (which sent thrills coursing through me), and even pantomiming those former roles leads them to some measure of peace. Bertie wakes up happy, and we can only speculate with Jeeves, but it seems with that tea tray he realizes how much it made him happy to see Bertie happy.
OY, but even though the beginning shows the past catching up to you in a sort of good way, STINKER fucks it all up and provides a prime example of the past catching up to you in a very very bad way. He brings all the crap from each of bertie's old lives, hitting him up for a favor, then using him like a whore. (never mind that it was hot as balls...).
sigh. my poor bertram. I am really proud that he managed to cook the fish though...
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Date: 2010-08-19 07:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 11:52 pm (UTC)mOAR!
Date: 2010-08-19 01:51 pm (UTC)Love the writing. Please keep it up!
Re: mOAR!
Date: 2010-08-19 11:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 05:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 11:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 06:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 11:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 09:19 pm (UTC)...
BAAAAHH! D: ;_;
no subject
Date: 2010-08-19 11:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-26 07:12 pm (UTC)Stinker needs a shot to the danglies with a shovel.
Jeeves needs to unload this plan and just make it all better now.
HOWEVER, despite my grousing and whinging, this is just a lovely bit of ficcery, very moving and believable within the realm of what you've set up. I'm enjoying it, even while flailing and gesticulating and talking at the screen. That's a sign that you're doing it right.
<3
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Date: 2010-11-30 01:27 am (UTC)After the original fic, I was like, "Oh, man, that was depressing. But the modern fic is 'Redemption', right, so it can only be uphill from here!"
And then you proceeded to crush my hopes and dreams.
Not that the writings bad; quite commendable, in fact. It's just that I quite liked my heart in my chest, and here you go ripping it out. Anyway, I know I'm quite late to the party, but I thought I'd commend you before I went to cry myself to sleep.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-30 02:46 am (UTC)