indeedsir_backup | Fic: Claude & Eustace, Matchmakers (Reply)

Title: Claude & Eustace, Matchmakers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: I think Claude & Eustace deserve a warning in and of themselves
Disclaimer: No one is paying me for this, alas.
Summary: In gratitude for fishing them out of the soup, the Wooster twins decide to give Jeeves what he really wants, i.e. Bertie.
A/N: Written for the fluffmeme. Original prompt here. Thank you to

storyfan for the lovely beta job.

In my time as Mr Wooster’s valet, I have frequently had occasion to assist him, as well as his friends and relations, out of what he charmingly refers to as ‘the soup’. Though the task of resolving these little difficulties undoubtedly lies outside the purview of my employment, I enjoy the opportunity to exercise my intellect and my creativity, and I garner a substantial financial recompense for my efforts. While I am certain that my considerable fondness for Mr Wooster would compel me to act on his behalf regardless, I must confess that I sometimes find his friends and relations trying, and this remuneration makes what might otherwise be an imposition much more palatable.

Mr Wooster’s twin cousins, Messrs Claude and Eustace, are particularly prone to trouble, being high-spirited and undisciplined young gentlemen. They are not bad-hearted, however, despite being somewhat selfish and lacking the essential sweetness of Mr Wooster’s nature. Though I can never be entirely sanguine about their antics, I have come to owe them a debt of gratitude, and, for that reason, I attempt to look upon them with a tolerant eye.

Some weeks ago, the young gentlemen had escaped the South African exile imposed upon them by their aunt, Lady Worplesdon, and had arrived on Mr Wooster’s doorstep as he was preparing to retire for the evening. Being an entirely too generous individual, Mr Wooster was soon persuaded, despite my misgivings, to put his cousins up in the guest room for the foreseeable future. What ensued was a rapidly degenerating farce, involving policemen, ladies of ill repute, two horses, an angry costermonger, and the aforementioned Lady Worplesdon. Though I pride myself on my professional inscrutability, I was considerably annoyed by this disruption to Mr Wooster’s and my quiet bachelor household, particularly after escalating events led to Mr Wooster’s life and limb being threatened. I would gladly have allowed the young gentlemen to suffer the consequences of their actions, had Mr Wooster not noticed my displeasure, and pled with me on behalf of his cousins.

I have never told Mr Wooster, lest he apply the knowledge to our sartorial disagreements, but when he pleads in a certain manner, with a look in his eyes as if I could answer all his prayers, if only I would deign to do so, I am hard pressed to deny him anything. Accordingly, I took matters in hand, and soon brought about a satisfying conclusion, with livestock and ladies suitably dispatched, the costermonger becalmed, the prison sentence which had threatened the young gentlemen averted, and even Lady Worplesdon giving her blessing for her young nephews to remain in England. That would have been that, had I not, in the course of the altercation, been obliged to strike the enraged costermonger with a roundhouse punch to the jaw when he attempted to strangle Mr Wooster. I fear that in my concern for his safety, I had allowed my true feelings, which are deeper and warmer, and considerably less proper, than those a valet ought to have for his employer, to show on my face.

I didn’t realise I had given myself away until some days later when I was escorting Mr Wooster’s cousins out the door. Much to my relief, they had finally decided to relocate to an hotel, and I had high hopes for the return of calm to the flat. Handing Mr Eustace his hat, I was startled when he leant in and spoke in an insinuating voice.

‘So, it’s Bertie, is it? I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise; there had to be some reason you’ve stuck around him for so long.’

I stiffened, ‘I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, sir. Your hat, Mr Claude.’

Mr Claude took the hat, but did not don it immediately, instead picking up his brother’s train of thought. ‘It’s no use denying it, Jeeves, old man, we’ve seen quite through you. I can’t say what you see in him myself, but then there’s no accounting for taste.’

I tamped down a surge of anger. I longed to defend Mr Wooster against this casual dismissal of all that was excellent in him, though I knew such a move would be fatal. Thankfully, good sense prevailed, and I managed to maintain my outward impassivity. ‘I am afraid you are entirely mistaken, gentlemen.’

‘Oh come, Jeeves,’ Mr Eustace protested as I passed them their walking sticks, ‘You can tell us. We’ve no intention of handing you over to the rozzers, not with what Claude gets up to with old Dogface Rainsby.’

‘Don’t let him fool you, Jeeves,' Mr Claude interjected as I opened the door, ‘It’s Eustace here who’s getting all classical with old Dogface.’

He winked, but I pretended not to notice. I had no desire to know which of the young gentlemen was conducting an affair with Lord Rainsby, far more concerned with nipping in the bud their suspicions of myself. I opened the door a little wider.

‘Goodbye, gentlemen.’ I infused my tone with steel, and they seemed to take my meaning, because they ceased their unwelcome insinuations and took their leave.

I shut the door behind them and took a long moment to close my eyes and compose myself. That after all this time spent loving Mr Wooster in silence, I should have been found out, and by two such reckless young men as these! I ought to offer my resignation, I knew, if only to protect Mr Wooster from speculation, but the thought of being away from Mr Wooster was as intolerable as the thought of leaving him open to the machinations of his family and friends. I would remain and hope that Mr Claude and Mr Eustace would keep silent where it mattered most.

Despite this decision, I had no great faith in the discretion of the young gentlemen, so several days later when I returned from my marketing to find them exiting Berkeley Mansions, my immediate trepidation was natural.

‘Hullo, Jeeves!’ Mr Claude called out as he saw me.

My many years in service allowed me to act natural now. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Claude. Mr Eustace.’ I tipped my hat to them, hoping I would be allowed to carry on, but Mr Eustace waylaid me.

‘We’ve been thinking, Claude and I.’ I resisted the urge to utter a sarcastic remark, as it would be entirely improper and would likely go over their heads.

‘We’ve decided we owe you for getting us out of that little mess the other day,’ Mr Claude interjected.

‘It was nothing, gentlemen, I assure you, and you have already paid me a handsome gratuity for my efforts. I hardly think –‘

‘Well, a tip’s a tip,’ reasoned Mr Eustace, ‘but we thought, we ought to get the old boy something he really wants.’

‘Gentlemen, do you mean to say -’

‘We’ve left you a present. Oh, look, Eustace, there’s that rozzer from last night. Must dash! Toodle-pip, Jeeves, no need to thank us!’

With that, the two young gentlemen departed, and I was left standing outside of Berkeley Mansions with a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.

I made my way to the flat as quickly as possible without arousing the interest of Mr Jarvis, the doorman. Stowing my marketing in the kitchen to be put away later, I called out for my employer, too concerned for his well-being to simply search for him, and received an answering cry of ‘Jeeves!’ from the direction of my quarters. I hastened to open my door and froze, my mouth going dry at the sight before me. Mr Wooster was sprawled face down on my bed, nude but for the pair of braces that had been used to tie his wrists together behind his back. The image was straight out of my erotic fantasies, and I swallowed down a surge of desire.

At the sound of the door opening, Mr Wooster had lifted his head, and he shot me a sheepish grin. ‘What ho, Jeeves. Sorry about all this, old fruit. You know I would never invade your lair, especially not in such a dashed improper state as this, only Claude and Eustace rather took me by surprise, and I was trying not to injure them in the struggle, and next thing I knew, they’d got the drop on me.’ He attempted to shrug, and I had to tear my eyes from the shift of muscles in his back.

‘Oh, sir.’ I shook myself from my stupor and surged forward to release him. The knots were overly tight, allowing me to focus on undoing them, rather than on the miles of smooth skin laid out before me.

‘I wouldn’t mind for myself, you know,’ he continued as I worked, ‘Just a lark between cousins, what? But dragging you into it like this, Jeeves? That’s just not cricket, especially not after all you’ve done for the blighters!’

The last of the knots gave way, and he hissed in pain as I lowered his arms gently to his sides. The skin where the braces had been was red, and I tsk-ed in sympathy.

‘Your wrists were bound far too tightly sir. If you will allow me, I will attempt to restore the circulation.’

‘Never mind my wrists, Jeeves. I don’t suppose you have something I could cover up with? I’m feeling rather exposed at the mo’.

‘Yes, sir.’

Mr Wooster's clothing was nowhere to be seen, but my robe was folded neatly at the foot of the bed. I helped him to his feet and slipped the brown terrycloth over his shoulders, attempting to ignore the intimacy of his wearing my robe. He fumbled with the belt before giving up with a frustrated huff.

‘Dash it all, Jeeves. My fingers are all numb. I can’t do a bally thing. Would you?’

‘Of course, sir.’ I swallowed and took the belt in my hands. I had helped him dress and undress many times before, but there was something in this act that was taxing all my self-control. What I could see of Mr Wooster’s chest was flushed pink, and I knotted the belt swiftly, covering that tempting flesh before my fingers could begin shaking.

‘Thank you, Jeeves.’ His voice sounded relieved. ‘Er – Do you think you might do something about that circulation thingummy after all?’

‘Certainly, sir,’ I answered, hoping my voice was not truly as hoarse as it sounded to my ears. I guided him to sit on the edge of the bed, taking my seat beside him, and carefully gathering his right wrist into my hands. Cupping his hand in my own, I began to gently massage the poor reddened skin with the pads of my thumbs. He sat so close that I could feel his breath, shaky, against the top of my head, as I kept my eyes resolutely on my task.

A hiss of pain and a flinch made my gaze fly to his face. ‘Are you quite alright, sir?

He grimaced. ‘Just fine, old thing. My hand’s come over all pins and needles rather suddenly is all.’

‘That is the circulation returning, sir. If you will flex your hand a few times, the unpleasant sensation should fade.’

He did so, and I switched my attentions to his other wrist, the simple act of providing him with information making me feel momentarily on more even ground. As he flexed his left hand cautiously in my own, I even dared risk a glance at his face. This proved to be a mistake. His face was flushed, his eyes wide, his lower lip caught in his teeth; I couldn’t look away. Our eyes met and held as if hypnotised, my fingers still caressing his skin.

‘Jeeves?’ he said in a voice that shook.

‘Sir,’ I whispered back. To my wonder, his eyes bore that same look as when pleading with me, as though I could answer all his prayers. Quite unable to help myself, I raised his wrist to my mouth, my lips brushing over the delicate skin, the tendons, up to the heel of his hand, then down again to taste that spot that made him shiver. His eyelids fluttered for just a moment.

‘Jeeves,’ he breathed again, and quite without warning, flung himself into my arms, knocking me back onto the mattress, his lips finding mine unerringly. I drank deeply of his kisses, quite overcome by the astonished happiness that spread through me. Finally, when we were both thoroughly out of breath, he pulled back to gaze at me with a delight that I would have done anything to safeguard. I reached up to caress his face and he kissed each of my fingertips in turn.

‘Come slowly, Eden,’ I murmured, pulling him into my arms, ‘lips unused to thee.’

‘Oh, Jeeves! I love you rather madly you know.’ He kissed me again, and I rolled us so he was beneath me, nibbling at his lower lip before releasing his mouth.

‘You are lovely,’ I punctuated my words with a kiss on the corner of his smile, ‘and I love you.’

He beamed, and I couldn’t resist covering his mouth with mine again.

Sometime later, as he lounged against me and I idly stroked his hair, an idea seemed to occur to Mr Wooster. ‘I say, Jeeves. I still don’t know what those blighters thought they were doing –‘ I chose not to enlighten him, ‘- but there may be some merit in this tying Bertram up in your bed wheeze. What say you, O paragon of mine?’

‘So long as it is done without the interference of the young gentlemen, I am certain it can be arranged, my dear.’