indeedsir_backup | Jeeves and the B. F. Continued! (Reply)

Title: Jeeves and the Baiser Florentin
Author: Wotwotleigh
Chapter: 2-ish
Pairing: Jeeves/Bertie
Summary: Jeeves proposes an unusual solution to a young couple's romantic dilemma.
Rating: G
Words: Only 1,059 in this part.
Disclaimer: Jeeves and Bertie belong to Wodehouse. I'm just writing this for fun.

Part one is back here.

Here's some more! It's really more of a scene than a "chapter", but I thought I might as well get it posted. More to come shortly . . .

It became apparent after a few moments that no action was forthcoming. I unpursed the lips and opened an inquisitive eye. "Well, Jeeves?" I said.

He was regarding me quizzically, a rummy expression on the finely chiseled f. He made one of his distant sheep noises. "I was merely thinking, sir, that the demonstration would be more effective if you did not anticipate my embrace."

"I don't see how I can jolly well not anticipate it," I said. I wasn't sure what it was, but something about the whole scenario had me feeling dashed rummy. If someone had come up behind me at this juncture and tapped me on the shoulder, I probably would have broken the record for the men's Olympic high jump.

"Perhaps, sir, if you will allow me to set the stage . . ."

"Set away, if you think it would help."

"The scenario that I outlined for you previously, if you will recall, sir, was based on the trope of what I believe is commonly called the 'make-up' after a lovers' quarrel."

"Yes, yes, I follow you, Jeeves," I said, sipping at an impatient whiskey and s. that he had prepared for me at some point during our earlier banter.

"There are many who maintain that an expression of passionate physical affection, delivered unexpectedly at a moment of strong emotional tension, can be profoundly affecting."

"So I've heard. I remember Bingo telling me once that he sometimes sets off a tiff with the wife on purpose just because he knows what comes next will be absolute dynamite."

"Precisely, sir."

I pondered. "But our relations of late have been positively matey. What do you propose, Jeeves?"

"A simulation of a tense encounter would suffice for our purposes, sir. Suppose, for example, that I were to strangely forget myself and remark on the fact that the mint-green soft-bosomed shirt in which you have chosen to attire yourself today is unsuitable and in highly questionable taste, particularly when combined with your grey houndstooth check suit. The effect, if you will pardon me for saying so, is frankly bilious."

I drew myself up indignantly. I have had clashes with Jeeves over matters of derniere mode before, but he is not usually so dashed direct. I was distinctly pipped. "Well, really!" I said, and I meant it to sting.

"I was merely speaking hypothetically, sir."

I was not to be dissuaded. His comment had gotten right in amongst me."The devil you say! I happen to like this shirt, Jeeves."

"Very good, sir."

"And don't go saying 'Very good, sir' in that soupy tone of voice. I have spoken to you about this disturbing habit of yours before."

"As you say, sir."

A moody silence passed between us, during which I tossed the rest of my w. and s. down the hatch and Jeeves put in a bit more stuffed frogging. Then the dratted blighter picked up right where he had left off.

"Let us say – again, hypothetically, sir – that I then went on to address the matter of your heliotrope pyjamas."

My two eyes, like stars, started from their spheres and waggled about on their stalks. I could scarcely believe my ears. "Dash it, Jeeves, you really have reached the frozen limit!"

"I am sorry, sir, but I feel that such a garish color is hardly –"

I could see that the time had come to be firm. He had gotten above himself in no uncertain fashion. "No, Jeeves," I said coldly, "I will brook no further oompus-boompus in this matter. Say what you will about my daytime raiment, but I will not have you editing my sleepwear. This is simply beyond the pale." I drove the point home by smiting a nearby table with the side of my fist.

"Admirably performed, sir. Your ire is quite convincing. At this juncture, sir, having taken umbrage at my remarks –"

"I jolly well do take umbrage, Jeeves, with knobs on!"

"—you would, perhaps, turn away, with the intention of dismissing me from your presence."

"That's the first sensible thing you've said yet," I replied. Following his suggestion, I turned haughtily on my heel, bunging in an indignant toss of the head for extra emphasis. I had only completed about 160 degrees of my rotation when I felt the pressure of a firm but gentle hand above my right elbow, and I was suddenly facing the blister again.

"If you will pardon me, sir," he said, in a voice that could have frozen the Atlantic, "I was not finished addressing you."

I stared. "Well, of all the bally n—" I said. I would have rounded it out with a decisive "erve", but Jeeves had suddenly attached himself to the lower slopes of my face and was proceeding to give me the works.

The first thing that occurred to me, once I sufficiently regained my capacity for rational thought, was that Jeeves had got the right dope when he had said that it was no jolly good trying to describe this stuff. Even the most silver-tongued orator would have been at a loss to capture in words the sublime drama that was unfolding in the vicinity of the Wooster lips. I felt as if I had just received an injection of about fifteen of Jeeves's pick-me-ups directly into my spinal column.

I'm not sure how much later it was that we finally disentangled ourselves from the clinch, but when we did, it was only by clinging to a passing Jeeves that I managed to maintain my verticality. It would not be overstating things to say that I was all of a doodah. Jeeves seemed to flicker and waver before my eyes, and I found myself sagging at the knees. I felt as if some practical joker had slipped in and replaced my tibias with jelly when I was otherwise occupied. I quivered from base to apex.

I took a couple of stabs at saying something, but my tongue seemed to have tied itself around my tonsils, and all that came out was a sort of strangled whiffling sound, like a tea kettle that has not quite got around to boiling.

Jeeves didn't exactly smile, because he never does, but through the mists I thought I perceived the slightest flicker around the south-east corner of his mouth. "Shall I prepare a refreshment for you, sir?" he asked politely.

I gave him an affirmative gargle.

"Very good, sir," he said, and withdrew.