A/N: My first attempt at a J & W ficlet. Please excuse any errors that are not grammatical :)
"Have you learned to dance Jeeves?"
Jeeves looked up from his evening routine of mixing Mr. Wooster's brandy, turning partially towards his employer.
"Dance, Sir?"
"Yes Jeeves," Mr. Wooster huffed, "You know… foxtrot, waltz, that sort of thing."
"I did have some training when I was younger, Sir."
Jeeves turned back to his task, and waited for the inevitable comment to follow.
"Ghastly thing, dancing is," he paused, "All that complaining they do, about my stepping on toes. Well of course I'll step on their toes! How am I to concentrate if they won't bally well let me?"
"Indeed, Sir?" Jeeves queried in a toneless voice.
"Yes, indeed sir," Mr. Wooster said in an irritated tone of voice, "All that chattering on and that infernal giggling. One would think that dancing was intended to enjoy the music. How is one to hear anything over the shrillness of their voices?"
"It is often considered a way to get to know each other, Sir. During the dance, one inquires and/ or faces queries about their partner or self sir."
"Well, it could have jolly well fooled me. All the women ever want to do is talk!" Mr. Wooster accepted his brandy and relaxed into the couch.
"Perhaps that is a habit of the fairer gender Sir."
"Besides," Mr. Wooster sipped at his drink, "what's all this business about leading the lady around the floor? It's a big responsibility Jeeves! We, the men, are responsible for the whole damn affair! One might think that I'd step lesser on their toes if they'd let me count."
"Indeed, Sir," Jeeves finished cleaning up, and turned around to face Mr. Wooster again, "Perhaps some practice might be called for in this moment of time, Sir, seeing that you would likely be expected to charm the ladies at the upcoming nuptials of Mr. Fink-Nottle."
"What? Oh! Gussie's wedding party? No, Jeeves, not this time. I'm giving up on the art, I say! There's not one time I have enjoyed the experience. It's useless Jeeves! Absolutely useless!"
"Very good, Sir," Jeeves spoke in a way that suggested more of 'says you' than acquiescence.
Wooster frowned, "Now come on Jeeves, you can't well say that dancing isn't hard! It dashed well is!"
"Indeed, Sir. Please excuse me sir, I have supper to prepare."
Jeeves was gone before Wooster could say anything in return. This made him rather peeved, so say the least. His gentleman's personal gentleman seemed to disapprove of his dislike of dancing; in fact, it seemed to suggest that Jeeves rather felt the opposite.
A brilliant idea struck the old Wooster bean, and he immediately knocked back the rest of his drink, grimacing at the burn and carelessly shoved the glass onto the nearest table, before proceeding to execute said b. plan. Mr. Wooster rubbed his hands together, finally having struck upon a thought to prove Jeeves wrong on one thing at least.
Jeeves sat in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for supper when his reverie was disturbed by some strange shuffling and thumping noises. Frowning, he cast a glance toward the kitchen door, and listened. Since the noises had receded, he turned back to peeling, pondering over his employer's latest comments.
A few minutes later, the noises re-emerged, and Jeeves decided that whatever Mr. Wooster was up to this time, he'd better put an end to it before things became worse. Sighing, he wiped his hands on the apron, and discarded it before he went back out into the parlor.
Opening the door, Jeeves was confronted by a strange scene. All the furniture had been moved away from their places, toward the walls, and the centre of the room had been relatively cleared for space – and Mr. Wooster was bent over the task of lugging the heavy sofa out of the way, panting and sweating.
"Sir?" Jeeves' eyebrows had risen in surprise at entering the parlor, and they seemed to have no reason to fall.
"Ah! Jeeves," gasped Mr. Wooster, straightening a little and beckoning him over, "help me with this, will you?"
Still unsure of his employer's intentions, Jeeves assisted Mr. Wooster, and soon the room had a fairly large gaping space where the chairs and couch had been.
"Sir," Jeeves tried again, "may I inquire as to the purpose of this…exercise?"
"What?" Mr. Wooster paused to catch his breath, "Simple Jeeves. I had a magnificent idea to prove you wrong."
"Prove me wrong Sir?"
"Yes Sir, prove you wrong indeed! I will show you that dancing is hard, dash it!"
Jeeves, having picked up what his employer intended to do, started to panic. He took a step backwards, and made no move to encourage this bizarre idea.
"Sir, I'm quite sure that you are correct in your statements, there is no need for this…"
But his words were cut off by the advance of Mr. Wooster towards his person. He took another step back and touched his palms to the wall behind him. Was it just he, or had the room turned warmer?
"Sir, I must insist that this is most uncommon," but his words had no effect. Mr. Wooster had reached out and taken his arm to unceremoniously drag him to the clearing.
"Now, now, Jeeves, you won't get out of this one so easily. You might want to think over your indeed sirs after this. This old Wooster will have his way."
That's what I fear, Jeeves thought to himself and swallowed discreetly. Still he had to try one last time.
"Sir, I am in no way proficient at this art sir."
"Nonsense Jeeves! If I know you, and I bally well think I do, you would have learned it to the last penny! Come now, old sport. Let's pretend that you're me and I'm not."
"Sir?"
"I mean," Mr. Wooster coloured a little, "let's pretend that you are me, and I'm… well that I'm your partner. You know what I mean."
"Unfortunately I do, Sir."
Jeeves sighed and gave in, and hoped that things wouldn't go pear shaped . Mr. Wooster went over to the gramophone at the side, and shuffled through some records, frowning and muttering to himself. Jeeves felt a little ridiculous, and wondered how much more ridiculous it would be when Mr. Wooster did locate the appropriate record.
"Oho!" Mr. Wooster exclaimed a minute later, "found it, Jeeves. Now be prepared to admit defeat."
You have no idea, Jeeves swallowed and thought to himself. He could make out the exact moment when the full extent of Mr. Wooster's exercise struck his employer. Mr. Wooster froze and several emotions lay plain on his face. Jeeves hoped that Mr. Wooster would claim an excuse and stop this, but his hopes were for naught.
Determination settled upon Mr. Wooster's demeanor and he purposefully strode to stand in front of Jeeves, only a few feet separating them.
"Right-o, Jeeves my man," Mr. Wooster spoke and cleared his throat, "let's to it, shall we?"
Jeeves nodded, and bowed as he would to a dance partner. Unsure of his part, Mr. Wooster only nodded stiffly, and stood rooted. Realizing that this would lead nowhere if they both stood that way, Jeeves prayed for it to be over soon, and stepped toward his pretend-partner.
Jeeves raised one hand, and held it between them, and Mr. Wooster swallowed nervously before placing his own hand in Jeeves' slightly roughened one.
Jeeves being a full head taller, saw that Mr. Wooster had to tilt his own at quite an angle to look Jeeves in the eye. Said valet tried to relax, and wordlessly urged his employer to do the same.
Gathering his wits and courage about him, Jeeves guided Mr. Wooster's right hand into the air beside them, and placed his own on his employer's waist.
Mr. Wooster shivered at the touch, and slowly placed his left hand on Jeeves' shoulder. It was Jeeves' turn to shiver; without the usual protection of his jacket, Mr. Wooster's touch seemed to burn through his skin.
Their new positions brought them closer than they had ever been, and Jeeves was temporarily rooted to the spot.
"Jeeves," Mr. Wooster whispered.
"Sir?" he whispered back.
"You're leading, Jeeves."
"Oh! Yes, well, I beg your pardon Sir, I am… unused to this sort of… experience."
Mr. Wooster smiled a little. Never had he seen Jeeves so confounded as he seemed now; it was an image to burn into his mind. There was something beyond that inscrutable exterior, after all.
Slowly, they moved to the rhythm. It was awkward at first, since both men were assiduously trying not to touch each other beyond the absolute necessary amount. But as tune played out, they seemed to grow more comfortable, gravitating towards each other.
"Sir," Jeeves whispered, looking at Mr. Wooster and noticing that his ears were pink, while he stared fairly diligently at a button on Jeeve's shirt.
"Yes, Jeeves?"
"Are you alright Sir?"
"Jeeves," Mr. Wooster fairly whined, and Jeeves watched with a mixture of trepidation while his employer drifted even closer, and lay his head on Jeeves' shoulder. He let out a breath he didn't realize was trapped in his chest, and then shivered when he felt warm breath on his neck.
The hand on Mr. Wooster's waist tightened, and Jeeves spent a moment staring at the top of a sandy haired head, wondering what on earth was going through it.
A few moments later, Jeeves felt that Mr. Wooster leaned more and more into him, if that was even possible, and he had to disentangle their conjoined hands to secure a better grip on Mr. Wooster's waist, lest they lose balance.
That action of Jeeves' seemed to spur Mr. Wooster on, and he managed to wrap both his hands behind Jeeves' back to complete the embrace. At some point they had stopped moving, and simply seemed content to stay where they were, as they were.
Jeeves breathed in the clean soap and faint musk that he had come to associate with his employer, quite sure that very soon this strange occurrence would pass, and he would be left wondering if it was an actuality, or a mere fantasy generated by his fevered brain. Dropping his cheek to Mr. Wooster's head, he closed his eyes and let things unfold.
His eyes flew open when he felt soft lips press an almost reverent kiss to the side of his neck, and he would have assumed it was his overactive imagination if the action had not been repeated after brief reprieve. It prompted him to press a kiss of his own on the top of that ruffled head. If Jeeves were the kind of person to publicise his innermost feelings, he was sure that it would be in a violently happy form; but Jeeves being Jeeves, contented himself with a small but genuine smile, and continued as he was.
A sharp knock had them jumping apart guiltily, looking quite red in the face and carefully avoiding each other's gaze. By the time the second knock came, Jeeves was well on his way to answering the door, and that inscrutable expression of his had established itself. Mr. Wooster noted with interest that Jeeves' ears still bore a pink hue, and smiled. It was a day of discoveries for both of them, he thought.
He composed himself, and tried not to think of the boldness he had just displayed, concentrating instead on setting his rumpled appearance to rights.
"Mrs. Gregson, Sir," Jeeves announced a moment later, cursorily looking over Mr. Wooster with a professional eye; It wouldn't do for Mr. Wooster to be less than presentable at all times – it was his job after all.
"What ho, Aunt Agatha?" Mr. Wooster greeted his disliked aunt with a measure of trepidation. It was almost always bad news when she came to visit.
"Bertie! What happened to the furniture? You look a little flushed, have you a fever?" Mr. Wooster neatly escaped his aunt's attempted ministrations and moved to the side, closer to Jeeves.
"Oh no! Aunt Agatha, I just… erm, dropped something, yes, dropped a… cufflink!"
"And you had to move the furniture to look for it?" His aunt looked a little confused, and Mr. Wooster took advantage of the situation to discreetly move in front of Jeeves, moving his hands behind him.
Jeeves, with equal discretion snapped off one of Mr. Wooster's cufflinks and pocketed it.
"Oh it bounced off somewhere, the silly old thing, and well I just couldn't find it anywhere! So I had Jeeves help me look. I really wouldn't want to walk about with only one cufflink on." Mr. Wooster put on his best expression of worry and presented his sleeve to his aunt.
"No, I suppose not," Aunt Agatha had an expression that clearly indicated she thought he ought to find a few of his marbles while he was at it.
"Well," she continued briskly after a moment, "I just came here to tell you something important," she sent a meaningful look at Jeeves, who understood perfectly what was about to happen, and excused himself to the kitchen.
Once inside, Jeeves leaned on the counter and heaved a deep breath, shuddering at his wanton behaviour just before. How could he have allowed it to go this far? Mr. Wooster was a young and one of the eligible bachelors around. It would only be a short wait before he moved from this "phase" and settled down as he was expected to.
Naturally Jeeves would have to leave then; he had long ago sworn not to serve married men. It was trouble having a woman around the house. He shuddered at the thought of being around Mr. Wooster, watching a woman tend to him – it would be a special form of torture, and he intended to nip all this in the bud.
After the wedding of Mr. Fink-Nottle, he would serve his notice. He would distance himself from Mr. Wooster. The Junior Ganymede would surely have another position; preferably someone who was not close enough to Mr. Wooster to warrant his visits.
This would hurt Mr. Wooster, he knew, but it was for the best. Mr. Wooster had a ripe young life to live ahead of him, and Jeeves had his duties as a valet to think of the best course of action for his employer's sake.
He stood there, blankly staring at the wall, trying to tell himself that this was all for the good of both his and Mr. Wooster's minds.
Jeeves was still trying, when Mr. Wooster entered the kitchen quietly, having listened to his aunt prattle on about yet another prospective engagement. He was dashed sick of it all. Right now, his heart lay elsewhere, something he had been thinking about while Aunt Agatha filled his living room with empty words.
Right now, he wanted to explore this thing he had recently discovered.
Jeeves didn't stop staring when Mr. Wooster entered, so lost was he in thought. It was only when he felt a hand on his shoulder that he was startled from his musings. Jeeves didn't turn around; he was entitled to this little bit of brooding
The hand on his shoulder didn't lift, and he felt it tug him, forcing him to turn around. He let himself be maneuvered to face his employer, but left his eyes downcast.
Mr. Wooster's other hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he tried not to shiver. Slowly, hesitantly, both hands came to rest around his neck, and he swallowed when a thumb grazed the spot where he could still feel the texture of his employer's lips. Jeeves tried hard not to fidget, or worse, fling his arms around Mr. Wooster. It would be his doom, he was sure.
"Jeeves, please look at me."
Jeeves shook his head slightly, and stayed as he was.
"Jeeves, I'm sorry," Mr. Wooster spoke softly, "I shouldn't have forced you to… I shouldn't have been so forward with you." Mr. Wooster cleared his throat, and continued in a stronger voice, "I can understand if you're offended, Jeeves but," here he paused, and Jeeves had to strain to hear the next words, "but I don't regret it."
Jeeves wondered if he had heard correctly, but his employer continued, "Please don't give notice Jeeves; I know you're considering it. I'd… I'd be lost without you."
Jeeves didn't speak. A full minute passed, and the hands around his neck moved to his shoulders, fiddling with the edges of his crisp collar. He swallowed, and looked up, fully prepared to speak the decision he had come to earlier.
"Sir," he lifted his eyes to look Mr. Wooster in the eye. All his clever words failed him, at the look of desperate hope that filled his employer's bright blue eyes.
He swallowed as something clenched inside his chest, and all his strength and stand melted away. Whatever he was going to do, Jeeves knew he would probably regret it, but he couldn't help himself.
"I was… I am not offended, Bertie."
It took a few moments for his words to sink in, and for Mr. Wooster to overcome the shock of hearing his given name fall from Jeeves' lips, but when it did, a blinding smile broke out on his face.
Jeeves' lips seemed to smile back on their own accord, and he knew that his bed was made. He would take all he could get, while it lasted. The utter wantonness of his thoughts disturbed him somewhat. Was he willing to risk a broken heart for Bertie?
Looking at his employer (dare he say, partner?) upturned face, reflecting childlike joy, he decided that yes, he was willing to take whatever risk for this man. Such was the depth of his feelings for Bertie.
He chided himself; getting used to calling his employer by his given name would be trouble, lest he accidentally do so in public – for the both of them.
During his internal monologue, Jeeves noticed that Bertie's – ahem, Mr. Wooster's – eyes constantly flitted between his own eyes, and his lips. The thought drove him to nearly lose his control, but he managed to rein it in. Mr. Wooster was decidedly new to this… particular kind … of actions; it would not do to pressure him.
But Jeeves knew that Mr. Wooster did need some sort of acknowledgement – a confirmation of sorts that this was mutual, so Jeeves raised his own hands, which were previously clutching the edge of the counter, to cradle his employer's face, lightly stroking his thumbs along the sharp cheekbones.
"Is the flat door locked, Bertie?" Jeeves looked meaningfully at his employer.
Mr. Wooster nodded, and licked his lips nervously.
"Very good, Sir," Jeeves smiled and tugged gently. They met somewhere in the middle, and Jeeves sighed at the beautiful feeling that enveloped him, as he pressed his lips to Mr. Wooster's.
With an answering sigh, Mr. Wooster smiled and moved to deepen the kiss.
It was several moments (or was it hours?) later that they both broke away, gasping for air. Mr. Wooster made an adorable sight for Jeeves; puffy lips that were stretched in a goofy grin. He looked like a man in love.
The thought gave Jeeves some pause. Love? Could he dare hope? He was half sure that he was grinning like a loon himself, but at the moment, he couldn't be bothered to care.
"So you proved me wrong again, eh Jeeves?"
"Sir?"
"About dancing I mean," Mr. Wooster smiled and Jeeves made a promise to himself, to coax more smiles like these from him.
"Would you explain Sir?"
"Certainly, Reggie, OW!" Mr. Wooster grimaced at the sharp tug Jeeves issued on his left ear, "what was that for?"
"I refuse to be called Reggie under threat of pain."
The grin re-appeared, "alright then, what would you like me to call you?"
"Jeeves seems to have worked well till now."
"Jeeves," Mr. Wooster whined, "You called me Bertie!"
"I intend to correct that mistake directly," Jeeves said in a tone that brooked no argument.
"Alright," Mr. Wooster grumbled, "now where was I?"
"Enlightening me about my supposed correctness in the matter of dancing."
"Ah, yes. Remember I said dancing was hard?"
"Indeed I do, Sir."
"And you disagreed."
"My one action that brought us here."
"Yes, it did," Mr. Wooster traced Jeeves' eyebrows with his fingers, "but you see Jeeves, you did prove to me that dancing wasn't hard."
"Did I?"
Mr. Wooster nodded and tilted his head, staring at Jeeves' lips, "It's only finding the perfect partner that's hard."
And with that, Mr. Wooster swallowed Jeeves' chuckle, and proceeded to steal the breath out of his lungs.