May 25, 2007

Disclaimer: by request only. Written for kumquatweekend for the first kiss meme. Do not archive without permission.

Comparatively simple

Jeeves' and Bertie's first kiss? Pretty please?

Jeeves and Bertie, hmm. Jeeves would never be so forward as to press his attentions; Bertie might well be, if the idea occurred to him, but ideas occurring to him is a semi-annual affair, if that, and he could have gone for a long time believing that the enjoyment he got out of watching Jeeves perform his duties, and watching Jeeves just be Jeeves, was as innocently uncomplicated as the enjoyment he got out of playing a good round of golf, or mixing the perfect drink. The change, when it happened, came swiftly, like this upcoming switch into first person. Like so:

I was about to exclaim "I say, Jeeves," when the words died on my lips. The book Algy had shoved into my hand and ordered me to hide from his aunt Lavinia was, indeed, hot stuff. I'm no stranger to the occasional racy story or risqué picture postcard, but most of those deal, if you follow me, with the relations between the male and the female of the species.

Not so Algy's book. The female of the species was notably absent from its pages. The male of the species, on the other hand, was almost excessively well represented, in a wealth of detail, many of which I had never even suspected the existence of in my entire life. I closed the book and inspected my fingertips to make certain they had not caught fire. I also had the distinct sensation that steam was rising from the top of my head.

When I opened the book again, in a cautious manner, the first image that met my eyes was a plain and comparatively simple one. The picture depicted two men, mercifully dressed, or at least mostly dressed, who were grasping each other in an affectionate manner and exchanging a simple kiss. I looked more closely. Perhaps not all that simple. Still, compared to some of the other images which had seared themselves into my mind, this one was practically wholesome.

They looked happy. Perhaps a trifle over-excited, but happy.

I cleared my throat. "I say, Jeeves," I said.

"Yes, sir?" Jeeves has this trick of suddenly springing into existence out of thin air, which I have on occasion had reason to admire, and on other occasions reason to deplore. He was at my side, as though he had been standing there for the past five minutes, although I could have sworn this was not the case.

At the sight of his familiar face, my nerve failed me. I began to close the book, when Jeeves put one hand on mine, keeping it open so that he could see the picture I had been looking at. I didn't see the picture; I was busy looking at his profile and the curve of his mouth.

"I didn't know," I said. "Dash it, I didn't know."

He touched my face, and the book fell from my suddenly nerveless hands.

I quite understood why those two chaps in the picture looked so happy.

And over-excited.

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