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trista_zevkiaTitle: Propriety
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/?
Fandom: Due South, Jeeves and Wooster
Characters/Pairing: Fraser/Ray K, Jeeves/Wooster
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH
Summary: The old switch-a-roo!
Disclaimer: All this happened, more or less
Author's Notes: This is so podfic_lover knows I'm working on it, I didn't mean to take this long. Also I can, maybe, entice other people into these fandoms. Under the cut are links so you can find out who I'm talking about, in case you've not seen one or the other:) Will be explanations in text, but videos are easier.
For the excellent podfic_lover and a generous donation to help_japan.
Jeeves Takes Charge
Fraser Meets Ray K
Due South, the Beginning
Propriety
Jeeves may be a few years my elder, but he has an impressive physique. I can’t hear over my pounding feet, short breath and humming heart, but I know he’s not making as much noise as I am! I’m running for all I’m worth, breaking out of the trees even as I want the cover they provide and darting toward a stone bridge. Jeeves not only keeps up with me, but manages to grab my elbow and shove me to the side of the bridge. With no breath in the lungs, I can’t ask, but his response says he’s short on b. in the l. as well.
Jeeves pushes me up against the underside of the bridge. Not the ceiling bit, as that would be a display of strength indeed, but the upright bit. I’d ask Jeeves those words for describing, but that brings us back to the b. in the l. and lack thereof. Now Jeeves does something that would have knocked all the wind out of my sails under any other circs. He used his large, well built, strong, more than human body to press me against the stone. My lungs are left to fend for themselves as I try to absorb all the warmth in the universe. Only the strange object in my hand remains cold, and I can hear that laugh again.
Oh, dear, in the middle again, my readers? Dropping you in the thick of things simply because I don’t know where else to begin. Though, I doubt this account will ever find a publisher, no matter how much I edit down after it’s written. Certain illegal things must be removed, and names changed to protect the somethings and whatnot. But I’m known for humorous accounts of the things that happen to me and threaten my happy bachelorhood, not whatever people will think this to be. A story about secret love or a blasphemous account of a sinful desire? A fantasy where anything is possible like ice skating down the street, or a science fiction adventure in confusion? That’s for wiser heads then mine, I’m just the recorder of events. So let’s begin with Bingo.
Bingo Little, old school chum and a right hopeless chump with money. I’d just give him some folding stuff if it kept me out of these little adventures of his, but he’d never learn like that. Though if I, Bertie Wooster, am your instructor in anything, you’re in serious trouble! Bingo had been trying to get money together to buy a car for the woman he loved last week, though I’m not sure why a dog trainer needed a car. So when he fell in love with the precious angel who washed his shirts, he was flush with cash. Did he put this money to good use, or buy a wedding trousseau? Not Bingo, he bought a traveling exhibit of Viking Art. He then called to beg me to come round for a look, until I agreed.
“Excellent Bertie, you’re a good egg. Don’t forget to bring Jeeves!” Added that last in a rush and hung up, his plot revealed. My old school chum didn’t want me to take a look; he wanted my valet with his Viking blood.
I complained to Jeeves, who responded with a soupy eyebrow. Don’t ask me how, but he managed. The thing lifted just at the farthest edge, his eyebrow I mean, quivered a little and settled down. I think he was happy to get the chance to see things one might normally have to go to a museum to find, but annoyed to find it in the possession of one Bingo Little, see above description as a chump. It was a cold January day, and I hadn’t planned on going out, even took lunch at the flat rather than face the cold. Then Bingo called, and Jeeves wrapped me in an overcoat, scarf, hat, and gloves. Once he was similarly attired and I had a whangee in my hand, out into the cold world we went.
Bingo had the stuff squashed into his apartment, haphazardly tossed over furniture in a way that must have offended the need to clean in Jeeves’ soul. Jeeves took my hat and such but kept his on, as if unwilling to touch the unclean world we found ourselves in. He still had on those thick leather gloves of his, though I knew his hands were just as skilled in them. So I might have been thinking of the leather, warmed to body temp, sliding across my skin. Those large, talented fingers touching my skin, trailing down my bare stomach.
Bingo spoke, questioning Jeeves and drawing me out of my imaginings. Needing to get a hold of myself, I picked up the closest item and pretended to be examining it. Youthful misadventures in school were one thing, what else did one do when attending a school that had only members of the same sex about the same time as things started changing? But as an adult, that sort of entertainment was likely to get one two years at hard labor. And Woosters had a code of honor, a need to do the right thing. Messing with the help was one of those things Woosters did not do! My thumb stroked the object in my hand, carved pictures in what I would guess was ivory, while I wished more than the feudal spirit and good pay bound Jeeves to me.
As though it was coming from outside the messy flat, I heard a rather unpleasant laugh. It distracted me from the shameful musing that had been going on far too long, and I turned to look at Bingo. He had stopped talking in mid sentence, and now stared at me with that soppy expression that cropped up every time he fell in love. I took another glance behind me, to make sure I hadn’t missed this week’s beazel. It was only the three of us in the flat, so I looked to Jeeves. He was frowning down at Bingo with a concerned look, in that there was a slight wrinkle in his forehead as his eyebrows had moved two millimeters closer. Whatever Bingo and I might have gotten up to at school, he’s never looked at me like that before! I decide I’ve overstayed my welcome and dropped the object back on the mantel.
“Jeeves, this thing won’t come off!” I refute that I sounded panicked, as I was simply surprised by antique ivory being glued to my right hand. Jeeves stepped up, to see if he could extract me. His leather covered hands had just begun examining the sitch when Bingo shouted.
“Hey, he’s mine!” Before I could turn confused eyes to Jeeves, Bingo was shoving himself between us. Bingo, old school friend or not, was no match for Jeeves, least of all physically. Jeeves flickered a surprised eyebrow at Bingo, but released me and took two steps back. Bingo didn’t feel this was enough, or so I gathered from his continuing shouts. “You just get off of Bertie, taking liberties in my flat!”
I mean, what? Bingo wasn’t usually the jealous type, nor was he inclined to physically confront a chap the size of Jeeves! He caught my eye over Bingo’s head, and I wished I had an explanation to offer.
“Sir, perhaps you should wait in the hall?”
An excellent suggestion, I’m sure, since it came from Jeeves. Not that I knew why my leaving would help the sitch much, but Jeeves has been the brains of this outfit since he showed up at my door. A quick nod at Jeeves, and I let myself out of the front door. Had a moments trouble with the doorknob, as I had to work it with my left hand. In the hall, I attempted to pull the item off my right hand, figuring if it was stuck to my left it wouldn’t be so bad. I looked up at the sound of a giggle. A beazel I’d never seen before was standing before me, the ‘oh Bertie’ look clear in her eye. Two more beazels and a cove were walking down the stairs behind her, with the same look.
“Jeeves!” I do believe a manful scream for my valet was warranted in this case. I didn’t realize I had pressed up against the door until it opened and I fell back onto something solid and warm. I didn’t have to look to know. “Jeeves, they’re attacking!”
He whispered his reply in my ear, breath ghosting across my skin in a way I’d fantasize about later. For now I had to follow his advice. “Perhaps, Sir, you should run.”
And so I did, running for all I was worth and hoping to outdistance the beazels in their shoes heeled to astounding heights. Problem was, in downtown London, I kept passing other chaps and fillies who started running after me. I cut across the park, hoping the locked door of my flat would deter them, if that’s the word I want, but I was running out of air. That’s when Jeeves pulled me under the bridge, warming my uncoated body and fueling my darkest fantasies.
Footsteps, giggles and a large crowd of Bertie hunters cross the bridge over us. I want to hug Jeeves in relief, but settle for resting my forehead on his shoulder. Propriety allows one chap to lean on another on occasion, right? But he pulls back, the moment over far too soon as he unbuttons his coat. I shiver at the loss of heat and look around for something other to see than his flushed cheeks and parted lips.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him take off his coat and lean in to wrap it around me. I want to fall into his arms, but I stand firm. It’ll take more than a stamped of fillies to make me admit how I feel! The object in my hand flashes with heat but Jeeves stumbles and falls against me. I forget the burning to look at him, but he’s not there!
Instead I find myself looking at another man, who is noticeably startled to find me in his arms. His black hair just peeks out from his strange hat, and as he pulls back I notice the bright red uniform. Dazed, I wonder why a Mountie has switched places with Jeeves. The Mountie’s confusion doesn’t abate as he turns in a circle, taking in his surroundings. When he turns back to me, he forces a friendly smile on his handsome face.
“Hello, I’m Constable Benton Fraser of the R.C.M.P.”
“Pleased to met you an all, but what have you done with Jeeves?”
“Ah. I was wondering if you could tell me what happened to Chicago.” Our eyes met, and it was clear neither of us had a clue what to do next. Where was Jeeves when I needed him?
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/?
Fandom: Due South, Jeeves and Wooster
Characters/Pairing: Fraser/Ray K, Jeeves/Wooster
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH
Summary: The old switch-a-roo!
Disclaimer: All this happened, more or less
Author's Notes: This is so podfic_lover knows I'm working on it, I didn't mean to take this long. Also I can, maybe, entice other people into these fandoms. Under the cut are links so you can find out who I'm talking about, in case you've not seen one or the other:) Will be explanations in text, but videos are easier.
For the excellent podfic_lover and a generous donation to help_japan.
Jeeves Takes Charge
Fraser Meets Ray K
Due South, the Beginning
Propriety
Jeeves may be a few years my elder, but he has an impressive physique. I can’t hear over my pounding feet, short breath and humming heart, but I know he’s not making as much noise as I am! I’m running for all I’m worth, breaking out of the trees even as I want the cover they provide and darting toward a stone bridge. Jeeves not only keeps up with me, but manages to grab my elbow and shove me to the side of the bridge. With no breath in the lungs, I can’t ask, but his response says he’s short on b. in the l. as well.
Jeeves pushes me up against the underside of the bridge. Not the ceiling bit, as that would be a display of strength indeed, but the upright bit. I’d ask Jeeves those words for describing, but that brings us back to the b. in the l. and lack thereof. Now Jeeves does something that would have knocked all the wind out of my sails under any other circs. He used his large, well built, strong, more than human body to press me against the stone. My lungs are left to fend for themselves as I try to absorb all the warmth in the universe. Only the strange object in my hand remains cold, and I can hear that laugh again.
Oh, dear, in the middle again, my readers? Dropping you in the thick of things simply because I don’t know where else to begin. Though, I doubt this account will ever find a publisher, no matter how much I edit down after it’s written. Certain illegal things must be removed, and names changed to protect the somethings and whatnot. But I’m known for humorous accounts of the things that happen to me and threaten my happy bachelorhood, not whatever people will think this to be. A story about secret love or a blasphemous account of a sinful desire? A fantasy where anything is possible like ice skating down the street, or a science fiction adventure in confusion? That’s for wiser heads then mine, I’m just the recorder of events. So let’s begin with Bingo.
Bingo Little, old school chum and a right hopeless chump with money. I’d just give him some folding stuff if it kept me out of these little adventures of his, but he’d never learn like that. Though if I, Bertie Wooster, am your instructor in anything, you’re in serious trouble! Bingo had been trying to get money together to buy a car for the woman he loved last week, though I’m not sure why a dog trainer needed a car. So when he fell in love with the precious angel who washed his shirts, he was flush with cash. Did he put this money to good use, or buy a wedding trousseau? Not Bingo, he bought a traveling exhibit of Viking Art. He then called to beg me to come round for a look, until I agreed.
“Excellent Bertie, you’re a good egg. Don’t forget to bring Jeeves!” Added that last in a rush and hung up, his plot revealed. My old school chum didn’t want me to take a look; he wanted my valet with his Viking blood.
I complained to Jeeves, who responded with a soupy eyebrow. Don’t ask me how, but he managed. The thing lifted just at the farthest edge, his eyebrow I mean, quivered a little and settled down. I think he was happy to get the chance to see things one might normally have to go to a museum to find, but annoyed to find it in the possession of one Bingo Little, see above description as a chump. It was a cold January day, and I hadn’t planned on going out, even took lunch at the flat rather than face the cold. Then Bingo called, and Jeeves wrapped me in an overcoat, scarf, hat, and gloves. Once he was similarly attired and I had a whangee in my hand, out into the cold world we went.
Bingo had the stuff squashed into his apartment, haphazardly tossed over furniture in a way that must have offended the need to clean in Jeeves’ soul. Jeeves took my hat and such but kept his on, as if unwilling to touch the unclean world we found ourselves in. He still had on those thick leather gloves of his, though I knew his hands were just as skilled in them. So I might have been thinking of the leather, warmed to body temp, sliding across my skin. Those large, talented fingers touching my skin, trailing down my bare stomach.
Bingo spoke, questioning Jeeves and drawing me out of my imaginings. Needing to get a hold of myself, I picked up the closest item and pretended to be examining it. Youthful misadventures in school were one thing, what else did one do when attending a school that had only members of the same sex about the same time as things started changing? But as an adult, that sort of entertainment was likely to get one two years at hard labor. And Woosters had a code of honor, a need to do the right thing. Messing with the help was one of those things Woosters did not do! My thumb stroked the object in my hand, carved pictures in what I would guess was ivory, while I wished more than the feudal spirit and good pay bound Jeeves to me.
As though it was coming from outside the messy flat, I heard a rather unpleasant laugh. It distracted me from the shameful musing that had been going on far too long, and I turned to look at Bingo. He had stopped talking in mid sentence, and now stared at me with that soppy expression that cropped up every time he fell in love. I took another glance behind me, to make sure I hadn’t missed this week’s beazel. It was only the three of us in the flat, so I looked to Jeeves. He was frowning down at Bingo with a concerned look, in that there was a slight wrinkle in his forehead as his eyebrows had moved two millimeters closer. Whatever Bingo and I might have gotten up to at school, he’s never looked at me like that before! I decide I’ve overstayed my welcome and dropped the object back on the mantel.
“Jeeves, this thing won’t come off!” I refute that I sounded panicked, as I was simply surprised by antique ivory being glued to my right hand. Jeeves stepped up, to see if he could extract me. His leather covered hands had just begun examining the sitch when Bingo shouted.
“Hey, he’s mine!” Before I could turn confused eyes to Jeeves, Bingo was shoving himself between us. Bingo, old school friend or not, was no match for Jeeves, least of all physically. Jeeves flickered a surprised eyebrow at Bingo, but released me and took two steps back. Bingo didn’t feel this was enough, or so I gathered from his continuing shouts. “You just get off of Bertie, taking liberties in my flat!”
I mean, what? Bingo wasn’t usually the jealous type, nor was he inclined to physically confront a chap the size of Jeeves! He caught my eye over Bingo’s head, and I wished I had an explanation to offer.
“Sir, perhaps you should wait in the hall?”
An excellent suggestion, I’m sure, since it came from Jeeves. Not that I knew why my leaving would help the sitch much, but Jeeves has been the brains of this outfit since he showed up at my door. A quick nod at Jeeves, and I let myself out of the front door. Had a moments trouble with the doorknob, as I had to work it with my left hand. In the hall, I attempted to pull the item off my right hand, figuring if it was stuck to my left it wouldn’t be so bad. I looked up at the sound of a giggle. A beazel I’d never seen before was standing before me, the ‘oh Bertie’ look clear in her eye. Two more beazels and a cove were walking down the stairs behind her, with the same look.
“Jeeves!” I do believe a manful scream for my valet was warranted in this case. I didn’t realize I had pressed up against the door until it opened and I fell back onto something solid and warm. I didn’t have to look to know. “Jeeves, they’re attacking!”
He whispered his reply in my ear, breath ghosting across my skin in a way I’d fantasize about later. For now I had to follow his advice. “Perhaps, Sir, you should run.”
And so I did, running for all I was worth and hoping to outdistance the beazels in their shoes heeled to astounding heights. Problem was, in downtown London, I kept passing other chaps and fillies who started running after me. I cut across the park, hoping the locked door of my flat would deter them, if that’s the word I want, but I was running out of air. That’s when Jeeves pulled me under the bridge, warming my uncoated body and fueling my darkest fantasies.
Footsteps, giggles and a large crowd of Bertie hunters cross the bridge over us. I want to hug Jeeves in relief, but settle for resting my forehead on his shoulder. Propriety allows one chap to lean on another on occasion, right? But he pulls back, the moment over far too soon as he unbuttons his coat. I shiver at the loss of heat and look around for something other to see than his flushed cheeks and parted lips.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him take off his coat and lean in to wrap it around me. I want to fall into his arms, but I stand firm. It’ll take more than a stamped of fillies to make me admit how I feel! The object in my hand flashes with heat but Jeeves stumbles and falls against me. I forget the burning to look at him, but he’s not there!
Instead I find myself looking at another man, who is noticeably startled to find me in his arms. His black hair just peeks out from his strange hat, and as he pulls back I notice the bright red uniform. Dazed, I wonder why a Mountie has switched places with Jeeves. The Mountie’s confusion doesn’t abate as he turns in a circle, taking in his surroundings. When he turns back to me, he forces a friendly smile on his handsome face.
“Hello, I’m Constable Benton Fraser of the R.C.M.P.”
“Pleased to met you an all, but what have you done with Jeeves?”
“Ah. I was wondering if you could tell me what happened to Chicago.” Our eyes met, and it was clear neither of us had a clue what to do next. Where was Jeeves when I needed him?
