Let The Kinkiness Begin!

[cuddyclothes]

And we're off! Don't hold back! It's anonymous so let your freak flag fly! Not confident about your creative skills? Practice here!  The fills can be anything you want. Fics, videos, artwork and anything else that strikes your fancy. Prompts do not have to be Bertie and Jeeves only! All of the other characters are fair game (Honoria and Madeline tentacle sex, anybody?). As are characters from other books and stories. This meme might be slow to start, so please spread the word!

And remember:

Complete rules for posting are on the group's profile. To protect members' privacy, entry posting is by members only.  However, prompts and fills are made anonymously, which means non-members can respond!

Rules

1. No underage characters

2. No RPF/RPS

3. No bashing other people's kinks.

4. Please use content warnings. Put them at the start of your prompt. I.e. Prompt (Content Warning: Attempted Suicide)
Please warn for:
Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Major Character Death
Rape/Non-Con
Suicide
Attempted Suicide
Incest


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Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt: Jeeves, Bertie, pre-slash, bed sharing, unexpectedly the unusual situation is somehow so strangely exciting that they are both not able to fall asleep

[(Anonymous)]

Jeeves/Bertie: as part of some wacky Wodehousian caper, they need to assume false names/identities, and they arbitrarily choose the names Stephen and Hugh...

[cuddyclothes]

This is a fantastic prompt! But maybe you should make a prompt post over at indeedsir. Not that it shouldn't be written over here, but you might find more writers over there. (I hope I'm putting this right, because I'm 3/4 asleep.)

[(Anonymous)]

Jeeves/Bertie, finger sucking

[(Anonymous)]

Bertie finding out that Jeeves reads gay porn.

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt: Jeeves/Bertie, finding themselves in a situation that makes them both believe they are about to die, something is being said and/or done but then they don't die and have to talk about it

[(Anonymous)]

This is interesting but I'm having trouble thinking of what the near-death event could be, any ideas?

[(Anonymous)]

Jeeves/Bertie, hardcore UST please where they both want it and by now even suspect the other to want the same but they still don't allow themselves to give in to their desire

[(Anonymous)]

Sapphic encounter between Pauline Stoker and Honoria Glossop!

FILL: My room - and so much more | Part One

[(Anonymous)]

It was her father I saw first, standing upright near the door. He looked serious and silly at the same time, and I couldn’t decide whether I liked him or not. He welcomed us, but we could see that we had surprised him: he hadn’t meant to meet us at the door himself, like some sort of eager nouveau-riche. His face had turned red – with embarrassment or anger? Maybe both. I lost interest then. Sir Roderick Glossop was just like the rest.

The house, however, was lovely. We walked inside, father leading the way, my brother Dwight dragging his feet and yawing. But even the novelty of the ornate chandeliers and delicate tapestries wore off in mere minutes; I was used to luxury. We entered the living-room and I sighed at the sight of more pretty things. More pretty things that I was used to, that left me entirely indifferent.

Until I saw her.

She was leaning against the piano, dressed in earthy shades, her hair held up in a bun. Plain, simple, unremarkable. But a muscle in her arm twitched, and my eyes were drawn to it immediately, to the way it stood out in this ordinary setting, that muscle in her arm that spoke of resolve and willpower and adventure. Strength of character.

I would have stared longer, but our fathers had finished exchanging pleasantries standing up and were ready to exchange some more sitting down.

“This is my daughter Honoria,” her father said. I heard the pride in his voice. She looked at him and smiled, and I wished I could smile at my father the same way.

But when he introduced me, I nodded and looked away. We all sat down. I could feel her eyes on me, searching for mine, waiting to say “nice to meet you, Pauline”. I didn’t want her to see the confusion on my face, so I kept it hidden under my hat, under my hair, under a mask of timidity. In truth, I wasn’t shy at all. I spoke my mind. And for the first time, that scared me.

I saw that Dwight was bored and growing restless. He slid out of his armchair. “Sit down,” I told him, although I never told him to do anything. This was for her, entirely for her – this pitiful show of strength. I wanted to impress her; I wanted her to look at me the same way I had looked at the muscle in her arm. I wanted to be just as fierce, intimidating, astonishing.

But even Dwight wasn’t fooled. “Come and make me,” he said, sticking his tongue out.

I made a face. It didn’t matter anyway. Who was she, but the daughter of another stuck-up English aristocrat? Why should I hide? I shook my head at my own foolishness and looked up at her.

She was staring at me. Our fathers were saying things I could no longer hear or understand. Honoria was staring at me, dark eyebrows raised with curiosity, her eyes travelling my face. She wore brown, held her hair up in a bun, and spoke little, but by Golly, she was not plain. How I ever thought her plain, I don’t know.

The wildness I had perceived in that single bulging muscle in her arm was only a hint of Honoria Glossop. For where brown fabric might have seemed simple on another, on her it looked natural; and where a bun might have looked austere, on her it looked pure.

Suddenly I saw it everywhere: in the curve of her neck, in the roundness of her jaw, in the sharpness of her gaze. An untamable spirit.

After dinner our fathers disappeared into the study, and we were left alone with Dwight. Honoria offered him chocolates and a book: the first he swallowed greedily, the second he discarded the moment she gave it to him.

“Honoria,” I said, “will you walk with me?”

She turned to look at me, and I was pleased to notice her surprise. Walk with me, I had said – like a man would. She noted the difference and tilted her head to the side, only slightly, as if to say, I know what you’re up to.

“I will, Pauline,” she said, raising her chin playfully.

We walked onto the balcony, and then around the house, and then down into the gardens. We spoke of literature, of philosophy, of theater and music – she was smarter than I was, and a hundred times more passionate. She knew everything I knew and more: but it didn’t intimidate me at all. In fact, walking with her, I forgot all about myself: it was her, always her, only her, and I didn’t care if I looked stupid, because that only meant that she looked clever.

And not once did she make me feel inferior. She taught me many things, explained them to me in detail, but even then, she would do it with benevolence and modesty. I had thought her plain and brash; but she was simply natural. She knew herself. She was herself.

It was late and we were walking back to the house when she asked me if I enjoyed tennis. My heart fluttered – this was how I would impress her. “Yes, I love tennis!”

“Wonderful,” she said, her British accent making the word roll in her mouth, shaping it a slightly different way, and I wished she would say it again, and again. “We can play tomorrow morning.”

I didn’t hide my enthusiasm. When we said goodnight, there was a moment of silence: we both stood lingering, as if out of breath; as if walking a tightrope. She leaned in. I looked down at her lips. Her mouth wasn’t painted like mine, and right then I longed to see my rouge on it, how it would bloom on her skin like a flower. I wanted to know her softness; I wanted to see my hair brush her cheeks. She was so close, and yet not close enough.

“Goodnight, Pauline,” she said. I would have whispered – it was late and everyone was asleep – but Honoria never whispered. She was too bold to whisper what she could say out loud.

*******

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt: "He and Jeeves seem very happy in their new modern relationship."

[(Anonymous)]

Bertie likes crossdressing; Jeeves discovers this accidentally but is supportive. Whether the support takes the form of sex or just fashion advice is up to the author.

Fill: Laid Out

[(Anonymous)]

“Er…I say…well…that is…I mean…Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Could one inquire…er…don’t you know…what…um…?”

“You are attempting to ascertain the provenance of the new clothing I laid out for you, sir?”

“That’s as good a place to start as any. Thank you. Well?”

“I procured the items from a number of small specialty boutiques in Mayfair around the corner from your usual Savile Row tailor, sir.”

“Fine, that’s fine. All right then. That’ll be all.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Oh, and, er, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Er…errrrrrrrrrrr…”

“You are attempting to determine the reason why I chose for you a full ensemble of women’s attire, sir?”

“Precisely, Jeeves. Thank you. Yes?”

“I hope you’ll pardon the imposition, sir, but I happened to accidentally come across your secret supply of women’s apparel and accoutrements while organizing your wardrobe. Please sit down if you are starting to feel faint, sir. I am most sorry to have infringed upon your privacy. It is not your fault; they were very well hidden, but such a large collection necessarily becomes difficult to effectively conceal. I was merely endeavoring to conduct the most exceptionally thorough tidying possible, sir.”

“That’s fair, Jeeves. It is what makes you so impressive, after all.”

“You're kind to say so, sir. As I was saying, I happened upon the stash and determined that you had purchased the garments to wear in private for your own personal gratification. Was I correct in assuming so, sir?”

“Personal grati—?! Good heavens, Jeeves. I would never have guessed you capable of using such language.”

“Please forgive me for offending you, sir.”

“Oh, I don’t know, you know, I wouldn’t say I'm offended.”

“Please forgive me for making you blush so deeply, then, sir.”

“That one I suppose cannot deny, old fruit.”

“Have I overstepped my boundaries, sir?”

“No, no, no, not a bit. Well, on second thought, yes, you have. But I confess to feeling much more relieved than stepped over. Am I to understand that you don’t disapprove of my…my little hobby, then?”

“It would hardly be my place, sir.”

“No, but all the same. I want to know. You aren’t horrified?”

“Not in the slightest, sir.”

“Aghast? Disgusted? Outraged? Repelled? Scandalized?”

“None of the above, sir. I hope you will interpret the raiment I chose for you as a sign of my complete acceptance and approval, sir.”

“Try as I might, I really cannot twist it any other way! Well then, Jeeves, I feel absolutely braced, bucked up, not to mention chuffed, to boot. Now, let's take a look. These really are some bally gorgeous habiliments, aren't they? I suppose the only thing for me to do is to try them on for size.”

“Yes, sir. Although I am confident you will find each piece fits perfectly, as I supplied the couturier with your exact measurements, sir.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?”

“I try my best, sir.”

“And if I should need assistance in donning them?”

“I will be glad to help, sir.”

“And later, er, if I should need a hand in doffing them?”

“I will endeavor to give satisfaction, sir.”

[cuddyclothes]

I think this might have gotten lost in the shuffle...

[(Anonymous)]

This is amazing and inspiring. Do you mind if Jeeves's uniform is backless like this or do you prefer formal wear?

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt: After dressing up as Daphne Delores Morehead and Beryl, Jeeves and Bertie decide to go out dressed as women and get a bit (or A LOT) naughty. The smuttier the better, says I.

[(Anonymous)]

I've totally been thinking of making a DDM/Beryl prompt! But with Daphne and Beryl as like real people who are actually women.

[(Anonymous)]

Jeeves/Bertie, consensual somnophilia (non-con is okay too but only if it's just touching/fondling)

Wake-up Call

[(Anonymous)]

“I suppose it could be worse, Jeeves,” I said, eyeing the surroundings. “We could’ve got the Mary and Joseph treatment.”

“No room at the inn, sir?”

“Precisely and been stuck sharing a manger with a donkey and our Lord and Savior.”

“I will be quite comfortable sleeping on the floor, sir. It is only for one night.”

“That’s taking the feudal spirit a bit too far, Jeeves. Noblesse oblige demands if anyone get their forty winks on the rug, it’s me, but, I say, this is rather the lavender-smelling country-inn bedroom of fiction, isn’t it? And that ark of a bed looks big enough for two of us. And after all, as you say, it’s only for night. We share.”

“Very good, sir.”

---

“By Jove, Jeeves, have a dip in this bed. It’s like lying on a cloud!”

“Exceedingly comfortable, sir. The pillows, too.”

“You’re a bit of human furnace, aren’t you, Jeeves? I mean, body heat and all that. I suppose it’s a thingagummy from all the brainwork you put in, gears turning, etcetera.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll move further away.”

“No, please. It’s quite nice. Cosy, if you know what I mean.”

“Is this all right, sir?”

“Yes, Jeeves. That’s toppin’. Well, I suppose we have to get up at some beastly hour in the ack emma, don’t we? I mean, something earlier than a civilised half nine.”

“It is advisable, sir.”

“I’m going to need something like a wake-up call.”

“Would you prefer a wake-up call in the London style or the Shropshire style, sir?”

“Oh, well, I don’t rightly know. What’s London style?”

Jeeves gave the left shoulder a shake.

“And, uh, Shropshire style?”

And at this, I was treated to a pair of soft lips pressed to the left side of the Wooster neck once, twice, thrice followed by a sweeping caress of a tongue.

“Oh, well…” I stammered.

“That is upper Shropshire style,” whispered Jeeves in a low rumbly tone that turned my insides to jelly.

“And, uh, just how do they do it in the Midlands, Jeeves?” I managed to croak.

The mouth returned to work at the old swan stand, but then a warm hand slipped ‘round my waist and under my heliotrope pyjama shirt. A wet finger and thumb found the left bud and proceeded to coax it to hard bloom, if you catch my meaning.

Well, what could I do but turn my head and offer the mouth more land for developing and arch my back to get more of those magic digits? And moan a little, of course.

“Jeeves, does there happen to be a low Shropshire wake-up call?” I asked when I woke to the knowledge that the Wooster cock was as wooden as the bedpost.

“There does, sir, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

---

“Oh, God, Jeeves,” I groaned when he’d returned, sank his mitten down the heliotrope trousers, and wrapped it ‘round my baton. He gave the throbbing member an expert stroke or two, then stopped, and with his python still curled ‘round my goat, asked,

“And so, sir, what is your preference in wake-up calls?”

I twisted the onion, the better to look into those devilish blue eyes, and said,

“When in Rome, Jeeves. The Shropshire one, and the lower, the better, but, uh…”

The b. e.’s sparkled mischievously.

“I am told Mrs. Gregson looks very fine in her bathing dress. I believe it’s mauve with a tiny ruffle about the bosom…”

“Ugh! Jeeves!” I groaned, and not in the good way. My stately pine instantly transformed into a wilting fern in Jeeves’ hand, and he released it and rolled away.

“Good night, sir. Pleasant dreams.”

---

My dream was pleasant. I was a summer wildflower, being picked and, I think, put into someone’s collection. But before the prizes could be awarded, I surfaced, feeling a hot mouth sucking along my jaw line and an even hotter paw hoisting the sail on my very tall mizzen stand.

My first words were,

“Bugger all.”

The cheeky reply came swift, low, and sure.

“That would be the Manchester wake-up call, sir, which I’m afraid is not available at this location.”

I gave a naughty snort and felt a teasing nip to the side of my neck. Then the glory that is giving the new day the glad eye while having your own glad eye expertly stroked washed over me.

“Oh, Jeeves.”

He hummed.

And we might have continued on like that, but a preux chevalier never forgets his manners, even when he’s having his knob polished in a very low Shropshire manner.

“Jeeves, I don’t want to soil a lavender-smelling country-inn bed of fiction.”

“Of course, sir.”

That was when the tide turned, so to speak, and so did I, shucking off my pyjama trousers and climbing atop Jeeves’ chest and feeding him my cock.

When he’d swallowed, he said,

“Good morning, sir.”

I, for my part, slid down his frame, settled between his legs, and showed him just what Eton and Oxford can do for a boy.

I may have only won prizes for summer wildflowers and Scripture knowledge, but that’s only because fellating was never a category, the lads always going more in for flogging and whatnot.

When I’d swallowed, Jeeves pushed up on his elbows and looked down, like a stuffed frog whose caught the plumpest fly of his career.

“Good morning, Jeeves.”

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt: Jeeves/Bertie, glory hole. With each other and optional other anonymous men. Bonus for one/both of them realising somehow and wondering how to confront the other.

[(Anonymous)]

Oh DAMN this is hot.

[(Anonymous)]

Bertie was eventually forced to give in to the pressure to get married, but he still carries on an affair with Jeeves on the side.

[(Anonymous)]

Jeeves/Bertie, experimental piss play, recently established relationship, one of them very embarrassed about his odd, secret fantasies but trusting the other enough to tell him, the other one pretty shocked about this confession but convinced that he will enjoy his partner enjoying it

[(Anonymous)]

Drooling at this idea already. I'm more into first-time than established-relationship, though. But maybe these kinds of experiments are too involved/too extreme to just jump right into.

[(Anonymous)]

Sugar daddy!Bertie & sugar baby!Jeeves

[thesadchicken]

No point going anon to say this, since I made that video lmao BUT YES! HOT! OH ME GOSH SOMEONE PLEASE FILL THIS!

[(Anonymous)]

Honoria Glossop/Bertie pony play, she's the one holding the crop. Jeeves can be involved or not, but she's in charge.

[(Anonymous)]

Does anyone feel like indulging me and explaining the appeal of Honoria, how or why they're into her? This prompt is on the verge of titillating to me but I'm just not into her, so I feel like I'm missing out on the potential hotness. I'm pansexual so gender isn't the problem. I just keep picturing the Honoria from the TV series, who is kinda cute and funny, but not exactly sexy to me. Those who are into her, are you picturing her differently somehow? Or what are you envisioning?

[(Anonymous)]

Jeeves/Bertie, switching roles for a day and enjoying it too much, pre-relationship

[(Anonymous)]

For the record I would like to enthusiastically second this prompt (mostly because of a fic I just read on AO3 that was kinda similar and really amazing and I want more of it).

[(Anonymous)]

Jeeves/Bertie, undressing/changing clothes in the same room and catching each other peeking at the same moment

FILL: Please Carry On, Jeeves

[(Anonymous)]

They weren’t exactly forced into the small wooden shed. There was no real necessity for haste, as they had nowhere important to be, and the rain had ceased. No, there was no obligation to stand back to back in the small shed in Chuffnell Regis, pressed tightly together, but they both pretended there was. They both slid into the shed with resigned looks on their blushing faces and pretended to be greatly inconvenienced by this odd turn of events.

Of course, in reality, they were both ridiculously pleased that the rain had soaked them right down to their underthings and that, for fear of catching a cold, they would have to change somewhere. ‘Going all the way back to Chuffnell Hall seems a bit silly, doesn’t it, Jeeves?’ ‘Indeed, sir.’ ‘I’m sure there’s some place on the road where we can change, what?’ ‘If I may make a suggestion, sir: that shed over there, although far from perfect, seems adequate.’ ‘Quite right, Jeeves.’

So they stopped the car, retrieved their clothes from their bags and entered the small wooden shed. It was so small that even with their backs to each other their shoulders still touched – just barely, but still enough to make them pretend to be uncomfortable. Of course, in reality, they were giddy with excitement and near-adolescent infatuation.

They both thought themselves very clever, if a bit wicked, for agreeing to change in the same tiny shed where their shoulders touched. Each thought the other oblivious to the chaos of contradicting emotions roiling in his chest – joy and shame and lust and guilt and delight. They started unbuttoning their shirts at the same time, although they couldn’t see each other. They peeled their wet clothes off their bodies slowly, deliberately, as if savouring this sweet forbidden moment of slight indecency.

Now before you hear the rest, you must know a thing or two about these besotted blighters.

Bertram W. Wooster was a man who liked to think of himself as a preux chevalier. He did everything with honour and – to some extent – courage. He tried not to harm anyone, not on purpose anyways, and he tried to be kind and respectful to all. He would certainly never take advantage of his personal valet, no matter how tempting it could sometimes seem.

Reginald Jeeves was a decent man as well. He lived his life quietly, and he often enjoyed helping the poor unfortunate souls of the world solve their problems. He was polite and courteous and always fed the birds that came hopping onto his bedroom’s windowsill. He would certainly never abuse the trust of his young employer, no matter how blue-eyed and thin-waisted said employer was.

But both Bertram Wooster and Reginald Jeeves were only human – yes, yes, even Jeeves. And so here is what happened:

Jeeves lowered his trousers and pants and bent down to pick up his dry clothes. While bending down in this manner the thought struck him that, should Bertie turn around just now, he would be staring right at Jeeves’ derriere. Better; Bertie’s cock would probably brush Jeeves’ bottom. In fact, Bertie would be in the perfect position to grab Jeeves by the hips and ravish him savagely.

At the same time these thoughts were striking Jeeves, Bertie had just kicked off his underthings and was being struck by thoughts of his own. If Jeeves turned around now, his naked chest would press against Bertie’s back, and his arms could easily slip around Bertie’s waist, and his hands might even find Bertie’s cock…

And so, honest men as they were, they did something they were both quite ashamed of. They peeked.

In reality it happened quickly, but to these two love-struck fools, the entire scene played in slow-motion. Jeeves, still bending, turned only his head towards his master, at first getting a lovely view of the younger man’s shapely calves and thighs and his wonderfully firm buttocks. Then Bertie, poor overeager sod, turned around completely. He hadn’t meant to, mind you. But his excitement exceeded his caution, and, well, ‘Jeeves isn’t going to see me anyway, right?’ he thought.

See him, Jeeves did. In fact, he saw every glorious inch of him. Something like panic filled the small wooden shed, and for a moment neither of them moved. Jeeves was staring right at Bertie’s hard cock, and Bertie was staring right at Jeeves’ alluring bottom, and both cock and bottom were staring at each other.

They both spoke at the same time. ‘I am terribly sorry, sir!’ ‘Didn’t mean to do that!’ ‘I was simply –’ ‘I needed to –’ ‘But surely you –’ ‘…and it isn’t what you think!’ ‘…because if you want it, sir…’ ‘I never dared –’

Then they both stopped talking and Jeeves straightened up and Bertie pressed his back to the wall and they kissed, deeply, hungrily, madly; they kissed until they were breathless.

‘It’s the rummiest thing, Jeeves, but I suddenly don’t feel like getting dressed at all.’

‘The feeling is mutual, sir.’

‘In that case… please do carry on, Jeeves.’

[(Anonymous)]

Jeeves/Bertie: some sci fi/supernatural event leads to a body swap

[(Anonymous)]

Jeeves/Bertie: they walk into each other at some secret, gay masked ball for anon sex, recognize each other but pretend not to notice and hope not to be recognized as they risk an approach

[cuddyclothes]

Art by ironicbees on LiveJournal

[(Anonymous)]

Ooooohhhhh *heart eyes*

[(Anonymous)]

Jeeves/Bertie: Jeeves laughing about something and he's totally embarrassed about it because Bertie witnesses it but Bertie is just so much in love.

Laughter In The Kitchen

[(Anonymous)]

There are times that try one’s soul. In particular, whenever I played a sprightly tune on the old piano, or repeated the latest joke going around the Drones to Jeeves. Not even a whisper of a smile! In fact, a whisper of a smile was the only sign that Jeeves had a sense of humor. No, this Wooster tells a lie. He can be quite sassy, can Jeeves. But even then, he prefers a droll delivery that simultaneously insinuates that he is being witty at one’s expense and said one is too dense to appreciate. Dashed irritating, if you ask me.
And whilst frolicking between the sheets, a bit more of a smile. But aside from groans, moans and cries of “put it there, sir!” not a laugh. Not even a giggle.
Which is why I made an earth-shattering discovery upon returning home early from the Drones one afternoon. Jeeves, astonishingly enough, did not greet me at the door. I let myself in and stopped.
A most unusual noise was coming from the kitchen. I could not identify it. A deep, staccato noise at regular intervals. Was Jeeves attempting to bathe a moose?
While my first instinct was to walk in and say, “What ho, Jeeves! Are you attempting to bathe a moose?” a second instinct stayed my hand. I crept toward the kitchen door...the m.u.n. grew louder...suddenly realization dawned. I stood, thunderstruck, as my conception of the known world irrevocably changed.
The sound was Jeeves, laughing.
Jeeves the stoic, Jeeves the unflappable, Jeeves the something that implies little or no sense of humor, was laughing. Not only laughing, deep belly laughs. It was the most wonderful sound I’d ever heard. I put my ear to the door. There was a wireless program on. I listened more closely. It was the music hall comedian Tommy Handley, of all people! Even the Drones disdained his low comedy (except for Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps, but he’d laugh at a traffic accident). It was a song about getting drunk!
“You’ve partaken of the tittifalafa bazooka
With ambrosial nectar you were lined
When the Cleethorpes are mazooglum in the zimzam
In other words, you was blind!

I could stand it no longer. “Jeeves!” I exclaimed as I swung open the kitchen door. “Tommy Handley?”’
Startled, Jeeves looked up. And the most amazing sight I’ve ever sighted—Jeeves blushed! Not just a blush, but a deep tomato crimson covering the whole of his noggin, except the part covered by his hair. “Sir—“ he said, bolting to his feet. “I did hear you come in.” He snapped off the wireless.
I was overcome with sheer delight. “Jeeves! You were laughing! I didn’t know you were capable of laughter!” I threw my arms around him. “You’re not even ticklish!” I planted the Wooster lips on the Jeevesian lips again and again. “That’s the most magnificent sound I’ve ever heard!” I pulled my head back, gazing at his countenance. It was still bright red. “But I say, Jeeves, Tommy Handley? I would have thought Shaw!”
“He was a favorite of my family’s, sir,” Jeeves admitted, head bowed in shame. “I have always found his gift for twisting language most amusing.”
“My dearest Jeeves, do not feel mortified one whit! After all, he’s not that much better than the jokes we tell at my club.”
“No, sir.”
I reached past Jeeves and turned the wireless back on.
Handley and another fellow were talking about their charwoman, a Mrs. Bagwash, and her daughter Nausea. Jeeves actually snorted!
Jeeves sat down and I climbed into his lap, arms around his neck. It really was quite amusing. But I could never say so at the Drones.

[(Anonymous)]

Jeeves and Bertie come together and make love in the dark at night, but never admit or acknowledge what's happening in the light of day.

[(Anonymous)]

Nice prompt! Hoping it gets a fill.

[(Anonymous)]

Voyeurism: Jeeves catches Bertie touching himself and watches. Maybe Bertie realizes it, maybe he doesn't.