Artist/Author: rosesofred
Title: A Dreadful Afternoon
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Summary: Bertie Wooster thought it the most excellent of ideas to feign illness. Of course, one must never underestimate the valet that cares for you on a daily basis. Especially not one as intellectually gifted as Jeeves, and most definitely not when he wields a weapon as terrible as The Paddle.
Notes & Warnings: spanking
It was a horribly dreary day out, one that promised some rather unpleasant social obligations with no hope of escape. Bertie’s mouth scrunched up into a deep frown as he sunk further into his warm bed sheets, mulling over the day’s objectives. Today the young lad was due to meet a Miss Elice, or was it Alice? He couldn’t muster up enough will to care what the girl’s name was, if he was being perfectly honest. The Nephew Crusher, Aunt Agatha, had rang just the day before to inform him of his supposed betrothal. God forbid the old bat ask him his opinion first before simply giving him away to the first girl of a respectable family that happened to pop by.
“Is it not to your liking, Sir?”
Bertie turned his head to see his trusty valet standing in the doorway, eyebrow quirked. The tall man had brought in his breakfast on a tray not too long ago but being so caught up in his own misery, Bertie had failed to acknowledge the dish. Looking over to the tray, he groaned loudly and buried his head in his pillow, flipping over onto his belly to wallow in his agony.
“I see, Sir.” Jeeves made his way smoothly across the room, picking up the tray and leaving without a sound.
It was quiet for a while, the only noises being the tick tick tick of his clock and the soft pattering of rain against glass. Lifting his head for air, Bertram looked around to find himself alone again. At least he had some time to enjoy being a bachelor before his short happy life came to a halt. Dragging himself out of bed, the grouchy man stomped over to his window, throwing it open in an angry gesture. “Bally bad luck is what it is,” he grumbled. Then, turning on his heel, he took a few long strides back to his warm bed and plunged in.
Bertie was contently snuggled back into his blankets when he heard the distinct sound of a window being shut and the calming sounds of the outside world cut off. Straining his neck as he turned to look back, Wooster scowled at his handsomely dressed valet who now stood beside the window, drawing the shades back. “I’m afraid keeping the window shut is in your best interest, Sir.”
“And why exactly is that, Jeeves?”
Jeeves tilted his head and clasped his hands in front of him, posture perfect and straight. “I believe it ill advised to allow the cold in during a storm, sir. One may catch a cold under such conditions.”
Bertie simply snorted and threw his head back onto his pillow, when the idea struck him. Jeeves, the absolute genius! He couldn’t very well go to meet his aunt and miss-whats-her-name if he were sick, now could he? Feigning a cough, the smaller man mustered up whatever acting skills he may have and put on a show. “Oh Jeeves,” he wailed. “I do think I may well have a cold!”
At this surprising news, Jeeves was at his bedside in quick time, holding the back of his hand against Bertie’s forehead. Slightly taken aback by the contact, Wooster blushed softly but kept his face straight for the sake of his lie. “I see,” the valet concluded. Smiling to himself, Bertie once again relaxed in his bed, his bachelor sanctuary, as the taller man brought him tea and pudding. Can’t have a cold without tea and pudding, I dare say!
Bertie could hear his man Jeeves from the living room, no doubt calling up Aunt Agatha and Miss-Whomever to cancel said plans and inform them of his sudden but unfortunate illness. Now he just had to ride out the day pretending to be sick as a dog, and tomorrow he could go on his merry way however he pleased. Deciding he was indeed the smartest man alive, Bertram settled in for a well deserved nap.
It couldn’t have been long, it felt like he’d only just dozed off when something jolted him from his rest. Jeeves emerged from the bathroom, towel over his arm, as he walked through the bedroom out to the living room. He could have sworn he heard talking, but who could be visiting him in such awful weather, and so early? Then his door opened and a big burly man walked in carrying a medical bag. He seemed the sort to have been in the military at some point, a certain stern look to his mustached face. “Good day, young man. I take it you're the one feeling under the weather?”
Bertie sat up in bed nervously and shot a pleading look to his valet but received no explanation as to what this mammoth of a man was doing in his bedchamber. “You are?...”
“Right, the name is Dr. Oswald Baker. You’re a Mister Bertram Wooster?”
“Yes, I- I” he stammered uselessly as he clung to his bedsheets for comfort.
Dr. Oswald stretched out his large hand, a stiff smile on his face. Reaching his hand out timidly, Bertie shook it. “Now,” Dr. Baker sat on the edge of his bed, setting the bag down on the floor. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Ah, well I- uhm, I suppose…” Cursing to himself in his head, Bertram once again looked to his servant for help. Jeeves stood perfectly still against the opposite wall near the door, watching calmly but offering no help out of the grave he seemed to be digging for himself. “I’m sick,” was all Wooster could muster.
Chuckling, the doctor opened his bag and searched around for whatever hellish equipment he was planning on torturing the young man with. “That you are.” Pulling out a stethoscope and thermometer, he instructed Bertie to remove his shirt, which he did if not a bit begrudgingly. He then placed the thermometer under the man’s tongue, lacking any kind of polite bedside manner if Bertie were asked. As the cold metal slid from spot to spot across Wooster’s now shivering chest, he sulked at the prospect of being found out. “Any congestion?”
Bertie sighed and shook his head.
“Cough?”
Nodding his head yes, the young brunette gave a forced cough, realizing too late how it might have appeared. Dr. Baker gave him a quizzical look, but took note and continued the examination. It took only a few minutes more, checking his throat for swelling and mouth for any signs of infection. Bertram felt in this instance closer to a prized show dog than a young gentlemen, being maneuvered and handled so stiffly. Feeling content with his exam, the doctor took the thermometer from him and looked at it in surprise. “Right, if we’re done here,” Bertie snapped curtly.
“Just one last thing, I’m afraid.”
Bertie eyed him warily and crossed his arms, feeling much too out of sorts to be dealing with such nonsense at this hour. He hadn’t even had a proper breakfast! The doctor patted Bertram’s knee, going into his bag again to find god-knows-what. When he pulled out a long and ominous looking needle, Wooster’s eyes grew in fear and his mouth hung agape. “I say!” He looked from the needle to the doctor, then back at the needle. “I do say!”
“Oh it’s not so bad, Mister Wooster. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“If you expect me to take a blasted evil shot like that, you must have lost your marbles!”
“I do, now let’s get this business over with, shall we? Onto your stomach please.”
“Onto my-” Bertie’s heart dropped as he realized what the doctor was asking. He felt the blood drain from his face and a knot begin to form in his gut. This bloody awful day was turning into a right mess and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. “I think I can do without a shot, thank you very much.”
“Nonsense, you need proper medicine. Onto your stomach now.” When the stubborn young man still made no move to cooperate, the doctor turned to the tall valet standing idly next to the door. “Give me a hand, won’t you?”
Wordlessly, Jeeves walked across the room, giving Bertie a panic as he realized just how deep he was into this mess. “No no!” Wooster shot out of bed, holding his hands up in a placating manner. “It's not necessary, really-”
“I don’t have all day for this,” Dr. Baker reminded him. He motioned for Jeeves and to Bertie’s utter horror, the blasted giant of a servant actually grabbed him by the arm! It was gentle of course, but Wooster was too far in shock to fight back as his valet guided him to lie down on the bed. Applying slight pressure to his back, Jeeves held him in place easily while the evil doctor made quick work of lowering Bertie’s trousers and plunging the needle into his innocent pale skin.
Yelping at the pinch from the needle, Wooster’s face burned in shame at being so exposed in front of a complete stranger. True, Jeeves had seen him naked plenty of times, as he helped him change and drew him baths, but being so pointedly exposed in such a manner was just bally awful. Not to mention, the doctor he’d only just met today was now staring at his hind quarters! He squirmed a bit, wishing for it to be over when he felt the doctor put a bandage on the spot he’d just so rudely stuck with a needle.
“There, nothing to fuss over.” He couldn’t be sure which one of them it was, but one of the men holding him captive rearranged his pants for him, returning his shattered dignity. Bertie slowly stood up once he felt them step away, rubbing at his now sore backside and glaring daggers at the floor. Dr. Baker slapped him on the shoulder jovially, almost laughing as he bid him a good day and left the room with his traitorous valet. When Bertram looked up, a furious scowl across his pursed lips, he noticed he was once again alone in the room.
Too frustrated to return to bed, he made his way to the bathroom to find Jeeves had drawn him a hot bath. Thank god, that would at least help melt some of the tension in his shoulders. Stripping quickly, Bertie lowered himself into the bath, sighing happily at the simple luxury of being submerged in hot soapy water.
He laid in the tub for a long while, playing over the events that just transpired, feeling his already red face grow even hotter. His poor stomach growled and he decided enough was enough, he needed something to eat. Washing up quickly, Bertram got out and toweled himself dry, giving himself a quick shave as well. He wrapped a towel around his waist, walking into his bedroom to get changed. To his surprise, Jeeves had laid out a spiffy new pair of pajamas on his freshly made bed.
Bertie looked at the clock and tiptoed to his door, peeking his head around to see where Jeeves was. Must be cooking up a spot of lunch. Being recently embarrassed in his own home and feeling a hunger coming on that would make a ravenous dog envious, Bertram decided to venture outside. It was a quarter to noon, plenty of time to take a nice stroll down to the club and spend an evening with his mates.
Anything was better than staying inside the whole bally day with Jeeves treating him like some wounded animal. His mind made up, Bertie went to his closet and picked out a fresh suit, choosing the new dandelion tie that Jeeves detested so adamantly. He quickly changed, dashing a look to the door every few minutes to make sure his valet wasn’t nearby. Grabbing his cane, Bertram waltz out to his living room, a pep in his step as he quietly dashed to his front door. Slowly undoing the front lock, he was too focused on being quiet to notice an overprotective valet creeping up behind him.
A strong hand grabbed his shoulder and Bertie yelped like a startled school boy, spinning around to face his stern valet. “I say, Jeeves, you gave me quite the start.”
“Might I inquire as to what you are doing in such attire, out of bed?”
“Well I-” he pointed to the door, trying to explain his way out. “A spot of fresh air. Good for the lungs and all.”
“I’m afraid I must advise against it in your current condition.”
“Jeeves,” he all but whined.
“Right this way, Sir. You need your rest.” He put a warm hand across Bertie’s back, guiding him back into the bedroom.
“But Jeeves,” he started once they stood in front of his bed. The taller man began unbuttoning Bertram’s blazer, and in total exasperation, Bertie actually shoved his hands away. “I can go out if I please.” With a firm nod of the head, Wooster made his point and stood his ground.
Jeeves narrowed his eyes, a resolute look on his otherwise calm features. “I’m afraid that would be explicitly against the doctor’s orders.”
“Well he’s a right quack, I say I can and will go outside!”
The valet’s eyes seemed to darken for a moment before he turned and walked off into the living room.
“Jeeves?” he inquired, a bit surprised at his man’s response. He walked to the doorway, peering out to see what the solemn man was doing. His eyes caught Jeeves walking back towards him, holding something absolutely treacherous in his right hand. “No!” It was the blasted wooden paddle Aunt Agatha had specially made for him. Bertie backed up, sprinting for the bathroom and making it just in time to slam the door in Jeeves’ face. The man had outrageously long legs to be able to walk so fast.
Heart pounding, Bertram backed up further into the room, realizing too late that his valet had his own set of keys and that he was truly in a fit of trouble now.
“I won’t go outside! I’ll stay right here, inside,” he tried. To his horror, the door creaked open and a not too pleased looking servant stood in the doorway.
“Very good, sir,” Jeeves commented as he walked forward. Panicking, Bertie darted away from him and around the tub, giving himself a healthy distance from the clearly insane man with a paddle.
“Jeeves, be reasonable.”
“When it comes to your health, Sir, I’m afraid I must be firm.”
“I won’t go out! I’ll go right to bed.”
Pausing now, Jeeves folded his arms, the paddle still plainly in sight. “I am under strict orders from your Aunt Agatha to keep you inside. In her own words, the lady has instructed me to ‘put the little blighter across my knee if he gives me trouble’.”
Eyes going comically wide, Wooster gulped in fear. “But Jeeves,” he complained. “I won’t give you trouble. Promise.”
“I believe a slight reminder is due, Sir.” Then, with striking speed capable only of peeved off valets, Jeeves reached out and grabbed the protesting man by his jacket collar. Leading him quickly back to the bed, the man began undressing his employer, neatly folding the garments and ignoring Bertie’s pleas and whines. Once he slipped the bracers off the young man’s shoulder his trousers fell to his calves and Jeeves took him by the arm. Moving quickly, the valet sat himself down on the edge of the young man’s bed, bringing him down with a tug to land over one sturdy thigh.
Being flipped so suddenly, Bertram grunted at the impact of being thrown over a knee, struggling in vain to remain upright.
At finding himself thoroughly trapped, Bertie instead threw his hands back to protect his already sore backside from the impending onslaught he was about to receive. “Please,” he wailed, kicking his feet. “I won’t leave! Please don’t use it, Jeeves!”
Sighing softly, the valet simply gathered up the young man’s hands and held them against his back with a strong grip. It was fairly easy to restrain the young master, as he was much smaller and shorter than himself. He didn’t enjoy disciplining Bertie in the slightest, but was thankful at least that it wasn’t too much of a fight when it needed to be done. He was always much more pliable and contrite once wood had been applied to backside. His mind made, the valet raised his hand and slammed the paddle down onto the man’s soft posterior. Bertie cried out in pain, writhing as though he’d just been branded.
“No, Jeeves, please! It hurts!”
Snorting, the taller man readjusted him on his knee, tucking him in closer. “I do believe that to be the point, Sir.” With that he brought the paddle down again, and again, and again. He found a steady rhythm, going from one side to the other, effectively covering every inch of the poor man’s backside in what he guessed was a blotchy red.
Having mentally counted to 15, Jeeves decided that was enough and released the blubbering man’s hands. He was about to comfort him, lift him up into a well deserved hug, when Bertie shot off his lap, scurrying away like a scorned animal.
“That was unfair!” Bertie hastily pulled his trousers up, buttoning them so they wouldn’t fall down. “I did nothing to warrant such treatment!” he shot at the surprised servant.
Eyebrows raised, Jeeves stood and walked to the dresser, setting the paddle down in plain sight. He faced Bertie to address him properly, putting on a stony expression to hide his hurt. “Lunch will be served shortly. I expect to see you in bed, in your pajamas.” Giving him a stern look, Jeeves got only a sour grimace in return as Bertram kept his hands back to protect his sore rump. “Very good, Sir.” It was his own way of warning the rebellious young man, saying that a trip across his knee was not too far out of sight if he acted foolishly again.
So, with a heavy heart Jeeves returned to the soup he’d been preparing for his young master. He’d disciplined Bertram many times before, and seen many an unsightly tantrum, but having the man refuse comfort afterwards was a startling new experience. It started a long while ago, when silly young Bertie had royally flayed himself and found himself in Aunt Agatha’s line of fire. Being so close to Christmas, and being too far away to attend to the foolhardy man herself, she had a strong wooden paddle specially crafted and shipped off to her ridiculous nephew as an ironically satire Christmas gift.
She’d phoned Jeeves the same day, explaining what she needed of him and promising him employ in her own manor, should the young man sack him. To both their relief, when it came time for the valet to properly attend to the thick headed man, Bertie had taken it very well. He’d fought it at first, saying it was unfair and promising perfect behavior until the day he died, but then he solemnly accepted his fate. He’d even been repentant afterwards, apologized profusely and wanted nothing more than comfort and forgiveness.
So they’d kept the paddle, hanging it up on the wall as a reminder to Bertie from his terrifying aunt. Wooster hated the thing, glaring at its unsightly presence whenever he noticed it, even going so far as to hide it on one occasion. Unfortunately Jeeves had discovered the thing behind his dresser and promptly applied said paddle to spoilt backside, resolving the issue immediately.
But it nagged at him, this feeling of guilt that sat heavily in his gut. Was he right in paddling his young employer? It’d been a long time since he’d needed to and while Bertram hadn’t done anything particularly awful to warrant it, the valet felt the need to make a strong point.
Shaking his head, the tired man realized it would be a long week. If Bertram planned on being this stubborn throughout the doctor’s and aunt agatha’s ordered seven days of rest, he was sure his hand would ache by the end. Setting the last bowl on the serving tray, Jeeves made his way to the bedroom, finding to his delight a pajama-clad Bertram, laying in bed with his arms crossed in a pout. Jeeves set the tray down beside the bed, picking up the small bottle of medicine and a spoon set on the nightstand. If there was one thing Bertram Willberforce Wooster hated more than anything, it was yucky medicine.
“If you think I’m about to swallow a spoonful of bally awful medicine, you’re mad,” the lanky man protested.
Mentally rolling his eyes, Jeeves gave Bertie a firm look and continued to pour out a hearty dose of thick dark liquid into a soup spoon. Setting the bottle down, the valet leaned forward, expecting Bertram to take the medicine. The pouting man simply turned his nose up at it, scowling like his life depended on it.
“I’m not taking it, and that’s final.” When Jeeves remained resolute, moving the spoon towards the man’s mouth, Wooster fully lost his temper and threw his arms up, smacking the utensil out of his hands. A look of horror now crossed Bertie’s face as he realized what he’d done. “Now listen, I didn’t intend to-”
“You never do, Sir” Jeeves interrupted, pointedly removing his gloves. He took the time to safely tuck away the white fabric in his coat pocket before sitting down on the edge of the bed and swiftly hauling the smaller man up and over his lap. His hand came down hard and fast, peppering smacks over every inch of the poor man’s already scalding backside. Frantically trying to move out of the way, Bertie hollered and cried in pain as the unmerciful hand came down with purpose.
“I’ll take my medicine, I’m sorry!” Bertie pushed against the valet’s side but found he was well and truly stuck. Curse this horrid day, what damned awful luck!
Slowing to a halt, Jeeves patted the man’s back and lifted him up, turning him to sit on his lap. Bertram winced as his backside came into contact with the hard thigh, squirming a bit in discomfort. Reaching over to the serving tray, Jeeves picked up the medicine bottle and cap, filling the makeshift cup with more of the thick awful liquid. Grimacing to himself, Bertie reluctantly opened his mouth as Jeeves fed him the terrible medicine. His face immediately contorted into one of disgust but he feared what would happen if he spit it out, so he hesitantly swallowed.
“There’s a good lad,” Jeeves praised. Bertram’s cheeks flushed at hearing the praise but he kept his head down and sniveled as the tears still ran down his cheeks. The tall valet then moved him to lie in his bed, tucking him in and fluffing his pillow.
“Jeeves,” he inquired.
The valet raised his eyebrows to show he was listening.
“Can’t I have something a little more hearty than soup?” At receiving the dark look that bode misfortune was soon afoot, Bertie sunk further into his bed, a sheepish look on his tear stained face. “This will do just fine, thank you.”
“I will be attending to the flat, should you need anything further, Sir.” He gave a small nod and saw himself out, leaving Bertram to his soup.
A few minutes passed of Wooster simply staring up at the ceiling, wondering how in god's name he ended up in such a frightful mess, before he turned his attention to the now lukewarm soup. Bertram sat up in his bed, wishing he could stretch his legs or at least sit in his lounge chair and read a good book, but his hound dog of a valet was as attentive as a nanny. God forbid he allow the young Wooster to have any fun.
Taking a sip of the lackluster soup, Bertie’s face scrunched up in disgust. It was then that he realized the medicine he so rudely smacked out of Jeeves’ hand must have landed in his soup, and it was now a concoction of dark broth and thick black goop! Gagging a bit, Bertram pushed his tray away, rolling over on his side in defeat. Just his luck.
His eyes wandered over to the door that his valet had left open, a clear view of his living room and the man cleaning it. Then his eyes shot over to the evil paddle lying idly on his dresser and a cold chill ran down his spine. He had to get out before that dreadful man decided he needed more correction!
Mustering up as much courage as he could, Bertie slipped out of bed, creeping his way over to the window once more. Looking over his shoulder, he quietly pushed open the frame, taking a much needed lungful of fresh air. He looked around at the surrounding landscape, wondering if he might be able to scale the outer wall. It was quite a ways up but maybe if he got to another window he might be able to ask for assistance and go through another flat to get to the elevator.
Hearing the distinct sounds of footsteps heading for his room, Wooster lunged back to his bed, crawling in just in time as Jeeves walked in. The man looked sharply at the open window, swiftly walking over and closing it before turning his attention to the rebellious young man currently cowering in his bedsheets.
“I must remind you, Sir, of the dangers one poses when currently under the weather and exposed to the outside elements. Unless further reminders are needed?” He smoothly lifted his gaze to the paddle lying on the dresser, returning to look at the young man with his mouth hanging open.
Shaking his head, Bertie only managed a small squeak of denial, feeling smaller and smaller under this giant of a man’s disapproving stare. He’d never fully noticed just how large Jeeves was until the man had him tucked tightly against his hip, delivering a most undeserved punishment.
“I see your appetite has not yet returned?” Jeeves glanced at the still full bowl of soup and Bertram once again shook his head. Wherever his words had gone, they’d taken a quick vacation and dragged his confidence along for the trip. “Very good, Sir.” The tall man picked up the tray, wiping down the nightstand before leaving the room.
Sighing heavily, Wooster threw his head back and groaned. Whatever was he to do with his nanny paying such close attention to his every move? Well, at least he could go out tomorrow and see all his old chaps, even have a nice hearty meal. Resigning himself to his fate, Bertie decided to take a nap to pass the time. Better to lay low while Jeeves was in such a mood anyhow.
He was having the most splendid dream, one of roast duck and chopped potatoes, when a soothing voice dragged him out from his slumber. “What’s what now?” He inquired, blinking drowsily up at the suit-clad man.
“Your supper, Sir.”
Excitement rushing through him, Bertram sat up straight and allowed the man to set the tray across his lap. Among the hot food, he noticed that dreadful bottle of what might as well be poison sitting inconspicuously among his supper. When he picked up his fork, Jeeves cleared his throat politely.
“I’m afraid, Sir, you must consume the medicine before supper is to be had.”
“But-“ He sputtered miserably. “But Jeeves.” He grimaced at hearing himself whine, remembering the smacking he’d received only hours before and instead slumped in defeat.
Jeeves only smiled at him empathetically, pouring out a good dose into a spoon. Looking up at it, Bertie began to complain when he found the spoon quickly shoved into his mouth and struggled not to spit it out. He made a face but swallowed, all the while shooting daggers at his traitorous servant. Jeeves handed him a tall glass of water which he took thankfully and glugged down to rid his mouth of the taste.
“Jeeves,” He exclaimed as he wiped at his mouth. “I’ve rested enough, I feel a light stroll around the old block is in order.”
Giving him a wary look, the valet began setting out a fresh set of pajamas. “I’m afraid I can’t advise it, Sir.”
“Well why the hell not?”
Turning to the frustrated man with his hands clasped behind his back, Jeeves silently observed him before answering. “Perhaps a book would lift your spirits?”
Rolling his eyes, Bertie crossed his arms again but decided against pushing the issue further. With that dreaded paddle only a few steps away from the blighter, he had to be careful what he said. “Yes, fine.”
He made good work on his supper, eating almost the whole plate with how starved he felt. Jeeves brought him some Shakespeare, the day’s newspaper from that morning and a cup of hot tea.
The evening wasn’t so bad, if Bertie were being perfectly honest with himself. But then he just kept reminding himself that tomorrow was a fresh new day and he was a free man to go outside as he pleased.
So he settled in for the night, changed into his fresh pajamas, and followed his normal nighttime routine. Except there was no piano playing or pub-going, or even a friendly visitor to lift his spirits. “Good night, Jeeves!” He announced happily, sinking into his bed.
Jeeves smiled kindly at him, closing the blinds and walking over to the doorway. “Good night, Sir.” He shut the door on his way out, glad that the eccentric young man seemed to have calmed down. Tomorrow was unfortunately a brand new day and only the lord himself knew what it would hold.
Regardless, Jeeves couldn’t help but worry as he was sure he heard the sound of a window being opened, but put it out of his head. Surely Bertram knew better for his own sake, didn’t he?