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
Wooster groaned, his mouth opening in a large yawn as he took in a deep breath. Pulling himself to an upright position, he couldn’t help but notice just how rummy awful his throat felt. If he didn’t know any better, young Bertram would have thought he’d spent the night away in a pub with his chums. But then as far as he knew, his night had consisted of a worn old book from the Wooster library, and the ever looming presence of a certain valet-turned-nanny.
Regardless, his throat certainly thought otherwise. His head was beginning to join in the battle against him as it throbbed against his skull. Blinking the sleep away, Bertie turned to face the window, throwing his feet over the side of the bed. It was only then that he noticed the growing puddle of water on the carpet and realized the window was thrown wide open.
In a panicked rush to close said window, he certainly didn’t expect his limbs to fail him. But fail him, they did. As he now lay sprawled out, face down on the floor, the crumpled man let out a groan of distress. But as the Wooster spirit prevails, he carried on.
Bertram wobbled onto stiff legs, crossing the room with the help of his sturdy furniture. Rain began to pelt him as he got close, a vicious rainstorm forcing itself in. Once at the window, Bertie slammed the frame shut with a sense of finality, a small victory he’d won.
“Good morning, Sir.”
Spinning on his heel, the slender man clutched at his heart as it beat out of his chest. “Good heavens Jeeves!” What should have been a bold explanation was instead a raspy, painful jumble of words that scratched his throat horribly. It truly felt as though he hadn’t had a drop of water in weeks!
Jeeves in turn moved swiftly to the bedside, setting down the morning tray. When he turned now to assist the sick man, Bertie stepped back defensively. “What-“ he coughed into his elbow, trying in vain to resume the facade of perfect health. “What are you doing?”
“I assumed, Sir, that you might require assistance.”
“Nonsense.” The man cleared his throat, standing up straight. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Very good, Sir.” The valet folded back the sheets so he might return to his bed. When Bertie made no move to do so, the man set out to find an appropriate change of clothes. While Jeeves was busy collecting the garments, he noticed the stubborn young man walking stiffly to his bed from the corner of his eye. Thankfully when he returned with an armful of fresh pygamas, he found Bertram cozily tucked in, sitting up straight and alert to his movements. “Feeling a bit under the weather today?”
Bertie shook his head fervently, careful not to irritate his throat by speaking and therefore giving up the ruse. What he wouldn’t do for a quick stroll outside! Jeeves acknowledged the lie absently, picking up the medicine bottle he’d left on the tray. He tactfully untwisted the cap, wasting no time in pouring out a hearty dose into a silver soup spoon. “Jeeves,” Bertie rasped. He tried to clear his throat, coughing involuntarily as his airway felt sore and blocked. “I don’t need it.”
The valet raised his thick eyebrows in response, displaying a look others might describe as scepticism. “It is my understanding, Sir, that in order to combat a cold, one must first take their medicine.”
“I have,” he lied. “Combatted the cold I mean.” Another cough broke through as he tried desperately to clear his aching throat. “I’m healthy as a horse.”
“Regardless,” Jeeves continued. “It is in your best interest to follow the doctor’s orders.” He moved the spoon forward, expecting the young man to open his mouth but found no such compliance.
Bertie only frowned at him, glaring daggers at the offending spoon. Crossing his arms, the sick man turned his head in defiance.
The valet sighed softly, pulling the spoon back and deciding on a more commanding tactic. “Perhaps a different sort of medicine is required?”
Opening his mouth in shock, Bertram gaped at him like a fish out of water. “That’s not fair!”
“Often Sir, one may find life to be unfair.”
“Oh alright,” he grumbled. “But I’m going out today. Bertie coughed into his fist, trying in vain to regain his composure. “Mark my words!”
“Indeed Sir.” Once Bertram’s cough had subsided, the valet moved the spoon forward once more. The scowling man opened his mouth reluctantly, gagging when the foul liquid slid down his throat. Jeeves hid a smile at the face Bertie made, like he’d just sucked on a particularly sour lemon.
Satisfied that the sickly man had taken his medicine as prescribed, he handed him a glass of water and set out to tidy the room. The butler noticed however that the usually bright and energetic man was instead picking at his food sadly, taking only a few bites before pushing it away. “I say,” Bertie called out. “I think I’d like something else.”
“Of course Sir. Was there something in particular you had in mind?”
“Oh I don’t know,” his sulking employer mumbled with some effort. He threw his hand up haphazardly, gesturing to nothing in particular. “Make whatsit or whatever.” Bertie coughed hard now and it wracked his whole body with the force of it. “Something hot,” he managed.
“Very good Sir.” Jeeves picked up the tray, somewhat worried about his young gentleman as he made his way to the kitchen. He went through a recipe box, thinking both of what to cook and what to do. Now that Bertie was truly ill, keeping him inside for the duration of a week would prove difficult. Keeping him in bed, however, may prove impossible. He could only threaten the paddle so many times before he’d have to actually go through with it and god knew he hated doing so.
He’d hoped that yesterday’s session would’ve kept Bertram in line but you never could tell with eccentric youth such as him. He’d have to be stern with the man, fair but gentle.
Selecting a recipe and making up his mind, Jeeves set out to prepare a proper hot meal, enjoying the process as he always did. Cooking was a very soothing endeavor for him, and any distraction that took his mind off the trying young man was kindly welcome with open arms.
Once the aromatic dish was ready, he prepared the tray, setting out the dishes and brewing a fresh pot of tea. The valet tactfully balanced the tray on one hand, carrying the daily morning newspaper in the r and transported them both to his patient’s bedroom. Noticing however that the bedchamber appeared to be absent of one Mr. Bertram Wooster, Jeeves set the items down on the nearby nightstand and walked to the bathroom. He knocked gently on the door but upon receiving no reply, pushed it open to find the room empty.
Looking back around the room, the now disgruntled valet found the wardrobe left ajar and pyjamas utterly untouched. Taking a moment to silently roll his eyes in spirit and heave a great sigh, Jeeves set out to collect his terribly unruly boy.
It was a quick and pleasant stroll down to the gentleman’s club, though Jeeves didn’t stop to smell the roses as he usually did. When he arrived at the building, he greeted the staff warmly and inquired politely about his employer. The man on duty informed him promptly of the rebel’s whereabouts and Jeeves set off to fetch his wayward charge, a purpose in his step.
Bertie was his responsibility now, and not one he took lightly. Arriving in the room where countless wealthy young men were dancing ridiculously and consuming alcohol as though their lives depended on it, Jeeves stood to the side. Exuding a presence of authority and discipline, he waited patiently for Bertram to finish his turn at the dartboard before making himself known. When he was spotted, the look on Wooster’s face could only be described as one of a man with regret in his heart.
The poor boy looked as though he’d just seen a ghost, his skin was drained of all color. Though Jeeves couldn’t be sure if his pale complexion stemmed from fear of his looming punishment or from the nasty virus currently taking up residence in his thin body. “Jeeves,” He sputtered. “What in the heavens are you doing here?”
Before Jeeves could answer, he was met with delighted hello’s and other assorted greetings by the men in Bertie’s company. “It has come to my attention, Sir, that your illness may best be treated in the confines of your own dwelling.”
“Ay, Bertie, you didn’t say you were sick!” One of the men shouted from the round table.
“Bertie’s sick?” A Mister Gussie Finknottle chimed in. “I don’t want to catch it!”
“He’s right, home with you if you’ve got a cold!” A rather rotund man declared.
Wooster slumped his shoulders, realizing his friends didn’t want him to stay. “I am not!” He argued, erupting into a coughing fit.
“Out! Go home, Bertie!”
Most of the friends began voicing their protests, insisting he go home so they wouldn’t catch his sickness . “It’s not that we don’t want you here,” Gussie explained. “But you’ve got a cold! You can come back when you’re feeling better, alright?” He smiled sheepishly at his friend but Bertie only sulked in response.
Laying a gentle hand on the sickly man’s shoulder, Jeeves guided him out of the room and through the club until they arrived outside. The moment they reached the sidewalk, Bertie jerked his shoulder away from his valet. “That was a rotten trick!” He roared.
“My apologies, Sir.” Jeeves answered calmly.
“Your apologies?” Bertie shot back. He began coughing again, this time harder than before. “If you think I’m going home,” the sick man paused to clear his throat. “You are sorely mistaken, you are!” He straightened his back, fixing his suit jacket with a tug. “Right, I’m going for a stroll, and there is nothing you can do!”
“Just as you say, Sir,” Jeeves intoned. It almost shook Wooster’s confidence, the way his valet so cooly answered. But Bertram wouldn’t be swayed. If he wanted to go out then he damn well would!
“Right,” he nodded, losing a bit of steam.
“Will you be dining in tonight, Sir?”
“I-I don’t know,” Bertie muttered, a tad surprised. “What’s it matter, I’ll be home when I dashed well feel like it.” There, he would lay down the law whether his valet liked it or not.
“I only inquire, Sir, so I might know if I need to make up a fresh batch of salve.”
Upon hearing this, realization set in and Bertram lost all the wind in his sails. He visibly deflated as he stared at the tall man dumbly. There was no doubt what his valet was implying, and despite his best efforts to appear confident, he just couldn’t puff himself back up.
“I-I… Well, perhaps I do come back with you,” he tried.
“A wise choice, Sir.”
“Might we have a quiet afternoon, no hard feelings?”
Thinking for a moment, Jeeves countered, “I should certainly hope so, Sir. That is, after we attend to your most recent offense.”
“My-my offense? But I’ve done nothing wrong!” Bertie all but stamped his foot in frustration.
“Perhaps, Sir, we should continue our discussion indoors?”
Bertram frowned at him, knowing he was on the losing side of the argument. “Dash it,” he exclaimed loudly. Then, looking up at his valet and seeing no mercy to be had, he gave in. “Alright.”
Jeeves nodded his head in approval, walking behind the young man as they made their way home. It wasn’t nearly as pleasant of a walk this time around as Bertie kept trying to stop and pet every dog he saw and the exasperated valet had to remind him of their destination each time.
When they finally reached the flat, Jeeves stopped to take off his coat while Bertie stood in the living room with folded arms, glaring a hole in the carpet. “Lets get on with it then,” he insisted grumpily.
“Very good, Sir.” Jeeves moved to stand in front of him, exuding an air of authority and confidence.
There was a long stretch of silence before Bertie began coughing again, pounding a fist against his chest to assist his lungs. “Right,” he rasped. “I have every right to go out if I wish.”
“I would argue, Sir, that your doctor has advised otherwise.”
“Well nobody asked him, did they?”
“I’m afraid I did. I may also bring to attention that the Lady Gregson did leave explicit instruction-“
“I don’t care what that old bat has explicitly instructed!” Bertie threw his arms up in frustration. “I’m a grown man for heaven's sake, if I say I want to-“ doubling over from a sudden coughing fit, he stopped mid sentence to recover.
Rolling up his sleeves slowly, Jeeves gave a disapproving look. “I’m afraid I must end our discussion here, Sir, as it is clear to me that further argument will only aggravate your current condition.”
Bertie looked up in horror as he realized he’d lost the chance to persuade his valet out of punishing him. “Now listen here, let’s not be too hasty,” he implored, walking backwards.
The resolute man approached slowly, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he was prepared for the coming event. “Oh no, Sir, I don’t intend to be hasty at all.” Bertram turned in an attempt to dart away, his stomach doing a flip when he felt the man’s hand clamp around his bicep. The large valet quickly dragged him back into the living room, using the momentum to keep his charge from running.
“No, Jeeves!” Bertie tried to dig his heels into the carpet but the ruddy man was too strong to fight. “Please,” he wailed, his voice laced with panic. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”
The valet sat down on the settee, holding the uncooperative man to stand between his knees. “It is that precise logic that has delivered you here.” He then drew Bertie down to lie across his left thigh, making quick work of lowering his suspenders and pulling down his trousers.
“Jeeves,” Wooster whined. He pushed against the man’s thigh, kicking his legs furiously like an errant child. To his dismay, Bertie found himself pinned perfectly in place so that no amount of struggling could aid in his escape. “Please don’t,” he begged. “Don’t use the paddle!”
Jeeves rested a warm hand across the lanky man’s posterior, his voice calm and clear. “Not to worry, Sir. I’ve taken into consideration your current state and sufficed that my hand will do just fine.”
“No!” He argued, only to be cut off by the sound and pain of the first slap landing on his backside. Bertie gasped sharply, slamming his feet against the carpet in protest as the hand came down over and over relentlessly. “It’s not fair!”
Woefully, he found that no amount of reasoning would deter his deranged valet and his struggles proved fruitless. The sick man tried grabbing onto the edge of the settee and pulling his body forward, only to find himself firmly brought back into place by his hips.
Regardless, he was a Wooster man and the Woosters don’t give up! When he tried to wriggle himself free, moving his body like a worm on cement, Jeeves only smacked at his thighs, quelling any remaining thoughts of wormliness.
“Jeeves!” His voice cracked with desperation, thickly coated with the cold invading his aching body. “That’s quite enough!” Bertie stamped his foot against the carpet, throwing his hands back to cover his sensitive backside.
The larger man stilled his hand, unsurprised by his employer’s small tantrum. “I’m afraid that decision is under my authority.” He really didn’t plan on continuing much longer, seeing as how the flustered man had taken ill. But if he proceeded to fight and throw a fit, Jeeves would have no choice but to carry on as it were until the message was received.
The valet gathered Bertie’s wrists in one hand, pinning them to the small of his back with ease. Then, raising his hand once more, brought it down in a flurry of smacks aimed pointedly at the man’s sit spots. Wooster howled in pain, his back tensing with the struggle of trying to escape his prescribed torture.
It took longer than Jeeves would have hoped, but after a few more rounds of switching tactfully between sit spots and center, Bertie stopped his struggles. “Not- Not fair,” he whined. A sudden cough jolted the man’s body, to which Jeeves stopped immediately. Doing his best to help the sickly man, he clapped his hand across the center of Bertram’s back, aiding in the matter of clearing his lungs.
“I believe that should be enough to help the lesson stick for now.”
What was intended to be soothing was instead received as mocking and Bertie stiffened in defense. Feeling Jeeves relax his hold and instead begin rubbing his back soothingly, the intent young man took the opportunity to flee. He tried to break away, only to find himself hoisted up and around to sit on one sturdy thigh. “Unhand me,” Bertram rasped, wiping at his eyes.
Jeeves raised his eyebrows but tried to sooth the distraught young man by pulling him in for a much needed hug. When the agitated man only twisted away, the valet steadied his hold and kept him firmly in place. “Not just yet, Bertram.” At hearing his whole first name, Bertie froze and stopped his squirming. “I would like to hear, in your own words, what you have learned.”
Sniffling sadly, Wooster pouted with the force of a thousand kicked puppies. He held his gaze steady on the floor, too embarrassed and angry to look his man in the eyes. He wanted to shout back that Jeeves was being a tyrant, not recite his repentance like a chastised school boy. A quick smack landed on his backside, pulling Bertie rather abruptly out of his brooding. “Ouch!”
“If I were in your position, I would make quick work of showing my remorse.” He knew it was a warning, knew that he should apologize and tell Jeeves what he knew he wanted to hear. But a stubborn cloud of rebellion grew ever larger in his tight chest and all he could manage was a furious scowl.
He made one last break for freedom, finding himself instead flipped over as easily as one might toss an omelette. “No!” Bertie flailed his bony limbs, the frustration growing so hot that tears began welling up in his eyes. He tried with all his might to push against Jeeves’ side but it felt as if all the energy in his body had been mysteriously drained. The arm across his back was heavy and held him firmly in place despite his most meaningful intentions.
“As the lesson is clearly escaping your understanding, allow me to explain.” The valet raised his hand, bringing it down with as much force as he thought Bertram could handle. “You are to stay inside for the duration of your illness until I deem you fit for outside activity.”
The man across his lap hollered in pain, twisting this way and that so he might wiggle himself free. “No, it’s not fair, I haven’t done anything!” Jeeves waited patiently for the tantrum to pass, noting to himself how small the man felt across his knee. When Bertie was his normal high spirited self, not even the world could stand in his way. But the moment he had him in place for a scolding, it was as if his young gentleman threw away all notions of civilized behavior and instead adopted the mannerisms of a boy in primary school.
“You have gone directly against the orders of everyone around you.” He raised his hand again, gathering the mental fortitude needed to continue walloping the equivalent of a crying brat. It pained him to do so, but do so he must, as he rained down smacks to the underwear-clad backside across his knee. Wooster bounced and wriggled across his lap, kicking his legs frantically as though it might help him escape. “Now,” Jeeves stopped for a moment so he could rub soothing circles across his back. “Have you anything to say for yourself?”
The valet waited for an answer, hoping for Bertie’s own sake that some semblance of self preservation might take hold. A full minute passed before he noticed Bertram’s hands clench into fists, his shoulders rising and ankles crossing. So, his headstrong young charge chose to guard his belief that the punishment was unwarranted.
“Very well,” the valet replied almost under his breath. In one swift move Jeeves grabbed onto the waistband of Bertie’s undergarments and yanked them down to expose his now rosy pink skin. Bertram of course was mortified at the thought of being bared and threw his hands back to preserve his modesty.
“Jeeves!” He shouted indignantly. While one hand was blocked off by the boulder of a man that was Reginald Jeeves, the other advanced in getting a hold of the thin white cotton now around his lower thighs. Bertie twisted his upper half to better reach back, trying desperately to pull them back up. “No, you can’t!” he rather demanded.
“Bertram Wilberforce Wooster.” The valet’s voice was practically booming now, startling the frightened man into listening. “You do not decide the matters of your spanking, do I make myself clear?”
Bertie blushed to his ears at hearing his man so plainly state his predicament but held onto his underpants nonetheless. “But Jeeves!” his voice reached a new octave, cracking with the impact of his shattered dignity. “I’m not a babe to be smacked.” Even to him the whine in his tone was painfully obvious and he cringed inwardly.
“When you behave like a babe in need of a smacking, Bertram, I will treat you as such.” He then took Bertie’s hand in his own, holding it captive against his side as he pulled the underpants down to join his trousers. “Now, if you would be so kind as to remind me of the reason you are here.”
The sick man trembled slightly, both from being bared and from his growing temperature. “Please,” Bertie begged. When all he got was a seering smack to his hindquarters in response, he yelped in surprise as his legs twitched anxiously. Jeeves knew it wasn’t long before his young escapee gave in, as this tactic had a nearly guaranteed success rate.
Of course he really hadn’t planned on having to go quite so far as to bare him for the spanking, but if it meant keeping him safe while he recovered then so be it. Though in all honesty, the butler had really expected just the reminder of being over his knee and a few choice smacks to do the trick.
Jeeves pulled the sad man forward a bit so his upper half was situated more comfortably across the settee, the position also giving him easier access to his sit spots. Raising his hand to hopefully make his point and finish the punishment, the valet delivered a series of rapid-fire smacks directly to Bertie’s most sensitive skin. The poor man let out a shriek that would put banshees to shame, lowering his head as he cried. “I’m sorry!”
Finally, the valet breathed a sigh of relief, resting his hand against Bertie’s hot thigh. “What are you sorry for Bertram?”
“For- for going outsideinnsteadufstayeenunside.”
“I’m afraid I can’t hear you when you bury your head in the cushions.”
Bertie lifted his head, taking a deep breath and trying his best to level his breathing. “I said I’m sorry.”
“Yes, I did hear the first half. The reasoning, however, escaped me.”
“I went down to the- the club, and fought you when you tried to punish me.”
“Do you by chance remember why that is wrong?”
“Oh, Jeeves,” he whined. The valet lifted his hand, causing Bertie to clench all over and rush to explain. “You instructed me to stay indoors and I didn’t!”
“Very good, and do you recall why fighting your punishment is regrettable?”
The sick man’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Because it’ll earn me more?”
“Precisely. You are however, always permitted to object if you believe my decision to be unfair.”
“I'm aware,” he grumbled.
“But you must do so in a calm and dignified manner. Tell me, do you believe your behavior was calm and dignified?”
Taking into account the way he’d carried on at having his underwear removed, or when he’d fought being dragged to the couch, Bertie bit his lip and shook his head.
“Then you will find it justified in my decision that you have earned extra for defiance.”
Bertram felt a lump in his throat at the prospect of earning more. His body felt positively spent, and his backside burned something fierce. “Oh no,” he cried, tears beginning to spill down his cheeks again. His legs bent at the knees, subconsciously protecting his posterior as he buried his head in his elbow.
“Considering your current state, however, I’ve decided that you may choose when you receive these extra smacks.” Moreso, Jeeves didn’t particularly enjoy the prospect of putting further strain on a sick man.
“Never,” Bertie mumbled, though it was broken up by the sniffles and tears currently streaming down his face.
“If you would like the matter over with now, you will receive 10 with my hand. If you choose to delay the event, you will receive 5 with the paddle before bed.”
A fresh sob broke through and Bertie cried in earnest, his shoulders arching as he unconsciously made himself small. It truly broke Jeeves’ heart to see his dear boy so fully collapsed and sorrowful but then he reminded himself of the reason why. He was tasked with keeping the young gentleman in line, and if he was to keep him alive when the man’s own survival instincts failed him, then he’d have to carry through.
Bertie was squeezing the hand tucked against his side as he answered, “Later. I w-want it later.”
That was all the confirmation Jeeves needed to end the punishment right then and there. He pulled up the man’s underpants, not bothering with the trousers as he lifted Bertie up to sit on his thigh. The tear-streaked face that greeted him could have belonged to a weeping child with how miserable he looked. Two red rimmed eyes peered up at him hopefully, unsure if he was forgiven. The larger man pulled him close and Bertie wrapped his arms around him, burying his face immediately into his shoulder.
Jeeves would have to get the shirt laundered but at the moment he couldn’t seem to care about the snot and tears soaking through the fabric. All he could really focus on was how glad he felt that Bertram didn’t hate him for being harsh. He knew the young man needed this, needed the affection just as much as he needed the firm hand.
He rubbed one warm hand up and down Bertie’s back, not stopping until he felt the man’s tears subside. “You are forgiven and the matter shall be forgotten.”
“Thank you Jeeves,” Bertie answered tiredly.
“Aside from the five you have earned tonight of course.” The butler felt Bertram’s shoulders slump, a guttural groan slipping out of his throat. Bertie pulled back, wiping at his face with his sleeves.
“I think I’d like to rest my head for a bit.”
“Very good, Sir.” Jeeves helped the man to his feet, keeping a steady hand on his leg for balance as the sick man pulled up his trousers. They walked back to the bedroom where the valet quickly gathered a fresh set of pyjamas, setting them down on the bed so he might change for a nap. “Shall I bring a cup of tea, Sir?”
Bertie flopped down onto the bed, fighting back a cough as he curled up into a cocoon of blankets. “Actually Jeeves.” Bertram cleared his throat, peering up at the man from the entrance to his blanket burrito. “It’s positively freezing in here. Can you get some blankets from the cupboard?”
Jeeves smiled fondly at him, nodding his head. “Very good, Sir.”