Author's Note: It's not easy to write naughty-fic for Jeeves and Wooster, I must say. Wodehouse is so darned innocent. And I will not break down the master/servant boundaries just to get them to snog, much as I might wish it when watching Fry and Laurie do the honors. So I came up with this little tidbit. Crossposted to LJ Comm Fanfic_bakeoff.

Most Every Chap

Most every chap did it. And many in the metropolis, Bertie Wooster guessed, did it thinking of Bobbie Wickham. Something about her profile did funny things to a fellow. And those "funny things" led to needs. Certain young male needs. Such things were never spoken of—either in polite company or even in the safe and sure ribaldry of the Drones Club—but they were needs. And needs needed…attending. Hence, in the quiet of his darkened room and the wee hours of the morning, Bertie attended. Ah, young Bobbie, he thought, firm grip and agile wrist doing its utmost, One day I shall make you my own.

The mind is a flexible thing, even when one might wish it otherwise, and before he knew it, Bertie was wondering whether Gussie Finknottle did what he was doing while thinking of Madeline Bassett newts. He sighed as he wilted, and endeavored to return his thoughts to Bobbie.

All went well for a time again, then visions of beautiful Bobbie suddenly transformed into onerous Honoria Glossop. How, he did not know, but transform she did. He groaned and released his grip. Could it be that the lovely Miss Wickham was no longer strong enough fodder?

Summoning the lovely Florence Craye was no help. His imagined ex-fiancée merely demanded he stop swilling cocktails and read some improving books. And when she got to discussion of molding him like a jelly, Bertie despaired. Such talk inevitably brought Aunt Agatha to mind, and then resuscitation was beyond hope.

Suddenly, the door opened. He was caught!

Jeeves stepped into the darkness and calmly announced, "I understand Miss Wickham has purchased a new golf ensemble that is shorter than regulation allows." Then he turned and shut the door behind him.

Good old Jeeves, thought Bertie, and resumed.