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Locked Drawers

Title: Locked Drawers
Fandom: Psmith (PG Wodehouse)
Pairings: Psmith/Mike
Rating: PG-13 (Just for safety)
Warnings: Pure fluff.
Word Count: 800
Summary: In which Psmith fails to consider that a drawer was locked for a reason and a letter causes all sorts of problems.
A/N: Set during Psmith and Mike's time at Cambridge. Told as a series of drabbles.

Psmith stared at the letter in horrified fascination. His immediate instinct was to crumple it up and burn it, possibly jumping on the ashes for good measure, but he forced himself to walk calmly to a chair and read it through once more. He entertained a vain hope that he had got hold of the wrong end of the stick, which lasted until he reached the line, ‘shower your face with burning kisses’. A definite lack of ambiguity there, he decided. He stared at the addressee: Mike Jackson. All he cared about was that it was not signed ‘Rupert Psmith’.


A knock at the door sent Psmith diving for the open drawer of the desk with a total disregard for his trousers. Impossible to explain to Mike why he had been going through his things. Any explanation would have meant confessing thoughts he disliked admitting even to himself.

The knock sounded again. Not Mike. Even in his current confusion, Psmith managed some eloquent nonsense about an important letter he had to write, and the intruder left.

Returning to the desk, he arranged everything precisely as it had been before. The world could collapse, but everything would still look the same.


Talk, Psmith, he told himself sternly. It’s what you do best, after all.

Several times during the evening he had tried to speak, but a strange knot in his throat had kept him silent. And meanwhile, Mike chattered on about cricket and the likelihood of getting his Blue next year.

Cricket, Psmith reflected gloomily, was the only thing that got Mike excited. Cricket and, presumably, Henry Brady, his poetic correspondent.

Soundlessly, Psmith cursed his own stupidity. If only he’d said something! But supposing he had, what if Mike had still preferred Brady to him? Perhaps this was better than rejection.


A few days later, Mike burst into the room in which Psmith was reading.

“I found this,” he said, holding up something that glinted sharply in the morning light. “It was in a locked drawer in my desk,” he continued, grimly.

“If indeed it is, as it appears to be, made of solid gold, I should think that a very sensible precaution to take.”

“I know it’s yours. I only bought you those cufflinks last Christmas.”

The silence that followed pressed in uncomfortably.

“What? No clever explanations at all?” Mike’s voice, usually so cordial, had become venomously sarcastic.

“Not one.”


Psmith stared miserably at the page in front of him. He had made a promising start with the words, ‘Dear Jackson,’ but now he floundered.

Letting Mike storm out like that had been a mistake, but what could he have said? That he had been so desperate for a semblance of intimacy that he’d sunk to lockpicking?

He glanced at the picture on his desk that had been cut so painstakingly from the Sedleigh First XI photograph. Its edges were slightly crinkled, as though it was often held.

Psmith picked up his pen and tried to find the right words.


Mike eyed the letter in his hands as if it was liable to explode. He had read the apologetic first paragraph, but it was the start of the next that caused a curious throbbing at his temples.

That three simple words could -! And that he had not noticed! He refolded the letter, shoved it deep into his coat pocket, only to snatch it out a moment later to read through it again.

He tried to consider the contents logically. Broken-into desk: explained. Psmith’s unusually sombre behaviour: explained. What it failed to explain was the agonising rush of his heart.


Henry Brady was a decent chap. He could also, Mike discovered, be painfully pragmatic at times.

“You don’t love me? Well, why on earth should you? We were just two chaps who enjoyed each other’s company – I don’t recall any mention of love. These things happen. I certainly have no wish to spend my life with a University fling."

“Right,” said Mike, feeling somewhat dazed.

“As it happens, there’s a rather good-looking rower I wouldn’t mind knowing better.”

“Well, er, have fun.” Mike blushed at his ridiculous choice of words, but Henry grinned.

“I have every intention of doing so.”


“So, Psmith. You love me?” Mike was sitting in an armchair; Psmith perched elegantly on its arm.

With a quiet groan, he buried his face in Mike’s neck and murmured, “Please don’t make me say it again.”

“But I like hearing you say it.”

“Very well. I love, nay, I adore you, Comrade Jackson. Would you like me to recite poetry for you? I do a passable line in Catullus.”

“Oh do hush now,” said Mike, wrapping his arms around Psmith’s body and pulling him onto his lap.

With a contented sigh, Psmith let his head rest on Mike’s chest.


( 25 comments — Leave a comment )
May. 16th, 2009 08:39 pm (UTC)

You have filled my "d'awww" quotient for the day. :) :) :)
May. 17th, 2009 05:49 am (UTC)
Oh good! :)
May. 16th, 2009 10:20 pm (UTC)
Psmith at a loss for words... *chortles* Sweet! :D
May. 17th, 2009 05:56 am (UTC)
I know, scarcely conceivable, isn't it? :D
May. 16th, 2009 11:06 pm (UTC)
Its edges were slightly crinkled, as though it was often held. - oh, Psmith! I feel sorry for him in his distress but I also quite liked seeing his vulnerable side. Lovely ending! :)
May. 17th, 2009 06:02 am (UTC)
I do feel bad for it, but angsty Psmith is kind of fun. :)
May. 17th, 2009 03:16 am (UTC)
I've been meaning to do some Psmithangst myself, and am now wondering if we share a brain. Poor lil' vulnerable!Psmith. For some reason the image of him on the arm of Mike's chair just kills me. Would you mind if I catapulted off of this and wrote a psmut sequel?
May. 17th, 2009 05:36 am (UTC)
Please, go right ahead. Writing smut scares the hell out of me but I have no objection to reading it!
May. 17th, 2009 05:54 am (UTC)
I just desperately need some smut for this fandom AND THERE ISN'T ANY. D=

So I'll have to make some. *Turns blue. Levitates. Reflects that perhaps too much time has been spent on the Watchmen kinkmeme.*
May. 17th, 2009 06:27 am (UTC)
Oh, I hope you do write it! Would love you to!
May. 17th, 2009 04:41 am (UTC)
May. 17th, 2009 06:03 am (UTC)
Thank you!

Still scared/entranced by your icon...
May. 17th, 2009 06:42 am (UTC)
HAHAH! Oh my...

Some of the comments on that video are pretty funny.
May. 17th, 2009 06:48 am (UTC)
Oh, my! I never read comments, but went back and looked when you mentioned it. There's some interesting people out there. No live and let live for them, I guess!
May. 20th, 2009 04:41 pm (UTC)
Sappy smile and d'awwwwww successfully launched.
you = win.
May. 20th, 2009 05:37 pm (UTC)
Thank you! *beams*
May. 25th, 2009 07:22 pm (UTC)
I liked this. It was short, but it told the whole story. Good show.
May. 27th, 2009 12:12 pm (UTC)
Thank you very much!

I had to forcibly steer myself away from all the non-essential details because I wanted to keep it kind of sparse. If that makes sense. :)
Aug. 25th, 2009 12:49 pm (UTC)
What a bundle of lavender fluff! Short, warm, and satisfying.
Helplessly-in-love Psmith is such a dear. And sincerely practical Mike, too.
Jun. 6th, 2010 02:10 pm (UTC)
Recently I have read your fanfics and I want to say that they are really great! Thank you very much for writing it!
Would you mind terribly, if I translate this fic into Russian and publish it on our Wodehouse community? I will state everywhere that I am just a translator and you are the author of the fic, of course.
Thank you once again for your wonderful work!
I will wait for you answer very much!
Jun. 6th, 2010 02:13 pm (UTC)
Oh my! Wow, that's so sweet, please go right ahead!
Jun. 6th, 2010 11:31 pm (UTC)
Thank you!!
Mar. 5th, 2011 01:42 pm (UTC)
How did I miss this when you first posted it? <3!!
Mar. 6th, 2011 06:54 pm (UTC)
:D No idea, but comments at any time are always appreciated!
( 25 comments — Leave a comment )


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