Ashleigh Anpilova


A sequel to A Simple Crush.

Gibbs decides to go and find out whether what he feels for Ducky is more than a crush.

A first time story.

Written: April 2008. Word count: 600.




Never be afraid to touch someone.


All the way to Reston he told himself it was just an infatuation. A simple crush. No more. No less.


It couldn't be love.


Just because he found more reasons than ever to visit Autopsy; more excuses to get his hands on Ducky; more ways to get inside Ducky's personal space, it didn't mean anything.


It was just a phase.


He didn't even know why he'd gone to Reston. But now that he was there, he might as well go in, have a drink, see Ducky.


Oh, he saw Ducky.


He certainly saw Ducky.


It wasn't how he'd expected to see Ducky.


It wasn't how he'd ever expected to see Ducky.


It wasn't how he'd ever expected to see anyone.


And it wasn't his fault!


Mrs. Mallard had let him in, telling him Ducky was upstairs and he should go up.


He'd thought that meant Ducky was reading or working or watching TV or snoozing or a hundred- and-one other possibilities.


He hadn't thought, even for an instant, that Ducky might be


He came to a dead stop inside Ducky's bedroom and just stared.


Frozen, Ducky stared back at him.


He saw Ducky's mouth form his name, but no sound came out.


And as he saw his name being formed, he saw something else move too; only slightly, not deliberately, but enough.


In less time than it had taken Ducky to form his name, he'd closed the bedroom door, thrown his coat on the floor and crossed the room to Ducky's bed.


He sat down, bent over Ducky one hand sliding beneath Ducky's neck, the other going much further down Ducky's body. As he lowered his mouth to Ducky's, he whispered, "Let me do that for you, Duck."


But Ducky caught his hand and partly turned his head away. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Gibbs?" he snarled. "What sick game are you playing?" But the anger was dispelled by the panic in the pale gaze.


"No games, Duck. I'll never play games with you." And it was true. The only game he'd been playing was the one with himself. The one that had let him 'convince' himself it was only an infatuation. A simple crush. A phase. Not love.


"Sssh, let me, Duck. Let me please you. Let me kiss you, hold you, touch you. Let me love you, my love." And with those words, he brushed away the panic, the indecision, and put his mouth on Ducky's lips and kissed him.


He kissed him and went on kissing him, while his hand caressed Ducky's arousal, moving steadily, touching Ducky, touching his dearest friend, giving him pleasure, giving him love.


He stroked him and went on stroking him, sure, steady strokes. Somehow knowing what Ducky wanted, what he needed, what he liked. He went on loving Ducky, giving him love, showing him how loved he was until Ducky's body did what it so clearly needed to do.


"I love you, Jethro," Ducky murmured, as his climax shook his body.


He held him until he stopped shaking, held him until he stopped shivering, held him until the pale gaze became focused once more.


Then he told him. "Love you too, Duck."


And that was that.


Simple it might be.


Simple it was.


A crush it most certainly was not.


It was love.


Pure and simple love.


It always had been.


It always would be.


It took him mere seconds to strip his clothes off and get into bed with Ducky, tugging the covers around both of them.


He then set about showing Ducky exactly how much he was loved.



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