Ducky muses about Jethro's hair.
An established relationship story.
Written: December 2008. Word count: 300.
Abigail has been known to call my beloved 'my silver-haired fox', much to my bemusement, even if not to Jethro's.
You see it is such an incredibly fitting description.
There is something of the fox about Jethro in the way he is not really a pack animal, but is solitary, and the prey he hunts is always alive. And he is, it has to be said, rather cunning in many aspects of his life; he is the master of keeping people guessing.
However, I suspect it was not his character so much as his hair to which Abigail referred when she first made the comment.
Jethro's hair has always fascinated me more than a little. I, you see, have always worn my hair longer than has often been the custom for a man. In turn my beloved has had the same Marine style haircut from the moment we met. Although it has to be said these days the cut near to the nape of the neck is not quite as dramatic as it once was. It is softer, less stubbly to the touch than the first time I ran my fingers over it.
Ah, he was a handsome young man when we first me, a very handsome young man. Dark haired, dark eyed, standing to attention in his uniform, he turned many a head - including mine. But if I am honest I think he has grown more handsome over the years, not less.
Yes, his dark hair was attractive, alluring even, but I much prefer the way it has turned silver, the way it now at times seems to shimmer. It gives him a regal look, an authoritarian one and makes him incredibly desirable to me.
My Jethro. Abigail is wrong; he is not her silver-haired fox he is mine.
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