WHERE IS DUCKY?
Jethro returns home after a conference to find that Ducky isn't waiting for him.
An established relationship story.
Written: August 2006. Word count: 824.
"Hey, Duck," Jethro called, as he pushed open the front door. "I'm home." Silence greeted him.
Frowning, he pushed the door closed, dropped his bags on the floor and called again, "Duck? You there?" Again silence greeted him.
Where was Ducky? Normally whenever Jethro went away, not that it happened very often these days, Ducky was there waiting for him when he returned home. And this time he'd been away for a week, a grueling, exhausting, boring week, filled with endless lectures and constant conversation. He's been looking forward to having Ducky in his arms as soon as he walked through the front door.
Pausing for a second to check his 'Ducky's in danger' sense hadn't been activated, he moved towards their sitting room. "Duck?" Maybe his lover had fallen asleep; he had told Jethro that he'd worked late on several occasions while Jethro had been away.
But the room was empty.
Jethro continued his trek through the rooms. But there was still no sign of his lover. In fact, had the Morgan not been outside, Jethro might have believed that Ducky wasn't even at home.
Then it hit him. Maybe Ducky was down in the basement waiting for him. Maybe he had some small surprise or something else planned.
He clattered down the stairs, fully expecting to find his lover; but once again the place was empty of anything living and breathing. He briefly touched his boat; the boat he hadn't worked on as often as he'd used to, in the eight months since Ducky had moved in with him. Then he turned and went back upstairs.
Maybe Ducky was in the garden. Jethro strode to the window of the sitting room, but he couldn't see any sign of his lover. He could be down at the far end, in the part that was hidden from the sitting room by the large tree. He'd have to go up to their bedroom to be able to see, or go down there himself.
He chose the former; he had to take his bags upstairs anyway. As he climbed the stairs, he was now feeling a little miffed. Ducky knew what time he'd be home; he'd even called him from the car to let him know when to expect him. He had been expecting Ducky to be waiting for him.
He pushed open the bedroom door and came to a dead stop. Blinking he looked at the bed. The bed where, under the covers, his lover reclined against the pillows. "Duck?"
"Hello, my dear. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come upstairs." Ducky's tone was soft, as he smiled up at Jethro.
"I didn't think you'd be in bed in the middle of the afternoon, Duck. Unless," Jethro dropped his bags and hurried across the room, sat on the edge of the bed and put his hand on Ducky's forehead. "You're not ill are you?" It would have been just like Ducky not to have told him when Jethro called, that he was ill.
"Oh, no, dearest. I'm perfectly well, thank you."
"You feel warm. You sure you're not running a temperature?"
Ducky sighed and pulled Jethro's hand away from his forehead down to his mouth. He kissed the palm, and then turned his attention to the fingers. Jethro moaned, as the caress become more intimate, and his body started to react.
"Do stop fussing, Jethro," Ducky murmured between kisses. "I am the doctor, after all. And I know there are other reasons why one might be warm. In fact, my dearest, I believe that your own temperature has increased during the last few moments."
Well that was true, it had.
Ducky stopped his ministrations and began to tug at Jethro's jacket. "In fact, my dear, I fear that if you do not remove at least some of your clothes, that you will begin to overheat, and then you might become ill. As your doctor, I believe that you should now undress and allow me to give you a through, a very thorough, examination."
"Du . . ." Jethro started to say, but his head was pulled down and his lips captured by Ducky's own.
Several hours later, stretched out next to Jethro, his hand still meandering over Jethro's body, Ducky said languidly, "I believe you wished to say something, my dear?"
"Huh?" In turn Jethro's own fingers were still lightly caressing his beloved's body.
"You said my name, before I so rudely interrupted you by doing this." Ducky kissed him again.
When they broke for much needed air, Jethro said, now distracted by the way the rays from the sunset were filtering through the half-drawn curtains, and how they were playing with Ducky's hair. "Oh, that. I was just going to say that I love you, Duck."
Ducky beamed. "I love you too, my dearest Jethro. Now," he said, again tugging Jethro's head towards his own. "Where were we?"
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