Ashleigh Anpilova


Against his better judgment Ducky took Gibbs into his bed. His new lover is asleep, but Ducky is thinking.

A first time story.

Written: April 2009. Word count: 1,000.



Ducky lay in his bed, his mind churning.


By his side sleeping peacefully was the person he'd always wanted in his bed. The person he'd wanted since the moment they'd met. The person who was his dearest and closest friend. The person he loved beyond all logic. The person he felt he had betrayed.


He never should have done it. He never should have listened to Jethro's pleas. He never should have looked at him. He never should have let Jethro talk him round. He never should have taken Jethro into his bed, into his arms. And he certainly never should have kissed him and made love to him.


"What have I done?" he whispered into the semi-darkness.


Had he risked years of friendship for a few hours of pleasure? For one night when he'd finally got what he'd always wanted?


He tried to tell himself it hadn't been his idea. He never would have made the first move, no matter how much he'd longed to kiss Jethro, to touch him beyond the platonic level, to caress him, to have him naked in his arms, in his bed. To make love to and with him. He never would have done that. Never. He'd lived with his wants, his desires for so many years; he could have continued to live with them.


But Jethro had been so insistent, so needy, so desperate, so determined. Yet another relationship with a woman had failed and he'd gone to Ducky as the one person who'd never turned away from him, never walked away from him, never spoken bitter or angry words to him. The one person, he'd said, who truly loved and knew him, and didn't want to change him.


He'd overridden all of Ducky's objections. He'd begged Ducky, he'd showed Ducky a side even Ducky had never seen before, at least not in such depth. The man who had, a few hours ago, sat next to him drinking whiskey and using all his power to persuade Ducky to do what he wanted, was not the Leroy Jethro Gibbs whom Ducky was used to seeing.


Finally Ducky had been unable to look into the dark gaze and listen to Jethro's voice and see how defeated his body language was any longer and he'd given in. Against his better judgment, against everything he knew to be right, he'd offered Jethro his hand and led him up to his bedroom.


It had been good; it had been more than good. Jethro's intensity had surprised him; as had his tenderness, the way he'd kissed Ducky, touched him, caressed him, stroked him, paid homage to a body Ducky knew was past its prime. How he hadn't, as Ducky had expected, wanted to penetrate him. Ducky had never been as loved or cherished, had never been made to feel that he was the most important person in the world to someone.


Even in his fantasies, which he had on occasion allowed himself to enjoy, it hadn't been anywhere near as perfect, as wonderful as reality had been. And that made it so much worse.


Jethro had made love to him; there was no question about it. Jethro hadn't just used him, hadn't just taken his own pleasure, hadn't just stroked Ducky to climax because it was 'only fair'. Jethro had made love to him.


And it was that more than anything else that troubled Ducky. How was Jethro going to deal with that fact tomorrow? How was he going to be able to look at Ducky and face what they'd done?


Would he hate him? Would he ignore him? Would he shut him out? Would he even pretend it'd never happened? Would he want to make a big thing about how it didn't make him gay? Would he blame Ducky? Tell him it was all his fault for letting him know how he felt about him? Would he blame Ducky for agreeing? Would he tell him he shouldn't have given in? Would he want to end their friendship? Or would everything be exactly the same as it had been for all the years they'd known one another?


In truth, Ducky didn't know how it could be. In fact it couldn't be. It was like Pandora's Box; once it had been opened nothing could ever be the same again. And even if somehow Jethro managed to ignore the fact that he'd woken up in Ducky's bed with clear evidence of what they'd done, Ducky wasn't certain he could do the same. Wanting and fantasizing about having was one thing; wanting and suddenly having was something entirely different.


No, tomorrow was going to be a very difficult day. He wasn't ashamed to admit he was afraid of just what tomorrow would bring and how he, how Jethro, how they would face it.


As he thought about tomorrow, he had a sudden vivid recollection of himself as a child trying to persuade his maternal grandmother that he could do the chore she wanted him to do tomorrow. She had told him simply; 'tomorrow never comes'. Oh, how he wished that was the case. Oh, how he -


The much-talked about telepathy that he and Jethro were meant to share clicked in and he turned his head to see Jethro blinking at him. Ducky's mouth turned dry as he tried to read the dark gaze.


"Duck?" Jethro put his hand on Ducky's arm. "You're here."


Ducky nodded. "Yes, Jethro."


"Thank God for that. So it wasn't just another dream."


Ducky blinked as he processed Jethro's words, in particular the penultimate one. 'Another'? Jethro had -


The next second all thoughts about what Jethro had said, how Jethro might react, what this evening might do to their friendship fled, as he was gathered back into Jethro's arms and Jethro's mouth and hands began to once again make love to every inch of his body.


As he gave himself up to the love being bestowed upon him, Ducky decided his grandmother had been correct: tomorrow never comes.



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