Title: Duty Calls (1/1)
Author: manette
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Jag belongs to DPB
Summary: Fun with Harm and Mac-- a Saturday morning finds them having breakfast.
AN: I've been working on the HBX challenge but I got stuck so I decided to do this one first, so this is for Pixie’s January challenge.
Harm tossed the grapefruit in the air and caught it. “You want half of this, Mac.”
“What do you think?” She wrinkled her nose in distaste and shook her head.
He watched as she bit into a donut instead and wrinkled his nose back at her. He cut the grapefruit in half, carried it over to the table, and sat down catty-cornered from her. “It’s my duty as your loving husband to try to get you to eat healthier.”
“That’s very sweet, Harm. But I don’t do fruit first thing in the morning—unless it comes inside a donut.” She licked some blueberry filling off her lips and asked, “So, tell me, what else is covered by this duty thing?” She waited until he was settled and then put her feet up in his lap.
“Let’s see.” He took a bite of his grapefruit and pretended to think while he ran his hand up inside the leg of her pajamas and rubbed her calf. “I’m supposed to let you put your ice cold feet on me when you get in bed at night, unless I want to get up and get you some socks.” She grinned and wiggled her sock covered feet against him. “I’m supposed to take out the garbage, make sure the toilet seat is down, and mow the lawn.”
“Boy, are you getting off easy. We don’t even have a lawn.”
“Oh, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’m also supposed to open pickle jars, kill any bugs or rodents we encounter, hold your purse while we’re shopping, ask for directions if we’re lost—” He trailed off, sighing under the enormous burden of it all.
She grinned and got out of her chair and climbed into his lap. After wrapping her arms around his neck, she asked, “What else?”
“Oh, the list is endless—I have to carry in the groceries, carry out the laundry, and change any light bulbs that involve climbing a ladder—or if you insist I can hold the ladder while you do it.”
“So, do I get to hold the ladder if you do it?”
“Nah—it’s normally a one man operation, Mac.”
“But you don’t think I’m man enough to handle it alone?”
“It’s not that, but that ladder’s old, and it’s been known to wobble. You might fall.”
“And you’d catch me?”
“You know it, Sugar.”
“So, what if you fall?”
“If you were holding the ladder I’d squash you.”
“Then don’t fall. Besides I just want to stand at the bottom of the ladder and watch your six.” She laughed and tried to goose him on the butt. “For old times sake.”
He squirmed and grabbed her hands. “Keep your hands to yourself, young lady.”
She shrugged and sat very still with her hands in her lap.
“What are you doing, Mac?”
“Keeping my hand to myself,” she said sweetly.
He picked up each hand and kissed it in turn before placing her arms back around his neck. When he pulled her close, he asked, “Who told you to do that?”
“You did. I was being the obedient wife.” She nuzzled his ear.
“It’s about time. Now where was I? Oh yeah, I was just about to get to the romantic, mushy stuff.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, goody—go ahead.”
“I’m supposed to tell you you’re gorgeous at least twice a day. I can’t make fun of you when you cry at dumb commercials. I have to remember birthdays and anniversaries, hold your hand when we walk in the park, agree with you at least once a day whether I want to or not, tell you bedtime stories, kiss you when you’re good, kiss you when you're bad—” He stopped talking and started demonstrating. “I’m afraid this kissing one is going to take up a lot of my time.”
She kissed him back and then suggested, “Maybe we could settle for a handshake and a pat on the back some of the time?”
He patted her on the back and said, “No, I don’t think there’s any wiggle room in the kissing requirements. The handbook was pretty specific about that.”
“There’s a handbook?”
“Of course—but then again it wasn’t written for men who are married to Marines—so we may need to revise it so it suits us better. I think the one about getting out of bed in the middle of the night to see if the funny noise is a burglar and the one about changing flat tires can be your responsibilities.”
“I don’t know about that. My wifely duties already take up a lot of my time.”
He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “And I plan to keep it that way.”
She ignored him and said, “What with slaving away over a hot stove and waiting on you hand and foot—” He let out an explosive laugh, and she punched him lightly in the chest. “—I’m pretty busy. And then there’s that no nagging clause—”
“Can I get that one in writing?”
She gave him the evil eye before she continued, “—I’m supposed to tell you how big and strong you are when you open the pickle jar, and tell you how wise you are when you stop and ask directions. I need to baby you when you’re sick, hug you when you’re worn out, stay awake while you try to describe those weird dream you always have, let you try to repair anything that breaks first before we give in and call the repairman, soap your back in the shower—”
“Just my back?” he asked wickedly.
“And I promise not to use your razor to shave my legs unless it’s a dire emergency. And last but not least—we can never go to bed mad—unless it’s really, really, really late, and then we have to fight naked until it’s resolved.”
He laughed and said, “Wow, I like that idea. I think I’ll pick a fight right now.”
She leaned her forehead against his and said, “Sorry. I’m too happy. Nothing you could do could make me mad today.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“You want to make me mad?”
“What do you expect? You dangle the prospect of naked fighting in front of me. That’s not the kind of thing I’m likely to forget.”
“Forget it, Harmon.”
“Oh—you used my full name. I think I’m making progress.”
“What if we save it for a special occasion—maybe Valentine’s Day?”
“And people wonder why I love you. Okay, you win.” He leaned in and kissed her again. “But it’s just because you’re gorgeous, and you taste like blueberries. Did you notice how I worked that gorgeous thing into the conversation?”
“Yes, it was very smooth.” This time she kissed him and said, “Mmm—you taste like grapefruit.”
“I thought you didn’t like grapefruit.” His hands slipped under her pajama top and found the bare skin of her back.
She bit back a moan of pleasure and replied breathlessly, “It’s my duty as your loving wife to start eating healthier, and I just got a brilliant idea. Why don’t we finish breakfast in bed?” Without waiting for his answer, she jumped off his lap, grabbed the box of donuts, balanced the grapefruit half on top, and pulled him out of his chair.
She started toward the bedroom, but stopped when she noticed he wasn’t behind her. “Harm, what are you doing?”
He had his head stuck inside the refrigerator and was rummaging around. “Aha,” he exclaimed and straightened in triumph. He held up a pickle jar in one hand, while making a muscle and flexing the bicep of his other arm a few times. She kept a straight face even when he pinned her with a penetrating stare and said, “In case you want to watch me open it later.”
When they reached the bedroom door, he caught her around the waist and danced her over to the bed. With great fanfare he carefully placed the pickle jar on the nightstand, and then he slowly relieved her of the grapefruit, the doughnuts and her pajamas in no particular order.
Sometime later she murmured, “Wow, I bet that’s not in the handbook.”
He collapsed, panting, back onto his pillow and grinned unrepentantly at his wife. “No, but damn—it should be.”
The End