Established Tiva. Fluffy drabble of drabbly fluff. Because I just wanted to write something and this is what came out.
No spoilers, and they're not mine.
Rules of Elopement
"I don't think I really want to elope," Ziva said one morning, twirling the ring on her finger absentmindedly. She and Tony were curled up on the couch in her apartment watching the morning news before a Saturday full of running errands.
"No?" was the response from her fiance, a surprised expression finding its way to his face. After all, Ziva was the one who'd suggested elopement in the first place.
"Well I still do. Mostly. But - and this is going to sound silly - I want to wear a gown," she said, a sheepish smile painting her features.
"So wear one then," he responded, kissing her gently on the cheek. "There aren't any rules of elopement." He paused. "That I'm aware of anyway."
She smiled fully then, wrapping her arms around him. "You should wear a tux, love. And can we please invite our family? I don't want to have a church or some expensive venue. Something simple. Like a gazebo on a beach somewhere. You and me, dressed up, our closest family and friends with us. We exchange vows and rings, kiss," pausing to punctuate the word with a smooch, "and you sweep me off to our honeymoon, wherever in the world you want to take me."
"Because I know you will follow me anywhere," he responded, kissing her back, his hand brushing her cheek.
"I know you would do the same, Tony."
"I may have proven that on one or two occasions," was his smirking response. He wrapped himself around her fully then, pulling her into him for a passionate yet sweet kiss.
"Baby, we can do anything you want," he added. The smile that lit up her face was the only thing that mattered to him. Anything to make her smile at him that way, to make those eyes light up like that. "Though if you want the big deal wedding, we can do that too," he added.
"No," was her quick response, and he raised his eyebrows inquisitively. "No, I had considered the big wedding. Some great cathedral with stained-glass windows and candles and flowers. It would be lovely, I am sure. But I do not want to deal with all of that. I just want to marry you. And as uncharacteristically girly as it may seem for me, I really just want to wear a white gown when we vow to love each other forever."
"You're allowed to be girly sometimes, Ziva," he responded. "Like the way you giggle when I kiss your stomach. I love that."
She kissed him on the cheek, and then again on the mouth. "I noticed."
"I just want to marry you," he affirmed again. "You tell me what I have to do to make it happen and I will do it. If you want me to hula hoop naked with the penguins at the zoo before I can marry you, I'll do it."
"Well now that you mention it ..." she said, teasing him, but he caught her lips in his before she could finish the statement. If there was one thing she would never tire of, it would be kissing him. Every time his lips touched her own, a spark ran through her. It was intoxicating, really.
"One last thing," she said, pulling away slightly, their mouths still mere inches apart, "I want a photographer so we can remember it forever."
"A gown, a gazebo, and a photographer," he murmured in agreement, " it sounds absolutely perfect." She was only able to smile for a moment before he leaned in as if to kiss her, but stopped short to add, "Do I get one request?"
"Hmm?" She murmured impatiently.
"Wear your hair curly," was his response.
"I think I can do that for you, Tony," she responded, and pulled him the rest of the way to her, taking his lips with her own, his hands finding his way into the aforementioned curls, effectively ending the conversation and starting something much less verbal.
I feel like I write better angst/sadness or humor than just simple happy stuff. But this just popped into my mind, because I was thinking: I want to get married (again), but I really only want the gown. (And the groom, perhaps?)
I appreciate feedback.