Our Ladies In Crime, And In Love

OBLIVION

By: Sammy J

Self imposed prompt

Characters: Ziva David & Monique Lisson

Rating: M for Sexually Explicit Content

Summary: When a regaling of prior times in her line of work, Monique finds herself irrevocably attracted to her protégé. However, when she realizes that her counterpart may feel the same way, will she give into her deepest of desires?

She remained there, her heart pounding rapidly. It was not supposed to turn out this way. She was not supposed to fall for her mentor, only learn from her, yet there she was, five foot seven inches of nerve-racked Israeli as her European counterpart toyed with a bit of her hair. She was telling one her many stories of her times in Europe working for INTERPOL. There was this smile about her face as she recounted Italy, a country just a few hours of a flight away. All Ziva David could do was sit there and listen as the sound of Monique Lisson's words were drowned out by the beating of her rampant and love-stricken heart.

After a while, however, Monique quit speaking, for she could notice her protégé's nervousness. The brunette Israeli watched as her colleague allowed her hand to fall from Ziva's hair. Something seemed to be bothering the younger woman, and Monique had to question it. It was in her nature to do so. She feared it had been her borderline flirtatious actions which made her uncomfortable.

"What is the matter, Ziva?" She asked, her eyebrows knitting together with inquiry.

Ziva merely shook her head.

"Nothing," was all she said.

Monique's head fell to the side, as if to be in some sort of disbelief.

"Are you sure, Ziva? You know, you can always talk with me if you wish. I need to ramble less anyhow."

She laughed before reaching up and caressing her love interest's cheek. Ziva could not keep from allowing her eyes to close as she leaned into her touch.

"Monique, I…" Ziva started in a barely-there tone.

'This is a mission', Ziva reminded herself before her eyes fluttered open again.

However, no one said missions never involved sex, because the opposite was in fact true. When her eyes were fully open again, she noticed the expression on Monique's face. It was this expression like a flawless yet inexplicable mixture of lust, admiration, and quite possibly love. This look did nothing but frighten Ziva, not because she was scared of Monique wanting her, but because she was pretty sure she felt the same way too.

Meanwhile, Monique listened to her colleague's words intently and grew confused. She had yet to finish her sentence. Monique was practically dying with the desire to know what she said. It was like this force, tugging away at her soul. Her brows furrowed immensely, her confusion apparent.

"You, what? Hmm, Ziva?" Monique questioned, taking hold of Ziva's hand with her own.

Ziva sighed a breath, her mind everywhere and yet nowhere in that moment. She wanted so badly to tell the INTERPOL officer was she was feeling what she was thinking about, but this just was not a possibility. In fact, the prospect alone of doing such a thing terrified her, almost to the brink of death. A long while of sheer silence passed between them before Ziva finally spoke.

"I am sure."

This waiting expression on Monique's face faded to that of slight, barely notable disappointment.

"Okay… well… as long as you are sure."

Later that evening, Ziva was lying in her bed, which seemed more like a cot, as she stared up at the ceiling through the impenetrable darkness of the room she was within. Her mind was utterly wracked with thoughts of how that could have gone differently, a vast amount of various scenarios playing within her head. Ziva jumped when her bedroom door opened and shut.

"Easy, Ziva. It is only me."

The Israeli let out a breath of sheer relief. Her body posture more relaxed now, she reached up for the bedside lamp, and turned it on, which illuminated the room, casting a light glow on Monique's face.

"What is it you need, Monique?" Ziva asked, hesitant about her desire to know the answer.

"It is not about what I need Ziva…" She started, sauntering towards her. "It is about what you want."

Ziva inhaled sharply, her heart thudding in her chest. Did she really just hear Monique say this? Though befuddled, another emotion swarmed over her like a rabid wildfire. A heat filled her abdomen, and excited her senses. Everything felt and seemed amplified to an unfathomable level. Arousal pooled between her legs. She tried her hardest to suppress it, crossing her legs to put pressure on her throbbing clit which begged for attention. Monique noticed this and also Ziva's lingering brown orbs as they scanned over her counterpart's body.

"Ziva…" Monique purred as she walked closer.

She crouched down in front of the seated Israeli and carefully uncrossed her legs. A slight whimper escaped Ziva's lips, as though she tried to fight against her actions but knew her efforts would be futile and not what she truly wanted to do. Monique heard the whimper and took this as a positive sign, reaching up and cupping her face. She then did what she had wanted to do for ages. She leaned in and pressed her lips against Ziva's.

Ziva, however utterly shocked by this, did nothing to stop this. In fact she kissed her back, overwhelmed by her own desire. She never felt this way before and she doubt she ever would for anyone else again. Ziva's breathing was heavy when Monique pulled away from the kiss. Both of their brown eyes were almost black as they darkened with lust. Ziva opened her mouth to speak, but no words seemed to escape her. She merely ran her hands through Monique's long, deep brown hair as her eyes darted over every one of her facial features.

"Ziva, tell me what you are thinking." Monique requested. "What is it you wish to say?"

Ziva swallowed hard as a lump found its way into her throat, her nerves getting the better of her.

"I…" Ziva started, her heart thudding erratically.

"Please, Ziva… talk to me." She growled erotically, her lips finding Ziva's neck after she brushed back some of her curly brunette hair.

Ziva moaned her desire as she leaned into Monique's kiss, the sensations rushing through her body so intense, the Israeli thought it lethal. Ziva's heart beat even faster when Monique started taking her jacket off. She tried to rationalize it, reason it away. She was merely taking off her jacket. It did not mean anything. But who was she trying to kid? Lips were on her neck. Clothes started to come off. Monique was assertive, lustful… as was Ziva. This was happening.

"Monique…" Ziva whimpered as Monique tossed aside the jacket.

Monique pulled back from the oral assault she was giving Ziva, looking into her eyes as her right hand went to her knee, teasing her mercilessly by allowing her hand to slowly ascend her leg, feeling cargo pant clad limbs beneath her finger tips. Ziva watched through almost shut eyes and she grew more aroused just at the actions, merging with the thoughts in her head, swarming ideas of what Monique might have in store for her.

Monique allowed her lips to crash into Ziva's just as her hand was about to go where Ziva desired it to be the most. Kissing sounds filled the silence of the apartment they were staying in whilst in Spain. Monique's right hand, along with her left, then snaked up Ziva's shirt and began to fondle her braless breasts for the first time. The actions caused her lustfulness to increase, her desire to amplify to levels unknown to her. It was uncanny, almost. Monique could tell from Ziva's writhing that she wanted more, probably needed it.

"Ziva…" Monique started, breaking the kiss. "Can I touch you?"

Ziva knew what she meant by this, and whimpered out her permission.

"Yes, please!" Ziva moaned, speaking the words Monique needed to hear.

Monique took hold of Ziva's belt and unhooked it, pulling it through the belt loops as her lips crashed into the Israeli's beneath her. Unbuttoning her cargo pants, she slowly lowered the zipper before sealing the kiss and taking off the article of clothing which shielded Monique from what it was she truly wanted. What she desired more than anything. Monique's lips soon found home in Ziva's neck, nipping and sucking at the flesh there as her fingers pushed inside of the woman she wanted more than anything she had ever truly yearned for. That Barcelona night, Ziva experienced a euphoria she never thought humanely possible. At Monique's hand, she was sent into the most pure and unadulterated sense of bliss, and into oblivion.