This was just the result of a writing prompt over on tumblr. Thought I'd post it here since it was longer than a standard drabble ;)
jae
It's past the point of late, well into the territory of early morning as the sound of a tumbling deadbolt echoes through the dark apartment. He lets himself in slowly; half anticipating the cool metal of her spare glock to greet him before he steps across the threshold. When neither loaded firearm nor startled ninja ambush him against the door, he lets out a quiet exhale of relief, turning to lock the door once more. He imagines she must be truly exhausted, for even the slightest sound was always enough to get her out of bed and ready to launch a full-scale assault on whoever dared to rouse her from sleep. But with him away and Gibbs down a team member, he wouldn't be surprised if she herself was only just getting home around this time, and he understood that level of exhaustion only too well.
Toeing off his shoes with a dramatic groan, he drops his bag and paddles on sock covered feet through the familiar space. He knows she keeps his clean laundry folded on it's own shelf by the dryer, but when he makes his way into the small room, he finds only his spare suit and belt waiting. He looks around the space, tired and confused, but his partner is meticulously organized, and there is no indication his spare clothes would be anywhere else apart from their usual shelf.
Flicking off the light, he makes his way further into the apartment, and finds her bedroom door ajar, as if she had anticipated him showing up eventually. His stomach warms at the thought, and he feels a pang low in his chest when he realizes she had probably tried to wait up for him.
He pushes off the doorframe just as he hears her shuffle, and he can barely make out her eyes narrowed in his direction.
"Don't shoot, it's only me."
The bed dips as he comes to kneel atop the mattress, and Ziva shifts to blink owlishly up at him, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark.
"I know."
And he doesn't doubt this, he thinks, as he leans over her to turn on the small bedside light. He wouldn't put it past her to know the weight of his steps, the sound of his body as it moves across the floor, his scent once he entered her bedroom. She gives him a sleepy, but no less dazzling smile as he looks down at her, and he can't help but curl a fist into her hair as he leans down to kiss her deeply, once, then attacking her mouth with light, chaste kisses.
"Thank you for not shooting me."
He mumbles against her lips between each kiss, and Ziva laughs into his mouth. She frees her arm to wrap around his neck, her fingers tightening through the soft hairs of his nape, and she doesn't let go even as he pulls back to look at her.
She watches with dark eyes as he begins to unbutton the now wrinkled dress shirt, having surpassed it's ten hour promise of wrinkle free wear and enduring two back-to-back flights, and stretches to take over the remaining buttons. Tony groans softly as her hand at his neck travels slowly down his torso, and he pauses as he watches her nimble fingers deftly undo the last buttons one by one. She smiles up at him when she's finished, and he takes one of her hands in return, bringing it up to his mouth to brush a kiss across the back of her hand.
"I missed you," He mumbles quietly against her hand, and she tightens her grip around his fingers momentarily.
Freeing her hand from his grasp, she brushes a thumb across the stubble that now covers his jaw and cheek, smiling when he turns his face into her touch and his eyes flutter shut.
"I know," Ziva says softly; but what he hears is, I missed you, too.
He lingers against her touch for a moment longer, before gently pulling back to free himself from the sleeves of shirt. Ziva's eyes rake over him now; no longer drowsy, and Tony shrugs out of his last sleeve with more force than necessary.
Throwing the shirt somewhere in the vicinity of her bedroom, he's reminded of his missing spare lounge clothes he keeps for the nights he stays over.
"Where's my shirt?" He frowns down at her, distracted, and Ziva rolls her body under the covers to face him. She smiles, gazing up at him innocently, and he narrows his eyes before pulling back the covers curled around her.
His eyes sweep over her body, lingering on the long, golden expanse of her bare legs. He runs his hand from her calf to her hip, smirking as his hand leaves a trail of goosebumps in it's wake. He reaches the hem of her shirt, his shirt, and tugs.
She goes willingly, pulling herself up lithely to kneel before him. Tony rests his hands at her hips, dragging his hands up so the hem of the shirt rises, showing off the golden skin of her stomach.
Ziva presses herself against him then, and he marvels not for the first time at just how easily she seemed to fit against him. He tips his head back as she presses soft, open mouth kisses under his jaw, across his neck.
"I am glad you are home," she murmurs into his neck, and he inhales roughly as her warm breath fans across his skin. He rakes his hands slowly down, gripping the back of her thighs, and half pulls her against his lap. Ziva laughs as she lightly shoves him backward, and he lands softly against the mattress while she leans over him, still straddling his lap. Tony's hands haven't left her thighs, and they run over them now, grinning up at her as she gazes down at him, curls falling across his face.
"It's good to be home," He agrees, his voice low as they stare at one another. His eyes glint deviously as his hand finds the hem of her underwear, and snaps the elastic band against her skin. Ziva makes a noise of protest, though her eyes betray amusement. Tony soothes the sting with his hand.
"I guess I'm gonna have to bring more clothes over if you're going to be stealing them."
Ziva smiles dangerously now, running her hands over his bare chest, scratching lightly with her nails. He shivers against her touch, and her smile widens.
"I prefer you with none," she grins down at him, and he groans from underneath her.
She lets out a very un-Ziva like giggle as Tony sits up, gripping her hips tightly and running his hands up her side.
"I agree," He murmurs, and drags the shirt up her body, revealing her toned stomach inch by inch. She lifts her arms compliantly, and he wastes no time pulling his shirt up and over her head.
Her curls fly in every direction as her head is liberated, and the shirt joins his on the floor. She brushes stray curls from her face as his hands rake over her body, and one of her hands come to grip his forearm in anticipation. She knows what he's about to do just before he rolls her under him in a wrestling sweep he often uses on her.
Her hands move to his belt and his control begins to slip at the feel of her touch, and his last coherent thought before she pulls his weight on top of her is wherever he is, as long as she's there, he knows he'll always be home.