Today I am posting my six final stories as a part of the NCIS fan fiction community. Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting and alerting my stories- you all have made my time here worthwhile.
As usual, she awakes before he does. The first thing she registers is the arm he has draped protectively over her waist; the second is the hair, saturated with sweat, clinging to the back of her neck. Ziva groans and lifts her ponytail up. The breeze from the window air conditioner offers some relief, but not as much as she would prefer for the sweltering days of a D.C. July.
She swings her legs over the side of the bed and crosses the room to peer outside. The humidity has turned the air hazy. Not one car is moving in the parking lot; it seems as if the world has stopped.
It's funny that her world as she knew it came to a screeching halt two months ago, when she quit her job, and it has taken everybody else this long to catch up.
"What time is it?" Tony asks blearily.
She turns and smiles at him. "Quarter of eight."
He stretches, groaning, then rises and comes to join her. Ziva smiles when his arms snake around her waist from behind. Resting the back of her head on his shoulder, she asks, "How did you sleep?"
"Fine. Real good, actually." His hands slip beneath the hem of her camisole and skate across the surface of her stomach, leaving pleasurable goose bumps in their wake.
"Did I have anything to do with that?"
She's teasing, but he replies seriously. "You know you did."
He grasps the waistline of her panties- the only article of clothing currently covering the lower half of her body. In one quick motion, he sends them hurtling to the floor, then begins peppering her neck with kisses. Ziva sighs exaggeratedly. "First thing in the morning, Tony?" she mock-scolds- because, honestly, she's not really finding anything about this objectionable. "Hmm. How eager y-
Gently, he nips at her sweet spot, effectively cutting her off. She melts into his arms as he moves aside the strap of her camisole and presses warm lips to the skin there. He explores the expanse of her shoulders, her neck. He massages the tops of her thighs and this is all foreplay, all deliberately slow, but Ziva feels no need to rush him. She savors the way he is slowly unraveling her, preparing her to be nothing but putty in his capable hands.
Over the six weeks that Tony has been sleeping in her bed, she has realized something surprising: with him, she is never in a hurry to be done.
Then he is picking her up; the next thing she knows, he has tossed her onto the bed. She gets settled, lying down; Tony rests a hand low on her belly and kneels by her side. "I am going to give you," he breathes into her ear, "the best treatment you have ever gotten. Ready?"
Between her legs, a dull, persistent throbbing begins. "Always."
She could flip them over right now, of course, and pin him to the bed and regain control. It would be easy. A part of her is tempted, but another part- a bigger one- knows that Tony will make it worth her while to be completely at his mercy. And so she lets him fondle her breast through her shirt. She lets him kiss his way down her fabric-covered abdomen and stop at her waist. She doesn't even complain when he kneels between her legs and moves his mouth across her inner thigh, ignoring the one spot she needs attended to. As a nonverbal cue, she lifts her legs into the air and spreads them wide. Tony turns his head and kisses her kneecap once, twice, then looks at her with a tiny smirk. "Ninja's getting impatient."
"Yes, she is." Ziva scoots her ass forward a bit and stares longingly at him. "Come on, Tony."
He lifts his hand, and she is relieved… but then he pauses, lets it hover.
She digs one toe into his side.
Finally, he touches her, and she practically melts into the mattress. He does not supply her with the hard, fast touch that she craves; instead, he is barely skimming one finger over her heat. Three times, he travels from top to bottom in this way, and then he applies more pressure. Ziva feels new moisture down below as his ministrations become more intense. Tony laughs quietly. He rubs her furiously, having abandoned all pretenses of slow, steady progress. Her pelvis thrusts upwards. A moment later, she raises her head just far enough to catch a glimpse of his erection straining against his boxer shorts. And for a split second, she considers cutting this short and ordering him inside of her, but then Tony discovers her clit and hits it in exactly the right spot. Falling back, she inhales sharply. His expression is one of pure concentration as he continues to work her, and she feels adrenaline pumping through her bloodstream. Her nails dig into her palms. She, determined not to be as loud as she usually is (because he likes to tease her about it), makes no sound… until, suddenly and without warning, he plunges two fingers into her.
"Oh," she gasps. Tony bends over to kiss her stomach. He pushes as far into her as possible, and she cries out once more. "Tony," she begs. Begs. She absolutely cannot stand the mush of her bones, the rush of her blood, the pain in her core. She cannot take much more of this desire that is building, building. Desire for release. Desire for him.
He twists his wrist, changing the angle of his touch. The resulting ecstasy causes flashes of white pleasure to dance beneath her closed eyelids. "More," she gasps. "More of that."
Tony scissors his fingers inside of her, and Ziva actually yelps. She couldn't care less about the possibility that a neighbor might hear. All she wants right now, all she needs, is this.
With his free hand, Tony stimulates her clit. The combination of that and the movement between her walls pushes her ever closer. She begins to move her hips, riding his touch. And then, when he gives one too many sensual strokes to her clit, she finally falls.
She thinks she calls out again- his name?- but can't be sure. All she knows is that waves of heat roll through her body, and all of her limbs quiver. Her vision swims. Through it, she sees Tony, and, vaguely, she feels herself reach for him. A moment later, she is in his arms. She clings to him while she waits for the world to right itself.
"I told you," he whispers in her ear.
It is several seconds before her jumbled mind catches up with his words, and then she chuckles lowly. She trails her knuckles over his jaw, feels the stubble there. "It was pretty good treatment, I suppose."
"You suppose," Tony scoffs, but his tone is light, and he is handling her body like precious gold. She takes a few moments to indulge in his caresses; then she squirms out of his grip and sits up, grabbing his hand off her arm as she goes.
"Come on." She pulls him up. When they are toe-to-toe, she ghosts her fingertips over his crotch. "We need to take care of this, yes?"
"Please," he replies, and she attacks his mouth with hers.
Most days, they shower together; on about three in seven, they get distracted from washing up and have sex instead. They do not have a discussion about it now; there does, however, seem to be an understanding that today's occurrence will be the latter- not that it matters. That is one perk of being unemployed: they have nowhere else they need to be.
Kissing furiously and laughing at their own clumsiness, they stumble down the hallway to the bathroom. Tony closes the door without turning the lights on. Everything is black for several moments; while he fumbles ("ouch… damn it") for the switch, she quickly strips off her tank top, unhooks her bra, and tosses them both to the side. When light does flood the room, she is a foot in front of him and not wearing a stitch of clothing.
His eyes rake up and down her body. "I'm pretty sure you were wearing more clothes when we came in here," he says huskily.
"I was." She nods to the floor. "And now they're right there."
In the next moment, Tony has pulled off his own shirt, and now, only his boxers prevent them from being completely bared to each other. Ziva reaches out and yanks them down with little fanfare; his cock springs free, he sighs in relief, and she grins. She presses her pelvis up flush against his. Seeing his erection in the flesh only increases her arousal. Once again, she wants him right now. She wants to wriggle in pleasure beneath him, drag her nails down his back. She wants him to pin her down and drive into her again and again and again, because that would entail her two newly discovered vices: being one with Tony, and letting him be her undoing. She puts her cheek to his chest. Their eyes meet in the mirror; then she flicks her gaze downward and watches the reflection of her fingers stroking his cock. She was turned on before, but at this sight, her legs quiver and her lust completely saturates her inner thighs. Tony nuzzles her neck as his length twitches. Ziva grins at herself.
"Let's get in the shower," he murmurs against her skin before biting down on it. At the same time, he snakes one hand up between their bodies to squeeze her breast. She feels her knees buckle slightly as she arches into him. His index finger and thumb bookend her taut nipple and twist- not hard, not painfully; it's just enough to get a purr out of her. While she is fighting to control her breathing, Tony maneuvers them to the other side of the bathroom and reaches around her to turn on the water. It shoots from the showerhead; Ziva holds up her hand to gauge its temperature.
"Warm enough," she declares. "Here, let's put a towel down so we don't fall."
She moves away from him, dropping his hot cock as she does so, and grabs one. Then she spreads it across the floor of the shower and steps onto it.
Tony follows. He immediately snatches up the bar of soap and rubs it vigorously. Suds multiply and are soon piled high on his hands. With a telltale smirk on his face, he steps right up to her- close enough that his cock bumps her in the abdomen- and spreads the bubbles over her breasts. He takes his time, letting his fingertips trail over her curves and her nipples and the valley between the two mounds. She tilts her head to the side with a smile. He smiles back with complete and total adoration, and then he leans down to kiss her.
She grasps his soaking wet hair, opens her mouth, arches into his body. One of his hands races up and down her back; the other grabs her ass and pulls her closer. The sweet sensation of closeness, of passion, of heat, permeates the air between them and fills her heart with a light, carefree feeling that she can only find with him.
A mutual need for oxygen drives them apart. As their foreheads fall together, Tony traces her cheekbone. "I love you."
Those three words were uttered by her first, four weeks ago, in the heat of the moment, and he reciprocated. Since then, though, they have only said it a handful of times. Tony's reasoning might be different; for Ziva, though, professing love is a sacred thing. She does not want to cheapen the phrase so early in their relationship- a relationship she desperately, desperately wants to last for the rest of her life.
It needs to be said sometimes, though. "I love you too," she pants.
They pass the soap back and forth, take turns spreading suds over each other. For a while, it's backs and shoulders and faces and chins, and they laugh like teenagers every time someone drops the soap or slides on the towel. The moment he slips his soapy fingers between her legs, though, she feels her dormant desire rise up again. His pupils darken as he encounters her heat. Ziva takes his elbows to steady herself and grinds down on his hand. "Oh," she hisses as he sinks into her folds. She is more than ready to receive his full, stiff length; her entire core is tingling with anticipation. "Oh, T-"
But before she knows what is happening, he has taken back his hand, spun her around, and pressed her front against the wall of the shower. He pins her wrists above her head. As if knowing that she will struggle as a reflex, he kisses her shoulder. "Shh. Just me."
Ziva is surprised, but not annoyed. "What are you doing?"
"Letting you feel what you're doing to me." His cock presses into the small of her back. "There."
Well, she had already felt it. Quite often. But she turns her face forward and rests it against the wall anyway. Hair sticks to her neck and forehead. Slowly, he drags the erection through the crease of her ass; then, with no warning at all, he dips himself inside her.
She lets out a gasp and tries to reach back, but his grip on her is relentless. All she can do is stand there, helpless, as he enters her body halfway, then exits, then does it again, at his leisure. "Tony," she gasps, unsuccessfully attempting to clench her walls around his length and keep it there. "Tony."
He plants a kiss beneath her ear. "In a minute."
"No. Now."
His hands drop from hers, and Ziva uses the opportunity to whirl back around. Before he has another chance to have things his way, she lifts her leg onto the waist-high shower ledge, leaving the other on the floor. Tony licks his lips- and, she decides, probably doesn't even realize he's doing it- as his eyes fixate on the vulnerable, exposed area between her legs. He is not moving fast enough for her, so she seizes his cock and guides it into her. Once she does that, he finally takes the not-so-subtle hint, grabbing her hips and pushing as far inside as he can.
Ziva sighs loudly in relief. Their standing position is not comfortable, though; this will have to be quick. "Go."
And now, he doesn't need to be told twice. They move together quickly, rapidly, not the way they do when it's seven in the morning and they're making slow, sweet love in the comfort of a bed. This is hurried; this is Tony pounding and Ziva pulling him close, desperate for more; this is moaning and grunting and faster, harder, ken.
Their orgasms- his first, closely followed by hers- almost cause bodily harm, since their bones turn to jelly and they are in such a precarious position. But Ziva manages to grab Tony before he sends them both (and the shower curtain) to the bathroom floor; they lower themselves to the towel in the floor, where they curl into each other's arms, waiting for the pleasure to ebb away. Water sprays over them and starts to wash away the scent of sex.
"Is this ever going to lose its appeal?" Tony breathes into her throat, interlacing their fingers together.
Ziva bites her lower lip. "Eventually, we will have to think about working again," she replies honestly. "We… cannot be sure where that will take us."
He sighs. Kisses her jaw. "Wrong answer."
"But it's the true one."
"I know." He presses his nose to hers. Their eyes meet; his are impossibly bright, open, beautiful. "But you can't honestly tell me that employment will make this less desirable."
And Ziva laughs before hooking one leg around his waist. "No. I suppose I can't."