The Touch Of A Lover..
- -.-. -. . .
Pre-dawn light filtered in the quiet room. Quiet except for the soft snores from the figure in a deep slumber, laying sprawled on the bed among twisted sheets.
Another, smaller form, snuggled close, a slender hand resting on the other sleeper's chest. The two bodies, one tanned a golden brown, the other alabaster, were a splendour in all their nudity.
Hazel eyes opened and sleepily took in the dancing shadows on the ceiling.
The soft rhythmic sound coming from the warm presence beside her was calming; lulling her into that twilight phase between wakefulness and sleep.
When had it all begun? What words, looks, touches had triggered this crime? The breaking of rule 12?
Her thoughts were interrupted by soft muttering and, trying to make sense of what the man beside her was trying to say, she squinted at his face in the diffused light.
A youthful face. His brow slightly furrowed and eyeballs were rapidly moving under closed lids at all this hidden activity going on in his very own dreamworld.
She leaned on one elbow and brushed at a lock of hair which was silky to her touch. She thought he had the perfect hair cut, now. Not too long, not too short. She never really liked his buzz cut.
He relaxed and the lines became smooth again.
Her fingers moved ever so slowly over his temple, touching the faded scar on his cheek and down to his soft lips...to that full bottom lip. Like his eyes, those lips had a way of showing quite some activity. She had never met a man displaying as much expression in his features as he did. Every single emotion worked its own choreography.
Further down, under his chin, along his slender neck over the thyroid cartilage to that dip – always visible to her as he rarely buttoned up his shirts fully, thus unknowingly displaying his, in her eyes, most erogenous zone.
To her, with her vast martial experience, the suprasternal notch was also one of the most vulnerable spots and she knew a dozen ways for applying finger strikes which would render her hapless victim choking or unconsciousness. She could so easily crush the windpipe...
She smiled. She could never do that to him. He looked so vulnerable now.
However, the unsuspecting owner of this main point of attraction, which had often drawn her eyes to it, like now, never even stirred at her sensual touch. She watched as this dip became more pronounced with every breath he took and her eyes moved on to his chest which was steadily rising and falling.
Her fingertips moved on, resting briefly on his clavicle, before flitting over the few hairs of his chest and to the nipples. She didn't sense the difference in his breathing pattern as she was much too absorbed in her exploration...as if it was the first time she beheld his body so close and in such detail.
Reluctantly leaving the nipples - she so wanted to play with them – her hand trailed over his happy line to his belly button.
His gorgeous flat belly... She remembered how he looked when she first met him. There was something about him that had aroused her interest, even if she wasn't exactly physically attracted or sexually overwhelmed by his...looks. His face was...sympathetic, though a little chubby with a double chin above a long, slender neck. But then, his torso. Aw...nothing inviting there with his belly protruding, although he desperately tried to hide it by wearing loose-fitting clothes.
Once, he had pulled off his shirt in exchange for a clean one and she was hard put to refrain herself from bursting out laughing as images sprang to mind of Michelin's funny figure Bibendum, made up of tires.
Nunc est bibendum... Yet, there couldn't be a less appropriate Latin phrase applying to a man who would rarely bee seen overindulging in booze. Potbelly? No way. Soda and fast food belly - more likely.
That was all in the past. He had rather dramatically lost weight.
As she now lay in his bed, contemplating, she couldn't imagine how the man as he was then could ever generate...erotic thoughts. Oh no. This athletic male body as opposed to the pudgy, blubber filled body of those days made quite a difference. Day and night. This was way more to her liking. She sighed with desire. Just looking at him and touching his soft skin made her tingle deep inside of her, brought on a renewed arousal.
Her middle finger delved into his navel and, just as she felt him go tense, a hand slapped down on hers, arresting the movement, holding it there.
Her hungry eyes searched his own green ones. They held a feverish glint in the early morning light.
Ziva held her breath but her eyes were still locked with his.
Tim removed his hand from over hers and Ziva slid her hand over his heart, feeling it flutter as much as her own.
He grinned and made to pull her close to him, their lips about to touch...
...when his phone rang.
They both broke apart with a grunt of abject disappointment.
Stretching his long arm, he found the infernal device and answered it.
"McGee."
"We got another case. Get your butt here, now!"
Tim was about to disconnect, when the voice added like an afterthought.
"And take Ziva with you as she is! No time to pass by her apartment to change! Got that, McGee?"
After the telltale click from the other end, Tim was left open mouthed and staring at Ziva.
"How did he find out?"
She shrugged.
Tim grinned and let his hungry eyes roam over her naked body. He licked his lips and his eyes became distant before he mentally kicked himself and refocused.
"I don't suppose he meant it literally when he said I had to take you as you were?"
Chuckling, he kicked the sheets off his legs and prepared to get out of bed.
She laughed and, holding him there with her hand still on his chest, Ziva gave him a kiss, breathing in his familiar scent, before quickly climbing out of bed and dashing into his bathroom, beating him.
Within 10 minutes, they'd locked the door behind them and were on their way to the yard, driving through the awakening city.
FIN