Hey! Tiva smut and angst and future stuff...involving a certain CIA agent and a twevle year old's pondering of the person Tony had been assigned to shadow. Oh! It officially feel like summer. Bones is pregnant, EJ is gone, and all my favorite TV shows are pretty much fin. Except Glee...and House...:)
Anyway, just be weary of the rating. Critiques are verrry much welcome. Pease and twank yoo!
-Liv
Disclaimer: Nope...SO many people wouldn't be dead if I did in fact own this...and I wouldn't have to be taking stupid finals for seventh grade Algebra either...grr...:-(
Musical Inspiration: Before You Snap by Splendid Isolation. Oh...dear god...this song is flipping...gorgeous...chilling...haunting...amazing...listen to it!
The first time it happened, neither of them really expected it.
Or maybe they did.
Maybe it was like a very destructive Earthquake. The fault lines had been there and the tectonic plates were shifting intravenously. The scientist had predicted it.
Yes, the signs were there, within the carefully guarded levels of speech and delivery. Practically imprinted upon each and every glance across the room. Each stalking the other with a taunting sense, and broadly labeled with the term 'eye sex'.
And yet still, despite the air of foreboding, neither had their guards up enough to defend themselves when it truly did go down. If there had been the barest hint of common knowledge to begin with, they would have never allowed themselves to be in the situation they were at that particular time.
They brutally try to make themselves believe this.
They sorely attempt to twist the fact that in the elevator that night, something snapped. The earth's core rumbled. The eye sex went south.
Pun very much intended.
Before they could react, he was pulling her even tighter to his chest and her legs scrambled clumsily to wrap around his waist. Grinding, repetitive motions, as rough fabric burns her skin. It's not as if any true thought goes into any of this.
He doesn't remember when, but somehow the lights got dimmed and the travel ceased, and they were finally alone to the world. They didn't notice the change in atmosphere; her tongue probed his own in a roaring battle for dominance. Her proverbial taste unlike any other.
He can smell the mango shampoo she uses, and the mint toothpaste on her tongue makes the back of his throat tingle a little. Her tantalizing skin of her throat smells like her, and that's all he can say about that.
Mere seconds pass and soon her shirt is shoved up her torso, his hands struggling to feel and familiarize. She never pegged him as the boxers type, and he never thought she would wear lace. Could ever be so damn sexy in it. Or something like that.
With her skirt shoved up like this, and his pants at his ankles, they can't help but savor the little imperfections of one another. Like the thin stretch marks on her thigh, or the elongated scar on his left knee.
She digs her nails into his back, drawing a bit of blood. He teases her wet heat for a moment and then thrusts once, long and deep. Her muscular legs grasp at his waist and she bites her lip, head thrown back, eyes clenching shut.
She makes not a sound, but gives no indication of true pain.
He does give her a moment to adjust. Then, he pulls out of her, roughly, hands holding her hips to the metal wall, making her open her eyes bewilderedly. The cold air makes her shiver.
She gasps for air. A millisecond later, he pulls her tight against his skin, so close to her body she can feel his heart pounding in his chest and he fills her so much she can't so much as whimper.
He starts to fuck her, then.
It's rough and not at all like she would ever imagine him being the first time they were together. Not that she had ever pictured them doing this together of course. He pulls her hair. He sucks her throat. He bites her shoulder.
All she can do is make sound, any sound. Because damn it just feels so good to finally let something out.
A few minutes later, nearing the edge, hands skim down to find that one spot he knows will make her go mad. He probes for a second, teasing. She's so close it's not even funny anymore, and she lets him know it too.
He pinches, hard.
The end came soon after that. They reek of sweat and sex and they can't seem to form coherent thoughts to care. It's been too long.
They say it was unexpected. That still does not mean it was not overwhelmingly irrevocable. She knows it. He knows it.
Leaving the elevator a mere twenty minutes after they'd entered, they say nothing.
They say nothing about it for weeks.
()
The second time it happened, nothing was quite the same as before.
Nothing had been a constant since she'd found out he was watching her boyfriend's every move.
Again.
He tried to explain, in that thirty second after her face had gone blank and her fists had clenched. Thirty seconds of trying to explain how he knew what ring Ray was getting her. And that he knew about the 'promise'.
The slap echoed throughout the bullpen. He ignored the sting in his eyes. She blinked back the moisture pooling in hers.
They didn't speak for three days.
That was, until a call came in the middle of the night from Abby that 'Tony needs some fucking help', and she needed to, 'Stop being a bitch and forgive him already.' She suspects the Goth had a few herself already.
She finds him in his apartment, and Abby is gone. He is on his couch licking the beer like it's a lollipop. She frowns down at his mess of sandy hair and sweet green eyes and wonders how they ended up so messed up like this.
This time when it happened, everything was different.
Her eyes burnt into his like burnt sienna as they made love on the couch with no real purpose. Getting off wasn't even really a point right then. He ran a thumb across her cheekbones as she kissed his chest and he pressed his face into her hair, mumbling husky statements she knows he'll regret in the morning.
This time, he wakes up to find her gone.
This time, everything is so infinitely different neither of them knows what's happened or what will happen. They just know it's so messed up they can't tell where the solid line of truth is anymore. It's a scary thing.
()
The third time it happened, they met in the middle.
It had been thirty days since that night at his apartment and things were getting back to some resemblance of normalcy. He invited her to have drinks with everyone and she agreed; Ducky had said something about having a get together later in the week too.
It all seemed harmless enough.
They are there, in the bar, content, when he realizes she never took a sip of her drink she ordered half an hour ago. His eyes crinkle and he bites the inside of his cheek.
He wants to ask her about it, but he doesn't.
It doesn't really bother him, but for some reason he never takes another drink of his that night either.
The sidewalk glistens with the recent showers and thunder rumbles in the distance. He offered to walk her home; she couldn't just say 'no'.
They don't say anything. Speaking means thinking. Thinking means feelings and rationalizations and realizations that come with that. Confusing and not necessary.
The try so brutally to make themselves believe this.
Yet, it is on the tip of his tongue. The accusation. The wanton need for this little piece of knowledge, this reassurance that she...
"You're pregnant, aren't you?"
He doesn't want to make the words sound bitter, and he doesn't want them to be excited either.
She blanches. Her face flushes. She takes a step back, away from him.
He takes a step towards her and she winces minutely, turning back towards the apartment complex door just a few feet away.
"Ziva?"
She almost gets inside.
"Tony, can we not talk about this now?"
He suddenly feels awfully tired. Kind of like one of those wind up toys that has those recharge batteries. His juice has almost run out. His sound is muffled, weak.
"Sure, Ziva," he sighs.
"Come inside."
Maybe he just needs to refill his battery. Then he'll be just fine.
And so, he goes inside.
()
That third time it happened, they met in the middle.
Each move was sure. Every breath released almost as if timed. Each moan in synchronization with a groan and each nail mark associated with a hickey.
It was ecstacy. Bliss. Perfection at it's finest.
Later, lying on his chest, she'll whisper to him in the kindest of voices,
'Yes.'
His arms tighten around her delicate form he's felt a connection with since before they even expected it.
Since before they realized how easy it is to just...
Snap.