Disclaimer: I mean no profits with this story. The show and its characters belong to their owners.

- I -

The earliest memory that Tony carries of feeling at home takes place right after after his sixth birthday party. His dad never showed up. But his head was resting on his mom's lap and those slim feminine fingers running through his soft hair combined with her scent of lavender and "Gone with the wind" playing on mute was more than enough to make him feel loved and safe. Essentially at home.

He was at college the second time he got hit by such wave of feelings. His team had just lost the league, Tony had failed half of his exams and just broken up with Thammy, an outgoing busty blonde (his favorite type). It was two am when he was back at the dorm, suffering from a massive migraine. The room smelled of sweat and leftovers and his roomate snooreed like a foghorn; but his bed was cozy and feeling like home was his last coherent thought before succumbing to sleep.

The third opportunity came in the shape of a Israeli brunette who gazed at him as if a predator to a prey; mesmerizing and dangerous. She smelled of sandaloo and looked like an esphinge. Tony never forgot the first moment when their eyes met or how his heart skipped a beat with a sense of despair and curiosity… Defensively, he pushed her buttons by using his witty sense of humor, while trying to understand exactly how that foreign creature was capable of making him feel strangely at home.

- II -

But the past is the past; Ziva once said.

And now Tony is searching her face closely as if for the very last time.

(It feels surreal.)

His hands are shaking but he's not afraid to show because she's obviously just as affected as he is. It feels as though eight years have gone by like a chapter of their favorite book.

(And, sadly, every book has an ending.)

"I just want you to come home", he tries to persuade her.

The words hit like a slap in the face and Ziva flinches instinctively, attempting to move away. "I don't think that's f—-"…

Tony cuts off her ludricous speech, immobilizing her by the elbows. He gently brings her closer and lifts her hand so he can kiss the soft skin he finds there — never taking his eyes off her.

Her resistance melts and it shows on her face, finally stripped of any masks. Here she is: exposed, miserable and just as scared.

Ziva takes a shaky step towards her former partner and extends her spine until she's level eyed with him. They are so close that they can taste each other's breaths. It's so tempting and maddening to not close the distance…"When is your flight due to?", she asks.

Tony doesn't deviate; doesn't look down to check his clock. "Two hours", he replies dryly, without straying his eyes away from hers.

"More than enough time", she says, curling up her lips.

"Enough time for what?", he throws back, tilting his head to the side.

Ziva doesn't blush —she never did, never does—, but there's a flush of excitement crossing her face as her pupils dilate. She smirks and he's proud to witness how much he's rubbing off on her. The Israeli takes a step back to let him look at her more properly, sliding her tongue over her lucious lips. "I never thought you would fail to get a hint."

Feeling his blood boil, he understands what she's offering… Goodbye sex!? Tony's angry at first; insurgent and outraged. Does she think they are that cheap? That after eight years of history they can just get over everything by sleeping together? But his pants feel suddenly tight and she makes it hard for him not to behave like a caveman… Does he want that? Hell, yes. Is there any chance they can cross that line and go back to how things were? No fucking way.

But then again, things are never going to be the way they were before.

It's only when Ziva closes her eyes in a guilty way that Tony grasps the true significance of what she's proposing. It's not just about sex — it could never be. It's a resolution, of sorts. It's wanting to give herself completely, even if only once.

And he wants to take it all so swimmingly. To just have her, to taste her, to get to know her curves and what leaves her breathless, to make her feel his love… He wants more than Michael or Ray or Adam have ever had. It's selfish but he doesn't really care. He wants her; always has.

"Do you not want the same?", Ziva queries, in a raspy voice. She's such a tease… and Tony hardens even further.

He doesn't reply with words, feeling overwhelmed with the will to make things chrystal clear. He wraps his arm around her provocative tiny waist, pushing her towards the evidence of his manhood; firm, alive and undeniable. She might be strong, but her limbs are petite and they fit easily and perfectly into his. They gasp in unison and Tony holds her gaze, showing her how much he really wants everthing that she has to offer.

Ziva shivers because he's too damn handsome and possibly all hers, even if for just a couple of hours.

They stare each other down among dozens of orange branches. Their hearts are racing and their breathing patterns are definitely unsteady. When one of them moves close enough to finally kiss, the other retreats. They are playing a game made of pure torture; one that repeats itself over and over again and makes it feel like they are fighting a battle of instinct versus reasoning, heart versus brain, chaos versus order…

The level of sexual tension that they've reached is absurd.

And suddenly there's nothing left to discuss.

The moment grows impossibly serious as their weary eyes compromise things that their hearts can't fulfill.

Tony and Ziva silently thread their fingers and move in sync towards the chapel. Their destination is the small room in which they have been sleeping (separately) for the past few days.

This is real.

After eight years, it's finally happening.

- III -

They are no longer working under the same chain of command, but it still feels irrationally risky to make out that freely. It's hot and it makes them both feel overloaded. But in a sinfully good kind of way, since neither seem to care that they're about to have sex on a modest mattress situated in a humble room attatched to a chapel.

They don't give a fuck.

Tony's shirt is laying on the floor somewhere close to the door, but his skin feels on fire. He takes Ziva's lower lip between his teeth and she moans in response. And when she decides to ghost her hands through his hairy chest, pinching a sensitive nipple on her way, he's the one who parts his lips in a sexy groan. She takes that opportunity to take off her own top in one smooth move.

Tony feels his cock almost explode to the sight of her practical bra; black and cotton-made and somehow sexier than any piece of lingerie he's ever seen before. Because this is all Ziva, so naturally beautiful. It seems accurate and irresistible and he wants it off. Immediately.

They are breathing heavy and their lips are deliciously sore from the libidinous kisses they've shared so far. They can't help but try to memorize every single detail, every sense: sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch… If this is a one-time deal, they don't wanna miss a thing. It seems rather unfair that they've waited so long for a one-night stand. But a taste is better than nothing and it's a safe bet to assume that everyone and everything else will be pale in comparison. (Maybe that's why they have waited so long to give in…)

Tony leans foward to brush his lips against her sweet jaw, her ellegant neck, her sensuous collarbones… Her skin is indescribably warm and smells so spicy that he loses his mind completely. Without any restraint, he pulls her ziper down, sneaking his hand under her underwear to find her femininity. And once he does, Tony lets out a growl, letting his forehead settle in the delightful valley between her breasts. "You're so fucking wet", he blurts out with an incredible effort. "You're wet for me."

Ziva shivers and grins widely from pure lust, putting her hands behind herself to undo her bra and throw the garment far away. She craves him more than any other man in the world, rolling her hips against his fingers, that are teasing her folds. "Always", she returns and he knows that word will forever hold a different meaning from now on; stronger, dirtier, unforgetable.

When the feeling overcrowds him, Tony pulls her pants and panties down in one quick movement, while looking at her beautiful small breasts, her curvy hips, her glistening womanhood. He's dumbfounded by her perfection and, once he dives his face to get a taste of her musky fragance —that's calling out to him—, Ziva lets out an annoyned sound of disapproval, "Tony!"

He straddles her, feeling confused and out of place. She's staring at him; her face flushed, her eyes hungry. He connects the dots and realizes how badly she wants this too, but how little time they have at their disposal. And so Tony straddles her, flying both his hands to her taunted nipples while his tongue seeks hers in starvation.

Ziva grinds up against his hip, clinging on his hair for balance to the point of pain. Realizing what she means, he knees a couple of inches back to simply take off his pants and boxers. Her eyes get glossier and playful when they meet his shaft; impressively daring and unnashamed. Without being able to stop herself, the former NCIS agent reaches out to palm his rock hard erection, petting it with thirst.

With a punch of desire in the base of his spine, Tony closes his eyes and naturally moves his hips foward. His nostrils flare and he curses in response to how overwhelmingly perfect they feel together… Why the hell have they waited so long?

Impatiently, Tony braces his arms on the bed, approaching their intimacies excruciatingly slowly. Ziva opens up her legs to make room for him, tightening them around his narrow hips afterwards.

Grabbing himself, Tony touches the head of his penis against Ziva's pussy. He wants to go slow; he really does. They both deserve as much. But when he feels how ready she is for him, he can't help but sink deeply while they gasp simultaneously in pain and pleasure and relieve.

There are no more walls between them.

It feels like they've waited their entire lives to share this moment; like the gallaxies are finally aligning and their hearts are finally beating the way they're supposed to.

At first they make love, slowly and languidly, touching each other's body, figuring out different scents and textures. And when that's not enough, they start to literally fuck each other out, agressively and possessively. They can't tell whether it takes minutes or hours, losing track of time.

Ziva wraps her hands around his neck, scratching the soft skin with her short nails. She digs her heels against his butt, pulling him deeper and deeper until she cries out his name, rocking onto his bones.

Tony drives into her, wild and possessed, without a stop to catch their breaths. When his forefinger plays with her clit, Ziva throws herself in the waves of an extensive orgasm, quivering her internal muscles around him. She screams out his name and he keeps on thrusting against her, feeling a spark of pleasure inebriate his senses until he also lets out a deep release inside of her.

She's gently carressing his back and he's cradling her body against his, lazily fondling her sweaty skin, her arms, her perfect abs, her ass. His voice is low and husky when he kisses her temple and murmurs a simple "Ziva…"

She tickles herself by brushing her cheekbones against his goluptuous beard in such a cute and intimate carress. No one has ever made her feel this way — satiated, serene and utterly happy. So this is what being loved feels like?

He's still half-hard inside of her; so wet, so tight, so hot… And when she finally whispers in a rough voice, "Tony…", he feels like a teenage boy ready to quit reality and all his belongings to chase girl of his dreams to the other side of the world.

(Ironically that's the only thing he can't do.)

They've both imagined this happening so many times, in so many different scenarios: his place, her place, the copy room, an hotel in Paris and Belin, on Gibbs' desk even… But this connection —whatever it is that they've just shared— is unique and transcendental, even if the timing kind of sucks.

But, despite their wills, they have to let each other go. They need to get up, unless he wants to miss his flight. (He really really really does; but they both have inescapable commitmments.)

And before they separate, Tony looks down at Ziva and forgets every complication or fear. He needs to say it; he needs her to know — even when he's certain she won't say the words back to him in order to make things easier.

"You are so…", he calls out soflty, with tearful eyes, looking up to meet her own and diving his fingers into her indomitable curls. "Loved."

She almost sobs, choosing instead to swallow her pride and eagerly ease his head towards hers; crashing their lips together in a languid slow kiss.

It hurts to say goodbye.

And they've just made it ten times more challenging.

- IV -

When Tony finally moves away from Ziva, in the windy airport patio, he finds that can still taste her; can still hear her voice quoting the words he'd confessed before, "you are very… loved."

Fuck; she said those words back to him and he is never going to forget…

Still he gathers enough courage to turn his back to the most amazing woman he'll ever meet and finally climbs the stairs to the airplane that's only waiting for him to take off.

He's torn between looking back at her to a final goodbye or moving straight ahead, behaving as the man he supposes both Ziva and his mom would like him to be. He ponders which option will torture him further; wonders how much more his heart can take.

Tony is only human after all.

And Ziva has always been a mystery; will probably remain a mystery forever.

For the very first time in his entire life he asks himself if he is indeed going home while flying back to the United States.

Closing his eyes and anticipating the tears that are coming, Tony easily understands that he is in fact leaving home behind…