A/N: Hi, friends! I know you're all floored to see me returning from the dead... I'm sorry for the very long wait for this chapter! Inspiration has been in other places recently, hence the number of other stories I've written since my last update. Anyway, here it is! This chapter is smutty and fluffy and I hope it's worth the wait. This one is dedicated to my friend Sara, who always believes in me. One last note before we begin; the section in italics is a flashback to Tony's visit to Israel, though I hope that's clear from the context. Enjoy, friends, and let me know what you think!
After the fight and the discomfort that preceded it, Tony and Ziva overcompensate a little trying to make up to one another the harsh words shared between them, and it leads to an… awkward moment.
Tony's desk phone rings in the middle of a case presentation, and after a questioning look at his boss—to which Gibbs responds with an incredulous look that eloquently says 'well, pick the damn thing up so we can move on!'—Tony accidentally hits the speaker button in an effort to pick up the handset. "Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," he answers, trying to turn the speaker off—the button, unfortunately, is jammed.
"Ah, Special Agent, I am calling to alert you to a very serious situation."
Tony recognizes Ziva's voice at once and his instincts immediately scream at him to end the call—because there's an inflection in her voice that hints at something absolutely not meant for the ears of Gibbs and McGee. He tries in a panic to stop her. "Ziva, wait, no, you're on speaker, don't—"
Ziva doesn't hear him, and Tony realizes that in trying to turn off the speaker, he has managed to mute himself. "In order to address this situation, your mission is to Skype your girlfriend as soon as you get home from work. She is very naked and waiting for you—"
Tony finally gets himself unmuted, and he hastens to cut Ziva off before she can further damage both of their reputations. "Ziva, stop talking, you're—"
Unfortunately, Gibbs interrupts. "We can hear you, Ziver, and your boyfriend has work to do."
There's a beat of silence, a slight squeak, and then the sound of the dial tone.
McGee starts snickering and Tony's about ready to jump him when Gibbs slaps the backs of both of their heads. "The case," he prompts sharply.
They both get back to work, though Tony's ears feel distinctly warm for the rest of the day.
When he gets home, he does call Ziva—who is fully clothed, despite what she said earlier, and her face is beet red. Seeing her face sets Tony off into a fit of hysterical laughter... he's far enough removed from his earlier mortification now to find the whole thing hilarious.
"Shut up, Tony," Ziva growls, her mind zipping through the best ways of killing a person from close to six thousand miles away.
"But your—your—" Tony is howling and his mirth suddenly can't be contained. "Special Agent," he cries in a terrible mimicry of Ziva's voice.
"Do you wish to go back to being single, Tony?"
"A very serious situation—"
"I know people who will not hesitate to kill you if I ask. Do not make me call in a favor."
"Your mission is to Skype your girlfriend—"
"Tony!" Ziva is laughing now, too, though, reluctantly amused even if she'll never be able to look Gibbs and McGee in the eye again.
Tony stops mocking her, but it takes him a while to finally laugh himself out. When he finally falls silent, he's beaming. "I got the biggest head slap of my life for that—it was totally worth it. Honestly, what were you thinking?" The question is one of gleeful curiosity, not frustration.
"I thought most of the office would be empty at this time of day. I was trying to spice things up," Ziva replies, grinning ruefully and rubbing her temples with the fingers of both hands.
Tony laughs again a little. "Safe to say that things cannot possibly get any spicier now that Gibbs is involved—never know you were interested in threeways, sweet cheeks."
"Ew!" she protests loudly, narrowing her eyes and briefly contemplating murder again.
Tony knows that if Ziva was here, she would be whacking him. The look on her face certainly says enough.
He stops teasing her, but he's certain that the memory of this afternoon's incident will linger for years… that is, if his girlfriend doesn't kill him before the day is out.
When she stops looking homicidal, he gives her a very warm smile that he hopes will earn him some forgiveness, and it seems to work slightly. "Under any other circumstances, Ziva, I would have loved a dirty surprise like that. I think it'd be fun to be tempted at work—I mean, intentionally tempted at work. You've been tempting me since the day you walked into the bullpen for the first time."
"Do you think that flattery will get you off the hooker?"
That threatens to send Tony into fresh peals of laughter, but he bravely swallows down the urge. "Hook," he corrects. "Off the hook. And no, I was just being honest."
Like a switch has flipped, Ziva suddenly grins, looking now just as suggestive as she sounded when she called earlier. "I know I have always tempted you. That was by design."
"Was it?"
"Yes…" she trails off without elaborating, making Tony lean forward curiously, staring at her on his computer screen.
"Sounds like you have a story to tell."
"I do not."
"But—"
"There is more to the explanation of why, but I do not think you want to hear it."
"Why not?"
"It is not very flattering to you."
Tony laughs. "Come on, try me."
"Alright, if you insist." Ziva's lips twitch as if she doesn't want to smile. "Work at Mossad has always been… fast-paced, yes? There was little down time. The pace of NCIS is often slower, and in the first few weeks and months, I found myself… understimulated, I think—bored would not be the right word. I needed something to engage my attention between moments of adrenaline."
"So you… flirted with me?"
"It was very easy to get a—" Ziva quiets for an extended pause, dragging her eyes deliberately up and down his frame— "rise out of you," she finishes eventually. "You were always eager to bicker, especially if I hinted at anything… non-workplace appropriate. It was a dependable way to keep myself occupied."
"So you flirted with me not because you were interested, but because you had nothing better to do?"
Ziva laughs. "I did not say that!" she protests. "Quite the opposite, actually."
"How so?"
"I was immediately interested, particularly because you could so effortlessly argue with me. But because I needed the distraction, I put an unusual amount of effort into tempting you, never intending to give up that outlet by following through."
"And what if you hadn't needed that… hobby?" Tony asks dryly, amused.
The look Ziva gives him now sends a minor shock through his system—she looks hungry, but at the same time, she seems… diminutive, somehow. Subservient, maybe. It's like she's presenting herself to him as an open offer, choosing to flip around on what she did before they slept together for the first time.
"Then I would have taken you to bed at the first opportunity. It would not have taken more than a week," she promises, her fingers plucking at the top button of her shirt as if to prove that to him now.
"You sound pretty confident on that."
"Oh, I am."
Tony really can't argue with her on that one. He would have gladly had sex with her no matter when she had asked.
He sits back against the sofa cushions now, evaluating her and thinking about what she has just told him… he feels his heart race a little just looking at the expression on her face. It's only too clear that for once, she's in the mood to please.
Tony tries very hard to avoid considering why that is, not wanting to imagine that she feels she has things to make up to him after their fight; he shoves any niggling concerns aside and focuses on Ziva.
She certainly makes that a simple task, at least. She's easy on the eyes, as usual.
Presumably scarred for life by this morning's awkward encounter, she wearing a full outfit, but, well... it's Ziva; she manages to be sexy in anything. Today, she's wearing pale pink, something Tony's not sure if he's ever seen her wear in their time together. It's an unusually impractical color for someone who likes to be ready to run, but he likes the look on her. It makes her seem… softened, maybe. Relaxed.
She deserves to relax more often.
Her blush-colored button-down is tucked into a flowy-looking knee-length skirt that's only a shade darker; its fabric is draped haphazardly on the couch cushions around her, hiding her legs from sight where they're tucked under her body. Despite her earlier humiliation, she now looks happy and at ease, lounging comfortably in a way that reminds Tony of the movie nights they used to have so frequently.
Things have been stressful for both of them lately, and it comes as a welcome change to see her looking this worry-free… especially dressed as she is in shades that bring out the color in her cheeks.
Tony must study her for just a beat too long, because before he gets around to saying anything, Ziva interrupts his thoughts. "See something you like?" she asks, equal parts wry and affectionate.
"Honey, I see nothing but," he affirms, his intentionally sensual inflection and use of an unusual pet name doing nothing to disguise the fond sincerity behind his words.
Ziva smiles slowly, suggestively, considering him the way he just considered her. "If only you were here to do something about that," she comments, her voice at odds with her expression; it's airy and light as if she really couldn't care less herself. The combination comes across as devious, playful... and absolutely enticing.
"Would that I could, my dear."
"Perhaps I could do something about it for you, then."
Now Tony is beginning to understand the look she wore on her face a few minutes ago, before she started gazing at him as if she was ready to take him to bed… if he had to guess, he would say the look was part offer, part challenge, all desire.
He can work with that.
"Oh, yeah? What do you have in mind?"
One of Ziva's hands drifts back to the neckline of her top, fingers starting to trace circles around the top button but not undoing it—yet. "I have been thinking about something," she shares, still with a tone of entirely feigned innocence that makes her sound far less cunning than Tony knows her to be. "Do you remember when I left for Israel?"
"Of course I do."
"I had a layover, if you recall, in Istanbul…"
Oh, yes, Tony certainly remembers, and her reminder is enough to make his heart rate go up a bit. He often thinks about that night. "You called me when you landed," he agrees. His voice sounds off, like his airway is restricted; that may have something to do with a very physical reaction to recalling that particular phone conversation.
Ziva very obviously understands what's going through Tony's mind, and the slight smile still playing at her lips turns into a smirk; she has accomplished what she was aiming for. "I did, you are right," she praises. "And I… mm, coaxed you back to sleep, yes?"
"Mhm." It's all he can manage for now.
"Well, I was thinking… maybe it is time for you to do the coaxing."
They've had to be creative to keep their sex life going while they're so far apart, and now that they've been long-distance for a while, they've settled into certain patterns. They often sext or have phone sex, or do something similar to what they're doing at the moment and end up masturbating together, joined by webcams and an internet connection… but it's rare for anything they do to be so focused on just one of them.
That gives the idea some extra merit points for novelty, and Tony immediately warms to it. "You want me to…"
"Talk me through pleasuring myself for you, my love. Tell me what you want to see."
He nods quickly. "I, um, I can do that." If his voice sounds a little tighter than before, he doesn't let that embarrass him.
Ziva chuckles darkly, a sound that sends shivers down Tony's spine. "Then please, Tony, go ahead."
Tony opens his mouth to do just that, but then something occurs to him that draws him sharply from his haze of arousal as if he's been splashed with icy water. "But what about…" He doesn't want to mention her suspicions of a bugged apartment out loud, in case someone is listening... but he's pretty sure that Ziva doesn't want a Mossad audience for what they're about to do.
Luckily, Ziva is far from being slow on the uptake, and she shrugs.
"If the walls are thin enough for a neighbor to overhear and they decide to listen into what I am doing today, then I think they will come to regret that decision."
Her eyes flash, daring Tony to argue—or maybe daring anyone who might be eavesdropping. It makes Tony a little nervous, but it's nice to see this much fire burning behind her eyes again… he knows that she's been down since returning to the Middle East.
And if loudly and aggressively living her life makes her feel more independent, less like a puppet, then he isn't going to be the one to stop her. He just hopes that if the apartment is bugged, today's recordings make Eli or whoever he has doing his dirty work regret ever messing with Ziva.
"Alright," he agrees, shrugging slightly. "I'm game if you are."
"Excellent." And just as suddenly, the flames in Ziva's eyes have a new outlet. "I am all yours."
"Glad to hear it." Tony clears his throat. "How do you want to st—"
He stops talking at once when Ziva, not waiting for him to finish, reclines and pushes the ends of her skirt away impatiently to spread her legs and get comfortable, awaiting further instruction.
"I see," Tony responds mildly, sounding strangled. It's apparent that she's been thinking about this for quite some time, because he can see slickness between her legs—he only belatedly realizes that means she has forgone wearing underwear.
"Please, begin whenever you are ready." Ziva looks at him almost lazily, amused and waiting for him to catch up with what she's been planning.
It takes Tony a beat or two to find his footing, but he remembers how to talk dirty… it's just a combination of his favorite things, after all.
"Mm," he finally purrs, reaching over to adjust his computer screen and look at her more directly. "I can see how wet you are for me," he starts, lowering his voice half a pitch. "Do you wish I was there to take care of you?"
"Always," Ziva agrees quietly, and that draws Tony slightly away from the state of one-track determination that he's falling into, distracting him enough to inspire a warm half-smile at her.
"Soon enough, my love," he comforts her gently. "We'll get there."
"I know."
"In the meantime, why don't you tell me what your fingers are substituting for today?" Despite the suggestiveness of his words, Tony's voice is mild, making sure that Ziva wants to continue the game.
In response, appreciating his thoughtfulness, Ziva sticks two fingers into her mouth and sucks on them for a moment, watching as Tony's eyes darken and he leans forward intently, eyes on the screen. She releases her fingers with a pop, enjoying the wet sound they make. "For now, I am imagining your fingers… though I hope your mouth and your cock will make an appearance, too."
Tony clears his throat, his imagination immediately taking him in several different directions at once, and he reminds himself that this time, it's supposed to be about him talking to Ziva.
"Fingers it is, then," he agrees roughly, swallowing hard once more.
"I am ready to use them," Ziva says lightly, the look on her face just a little too smug to not be the one in charge. "Feel free to instruct me as I did for you in Istanbul."
"Oh, I intend to," Tony assures her darkly, and a different kind of half-smile rises to his lips this time. "I know what you want to do, what you want to touch, but we're not quite there yet, sweet cheeks. We're going to take our time."
Ziva raises her eyebrows speculatively, but she nods, intrigued. She'd known this would be a good idea; Tony is a creative person, especially when he's specifically challenged to do something that inspires him.
"Good girl. Now…" As Tony speaks, he shifts again to unbutton his shirt, enjoying the interest in Ziva's expression as she sees him do it. "Do me a favor and spread your legs just a little further."
Ziva doesn't hesitate.
"Gorgeous," Tony murmurs, sliding his arms out of his sleeves. "Have I ever told you how much I love those legs of yours?"
"Perhaps once or twice."
"Mm. Well, since I'm not there to enjoy them, I want you to do it for me. Run your hands along your thighs—start on the outsides—and feel how soft they are." He watches with a deep sense of approval as Ziva does what he asked, and he feels his pants tighten just a little further. He may need to rid himself of them soon.
"Perfect. Imagine that we're back in that hotel room in Tel Aviv, and I'm taking you against the wall by the door. My hands are just where yours are now, but I'm not caressing, Ziva. I'm holding on as hard as I can, keeping you propped up against the wall as we fuck for the first time in months."
Tony watches with satisfaction as Ziva's eyes flutter shut, and she bites her lower lip. Though her image is slightly grainy from the poor quality of her webcam, he can easily see how the pressure of her hands on her thighs increases.
"Oh, I know how much you like it rough, Z. What is it you said when I asked you if I was hurting you a few weeks ago?"
"I ordered you to hold me harder," Ziva recalls obediently, a breath of a moan in her voice.
"Exactly right. You told me in no uncertain terms that you wouldn't break. And I listened, didn't I? You had bruises for two days—and when I tried to feel bad about that, you dragged my hands back to the same places and had me do it again."
Tony can hear Ziva's breath quicken, and she nods, her eyes still closed. "It was in the shower that time."
Yes, it's definitely time for Tony's pants to be removed... because they're starting to feel more than a little restrictive.
"Your memory never ceases to amaze me." Tony stands, keeping his eyes glued to the laptop on the coffee table as he takes off his pants, underwear, and socks with no ceremony. He yanks off his undershirt, too. "Now," he continues, "do the same thing, but with your inner thighs…"
Ziva lets out a little groan as her fingers pass close to where she really wants them to go, and Tony licks his lips.
"Your skin is sensitive there, isn't it? I learned that the first time I went down on you… I kissed my way up your thigh, and you were squirming well before I ever reached my final destination."
Now entirely naked, Tony sits back down and takes himself in hand, starting to casually stroke his growing erection.
"I want you to use that big brain of yours to imagine that I'm doing that now… I'm kissing everywhere I can reach, stopping every now and then when I get to a place that you really like. Can you show me one of those places now?"
The fingers of Ziva's right hand drift lightly to rest near her femoral artery.
"Mm, that's one of my favorite places, too. You know what? For authenticity, your touch needs to be wet, if we're pretending you're me, because I would have absolutely gone to explore some other places by now… go ahead and use whatever natural lubricant you have at your disposal. Put your fingers back in your mouth, or maybe slide them up between your legs for just long enough to—"
Tony stops talking, snorting, when Ziva immediately shifts her fingers to her wet heat.
"Ziva?"
"Mm?"
That was a moan more than a response to Tony's question, and he tries again.
"Ziva."
"Yes?"
"Open your eyes and look at me."
It takes a moment, but then she does, looking hazy. Tony tries to fight off his smirk and look at her sternly.
"I thought we were taking our time with this."
"We are."
"Then you should probably save the 'fingering yourself' thing for later."
Ziva gives him a dirty look, but she withdraws her fingers. "Why? I did not torture you when it was my turn to give directions."
Tony barks out a laugh and sits back, still smugly pumping himself with his fist, reveling in the balance of power here. He so often feels at her mercy, and besides being just… well, hot, the role reversal itself is enjoyable since they haven't done anything like this in a while.
A certain night with handcuffs comes to mind… He's glad Ziva took the initiative here, because this is wonderful.
"I mean," he teases wryly, "if this isn't doing it for you, feel free to ignore me and do what you'd like."
"I did not say that."
"So you want me to keep telling you what to do?"
"Yes, but you do not have to be so smug about it."
Tony laughs again, more loudly this time, and shifts the way he's sitting again so that he's closer to the laptop. "I am who I am, and it's me—your smug boyfriend—who you're imagining between your legs right now, right?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Now, do you want to get back to it?"
Ziva wrinkles her nose at him, and he takes that as a yes.
"Good. Alright, as much as I love seeing your skirt all bunched up around your waist, I think it's time to show a little more skin. After all, there's a lot more of you that I'd be paying attention to if I was there. Why don't you take this opportunity to show me what I'm missing?"
...and oh, does Ziva ever. Thank God for modern technology, Tony thinks.
Unhurried, Ziva rises to her feet, moving the computer back farther so that she's still in full view of the webcam when she straightens back up. Then she pauses for a moment, watching Tony lazily masturbate, and she licks her lips in a way that makes him ready to get right back on a plane to Israel. He'll never stop loving the fact that she wants him as badly as he wants her.
Evidently thinking along the same lines, Ziva makes an expression that's somewhere along the lines of self-satisfied; she looks like the Cheshire cat, and Tony wonders if the balance of power hasn't shifted while he was busy teasing her. "I see you already remember what you are missing," she observes in a sultry voice. "Are you this hard for me every time we have phone sex?"
Tony groans—he can't help it. "God, yes," he agrees, the last word turning into something of a hiss. For a moment, he loses the power of speech—Ziva's openly self-congratulatory enjoyment of what he's doing has sent a new rush of blood to his cock. Then, after clearing his throat twice, he manages to find his voice again. "Don't try to turn the tables on me, Ziva," he warns.
"Try?" Ziva emphasizes with mild disdain, and hell if her air of superiority doesn't make things worse—well, harder—for Tony!
"Ziva—"
"Oh, do not fret, my love. I do not want to take over your game. I am the one who asked for it in the first place, yes? I am only reminding you that I can bend you to my will at a moment's notice."
"That has never been in question," Tony admits breathlessly, and Ziva gives a dark chuckle.
"You try to gather your thoughts, if you can, while I undress… I think your ability to chatter has been wasted without talking me to orgasm for too long now."
"Right you are." Tony waves vaguely with his free hand to indicate that she should proceed, and he starts to jerk his fist a little faster. If he wants to come when she does, he's going to need to pace himself, but she's just so damn attractive! It's hard not to give into the temptation she's placing in front of him yet again.
Ziva observes him for another moment before starting to nimbly unbutton her shirt. "Do you remember," she asks softly, her tone a pitch or two lower than usual—clear evidence of the fact that Tony is not the only one affected by this, "when you damaged my blouse by being too rough with the buttons? Two of them popped off, and I was very frustrated with you."
Her description pulls the memory through the haze of Tony's arousal to the forefront of his mind, and he tries to keep track of it. "Your, um, your green shirt?"
"Mhm," Ziva says approvingly, delicately pulling the now loose fabric of her shirt away from her torso and dropping the whole thing to the floor. "I thought it would not be wearable again, but then you did something that surprised me."
As she speaks, she turns around, bending over slowly and lasciviously to tug on her skirt—Tony must have missed when she unzipped it, and his breath catches in his throat as the floaty material falls gracefully to join her shirt at her feet… since she's not wearing any underwear and she's facing away from him, it gives him a very nice view of some of his favorite parts of her.
He especially likes the fact that he can see again from this angle just how wet she is; besides turning him on more, it also makes him proud. That's all for him.
"Do you remember that, Tony?" Ziva prompts, straightening back up at a leisurely pace and turning to face him. She doesn't bother to hide the amusement in her expression at the way his eyes are glazed over from staring.
Tony shakes himself briefly, and lets out a grunt when the sight of her mouth moving again puts his imagination to work. "Um, yeah." He sounds a little hoarse. "I took it to be repaired and gave it back to you."
"That is right, you did. But then I found that I could not wear the blouse anymore, even once it was mended… because when I tried wearing it to the office for the first time, you were so distracted that you nearly let yourself get shot. And watching you, knowing what you were remembering… that distracted me, too. So I stopped wearing the blouse to work."
"D'you still have it?" Tony wants to know, trying to follow the conversation but feeling helpless to do anything more mindful than simply watch as Ziva unhooks her bra and divests herself of it, putting her breasts on display.
"I do," she confirms, returning the computer to its original position and settling back down on her sofa. "It is in my closet… waiting for you. Maybe the next time you visit, you can pop the buttons off again. I will not mind this time."
"I'd be happy to," Tony assures her gruffly, deciding that it's high time to stop lightly thrusting into his own hand if he wants to have the presence of mind to take control back. It's hard to do, though, and a low moan leaves his lips as he unclenches his fingers and lets himself go.
To distract himself and get back into a more dominant mindset, Tony sits forward and straightens up.
"Are you ready to sit in the driver's seat again?" Ziva asks smugly, and the challenge in her tone is enough to seal the deal.
"Oh, you bet I am," he guarantees. "Are you ready to listen to me?"
"I am all eardrums."
Tony snorts and readjusts his laptop one more time, wanting to see her as clearly as he can. (When they're finally reunited, he won't miss the technology part of this chapter of their relationship.) "Alright, then. Spread your legs for me again, will you?"
"With pleasure." Ziva does so.
"Now, I think it's finally time for you to touch yourself, sweet cheeks. D'you think you can multitask?"
"Of course."
"That's what I like to hear. With your left hand, I want you to show me what you like me to do to your nipples—I know you like them gently bitten. See if you can recreate the feeling." Once Ziva starts, seeming perfectly docile and obedient again in a way that he knows she definitely isn't, he goes on. "With your right hand, I want to see if you can mimic what I do with my tongue between your legs. Now, I don't want you to put your fingers in yet, but I think your clit deserves a little attention, wouldn't you agree?"
Ziva's moan is a little too loud and sudden to be in agreement rather than just an involuntary vocalization, but Tony takes it as concurrence anyway. "Lovely," he praises, and he's met with another groan, this one from deeper in Ziva's throat. It's both a request for more and an appeal for mercy.
"Where your right hand is now… God, I just want to bury my face there until you scream. Would you like that, Ziva?"
She doesn't answer, and Tony's tone gets more austere when he next speaks; he's enjoying this. "I asked you a question, Ziva," he reminds her.
"Yes," she finally replies, her voice almost a whimper.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I..."
"Ziva?" Tony cues.
When Ziva finally answers, her words are assertive, much more present than before, and they're clearly meant as a complaint for making her divide her brainpower when all the really wants is to lose herself in feeling and imagining.
"Yes," she admits impatiently, "I want you to go down on me, Tony!"
Her snappy inflection doesn't manage to hide her breathlessness, making Tony ache to grab his cock again, but they're not quite there yet. "Glad we're in agreement," he says, clearing his throat forcefully so he can keep talking. "If I was there, I think I'd probably be generous at this point and give in to what you wanted… I'd put my lips on your clit and start sucking until you begged me to stop. I know from experience that you wouldn't do that until you'd had at least one orgasm, maybe two."
Ziva's noises are increasing in volume and frequency again, her frustration already forgotten. Tony is fairly impressed that she's managing to keep up the rhythm of both the hand on her breast and the hand that's sliding through her slickness further down. He knows that she's getting close—she must have been very aroused by the time he finally let her start touching herself—but he also knows that without at least a little penetration, she's unlikely to fall over the edge entirely.
"What do you want, Ziva? Mm?"
She shakes her head quickly, her eyes still clenched tight, telling him that she can't answer him.
Feeling a little devious, Tony pushes her to speak anyway; he can't help enjoying the way she loses much of her typical eloquence when she's this deeply invested in hurtling toward her hard-earned finish. "You can't have it unless you tell me what it is," he presses.
Ziva bites her lip so hard that Tony can see imprints of her front teeth when she releases it, and with clear effort, she forces her eyes open so she can look at him. When her answer finally comes, though, it's not the one he thought she'd give, and there's a touch of quiet vulnerability battling with the arousal already present in her voice...
"I want you," she says.
It Tony's heart clench unexpectedly, because he knows that she doesn't just mean right now.
"I'm all yours, my love," he promises; like her, he aches to share this experience in person.
Just as he was earlier, he's uncertain for a brief moment of whether her should finish what they're doing now or back off and offer her words of comfort instead... but he doesn't have to hesitate for long, because the next time Ziva's middle finger passes over her clit, she cries out sharply and shuts her eyes again. Her brief war between emotions and sexual frustration is over and the brief heartfelt moment has ended.
Right. Time to finish this, then, if he can keep up with her shifting gears.
"Since all you have right now is your imagination, my voice, and your own two hands, what do you want to do to make up for the fact that I'm not there to take care of you right now?" Tony prompts, doing his best to keep her attention as she gets more and more vocal.
"I want…" Ziva's voice borders on a whine, and she has to swallow before she can finish her sentence. "Fingers. I want to…"
Tony takes pity on her. "You're ready to finger fuck yourself?"
Ziva doesn't answer, but she moans again, and he can see her starting to shift restlessly. She's close, and she wants that release.
Tony thinks that she has more than earned it; knowing her take-no-prisoners disposition, he's actually a little surprised that she hasn't simply abandoned the game to act upon what her body is urging her to do.
It's time to give her permission to do what she needs.
"Do it, Ziva," he coaxes intently. "Push two of your fingers in, and keep listening to me while you do it."
Ziva complies at once. "Tony!" she cries, making him proud.
"God, you're a sight for sore eyes," he tells her approvingly. "Now, keep it up, picturing me while you do, and don't forget to keep playing with your breasts." As he watches her obey, Tony finally gives into his own burning need for friction. He takes his cock in hand and times his movements to the rhythm of Ziva's noisily-working fingers. "You know that always makes it better when you finally come, sweet cheeks."
He starts moving his right hand quickly as Ziva uses her own to apparently great effect—at least, that is, if the sounds coming from her throat are any indication at all. Tony knows from experience that they are.
"I think," he continues, beginning to pant slightly from both exertion and stimulation, "that I'd just be using my mouth and my hands tonight. There's something—mm, Ziva!—there's something so nice about focusing on making you get there for me, knowing that I'm all you can think about. You're so damn gorgeous when we're having sex, you always have been. So tonight, those fingers pumping in and out of out you—rough and quick, just like you like it… those fingers would be mine. Oh, fuck, Ziva, I want to taste you. I can practically feel you in my hands right now, you're so wet."
Tony's spending as much attention as he can spare on listening to Ziva's vocalizations, because he doesn't want to find his release until he gives her her own, but keeping himself from letting go too quickly and continuing to speak coherently is almost more than he can manage. Just doing one or the other would be hard enough at this point, to be honest.
"I'd be doing just what you're doing now—playing with your breast, tweaking your nipple in that way that makes you scream, and I'd be twisting the fingers of my other hand as I did, trying to hit that sweet spot. Do that, too, Ziva, and imagine that you're feeling me pinning you to the couch. Imagine me pushing you relentlessly closer and closer to where you want to go. Don't be afraid to beg."
Ziva listens; she moans his name so loudly that disregarding her surroundings, Tony starts to think his own neighbors are going to hear her through the apartment walls. She puts a lot of pleading in that one word.
"That's exactly right. Are you close, my love? Do you want to feel your muscles clenching around your hand? Add a third finger now, and then start a rhythm that you can sustain. You're almost there, I can hear it in your voice."
It'll only be seconds now, and Tony forces his eyes to stay open so he can watch her finish.
"Imagine feeling a little unexpected warmth when I reach down to kiss your stomach—don't think I haven't noticed that you like to be touched there. There we go, you're so close… Picture it and come, Ziva. Come for me. Yell my name and remind everyone who you want fucking you."
Ziva follows his instructions immediately, her back arching away from the sofa she's lying on and the hand on her breast clenching forcefully enough that her nails scrape her soft skin. The way she cries "Tony!" is almost a benediction—what a powerful feeling.
Tony watches her for as long as he possibly can until he has to surrender to his orgasm, too, her name passing his lips just as his passed hers; then, fifty-eight hundred miles apart, he and Ziva both collapse in exhaustion, their poses and their thoughts nearly identical to one another's.
"Close your eyes and open your mouth."
"Why?"
Ziva pokes his chest, fighting a smile. "Because I asked you to."
"But why did you ask me to?"
"Because I have a surprise for you."
"God, Ziva, we're in public!" Tony says with a loud enough melodramatic gasp to draw the stare of a passerby.
Ziva whacks him, laughing. "Tube down, you idiot!"
"Pipe down."
"Whatever," she says dismissively, snorting. "It is not that kind of surprise, you absolute fool. But if you do not play along now, you may not have any more surprises like that soon, either."
"I don't know, I'm pretty sure I could convince you when we get back to the hotel…"
"Is being wrong about that really a risk you are willing to take?" Ziva challenges.
Tony narrows his eyes at her, trying to determine how serious she's being, and she sticks her tongue out at him, making him laugh.
They're in Jerusalem for the day, wandering around, and Ziva is delighting more in her own country now that she's showing it to Tony than she has in quite some time. It's nice to remember all the things she loves here… even if Tony is, as usual, being as obstinate as possible. Obviously, she can't tell him this without risking him becoming totally insufferable about it, but she has so deeply missed everything about him that even his knack for annoying her is unusually charming.
And speaking of that knack for being bothersome, he still won't open his mouth.
"Have you stopped trusting me?" she wants to know.
"Of course I haven't. I just don't trust you as much about…" he trails off, giving her a look that can only be described as 'side eye.'
"About what?"
"About food, especially Israeli food. And this is a food thing, right?"
Ziva rolls her eyes. "What else would it be?"
"You tell me, I don't know!"
"Yes, it is a 'food thing.' But why do you not—"
"Falafel meal, Ziva," Tony interrupts gravely, shuddering. "Falafel meal."
That makes Ziva throw her head back and laugh exuberantly, remembering his horror during one of their cooking lessons. Tony had complained loudly and at great length about the consistency of the meal that would eventually become fried chickpea balls, and Ziva had thought for a moment that he was going to pass out when she casually ate some of the uncooked dough.
"Squishy!" he had whined, disgusted.
"This is nothing like that at all."
"But I don't know if I can really put any stock in your opinion. You thought that was normal, too."
"Falafel meal is normal. And you liked the end product when all was said and done, yes?"
"Yes. But—"
"Please listen to me, Tony, for once," she cuts him off, snorting.
"I always listen to you," Tony mutters, but Ziva ignores him.
"I would like to cater to your sweet tooth, if you will let me."
"Oh, it's something sweet?" All at once, he seems much more interested.
"You are such a child," Ziva complains without heat. "Yes, it is a dessert—so please, close your eyes."
He finally does then, though Ziva is fairly certain he has at least one of his eyelids cracked so he can watch her through his eyelashes. 'Trusting,' indeed.
"Good," she praises, sure he can see her rolling her eyes for the fifth time today. "Now, open your mouth."
Once he does, she pushes in a piece of sfenj. Tony bites down reflexively, and almost immediately, he groans in pleasure. "Oh, this is delicious!" he says, his words garbled by the fried dough between his teeth. "It's like a doughnut!"
"Do not talk with your mouth full, Tony," Ziva admonishes, but she's giggling.
Tony opens his eyes again and grins at her, his cheeks still full of food. "Should I kiss with my mouth full instead?"
Ziva starts to back away, shaking her head. "Do not dare—"
Tony follows her, though, and with a quiet squeal of laughter that makes her seem closer to her actual age than she usually appears, she turns on her heel and scurries away from him. Laughing maniacally, Tony chases her, and before too long, he does kiss her. Being considerate, he swallows first, but the kiss is still sticky and sweet, flavored of Moroccan pastries and the happiness of relaxing together.
A few minutes later, they return to the same street vendor Ziva made a covert purchase from just prior, and they both eat their fill.
They may or may not share a few more sugary, gooey kisses along the way.
"What are you thinking about?" Tony wants to know, drawing Ziva out of her thoughts.
She looks up at her computer screen with a smile, having temporarily zoned out and missed what he said. "Hm?"
"You just looked… I don't know. Faraway there for a moment, I guess. What were you thinking about?"
"Jerusalem."
"The city itself, or…?"
Ziva shakes her head, smiling again but more softly this time. "No, I was thinking of being there with you."
"We had a good time, didn't we?" Tony recollects fondly. "With the, um…"
Rather than opting to supply the word that she knows he's looking for, Ziva watches in amusement as he struggles. It's nice to see him be the one to trip over words for once!
"The, um, the sforzando things."
That makes her crack up, and the wide, affectionate smile on Tony's face makes her think that he may have intentionally chosen the word to draw out a giggle at his silliness… and she really, really loves him for it.
"Sfenj," she corrects once she calms a little.
"Pretty sure that's exactly what I said."
"Not quite."
"Eh, potato, potahto."
"Sfenj, sforzando," Ziva mocks, grinning.
"They sound the same to me."
Somehow, their state of post-coital bliss is no less authentic or pleasant just because they're close to ten thousand kilometers apart, and as they lazily tease one another, they both lounge in front of their respective webcams, comfortably nude.
It makes the distance seem small, easily crossed, and it's so deeply comforting when Ziva spends so much of her time in Israel feeling isolated.
"Tony?"
"Mhm?"
"I love you. You are so…"
"Funny? Charming?" Tony can't resist teasing when she pauses.
"Yes, but more importantly… you are everything to me," she finally finishes.
And not for the first time, it seems like the distance between them doesn't matter in the slightest… because Tony feels exactly the same way, and it makes his throat so tight for a moment that he can't answer her. The amount that he feels for her—love, affection, longing, protectiveness, and a fierce, deep joy for her presence in his life—is almost overwhelming.
"I love you, too," he finally answers, and Ziva gives him a soft look as if she knows just why he paused before he said it.
The words hardly seem to be enough anymore, but they're all he has.
And Ziva doesn't seem to mind, anyway.