Ziva wasn't usually one to stare.
Yes, she possesses a healthy appreciation for the male form. And yes, she has often found herself indulging in said appreciation through various pursuits with her most appealing lovers.
But staring? It just wasn't her thing. Touching, kissing, stroking… these were all forms of intimacy she could get behind. But leave her to look - just look, not touch - and she typically grew antsy. Or worse: Bored.
She was finding that, as with just about everything else, Tony was the exception.
"I feel you watching me."
"Hm."
He didn't bother turning around, so she didn't bother looking away. It was funny how quickly they'd changed in the wake of dropping all pretense.
"Take a picture."
"Huh?"
"It lasts longer."
She wants to laugh. And she wants to roll her eyes. But instead, she shifts so she's leaning a bit higher on the door frame, and brings her thumb to her lips to chew absently on the very edge of her nail.
He leans forward, reaching for one of the plastic bottles lining the front wall of the shower. The movement causes water to run down the muscles of his back in a broad and hypnotizing pattern.
When he stands up straight, his shoulders shutter and he instantly reaches for the tap.
"Jesus, Ziva. As much as I love being the object of your undivided attention, I'm gonna need you to either be in the bathroom or out of it. You're letting out all the warm air."
He finally looks at her over his shoulder. With dark eyes and water dripping off the spikes of his hair. She finds herself stepping forward and closing the door behind her back without actually deciding to do so.
"Ah," He lets his head lull back as his whole body relaxes into the warmth of the small room, "Much better."
He reaches for a loofa and loads it up with soap before running it across his skin. As she watches the suds build and spread across the expanse of his back, down his sides, over the curve of his ass, she decides that - yes - she knows a way to make this situation even better.
She tugs her clothes off in complete silence and approaches the shower. If he hears the slight click of the door or feels the brush of outside air as she steps inside and pulls it closed again, he doesn't let on. Regardless, she steps right into his space, gently squeezing his bare hip as a warning before she slides her arms across his ribs and lays her head in the dip between his shoulder blades.
"Mm," He covers one of her hands with his own where it lay high on his chest and reaches across his body to discard of the loofa. It causes his back and shoulders to move, forcing her to lift her head. She settles for rolling half onto her toes to rest her chin in the crook of his neck. Once he's rid of the sponge, he reaches up for her other hand and laces his fingers between hers.
"Hi," He whispers.
"Hi," She whispers back.
They stand there in silence for a minute. Enjoying the warmth of the water and the air and each other. It's eventually Tony who moves. He turns in the circle of her arms and lets his hands settle so low on her hips one could barely consider them resting there. Four of his fingers fan out across the top of her ass and his thumbs sit dangerously close to her womanhood.
"Hi."
"You already said that."
"Yeah, well," He squeezes her hips gently and she returns by squeezing his shoulders, "I don't know what else to say."
"Why do you have to say anything?"
He shrugs, "It's kind of my thing, right? Brilliant Chatterbox and all that."
He levels her with the small, shy smile she swears he only uses on her, and it makes her heart swell 10 sizes until it threatens to burst out of her chest.
"Well, yes. It is your thing," She leans in close, pressing her chest up against his and brushing her lips over his ear before whispering, "I meant, why do we have to talk at all?"
"Oh?" He ducks his head to kiss her collar bone before whispering himself, "Was there something else you wanted to do?"
He knows what she wants to do. His body is three steps ahead of himself.
So instead of voicing a response, she leans back far enough to snake an arm around his neck and pull his lips down to hers. He responds automatically with strong arms wrapping entirely around her waist to pull her completely against him. The kiss proceeds in typical Tony and Ziva fashion: a few seconds of tender sweetness, quickly overshadowed by a desperate need for more, more, more. More of him, more of her, more skin, more tongues, more everything. His hand knots in her hair and she forces him back a few steps until they're both standing beneath the stream of water. He chuckles into her mouth and it causes her pulse to just skyrocket. She bites his lip and tugs on the hair at the back of his neck, which causes him to moan, and suddenly she's the one being forced backward several steps.
But, in the midst of the kissing and the squeezing, she manages to slip. He catches her - of course - but he also gets a knee to the groin for his trouble. After a grunt and a hiss, his head falls heavily on her shoulder and he takes several deep breaths to recover.
"Sorry," She mutters as she tries to coax him out.
"I'm good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
So she kisses him again. He pushes her back again, but this time until her back hits the cold tile on the far side of the shower. She gasps, arching against him to avoid the cold, which he uses as an opportunity to drop his mouth to her chest.
She gasps again, for reasons unrelated to the temperature of the tile, and makes a quick move to switch their positions. But her elbow racks a ledge in the shower, and now it's her turn to hiss against the skin of his throat.
"Okay," His chest heaves with each labored breath and his hands run up and down her sides comfortingly, "Things are getting dangerous. And not fun, sexy dangerous, but slip and crack your head open dangerous."
He gently grips her shoulders and holds her in front of himself.
"We'll continue this when we're dry?"
She nods her agreement, then steps to the side so he can resume his shower. She watches him step back under the stream of water and run his hands through his wet hair. It suddenly feels intrusive to be here, and she's just about to step out and towel off when he turns back her way and holds out an arm, signaling she should come closer. She complies.
"So," He lets out a content little smirk as she steps into his arms yet again, "Back to that talking thing, huh?"
She laughs and reaches for the loofa. Might as well wash off while she's here.
"Yes. I suppose we could talk."
She can feel him watching as she gently works the soap across her shoulders and down her stomach.
"I found a flight."
She has always found it funny how he used his sweetest voice to say the words that hurt her the most.
"Oh? When does it leave?"
"Tonight."
And then Ziva David, the notoriously strong and steady ninja, the very last person in any room to show her hand, visibly winces. The pain, one that started burning in her chest the moment he changed the subject, turns white-hot. It shoots up her spine, pools in her stomach, and makes her lurch forward to grab for the faucet in a sad attempt to stop herself from falling.
Tony's arms tighten around her waist to steady her. She reaches for his hand with the full intention of ripping it away and standing on her own two feet but ends up pulling it into her chest instead.
"Ziva," His voice tickles her ear, "We can't do this forever."
"I know."
"I can't do this forever."
"I know."
"I've given you time. I've given you space. I've given you me."
"I know."
She takes a step forward and turns to face him. Her chin tilts, her eyes harden, and all these attempts at looking like her old self are lost to the fact that she still holds onto his hand like it's the only thing keeping her afloat.
"I know you're in a weird place. You've been taking body blows all year. The last thing I want to do is add to that."
His palm moves to her neck and his thumb takes a few cursory passes along her jawline before he decides she's not likely to respond.
"I've been doing everything I can think of to shake you out of this. Movie nights, dinner dates, day trips to the city… I've been pouring myself into this - us - for weeks now."
His second hand moves to join the first, fingers brushing gently through the curls at the base of her neck as he holds her gaze and refuses to let go. Having lost the touch of his hand against hers, she reaches for his forearm and rubs her own patterns into the skin there.
"But it has to stop, right? At some point, I have to step back and listen. I can't filibuster forever. I don't have it in me."
He stands up straighter. It suddenly feels like he's towering over her. Like she's somehow shrunk and now all she wants to do is hide.
"So I need you to tell me. After all of this, after Eli and Bodnar and Parsons - hell, after Jeanne and Michael and Ray and EJ. After Paris and Berlin and Somalia. After getting stuck in a box, blown up in an elevator, and completely wrecked in my car. After I chased you across the world - twice - and after I laid you down in that bed across the hall to show you, over and over again in these last few weeks, how much I love you. How I can't live without you. After all of it, I need you to tell me: How many tickets am I buying for the flight home?"
He paints such a beautiful picture with his words. He promises so much with his hands.
And god, how she wants it. All of it.
"Tony…"
She feels the muscles tighten under her palms. She watches as his jaw clenches and he fights so hard against the stinging words she knows are rising from his throat. Emotions play across his face in a clear procession: anger, rage, disgust. Then: sorrow, pain, betrayal. Finally: acceptance, calm, maybe even a little relief.
"Okay," He whispers, and his fingers press into the base of her head until he manages to pull her lips to his. One kiss. Two kisses. A third, slow and sweet and absolutely brutal in its finality.
She's the one who accelerates things, and a part of her hates it. The itch of her palms and the warmth between her legs as she pulls him closer and paws desperately at his wet skin. She's sending him away. He knows that now, and yet he responds to her touch in the same way he has every day since the orange grove. She should stop the embrace and spare him the rest of his dignity, but instead, she slips a hand between them and drags her nails against the sensitive flesh of his length. He grunts, it grows, and soon his hand is off her cheek, around her back, and cutting off the water to drench them both in the comparatively cold air of the rest of the bathroom. She steps up so that she's flush against him. His gooseflesh tickles when it rubs against hers, but the weight of his erection against her hip keeps the childish giggles in her throat at bay.
Exiting the shower takes some teamwork, considering they are both dead set on remaining in constant contact with as many parts of the other's body as possible (for warmth or for pleasure, it was hard to tell at this point). She manages to open the glass door; he somehow produces a towel. She dries off his shoulders and his chest with strange and erratic motions; he focuses his towel technique mostly on her ass, as he seems to find it amusing to squeeze and grind and pinch her through the terrycloth. They both finally say fuck it and leave the bathroom - lightly used towel and all - in pursuit of the single most used piece of furniture over their weeks of solitude: the king-sized bed down the hall. They leave puddles on the hardwood and the sheets cling to their wet skin in uncomfortable ways, but they barely notice. The world could end and she was pretty sure they wouldn't notice. All they seem to care about is the burning in their stomachs and the moans they elicit from their partners.
Hours later, after a round two… and a round three… and maybe even a round four, they lay next to each other in the quiet room. The only thing for sound or movement being the steady huff of their breaths and the long strokes of her nails down his spine as he lay with his head on her chest and most of his body crushing her's into the mattress. She doesn't mind.
"What time do you leave?"
He doesn't respond at first, doesn't even show that he heard her muttered question. She's swallowing, just about to clear her throat and ask again when he lets out a long sigh and rolls off of her. He props his head on his bent arm and looks at her under impossibly thick lashes.
"9."
He makes no farther move to get up, and she realizes there's a finality in his voice beyond that of her own decision earlier.
"You already bought a ticket."
It's not a question, but he lifts his head in preparation for his answer.
"Yeah. Had a gut feeling. Figured I'd set myself up for surprise instead of disappointment."
Under different circumstances, she might be embarrassed at her own predictability. But instead of the sting of anger or shame, she felt oddly warm. And soft. And affectionate.
He really knew her so well.
He really made things so easy.
His hand slides across her stomach and wraps around her far hip, pulling her onto her side to face him.
"I'm sorry, Tony."
"Don't apologize."
"Sign of weakness?"
"Sign of doubt," Fingers ghost their way down her outer thigh and tap lightly on the bend of her knee, "If this is what you need, then it's what you need. Don't say you're sorry. Just do what you have to do."
She reaches for his face and ends up with her hand pressed gently against his cheek. She strokes his jaw. He shaved a week ago, but she swears if she lets herself melt into the fuzzy feeling in her head long enough, she can still feel the tickle of the beard he sported upon his arrival.
"I'm not trying to hurt you."
That made him chuckle and bow his head. He rested it against her shoulder for a few seconds before meeting her eyes again.
"Yeah, I know. But it's inevitable."
"Nothing is inevitable."
"Hm." He slides his fingers under her knee and pulls it over his hip. He nudges her jaw before planting a feather-light kiss on the base of her throat.
She hums her approval, pressing her hips against him until they're rolling over. It's sad, really, how some borrowed time and the anticipation of a broken heart seems to have turned back the clock. She feels like a horny teenager - a mangled ball of hormones and heat, constantly searching out her next opportunity to touch him, to taste him, to jump on his cock and ride herself to completion.
She'd been holding back for so long. And finally having him was a straight shot to her brain, causing her to feel both rooted in the moment and somehow light and airy. Like she was floating inside her own body - or like her body wasn't even there. Like she was a part of him, as safe and secure and essential to his being as a hand or a foot or an ear.
"You really are insatiable, huh?"
He's smiling at her, one hand on her waist and the other on her thigh as he helps her balance through the long, purposeful strokes of her hips. He's tired, and she knows they are close to the end of their window. But she needs one more go. One more chance to feel the friction of him moving inside of her and the warmth of him cumming in her depths.
"When I want to be," She leans forward, placing her hand square on her chest to support herself as she licks, kisses, sucks her way down his jaw and along his neck, "You are keeping up nicely."
"Doing my best," He struggles through the words as her persistent strokes finally have their desired effect. She feels him harden against the inside of her thigh.
"Last time, I promise," She snakes her hand between them and guides him gently toward her entrance, "After this, you can sleep."
She sinks onto him slowly, and they both sigh with relief as they join themselves in the most intimate way possible. She remains still for a few long seconds as she adjusts, then she begins to move.
They know it won't last long. They're both so exhausted, spent, sensitive.
He starts out helping her along - guiding her hips forward and back and forward and back as they work in tandem toward their mutual release. But at some point, he lets go, and she feels his hands brushing across her shoulders, pushing her hair back. Out of her face, away from her chest, opening up a clear and unobstructed view.
"God, you're beautiful."
His words catch her so off guard that she stops. He hisses, and she quickly shifts to a more comfortable spot. Then she stares down at him. He doesn't even blink.
"I love you," She whispers.
"I know," He tucks stray curls behind her ear before gently coaxing her off of his cock. She complies, moving to lay on her back and allowing him to hover above her with his arms brushing her shoulders where he held himself up, "It's the only thing keeping me together right now."
She nods as if agreeing to something, though he didn't ask any questions. And then he's leaning back on his knees, settling himself between her open legs and sliding into her with ease.
His arms go back up by her head as he starts thrusting into her slowly, and she immediately wraps him up in a trap of her limbs, hooking her ankles around his legs and her wrists around his neck. She wants to keep him there forever - caged in her arms with his skin burning against hers.
He catches her lips as she topples over the edge, and she strokes his hair as he does the same. They lay in silence as they both recover from their release, and it doesn't take long for his short strained breaths to even out into soft snores. They're sharing a pillow, and each exhale from his relaxed lips sends shivers down her spine.
She watches him sleep and desperately tries to convince herself that she's doing the right thing.
I always do this.
I'm working on Eynn. I've been struggling with the end of the chapter and school got super crazy after the shut down. But it's finals week, so I'm exactly 4 days from being home free, and my first priority will be finishing the chapter, as well as the 3 others I have planned and ready to write.
But once again, I was possessed by the writing bug and this sorta just happened.
I have such a soft spot for shower scenes. I've always wanted to do one for Tiva but this is the first I could actually make work. So I got excited and decided to post it now before I reread it so many times I end up hating it.
It's definitely different for me. I don't normally do sex and this is a little left of my typical style, but I like how it came out and I hope you guys do too.
I seriously promise I'm working on Eynn. I haven't abandoned it.
But I really hope you guys like this! Like I said, it's a little different for me, so reviews would be very much appreciated.
And I hope you're all doing well in whatever stage of lockdown you're in. Summer 2020 is pretty much canceled, so I intend on writing to pass the time. Follow me if you're interested in what I'm posting. For more of me (if you want that for whatever reason), you can check out my Tumblr (factoffictionwriter). I'm down to talk, so you can message me there.
Thanks for reading! Reviews are the best.