Author's Note -
Well hey there! It's been a while for this one, hasn't it? I, uh, was building suspense... yeah, that's what I was doing... suspense.
Anyways, I'll try to be a more consistent updater, because I really do enjoy writing this story, and I've read every single review that you guys have written, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate the feedback. I mostly write this stuff so that it gets out of my head, but I keep posting it because of the kind words and encouragement.
I'm a poor college student. I own a futon mattress, some Ikea furniture, and a beagle who chews on my futon mattress and Ikea furniture. What I do not own is NCIS, and I acknowledge that, so, hey, don't sue me, okay? Unless you want some dog-chewed furniture and 5 figures of student loan debt, because that's all you're getting out of me.
Thanks again for still reading this one. You read it, I'll write it - deal? Okay. Deal.
Enjoy!
Tony was in heaven on earth. This was better than anything he had ever experienced, or could have dreamed of experiencing, really, because not only was he getting paid to lay in a luxurious bed in a five-star hotel suite, not only was he undercover, living his dream as some bad-ass James Bond assassin-type from a far-off foreign country (okay, well… Canada. But that detail could be overlooked), not only was he technically naked at work (again, living his dream), but Ziva David was curled up right there next to him in nothing but a silk robe, absent-mindedly playing with the hairs on his chest, softly breathing warm air onto the side of his neck.
Oh yeah, and they totally had sex. Twice. Three times if you count the just-for-show round.
Yes, this… this was heaven. Tony was pretty convinced of that, as he lay there contentedly in a post-coital bliss, twisting his own hair in his fingers, still breathing a little harder than normal, because Ziva just seemed to do that to him, somehow.
Also, the sex. That made him pretty tired, too.
"Sweetheart…" Tony began, the word sounding nice to him when he said it out loud. "You know what I could really use right now?"
Ziva sniffed at his armpit, rolling her eyes upward. "Some deodorant?" she quipped.
Tony chose to ignore her comment and pursue heaven to its fullest. "I was thinking more along the lines of a… back massage."
He gave Ziva a thousand-watt smile, hoping she'd agree. Because back massages were sensual experiences, ones that, in Tony's experience, led to more sex. And if he had learned anything in the past couple of hours, it was that he liked having sex with Ziva. A lot.
"Good idea," Ziva replied, inching closer to his face. "Why don't you roll over like a good boy." And Tony felt a little shiver at that, the words making him recall what she had said to him in the conference room the previous day. So he rolled over, eager to please, having learned what being a "good boy" could get him. He smiled at her while he did, meeting her eyes for a brief second. Hers were suggestive, full of promise.
Ziva settled onto his back, rolling her hips forward as her fingers dug firmly into his shoulders, kneading out the tension that he held there. Her hands, the weight of her on top of him, it all felt so good…
An "Ohhh, wow!" escaped from Tony's lips as he felt his body relax. "Ohhh. And to think my mother thought I was too good for you…" he joked. Ziva quickly pinched a nerve on the side of his neck. "Ow!" he whimpered. Ziva couldn't help but smile, at that, before resuming her massage, and Tony was once again moaning softly beneath her.
"I thought you were going to be a good boy, Jean-Paul?" Ziva whispered. They had shut the music off a while back, and had to resume using their cover names.
"Yeah…" Tony breathed. "I'll do whatever you say, just… keep doing that."
"Whatever I say?" Ziva teased, still working his muscles, which were beginning to loosen under her touch.
"Mmm-hmm…"
"What if I said, that after your turn, it is mine?" she asked, leaning in so that her lips brushed the top of his ear, where she then placed a light kiss.
"Sure…" Tony agreed. She was teasing his ear with her teeth, now, and running her hands slowly down his bare sides, and God, if she kept it up, he'd be ready for round three… four if you count the just-for-show round.
"And that for my turn, I want less of a massage, and more of a—"
Ziva didn't get to quite finish her thought, as she was interrupted by a knock at the door. She scrambled off of Tony to see who it was (because, oh yeah, they were on a mission, after all), and Tony cursed under his breath at the dimwit who dared interrupt his massage while he ran to get a robe to cover his nude body. He'd have to remember to ask Ziva later what she was going to say…
"Who is it?" Ziva called from behind the door.
"Room service."
McGee. Dimwit.
Ziva opened the door to their suite while turning the music back on. It was time for work, now.
"Compliments of the hotel management," McGee said, pushing in his cart of cleverly disguised surveillance equipment, handing Ziva her earwig, and trying his best not to stare at the Israeli beauty clad in only a short silk robe – especially now that Tony sauntered over, looking unusually relaxed, slightly peeved, and definitely protective. Ziva went to close the window shades, and on Tony's prying look, McGee quietly told him, "Gibbs wants me to sweep the room for bugs, place some of our own, and he also wants to talk to you." He handed Tony his earwig, which Tony fitted into his ear while trying not to grin like an idiot at McGee's hotel staff uniform, which he had not seen until now.
Ziva gestured to the bouquet of flowers, which she and Tony recognized as the hidden camera, having been shown all of the surveillance gear ahead of time. "You can put it over there, please," she ordered, pointing to the table that held their complimentary basket of fruit.
"Very good, ma'am," McGee complied, positioning the bouquet to get the best view of the room as possible, allowing Gibbs and Director Shepard to get their first look of the situation from MTAC.
"Garçon," Ziva continued, "we would like some extra bath towels."
Tony tried not to smirk, knowing why they needed extra bath towels. Because he and Ziva were in here getting all hot and sticky and sweaty, and used up most of the bath towels to clean themselves up, that's why, and damn that uniform, really, for looking so ridiculous on his Probie.
"Of course," McGee replied, trying not to go there in his head. He'd rather assume that they just showered. Separately. Even though they both looked dry.
He resumed sweeping the room for bugs, trying to ignore the thought. "Just checking to make sure everything's in order," he told them. But then he saw the bed, the sheets thrown aside and the pillows knocked to the floor, and the thought was hard to ignore.
"Would you like me to have the maid make up the bed for you, sir?" he asked Tony, who was playing with the tie on his robe, smirking at the suggestion.
"Oh, that won't be necessary…" he trailed off, giving Ziva a smoldering look, which she returned with a knowing squint and a suggestion of her own.
"Oh, and uh, can you check the mini bar?" she asked McGee. "We would like it restocked with Red Bull."
"Red Bull?" he returned. "That'll keep you up all night, ma'am."
"Exactly." More smoldering stares to her partner. More knowing eyes filled with promise. And more McGee having more difficulty not going there in his head, before fortunately being distracted by the discovery of a foreign listening device disguised as a pen. He quietly alerted Tony and Ziva, who had only just stopped having eye-sex long enough to notice.
Having come prepared for the possibility, McGee retrieved a cheese platter while the other agents looked on. "Please accept this assortment of cheeses, compliments of the hotel," he said, placing the tray's cover over the device, effectively muting its listening power.
"Thank you," Ziva said with a nod, silently acknowledging the tactic.
"Of course, ma'am."
"Hey, can I go ahead and bust open this champagne?" Tony asked, eyeing the contents of McGee's cart, while McGee went to place another tray of food for the undercover agents near the flower-camera.
"Absolutely, sir," McGee replied. Then, in a whisper, informed Tony, "If you whisper it should be okay," referring to the bug he had disabled. Tony began to open the bottle, smiling at Ziva, picturing himself licking champagne off of her nude body later when everyone was gone, not quite noticing his robe open to the watchful eyes of his boss and director.
"Comfortable, DiNozzo?" Gibbs interrupted, having seen more than he would have liked.
"Well, yeah, workin' on it," Tony smiled, working on opening the champagne with a new sense of determination. "Why do you ask?"
"We're looking at you, Agent DiNozzo," Director Shepard informed him, trying not to let her voice reveal that, okay, she was definitely impressed. "All of you."
Tony tensed his grip on the bottle and looked down in horror, realizing that he was in fact flashing all of MTAC, and pop!, sending the cork flying into the side of McGee's head. He stopped the champagne from bubbling over with his thumb and quickly covered himself behind the robe, much to the relief of his male coworkers and the unspoken disappointment of his female ones.
"Uh… sorry… about that," Tony apologized, giving McGee a look to also apologize for launching a champagne cork into his head. McGee rolled his eyes. Ziva slipped away to the couch, deciding to let Tony take all of the blame for this one.
"DiNozzo!" Gibbs interjected. "What the hell are you doin'? You're married assassins, you're not visiting the Playboy mansion!"
Tony fumbled with the tie on his robe before picking up the champagne again, along with two glasses. "It was kinda Ziva's idea, Boss," he lied, dreading the inevitable verbal head-slap from Gibbs that was coming his way, or the rebuttal from his partner, before fortunately being interrupted by the ringing of the phone. "Incoming call," he informed the onlookers.
Tony was relieved for the distraction, but beneath the surface he was disappointed. Disappointed that, with that phone call, the mission-of-his-lifetime could be over, but even worse, so could his shot with Ziva. It was all happening too soon. They had only just started exploring each other, not only physically, but emotionally, too. And he didn't want that to end. But he didn't know how to keep it going without the pretense of the assignment. He was a lady's man, a smooth operator, sure, but this was Ziva on the line. Something about her made things so… complicated. Made him forget how to operate so smoothly.
"Have her answer it," Director Shepard ordered.
"Sweet Cheeks," Tony said to his partner, trying to be that smooth operator that he normally was. "Do you think you could go over and answer the phone for me while I pour us some cham-pagn-e?" Ziva complied. "Thanks honey," he thanked her, that term of endearment sounding nice to him out loud, too.
He poured the champagne while she spoke on the phone and McGee continued to sweep the room, secretly hoping that things would continue for at least a little while longer. At least for a full night with her. Sure, his people were watching them now, but he could still kiss her, hold her, sleep next to her, feel what it was like to be with her. It felt… nice. He didn't know what that meant, and he wasn't sure he wanted it to have to mean anything, either. But what he did know was that she was starting to make his confidence escape him and his heart rate do funny things when she got too close, and that he still wanted her to get too close, anyways. Because it felt nice. And feeling nice was nice, even if it was all just for pretend.
All, that is, except for the very real and very vivid memories Tony had of the way Ziva writhed beneath him, moaned his name, ran her fingernails across his skin… the way she felt when he kissed her or when he fucked her or when she came, the look on her face or the sound of her voice or the feel of her all around him. No, he could never forget any of that. He didn't know how he'd be able to if he tried.
None of those memories were pretend, that was for certain. And they sure felt really, really nice.
"The concierge," Ziva stated, hanging up the phone after her conversation with their contact, walking toward Tony who held her gaze as well as their two glasses of champagne. "We were able to get into the dining room after all, my love," she said, rendering Tony a little speechless as he handed her a glass, his heart rate doing those funny things. She raised her glass to his, and continued. "It looks like I am getting dressed up for you tonight."
Ziva swayed away, then, brushing her hand against Tony's as she passed. He couldn't help but wink at McGee, who he noticed watching the two of them. McGee shook his head contemptuously. Tony grinned, raised his glass to the Probie, and took a sip as Gibbs' voice confirmed in his ear what he already knew.
"That wasn't the concierge, that was their contact."
"Sophie, honey," Tony called, "What time is our reservation, again?"
"Nine," Ziva replied. Gibbs' voice rang in his ear once more.
"That's in a couple of hours, DiNozzo," he confirmed. "I have to check if Abby made it in yet. Ducky finally got the bodies; we'll start relaying anything the two of them find to you as soon as possible."
The director chimed in, "In the mean time, keep up your cover while we come up with a plan of attack for dinner. We'll send McGee up with the extra bath towels and mini bar items around eight and have him relay the details."
Tony gave a nod of confirmation to the flower-camera and went to take another sip of champagne.
"DiNozzo!"
"Yeah boss?" he replied, cautiously, not entirely sure what he did.
"Put some damn pants on."