ANTICIPACIONE DI APPREZZAMENTO / Anticipation to Appreciation

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property by the writers of NCIS and CBS. No copyright infringement is intended. Only the plot belongs to me.

Author: TLC

Rating: M/ explicit

Word count: 1, 647

Prompt: Kiss Along the Hips (AU)

Summary: In the months after Gibbs leaving NCIS (HIATUS, S3 finale) Tony oddly enough became a pillar of strength in Ziva's life, where she doesn't need to waste unnecessary worry of him overstepping boundaries and let herself enjoy the moments of their brief peace.

It's a nice thing to wake up to – Tony's mouth on her shoulder, teeth dragging against the skin as he presses his body close to hers, and a hand settles between her thighs. His calloused hand drawing against the length of her legs, slightly scratching – tickling - her senses and her body shivers pleasantly. He teases and coaxes her into consciousness with the pads of his fingertips, the warmth of his mouth against her skin, as Ziva grins lazily, still mostly asleep. Mewing a little, she presses backwards until her whole body is flush with his. He murmurs something soft, just for her, but she misses it almost entirely, thinks maybe she hears the soft syllables of her name slip between them and settle, but decides she doesn't really care.

They have these routines – tired, tested, true – and lazy Sunday mornings always begin with Ziva waking first, for her morning run or a session at the gym. Sometimes, depending on their caseload and whether or not Director Shephard had called them in she would let herself sleep in a little longer. Ziva would typically go for her run, pick up bagels or a bear-claw for Tony, and cook breakfast for the two for them. Other days, she'll wake to his head buried between her legs, shoulders pressing her thighs apart to accommodate the width of him, his mouth pushing her into submission as his tongue carves the slopes and angles of his initials into her, branding her needlessly as his in only a way they know exists.

Today isn't like that, though.

Today, Tony is lazy and slow, but just as intent, eager as always. His fingers rub against her without any real direction or force, circles smooth and without end. Ziva twists her neck and finally blinks herself fully awake, eyes assaulted by the bright sunlight filtering in through the damn curtains she forgot to close the night before. She slips her mouth against his, lips curving her hello against his before pulling away and shifting until she's on her back and the angle is better. Tony hums appreciatively in the back of his throat, the vibrations digging into her skin, and she feels his grin in her teeth, both loves and hates the way his fingers still, slipping out of the warmth between her legs, his palm coming to rest flat against her stomach. He holds her there for a minute, mouth moving against hers leisurely before his fingers start to slide upwards, under the cotton of an old t-shirt of his she's long since claimed as hers. The pads of his fingers count bones and skim the underside of her breast.

Ziva squirms, a moan catching and falling, and she shifts again until she's on her side facing him, his mouth spreading into a smile as she pushes one of her thighs between his.

"Morning," he says quietly, and Ziva doesn't know why but she laughs, buries her head in the crook of his neck just so she can press her mouth against the soft skin there. He smells like her. A scent he wears well. She kisses, licks and bites as she leaves his neck, there's a faint whimper, his chest, Tony sighs appreciatively, nipping a nipple, he huffs out a laugh. When she settles between his thighs, straddling one between her own, Ziva pays attention to the curve of his hips and by the sounds that fall from him, he's surprisingly sensitive.

The heat of the July morning is already thick, sweat starting to pool at the base of her spine, Tony's skin stick to her own but she's not bothered as Ziva's survived summer in Israel. She needs to brush her teeth and shower, eat some food probably, but Tony's hands press into her hair, urging her to come back up where he holds her to him tightly as his fingers draw tiny shapes into the skin between her shoulder blades. She gets lost, mouth finding its way back to his, and as the heady arousal starts to coil and twist in the pit of her belly, it becomes painfully obvious that Tony is more than willing to draw this out, build her up just to the point of begging.

Even though he'll never admit and most people would never guess – he likes the way she throws filthy expletives at him, likes the way she murmurs please with a certain amount of desperation she never allows anyone to know she is capable of and when she's mumbling – stuttering - words in Hebrew Tony knows she's close.

Ziva is having none of it today. She presses her palms flat against his chest and pushes, uses her body and legs to move the both of them until he's flat on his back, one of her thighs on either side of his. Tony's laughter is soft and she grins at him from above, as his hands adjust somewhere near her hips for a moment before traveling north, pushing at the t-shirt hanging loosely off her frame until he works it over her shoulders and tosses it to the side.

"Can we just stay here like this all day?" he asks, ridiculously hopeful, with that smile of his that makes her knees weak like some stupid girl she swore she'd never be before he came along. In the back of her mind, Ziva knows that the barriers she spent years to build to protect her heart and soul, is already crumbling down.

Leaning forward, she brushes her mouth against his, lets her hands roam the dips and curves of him from memory. "Can't," she breathes, shaking her head. "Abby is expecting us today."

His mouth presses into a frown. Ziva doesn't need to look at him to know it's there. "I don't think that Sunday was created for cooking with the homeless."

Tony trails his fingers along her sides before settling against her breasts, kneading and smoothing as his mouth grazes along the slight bone of her jaw, the smooth line of her neck.

"You made a promise, Tony. Besides, how could you disappoint Abby?"

Groaning a little, his teeth sink into the spot behind her ear that never fails to start her unravelling, tongue darting out to smooth the soft indentations quickly thereafter as she groans, rolls her hips against his.

"Well sure, it's always hard to say no when it comes to Abby but c'mon, it's Sunday," he cries softly, only half-serious, hands slipping between them to tease softly before sinking a finger into her, and then another, thumb flicking against her clit with just the right amount of rhythm.

It's too easy for him – drawing her into incoherency – and she has to think about how to form words before she speaks them, so for a moment all she can do is brace herself with one hand fisted in the sheets near his head, smile crooked as she drags her bottom lip between her teeth.

Already the tension is building and pulling at her, and she doesn't know what she's doing with her hands, can't make sense of the words that are falling out her mouth, but she does know that this isn't want she wants. Ziva wants him inside her, now, and she crushes her mouth to his, forcing her tongue past his lips to flick against his, and because Tony knows her, all of her, he gets it. She removes his hand from the warmth between her legs to join hers in an effort to push his boxers down his legs. It's a bit messy and disorganized, and they laugh a little as his hands tangle in her hair to pull her towards him for another kiss.

"I heard you the first time. But might I remind you that we have set up a movie night after working at the shelter, You can even pick first and choose the snacks," she tells him when she pulls away, almost out of breath. She adds needlessly for clarification, "Just us two. If you like."

"Yeah?"

"You will enjoy it." She straightens her spine, grins at him. Almost daring Tony to refute. His hands fall to her waist, tightening when she poises herself above him. "Popcorn. Extra butter. Comfy couch, dim lighting and you might get a kiss if you are a good boy."

Tony laughs, eyes crinkling in dirty delight. "Is that a promise?"

"Oh, yeah."

Her hands slide along his arms until her fingers find his, tangling and tightening, moving until she can pin them into the mattress above their heads. Tony is innately stronger than her, but still allows her to do as she pleases, lets her take control, inches his head forward just so he can slick his mouth against hers with a quiet desperation she quite likes the look of as she presses herself onto him.

There are a lot of things Ziva enjoys about Tony – some superficial and some not – and at the top of that list are definitely his very talented mouth and hands, the eagerness with which he attacks most everything. But this, right here, with the way he watches her, the pure want and need evident in the jaw-slack look he offers her as they breathe and stretch to accommodate the familiar fit of one another is what she appreciates the most.

This, right here, is just Tony, her Tony, a piece of him that is hers and hers alone, a piece of him the world outside this room will never, ever know. Behind the goofy façade and the jokes and the womanising.

It does something funny to her, that knowledge, the bold sense of possession that coils warmly in her belly, and her fingers tighten around his almost bruising, knuckles turning pearl-white as she presses her mouth against his more deeply.

"Good morning, Tony," she breathes, eyes on his as they begin to move.