note: Hey everyone! I know I said 'soon' in my Christmas fic note, but for those of you new to my writing, this is actually pretty soon for me. I'm so bad at updates I shame myself, to be honest. As a reader, I'm impatient, as a writer, horribly forgetful.
Forget you? Why no, I didn't, of course not. But this one's been edited more times than I can count, I really wanted the tone and the events and all that jazz to be just as my head had thought. Plus, the holidays came, and that equals lazing around and sleeping for me, so. And it was supposed to be up two hours ago but hey, excuses are just excuses.
I was never gonna exclude this line as a chapter, but I was never gonna bump up the rating to M, just for this. So I hope you don't mind my compromise; it's still quite a worthy T, I think. Also I cut the verse because I don't think Ireland playing football is within Tony's interests in life. You may disagree.
And thank you for the follows and favorites and reviews, I'm grateful for each and every one.
disclaimer: I think I just ate a moth.
"...the birds, and yes, the bees."
Life-ning; Snow Patrol.
He wrings his hands a little nervously as he leans against her desk. The thought's been plaguing him for days now, but it's a Friday night and they've finished early, and all reasons not to ask her are suddenly escaping him.
"Hey, so I was thinking-"
"Ooh, that is dangerous, yes?"
Not quite the start he'd been hoping for, he'll admit. He'd be more outraged, even, were it not for the laugh that bubbles from her lips, or the way her head throws back in amusement, or the grin spread out on her face. Somehow, that makes her comment not even seem to matter.
He forces his nerves away as he replies.
"Let me finish, David. I actually wanna thank you, for the other night."
She looks away suddenly, blushing ever so slightly.
"It was not a problem. You were sick, I was just helping out."
"You didn't have to stay."
His voice comes out hushed, more so than intended, and her eyes snap back to his at the words.
"No. I did not."
A crooked grin sliding onto his lips, he continues.
"So, dinner cooked by yours truly and a movie at Casa de DiNozzo?"
She looks a little stunned, but smiles, in that little quiet way only she does.
"Thank you. That would... be nice."
He slings his bag over his shoulder and waits for her to gather her things. Maybe this'll turn out alright.
It's only when it passes ten that he realizes their situation. Dinner went down a storm and the movie's rolling, but more importantly, they're sitting on the couch and she's curled up into his side. Her fingers are toying with his shirt absent-mindedly, and his own hand traces lines over her shoulder. They're practically wrapped up in each other, and he can't get enough. A warm, welcome feeling spreads through him, and he shifts his arm to get her attention.
"...Ziva?"
"Yeah?" she answers, eyes still glued to the screen.
"No, Ziva."
He pushes her off him, gently, hands resting on her shoulders. She looks at him, all warmth and affection, and whatever words he was about to say die on his tongue.
Instead, he watches as her eyes flit down, glancing at his lips, and she's so close he can feel her breath against his skin. They're so near, he could almost-
He doesn't get to finish his thoughts before she's moved in, mouth pressed to his.
He groans, arms crushing her close as their lips move against each other and his control falls within seconds. She presses into him, pushing him back against the couch as their tongues collide. The sensation is heady and all-consuming and it makes his head spin. Dizzy and breathless and completely turned on, he pulls back. She still clutches at him.
"Tony," she gasps, right into his ear, and his breath comes shorter even still.
His lips drag over her neck and stay by her ear, tasting and sucking and kissing, and her fingers clutch at his shirt like a lifeline as he moves. She pants against him, quiet little noises sounding with each heave of her chest.
"You want this, right?" he asks even as his hands sink beneath her sweater and roam the vast expanse of her back. He's filled with need and want and love and stopping now might just kill him.
"Oh, yes."
He groans yet again at her husky tone, and tears at the thick fabric, pulling it off and over her head. His hands run down her sides and goose bumps follow in their wake.
Her breath hitches. It's a sound he loves already, far too much.
He's never been one for snuggling after sex.
It's varied over time, naturally, but sticky skin and awkward, tangled legs often make such a thing more difficult than it really should be, he's found. As well as that, catching your breath with a hot naked person draped over you can be quite a task. But now, with Ziva, being cuddled up beneath the sheets seems only natural. No matter the sheen to their skin or the mess of limbs they're currently in, he's perfectly fine to just hold her as she sleeps.
She dozed off a few minutes ago, with her arm wrapped round his waist and her face resting on his chest, and the steady rise and fall of her against him is a comfort of sorts. He can't blame her for being tired, their many rounds were rather strenuous and it's well into the early hours by now, he's sure.
She's a peaceful sleeper, he's recently discovered, and the small smile spread on her lips assures him that her dreams are sweet indeed. The occasional snuffle sounds from her, too, and though not quite a snore, they make him grin all the same.
And it's then, after all that observation and all that reflection, with sheets crumpled round them and skin damp and sticky, that realization dawns. He is, content.
And it's a wonderful feeling indeed.
The moth is back. This means war.
But, uh, if you liked it, feel free to leave a quick review!
