Title: Sundae jazz kick
Fandom: NCIS (original series)
Rating: 18 (some sexual content)
Pairing: Anthony DiNozzo/???
Warning: Not mine, don't own them, never happened, never going to.
AN: I had a rather weird dream about ice cream this morning, the resulting bunny wouldn't let me let it go.
He had tried so hard to resist, almost convincing himself that he could not be attracted to his co-worker. They had come here with a job to do and was resolute in his determination to simply get it done and leave without any messy interpersonal interactions, no unnecessary out of work place contact. And yet here he was, drawn by repressed desires into following the object of his fantasies.
Tailing them out of the dusty run down hotel which comprised their temporary accommodations, home from home if you didn't mind the faded wall paper and peeling paint work. He blamed Gibbs, frankly letting a pissed off Ziva arrange their lodgings had not been the best idea, he knew it was her form of subtle revenge for being excluded from the mission.
He hadn't set out that evening to tail anyone; off duty he'd been trying to sneak off to the bar for a quick drink but half way across the ragged lobby carpet he'd looked up and there she was, the slinky dark red dress and deep damson lipstick certainly not his colleague's usual style. A simple silk stole emphasised a shocking set of curves and a cleavage to die for. The seam of sheer black stocking flowed down an amazing pair of legs leading to three inch heels on shoes which had him practically drooling with desire.
While vainly attempting to gather his scattered wits about him, this vision of sexual perfection casually slipped out the main doors and strolled out into the early evening crowds and late run commuters. The sound of the door banging closed jerked out of his hormonal musing and into action, practically running across the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. Striding tall, head and shoulders above the average Joe on the street she was easy to spot and he found it easy to tail her down the block, surprisingly easy, almost like she knew he was there and wanted him to follow. Nah, couldn't be, it was just his imagination surely?
Her leisurely pace eventually carried them into a beautifully rendered, faux restoration designed, Jazz club. Weaving through the dinner crowds her hips seemed to sway in time with the sultry beat of the house band. The living sound; heavy and rich permitted the atmosphere and pulsed in rhythm with his heart.
Distracted for only a moment by the shifting bodies on the dance floor he lost the alluring form. Rapidly scanning the club he reacquired his target talking to one of the wait-staff. Nodding they left, returning almost immediately, handing over a sinfully loaded ice cream sundae; warm toffee syrupy drizzled generously over a topping of chocolate curls. Illuminated by the glow of strip lights through the open kitchen door she stood, haloed in artificial light in the dusky lit room. He watched her lift the spoon and dip it into the heady concoction, loading the sweet desert. He watched as her pink, pink tongue wrapped around the cold treat, pulling it in between those dark painted lips, closing around it in wicked perfection.
So fixated on her mouth was he that he failed to realised that she was slowly making her way closer, hips slinking around occupied tables at the edge of the dance floor, picking her way between writhing couples. Mesmerised he unconsciously followed as she turned away, heading toward the secluded booths in a private area at the rear of the club. Partitioned for privacy, offering dark comfort for the more circumspect customer, she lead the way to the end booth, her long black hair almost swallowed up by the deep flickering shadows cast by the fau candles, one each offering scant illumination within the depths of each booth.
He stopped and stood scant feet way as she slid leisurely onto the velvet and oak lined booth at the far end of the row. He barely contained a growl as by now painfully aroused he watched the silvery spoon vanish once again between those damson painted lips. He realised with dismay that the sundae glass was almost empty as the spoon dipped in for another erotic mouthful.
Stagging forward a final few steps he bonelessly slipped down onto the seat cushion, coming to rest semi recumbent in the darkened wooden cell. It seemed to his hormone addled brain that one moment he'd been standing; body thrumming with lust, and the next without any time passing his belt had been loosened, zip lowered and those lips, oh those succulent lips were stretched around his heated swollen flesh.
The final spoonful of ice cream chilled his blood as her tongue swirled it around the pulsing head of his penis. In stark contrast to the cool mouth and lips driving him insane, a single warm finger slide behind under his tightening scrotum to press hard against his perineum, rhythmically massaging down into the muscle and gently triggering his prostate within.
A tiny hitched breath heralded his imminent orgasm. Fingers scrabbling ineffectively against the cushions, he fought his body's need to writhe and buck his hip to drive deep into that sinful mouth, to bury himself soul within and never let go.
His release, when it came, was explosive, leaving him laying spent and lax, a picture of debauched pleasure. Involuntarily panting in a vain attempt to clear the black spots swimming in front of his eyes, he blinked somnolently as gentle hands carefully cleaned him off and tucked his sleeping flesh back inside his fly.
With a casual flick of her long-haired wig, his temptress stood. Looming large over his shocked victim Anthony DiNozzo smoothed his dress down over indulgently expensive stockings and with a gentle kiss on his partner's cheek he left the booth, walking away without a backward glance. Shocked and satisfied eyes watched him leave, shapely hips effortlessly swaying with seductive promise as he left Jimmy Palmer to contemplate his freshly shattered sexual identity.