Tonight I dedicate this drabble to everyone like myself suffering through final exams and the end of their semester.
My heart goes out to you.
jae
Taste
She's up to her arms in batter when he enters from the room off the hall.
And he can only smirk at the mess she presents in his kitchen; a little flour smeared across her cheek, icing on her fingertips, and even on her neck. She's still wearing yoga pants and an old, college t-shirt she came across when clearing out room in his closet to accommodate her things a month back. He thinks he spies a bit of flour in a few, loose strands of curls that fall at her nape, and he watches her with a heavy gaze as she looks up from the cookies she dots with icing, because it's been four weeks now, and lord help him, he doesn't think he'll ever tire of private, domestic Ziva.
The stereo behind her croons with an old, jazzy christmas album that she's come to enjoy over the years of listening to it fill his apartment during the holidays, and her hips sway gently to the tempo, not pausing when she looks up, grinning at him with playful eyes, and licks icing from her thumb.
"Have you come to help with the holiday baking?" She teases, dropping her eyes to his bare chest and stomach. "Or have you come to taste-test again?"
He cracks a smile, shaking his head just slightly.
"I just came to see if you were done." He turns up the charm, smirking as he nods toward the hall off the kitchen. "I was about to jump in the shower, and you look like you could use one."
His grin widens as she predictably turns her back on him, though he knows in the extra sway of her hips that she's teasing him for his benefit. She takes her time setting the timer for the oven, pulling out fresh cookies and replacing them with a baking sheet with raw dough.
He's still watching her with a fond smile as she at last wipes her hands on a discarded towel, tossing it across the counter and coming to join him by the doorframe.
"I suppose I should get cleaned up," she says impassively, stopping just before him to lean into his body, drawing her hand up his chest to scratch against his skin, and her eyes follow her path.
His hand finds her hip once hers makes it to his shoulder, and he cracks a smile as he leans down to brush his lips against her neck.
"Maybe just one more taste," he murmurs, and his lips and tongue swirl against her skin. She drops her head in momentary submission as his lips pepper her neck, her jaw, below her ear; becoming more urgent and more sloppy as he reaches her exposed collarbone.
She's running her hands through his hair as he hoists her up in his arms, and her legs wrap tightly around his waist. Ziva laughs as he trips over the threshold, but he doesn't pause in his assault against her skin. She's still laughing as he walks her blindly backward to their bathroom down the hall, his own kisses becoming more distracted as her hands roam his shoulders and back, sneaking down to run under the hem of his sweatpants.
He gets her to the bathroom just as she frees her shirt from over her head, and the timer in the kitchen faintly ticks on as they turn the water on, and they disappear into a fog of steam.
While her baking is sweet, and the product tastes even sweeter, nothing compares to Ziva David.