FIC: "The Afterglow," Ziva/Fiona Glenanne (Burn Notice crossover)
Title: The Afterglow
Author: geonncannon
Fandoms: NCIS/Burn Notice
Pairing: Ziva David/Fiona Glenanne
Word Count: 2,060
Category: PWP, Smut
Spoilers: None (both pre-series)
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Rating: NC17
Author's Notes: I couldn't resist. I may have just started watching Burn Notice on Tuesday, but one can't help notice the comparison between her and a certain Mossad officer. After that, this story was destined to be. :D
Summary: "The plume of smoke was still rising in the sky, a storm cloud on the horizon and, for once, Ziva David had nothing to do with it."
The plume of smoke was still rising in the sky, a storm cloud on the horizon and, for once, Ziva David had nothing to do with it. She joined the shocked civilians in the street and watched as the cloud grew darker, spreading across the summer sky like an ink stain. Unlike everyone else in the street, Ziva was not stunned into a stupor. She stepped back and scanned the street, her hand itching for the weapons strapped to her calf and tucked into the back of her belt.
The police were too busy trying to control the crowd, so Ziva saw what they didn't; a woman in a sundress, long hair tucked behind her ears, casually placing a cell phone into a garbage can and walking away. Ziva broke away from the rest of the spectators and followed the woman down the sidewalk. Not American; the woman had been sitting with her back to the explosion. Americans would have been preoccupied with the idea of collateral damage. Not British, either. When the woman turned to see if she was being followed, Ziva saw a flash of blue-green eyes.
Ah, Ziva thought with a smile. Irish.
The woman spotted Ziva and quickened her pace. Ziva matched her, and they began half-jogging through the streets. The rest of the town was flowing in the other direction, people shouting and pointing into the sky. Ziva didn't know what had blown up, didn't care. She shoved through the people, not even bothering a perfunctory apology as she shoved her way past them. The Irish woman kept slipping in and out of view until, finally, she vanished completely.
Ziva cursed and broke into a full run. She checked the alleys, possible hiding spots on the sidewalk, cafés with open doors, anywhere that the lithe bomber might have disappeared. She passed a narrow alley and nearly bypassed it as empty. She hesitated, her shoes scuffing quietly on the pavement, as she squinted at the shadows under a fire escape. She had just determined the bomber was there when the Irish eyes moved out of the shadows.
The gun was silenced, but Ziva didn't need to hear it. She ducked to one side, her shoulder against the stucco, and felt the heat of the bullet whiz by her head. She pulled the gun from the small of her back, spun into the alley and fired twice into the shadows. But the bomber was already gone. Ziva kept the gun in hand and weaved through the garbage and debris of the alley.
The bomber was ahead of her, deftly navigating the twists and turns of the narrow path between garbage. An escape route, Ziva decided. Wise. She wished she had taken the time to remove her knife from the sheath on her leg, because there was no time now. She watched the spot on the bomber's back, that smooth spot between her thin shoulder straps where the knife would sink.
Ziva knew there was no way she could catch the bomber, not if she had a pre-planned route. That probably meant there were booby traps, blinds, secret escape routes lying ahead. She had to end this chase now. Ziva altered her course ever-so-slightly, leapt, and landed on an old crate. She took two running steps, grabbed the ladder of a fire escape and swung herself forward.
Her boots hit the smooth spot on the bomber's back. While not as satisfying as a knife, it certainly did the trick. The bomber went down hard, and Ziva collapsed on top of her. "Who are you with? Ziva asked in Hebrew. The woman didn't reply, so Ziva repeated her question in Arabic, English, Spanish and French.
The woman turned her head and smirked. "Not bad," she said in a heavily-accented Irish brogue. What else you got in there?"
"Get up," Ziva said. She grabbed the back of the woman's sundress and hauled her up. She spun the bomber around and pressed her against the wall. She crossed her left arm across the woman's chest and used her right hand to quickly frisk her.
The woman shivered and raised an eyebrow. "Mm. Well, if I'd known that was why you were chasing me."
"Who do you work for?" Ziva asked, ignoring the woman's come-on. Also ignoring the smooth curves underneath the woman's dress.
The bomber twisted her lips and watched Ziva for a long moment, then she said, "Mossad?"
Ziva didn't bother to ask how she knew. "And you are IRA."
"Ahh, not bad. Only impressive if ya found out a'fore I said anna-thing."
"Turn around."
"This is a much better view," the woman said. She bent her knee, her leg slipping between Ziva's as if it belonged there. She leaned forward and said, "Name's Fiona. You?"
"I am taking you into custody for..."
Fiona ignored Ziva. She moved her leg higher, pressing it against the crotch of Ziva's trousers. Ziva's voice caught in her throat and she closed her eyes momentarily. When she opened them again, they seemed to have grown darker. Animal. She spoke through clenched teeth. "Stop that."
"Touched a nerve?" Fiona asked. She leaned forward and her breath was hot against Ziva's face. "Or maybe something else..."
The woman was an IRA terrorist. She had just set off a bomb that had killed unknown amounts of people. And her leg was rubbing back and forth against the seam of Ziva's trousers. Fiona smiled and said, "It was a demonstration. If that helps." She nodded her chin toward the street. "Abandoned building. Just making a statement. And I'm not working for the IRA anymore." She lifted her leg and pressed harder.
Ziva touched the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth and glanced toward the street. Fiona took advantage of her distraction and knocked her arm out of the way. Ziva shouted and swung her free hand forward.
Fiona jumped back, grabbed Ziva's wrist and pulled. Ziva's own momentum sent her crashing into the same wall Fiona had just been pinned against. Fiona twisted her body and pressed herself tight against Ziva's back, her lips against the shell of Ziva's ear. "Now, then," she said softly. "That's better, isn't it?" She ran her hands down Ziva's side, her hips pressed against Ziva's hard enough that Ziva couldn't escape.
At Ziva's belt, Fiona slid her hands forward and moved them back up. She cupped Ziva's breasts through the hoodie she wore and said, "Mmm. I always wish for a playmate on jobs like this. Someone to take care of the... afterglow."
Ziva closed her eyes. "You are not with the IRA?"
"No," Fiona said. "Not for a year now."
Ziva spun around, swatted Fiona's hands away and cupped her face. "Good," she said. She thrust herself forward and kissed Fiona hard, pushing her across the alley to the opposite wall. Fiona made quiet sounds of pleasure as Ziva's tongue pressed against her lips, and her hands slid under the waistband of Ziva's pants.
When Fiona was against the opposite wall, Ziva reached under her dress and flattened her hand against her hip. She rolled her index finger around the waistband of Fiona's barely-there panties and yanked them down. Fiona laughed and broke the kiss. "My, my. A bit eager, are we?"
Ziva's answer was a growl, and she ripped the panties rather than try to get them down Fiona's legs. She stuffed the torn material into the pocket of her trousers and slid down Fiona's body. She bit Fiona's nipples through the sheer material of her dress, drawing them out with sweeps of her tongue and smiling when Fiona wriggled underneath her.
She ended up on her knees in front of Fiona, her dress lifted up to her stomach, focused on the thin, dark hair between her legs. She leaned forward and pressed her face against Fiona's hip, inhaled the sweat and musk of the other woman. She would never admit it to anyone, let alone this woman, but there had been times after missions when she had to go immediately back to the base and masturbate. The thrill of escaping, and sometimes of taking a life, was a thrilling aphrodisiac.
Ziva moved her lips down, kissing Fiona's flat stomach down to her pubic hair. She inhaled and couldn't stifle a groan. The short, coarse hairs were wet, an intoxicating mixture of sweat and Fiona's juices. Ziva parted her lips and closed them around the hair, running the back of her hands over Fiona's thighs. "So wet..." Ziva whispered when she leaned back. "You were excited, weren't you?"
"You have no idea," Fiona sighed. She moved her hand to the back of Ziva's head and tightened her fingers. Ziva felt the woman's nails like talons in her scalp. "Lower," Fiona said.
Ziva ignored the sharp pains of Fiona's nails, and casually kissed her hip.
"Lower... now," Fiona grunted.
Ziva looked up, her eyes calm.
Fiona's eyes were hard, and her jaw was thrust out defiantly.
Ziva idly brushed her knuckles over Fiona's thigh.
Fiona's eyes closed and she grunted, "Please."
Ziva bowed forward immediately. She tilted her head up and brushed her tongue across Fiona's pussy lips. They were wet, swollen from arousal, the clit hard and easy to find with her teeth. She gently toyed with it, swept her tongue over the captive bud and then closed her lips around it. Slowly, she began to suck. Her hand came up and cupped Fiona between the legs. She brought middle and index fingers up and slowly worked them between the lips.
"Ah, God, yes..."
Ziva released Fiona long enough to say, "Officer David."
"Yes, Officer David," Fiona gasped. She was rocking her hips against Ziva's face now, trying to work her fingers deeper. "Suck my clit, Officer..."
Ziva's free hand was between her own legs, pressing with the heel, circling with her fingertips, pushing herself right to the edge before pulling back. She was breathing hard, panting, when Fiona finally arched her back and cried out. "Officer David! Yes... I'm..."
Ziva released Fiona's clit, pulled her hand back and swept her tongue over Fiona's pussy. She curled her tongue, thrust it into Fiona and held on tight. She dug her fingers into Fiona's ass, surely leaving marks, until Fiona finally collapsed against the wall.
When she was sure Fiona could stand up on her own, Ziva kissed her way up her body, pausing again the lavish attention on her perfect little breasts, and then kissed her lips. Hard, hungry, passionate. Fiona gasped when the kiss broke and nuzzled her nose against Ziva's cheek. "Well. I'm glad we could come to an understanding."
"So am I," Ziva said. This was punctuated by a sharp, metallic click.
Fiona and Ziva both looked down at the handcuffs now linking Fiona to the fire escape. "You may not be IRA. But you are still a bomber." Sirens were rising throughout the city. Ziva shrugged and said, "You are not my problem. But I am sure the local authorities will want to talk to you."
"You bitch!"
"Mm," Ziva said, half-chuckling as she backed away. "You wanted to use me... I just used you better."
Fiona's eyes, ablaze with anger, slowly became calmer. She smiled, then threw her head back and laughed. "Fucking Mossad."
Ziva saluted with her middle finger and said, "Fucking IRA," in Hebrew. She tucked her tongue into her cheek and hurried down the alley before she had to explain her presence to local authorities. When she was a safe enough distance away, she slowed to a leisurely pace and stuck her hands into her pockets.
Her fingers brushed warm cotton and she pulled out Fiona's ruined panties. She brought them to her face, inhaled and closed her eyes. It was nice to have mementos.
Her cell phone rang and she fished it out of her trousers pocket. She smiled at the Caller ID and answered, "Leighton," which was her codename for this mission.
The voice on the other end was Jenny Shepard, though she was going by the name of Denise Brower for this particular assignment. "I heard there was an explosion. You?"
"Not this time," Ziva said. "Are you at the hotel?"
"Yes, why?"
"I'm on my way back," Ziva said, returning the panties to her pocket. "I'm hoping you can help me with the afterglow."
Author: geonncannon
Fandoms: NCIS/Burn Notice
Pairing: Ziva David/Fiona Glenanne
Word Count: 2,060
Category: PWP, Smut
Spoilers: None (both pre-series)
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Rating: NC17
Author's Notes: I couldn't resist. I may have just started watching Burn Notice on Tuesday, but one can't help notice the comparison between her and a certain Mossad officer. After that, this story was destined to be. :D
Summary: "The plume of smoke was still rising in the sky, a storm cloud on the horizon and, for once, Ziva David had nothing to do with it."
The plume of smoke was still rising in the sky, a storm cloud on the horizon and, for once, Ziva David had nothing to do with it. She joined the shocked civilians in the street and watched as the cloud grew darker, spreading across the summer sky like an ink stain. Unlike everyone else in the street, Ziva was not stunned into a stupor. She stepped back and scanned the street, her hand itching for the weapons strapped to her calf and tucked into the back of her belt.
The police were too busy trying to control the crowd, so Ziva saw what they didn't; a woman in a sundress, long hair tucked behind her ears, casually placing a cell phone into a garbage can and walking away. Ziva broke away from the rest of the spectators and followed the woman down the sidewalk. Not American; the woman had been sitting with her back to the explosion. Americans would have been preoccupied with the idea of collateral damage. Not British, either. When the woman turned to see if she was being followed, Ziva saw a flash of blue-green eyes.
Ah, Ziva thought with a smile. Irish.
The woman spotted Ziva and quickened her pace. Ziva matched her, and they began half-jogging through the streets. The rest of the town was flowing in the other direction, people shouting and pointing into the sky. Ziva didn't know what had blown up, didn't care. She shoved through the people, not even bothering a perfunctory apology as she shoved her way past them. The Irish woman kept slipping in and out of view until, finally, she vanished completely.
Ziva cursed and broke into a full run. She checked the alleys, possible hiding spots on the sidewalk, cafés with open doors, anywhere that the lithe bomber might have disappeared. She passed a narrow alley and nearly bypassed it as empty. She hesitated, her shoes scuffing quietly on the pavement, as she squinted at the shadows under a fire escape. She had just determined the bomber was there when the Irish eyes moved out of the shadows.
The gun was silenced, but Ziva didn't need to hear it. She ducked to one side, her shoulder against the stucco, and felt the heat of the bullet whiz by her head. She pulled the gun from the small of her back, spun into the alley and fired twice into the shadows. But the bomber was already gone. Ziva kept the gun in hand and weaved through the garbage and debris of the alley.
The bomber was ahead of her, deftly navigating the twists and turns of the narrow path between garbage. An escape route, Ziva decided. Wise. She wished she had taken the time to remove her knife from the sheath on her leg, because there was no time now. She watched the spot on the bomber's back, that smooth spot between her thin shoulder straps where the knife would sink.
Ziva knew there was no way she could catch the bomber, not if she had a pre-planned route. That probably meant there were booby traps, blinds, secret escape routes lying ahead. She had to end this chase now. Ziva altered her course ever-so-slightly, leapt, and landed on an old crate. She took two running steps, grabbed the ladder of a fire escape and swung herself forward.
Her boots hit the smooth spot on the bomber's back. While not as satisfying as a knife, it certainly did the trick. The bomber went down hard, and Ziva collapsed on top of her. "Who are you with? Ziva asked in Hebrew. The woman didn't reply, so Ziva repeated her question in Arabic, English, Spanish and French.
The woman turned her head and smirked. "Not bad," she said in a heavily-accented Irish brogue. What else you got in there?"
"Get up," Ziva said. She grabbed the back of the woman's sundress and hauled her up. She spun the bomber around and pressed her against the wall. She crossed her left arm across the woman's chest and used her right hand to quickly frisk her.
The woman shivered and raised an eyebrow. "Mm. Well, if I'd known that was why you were chasing me."
"Who do you work for?" Ziva asked, ignoring the woman's come-on. Also ignoring the smooth curves underneath the woman's dress.
The bomber twisted her lips and watched Ziva for a long moment, then she said, "Mossad?"
Ziva didn't bother to ask how she knew. "And you are IRA."
"Ahh, not bad. Only impressive if ya found out a'fore I said anna-thing."
"Turn around."
"This is a much better view," the woman said. She bent her knee, her leg slipping between Ziva's as if it belonged there. She leaned forward and said, "Name's Fiona. You?"
"I am taking you into custody for..."
Fiona ignored Ziva. She moved her leg higher, pressing it against the crotch of Ziva's trousers. Ziva's voice caught in her throat and she closed her eyes momentarily. When she opened them again, they seemed to have grown darker. Animal. She spoke through clenched teeth. "Stop that."
"Touched a nerve?" Fiona asked. She leaned forward and her breath was hot against Ziva's face. "Or maybe something else..."
The woman was an IRA terrorist. She had just set off a bomb that had killed unknown amounts of people. And her leg was rubbing back and forth against the seam of Ziva's trousers. Fiona smiled and said, "It was a demonstration. If that helps." She nodded her chin toward the street. "Abandoned building. Just making a statement. And I'm not working for the IRA anymore." She lifted her leg and pressed harder.
Ziva touched the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth and glanced toward the street. Fiona took advantage of her distraction and knocked her arm out of the way. Ziva shouted and swung her free hand forward.
Fiona jumped back, grabbed Ziva's wrist and pulled. Ziva's own momentum sent her crashing into the same wall Fiona had just been pinned against. Fiona twisted her body and pressed herself tight against Ziva's back, her lips against the shell of Ziva's ear. "Now, then," she said softly. "That's better, isn't it?" She ran her hands down Ziva's side, her hips pressed against Ziva's hard enough that Ziva couldn't escape.
At Ziva's belt, Fiona slid her hands forward and moved them back up. She cupped Ziva's breasts through the hoodie she wore and said, "Mmm. I always wish for a playmate on jobs like this. Someone to take care of the... afterglow."
Ziva closed her eyes. "You are not with the IRA?"
"No," Fiona said. "Not for a year now."
Ziva spun around, swatted Fiona's hands away and cupped her face. "Good," she said. She thrust herself forward and kissed Fiona hard, pushing her across the alley to the opposite wall. Fiona made quiet sounds of pleasure as Ziva's tongue pressed against her lips, and her hands slid under the waistband of Ziva's pants.
When Fiona was against the opposite wall, Ziva reached under her dress and flattened her hand against her hip. She rolled her index finger around the waistband of Fiona's barely-there panties and yanked them down. Fiona laughed and broke the kiss. "My, my. A bit eager, are we?"
Ziva's answer was a growl, and she ripped the panties rather than try to get them down Fiona's legs. She stuffed the torn material into the pocket of her trousers and slid down Fiona's body. She bit Fiona's nipples through the sheer material of her dress, drawing them out with sweeps of her tongue and smiling when Fiona wriggled underneath her.
She ended up on her knees in front of Fiona, her dress lifted up to her stomach, focused on the thin, dark hair between her legs. She leaned forward and pressed her face against Fiona's hip, inhaled the sweat and musk of the other woman. She would never admit it to anyone, let alone this woman, but there had been times after missions when she had to go immediately back to the base and masturbate. The thrill of escaping, and sometimes of taking a life, was a thrilling aphrodisiac.
Ziva moved her lips down, kissing Fiona's flat stomach down to her pubic hair. She inhaled and couldn't stifle a groan. The short, coarse hairs were wet, an intoxicating mixture of sweat and Fiona's juices. Ziva parted her lips and closed them around the hair, running the back of her hands over Fiona's thighs. "So wet..." Ziva whispered when she leaned back. "You were excited, weren't you?"
"You have no idea," Fiona sighed. She moved her hand to the back of Ziva's head and tightened her fingers. Ziva felt the woman's nails like talons in her scalp. "Lower," Fiona said.
Ziva ignored the sharp pains of Fiona's nails, and casually kissed her hip.
"Lower... now," Fiona grunted.
Ziva looked up, her eyes calm.
Fiona's eyes were hard, and her jaw was thrust out defiantly.
Ziva idly brushed her knuckles over Fiona's thigh.
Fiona's eyes closed and she grunted, "Please."
Ziva bowed forward immediately. She tilted her head up and brushed her tongue across Fiona's pussy lips. They were wet, swollen from arousal, the clit hard and easy to find with her teeth. She gently toyed with it, swept her tongue over the captive bud and then closed her lips around it. Slowly, she began to suck. Her hand came up and cupped Fiona between the legs. She brought middle and index fingers up and slowly worked them between the lips.
"Ah, God, yes..."
Ziva released Fiona long enough to say, "Officer David."
"Yes, Officer David," Fiona gasped. She was rocking her hips against Ziva's face now, trying to work her fingers deeper. "Suck my clit, Officer..."
Ziva's free hand was between her own legs, pressing with the heel, circling with her fingertips, pushing herself right to the edge before pulling back. She was breathing hard, panting, when Fiona finally arched her back and cried out. "Officer David! Yes... I'm..."
Ziva released Fiona's clit, pulled her hand back and swept her tongue over Fiona's pussy. She curled her tongue, thrust it into Fiona and held on tight. She dug her fingers into Fiona's ass, surely leaving marks, until Fiona finally collapsed against the wall.
When she was sure Fiona could stand up on her own, Ziva kissed her way up her body, pausing again the lavish attention on her perfect little breasts, and then kissed her lips. Hard, hungry, passionate. Fiona gasped when the kiss broke and nuzzled her nose against Ziva's cheek. "Well. I'm glad we could come to an understanding."
"So am I," Ziva said. This was punctuated by a sharp, metallic click.
Fiona and Ziva both looked down at the handcuffs now linking Fiona to the fire escape. "You may not be IRA. But you are still a bomber." Sirens were rising throughout the city. Ziva shrugged and said, "You are not my problem. But I am sure the local authorities will want to talk to you."
"You bitch!"
"Mm," Ziva said, half-chuckling as she backed away. "You wanted to use me... I just used you better."
Fiona's eyes, ablaze with anger, slowly became calmer. She smiled, then threw her head back and laughed. "Fucking Mossad."
Ziva saluted with her middle finger and said, "Fucking IRA," in Hebrew. She tucked her tongue into her cheek and hurried down the alley before she had to explain her presence to local authorities. When she was a safe enough distance away, she slowed to a leisurely pace and stuck her hands into her pockets.
Her fingers brushed warm cotton and she pulled out Fiona's ruined panties. She brought them to her face, inhaled and closed her eyes. It was nice to have mementos.
Her cell phone rang and she fished it out of her trousers pocket. She smiled at the Caller ID and answered, "Leighton," which was her codename for this mission.
The voice on the other end was Jenny Shepard, though she was going by the name of Denise Brower for this particular assignment. "I heard there was an explosion. You?"
"Not this time," Ziva said. "Are you at the hotel?"
"Yes, why?"
"I'm on my way back," Ziva said, returning the panties to her pocket. "I'm hoping you can help me with the afterglow."