"Travel Diary" - Tony, Ziva, and some very grown-up fun

[littlesammy]

disclaimer: So not mine. Just borrowed them for play. Put them back unharmed, but relaxed.

notes & warnings: Sex. Like, lots of it. There is somewhat of a plot (and a good deal of pretty adult romance) that snuck in while I wasn't looking (sorry about that) but please fill in all required details of the actual case file on your own. It's... sort of an alternative way for them to go about this. Something along the lines of "what happens in Vegas..." As such, it requires some willing suspension of disbelief, but I'm sure you can deal with that, yes? ;)

Set before "Shabbat Shalom", even though it feels more like an alternate timeline that starts somewhere around the end of last season.

And finally -- this story is mostly about sex. About all the hot little scenarios that make thinking about Tony and Ziva so much fun. It's meant to put some really nice, delectable images in your head. In case I succeed -- you're welcome. Just don't complain later you had no idea what you were in for, okay? Okay.

word count: 11,200

comments & feedback: Very much appreciated.

Travel Diary

Not too long ago it would have been the trip to Key West itself that would have excited Tony the most about this. Because seriously, going there on company money? Yeah, not too shabby. And since any of them rarely manage to squeeze in a real vacation -- double win.

But these days it's no longer the mere prospect of traveling that gets him all bouncy about a case. At least not when he's going with Ziva. No, on these occasions his brain is suddenly very busy with things that have nothing to do with his usual need for sightseeing and partying. They're things that drag his thoughts so easily away from the file he's supposed to memorize and into a distracting little fantasy realm of anticipation. Things that are pretty much inappropriate in a normal work environment... and yet, they are very much work-related to him.

He's been that kind of single-minded for a while now. Ever since Ziva started sleeping with him on away missions, really.

*** *** ***

The Florida sun beats down on them like they're on Arrakis, and he's not sure how much more of this he can take. Even Ziva with her hellhound tolerance for heat feels the effects by now and doesn't do much more than spread her limbs meekly in the sun chair. She's lucky it's all that is required of her for now -- lounge around by the pool and be a pretty bait. Or maybe he's the lucky one, because he gets to watch her.

Every now and then she fishes a melting ice cube out of her otherwise empty long drink glass and runs it all over her skin, and yeah, he has to admit it doesn't take much of that to lead his thoughts astray. Especially when she starts sucking one of the cubes. He can tell she's taking this job very seriously.

She moves her hand down her neck and then slides the remnants of the ice cube all over her cleavage, and for a second Tony is very, very glad that for now he can just watch her from the shadows of the apartment. His body is twitching with anticipation already, just from these few glimpses. He's not sure he could stay focused on the job for long if he were out there, too.

His relief is short-lived, though, because a glance at his watch tells him she's been on her own long enough, and it's time to give their stalker a little taste of what they're here for.

*** *** ***

"I'm hot," she complains listlessly when she hears him coming up from behind.

He taps the freshly filled glass of iced tea against her cheek, and his lips twitch with a grin when she can't suppress a moan at the sensation. "Yes, you are," he murmurs, leans over her and hands her the glass.

Ziva tilts her head back in the chair and gives him a coy look over the edge of her shades, and yeah, he likes that look. It gets straight under his skin. It's the kind of look he lives for lately.

"Anything interesting going on?"

"No." They both know what they're talking about, so that's all that passes between them. The benefits of a long partnership. He winks at her, and the smile he gets in return is genuine and not just a part of her cover. It's silly, but that one smile is enough to seriously mess with his mind, and so he breaks with the original plan and takes the sun chair opposite from her as if that was the reason he came out originally, just so he can watch her for a little while longer.

He's still finding his way around the role of Jordan Loughlin, playboy and occupational rich man's son. He's watched the guy, of course, talked to him and tried to pick up patterns of speech and movement. It still feels weird when he can't improvise as much as he likes to. When he really has to pass for someone else and make his actions seem in character. Maybe that's why he's staying, too -- because he's pretty sure that Jordan, the addict to pretty girls in uniform, wouldn't leave this one on her own for too long.

Ziva's eyebrow goes up, of course. He knows what she's thinking: that his body may be a near perfect match and that his jawline is close enough, but it's still a risk to stay visible for too long. He's only supposed to give their stalker glimpses here and there, and a few blurry action shots with his partner, so to speak. Just enough to hint convincingly that Ziva is the latest in the long line of stunning Navy girl conquests the party animal brought home for some fun and action. But he feels good behind his too big and ridiculously expensive shades, and so he stretches out more comfortably in the sun chair and starts to ogle Ziva shamelessly. It's her own fault, really, wearing that poor excuse of a bikini. It's hardly more than three strategically placed, triangle-shaped stamps. She doesn't seem to mind the visual liberties he's taking, and maybe that's just her part of the job. Maybe, though, it's part of that thing they started doing lately. That sex thing.

He feels like Pavlov's dog these days, drooling at the slightest sensual trigger. In a way it's embarrassing. He's well aware of that. But he still can't seem to help it: once his busy mind goes to that place, it always ends up stuck there, and it keeps circling endlessly around all the ways he can make her come if she lets him. Of course he can't even be sure that she'll sleep with him at all on this mission, but the possibility is there, especially given the nature of this particular assignment, and that distracts him pretty good all of a sudden.

And Ziva is smart. She notices his train of thought, of course. He can see it in the way she slides her own shades down her nose and peeks at him over the rim. She really knows him too well.

He shrugs, smiles apologetically even though he isn't sorry at all, and for some reason her expression shifts a bit, turning her from no-nonsense Special Agent into the Navy bunny she's supposed to be -- a pretty girl who's just here for a good deal of fun. He's seen that look before, and it doesn't help to bring his mind back on track. It's too late for that. He knows something is up now, and his skin prickles with delicious anticipation.

She sees that, too, and there's a smile twitching around the corners of her mouth while she takes one more sip from her iced tea. She's not even looking at him when she puts down the glass carefully, as if she doesn't care at all about him being there, but he knows that's just a ruse. His ego might not be the most stable thing in the world, but he does know she likes doing these assignments with him. And she really, really likes doing them the way they do it lately. It wouldn't be the same for her if she had to go abroad with McGee suddenly.

She stalks over to him and sits in his lap, and that's when her careful mask of indifference slips because he's already half hard by the time she settles down. A delightful little blush spreads on her cheeks, and yeah, he wants to see more of that, so his hands come up to her hips and grip her tight. Press her down for a heartbeat, so he can feel more of her. He doesn't even bother with an apologetic look this time because her heat is telltale against his cock, and that sensation is just too good. Oh, yeah. She really likes him that way, too.

Her lips part out of reflex, and when she leans forward, he thinks at first she's about to kiss him. She just moves her mouth to his ear, though, and murmurs, "What are you doing, Tony?"

"Playing the part," he replies absentmindedly. Her pretty breasts are close enough that he could suck on them easily if he'd want to. (And oh, how he wants. Badly. But even he has to admit that would go a bit far as long as they're still under surveillance.)

Her curls fall around his face when she shifts in his lap and leans over him. It's a subtle attempt to disguise his features better, and he can't help but admire the maneuver.

"Be careful. Fake tattoos only go so far."

And yeah, he wants to listen, both to her and reason, but he has to admit that he's having trouble concentrating on the words she mouthes. Because Ziva runs her hands over said tattoos now. Down his chest, exploring him. Fingertips digging into the skin slightly. He's not sure she's even aware of it. He is, though, and his body eagerly leaps the rest of the way to hard and horny. And yes, she feels that and gasps into his face, shocked in the good way. More heat flares against his cock, not hidden at all by her flimsy excuse for clothing. Jesus, this is killing him already, and they've barely begun this game.

"You should go back inside."

She says that, yes, but her fingernails dig into his chest now and seem to demand just the opposite. His hips jerk into hers out of reflex, and Ziva makes that breathless little sound again that's almost a laugh. He echoes her. There's a strain to his voice, though, because he has real trouble concentrating on the task at hand now. Her fingertips, tracing the lines of fake ink on his chest, drive him nuts.

God, he wants to be inside her so bad right now.

"Sweetheart," he forces out, "right now I couldn't get up if I wanted to."

He sees her eyebrow arch up in amusement, so he shows at least an effort: he gives her a crooked grin and forces his hands to relax their death grip. But in the process his thumb slides off her hip and down to the soft curve of her belly. And then it dips even lower, because he really can't help the urge. Brushes the tiny cloth triangle between her legs inquisitively. He's too aware of the fact that it hides only smooth, bare skin. Oh yeah, he knows by now she shaves. He once spent a whole night with his face buried there, eating her out like a starving man.

Her eyes flutter when the pad of his thumb reaches a sensitive area, and for a moment she looks deliciously distracted. She sighs his name, very softly, and he can't help but smile at her while he strokes her just as gently as her breath is on his face. His fingers are splayed on her thighs now, and his thumb works her slowly. It's weirdly relaxed, like petting her. Like rewarding her for being a good girl. And it thrills him to watch her face while he does that. How she fights to keep her composure. How she fails, little by little, and how her skin flushes and her eyelids turn into nervous butterflies.

She indulges him for a few seconds longer than he expected her to, and for a heartbeat he even thinks she might be in the mood to just keep riding him like that. They're supposed to put on a sex show, after all. And it's not like the surveillance team will be able to tell what's really going on behind the high arm rests of that chair. They'd never see it if he'd slide her tiny panties to the side now, for instance. Or push his trunks down just far enough to free his cock, so he could slide into her...

He groans when she rises on her knees just enough to break the rhythm and drag him out of his hot little fantasy. Her movements still, and it drives him nuts. He really, really needs that delicious pressure back, just--

"Sorry," he whispers, breathing out slowly, blinking while he tries to get a grip on his wayward libido. It's really been too long since he was allowed to fuck her.

She tilts her head and watches him quietly for a few long moments. He's not sure what to make of her expression -- whether she just wants to scold him or already skipped ahead to planning his untimely death for this indiscretion.

Then she's done thinking, and yeah, he's used to fluid movement from her, but not quite like this: she's sliding off his lap, but not to move away from him. Down, rather. Stretching out along his thigh comfortably while she throws him a glance that leaves his higher brain functions scattered all over the place. She's so hot. It's not just the sun --her body's heat scorches him, and he swallows hard because like this, with her cheek resting against his hip...

There's a thin sheen of sweat on her upper lip, and that's when he has to close his eyes because it gets too much. It's one of these moments where the things his mind cooks up are much more dangerous than what's actually going on.

Or maybe not. Because her hand's on his cock suddenly, and she strokes him through his trunks, once, twice, like it's a test. If it is, he fails miserably because he can't help the gasp that flows from his lips. His cock jumps in her grip, eager for more touch. He loses a few brain cells when she bends over him, and that's when his eyes snap open again. He has to see this, right?

Not that there's much to see. Her wild curls spill all over his lap, and the tiny rational part that's left of his mind insists she does this just for the required show. To satisfy their watchers and, maybe, to drive him mad while she's at it, just because she likes doing that. He can't see anything beyond the mass of her hair, but that doesn't make a difference. His lust burns him up anyway, and his busy, busy mind is only too happy to provide many delightful scenarios that could happen next, if Ziva were so inclined.

And that's when he realizes that she is, and she does, and so reality catches up with idle thoughts soon enough. Nimble fingers push aside cloth, lips close around his flesh, and he groans, helplessly, head falling back. He's melting, burning up. Dissolving into pure sensation. And while he curses and grips the arm rests like a lifeline, he feels her satisfied smile around his cock.

*** *** ***

Naples. That's when they started doing this. He's not entirely sure if he was the one to make the first move or if it was her or if it turned out to be just one of those inevitable things that simply happen between them, eventually. He does remember it began as idle banter, later, in their hotel room, while they were waiting for the night to pass so they could catch an early plane back.

His room, technically. But Ziva had invited herself over because she wasn't in the mood to spend the evening alone. Which sounded a lot more innocent than the thing it turned into. The thing that started out with them spinning playful tales about their undercover roles while they were waiting for dinner. About the secret crush Petty Officer Taylor probably had on his superior officer. And then something happened behind Ziva's pretty brown eyes, and she suddenly looked at him with this weirdly thoughtful expression and suggested that maybe Evans was abusing her rank to get Taylor to... satisfy her primal urges, that's how she put it.

He doesn't remember if it was her look or her words that turned this idle game into something more. He does remember how he leaned into her, though, while she was stretched out on his bed comfortably, relaxed, and yeah, he does remember the spark of fire lighting up in her eyes when he said Petty Officer Taylor wouldn't need that much coercion to try his best.

*** *** ***

"I'm gonna take a shower," she says and throws him a sidelong glance that is a clear invitation to join her, but he grabs her hand and drags her to his chest before she can saunter out of the living room. She hums against his lips, and for a moment this is all about indulgence and the sparks she ignites in his belly.

Then he runs his mouth across her cheek so he can whisper into her ear. Some conversations are best kept low profile, and he's still not sure how tight their surveillance is, since their emergency briefing about this assignment hardly happened.

"That was pretty risky."

She smiles against his neck and makes more contented sounds while she runs her hand down his naked chest. "Don't you mean frisky?"

"Ziva."

The seriousness in his voice lets her sigh, and she loses some of her playfulness. There's still a slightly smug expression dancing around her mouth when she whispers back, "Relax. I doubt anyone watching us was looking at your face."

"Not the FBI. But someone who's obsessed with the guy I'm supposed to be?"

She breathes out slowly, and he feels the sudden tension underneath her skin. Her eyes get shifty, and he can see that she's starting to fret because she lost focus for a few pleasurable minutes. And just like that he regrets mentioning it. He leans into her and runs his fingertips down her sides to distract her. Goose bumps spread under his touch and race up her arms, and she shakes her head. Her pretty mouth almost forms his name to scold him, but he presses his mouth to hers, and his lips eat the sound away until she gives in and melts into his touch. It takes an astonishingly short amount of time.

Her reaction is heated and leaves his skin tingling all over again, despite the fact that she sucked his brains out mere minutes ago. He knows he's like a horny teenager around her these days. He just can't seem to help it. And thankfully, she doesn't seem to mind... at least whenever they're not themselves

"You think there's room in that shower for me?" He murmurs the question against her lips and then draws back until her eager mouth chases his. He can't help a grin when she gives him that certain kind of look through her dark lashes. Oh yeah, she likes that proposition. Looks like he's about to get very lucky in a few minutes.

Which was the entirely wrong thing to think, of course, because that's when his phone rings.

Ziva pulls a face, and he mirrors her. For a moment he actually contemplates ignoring the call in favor of the wanton temptress in his arms, but in the end he loses the struggle to his professional side.

"Go," he mouthes, and she yelps when he slaps her pretty backside playfully. "Save me a spot."

The caller ID is blocked, but there's only one person who knows this number -- the one in charge of this operation. "That was a little too convincing, DiNutzzo."

Tony grimaces, and he looks over his shoulder before he can control the impulse. Feeling watched is not one of his favorite sensations. Especially when he knows it's not just a feeling. "Well, convincing is the name of the game, Uncle Tobias," he replies cautiously and steps towards the window front. His eyes catch the reflection of a lens somewhere in the trees, but he's not sure if it's the surveillance team or their stalker slash murderer. "Wasn't that why you borrowed us?"

Fornell snorts at the other end of the line. "It's a joint venture because one victim was Navy," he reminds Tony, then adds, "Does Gibbs know?"

"That she's good at her job? Yeah, of course. It's kind of obvious." And just like that, they have a mean round of poker going on, with Fornell trying to get him to admit that he's sleeping with his partner and Tony trying to hide that very fact.

He knows he's won this round when Fornell chuckles after a few seconds and settles for the order to cool it off for today in favor of a first round of bait patrol. Which, in theory, isn't winning, because she's still in the shower, naked and horny, and now there won't be much he can do about that.

It's not the real reason he confirms only grudgingly, though. He's hesitant to admit it, but he's also concerned about her. She'd roll her eyes at him if he were to say it out loud, and yeah, yeah, he knows she's a big girl and more than capable of staying alive. He's seen her in action often enough. But knowing she's good doesn't mean he has to like that he can't be there to have her six, especially when they're dealing with this kind of sick, acid-throwing nutjob. Krav Maga only goes so far against that.

"Bad news, angelface," he calls while he snaps his phone shut. The sound of running water stops almost instantly. "Looks like we'll have to cut this short. One of my lawyers just called, I need to go see some people."

He knows she heard him. It still takes a while until she stalks out of the bathroom, and for about a minute she's all disappointed eyes and pouty mouth and clingy limbs. And yeah, he knows that most likely it just a part of her act. But she's a little too convincing this time, and for some reason he can't shake the gut feeling that the Ziva underneath is responsible for just as big a part of the frustration she radiates.

*** *** ***

He kisses her goodbye half an hour later at the front door and tries his best to make it look good. Ziva helps along with that. There's no pouting this time, just a lot of hip swinging and hair tossing while she sways down the front stairs, and he can't help the feeling that she's just doing that to show him what he's missing out on. (It's not like he really needed the reminder. He's all too aware of the wasted opportunity.)

He stays in the doorway and keeps watching her behind dark shades while she climbs into one of the rich boy's limousines. One of Fornell's agents is behind the wheel. He'll drive her to the dinky apartment the Bureau set up for this, and Tony knows they'll give their stalker every opportunity to find out where she pretends to live. In the meantime, Tony gets to take the less leisurely tour to a non-descript office building, to meet up with Fornell and get the latest status reports.

Ziva calls while they're neck-deep into discussing the surveillance detail. It doesn't look like she was actually followed, but she has a weird gut feeling, and since Fornell has worked with Gibbs often enough to listen to those, he sends an agent over to cover her even though it wasn't planned for the first night.

It should be enough to ease Tony's mind. It isn't, though, and when he's back at Loughlin's house and sprawled all over the rich boy's bed, he has trouble falling asleep. His thoughts are free to wander now, and they do it in abundance.

He really doesn't want to do this. Not like this. He'd much rather be with Ziva right now, even if it were just to guard her sleep.

*** *** ***

He remembers these insanely sexy sounds she made during that night in Naples. How she gasped for air and dug her fingernails into his back until all he could do was grunt and shove into her harder. How this first time didn't end up all sweet and gentle, like he'd sometimes imagined, but a desperate race for release instead. How she cried out when she came, with her head thrown back and her mouth twitching, but not forming words. How he thought this was the best thing he had ever seen in his entire life, until she shuddered underneath him once more and cried out his name, not Taylor's. That was when he lost it completely.

He's still not sure if he ever managed to piece himself back together after that. Sometimes he thinks yes, of course. But then there are nights like this one.

*** *** ***

The sun is barely up when he calls her, and he would never admit it, of course, but it's a relief to hear her voice. She sounds vaguely grumpy, and he knows that's not just because she's already awake. He teases her about it, but it's mostly to hide the fact that he barely shut his own eyes that night.

She gets her turn when she reminds him that he'll have to stick to the schedule and start a five-mile run in a few minutes. He grumbles and bitches about it, just so he can listen to her laugh for a few seconds longer. He suspects that she knows.

*** *** ***

The run doesn't help to clear his head. Five miles would be more than enough for that usually, but he has to concentrate too much and he feels too watched even when he isn't. It also doesn't help that he has to adopt another men's style and speed.

He's fresh out of the shower and still steaming a little when he gets the call that the limo picked her up again and will drop her off safely at Loughlin's house in a few minutes. There's still no outward sign of anyone following her, but she still has that gut feeling, and Tony is inclined to trust her on that one even when it's technically too early in the assignment. It were never the one night stands that had acid thrown in their faces, after all. No, the stalker only went for the ones who came back for repeat performances. The ones on the verge of getting into more serious territory.

Yeah, Tony had fought this assignment tooth and nail, really.

*** *** ***

She shows up in dress whites that show off her curves a little too well to be standard regulation. There's still a hint of grumpiness on her face when he opens the door and greets her outside, to give potential watchers another little show. Not that anyone else would notice it, of course -- her smile lights up perfectly when he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her closer to kiss her, right here in the open, and she clings to him in just the right way. The way that suggests she had a pretty good time here and wants a lot more of that. But Tony knows her, and so he sees a certain tension around her eyes and how the corners of her mouth are set just a little tighter than they usually are.

"Hey," he murmurs and rubs his lips against hers gently, and it's weird, but that's already enough to soften her up a little. It's an instinctive response. She can't seem to help it these days, and he likes that. Likes how she reacts subconsciously to his softer moments. She's probably not even aware of it, but he is.

There's more relaxing going on when he reaches for her hand and runs his fingers across the back. Rubs the fleshy mound at the base of her thumb until her eyelids flutter and she leans into him because she wants to, not because the job demands it. "You okay?"

"Yes," she breathes out. Her lashes tickle his cheek, and usually he'd start thinking about ripping the dress whites off her right about now, but to his own surprise he doesn't. Not yet. Turns out he just really likes having her this close. Like she's about to melt into him. "But I did not like sleeping alone."

She pulls away from him and strolls into the house, and for a moment he's confused enough by the admission that he ends up just staring at her back.

"You always sleep alone."

"Not on assignments," she murmurs back, and he hears the words she bites off and swallows before too much slips out: not lately.

She turns and slips out of her uniform jacket so she doesn't have to react to his curious gaze, and that distracts him enough to ignore the confused little flutter of his own heart. She looks good enough to eat. He never had the same kink for girls in uniform that Loughlin has, but for some reason Ziva, in that well-tailored blouse and tight pencil skirt which contrast so nicely with her caramel skin... yeah. He can see the appeal there. He most certainly can.

She reaches up to take off the cap, and he draws a slow breath when her curls spill free and tumble all over her shoulders. That image goes straight to his libido. Maybe because he knows how she reacts whenever he digs his hands into her hair and pulls her head back... and goddammit, his body already rears up at the mere memory. It's ridiculous how horny she can render him in no more than a heartbeat.

He follows her until he's close enough to press into her from behind. Mhmm. Maybe he should just grab her hips and hold her still while he grinds his cock against her gorgeous ass. The thought is freakishly tempting because he knows she won't stop him.

"You're just pissed because you had to go to bed unfucked," he murmurs close to her ear, and there's a hint of laughter in his voice because he knows too well what her reaction will be.

And yes, he guesses right: she turns her head and glances at him over her shoulder, out of the corner of her eye. "Don't be ridiculous," she says. Her hand slides down her neck, and she opens the top button of her blouse. It's a slow, sensuous movement, and it's deliberate enough that his vision narrows down to just her hand and the strip of skin she's exposing for him. "I know how to take off the edge."

He gives her a grin then, wolfish, hungry, and as he moves closer, he backs her up against the counter to their left. Something in her face shifts when he barges into her space like that, and he knows that spark of excitement. He knows her brain just bridged the gap from idle talk to interest. Her eyes widen, lips part, and mere tease makes room for arousal, just like that. He doesn't have to do much more than lean into her and stare at her and wait for her to react. It's a thrill that he can flip the switch for her that easily.

"But it's not the same, isn't it?" His question is a mere flutter against her lips, and she takes in a ragged breath in response. It's the only point where he touches her, and yet, it's enough to leave her strumming with sudden tension. Her muscles twitch as if she can't decide yet whether she wants to ride him hard and mercilessly this time or if she'd rather just melt into him now and leave the reins to him. He doesn't make the decision any easier for her, just leans into her more and rubs his mouth back and forth across hers. She knows what that mouth can do for her, and yeah, he knows she wants more now, wants him to kiss her hard and drown in the sensation of his tongue fucking her. But he wants an answer first, and whenever she tries to turn this into more, he pulls back and just out of her reach, until her eyes flutter shut and she makes a distressed little sound deep in her throat.

"No," she finally throws back at him, frustration coloring her voice. "It's not."

The concession thrills him, and he brushes his smiling mouth against hers once more, then slides it lower, down her neck. Her head falls back as she arcs her neck and bares her throat for him. It tempts him, to suck on her skin, to leave a mark. To bite down on the gentle curve of her neck until she shudders and shakes and makes those horny little noises for him that always turn him on like there's no tomorrow. She's glowing now, and her skin is hot under his mouth, and it's so, so tempting to just grab her and fuck the hell out of her right here, right now. He knows she wouldn't object.

She draws a shaky breath when he slides his fingers down her throat, along the edge of her dress shirt. An excited little tremble rolls through her, and he laughs against her skin at the impatience that's suddenly hard to miss.

"Are you hungry?"

Once more her eyelids flutter while she forces her attention on his words. It seems hard while he's starting to unbutton her shirt and his fingertips stray left and right in the process to stroke the skin he exposes.

"Starving, actually," she murmurs. There's a hint of breathless laughter that trails along the edge of her words, and the horny little sound leaves him almost painfully hard, just like that. Pavlov's dog indeed.

*** *** ***

He remembers they didn't get much sleep, that night in Naples. He'd carried the reminder with him for a few days, and it amused him how Ziva bought a silk scarf in the hotel's little gift shop to hide the rude mark his teeth had left on her neck. How Burley still looked at her with a strange expression that told Tony loud and clear he knew exactly how they had spent the last night.

Stan never said a word about it, though, just toned down his flirtation with Ziva a good deal, and that was about it. And maybe it was also the reason things gradually shifted back to how they had always been between them: friendly, affectionate, and just a little physical. But no longer intimate. Tony wasn't entirely sure when it happened, but at one point, possibly during the flight, their minds and bodies drifted apart again and back to who they'd been before that night.

At that time he was relieved -- relieved they wouldn't have to deal with the awkwardness and the changes and what nows a step like this would usually bring. But Naples was months ago, and by now Tony is willing to admit that even though being with her on away missions sure turned out to be an interesting addition to their partnership, he sometimes can't help thinking it isn't enough.

*** *** ***

She leans back against the counter, and her hands grip the edge. He's not sure if it's the way the muscles jump in her arms, or maybe the way her head falls back and her lips part with a little gasp. Whatever it is, he suddenly knows that tonight it's his lead.

They never talked about this, really. They never had to, because for some reason their moods and lusts always fit into each other's perfectly, and -- just like they work in the field -- he always just knows when she wants him to steer the ship. (Or maybe his years of studying her did pay off after all.)

She takes in another sharp breath when his teeth worry her skin, and a shudder runs through her. He's not sure if it's pure delight or if her impatience is showing, but right now he doesn't care either way. He can work with both.

More trembles when he pushes his fingertips under the hem of her skirt and pushes it up her thighs, inch by inch. They're like little quakes, and her body moves against his restlessly as if she no longer has control over it. Her eyes flick back and forth underneath her lids, as if she's stuck in a vivid dream, and when he gives in to her silent plea for more contact and shoves his thigh between hers, she bites her lip to keep the horny little sound inside that threatens to tumble from her mouth. God, yes.

Despite her claims over the years, he knows by now that she really likes it when he's on top. When he's all heavy and hard above her and she can just cling to him. And fuck, yes, he knows too well how she gets off on feeling his weight on top of her and he's shoving into her like there's no tomorrow.

He kisses her then, and she gasps into his mouth as if she knows exactly what he's just been thinking about. Her lips turn frantic on his, and he groans when she rides his thigh. Her reaction is so heated, so delicious that he almost drowns in it, and it turns into a fight for him to stay in control. It's always so easy for him to lose it when she sucks his tongue like she does now. Her fingers scramble to get his clothes off suddenly, and just like that he turns into a horny teenager who can't wait to get inside her.

But that is also a part of the game for him. He discovered early enough that it's a lot more rewarding for both of them if he drags things out as long as he can and doesn't give in just because she's in this kind of mood. And yes, it's a bad cliché, but goddamn, he loves it when she begs. When she's so close to losing it that curses and 'please' roll off her tongue interchangeably. When she grabs his hair or digs her nails into his ass and needs to come so badly that the Ziva he knows is stripped away little by little, leaving behind only rawness, and need, and someone really, really vulnerable.

He takes in a sharp breath when she decides to fight back just as dirty and slides her hand over his cock. Fingers spread, explore his hard length through his pants until he can't help but close his eyes and concentrate on the sensation.

Fuck, she's good at that. She knows exactly what he likes. How he likes it. He grunts, covers her inquisitive hand with his own and stills her movement against his dick, and she laughs, her voice rough and needy.

"You've been working out," she breathes into his face, and he watches her stare at his mouth greedily. He'll probably never get over the way she licks her lips whenever she means it.

"You get that from grabbing my dick?" And yeah, he can't help it then, he presses her hand harder against his crotch and rubs his cock into her palm. Delicious pressure, even through layers of cloth.

Her eyelids flutter again, and for a second she looks like she's fighting the good fight here and losing. "No," she murmurs and tries to take control of her own touch again. Her fingers twitch and struggle against his grip as she tries to explore him more. "I get that from watching you."

His breathing turns ragged with her admission. He knows she watches him, of course -- she's always done that, and she's never been subtle about it. But she never owned up to it before, and somehow this feels like an important step between them.

There's a frustrated little gasp deep in her throat when he grabs her wrist and drags her hand away from his cock. She fights him for a second, and he tightens his grip and shoves her hand behind her back, securing it there. Her eyes widen at the decisiveness of the act, and she bites her lip, but it's not enough to keep her reaction silent and the whimper inside. And god, that tiny sound alone makes his head spin. It's not quite begging yet, but it's close enough that Tony leans into her again and goes back to kissing her... no, not kissing. Devouring. Drinking her in and drowning in her taste and the way she moans into his mouth shamelessly and rubs her body against his.

He's pretty sure that settles the question who's driving tonight for both of them.

*** *** ***

He's not entirely sure if 'submission' is the right word for what Ziva does with him. True, she loves it when he manhandles her and fucks her until she can barely stand. But she never makes it easy for him. She's never pliant and just taking it. On some days, she fights him every step of the way, and she always, always challenges him to reach for greater heights. She coaxes everything he has to offer out of him and then some more. And then she doubles back and demands it all over again, just because she knows he has it in him.

It's just like every other aspect of their partnership, really.

*** *** ***

He's busy dragging her skirt up to her waist when she goes back to thinking about the job and asks him for a status update. He's not entirely sure how she can still concentrate on that right now, but granted, he's biased -- his own mind jumped ship a few moments ago, when he discovered that she totally went against Navy dress code and there are no panties underneath that skirt.

"Surveillance in the bedroom," he forces out, close to her ear, and it's bizarre, but his words leave her shuddering as if he had just shared some dirty innuendo. "Visual and audio, thanks to Fornell. Sweep discovered one bug that isn't his, so we have to put on a little show there."

Her body arcs under his hands while his fingertips tease the insides of her thighs, higher and higher. She writhes and fights against the death grip he still has on her wrist behind her back. Oh yeah, this is getting to her, big time. He can feel it even before his fingertips reach their goal: she's so wet by now that he could slide into her just like that, and her body wouldn't offer the least bit of resistance.

Her eyelids flutter, and she bites her lip again while she fights for control. "So we should move this," she suggests breathlessly. Her words rub in short bursts against his skin, and he almost laughs at her eagerness.

"You really want to do this with an audience?"

She swallows hard and tries to think, and he can tell it takes an effort for her to get her thoughts straight. "Not with a camera," she mutters eventually, "but the sounds I do not care about. Makes no difference to me if they hear the real thing or we just fake it well later."

For a second Tony is tempted to shake his head in wonder that she's so willing to perform for whoever is listening in on them, but then he realizes that he cares just as little. It's just a few rude sounds anyway. It's not like they haven't done this before. And it's what they were hired for, after all.

He hums his agreement into her ear and then slides his mouth down, to the soft patch of skin just behind her lobe. More shudders run through her, and he basks in the little gasps he wrings out of her with his butterfly touches.

"Please..."

"Hang on, love," he murmurs against her skin, and when she only gives him a little grunt of frustration, he can't fight the smug little grin any longer. He's not sure she even hears a word he's saying; she's concentrating too hard on the way his fingertips gradually inch higher and higher between her thighs. "Schedule says we have at least two or three hours to kill. And I have a reputation to uphold, you know."

Her eyes slide shut, and her muscles tremble under his touch. She licks her lips, and then she gives him that little shake of the head he knows so well. The one that usually means she's about to object to his plan.

She doesn't, though, because he finally lets go of her wrist and shoves her skirt all the way up until it's messily bunched up around her waist. Her mouth falls open, and she's all out of objections when he grabs her bare ass and drags her hips to his for a moment. Once again, he's tempted to cut this short. To just get her down on her knees now and fuck her hard, right here, on a carpet that cost more than two or three years of his salary. He knows he could do it, easily. She wants it just as much.

Which is, in the end, the one reason why he doesn't: it's too big a temptation, and he loves the heady mix of need and anticipation curling up in his belly now too much to trade it in for a short, delightful romp. Right now, dragging this out just a little longer seems to be much more rewarding than a fast orgasm.

She squeals in surprise when he drags her up so she ends up sitting on the counter. Involuntary tension tightens her body for a moment, and her nervous laugh tells him she has to fight her reflexes. But she relaxes when he nudges her knees apart and settles between them while he draws her close, hand in her neck. He knows she doesn't like feeling exposed, but kissing her, distracting her, that helps most of the time because she does trust him. And yes, once again she yields to his mouth so easily that it amazes him. Humbles him, even, so much that for a few heartbeats this isn't about sex at all.

He's panting by the time he draws back, and Ziva stares at him with such wide eyes all of a sudden that he's not sure if he just slipped up and she noticed, maybe. But by now he has invented a million ways plus one to cover up these moments, and so he gives her his most brilliant charmer's smile while he grabs her by the collar and reels her in for another quick and messy kiss.

"You, my dear, are pretty amazing." His fingers pop the buttons on her shirt in earnest now, one by one, and the more progress he makes down her torso, the less she actually hears of his words. "You look so delicious that I want to lick you all over. And I think I'm gonna start right... here..."

She draws in a sharp breath when he leans into her and sucks her neck, low on the point where it meets the curve of her shoulder. She's predictable like that. Her control always slips when he does that, and she ends up arcing into him the same way every time -- needy, hungry, rational thought slipping away a mile a minute. And since Tony, much like his partner, likes it a lot when she stops thinking, he spends a good amount of time on that particular spot before he eventually spreads her out on the counter like a feast and follows a very determined downward path of exploration.

*** *** ***

Most of the time he tries to ignore the true impact of what they're doing. It's like he's taken a page out of Ziva's book -- don't dwell on things you cannot have.

Sometimes, though, he can't help but wonder. Mostly if he's the only one wondering.

*** *** ***

He does get her to the bedroom, much later, when she's already sweaty and disheveled in the best possible way, and yeah, he will have to scrub that counter before this is over. But it was fucking worth it because she doesn't even object when he picks her up and carries her over; she merely gives him a throaty laugh and slings her arm around his neck, and that leaves him somewhere between baffled and happy. She rarely lets her guard down this much. It's not the worst thing in the world.

He's spun some elaborate plans earlier, about all the things he wants to do to her tonight. How to make her come (and how often) before he actually fucks her. But now, while he casually drops his shirt over Fornell's hidden camera to turn this into a voice-only performance and Ziva spreads out on sheets as soft as her skin, his plans waver and crumble like a bunch of leaves in a tornado.

Maybe it's the way she looks at him just before she rolls over playfully -- not at his chest, not his cock, but him. For a heartbeat she meets his eyes with a look that sends a hot rush through him because in that fraction of a second, she is the one who slips up, and there's not just lust in the look she gives him.

Maybe, though, it's really just the way she rolls over and stretches like a cat.

His throat is dry all of a sudden, and all he can do is enjoy the show she gives him. Which he does. He's always loved to stare at her ass, because it's probably the best backside he has ever encountered up close. And yeah, he's still amazed that he suddenly gets to enjoy it this closely.

She's still in mid-stretch when he joins her on the bed and spreads her legs to settle between them. He moves fast, grabs her rudely and pulls her back against his cock, and he's glad she's not like other girls because Ziva doesn't mind a little rough handling. She doesn't miss a beat, and she's already on her knees and waiting by the time he shoves into her.

And oh, god... yes. She's so tight he can't think straight for a heartbeat, and the cry tumbling from her lips doesn't help. For one sweet moment of near-infinity he's tempted to just go for it. To let go completely and just pound into her and make her scream while he chases his own lust. Because he knows it would be incredible, and hot, and it would satisfy his body in a way he's rarely known.

It wouldn't quench his thirst, though.

She shudders and moans in protest when he grabs her hips to still her movements. The tension rolling through her is palpable now, and he twitches inside her in response.

"Please," she whispers and spreads her legs a little more, as if that would entice him. And fuck, god, she really knows him too well.

The muscles in her back ripple when he starts to move, and she gives him a low moan as he leans over her and lets her feel his weight. She's not surprised when he goes for her neck and bites down; she just trembles harder while her body tightens up around him, and he groans and soaks up her heated response. He knows it's pubescent, but he can't help it -- the urge to leave his mark on her is just too strong when he's in bed with her. Thankfully, Ziva doesn't mind one bit. She loves his mouth, and she loves it when he does rude things to her, so yeah, this works out well for all parties involved.

More shivers run through her, and she raises her hips, tries to get him to move things along. And yes, he tries to resist and stick to a slow pace, to draw this out a little more, because who knows when they'll do something like this again. If, even.

The thing is, he can't. Because she's trembling hard underneath him now, and she's so hot around his flesh that his mind flips all over the place. And then she gives him that delicious little moan again when he moves, and that's when he can't help it anymore, when he starts to fuck her deep and hard, and he soaks up her need and throws it right back at her. And she keeps making these strained little noises while he slams into her. The ones she always makes when she can't help it either. When he hits her just the right way with every stroke and she gets off on it like there's no tomorrow.

He knows she's close already. He can taste it. (He always could.) And yes, a cry spills from her lips just then. Her whole body tenses like a drawn bowstring suddenly, underneath him, around him, tightening, relaxing, shaking. He has no idea how other men don't notice when a girl merely gives them a few well-timed moans instead of the real thing, because this, what she shows him right there -- that's not something you can fake. The delicious tension that locks her muscles for a few seemingly endless moments of bliss, the way her body arcs and shakes and her mouth falls open when she loses it completely, and, finally, the way the muscles in her thighs start to flutter when she can no longer control them... that's the sensation he loves most about this. When she's a shuddering and trembling mess and her hips jerk randomly because it's both too much and not quite enough at the same time.

She cries out again when he shoves deeper into her and then stays like that, just drinks in the sensations of her body tightening around his flesh greedily. "Oh god," she moans, and it's funny, really, but there's never been a better way than her orgasm to distract him from chasing his own. Maybe because all her guards are down as far as they can go when she comes. Or maybe because in that one single moment she lets him in much deeper than she even realizes, not just physically.

Her body jerks again, and she moans when he goes back to moving. She's lax, almost helpless while she's still trapped in the remnants of release, and yeah, he loves fucking her like this -- when her body can't decide if it wants to rear up again and join the fun for another high or just lay there and let him have his way with her.

She's too spent to really move with him this time. Her muscles still tighten around his flesh, though, and her gasps ring in his ear, like she can't help getting off on this. And for some reason, this turns it into a challenge for him -- to see just how hard he can make her come before he loses it himself. He's not that far from it now, but so is she, and he knows if he shoves into her just right, if he maybe slides his hand around and between her legs... and if he touches her like that she'll... yes. Yes, just like that.

He presses his face into her neck while she jerks and comes for him again. It's sudden and hard, and this time he can't fight the pull, can't fight the lust stripping away his control, and so he just clings to her and fucks her until his body gives and they end up as one big, entangled, blissful mess of limbs.

*** *** ***

It always takes her a while to get herself back together after this delicious madness, and Tony has come to treasure these moments when she's too out of it to bring her armor up just yet because for a short while this feels almost normal. She needs more time today, but he doesn't complain. He's content with soaking up her presence and her head resting in the hollow where his shoulder meets his chest. Maybe he's a little too aware of the way her skin tightens under his exploring fingertips and tiny hairs rise to meet his touch. She's been staring at the ceiling for a while now, quietly, and he didn't find the right words yet to tell her to cut it out. To stop thinking about how to distance herself.

She sighs just then, and her eyes flutter shut as she gives up, for now. At least it feels that way to him. A tired laugh trickles from her pretty mouth when his fingertips journey up her side and her body reacts involuntarily.

"We need more assignments like these," she mutters under her breath, and Tony chuckles and curls into her just enough so he can press his lips to the top of her head.

"Or we could just start doing it at home."

The words slip out of his mouth before he can suppress them, and he wants to slap himself for saying it out loud. That's him, all right. Classic DiNozzo. Always fast to nip a good thing in the bud with just a few words.

She doesn't react, at least on the outside. He can feel the sudden stiffness in her, though. The kind of nervous tension that says he really caught her with her pants down this time. He's not entirely sure what to make of her reaction (or non-reaction, that is) but he waits for her to run now. It's what Ziva usually does, after all.

She doesn't run. At least on the outside.

"You'll get bored," she says eventually, and he closes his eyes because her walls are back up firmly now and it wouldn't matter what he tells her.

"With you?" He says it anyway, and she laughs cautiously, not quite sure what to make of his tone. "You underestimate yourself, angelface."

*** *** ***

He orders takeout while she's in the shower. It's hard to ignore the fact that she didn't invite him in this time.

Loughlin's usual place of choice is horrendously expensive, like everything about this man, and Tony hopes the food will be worth the company money. Technically, he isn't all that hungry anymore.

*** *** ***

"I'll get it," Ziva says when the doorbell announces the delivery. She doesn't look at him, really, just puts her palm to his chest and shoves him back into the bedroom so he stays out of sight. He knows he's not supposed to show his face up close and personal to anyone who might know he's not the real Jordan Loughlin, but he still stares after her with a frown and wants to object. His gut isn't happy, for some reason. And it's only partly based on the fact that she's all business and very matter-of-fact now, as if that shower literally washed away all traces of their former intimacy.

So, while she saunters down the hall, clad in just a robe and with her hair still damp, Tony's frown deepens, and he goes for his gun.

*** *** ***

His gut is painfully right, and he freezes when he hears the angry scream in the hall. Sounds of a fight follow, something that sounds like flesh hitting flesh, then somebody falling.

He slithers around the corner, gun raised, heart pounding like mad because the muffled sounds of struggle don't cease even though it looks like Ziva got it covered -- she's atop a smaller, blonde woman in some sort of uniform, who is bucking like a wild horse to get the agent off her, even though Ziva has one of the woman's arms twisted behind her back and forces her down with her full weight.

There's an acrid stench in the air, and it's weird, but it's only then that Tony notices the blistering hole in the carpet. Maybe that's why the woman is fighting so hard. It looks a lot like Ziva is about to press her face down into the sizzling mess.

He calls her name, and for a few too long moments Ziva ignores him and keeps whispering angry words into the woman's ear, ignoring the grunts and half-screams that speak of the girl's mad anger. "Ziva!" he yells again and steps closer, and that finally seems to pull her out of it. "You okay?"

She blinks and stares at the fuming face so close to hers. "Yes," she finally replies, and to his relief she eases up on the pressure now and drags the woman away from the spreading acid stain. "I think we have our stalker. Free delivery."

The woman keeps fighting against Ziva's grip, and her twisted lips produce guttural, angry sounds that raise the hair in Tony's neck. For a second she meets his gaze across the hall and her eyes light up as if she'd seen a long-lost family member. Then her face suddenly twists into something ugly when she realizes that he is not the man she expected to see.

"I knew it!" she hisses, and there's mad triumph in her voice. "I knew Jordan would never fall for such a cheap whore, he's--"

She winces when Ziva grabs her hair and pulls her head back so hard it must be painful. For a heartbeat, Tony's concern rears back up, and he keeps his gun pointed. He's not entirely sure which of them is in more trouble, though, because the angry fire in Ziva's eyes seems just as dangerous as the mad glint in the woman's.

"This whore," his partner snarls, close to the woman's ear, "has killed more people than you, darling. And your precious Jordan picked me for that."

"That's enough." He can't really say which one of them he means, but in the end it doesn't matter because this turns into the moment Fornell's surveillance team busts the place and takes over. Hallelujah.

*** *** ***

He finds her in the bathroom later, with her back to the door, hands resting on the edges of the sink as if she's about to throw up.

"Hey," he says cautiously, and Ziva flinches and raises her hand as if she wants to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. "Everything okay?"

"Of course."

She's lying, and he knows it, and he's pretty sure she knows he knows. And he's fully aware that she wants to be left alone right now. He can't do that, though. He's seen her out there, and he's seen that something is wrong, something snapped inside her. He knows that if he leaves her alone right now, things are going to get worse.

"The crazy chick took the delivery job so she could stalk Loughlin better, can you believe that?" he murmurs and walks up to her. She doesn't object when he leans into her from behind and rubs her arms, but he still feels the tremors that run through her with every other breath, and so he stops with the awkward status update and just presses his lips to her temple for a heartbeat. "We got her, Ziva. It's okay."

And those were apparently the wrong words because she shudders and pulls away from him. "No, it's not okay," she presses out, and her voice holds a hint of distress that wasn't there earlier. "We cannot keep doing this."

"What?" He blinks now and feels dumbfounded because he has no idea where that came from. "Wait, why--"

"She almost got me, Tony." Ziva's voice is strained now, and when he tries to reach for her, she raises her hands and takes a step back. He's never seen her eyes this wild and disturbed before. "I felt it. One inch to the right and she would have burned my face off, just because I was too distracted b-by..."

She bites off the rest of her words and draws a deep breath, and that's when he gets it. "No," he says and steps closer to her again. His hands reach for her, frame her face, and for a moment she fights him. He refuses to let go, though, and forces her chin up until she meets his eyes. "No, this is bullshit, Ziva. The only reason this distracts you is because we cram too much into a night here and there. Of course that screws with us. If we had a normal relationship--" He watches her eyes widen, and that's when he suddenly knows that they won't be able to step back. Not anymore, not after this. They have to deal with it now, one way or another.

Her breath catches in her throat when he presses his mouth to hers. There's something almost desperate in that gesture and in the way he refuses to let go of her. She fights the kiss, the sudden anxious intimacy, but Tony keeps his hold on her, keeps his hands on her cheeks until a tiny shudder runs through her and she gives up. There's still tension in her, but she no longer fights him, and that's when he breaks the kiss and wraps one arm around her waist to pull her closer. She doesn't resist, but she keeps her eyes lowered and refuses to meet his eyes. He sighs and rests his forehead against hers, and he feels the panic rushing through her at this new kind of intimacy. "I don't want to end this, Ziva. I want it to become normal. I want to sleep with you and go to bed with you and wake up with you, okay? And I want you to say it sucks to sleep alone even when we're not on a mission. Because it does. It sucks, you hear me? I don't want to sleep alone anymore."

She laughs, and it's such a broken, insecure sound that he holds her tighter just so she can't run off now. Her eyes glisten in a suspicious way when she shakes her head and tries to pull on her reasonable hat once more. "You're not that kind of guy," she presses out, and that's when he closes his own eyes because his heart pounds too hard now to ignore.

But I want to be, he almost says. Almost, just before he realizes that she's wrong, because maybe he wasn't before, but now? Now he is that kind of guy. The kind of guy who wants her. Needs her.

"I haven't slept with anyone else since Naples," he admits, quietly, cautiously. Because he's not entirely sure how she'll take this. "Two or three months before that, actually."

She doesn't react at all. At least he thinks so, until she leans into him and the unhealthy tension seeps out of her body, little by little, breath by breath. And so he kisses her cheek and runs his mouth along her earlobe, and when she shudders in his arms, still quiet, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, he says, "I won't get bored. I promise."

And that's the moment when she breathes out and slings her own arm around his waist, and it feels almost like she's falling into his embrace. Like some of her defensive walls crumbled into pieces, and she's finally considering surrender after a struggle that went on for too long.

"Okay," she says -- muffled, because her face is buried in his neck now and he is busy catching her and buffering her fall. It's a sweet word, he thinks. One of the best she's ever said to him.

*** *** ***