FIC: Now a Director (NCIS) Jenny/Ziva
Title: Now a Director
Author: rysler
Date: 2006-12-06
Source: Navy N.C.I.S.
Pairing: Jenny/Ziva
Rating: Explicit depiction of sex.
Notes: Episode tag for 4.8 Once a Hero (no major spoilers).
For geonncannon, by request.
* * *
Jenny sat at her desk, looking at her hands. Her nails needed filing. There was a file in the drawer, but she didn't want to bother. She said to Ziva, who was alone with her in her office, "Do you remember the time we were in Bratislava, tracking that Navy grunt, what was his name? We thought he was selling secrets to the Russians?"
"Yes, and we thought he was selling secrets to us. Jurisdiction was smacky," Ziva said.
"Sticky," Jenny corrected absently.
Ziva chuckled, standing behind Jenny's desk. Jenny could almost feel Ziva's breath against her ear. Almost. Ziva was maddening. Jenny said, "You must have been, what, 18 at the time? You were so eager to question him, I'm not sure it mattered which side he was on."
"16. My first mission outside of the Middle East," Ziva said. She sounded closer. Jenny forced herself not to look over her shoulder. Her nails captured her attention. She wore them longer now, and painted them. She no longer had to prove she wasn't a female by keeping her nails combat-ready. Now she had to prove she wasn't a lesbian by painting them.
Times were changing.
Time was passing. She sighed and asked, "Which was it? Russians or Israelis?"
Ziva said, "I don't even remember. You know, Director, no amount of talking about the past will change today's events. They, too, are irrevocably past." Ziva placed her hands on Jenny's shoulders.
"I know," Jenny said. She sounded to herself like a spoiled child, and tried to mollify her words. "Thank you for saving my life, Officer David."
"You are welcome. But I wasn't hunting for compliments."
"Fishing," said Jenny. Ziva's fingers dug into her shoulders. She relaxed--more than relaxed, became pliable in Ziva's hands. Hard edges were being stripped away. She wasn't quite ready to let them go. "Ziva--"
"Shssh," said Ziva. Her breath touched Jenny's ear. Jenny arched her neck, away from Ziva's hiss. Ziva held her shoulders, pressing down slightly. "It is not that I saved your life. I know you admire--such acts. It is that you needed someone else to do what you were once capable of doing yourself."
"Because I'm old," said Jenny.
Ziva's lips touched Jenny's earlobe. "Because you are doing other things."
"I should have been--"
Ziva squeezing her shoulders, a little too close to her neck, cut off her words. Ziva said, "You were doing your job. I was doing mine."
"I miss doing yours," said Jenny.
"Really," said Ziva. She laughed.
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"You were speaking with Congressmen. I have seen you order ships into battle. Order men to their deaths. Sheep Gibbs with an eyebrow. You would give all that up to be a bodyguard?"
"I--"
"To be a thug?"
"To help people," said Jenny. She had stopped looking at her nails, and stared at nothing.
"Surely you can do more of that now."
Ziva's hands gripped Jenny's shoulders. As hard and unyielding as Jenny wanted to be. As she could be, when giving orders. No one gave orders to Ziva. One made suggestions, and if she trusted them, she would follow them.
Jenny said, "You're not a thug."
Ziva's hands tightened.
Jenny winced. She said, "Thugs wait outside the door of the Director's office. Not inside."
Ziva smiled. She was still bent over to talk in Jenny's ear, and the smile pressed into Jenny's neck. Ziva pulled Jenny's shoulders back, for greater access to her throat.
Jenny yelped.
"What was that?" Ziva asked.
The Advil wearing off, thought Jenny. She shook her head. "I must have pulled something when I crashed through that table earlier."
Ziva's hands left her body.
Jenny frowned.
"Stand up," Ziva said.
"Giving orders now, Ziva?"
Ziva furrowed her brow, and said, "Please. Stand up."
Jenny stood, wincing. Tightness in her latissimus dorsi and twinges of pain around her spine and kidneys made sitting the preferable posture. She twisted slowly, but her back refused to pop. But she hadn't sprained anything, as far as she could tell. Her wrist and elbow ached where she'd hit the carpet.
She remembered the sensation of Ziva's hand on her back, and rolling over to see only Ziva's calm eyes. The screaming and shouting of twenty different grades of security officers and diplomats had seemed distant, reflected only as tiny, dancing reflections in Ziva's iris.
She turned around in her office and Ziva stood there, looking concerned.
"It's nothing," said Jenny.
"The ability to take pain like it's nothing is the skill of a thug," said Ziva. "And James Bond. As you are neither, please take off your shirt."
Jenny glanced toward the door.
"I locked it when I came in," said Ziva.
"You think of everything."
Ziva smiled and clasped her hands in front of her.
Jenny unbuttoned her shirt. It was hard with Ziva watching her. Her hands trembled and caught on the buttons. Her skin felt hot underneath the silk, which clung as she tried to pull it off her shoulders. The shirt brushed the bruises on her back. She tossed the shirt onto her desk, and reached behind herself to unclasp the bra. The twisting made her back ache. She winced.
"Let me," said Ziva. She stepped forward.
"Where is this going?" Jenny asked.
Ziva didn't answer. She unclasped the bra and drew the straps down Jenny's shoulders. Only the tips of her fingers touched Jenny's skin, leaving her quivering. The rest of her was still, except for the trembling in her arms. Her nipples were hard.
"Director," Ziva said, standing behind her.
Jenny nearly jumped. She crossed her arms over her bare chest.
"You're hurt," Ziva murmured.
"Hardly."
"I will take care of it," said Ziva.
Jenny bit back a sarcastic response. She could admit that she wanted Ziva, was going to have her, right now. Why mess around? That hard edge had completely melted away, she realized. So she just stood there, showing Ziva her bruises.
Ziva took her hand, and moved to her side. She tugged her toward the couch, as ultra-modern as the rest of the NCIS building. Jenny would have preferred aged, softened leather to sink into. The hard cushion, though, provided adequate contrast to Ziva's pliability. Ziva crouched behind her. Jenny heard a case snap open.
"What's that?"
Ziva said, "I came prepared."
"Do they have Boy Scouts in Israel?"
"Of course," said Ziva, right against her ear again.
Ziva sucked Jenny's earlobe and tugged with her lips. Jenny exhaled. She wished she had taken off her pants before she sat down. Now it would be impossible, and the wetness between her legs was starting to chafe. She looked out the window. The view faced away from Washington D.C., and toward Virginia. She imagined she could see the outline of mountains in the distance. Beyond that, plains, then more mountains, and then the ocean and the orange trees. Everything she and Ziva were supposed to protect. Sunset made the sky orange. Gold shafts of light patterned the floor near the window.
Ziva touched her back. Her hands were damp. And cold. Jenny winced.
"It'll warm up in a second," Ziva said. Her hands slid down Jenny's back. She pressed into Jenny's lower spine. She kissed Jenny's shoulder.
Jenny groaned.
As Ziva's fingers worked into muscles, the liquid turned warm, and the heat and the pressure and Ziva made her feel limp. Ziva kneaded her shoulders and kissed her neck. Jenny forgot about the view and the air conditioning blowing cold on her breasts.
Ziva's hands traveled down her back. Jenny felt tender, tickling kisses along her hairline, and then down her spine. She arched. Ziva circled her waist and tugged her backward. Jenny fell into Ziva's strong arms, overwhelmed by the embrace. Arousing fingers teased her nipples. Her entire body tingled in response.
This, she thought, was just as good as proving herself tough in a man's world, just as good as sex in exotic locations in sweaty tents, just as good as being afraid to die.
Better, even.
She reached up to tangle her fingers in Ziva's hair. Ziva sighed into her ear. She was touching Jenny's breasts, fondling them and brushing the nipples with her thumbs, and Jenny thought she would die from the teasing. "Harder," she said.
"What, and add more bruises?"
Jenny smiled. She lolled her head on Ziva's shoulder and let strands of black hair slip through her fingers. "I've earned it," she declared.
Ziva chuckled. She stroked Jenny's stomach. Jenny sucked in. Ziva's hands were as cold as the room. Jenny shivered. Ziva said, "Perhaps one day I will become the pampered Director."
Jenn picked up one hand. Ziva's fingers were pale and smooth, showing no signs of handling guns or speeding cars or explosives. Or knives. Or poisons. She kissed Ziva's palm. Ziva covered Jenny's mouth with her hand. Jenny whispered against her fingers, "Never."
Ziva used her free hand to open the button on Jenny's slacks. Jenny bit into a finger. Ziva tried to pull her hand away, but Jenny caught her wrist and sucked Ziva's middle finger into her mouth. Ziva's other hand stilled on her belly. Finally, Jenny heard what she longed to hear from Ziva.
A moan.
Ziva pushed into her back. Hard nipples pressed through Ziva's cotton shirt against Jenny's bare skin. She leaned back, and Ziva moaned again. Jenny squirmed, caught between teasing fingers and Ziva's growing arousal.
"Ready?" Ziva asked. She drew down the zipper of Jenny's slacks.
"For what?"
Ziva slid her hand under Jenny's waistband. Jenny closed her eyes and said, "Yes. Definitely read for that."
"I promise no one will fall from the sky," said Ziva, as her hand worked lower to cup Jenny's mound. "It will only seem like it."
Jenny grinned. Ziva squeezed. She traced Jenny's jaw. Jenny let go of her wrist and Ziva cupped a breast instead. She massaged it with firm, lingering pressure, the nipple pressed into her palm. Jenny bit her lip.
"Thong?" Ziva asked.
"Every day," Jenny said.
"It's not what people expect."
"You know it's what they secretly hope," Jenny said.
Ziva rearranged her hand. Her fingers edged under Jenny's panties. She said, "But I'm glad you do not shave." The words were purred into Jenny's neck and Jenny felt incredibly sexy.
The topic of discussion was flattering and intimate. Maybe it was just Ziva's accent, or the smokiness of her voice, but Jenny said, "What would be the point of red hair otherwise? What else do you notice, Ziva?"
"I notice that you're wet," said Ziva, slipping two fingers into Jenny's wetness. Jenny parted her legs. The slacks constricted her movement. She groaned in frustration. Ziva's finger slid over her clit. The ache between her legs was quelled momentarily, and then raged again as Ziva removed her hand to trace damp circles on Jenny's stomach.
"More," Jenny said, and groaned.
"Where?"
"You know where."
"I want to be precise, Director," said Ziva.
"What if the room is bugged?"
"Perhaps you should show me," Ziva teased.
Jenny covered Ziva's hand with hers, and guided it under her slacks again. The room was quiet except for the air conditioner and their breathing, hitched and mingled. Jenny's hand stopped at the zipper, but Ziva continued, parting Jenny's swollen lips with two deft fingers, and then slipping between them, touching her clit, her entrance, everywhere, twisting and stroking with the delicate precision of an assassin.
Jenny withdrew her hand and covered Ziva's through the cloth, content to let Ziva serve her; She knew Ziva was soaking up pleasure as well. Jenny knew if she tilted her head back, Ziva would kiss her, and so she did, letting her head roll off Ziva's shoulder. Ziva's lips descended to cover hers.
What good was it to be a Director, if not to have sex with subordinates in an office? Or with mysterious foreign intelligence officers recently acquitted of terrorist activities on American soil? Trusting Ziva or NCIS was inane but she hadn't gotten where she was by backing down. And she was in Ziva's lap, with Ziva's hand between her legs.
Ziva rolled her clit between her fingers, strumming, never squeezing. Heat rushed through Jenny's blood, from Ziva's fingers up through her chest to her mouth, pressed against Ziva, transferring the energy back through a kiss. Her tongue sought Ziva's. Ziva responded by suckling her tongue, the suction on her lips making her gasp, the slight loss of air causing her clit to pound harder. She struggled away and bit into Ziva's lower lip, and then growled, "More."
Ziva pressed harder, curling her fingers. The curl brought the tips of Ziva's fingers inside her. The slight penetration stretched her lips and she groaned. Ziva's fingers rubbed against her nerves, slipping easily through the wetness. A thumb stayed against her clit, and Jenny squirmed, seeking more.
"Ziva," she said in a choked voice. She tore her mouth away from Ziva's and fell back in Ziva's arms.
"Mm." The noise was a growl, low and rich. And dangerous. Jenny saw just who she was with, and what, and that was enough. She shuddered with the orgasm, shaking in Ziva's arms. Ziva shifted and drew her closer. Her hand held firm and still.
Jenny sagged, breathless. She looped her arm around Ziva's shoulders and settled into a more comfortable position. Ziva smirked down at her. Jenny kissed her, silently. Ziva removed her hand, and wrapped her arm around Jenny's waist, so that Jenny felt the damp fingers press against her lower back. She winced.
Ziva frowned.
"Bruise," Jenny explained.
"Ah."
Jenny got to her knees on the couch, and knelt with her hands on Ziva's shoulders. Ziva watched her. Jenny slid her hands down Ziva's arms, marveling at the muscle, and then across to her breasts, and then lower. She tugged the hem of Ziva's tee shirt out of her pants.
When Ziva didn't lift her arms, Jenny said, "Off with the clothes, Ziva."
"I can't be naked in the Director's office."
"You can, and you will," said Jenny. Ziva lifted her arms. The smirk returned to her lips. Jenny threw the tee shirt across the room, hitting the closed door with it. Ziva pulled off her bra. Jenny stood. She stepped out of her slacks, while Ziva unbuttoned her fly--Why did Gibbs let her wear combat pants at work?--and wriggled out of them on the couch.
"Boxers?" Jenny asked.
"Would you recommend a thong?"
"Absolutely not." Jenny leaned forward, tucking her fingers into the waistband of Ziva's pristine white boxers. Ziva helped her pull down the boxers, revealing a trimmed triangle of dark curls, shining with wetness. Ziva leaned back on the couch and tucked her hands over her head.
Jenny straddled her thighs. She said, "This isn't the cure for a backache I had in mind."
"My methods are unconventional."
Jenny stroked Ziva's breasts, and then ran her hands down over her stomach and up her sides. Ziva's expression remained cool, but Jenny felt her shifting underneath her. She returned to Ziva's breasts. She said, "Tell Tony you're gay yet?"
"I am waiting for just the right moment."
"Told Gibbs?"
Ziva shrugged, and said, "One never has to tell Gibbs anything."
Jenny smiled to herself. She leaned down and kissed Ziva. Ziva's mouth yielded to hers. She reached above Ziva's head and pressed her wrists to the couch arm.
"What are you doing?" Ziva asked.
"I'm fucking you, Officer David, on my couch, in my office." She squeezed Ziva's wrists, and looked down across Ziva's naked body.
Ziva lifted one knee, parting her legs a little. She licked her lips, and said, "Well, I believe you are going to try."
END
Author: rysler
Date: 2006-12-06
Source: Navy N.C.I.S.
Pairing: Jenny/Ziva
Rating: Explicit depiction of sex.
Notes: Episode tag for 4.8 Once a Hero (no major spoilers).
For geonncannon, by request.
* * *
Jenny sat at her desk, looking at her hands. Her nails needed filing. There was a file in the drawer, but she didn't want to bother. She said to Ziva, who was alone with her in her office, "Do you remember the time we were in Bratislava, tracking that Navy grunt, what was his name? We thought he was selling secrets to the Russians?"
"Yes, and we thought he was selling secrets to us. Jurisdiction was smacky," Ziva said.
"Sticky," Jenny corrected absently.
Ziva chuckled, standing behind Jenny's desk. Jenny could almost feel Ziva's breath against her ear. Almost. Ziva was maddening. Jenny said, "You must have been, what, 18 at the time? You were so eager to question him, I'm not sure it mattered which side he was on."
"16. My first mission outside of the Middle East," Ziva said. She sounded closer. Jenny forced herself not to look over her shoulder. Her nails captured her attention. She wore them longer now, and painted them. She no longer had to prove she wasn't a female by keeping her nails combat-ready. Now she had to prove she wasn't a lesbian by painting them.
Times were changing.
Time was passing. She sighed and asked, "Which was it? Russians or Israelis?"
Ziva said, "I don't even remember. You know, Director, no amount of talking about the past will change today's events. They, too, are irrevocably past." Ziva placed her hands on Jenny's shoulders.
"I know," Jenny said. She sounded to herself like a spoiled child, and tried to mollify her words. "Thank you for saving my life, Officer David."
"You are welcome. But I wasn't hunting for compliments."
"Fishing," said Jenny. Ziva's fingers dug into her shoulders. She relaxed--more than relaxed, became pliable in Ziva's hands. Hard edges were being stripped away. She wasn't quite ready to let them go. "Ziva--"
"Shssh," said Ziva. Her breath touched Jenny's ear. Jenny arched her neck, away from Ziva's hiss. Ziva held her shoulders, pressing down slightly. "It is not that I saved your life. I know you admire--such acts. It is that you needed someone else to do what you were once capable of doing yourself."
"Because I'm old," said Jenny.
Ziva's lips touched Jenny's earlobe. "Because you are doing other things."
"I should have been--"
Ziva squeezing her shoulders, a little too close to her neck, cut off her words. Ziva said, "You were doing your job. I was doing mine."
"I miss doing yours," said Jenny.
"Really," said Ziva. She laughed.
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"You were speaking with Congressmen. I have seen you order ships into battle. Order men to their deaths. Sheep Gibbs with an eyebrow. You would give all that up to be a bodyguard?"
"I--"
"To be a thug?"
"To help people," said Jenny. She had stopped looking at her nails, and stared at nothing.
"Surely you can do more of that now."
Ziva's hands gripped Jenny's shoulders. As hard and unyielding as Jenny wanted to be. As she could be, when giving orders. No one gave orders to Ziva. One made suggestions, and if she trusted them, she would follow them.
Jenny said, "You're not a thug."
Ziva's hands tightened.
Jenny winced. She said, "Thugs wait outside the door of the Director's office. Not inside."
Ziva smiled. She was still bent over to talk in Jenny's ear, and the smile pressed into Jenny's neck. Ziva pulled Jenny's shoulders back, for greater access to her throat.
Jenny yelped.
"What was that?" Ziva asked.
The Advil wearing off, thought Jenny. She shook her head. "I must have pulled something when I crashed through that table earlier."
Ziva's hands left her body.
Jenny frowned.
"Stand up," Ziva said.
"Giving orders now, Ziva?"
Ziva furrowed her brow, and said, "Please. Stand up."
Jenny stood, wincing. Tightness in her latissimus dorsi and twinges of pain around her spine and kidneys made sitting the preferable posture. She twisted slowly, but her back refused to pop. But she hadn't sprained anything, as far as she could tell. Her wrist and elbow ached where she'd hit the carpet.
She remembered the sensation of Ziva's hand on her back, and rolling over to see only Ziva's calm eyes. The screaming and shouting of twenty different grades of security officers and diplomats had seemed distant, reflected only as tiny, dancing reflections in Ziva's iris.
She turned around in her office and Ziva stood there, looking concerned.
"It's nothing," said Jenny.
"The ability to take pain like it's nothing is the skill of a thug," said Ziva. "And James Bond. As you are neither, please take off your shirt."
Jenny glanced toward the door.
"I locked it when I came in," said Ziva.
"You think of everything."
Ziva smiled and clasped her hands in front of her.
Jenny unbuttoned her shirt. It was hard with Ziva watching her. Her hands trembled and caught on the buttons. Her skin felt hot underneath the silk, which clung as she tried to pull it off her shoulders. The shirt brushed the bruises on her back. She tossed the shirt onto her desk, and reached behind herself to unclasp the bra. The twisting made her back ache. She winced.
"Let me," said Ziva. She stepped forward.
"Where is this going?" Jenny asked.
Ziva didn't answer. She unclasped the bra and drew the straps down Jenny's shoulders. Only the tips of her fingers touched Jenny's skin, leaving her quivering. The rest of her was still, except for the trembling in her arms. Her nipples were hard.
"Director," Ziva said, standing behind her.
Jenny nearly jumped. She crossed her arms over her bare chest.
"You're hurt," Ziva murmured.
"Hardly."
"I will take care of it," said Ziva.
Jenny bit back a sarcastic response. She could admit that she wanted Ziva, was going to have her, right now. Why mess around? That hard edge had completely melted away, she realized. So she just stood there, showing Ziva her bruises.
Ziva took her hand, and moved to her side. She tugged her toward the couch, as ultra-modern as the rest of the NCIS building. Jenny would have preferred aged, softened leather to sink into. The hard cushion, though, provided adequate contrast to Ziva's pliability. Ziva crouched behind her. Jenny heard a case snap open.
"What's that?"
Ziva said, "I came prepared."
"Do they have Boy Scouts in Israel?"
"Of course," said Ziva, right against her ear again.
Ziva sucked Jenny's earlobe and tugged with her lips. Jenny exhaled. She wished she had taken off her pants before she sat down. Now it would be impossible, and the wetness between her legs was starting to chafe. She looked out the window. The view faced away from Washington D.C., and toward Virginia. She imagined she could see the outline of mountains in the distance. Beyond that, plains, then more mountains, and then the ocean and the orange trees. Everything she and Ziva were supposed to protect. Sunset made the sky orange. Gold shafts of light patterned the floor near the window.
Ziva touched her back. Her hands were damp. And cold. Jenny winced.
"It'll warm up in a second," Ziva said. Her hands slid down Jenny's back. She pressed into Jenny's lower spine. She kissed Jenny's shoulder.
Jenny groaned.
As Ziva's fingers worked into muscles, the liquid turned warm, and the heat and the pressure and Ziva made her feel limp. Ziva kneaded her shoulders and kissed her neck. Jenny forgot about the view and the air conditioning blowing cold on her breasts.
Ziva's hands traveled down her back. Jenny felt tender, tickling kisses along her hairline, and then down her spine. She arched. Ziva circled her waist and tugged her backward. Jenny fell into Ziva's strong arms, overwhelmed by the embrace. Arousing fingers teased her nipples. Her entire body tingled in response.
This, she thought, was just as good as proving herself tough in a man's world, just as good as sex in exotic locations in sweaty tents, just as good as being afraid to die.
Better, even.
She reached up to tangle her fingers in Ziva's hair. Ziva sighed into her ear. She was touching Jenny's breasts, fondling them and brushing the nipples with her thumbs, and Jenny thought she would die from the teasing. "Harder," she said.
"What, and add more bruises?"
Jenny smiled. She lolled her head on Ziva's shoulder and let strands of black hair slip through her fingers. "I've earned it," she declared.
Ziva chuckled. She stroked Jenny's stomach. Jenny sucked in. Ziva's hands were as cold as the room. Jenny shivered. Ziva said, "Perhaps one day I will become the pampered Director."
Jenn picked up one hand. Ziva's fingers were pale and smooth, showing no signs of handling guns or speeding cars or explosives. Or knives. Or poisons. She kissed Ziva's palm. Ziva covered Jenny's mouth with her hand. Jenny whispered against her fingers, "Never."
Ziva used her free hand to open the button on Jenny's slacks. Jenny bit into a finger. Ziva tried to pull her hand away, but Jenny caught her wrist and sucked Ziva's middle finger into her mouth. Ziva's other hand stilled on her belly. Finally, Jenny heard what she longed to hear from Ziva.
A moan.
Ziva pushed into her back. Hard nipples pressed through Ziva's cotton shirt against Jenny's bare skin. She leaned back, and Ziva moaned again. Jenny squirmed, caught between teasing fingers and Ziva's growing arousal.
"Ready?" Ziva asked. She drew down the zipper of Jenny's slacks.
"For what?"
Ziva slid her hand under Jenny's waistband. Jenny closed her eyes and said, "Yes. Definitely read for that."
"I promise no one will fall from the sky," said Ziva, as her hand worked lower to cup Jenny's mound. "It will only seem like it."
Jenny grinned. Ziva squeezed. She traced Jenny's jaw. Jenny let go of her wrist and Ziva cupped a breast instead. She massaged it with firm, lingering pressure, the nipple pressed into her palm. Jenny bit her lip.
"Thong?" Ziva asked.
"Every day," Jenny said.
"It's not what people expect."
"You know it's what they secretly hope," Jenny said.
Ziva rearranged her hand. Her fingers edged under Jenny's panties. She said, "But I'm glad you do not shave." The words were purred into Jenny's neck and Jenny felt incredibly sexy.
The topic of discussion was flattering and intimate. Maybe it was just Ziva's accent, or the smokiness of her voice, but Jenny said, "What would be the point of red hair otherwise? What else do you notice, Ziva?"
"I notice that you're wet," said Ziva, slipping two fingers into Jenny's wetness. Jenny parted her legs. The slacks constricted her movement. She groaned in frustration. Ziva's finger slid over her clit. The ache between her legs was quelled momentarily, and then raged again as Ziva removed her hand to trace damp circles on Jenny's stomach.
"More," Jenny said, and groaned.
"Where?"
"You know where."
"I want to be precise, Director," said Ziva.
"What if the room is bugged?"
"Perhaps you should show me," Ziva teased.
Jenny covered Ziva's hand with hers, and guided it under her slacks again. The room was quiet except for the air conditioner and their breathing, hitched and mingled. Jenny's hand stopped at the zipper, but Ziva continued, parting Jenny's swollen lips with two deft fingers, and then slipping between them, touching her clit, her entrance, everywhere, twisting and stroking with the delicate precision of an assassin.
Jenny withdrew her hand and covered Ziva's through the cloth, content to let Ziva serve her; She knew Ziva was soaking up pleasure as well. Jenny knew if she tilted her head back, Ziva would kiss her, and so she did, letting her head roll off Ziva's shoulder. Ziva's lips descended to cover hers.
What good was it to be a Director, if not to have sex with subordinates in an office? Or with mysterious foreign intelligence officers recently acquitted of terrorist activities on American soil? Trusting Ziva or NCIS was inane but she hadn't gotten where she was by backing down. And she was in Ziva's lap, with Ziva's hand between her legs.
Ziva rolled her clit between her fingers, strumming, never squeezing. Heat rushed through Jenny's blood, from Ziva's fingers up through her chest to her mouth, pressed against Ziva, transferring the energy back through a kiss. Her tongue sought Ziva's. Ziva responded by suckling her tongue, the suction on her lips making her gasp, the slight loss of air causing her clit to pound harder. She struggled away and bit into Ziva's lower lip, and then growled, "More."
Ziva pressed harder, curling her fingers. The curl brought the tips of Ziva's fingers inside her. The slight penetration stretched her lips and she groaned. Ziva's fingers rubbed against her nerves, slipping easily through the wetness. A thumb stayed against her clit, and Jenny squirmed, seeking more.
"Ziva," she said in a choked voice. She tore her mouth away from Ziva's and fell back in Ziva's arms.
"Mm." The noise was a growl, low and rich. And dangerous. Jenny saw just who she was with, and what, and that was enough. She shuddered with the orgasm, shaking in Ziva's arms. Ziva shifted and drew her closer. Her hand held firm and still.
Jenny sagged, breathless. She looped her arm around Ziva's shoulders and settled into a more comfortable position. Ziva smirked down at her. Jenny kissed her, silently. Ziva removed her hand, and wrapped her arm around Jenny's waist, so that Jenny felt the damp fingers press against her lower back. She winced.
Ziva frowned.
"Bruise," Jenny explained.
"Ah."
Jenny got to her knees on the couch, and knelt with her hands on Ziva's shoulders. Ziva watched her. Jenny slid her hands down Ziva's arms, marveling at the muscle, and then across to her breasts, and then lower. She tugged the hem of Ziva's tee shirt out of her pants.
When Ziva didn't lift her arms, Jenny said, "Off with the clothes, Ziva."
"I can't be naked in the Director's office."
"You can, and you will," said Jenny. Ziva lifted her arms. The smirk returned to her lips. Jenny threw the tee shirt across the room, hitting the closed door with it. Ziva pulled off her bra. Jenny stood. She stepped out of her slacks, while Ziva unbuttoned her fly--Why did Gibbs let her wear combat pants at work?--and wriggled out of them on the couch.
"Boxers?" Jenny asked.
"Would you recommend a thong?"
"Absolutely not." Jenny leaned forward, tucking her fingers into the waistband of Ziva's pristine white boxers. Ziva helped her pull down the boxers, revealing a trimmed triangle of dark curls, shining with wetness. Ziva leaned back on the couch and tucked her hands over her head.
Jenny straddled her thighs. She said, "This isn't the cure for a backache I had in mind."
"My methods are unconventional."
Jenny stroked Ziva's breasts, and then ran her hands down over her stomach and up her sides. Ziva's expression remained cool, but Jenny felt her shifting underneath her. She returned to Ziva's breasts. She said, "Tell Tony you're gay yet?"
"I am waiting for just the right moment."
"Told Gibbs?"
Ziva shrugged, and said, "One never has to tell Gibbs anything."
Jenny smiled to herself. She leaned down and kissed Ziva. Ziva's mouth yielded to hers. She reached above Ziva's head and pressed her wrists to the couch arm.
"What are you doing?" Ziva asked.
"I'm fucking you, Officer David, on my couch, in my office." She squeezed Ziva's wrists, and looked down across Ziva's naked body.
Ziva lifted one knee, parting her legs a little. She licked her lips, and said, "Well, I believe you are going to try."
END