This is a gift!fic for Finlaure! Happy late Birthday! I started writing this ages ago, but then I got stuck somewhere in the middle, and my mind made me ax the entire thing in order to start anew. I hope this is something you enjoy! :] [Sorry about the delay!!]
Because She Invades Dreams
Disclaimer: SoBe Life Water has a tang in the after taste that some may call addicting. I call it "fantastic".
Warnings: Uhm. SoloM. And I would say NOT WORK SAFE! Because, yeah, I like to say such things like that.
Summary: Tony is forced to take matters into his own hands. [I think I just gave the entire thing away, feel free to move on now.] Oh, and I tried something new with the parenthesis, Tony's thoughts delving a bit deeper I suppose. I don't know. If they don't work let me know and I will take them out!
It begins before he realizes, really. He likes to say that he had no idea how it happened, that he has no clue when he became reduced to that teenage boy he had been all those years ago. Sometimes he believes it, other times not so much.
There are days where he finds that it is harder to look at her than others. He blames it on the way she styles her hair, when she wears it down, curly and soft he can't help but to want to run his fingers through it. But then he remembers the smoldering depths of her eyes, and the way it causes his gut to deliciously clench and his fingers to curl into tight fists, and his blame shifts to that. After hours of trying to pinpoint what exactly it is that is causing the desire flaming within his stomach he figures it out. It is her, pure and simple. She is the only woman that has evoked feelings so strong inside of him that he literally has to fight against inner-Tony in order to stop him from doing that certain something that happens in his dreams all too often.
He thinks that he should be worried, these feelings are something that would normally cause him to have a major freak out, but this is Ziva, so being worried was the furthest thing from his mind. He may be bordering on obsession, because dreaming about her every night had to be unhealthy, but he can't bring himself to care. It had gotten to the point where every time he closes his eyes he ends up picturing her naked body, sweaty and writhing beneath him. He can no longer deny the fact that he loves it, that he wants it. Wants her.
He doesn't know why he isn't acting on his desires, he should be. He is aching and he knows that she is the only one who can quench his needs. It's just that every time he looks at her now it isn't her that he is seeing, not really anyway. It was dream-Ziva that stood before him, looking beautifully naked, and beyond aroused. It always leaves him tied up in knots, ready to snap and just drag her away to show her the things that fill his dreams.
She would enjoy it, he is sure of that, because dream-Ziva enjoys it very much if her screams and moans are any indication. Dream-Ziva is insatiable, much like he has imagined real-Ziva to be, and he longs to get the opportunity to test out this theory because the delicious coil it presents is far too tight to ignore.
He thinks that it is Gibbs holding him back, well more specifically, Gibbs and his rule. Each time Tony comes out of one of his Ziva induced fantasies, Gibbs is shooting him a look that is far more effective than any bucket of cold water could ever be. Sometimes reality sucks, if Gibbs' knowing glare is any indication. He is equal parts frightened and disturbed by the things he reads in the blue depths of his boss' eyes, because he isn't sure what to make of it.
It has been a long day for all of them, the entire team is taxed and numb from all the paperwork they have had to file. Tony is positive that his eyes are about to pop out of his head at any moment, or maybe he will simply drop on the floor in a twitching lump never to stand again. He is exhausted, having your mind on two different things tends to have that effect but he isn't complaining really, far from it.
"Go home, DiNozzo," Gibbs states gruffly, pulling Tony out of his thoughts for the umpteenth time that day.
Tony shoots him a wary glance. He can't be sure, but he had assumed Gibbs would have grown frustrated at his lack of attentiveness by now, but it would seem that that isn't the case. He feels that thick bead of saliva form in the back of his throat, the one that happens when his stomach lurches just before naked dream-Ziva makes her appearance. He can see Ziva packing up her things in his peripheral vision and he takes the time to inconspicuously allow his eyes to roam her curves. He catalogs her body, remembering every dip, line, and curve that is presented to him so when he dreams at night it is as close to the real thing as he can manage without actually having it. It has become his favorite past-time, and each time he walks away from it unscathed he knows just how lucky he truly is.
"It has been a long day," Gibbs states in explanation, sensing the teams hesitation at leaving so early on a Thursday night.
Tony's eyes are bloodshot, and he may be sleep deprived but his body feels well-spent from his long nights spent in dreamland. He doesn't think anybody would understand, and while he may not be bragging about his sex life – to him his dreams count as sex – it is because this is personal, for his ears and eyes only. Well, if Ziva offered he would definitely give her a taste, and a lick, heck she could sample the entire thing if she wanted.
With his thoughts continuing to run away from him Tony can't help but to agree that it has indeed been a long day. Ziva's jeans had been particularly tight today, and each time she held something in her arms her V-neck would grant him a brief – though incredibly wonderful – view of the black lace bra she wore beneath. His throat was beyond dry, his head was stuffed with clouds, and the desire that was currently coursing through his veins was about to boil over. He needed to leave, he needed to be alone before he did something irreversibly stupid.
"Bye boss!" Tony croaked out, and yes his voice may have been a hoarse husk, but in his defense his complete attention was on the woman that preceded him into the elevator. Clearly he had no control over the matter.
Gibbs shook his head as he watched his remaining agents file into the elevator. "Rule twelve won't be in affect much longer," he grumped good-naturedly, though really he can't help but to think how it has been a long time coming.
He stands in the back of the elevator telling himself it is because there is better ventilation back there, but when his eyes trail down the line of Ziva's back before resting on her ass he knows the lie for what it is. The shirt she is wearing is incredibly thin, and he knows that if it were a lighter color he could see everything that lay beneath it. He finds that he loathes the deep purple of her shirt right now, it looks wonderful against her olive skin tones but it is hiding her treasures beneath, and that is not okay with him, at all.
"Something wrong, Tony?" Ziva questioned, and he was probably imagining the smirk he could hear in her tone but that doesn't stop his body from reacting to it. He is alone in the elevator with the woman of his dreams, he is half hard and can't be standing further away from her than he already is and he is cursing himself for his stupidity. This isn't the ideal situation. No, the ideal situation would be for him to flick the emergency switch, push her up against the wall and worship her with this tongue the way he does every night – but only in his dreams (that thought is really a buzz kill when he takes the time to really think about it).
"Nothing's wrong," so maybe he stuttered, and his tone still hasn't overcome its gravelly undertones but she smells too good for him to care. Her scent has literally wrapping around him now, enticing him towards things that would not be appropriate in a work elevator but as the seconds tick by he finds that he doesn't care.
Ziva turned to him then, craning her neck over her shoulder in order to lock gazes and there is a smirk there. (She has a beautiful neck. The gentle arch of it causes his mouth to water, but no, he wasn't drooling.) "If you are sure," there is a promise there; he heard it as much as he saw it and he thinks that maybe he missed his chance. He needs a time machine; maybe McGee can help him build one with his crazy wizarding skills (or was that limited to that game he was always playing?).
The doors are opening now, and Ziva is stepping out before he can get his thoughts under control. (Wait, wait, wait!) But no matter how loud his mind wills her too she doesn't stop, or turn around, or even look at him. She's teasing him, her hips are swinging, and her back is arched just a smidge, and god, he wants her.
He's tense as he makes his way to his car. His body is on fire, humming tales of his desire for the woman that just zoomed off in her mini cooper. He needed to get his thoughts in order, because they were seriously causing his game to suffer the consequences. (He thinks he could have her right now if he weren't being such an idiot.)
It's hot, too hot. His body is covered in a thin veil of sweat, and his brows are furrowed as his eyes roll beneath his lids. He can't take off any more clothes because he isn't wearing any (have you slept in the nude? Hel-lo!), and the cotton sheet that is covering him from the waist down isn't really adding to the temperature room. The thing that is causing the temperature to rise would be the same thing that is causing the fabric covering his legs to become tented with his hardening erection, and it would be the same thing that is causing his hitched gasps to fill the room.
Lips. Hard, wanting; soft, loving.
She's kissing down his neck, and he can't help but to arch into her as her hair trails a tickling wake of sensation down his spine.
She knows how to touch him, knows where to touch him, and he is enjoying every second of it. His fingers curl into her hair, pulling the thick tresses away from her face to watch her heated eyes rove his body. It makes him hot, the way she looks at him, the burning lust that she couldn't hide if she wanted to.
His fingers grasp the sheet, bunching it into tight fists causing the fabric to slip that much further down his waist. His knee is kinked off to the side, bent upward as he pushes his hips up to meet the weight of the women in his dreams. It feels so real, it always does. He doesn't lament that fact until he wakes, he relishes dreams, and he promises that one day they will be real.
She's smiling at him now, and he has never seen anything more erotic in his life. Her tongue is hot and heavy as it licks up his shaft, and he can do nothing more than plead with her to continue.
She must be a goddess, no a vixen. Because she has unnatural talents that he has never witnessed before. The things she can do, the things that she has showed him. He would rightfully relinquish his title as "the sex machine" to her, because she deserves it. She has earned it, and if she keeps doing the things that she is doing he will call her whatever she wants.
"Zee-vahh," his breath is coming out heavily now. He is panting, his chest heaving, and he wonders what it is like to breath naturally.
He relinquishes his hold on the sheets just as his feet kick the remaining blankets off until they are nestled at the foot of his bed. His hand grasps his stiff erection blindly, (wet dreams will never be the same again) and he begins to pump in time with the strokes of her tongue.
She's humming, and he isn't questioning how she mastered this art. (He doesn't really care.) They're both adults, and it took them too long to find each other if you ask him. But that's okay now, she tells him as much with the way her lips slide down along his length. They are coaxing him to his sweet release, and her lips stretch as her cheeks hollow.
Her brown eyes are bright, and he can tell that she's anticipating his flavor. He can't help but to become even more turned on by that.
Her gaze flicks to his, and he can see that she is just as turned on as he is by her antics. (He allows himself to think that she is even more so, because it is ridiculously hot to think about.)
She's humming again. The syllables that reverberate out of her throat sound suspiciously like his name, and so what if it makes him groan loudly and cause his hips to pitch forward.
He's not awake, but his body sure is. (It's on fire, in a good way.) His hand is pumping with thick, long strokes, so sure of the outcome it will produce. His neck is straining against the pillow as he surrenders to the feelings inside of him. His heart is pounding, and it may just burst out of his chest from its intensity.
"Oh god, yes," he releases a shuddering breath. His lips are quaking as his right hands pumps harder still, tightening its grasp as he feels that sweet coil ready to spring.
Her fingers are ghosting lines across his thigh, making sure he feels every sensation she is offering up. His body is tightening all over, tensing and waiting for her to push him over in the way he knows only she can. She's smiling now, her tongue is swirling as she takes his length deeper into her mouth. And (oh, god, oh YES! Just like that, please!!) no one has ever been so sure before, no one has ever taken him so deep without any hesitation the way she has just done now.
With a combined flick of her tongue, and a well placed stroke of her hand he is coming. Falling over the edge so hard and so fast that his vision blurs momentarily before going white completely. He feels good, really good, and he can see that his sentiments are mirrored in the depths of her eyes.
He is surrendering to her, and maybe it is only in his dreams as his hand tightens fractionally around his cock just before he comes with a shout. He knows that this means something as he groggily opens his eyes and feels the disappointment nestled in his chest. He wishes she was here, because the things she does for him in his dreams need to be reciprocated.
So yes, maybe she does invade his dream, and maybe that is not normal. But she also invades his reality, and he wouldn't want it to be any other way.
He knows the old adage, and he is sure that reality is going to surpass every dream he has ever had of her.
(Trust him when he says that it has been a lot.)
As he walks into work the next morning he feels lighter. (Maybe he feels like that every morning after a night like the previous one but he likes to think that the feelings are new each time.) He feels rejuvenated for the moment, and when he takes in the skirt adorning his co-worker's figure he knows that that feeling will only last too long.
"Good morning, Ziva," he announces smiling brightly, and okay, his eyes may be focused on her legs but it has been awhile before she has showed the world her beautiful, long, slender legs that seem to go on forever. (No, really did those things every end!?)
"Morning, Tony," he knows he did not imagine the purr in her voice, and he definitely did not imagine the wink she threw towards him. (Even if he did imagine those things, he knows the slow swipe of her tongue across her lips is something his mind could never make up. At least not with it looking so hot!)
He finds himself wondering if she can read minds, if she knows of the things he thinks about her. But then he watches her zone out after a moment, her eyes trailing over his biceps and then becoming hazy, and he just knows that she is having dreams of her own.
And if he was being honest with himself, he would admit just how hard that made him.
So maybe it began without him realizing it, but as it continues he likes to think that he realizes every second of it.
I hope this is up to your standards. It is something really different then my usual writing and I am just not sure! Change is hard damnit, but at the same point I am kind of happy with the outcome. I did get to delve a bit deeper into Tony's psyche so that is always fun!
Reviews would be lovely. I would like to know if I have just adopted another writing style, or if I should kick it to the curb before it is able to nestle its way into my heart!