My muse has been on strike recently but this little bit decided to creep out. It's more of an introspection piece from Ziva.
I do not own NCIS or any part thereof…
No spoilers for any episodes but it seems like something that could, if TPTB were ever willing, happen this season.
ONE PERFECT NIGHT
It had happened and the world hadn't ended. First heated almost angry, then sweet and tender. Now she lay next to him, her head pillowed on his arm, her hand on his chest while she listened to him snoring.
Ziva David had never been one to hide from the truth even about herself so now she evaluated her status as she had been taught. Physical - easy. She was a little sore, tired, satiated sexually and in the throes of a delicious languor she had never felt before. Perhaps the result of making love and being made love to by someone you trusted and cared for? Not the normal situation for her. She had been fucked before by those who knew women's bodies and how to bring them to the crest time and again but never had she felt like this; loose and liquid, lazy and yet somehow with something still coiled inside of her wanting to experience it all again. Ready to sleep but full of a delicious anticipation making her restless and unable to sleep.
She rubbed her nose on his chest, the soft hairs tickling her and making a smile stretch her kiss-bruised lips. Even that little pain felt good. She took a deep breath in, sorting out the scents. His, of course, musky male with the tiniest hint of his expensive cologne still apparent. The overwhelming ripeness of their mingled body fluids, even now still drying on her inner thighs from their last bout when at the finish he had ridden her hard and fast and made her scream in delighted pain, or was it painful delight, as he forced her to yet another orgasm. Every time she moved she thought she saw another air current of the essential Tony and Ziva bouquet wafting upwards.
She rubbed her nose on him again and added a light kiss licking her lips afterwards, enjoying the saltiness of his sweat on her tongue. Closing her eyes so she could concentrate she returned to her self assessment. Mentally and emotionally- not so easy. She knew she wasn't confused. Knew what she had done and why and had no regrets. What she did not know was where it all went now. The questions began to tumble around her mind, one leading to another leading to another.
Tonight they had come together as she had always thought they would, working through their anger at each other by using sex, their mutual lust having been the one constant in the years they had known each other. But the second time, initiated by him, had been gentle, seeking to please her, bring her nothing but pleasure, fulfillment. It seemed to take hours and when he finally collapsed on top of her after his own release, his head close to her ear, he had whispered her name and the soft, lingering sound of it had brought tears to her eyes. The warmth of his breath making her shiver. So much promise heard and felt.
Truly Ziva David was physically and perhaps emotionally more satisfied than at any other time in her life yet her Mossad-trained brain kept going over all that could go wrong. What would Gibbs say when he found out and he would find out. He found out everything. How would their partnership change now? Would he be overprotective of her? Or would she be overprotective of him? She could easily imagine the last happening. Would Abby be happy or mad? How would McGee feel? She knew they already made him feel like the third tire, would this make it worse? And, since she was being honest, her biggest fear, the one undergirding all the others, the one she had always had since first realizing her attraction to Tony was not just physical was that this, this joining, would not be special to him. Would she be just another bump on his life's path already well paved with so many other naked women? If she had to, could she return to the way they were before tonight? Could she survive hearing him talking about other conquests? See him come on to every attractive woman they met in the course of their jobs and not self destruct? Just how much would it hurt?
"You're thinking too hard."
She jerked her hand away from his chest, startled.
"You are awake?"
Even in the dark she knew when he smiled.
"Yes, I'm awake. The buzzing of your brain at work is deafening."
What was he talking about? Sometimes what he said made no sense. Perhaps he really could read her mind sometimes because he put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him.
"Go to sleep. Stop worrying."
She opened her mouth to say there was much to worry about but he stopped her statement by the simple act of kissing her unhurriedly with soft lips, holding her head in place with his hand buried in her hair.
"We're going to be okay, Ziva. You and me, we're going to do fine."
With that he rolled over, turning his back to her.
What did that mean, "we're going to do fine?" Why did he turn his back on her? Was it over? Was this how he ended his romantic evenings? She slowly pulled away from the heat of his body. Perhaps she should just leave now…
He reached back toward her, groping blindingly until he felt her arm, then he ran his hand down until he could grasp her fingers. Squeezing them firmly he yanked her to him until she was scooted up as close as she could get, breasts pressed firmly against his back, belly up against his butt cheeks, her knees spooned behind his. He sighed then and wriggled his ass, pulling the hand he still clasped to his lips and kissing her fingers.
"Night," he whispered.
She frowned. How could he just go to sleep? Did he have no worries? Yes, the sex had been wonderful but what now? She knew he claimed he was the man who refused to accept reality but he might have to now, when the sun came up. What would he say then? What could he say?
"Stop thinking. It's keeping me awake."
How could she answer his question? Should she be honest? Had they really reached the stage where they could be honest with each other?
Hiding her face between his shoulder blades she tried, barely hearing her own whisper.
"This, this was like a perfect night, Tony. I am thinking…worrying, with all the…"
What did she say here? Say she was afraid of his womanizing ways, his inability to commit? Afraid of her own deep-seated inability to communicate her feelings? Afraid of hurting him or of him hurting her?
"…possibilities of what might come from tonight."
There, she said it. Now he would probably sit up, kiss her goodbye and that would be that. She would not have to worry anymore.
He let go of her hand and slowly turned over so he now faced her again.
"Ziva," he said her name almost reverently.
She had nothing she could say.
"Ziva," he said again more firmly, "it's all good. Stop worrying."
He kissed her again, this time with more passion, more demand, more assertion of his right to possess her lips.
When the kiss finally ended he leaned on his elbow, looking down at her, then bent forward and gently kissed each eyelid closed.
"It's just the first of many perfect nights, Ziva David. Many, many perfect nights."
He rolled over again, taking her hand with him this time and she willing resumed her position against his body. If only it could stay like this. If only every night could be perfect, was that what he was talking about? She felt so safe, yes, safe but that was not all. She felt treasured? Was that the right word? Treasured. She liked the word.
He pulled her arm, getting her attention.
"Stop it. Stop thinking so damned hard and go to sleep."
She pressed her lips to his back. She felt the fine hairs on his buttocks and thighs caress her skin as she got as close to him as physically possible. Then she closed her eyes and went to sleep, not thinking of anything at all, simply feeling.