It had started out just an ordinary date - however one would define 'ordinary' when it came to Tony and Ziva. They went out to dinner, had a few glasses of wine, and Tony would drop Ziva back at her apartment.

Things had been somewhat stunted between them lately. It had all started off as an accidental night of passion; they seeked comfort and found it in each other's arms. When they woke up the next morning, it was clear to both of them that neither of them wanted things to end here but they knew they were walking on thin ice. If things were to go wrong the consequences could be nasty. So they were taking things . It had been a mutual agreement, but it was becoming increasingly difficult for Tony to keep his hands off Ziva when she looked at him like she did, with an unspoken lust clouding her eyes. Oh yes, she wanted him as much as he did her.

Tonight, though, just as Tony was struggling to have the will to leave her for the night, she grabbed hold of his tie and pulled him back through the door.

"You aren't going anywhere," she told him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, knowing the possible implications. "We had a lot of wine."

"Non-alcoholic," she replied. "I had to do this sober."

She pulled off her shirt to reveal a lacy black bra. His eyes widened, not only was he startled by her boldness but at the lace that had been hiding under her shirt the entire evening. He felt his heart rate rise. Helovedlace, and he had a sneaking suspicion that she knew that all too well.

He never pegged her for a lace girl. He figured she'd have a typical tan bra - enough to do the job without being impractical. Lace was very feminine, and Ziva…well, Ziva just wasn't. She took pants, boots and no make-up over typical womanly styles any day. He loved that about her, the way she was still beautiful without all of that. But he couldn't help but wonder how many times she'd worn it without him knowing.

And while that lace made his heart race and his face flush, he knew it wouldn't have mattered whether or not she wore it. Just like he loved her for her, and not the way she dressed. After all, much like the lace, it was what was underneath that mattered.