Title: Recoil's Fallout
Author: CJ aka WritinginCT
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Tony/Ziva
Rating: FR21
Warnings: Angry sex, Season 5 Recoil spoilers
Categories: PWP
Disclaimer: I don’t own the recognizable characters I’m just inspired by them. Hopefully they’ve had fun playing in my sandbox.
Summary: What was the fallout between Tony and Ziva from Recoil?
Status: Complete 5/12/08

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Ziva watched Locke dial Devon's number and smiled sadly before leaving the bar. As she walked down the sidewalk she heard her name called, “Ziva.”

She turned and saw Tony leaning up against his car, obviously waiting for her. There was look in his eyes she had never seen before, or at least had never seen it directed towards her, he was angry. Livid. And underlying it was... hurt and disappointment.

She approached him and in between heartbeats found herself pinned between his solid body and the car as his mouth fiercely claimed hers. It was vaguely familiar, she had kissed him before when they were undercover, but this was different. It was raw and angry and he wasn't sharing, he was possessing.

Her own body betrayed her as it responded in kind to his ardor. His hands were all over her and she wanted him. Right here, right now. In the middle of the street, with an audience, she just didn't care. She wanted the hair pulling and biting, and being slammed up against wall as he pounded into her like the world was about to end. She wanted to fuck. Plain and simple. Not making love, not having sex, but pure unadulterated fucking. The kind that would leave both of them bruised and sore tomorrow, the kind that would either break their tenuous pseudo-friendship into a million shards or cement them even more firmly together.

Tony was completely on that same page. He wanted her legs wrapped around him as he drilled into her, making her forget Locke's name forever. He wanted to mark her skin with his mouth, to let anyone that might see it know that she was his. He wanted to fuck until it hurt, until they couldn't stand it anymore and they hurt each other's bodies as badly as they hurt each other's hearts. And as badly as he wanted to make her forget Locke's name, he wanted her to make him forget Jeanne.

He pulled back and said hoarsely, “Get in the car.”

She did, and without another word, he drove to his apartment which was closer.

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The door barely closed behind them when they were all over each other again, and in a move that surprised both of them Tony spun her around and slammed her into the face first and pinned her there. He grabbed a fist full of hair and pulled making her arch her neck back, and he growled, “How could you sleep with him? He could have killed you. Do you know what would have done to me? Do you even care?” His mouth found her exposed neck and he left the first of many marks they would leave on each other's skin.

She could feel how aroused he was, large and imposing and nestled in the crack of her ass as he assaulted her neck. She found her leverage and pushed off from the wall and slammed him backwards into the opposite wall and immediately plastered herself to him, her hands grabbing and squeezing that hardness below his belt as she kissed him with fervor and teeth. Her hands moved upwards and the buttons of his shirt were scattered as she ripped it open without hesitation, her mouth finding the fur on his chest and leaving a mark or two of her own. Without meeting his eyes, instead tormenting one of his nipples in between words, Ziva spat out, “Did you care about me when you were with her?”

Tony's hands found the button to her pants and soon had his large hand in her panties, cupping and squeezing. He could feel her heat and as his fingers found their way into her folds he knew that she was already on the edge. With his hand still in her pants he propelled her backward and again pressed himself against her, this time with a thigh between her legs, grinding his hand in even harder. Her sharp gasp was music to his ears.

He worked his hand mercilessly, and tormented her ear, “Not so tough now are you?”

Ziva was so turned on that she could barely think, but she had the wherewithal to reply, “Fuck you, Tony.”

He pressed into her even harder, and slipped his fingers deep inside her and promised, “Oh, I intend to fuck you, Ziva. But first...” he crooked his fingers and found her spot, the one that made her flood his hand and convulse all around it, the one that made her fingers curl around his biceps so hard he would have bruises for days..

Without giving her any time to recoup, Tony dropped them to the floor, and in quick, desperate motions stripped off her shoes, pants and panties. Her hands were scrambling at his belt, and she soon had freed his erection and was working it with rough, tight strokes. A moment later her legs were around him and he was pressing into her with one sure thrust. Hard and fast, the pace was what they both wanted. And as he pushed harder and harder she heard the words that had to have been echoing in his head come out of his mouth as grunts against her skin, “You. Could. Have. Died.”

She pulled him closer with her nails digging into his flesh, gouging and making him bleed, and she echoed his words back to him, “You could have, too.”

Tony stilled and his eyes caught hers, and his voice was ragged with emotion as he croaked out, “I just wanted to keep you safe but you wouldn't let me.”

Ziva's voice wavered a little, “Neither would you.”

His eyes searched hers and his hand made its way up and he ran a thumb softly over her bruised lips. His mouth followed and ever so gently kissed those same lips. He began to move again, slower and more deliberately.

It didn't take long until she was arching underneath him, and he could feel her closing around him like a vice. But it was his name cried from her mouth as she came that sent him over that same cliff and he was looking directly in her eyes as he took his turn crying out her name.

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They were both too raw emotionally to talk about anything heavier than the contents of Tony's refrigerator. And after some water and a snack, they curled up in his bed, holding each other. They dozed for a while, both of them too wound and on edge for a truly deep sleep. Their bodies found each other twice more in the night, and it was as good as they always knew it would be. In the morning they showered together, each trying to kiss and caress away all the little marks and hurts they had inflicted upon each other.

They were having coffee when Ziva blurted out something that had been running through her head, “I'm not Jeanne, Tony.”

He looked at her over his cup and retorted, “And I'm not Michael, Ziva.”

She simply nodded in response, more words just not necessary.

He dropped her off at her car and before she could get in, he pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her forehead. And as they drove away, neither knew what the future would bring, but they both knew they had their partner back to help them face whatever was thrown at them.

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the end.