Aftermath II
Many thoughts go through his head as he drives. The most pressing one is that this is probably a bad idea. A very bad idea. He’s absolutely sure that first thing tomorrow morning he’ll be doing everything he can to get Ziva, and Tony, and Tim back to where they belong, with him. (And even more importantly, before Abby has a total meltdown and the lab goes to hell and gone.) But tonight she’s no longer an employee, and he has no idea when he’ll have that luxury again.
He’s also sure that Jenny’s death has had an effect on his actions. Ever since that first death, when one of his buddies bought it in Basic, he’s known that nothing makes him want sex more than the loss of a friend. And Jenny was more than a friend. Just like with Kate, as soon as the investigation was over he felt the desire. Ducky’s told him that it has something to do with confirming that you are alive, but his own personal theory is that when you feel so bad it’s important to do something that feels this good. And nothing feels so good as sex.
He hopes Ziva agrees. Which is another problem. Ziva and Jenny were friends. And he does not know how Ziva responds to the death of a friend. He’s aware that he might end up spending the night on her couch getting drunk and cried on. He can live with that.
He also hopes Ziva still remembers that night. It’s been fifteen months, during which they have worked together like almost perfect professionals. If he spends a little too long looking at her, or stands a little too close, no one else has seemed to notice. Beyond that, he has done a very good job of keeping her out of his mind. He doesn’t let his thoughts go there more than once a month. He’s not sure if he could keep himself properly bosslike if he allowed himself to think of her, and him, and sex much more often than that.
As he pulls into the parking lot of her apartment complex his eyes scan the cars. He sees her car, but not Tony’s, which was his other fear. He didn’t want to come knocking on her door and find Tony sitting on her couch. He had a plan should that happen, (Call McGee and begin working on getting them back together.) but still, he’d rather have tonight with just her.
At her door he debates knocking. He could just pick the lock and enter, repeating her actions from last year. But giving her the chance to say “No” is more important to him. He knocks.
She answers it in her robe. It is gray and silky, and only comes to her mid-thigh. Her hair is down around her shoulders. Her face is fresh and make-up free. And she smells exactly as he remembers her: Very, very good.
“It seems you no longer work for me.”
She pulls him into her home. “So, the rules no longer apply.”
She had barely finished the last syllable before he is kissing her. Much to his relief she is kissing him back just as eagerly.
He pulls back for a second. “Are you sure?”
“Tomorrow will take care of itself.” He has never been happier to hear words to that effect. He tosses his jacket behind him and wraps his arms around her again.
After several moments of frantic kissing and stroking she giggles. He pulls back and gives her a look that says, “What?” After all, giggles aren’t exactly the reaction he’s looking for.
She is smiling brightly. Her lips are swollen, and one shoulder has worked its way free of the robe. Her fingers ghost along the front of his pants. “There’s the salute I was looking for last year.”
He gives her a look, half smile, half smirk. “That’s not the half of it.”
“Really?” She’s teasing him, and he’s enjoying it. Yes, this is going to be very, very good.
He very slowly, without breaking eye contact, brushes her hair from her neck, his fingers stroking her skin before sliding through her hair, and then bends to kiss where her neck and shoulder meet. She shivers.
“Really,” he whispers against her neck.
She breaks from him and pulls him toward her room. He follows, not as quickly as he’d like, but he’s trying to walk and slip off his shoes at the same time. There never is a good time to take off shoes in a situation like this, but unless he plans an up against the wall quickie he needs to get them off. There is an appeal to pressing her against the wall of her hallway and wrapping her legs around him, but there’s even more appeal to getting her all the way out of that robe and into a nice soft bed. This is one of the few moments where he’d really like to erase twenty years. Had he still been in his thirties this would be very easy, he’d do both. As it was, both hadn’t been an option for some time.
On the upside he knew he was good for as long as she wanted to go. And there’s quite a bit to be said for not having to worry about that.
And there’s something to be said for not thinking at all. Which he is currently doing. They are in Ziva’s room, and she has wiped all the coherent thoughts out of his mind with the slide of her tongue in his mouth, and the feel of her hands on his belt.
They are both pushing and pulling at his clothing. Trying to get him out of a shirt, t-shirt, pants and boxers without breaking their mouth to mouth contact. Finally she pulls back and pushes his hands out of the way.
“This will go faster if just one of us does it.” He lets his hands drop to his sides and allows her to undress him. He’s not entirely passive though, as she unbuttons the top of his shirt he gives the hem of her robe a tug. The robe opens and slides from her shoulder to the crooks of her elbows. When she drops her hands to pull the hem of his shirt out of his pants it pools around her wrists. She pulls both of his shirts over his head in one go, and then allows the robe to fall to the ground.
She is naked under the robe, and he is enjoying the view of her kneeling on the ground to go after his pants. Not that they really need that level of attention. Undo the belt, unbutton the button, unzip the fly and they’ll fall to the floor all on their own. But he does appreciate the visual of her face inches from his fly, her fingers working his zipper. No matter what else happens tonight that memory is going into storage to be pulled out for later play.
He steps out of his pants and boxers, kicking them off one leg, while she visually inspects him in a much more thorough manner than he’s used to. He realizes she’s storing this for her private file of memories as well.
She stands, moves into his embrace, his kiss, and once again any thought beyond sensation is lost. She is smooth and tight in his arms. Her muscles flex under his fingers and her fingers scrape intricate patterns along his backside. He is aware of the edge of her bed against the back of his knees, and then sinking onto it. He is even more aware of her sinking onto him, and the hissing sound he makes when she does so.
She sets a pace that is slow and deliberate, and he’s happy to go with it. For a while he lays back and watches her move on him, his hands lightly resting on her hips. His hips roll with hers. His eyes are half lidded and lazy looking.
He wants her closer to him. He sits up and wraps his arms around her, pressing kisses to her breasts. From this position he can’t thrust and she slows way down, barely moving. Then he feels her squeeze. He makes that hissing sound again as his eyes roll closed and he pulls her lips into a very deep, very fast kiss.
The kiss builds and with it her speed. She is saying something, breathy and hot in his ear, but it’s not English. He is nibbling one nipple while his hands stroke her hips and ass. Her hands are using his shoulders for balance. Her motions are losing their focus, and the sounds she’s making are no longer words of any language. He feels her tighten against him, feels the pulsations he loves so much, and very quickly flips them so he’s on top.
This is his favorite position. His body crushed to hers, her legs wrapped around his back, and her lips on his. In a few strokes he’s able to join her bliss. They rest that way, breathing hard, hearts calming down, for a few moments, and then he rolls to his side, easing his weight off of her, but staying in contact.
Her face is inches from his, and she strokes his bottom lip with her finger tips. He takes her hand in his and kisses her palm, and then her wrist.
“Would you like to stay?” She asks him, a look of tenderness he only remembers seeing on her once before, at the bedside of Lt. Sanders.
“Yes, I would.”
Author's Chapter Notes:
And now Ziva's been reassigned.