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FANDOM: NCIS
TITLE: A Fine Thing
SUMMARY: She always supposed that sex with Tony would be like a starving man and a meal - great gulps of delight, swallowed swiftly, and consumed in ferocious need.
RATING: NC-17
CATEGORY: PWP, Tony/Ziva
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, making no money, please don't sue.
NOTES: Written for the Porn Battle X to the prompt 'tenderness'.
A Fine Thing
Tony enjoys fine things. Ziva has always known this.
She always supposed that sex with Tony would be like a starving man and a meal - great gulps of delight, swallowed swiftly, and consumed in ferocious need.
So his tenderness is bewildering.
"I will not break, Tony," she says with exasperation when his kisses are neither as fast or as hard as she would like - neither as fast or as hard as she imagined he might be.
"Patience is a virtue, Ziva. You should try a little of that sometime."
His fingers explore the line of her shoulders, the inside of her arm, the curve of her ribcage, and the dip of her belly button, and when she rolls them over and rides his hips until he is shaking with need, she thinks she has won. Tony is not a patient man; too eager for that first bite, for that heady rush of pleasure, for the satisfaction of the kill.
"You'll be the death of me," he gasps.
"I shall add it to my list of assassination techniques," she says, arch until he rolls them back over and sheathes his flesh in hers - one deep stroke that portends such a quivering pleasure that Ziva nearly splinters then and there.
But then he does nothing but shift them in the sheets, rocking in her with exquisite control as his lips move across her ear and jaw, and his hands stroke her flanks until she is mad with thwarted desire, with the need for release.
"Please," she begs when she cannot stand the pleasure any longer. When her senses are so overdosed and her every nerve sparking like a live wire that even the change in pressure as he lifts himself up to see her face nearly drives her mad.
"The magic word," Tony husks, grinning, and then he is thrusting into her with long, hard strokes, holding himself up off her with a steel-jawed determination that Ziva finds vaguely bewildering if she could think at all beneath the onslaught of sensation.
Her world is fire and wind, and the smoky scent of Tony's sweat and man-musk in her arms, the soap-scent of his hair and the groan in her ears as he comes with her in the end, shaking, shivering, murmuring things she doesn't hear as his eyes watch her like the heavens watch the earth beneath the bright bright sun.
He makes a joke of it - something inane - and settles into her side with a sigh, more clingy than she might have supposed of him.
It is only when she is on the verge of sleep that she begins to understand.
Ziva has never thought of herself as something to be savoured.
fin
TITLE: A Fine Thing
SUMMARY: She always supposed that sex with Tony would be like a starving man and a meal - great gulps of delight, swallowed swiftly, and consumed in ferocious need.
RATING: NC-17
CATEGORY: PWP, Tony/Ziva
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, making no money, please don't sue.
NOTES: Written for the Porn Battle X to the prompt 'tenderness'.
Tony enjoys fine things. Ziva has always known this.
She always supposed that sex with Tony would be like a starving man and a meal - great gulps of delight, swallowed swiftly, and consumed in ferocious need.
So his tenderness is bewildering.
"I will not break, Tony," she says with exasperation when his kisses are neither as fast or as hard as she would like - neither as fast or as hard as she imagined he might be.
"Patience is a virtue, Ziva. You should try a little of that sometime."
His fingers explore the line of her shoulders, the inside of her arm, the curve of her ribcage, and the dip of her belly button, and when she rolls them over and rides his hips until he is shaking with need, she thinks she has won. Tony is not a patient man; too eager for that first bite, for that heady rush of pleasure, for the satisfaction of the kill.
"You'll be the death of me," he gasps.
"I shall add it to my list of assassination techniques," she says, arch until he rolls them back over and sheathes his flesh in hers - one deep stroke that portends such a quivering pleasure that Ziva nearly splinters then and there.
But then he does nothing but shift them in the sheets, rocking in her with exquisite control as his lips move across her ear and jaw, and his hands stroke her flanks until she is mad with thwarted desire, with the need for release.
"Please," she begs when she cannot stand the pleasure any longer. When her senses are so overdosed and her every nerve sparking like a live wire that even the change in pressure as he lifts himself up to see her face nearly drives her mad.
"The magic word," Tony husks, grinning, and then he is thrusting into her with long, hard strokes, holding himself up off her with a steel-jawed determination that Ziva finds vaguely bewildering if she could think at all beneath the onslaught of sensation.
Her world is fire and wind, and the smoky scent of Tony's sweat and man-musk in her arms, the soap-scent of his hair and the groan in her ears as he comes with her in the end, shaking, shivering, murmuring things she doesn't hear as his eyes watch her like the heavens watch the earth beneath the bright bright sun.
He makes a joke of it - something inane - and settles into her side with a sigh, more clingy than she might have supposed of him.
It is only when she is on the verge of sleep that she begins to understand.
Ziva has never thought of herself as something to be savoured.
fin
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