He’s just dozing when he sees them, the beginnings of pinkish purple lights streaking across deep blue blanketed sky like bruises on skin. Dawn. The word makes his stomach clench and roil, and he instinctively pulls the warm body next to him closer between the sheets. A hint of a smile tugs at the edges of his lips when he hears her responding muffled groan against his chest.
Images from the previous night flash through his mind like the film of an old movie; her lips on his skin, his fingers in her hair, their bodies fitting together as perfectly as he had always known they would. The sudden vivid memory makes his chest throb painfully.
He presses a kiss to her forehead before deciding that no matter how much he doesn’t want to let go of her, he really does need a shower, and he doubts that Ziva will much appreciate his B.O draped across her sleeping form. Wrapping a sheet round his waist, he carefully detaches himself from her body and exits the bed, tiptoeing as quietly as he can towards the bedroom’s small adjoining ensuite.
Apparently not quietly enough, because he barely makes it halfway to the door when the sheets stir behind him.
“Tony?” he hears her murmur softly. He turns around to find his partner blinking large sleepy eyes at him, her hair a tangled mess of curls and pillow creases marking the side of her left cheek. The sight makes his breath catch in his chest, because god, he would love nothing more than to wake up to that view every morning for the rest of his life… but he can’t. A lump begins to form in his throat. He quickly swallows it away.
“Yeah,” he responds, his voice hoarse from sleep. She’s trying to focus her gaze on his form in the dark, rubbing her eyes.
“Where you going?”
She’s so adorably drowsy that she sounds like a sad puppy, and it doesn’t take him more than a heartbeat to stride over to her and take her face in his hands, pressing an achingly gentle kiss to her lips. Ziva’s concern seems to dissipate, because she relaxes and smiles against his mouth.
“Shower,” he answers in a whisper, and she nods and rolls over, snuggling happily back into the blankets.
“Okay,” she sighs. “Don’t be too long.”
And as he begins retreating to the bathroom once more, he’s almost certain he hears her mumble “Not finished with you yet,” into her pillow.
*********************************************
It’s only when the first cascades of hot water reach his body that the fuzzy sensation from a few minutes ago weakens and the true reality of what this morning means sets in.
He’s going back to DC today, and Ziva isn’t coming with him.
His hand reaches up to grasp his jaw, feeling the beard he’s let roam free, coarse beneath his fingertips. He’s sore and achy, mostly from the exertions of the previous evening, but partly from the tension of simply knowing that today would likely be the last day he’d see his beautiful Israeli for a very long time. Had he been in a more capable state of mind, he’d have probably lain more questioning toward his apparent mental ownership of his partner, but for now he simply lets the scalding water run, soothing his aching muscles and relieving some of the stress churning within him.
He’s almost finished shaving away the last remnants of his beard when he hears the bathroom door being pushed open, and then the door of the shower. But it seems natural for her to step under the hot spray with him, more natural than it should for a relationship (or whatever it is that they’re doing) that technically began yesterday and would likely end today. Her body is perfect, just as he remembers it being when he had studied every last line, curve and dimple of it last night, and she looks up at him with sad brown eyes.
“Morning,” he says in a soft voice.
“Hi,” is all she responds. Her curls are beginning to darken and stick to her face under the water. He reaches up to pry them from her cheeks, and she captures his hand against the side of her head and studies him intently, trying to get a glimpse of where his emotions stand.
“I don’t want to leave you,” he says in one breath, deciding brutal honesty is the best way to go. “I don’t want to leave… this.” He half-gestures around them, and something shines in her eyes.
“There are better showers in DC, Tony,” she says teasingly.
“Ziva.”
At the sound of her name spilling from his lips in that achingly painful way, she steps closer to him, resting her palms flat on his bare chest and tracing the line of his collarbone with her fingertips.
“I know,” she responds softly. It’s an echo of the words she spoke in an orchard what seems like a lifetime ago. “But… I need this.” Her fingers work their way up to his face to stroke his cheekbones. “You need this.”
“I need you,” he murmurs, ghosting his lips across her forehead. She sighs shakily at the statement, her eyes fluttering closed beneath his touch.
“Tony please,” she begs, “Do not make this more difficult than it already is.”
“Leaving you on that runway four years ago was hard enough. How am I supposed to do it again?” he questions. She looks up and his eyes search hers for answers they do not give.
“You have to believe,” she says, “That this is not the end. That this… is what’s best, for the both of us right now.” He opens his mouth to say something, but she doesn’t let him. “You have been through too much because of me, Tony. I cannot let you love a broken thing… I just can’t. I need time. I need to heal myself. And I must do it alone.”
By now her eyes are wet, and he brushes his thumbs beneath them to collect the tears.
“I need time,” she repeats shakily, “to make myself worthy of being looked at, the way you’re looking at me now.”
He doesn’t say anything for a while, simply splaying his hand over the wet curve of her waist and pulling her to him, revelling yet again in the simple way her body just fits against his. She breathes slowly into his chest as steam billows around them from the hot jets of water.
“And then you’ll come home?” he asks at last in a small voice. The hope in his question is palpable to she as well as himself; he feels her tense against him. But her response is merely to stretch upward and capture his lips in a heated kiss.
He groans against her mouth at the sensation, because she tastes like lilacs and summer, laced with the metallic heat that comes from shower water and remnants of sweat. His fingers dig harder into her sides and he presses her tighter still to him, feeling every soft inch and curve of her body against his. He should have done this years ago, should have saved them both the heartache and pain they’d gone through and savored every last moment with her. Because for some reason, he’d never imagined their days as numbered.
A soft moan escapes her mouth when he takes her bottom lip between his teeth and thrusts his tongue forward to meet hers; he’ll never get enough of her taste, like he’s starving and she’s the sweetest delicacy imaginable. His hand slides up her wet back to tangle into heavy, sodden tresses. She clenches harder at the skin of his abdomen. But there’s no hiding his burning desire for her anymore, because by now he’s rock hard against her thigh and itching for release.
He walks her backward in the confined space, crushing her slender body between he and the glass pane of the shower wall and in doing so fitting them together even better, his hardened length now pressed between her thighs and granting them both some of the sweet friction they both so desire.
And when he does finally enter her, it’s swift and without any resistance, her heat enveloping him in a way that makes his head spin and his knees weaken, and Ziva moans long and hard into his shoulder through a mouthful of skin.
“Tony,” she breathes, her fingers tugging a little too hard at his chest hair. She’s scrambling for something to hold onto, only finding him in front of her and the smooth cool glass at her back, and he moves his mouth to her neck, trailing hot, fast and unapologetically wet kisses down the column of her throat and drawing a long whimper from her mouth. His palm slides up her heated skin to cover her breast as he begins to thrust into her and she breaks from his lips to gasp softly at the mixed sensations, squirming in his grasp.
It’s hot, messy, it’s he urging her harder against the glass as hips collide against hips bruisingly, and teeth tug at wet flesh. It’s secrets shared through moans and breathy gasps, and mouths finding each other in the midst of chaos. Her legs twine around his waist and his hands make their way to her ass, neither caring about their volume. And when they both finally topple over the edge, stars explode somewhere far away, and yet all the universe is silent.
She sags against his torso, not even bothering to remove him from within her, gripping at his back with nails that almost draw blood. And it’s then, only then that he finally lets himself cry, heaving dry, chest-wracking sobs into her as she simply holds him and struggles not to do the same. She’s pressing gentle kisses to his collarbone, whispering nonsensical words of comfort against his heated skin and he strokes her curls, clutching her body to him like a child’s.
He’s not sure how long they stand there together before they leave the shower at last, but it’s at least til the water runs cold, and not before he whispers three words into her hair that he knows he’ll regret tomorrow.
Images from the previous night flash through his mind like the film of an old movie; her lips on his skin, his fingers in her hair, their bodies fitting together as perfectly as he had always known they would. The sudden vivid memory makes his chest throb painfully.
He presses a kiss to her forehead before deciding that no matter how much he doesn’t want to let go of her, he really does need a shower, and he doubts that Ziva will much appreciate his B.O draped across her sleeping form. Wrapping a sheet round his waist, he carefully detaches himself from her body and exits the bed, tiptoeing as quietly as he can towards the bedroom’s small adjoining ensuite.
Apparently not quietly enough, because he barely makes it halfway to the door when the sheets stir behind him.
“Tony?” he hears her murmur softly. He turns around to find his partner blinking large sleepy eyes at him, her hair a tangled mess of curls and pillow creases marking the side of her left cheek. The sight makes his breath catch in his chest, because god, he would love nothing more than to wake up to that view every morning for the rest of his life… but he can’t. A lump begins to form in his throat. He quickly swallows it away.
“Yeah,” he responds, his voice hoarse from sleep. She’s trying to focus her gaze on his form in the dark, rubbing her eyes.
“Where you going?”
She’s so adorably drowsy that she sounds like a sad puppy, and it doesn’t take him more than a heartbeat to stride over to her and take her face in his hands, pressing an achingly gentle kiss to her lips. Ziva’s concern seems to dissipate, because she relaxes and smiles against his mouth.
“Shower,” he answers in a whisper, and she nods and rolls over, snuggling happily back into the blankets.
“Okay,” she sighs. “Don’t be too long.”
And as he begins retreating to the bathroom once more, he’s almost certain he hears her mumble “Not finished with you yet,” into her pillow.
*********************************************
It’s only when the first cascades of hot water reach his body that the fuzzy sensation from a few minutes ago weakens and the true reality of what this morning means sets in.
He’s going back to DC today, and Ziva isn’t coming with him.
His hand reaches up to grasp his jaw, feeling the beard he’s let roam free, coarse beneath his fingertips. He’s sore and achy, mostly from the exertions of the previous evening, but partly from the tension of simply knowing that today would likely be the last day he’d see his beautiful Israeli for a very long time. Had he been in a more capable state of mind, he’d have probably lain more questioning toward his apparent mental ownership of his partner, but for now he simply lets the scalding water run, soothing his aching muscles and relieving some of the stress churning within him.
He’s almost finished shaving away the last remnants of his beard when he hears the bathroom door being pushed open, and then the door of the shower. But it seems natural for her to step under the hot spray with him, more natural than it should for a relationship (or whatever it is that they’re doing) that technically began yesterday and would likely end today. Her body is perfect, just as he remembers it being when he had studied every last line, curve and dimple of it last night, and she looks up at him with sad brown eyes.
“Morning,” he says in a soft voice.
“Hi,” is all she responds. Her curls are beginning to darken and stick to her face under the water. He reaches up to pry them from her cheeks, and she captures his hand against the side of her head and studies him intently, trying to get a glimpse of where his emotions stand.
“I don’t want to leave you,” he says in one breath, deciding brutal honesty is the best way to go. “I don’t want to leave… this.” He half-gestures around them, and something shines in her eyes.
“There are better showers in DC, Tony,” she says teasingly.
“Ziva.”
At the sound of her name spilling from his lips in that achingly painful way, she steps closer to him, resting her palms flat on his bare chest and tracing the line of his collarbone with her fingertips.
“I know,” she responds softly. It’s an echo of the words she spoke in an orchard what seems like a lifetime ago. “But… I need this.” Her fingers work their way up to his face to stroke his cheekbones. “You need this.”
“I need you,” he murmurs, ghosting his lips across her forehead. She sighs shakily at the statement, her eyes fluttering closed beneath his touch.
“Tony please,” she begs, “Do not make this more difficult than it already is.”
“Leaving you on that runway four years ago was hard enough. How am I supposed to do it again?” he questions. She looks up and his eyes search hers for answers they do not give.
“You have to believe,” she says, “That this is not the end. That this… is what’s best, for the both of us right now.” He opens his mouth to say something, but she doesn’t let him. “You have been through too much because of me, Tony. I cannot let you love a broken thing… I just can’t. I need time. I need to heal myself. And I must do it alone.”
By now her eyes are wet, and he brushes his thumbs beneath them to collect the tears.
“I need time,” she repeats shakily, “to make myself worthy of being looked at, the way you’re looking at me now.”
He doesn’t say anything for a while, simply splaying his hand over the wet curve of her waist and pulling her to him, revelling yet again in the simple way her body just fits against his. She breathes slowly into his chest as steam billows around them from the hot jets of water.
“And then you’ll come home?” he asks at last in a small voice. The hope in his question is palpable to she as well as himself; he feels her tense against him. But her response is merely to stretch upward and capture his lips in a heated kiss.
He groans against her mouth at the sensation, because she tastes like lilacs and summer, laced with the metallic heat that comes from shower water and remnants of sweat. His fingers dig harder into her sides and he presses her tighter still to him, feeling every soft inch and curve of her body against his. He should have done this years ago, should have saved them both the heartache and pain they’d gone through and savored every last moment with her. Because for some reason, he’d never imagined their days as numbered.
A soft moan escapes her mouth when he takes her bottom lip between his teeth and thrusts his tongue forward to meet hers; he’ll never get enough of her taste, like he’s starving and she’s the sweetest delicacy imaginable. His hand slides up her wet back to tangle into heavy, sodden tresses. She clenches harder at the skin of his abdomen. But there’s no hiding his burning desire for her anymore, because by now he’s rock hard against her thigh and itching for release.
He walks her backward in the confined space, crushing her slender body between he and the glass pane of the shower wall and in doing so fitting them together even better, his hardened length now pressed between her thighs and granting them both some of the sweet friction they both so desire.
And when he does finally enter her, it’s swift and without any resistance, her heat enveloping him in a way that makes his head spin and his knees weaken, and Ziva moans long and hard into his shoulder through a mouthful of skin.
“Tony,” she breathes, her fingers tugging a little too hard at his chest hair. She’s scrambling for something to hold onto, only finding him in front of her and the smooth cool glass at her back, and he moves his mouth to her neck, trailing hot, fast and unapologetically wet kisses down the column of her throat and drawing a long whimper from her mouth. His palm slides up her heated skin to cover her breast as he begins to thrust into her and she breaks from his lips to gasp softly at the mixed sensations, squirming in his grasp.
It’s hot, messy, it’s he urging her harder against the glass as hips collide against hips bruisingly, and teeth tug at wet flesh. It’s secrets shared through moans and breathy gasps, and mouths finding each other in the midst of chaos. Her legs twine around his waist and his hands make their way to her ass, neither caring about their volume. And when they both finally topple over the edge, stars explode somewhere far away, and yet all the universe is silent.
She sags against his torso, not even bothering to remove him from within her, gripping at his back with nails that almost draw blood. And it’s then, only then that he finally lets himself cry, heaving dry, chest-wracking sobs into her as she simply holds him and struggles not to do the same. She’s pressing gentle kisses to his collarbone, whispering nonsensical words of comfort against his heated skin and he strokes her curls, clutching her body to him like a child’s.
He’s not sure how long they stand there together before they leave the shower at last, but it’s at least til the water runs cold, and not before he whispers three words into her hair that he knows he’ll regret tomorrow.
