Last week on TV's #1 Show, NCIS, Tony and Ziva let a little bit of a implication out that MAYBE something happened in Paris while they were forced to share a hotel room while picking up a witness they needed to protect and take back to DC. After several smoking glances and a few hints as to who really took the couch--they both said it was them and at the end they asked each other why they lied...--many obsessed fans decided to write their version of what they would've wanted to happen. Here is mine.
Warning, this is rated T for suggestive lanuage.
What Happened In Paris: An NCIS FanFic
He stared at the back of her neck as she opened the hotel room door—the only room available since they’d neglected to make reservations—and what he saw was beautiful. Everything about her was beautiful. Enticing. Sexy. He let his thoughts wander as he walked into the hotel room.
The romantic city view, the wine by the bed…
He thought back to the night four years ago when they shared another hotel room. Granted it was under cover… But she’d been the most exciting woman he’d seen in nothing but a smile—and she was definitely smiling. Just the thought made a sly smirk break out on his lips and he had to readjust his pants as he watched her drop her suitcase on the floor by the bed and remove her jacket.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tony said, back to his normal self. “Who says you get the bed?” He gestured to the leather couch. “I’m the one with the bad back!”
She shrugged, a very, very small smile on her lips. “Well, you are the oldest,” she muttered.
Tony rolled his eyes. “Hey, that’s not fair. You’re young and fresh and pretty. You don’t need beauty sleep!”
“However pretty I am,” she said, stretching out the word and turning to him, “I have had a very frustrating flight and I need my sleep.” She punctuated her words by opening her suitcase and removing a pair of cobalt blue pair of silk shorts and matching cami, with little decorations of lace on both. Neither piece of clothing would conceal very much when it was on…
He stepped all the way into the room, the door closing behind him. She was taunting him.
“Those are your pjs?”
Fine, his dick said, Seduction is a one person game. Let’s see how well she plays it.
But nothing of the sort happened. She went to the bathroom, showered, changed, and returned to the room. Tony was lying in the big, comfy bed, clad in a gray t-shirt and boxer shorts.
“My bed, Tony.”
“Not gonna happen, Zee-vah.”
She smirked and walked over to the bed, scooting under the covers and curling up to Tony, her leg thrown over his, her chin on his chest. “Fine. Then we will be forced to sleep like this, yes?”
Tony faltered momentarily. No stripping? No, “I’ve been watching you from afar,”?
He closed his eyes to recalculate and realized that he liked the feel of her next to him. So much in fact, that he needed more almost immediately. His recalculation was finished. He opened his eyes and…
She looked up and her chocolate eyes bore into his. With a piercing groan and a feminine sigh, their lips met and both of them saw fireworks. There was no neat, orderly discarding of clothing as they raced for the finish line. Somewhere during the wrestling match of passion involving annoying clothing, Tony faced the one-handed bra removal as his other was captured in hers and he felt no desire to remove it. But his efforts were wasted as she said the four words a man like Tony loves to hear and a woman like Ziva rarely gets to say: “It opens in front.”
Rule 12 burned in the back of her mind—the far back. Way back behind lust, passion, so much waiting… And maybe even a tiny bit of…caring? Like? …love?
The thought intruded her feel-good space and she had to concentrate hard on Tony’s mouth—which was now moving professionally and very wonderfully—against hers in order to distract herself from the impossible thought.
Tony soon discovered that Ziva was not gentle in her conquests, and that he didn’t mind one bit. He settled her body against his and tugged on her earlobe with his teeth.
“Now that was exactly what I needed,” he admitted in a whisper to her neck. “What’d you think?”
“Why? Feeling insecure, hairy butt?” Her delighted laugh made the tease fall off his shoulders.
“Not at all. I have ears. You weren’t kidding when you said you were a screamer.”
The casual teasing continued until she rolled over and fell asleep in his arms. He followed, but only after he’d contently relived the past hour in his head while staring at her beautiful sleeping face.
Harsh sunlight broke over her face as a soft snoring roused her from her sleep. A strong, tanned arm was around her waist and soft lips were on the back of her neck. Her eyes fluttered open slowly as her other senses awoke. Needs presented themselves and she gently removed herself from her lover’s grasp so she could use the restroom.
After dressing and flipping through the channels on the television—none of which she had any interesting in—she heard Tony sit up in bed. “Good morning, Zee-vah,” he said, a clear happiness in his smug voice. “You order breakfast yet?”
“I believe I’m going to try to find a café—get some reading done.”
“Oh, come on, Ziva! It’s Paris! There are sights to see!”
She shrugged off the invitation. “I’ve seen them all already. Multiple times.”
The insecure thought rolled through Tony’s head that she’s probably been with many men in Paris, as well. Just the first part alone made him angry. He shook off the ridiculous feeling and said, “Fine. I’ll go alone.”
When he stood, Ziva glanced at his body. She wanted to moan in delight. A bright red bite mark was still on his chest. But when he exited the room, he left a sour disposition of disappointment there. And sighing to herself, Ziva left the hotel room—and it’s memories and the wonderful, wonderful feelings she’d had there—behind. She feared for good.
Please comment! I hope you like it!