Chapter Text
The first time they sleep together, it's not what either of them were expecting, probably.
Their undercover mission has left a lasting imprint-- hot kisses, heavy breaths, limbs all tangled. Tony can't lie, his fantasies (because oh, yes, he'd had fantasies about her from the first time she slouched in that chair and took her hair down) had it happening quick and dirty, fucking against a wall, maybe, the sort of hot sex that comes with biting and bruising in the best way.
And maybe if they'd slept together before Gibbs left it would've started that way. If it would have started anything at all; he has a hunch that they'd get it out of their system and move on.
Instead, after three days of trying to be the new Gibbs, Ziva looks at him from her desk, and says, "We are getting drinks."
He raises an eyebrow.
"Are we?"
"Yes." She stands, her backpack over her shoulder. "I will buy."
He wonders idly if that's some sort of HR issue. Being McGee's boss is fun. Being Ziva's boss is weird. She shouldn't but after less than a year here she feels so his equal.
"Why? We haven't solved a case."
"No, but it is Friday, and our case waits until Monday. And I would like a drink."
He sighs.
"Then go drink, Ziva."
She narrows her eyes. And then she steps around her desk, and his, until she's perching to his left. Instinctively his eyes drop to her legs. Her slacks are tight today. He sees the muscles in her thighs twitch as she sits.
"Since when do you pass up a free drink?"
"Since I became your boss," he mutters.
Her eyes widen a little, before she leans in.
"I know Gibbs did it, but you don't need to push people away."
He eyes her, frowning a little.
It's strange. With Gibbs gone, and even before then, when he was in the coma, she's stepped into being his second in command easily. Not in an SFA way, no, that is McGee. But Ziva has been a sounding board, whether she knows it or not. Telling him probie Gibbs might give authority away to Jenny, offering options to find a suspect today, yesterday, spit-balling ideas. They're still adjusting from the massive loss of their boss, but things have been better than they could've been. Because of Ziva.
But he's her boss. He's everyone's boss. And Gibbs never came to drinks, Gibbs never knew their personal lives, that's how it's supposed to be, right?
Ziva tilts her head, lips almost pouting, looking him up and down. He's reminded of when she flirted with him so he'd take the fall for her crashing their car.
"Come on, Tony."
He looks at the latest list of BOLOs, sighing.
He can come back tomorrow.
So he powers down his computer and grabs his jacket.
"You drive a hard bargain, David."
She grins, eyes mischievous.
"That is more like it."
The bar is busy, and they end up crammed into a corner table. They start light-- a wine and a scotch, but when Ziva returns to the table she's juggling four shots and limes. She squeezes down next to him.
"Isn't it too early for tequila?"
She shrugs.
"It's after-- what is the saying-- it's 6 o'clock somewhere?"
"Five," he corrects out of habit. "They start earlier than that in Mexico-- Gibbs is probably several cervezas deep right now," he remarks.
"Same difference, no?" She raises one of the shots, waiting patiently.
With an eyeroll, he raises his own to cheers her, and they knock it back.
He winces, but Ziva stays collected, sucking on her lime without even a flinch. The juice runs down her fingers and he can't look away.
"What did he mean when he said he owed you?" he finds himself asking, since Gibbs is on his mind, and she shrugs.
"For getting his memory back, I suppose."
All Tony got was a "You'll do" and a badge, like he could do anything with someone else's badge.
The music gets louder and he leans in.
"How did you do it?"
Pausing, she looks at him.
"I'll tell you some day."
She reaches for her other shot, and maybe he's drunk already but instead of his own drink he picks up another lime wedge.
"Promise?" he asks her, and she smirks, that way she does, mysterious and incredibly hot.
When she takes her shot she takes his lead, mouth closing around the lime in his hand. Her lips touch his fingers, and it shouldn't drive him so insane but it does. He can't help but wonder what her mouth might feel like on other parts of his body.
This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.
When she pulls away, he grabs his own shot and downs it, then uses the same lime. It doesn't, obviously, but he can't help but think it tastes like her.
She grins, wicked.
"And now you feel better, yes?"
His eyes roam her face, from her eyes to those lips, her neck, god he wants to taste it all.
"I didn't feel bad." Liar. "But yes." Truth.
The music gets louder, still. A bachelorette party walks past them, hooting and cheering.
He leans into Ziva, takes a steadying breath, and she smirks as she looks at him.
"You wanna get out of here?"
She looks at his mouth.
"Yes."
They're quiet in the cab, but the air is strange. His pulse is roaring in his ears but he doesn't find himself lost in lust. More... energized. Fun. And yes, the tequila is talking a little. But he genuinely does feel good. Relaxed.
Ziva smirks at him as the cab slows at her place. He makes a show of running out and round to open her side door, and she giggles.
"Oh, so chivalry is not dead," she drawls, and he laughs.
"I'll have you know I'm all about it."
She giggles again.
"You don't even share donuts," she remarks, as she once did when he was thinking in dumb hypotheticals about the sperm bank. "But sure."
He gets the apartment door once she uses her key, and she rolls her eyes.
"Now you are just showing off."
"Is it working?"
Grinning, she gets into the waiting elevator, and he leans back against the wall with her as they start to rise.
"Those were double shots, weren't they?" he realizes. Their effect is starting to kick in. Or maybe it's just her.
"Yes," she says, amused, and he grins.
"You're dangerous."
She turns her head to him. They both know what's about to happen here. It shouldn't. It really shouldn't.
But it will.
"You already know I am," she says lightly, and he leans his head back against the wall, eyes heavenward.
This might kill him.
The elevator arrives with a ding that jolts him, but he's all the more surprised when Ziva's hand slips into his, tugging him out of the car.
"It's just down here," she murmurs as they start to walk.
But he's stuck on her hand, the contact, after all their quick touches all night.
So he tugs, and he pulls her into him, and she bumps into his chest with an "oof".
She looks up at him, smiling a little, cheeks red.
"What?"
So he kisses her. She grins against his mouth like she's been waiting all night for this-- and he thinks she might have been.
She tastes like tequila still and he thinks he might get drunk on her.
The kiss is furious, fast, as his hands cup her face and then finally move over her, feeling her curves and her warmth for the first time since that damn undercover mission. He squeezes her ass over those tight slacks and lifts her up into him, and he groans at the feel of her.
She's just as insistent, her hands in his hair and her tongue determined in his mouth, until she pulls away with a gasp.
"This is a bad idea," he murmurs, because someone has to say it. She just grins again.
"I know."
And then she grabs his hand and tugs him down to her door, fumbling with the key.
The minute they're inside he pulls her back into him. She tastes even better a second time, and he finds his hands antsy, desperate, tugging up her shirt and slipping them under it. He traces the plains of her back and she gasps against him, her own hands reaching for the buttons on his shirt. It's when he gets bolder, hand moving up, that he realizes what's missing under here, and he pulls back with a groan, eyeing her.
"What?"
"Are you telling me you were at work all day without a bra?"
She falls into the most delightful smile, laughing loudly. Evidently she wasn't expecting that.
"I won't tell you how often I do that." His mouth finds her neck, then, and she gasps. "Tony... You know, you can touch."
And he wastes no more time, palming one of her breasts and driving himself mad at the sound of her. Eventually he can't take it anymore and he tears her shirt off, having to taste her. She arches her back up into him as he teases her nipple with his teeth and he can't remember the last time he found a woman so hot during sex. It's a crazy concept, but her gasps, her body, how reactive she is... He knows he could get addicted.
"Bedroom?" he breathes, and she manages a, "Second door on the right" before he slips his hand into hers and, just as she had done, tugs her down to her room.
It's only in the morning that he realizes her bedsheets are blue. In everything, he doesn't process a single thing but her. But Ziva, soft and strong beneath him. But Ziva, licking his neck. But Ziva, and the way she groaned when he slipped his fingers inside her, the curse on her lips when he made her come in minutes. But Ziva, and the way she went from crying out in release to laughing at his silly joke as he kissed her shoulder. But Ziva, discovering his hips are ticklish and going from making him laugh to moan in one move. But Ziva, Ziva, Ziva, riding him and begging for it faster and digging her nails into his back.
He was right-- it was hot, and messy. But it was also fun. And incredibly easy, with her. When it should be anything but.
Now, this morning, she rolls over to him on her blue pillowcase with her hair all wild and her mascara just a little smudged around her eyes.
"Hey," he says, a little unsure of what else to say. Where they go from here.
"Hey." She stretches, unabashed as the sheets fall from her chest and reveal her incredibly perfect breasts to him.
If he had any chance of pretending it never happened, he knows in that exact moment: he's fucked.