"Stuck in a Tight Spot" - Tony/Ziva
disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowed them for play. Put them back unharmed, but relaxed.
warnings & rating: No spoilers, no warnings, really, just a few naughty thoughts. Set somewhere halfway through season eight for the chemistry. Meet my surprise plot bunny. You may consider this the steamy fluff contribution of the month. ;)
word count: 3,800
comments & feedback: very much appreciated.
Stuck in a Tight Spot
"Tony," she says, quietly, but the tense flavor to her voice still manages to jerk him awake. It's not her normal voice, the office voice or even the interrogation voice. It's the one she uses on him whenever there is trouble. "Are you all right?"
"'m good," he grunts, and part of him is, sure, but his arms are twisted and cuffed behind his back, and said back hurts like there's no tomorrow. Not to mention his head. It's throbbing like he's got hit by a truck.
Right, he thinks, and he remembers that for once he isn't that far off. It wasn't a truck, of course, or he wouldn't even be standing... sitting. Whatever. Anyway, just a goon with a club. But that club? Had felt like a ton of bricks.
He pries his eyes open, and that takes some big fat effort. He is rewarded by Ziva's face, pale, concerned, frowning, and that's not what he wanted to see as the first thing coming to from whatever abyss he's been dropped into.
He doesn't mind Ziva's face, really. Hell, he'd take her face anytime when he needs to be conscious. But he'd prefer her all sweaty and dreamy-eyed because she'd fucked him into unconsciousness before, not the shifty eyes and the nervous glances she's giving him now. The way she looks at him now usually means they're in deep shit and she has no idea how to get them out of it again. He hasn't seen that face of hers too often.
"How's your head?" she asks, and he tries to blink away the red fog that clouds the left-ish side of his vision. The truck target side.
"Feels bigger than usual," he replies, wincing, and she can't help the snort. "I know," he says and tries to roll his shoulders. Doesn't work too well while he's stuck in this chair and his hands are cuffed like that. "How's the escape plan coming along?"
She grinds her teeth and makes a tiny movement behind her back, probably trying to work her own handcuffs again, and he frowns because it doesn't look like she's getting anywhere.
"Don't break your thumb just to get out of them," he suggests, and yeah, he's mostly joking, but the way she looks at him now tells him she has actually considered doing just that, and that freaks him out a little.
He can't remember what Gibbs told him about these guys, just that they're bad and they are supposed to be careful when they make contact. He knows it should freak him more that he can't remember all the details, but he tries to convince himself that he just didn't listen properly because he was staring down Ziva's blouse during that meeting. He remembers Gibbs slapped him twice for that reason, so that sounds plausible.
Ziva suddenly sighs and says, "They are too tight. Even that wouldn't work." Her shoulders tremble while she's pulling at the cuffs in clear frustration, and despite the throbbing in his temples Tony cocks his head and stares at her curiously.
"I thought you could pick these things in your sleep," he says, and that earns him a glare that's just this side of deadly.
"What do you suggest I pick them with, Tony? My fingernails?"
He blinks, slowly. "That doesn't work?"
She grunts and throws her head back in frustration, and his gaze drops to her neck, all stretched out and smooth, and yeah, he's positive he'd like to suck it before he dies. He's not sure if it's just the blow to his head that's making him careless or the fact that they're most likely going to be executed any minute now, but for the first time he keeps staring at her even while she turns her eyes back to him.
Her frown deepens instantly, and he's fascinated by the way her lips twitch in response. Little beads of sweat are on her brow now because the physical tension gets to her, and that doesn't help at all because suddenly all he sees is Ziva's face above him, how she would look all sweaty and naked, with that same look of intense concentration on her face, just for an entirely different reason.
Damn, that truck must have had one hell of an impact.
"What?" she asks grimly while he swallows hard and his face suddenly feels hot. Cracked head is not a good state for him. It's dangerous. It makes him think things he isn't supposed to think.
"Nothing," he lies, and she glares again because she knows there is something, she just has no idea what. "So are we still lo-jacked?"
Her frown wavers as if it can't decide if it wants to smooth over or deepen. Then she sighs. "No. They found the bugs and destroyed them. And we are in a completely different part of town by now," she adds, just when he wants to suggest that maybe McGoo got a trace on their last location and sent the troops to that spot. "We're on our own."
They must have clocked him out pretty good because all that sentence does is make him wish that he had one of his hands free to open her shirt a bit more, because really, if they're going down this time, they should at least be doing it in fun. He doesn't smoke, so this would just be his equivalent of one last cigarette.
Dammit, DiNozzo. Not now, right?
He watches Ziva bite her lip while she leans forward, concentrating on doing something to the cuffs that is just as ineffective as her previous tries have been. Well, almost ineffective, because it gives him a better view, and that distracts him more. And god, now she even starts to breathe harder, too, and yes, he is so very screwed...
"Stop staring, Tony," she presses out through gritted teeth, and he wonders how she knows when she isn't even looking at him. Can she smell these things?
Probably.
But for once he obeys and turns his head, taking a good look at their surroundings instead of his partner.
There's not much to see. Looks like they're in a container, the kind that's usually found at construction sites and posing as the foreman's office. Except that this one is mostly empty, only illuminated by a lonely bare light bulb, and yeah, there's a desk in one corner, but it's either abandoned or hasn't been in use yet because it's just as bare are the rest of the container. Except for two chairs with two federal agents duct-taped to them.
He turns back to look at Ziva, and what he wants to ask is if there could be anything in the desk to help her with the cuff-unlocking. What comes out of his mouth instead is, "I wish I'd made a move on you when I had the chance."
His eyes widen in horror when he hears his own words, and he watches as Ziva freezes first and then slowly turns her head to look at him, staring at him as if he'd grown horns. "Uhm. What?"
"Well," he says and gives her his biggest, fattest DiNozzo grin. Which makes her eyes narrow immediately because she suspects a truckload of bullshit coming up now. Which, granted, he would totally give her if his head wouldn't hurt like ten sailors dancing rumba in it. "Hey, it was just a thought," he mutters, his eyes shifting to the left while hers narrow more. "Because your neck looks yummy and I want to know what it tastes like before we die, right? How long are they gone?"
Ziva blinks wordlessly, staring at him with an expression that is clearly meant to be blank but is, in fact, far from it. She doesn't look like she can cope too well with his scatterbrain right now.
"About three minutes," she answers finally, and he lets go of the breath he's been holding. "They're talking to their client to make sure we are indeed not the ones that have been announced. When they come back, they will probably kill us."
Tony lets his head fall back and groans at the container ceiling. "Your social skills suck. Has anybody ever told you that?"
"My social skills?" she echoes, her mouth threatening to gape open. "You're the one who wants to eat my neck!"
"Taste," he clarifies and starts to look around again. He attempts to think furiously, but it doesn't work all that well, even though the throbbing disco beat in his head has receded a bit.
"Why?"
"Because," he says and shrugs. Because we've been tied to opposite chairs before, just this time there's no backup plan.
When he turns back to her he is greeted by a look that says loud and clear she believes he has completely lost his marbles now. But the thing is, he hasn't. He really wants to know what she tastes like, and how she would kiss him if she really meant it, and how she looks when she comes, and he regrets that he never took the chance to learn these things. Because these would have been good things to know, right?
Her face, even though she looks pretty funny with her intense expression of disbelief, is lovely, and while he stares at her, he feels something soften inside him. He's pretty sure they only got her under control because he went down first. There's a smudge of dirt on her cheek that he itches to brush away and a bluish stain around the corner of her mouth, the right side, like she got slapped around hard. It's gonna turn into one heck of a bruise tomorrow-- well, it would, if they were still alive by then. But since she isn't getting any further with the lockpicking, chances aren't all that good for that, so he is content with meeting her eyes and watching her intently because hey, at least he can go out with a really pretty thing on his mind.
His lips twitch in amusement when she rolls her eyes at him because she can't make sense of him -- again -- and if he had his hands free right now, he'd reach out and brush her hair back, which looks badly ruffled as if she's been in a storm, straining against the pins and bands that hold it back, and he--
"Hairpin," he says, blinking, and Ziva stares at him, now clearly sure he has gotten some brain cells knocked off their axis earlier. "No, just-- you can pick your cuffs with them, right?" He jerks his chin into her general direction, but meaning her braid in particular. "And you have some."
The suspicion doesn't really leave her face, but at least she allows her irritation to make a reappearance now. "Yes, well, I have never learned to drop them just by intensely thinking about it, so unless you have anoth--"
"Geez, Ziva," he interrupts her, and this time he rolls his eyes at her. Then he twists his wrists until he can take a hold of the backside of the chair and puts his leg muscles to work, starting to hop over to her. It's hard work because he's cuffed tight and duct-taped even tighter so there's not much room to maneuver. Thank god they're not too far away from each other, because this sort of activity makes his back practically screech with discomfort and his knees complain even harder.
He's out of breath when his chair tumbles to a halt beside hers and he leans over to her. "C'mere," he puffs, and Ziva eyes him warily. "Ziva, I'm not gonna bite, just lean closer, right? No, put your head down so I can reach--"
She gets it then and leans over to him, putting her head under his chin so he can try and reach one of her hairpins. He's still breathing kinda hard, and he knows this should feel weird -- does, even -- but hey, it's an emergency, right, so there are things allowed that wouldn't normally--
He closes his eyes for a heartbeat when his lips brush her hair and it's so soft that he feels the tickle go straight down to his toes. It's not her neck, granted, but she smells good, like sandalwood, and it's totally screwed up, but the innocent scent makes his mouth water and his body strum with sudden tension.
Her breath is another distraction against his skin, brushing against the base of his neck now, and he swallows as he leans closer and tries to ignore the feeling of her cheek, not exactly resting against his chest, but still touching him every now and then.
He blinks and thinks that maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, because how is he supposed to just get the job done here, right?
"Never let it be said that my mouth isn't good for anything," he jokes weakly, and that makes her pull back and stare at his face curiously.
No, not his face. His mouth.
"Huh," she says, and then she puts her head back down to his chest. Tony wonders if she can hear the way his pulse thunders suddenly. Probably.
He bites back a groan and goes back to work, and it takes him a few more tries but eventually he can catch one of the pins between his teeth and slowly pulls it out of her hair.
"Ah-hah!" he mutters through clenched teeth, and he shouldn't have done that, of course, because Ziva takes that as her cue to move back and knocks into his chin during the process. It makes him drop the pin, which promptly vanishes into the back of her shirt. Of course.
He curses, quite colorfully. Ziva rolls her eyes, quite expressively. Then she sighs and glances at his mouth again and then turns her head a little more so he can try his talents on another one.
This time it's harder because the pin sits higher on her head and he has to stretch more and she has to press even closer to him so his teeth can get a hold on the tiny strip of metal. And god, she smells so good, and yeah, it's not her neck, alright, but it still makes him want to lick her all over, and he thinks that he really, really needs to get back to that thought once they are out of this mess.
Her breath comes in short, strained bursts against his neck now, and he tells himself that's just because of the way she has to bend her neck, but it still makes his mind wander off into uncharted and possibly forbidden territory again, and while his lips hunt around for another hairpin, he wonders if she sounds like that in bed, too. All tense and wound up and keeping it inside, keeping it from bursting out.
He has to close his eyes once more, and in a way that helps, but it also makes him just want to roll into her and sniff her up and down and rub her body all over his, and dammit, this isn't going well at all. He makes it a plan to not get hit in the head anymore because apparently that leads to... things. And stuff.
Finally, finally his teeth catch another pin, and while he pulls back slowly, he clenches his jaws tight. Ziva's kind of holding her breath this time and pulling back just as slowly so she doesn't knock into him again. This time he's got a better hold, which is good because he has to start the chairhopping again now to get the pin to her hands.
She's raising her hands as high as she can, but Tony still has to get to his feet with the chair dangling off him while he delivers the pin. He's not trusting his aim enough to just let it drop and risk having it bounce all over the floor, so he leans forward until her searching fingers touch his face and she carefully takes the pin from his lips. Her skin is slightly damp, but he still can't help the urge to turn his face and rub it against her palm, just once, just like that. Just because it feels right.
Her breath hitches and she hesitates, but before she can say anything, he pulls away again and falls back hard in his chair. His breathing is labored and his knee throbs now, but hey, if he has to go, this wouldn't be the worst way he can come up with.
Her hands work quick, and he has no idea how she does it, really, but it only takes a few seconds and both of her cuffs are picked and reveal angry red stripes on her wrists. She wasn't kidding about them being tight.
"Do mine," he says while she leans forward and works on the duct tape around her ankles, and when she gets to her feet and stares at him with a weird, intense expression on her face, he wonders if his mouth has slipped again and he's said 'Do me' by accident, maybe. He hops towards her in his chair to distract her and raises his hands to the side so she can see them.
And she looks at him as if she's thinking, hard, and he wonders why the hell she's doing that now because Ziva doesn't do that, Ziva doesn't think, not when they've got an escape to take care of.
"Come on, Ziva, we don't have all day!"
She comes to with a little jerk going through her, and yes, she moves, but she's not getting behind him like he expected. She's coming towards him, straight ahead, and when she puts a hand to his shoulder, he thinks at first that's just to reassure him they'll do fine or something like that. But then she suddenly swings her leg over his and sits down in his lap and what the fuck, Ziva?
"Relax," she says, and when he gulps and his eyes widen, a tiny smile flashes across her face. "I'm not going to bite. Just..."
She leans into him, full body and then some, and after that has been established, she slides her hands under his arms and down his back. Her fingers travel down until she has reached his hands, and while she feels her way around his cuffs, her breath is warm on his chin and he's distracted by how much this feels like an embrace. He opens his mouth to object, to remind her that yes, this is certainly nice, but wouldn't it be a lot faster if she could actually see what she's doing there instead of... oh, screw it.
He's breathing hard by the time she leans into him just right to get to his wrists, and he's not sure if she really needs to do this or if it's just a new, perverse way of torturing him, but she's actually wriggling in his lap now and pressing tight into his chest so her hands have a little more room to work with.
"Ziva," he breathes out, and she turns her head to meet his eyes while her fingertips touch his wrist, stroking his pulse.
"That's not relaxed," she mutters against his mouth, and fuck, yeah, of course he's not relaxed, he's half hard and ready to let her strip him and have her way with him, screw the bad guys, really, because having Ziva in his lap and this close and smelling so good, that's gotta be worth a couple of deaths, right?
His lips part and he wants to answer her, but his mouth is betraying him and tries to capture hers instead because there's got to be a reason why she's doing this, right?
She evades his move, just a little, just enough so it doesn't turn into a kiss, and he knows she's just doing that so she can keep concentrating on getting his cuffs open, but dammit, he's so close to whimpering in frustration now that it's embarrassing, and while his body strains to get closer to hers, his breathing turns ragged.
And Ziva notices, of course, and that, in turn, brings a heated sparkle to her eyes, and god, dear fate, if that is her idea of foreplay, he's not really sure if he wants more of it or if he should look up 'sense of self-preservation' in the dictionary instead.
Ah, fuck. Who is he kidding here, really.
She bends her arms in a certain way, and yeah, that feels like she's pulling him into an embrace, alright. And while her body melts into his, he hears the silent click of the cuff lock finally giving in, and that tiny sound sends a shudder through both of them.
He knows this is the cue for her to get off his lap again, technically. He also knows that what just happened wasn't appropriate for mere partners, and it certainly wasn't something he expected, and heck, yes, it will probably have some more consequences down the road, once he's got his rattly head screwed back on tight and can think about all of this properly. Right now, though -- right now all he feels is her body's heat seeping through her clothes and mingling with his and the way her fingertips still play across his wrist and how much he wants to fuck her senseless, really. His hand -- the one she just freed -- comes up, and he touches her wrist and then lets his fingers travel up her arm, up to her shoulder, and when a slight shudder runs through her, he's this close to grabbing her tight and pulling her to his chest. He's not sure what's keeping him.
Maybe the fact that, technically, he still hasn't made a move on her. Maybe that, technically, she also hasn't done anything except pick a lock, even though she did it in a somewhat unconventional fashion. Maybe, though, it's the fact that right now the corrugated metal door of the container opens.
Her mouth is still tantalizingly close and her lips are almost brushing against his when he murmurs, "Behind you."
"I know," she whispers back, and it almost sounds as if there's a tinge of regret to her voice.
Then she gets up and delivers a roundhouse kick that slams the first guy into a wall and makes him sag to the floor like a bag of potatoes. Tony frees his ankles and then proceeds to distract the second guy. It's short work, and while the men are moaning on the floor, Ziva gives her partner a smile that makes him think he may not be sure what happened here, but whatever it was, it could turn out to be pretty interesting.
warnings & rating: No spoilers, no warnings, really, just a few naughty thoughts. Set somewhere halfway through season eight for the chemistry. Meet my surprise plot bunny. You may consider this the steamy fluff contribution of the month. ;)
word count: 3,800
comments & feedback: very much appreciated.
Stuck in a Tight Spot
"Tony," she says, quietly, but the tense flavor to her voice still manages to jerk him awake. It's not her normal voice, the office voice or even the interrogation voice. It's the one she uses on him whenever there is trouble. "Are you all right?"
"'m good," he grunts, and part of him is, sure, but his arms are twisted and cuffed behind his back, and said back hurts like there's no tomorrow. Not to mention his head. It's throbbing like he's got hit by a truck.
Right, he thinks, and he remembers that for once he isn't that far off. It wasn't a truck, of course, or he wouldn't even be standing... sitting. Whatever. Anyway, just a goon with a club. But that club? Had felt like a ton of bricks.
He pries his eyes open, and that takes some big fat effort. He is rewarded by Ziva's face, pale, concerned, frowning, and that's not what he wanted to see as the first thing coming to from whatever abyss he's been dropped into.
He doesn't mind Ziva's face, really. Hell, he'd take her face anytime when he needs to be conscious. But he'd prefer her all sweaty and dreamy-eyed because she'd fucked him into unconsciousness before, not the shifty eyes and the nervous glances she's giving him now. The way she looks at him now usually means they're in deep shit and she has no idea how to get them out of it again. He hasn't seen that face of hers too often.
"How's your head?" she asks, and he tries to blink away the red fog that clouds the left-ish side of his vision. The truck target side.
"Feels bigger than usual," he replies, wincing, and she can't help the snort. "I know," he says and tries to roll his shoulders. Doesn't work too well while he's stuck in this chair and his hands are cuffed like that. "How's the escape plan coming along?"
She grinds her teeth and makes a tiny movement behind her back, probably trying to work her own handcuffs again, and he frowns because it doesn't look like she's getting anywhere.
"Don't break your thumb just to get out of them," he suggests, and yeah, he's mostly joking, but the way she looks at him now tells him she has actually considered doing just that, and that freaks him out a little.
He can't remember what Gibbs told him about these guys, just that they're bad and they are supposed to be careful when they make contact. He knows it should freak him more that he can't remember all the details, but he tries to convince himself that he just didn't listen properly because he was staring down Ziva's blouse during that meeting. He remembers Gibbs slapped him twice for that reason, so that sounds plausible.
Ziva suddenly sighs and says, "They are too tight. Even that wouldn't work." Her shoulders tremble while she's pulling at the cuffs in clear frustration, and despite the throbbing in his temples Tony cocks his head and stares at her curiously.
"I thought you could pick these things in your sleep," he says, and that earns him a glare that's just this side of deadly.
"What do you suggest I pick them with, Tony? My fingernails?"
He blinks, slowly. "That doesn't work?"
She grunts and throws her head back in frustration, and his gaze drops to her neck, all stretched out and smooth, and yeah, he's positive he'd like to suck it before he dies. He's not sure if it's just the blow to his head that's making him careless or the fact that they're most likely going to be executed any minute now, but for the first time he keeps staring at her even while she turns her eyes back to him.
Her frown deepens instantly, and he's fascinated by the way her lips twitch in response. Little beads of sweat are on her brow now because the physical tension gets to her, and that doesn't help at all because suddenly all he sees is Ziva's face above him, how she would look all sweaty and naked, with that same look of intense concentration on her face, just for an entirely different reason.
Damn, that truck must have had one hell of an impact.
"What?" she asks grimly while he swallows hard and his face suddenly feels hot. Cracked head is not a good state for him. It's dangerous. It makes him think things he isn't supposed to think.
"Nothing," he lies, and she glares again because she knows there is something, she just has no idea what. "So are we still lo-jacked?"
Her frown wavers as if it can't decide if it wants to smooth over or deepen. Then she sighs. "No. They found the bugs and destroyed them. And we are in a completely different part of town by now," she adds, just when he wants to suggest that maybe McGoo got a trace on their last location and sent the troops to that spot. "We're on our own."
They must have clocked him out pretty good because all that sentence does is make him wish that he had one of his hands free to open her shirt a bit more, because really, if they're going down this time, they should at least be doing it in fun. He doesn't smoke, so this would just be his equivalent of one last cigarette.
Dammit, DiNozzo. Not now, right?
He watches Ziva bite her lip while she leans forward, concentrating on doing something to the cuffs that is just as ineffective as her previous tries have been. Well, almost ineffective, because it gives him a better view, and that distracts him more. And god, now she even starts to breathe harder, too, and yes, he is so very screwed...
"Stop staring, Tony," she presses out through gritted teeth, and he wonders how she knows when she isn't even looking at him. Can she smell these things?
Probably.
But for once he obeys and turns his head, taking a good look at their surroundings instead of his partner.
There's not much to see. Looks like they're in a container, the kind that's usually found at construction sites and posing as the foreman's office. Except that this one is mostly empty, only illuminated by a lonely bare light bulb, and yeah, there's a desk in one corner, but it's either abandoned or hasn't been in use yet because it's just as bare are the rest of the container. Except for two chairs with two federal agents duct-taped to them.
He turns back to look at Ziva, and what he wants to ask is if there could be anything in the desk to help her with the cuff-unlocking. What comes out of his mouth instead is, "I wish I'd made a move on you when I had the chance."
His eyes widen in horror when he hears his own words, and he watches as Ziva freezes first and then slowly turns her head to look at him, staring at him as if he'd grown horns. "Uhm. What?"
"Well," he says and gives her his biggest, fattest DiNozzo grin. Which makes her eyes narrow immediately because she suspects a truckload of bullshit coming up now. Which, granted, he would totally give her if his head wouldn't hurt like ten sailors dancing rumba in it. "Hey, it was just a thought," he mutters, his eyes shifting to the left while hers narrow more. "Because your neck looks yummy and I want to know what it tastes like before we die, right? How long are they gone?"
Ziva blinks wordlessly, staring at him with an expression that is clearly meant to be blank but is, in fact, far from it. She doesn't look like she can cope too well with his scatterbrain right now.
"About three minutes," she answers finally, and he lets go of the breath he's been holding. "They're talking to their client to make sure we are indeed not the ones that have been announced. When they come back, they will probably kill us."
Tony lets his head fall back and groans at the container ceiling. "Your social skills suck. Has anybody ever told you that?"
"My social skills?" she echoes, her mouth threatening to gape open. "You're the one who wants to eat my neck!"
"Taste," he clarifies and starts to look around again. He attempts to think furiously, but it doesn't work all that well, even though the throbbing disco beat in his head has receded a bit.
"Why?"
"Because," he says and shrugs. Because we've been tied to opposite chairs before, just this time there's no backup plan.
When he turns back to her he is greeted by a look that says loud and clear she believes he has completely lost his marbles now. But the thing is, he hasn't. He really wants to know what she tastes like, and how she would kiss him if she really meant it, and how she looks when she comes, and he regrets that he never took the chance to learn these things. Because these would have been good things to know, right?
Her face, even though she looks pretty funny with her intense expression of disbelief, is lovely, and while he stares at her, he feels something soften inside him. He's pretty sure they only got her under control because he went down first. There's a smudge of dirt on her cheek that he itches to brush away and a bluish stain around the corner of her mouth, the right side, like she got slapped around hard. It's gonna turn into one heck of a bruise tomorrow-- well, it would, if they were still alive by then. But since she isn't getting any further with the lockpicking, chances aren't all that good for that, so he is content with meeting her eyes and watching her intently because hey, at least he can go out with a really pretty thing on his mind.
His lips twitch in amusement when she rolls her eyes at him because she can't make sense of him -- again -- and if he had his hands free right now, he'd reach out and brush her hair back, which looks badly ruffled as if she's been in a storm, straining against the pins and bands that hold it back, and he--
"Hairpin," he says, blinking, and Ziva stares at him, now clearly sure he has gotten some brain cells knocked off their axis earlier. "No, just-- you can pick your cuffs with them, right?" He jerks his chin into her general direction, but meaning her braid in particular. "And you have some."
The suspicion doesn't really leave her face, but at least she allows her irritation to make a reappearance now. "Yes, well, I have never learned to drop them just by intensely thinking about it, so unless you have anoth--"
"Geez, Ziva," he interrupts her, and this time he rolls his eyes at her. Then he twists his wrists until he can take a hold of the backside of the chair and puts his leg muscles to work, starting to hop over to her. It's hard work because he's cuffed tight and duct-taped even tighter so there's not much room to maneuver. Thank god they're not too far away from each other, because this sort of activity makes his back practically screech with discomfort and his knees complain even harder.
He's out of breath when his chair tumbles to a halt beside hers and he leans over to her. "C'mere," he puffs, and Ziva eyes him warily. "Ziva, I'm not gonna bite, just lean closer, right? No, put your head down so I can reach--"
She gets it then and leans over to him, putting her head under his chin so he can try and reach one of her hairpins. He's still breathing kinda hard, and he knows this should feel weird -- does, even -- but hey, it's an emergency, right, so there are things allowed that wouldn't normally--
He closes his eyes for a heartbeat when his lips brush her hair and it's so soft that he feels the tickle go straight down to his toes. It's not her neck, granted, but she smells good, like sandalwood, and it's totally screwed up, but the innocent scent makes his mouth water and his body strum with sudden tension.
Her breath is another distraction against his skin, brushing against the base of his neck now, and he swallows as he leans closer and tries to ignore the feeling of her cheek, not exactly resting against his chest, but still touching him every now and then.
He blinks and thinks that maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, because how is he supposed to just get the job done here, right?
"Never let it be said that my mouth isn't good for anything," he jokes weakly, and that makes her pull back and stare at his face curiously.
No, not his face. His mouth.
"Huh," she says, and then she puts her head back down to his chest. Tony wonders if she can hear the way his pulse thunders suddenly. Probably.
He bites back a groan and goes back to work, and it takes him a few more tries but eventually he can catch one of the pins between his teeth and slowly pulls it out of her hair.
"Ah-hah!" he mutters through clenched teeth, and he shouldn't have done that, of course, because Ziva takes that as her cue to move back and knocks into his chin during the process. It makes him drop the pin, which promptly vanishes into the back of her shirt. Of course.
He curses, quite colorfully. Ziva rolls her eyes, quite expressively. Then she sighs and glances at his mouth again and then turns her head a little more so he can try his talents on another one.
This time it's harder because the pin sits higher on her head and he has to stretch more and she has to press even closer to him so his teeth can get a hold on the tiny strip of metal. And god, she smells so good, and yeah, it's not her neck, alright, but it still makes him want to lick her all over, and he thinks that he really, really needs to get back to that thought once they are out of this mess.
Her breath comes in short, strained bursts against his neck now, and he tells himself that's just because of the way she has to bend her neck, but it still makes his mind wander off into uncharted and possibly forbidden territory again, and while his lips hunt around for another hairpin, he wonders if she sounds like that in bed, too. All tense and wound up and keeping it inside, keeping it from bursting out.
He has to close his eyes once more, and in a way that helps, but it also makes him just want to roll into her and sniff her up and down and rub her body all over his, and dammit, this isn't going well at all. He makes it a plan to not get hit in the head anymore because apparently that leads to... things. And stuff.
Finally, finally his teeth catch another pin, and while he pulls back slowly, he clenches his jaws tight. Ziva's kind of holding her breath this time and pulling back just as slowly so she doesn't knock into him again. This time he's got a better hold, which is good because he has to start the chairhopping again now to get the pin to her hands.
She's raising her hands as high as she can, but Tony still has to get to his feet with the chair dangling off him while he delivers the pin. He's not trusting his aim enough to just let it drop and risk having it bounce all over the floor, so he leans forward until her searching fingers touch his face and she carefully takes the pin from his lips. Her skin is slightly damp, but he still can't help the urge to turn his face and rub it against her palm, just once, just like that. Just because it feels right.
Her breath hitches and she hesitates, but before she can say anything, he pulls away again and falls back hard in his chair. His breathing is labored and his knee throbs now, but hey, if he has to go, this wouldn't be the worst way he can come up with.
Her hands work quick, and he has no idea how she does it, really, but it only takes a few seconds and both of her cuffs are picked and reveal angry red stripes on her wrists. She wasn't kidding about them being tight.
"Do mine," he says while she leans forward and works on the duct tape around her ankles, and when she gets to her feet and stares at him with a weird, intense expression on her face, he wonders if his mouth has slipped again and he's said 'Do me' by accident, maybe. He hops towards her in his chair to distract her and raises his hands to the side so she can see them.
And she looks at him as if she's thinking, hard, and he wonders why the hell she's doing that now because Ziva doesn't do that, Ziva doesn't think, not when they've got an escape to take care of.
"Come on, Ziva, we don't have all day!"
She comes to with a little jerk going through her, and yes, she moves, but she's not getting behind him like he expected. She's coming towards him, straight ahead, and when she puts a hand to his shoulder, he thinks at first that's just to reassure him they'll do fine or something like that. But then she suddenly swings her leg over his and sits down in his lap and what the fuck, Ziva?
"Relax," she says, and when he gulps and his eyes widen, a tiny smile flashes across her face. "I'm not going to bite. Just..."
She leans into him, full body and then some, and after that has been established, she slides her hands under his arms and down his back. Her fingers travel down until she has reached his hands, and while she feels her way around his cuffs, her breath is warm on his chin and he's distracted by how much this feels like an embrace. He opens his mouth to object, to remind her that yes, this is certainly nice, but wouldn't it be a lot faster if she could actually see what she's doing there instead of... oh, screw it.
He's breathing hard by the time she leans into him just right to get to his wrists, and he's not sure if she really needs to do this or if it's just a new, perverse way of torturing him, but she's actually wriggling in his lap now and pressing tight into his chest so her hands have a little more room to work with.
"Ziva," he breathes out, and she turns her head to meet his eyes while her fingertips touch his wrist, stroking his pulse.
"That's not relaxed," she mutters against his mouth, and fuck, yeah, of course he's not relaxed, he's half hard and ready to let her strip him and have her way with him, screw the bad guys, really, because having Ziva in his lap and this close and smelling so good, that's gotta be worth a couple of deaths, right?
His lips part and he wants to answer her, but his mouth is betraying him and tries to capture hers instead because there's got to be a reason why she's doing this, right?
She evades his move, just a little, just enough so it doesn't turn into a kiss, and he knows she's just doing that so she can keep concentrating on getting his cuffs open, but dammit, he's so close to whimpering in frustration now that it's embarrassing, and while his body strains to get closer to hers, his breathing turns ragged.
And Ziva notices, of course, and that, in turn, brings a heated sparkle to her eyes, and god, dear fate, if that is her idea of foreplay, he's not really sure if he wants more of it or if he should look up 'sense of self-preservation' in the dictionary instead.
Ah, fuck. Who is he kidding here, really.
She bends her arms in a certain way, and yeah, that feels like she's pulling him into an embrace, alright. And while her body melts into his, he hears the silent click of the cuff lock finally giving in, and that tiny sound sends a shudder through both of them.
He knows this is the cue for her to get off his lap again, technically. He also knows that what just happened wasn't appropriate for mere partners, and it certainly wasn't something he expected, and heck, yes, it will probably have some more consequences down the road, once he's got his rattly head screwed back on tight and can think about all of this properly. Right now, though -- right now all he feels is her body's heat seeping through her clothes and mingling with his and the way her fingertips still play across his wrist and how much he wants to fuck her senseless, really. His hand -- the one she just freed -- comes up, and he touches her wrist and then lets his fingers travel up her arm, up to her shoulder, and when a slight shudder runs through her, he's this close to grabbing her tight and pulling her to his chest. He's not sure what's keeping him.
Maybe the fact that, technically, he still hasn't made a move on her. Maybe that, technically, she also hasn't done anything except pick a lock, even though she did it in a somewhat unconventional fashion. Maybe, though, it's the fact that right now the corrugated metal door of the container opens.
Her mouth is still tantalizingly close and her lips are almost brushing against his when he murmurs, "Behind you."
"I know," she whispers back, and it almost sounds as if there's a tinge of regret to her voice.
Then she gets up and delivers a roundhouse kick that slams the first guy into a wall and makes him sag to the floor like a bag of potatoes. Tony frees his ankles and then proceeds to distract the second guy. It's short work, and while the men are moaning on the floor, Ziva gives her partner a smile that makes him think he may not be sure what happened here, but whatever it was, it could turn out to be pretty interesting.