FIC: Fight, Tony/Ziva, NCIS
Title: Fight
Author: frannie
Rating: R
Fandom: NCIS, Tiva
Summary: Short ficlet. Tony and Ziva are always fighting.
She's got him nice and close. Sitting astride him, his back against the headboard, his head buried against her neck, mouth open and wet.
He struggles to move against her, his hands frantic and punishing. She pushes back.
Tony is mad. Infuriated. He flips her over, arms cruel and grip bruising. It's so right.
She tips her head back, moans, fights him for every inch.
'Fuck you', she keens.
Tony moves his hand to cup the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair and tugging sharply. She can't help but fight him, turning away even though the pull on her hair is now sharp and hurting. Tony yanks harder, forces her to turn her head just so; angles her for a kiss.
His lips, she thinks, his, and its glorious. She is gasping into his mouth, nails digging into the skin of his cheeks. Please, she begs silently.
'Tony' she breaths into his mouth. It's the only concession she offers him.
It's hard to savour the taste of his lips, the bite of his stubble against her palms, when Tony is pulling at her hair and pulling down her underwear. And then: the feel of his fingers as he gentles her into submission.
'Ziva', he whispers, as he pushes into her, and 'Ziva' as he comes, and 'Ziva' the next morning as he leans over her shoulder to put her coffee cup on her desk. Her name on his lips makes her so wet. He uses it a hundred times each day.
'Ziva', he says, and for a moment she wants to surrender to him. Then his fingers dig into the hollows of her hips and she thinks she'll let him fight her for it a while longer.
Author: frannie
Rating: R
Fandom: NCIS, Tiva
Summary: Short ficlet. Tony and Ziva are always fighting.
She's got him nice and close. Sitting astride him, his back against the headboard, his head buried against her neck, mouth open and wet.
He struggles to move against her, his hands frantic and punishing. She pushes back.
Tony is mad. Infuriated. He flips her over, arms cruel and grip bruising. It's so right.
She tips her head back, moans, fights him for every inch.
'Fuck you', she keens.
Tony moves his hand to cup the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair and tugging sharply. She can't help but fight him, turning away even though the pull on her hair is now sharp and hurting. Tony yanks harder, forces her to turn her head just so; angles her for a kiss.
His lips, she thinks, his, and its glorious. She is gasping into his mouth, nails digging into the skin of his cheeks. Please, she begs silently.
'Tony' she breaths into his mouth. It's the only concession she offers him.
It's hard to savour the taste of his lips, the bite of his stubble against her palms, when Tony is pulling at her hair and pulling down her underwear. And then: the feel of his fingers as he gentles her into submission.
'Ziva', he whispers, as he pushes into her, and 'Ziva' as he comes, and 'Ziva' the next morning as he leans over her shoulder to put her coffee cup on her desk. Her name on his lips makes her so wet. He uses it a hundred times each day.
'Ziva', he says, and for a moment she wants to surrender to him. Then his fingers dig into the hollows of her hips and she thinks she'll let him fight her for it a while longer.