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by: skripka (Send Feedback)

Series: - No Series - #1
Chapters: 001 Word Count: 2434
Rating: ADULT
Character(s): Ziva David, Jenny Shepard
Category(ies): PWP
Pairing(s): Ziva/Jen
Summary: She's not sure why she's doing this, other than it feels easy.

Author Notes: This is the fic bunny that I've had since seeing Kill Ari, part 1, when even my mother thought that Jen had more sexual chemistry with Ziva than with anyone else. As always, rebecca previewed this and told me what sucked and didn't.

Chapters: 1

The sunlight in Cairo is palpable and the heat makes knife-sharp shadow edges waver. Acclimation in Yuma, vacationing in Phoenix--none of it prepared Jen for the sheer weight of this desert's air.

You can feel the damp from the sea and the Nile delta when the air moves, which, fortunately for Jen's sanity, it does on a regular basis. It lifts her hair, makes it frizz and curl as she sits at the cafe, shadowed by a sharp-edged umbrella.

Ziva David has the arrogance and recklessness of youth combined with the discipline of Mossad training. Egyptian crackles in Jen's earwig as the Israeli agent discusses details with her contact.

Jen frowns. David knows that her Arabic isn't as strong as her French or Hebrew. It's either a cover-up or a snub on Ziva's part.

Just because their countries are allies is no reason for the two of them to trust each other.

Jen drops a few piastres for her tea on the table and nods at the proprietor as she stands. The alley is narrow and crowded as she makes her way to the quay, closer to David and her contact.

The Hebrew yamin throws itself into Jen's conscious mind, standing out from the Arabic, and she looks to the right. Target.

The worst thing about this op is lack of US support and putting her trust in Agent David and Mossad. Jen mentally inventories her assets as she approaches Yasser bin Aban. The knife in her waistband is courtesy of a lesson from Paris. She'd be much happier with the spare pistol in her boot.

David is no longer speaking--the only sounds over the earwig are from the crowd. Either she's backing Jen up or she's gotten the info she needs. It doesn't matter. Jen just needs to make the collar...

bin Aban looks up. His eyes lock with Jen's and it's over. He starts screaming vitriol, throwing the crowd into confusion and pulls a gun on her. She curses silently, jostled by the crowd, unable to reach under her jacket, to get to her weapon, to get to cover. this is it, she thinks, banally.

A shot rings out and bin Aban falls back, dropping his gun and grasping at the red bloom on his shoulder. Jen is knocked down, her cheek scraping against a brick wall. Her hands catch her fall, palms landing rough against the street. By the time Jen's head snaps up, bin Aban is gone.

"Come." A hand pulls at Jen's shoulder. It's David. "We have to leave before the authorities arrive."


Later, Jen is splashing tepid water on her face, grimacing at the angry red weals she sees in the sliver of mirror over the sink. They hurt, but it doesn't look like they'll scar. There's ointment in her makeup bag, and she dabs some on, wincing slightly.

The stairs leading to her room creak. This time, she has her pistol in her hand in seconds, albeit hidden behind her back. Although Jen's getting tired of being rescued during ops, she's not about to give a heart attack to the nice old lady renting them the rooms. Although, remembering the way her eyes glinted as she haggled with Agent David, Masarrah was probably well aware of what the two agents were up to.

Ziva's voice comes through the door. "It's me." Jen lowers the Sig and opens the door, still cautious, but David is alone.

Jen nods a greeting, the taste of the day still bitter in her mouth, as she closes the door. "Yasser got away." She doesn't ask, because of course he did. He somehow recognized Jen and he got away.

Ziva nods. "I contacted my people. He'll show up shortly."

"And I'm out." This was just great. First solo op--well, nearly--and Jen's botched it. She's starting to think she's not cut out for fieldwork.

An eloquent eyebrow raises. "If you truly wish." Ziva pulls the chair away from the window and drops into it, as inelegantly as ever.

"Hell, no." Fieldwork, maybe not, but Jen knows her shrewdness comes in handy. "Are you offering something, David?"

Ziva smiles, crosses her legs and smiles. "I told you before, call me Ziva. And yes, I have an offer."

Now things are looking up. Jen remains standing--it gives her a position of power, and while she doesn't think Ziva doesn't notice, neither does she comment on it. Ziva just quirks a smile and tilts her head.

"The offer?" Jen prompts.

"We take bin Aban. You get interrogation privileges." It's simple, and Jen runs through the pros and cons quickly. Less messy for her, and NCIS doesn't need a warm body as badly as it needs the information. On the other hand, it'll still look like crap on her record.

Hell with it. It's not like she plans to stay an agent forever and NCIS has multiple routes to the higher echelons. Jen nods. "Will I have access to your interrogation notes as well?"

Ziva's hands spread wide. "If you wish. We have a deal?"

"Yes." And it's that simple. They may not trust each other entirely, but it's enough for work.

"Then." Ziva pulls her ever-present messenger bag into her lap and pulls out a green bottle. "I think we both need this."

Jen snorts as Ziva twists off the cap and the scent of cheap red wine rises. "Celebration? Or consolation prize?" She sits at the foot of the bed and watches as Ziva drinks straight from the bottle, wiping her lips and the rim on her sleeve before handing it to Jen.

Ziva grins crookedly. "Whichever." Jen takes a long swallow, not about to be outdone. The wine is a bit bitter and too warm, but it's still alcohol.

They drink in silence for a while, watching out the window as the air cools and darkens. A breeze makes Ziva shiver and pull the shutters to. Jen is feeling warm and relaxed. She glances at her watch. Twenty eighteen.

Her cheek pulls as she grimaces, and Jen reaches up to rub it. Ziva moves onto the bed beside her.

"Let me see." Jen, too shocked by the contact and too tipsy to protest, lets Ziva's warm and calloused fingers cup her jaw and prod gently at the scrape. Jen bites her lip and tries not to wince.

"It's not too bad," Ziva declares, oddly clinically. "What about your hands?" And Jen makes no protest as Ziva turns her palms over, either. Touch feels good now, and Ziva's touches are soothing.

The touches turn into an almost-massage, pulling at Jen's fingers, pressing into her pulse. Jen lets out a brief moan of pleasure before catching herself and blushing.

Ziva chuckles, but doesn't stop touching Jen's hands. "My last lover said I gave good massages." Jen's blush doesn't go away--she knows very well what Ziva isn't saying directly, and pulls her hand away, suddenly reacting to the image of Ziva kissing another woman.

Ziva's eyebrow raises, but she doesn't speak or move. Somewhat disappointed at herself, Jen tries to rein in her swirling thoughts. Her eyes flick over Ziva's face, studying her, analysis as distraction. There's a scar on her left earlobe. "What's that scar from?" Jen blurts out, appalled at her semi-drunken tactlessness.

Ziva grins crookedly, fingers her earlobe and shrugs. "Knife practice got over-enthusiastic. It bled all over my aunt's car." She says it so matter-of-factly, and again, Jen wonders what it was like for Ziva, growing up as pre-destined for Mossad as she seems to have been.

Jen's hand is touching Ziva's ear now--the scar is little more than a ridge and a tiny split, smoothed over by time. She's not sure why she's doing this, other than it feels easy. Ziva's eyes watch her face, dark and vaguely amused. She grasps Jen's wrist, twists, and plants a serious kiss on top of Jen's pulse.

It's highly erotic, charged with wine and a bit of leftover adrenalin. Jen can't look away until Ziva does, and Ziva's not moving anything but her lips as she sucks lightly. The sensation makes Jen's breath catch.

Ziva's mouth leaves Jen's wrist and she tugs gently. Jen tilts towards her, not really resisting. It's not like she's never wondered what it'd be like--there's just never been an opportunity to experiment. Jen's not entirely sure that this is the best time, frankly, but the wine is making her a bit reckless, as it always does.

The press of a woman's lips against hers is different from a man's; softer, sweeter somehow, although Ziva isn't being particularly reticent and gentle. She's kissing Jen, taking what she wants, making Jen respond. Her hand is behind Jen's neck now, pulling them even closer together.

Jen feels dizzy and hot. A flush is building under her skin, and she wonders if Ziva will note it down for later reference. A tongue slides along her lips, and she parts them slightly. Slick and persistent, it slides between Jen's teeth.

Ziva's hands are pushing her down, tugging at her blouse, caressing her waist. Jen tries to hold something back, but it's been too long and her body betrays her, nipples tightening and her cunt twisting with desire.

She gasps, panting for breath when Ziva breaks the kiss, eyes shadowed and serious. Jen notes, absently, that Ziva's right hand is tracing circles on her hip. "Do you want this?" she asks, seriously.

Jen swallows, nods, but counters with a "Why?"

There's that wry smile again. Jen decides it looks good on Ziva's face. "It seems a good way to pass the time." The smile broadens. "And I like redheads."

Jen nearly laughs out loud at that. Her hair has gotten her into more trouble... and conversely, more fun than anything else in her life. Ziva's hand pauses while Jen shakes off the eruption of giggles, shaking on the bed. Jen pats Ziva's hand, smiling back up at the other woman. "Don't stop on my account."

Ziva smiles and goes back to kissing and petting Jen.


This is another way that making love to a man would be different. Neither of them have looked at a clock, but Jen is willing to bet it's been over an hour since the wine was opened. Ziva has taken her time peeling off clothing, learning Jen's body and guiding Jen around hers.

By this time, a man would have been sated and snoring, and yet the two women have finally gotten completely naked. Ziva's skin is golden in the moonlight, fading to shadow below her belly button, where a line of soft hair leads down.

Ziva smiles down from where she was straddling Jen's waist, gently stroking a breast. Jen reaches out tentatively and touches Ziva's belly.

Ziva laughs. "You may touch me." She's been reminding Jen of this all evening, and Jen flushes again. She keeps forgetting that this is reality, because everything seems so unreal.

Then she remembers that they're both spies, and some of it makes more sense.

Jen leans up and Ziva meets her lips for another kiss, pressing them both against the bed. Ziva readjusts her body, sliding a leg against Jen's cunt, pressing her own against Jen's thigh. It's hot and sticky, and Jen finds herself moving automatically so she's pressing both thigh and cunt into ZIva even more.

Ziva purrs as she nibbles on Jen's lip. "You're a fast learner." Jen lets her head tilt back and Ziva takes the cue easily, moving her teeth to Jen's neck. They start rocking together, the pleasure building up slowly and oh, so deliciously.

Jen lets Ziva move her arms, wrapping a hand around Jen's wrists lightly. Jen moans at the pressure and Ziva looks at her, something new in her eyes. "You'll stay this way, no?" Her voice is husky, promising and Jen can't refuse.

Nodding, Jen tries to grind her pussy into Ziva's thigh, only to be thwarted by a low chuckle and Ziva's fingers gliding past her clit. Jen arches between Ziva's hands as a finger slips inside.

Ziva watches Jen's face intently as she fucks her with first one, then two fingers. Jen has lost it--the long, slow buildup has done its work, and she's already desperate to come. A spare thought thinks it's really damned hot at how collected Ziva is and then the idea is lost as a thumb starts rubbing circles on her clit.

Coolly, Ziva works Jen's clit, bringing her off steadily as Jen whines her way to climax. The end, when it comes, blossoms through her spine like a rumble of thunder, and Jen collapses, panting for air as Ziva chuckles.

Her hand pulls out of Jen slowly, twisting to make Jen gasp again. "Nice," chuckles Ziva, her tongue flickering as she licks her hand clean with another purr. "You taste good." Jen watches avidly because, wow, that's hot, and Ziva chuckles again. "You can try, if you want."

Jen nods, and licks nervously at Ziva's fingers as they brush her lips. Ziva is rocking against her thigh again, spreading and burning, and damn, that's hot, too. Jen moans, and lets Ziva's index finger into her mouth.

She sucks and smiles at Ziva's gasp as she rolls her tongue over her knuckle. Jen tastes herself, sour and bitter and sweet at once, not at all unpleasant. Ziva's moving harder now, and when Jen draws her middle finger to join its sister, dragging and flicking her tongue along their lengths, she comes with a curse in Hebrew.

Ziva collapses beside Jen, sucking in air and laughing quietly. Jen pushes up onto her side with a groan, puts a hand on Ziva's belly. "I did okay?" she smiles and tries not to giggle, because that was fun and good and sticky... and some of the best sex she's ever had.

Ziva pulls her face down for a quick kiss, grinning crookedly--and Jen's not going to get tired of that look for a long time--"Fast learner." Ziva's tongue flicks out and Jen watches it as it darts back away. "Best thing about women."

Jen can't help but ask, "And the best thing about men?"

"When they go home." Jen collapses, folding over Ziva's torso, and laughing, is joined by Ziva, who yanks the sheet from where it had gotten crumpled at the bottom of the bed.

They juggle limbs a bit, then, getting comfortable and entangled in the cool air from the river. Ziva kisses Jen's temple and Jen kisses her shoulder. Tomorrow will be knife-hot and business again, but it's enough now to sleep together under a thin cotton sheet.

Chapters: 1

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