Title: Dancing in the Dark
Disclaimers: NCIS, the rights to the show and the characters do not belong to me. No money was made by this.
A/N: English is not my native language. So please forgive me my grammar and spelling mistakes.
Spoilers: S8E16 Kill Screen, specifically the scene when Tony and Ziva get trapped.
Pairing: Tiva
Summary: "His arm around her waist tightens, presses her into him in an effort to ground her, and he starts humming softly, to give her something else to concentrate on, something else to remind her it's him she is with."

She's trembling in his arms. Shivers running all over her body. He holds her close, cradles her head as her face buries into his shoulder.

Soft gasps are falling from her lips, and he rocks them slowly, picking a rhythm to a random tune in his head. Carefully, he shifts his feet, moves through the small space, slowly pulling her with him.

Her fingers clutch against his shirt, her nails digging into his skin as a sob sounds, strangled. Her body is tight with tension, and his foot kicks at one of their guns on the ground, almost stepping on it.

He can feel her slipping away, going to a different place. His arm around her waist tightens, presses her into him in an effort to ground her, and he starts humming softly, to give her something else to concentrate on, something else to remind her it's him she is with.

Slowly, she starts following his steps. He does not have to drag her any more, her grip is loosening slightly. Her face remains in his shoulder, trying to block out the darkness that is surrounding him. Their flashlights are lying on the ground, casting eerie shadows on the walls

He's losing track of time. The hands that have gripped his biceps painfully come up to his neck and she wraps them around it hesitantly, leaning back slightly. When she looks up at him, her eyes are shining with unshed tears, uncertainty and fear in them. He simply flashes her a smile as the hand that was previously cradling her head comes to rest on her hip and he continues guiding them in a slow dance. Her eyes remain locked with his as she follows his steps slowly, hesitantly. She steps on his foot and flinches, but he does not react to it. He's had women in nine inch heel step onto his toes, he can handle her slim weight in combat boots any day.

He doesn't realize he has picked a familiar tune until she starts humming with him, one note, then two, three, until both their voices fill the small space. He loses his jacket and so does she, because it gets warmer in there, and because it's limiting their movements. Her dark eyes are still watching his, but a shy smile is starting on her lips in return of his constant, reassuring one. And if it weren't for the fact that it started as a method to keep her from slipping into flashbacks of Somalia, this could actually feel pretty good. Scratch that, this does feel good. Having her in his arms, close like she is now, is an amazing feeling.

It's her who steps closer, a small fraction, but it shifts the mood, lifts it to a completely different level. She turns her head, her eyes leaving his, and leans into him, her head coming to rest on his chest. He feels her relax, the tension leaving her body, and a soft sigh escapes her. He continues to hum quietly, their steps not faltering. Until she straightens and halts her steps, her right hand resting on his chest, over his heart. Her fingers are stroking the fabric of his shirt, and she stares at the ministrations before slowly raising her head. When her eyes meet his, his breath catches in his throat. Because he has looked at her like this before, so many times, but has never seen her look at him like this, not while meeting his gaze.

Almost in slow motion, she leans up, and her lips brush against his, a ghost of a caress that is gone before it registers. His eyes have fluttered close and when he opens them, he finds her looking at him with an expression he can't really place. He leans down slowly, watches as her eyes flutter close shortly before his lips find hers, carefully brushing against the softness, testing the waters. When he leans back, she gives a soft sound of disapproval and follows his motion, her lips finding his again, tantalizing, slow, and her tongue darts out the same moment her hands bury in his hair and she pulls him down and keeps him in place. And what choice does he have except give in and kiss her back?

Fireworks are exploding behind his eyelids when their tongues meet briefly, both of them closing their mouths after the contact, shying away. When it happens again, he feels her shudder against him and groans quietly. They stopped dancing because this takes up all of their brain capacity. And if it weren't for the need of oxygen, he could do this all day, kissing her like this, intimately, slow, unhurried.

She breaks the kiss, drawing shaky breaths, her forehead resting against his, her eyes wide open and staring directly into his. He strokes her cheek, silent reassurance that this is not a dream, and she smiles before resting her hand on his cheek and pulling him in again. When her other hand leaves his neck to trail over his chest to his belt and she gives an experimental tug at the material of his shirt, it's as if someone has suddenly let go of the rope they have been walking. What follows is free fall, unavoidable. His hand covers hers and he helps her pull the material free from his pants before her hands slip beneath it, scorching his skin. He pushes up her sweater, running his hands over the soft skin he finds on her back, not letting up in the kiss.

He doesn't even feel the cold air hit him when she pulls his shirt wide open, her hands journeying over his newly exposed skin, hurrying, her nails digging in slightly when he leans back, breaking the kiss to look at her as he lets his shirt fall to the ground. Her face his glued to his, her hands running over his body and she pulls him close again, arching into him when his hands slip under her sweater again, caressing her side. He breaks the kiss to nuzzle her neck, and he hears her gasp, the fingers of one of her hands twisting into his hair to keep him in place.

When he pulls off her shirt, he marvels at the fact that he has never seen her as exposed, even when they were both completely naked while posing as assassins. Because this is her, this is Ziva David, as vulnerable as she comes, and God, she had never been more beautiful to him. He kisses her again, slow, languid, unhurried, because as far as he is concerned, they have all the time in the world. And she answers in the same slow appreciation. His belt opens and his fly is pulled down, but she makes no move to push his pants down. Her lips are hot against the skin of his neck and chest, warm air hitting the sensitive skin, and he throws his head back with a groan. Pulling her up again, he opens her pants, kissing her and moving her back against the wall at the same time. She moans into his mouth when her back hits the cold barrier and he feels her shiver against him, the movement sending jolts of electricity through him.

Taking her up against a wall sounds wrong, but as he slowly pushes into her, their eyes are locked, and this isn't the hurried, passionate sex he has fantasized about so many times before. Her eyes flutter shut and she throws back her head, exposing her throat, the skin inviting him to lab at it. She is tight and tense and when she hisses, he briefly fears he has hurt her. Her arms around his neck pull him forward as her legs lock around him. She kisses him briefly before resting her forehead against his, panting, dark eyes glistening. He remains unmoving, lets her adjust to his size, strokes her cheek with one hand, the other resting on her hip, steadying her, his eyes never leaving hers. Wide open, they look into her soul, and she shudders, tearing a groan from him. She slips down slightly, moaning at the change of angle before her hand comes to rest on his cheek, a soft smile appearing on her lips before she pulls him in for a fresh kiss, moving her hips against his slowly, coaxing him into a slow pace, deep and intense and wonderful. He feels the tension mounting inside him, and judging by her soft sounds and the moans that escape her between their kisses, she isn't far behind. He buries his face in her neck, screwing his eyes shut. The scent of her is filling his nose, her nails are digging into his shoulders, and his grip on her falters slightly. She slips down again, a gasp falling from her lips that sounds like his name, and he pushes completely into her again, finding that she is indeed gasping his name, repeating it over and over like a mantra. He turns his head, straightening to watch her, her mouth open, her lips moving, eyes fluttering, and he can't resist her. Leaning in, capturing her lips again, he suddenly feels her muscles clench around him, her body arching into him, her head hitting the wall and he watches her come undone right there, watches as she lets go and lets her pull him over the edge with her.

She is trapped between his body and the wall, his fingers are digging into the skin of her hips as he tries to hold her up after her legs have gone slack, fighting to remain standing himself. They're both panting, his face in her neck where he tries to catch his breath again. He tries to stop his mind from spinning. She shivers against him, her arms heavy on his shoulders for long moments until she starts stroking his hair gently, toying with it, a soothing quality to her touch. Slowly, he leans back, afraid of what he is going to see on her face after what they just did. But she is relaxed, smiling softly, her eyes dancing as she watches him before capturing his lips in a sweet kiss, giving his bottom lip a playful nibble. Carefully, he adjusts his hold on her and slips out before letting her slide to the ground, making sure her legs can support her before he lets go. He takes a step back, but she follows, her arms encircling his waist. She rests her head on his chest, and he can feel her heartbeat against his skin, slowing down gradually. He watches the dark mat of hair before mirroring her embrace, and a soft sigh falls from her lips when he drops a kiss to her head. It's so soft and vulnerable that it is strange how right this feels, them standing their, naked, holding each other close.

Before this, he never thought that getting dressed could be as intimate an act as getting undressed. It was usually done hurriedly, when he wanted to leave as quickly as possible. But there is no leaving here, anyway, and leaving her is a concept he will never understand. Just like he will never get how someone can look as good in simple black panties and a matching bra. She has that constant need to touch him, to run her hands over his exposed skin, and he feels the same. He needs to commit this to memory, commit her to memory. Her feel, her sounds, her taste, the way her tongue flicks out shortly before she kisses him fully. He needs the reassurance that nothing has really changed when everything is different suddenly, needs to know that she is still there, that she won't disappear. Judging by the way her grip tightens on his hand when he takes a step back, she feels just the same. When she has finished buttoning his shirt, she closes his belt and folds down his lapels gently. He catches her hand and lifts it to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist, and she closes her eyes, her knees buckling slightly as she leans into him again, angling her head so she can nuzzle his neck. He helps her back into her jacket, and she hands him his, their fingers brushing. His eyes snap to hers, and he realizes that this wasn't the end of things between them.

No. This is just the beginning.

THE END

Review? Pretty please?