Title: Poker Face
Summary: He wonders how much longer he can keep doing this
A/N: I had the first two lines of this in my head since yesterday afternoon. They wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote this. Hope it is acceptable.
Ziva David has an impeccable poker face. Tony knows this. And although they have never played poker together, he has been trying to call Ziva's bluff for years.
Today is like any other day, and he's still trying to crack the code on her poker face. He's pushing her again. He actually followed her into the women's restroom and locked the door. Has her pushed up against the sink, their faces so close he can smell the jasmine tea on her breath. As he watches her face, and the storm of emotions passing through her eyes, he wonders how much longer he can keep doing this. He'd told her years ago; he's tired of pretending. She'd said that she was too, but he's never been convinced that she really understood what he was talking about.
He's still lost in thought when he notices out of the corner of his eye that her body language is shifting. Ziva's pressing herself into him now, and he can feel the heat of her all around him. In the next second she snaps, and her lips are fused to his before he's even noticed her movement. His world explodes around him and it's as if someone has just thrown a grenade at him. He knows he should run be he can't. He won't dammit, because this feels too much like everything he's ever wanted.
Not long after he's lifted her up, hands around her tiny waist, and placed her on the ledge of the sink. Not long after that he's got her slacks tugged down and her panties shoved to one side. And not very long after that indeed he has two fingers inside of her and she's moaning much louder than is probably appropriate for sex in the bathroom workplace, and all Tony can think is that if this is what the explosion looks like, he'll happily unpin the grenade any damn day of the week.