 | ShatterStorm Productions
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| ShatterStorm Productions
|
Disclaimer: "NCIS: Naval Criminal Investigative Services," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Belisarius Productions, Paramount Network Television Productions, Paramount Television, and CBS Television. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with " NCIS: Naval Criminal Investigative Services," CBS, or any representatives of Pauley Perrette or Cote de Pablo.
Author's Notes: Basically shameless voyeur porn.
[French, from Old French, one who lies in wait, from voir]
The lab is always dark this time of night, always abandoned, and Tony’s not quite sure what brought him down here, when he knows that Abby left hours ago.
Then his breath catches in his throat and he thinks, oh, that’s why and guh.
That’s Abby, right there, sitting on her pristine desk with her head tilted back and her skirt hiked up around her knees. Her cheeks are flushed, a dusting of bright pink clashing with the vibrantly smudged lipstick. Her shirt is…not on her, and Tony spies it in the corner, flung over a filing cabinet, a small part of his brain recording that to memory. Her chest is heaving, ample breasts lifting with every touch, nearly spilling out of the flimsy lace bra that she’s wearing.
Oh, and that’s Ziva, on her knees, her face even with Abby’s legs. Her dark hair is wild and knotted around her face and she, too, is missing her shirt, but the difference is that her slim shoulders don’t show the telltale sign of a bra-strap. Tony can’t see her face because it’s buried between Abby’s spread legs.
Abby’s panting now, breaths loud and harsh in the silence of the lab. She’s groaning and moaning and shuddering under Ziva’s ministrations, one leg flung over her shoulder, her fingers clutching at the harsh edge of the metal table.
Ziva reaches one hand up to slide over smooth, pale skin, short nails scratching lightly, then slides it further up over Abby’s heaving belly, stroking warm and sure, and up further still to land on Abby’s breast. She cups one first through the bra, then slips her hand under the lace, tugging out the warm flesh and squeezing.
Tony wonders if Abby will have bruises the next day and realises in a flush of heat and shame that he hasn’t moved, that he’s still watching them, that his hand is down his pants and curled around his dick. It’s a live porn show and damn if he’s leaving.
Moaning loudly, Abby’s on the brink, begging and begging, cries of Ziva and oh, God and please escaping painted lips. When Abby spreads her legs apart even further, Tony can see that she’s clean-shaven, and when Ziva shift, just a little, he can see that Ziva has three fingers buried deep inside her.
Then Abby’s crying out and coming, nearly screaming out, Ziva’s name loud in the resounding silence. Even as she’s coming down from the high, even as her back is releasing from it’s impossible arch, Ziva is still sucking and licking at her clit, relentlessly pleasuring her until too soon, she’s shuddering again, groaning helplessly.
Tony’s teeth sink into his lip as his eyes helplessly follow a drop of sweat down Abby’s neck and down between her breasts eventually soaking into the flimsy material of her bra.
He automatically slips back into the shadows when Ziva rises to her feet, her face coated in slick. Her tongue slicks over her lips, cat-like, and she wipes the moisture off with dexterous fingers, sucking them into her mouth one by one.
Abby grins tiredly and sits up straight, her hands winding unerringly around Ziva’s waist to dip into the back of her loose pants, cradling her ass lovingly.
Ziva smiles with swollen, shiny lips, her smile only widening when Abby sides her pants down her thighs, baring long, tanned legs.
Tony wonders first why neither of them are wearing shoes, then gasps and squeezes himself at the sight of Ziva’s orange thong, the thin fabric sliding up and high around olive-coloured hips.
Then even those are gone, leaving Ziva gloriously naked, and it’s all Tony can do to stifle a groan when he notices the conspicuous lack of a tan-line.
Abby licks a long line down Ziva’s throat, nippy at the fleshy skin at the junction between neck and shoulder. Pearly teeth worry at the sensitive skin, sucking a deep red mark.
Stepping out of the orange pool, Ziva moves closer to Abby, pressing against her as firmly as she can, Abby’s legs wrapping around her waist, her heels pressing into the small of Ziva’s back.
Tony’s hand squeezes and strokes rhythmically, adding in a twist and blood wells up where he’s bitten into his lip too hard. He has his other hand clasped into his mouth, teeth worrying at soft skin, catching and scraping roughly.
Tony catches sight of a pale hand tipped with black fingernails slipping in between them, catching them again when they peek out around the edge of Ziva’s breast. His breath hitches minutely, barely noticeable, and he drags his hand heavily up his cock and down again, catching the liquid at the top and spreading it along his length, slicking his strokes.
Dark hair pours over a tanned back, hollowed out smoothly as Ziva arches. Her low moan wakes up forgotten nerves in Tony’s body and he has to fight the urge to gasp. Ziva’s eyes flicker shut, her chest pushing into Abby’s grip so that her head falls back. Abby smiles, wide and sexy, and presses full, painted lips against Ziva’s neck, pointed teeth biting down against her skin.
Abby trails sucking kisses up the arched column, a path of angry red marks and Tony grins, knowing how much teasing she’d get the next day.
An awkward metal bang brings his attention back to Abby, now kneeling in front of Ziva, licking her way up long, strong legs. She stops when she reaches Ziva’s centre and closes her eyes, simply stopping and just breathing. Then, because she’s Abby, she flicks out an agile tongue and licks, straight up and in and Ziva moans, slamming her fists down on the metal counter behind her.
Tony curses under his breath, jerking on his cock harder. His eyes are still wide and he breathes deeply, trying to stop himself from panting, and unconsciously breathes in the scent of Abby and Ziva and female musk. He lets his hand move down further to tug at his balls, rolling them gently in his palm, his eyes still fixed on where Abby’s face has disappeared between Ziva’s legs.
Ziva says something Arabic loudly, one hand releasing it’s white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table to twist tightly in Abby’s hair. She directs Abby to how she likes it, moving her almost forcibly.
Not that Abby minds; no, Tony can hear her gasping and can see the unconscious movements of her hips into air.
Ziva spreads her legs apart further, automatically finding a stance that suits her. Abby makes a helpless sound, muffled by Ziva’s flesh, and the hidden movements of her face quicken with the jerk of Tony’s hand in his pants.
By this time, Tony can tell that Abby’s starting to tire, her movements slowing even as Ziva’s muffled moans are growing stronger and stronger. Abby sits back on her heels abruptly, grins up at Ziva cheekily, and jams three fingers straight up her pussy, crooking them expertly so that Ziva’s mouth gapes open and her head falls back and the most curious whimper of pleasure spills unchecked from her mouth.
Then Abby leans back again and licks a long, wet strip up and around her fingers, reaching Ziva’s clit. She grins again, her lips curving against wet heat, and sinks careful teeth into that little nub.
Ziva jerks and nearly screams, convulsing so hard that a small black and orange pumpkin pen-holder falls to the floor, crashing loudly and startling Abby so that she pulls away, jerking teeth roughly across Ziva’s clit, prompting a second orgasm from the assassin.
It’s right about then that, registering the damp heat trickling down his leg, Tony realises he’s just come in his pants.
“Jesus, Ziva,” Abby says, rising to her feet with a groan. She offers her lover a tired smirk. “That’s one fantasy I can cross of my list.”
“Glad I can oblige,” Ziva pants, stooping low to pick up her panties. Tony groans at the curve of her ass.
“Yeah,” Abby steps in and curls a hand around Ziva’s neck, pulling her in for a sweet kiss, lips clinging lazily.
It’s Ziva who pulls back first, her hand stroking down Abby’s arm placatingly. “Clothes, Abby,” She reminds gently.
“Okay, okay,” Abby turns around and grabs her skirt, tugging it over ample hips even as Ziva does the same with her pants, stuffing the damp scrap of orange into a pocket. “Your shirt’s on the counter,” Abby points out and Ziva smiles her thanks, easily slipping the thin material over her head, forgoing her bra and ignoring the points of her nipples.
Abby looks around, frowning. “Ziva? Where’s my shirt?”
“On the filing cabinet,” Tony says automatically, and curses when two pairs of dark eyes train on him instantly.
”Tony.”
