by B. Cavis
by B. Cavis
It's about lust, she supposes. The reason they do this so often-- break so many rules just to have this small bit of comfort in their otherwise chaotic worlds. Death, murder, and sex. Guns, booze, cars and women, and only this one seems to have any hold. Any importance.
Their father would kill them. So would her daytime master.
She lives dangerously. They all do. And maybe it's a little bit about that too; just a smidge about that overwhelming rush that all three of them feel when they're together. That knowledge that just maybe this time really will be the last time; that one of them will die and then the whole thing will fall apart. Threesomes require threes. It's in the basic description.
That scares her. Just absolutely takes her apart and shakes her. The idea that this might not be here next week. That she won't be able to fall apart in this woman's bed and that he won't be there to help her find her feet, the way he always has. The way he promised he always would.
Because it's about that comfort as well. The soft, soothing touches that the both of them need and that she has in excess. The ones she lavishes on them with gentle fingers and gentler words.
Mother Mary, show us the way, touch me like that, move your hands down, down, down...
The promises she makes them that none of them can keep-- the ones that would fall apart and burn if made in the light of day-- are all the more powerful for their inability to exist outside of the night. Outside of this room or a hundred just like it all over their world, they would fail. But in here, in her arms, she can believe that she will never leave. That they will never have to find a new haven from the outside world, the one that beats so hard at the front door and yet is held back. The one that howls in the background even now, demanding to reclaim them.
She never lets it in. Ziva thinks she owes this woman her soul for that alone, and Ari would agree if he was that poetic or demonstrative.
Mother Mary, touch me here, love me like that, please don't let me fall...
Soft hands come on her stomach, fingertips curling around her bellybutton, and Ziva looks up into dark eyes with a little shuddering breath. She killed a man today. Her heart aches with its own emptiness today. No regrets. Lots of pain. Always pain.
Ari's hand strokes through her hair, the gentlest of comforts, and she is dimly aware of someone speaking (to her? to God?) but it doesn't really matter. Doesn't really penetrate.
She's looking at her with that smile, hands oh so very soft, and she doesn't care what happens as long as that expressive mouth never frowns at her, never snarls at her, is never cross with her.
"Kiss me," she begs quietly, eyes full of warm, wet salt, and her salvation descends from on high with an ease of affection that she will never have. Pale fingers on her darker skin, trailing over her bloodstained flesh, over strained muscles and hardened calluses. Imperfections that she can't hide, strength that some have tried to make her regret, and she looks up at the other woman with so much pain inside her that she can't imagine anyone would ever want her, ever want this.
"Beautiful," Caitlin titles her, like she's speaking to a scared wild thing she's trying to hand feed. "You're beautiful."
She really hopes that she doesn't mean the way the others do. The way the men and women she sees in her files do. She's clothed in beautiful skin and her hair makes men dream of lazy Sunday mornings and thick waves clenched in hard fists. She sleeps with them and kills them. Takes her orders and carries them out. No question, no pauses. No stopping.
If she is beautiful to her like that, then she is also capable of harming her-- then this woman is blinded to it as well, and Ziva won't have that. Can't have that. She's sworn never to let anything hurt this place she's found for herself-- never let anything hurt the two of them who keep her and hold her and love her, and please God she will do anything for her home, for her freedom, for Israel but she will not kill Caitlin Todd.
Beautiful. Caitlin kisses her with her eyes open and she knows the other woman means something else.
Ari watches with lazy dark eyes. His turn has yet to come, but he waits for it with calm eyes and a soft look about his mouth. He brought her here tonight-- she didn't have the power to come on her own, and now he watches her with the knowledge that she needs something that only this woman can provide. A release that has less to do with sex that she is willing admit and certainly more to do with love than any of them can really understand.
He loves her, calls her his little sun. She loves him, knows him as her protector and watchdog. Her guardian. Both of them need this woman, and there is little they can do to stop that but give in to it.
Brother and sister and salvation. It is only sensible, she supposes, that the two of them who have shared so much of their lives already would share this as well-- this comfort. The only one they have found that works.
Her mouth trails a line of wet kisses down Ziva's throat, biting over her collarbone and nibbling around the bandage on her right arm. She was still in his lap when the poison she had slipped into his drink took affect, and his nails dug in hard as he writhed and foamed. She had to break his fingers afterwards to get free, and her pound of flesh is still sitting under his bruised and broken nails.
His come had dripped down her legs as she mechanically dressed and dialed her handler's number. Ari had found her sitting fully clothed in her shower when he had come looking for her, and maybe he should have left her in there for a little while longer before he forced her into clean, dry clothes and brought her here because she swears she can still feel it itching on her thighs.
It comes upon her, bites her hard and suddenly she's thrashing under her hands, throat open and releasing without her permission. She can't see, Ziva thinks desperately, can't see this... this shame. She'll be horrified, and that means she'll kick her out and that means she won't be loved anymore and that means...
She's crying now, sobbing quietly, and Ari has her by the shoulders, holding her down with all of his weight so she doesn't hurt him or Caitlin or herself. She'd thank him, should thank him, but now Caitlin's kissing around her bellybutton, hands gently pushing her legs apart. No, no, no, no.
Mother Mary, hold me while I cry, make me scream, love me for it, love me...
A kiss, directly on her clit, and she meets her brother's eyes with tears streaming down her face and a desperation in her that she can't think enough to hide.
"It's alright." His lips land on her forehead, rough and slightly chapped, stubble tickling her brow. "Breathe."
In, out, in, out, fingers and air, and both are keeping her alive now. Both are keeping her here. She squirms, crying silently as she is thoroughly and completely taken apart and can only hope that they can be bothered to put her back together again when they're done with her. They've never failed her before, but there's always a first time.
"Please," she whispers, choking on her air, and he brushes his fingers over her cheeks as she licks at the crease of her thigh. "Oh, please, please, please..."
She begs in Hebrew, the rough consonants filling her mouth and spilling from her tongue. Pleads to be released, to never be released, to be allowed to come, to be held so tight she can't breathe. He understands it, but it is not his job to give her what she needs and he takes no action to give it to her.
Caitlin's teeth, gentle and soft on the very edge of her clit, just light enough to be felt, and Ziva throws her head back with a moan, eyes squeezing closed as she gives up. Gives in.
Take me, she thinks. There is no one else who will. Just take me.
Sex blends in with the tears, begging with the sobs, and she turns her face into her brother's shoulder to cry for herself while the dark head moves between her legs and undoes her with steady, gentle movements. Fingers between her thighs, pushing into her, stroking her, constant and firm. A soft voice against her, whispering of acceptance and love and comfort. Of it being alright to let go. She snuffles against the solid flesh of Ari's bicep and nods a yes to some question she's not being asked.
"M-Make me... please, make me..."
So simple. So easy. So very much taken out of her to say something that simple, to admit her own need, and she bites her bottom lip as the fingers speed up and the mouth redoubles its efforts.
"Come on," the soft voice whispers in between gentle kisses and long sucks at the center of her. "Come on, baby, that's enough of that. Enough. Come on." Harder, harder, harder. "Come on," her savior growls low in her throat, and Ari's hand tightens on her bicep as she lets out the closest thing to a death rattle as she's ever heard a living person release.
Caitlin just nods to herself as she comes undone on the bed and falls apart all over her fingers. Like this is simply the way it is, the way it should be-- nothing special. Nothing new.
Ziva supposes it isn't. A gentle finger steers her wet face away from its hiding place, and she meets Caitlin's eyes with a little shuddering gasp.
"Better?" she asks, and Ziva nods like a little girl, basking in the warmth from the smile that comes suddenly and wholeheartedly to the other woman's face. "That's my girl."
She watches the woman looming above her, aware that on some level this person is very, very important to her. That she needs this.
Ziva David needs very few things in life.
Dark fingers curl around that pale throat, and the man lying next to her touches their shared pet with a quiet need that isn't nearly as explosive as Ziva's, but is just as intense. "Caitlin," he whispers, and she turns her attentions away for the time being, leaning down to kiss him soundly as his fingers get a firmer grip around her neck. "Yesss..."
Ziva needs to let go. Ari needs to hold on; to control, to own, to dominate. Mirror personalities, and their lover takes it all in stride, holding so much on her back that sometimes Ziva can't imagine how she stays together.
Ari's hand skims the soft pale curve of her belly, and she lets out a purr and closes her eyes. She stays together. Always.
She gasps his name, arching away from his fingers and towards his hand all at the same time, and he pulls her with a vicious bruising hand, hard knuckles curled around the hard jutting protrusion of her hip.
Beautiful. Strangely right, for all of its wrongness, and she wishes she could feel jealousy-- wishes she could love them both less so that she could love one of them more, but there isn't that in her. Isn't possible. She cares too much for her flesh and blood to deny him his relief. He made sure she got hers, she can't turn him away from his, though she knows if she clung to Caitlin, crying large tears of pain and need that she would stay and he would make no move to take her away tonight.
Nothing to hurt baby sister. Ziva watches him slip into their bit of shared heaven because she could never do anything to hurt him back. Besides, no one is permitted to be hurt here. No one can be injured that way when they have this woman with them.
Ari's fingers leave white imprints when he releases her hips, one hand instead curling up to wrap around the back of their lover's neck to pull her down and take her mouth as the other skims between her legs and dances over the site of their joining. Caitlin lets out a sound like something wounded, dying in the pits of Hell, and Ziva wants so badly to touch, to feel her under her fingertips again. She shoves her hands behind her head in what she hopes is a casual gesture, fisting her fingers in her hair. Not her turn. Not her comfort.
Hands off, she tells herself, pulling hard at the roots of her hair. Stopitstopitstopit...
Another moan, another gasp. Someone's choked off name-- Ziva's not sure who says it or even if it's meant to be said. She can't look away, can't stop watching, but she's not really seeing. She can still feel the dead man underneath her-- the arching and thrusting of his hips as he jerked underneath the cold hand of the reaper she played.
Ari underneath Caitlin. Herself on top of her latest success. The blend together-- the moans her brother lets out with all his normal voraciousness melding and molding themselves to the sounds of the sacrifice she gave up to God, and suddenly it's too much, too close to her pain, too hard. She shuts her eyes and bites down hard on her lip, breathing deeply to keep from freaking out and needing to be restrained again.
He's got more important things to be doing, she tells herself, listening to the grunts and groans next to her.
Mother Mary, please make me numb, make me easy, make me sane...
"Ziva," someone whispers, and she opens her eyes to see two people watching her calmly, examining, finding her need and dissecting it clinically. She watches back with her dirty eyes, swallowing hard, and she wants to hide so badly-- doesn't want to take away from their time together, only she knows that when her brother sees her, he reads her. No one else on the planet can read her like this man; she permits very few to ever get close enough to know her that well.
"More?" he asks softly, voice gravel and honey, and she looks down at her shoulder quietly, biting her cheek. Too much to ask. Too much to need. She's had her turn. It's rightly his, and she knows it.
God, they must think her the neediest little twit...
Sweaty hands drag over her throat lovingly, and a soft breath puffs out with something akin to laughter in it. "Like hell," Caitlin whispers, kissing her softly with all the tenderness in her that Ziva can only marvel at. Softness unlike any she has ever possessed herself--- kindness unlike she has any right to expect.
Ari moves again, only this time his hand reaches out to grip his sister's, firm and strong. His hand is sweaty and smells of Caitlin. She's never held anything so tightly before.
Teeth, hard on her bottom lip, muffling a cry that Ziva matches, and Caitlin comes and her entire body shakes. "Oh," she gasps, mouth falling away for a second as she goes a bit limp, swaying loosely. Ari's still moving, still grunting, and his hand is still tight around Ziva's.
"Come here," he growls, using his free hand to pull Caitlin by the throat and mash his mouth angrily against hers, bruising and wet, and she takes it. Takes it all. "Mine," he grunts harshly. "Mine."
"Yours," their lover agrees breathlessly, head bowing to let dark hair curtain her cheeks. Her foot is wrapped around Ziva's leg, contact that she's obviously straining her calf to keep. And she does something that Ziva can't see, can't feel, but Ari's eyes close for a long moment and a sound comes from him that's just as needy as everything she has let out tonight. Just as desperately seeking serenity.
"Please," he gasps. "Caitlin-"
"Yours," she confirms once more, grabbing onto his shoulders and digging her nails in as he arches up against her, head tossed back and face contorted. His grip tightens, tightens, and Ziva would wince if she was in her right mind. "All yours."
He collapses back against the bed, eyes squeezed shut as he searches for solid ground. Caitlin leans forward to press a kiss to his collar bone. Ziva watches, and holds her brother's hand.
Caitlin climbs off him and their combined fluids pool in the little dip in Ari's lower abdomen, craddled between the equal jut of his two hipbones. His hand is still firm in Ziva's, and she turns towards him to hide her face against the strength of his bicep, watching from underneath her lashes as their lover drifts into the bathroom, ass naked and seductively white. There are red marks around her hips where Ari's fingers dug in a bit too hard. She'll be bruised tomorrow.
Ziva closes her eyes firmly. A warm, heavy hand runs over her scalp, and she snuggles closer to his warmth.
"Better?" he asks, voice rough and scratchy.
Their tradition. They watch each other now with much more care than they did as children when they would run through the old quarter and hide from each other for hours. The ritual is gone through after each encounter, every meeting; a check to make sure the need still exists. To make sure they'll both meet up with her once more and seek to lose themselves in her and the steady, familiar comfort of each other.
So far, the answers have always been the same. Ziva doesn't bother to think about a day when they won't be.
Their lover's feet are soft on the thick hotel carpet, muffled. Ari hisses as the cool washcloth is drawn over his stomach, removing all traces of their interlude. When he's done, Ziva rolls away from his side and obediently spreads her legs for a similar treatment, licking her lips at the intimate contact of the cat's-tongue rough scrap. Never enough.
Caitlin tosses the cloth away for house keeping to deal with and settles between them, face up on the mattress with a little calm sigh. Their hands are still joined, and she rests her head so the curve of the back of her neck cradles their contact. "Good?" she asks.
"Yes," Ziva whispers, barely hearing the murmured agreement of her older brother from above as he lets go of her hand. "It's... yes, we're fine."
A hand in her hair, keeping her grounded. "Good," she murmurs happily, curling up against Ziva's side. Ari makes a sleepy grumble, rolling with her, front to her back. His arm crosses Caitlin's waist, holding her down and keeping her even as Ziva feels him seek her hand out again.
They link over their lover's stomach, holding each other as she holds them both. Ziva opens her eyes to meet his almost three hours later, and Caitlin snores softly between them.
His expressive mouth smiles at her, hopeful and small. She doesn't know what to give him, doesn't know how to react to that hope.
"It'll never be enough," she whispers, dry sobs beating against her throat. "I will never be full of this woman."
"I'm sorry. I complicate things." She looks down at the dark head pressed up against her breast, tears clogging her eyes. "I wish you could be happy."
He squeezes her hand tighter. "I am." He leans to plant a kiss on her forehead, almost crushing their lover in the process. "I would never be able to share you with anyone but her, and I could never share her but with you." His Hebrew reminds her of her father, soft and cultured, with a little lilt from his mother.
She used to wonder why he bothered with her-- a constant reminder of his own status in life. She looks like her father-- she knows it. The same eyes and the same ears, and he will never get that man to love him, just as she will never get away from his love. "I share her with you, you share her with me." They glance down at their partner. "She gives freely." His eyes close, a quiet end to the conversation and a dismissal of her doubts. "Think nothing else." His breathing evens out. She watches his chest rise and fall, feels his hand loosen in hers, pillowed on Caitlin's stomach.
Ziva watches the vanilla scented candles the hotel put on the dresser burn out, and waits for sunrise.
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