HEATWAVE
By
Ashleigh Anpilova
Cairo was hot.
A Jenny/Ziva first time story.
Written: January 2009. Word count: 1,000.
It was hot in Cairo.
It was beyond hot.
The heat seared through her, causing her to wilt, her body was drenched with perspiration, her hair stuck to her head; where skin touched skin it stuck together, making her feel even hotter.
Red-haired and pale-skinned, this kind of heat from the scorching sun was not good for her. Despite the sunblock she'd applied in her hotel, she knew her skin was burning.
She swallowed another mouthful of what less than half an hour ago had been ice-cold water, but was now tepid and winced at the taste. She told herself she had to keep drinking, she had to keep hydrated. But the warmth of the water added to the fact that she was in desperate need of a restroom put her off.
She didn't know how much longer she would have to wait before her contact showed up, it might be five minutes, it might be five hours. Desperately she looked around her for a public restroom, but could see nothing. To her shame she found herself glancing down an alleyway, it was deserted. She couldn't; but if she didn't, she'd embarrass herself utterly. Had she been a man it would be much easier. She shifted again on the seat, hoping the dampness she now felt where she sat was perspiration and nothing else.
"You look as though you need this." A voice, slightly accented, cool to her burning ears addressed her.
She looked up into the face of another woman. Younger than herself by several years, olive skin, dark eyes, her dark hair tied up, her light cotton clothing not hiding what was clearly a very firm and trim body. She shook her head; what was she thinking. "I'm sorry?" she said, not sure what else to say.
The girl, for that is what she was, held out a bottle of water. Its sides glistened, showing her how cold it was. Without thought she reached for it, gasping slightly as she closed her hand around it, laying it against her skin.
Her companion looked at her. "You are meant to drink it."
She smiled a little ruefully. "I don't think that'd be advisable. I'm afraid I've already drunk more than is good for me."
The girl frowned and then comprehension appeared on her face. "Come with me," she held out her hand.
"I can't. I have to wait for someone."
"You are Jennifer Shepard, yes?" She went on, not giving Jenny a chance to answer. "I am Ziva David. The person for whom you are waiting has been, shall we say, delayed. You must come with me." Again she held out her hand.
Gibbs had taught her well. Instinct told Jenny to trust the girl. She took the hand and let Ziva help her to her feet, glancing quickly back at her chair just in case.
Ziva led her into a nearby hotel, up the stairs and into a room; into a cool, soothing, clean, white room. She nodded to a door and Jenny hurried across the room to take care of her now more than desperate need.
When she came out Ziva was standing by the window. She looked across and Jenny and Jenny saw something she wasn't certain she wanted to identify in the dark gaze. And then there was an explosion somewhere in the street.
Instinct made Jenny turn to the door, but she was grabbed, pulled onto the floor behind the bed and held in Ziva's firm, steady grip. "Keep down." The order was a clear one.
Five minutes later Ziva, again ordering Jenny to stay down, moving like a cat crossed to the window. She murmured something in what Jenny guessed was her native tongue and shook her head.
She turned back to Jenny and seemed to be studying her, contemplating what to say. Finally she simply held out her hand again.
After a moment Jenny, moving less gracefully than Ziva had done, stood up and crossed to the window. What she saw made her gasp and to her surprise stagger, falling against Ziva who caught and held her. "But that's . . ." She trailed off; unable to form the words.
"Yes."
"You knew?"
"We suspected." The words came with reluctance.
"You saved my life." Ziva made a movement that could have been a half shrug. "But why?"
Ziva didn't answer. Instead she put one hand onto Jenny's cheek and cupped it. Jenny gasped as an electrical charge raced through her body, making her skin tingle and become alive.
With her other hand, Ziva reached behind her and with a swift movement untied her hair. It tumbled down over her shoulders, its darkness contrasting with the whiteness of her clothing. She licked her bottom lip; Jenny gasped again.
"Have you ever been to bed with a woman?"
Jenny shook her head. "No."
"So you do not know what it is like to be loved by someone who knows how to truly love a woman." It wasn't a question.
"I . . . I'm not . . . Touch me. Please, Ziva, touch me." Jenny heard her voice say the words, but hardly recognized the tone, or indeed the words.
"Skin as pale as yours is should be covered more when out in the heat of Cairo," Ziva said, as slowly she reached to unbutton Jenny's dress. "See you are burnt," she whispered, as she slid the dress from Jenny's shoulders. "Come. Let us lie down."
It was hot in Cairo.
It was beyond hot.
The heat seared through her, causing her to wilt, her body was drenched with perspiration, her hair stuck to her head; where skin touched skin it stuck together, making her feel even hotter.
But as she threw back her head and gave herself up to the hands, lips and mouth of the beautiful young woman who was making her feel like she'd never felt at all, Jennifer Shepard did not feel the heat. All she felt were the marvelous, cooling, soothing, sensual touches as Ziva David loved her.
The Morning After is the sequel to this story.
Feedback is always appreciated
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