Lessons In Laughter

The ropes cut into his skin, binding Houdini so tight his body forms a perfect knot. Hands trapped, face covered, only his bare feet exposed and vulnerable. Ziva doesn't announce herself—just touches, light fingers ghosting over those waiting soles. He jerks, but the bonds hold. Another brush. His toes curl, desperate, as she traces the arch with the tip of her nail. Every inch of his foot is hers now. A sudden drag of fingers up the center makes his whole body buck against the ropes. She pauses just long enough for him to catch his breath, then goes again, harder. The laughter starts low, builds fast, until he's gasping, voice cracking, completely hers. He can't see. He can't move. Every stroke hits different, sharper, more wicked. She never lets up, never gives him a warning. Just fingers, relentless, until Houdini breaks apart in the dark.