Need You to Breathe

I.

He pushed harder, faster, grunting. All that skin, that pale smooth skin that begged to be touched. The desire to reach out and touch, run his rough fingers over and possibly bruise. No, not in pain. Territory. That skin was his, his to touch, do what he wanted. But he couldn't.

"You belong to me now."

What possessed him to say that? Why say the words that he couldn't put into action?

The crack of the wood pulled his attention back into focus and he cursed as he looked at the wood he sanded so hard and long that it thinned and finally snapped. Look at him, he couldn't even handle a simple piece of wood, what made him think he could handle that gentle soul. He'd crush it with his black and damaged soul.

He couldn't breathe, he had to get out. Throwing the fine down, he stormed upstairs and got out of the house. He needed someone; needed someone to touch and taste and smell. They needed to be female.

And if she was blonde and green eyed…he didn't care… He didn't.

II.

He swallowed the scotch and felt it burn down his throat like fire. The slight pain was good but didn't last. He needed more, had to feel the pain like he had. But he wouldn't. Drinking scotch wasn't the same as a broken heart.

He knew it was bad news; knew it wouldn't last from the beginning, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted what was his. The relationship was doomed from the beginning, and it had nothing to do with that gentle soul. Had everything to do with the dark hair Goth. She didn't appreciate or want the love, she didn't want it.

He wanted it though.

But he didn't deserve it, it was why he didn't have it. That gentle soul couldn't be tainted by his broken and damaged self. He couldn't drag that high spirit down to his level in hell; where the pain and loneliness ate at you and turned you inside out. No, he had to hide, stay hidden so that soul never found out. That gentle soul and loving heart deserved to stay as far away from him.

Away.

Throwing the glass against the wall as breathing was impossible, he felt it. The broken heart. He welcomed it.

III.

The legs around his waist were tight as he pounded into the heat. Hot and wet. He pushed in and out, hard and fast, searching for release. Searching for life.

He could see it, he could see the blood and the pain. Smell the salt in the blood that covered his neck and hand from the bite. The green gentle eyes filled with pain, exhaustion, and slight fear.

Need had filled him to the brim, a need to hold and soothe and reassure that that gentle soul wasn't hurt or damaged. Skin was broken, blood, but not soul. Soul still intact, soul still gentle and loving, enough to ask about the dog that caused the blood to spill.

The hands grasping his shoulders brought him back and he pushed harder and faster, ignoring the screams of pleasure that were too high and feminine. Life, that was what he was searching, reassurance that the world was still spinning after the fear that had filled him when he had heard that gunshot and saw blood on that pale skin.

He couldn't touch that smooth skin without worrying about breaking it himself, he was too rough and rugged, he could hurt the smoothness of the pale skin. No, he had to reassure himself with another body, different skin and smell and sight. The green eyes were wrong, the skin was too tanned, fake, and the smell was too flowery.

But it would have to do. It would, not matter how hard it was to breathe as the assurance never came till the next day and he saw that pale skin bandaged, healing, and that gentle soul smiling.

IV.

The fucker touched what was his! Dared to touch that pale smooth skin and bruise it. Wrap his hands around that delicate throat and try to break the gentle soul that shined in those green eyes. Try to take him away.

"Boss!"

He wanted to break the fucker's hands off, break them till no bones were left and he wouldn't be able to do anything with his hands for the rest of his life, let alone try to take that gentle soul from him. Try to take his existence.

"Boss, stand down!"

Who the hell did this fucker think he was? No one tried to take that gentle green eyed beauty from his life without his say so. And he would never give it. Never!

He would never give permission!

He couldn't breathe without him. His world would fill with darkness, darkness that would consume him even further than now and would never let him go. Never release him. He couldn't go to that; he needed that light that broke through his darkness day after day. Without that light…he didn't exist.

"Gibbs."

He blinked at the way his name was said so softly and said from such sweet lips from the soul next to him. It broke through the darkness that had temporarily rolled in at just the thought of life without the gentle soul, and he lowered his weapon that had rested in the middle of the murder's forehead. Waiting to pull the trigger at the slightest movement.

The agents swarmed in to arrest the dirt bag before hauling him away and he turned to the gentle soul. Staring into the green eyes, he saw the worry, the slight fear, and the hint of confusion. But mostly worry; and not for himself where it should be aimed as he had almost died by strangulation, but those green eyes were worried about him. His soul that was darkening each passing day. He could feel it.

His green eyed beauty was able to break through the darkness, but the darkness always came back and stronger as the loneliness crept in.

V.

He was there. Actually there, in his home and in his bed. He stared down at the peaceful and gentle soul that belonged to him, but had been so far away for so long. The pale skin was as smooth as he imagined, dreamed, and the memory of touching it the previous night drew a shudder from him in excitement to touch again.

His fingertips paused above the skin, still scared of bruising such perfection, but remembering the permission he was given the previous night, and figuring he should enjoy it as long as he could; he finally connected his fingers to the skin and sighed. Such paleness, softness, gentleness…perfection. He ran his fingers down the arm, his side, his hip, down the back of his leg, and then back up.

The darkness wasn't back…yet. He was sure it would turn up, it always did. But then again, he wasn't alone. For now. He knew it was only a matter of time before this gentle soul beside him asleep realized how damaged and wrong he was for him and would leave and find someone better. But until then…this gentle soul that had entered his life and heart, and pulled him out of the darkness day after day, even if for a second, was his. Finally.

And he could breathe again.

"How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long have you wanted me? Loved me?"

"…Since Norfolk. Since before Kate died."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"…"

"We're going to bed where you're going to make love to me."

"…Why?"

"Because you love me, almost killed a man in cold blood even after he surrendered, after he first tried to strangle me…and because I love you too Jethro."

"…May God have mercy on your soul, Tim."

The End.


I have NO idea...it just came to me when I was listening to Red and their song "Buried Beneath" today. I came and I wrote. PLEASE REVIEW!