A/N: I've had some crazy writer's-block lately, so I made a point to write something. It's not my best, but at least it got me through my block. And I think, for what it is, it's nice. It's saccharinely sweet, but it was supposed to be that way.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Though, the writers should note that even my mother has remarked for two weeks straight that NCIS really needs to get moving with the Tiva-storyline…just sayin'.

Times Per Day

At least once a day, he found himself wanting to reach out, grab her by the wrist, and pull her flush into him. He wanted to tuck her into his folded arms, one crossed low around her hips and the other tangled fiercely in her wavy hair. He wanted to feel her hot breath exhale onto his chest as she buried her face into the crook of his neck and possessively fist the delicate fabric of his shirt.

Once a day, he wanted to take the weight off her shoulders and make her feel safe.

At least once a day, he wanted to drag her into the nearest dark corner and run his hands across the tempting curves of her body. He wanted to strip her down and bask in the glory of her perfectly tanned skin while the rest of the world blurred past unawares. He wanted to feel her wrapped around him, her heart beating overtime against his chest as she tried desperately to silence her cries of ecstasy so that no one else would hear.

Once a day, he wanted to show her that he would always think she was the most desirable woman in the room.

At least once a day, he wanted to push her up against his filing cabinet and claim her lips as his own. He wanted to press his hips into hers, cradle her head between his hands, and kiss her slowly and deeply. He wanted to leave her gasping for air through swollen lips and yearning for more.

Once a day, he wanted to show Gibbs just how much he despised rule number 12 and all their sneaking around.

Twice every day, he snuck up behind her, wrapped his arms around her and whispered how much he loved her.

Every morning, barely conscious or focused, he pulled her into his arms and woke her up with a gravely whisper--I love you. Every evening, as they collapsed exhaustedly on the bed only moments after walking through the door, he wrapped his arms around her stomach and lulled her to sleep through his comforting words--I love you.

Twice every day, he made a point to be honest to anyone listening about his feelings for the woman in his arms--and to acknowledge just how lucky he really was.

The End.

A/N 2: It's not poetry or anything really heavy (or plot-driven, really), but I hope you enjoyed reading it.

Please review!