Fic: Authority
Title: Authority
Fandom: Castle
Pairing: Castle/Ryan
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: He vaguely remembers being very drunk and playing truth or dare and, oh, that rarely ends well.
AN: Written for comment_fic .
Castle discovers he's not alone at precisely seven nineteen in the morning. Because he wakes up and there's an arm flung over his waist.
If Castle's lucky it will turn out to not, in fact, be a dead body. Waking up next to a dead body is in his top five uncomfortable morning afters.
Judging by the weight of it, and the low heavy breathing it's not a body of the female persuasion. Which is...interesting, it's been a while since he experimented. Or as his mother likes to call it 'going European.'
He vaguely remembers being very drunk and playing truth or dare and, oh, that rarely ends well.
That rarely ends well when you're sober.
Castle takes a breath and very carefully looks over his shoulder.
Kevin Ryan is currently taking up the other half of Castle's bed, in a way that seems unfairly dramatic. The sheet's barely clinging to the edge of his hip, all curves of unexpected muscle in the early light.
Also, he's breathing very distractingly into the back of his neck.
Castle thinks he remembers pieces of it now. Like a particularly well-ordered flashback from a Hollywood movie, some of it particularly dirty in a way a Hollywood movie wouldn't go near.
He's pretty sure he abused his authority. He's done that before, but never quite so filthily.
There's a very good chance Beckett will hurt him in inventive ways if she even suspects he took advantage.
Oh god, he probably took advantage.
His internal monologue is cut off when Ryan goes very, very still, in a way that only truly awake people can and then very carefully lifts his arm off of Castle's waist.
Castle shifts over, because it's only fair, it is his bed after all.
"I think I'm late for work," Ryan says carefully. In a way that's most definitely not mentioning the nudity or the fact that he's currently looking like an artistic and surprisingly attractive mess in Castle's bed, or in any way the accidental sex they quite clearly had.
It's a whole mess of implausible deniability.
It's rather poetic really.
"Coffee?" Castle offers, because it's only polite.
Ryan gives him a vaguely panicked look, like perhaps he'd mistaken the word 'coffee' for 'sex.' Or maybe he just thinks Castle is the sort of nefarious seducer who'll find some way to turn coffee into more sex.
That's...a good plan actually, he should think about that.
Fandom: Castle
Pairing: Castle/Ryan
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: He vaguely remembers being very drunk and playing truth or dare and, oh, that rarely ends well.
AN: Written for comment_fic .
Castle discovers he's not alone at precisely seven nineteen in the morning. Because he wakes up and there's an arm flung over his waist.
If Castle's lucky it will turn out to not, in fact, be a dead body. Waking up next to a dead body is in his top five uncomfortable morning afters.
Judging by the weight of it, and the low heavy breathing it's not a body of the female persuasion. Which is...interesting, it's been a while since he experimented. Or as his mother likes to call it 'going European.'
He vaguely remembers being very drunk and playing truth or dare and, oh, that rarely ends well.
That rarely ends well when you're sober.
Castle takes a breath and very carefully looks over his shoulder.
Kevin Ryan is currently taking up the other half of Castle's bed, in a way that seems unfairly dramatic. The sheet's barely clinging to the edge of his hip, all curves of unexpected muscle in the early light.
Also, he's breathing very distractingly into the back of his neck.
Castle thinks he remembers pieces of it now. Like a particularly well-ordered flashback from a Hollywood movie, some of it particularly dirty in a way a Hollywood movie wouldn't go near.
He's pretty sure he abused his authority. He's done that before, but never quite so filthily.
There's a very good chance Beckett will hurt him in inventive ways if she even suspects he took advantage.
Oh god, he probably took advantage.
His internal monologue is cut off when Ryan goes very, very still, in a way that only truly awake people can and then very carefully lifts his arm off of Castle's waist.
Castle shifts over, because it's only fair, it is his bed after all.
"I think I'm late for work," Ryan says carefully. In a way that's most definitely not mentioning the nudity or the fact that he's currently looking like an artistic and surprisingly attractive mess in Castle's bed, or in any way the accidental sex they quite clearly had.
It's a whole mess of implausible deniability.
It's rather poetic really.
"Coffee?" Castle offers, because it's only polite.
Ryan gives him a vaguely panicked look, like perhaps he'd mistaken the word 'coffee' for 'sex.' Or maybe he just thinks Castle is the sort of nefarious seducer who'll find some way to turn coffee into more sex.
That's...a good plan actually, he should think about that.