MMOM Day 1: Fourth Wall (Castle, 18)
Title: Fourth Wall
Author: temaris
Fandom: Castle
Rating: 18
Characters: Beckett/Castle
Summary: Castle really can't get over the idea of Beckett as Domme.
Word count: 764
Fourth Wall
Rick Castle isn't used to this feeling.
He wanders up to the window and looks out across the city, then turns his back on it. At least this he could rightfully claim: "King of all he surveys," he says dryly and toasts himself. "Good whisky," he adds approvingly, and reaches the bottle off his desk to add another finger -- or two, or three -- to the glass.
The door had been shut, and both the ladies in his life know better than to interrupt without knocking. even so, he turns the rarely used lock before settling back into his luxurious desk chair and leaning back. The chair tilts until he's looking up at the ceiling. He doesn't see it.
"Damn," he breathes. She had barely shifted her body language, just stood a little taller, leaned a little further, smiled a little more knowingly, and.
He gulps. Humina isn't even in the general direction of enough. His eyes close and he shivers a little. His empty hand slides into his pants and he groans at the thought of her disapproving eye on him.
Such a bad, bad boy.
He doesn't do more than barely touch the tips of his fingers to his cock, and shudders. He can practically see her standing in front of him, one booted foot on his inner thigh, widening his splay. She'd be smirking faintly at him, and he blesses his vivid, vivid writer's imagination.
Can't keep it in your pants, boy? Eyes front and center!
His hips jerk up and he wants to start jerking himself but she wouldn't -- he moans -- she wouldn't allow that. A crooked eyebrow would warn his hands away and she'd shake her head.
I suppose I could help you out. She'd lean in, in, hand over his covered cock, squeezing and he'd push into it initially, loving the touch, and then her hand would tighten, tighten until he was writhing in the chair, gasping and begging for her to stop, to give him more. And she'd slap his face, open handed and smiling.
You want more of that?
He'd gasp out a yes, nod, anything to keep it, to please her, and she'd settle across his thighs, her hands on his shoulders, then run them slowly down his arms, and up again, and with her hips rocking across his crotch he wouldn't notice until the broad black cuffs were buckled shut, chained to the arms of the chair. He'd try -- dizzy, fumbling, brain shut down -- to parse his immobility and she'd pull back. Slide back and down, down, off his lap until she's kneeling between his spread thighs. She might dip her face in close, breathe across his dick, the warmth of her cheek so close, skimming over him but not touching. Her eyes would stay on him from under long dark lashes, full of mischief and heat.
Then she would move again, her hands rubbing in long smooth strokes down his legs until she clasps his ankles. She would look up at him, just checking he's really okay with it, and he would nod, eyes wide, pupils blown, gone on trust and lust. Then her hands cool and competent on his ankles, a second later he'd be cuffed in place.
She'd step back. Push her leather pants down, slow, too slow, but he couldn't do a damn thing about it. When she was ready she'd move in, unzipping him and letting just his cock free, sticking out obscenely from his pants. She'd settle astride his lap, hands looped behind his neck, and just as she kissed him one hand would reach between them, guiding him in easily. She'd smile as she took him in, her eyes fluttering shut for a second, her body tight and wet around him, soft and yielding in all the ways that she wasn't. Then her eyes would open, and she'd smile down at him, an amused, knowing smile lingering at the corners of her lips, and teasing warmth in her eyes as she starting moving above him.
Don't move, Castle, she'd say, as she's said before, as she'll almost certainly say again, and his eyes roll back, biting his lip fiercely. Stay where you are, hear me?
"Yes. I promise," he groans, his hips jerking up twice, and he subsides into his chair. His hand's inside his pants, but he's not really even touching himself. He's come in his pants just from ...
Jesus fuck.
He glances at the glass in his white knuckled hand and lets it drop to the floor. Jesus fuck.
Author: temaris
Fandom: Castle
Rating: 18
Characters: Beckett/Castle
Summary: Castle really can't get over the idea of Beckett as Domme.
Word count: 764
Fourth Wall
Rick Castle isn't used to this feeling.
He wanders up to the window and looks out across the city, then turns his back on it. At least this he could rightfully claim: "King of all he surveys," he says dryly and toasts himself. "Good whisky," he adds approvingly, and reaches the bottle off his desk to add another finger -- or two, or three -- to the glass.
The door had been shut, and both the ladies in his life know better than to interrupt without knocking. even so, he turns the rarely used lock before settling back into his luxurious desk chair and leaning back. The chair tilts until he's looking up at the ceiling. He doesn't see it.
"Damn," he breathes. She had barely shifted her body language, just stood a little taller, leaned a little further, smiled a little more knowingly, and.
He gulps. Humina isn't even in the general direction of enough. His eyes close and he shivers a little. His empty hand slides into his pants and he groans at the thought of her disapproving eye on him.
Such a bad, bad boy.
He doesn't do more than barely touch the tips of his fingers to his cock, and shudders. He can practically see her standing in front of him, one booted foot on his inner thigh, widening his splay. She'd be smirking faintly at him, and he blesses his vivid, vivid writer's imagination.
Can't keep it in your pants, boy? Eyes front and center!
His hips jerk up and he wants to start jerking himself but she wouldn't -- he moans -- she wouldn't allow that. A crooked eyebrow would warn his hands away and she'd shake her head.
I suppose I could help you out. She'd lean in, in, hand over his covered cock, squeezing and he'd push into it initially, loving the touch, and then her hand would tighten, tighten until he was writhing in the chair, gasping and begging for her to stop, to give him more. And she'd slap his face, open handed and smiling.
You want more of that?
He'd gasp out a yes, nod, anything to keep it, to please her, and she'd settle across his thighs, her hands on his shoulders, then run them slowly down his arms, and up again, and with her hips rocking across his crotch he wouldn't notice until the broad black cuffs were buckled shut, chained to the arms of the chair. He'd try -- dizzy, fumbling, brain shut down -- to parse his immobility and she'd pull back. Slide back and down, down, off his lap until she's kneeling between his spread thighs. She might dip her face in close, breathe across his dick, the warmth of her cheek so close, skimming over him but not touching. Her eyes would stay on him from under long dark lashes, full of mischief and heat.
Then she would move again, her hands rubbing in long smooth strokes down his legs until she clasps his ankles. She would look up at him, just checking he's really okay with it, and he would nod, eyes wide, pupils blown, gone on trust and lust. Then her hands cool and competent on his ankles, a second later he'd be cuffed in place.
She'd step back. Push her leather pants down, slow, too slow, but he couldn't do a damn thing about it. When she was ready she'd move in, unzipping him and letting just his cock free, sticking out obscenely from his pants. She'd settle astride his lap, hands looped behind his neck, and just as she kissed him one hand would reach between them, guiding him in easily. She'd smile as she took him in, her eyes fluttering shut for a second, her body tight and wet around him, soft and yielding in all the ways that she wasn't. Then her eyes would open, and she'd smile down at him, an amused, knowing smile lingering at the corners of her lips, and teasing warmth in her eyes as she starting moving above him.
Don't move, Castle, she'd say, as she's said before, as she'll almost certainly say again, and his eyes roll back, biting his lip fiercely. Stay where you are, hear me?
"Yes. I promise," he groans, his hips jerking up twice, and he subsides into his chair. His hand's inside his pants, but he's not really even touching himself. He's come in his pants just from ...
Jesus fuck.
He glances at the glass in his white knuckled hand and lets it drop to the floor. Jesus fuck.