[Castle] "Shown Their (Fan)Work (PG-13)
Author's Note: Written for "fic_promptly"'s Castle, Castle/Beckett, He finds out Kate is secretly writing very adult Niki Heat fanfic. Contains non-explicit references to a BDSM scene.
For the past several days, Castle had seen a black leather-covered journal on Beckett's desk at the precinct, half-hidden under a stack of paper, but just visible enough to tantalize him, like a flash of a shapely leg through the split in a long evening skirt. Usually when he noticed it, Beckett was at her desk, which made nicking the journal to examine it nigh impossible.
But the first chance he got, the first time Beckett was away from her desk while he was sitting next to it, he reached out and carefully slinked the journal out of the stack of papers.
The book fell open to a red ribbon marker, angled across a page of Beckett's neat, precise handwriting, which made reading the contents of the journal that much easier.
Maybe a little too easy: he quickly realized, he'd opened up to a particularly hot scene involving Nikki Heat and Richard Rook, a brass bed, a pair of handcuffs and a peacock feather tickler.
Beckett approached at that moment, carrying a fresh cup of coffee. Castle snapped the book shut and tried to shove it back under the papers.
"Found something interesting?" Beckett said, smirking.
"The, ah," Castle fumbled. "The papers were gonna tip: I tried to put them back and the journal fell out into my lap."
Beckett gently took it back from him and laid it on top of the stack. "Did it happen to fall *open* too?" she asked, the smirk becoming dangerous.
"No, I, well, the marker was sticking out," he said, backpedaling, while he had a feeling the beads of sweat on his forehead were giving him away.
"So you thought you'd take a look?" she asked, still with that dangerous smirk.
"I got curious: part of being a writer is being curious," he said.
"Guess your curiosity was more costly than you thought," she said, sitting back, sipping her coffee.
"I never took you for a...fanfic writer," he said, salvaging the situation as best he could.
"I've been writing things off and on since I could write," she said. "Before that, I dictated a few stories to my mother."
"What did you start with? Peter Rabbit?" he asked, oddly without snarking or mischief.
"Might have been The Smurfs or Curious George," she said.
"And now you're writing...very...grown-up...stuff," he hesitated. He knew he was going to have a hard time not Kripke'ing that fic when he started drafting the next book.
"My subject matter grew up with me," she replied, matter of factly, looking into her coffeecup before taking another sip from it.
For the past several days, Castle had seen a black leather-covered journal on Beckett's desk at the precinct, half-hidden under a stack of paper, but just visible enough to tantalize him, like a flash of a shapely leg through the split in a long evening skirt. Usually when he noticed it, Beckett was at her desk, which made nicking the journal to examine it nigh impossible.
But the first chance he got, the first time Beckett was away from her desk while he was sitting next to it, he reached out and carefully slinked the journal out of the stack of papers.
The book fell open to a red ribbon marker, angled across a page of Beckett's neat, precise handwriting, which made reading the contents of the journal that much easier.
Maybe a little too easy: he quickly realized, he'd opened up to a particularly hot scene involving Nikki Heat and Richard Rook, a brass bed, a pair of handcuffs and a peacock feather tickler.
Beckett approached at that moment, carrying a fresh cup of coffee. Castle snapped the book shut and tried to shove it back under the papers.
"Found something interesting?" Beckett said, smirking.
"The, ah," Castle fumbled. "The papers were gonna tip: I tried to put them back and the journal fell out into my lap."
Beckett gently took it back from him and laid it on top of the stack. "Did it happen to fall *open* too?" she asked, the smirk becoming dangerous.
"No, I, well, the marker was sticking out," he said, backpedaling, while he had a feeling the beads of sweat on his forehead were giving him away.
"So you thought you'd take a look?" she asked, still with that dangerous smirk.
"I got curious: part of being a writer is being curious," he said.
"Guess your curiosity was more costly than you thought," she said, sitting back, sipping her coffee.
"I never took you for a...fanfic writer," he said, salvaging the situation as best he could.
"I've been writing things off and on since I could write," she said. "Before that, I dictated a few stories to my mother."
"What did you start with? Peter Rabbit?" he asked, oddly without snarking or mischief.
"Might have been The Smurfs or Curious George," she said.
"And now you're writing...very...grown-up...stuff," he hesitated. He knew he was going to have a hard time not Kripke'ing that fic when he started drafting the next book.
"My subject matter grew up with me," she replied, matter of factly, looking into her coffeecup before taking another sip from it.