(no subject)
Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 2/?
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: All of Season Three is fair game.
Summary: Honestly, he wasn’t planning on doing something stupid when he accepted her invitation but, with enough alcohol burning in his veins, he knows there’s a very good chance he’s going to.
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the gasp and stutter of a heart 2/?
--
Her apartment is dark, the only light filtering in from the street lamps outside, and Rick can’t see enough to navigate the unfamiliar terrain.
He considers turning on a light because he’s sick of darkness, metaphorical and otherwise, but he doesn’t make the effort when he feels her fingers thread through his own.
Kate guides him to the kitchen and he thinks he might feel her thumb brush the inside of his wrist before they reach the counter and she lets go of him. “You should have let the EMTs check you out.”
“I’m fine,” he insists, even though his wrists burn and his shoulders ache.
He hears her sigh and he can’t quite make it out but he can imagine the frown that accompanies it. She doesn’t say anything more, though, and he’s grateful.
She moves around him in the dim light, brushing past him once and then again, to produce two glasses and a bottle.
“Tequila?” The corners of his lips quirk upward.
“In your dreams,” she quips, and he feels almost normal for the first time in hours.
“Are you planning on getting me drunk, Detective?” he asks as she pushes a glass into his hand.
“Just shut up and drink, Castle.”
And so he does.
The taste bites against his tongue. Whiskey. Not to his usual standard, no, but it’s decent and more than good enough as it burns a path downwards to settle in the pit of his stomach, hard and hot.
Kate refills his glass, fingers brushing his as she holds it steady, and then he’s throwing it back, relishing the burn, before he can think about how much he shouldn’t and how bad an idea it is, really.
Honestly, he wasn’t planning on doing something stupid when he accepted her invitation but, with enough alcohol burning in his veins, he knows there’s a very good chance he’s going to.
Kate’s still standing close, too close in the dark, and he can barely see her, but he can smell her and feel her and hear the slow exhale of her breath.
She brushes against him as she throws her head back, swallowing her own drink, and he wonders if they’re really going to get drunk in her kitchen.
“Beckett?”
“Just-” She sighs. “Just have a drink with me, Castle.”
He thinks about her father and considers asking her if they’re really going to do this, if she often does, but he ignores the urge because no, he knows her.
“Okay.”
And then she’s refilling his glass again and it’s hard enough to hold back the I think I’m halfway in love with you when he doesn’t need her so damn much and he knows he’s going to ruin their everything if they don’t slow down.
He swirls the liquid in his glass and tries to distract himself by imagining how deep the amber might be. Words like honey-coloured and autumn start to pop into his head as he falls back into the habit of breaking his world down into words. It’s dangerous, he knows, to let his mind start down that path because, if he were writing the scene, he knows how he would end it.
Still, he doesn’t make a move to leave and he lets the hand that appears on his shoulder steer him towards her couch.
“Sit,” she commands, and he does.
She moves to step away and he snatches her hand. “Stay,” he counters. And then, “Please.” Because he does know better.
“Relax, Castle. I’m just going to turn on the lights.”
“Okay.” But he doesn’t relinquish his hold, too afraid, suddenly, that she’s the calm in his storm and if she leaves he’s going to lose it. After a moment and a sigh, she drops down next to him.
He lets go of her hand and then they’re not quite touching, because it’s different in the dark of her apartment, less comforting and more electric, but she understands, truly, and that makes it still okay somehow.
Neither one of them is drunk, but there must be enough alcohol in her system to make her brave, because she turns to him in the dim light and states, “I think you should quit.”
“What?”
“Following me around, Castle. I think you should stop.”
He knows that it’s because she’s scared for him, knows that it’s because she cares - she wouldn’t have let him follow her home if it was for any other reason - but that doesn’t stop the way it bruises.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he says, trying to deflect with humour.
“I’m serious, Rick.” Her hand finds his cheek and she turns his face towards her. “You didn’t sign up for this.”
He keeps his eyes closed because he can see her better in his mind in any case. “Neither did you. Nobody signs up for a serial killer.”
“I wasn’t almost killed today.”
And there it is again.
“C’mon, Beckett, we’ve had closer calls than this.” It’s the wrong thing to say, he realises, as she pulls away from him.
“Exactly my point.”
He catches the hand that drops from his cheek. “What would you do without me?”
She snorts and he corrects himself, “What would I do without you?”
“Live to an old age?”
She’s serious, he can tell, and so he pulls her towards him, wraps his arms around her before he can convince himself it’s a bad idea. “Not because of this,” he says into the top of head. “I’ll leave if you want me to. I’ll leave if it will keep you safe, but not because of this, Kate.”
“Then you’re an idiot,” she says into the side of his neck but her arms wind around his waist and he’s sure he’d be hurt, if not for the way she sinks into his embrace.
The smell of her fills his lungs, her warmth wrapped around him, and it’s just to ease the ache inside his chest, he reasons, and not the alcohol that fuels his confession. “It crossed my mind that he might kill us. And maybe, for a moment, my life might have flashed before my eyes, but you have to know, Kate. This? What we do? It isn’t something I could regret, not even if it meant going out that way.”
She presses her lips to his cheek. A brief kiss, he thinks, but she lets herself linger and he can feel the cold press of her nose against his cheekbone, the warmth of her breath against his skin, and then he can’t not turn his head.
Rick moves slowly but she doesn’t pull away and it’s an awkward press of his lips against hers and it’s not great, as far as first kisses go, but it kicks his heart into overdrive all the same.
He moves his lips against hers, moves his hands to cradle her jaw, and she’s soft and warm and it takes him a moment to realise that Kate doesn’t respond. But she isn’t pushing him away, either, and he’s confused until the thought springs in his head, taking hold and spreading like a weed until it’s twisted in everything he feels.
Pity.
She’s letting him kiss her and it’s everything he’s wanted for a long time, she must know, but it’s out of pity, and that’s not how he wanted it, and the how’s important.
The need manifests as an ache in his chest because being her partner wasn’t one of his regrets, but this? This thing between them that he’s never had? That is.
The cold air is a slap to the face when he pulls away and he knew before he kissed her that he shouldn’t. They both have a someone else who should make them feel alive and he isn’t that guy.
He’s not serious about his ex-wife, no, but he doesn’t cheat as a general rule. He’s maybe more than halfway in love with Kate, yeah, but he won’t fall into bed with his partner because she pities him enough.
Kate’s eyes are wide, he can see the glint of them in the dim light, and he drops his hands from her face. It’s an effort but he slides away from her, moving along the length of the couch, because his place is not with her, in her arms or against her lips.
Not yet and maybe not ever but certainly not now.
“Kate.” The apology is on the tip of his tongue - I’m sorry. Moment of weakness. Won’t happen again. I promise. One day. - but then Kate wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him back to her.
Rick’s hand finds her waist, for balance, first, but she’s deepening the kiss, tugging at his lips and his fingers twist fabric until they find skin as she pushes her tongue into his mouth. Her kiss is full of hunger and heat and it’s not pity that he tastes, but need.
Fuck.
He can’t tell her to stop. He won’t.
He’s already ruined for his someone else, isn’t he? And maybe she needs this and maybe he does too. Maybe he needs it more than he needs to not be that guy and so he lets her swallow his protest.
She rises to her knees, a shadow above him, and he tilts his head as her nails scratch through his hair. She catches his bottom lip, pulls it between her teeth, and it’s electricity and danger and the taste of whiskey.
The light is gone then, blocked by her figure, so he keeps his eyes closed, smells her perfume. He feels her move and imagines her face.
When she leans backwards she doesn’t need to use the arm around his neck to keep him with her. He follows her, willing, like he always has, until she’s underneath him, pinned by his weight and then she shifts, wraps a leg around his hip, and he’s pinned to her too.
He rocks against her, instinct and need, and a gasp of breath pulls her lips from his.
The fingers twisted in his hair don’t let him retreat and she turns her head, gives him access to her neck. Happy to oblige, he drops open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat.
She smells like soap, tastes like salt and sweat and something dark, and she doesn’t push him away when his lips crash back to hers.
She pulls him tighter against her as she tries to forget the marks on his wrists that should have been around his neck and he tries to forget it all.
--
TBC…
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: All of Season Three is fair game.
Summary: Honestly, he wasn’t planning on doing something stupid when he accepted her invitation but, with enough alcohol burning in his veins, he knows there’s a very good chance he’s going to.
--
the gasp and stutter of a heart 2/?
--
Her apartment is dark, the only light filtering in from the street lamps outside, and Rick can’t see enough to navigate the unfamiliar terrain.
He considers turning on a light because he’s sick of darkness, metaphorical and otherwise, but he doesn’t make the effort when he feels her fingers thread through his own.
Kate guides him to the kitchen and he thinks he might feel her thumb brush the inside of his wrist before they reach the counter and she lets go of him. “You should have let the EMTs check you out.”
“I’m fine,” he insists, even though his wrists burn and his shoulders ache.
He hears her sigh and he can’t quite make it out but he can imagine the frown that accompanies it. She doesn’t say anything more, though, and he’s grateful.
She moves around him in the dim light, brushing past him once and then again, to produce two glasses and a bottle.
“Tequila?” The corners of his lips quirk upward.
“In your dreams,” she quips, and he feels almost normal for the first time in hours.
“Are you planning on getting me drunk, Detective?” he asks as she pushes a glass into his hand.
“Just shut up and drink, Castle.”
And so he does.
The taste bites against his tongue. Whiskey. Not to his usual standard, no, but it’s decent and more than good enough as it burns a path downwards to settle in the pit of his stomach, hard and hot.
Kate refills his glass, fingers brushing his as she holds it steady, and then he’s throwing it back, relishing the burn, before he can think about how much he shouldn’t and how bad an idea it is, really.
Honestly, he wasn’t planning on doing something stupid when he accepted her invitation but, with enough alcohol burning in his veins, he knows there’s a very good chance he’s going to.
Kate’s still standing close, too close in the dark, and he can barely see her, but he can smell her and feel her and hear the slow exhale of her breath.
She brushes against him as she throws her head back, swallowing her own drink, and he wonders if they’re really going to get drunk in her kitchen.
“Beckett?”
“Just-” She sighs. “Just have a drink with me, Castle.”
He thinks about her father and considers asking her if they’re really going to do this, if she often does, but he ignores the urge because no, he knows her.
“Okay.”
And then she’s refilling his glass again and it’s hard enough to hold back the I think I’m halfway in love with you when he doesn’t need her so damn much and he knows he’s going to ruin their everything if they don’t slow down.
He swirls the liquid in his glass and tries to distract himself by imagining how deep the amber might be. Words like honey-coloured and autumn start to pop into his head as he falls back into the habit of breaking his world down into words. It’s dangerous, he knows, to let his mind start down that path because, if he were writing the scene, he knows how he would end it.
Still, he doesn’t make a move to leave and he lets the hand that appears on his shoulder steer him towards her couch.
“Sit,” she commands, and he does.
She moves to step away and he snatches her hand. “Stay,” he counters. And then, “Please.” Because he does know better.
“Relax, Castle. I’m just going to turn on the lights.”
“Okay.” But he doesn’t relinquish his hold, too afraid, suddenly, that she’s the calm in his storm and if she leaves he’s going to lose it. After a moment and a sigh, she drops down next to him.
He lets go of her hand and then they’re not quite touching, because it’s different in the dark of her apartment, less comforting and more electric, but she understands, truly, and that makes it still okay somehow.
Neither one of them is drunk, but there must be enough alcohol in her system to make her brave, because she turns to him in the dim light and states, “I think you should quit.”
“What?”
“Following me around, Castle. I think you should stop.”
He knows that it’s because she’s scared for him, knows that it’s because she cares - she wouldn’t have let him follow her home if it was for any other reason - but that doesn’t stop the way it bruises.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he says, trying to deflect with humour.
“I’m serious, Rick.” Her hand finds his cheek and she turns his face towards her. “You didn’t sign up for this.”
He keeps his eyes closed because he can see her better in his mind in any case. “Neither did you. Nobody signs up for a serial killer.”
“I wasn’t almost killed today.”
And there it is again.
“C’mon, Beckett, we’ve had closer calls than this.” It’s the wrong thing to say, he realises, as she pulls away from him.
“Exactly my point.”
He catches the hand that drops from his cheek. “What would you do without me?”
She snorts and he corrects himself, “What would I do without you?”
“Live to an old age?”
She’s serious, he can tell, and so he pulls her towards him, wraps his arms around her before he can convince himself it’s a bad idea. “Not because of this,” he says into the top of head. “I’ll leave if you want me to. I’ll leave if it will keep you safe, but not because of this, Kate.”
“Then you’re an idiot,” she says into the side of his neck but her arms wind around his waist and he’s sure he’d be hurt, if not for the way she sinks into his embrace.
The smell of her fills his lungs, her warmth wrapped around him, and it’s just to ease the ache inside his chest, he reasons, and not the alcohol that fuels his confession. “It crossed my mind that he might kill us. And maybe, for a moment, my life might have flashed before my eyes, but you have to know, Kate. This? What we do? It isn’t something I could regret, not even if it meant going out that way.”
She presses her lips to his cheek. A brief kiss, he thinks, but she lets herself linger and he can feel the cold press of her nose against his cheekbone, the warmth of her breath against his skin, and then he can’t not turn his head.
Rick moves slowly but she doesn’t pull away and it’s an awkward press of his lips against hers and it’s not great, as far as first kisses go, but it kicks his heart into overdrive all the same.
He moves his lips against hers, moves his hands to cradle her jaw, and she’s soft and warm and it takes him a moment to realise that Kate doesn’t respond. But she isn’t pushing him away, either, and he’s confused until the thought springs in his head, taking hold and spreading like a weed until it’s twisted in everything he feels.
Pity.
She’s letting him kiss her and it’s everything he’s wanted for a long time, she must know, but it’s out of pity, and that’s not how he wanted it, and the how’s important.
The need manifests as an ache in his chest because being her partner wasn’t one of his regrets, but this? This thing between them that he’s never had? That is.
The cold air is a slap to the face when he pulls away and he knew before he kissed her that he shouldn’t. They both have a someone else who should make them feel alive and he isn’t that guy.
He’s not serious about his ex-wife, no, but he doesn’t cheat as a general rule. He’s maybe more than halfway in love with Kate, yeah, but he won’t fall into bed with his partner because she pities him enough.
Kate’s eyes are wide, he can see the glint of them in the dim light, and he drops his hands from her face. It’s an effort but he slides away from her, moving along the length of the couch, because his place is not with her, in her arms or against her lips.
Not yet and maybe not ever but certainly not now.
“Kate.” The apology is on the tip of his tongue - I’m sorry. Moment of weakness. Won’t happen again. I promise. One day. - but then Kate wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him back to her.
Rick’s hand finds her waist, for balance, first, but she’s deepening the kiss, tugging at his lips and his fingers twist fabric until they find skin as she pushes her tongue into his mouth. Her kiss is full of hunger and heat and it’s not pity that he tastes, but need.
Fuck.
He can’t tell her to stop. He won’t.
He’s already ruined for his someone else, isn’t he? And maybe she needs this and maybe he does too. Maybe he needs it more than he needs to not be that guy and so he lets her swallow his protest.
She rises to her knees, a shadow above him, and he tilts his head as her nails scratch through his hair. She catches his bottom lip, pulls it between her teeth, and it’s electricity and danger and the taste of whiskey.
The light is gone then, blocked by her figure, so he keeps his eyes closed, smells her perfume. He feels her move and imagines her face.
When she leans backwards she doesn’t need to use the arm around his neck to keep him with her. He follows her, willing, like he always has, until she’s underneath him, pinned by his weight and then she shifts, wraps a leg around his hip, and he’s pinned to her too.
He rocks against her, instinct and need, and a gasp of breath pulls her lips from his.
The fingers twisted in his hair don’t let him retreat and she turns her head, gives him access to her neck. Happy to oblige, he drops open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat.
She smells like soap, tastes like salt and sweat and something dark, and she doesn’t push him away when his lips crash back to hers.
She pulls him tighter against her as she tries to forget the marks on his wrists that should have been around his neck and he tries to forget it all.
--
TBC…