fanofthegenre | [ late night at the precinct ]

Entry tags:

oom,
rick castle

[ late night at the precinct ]

Long nights of paperwork are nothing new for Beckett.

Spending the dull hours of the evening filing away even duller paperwork is a routine she's grown accustomed to; the life of a detective isn't always preoccupied with chasing down a suspect or interrogating a guilty party. Sometimes, there's the moments that aren't always worth writing about, the files she somehow manages to let pile up while she's doing the more exciting parts of her job. It's a vicious cycle, the way the tedious work tends to sneak up on her when she's least expecting it.

Every now and then, her eyes flick to the clock, tracking the time, gauging how many hours she has left to finish what she's working on before she'll be getting absolutely no sleep at all. She's the only one here, apart from the night guard working the desk downstairs, and every now and then she stops to stretch, or to refresh her coffee after fiddling with some of the dials on the espresso machine - the machine that nearly requires a PhD from Starbucks to know how to use.

Sitting back down again at her desk, she rolls her shoulders and then her neck, settling in to wrap up a few last-minute details on the open file in front of her.

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Beckett closes her eyes, willing her breathing to steady, concentrating on the simple act of inhale/exhale, the repetition of something so simple even as she senses the anticipation and the slow burning of the heat between her legs. It's impossible for her to hide, spread open before him as she is, as exposed literally as she was emotionally mere moments before.

It's close to overwhelming, but she focuses on him and what he's doing and how it feels - and God, does it feel good, even the slightest of touches at the curvature where her leg joins to her hip.

Her eyes fly open when he utters her name.

"Castle?"

"I --" and some of the confidence drops visibly from his eyes, like a shade's been drawn. Whatever he was going to say immediately after her name has come and gone. "I left my wallet in the other room." A raised eyebrow.

"Oh."

A moment of confusion, and then realization.

" - oh. Right. Here, you stay."

It'll be easier for her to maneuver in the dark, knowing the layout, as well she should; she scoots out from underneath him, nudging him onto his back, and surges against him, pressing a heated kiss to his mouth.

"Stay," she repeats, more insistently, the tone she'd use if they were in a squad car - but this time, she hopes he'll listen to her as she slides from the bed and hurries on tiptoe down the hall, her eyes scanning tables and surfaces in the semi-darkness until she finds what he'd been looking for.

When she returns, wallet in hand, she doesn't enter right away, but peers around the partially open door, almost hiding from him.

While she's gone he's got his thumb against his bottom lip, trying to pin down her taste and sort it from the thousand-and-one other sensory things he's experiencing at that second. The impression of Beckett's body is still warm in the mattress next to him; he reaches out and fills the shape of her hips with his palm. Warm. Soft.

He hears old floorboards bending beneath small feet and lifts himself up on his elbow as she appears in the doorway. Moonlight shafts through a gap in the blinds; she looks timid. Castle can see the outline of her bare breast and the upright arm that covers it, her attempt at modesty.

His eyes are heavy with the sight of her.

"C'mere," he says quietly, turning out his palm.

She moves quickly, long legs carrying her back to the bed in no time at all, the leather of his wallet smooth against her palm until she gently lays it down by his hip, sliding along beside him in the bed, fitting herself along his side.

Her mouth finds his, slow and sure, and when the contact deepens, becomes more intense, her hand trails down to touch the top of his thigh, lightly massaging as she works her way inward, keeping him responsive and ready.

He draws his nose along her cheek, exhaling when her fingers find him again and it's all he can do not to twist into her hand and really earn himself a pet name, most likely an embarrassing one. Response is definitely not a problem at this point.

"Don't hide from me," he tells her. Maybe for the way she sheltered in the doorway; maybe for all the times she thinks she should be tough when she's breaking inside. He turns his lips against hers, fingers at the nape of her neck.

"I won't," she replies, and even as she says it she knows she'll have trouble letting him in, but maybe things will be different now. After this.

Maybe I can change.

She lays back against the pillows and pulls him to cover her again, sliding her legs around his waist and grinding forward.

He can ask and he knows she won't mean her answer, positive or negative, not really. He can't imagine what it's been like to be broken like her. He can't write the scenes she's witnessed, or document the pain she's gone through in the fifteen plus years since her mother's death. Change. It's dirty currency.

Castle brushes his fingertips over her cheek and bends to kiss her again, groping for his wallet in the dark. He senses a rise in her breath and her breast fills his palm and he knows she's ready.

He turns from her body for a second or two, tearing the foil package with his teeth. His back to her in the dark, he can feel the heat signature of her behind him. When he joins her again his hands are full of purpose. They move over her waist and hips, settling behind the flesh of her knee. Breath on hers, he turns her knee outward, encouraging her ankle up over the small of his back.

She moves to where he places her, her thighs open and her leg winding low to draw him in that much closer. His hips press flush against hers and she moans, the sound soft in the dark, a renewed rush of warmth coursing through her veins and bringing a pinkness to her skin under his hands.

Her own fingers grasp for his erection to guide him in, pressing forward, and she won't disguise the quiet gasp that leaves her. It's been a long time, for her, and she's overcome as Castle pushes in, fills her, deep and deeper until she can feel every inch of him, and she pauses to relish in it, panting roughly.

Beckett's mouth finds his, and gradually, it gets easier, and finally, she starts to move below, silently letting him know she wants more.

The distance between them is filled with hugging molecules. Castle lets go of thought and allows instinct to prevail, the rest of his brain happily surrendered to feeling: the push of her bare breasts against his chest, 'soft tick! of her hips shifting beneath him and god, the way she feels when she moves.

He rolls his hips forward, slow and tight, pulling another kiss from her mouth.

It shouldn't be this easy, the way they find a rhythm together, rocking back and forth in a slow, smooth movement that's equal parts agonizing and satisfying. His kiss muffles the noises their thrusting elicits until she turns her head to one side to quietly cry out against his cheek.

It's perfect, enough and still not quite enough, and instinctively, their movements take on a little more speed. She lashes her legs around his waist to change the angle, ankles locking together behind his tailbone.

What she needs, Castle's there to give her and he digs into the new pace with enthusiasm, holding her hip with one hand while supporting his balance with the other. That their working relationship should be as contentious as it is would probably explain why they come together so well in bed -- the universe has a way of balancing.

The new angle takes him deep and he sees spots courting the corners of his vision. "God," he gasps, "Beckett." He starts to rock his hips a little faster, a little more forcefully. 'Climax is building at the base of his spine and he hopes to god that she's right there with him.

She's close, already, so close; it's been building up inside her since the moment his hands pressed deep into her overworked muscles, since she pushed her lips to his, hot and insistent, since she became absolutely certain that nothing could take this away from her, from them.

"Castle - oh, God," she moans, her hands clutching at his shoulders, fingertips digging in, her body wracked with the force of her climax, and she can't even breathe, she's coming so hard, eyes screwed shut, lips parted, back arched and rigid, before she collapses back against rumpled sheets and scattered pillows.

He could never write anything like this. Even Heat Wave and the infamous "Page 105" (which he'd spent quite a bit of time sketching out in his head before he committed anything to paper) can't touch what it's like to feel her squeeze around him and let go. Beckett on fire and wanting is a spiritual experience. It's never been like this before.

His name dragged over her tongue is what does him in; he buries his face at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, lips against her skin, a rough groan wrenched out of the bottom of his chest as he gives one final push before everything he knows shatters and there's only him, his pounding pulse, and Beckett beneath him.

Slowly, she eases her legs down from around his waist, her limp and useless limbs feeling like jelly or spaghetti or something equally boneless under him. She can't remember how to breathe, at first, like a skill she's having to re-learn all over again, but the memory comes back to her when the air fills her lungs and her breathing steadies against Castle's ear.

She's half-convinced she'd seen goddamned spots behind her eyes before; now, she blinks lazily, feeling Castle's pounding heartbeat against her chest, barely managing to lift a hand to stroke over his shoulderblade.

"God, Castle," she sighs, once her brain and mouth renew their connection for her to form words.

He presses back against her palm and finds the strength to lift his head from her shoulder, his expression comically blank. "Present," he says, as if he's being called for roll. And then he can't keep up the act anymore and his haze breaks, revealing a wide, ready grin.

"You're really going to tell me that you got that kind of core strength by doing crunches?" he asks, incredulous. He moves his thumb to push an unruly shock of her hair away from her forehead.

"Lots and lots of crunches," is her reply, delivered with a sated version of her trademark smirk, and she's perfectly content to lay there until she feels the energy come back to her arms and legs, gently tilting her head into Castle's hand as it grazes her face.

She might be asleep before the energy-regaining part happens.

"Hn." He still doesn't sound entirely convinced. 'Puts his lips beneath her ear. "I'm going to clean up," he says, "stay right here." He slides to the edge of the mattress and steels himself for a couple of seconds before getting to his feet, trying to keep as much distance as he can between himself and the cold floorboards.

He doesn't bother turning on the light in the bathroom, but he has to wait in the dark while the water in the sink heats up. While he waits he catches his reflection in the mirror above the basin; moonlight and shadow throw strange shapes across his cheeks. He's smiling.

When he returns, he makes a beeline dive for the bed, tossing the covers up over them both. "Your apartment is fuh-huh-huh-reezing. I think I ran into the remainder of Shackelton's lost crew out in the hallway." He pushes his chilly hands between her thighs to warm them.

Edited 2010-02-13 05:53 (UTC)

While he darts into the bathroom, Beckett stays prone, stretching her relaxed muscles and resting the back of her hand against her mouth, absently pulling one finger in between her teeth. She hides her grin despite the fact there's no one there to see it, turning her head in the direction of the bedroom door as the sound of creaking floorboards announce Castle's return before he appears.

"It's why I gave you an extra blanket," she points out, "which you proceeded to kick off. Then again, I rarely sleep in the nude - one more thing Nikki Heat and I do not have in common."

She protests with a cry when he jams his cold fingers in between her legs, weakly attempting to shove him away. Catching a glimpse of the time on the bedside table clock, she lets her head fall against the pillow, groaning.

"Work's going to be murder tomorrow. Pun not intended."

Castle makes a face when she tries to out-rationalize him, rubbing his palms together for warmth. "Ah yes," he says, dropping back onto the pillow with a wily smirk. "The whole 'did they arrive in the same cab?' thing. Don't worry, I'll clean any lipstick off my collar before coming within one hundred yards of Esposito and Ryan."

He reaches out and cups her hip underneath his palm, reeling her in toward his chest. "Unless you were talking about how it's really late and that you've got to get up in a couple of hours and save the city from its own damning iniquity," he amends, nuzzling beneath the drape of hair at the back of her neck. "In which case --" he reaches blindly for the clock and turns it to face the window.

"Mostly the second," Beckett admits, nestling deeper into her pillow as she reaches back to grab hold of Castle's hand, pulling his arm over to sling low across her hip - but not before she catches him turning the clock away.

"Richard Castle," she pretends to scold, swiveling back to face him as she slides a hand under her cheek. "Are you trying to tell me I should cash in on one of the many sick days I've never bothered to use?"

The back of her neck, just beneath her ear, is now his favourite spot on her. He pushes his lips there now, dragging the fleshy earlobe between his teeth as his fingers curl over hers.

"I could always call in a favour with the principal."

'Never above using his friendship with the mayor when it comes in handy.

Relaxation is quickly giving way to exhaustion, but not before she allows herself a tiny shudder when his mouth presses below her ear and she draws in against him that much closer - if asked, she can always use the need to stay warm as an excuse.

"I'll call in tomorrow morning. 'Sides, if there's a new body for them to find, chances are it won't be until nighttime, anyway."

And if not, all she's got waiting for her back at the precinct are more files.

Suddenly, spending a morning in bed with Castle is looking very appealing.

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[ late night at the precinct ]

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