fanofthegenre | [ 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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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.

[ late night at the precinct ]

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