(no subject)

[mmkaternater]

The NYPD doesn't have an official gym. Not anymore, anyway. Not since the basement in the bottom of the 12th had been found to contain "unusually high levels of asbestos" and not since everybody agreed that it was probably not a good idea for New York's Finest to run on treadmills located underneath five hundred pounds of the stuff. For the last five years, the District Attorney and the mayor had been trying to talk their constituents into springing for a new facility, but response was as sluggish as the blood flow through a diabetic's arteries. In the interim, the New York City branch of the FBI has offered use of their gym to any officer who wants to come in and burn off a few blue calories.

And that's where Castle is today.

Or, would be, more accurately, if he could get past the security cartel in the lobby. Despite the fact that Beckett had finally gotten around to getting him his own sent of presentable credentials, the G at the security desk isn't buying the whole "authorial ride-along" shtick, and Castle has had to sweat through three inter-departmental phone calls, a background check, and a number of pissed-off-looking agents who have filed in behind him, already looking like they just need an excuse to knock a guy's block off.

"I'm with Detective Kate Beckett," he tries again, hoisting his gym bag along his shoulder. "B-E-C-K-E-T-T. Badge number...hell, I don't know her badge number. Page her. She's expecting me."

The badge behind the desk cups his large hand over the mouthpiece of his phone. He looks like the kind of guy who uproots tree stumps in his spare time. "I don't have a record of you on the books, Mr. Castle. You're certain she was meeting you today?"

"Yeah, today. She's got to get re-certified in hand-to-hand combat next week. We were going to practice a few moves."

Stony silence. Castle hears a couple of Gs chuckle in line behind him.

"What?"

"No offense, Mr. Castle, but unless you're gonna' take dictation during her re-certification, she's probably gonna' do better on her own."

Castle casts a glance down to his top-of-the-line sneakers and never-been-sweated-in NYU t-shirt. "You think I don't have what it takes? I'll have you know, I can be pretty intimidating when I want to be. I made a waiter cry once."

The badge chuckles into his collar and returns to his phone call. Castle scans the lobby, touching his stomach with the tips of his fingers, looking dejected. A few seconds later the guy hangs up, gives Castle a tight smirk, and says, "All right, man. She's on her way down to collect you. 'Careful you don't knock her in the head with those forearms of yours."

"Watch it. I can take a maître d' out in two seconds flat."

Comments

[fanofthegenre]

He doesn't answer her; for once, he doesn't have a witty reply or something clever to announce his presence, to clue her in to why he's here. At the very least, she'd been anticipating that they would've run into each other inevitably - the precinct being the most likely location for it. They'd work out whatever this was, even if she wasn't entirely sure there was anything to work out in the first place. Neither of them have anything to apologize for. He shouldn't feel guilty for bringing up her mother into the conversation; she shouldn't feel guilty for reacting the way she does when the subject comes up.

"'Thought you were going to call," she starts, when he doesn't fill in the silence himself. He moves in and she feels like she's still babbling on seconds before his hand slides into her hair and his mouth pushes against hers, turning the word on her tongue into a near-whimper. Her eyes flutter shut and her other hand, the one not pinned between his hand and the doorknob, anchors on his hip, gripping the cloth of his coat as she presses into him, their bodies swaying in the doorframe.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

Whatever she says gets rolled over into the collar of his coat and then it's gone, lost, unaccounted for. The fact that she's still there, that she hasn't pushed him away, makes it -- what? Surprising? Hot? A confirmation? All of the above, and Castle's resolve disappears against Beckett's lips like a handful of spice into an Arabic cooking pot.

Her hand fisted around the wool of his coat is an anchor, maybe the only one he has, and he swings himself forward over the threshold, stopping just before he bumps her against the door and before the sound lets all her neighbors know what kind of company she keeps.

Castle's chest swells and it's hard to tell whether or not it's from the day's workout or the fact that he had been holding his breath in order to prolong the kiss. He releases a breath through his nose, aimed across her cheek, so he doesn't have to abandon her lips. His fingers spread to the nape of her neck, down her shoulder and round around the curve of her upper arm. 'Not thinking about throwing her over his shoulder, but definitely thinking of the eternity he'd wasted since he'd last touched her. He cups her fingers with his and eases her apart from the doorknob, allowing the door to swing shut behind them.

[fanofthegenre]

It may be that she's trying to wrap her head around the concept, the thought that Castle would show up here, not very long after a previous engagement, and only for her - and it can't have been all that long since he was standing in front of Alexis' classmates, she briefly thinks, before the movement of his lips over her own push all coherent thought entirely out of her mind. The creaking close of the door behind them, however, does briefly jar her away, and she pulls back in pursuit of her own breathing, her lips leaving his with a soft pop.

"Don't think you're going to worm your way in this way every time," she protests, but her voice is nearer to a gasp than a tone that possesses any sound of authority, and her eyes are simultaneously glazed over and half-lidded when she tilts her chin upward.

She counts the number of breaths she takes in between, the cycle of inhale-and-exhale, and only makes it to three before she's separating the distance between them once more for a kiss that quickly regains its heat, her hands slipping underneath his coat and pushing it back over his shoulders.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

She doesn't give him time or liberty to defend his actions and, really, so much the better: Castle doesn't have a valid reason for coming here other than the need to see her -- which is the kind of motivation that really sinks in its teeth and satisfies. Speaking of. Her mouth moves over his, raw and dry, getting steadily warmer through interaction. It occurs to Castle at this moment that, apart from the benefit and the night she played the Russian vixen who saved his ass from the mafia, he's never seen her wear lipstick. Her mouth is pure and natural, defying conventional biology, and even when her lips are bare and her mouth is pulled back into a cop's grim rictus, she's got some shine there. Extraordinary.

His coat slumps to the floor. Castle's arms, now unencumbered, slide around her waist and gather her to him, his body in line with hers. He pushes his fingers up the center of her back, between her shoulder blades where, a few weeks ago, he teased relaxation out of her with his hands. There're similar motivations going on now.

[fanofthegenre]

There's something unspoken in the way they come together, between the melding of mouths and the pressing of bodies, the inexplicable fit when his arms slip around her waist and draw her into him. Her own are busy snaking around his neck, maintaining that proximity; her lips brush and breeze over his in a teasing move designed to make him want to seek out more, firmer contact. Beckett arches forward at the press of fingertips against her spine around the same time that she rocks backward, her palms resting on top of his shoulders and then smoothing down his chest when she breaks the kiss once again.

"We haven't done that in a while," she murmurs, with an inflection that does more than imply that she doesn't exactly mind the reminder of that night a few weeks back.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

"Surprise," he says, in a voice that sounds like he dredged it up from the bottom of a rock quarry.

He runs his tongue and teeth over his bottom lip to chase the tickle of her mouth, finding himself as maddened by an unfinished kiss as a musician who goes crazy after someone plays every note of a scale except the last one.

[fanofthegenre]

Her eyes follow the movement of his tongue over his lip, and before she knows she has, she's leaned in to follow it, drawing his lower lip between hers in a soft nibble that turns into an equally soft kiss.

"You probably don't have any interest in watching a movie," she utters against his mouth.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

He passes the back of his hand over her ribcage, turning at the wrist to press his palm against her shape. "Pretty sure I couldn't follow the plot of Finding Nemo right now, if you asked me to." And the narrative's pretty much in the title.

"Listen, about this afternoon..." he turns his nose against her cheek "...I didn't mean to push. If you didn't want to talk about it." His thumb dips into the hollow between her last and next-to-last rib.

[fanofthegenre]

"I didn't think so," she says, one of the hand resting against his chest sliding up to knead at the back of his neck. Her fingers meet short strands of hair while she closes her eyes.

"No, it's - it's okay. I need to get used to talking about her again, especially now." Her sigh comes out softly, though it's less related to the events of earlier and more to do with the hand moving over her side.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

The ambient light from behind her picks up the thin silver links around her neck and makes them shine; Castle passes his knuckles over the outer curve of her breast, watching the shadows slide over her collarbone. Her mother's ring makes a silhouette impression beneath her camisole.

"She'd be proud of you," he says quietly.

[fanofthegenre]

There's all the reminders of her here: the old photos, the letters she's kept to have something of her mother's handwriting, pieces of clothing and jewelry that she'll likely never wear except on her own wedding day. Suddenly, the ring weighs heavy around her neck, the only reminder that remains constant, but when she opens her eyes, the smile is sincere.

"I hope so," she says, leaning into him.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

He touches his fingertips to the impression of the ring. 'Finds her eyes in the lazy half light.

"I am."

[fanofthegenre]

Her fingers slip down to his jawline, tenderly tracing the curve.

"Y'hungry? I've got incredibly unhealthy take-out, but I'm sure I can rummage up something else if you want it."

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

He rolls his cheek to the tune of her touch. 'Flicker of a smile at the corners of his lips.

"Hey, I live on 'incredibly unhealthy'. Show me the way to the carbs and MSG, Detective."

[fanofthegenre]

"I figure a little indulgence can't hurt, especially after the exercise and all."

She reluctantly separates herself from the reassuring warmth of his frame and takes up a seat on the couch instead, scooting the opened pizza box in his direction.

"I won't subject you to a movie just yet."

Especially, given that entrance, she's not entirely sure they'd end up finishing it.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

Castle eyes the pizza hungrily and pulls his scarf from his shoulders, scooping his coat from the floor and laying both on the back of a nearby chair. Her apartment is warm and cozy. The radiator chugs in a corner, sending out a nearly invisible column of steam.

Kate Beckett at the center of her own, private universe: cozy and captivating when she gets the rare chance to relax.

He drops onto the couch beside her and scoops his body forward to grab a slice of pizza out of the box. "You were gonna' eat this all by yourself?" he asks. "Lucky I came over. I can help you polish off half of this, no problem."

[fanofthegenre]

Beckett resumes her earlier position, plucking up the half-eaten slice from where she'd previously abandoned it, and tears off a piece of paper towel from the roll resting nearby - she's run out of regular napkins and hasn't had time to make a grocery run so far this week.

She scoffs quietly. "Haven't you ever heard of leftovers?"

Still, it's with a smile that she settles back against the couch to eat, her shoulder shifting along his.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

He wraps a problematic string of cheese around his index finger and sets to nibbling it off one bite at a time. Her question gets an amused set of raised eyebrows. "Only if they're foil-wrapped in the shape of a swan."

[fanofthegenre]

Beckett's response to that is to reach for the remote.

She's only just started to watch through Rear Window, and the real twist of Thorwald murdering his wife in the dead of night hasn't even happened yet. Right now, it's Grace Kelly on the screen, in her famous close-up as she leans in to plant a big one on Jimmy Stewart.

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

God, Hitchcock could write 'em. There's a part of Castle -- a part of every mystery author, he guesses -- that wants to try and emulate the great master of suspense in some way. Twenty-six books under his belt and he doesn't harbor any illusions about being even close to his goal.

Without taking his eyes off the screen, he asks, "So who's the Jimmy Stewart and who's the Grace Kelly in our relationship?"

[fanofthegenre]

There's really nothing like a classic Hitchcock film - Beckett's acquired most of them over the years, but this one definitely has a special place in her heart, and one she can return to time and time again despite knowing the better half of the script.

Without missing a beat, she answers, "Oh, you're so Grace Kelly."

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

He turns, sporting a broad grin. "Whoa, now. Take some time to think about it, why don't you?" He nods toward the screen. "Is it the wealthy Manhattan socialite thing? Or the fact that I'm just a hell of a kisser?"

[fanofthegenre]

"Well, I'm right, aren't I?"

She dabs pizza grease off her fingers with the paper towel.

"Maybe it's the fact that you've got a ton of confidence in your abilities."

[bestsellingego.livejournal.com]

"And that makes me a little more Grace than Jimmy?"

He rolls his head toward her.

"I guess I see it. Not so sure my abilities are gonna' get me a title like 'Her Serene Highness' anytime soon, but I've been to Monaco. I could start a life there." The image of himself in cabana shorts and a loud Hawaiian shirt brings a smile to his lips.

"You and Jimmy, I can see that too. The sense of honour. Dedication to service. 'Kind of reassuring constancy."

[fanofthegenre]

"You fall just a little more on the Grace side of things," she answers, nodding slowly.

"I'm guessing this life you're envisioning for yourself is coming on the heels of several more six-figure series until you've simply tired of the New York police force."

Her beer's starting to sweat on the coffee table; she rescues it for a quick sip, fingertips sliding along the condensation on the glass.