Prompt: "i don't know how to put it in words but 'landfill' by daughter always reminds me of post 47 sec angst, esp from castle's pov. if you have some time would you mind writing something connected to that?"
A/N: There was no way I was going to be able to resist a prompt inspired by one of my favorite songs.
Set throughout the '47 Seconds' arc.
"this is torturous
electricity between both of us
and this is dangerous
'cause I want you so much
but I hate your guts"
At first, he can barely stand to look at her. All he can see is that moment in the interrogation room with Bobby, can hear her words echoing in his mind on a loop meant to torture him.
I remember every second of it.
That covered his groveling profession of love for her, didn't it? He almost feels guilty for the position he's put her in, trying to spare his feelings, preserve their partnership, by pretending she doesn't remember his declaration of unrequited love. He wants to call it noble, but when it comes down to it, it's just cowardly.
He's a grown man who knows rejection well. He can handle it, even if it's from her. He even would have been willing to try and find a way to live with it without losing her, to accept the harsh reality of remaining as nothing more than a friend.
For Kate Beckett, he would have tried. He would have continued to love her quietly.
Not anymore, though. Not with the lying and leading him on and sinning by silence.
But it doesn't stop him from wanting her. That's something that has always been out of his control.
He keeps a handle on it in the days that follow her inadvertent confession. He distracts himself with a flight attendant whose perfume is too strong, smile too bright. He convinces himself he can smother his feelings for her with talk of switches and showing up at the precinct solely for the sake of obligation.
And it works.
For like a week.
Then some roguish agent from Scotland Yard drops in and looks at her with far too much interest. And Castle notices that she - albeit somewhat hesitantly - begins to look as if she's entertaining the idea of being interested too.
It's when she shows up to the precinct in a strapless black gown for the other man that he finally snaps.
Castle abandons the boys in the bullpen and strides up to her while she waits for Scotland Yard to whisk her away for the night (undercover operation or not, he doesn't care).
"Can I talk to you for a second?" he grits out. "In private."
One of her brows arches, but there's a spark in her eyes, dark and tenuous and causing his guts to clench.
"Sure, but I only have a few minutes before Colin is supposed to-"
"He can wait," Castle snaps, his voice edging too close to a growl.
Beckett purses her lips, but holds back for only a moment before following when he stalks off towards an empty conference room.
"What's so important, Castle?" she questions, shutting the door while he paces to the opposite side of the suddenly too small room. He doesn't know what he was thinking dragging her in here.
His blood is too hot beneath the surface of his skin, his heart charged with an electricity that surges through his veins, strengthening every time he looks at her. Especially while she's wearing that damn dress.
Beckett sighs, a sound of frustration, but what the hell does she have to be frustrated about?
"Castle, what's going on?" She approaches him with her brow falling into a furrow and oh, not a good idea. "You've been acting weird since the bombing case and I-"
"Stop, just - stop," he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes shut. But he doesn't have to see to know that she's standing in front of him now. Close enough to touch.
He can feel the hover of her fingers at his elbow, the electricity crackling through the inch of space between them to produce static along his skin, and he just can't stand it anymore.
"Rick-"
The concern in her voice only makes it worse.
His eyes snap open and she's right there, lips parted on his first name. He may be able to stop loving her, but he can't stop wanting her. And by the distinctive dilation of her pupils, he thinks she may want him too.
At least there's that.
"Just shut up, Beckett," he murmurs, catching the flare of indignation in her gaze before he catches her by the back of her neck. He fuses his mouth to hers, curves his palm at her nape to draw her in and feel the heat of her skin beneath his hand.
She stiffens immediately, her hands rising to grip hard at his chest. He almost expects her to push him away, but then her fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt, dragging him closer.
Her lips part beneath his and Castle nips at the bottom one, feels the fire raging through his system grow when she moans.
He drives her backwards, sealing her spine to the wall, swallowing her grunt of surprise. She still tastes of coffee and heat, of spice and the same urgency he remembers from the last time they kissed. But he let her lead then, has let her lead since the day they met. Always so willing to follow.
Not anymore.
"Is this about Hunt?" she gasps, her nails clashing with the buttons of his shirt.
Her thighs widen ever so slightly, the dress tightening at her waist, and he wastes no time shifting against her, pressing so close that he practically crushes her arms between them. She attempts to withdraw her hands and he catches her by the wrists, pins them to the wall above her head.
"No," he growls, but the mention of another man doesn't necessarily help the indomitable beast inside his chest.
Castle ignores the seek of her mouth, nipping a path along her jaw instead. She chokes on a breathless noise that sounds like his name, breaks his hold on her wrists to fist her fingers in his hair.
Her nails score his scalp as his mouth trails down her neck, his lips latching onto the strip of thin skin stretching across her pulse. It's racing beneath his tongue, matching the frantic beat of his heart.
His hands mimic hers, one diving into her hair, decimating the artful bun she's twisted it into, while the other scales along her side, squeezing her hip hard enough to bruise.
She yanks on his hair, forces him to release the flesh of her neck with a wet pop of his mouth.
"Why are you so mad at me?" she breathes, glaring back at him with dark eyes and a heaving chest, breasts straining against the cut of her dress. But he doesn't want to talk, to think-
The knock on the door saves him from doing either.
"Beckett?" It's Ryan. "Hunt is here."
"I'll be right there," she calls back without missing a beat, her voice impressively steady. A contradiction to her mussed hair and smudged lipstick.
"This isn't over," she murmurs, slipping her fingers from his hair, but her eyes fall back to his mouth.
He wants to take one last kiss from her, dust his lips to her forehead, give her something to remember while she's with another man. But he merely releases his grip on her hip, her hair, and nods in agreement.
"No, it isn't."
The next day, he goes to dinner with Jacinda just to spite her and according to the boys' gossip, she meets with Hunt for drinks that same night. He hates them both a little more.
He doesn't end up with her body pressed against his again until the following week, after he finds his way to Ethan Slaughter. It's not quite as spontaneous as their last encounter in the conference room, not quite as forgivable, forgettable.
Well, he can never forget, can he? Neither of them are very good at that. But she's great at pretending and he's never been a bad actor either.
He's been avoiding the precinct all week, avoiding her once Slaughter takes him under his overbearing wing. He rarely crosses path with her that week, but any time he catches her eye, she's fuming with quiet anger, a spark of what he swears is hurt in the depths of her gaze.
He thinks he's doing well, one step closer to cutting the cord, until Slaughter's reckless way of investigating breaks the rules, risks sending an innocent person to jail with a coerced confession. Ironically, it's Rick's morals that have him crawling back to her.
He convinces her to help him, to break policy and breach another detective's case. It's how they end up under an overpass, attempting to amicably unravel the mess Slaughter has made of this case. That is until Slaughter catches wind, shows up, makes everything worse. He doesn't stay long, speeding off in his cruiser after going head to head with Beckett, threatening her job, and inadvertently reminding Castle that this is all his fault.
"You just had to pick him over all of the other detectives to replace me with," she grumbles, scraping a hand through her dilapidated curls.
"I wanted the opposite of you," he admits and oh, he wasn't prepared for the look of grief on her face.
He never thought he would be one to cause that kind of expression.
Kate turns on her heel without a word, striding back to her Crown Vic. He has to jog to follow, to get to the car before she can lock him out or leave him here.
"Beckett-"
"Just stop talking," she echoes his words from a week ago and slides into the driver's seat. He slips in after her, slams the door shut. "We'll finish this case and then you can be done with me. Don't worry."
He sighs at the bite in her voice, the ache he's instilled. Her fingers tremble over the ignition, keys missing the slot. He wants to elaborate, tell the truth - it's because it hurts too much, Kate. Hurts too much to be with you but know I'll never have you, to know I've been fooling myself this entire time - but she's not the only coward in this car.
"Can't be done with you, Beckett." He eyes flash to him in the darkness. "I'm trying, but I just - want you too much."
Such a statement shouldn't elicit such sorrow - for both of them - but he feels it in his soul and sees it on her face, tastes it on her lips when she climbs effortlessly over the console and into his lap.
His hands find home in her hair, his fingers fisting in the strands to resist the urge to cradle her skull as she kisses him. Kate's catch in his collar, gripping hard enough to haul him forward while her hips rock sharply into his.
"Only want me for this?" she mutters, nipping at his upper lip, showing no mercy to the sensitive flesh.
He growls, tries to focus, to breathe past the devastating heat building between them.
"No," he admits, arching his hips, savoring the sound of her unexpected gasp. He's fantasized too many times in the last four years about how Kate Beckett would sound in moments like this. But no daydream compares to the real thing, the contradiction of hard and soft that she embodies in his lap. "It's all I can handle."
She pauses with his lip between her teeth, her eyes sliding open. Her pupils consume, the irises drowned in darkness that goes beyond arousal.
"Too complicated for you." It's not a question and her eyes flutter shut. "Not enough fun."
He starts to protest, but she grinds down, chokes him up. Words will always be hopeless for them anyway.
Castle releases his grip on her hair, glides his hands down her bowed spine until he can slide his fingers beneath her sweater. She pants into his mouth at the touch, offers him the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, stroking along hers. His fingers relish in the heat of her bare skin, tracing the bones of her vertebrae.
His thumb has just hooked in the clasp of her bra when her phone vibrates from within the pocket of her coat. Beckett tears away from his mouth, her cheek dropping against his while she digs the phone from her pocket.
"It's the boys," she murmurs, her breath expelling in hot puffs against his jaw. "They've got a photo of Brian at the payphone."
"Proof," Castle sighs. He should be thrilled, but she's rising from his lap with regret claiming her features, back to the driver's seat.
He lets her go.
She calls Slaughter on the way back to the precinct, they close the case, and he goes home alone. He finds release in the shower with her name on his lips like he has for the last four years, as if nothing has changed.
I have to say, it's good to see you guys hitting it off again.
Ryan's words replay in his head and he wishes they were true. He wishes he could go back to how they were before they knew the truth, to when he was foolish enough to believe that he was making steady progress at her wall, chipping away enough brick and mortar to squeeze through the cracks. Back to when her smiles, the light in her eyes, and the warmth of her hand in his, meant something.
Castle tightens his grip on the empty travel cup in his fingers. He's decided that this will be his last case, that he will be well and truly done after they find this killer masquerading as a zombie. Done with the Twelfth and done with Kate Beckett.
But he figured he could at least ply her with a few final cups of coffee before he goes.
"You think this is funny?"
He hears the angry echo of her heels, the snarl in her voice, and he puts the cup down.
"Driving me crazy?" she questions, tosses his own words back at him.
He swallows hard, but doesn't turn to look at her. "What?"
"I heard you talking to Ryan while I was on the phone." She slams the door shut and panic collides with excitement in his chest. As they've proven recently, he and Beckett don't do well in enclosed spaces.
"Don't we have to go interview Kyle Jennings at the hospital?"
"They told me it'll be another hour until the sedative wears off and he can have visitors. So we've got time," she informs him with a glare.
"Time for what? For me to explain that I was kidding around with Ryan?" he grumbles, dropping her to go cup back to the countertop. "Besides, it was just about the case, the whole zombie thing. Not… anything else."
"Like the fact that you're telling everyone this is your last case?" He diverts his eyes to the floor, squares his jaw as she crosses the room. "How you just plan to leave?"
"Thought you'd be relieved," he mutters, risking a glance at her.
Big mistake.
He expected anger, perhaps guilt, but she looks devastated. So hurt and confused and he's sick of this.
"You know what, Beckett? Maybe it'd be better if I just left now."
"What is wrong with you?" she demands, her voice cracking, a piece of it slicing through his heart. "What did I do?"
He shakes his head. "We should-"
"No," she snaps, blocking him as he tries to step past her. "You can't just leave like this. You can't just - not without even telling me why."
He laughs at her, harsh and bitter. "Are you kidding me? You're going to lecture me about my lack of explanation?"
"I just thought that we were - you stopped wanting me the way I thought you did." Her cheeks are turning red, outshining the orange of her leather jacket. He isn't sure if it's from embarrassment or rage. "And now you're - I don't even know what we're doing, what you want anymore, but I thought it was more than this. More than punishing me for no good reason, kissing me when you're pissed at me because suddenly you hate talking-"
"That's not why," he growls, even though it kind of is.
"Then tell me," she presses, moving in closer, the dangerous heat of her body radiating onto his.
He swallows hard, stares down at her pursed lips to avoid her seeking gaze. But maybe this is what it takes to finally end this, to move past her. Some honesty between them.
Rick sucks in a breath through his nose, meets her eyes.
"I want you. You already know that, you've always known that, but I loved you, Kate. You knew that too and I hate you for it."
He catches the halt in her breathing, the stunned expression on her face, and he uses the moment to his advantage. He slips past her, out of the break room. He doesn't stop until he's out of the precinct, like a coward.
He hates her.
It's all she can think as she drives to his loft that night.
She wasn't able to chase after him earlier, the case requiring her attention. But, for once, burying herself in her work fails to help, her mind stuck on their conversation. Because he professed his love and hate for her in a matter of seconds and her heart is shredded to pieces because of it.
The mention of the former gives her hope though, has her striding out of the Twelfth the moment she and the boys decide to call it a night and start fresh in the morning. Not that she doesn't care about the case, the victim, she just… cares about losing Castle more.
She knocks on his door with the remaining shards of her heart in her throat, the rest weighing in her stomach like rocks. But as soon as the door swings open, reveals him solemn and ragged - and alone, her mind adds in relief - on the other side, she know what to do, what to say. To speak in a language they've both grown to understand.
"Beckett," he sighs. "What do you-"
She surges forward before he can finish, cupping his face in her hands before he can pull away and rising on her toes to seal her lips to his.
Their kiss is different this time, she makes sure of that, tending to his mouth with firm but reverent caresses of her lips, the gentle brush of her tongue. He moans, quiet and broken, a sound she wants to change.
Kate grazes her thumbs to his cheekbones, the corners of his eyes. It soothes him, has his body melting against hers, his arms twining around her frame.
"I kinda hate you too," she breathes, curling her fingers at his ears when they part. Their noses bump and he exhales against her mouth, has her body swaying forward, deeper into his. She wants to kiss him again, until they're both breathless and painless and he can carry her to his bed, but he has to know first. Has to know it's always been more for her too. "But I love you more."
His eyes flare open, a shade of blue sharper than she's ever seen, critical but so desperate with need. He looks almost… afraid and she doesn't understand.
"Castle," she whispers, their lips brushing as she speaks.
He trails his hands down her spine, drapes his palms at her hips and his lips twitch with the threat of a smile for the first time in weeks.
"Hate you a little less now."