The Scandalous Writings of a Fanboy
By Dana Keylits
A/N: This story came to life after a prompt and a promise. It's for Kristy, a surprise. I hope you like it. Also, for Liv, who introduced me to the idea that using certain forbidden euphemisms was not only okay, but quite necessary.
This is nothing but porn. So, brace yourself.
It's Sunday morning and Martha is already up and out having brunch with her multi-aged semi-employed thespians play group. Kate and Castle had been up late the night before, watching bad movies on Netflix before giving up and taking turns at guitar hero. Castle had far superior skills, but Kate had held her own against him, beating him twice in the all important battle round.
Castle had woken up early, feeling the itch to write, while Kate slept in. But after an hour, the click of his fingernails on the computer keyboard rustled her from her slumber and she reluctantly got up, choosing to enjoy the morning paper and coffee while Castle wrote.
When she was finished with the days depressing news, and really, when had the newspaper ever contained an abundance of good news, she wandered into his study. He barely noticed her as he sat hunched over his computer, a line forming between his eyes as he concentrated on the story unfolding on his computer screen.
She slides up behind his desk, still wearing her silky peach bathrobe, and peeks over his shoulder. "How's Deadly Heat coming?"
He jumps, startled, and slams the laptop closed, but not before she sees enough to know that he is not working on his newest Nikki Heat novel.
"What was that, Castle?"
"What?"
She sits on the edge of the desk and points to his now-closed laptop. "That?"
"It was," he stammers, "...nothing, something new, nothing."
"Did I see the word...cock?"
"What? No. Kate. I."
"Castle! Are you writing porn? Oh my God, you're just like Jameson Rook!"
"It's not porn!" He exclaims, his palms out with innocence.
"Then what are you writing with the word cock in it, and who are Olivia and..." And then, as if a light bulb actually does go off in her brain, her eyes widen and she points at him. "You're writing fan fiction!"
"I..." his mouth drops open.
"Admit it. You're writing pornographic Scandal fan fiction, aren't you?"
He folds his arms and leans back in his chair as though considering his options. She apes him and folds her arms, chewing the inside of her cheek, an eyebrow raised in noticeable amusement. Cocking his head, closing his eyes, he says, "Fine," He looks at her, hoping to convey an I'm not ashamed of it vibe, "...fine, yes. I'm writing fan fiction!"
She claps her hands together with a girlish "Ha!" Then hops off the desk to kneel beside him. "Let's see."
"What? No, I'm not showing you!" He gives her the look of a stupefied adolescent caught in the closet with his hands down his pants.
"C'mon Castle. I wanna read it."
"No!"
"Please?" She asks, turning his chair towards her so she can slide between the vee of his legs. "Pretty please?" She runs her hands up his pajama clad thighs, "I promise to do stuff..."
He holds her wrists, laughing. "Not cool!"
"C'mon, Castle. I'm a fan, too. We watch that show together all the time! I wanna see."
He groans, then pulls her onto his lap as she squeals, actually squeals, and he wonders since when did Kate Beckett start squealing? But she's wiggling in his lap so he needs to open his laptop and let her see what he's written. His cheeks turn flaming red when he does.
She leans into the computer, her hands folded and tucked beneath her chin as her eyes frantically dart across the screen, greedily soaking up every salacious word.
When she's finished she turns to him with half closed eyelids and a crooked smile. "Wow, Castle!" She runs a finger down the middle of his t-shirt-clad chest. "You write good porn."
He grins, beams, really, and they kiss, her tongue exploring the depths of his mouth, her fingers mapping a path along his jaw line. His hands roam along her back, tangle in her hair, before they finally pull away from each other, smiling stupidly.
"But, cock? Really?"
"What?"
She shakes her head, her fingers raking through his hair. "It's not the best word, Castle."
"But you love cock." He says, "You say it to me all the time."
She laughs, reaching for him. "I love your cock," she explains, caressing the outline of his newly acquired erection. She glances down at him with a delighted grin as she feels it straining against its flannel confinement. "But, it's not a great way to describe it in a story." She takes her hand off of him and waves it in the air, "Too..."
"Hard?" He laughs, nipping at her earlobe.
"Vulgar," she answers, wrapping both arms around his neck, a shiver radiating from the spot where his teeth are nibbling her warm, carnally infused, flesh.
"You think my cock is vulgar?" He asks, mock defeat masking his normally jocular features.
"Not your cock," she laughs, "The word."
"I'm confused."
She frowns. "Just change it."
He sits up, his arms reach around her as though they are riding tandem on a motorbike, his fingers poised over the keyboard. "To what?"
She smiles, settles into him and stares at the screen, his erection poking her in the small of her back providing inspiration. "Erection."
"Erection? That's so boring, Kate."
She chuckles, "Oh, no it isn't!" She wiggles her hips against him and he gasps.
"Careful!" He admonishes, low and husky, struggling to maintain his composure and finding it quite difficult to do with her in his lap looking all sultry and sexy and wiggling her fine ass against his cock and all.
Yeah, maybe she's right. Cock isn't the right word.
"What about member?" He offers.
"Ew. No."
"Johnson?"
"Please!"
"Big Jim and the twins?"
She roars, actually roars, with laughter.
"Okay, fine. Erection it is." His fingers fly over the keys and he makes the needed corrections.
"Ugh. Castle, I didn't notice this. You cannot use this word." She points at the screen.
"What's wrong with pu-"
She turns, covering his mouth with her hand. "Don't say it!"
He looks surprised, mumbling beneath her hand, he asks, "What about cu-"
"No!" She commands. "Here, let me." She shoves his hands from the keyboard and deletes the offending word, then types in her own word, and hits save. "There, much better."
"That doesn't even describe it!"
"Subtlety Castle, it's the key. You don't want to bang your readers over the head with it! Give them the hint of it, and they're imaginations will do the rest. Trust me, it's much more satisfying." She dips her head to his and kisses him briefly on the lips, then leans back and smiles. "Now, lets go fuck."
He bursts into gales of surprised laughter, even while kernels of desire spread throughout his body, tempering his joviality and replacing it with lust, his skin warm and pink. He lifts her into his arms and carries her to the bedroom where they make quick, furious work shrugging out of their clothing - and into each other.
They're curled up in his bed, his front to her back, like spoons in a drawer, sweaty, content, and rather pleased with themselves for their carnal gymnastics. The broken headboard lays half cocked behind them, incriminating evidence of their overzealous ardor and complete commitment to the passion of the moment. Kate barely even notices the small lump forming on the top of her head, considering it a small price to pay for the delicious way he'd made love to her. She turns in his arms and faces him, noticing the red scratches running along the side of his neck and she traces them with her fingertip.
"Just tell everyone a cat got you."
He grins, turns his head towards her and says, "A cat did get me."
They kiss, but not for long because they're both still trying to catch their breath.
"God that was hot," Castle observes. "I should have shown you my fan fiction a long time ago!"
"Let's read it again," Kate blurts. "Print it out and you can read it to me."
"What?"
"C'mon, Castle. Read it like a bedtime story!"
"It's not bedtime."
She wiggles against him, her hand seeking him out beneath the covers, curling around him. "Bedtime is whenever we want it to be!"
He flinches, sliding away from her and out of the bed, "Okay, okay, I'll go print it out."
She takes the opportunity to use the bathroom and when she returns, finds him already back in bed, his bare torso only partially covered by the 1200 thread-count sheet, his head resting on the pillow as it leans against the broken headboard. He holds the Scandal fic in his hand, raising it to show her as she walks around to her side of the bed. She quickly joins him, her naked flesh having cooled, so the warmth of the covers, and of him, feels like dipping into a warm bath.
She curls up next to him, her head on his shoulder. "Okay, go," She instructs.
He chuckles, then clears his throat dramatically. "Executive Orders," He begins.
"We need to work on that title," Kate interrupts. When Castle gives her the stink eye, she motions with her finger for him to keep reading.
"By Alexander Tower."
Kate snorts.
"Okay, do you want me to read this or not?" He asks with fake annoyance.
"Yes. But, Tower? Castle? Really?"
"What's wrong with Tower?"
"Castle. Rook. Tower. You think people won't figure out it's you?"
"Please. No one will put those pieces together," he argues. "I thought it was quite clever."
Kate pats him on the shoulder, "It is, you're right. Keep going."
"Don't be condescending,"
She looks at him wide-eyed. "I'm not!"
He stares at her.
"Castle. I'm not. Now read!" She demands.
"Fine. But no more interrupting."
She nods.
Olivia stands in the middle of the Oval Office, knowing that Fitz has summoned her here for completely inappropriate reasons, but not caring. Not the way she's feeling today, she doesn't care. Doesn't care that she has become a cliché by being the President's mistress, or that said President is having another child with his hated wife, who, despite Fitz's assurances to the contrary, will never in a million years consent to a divorce. She doesn't care that Edison is waiting for her back at her apartment, awaiting her answer on where they are headed, as if they're really headed anywhere. Doesn't care that her colleagues have lost confidence in her because of her erratic, unpredictable behavior.
She doesn't care because she has become this woman, this cheating, lying, possessed by forces far greater than even she can corral, lust-infused, practically insane, woman.
She doesn't care.
He enters through the massive door connecting the Oval Office to his assistant's, sees her standing there, right on top of the round carpeted Presidential seal, pauses for just a beat, then slams the door shut and goes to her in three swift steps. He doesn't speak, he doesn't greet her or smile or wink or nod. He just gathers her in his arms and smashes his mouth against hers.
"Fitz!" She hisses.
"I want you, Olivia, I want you right now!" He hisses.
"Cameras!" She reminds him, glancing at the ceiling above them, and he reluctantly lets her go, seizes her hand, and tows her towards the door on the other end of the office.
"Really? Fitz? The bathroom?"
He has her against the counter, his groin pressing into her as he nuzzles her neck, biting into her smooth ebony skin, "Do you have another suggestion?"
But she doesn't, because she doesn't care. The bathroom, the limo, hell, even the Rose Garden would do. She just wants him inside of her.
Kate winces. "I think you should change that part, too."
Castle glances down at her as she rests against his shoulder. "Do you mind?"
"Sorry. Continue."
He runs his hand along her shapely thigh, inching her skirt higher as his lips assault her neck, he slides his tongue along her pulse-point, a low throaty moan escapes her lips as she rakes her fingers through his hair.
She reaches for his belt, her fingers deftly releasing it, then flying over his button and zipper. She reaches beneath the waistband of his briefs and curls her fingers around his cock.
"Oops, missed one." Castle apologizes, grabbing a red editing pencil from beside the bed, he scribbles a line through the errant word and writes 'erection' in is place.
Kate presses against him, a familiar pleasure stirring low in her belly. "Mmmm, I dunno, Castle. Maybe cock is okay in that one instance." She slides her leg over his.
He glances down at her, her lips are parted, her breath coming out in small pants, she has a girlish grin on her face and he can feel the tickle of her restlessness against him. He smiles, erases the scribble and replacement word, then continues reading.
He cries out, her name bursting from his lips, echoing around the walls of the expansive bathroom. She presses her lips against his to silence him, her tongue laving his bottom lip before searching inside his mouth, over his teeth, engaging his tongue in a frenzied, desperate tango.
She strokes him until he is fully erect, then hikes her skirt up. His hands find her, he palms her, feeling through the flimsy fabric of her panties that she is ready, wanting, he presses his thumb over her clit and she moans into his mouth, her hips shifting towards him. He yanks her panties off then slides one finger past her wet folds and plunges it deeply into her.
"You're so wet, Olivia, God."
"I need you. Now! Fitz. Now. Fuck me." She hoists herself on the counter and reaches for him, guiding his erection into her, wrapping her legs around his middle. She closes her eyes, leaning back, relishing the fullness of him. She rocks against him, setting a frenzied rhythm And, as he supports her with one hand, with the other he reaches beneath her silky buttoned shirt, roughly pushing her lacy bra out of the way, palming one naked breast, his thumb and forefinger teasing the hardened nipple.
His name becomes a whisper that rises from her throat as she groans and sighs against his swollen lips, her body taught and wired, her flesh goose-bumped, and already she can feel herself building, climbing, soaring.
"Kate," Castle stops. "If you want me to finish reading this, you're going to have to move your hand."
Kate takes a deep breath, "Are you sure?" Her voice low and husky.
He leans down, his mouth finding hers in a slow, impassioned, sultry kiss, their tongues weaving. He whispers into her mouth, "you're making it very difficult for me to read," His hips involuntarily shift towards her.
"Mmmm," She moans, "Fine," She removes her hand from around him and palms his chest instead, her fingertip circling his nipple. "Keep reading."
His hips jut forward, his erection immediately missing the contact of her hand, and he emits a tortured sigh, "I don't know if that's any better," he complains, placing one hand over hers, ending her crafty assault on his nipple. "Do you want me to go on? Or...?"
She wriggles against him, "Yes, keep going. I'll try to keep my hands to myself."
She feels completely in command and utterly possessed at the same time, oddly ennobled by the raw aura of power that always surrounds him and is a constant reminder of who he is. The President of the United States. Arguably, the most powerful man in the word. And he is putty beneath her. But as long as she has her body wrapped around his, he is as malleable as a kitten. He would do anything for her, say anything, be anything. She knows this, feels it, is fucking it. It empowers her.
But, she also knows that with one waive of his hand, one heartless dismissal, he has the power to destroy her.
Because, God help her, she loves him.
Kate whimpers, not realizing he can hear her, but clearly he can because he stops and looks at her. She stares up at him. Her eyes hooded, her lips bowing. "I know how she feels."
He kisses her. Strokes her cheek with one finger, his tongue dancing with hers, she bites his bottom lip then whispers against his mouth, "Keep reading, Castle."
She sets a punishing rhythm, feeling her orgasm build, even as she wants to keep it at bay, stretch this out for as long as she can, because all they have together are stolen moments here and there. They cannot be together, in this knowing way, for more than minutes at a time and it agonizes her, gnaws at her.
But it stokes the fire, too, keeps that longing between them forever humming just beneath the surface, always ready to ignite when they have a private moment, a secret meeting, an opportunity to be together, to know each other.
She cannot stop her orgasm, cannot hold it back any longer, and it rises within her, spiraling, climaxing, claiming her body, her mind, her soul. His lips are rough against her mouth, his hand squeezing her breast, pinching her nipple, his erection fully inside of her, pumping, in and out, faster, in and out. He's whispering against her lips, urging her to come for him, commanding her to come, and the aura of power that is him sends her over the edge and she shatters against him, biting his lip to prevent herself from crying out, wave after wave after wave of salacious, stolen, sinful pleasure rocks her to her core.
"Kate," Castle chokes, "Kate, I can't read with you doing that."
She quiets him with her lips, her hand having found him again, stroking him, urging his erection. She kisses her way down his neck, over his collarbone, her hands palming his chest, her lips toying with one nipple, sucking, licking, biting, then moving to the other to do the same.
He closes his eyes, a slow groan building low in his throat as he places one hand on the back of her head, the other clutching the papers that contain his Scandal fanfic.
She works her way down his body, kissing, nibbling, licking, her tongue dipping into his naval before she wraps her hand around his penis, licking the glistening drop from its tip, then taking him into her mouth and gently sucking.
His body turns pink and he suddenly breaks into a sweat, trembling at her imperial touch. She moves him in and out of her mouth, her eyes staring up at him, making contact, sending the clear message that this is out of both their control.
Kate is motivated, moved, aroused, by the sultry image in her minds eye of Olivia Pope writhing helplessly beneath her forbidden lover, and the ache that exists between her own legs mimics that of her fictional counterpart. It is strangely arousing, even more so, knowing that it is Castle's imagination that is the architect of this moment.
His fingers tangle in her hair as her lips surround him, her tongue laving against him, tracing a path up his thick shaft, circling his tip, sending him into nirvana.
Suddenly, unexpectedly. she rises up and in one fluid, graceful, catlike movement she swings her leg over him and slowly lowers herself onto him, he fills her, their flesh vibrating, quivering, pulsing in carnal unison as she sinks completely down onto him.
She folds herself forward, pulling the covers over them, and her lips find his neck, tracing the shell of his ear before nibbling his earlobe. She rests her head against his shoulder, one hand tracing lazy circles against his chest while the other curls beneath his pillow. She slowly moves her hips back and forth, moving him languidly in and out of her.
Her voice hoarse. "Keep reading, Castle." She pleads.
"Kate, are you? How am I...?" He stutters.
"Please? Finish the story. I want you to read the rest of it to me while you're inside of me."
He takes a long, slow, deep breath, then exhales forcefully. He holds the papers with his right hand, while his left curls around her body as it's draped across his. She's straightened her legs, the full expanse of her body now covering the full expanse of his. He is still inside of her, and she grips him with elastic muscles, pulsing, humming, slowly, slowly almost imperceptibly moving back and forth, in and out.
"Please? Castle, please. Finish it," she whispers.
He holds the papers to the side and begins to read, his voice low and throaty, dripping with desire, lust, need, barely audible, but enough that she hears him.
She is satisfied, satiated, a quivering mass of blood and flesh and desire, but she needs him to come, to release, explode, fall apart inside of her and so she resumes her measured gyrations as though in time to some unseen, unheard metronome, her movements quickening in time to his breath, his heartbeat.
The air that circles around them is charged, energized, almost nuclear, and she feels herself building again. He feels it too because he whispers in her ear.
"Come for me, again, Olivia."
She unravels, throws her head back, grasping him with swollen muscles and he increases his cadence, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. "Fuck, Olivia, fuck. I'm coming."
He thrusts into her, Once, twice, again and again, exploding inside of her and she cries out in ecstasy her own orgasm spinning throughout her body, taking over, ecstasy coursing through her veins as the orgasmic aftershocks ripple through her, agony stabbing at her heart now that its over.
Their stolen moment is over.
And this is all she'll get of him.
"Kate, God, Kate." Castle shivers, as she increases the seductive motion of her hips, her mouth curling around his earlobe, her tongue snaking out to tease it, then biting it. "Ohhhh, fuck." He cries.
She whispers, low and sultry, her breath hot against his ear. "Go on, Castle, almost there."
He tries to focus, his eyes dark and hooded, his pupils dilated, his life's breath a laborious endeavor.
He caresses her cheek and gazes adoringly into her obsidian eyes. She doesn't hide her tears from him, and he knows, he knows what this is costing her. But, he cannot stop himself, cannot let her go, even though that would be the right thing to do.
He can't do it.
And so they slowly part, he slips out of her, helping her gently to her feet. She corrects her clothing, slips into her panties as he tucks in his shirt, straightens his tie, combs his fingers through his hair. He smells like her, he knows, so before he heads to the residence he'll go to the White House gym and shower and change.
And, she will go home, lie to Edison, pretend that she had an ordinary meeting with the Presidents staff, all the while feeling the memory of their afternoon together, because that feeling, that charged energy between them, never leaves her. It's in her pores, every cell of her body, and she cannot extricate it, no matter how hard she tries, even if she wanted to.
Which she doesn't.
Because, God help her, she loves him.
"Castle." Kate increases her cadence, raises herself to her knees, all while keeping him firmly inside of her.
He lets the papers drop to the floor as his hands run up her body, caressing her thighs, over her abdomen, strumming her ribcage before palming her breasts, teasing her nipples, squeezing them in synch with the gripping of her pelvic muscles around him.
His hips rise up to meet her, he thrusts into her, pounding, quickly, furiously, in and out. His hands slide to her buttocks as he plunges himself deeply into her.
"Castle," She says again. "Fuck. I'm close, I'm so close, Castle. Castle, God." It's a litany, a prayer, a promise. "I'm coming." She cries, her head thrown back, her body arches, her breath quick and panting.
She is spinning, soaring, the orgasm rippling from her core and spreading throughout every cell of her body, charging her blood as it races through her veins, taxing her racing heart, infusing her charged flesh with pleasure, ecstasy, even pain. But good pain, very, very good pain.
And then he comes, gripping her ass with both hands, thrusting into her repeatedly, her name rushing past his lips over and over in a promissory mantra as his body seizes up, explodes, then collapses in a puddle of satiated quivering flesh and blood and release.
Just like his fictional counterpart.
But, unlike Olivia Pope and President Fitzgerald, their time together doesn't end. They snuggle up, sweaty, disoriented, complete, and they fall briefly asleep, their bodies so tangled together that they aren't quite sure where one of them ends and the other begins.
And she loves him.
And he loves her.
And, they're together.
The End