Disclaimer: Castle belongs to the dudes who own Castle, obviously. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made.
'All Across the Hours' is blatantly stolen from 'The Hours' by 'Beach House'.
all across the hours 1/24
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May 8th 2012, 12.01am
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The world is soft, warm and he feels like he's floating. He's adrift in the ocean, rising to the surface only to be met with stars.
He's every place and no place but he's not concerned – he's not alone. He was, once, in the before, but he's not now, not any more, because-
She's with him.
Her name floats through the whispers in the air and he thinks it's impossible – it should be impossible – but it's not. He doesn't see her, but he doesn't have to. There's a body next to his, warm and soft, and they're tangled together, intertwined, like two parts of one whole. It feels so right that it can't be anyone but her.
He could stay here, he knows, lost in the space between always and forever, but there's a tickle against his skin. There's a twisting path that appears before him, solid ground beneath his feet, and he struggles to grasp the thread of light, to rise up from the depths of slumber and meet the voice softly calling his name.
It's still dark when he opens his eyes, the light from his alarm clock not enough to dispel the shadows. There's a weight holding him down when he tries to sit up – soft, warm curves against his chest, long smooth legs tangled between his – he stops moving, confused, because he doesn't remember-
But he thinks he smells cherries.
He thinks, maybe, it's her.
And then it's almost too good to be true, the way her body slides against his, the way her lips-
She's kissing him, he realises, feathering a path along the side of his neck.
Rick slides his hand from where it rests on her hip, his fingers dancing along the smooth curve of her spine until they can tangle in the wild mess of her hair. He tilts her head back, finds her lips in a deep, lazy kiss.
She tastes of rain.
And it suddenly clicks in his head. The fog lifts and he remembers the echo of you.
The woman at his door.
The one in his bed.
His kiss turns rougher as the memories flood his mind.
Honestly, he thought he'd been dreaming and when she moans into his mouth – her kiss filled with want and need and fire – maybe, he thinks, he still is.
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