Window 14: Ain't It Thrilling

She squeals, hikes her shoulders up to her ears protectively but the cold slush is already running down her neck, icy droplets trickling along her spine underneath her sweater.

Ugh, that rat bas…

She balls her fists, presses her back against the side of the building, glancing around, eyes narrowed contemplatively. He can't be that far, considering both the velocity and accuracy with which the snowball had hit her perfectly at the back of her neck just when she had turned out of the lobby doors. Usually they meet about two blocks away from the precinct, reuniting with a drawn-out kiss before he walks her home or she accompanies him to his loft, hands folded together.

The snow had been falling steadily since last night, progressively blanketing New York City under a layer of wet, heavy snow and as the day passed, the antsier Castle got, fidgeting, looking yearningly out the window, checking his watch.

"Don't you wanna go play in the snow, Beckett?" He'd answered when she had finally called him out on it, looking up at her with his puppy dog eyes. When had it happened that she'd fallen for that look, anyway? She'd leaned over him, invading his personal space just a bit too much since nobody was looking, an eyebrow hiked up.

"Come on, let's go play," he'd pleaded, grinning suggestively at her and yes, she definitely wanted to go play, and snow had nothing to do with it. She'd almost growled, willed her fingers not to claw into his shirt, and slowly fell back into her own chair.

"Maybe later, Castle," she'd sighed, dropping her eyes back to the distraction her paperwork might offer, and ignoring the impatient jiggle of his leg.

Apparently, later was now.

She scoots along the wall toward the corner of the building, carefully poking her head around it. A snowball sails straight at her and she ducks, the ball whisking right over her head, smashing against the brick wall behind her. Castle grins gleefully at her from the building catty-corner from hers, waving his gloved hand and then he takes off on a run, crossing the street and heading toward the edge of the park.

Beckett takes off after him, her shoe slipping on the slushy snow layered over the asphalt and she wobbles for a moment before she finds her footing again. Nothing will deter her from kicking his butt in a snowball fight, especially not her fabulous heals.

It is so on.

She ducks behind a thick tree trunk, garnering her ammunition together. Cradling the next lump of snow between her rapidly cooling palms, she packs it tightly together, smoothing over its bumps with her fingertips until the surface is perfectly smooth, enhancing the snowball's speed and trajectory, then sets it next to the others. Eyes like slits, she focuses into the distance, nightfall having settled over the park. It has finally stopped snowing, the clouds having given way to a clear, icy sky, and the moonlight bounces over the gleaming white surfaces, illuminating the world in ethereal pale light.

She hears the crackle first, the barely audible crunch of snow and she whips her head around just as the next snowball races toward her, catching her shoulder. She throws one after him, getting his leg as he tries to make his retreat behind the next bush. She follows with two more, their path through the air just perfect as they hit him first square on the back, then right at his neck and he squeals, laughs in the distance.

Grabbing the rest of her ammunition she races after him, bombarding him with the tightly packed snow, the black wool of his coat covered in white until he jumps behind a spruce, hiding away from her sight.

She knows he'll be preparing, ready to get her back so she scans her surroundings, revises her plan. She forms a snowball, throws it into the snow-laden branches of a tree opposite her, watching as the snow slips off the branches, sailing soundlessly to the ground. Dropping down to her knees, she quietly robs through the snow in a wide circle around a group of trees, making quick progress, hoping that her distraction drew his focus just long enough.

Finally she sees him, coming up halfway behind him, where he is crouched behind the thick-branched tree, quickly packing a small mountain of snowballs while he peeks past the tree, scanning the area. She's got to move quickly or he'll get her squarely so she carefully rises, presses herself flat behind the tree trunk, and throws another snowball into the branches right in his field of vision. Snow sails again and he tenses, focuses straight ahead like a panther, snowball at the ready.

All is still, no sounds rippling through the air, even their breathing inaudible.

Beckett jumps up, three quick steps and she's tackling him from behind, bounding on his back like a monkey, pushing a handful of snow down into his neck. He squeals – like a little girl and she can't stop giggling, clinging her thighs around his waist.

"I'll get you for this, Beckett," he growls and suddenly she's moving through the air, landing on her back in the soft cold bed of snow, his broad form on top of her, holding her down, his grin pleased, almost sneering as he grasps for a handful of snow. He's got another thing coming if he thinks he can defeat her this easily. Doesn't he know what she's capable of?

She lifts a knee, slowly strokes it up the length of his leg, before she softly, teasingly nudges him between the vee of his thighs. His eyes go just a tad unfocused at her tender touch and that's her moment; one leg laced around his hip, she stems the other to the ground, garners her momentum and flips him over. He lands on his back, eyes wide in surprise at her quick maneuver and she straddles his hips, clamps a hand over both of his wrists above his head, holding him down as she leans over him.

"You give up yet?" She whispers melodiously, clawing her fingers around a handful of snow and bringing it toward his face.

"Never," he growls, lifting his pelvis into hers and heat erupts through her, fast and unrelenting, and so she slaps the hand of snow over his face, rubbing the cold slush on his skin in punishment for that unfair tease of a maneuver.

He squeals, laughs, yelps. "Apples, apples, apples," and she pulls her hand away, trails just one finger down his cheek.

And suddenly she's the one on her back again, the breath whooshing from her lungs as she's pushed into the ice-cold snow when he flips her once more. She blinks up at him and he grins, wiggles his hips into hers suggestively.

"Can't believe you fell for that old trick," he smirks. She clenches her fists, ready to get him back but then his mouth is over hers instead, his lips cold but quickly warming against hers as he kisses her, his wet, gloved fingers in her hair, guiding her head. She slips her tongue over his, sliding deep into his mouth, a playful battle that sends spirals of heat through her body, leaving her shivering in the cold snow.

She ends the kiss, undulates her hips against him just once, long and measured and his pupils go cloudy with want.

"Come on, let's go play some more where it's warmer."

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