Anonymous asked: Are you taking prompts right now? I have one that I'd love to see in your writing: In To Love and Die in LA, Castle's the one who leaves first, and Beckett stays. When he opens the door, she's still there waiting.
Hi Anon! As always, I apologize for making you wait for this. I hope you enjoy it!
Soft Love
Soft.
As a writer, he should be able to come up with a more extravagant way of describing the woman whose cheek is propped on her hand, but there's nothing else that comes to mind. She's just soft. Kate Beckett is soft beside him, telling him stories about her mentor, letting him in in a way that's so rare for her to do.
It's humbling, and he yearns to be able to give her something back.
"Even now, after spending all this time with you I'm … I'm still amazed at the depth of your strength, your heart … and your hotness."
He watches a flush work its way up her neck, darkening her cheeks before she huffs a laugh.
"You're not so bad yourself, Castle," she says, almost airy enough to make him believe she's being offhand with the compliment. But he knows her, he knows what it takes for her to open up like this – especially to his face – and he accepts her words without preening, without posturing.
It's still too much, he knows. It's obvious the moment her eyes darken, the moment her shy almost-smile falls from her lips.
Her shoulders rise, her chest expanding with the breath she takes; the gentle (or not so gentle) letdown he's not sure he's ready to hear her voice.
"It's late," he says instead, refusing to glance at his watch or hers to see what time it is. "I should head to bed."
She doesn't respond, but she doesn't put up an argument either, only saying his name as he gets to his feet,
"Castle."
He stops, using his exhale to remind his muscles what they need to do: walk away. He can't – won't – drop back beside her, even as his skin sings from her proximity.
"Try to get some rest, Kate," he murmurs, taking a slow step back, careful not to trip over the coffee table and land in a heap in front of her. "Good night."
Finally, his partner nods, curling her fingers around one another. Her hair slides over her cheek, hiding her face from him as she echoes his farewell. "Night, Castle."
His forehead connects with his lacquered bedroom door the second the latch snicks shut. The curve of her smile flashes behind his eyelids, spilling want through his system. But she's hurting right now, and even more than that, she has Josh; there's no room for his own impulsive, potentially disastrous desires.
Yet his fingers hover over the door handle, poised to send him hurtling back into the seating area of the suite to speak his piece – whatever that might be.
Nothing else has to happen – nothing else will happen. He just needs to say something to offer some solace, something to assure her of him.
Beckett's standing by the couch, fingers twisted in front of her, eyes trained on his door, when he emerges. She doesn't jolt or startle at his reappearance, which makes him wonder if she'd known he would give in, but he doesn't ask for an explanation. Instead his feet propel him to her, stopping just shy of their toes brushing.
She lifts her chin, putting on a brave face for him once more. "Forget something?"
"Yeah," Castle says, reaching out with careful hands to draw her into his chest, his embrace firm but gentle even as Beckett goes rigid against him.
He waits, expecting her to slug him and step away, but after a moment of uncertainty, her breath hitches and she sinks into him, her own arms winding around his waist. Rick exhales, relief and exhilaration combining to ruffle her hair.
"I'm here," he murmurs, touching his mouth to her hairline. "Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever you need after that, I'm here."
Her heart taps a steady beat under his hand, but Kate flattens her palms against his back and presses closer. When she finally speaks, so soft he almost misses it, it's his breath that catches at her words,
"Just you, Castle. I just need you."