No excuses. Just a new chapter. Enjoy.
Also- I couldn't decide on the name- so I cheated and made it both. XD
Many thanks to my BETA for this one- demuredemeanor :))
Saw this once, wanted to use it- Words are mine, world ain't.
P(r)oof
It began with a date. The first of its kind; the kind where Castle can't help but be himself and go all out: sweep her off her feet exactly how she deserves. It would be wrong, and not to mention terribly out of character for him not to.
After dinner, he takes her to a show, a magic show where the main events include a disappearing tiger (something they can both appreciate), and one of those outfit change routines. They watch as sheets are lifted, and immediately removed to find that the magician's assistant has changed from something pink and skimpy to a luxurious navy blue ballgown. And then there's a flash of light and she's standing before them in a short, yellow cocktail dress. Poof after poof, she's dressed in something different; all in the matter of seconds. He's always found this kind of trick the most intriguing. There simply isn't time for her to change! It must be magic.
"I gotta admit, Castle. That was pretty fun to see," She offers with a smile. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but I still don't believe in magic. It's a carefully choreographed routine where—" She stops when she realizes he's mocking her, free hand up (the other one happens to be entwined in hers), in the international (and totally mature) gesture for, 'blah, blah, blah.'
Cue the classic eye roll.
He wants to play ball, fine. She can handle that. She'll do him one better.
She tugs at his hand. "C'mon. I have something to show you."
He follows without a complaint, a talent he's perfected through their partnership. She leads him up, up, up until the stairs run out, and they're standing on the rooftop. She gives his hand a squeeze before releasing it, and takes a deep breath. Walking so smoothly that it seems as if she's floating; she is drawn to the triangular corner of the place, smiling easily back at him and the transfixed look on his features. His eyes can't be focused on anything else when she is around. They never could.
This is her own personal peak, the apex of the urban mountain she tirelessly climbs every day on the path she chose. The right path. The just path. But at the mountain top, all those rock slides and dangerous beings that constantly litter the slopes are at bay, because up here, she can breathe.
"I come up here to think. It's quieter. And the best part? No cell service." She says, after a moment, turning a shoulder in his direction. It's mostly the truth. She'll divulge more later, because heavens knows he deserves it, but now isn't the time, even though it is, in fact, the place.
He opens his mouth to defend his loudly playing thoughts, but she adds, 'And don't say you didn't ask.'
He closes his mouth and instead goes with a knowing smile. Understanding her so well after so short a time really seems like a blessing he isn't entirely sure he deserves. Although, she knows him just as well. Better sometimes, maybe.
He studies her as she turns back to cast her gaze over the ledge, eyes tracing the skyline, and her soft lines juxtaposed against the hard lines of the concrete.
"So, you bring all your dates up here?" He jokes, not wanting her to feel obligated to share more.
She turns to face him, finding that he's snuck into her personal space. It doesn't surprise her. She reaches up and fiddles with one of the lapels of his jacket, her eyes finally finding his, reveling in that boyish-blue glint that resides there so often.
'Oh I don't know, Writer-Boy,' she drawls out, almost in a sing-song. 'Just the ones that are intent on presenting me with so-called 'proof' so I'll believe in fairy tales and double rainbows.' Her other hand comes up and under his jacket to playfully nudge him in the ribs a few times.
He laughs in a deep, rich timbre she already knows she'll never tire of. Every time he laughs like that, every time he laughs like that because of her, it feels like a big bear hug, a warm weight that settles comfortably around her shoulders. Along with coffee, that laugh of his is a classic indicator that everything is good, great even, between them. She fruitlessly tries to come up with a timeline in her head of when she started feeling that way. It is blurred, as it should be. Every other relationship she's been in have felt too choppy, too many milestones that stuck out. As she watched herself get further and further away from those milestones, the more terrified she became.
Not with him. Blurred is good. A natural progression.
He was willing to wait, not force anything.
That was a first.
She smiles up at him, a genuine, soft smile behind which he can just see the pink tip of her tongue. That smile was all of his favorite emotions wrapped up into one. Teasing. Happiness. Affection. Amusement. That smile. He can describe it a thousand different ways, it's his job to do so, after all, but in this instance it's better left unwritten.
"So, what will make you believe?" He asks, softly.
"I don't know," she offers, her eyes still dancing in delight. "Try me."
He makes a show out of thinking about this challenge. He settles his hands on her waist, and tilts his posture to one side, as if deep in thought.
'The great Richard Castle, stumped?' She asks, playfully. His eyes find hers, and she sees the answer in his eyes. She feels a rosy red touching her cheeks as she offers, 'Need some help?'
Her eyes float to his lips for a moment, and then down to her hands, now toying with his collar. As her curious fingers march higher to play with the nape of his neck, she hears his intake of breath. She's got him. In truth, she had him long ago.
His hands slide around her, pulling her closer as she brings a hand to his jaw. He watches her mouth, pretty and pink. This is it. No turning back now.
Their eyes hold in a soft but powerful gaze, and as she closes the distance, her lungs fill with air. As he hovers closer, she feels like she is literally breathing him in. Her breath hitches, at its limit, and the humming air around them seems to still.
When the spark shoots between them, she follows it and lands her lips on his. Gently, she moves against him, flush to his broad chest.
They both groan a little at the initial contact, a little hazy, a little stunned that the load of this tension between them is quickly dissolving. And then they begin to move, a choreographed dance that they know perfectly without even trying, and God, it feels so good, so world-shattering, even though they've barely begun.
His hand slinks up into her hair, bringing her even closer now, and closer still when she slides a heel clad foot around his knee. When they landed pressed up against the tall, fall-preventing rail they can't be sure, because all they can feel are lips and tongues and each other and even though they are blissfully lost, yes, this is happening, and yes, this is real and yes, they should have done this long ago.
She nibbles on his lower lip, a heated growl escaping his lips because hell she is good at this, and he would have written off kissing every woman he ever has kissed since meeting her had he known that it would be like this. He'd had an inkling, though, if he had to be honest. But nothing like this. This was unfathomable. She was right that first day. (She's always right.) He had no idea.
And now it's her turn to sound off, a strangled noise, barely half of what she wants to let out because his tongue is downright sinful and she wants to spend the rest of the foreseeable future with it wrapped around hers.
He's drawn to her upper lip, she, to his bottom one. Perfectly in sync, their bodies respond to each other, warming, seemingly pliable to the other's touch. His tongue swipes along her lip, and while she's distracted, his hands wander lower, cupping her shaped backside, and hauling her closer. She whimpers in surprise, but makes no move to stop as she kisses down his jaw and to his throat, surprising him in turn. Her lips over over the thrumming pulse under his skin, her hot breath doing more to quicken its tempo than anything else.
She finds his lips again, gentler this time, languidly working her mouth against his, marveling in how easy, how effortless this is. It's like they've been kissing all their lives. Not that either of them mind the extra practice.
Go ahead, she thinks, I need the practice. Her lips quirk against his at the memory of her own words.
As if sensing her thought, he quickens the pace again, working her into a tizzy; his talented lips and tongue doing the most devious dance she's ever felt as he dips lower to her neck. He bites and soothes, working his way up and down, and back up again to her lips as their kisses slow, as if in some unspoken agreement.
Breathless, panting, they pull away from each other, a thousand questions resonating in both their eyes. She's not so sure how a moment that was supposed to knock him off kilter hit her so hard. Talk about backfire. But all that can wait because now, this moment is too important to sully with that kind of talk. Answers now, questions later.
Her head falls to his shoulder, as if to steady herself, and he tightens his arms in reassurance. After a moment, she draws back and looks at him, running her hands through his hair; (how long has she wanted to do that?) her hair is tousled, lips swollen pink, and eyes ignited.
"Now, Rick, this,"she nods between them, "is the kind of magic I believe in."
How'd you like it? Worth the ridiculously long wait? :))
love!
MTAM