Hi there!
Well if you've been reading my latest story, you know I'm on vacation and said I wouldn't be updating. But I've had this idea for a couple of weeks now. And what better place to write a beach fic than sitting on your balcony at the beach?!
Prompt: Song fic to "I Don't Dance" by Lee Bryce. Listen to it before or while reading. :)
Enjoy!
She's single handedly the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. There's no other way to describe her other than strikingly and stunningly gorgeous.
There's a confidence that carries her and that she carries. She takes her time, she's aware of everything she's doing. Her movements are fluid, graceful, perfect, and so so effortless.
There's a swagger in her walk, in the way that she knows she's an alpha, that she knows she can handle and over come anything that is handed to her. She turns heads in all the right ways but doesn't give any of her on lookers the satisfaction of knowing she knows they're watching.
There's something about her looks that makes her so uniquely gorgeous. Her eyes are the first thing that he noticed when he met her. The orbs of an angel; nothing less. He loves seeing them sparkle when she's happy, and he likes healing the hurt in them when she's sad. But no matter what, he loves them.
Her cheekbones are nothing short of fascinating, giving way to her amazing lips and smile. He didn't get to see much of it when they first met, so when she did finally loosen up and let him in, that smile meant so much. A dazzling display of pearly white joy that he can see when she's so overtaken with happiness that her mouth opens wide and her eyes shine just a little more. He thinks it makes her ever more beautiful. Especially that smile that she saves just for him when they finally get home from work and they can cuddle up on the couch. It's that smile that keeps him sane sometimes.
And even though all elements of her separately are gorgeous, putting them all together forms a perfect individual. Someone so beyond his wildest dreams that not even his imagination could dream her up and write her on a page. No, she is out of this world. She's breathtaking, really.
He watches her from the back porch of the Hamptons house on the evening of their first day as husband and wife. The waves crash in the dark and the little fire he lit in the pit produces enough light for him to see her. She's standing by the railing, her hips swaying ever so slightly to the sounds of the stereo spilling out from the house after enough wine coolers to make her feel at ease. There's a grin on her face; one so blissful and happy, he senses one gracing his lips as well.
He's content just to watch her stand there until she tiptoes over to him and reaches for his hand. "Come dance with me."
There's a split second where he wants to laugh and ask if she's serious, because Richard Castle does not dance. But before the thought is completely processed, his hand is in hers as he lifts himself out if the chair and pulls her to the middle of the deck. He wraps his arms around her, and hers wound loosely around his neck as they sway in the night to the sounds of country music and the Atlantic Ocean.
He runs his hand up and down her back, her even breath matching the pace of their dance. A dance they have been symbolically doing for six years now. He can feel her content sigh as he spins her once, twice, and then pulls her back to him.
He breathes in the salt air, the smell of her perfume catching at his nose. He closes his eyes and and let's out his own sign of content as he pulls her closer still, kissing the top of her head and letting it linger.
When he opens his eyes, he catches a glimpse of the stars, a rarity for a New Yorker. He remembers all the times before he ever knew her that he would come and stand in this exact spot, alone and sad, and wish to these same stars that he had someone to share his life with that really, truly mattered. God must have been listening.
It's in that moment that he realizes that he is a changed man. A good, whole, right man that he never was before. He is someone willing to look themselves in the mirror and know that they are all they've wanted to be.
Because before he met her, he would have never brought anyone coffee day in and day out just to see a smile on their face. He would have never taken the time to hunt down New York's scum for the hell of it. He would have never stood feet from a bomb, reminiscing on years and years of experiences just to keep someone calm and distracted while his own heart and mind were summersaulting out of control. He would have never raced into a burning building or risk freezing to death, or being turned to tiger kibble because he wanted a rush of excitement for the day. He would have never let anyone see the soft side reserved specifically for his daughter, because that's not Richard Castle. And most importantly, he would have never, ever danced.
He would have sauntered into a nightclub, a babe on each arm, ready to mix and mingle and be oogled over. He would have drank fancy cocktails and gotten special favors because he could. He would have used that magical smirk and turned everyone he crossed paths with to a puddle of mush and been so exceptionally pleased with himself. He would have been with countless women, and still feel like there was something missing; because there was.
Everyone likes to think that he fixed her, and that's what most people would say upon hearing their story. That the writer fixed the cop. That the writer brought the cop back from the deep, dark rabbit hole. That the writer is the reason the cop is the person she is today. But when he thinks back to when they first met, and how much he himself has been changed and molded and shaped by her, he knows that she saved him. The cop fixed the writer. The cop humbled the writer. The cop is the reason the writer is the man he is today. And he could never be more thankful about anything in all of his life.
Because Richard Castle doesn't dance, but now he does.
Please review!
xoxo