Posting more Tumblr stuff because I'm needy and I don't want you guys to forget about me while I go through what might be my most uninspired period EVER!
Enjoy. : )
Fic prompt: undercover kiss set sometime at the end of s4.
Set between "47 Seconds" and "The Limey"
She hadn't expected it; the way he slammed her back against the wall. The force of impact caused her to bite down on his lip and she could taste the blood it drew.
She wanted to apologise, but he was unrelenting and she couldn't pull away, couldn't stop. She ran her tongue over the wound to soothe his pain and the guttural moan she incited was like a drug: instantaneously, she was hooked.
His kiss was rough and bruising, like the raw brick he had her pinned to.
His tongue as angry and forceful, as his words had been just moments ago.
What they had been fighting about, she wasn't quite sure. Everything, it seemed.
These past few days nothing was the same as it had been before and she didn't know why. She didn't understand what she had done, how she had hurt him. All she knew was that this felt an awful lot like the beginning of the end.
And that hurt.
Her skin scraped along the porous wall as he leant further into her. His knee slipped in between hers, forcing her legs to part for him; not that she would have denied him, anyway.
Better judgement was a thing of the past, doing the right thing wasn't her concern anymore.
She just wanted this closeness, this illusion that everything between them was fine.
She could lie to herself easily enough, she had been doing it for years now.
She had all but abandoned her watch, closing her eyes and shutting out the world around them - including the man they were supposed to be staking out.
But getting caught now would jeopardise their entire case - that is, after all, why they were currently making out in a seedy alleyway behind one of the city's most infamous nightclubs.
Letting their suspect slip through the cracks now would ensure they still had a case tomorrow. That's what she told herself, anyway.
It wasn't at all, not even slightly, because she couldn't focus on anything more than the taste of his mouth.
It wasn't at all, not even slightly, because the coil in her stomach was tightening with each involuntary roll of her hips against his.
It wasn't at all, not even slightly, because his touch had stolen the breath from her lungs and now she was feeling dizzy.
And weak in the knees.
And her heart was racing a million miles an hour.
Too soon, she felt his lips pulling from hers and it took everything in her not to chase them, to reclaim them with the same level of ferity he had shown.
"He's gone," Castle whispered as he stepped out from between her thighs.
The chilled night air filled the space between their bodies, making the loss of his warmth all the more cruel.
His eyes stayed fixed on the dark end of the alley, where their suspect had disappeared into the night, purposefully avoiding hers.
Her arms crossed her torso like a protective shield as she fought to catch her breath.
"Go home, Kate. There's no point in pursuing anymore."
While logic told her he was referring to their suspect; in a relationship built on the precarious foundation of subtext and innuendo, she would never be certain.
"Castle..."
He looked at her, his eyes almost begging her not to continue.
"I'll see you tomorrow?"
It was pathetic how broken and needy she sounded, but she didn't care.
She wanted his reassurance, his promise that this wasn't over yet.
That there was still hope.
"Tomorrow."