Author: chezchuckles PM
Taking liberties with the Nathan Fillion quote: "It's like our morning kiss. One way to say, without actually saying it, 'Good morning, my heart, how are you doing'" COMPLETERated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Friendship - Kate B. & Rick C. - Words: 905 - Reviews: 81 - Favs: 136 - Follows: 8 - Published: 10-28-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7502197
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"It's like our morning kiss. One way to say without actually saying it 'Good morning, my heart, how are you doing?'"
-Nathan Fillion on Coffee
Castle finds himself bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for Beckett to finally, finally pick up her coffee. He brought it when he arrived, one cup in each hand, and set hers on the desk nestled close to her parade of elephants (he's going to start a line of lions next, a subtle message).
But she's at the murder board, and thinking out loud with him, gesturing with the dry erase marker, giving him those sly or shy smiles (depending on how suggestive he's being), and not once, not once has she sipped her coffee.
She's reached for it twice. Faking him out. Reached for it only to go back to the murder board or to round on him with another theory. Her theories get wilder and less likely the more she talks, until finally, he grabs her by the shoulders and pushes her to sit on the edge of her desk.
"Drink your coffee, Beckett. You're starting to sound sleep-deprived. Or like me."
"I *am* sleep-deprived," she murmurs, rolling her eyes at him, but also reaching for the coffee. "And you're rubbing off on me."
He's too excited about the coffee to comment on that one, watching her fingers as they caress the cup.
She holds it for a minute against her chest, watching him, curious at the (most likely) completely evident expectation on his face. She chuckles at him and lifts the cup to her lips, takes that hesitant and careful first sip of hot liquid, braced for the burn.
Her eyebrows shoot up, then down as her eyelids close, her lips parting from the cup lid, a soft treble of a moan tumbling from her mouth.
The precinct could be a dark bedroom for all he can tell.
"What did you do to it?" she moans again, her eyelids flickering open to stun him with a jade green stare.
Even though he knows exactly what he did to it, knows the answer to her question, his mind has gone blank. He watches her breathe deeply, in and out, watches her dismiss his ignorance and dive back for the coffee, taking a deep drink of it, her throat working as she swallows, her hair falling back from her cheeks and revealing the elegant and strong lines of her bones.
He wants to trace the ridge of her jaw with his mouth.
"I had them put some extra stuff in it," he says finally, feels his tongue tripping over itself. "And it's not just regular coffee."
"What is it?" she murmurs, a finger to her lips as if to taste whatever residual drops might have splashed there.
"It's a secret," he teases, regaining some faculty but not much suave.
"You can't. You can't keep this a secret. This is. . .divine."
No. *She* is divine.
"I found a new place," he says, giving her a shrug. "They have some winter flavors."
"Castle. Not fair. You have to spill it. Don't keep secrets."
His heart stumbles. "No. Not telling you."
"How will I ever get it again if you don't tell me?"
"You'll get it again," he assures her, but he can hear the rough edge of his voice, the way the growl wants to purr from his throat and into her mouth.
"What if I want. . .coffee and you're not here? What if I have someone else get me coffee and I need to tell them what-"
"Better not be anyone else bringing you coffee." And this time, his voice is low, it does growl, and he can't help seeing the twitch in her mouth, the dark look in her eyes. "That's my job."
"You're not here every day. . ."
"Practically," he counters.
"All day long? What about when you leave me doing paperwork? What about when I go canvas a neighborhood on my way home? I need it then too."
"That's easily remedied," he murmurs, and he knows he's standing too close, knows that he won't be able to keep his hands off her for much longer, but he really can't do anything about that.
"How?" she challenges, the cup still cradled against her chest.
"Any time you need it, you call me. Day or night. Early or late."
"I already call you," she says, and her voice is soft, softer than he could imagine, and the things in her eyes. . .they whisper her secrets.
"You do," he agrees, and his traitorous hand reaches for her elbow, strokes the skin at the back of her arm. "Partners."
"What about when I'm at home? When I'm not on duty?" she whispers. And it's more than coffee, more than a specialty blend.
He brings his mouth to her ear, close, hovering, everything between them and nothing between them. "I'll come. I'll always come."
He feels her smile even though he can't see it, and her she turns her head and gives him a ghost of a kiss, a not even there brush of lips just in the air near his cheek. "Then you better not be bringing coffee to anyone else, either."