AN: There was a post on tumblr with an image and the request for someone to write that story, so I did. (I'll have the image with the story on my tumblr if you'd like to see it.)
The Coffee of Our Lives
"Come here Kate, I wanna show you something!"
She's barely through the door when Castle pulls her into the loft, entwining his fingers with hers, tugging her along.
"Wait," she laughs at his eager face, excited like a little kid. "Let me at least take off my coat."
"Oh." He's behind her immediately, helping her out of her long pea coat, hangs it up in the coat closet.
When he turns back, she's close, wraps her arms around his neck, tugs him forward.
"This first," she murmurs, and then she kisses him softly, his lips against hers, warm and tender and lingering. "Hey."
"Hi," he whispers. His hands rest lightly at her waist, fingertips trailing along her lower back. She sighs, rests her forehead against his for a moment. It's been a long, draining day and this, this is her favorite part so far, coming home.
She draws in a long deep breath, lingers in his embrace as she allows the dread of her day to slide off her skin. Then she blinks her eyes open again, meets his.
"What did you want to show me?"
The eagerness returns to his face; he smiles brightly at her, folds her hand within his larger one and tugs her against his side as he walks her toward his office.
"Wait," he halts at the doorway, coming up behind her. She stands indulgently, a smile on her face as she waits for what's to come. She loves this about him, the little surprises he prepares for her sometimes, handwritten notes, gifts, books, drawings, flowers that she unexpectedly finds throughout the day, dinners or fun outings that he takes her to, the joy he takes in surprising her. She is blossoming, enfolded in his attention, has come to revel in the heady knowledge that he always thinks of her first.
He wraps an arm around her waist, his hand resting against her tummy, and the warmth of his palm seeps through the cotton of her shirt into her skin. With his other hand he covers her eyes and her tummy flitters excitedly as she finds herself engulfed in semi-darkness, surrounded by his spicy scent and the heat of his body.
He nudges her forward and guides her along, through the doorway and into his office. After a few steps inside he stands, turns her body in a specific direction, then takes his hand off her eyes.
"Surprise," he whispers against the rim of her ear, and she blinks open her eyes. And gasps.
She is facing the large window front of his office, but the furniture within the office area has been rearranged to create more space around it. Underneath the windows there now is a wide built-in windowsill. More closely resembling a large daybed, it spreads from one end of the windows to the other, with a padded backrest on one end to lean against. Built-in shelves are set into its black frame, and some of her books have already migrated into the empty spaces. It must be leather, the off-white cushioning that covers the sill, and its entire length is strewn with large, comfortable-looking pillows.
She reaches behind to find his hand, laces her fingers with his and squeezes. "Rick," she whispers in awe. It's been months that she had told him, within a random, every day kind of conversation that she had always liked large window sills to sit on and read the day away. So this is what he'd been up to all day. He had claimed a succession of meetings for his absence at the 12th.
"Go sit, try it," he nudges her forward, a smile in his voice.
She ambles toward it, stunned. Nobody had ever made her anything so beautiful before. Or had it made, as it is, not that it matters. She gradually runs her hands over the incredibly soft leather, pushes her palm into the pliable cushions. Then she sits down, scoots toward the backrest, relaxes against it almost reverently. Closing her eyes, she sinks into the cushions, wiggles her back and the pillows enfold her like clouds.
She opens her eyes, finds him standing close. Outside the sun is sinking, bathing the office, the window seat, her seat, him in an almost surreal dark golden glow. He smiles at her, loving and serene, and her heart leaps, wants to burst with the joyful fizzes of happiness. She reaches up, grabs a handful of his shirt and pulls him closer toward her.
"Thank you," she murmurs against his mouth, and then she kisses him, soft lips and tender swipes of her tongue.
He comes closer still, looming over her and heat flares between them, like it always does, ignites and rages; she deepens the kiss, delves inside of him, taking it all in, his dark delicious flavor, his fervor, his passion for her.
"Should've installed blinds too," he mumbles mindlessly as he trails kisses along her jaw line, his voice vibrating through her skin. She smiles, but pushes him off just slightly.
"You sure you want to share your office with me?" She asks, serious, overwhelmed by the gift. It's his writing space, his retreat, his living.
He holds her eyes with his. "I want to share everything with you."
Her heart leaps, tumbles along with her breath; her fingers clench into his shirt. She stares at him, amazed, awed.
"Hold that thought," he suddenly exclaims, and jumps up. "You just sit, enjoy," he says walking out of his office. "I'll be right back."
Mmmm. She sighs, relaxes back against the heavenly cushions, closes her eyes. She's already lulled and drifting when she hears his steps nearing once more, and she leisurely opens her eyes.
Then she smiles. He's brought her coffee. A large white cup of frothy cappuccino; she can smell the alluring aroma of the coffee and sees the froth clustered at the rim of the cup. He hands it to her, and she cradles the warm rounded porcelain shape within her palms, smiles thankfully at him.
He sits down on the seat by her legs, leans his back against her knees she's drawn up triangularly, his face turned toward her, watching her.
She drops her eyes to the cup, lifting it toward her mouth, ready to take the first sip, already almost tasting the strong flavor against her taste buds. And then she sees it.
Large perfect letters written in cocoa powder, resting on the frothy foam of the milk.
Her heart thumps against her ribs, almost leaps out of her chest. "Rick," she whispers, her thoughts swirling, her brain fluttery, fingers and toes tingly. She lifts her eyes to find him, and the look on his face takes her breath away. Awed and anxious, excited, humbled, and love, so much love. Oh.
Oh. Yes. The words dance through her brain, yes yes yes. Always yes. She smiles at him, so wide it stretches her cheeks.
She surges forward, at the last moment realizes she is still holding hot coffee but his hand is there, steadying the cup, carefully lifting it from her fingers, putting it down and then she leaps on him, cradles his face within her palms.
He wraps his arms tightly around her back, holding her close. His eyes are sparkling bright blue, dance happily.
She's taking him in, caressing his forehead with her thumbs, then his eyebrows, down his nose. Along the rims of his cheekbones, the dip by his mouth and the stubbly chin.
This beautiful and caring, funny, loving and honorable, this incredible man.
Hers. He's hers.
As she is his.
"Yes," she whispers the words again, close to his mouth, nods. "Yes."
End of Scene