All typos belong to me...

They're pesky little suckers.

Chapter 12 - "Sometimes It's Just Art"

"Mmmmmmmmm... That smells awesome!"

Castle looked up to admire his fiancée crossing over from the front door, having just returned from a long day at the Precinct. She'd had a lot of paperwork to take care of lately while prepping for an upcoming trial, so Castle had opted to stay home and attempt to get a bit of writing done. After toiling over the phrasing of one of his scenes, he decided to take a break and indulge in the culinary arts to relax. And because he had been craving a snack.

Beckett tossed her black leather coat across the back of the couch as she sauntered towards the writer who was making magic in the kitchen.

"You've had a long week..." he smiled over his shoulder as he picked up a hot pad. "Just thought I'd make you something special."

Opening the oven door, Castle reached into the heated cavern and removed the tray that was inside.

"Is that what I think they are?" she exclaimed, a wide, toothy smile lighting her face.

Castle plopped the thermal cookie sheet on the counter in front of her, exuberant in his reply. "Oatmeal cookies..." he beamed. "From scratch."

"God, I love you," she muttered as she hypnotically reached for one of the cookies, not even giving him a chance to transfer them from the metal pan to the cooling rack.

"Huh." His voice was laced with amazement as he observed her lift a cookie to her mouth.

She looked up quickly, baffled by his huffed comment. "What?"

"If I'd known that baking elicited that particular response, I would've made cookies for you years ago," he smirked, watching her roll her eyes playfully as she bit into the warm, chewy biscuit.

"What can I say?" she countered, licking her lips as she locked her gaze with his. "I love things that are sweet."

His lips quirked. "Like... sugar... daddies?" he teased, suggestively raising an eyebrow, body canting towards hers over the counter.

"Yeah..." she admitted, voice deep and gravelly, as she leaned towards him, coy and flirtatious, index finger toying with his collar. "Know where I might find one?"

"Maybe...?" he stammered, breath heated and heavy, face inches from hers, eyes flickering as they glanced as her luscious mouth. "Want me to give you his number?"

"You have Ryan Reynolds' phone number?" she exclaimed, leaning back in her chair as she flicked her eyebrows, teasingly biting into her cookie.

His hands flew up to his chest, grasping his heart. "Ouch!" A pained but amused grin crossed his face. "Low Beckett... very low."

She shot him a sly grin, winking playfully as she licked the tip of her index finger followed by her thumb. She couldn't suppress the twinkle in her eyes as the pad of her thumb lingered between her teeth for an extended moment.

He momentarily forgot how to breathe, mesmerized by the woman in front of him. When did eating cookies become so erotic?

She stretched out on the leather sofa, extending her arms above her head, reaching with her toes, as she let out a deep yawn.

"Eating cookies tired you out?" he grinned, lifting her torso off the couch so he could sit behind her. He tucked a pillow behind her back for comfort, wrapping his right arm over her shoulder, resting his wide palm on her stomach.

"Maybe I'm just bored by the company," she smirked, shifting, settling herself deep into the cushion.

"Funnnee..."

She smiled contently, upper teeth biting lightly on her lower lip, as she brought her hand to rest on her abs, twining her fingers with his. They remained in a comfortable silence for a long while, Castle staring at his fiancée as her eyes scanned the interior of the loft.

It was fascinating to him. How she'd been here so many times - how she practically lived here - yet she always studied the space. As if on a quest to discover some unnoticed item or disregarded object that would reveal to her a depth about the writer that she'd never noticed. Never considered.

"I can hear you thinking..." he whispered into her hair as he pressed his lips ever-so lightly to the top of her head. "And I doubt your stunned silence is due to the cookies... they couldn't have been that good."

"What makes you say that?" she smiled, tilting her head slightly to look up at his face, soft blue eyes gazing back at her. Gorgeous.

"Well..." he began, "you didn't drag me into the bedroom to ravish my sculpted, muscular body, so the aphroditic powers of oatmeal is evidently unfounded."

"I believe in delayed gratification," she replied, voice silky, fingers gently tracing the sides of his - the tickling sensation against his skin incredibly arousing.

"I'll hold you to that," he grinned.

"Holding may not be enough..." she countered, skating her thumb up the inside of his forearm, skimming along the sensitive flesh of his wrist.

He lost all coherent thought as his body shivered. Cookies and playful innuendo. She was going to be the death of him.

"Uhhh... so…" he swallowed heavily, clearing his throat in an effort to regain his composure. "What exactly were you thinking about?"

She shrugged, answering nonchalantly. "Art."

"Art?"

"Yeah…" she sighed, elegant lines of her soft skin melting away, eyes hooded, as she embraced the silence for a moment before clarifying. "Your taste in art… my taste in art… art in general."

He tore his eyes from her beautiful face, inquisitively taking in all of the framed works adorning his walls, sculptures lining his shelves.

"I just find it interesting how different our tastes are…" she muttered to herself.

The fingers of his left hand tenderly raked through her soft, wavy hair, massaging her scalp, his lingering caress incredibly hypnotic. "How so?"

"You like photography..." she noted thoughtfully, relaxing under his delicate touch, fighting to keep her weighted eyelids open, lashes fluttering heavily.

Castle took a moment to consider her observation. Slowly, methodically, his eyes swept from one side of the room to the other. Above the piano, a top the book shelves, behind and beside his desk in the office, spanning the staircase, next to the dining room. Almost every frame displaying an abstract photograph. Even the spacious walls in his bedroom were covered by enormous animal pictures. Well... picture. Poor Linus.

But she had a point.

"I guess I do," he admitted, fingers of his right hand unconsciously skirting up and down across the back of her hand that was resting on her stomach.

She closed her eyes, relishing the gentle, smoothing sensation along her flesh. "Why?" she inquired with a light whisper.

"I've never really thought about it before," he pondered, "but I guess photos appeal to the writer in me. That every image captured a moment in time that will never happen again the same way…" The two fell silent, savoring the comfort of the brief pause before he added, "That at that very instant, time stopped."

Beckett relaxed into the couch, warmed thoroughly by his presence. "Got a favourite?"

Leaning against the the back of the couch, Castle allowed his head to flop to the right, eyes fixing on the enormous image of the Parisian subway that hung over his staircase. "That one..." he muttered.

Fighting against the lull that his touch was inducing, Kate cracked open her eyes, looking straight across the room to gaze at the same photograph that had captured her fiancé's attention.

She wrapped his hand within hers, her nimble fingers lacing between his strong digits. She said nothing, just continued to look at the photograph, attempting to see what he sees.

"The empty platform..." he continued, voice hypnotic in its tone. "Makes me wonder about all the people who've stood there. All those lives. All those stories. Every single one of them a lead character in their own personal narrative, not even giving a second thought to the others around them. A train full of individuals. Waiting." He paused purposefully before he uttered, "So many individuals... completely alone in a sea of people. So many stories..."

"There's always a story..." she mumbled, caught in the same hypnotic bubble that Castle had entered.

The rhythmic palpitations of Castle's heart comforted Beckett, savoring its gentle cadence as she leaned her cheek against his chest.

"But the train is life itself…" he muttered almost inaudibly. The soft pad of her thumb skated along the sensitized skin on the inside of his palm as she waited for him to continue his thought. "Doors open… ready to take you somewhere new. Next leg of the journey. So many possibilities right there in front of you." He paused momentarily before adding, "But some people never get on..."

They stared at the picture for a while, silently pondering how their own lives paralleled those of any of the people who'd ever stood on that platform... how they waited for life like they waited for the train. Too scared to imagine a different life… to take a chance… to move on... to really live.

Beckett smiled at the epiphany as the imagery in the photograph struck her with such depth she'd never before considered. "That was me..." she whispered.

Shaken from his reverie, Castle returned his attention to the woman laying in his arms. The woman entranced by the photo of a Parisian metro station.

He waited in silence, ever-so patient for her to continue. To express her inner-most thoughts.

"That was me..." she repeated, voice soft. "Just going about the day to day... waiting... life just passing me by…"

"Me too…" His arms tightened around her lithe form, their palms kissing, their fingers tangled. "Not any more," he whispered affectionately into her ear.

A light smile teased as the edge of her lips. "Not any more," she confirmed, pulling his arms around her even tighter.

They embraced the comfortable quiet that had cocooned around them, flickering light from the fireplace casting an ethereal glow around the grand space.

Pressing his soft lips against her silky hair, he brushed a tender kiss to the crown of her head. "It's going to be an interesting mix of styles when we eventually live together," he muttered against her chestnut locks.

"Hmmmm?" she hummed, his heated breath ghosting the crest of her ear.

"I'm drawn to stylized photographs..." he noted, nuzzling the edge of her jaw, "and huge, abstract paintings speak to you."

She sighed happily at the contact of his skin against hers. "Like 'Matasaburo of the Wind'?"

"Could Alex Gross have possibly painted that on a bigger canvas?" he teased, running the fingers of his left hand along her clavicle.

"Size doesn't matter," she murmured as his fingers skated up her neck, lightly circling her chin, tracing the edge of her lower lip.

"That's not what you said last night," he retorted, the treble of his deep, sultry, arousing voice sending shivers along her spine.

Her tongue slid out from between her lips, slowly tracing the length of his index finger as she seductively pulled it into her mouth. "I do like a man with enormous..." she sucked on the elongated digit, teeth scraping along the tender, moistened flesh, "...talent."

"Oh god..." he choked, unable to stop his body from jerking.

"I believe that's what you said last night," she smirked suggestively, "...a lot..."

He swallowed heavily before finding his voice, his evident arousal pressing into the small of her back. "You're trying to distract me," he growled.

"Me?" Kate retorted with as much false-innocence as she could muster as his tongue grazed the edge of her ear. "Why would I... mmmm... do something... uhhhh... like that?"

"Maybe to keep me from asking about the gigantic dancing frog above your kitchen?" he prodded, nibbling lightly on her earlobe, his heated breath electrifying the soft skin on the nape of her neck.

"Mmmmmm..." Her thoughts were muddled by the delicious sensation of his teeth against the silky flesh of her ear, her jaw, her throat. "What about it?"

"What does it mean?" he mumbled as his open mouth explored the pulse point on her neck.

She couldn't suppress the aroused moan lacing her words. "Sometimes it's... mmmm... just art."

"Not unlike your body," Castle groaned, his heated palms splaying across her taut abs, fiery need blazing through him. "A masterpiece..."

"Seriously?" she scoffed, his scorching touch causing her mind to lose focus. "That's your line?"

"I'm pretty certain the art students you modeled for would agree with me..."

Her hand teased the edge of his knee as his tongue tasted the underside of her jaw. "You jealous, Castle?" she exhaled.

"Not at all… I prefer interactive art to still life," he taunted, gasping as her palm brushed along the inside of his thigh.

"I guess our taste in art isn't so different after all," she agreed as his lips descended to meet her mouth. Devouring each other in a frenzied passion, his fingers stroked the edge of her jaw, her palm pressing against the inside of his leg. Both were hungry, eager, extremely aroused. Appetite insatiable.

Back arching, neck tilting to the side, she melted into him. His warm palm caressed the frame of her exquisite face, fingers tripping across her luscious throat, lips locking together in a beautiful tango, intense desire blazing as the tips of the their tongues kissed gently, soft fingertips vehemently mapping each other, slithering under loosened clothing, craving the intimate contact of smoldering flesh.

"Come on…" he breathed, brushing his satin lips across hers, slow, languid, evocative, as he picked her up off the couch, dark eyes piercing the depths of hers.

"Where're we going?" she whispered, voice dripping with sex as she nibbled his lower lip, feet finding the floor.

"Private art lesson," he murmured seductively into her mouth. Walking her backwards towards the bedroom, arms wrapped tightly around each other, his fingers slowly snaking under the waistband of her designer jeans, palms gripping her perfect ass. "I wanna paint you…" His voice was deep, raspy, salacious, "...every inch of you… using only my tongue."

xxxxxx

Thanks to everyone who has been following this fic.

Funny how fics can have a life of their own - this is not where I planned to take this chapter when I started.

(It turned out better than what was originally in my head...)

xxxxxx

My current list of topics to explore in this fic series is finished, so I don't know when another chapter might pop up - but you never know when inspiration might strike.

(I should have been grading projects. This is what happens when I need a break.)

Unfortunately, Real Life is very real at the moment…

xxxxxx

I love hearing from you… especially if you enjoyed it.

Judge away. :D