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ofsinnersandsaints · 5 years

Text

say my name (beg for me)

rating: E word count: 3166 one shot

AO3

Undercover, fake married, shower sex because it’s Kastle Smut Week and why the fuck not

Frank was checking the view from the office window, looking out into the expanse of green grass which appeared almost silver in the moonlight. They hadn’t seen any kind of patrol over the past two days of surveillance but he didn’t want to take the chance.

“Frank,” Karen hissed from across the room, and he looked up in time to see her kicking off her shoes. “Take off your clothes.”

He blinked once, twice, three times. Was he dreaming? He was pretty sure he was awake, but other than when he was dreaming, the only time he could remember Karen telling him to remove his clothes was when he was alone in the shower with his cock in his hand.

“Excuse me?”

She pointed to the cabinet which had hidden the sixteen screens, cameras which had been posted all around the mansion and-much to their chagrin-their bedroom. On the one of the monitors a woman was walking on the far end of the hallway which would eventually lead her to the office he and Karen were breaking into.

“Someone’s coming,” she whispered, pulling her shirt over her head. “And they’ve been watching us in our room.”

He looked up and over at once of the screens and realized that he and Karen had been friendly, but hardly what anyone would considered husband and wife in the past few days. If they’d been watching, what did they think of Frank and Karen Nelson?

“What better way to convince them we’re married then being found fooling around in their office?” Karen asked.

He would have answered but he was distracted by the fact she was in a pale pink bra and he could see the hard points of her nipples through the lace.

“Frank,” she snapped and the sharp sound brought him back to the moment.

The moment where they were pretending to be married to infiltrate a marriage counseling retreat which Karen suspected was a way for a cult to cull new members.

Frank had agreed because he’d briefly run out of people to shoot in New York and he’d never been very good at telling her no.

He wasn’t about to start now, when she was asking him to disrobe.

Pulling off his shirt he dropped it on top of hers on the ground, then wrapped his rough hands around her waist so he could pick her up and set her back down on the desk.

She wiggled against him, spreading her legs so he would be centered between the v of her thighs. “Kiss me, Frank. And make it believable.”

He snorted, thinking that was hardly going to be a problem.

When he kissed her, framing her face in his big hands, there was nothing fake about it. He kissed her like she belonged to him, licking the seam of her lips until she opened for him on a quiet, desperate sound.

It had been a long time since Frank had been the seducing type, and he didn’t bother with it now because when whoever would walk in on them finally made it through the door, he wanted it to look like they had been there for some time.

So he went from zero to sixty in less than five seconds, his hands spanning her ribs, his thumbs resting just below the curve of her breasts. Wouldn’t it make it all more believable if he palmed those sensitive peaks in hands?

Then she started kissing him back, her fingers with their blunt nails pressing into the muscles along his back and pulling him closer. With a groan he cupped her ass and dragged her closer so she’d feel exactly how good he was at making it believable.

“Eh-hem.”

Frank pulled away from Karen, her fingers trailing down his arms as she seemed to struggle to catch her breath. He turned around, keeping Karen behind him because if he was her husband he’d want to protect her from the embarrassment.

The woman who owned the mansion, and ran the marriage counseling, was standing in the doorway dressed in casual black clothes.

“Elizabeth,” Frank greeted, feeling Karen’s forehead pressed into his back. “I-uh-“

“Decided to use my office for a liaison?” she asked casually, her brow slightly raised as if amused. “I can see that.”

“It’s an old habit,” Frank covered, reaching down for both his and Karen’s shirts. “Back when I was enlisted we couldn’t ever get any time alone when I was home from leave so we got to finding our enjoyment in less than conventional places.”

She made a noise in her throat which was understanding if not approval as Frank handed Karen her shirt and put his own back on.

“We’ll just get out of your way.”

Elizabeth nodded and crossed her arms. “We’re very accepting here of the many different kinds of relationships, but I would appreciate it if you kept your more intimate moments out of my office.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Frank put his hand low on Karen’s back and led her out of the room and back to their suite upstairs.

Karen walked straight to the bathroom where she turned the shower on full blast and Frank, unable to do anything else, followed her in.

“I can’t believe they’re bugging the place,” she whispered, keeping her voice low enough it wouldn’t be picked up over the sound of the water. There had been sound along with video in the surveillance cabinet.

“I’m not surprised,” in fact he would have bet on it. “It would make their jobs easier, don’t you think? They’d know all of our secrets, what we fight about, if we have sex. What kind of sex.”

“Jesus,” she said even she blushed.

“Good bribery material,” he shrugged, even as he wondered how far down the blush went. “If you’ve need of it.”

“Well,” Karen folded her arms over her chest. “After what Elizabeth saw downstairs she’s definitely thinking we’re having shower sex.”

He had a quick image of Karen naked, water sluicing down her body as he knelt down in front of her, her long fingers in his hair.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, the fake wedding ring flashing on her hand.

He’d watched her put the wedding band on two days earlier, then the matching engagement ring, with the absentmindedness of someone who was busy thinking of more important things. She’d been talking about the place they were going, Marriage Mansion, a home turned into a retreat for marriage counseling but his heart had been somewhere in his throat watching her wear what was ostensibly his ring.

In that moment he hadn’t been thinking about the mission, about the details he’d need to memorize so he wouldn’t slip up. Instead, he’d been thinking of Karen in a wedding dress; of taking Karen out of a wedding dress, and all the lovely bits of white lace she’d have underneath.

He really needed to stop thinking about fucking Karen, or he was never going to be able look her in the eye again.

“So we should probably stay in here for a couple minutes,” she suggested, her voice a little unsteady.

When his eyes met hers he could see her reaction to whatever she saw in them, her own eyes widening before taking a small step back until she hit the counter. “Whatever we do in here, Karen, it wouldn’t take a couple of minutes.”

Her hand come up to touch the necklace at her throat, an odd little strangled sound coming from her side of the bathroom. He wanted to ask what the sound meant, if she was for him beneath those tiny cotton short. Frank wanted a lot of things.

“How long would it take?”

He almost missed the question, she said it so quietly, but he could see it on her lips because even as her voice shook, her eyes stayed steady on his. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who wanted things. “Depends.”

Karen wrapped her fingers around the edge the counter, and he liked to think it was to keep from reaching for him, but damn he wanted those hands on his skin. “Depends on what?”

On how long he could hold out, on how good she felt, the sounds she made, “On how long it would take to get you to beg.”

She scoffed, her lips tilting up in that amused smirk he’d grown to love. “You think you can make me beg?”

He weighed his options, risk versus reward, but he knew even before he started thinking that he’d risk just about anything for her. “I think I’d like the opportunity to try.”

Karen straightened her shoulders, tossed her hair behind her and looked him dead in the eye; confidence always had been the sexiest thing a woman could wear. “How would you do it?”

“You should know better by now, Karen. I’ve always thought actions speak louder than words.”

She swallowed and he had the almost irrepressible urge to taste that spot with his teeth and tongue.

Karen licked her lips, and he would bet every year he had left of his life she was looking at his mouth when her gaze dipped down below his eyes. But she met his gaze as she spoke her next words, and she couldn’t imagine how weak they made him. “Then let’s see some action.”

She had taken the door that stood between who they were, and what they could be together, and thrown it wide open. He wasn’t strong enough not to walk through it because he was desperate for Karen, and that was before having ever touched her body.

Now that he had, there was no going back.

“Is that a challenge,” he asked, stepping close enough the breath from his words shifted the hair at her temple.

“It is.” Her breathing was no longer calm as he cornered her against the sink, her pupils so wide he could barely see the blue. “I dare you to make me beg, Frank.”

He didn’t kiss her immediately.

He wanted to, God and the Devil himself knew how bad he wanted to, but getting someone like Karen to beg would take every ounce of his skill, a specific kind of seduction.

So he kissed her jaw, the place hidden just behind her ear, down the length of her neck.

Frank moved his hand from the edge of the sink and brushed his fingertips along the edge of her shirt, then under it. She gasped and leaned into him, but kept her hands on the sink like another challenge.

Remembering how she held onto him downstairs he leaned back and pulled off his shirt, watched with a little bit vanity as Karen greedily took in his bare chest. Scarred to shit, but it was enough for her to release her death grip on the marble and touch him.

He’d had her hands on him before; they’d been on top of each other, thrown together. Hell, just a few minutes ago she’d had her hands on his back, but this was different. Her fingers were a slow exploration of his skin.

Her palms ran over his pecs, his nipples, down his stomach, and Frank briefly wondered if she was trying to out-seduce him and then decided he didn’t give a fuck. At the end of this, they both won, no matter who came out on top.

But the challenge had been to make her beg, so he pressed his lips to the hollow of her neck, and worked the drawstring of her shorts, pushing them past her hips and down to the cold tile while her fingertips moved along the bump of his ribs.

Frank kissed her again, full on the mouth, with all the pent up want he held in him. A year’s worth of want went into the press of his lips on hers, a slippery slide of tongue and lip as his fingers traced over the slight curves of her hips and breasts.

Even as he kissed her, he acknowledged to herself he could have waited to fuck her; she wanted him and it would have been an easy enough thing to control his desire until they were home, away from the creepy cameras and egotistical counselors, but there was one reason why he hadn’t.

He wanted to fuck her while she still wore the ring.

His ring.

His woman.

Frank let himself pretend it was all real, including the ring on his own finger which glinted in the harsh bathroom light as he covered her breast with his hand. His fingers toyed and twisted with her nipples, tugging on the sensitive tips as he kissed her over and over again, certain he’d never stop.

“Jesus, Frank,” she murmured against his lips.

“You ready to beg yet?”

She huffed out a laugh, her legs spreading to fit his thigh between hers. “I’ve got more standards than that.”

“Good, I’d hate for you to make this easy.”

Frank stepped away from her, tugging her shirt off her and throwing it over his shoulder. Before she could so much as react, he was kicking off his pants and boxers, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into the shower, under the spray of the hot water.

“I’m not naked,” Karen said and he couldn’t tell if it was an admonishment or a tease but he didn’t care. He’d left her in the pretty lace on purpose.

“I got to say,” he started, his fingers tracing the lines of her bra. “I’ve never been much into lingerie, just seemed like one more thing to take off, but there’s something about you in this pretty lace I can’t get over. It makes me want to take a taste.”

Frank put his hand on her shoulder, nudging her a step or two until she was underneath the shower head, most of the water hitting him on his back, and covered her breast with his mouth. He could feel the rough pattern on his tongue, pressing it against her as he licked the curve of her.

He heard the quick intake of breath, felt her legs frame his thigh as she’d done only moments before; she wanted to get herself off. Frank let her while grind against him as he kissed a dark mark into her pale skin but when he could feel her pace quickening her put his hands on her hips to keep her still. He wasn’t about to let her shatter without begging first; that was the challenge after all.

When she made a frustrated noise he smiled against her skin, “Something wrong?”

“I’m going to murder you.”

Frank laughed, certain she could give him a run for his money, but the threat didn’t hold any weight considering she was running her hands over the cropped hair on the back of his neck. She wasn’t going to kill him if she wanted to keep his mouth exactly where it was.

Pulling her nipple into his mouth he used his tongue against her, knowing the feel of his ministrations combined with the wet lace on her skin would be, at the very least, an erotic sensation. He knew it was working for him at the very least, and the way she was trying to arch into him was a good indicator for her as well.

There were a dozen things he’d fantasized about doing with her; all kinds of raunchy, dirty positions. He’d had a particularly vivid daydream about fucking Karen from behind in front of a mirror, but that was for another day.

Tonight, he’d get down on his knees and show her exactly what he’d been dreaming of for months and months.

Show her how could good it could be.

His ran his hands down her legs, the sound of Karen’s ragged breathing spurring him on, and encouraged her to spread her legs. She did, her hands trying to find purchase on the wet tiles as he pressed a closed mouth kiss to the pink covering her pussy.

Frank mouthed her through the lace, the fabric scratched against his tongue and caused Karen to whimper. “Take it off, Frank, or I will.”

He heard the warning and thought he could probably distract her long enough to keep her from following through but he wanted to put his tongue inside her, to taste her as she rose up and over her orgasm. So he pulled the underwear down her legs and feasted on her.

She cried out his name, her fingers pulling on his hair as she arched against him.

But he didn’t want to just to make her come, he wanted to make her beg first.

Frank pulled back, removed his mouth from her clit and nibbled on the inside of her thigh and listened to her breathing even out and then moved back to the wet heat, separating her lips so he could lick every inch of her cunt.

He buried his tongue inside her, using his nose to brush and bump her clit so she could never guess when those tight little nerves would be touched.

When he started to pull away again her back curved, pressing her pussy into his mouth but Frank kept his face just a few centimeters from where she wanted it. “Frank,” she pleaded. “Frank.”

“Was that you begging?” he asked, a taunt, a gauntlet thrown between them.

“Yes,” she breathed after a few heated seconds of stillness. “God, Frank. I need to come, please let me come.”

“Finally,” he whispered against her skin, kissing her leg once before turning to her pussy. “Spread your legs for me.”

She shifted her feet on the tile and Frank plunged first one, then two fingers deep inside and she nearly screamed as he sucked her clit into his mouth, scraping it gently with his teeth as his fingers pumped into her, the rhythm fast and desperate as she rode him, desperate for her own pleasure.

She choked out a sound, her body going stiff above him and he nearly came at the feel of her clenching around his fingers, at the taste of her flooding his tongue.

“Holy shit, Frank.”

His grin was likely as cocky as he felt as he stood up, but he didn’t care as he leaned down to kiss her. “It’s a good thing Mirco kept our first names for this undercover op.”

“Huh?”

“Otherwise people would start wondering why you were calling out some other man’s name.”

Karen laughed and linked her fingers on the back of his neck, smiling up at him as if there wasn’t anywhere else in the world she wanted to be.

“Well then,” she put her hands on his shoulders and stepped around him to switch their positions. “I guess turnabout is fair play.”

“What do-“ he stopped when Karen reached for his cock, still hard and desperate.

“Let’s see if I can get you to yell my name,” and then she dropped to her knees.

#kastle #kastleff #ksw: makeout monday #kastlesmutweek #kastlenetwork

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imaginaryparachute · 5 years

Text

and the cold was as sharp as my baby

Rating: E

Read on AO3

No phone has ever rung at 2:23 AM with good news, and this was no exception.

“Karen. It’s me. You still living in Tribeca?”

“I–Frank? How did y–”

“Meet me at Pier 25 in half an hour.”

The last thing she heard was Frank taking three sharp breaths, as if he were steeling himself for something, before the line cut out.

In the three months that Karen Page had lived in this building, she had established a reputation for herself as a woman who did not show up in the lobby at the witching hour with the dripping wet arm of a black-clad man slung across her shoulders. It seemed it was time to reset the counter on that one.

The doorman gave her a profoundly skeptical look. “New...boyfriend, Miss Page?”

A strangled attempt at a carefree chuckle escaped her throat as she worked to school her expression from determination into an approximation of embarrassment. “Yes, yep, he’s my new, uh, new guy,” she said, chancing a glance at Frank as she did. His lips had gone from purple to white and, somewhere along their shambling walk here, he had stopped shivering. They did not have time for this.

Just as she began to make her excuses for them, he slurred, “K’ren, ‘m not–”

“Drunk!” she said sharply. Too sharply, in fact. She tempered her tone to something like exasperation as she looked back at her doorman. “He had a little too much on an empty stomach, so I’ll just head up to let him sleep this one off.”

The doorman still looked a little suspicious, so she opted to dazzle, as a last resort. She ignored the frigid cling of her own coat all down the side that had been pressed up against Frank soaking up water for the past twenty minutes. She quieted the alarms in her mind that had been blaring since her phone rang almost an hour ago. Then, she sent her elderly doorman her most dazzling smile as she said, “I really do appreciate your concern, Mr. Martin, but we’ll be fine, I promise!”

“Well, sure, Miss Page, no need to worry about me,” Mr. Martin mumbled, cheeks reddening as he was a little dazzled in spite of her less-than-polished appearance. “Will you be needing any help getting him up the stairs?”

Karen stopped halfway to the, apparently, still out-of-order elevator at the far end of the lobby. “Nope!” she said, bright and just a little edged in desperation. As she steered them both toward the stairwell entrance, she muttered, “What is it with us and elevators, Frank?”

Six stumbling flights later and Karen’s hand barely shook as she unlocked her array of deadbolts with practiced familiarity, only a little hindered by keeping an arm around Frank’s waist as he tried to push away and stand upright on his own. He only relented after Karen gritted out a quiet, “You called me for help. Let me help you, goddammit.”

This mollified him for the next ten feet of stumbling across her miniscule living room, but just as she reached for her bedroom door, he managed to free himself her and, promptly, collapse to the floor. “Frank!” she whisper-shouted, feeling, for a moment, like she really was trying to get a drunk friend into bed as she strained to lift him from the armpits. “You’re hypothermic. No need to be hypothermic and an idiot.”

This was not, strictly speaking, a particularly fair thing to say; confusion and clumsiness were both symptoms of hypothermia, so being an idiot sort of came with the territory. Still, Frank grudgingly allowed her to put his arm over her shoulders again and steer him over to stand beside her bed. This success filled her with enough triumph and relief to carry her into giving her next command, which was, “Take off your clothes.”

The balloon of confidence in her chest didn’t burst, but it did start to deflate when Frank just stared at her. “...‘m sorry, what?” he mumbled, one eye squinting in an expression that might have been comical if it weren’t on such a pallid face. She fumbled with the proper words for a response for a moment, but then his expression cleared. He nodded and began to try to shrug out of his heavy canvas jacket, movements jerky. “Ri’, ri’, makin’ me cold. An’ stupid.” This last was added on with an eyebrow raised in her direction, which might have been more effective if he weren’t struggling to remove his jacket at the same time.

This unusual display of vulnerability was enough to shake her out of whatever immaturity had gripped her a moment ago. Karen let a protective layer of cool, clinical, nurse-like distance fall over her, brusquely reaching over to pull the stiff material off of his broad shoulders. It was heavy in her hands, still dripping, so she let it fall to the ground and kicked it toward the wall.

His signature body armor was, thankfully, missing, and he wore only a black thermal shirt, which was also soaked through. “Arms up,” she said, and he rolled his eyes but unlocked his arms from around his chest and lifted them. For all his bulk and presence, he only had an inch or two of height on her, which was fortunate in this case as she was able to pull off the long-sleeved shirt with relative ease. Their similar heights also kept them at eye level with each other, which was part of why–no. Cool, clinical, nurse-like distance. She’d need it for this next part. She took a deep breath.

“We need to take off your boots, but you’ll have to be sitting down, and I don’t want you to get the blankets too wet, so your pants will have to come down first.” Her voice was clipped, and while that had certainly been a run-on sentence, she hadn’t stuttered while speaking it. He didn’t seem to be in an editorial mood, anyway. They made eye contact that Karen immediately regretted, but then he nodded and looked away, stuffing his hands into his armpits.

She undid his belt and fly, face smooth; before she could second-guess herself, she gripped the waistbands of both his black jeans and the underwear beneath them, shoving them down his legs to his ankles. “The bed is behind you; sit,” she said, keeping her eyes on his knees as he wordlessly complied. His skin was a bloodless, waxen yellow beneath the dark hair that was beaded with moisture. This sobered her. Cool, clinical, nurse-like distance.

Her fingers were sure and steady as she unlaced the combat boots and pulled them from his feet. She carefully peeled off shockingly normal white tube socks, followed by the sodden mass of denim and cotton at his ankles. Just like that, she had a naked Punisher sitting on her bed. She cleared her throat. “OK, lie back”

He lifted his legs with some difficulty, managing to get his head on a pillow. She pulled the blankets over him and tucked them around him. He looked surprised. “It’s warm?”

“Electric blanket,” she said, but he had begun to shiver almost violently and didn’t reply.

For the next hour, she perched on the desk chair she had rolled into the room, lips pressed together into a hard line as she watched him. His body-wracking tremors had subsided into normal shivering after a few minutes, and then he appeared to fall asleep.

Two hours and eighteen minutes later, Frank’s breathing stilled. She glanced up in time to see his hand slip under the pillow and took that as a cue to roll her chair about two feet backward. A heartbeat later he burst upright, pointing a gun at her face.

“Karen?” he said, eyes dazed, then, hotly, “Jesus, Karen, I could have…” He trailed off from that desolate line of thinking, staring at the weapon in his hands whose nonexistent safety he had been attempting to engage. Only then did he seem to notice that the gun was made of vibrant blue, white, and orange plastic that was currently creaking in his white-knuckled grip.

“It’s not loaded,” Karen joked feebly, pulling an orange foam dart from her pocket. Abruptly, she spun in her office chair so her back was to him. “Also, you’re naked. Your shirt and boxers are on the nightstand along with some sweats that I think should fit.”

She looked down at the legal pad in her lap, where she had just written Towel at the bottom of a list. Ten long seconds passed in which she heard no rustling of fabric. A quick glance over her shoulder found him still sitting in bed, staring at the toy gun with an expression so dumbfounded that she rolled back toward him in order to place a hand on his forehead, wondering if she had misjudged his improvement. “Frank? Are you feeling dizzy, confused, or short of breath? ”

He shook his head wordlessly. His eyes were black in the pale light of early morning. She cleared her throat and ran the hand that had been on his face through her hair. “Good, that’s good.” When his silence persisted, she gestured lamely at the sweatpants she had donned while he slept. “I ran our clothes–or, the clothes we were both wearing earlier through the building’s dryer down the hall. Not your jacket, though; that’s hanging in my bathroom and probably won’t be dry for a day or two. I didn’t find any weapons.”

“Dropped them while I was swimming,” he said, voice hoarse, then seemed to remember the toy he held. He set it on the nightstand beside the aforementioned stack of neatly folded clothing before turning back and meeting her gaze steadily, purposefully.

“Swimming.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“In the Hudson.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This was familiar territory. She met his gaze easily now, raising her eyebrows and lowering her chin. “And what, precisely, were you doing in the Hudson at two in the morning in February?”

He winced. “Well, there were these drug runners in Hoboken–”

“Hoboken? Did you swim across the Hudson?”

“No, I snuck onto their boat on the Jersey side. Wasn’t planning on confronting them on the water but…” He trailed off with a grunt and a shrug. “Didn’t have a lot of time to decide what direction to swim.”

“Because?”

“Boat was sinking fast.” Another grunt. Another shrug.

“Of course.” Karen gripped the notepad on her lap. “And you chose not to swim back to Jersey.”

“I could see the lights of that park on the pier.”

“And you knew,” she said, nostrils flaring, “that I live a few blocks away from that park.” He had the grace to look a little rueful at that, but she wasn’t finished. “So you thought you’d just give me a call from a literal sinking ship.”

“Misjudged the distance, to be honest with you, ma’am. It was farther and colder than I thought.” Her face must have looked as unimpressed as she felt, because he finally looked away and rubbed his eyes. “I, uh, I like to know where to find you. In case you need help. Case either of us needs help.” He looked back at her, one corner of his lips raised. “Don’t suppose you got any coffee? Still feelin’ a little cold.”

“Right there,” Karen said, pointing to the thermos on the floor by the bed. He huffed something that might have been a laugh and took a swig. His expression immediately soured, and he swallowed as if he had a mouthful of mud.

She covered her mouth and turned to the side to hide the smile she couldn’t stop. “That,” he said, sounding properly dangerous for the first time in hours, “is not coffee.”

After taking a moment to school her expression—cool, clinical, nurse-like—she turned back to him. “No,” she agreed, “it’s chamomile tea.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Warm drinks help with mild hypothermia, but they shouldn’t contain alcohol or caffeine.” It sounded like it was being defensively recited from a textbook because, well, it was, but she couldn’t help that.

She raised her eyebrows at him challengingly, ready for him to laugh at her or argue, but he did neither. He looked from her face to the thermos in his hand. He set it on the nightstand and then pressed both palms to the blanket that had pooled precariously low around his waist. “Electric blanket on the lowest setting?”

“Yeah.”

He smoothed a wrinkle in the pilled fabric. “It was on already when we came in. I remember.”

Karen swallowed, suddenly in choppier waters. “Yes,” she said, carefully. “I got it out from the closet after you called.”

“And,” he said, also careful, “the tea?”

Another time, she might have laughed at the way he said that like a cuss word. “Made while you were sleeping.” He held her gaze as he placed a deliberate hand on the Nerf gun and cocked an eyebrow. “I figured,” she said, licking dry lips, “you’d be less likely to tackle me if you found a gun where you were expecting to.”

He nodded, ran a hand down his face, and then very slowly reached toward the legal pad in her lap. She closed her eyes for one breath, two, and then handed it over.

His dark eyes ran down her list, which began with Suture kit and ended, as of quite recently, with Towel. “I didn’t anticipate your being wet,” she whispered, feeling suddenly as though she were the naked one.

Mercifully, he kept his eyes on the paper. “Why a kitchen blowtorch?”

“It goes with the sterilized knife that’s next on the list,” she said much too quickly.

His eyes flicked up to hers, but he didn’t comment on the fact that she had the list memorized. The look on his face was complex and somewhat familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it. “Cauterizing ain’t like it is in the movies, white-hot knife sizzling on a bullet wound and all that,” he said offhand.

Her jaw fell open. “I know that. Heat blade to brick red and allow to cool until no longer glowing before applying to the wound in one- to two-second bursts until bleeding stops,” she rattled off snappishly. “It’s a last resort, anyway, Frank Castle, as I’m sure you noticed it’s after the suture kit, superglue, and duct t—”

The words stuck in her throat. She had finally recognized the expression. It was a lot like the look he had given her across that diner table. A .38 shows thought. It also looked a little like, Still got that hand cannon?

Like that, but also different. Because his expression right now was also on fire, and she could feel the flames licking inside her chest. “Tell me why,” he said, gravelly and low.

“You know why,” she said, voice steady.

“Please.”

She wanted to close her eyes but didn’t. “I told you in that hospital room. I know who you are.”

Her voice caught as Frank reached out lightning quick and pulled her chair toward him. She put a reflexive hand on his shoulder and said, “Don’t.” His hand dropped like he had been scalded, but hers stayed where it was, tightening a little as she stared at it and tried to think of what she had been about to say.

Don’t pity me? Don’t take me for granted? It was obvious he did neither from his expression that was naked with want and wonder. Don’t leave again? She could finally admit, here at the breaking point, that she would rather not know his response to that one.

So she met his eyes, quirked a half-smile, watched his pupils dilate and his head tip back, and said, “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

For the barest moment, he gave her a small, sad smile. Then his gaze caught fire again as he sat up on his knees. She barely had a moment to appreciate the wide, scarred mass of him before he gathered her to him in an embrace. He slid one hand into her hair at the back of her head and the other inside her sweatshirt low on her back, just above the swell of her ass. “Jesus, Karen,” he groaned, nose cool at the base of her neck, “you feel like a furnace.”

“You felt like a corpse,” she whispered back.

He lifted his face to meet her gaze, resting his forehead against hers in a familiar sort of nuzzle. “Not just yet,” he said. “Not just yet.”

Then they kissed. Like so much that had happened between them, in this Frank was relentless but accepting, holding her tightly but taking as good as he gave. She was once again grateful for her height as she felt his cock hardening at just the right place to apply a little pressure to the front of her mound. She pushed her hips forward as she slid her tongue into his mouth and was thrilled to hear the groan that tumbled from deep in his chest in response.

Both his hands came to the sides of her face as he pulled away to look at her, eyes black and hungry. “Take off your clothes.”

“Trying to level the playing field, Castle?” Karen said as she pulled off the sweatshirt and shimmied out of sweatpants she had changed into as he slept. They were baggy, so it was quick work. Just as she was tossing the pants away, she looked up to find his expression dizzy. In spite of the moment, a flutter of concern cooled her. “Frank, are you OK?”

“Thought I was ready. Feels like I just took one on the jaw. C’mere.” He sat back on his knees, hands at his side. Karen felt more than a little pleased to have dazzled Frank Castle and climbed into bed with him. She wrapped her arms behind his neck and pulled herself into his lap, her thighs straddling his as she kissed him again. His arms came up her back, hands tight on her shoulders as he crushed her to him.

“Karen, can I eat you out?” he gasped like it was being pulled from him.

She had wanted to keep kissing, actually, but the edge of something like desperation in his voice sent an impossible heat pooling between her hips; she actually felt herself get wetter. “Yes.”

He pivoted immediately, lifting her with ease to lay her down on the bed. He moved down her body and used his thumbs to spread her outer lips. She thought he would dive right in or say something, but he did neither. He just...looked.

For a moment, the urge to close her legs and hide almost overtook her. She might have done it if it weren’t for the fact that she could see his cock getting thicker and redder with every long breath of gazing at her; she might have done it if it weren’t for the way his jaw ticked with roiling tension.

Here was a man whom she had known and been known by in so many different shades of bloody. Here was a man who saw the hell in her. She felt anything shy within her evaporate off of her skin. Something dark and wild settled in its place that made it easy for her to tilt her chin and catch his gaze. “Well?”

He smiled, all feral delight, and surged forward, running the flat of his tongue all the way up her opening before twisting around her clit. She gasped and bucked her hips, and he immediately slid both arms beneath her ass, keeping her pelvis tilted up. Then his pace settled into something languid and meandering, a journey that knew of but was not desperate for its destination.

She felt her orgasm coming from a mile away, and only when it was close did she begin to speak, little gasped directives like, “Don’t stop,” and, “There, there, right there.” When she came, it was one of the good ones, rolling through her slow like thunder on the prairie. Her back arched, her breath heaved out, and her thighs tightened on his head.

Her first thought after the orgasm was that she wished he had longer hair for her to grab, maybe a beard to rub against her thighs. Her second thought was that maybe next time, he would. Her third thought was, No, no, Karen. None of that.

When she looked down, he was gazing up at her, chin resting on her stomach. There was something knowing and a little sad about the tilt of his lips again, and she gave in to the urge to press her hand against his craggy cheek, running her thumb along a fading bruise under his eye. With her other hand, she pulled a condom from the box at the front of her nightstand drawer and handed it to him.

The moment he took it, she sat up and wrapped her fingers around his cock at last, gratified to feel it surge heavily in her hand as she started to jerk him. “Is this OK?” Her voice was quiet as he panted open-mouthed against her shoulder.

“Yes,” he breathed in response. His teeth grazed her collar bone, and she felt a thrill of pleasure pass over her at the sharp tug of it. Her skin pebbled and her hand stuttered in its rhythm around him. He went...very still. Then he pulled back to look at her. She set her jaw and let a little more of her darkness show on her face, a little bit, I shot him seven times because the clip ran out. There was no blood in Frank Castle’s mouth at this particular moment, but there might have been from the wild light in his eyes. He leaned forward and bit her earlobe. She gasped, and his cock jumped in her hand.

“Frank,” she said, suddenly desperate, “now.” In spite of her urgency, his movements were deliberate as he unwrapped the condom and rolled it on, his eyes continually shifting back to meet hers. The moment it was on, she pulled herself flush against him, knees on either side of his hips, and said, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he said, and lined himself up against her. When she felt the head of his cock slip in, she sank down on the rest of him in one quick movement. He wrapped his arms around her torso so tightly that it hurt a little bit and groaned out a long string of curses. She smiled faintly and arched her back as much as she could, brushing one breast along the side of his face as she squeezed her inner muscles around him. His mouth fell open and he looked at her almost accusingly. Then he turned his face and nipped the side of her breast. Her hips jerked. He smiled.

Then she set a pace, not so languid as that of his eating her out, but steady and consistent. He set about trying to break her rhythm, experimentally sucking on a nipple (which didn’t do much to thrill her) and rasping his stubbled chin across her sternum (which did). When he slid a hand between them to rub circles on her clit, she picked up the pace as she felt another orgasm coming on much more quickly. “Come on, Frank, come on,” she gasped, reaching down to rub her own clit, “come with me.”

With both hands now free, he gripped her hips and began lifting her hips as he drove into her at a bruising speed. Just as she was getting close, he let out a gasping groan and bit down, hard, where her shoulder met her neck. She made a funny sound like a hiccup and came, lightly rubbing her clit through it.

They stayed there upright in the middle of the bed with their chests heaving for a dazed minute. Then Frank stirred, holding on to the base of the condom as he pulled out of her. He pulled it off and began to look around, but then she took it from him and dropped it into the wastebasket on the floor on the far side of the bed. He shook his head with a single, amused huff, and then he flopped onto the pillows.

She knelt for a moment longer, looking at the half of his face that wasn’t pressed into the pillow. He watched her with one, steady eye. “Ah, well,” she said, resigning herself to maybe just a little more heartbreak, and stretched out beside him.

Frank pulled the blankets over both of them and pulled her close. They arranged themselves wordlessly with her head on his chest and their breaths synced up. Some minutes later, Karen drifted to sleep, her right hand resting over the steady thump of his heart.

#kastlesmutweek #kastlenetwork #ksw: makeout monday #kastle #frank castle #karen page #the punisher #daredevil #frank drinks his respect karen juice first thing every morning #karen researches field medicine in her spare time pass it on

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