First Kiss.
A/N: I know there has been a delay in updates, and I do apologize. However, here is a little piece of Frank Castle love for you. I’m not exactly sure what this is, but it is the start of Castle on @calif0rnia-lovers
Words:1209
Most wouldn’t consider Frank Castle to be romantic. Hell, as of late, neither did the man himself. Romance, love, they were just two words that didn’t seem to fit into his life anymore. Maybe that’s why he didn’t see you coming.
Although his life might seem pretty bland, close to miserable, when looked in on by the common outsider, Frank had grown content with it. He didn’t need the thrill most got from roaming the exotic streets of Hell’s Kitchen. A lack of sleep during the night, if not taken up by his late night runs (a term coined by you), was often met with him trying to find an empty booth in a quiet diner. Being alone, although painful at times, was something Frank Castle had slowly begun to realize he was good at.
So, when you moved in across the hall nearly six months ago, he did not go out of his way to greet you. That did not mean, however, that he was not curious about the innocent, doe-eyed girl who had packed up her entire life to move to Hell’s Kitchen with only enough money to secure her apartment. His attentive nature allowed him to gather all he needed to know you posed no threat to him or those around you.
In a matter of days, he had gotten your routine down. It was just you and your black labrador, Rosco, who lived in the tiny one bedroom apartment. He knew you went for a morning run religiously, at 5:30 on the dot. You attended classes during the morning, drove a 1969 blue Dodge Charger R/T 440 which broke down at least once every two weeks. He had also gathered that you were more trusting than he was (probably to a hazardous fault in this town). He also knew that you served him for two months at Rhonda’s Diner before you even realized he was your neighbor.
It was after one of those late shifts that you stumbled onto something you were not meant to see. You had ran Rosco out for a quick bathroom break when you found yourself slowing at the trail of a substance drawing the attention of your puppy. It wasn’t until you reached your floor that you discovered the source.
There was Frank, blood dripping from the sleeve of his jacket, fumbling with his keys as he attempted to remain conscience. There was a part of you that knew it was best to ignore him. Although you hadn’t exactly revealed to your parents the neighborhood you lived in, you knew they had raised you well enough not to approach a blood-covered man at three in the morning. No matter how decent of a tipper he was.
But before you could even make the decision, Frank collapsed.
You had actually considered leaving him there where he lay. Not to bleed out, but to call the police from the security of your apartment. Where the person who shot him couldn’t come back and hurt you if they decided they wanted to finish him off. Yet, you found yourself returning to your apartment long enough only to let Rosco in before going back for Frank.
By the time you were able to get him inside your apartment, you had decided you weren’t going to have a stranger die on your sofa. Your main focus had been to stop the bleeding. Something told you getting the police involved wasn’t such a great idea. That was the night you learned just how strong of a man Frank Castle was. Anyone who can instruct you on how to pull a bullet out of him, all the while making sure you don’t call the police definitely was more than he let on. Frank had since then learned that you were able to be trusted, and you learned not to ask questions. Not that he wouldn’t answer them, but because you were afraid of learning the details of his actions.
His scrapes and bruises were never too bad. If there was one thing you had learned about Frank Castle, he could take a beating. Maybe that’s why tonight seemed just like part of the routine. You found yourself stitching up a cut for Frank, one you both knew he didn’t actually need your assistance for. Once he was finished, he remained on your sofa as you’d gone back to studying for your Cellular Biology exam.
“I think you’re good on the studying, doc.”
“Not a doctor yet,” you huff causing Frank to smile. Although you know it wouldn’t hurt to review your notes one more time, you sit your notebook aside before curling your legs beneath you.
“Thanks for patching me up, by the way. I know it’s late.”
“Someone has to do it.”
The soft roll of your eyes brings about a chuckle.
“Yeah…well, I’m glad it’s always you. I’m shit at putting in these stitches with my left.”
You watch as his attention remains on the quietly playing television. Although he appeared relaxed, with his arm draped along the back as he slouched slightly on the sofa, you still couldn’t convince yourself that he was. Reaching forward, you surprise both Frank and yourself as you let your fingertips comb through the strands of his hair. Slightly damp, from the thunderstorm raging outside the security of your apartment, it felt soft beneath your hesitant fingers. Instead of recoiling at your touch, Frank waits until your touch finds the nape of his neck to tilt his head so that he can see you. The slight furrow of his brow relaxed as you shifted forward until your knees were pressed against him.
You can see his body tense as you lean forward, the weight of your body pressing against his as you place a soft kiss on his cheek. The bruised skin accepted the action gratefully, your touch seeming to absorb the pain. Frank’s eyes drift shut as you let your lips repeat the action, his shoulders relaxing as you continue.
Your lips pass over his nose and his eyelids. His heart escalates as you move closer to his lips. The soft kiss you place along the corner of his mouth peak his hopes, yet he feels them fall as you plant a path along his jaw leaving his lips cold. You stop to kiss each of his recently reopened knuckles, before turning his left hand over on your own. Your lips linger along his wrist, the soft thud of his pulse warm against your lips. It beat irregularly, the unsteady pounding surprising you. It didn’t fit his calm and collected demeanor. As you meet his gaze you realize it is your touch which has caused it.
His fingers slip into your hair tracing through the soft strands. His grip tightens slightly at the nape of your neck, the soft tug of his wrist tilting your head back so that he can guide your lips to his.
The kiss is just as you’ve been imagining it would be the past few months. His lips are almost as soft as his touch, his rising and falling chest press against yours as he pulls you as close as your tiny sofa will comfortably allow. His fingers trace along your cheeks, passing over the curve of your jaw as he commits the structure to memory. His selfishness seeps through so that you are slightly dizzy once he finally allows you to come up for air.
