Work Text:
“Coral is far more red than her lips.”
Beckett didn’t look up from her vanity. “My lipstick is pink, Castle.
“If snow be white,” he continued, moving through the bedroom behind her, “then her breasts are dun. If hairs be wires—”
She met his eye in the mirror. “Watch it.”
He switched lines smoothly, “No roses see I in her cheeks.”
Beckett turned, frowning, “Why was it I married a writer, again?”
“And yet,” Castle said, softly, “by heaven, I think my love as rare as any she belied with false compare.”
She smiled, and kissed him. “That’s why.”
THE END

ArwenOak Fri 24 Oct 2025 03:54PM UTC
Comment Actions
Brumeier Fri 24 Oct 2025 04:52PM UTC
Comment Actions