Ache (Karen/Frank)
Kastle + Ache
They’ve started and stopped so many times she’s lost count, Frank always pulling away at the last possible second, his fingers lingering a beat too long on her skin.
The thought of him is like a gentle ache at the back of her throat, an ache that grows and spreads through her limbs until her whole body pulses with the need to draw him close.
It’s worse when he disappears for weeks, showing back up on her doorstep with bruises painting his skin, a slight hitch in his movements.
Before she can think, her hands are on him, probing for the source of his pain, finding only heat and smooth skin.
He catches her wrist, fingering the fine bones of her wrist until he finds her frantically fluttering pulse, eyes locking with hers, a matching ache in their depths.