For the kisses prompts - Kastle + 12 💕
Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.
One thing that surprises Karen more than it should about Frank is how tactile he is—how much he loves to just touch her in small ways, every opportunity he gets.
It makes her think about how careful he’d been, before. How he’d held himself back, touching her only when they balanced on the knife’s edge of fear. Pulling her close. Letting her go.
He doesn’t let go anymore.
Still, Frank is no less careful now, at least when they’re in public. The most obvious thing he’ll do is hold her hand while they walk, brush a kiss to her forehead before getting them another pint of beer from the bar.
Sometimes it’s just a look—a brief glance as she returns from the bathroom, or something more sidelong when she’s laughing at a joke Foggy just made—but she feels the heat of it like a caress, and it lingers there on her skin even when he’s no longer looking at her.
His hand will find her then instead, fingertips light on the small of her back, the inside of her wrist, the curve of her hipbone. As if to reassure himself that she’s alive, that she’s there, with him.
He’s doubly cautious when he visits her at work.
It’s not for Foggy’s sake, though he had his fair share of heart attacks when Frank first started coming around. The stiff sort of civility they had toward each other has even relaxed into something like friendship between them, which is how Foggy winds up drinking with them every other week or so.
Matt, of course, is another story.
They both work half-days on Fridays, Frank stopping by around lunchtime with a cruffin from their favorite place on the Lower East Side. He typically makes small talk with Foggy as Karen packs up her things in between bites of her pastry. He only nods at Matt in a mutually grim gesture of acknowledgment before they’re turning to go.
He waits until they’re near the park—a good five blocks from her building—before snaking an arm around her waist, tugging her close and kissing her breathless beneath the trees.
On one particular Friday afternoon, however, they find they have the office to themselves. Foggy has just gone to lunch with Marci, and Matt has been out all morning, meeting with a potential new client.
Karen’s in the kitchenette, brewing two cups of coffee to go when Frank appears in the doorway. She barely has a moment to smile at him when he’s crowding her back against the counter, hands on both her hips.
She bites her lip in anticipation, but when he leans in it’s to press his mouth to the length of her neck instead, tonguing a slow, heated kiss up to her jawline.
She clutches at him, head falling back with a soft-throated sigh.
He’s working his way up to the corner of her mouth when they hear the faint sound of voices, footsteps drawing close in the hall, and the unmistakable tap, tap, tap of Matt’s cane.
Frank releases a breath, a softly uttered Fuck against her skin before letting her go and stepping away. Karen almost loses her balance, gripping the edge of the counter as she wills her heart rate and breathing to slow.
Frank seems to be recovering quicker than she is, and she feels a lick of irritation flare up inside her. She understands his need to keep things private between them—every touch is so intimate to him that he can’t bear to have any other part of the world weighing in. But this is, quite frankly, unfair.
His eyes darken a little as she approaches him with deliberate slowness.
The door to their office unlatches, Matt’s voice filtering into the background as Karen presses herself up against Frank. He goes very still, eyes shuttering closed, throat bobbing on a low, strained-sounding groan as she snags his earlobe between her teeth, biting gently down.
She’s glancing blithely up from the coffee maker when Matt comes in, his own face carefully flat and blank as he introduces the new client to them. Frank is scrubbing a hand over his nape, the tips of his ears still pink as he manages out a hoarse hello.
Karen hands him a fresh cup of coffee, and smiles.
