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noelacciari · 7 years ago

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Mission: Climb The Ranks

guess what I added on to that Castle AU like a year later so yeah

Relationship: Nursey/Dex

Tags: Castle AU, author nursey, detective dex,K-I-S-S-I-N-G

Read Nurse Series on AO3 | Part 1 On Tumblr

6 Months Earlier

“Let me get this straight.”

Derek bites back the ‘good luck with that’ that’s on the tip of his tongue, forcing himself to remember that Lardo isn’t a free spirited art major anymore. No, she’s a sergeant in the NYPD who carries a gun and probably would not hesitate to shoot his toe or something to prove a point.

“You are working on a new series, and instead of just doing research like a normal fucking person, you want to shadow one of my detectives?” Lardo rubs at her temple, giving Derek a look like she’s totally over his bull shit.

“This detective,” Derek clarifies, tapping the newspaper article sitting between them on Lardo’s desk. “He’s the one.”

“Derek…” Lardo squints at him, her mouth tilting up in a sideways smirk. “I’m not going to burden my best detective with your distracting ass if this is just about your thing for gingers in uniform.”

Derek lets out an undignified squawk of protest. “This is serious Lards!” He yelps, throwing his hands up in the air. “I want this series to have that grit to them, that real life feel, and I can’t do that without being immersed in a case!”

They stare at each other for a tense moment, Lardo’s dark brown eyes undoubtedly trying to set him on fire or something terrible. He’s not being dramatic okay, Larissa Duan can be fucking scary when she wants to be.

“Fine.” Lardo reaches for her desk phone, pressing a few buttons and cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder. Derek can hear the tinny sound of a greeting on the other end. “Poindexter,” Lardo snaps in her I’m In Charge voice. “Can you come on in to my office, I have an assignment for you.” She hangs up before the voice on the other end can even respond.

A silence descends over the office, and Derek can’t help but start to get jittery. Because the thing is… the thing is that he was being truthful with Lardo, he definitely needs this, and Poindexter’s the best detective in the City, but like also… he’s hot as fuck. So like, Derek might be a little bit nervous about this, is all. After another moment he jumps up out of his chair, pacing around for a few seconds before settling awkwardly on the corner of Lardo’s desk.

“What the fuck, Nursey?” She whispers, but Derek isn’t about to look at her. He’s focusing deeply on maintaining that cool, collected, charming exterior he’s perfected over the years, ever since his publisher insisted on putting his photo on the book jacket for Blood on the Beach. Luckily a knock on the door interrupts any further harassment from Lardo. And then the door swings open, and Derek realizes that this was a terrible, terrible idea.

Present Day

Derek sighs and rolls over for what feels like the hundredth time in half an hour. This was probably all part of Shay’s plan to make his life miserable. Or well, she’s not doing it in a malicious way, she undoubtedly thinks it’s for his own good, but god dammit this is fucking torture.

He can still see it clearly in his mind, the first time he saw Dex in the flesh. It was like some kind of wet dream, Dex’s hair slightly damp, his stiff blue button up shirt hanging open to reveal a thin white undershirt beneath. That white fabric was tight and translucent and Derek swore he could see the outline of Dex’s pecs from across the room. Dex had darted a glance at him, eyes widening just barely, a slight flush rising on his cheeks, and Derek had kind of wanted to die. Dex said something about coming back from the gym to Lardo, but all Derek could think about was how he wanted to get his mouth all over that.

And now, thanks to his evil ex-wife, he has gotten his mouth all up on that. Or well, they’ve kissed, twice. And the second kiss was definitely not something he would be forgetting about soon. He knew the fake boyfriends thing was a terrible idea, but Derek has never claimed to have good ideas, especially when it comes to pretty boys.

Closing his eyes, he breathes in deeply, starting to count down from one hundred. He makes it all the way to seventy five before the numbers in his head are replaced with the image of Angela pouncing on Dex, giggling as Dex fakes his own death with over the top dramatics. Dex is laughing too, his chin tilted back and his eyes sparkling, and Derek’s stomach hurts with how much he wants. From there it’s only natural to replay the kiss, starting with Dex’s big hands curled around his forearms. He can almost taste Dex’s lips, warm and soft and sweet with wine. He can still hear Dex calling him Buttercup, can still see the way Dex’s pupils were blown wide when they broke the kiss, can still feel the tingle from Dex’s stubble dragging against his own.

Derek sighs and starts counting again. It’s going to be a long night.

The next morning, he considers not going in to the station. It’s not his actual job or anything, and like, he could always claim that he needed to take a day to work on some actual writing instead of following Poindexter around like lost puppy. (And yes, in the daylight it’s Poindexter, not Dex). But he knows what that will look like to Poindexter, and he doesn’t have it in him to leave Poindexter to deal with Birkholtz and Chow’s harassment all by himself. It’ll be fine, he reasons. He can act like last night was all a great and amazing joke, like he can’t still feel the ghost of Poindexter’s lips against his own.

“Not fucking cool,” Derek whispers to himself as he pushes apart the elevator doors, eyes going immediately to Poindexter. Over the past six months, Derek had gotten fairly used to Poindexter and all of his ridiculousness. He doesn’t laugh awkwardly at Poindexter’s jokes anymore, didn’t stare too long at his biceps or anything weird. But Poindexter had the nerve to wear a god damn sweater today, and for some reason all Derek can think about is getting his hands all over it. Which is just… not fucking cool.

“Hey Poindexter, your boyfriend’s here!” Birkholtz bellows, his chuckle bordering on obnoxious. Derek considers hitting him, because the dude can be annoying as fuck, but he gets distracted by the bright flush spreading from Poindexter’s oversized ears to his cheeks. A grown ass man blushing shouldn’t do anything for Derek, but it has his chest feeling tight and an urge to press kisses all across that pink skin rising up inside him regardless.

“Hey babe,” Derek says, shooting finger guns at Poindexter for good measure. It makes Chow laugh, and Poindexter rolls his eyes, but Derek can’t stop staring at Poindexter’s mouth. He doesn’t even have good lips, is the fucking thing. They’re thin and always grimacing or frowning, and really, not ideal for kissing. But last night… last night Derek just wanted those stupid lips all over his entire body.

“Fingerprints came back on our vic,” Poindexter starts as Derek half falls into his chair, setting the tray of coffees down beside him. “Ryanne Combs, nineteen, worked as a go-go dancer at a nightclub, lives at home with her mother in Queens.” Poindexter is all business, though it doesn’t really go with that indecently soft looking blue sweater or the faint blush still covering his cheeks. Derek is staring, and he knows it, but he can’t quite bring himself to stop. “You two,” Poindexter continues, pointing at Chow and Birkholtz, “Go visit the mother. She’s already been notified of her daughter’s death. See if she knows what Ryanne was doing in Greenwich Village. Nurse and I are going to take her place of employment.”

“Spending some more quality time together, huh?” Birkholtz adds, waggling his eyebrows. Nurse would flip him off, but Poindexter’s already glaring, so he figures he should try not to add more fuel to the fire.

“As if you and Chow want to be split up,” Poindexter shoots back easily, standing up in one smooth motion. Derek can’t help but watch as Poindexter holsters his gun and pins on his badge, his NYPD jacket pulling tight across his broad shoulders. It’s a powerful image, something full of serious responsibility and just a tinge of raw sexuality that Derek has been trying to capture in writing Detective Wilder for months now. Grabbing his pen, he hastily scribbles down as few sentences in his notepad, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he can trick his readers into falling in love with Wilder, the same way he accidently fell in love with Poindexter.

It takes Derek a moment to realize he just thought the love word to himself, about Poindexter, and he kind of wants to bleach out his brain. This was not part of the plan, this cannot be happening, there is a big difference between lust and love and Derek did not realize he was so close to that dangerous line.

“Coming Nurse? Or you gonna hang out and write weird metaphors all day?” Poindexter smirks at him, that smug little grin that shows off his teeth and makes Derek’s skin feel too hot.

“I must follow the detective with hair the color of a taco bell hot sauce packet – mild, of course,” Derek half sings. Poindexter laughs, and not for the first time, Derek thanks his parents for skin that doesn’t easily flush. He is so, so, fucked.

The Grind is exactly the kind of place Derek would have as a backdrop for one of his more cheesy mystery novels. In the light of day the place is almost eerie, all those blank walls and velvet couches lit up with sunlight. In the dark with colored lights and fog machines going, it probably seems more… sensual, but for now, it’s just kind of strange. Of course it doesn’t help that Poindexter would be out of place here no matter the time of day, clearly uncomfortable with the atmosphere judging by the stiffness of his movements. It would probably be comical, if Derek could stop thinking about the good time he’d show Poindexter at one of the clubs he likes to frequent. He can just imagine Poindexter with glitter sticking to his sweaty skin, smiling easier with a beer in his hand, pupils blown wide as he watches Derek dance.

“Yeah I know Ryanne,” the club manager huffs, wiping a cloth across the sticky top of one of the VIP tables. “She’s missed three shifts now, what kind of trouble has she gotten into this time?” The manager seems tired, her violet braids tied up in a big bun on top of her head. She looks like what Derek imagines Aphrodite to be, with her deep brown eyes and darker skin, her body full of soft curves, from her lips to her hips and waist. He knows instantly that he’ll be writing a character around her at some point, almost captivated with the way her lips part in shock when Poindexter breaks the news to her.

“Well now that I think of it,” she’s saying as Derek brings himself back to reality. “There was a guy, he showed up here several times, always on Ryanne’s nights… he’d just stand there and stare at her while she danced. It was creepy as hell. I don’t think he was here during the shifts she missed either.”

Poindexter nods seriously, scribbling something down in his notebook. “Could you help us identify this man? We need to track him down.”

“He was here just a few days ago, I can have someone in security pull the footage from the front door and send it over.”

“That would be great, thanks Olivia.” Poindexter hands her his card, shoving his notebook back in his pocket. “Give me a call when you find the footage, or if you think of anything else.”

Derek follows Poindexter out of the club in a haze, mind working overtime as he thinks about how he will add Olivia to his book. Perhaps as Detective Wilder’s best friend, who he has unmistakable UST with. Or maybe as a rival FBI agent, always showing up to take over Wilder’s cases before he can solve them. There’s so many possibilities here, and it feels good to add a character that’s outside of Wilder’s core group of fellow detectives that the story is built around.

“So,” Poindexter says, his voice catching in his throat. Derek blinks and forces himself to the present, only to realize that they’re in Poindexter’s SUV, and have been driving for a few minutes at least. “About last night…” Derek swallows hard. He has no idea where Poindexter is going with this, but he’s pretty sure he’s not going to like it. “When we… um… kissed… I just uh, wanted to make sure that I didn’t like over step or anything… you know, we didn’t really talk about it.”

Derek can’t help but grin. Poindexter’s actually being almost chivalrous. It’s ridiculous, is what it is, but god dammit, it’s kind of cute. “Dude, you’re all good, don’t worry about it,” Derek pats absently at Poindexter’s arm. “That was like, top five material anyways bro, so thanks for that.”

Poindexter lets out a choking sound, and when Derek looks at him, his entire face has gone bright red. Derek replays that last sentence in his head.

“Uh…” he starts, wracking his brain for some sort of explanation that isn’t totally humiliating but also doesn’t totally wreck his chances of getting to kiss Poindexter again.

“Top five material,” Poindexter asks, his voice jumping an octave. “Only top five, seriously?”

And that isn’t exactly where Derek thought this was going. He shifts sideways in his seat so that he can smirk at Poindexter head on. “Where do you rank our kiss, Poindexter?”

“This isn’t about my experiences,” Poindexter scowls, full flush returning to his ears and neck. “It’s just not acceptable to me to be any lower than third place.” He sets his jaw, defiant, as they pull into the precinct lot, and Derek has to tamp down on the sudden urge to set his teeth on the sharp edge of Poindexter’s jawbone.

“Well you’re sitting solidly in fifth place,” Derek lies, purposefully not moving from his seat as Poindexter parks the SUV. He can feel his heart pounding in his fingertips, blood racing hot through his veins. “Moving up in the ranks is all up to you, dude.”

The tension in the car is palpable, like electricity zipping back and forth between Derek and Poindexter as they stare at each other across the center console. Poindexter’s eyes flick down to Derek’s lips and back up again, and Derek feels like he’s suddenly back at sixteen and kissing Tiffany Brown for the very first time. “Yeah, okay,” Poindexter breathes, his voice low and thick and full of determination. Derek’s not ready for Poindexter to reach for him, one big, calloused hand curling around the back of his neck, dragging him gently forward. He’s not ready for the slow drag of Poindexter’s upturned nose up the length of his throat, the shivery heat of his breath against his ear. He is ready by the time their eyes lock though, ready for Dex’s lips on his, ready for anything Dex could throw at him.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” Dex asks, and it’s cliché and annoying, and the answer is obviously yes, and Derek clearly shouldn’t be swooning, but he is. Oh he is.

“Yeah,” Derek breathes, already starting to close the distance between them. This kiss is different than the last, rougher, hotter. Their lips slot together for only a moment before Dex’s teeth are involved, nipping and tugging, soothing the sting with his tongue. Derek thinks he might be dying, possibly, when he pushes his fingers into Dex’s hair and Dex straight up whines. He’s uncomfortably aware of how hard his dick is all of a sudden, but he can’t really bring himself to care, when Dex’s teeth tug gently at his ear. “Jesus Dex,” he sighs, tilting his head to the side in an effort to offer up more skin.

Dex hums, pressing chaste kisses all along Derek’s jaw as he works his way back to his mouth. When their lips meet again it’s clearly with the distinct purpose of reducing Derek to a puddle in the passenger seat of this SUV. It’s the perfect combination of tongue and teeth and lips, like Dex somehow got his hands on a Kissing Derek Nurse: For Dummies book and memorized it word for word. Derek wants to take off Dex’s shirt, wants to take off his own shirt, wants to move this to the backseat and take Dex apart piece by piece. He wants to take Dex home, wants him in his bed and in his kitchen and wants to watch him read Harry Potter to Angela at bed time.

And that… that is scary as fuck, but he’s pretty sure he’s passed the point of no return on this one.

“So,” Dex whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of Derek’s lips. “Where do I rank now?” Derek blinks at him, for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to play this.

“Solid third,” he says finally, watching a smirk lift Dex’s lips. “Can’t give you any higher than that though.” Dex’s eyes narrow momentarily, before a smug (insanely hot) grin takes over his face.

“We’ll see about that.” Dex has the audacity to wink at him before turning and climbing out of the SUV, an irritating swagger evident as he heads towards the precinct. Derek hurries after him, praying that he doesn’t look freshly ravaged and beyond annoyed that it’s still daylight and he’s reverted to referring to him as Dex in his head instead of Poindexter.

Dex holds the door for him, which is completely out of character, but Derek isn’t going to complain about getting to enjoy a tension filled elevator ride with the guy he apparently wants to get all domestic with. “You know,” Dex says, as the elevator passes the second floor. “You’re probably like, a solid fifth for me.” It’s a lie, Derek thinks, judging by the vaguely guilty look on Dex’s face.

Derek can’t help but grin as the elevator opens on the third floor, more than happy to watch the flex of Dex’s shoulders as he shoves the doors all the way open. “We’ll see about that.”

Dex flips him the bird over his shoulder, but it’s totally worth it.

#nurseydex #dexnursey #omgcp #mine #mine:fic #mine:dexnursey #Castle AU #ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

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