So. This fic is actually a sequel to one of shimmeryshine's delightful bits of debauchery, a story called "Sugar, we're going down," which she obligingly wrote because I asked very nicely. I HIGHLY recommend it, because a.) this story will make more sense and b.) it's just a really fucking awesome story to being with.

I wrote this because daphnebeauty harassed me lovingly for it. I am beginning to think fic is nothing but us placating our friends when they wheedle.

Set in a wonderful fantasy world of season 3 without Josh.

Thanks to Polly Lynn for editing!


Castle stumbles out of the club behind Kate to discover the street littered with cops.

He's still only half aware of what's going on, because his brain is still stuck on her mouth on his cock. He eventually gathers that the ADA produced a last-minute arrest warrant on Garrett Blackwell, and they've managed to nab him and an accomplice right out here. Apparently other people were fighting crime while Kate Beckett was busy sucking him off.

It's all a sort of melée. It seems Blackwell tried resisting arrest while there was a whole mess of officers down the block, so now the whole area in front of the club is littered with uniforms, witnesses, and squad cars, lights flashing, general mayhem.

Rick's pretty sure he and Kate need to have a long, thorough discussion about what just happened in there and how to proceed. Possibly with video, audio and powerpoint slides. He'd rather skip straight ahead to the part where they decide to do it again, but at his place, or hers, or at least an obliging supply closet at the precinct.

Instead, he tags along obediently as she stalks through the crowd, some fierce light radiating through her skin. Uniforms are openly eyeing her, but other than occasional words with one here or there, she's still in a strange mood.

He's more or less useless, and probably will be for the next few weeks. But he's still entirely, one thousand percent aware of Kate Beckett. She's a knot of energy, frantic and taut, and suddenly, with blinding clarity, he knows exactly what she needs. She's keyed up. On edge.

Kate Beckett needs to come. Hard.

He's absolutely certain he wants to help.

She ducks into the alley beside the club, a narrow space between brick walls, the kind of shadowy location where nothing good will probably happen, and he thinks maybe they're about to have that calm, rational discussion until suddenly she's grabbing him by the lapels and dragging him behind a stack boxes and kissing him so hard his head is spinning.

He pushes her up against the wall, and at first he's afraid he might be too rough and he thinks maybe he should apologize, but suddenly her hips are jerking against his and there's some noise caught in her throat and holy shit she likes it.

The realization that getting rough is completely, totally doing it for her does a lot towards bringing him right back into the game, but lacking extensive re-hydration that's going to take longer than they have right now, so he just grinds his hips into hers, pressing her hard back against the cobbled old bricks.

She lets out a low noise, and as much as he wants to hear more, they're outside and there are cops not a block away and she needs to be quiet.

"Kate." It comes out strangled, and she just squirms against him harder. "Kate. Shhhhh."

He slips his hand over her stomach and she gasps, and he knows with terrible certainty that she's entirely too far gone to be quiet.

It's a perfect storm of pure frantic need, the heat of her body rolling against his, the crackling danger of a crowd of cops within seconds of noticing what's going on, and he's never wanted anyone so much.

But he's pretty well spent for now. She made damn sure of that.

She's sucking on his tongue and biting at his lower lip and pinching his ass and he doesn't know what to do because the one thing he really really wants to do is going to have to be tabled for future discussion.

"Castle," she whines, her voice husky and rough and wow, she's even further gone than he thought.

"Do you - want me to -"

"Yes."

She's tugging at his belt with shaky hands, and oh, Kate. Kate. That's not going to -

"Beckett - Kate -" she bites his lip and he groans - "I'm not - not again. Not yet. Sorry."

She huffs out something but it's less laughing at him and more just frustrated (what did she think was going to happen after that, honestly?) and he really can't just abandon this woman who so richly deserves a good orgasm.

"Let me," he chokes out.

"Come on, come on," she whines, and it's the sexiest thing he's ever heard, but shit, she needs to be quiet or else they're both going to be arrested and that police horse incident will be the second most embarrassing on his record.

His mind isn't exactly clear at this point so he covers her mouth with his other hand, even as he rucks up her skirt and works his fingers under the silky stripe of her underwear. And Kate Beckett, who once almost pulled his ear off for listening to her phone, is so hot and worked up from giving him an illicit blowjob that she's letting him do this to her in the middle of a deserted alley.

She's wet, of course, soaking through her panties, the heat radiating off her skin even in the chill of the night air. Fuck.

Castle nudges her thighs apart with his knee, pinning her up against the wall, trying to get his hand somewhere that'll work for her. If he had more control of his faculties, he might step back and think about just how this looks, the so-obviously-illicit picture they make, wedged into this dark alley, her skirt at her waist, his body crushed against hers as he works one hand between her legs, his other hand clamped over her mouth, keeping her moaning at a non-dangerous volume.

He finally slides one finger inside her wetness and her eyes roll back, her hands clutching desperately at his back. If the noises she's making are any indication, she wants more and now, so he grits his teeth and slides in a second finger.

She's rolling against him, her hips canting, body straining, jerking up into his hand along with the rhythm of his fingers inside her. She's close, he can tell; she was halfway there before he even touched her. He grinds his palm unto her and then twists to get his thumb up over her clit. The reaction is instantaneous, her eyes going glassy, a high-pitched moan escaping her.

Castle curls his fingers up inside her once, twice, then a third time.

Her whole body stiffens, her inner muscles tightening around his fingers, and she's keening against his hand as she shudders violently. He works her up over the edge and she comes hard against him, biting the hand over her mouth, her nails digging into his back so roughly that he thinks she might actually break the skin.

She takes a long breath, sagging back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut. He presses his forehead against hers, breathing her in.

But the crystalline moment of peace is brief. She straightens, tugs her dress down, pulls him in for a quick, hard kiss, and strides down the alley, back out into the mess of police and lights and noise and the real world.


For about half a second, he thinks maybe she's going to hate him for what happened tonight. Kate Beckett thrives on control, that ever-present discipline of hers, but somehow he's just seen her completely crash and burn in that regard like she's just been waiting for the perfect opportunity to fuck him senseless.

He so completely adores her and really, really wants more of every single thing she's given him. Not just tonight. Always.

But he doesn't want to push. He knows she needs space sometimes. He off-handedly suggests he can take a cab home.

Kate grabs his elbow and pulls him towards her car instead.

Fuck.

She drives them back to her apartment, navigating the city streets easily while palming his crotch with one hand. He shuts his eyes and balls his fists and focuses his scant brainpower on not finishing before he actually finally gets her completely naked.


Her panties end up on the floor, somewhere near where she drops her keys as he shuts her front door with her body.

They don't make it to the bedroom.