Disclaimer: One of us is a College Student, the other is a Dirty Old Man taking advantage of a college student. Neither of us own Castle.
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Getting It Right
by PenguinOfTroy and Daveck
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Vodka. Lots of vodka.
Too much vodka.
But that's alright, she thinks. That's alright because she's deliciously muddled by the alcohol and the burning heat of his tongue on her neck.
Yes, vodka is - oh that's nice.
His name is a sigh on her lips. "Castle."
And the hands fumbling beneath her shirt still. The lips on her neck freeze. The warmth of his body against hers is gone and when she opens her eyes she sees heartbreak.
Demming's face is turned away but she knows his eyes are closed. Knows the way the frown will crease his forehead.
"Tom-" she starts, but he cuts her off.
"I should go," he says. And he does. He leaves her, leaves her cold, leaves her confused, still pressed up against the kitchen counter even though his weight no longer keeps her there.
She hits the wood countertop with her palm. Fuck.
And then she pushes away indignant. His name is a growl on her lips.
"Castle."
-
She knocks on his door like a tempest. Straight out of hell.
He's laughing when he opens it, still talking to someone over his shoulder - another floozy? Another Number from a list? Another desperate actress? - but no, she's interrupted a poker game.
Her cheeks flame in embarrassment. She's not sure why she's even there except for the agitation burning hotly in her veins and the hum of unfinished business in her blood.
"Beckett?" He seems surprised to see her, but not unpleasantly.
"We need to talk," she starts, pushing past him before she thinks better of it and turns around, pulls him behind her into the hall instead.
He's smiling and it makes her angry. She'd be getting lucky if not for that smile.
"What's-" He stumbles out after her. "Are you drunk?"
"This is your fault," she says pushing him against the wall.
"My fault?"
"Your name. You." A finger poking him in the chest and he's still smiling but his face has shifted, just that little bit, and she knows it's his fake one. Knows the difference. Knows him. And- "Stop it!"
He stares at her blankly, lips parting in confusion. And the angry swirls with the drunk until it screams at her to show him exactly what she's missing out on tonight.
So she grabs him by the collar and crashes her mouth against his. Punishing and harsh she bites at his lips, shoving him back against the wall again. He grunts into her mouth with the impact.
He's still against her for a breath and then he fights back. One hand tightly clutching at her hip, the heat burning through her clothes, the other threading through her hair, his fingers tangled at the base of her neck, tilting her face up to him.
She tastes a hint of whiskey on his breath and the brush of his tongue against hers is like a spark that ignites her, sends fire through her limbs. It burns up all the oxygen between them and she breathes in his exhaled, "Kate."
The sound of her name on his lips is enough to make her crash back down to earth and she wrenches back from him, stumbling, because what the hell is she doing? But he follows her, doesn't give the thoughts a chance to clear, and he chases her kiss with one of his own.
His lips are gentler, his kiss softer, a balm against the biting passion. His hand slides to cup her jaw and she leans back into him despite herself. She's drawn back to him, back into the kiss, into the liquid heat of it and the way it pools low in her belly.
She moans against him, the changing beat making her dizzy, making her want, and his name escapes her lips. "Castle."
He stops kissing her, pulls back slightly, and when she opens her eyes he's smiling, soft and gentle. And it just feels right.
"That's me," he says and she has to kiss him again, harder this time to steal the laugh from his lips.
A door opens behind them and she remembers where they are, realises what she's doing, where she's doing it, and she pulls away.
The look on his face, the hunger in his eyes, the smile that slowly spreads, dazzling across his lips makes her blood thrum. She can feel the alcohol burning her veins, the deep flush colouring her cheeks, the desperate want hot between her lungs, growing with every inhale.
"Castle, everything okay out here?" one of his poker buddies asks from the doorway, then sees them, their ruffled hair and heaving chests.
Her blush grows. She turns her head away, takes a step back, not sure what to do now that they've been interrupted. Because her body still hums at the residual heat of his touch and she has to restrain the urge to snap at this nameless man for getting in the way.
Castle recovers first. He runs a hand through his hair, but that just makes her want to do the same and that's not helping.
"Yeah, I think I'm going to call it a night though," he says, his eyes never leaving her.
She uses his back as a shield as they walk back inside and he informs his friends that the game is done. They raise a cry of good natured outrage until they spot her sneaking towards kitchen and their grins turn to leers. Her courage evaporates quickly, along with her righteous indignation, until all she's left with is the pink tinge of her cheeks and the awkward fear in her gut because there are reasons she wasn't going to do this. Good reasons. She just can't remember what they are.
He herds them out, shuts the door and turns slowly to face her. It's awkward for a beat. Then he clears his throat.
"Want a drink?"
"Tequila?" she says after a beat of her own, and she wonders if he gets the significance, if he knows that she's asking for more than just a drink. If he can see the desire boiling beneath the surface.
His blazing eyes provide her with her answer. He crosses the room, passing the liquor cabinet without a second glance, and scoops her into his arms. His mouth finds hers, hot and needy. Gone is the softness, the sweetness. It's replaced by his dawning realisation. Knowledge. Hunger. And she finds her courage hidden in the taste of his lips, the dance of his fingers on her lower back.
She can feel his body react to her, feel the erratic beat of his heart beneath the hands that settle on his chest. She can feel the press of him against her pelvis as he backs her towards the counter and it starts something burning inside her.
"Bedroom?" she rasps because the kitchen reminds her too much of the taste of vodka and the body of another man, flush against her own. Reminds her of wrong choices and mistakes and she wants to put that out of her head. She wants to know only him. His hands, his mouth, his skin.
He pulls away to stare at her, something like disbelief in his eyes.
Kate raises her eyebrow in silent question and Castle's eyes soften around the edges, the look growing a little tender. He reaches out and she takes his hand, lets him lace their fingers as he leads her somewhere she's never been before, somewhere new.
Her limbs buzz with excitement, part anticipation, part shock. And she finds she has to concentrate just to get one foot in front of the other. But they make it past the living room furniture, past his office, and into his bedroom, aglow with the moonlight.
He shuts the door behind them, the lock just barely clicking into place before she's against him again. Seeking his warmth, his skin, everything. She tugs at his shirt impatiently, the nervous energy from before melting into a pool of desire that threatens to overflow.
He lifts his arms to help her pull the shirt from his torso and she slides her palms up his stomach and across his chest. Her fingers pulse at the sensation, synapses firing at a delirious pace with every inch of bare skin she touches. And still, her body aches for more.
His hands settle at her waist, twist fabric until they find skin. His palms smooth a line up her back, fingers glide down to dip below the waist of her pants and it's maddening the way his fingertips leave a trail of sizzling electricity in their wake.
Kate can feel the groan bubble in her chest. She presses her lips to his skin, the place where his neck joins his shoulder. A flick of her tongue out to taste him, salt and heat, and she can feel the dance of his heartbeat against her lips.
His hands grow more bold, slide down to cup her bottom and she reaches up, curls her hands around his neck to pull him down to her lips.
Castle's arms wrap loosely around her, hands kneading, massaging gently as he leads her, one sure, backwards step at a time until they've reached the edge of his bed.
He pauses, hesitates, even then and Kate uses the hands on his shoulders to press him back, push him down onto the mattress. Permission granted, he sinks back, willing, eager, sits on the edge of his bed and presses his face against her stomach.
She feels his fingers make quick work of the buttons on her shirt, his lips tracing a fiery path along the waist of her pants. His tongue circles her navel and her hips cant forward, desperate for a friction she can't find.
Kate tears her shirt over her head as soon as he's undone enough buttons and then she's advancing, a knee on either side of him, crawling up the bed and forcing his retreat, forcing his body backwards until he's lying against the mattress beneath her.
She kisses him, rough and a little desperate and when he kisses her back she can taste just as much need on his tongue.
Castle's hands find her hips, pull her down on top of him and she lands heavy, breath escaping in a rush at the feel of him beneath her, solid and hard and pressing, right there, right where she needs him and-
Oh.
Oh, yes.
She rolls her hips, grinds against him, feels his groan rumble through his chest as his hands falter in the search for the clasp of her bra.
"Stop," he growls, but she doesn't, can't.
It's too good, too much and not enough and there's four layers of clothes still between them. The rough denim of his jeans, the soft cotton of her slacks, not enough of his skin warm against hers, but she's close, so close, just needs a bit more-
"Stop," he says again, a desperate note in his voice. His hands find her hips, stilling her motion. "Too fast, Beckett."
She rolls her hips in a circle against him, desire making her fluid, fogging her mind, and his fingers tighten against her waist.
She can't. Can't stop. Fuck. Wants to, but-
He flips them then, rolls her onto her back, stills her hips with the weight of him and he kisses the protest from her lips.
"Let me at least get my jeans off," he jokes into her hair, the side of her face, even as he's slipping his hand down to press two fingers against her through her clothes.
She rocks her hips against the pressure, turns her head to bite at his lips and her world splinters.
Clenching her eyes shut, she struggles to breathe as the shockwave rips through her. She quivers beneath him and, with his fingers still pressed firmly against her, every movement compounds the release until it's too much.
Her body goes into overload and she's left gasping even as he trails his lips down her chest, feathering kisses at her breast and then her stomach until he reaches her waist and undoes the button of her slacks at an agonizingly slow pace.
She tries to lift herself to help him slide the fabric from her hips, but her limbs are like jelly and he has to tug roughly to pull them away. Then she feels the tickle of his breath at her thigh and her muscles convulse where his hands grip her before he lowers his head to her core. And it's more than she can handle, but she aches for it all the same. Gasps for it with a breathy moan.
She jolts when his tongue touches lightly against her, like she's been struck by lightning. She's already so close, it's still so soon that the hot of his breath and the wet of his tongue drive her over the edge. Her toes curl and her body tenses as the shockwave hits her again. And again. And again.
She cries out, gripping the sheets, writhing beneath him, but he doesn't stop. He keeps teasing and swirling his tongue until she's completely lost in the sensation, the indescribable almost unbearable sensation.
"Wait," she whimpers when she can't take it anymore. She threads her fingers through his hair and coaxes his head back up to hers. "Just... wait a second."
He nods and she pulls him in for a gentle kiss. An attempt at calm, a chance to breathe. To be still for just a moment.
She trails her hand down his chest, following the lightly dusted path of hair down his abdomen. His muscles shiver beneath her fingertips.
He hisses into her mouth when she cups him through his jeans, his hips rocking against her side to a foreign beat. The sound pierces the muddle of her mind, like a shot of adrenaline, because there's something about having that effect on a man. Something empowering, something powerful.
She brings her other hand down to fumble with the button of his jeans. Her fingers are still vibrating from before but she manages to let it loose with a snap. And when she slides her hand between the fabric, wraps her fingers around him, feels him harden in her hand, the need redoubles. It surges through her, demanding attention even as she tries to address his own growing need.
He groans, then growls when strokes down the length of him, leaving her mouth to nip at her ear as he jerks against her and she feels the desire pulse like electricity in her veins.
"Take off your pants," she tells him, a whisper against his lips, and he hurries to comply.
When he settles back over her it's between her legs, his weight warm and welcome and exactly where she wants him.
Kate slides her leg along the back of his calf, lets her hands slip down to the curve of his bottom to pull his hips tight against her as his tongue plays along the curve of her neck.
She needs him. God, yes. Needs to feel him inside her, tells him, "I want you." And he bucks his hips against her.
She bites at his ear as he enters her, slowly, gradually, until she lifts her hips with a twist and then she groans in time with him.
He breathes a curse against her neck, the whisper ghosting over her skin as his hand finds hers and their fingers tangle.
He supports himself on his elbows, their clasped palms on either side of her head and she wraps her legs around his waist, open and arching and meeting his movements as he thrusts and rocks and curls into her.
"Oh God," she hisses against the side of his neck. And, "Don't stop," as her teeth scrape his shoulder, the side of his neck. His hips buck, his movements gaining speeding, the steps of the dance lost to need as they becoming erratic.
He's talking, murmuring, telling her she's beautiful, telling her how she feels, tight and hot and so fucking perfect. But she doesn't hear him, doesn't hear the words, just lets the low timbre of his voice wash over her as she feels herself start to spiral again. Higher and higher towards a peak. She clenches around him, her hips losing their rhythm, pushing back when he's pulling away and more. She needs more.
"So close," she tells him on a gasp and then he's guiding their joined hands down, between their bodies, his fingers and hers, both, and oh it's too much.
Too much and not enough and then just enough and there. Yes. Then. Oh.
Her world narrows, the feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him beneath her lips. Her eyes close, her body arches and it's the moment, the last breath before she breaks that she feels him still, feels him shudder inside her, feels them both come undone.
And it's right. It's more right than all the reasons it was wrong.
–
Fin
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Dave's Notes: I was waiting for her to blink. She didn't blink. This is what happens when you don't blink.
Penguin's Notes: I had nothing to do with this. Pay no attention to the bird behind the curtain. This is not the smut you were looking for. (Oh and give me a break with the Old Man, Old Man :P )