The first time it happened was a Sunday afternoon, after a morning spent naked in her bed and a lunch of golden pancakes. She insisted they shower separately—We have to do something besides have sex today, Castle. He lingered in her living room, channel surfing and sipping on his morning coffee.
It was so soft, he thought he imagined it. A hum through the apartment, melodious and sweet.
His gaze flicked to the TV first, to ensure the sound hadn't come from the random movie playing on screen. There wasn't a woman in sight, no explanation for the quiet note.
He attributed it to imagination. Or to memories of Beckett tangled up with him and the sheets, golden skin shining in the sunlight. Of the moans drawn from her chest, the musical sounds of pleasure that echoed off the walls.
When it happened again, though, a little louder, less even, his heart clenched with recognition.
It awed him every time a new layer of her was pulled back, the beauty and mystery behind her smiles and tears. His heart would stutter with love, flutter with admiration.
The hum grew louder, a continuous note parting into words as he pushed himself off the couch, followed the sound. It blended with the pitter-patter of the shower, sweet and smooth over chaos.
The last time he heard her sing was after a long case and too many shots, squeezed into a booth at the Old Haunt. Her words were slurred, voice husky and thick. It had been beautiful, albeit uncoordinated and out of sync with the music playing through the bar.
In the bathroom, though, her words were perfect, enunciated and clear. They followed the beat of the song perfectly, interlaced with the taps of water against the bathtub with incomprehensible harmony.
It was beautiful. Perfect.
He leaned back against the bathroom door and listened, to her words, to her voice. Amazed by the woman hidden behind the door, in a way that only she could ever render him.
She sang until the water stopped running, hummed for a few seconds after that.
He left before she could come out, plopped himself back down on the couch, a goofy smile on his face.
She joined him a few seconds later, accepted his kiss, hummed into his mouth.
The second time was a Friday evening after a perfectly timed case. They caught the killer, the paperwork was done and unless there was an emergency at the precinct, she would be free for the weekend.
He'd escorted her back to his loft, an arm draped over her shoulders. She leaned against him as they walked through the living room, past his desk, to the edge of the bed. His lips dusted over the crown of her head, a ghost of a kiss lingering at her hairline. The heel of his hand dug into the tense muscle of her shoulder.
"Why don't you relax, take a shower?" he whispered against her ear.
Her nod was slight, slow, her head falling from where his lips could easily find her forehead to where it was pressed against his neck instead. Her arm was draped around his waist, her fingers curled around his shirt.
"That sounds perfect," she murmured.
He let her go, watched her leave. She unbuttoned her shirt on her way to the ensuite, tugged the pins from her hair. It cascaded over her shoulder in gorgeous twirls of caramel.
He left for just a moment, heading to the kitchen to find the open bottle of red wine. He poured a glass for himself, a second one for her, brought them both with him when he returned to the bedroom.
The hum was familiar, that time. Beautiful all the same.
He set both glasses down on the same nightstand, unable to resist her siren song.
It was as melodious as the last time, as precise as ever before. The words were less drawn out, less free, more crisp. They rolled off her tongue only to be cut off abruptly with the finality of a Y or the sharpness of a T.
It was different. She was different. It did nothing but further his amazement, the intricacy of her music, the subtle changes to a single song.
His forehead settled against the door, fingers wrapping around the cold metal of the knob. His lips formed the words, spoke them without sound, unwilling to break the unity of her song, the harmony that was only her.
The water stopped, but she continued to sing. Words faded to a hum, and the hum disappeared into silence.
She opened the door with a smile, covered only in a robe. Her gaze flickered with fear and pride and something else he couldn't place.
"You heard that?" she whispered, voice laced with both nerves and amusement.
He smiled, felt it tug at his cheeks and the corners of his eyes.
"You're extraordinary," he promised.
Her eyes sparkled as she beamed. They fell closed when he smudged his lips against hers.
She stopped keeping it a secret sometime after that. She would sing openly, loudly, even knowing he was in the next room. She would hum into thick, steamy air when his fingers massaged her scalp, would whisper the words in his ear as her nails scraped across his back.
She was more open and free and he loved it to no end.
It was a Saturday morning, the first time he got to watch. They woke to cloudy skies and thick summer air, but he pulled her against him all the same, once the drapes were pulled closed. Her hair tickled his chest and the bottom of his chin. He pressed haphazard kisses to the top of her head as he twirled the ring sitting securely on her finger.
It was her suggestion that started it, a single word mumbled against his skin.
"Shower?"
His nod was all she needed before she was crawling out of bed, already bare from the night before. He followed her slowly, enjoyed the view until the water was running and she called his name.
His arms circled her waist. Her head fell against his chest.
The hum was involuntary, that hum he knew. Her contentment bubbling within her pairing with her instinctive reaction to the cascade of water over her head.
The notes rumbled in her chest, escaped through closed lips until the first verse was over and she sang the first line of the second.
I'd tried so not to give in.
His kiss landed on her temple, froze her beautiful rendition.
"Don't stop," he whispered, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. "I love listening to you sing."
Her fingers knotted through his, her cheek fell against his chest. "I don't sing in front of people, Castle. That's why I do it in the shower."
"You're in the shower," he whispers.
"Yeah, with you," she teases, "which qualifies as in front of people."
"So pretend I'm not here."
He brushed another kiss to her head, tightened his arms around her waist before letting her go. He sank back against the tiled wall, ignored the cold and the incredulous glare she shot over her shoulder.
"Please?"
Her shoulders sagged with a sigh, an eyeroll, but she reached for her shampoo all the same. She tilted her head back. Long, amber hair found the arc of her spine.
The scent of cherries filled the shower as she hummed the first note.
He was used to it, now. The first verse was always a hum. The rest, the careful, beautiful enunciation, always unique to her mood.
Her words were clipped that time. Her voice shook ever so slightly, nerves finding every word, every syllable for the entirety of the second verse. Her fingers twirled through her hair, coated every strand. Her hands left trails of white suds over her shoulders, across the nape of her neck.
He sank back against the tiles, watched the slow sway of her hips. Easy, natural, matched to the rise and fall of her voice.
The lines tumbled from her mouth beautifully, bounced off the shower walls in a perfect echo. Her head fell back. Her eyes were closed peacefully. The corners of her mouth were curled upwards in the slightest of smiles.
The song ended too soon, the final words fading to a whisper of a hum.
She turned to him, eyes sparkling with innocence, smile blooming with hope.
"What'd you think?" she asked. "Everything you expected?"
His arms circled her waist, pulled her tight against him. He buried his nose in wet, soapy hair. His hand caressed the dip of her spine, the splay of her ribs.
"I love you."
"Sing with me," she said one day.
It was a Friday evening, the wrap of a week. Cases were closed. His mother, his daughter were out. Candles flickered inside, lit up the room, blurred through the steam. Glasses of wine were forgotten on the vanity, clothing lost in the bedroom. The glass was long since fogged.
He dragged his hands down her back, tugged her hips against his. His lips found her temple, her hairline, the high of her cheekbone.
"Why?" he mumbled, words muffled against her skin.
"Because I want you to," she answered, a chuckle falling from her lips. "Because you already hum along."
"That's usually completely unintentional."
She laughs again, quiet against his chest. "Yeah, but you do it," she whispered. "And I like it. I want you to sing with me, babe." She pulled away from him, back arching under his palms. "Do you not want to?"
He smiled down at her, smudged a kiss to her forehead.
It wasn't that he didn't want to sing with her, didn't want to find out if his voice would meld with hers in perfect harmony.
"The song's yours," he answered, teeth catching the shell of her ear. "I love listening to you sing, Kate. I love watching you. But the song, it's your thing, not mine."
"It's ours," she said. She reached up, combed her fingers through his hair. Her palm caressed his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his cheek. "I want you to sing with me."
She pushed herself up onto her toes, her chest pressed tightly against his. Her teeth found his earlobe. Her tongue laved the bite.
The first words of the song were a whisper against his ear, meaningful and enticing and sweet. The second line was punctuated with a kiss to his neck, a grin up at him.
"Come on," she said. "I know you want to."
So he did.
He squeezed her hips, held her firmly against him and sang the third line just for her. To her. His fingers threaded through her hair, tugged her head back gently.
Her smile was radiant as she joined him for the fourth line, her voice laced with joy and beautiful laughter.
He twined his fingers through hers for the second verse, lifted their arms above their heads as her hips rolled in time with their voices.
He knew the song by heart, every word and intonation and how her mood affected it. It rang with laughter, lilted with with love. The melody came easy, the harmony was effortless. The dance was improvised, sensual with every roll of her hips against his, every brush of her breasts against his chest.
The song came to an end with a series of hums, a nip to his ear, another to her neck.
She was looking up at him with shining eyes and a wide, happy smile that he couldn't resist pressing a kiss to.
"I had no idea you were such a good singer," she mumbled, teeth scraping his lips.
"You think so?"
She laughed, as musical as her singing. "Yeah, Castle. You were really good."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, to her nose, to her lips. "And you are perfection."
Her nails scraped over the top of his head, down over his shoulders. "So we can do this again?" she asked, a lilt of hope and an air of anticipation.
His smile stretched across his face, crinkled the corners of his eyes.
"Whatever you want, sweetie."
And she smudged her smile against his.
And this is what happens when encantadaa tries to give advice about falling alseep. (It didn't work.) (Also, check out her fics cuz she's fab.)