This has probably been done a hundred times and will no doubt be done a hundred more but after 6x10 I couldn't resist adding my own.
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Thank you to Jamie, not only for the read through but sharing all her wonderful baby antics with me, makes me appreciate my older ones ;-)
and
Happy Birthday Liz, I am just as surprised about my memory, lol.
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Not my show, just my imagination
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His fingers trail through the moisture that has gathered, sliding over the ridges of her skin, the lines like tracks in the snow and it makes him think of Christmas, how close it is, how time is slipping away too fast. But with a shake of his head he refocuses; keeps a steady pace going, moving his hand freely, increasing the speed of his movements-
"Are you writing on my back?"
Her question cuts through his pondering, the Merry Christmas cut short on the t, and gliding his palm up he combs through the long wet strands on her head. The water from the shower drenching them from above and he fans her hair under the steady stream; watches the drops form before slipping through the dark autumn that's catching the light from above.
"I was just wishing you a Merry Christmas." He makes it sound like it's completely normal. Doesn't everyone spending the evening writing across glistening skin? Yet his answer is met with an almighty snort, and he lets her hair drop, the strands clinging immediately to any surface that they touch.
"Castle, can we at least get through Thanksgiving and then start with Christmas and all it will entail?"
He dips his head forward, can only manage a low hum into the skin of her neck as a response. His movement brings him under the spray once more and he can't resist the childish lick against the graceful arch above her shoulder, his tongue chasing the droplets as they caress her.
He adores when time can stand still, when he can ignore all that is pursing them. Everyday life and its outside forces are pushing against them and he is powerless to stop it, can only ride the wave. Yet in these moments, it all comes to a grinding halt and he can take a full breath of air in, can slow his heartbeat down, can enjoy some of life's finer pleasures.
She will always be sitting at the top of that list.
His hand weaves its way around her side, his fingers once more blazing a path, this time though there is no play in the way he moves; he is determined, heated, has a new goal in mind, has thought of a new way to occupy their time. He palms the heaviness of her breast, taking pride in his handy work, can already feel her responding against his touch, yet she pulls away, twisting on the spot so she can face him.
One eyebrow is raised high, her lips pursed in annoyance, but if she thinks he can't see the humor dancing in the lines of her face, the joy that overtakes any rebuke in the words that exit between those puckered lips, she is delusional. Most likely sleep deprivation.
"We don't have time for this."
Her words are all no, but the lithe fingers of her right hand drifting along his shoulder encourages him forward and he takes his cue from her actions. He loves her actions. Loves the way her fingers curl into the short strands that begin at his hairline, the way her nails slice across his skin, beckoning him into her. And seriously, who could resist that?
Thrusting a knee between hers, he nudges forward until they are against the tiles. The marble is cool to the touch yet slick from the steam their shower is creating, and the contrasting sensations result in a shiver that starts at the base of her spine, spreading unhurriedly until her whole body gives a delicate shake.
Her unintentional actions have the most desired effect on his body and he jerks sharply, his pelvis bumping into hers. Her frame is stretched over his shoulders, both hands now cradling his skull, and he cherishes when they connect in such a way. Two pieces of the perfect puzzle ready to align as one.
"Do you hear that?"
The haze that is filling all the crevices of his mind, the lust and the love that comes with being so close to her fire, has him ignoring her words. He can hear the sound of her voice yet the question may as well be in Russian for all he comprehends.
Mmmm, he wonders what Merry Christmas sounds like rolling off her tongue in Russian.
"Castle, seriously. Can you hear that?"
This time he does listen. Compelling himself to put a pin in the language lesson, he wants the reminder, he wants to ask her about it when she is less insistent that something is amiss.
"I can't hear anything."
He finishes the sentence by wrapping his lips around the lobe of her ear, attempts to get them back on track, back to where they were headed.
"Shhhh. I can hear something."
She pulls away from his nibbling; the hands that had been tenderly fondling the strands of his hair are now roughly creating a space between them as her fingers dig into the muscles of his biceps, her nails creating little crescent moons as she leaves him no other option but to take a step back.
"I think it is just in your head, Kate. I really can't hear anything. This is normal, this paranoia, don't worry about it."
The quietness that descends is only broken by the water splashing the titles underfoot and they both stand frozen, ears straining to hear another sound, but when nothing else can be heard, her body relaxes. Her frame slumping against the wall behind, her head ducking, hiding behind the wet curls that are unable to shield her face, the pink that stains her cheeks.
"Sorry, I… you must think I'm crazy."
"Hey, Kate. No. Never. It's completely normal. I did the same thing a hundred times, I'm sure of it."
She peeks just a fraction between her lashes, looks up at him wearily, almost as if she is worried that he is laughing at her, mocking the feelings that are coursing through her at this moment. Yet he would never do that, never take an insecurity and ridicule her for having it.
"Kate…"
He may be the master of the macabre but his words are failing him miserably at the moment and he lets his body do the talking, closes the distance, his lips urgently nipping the drenched skin of her collarbone, the bone hard under his teeth as he bends at the knees, aims lower.
"Stop!"
This time the push against his body and his position combines; the propulsion back has him collapsing on the floor, the water pelting the top of his head, his ass smacking harshly, the sting radiating up and out.
"What the-"
"I can hear something, Castle."
He's left alone, the curve of her rear the last thing he sees before she flees the enclosed space, leaves him stunned and more than a little uncomfortable under the warm spray of the shower.
Coitus interuptus is rather frustrating.
Deliberating what to do next, he stands, peers down the length of his body, argues with himself over the next course of action. If he stays in here waiting for her return there is no guarantee that things will pick up from where it was brusquely cut off but if he follows then his chances are reduced to about zero.
He can't remember the last time they made love in their bed.
Shaking his head, he turns the water off, after all, he had confessed to her once long ago, that he was afraid that he would be doing this by himself. He will be nothing more than a deadbeat if he now leaves her in the situation that had worried him the most.
Stepping out and slinging a towel around his hips, he takes the steps necessary to enter their bedroom, sees her sitting on the side of the bed unaware of his presence, or that's what he had assumed until he hears the next words out of her mouth.
"Yes, Daddy's losing his hearing with his old age. Couldn't hear you yelling for attention. Mommy could. Mommy is right and that's something you should understand now, little guy. Mommy is always right."
The smirk that flitters across her features only enhances the glow that illuminates from inside, especially when she is holding their beautiful boy. The love that spills forth drowns them both, stuns all the male Castles and he beams right along with his son.
The tug that tears through him whenever they are separated has him shifting to sit next to her, his finger stretching forward and it's grasped instantly by tiny curved little ones. His heart hitches, his soul splintering all over again. It is an hourly occurrence, a minutely one really, but despite the months that have flown by with a baby as a part of their lives, he can't get enough.
He knows that while the sleepless nights and constant demands are still relatively new and that this shiny aspect will recede a little with time; right now he takes it all in, memorizes as much detail as he can. These moments are what will get him through the two-year-old tantrums and the three-year-old independence streak.
Kate lists sideways, her mouth dusting wet kisses along his bare shoulder, her tongue lapping, sneaking tiny traces of his skin, drinks the water that continues to grip to him. Bending down, he returns the favor, his lips burying into the top of her head, resting heavily against her.
Mumbling quietly, he jokes, kind of, "If he can't learn to be quiet when we are in the shower, we will never be able to have sex again." His voice drops to a whisper, knows it's silly but he cannot say the word loudly in front of his child, and Kate chuckles sadly next to him.
"Rick, if he doesn't learn to sleep more than a couple of hours at time, the chances of you having sex ever again will be none to no chance in hell."
He hears the tiredness, the amusement she is putting on, and he scoops his wide-awake child out of her arms; holds him up high so they are nearly nose to nose, and instructs sternly, "Little man, I love you, but seriously you are taking Ryan's crown from him. We really only need one cockblocker in the family!"
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There may be more although not anytime soon with Can't walk away and the winter fiction happening
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I appreciate your thoughts
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