Castle: "And if I keep him happy?"
Beckett: "Then I will keep you happy."
-8x11 "Dead Red"

"You did what?" Beckett demands when they meet up again at the embassy's front door. Castle winces and tries to hide behind Vasily - a man a foot shorter than him! - while the cheerful Russian explains how he gained entrance to the server room and hacked their murder victim's email.

"I didn't do anything," Castle says virtuously, which for once is the truth. "I just stood there." He isn't the one with diplomatic immunity, after all.

His wife looks skeptical, but she takes out her phone, and moments later they're in the car, talking to the boys on speakerphone.

"Got it," says Ryan after a few minutes. He's found the name and address of the woman who emailed the victim. "We'll send uniforms to bring her in."

"Great. See you in a few," Beckett says, and hangs up.

Vasily was delighted, earlier, to discover that Beckett speaks Russian; he spends the rest of the car ride babbling effusively in that language. Beckett can hardly get a word in edgewise, but each time she does manage to interject a sentence of her own in Russian, Castle is forcefully reminded of his recent dalliances with 'Svetlana.' He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, adjusting his suddenly too-tight pants, and catches his wife watching him in her rear-view mirror, a tiny smirk twisting her lips.

At the precinct, they catch up with the boys. The uniforms aren't back yet.

"The vic's dad sent over a list of employees at the consulate," Esposito says. "He said you asked him for it."

"I did," Beckett agrees. "Vasily, you know some of these people, right?"

"Oh! Yes, yes, of course," agrees their Russian friend, nodding eagerly. "I can look at the list with you."

"Good. Thank you." Beckett looks over her team. "Espo, you and Vasily go through the list of names. Ryan, get back into those emails, see what else you can find. And Castle…" She glares thunderously at him. The boys blanch. Even Vasily looks cowed. "...My office. Now."

She turns and stalks off, her heels rapping angrily on the floor.

The other three men gape wide-eyed at Castle, then quickly turn away.

Castle gulps and steels himself as he follows his wife into the office.

"I didn't know he was going to start snooping around the email server," he says quickly as she locks the door behind them and begins closing the blinds. "I swear, Beckett. I would have stopped him, but I-"

"Shut up," she orders, and suddenly her tongue is in his mouth.

Oh. Ohhh.

He begins to catch on, impressed by how skillfully she made her passion look like fury, preserving the fiction of their estrangement. In the next heartbeat he's kissing her back and there's no anger in her mouth, just heat and urgent desire. He moans softly, relishing the way her fingers dig into his shoulders.

"Kate," he mumbles into her lips, trying to pull back enough to get words out even as his hands are coming up to grasp her waist, tugging her closer. "So you're excited to be working with me again, huh?" he asks breathlessly, nudging his knee between her thighs.

"Shut up." And before he can formulate another retort, she's pushing him down on the couch and - oh shit - dropping to her knees.

"Fuck," he can't help gasping as her quick fingers undo his belt and open his pants.

Beckett nudges his feet farther apart and settles herself between his legs, her hands already busy stroking up and down his shaft. She grins up at him, slow and hot as he hardens immediately in her grip.

"Told you I'd keep you happy," she husks, licking her lips slowly.

A helpless groan escapes him at the sight. His wife is so fucking sexy, and he just knows this isn't going to last long at all.

"You have to be quiet though, babe," she says, and then her mouth is on him.

He gasps hoarsely, his fingers clutching at the sofa cushions. She's wasting no time, none of the leisurely teasing she sometimes likes to indulge in; there's no time for that, not here, not now. Just the fiery wet embrace of her lips and tongue, sliding down him, and the vibration of her throat when she hums with pleasure. She pulls up, moisture dripping down his shaft, and swirls her tongue around the head a few dizzying times before plunging back down onto him, taking him down her throat.

He breathes hard and fast, his mouth hanging open, his throat tight with the effort of holding back the noises that want to break free. He can't take his eyes off her; he can't believe - still, after all this time, it's incredible to him - that this woman wants to be with him, to touch him. To own him.

His chest heaves with erratic breaths as she moves faster over him, sucking hard, her tongue sweeping back and forth. She uses her hands to add to the stimulation and his whole body flushes hot with the ecstasy of it. He has to force himself not to thrust up into her mouth, has to muster all the control he's got to hold his hips still, anchoring himself with the hard grip of his hands in the cushions.

He's already so close, so fucking close, when she looks up to meet his gaze again, her eyes sparkling. He lets out a strangled breath at the look on her face, at how she knows what she's doing to him, at how she loves doing it. She gives him a slow blink, a tiny nod, and then she's sucking even harder, faster, and he lets go and pours himself out between her lips.

Gasping, panting, his mind is a blissful blank and he doesn't know if he can remember how to move his limbs. He can only sit there half-reclined on the couch, watching as she cleans him up with her tongue and tucks him back into his pants. Her expression is composed, but he sees the smug satisfaction lurking at the corners of her mouth and in the depths of her eyes. He sees that her legs are a little wobbly when she stands up and reaches for the coffee cup on her desk, taking a slow sip, studying him.

God, he loves her.

"Close your mouth, babe," she advises, her low voice rich with amusement. "You've got another minute or two before you'll have to go out there and act like you just got..." now her lips curve up wickedly, "...the other kind of tongue-lashing."

"Kate," he rasps, his voice rusty, throat dry. She passes him the coffee cup and he takes a sip, just to relieve his parched mouth. The coffee is cold, terrible really, but it's enough to snap him out of it, get him back into his body. He stands up and pulls her in again.

"You're incredible," he mutters, brushing his lips across hers, but then he lets her go. He knows that if he touches her any more now, he won't be able to stop. Judging by the flush of her cheeks and the downward sweep of her eyelashes, she knows it too.

"Later," he promises, low and silky. "Come to the loft tonight. I don't want you to have to be quiet."

Her eyes flash and spark at him with a million things they don't have to say any more. "Okay."

Then she pulls irritation over her like a mask, a disguise. She hardens her expression and narrows her eyes, and yanks the door open more forcefully than necessary, and storms out.

His role is easy. He just thinks about not being allowed to touch his wife for the rest of the day, and feels a scowl draw down his eyebrows. He lowers his chin and drags his feet out behind her.

By the time he gets out of her office, Beckett is already standing by the door to the interrogation room, looking over the case file once more before going in. The boys are at their desks, watching Castle emerge.

"Dude, what'd you do this time?" Esposito demands. Castle lifts his shoulders expressively. Espo sighs, shakes his head.

Down the hall, Beckett lifts her head and catches Castle's eye for a moment. He holds eye contact and lifts his hand, rubbing his nose slowly and deliberately.

She doesn't smile, but her eyes twinkle again. She tosses her head, flipping her hair back over her shoulder, and he knows they're going to make it.