Title is from a performance by the performance group Goat Island.
How Dear To Me the Hour When Daylight Dies
"Becks!" Carly's voice rings out across the restaurant, a hand lifting to gesture at Kate and get her attention. Sucking in a deep breath, Beckett offers a smile to the maître d' and heads for their table, forcing herself not to let her shoulders rise.
There's no need to armour herself against her high school friend, she knows that. Even so, it's. . .difficult. So much has changed for her since high school, more than she possibly could have imagined, and she's a little scared that Carly will judge her for it. At her core, she's still rebel Bex. Still fun-loving, still thrives on adrenaline. She's just a little more settled now, more grounded.
Carly rises as Kate approaches, wrapping her arms around Beckett in an unexpected but not entirely unwelcome embrace. The woman is tiny, a good six inches shorter than Kate, but nonetheless she's a firecracker. Always has been. Together she, Maddie, Beckett and a bunch of others wreaked havoc in New York City. Or at least they felt like they did; with Kate's work as a detective comes the knowledge that they were probably little more than a blip on the radar of the city's wider consciousness.
"You look great!" Carly enthuses, finally letting go of Beckett and dropping back into her seat. She has a bottle of wine already in front of them, chilling in the ice bucket and she pours a glass for Kate without asking. "Awesome pants."
Kate laughs, presses a palm to her cheek as she folds her legs at the knee and glances down, watching the bunch and pucker of the tight leather as she moves. "Thanks for giving me an occasion to wear them."
Reaching for her glass, Kate purposefully lets her left hand linger in her friend's line of vision, smirking when Carly's eyes widen and she grabs for Beckett's hand. "Whoa! That's quite the rock, Becks. You get yourself a sugar daddy?"
"Oh, no. He's, uh- pretty wealthy. But it's not like that with us." She flushes, sipping at her wine and lifting an eyebrow at Carly. Her friend's own rings are pretty huge too, she muses, wondering if maybe Rick and Carly's husband visited the same sort of stores.
Well, Kate sort of doubts that her friend's husband deliberated in five different stores and brushed off countless assistants-on-comission before settling on the ring that you'll be wearing the rest of your life, Beckett, I had to get it right.
Carly hums, leaning back in her chair and watching Kate. The slow perusal makes her a little uncomfortable and she does her best not to wriggle under the scrutiny, focusing her attention on the menu instead. "Did you order yet?"
"No, but I know what I want. Did you know that Maddie owns a restaurant now?"
"When her head chef was murdered I actually worked the case." Kate grins, folding the menu closed again. She's always been quick at deciding what to order; Castle likes to spend as long as he can get away with deliberating over his options.
Carly takes a sip of her wine and nods, reaching over to nudge Kate's bicep. "That's right! You're a homicide detective. And Richard Castle writes books about you. Spill."
Their server interrupts, giving Kate time to construct an answer as she and Carly order dinner. When he leaves she folds her hands at the table top, rubbing her finger over the cold band of the ring. Getting ready, she'd been a little sad that Castle hadn't been there to see that she's wearing it to dinner. But he'll see it when she gets home, and that's good too.
"He's my partner." Kate shrugs, grinning into the rim of her glass even as her cheeks flood with heat. In high school she was always adamant that she'd never fall so hard in love, never be that sappy, but here she is regardless.
Carly raises an eyebrow and tops up both of their wine glasses, the bangles at her slender wrists clacking together. Kate's a little surprised that this one thing has stayed with her friend, the ardent desire to never have her wrists without something to adorn them.
"And your fiancé doesn't mind that Rick writes about you?"
Oh. Kate had just assumed that her friend would have seen the engagement announcement, or have heard through the grapevine from one of their mutual friends. Clearly not. "Carly, Rick is my fiancé. We've been together almost two years."
"Seriously!" Carly screeches, attracting several disgruntled glares from the surrounding tables which she lets slide right off of her back, planting her elbows on the tabletop and leaning in close. "Oh my god, Becks. You landed the white whale?"
"He's not like that." Kate shakes her head, spotting their server across the room with their dinner. Just enough time to clarify. "He's amazing."
And yes, okay, so she's recycling her lines from just a couple weeks ago. So what? It's true. Her fiancé is a wonderful man. Kate accepts her food and offers her thanks to the server, opening out her napkin and spreading it over her lap. These pants were. . .pretty expensive. She doesn't want to ruin them if she drops something.
When the server leaves Carly nudges the toe of her stiletto against Kate's shin underneath the table, smirking at her. "Who would've thought the indomitable Becks would suit love so well."
"Shut up." Kate groans at her friend, slipping another forkful of food past her lips as an excuse not to say anything else. The thing is, she doesn't want to defend herself against this particular accusation. Love does suit her well, feels comfortable and familiar, and she doesn't care who knows it.
"Enjoy it while it lasts, honey. As soon as your plane lands at the end of your honeymoon the romance just dies. Take it from me."
Kate startles at that, entirely not expecting such a blatant display of bitterness from her friend. Carly has always been too busy for pessimism, flitting from one adventure to the next with everyone else content to follow in her wake.
"You're not happy in your marriage?" Kate hums, swallowing another mouthful of food. It's really good; she'll have to remember to bring Castle here.
Carly laughs, sardonic, and for a moment Beckett doesn't even recognise her. Just a stranger on the other side of a table whose life went an entirely different direction from Kate's. "It's not that I'm unhappy, exactly. Just bored. He's always working. We never go out anymore."
"Okay but. . .you work too, right?"
"Oh sure." Carly dismisses Beckett's olive branch with a wave of her hand, rolling her eyes. "He hasn't made a housewife of me yet honey. But it's the same thing, every day." Leaning over the table, she gets as close as she can and hisses at Beckett. "You know we haven't had sex in six weeks? Used to be, we couldn't go six hours without."
That brings heat to Kate's cheeks again and she does her best to cool it with another sip of wine, her eyes slipping closed a moment. She had no idea that Carly even had the capacity for boredom, never would have guessed that marriage of all things would mire her down.
And yes. She's a little concerned. If this woman, a font of energy and enthusiasm, is bored in her marriage then what hope is there for the rest of them? "Okay. But you can recapture that, right? Bring the spark back."
"I don't know if I can be bothered." Carly laughs, taking a generous swig of her wine and slamming the glass back to the tabletop hard enough that the noise turns the head of an elderly woman off to their right, Carly steadfastly refusing to wither under the spectacle-rimmed glare. "I guess this is just what marriage is, right?"
God, she hopes not.
Castle breaks their kiss to laugh, nuzzling his mirth into the creases of her neck instead. Whatever this weird smooshing kiss thing is that she's doing, he really likes it. Even if it does have mirth bubbling up and distracting him. His tongue comes out to taste her, that sharp hint of perfume behind her ear that always makes him shiver in pleasure. "You taste good."
He gets a laugh for that, her fingers fisting in his hair to guide him up to look at her. She's grinning at him, playful and sweet, but behind it he sees the still-dissolving panic. As if he could ever find her less than fascinating. "You know, it's been a little over five years since we met. I know you better than I've ever known anyone. And still, every day something else about you surprises and delights me."
"Me too." She nods, coming in to kiss him again. Just a fleeting burst, her mouth against his like confirmation before she carries on. "I don't think I could ever get bored of your outlandish theories. Or ever stop being surprised by the depths of your heart."
She lifts an eyebrow at him and he comes in to press his mouth there, tongue and then teeth and she moans her assent, arching into him. "Stealing my lines, Detective."
"Because they're always perfect." She huffs, already breathless. Her fingers are circling at his ear, smoothing over the shell of it again and again and he shifts to get his mouth against hers, slicking his tongue inside for a deeper, more searching kiss.
Curling his fingers at the underside of her thigh, Castle tugs in encouragement until Kate slings her leg over his lap and sinks down, her hips rocking against his. Where her hand is at his neck, fingers splayed, he can feel the peculiar nudge of the ring and he groans, his hips jerking up against hers.
He's not ashamed to admit that the prospect of spending the rest of their lives together makes him hot for her. Wrenching his mouth away from hers, he pants against her cheek and rucks up her shirt, fingers quick at the flare of her hips, the sine wave of her vertebrae.
"I think I'm in love with your pants. But please can we take them off?"
Laughing again, loud and uninhibited, Kate peels herself off of his lap and stands in front of him, swaying her hips rhythmically and biting her lip as she watches him watch her. He does sort of want to help, but he knows he'd be more of a hindrance.
So he leans back into the couch and watches his devastatingly sexy fiancée peel the leather down her forever legs, allowing himself to unzip his own pants and slip a hand inside. He's so hard already; just watching her would be enough for him.
When she finally manages to get her pants all the way off she comes back for him, breathless and with her jaw set in determination as she straddles him again. Shoving his pants and underwear out of the way, she sinks down to let him feel the rasp of black lace against his erection and laughs when he grunts, his fingers clutching at her hips.
"Fuck."
"That's the idea."
Oh, she thinks she's so clever. Rick slides a hand inside her pants in retaliation and curls his fingers, feeling her slick and hot and oh so good. It makes her pant, her forehead falling to his shoulder as she rocks against him.
As he kicks his way out of the constraints of his pants and underwear his hips dance in the cradle of her own and she moans, low and long and entirely in her chest. She's laughing against his cheek, her tongue darting out to relish the rasp of his stubble. It's this he loves most about being with her. Laughing together in bed, totally uninhibited.
Suddenly he needs her desperately. Nudging aside the material of her underwear, Castle fists himself in one hand and tugs her down with the other, slides inside of her in one move. She gasps, her mouth opening at his neck and she sucks at his pulse, one hand reaching behind herself to unclasp her bra.
He doesn't want to waste the time to get her shirt off. Instead, he slides his hand inside and beneath the cup of her bra, palming her breast and rolling her nipple between two fingers. Kate arches into his touch, lifting up enough that he can get his mouth at hers again and he does, kissing her hot and perfect as she rocks in his lap over and over.
She's grinning at him, wide and beautiful as her hips sink down and lift again, rolling against him. Castle snakes a hand down between them to circle her clit and she grunts, clenching around him and breathing his name into the shell of his ear.
When she comes apart she sinks her teeth into his bottom lip and he growls, thrusts into her a couple more times before the bliss overtakes him and he spills inside her. When they get their breath back she giggles, holds him in place with a palm at his cheek as she kisses him. "I think I forgive you."
"Like we could ever only have sex on national holidays." He snorts, helping her off of his lap and chuckling when she sprawls on the couch with her face mashed against his bicep. Neither of them even managed to get their shirt off, but it hardly seems to matter.
She hums, snagging his hand and stroking the lines of his fingers against her palms. "That was a dumb thing to say, I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I can see why you'd be concerned if even the goddess isn't satisfied in marriage. But we are way, way too good at sex for that to ever happen. It would be a travesty."
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