a/n: This is a companion piece to the wonderful story 'Flashlight,' written by l03l. It might be understandable to read as a stand-alone but probably makes a lot more sense if you have read 'Flashlight' first. If you would like to catch up first, you can find it under story ID 10708579 or www dot fan fiction dot net/s/10708579/1/Flashlight
This story starts in the exact moment and scene where 'Flashlight' ends.
Thank you, Lauren, for tearing my heart out and then painstakingly reassembling it with your story, and thank you for allowing me to build upon the world you have created.
All the Light We See
a 'Flashlight' companion
Her apartment feels smaller somehow, with him in it, the high-ceilinged space seeming to pulsate with the strength of his presence. If his lips weren't on hers she'd still have trouble believing that he is truly here, like this, too surreal the thought that she gets to love him again, with all of her heart, her soul, and her body.
She'd accepted being his friend, his closest friend, had made her peace with never being more again. She'd been okay with it. Yet folded in his embrace she recognizes the fallacy of her acceptance as she comes to realize she has only been half-living, has been missing something so vital it couldn't be put into words. Like a cloud cover tearing open, and sunlight rippling through that she'd given up on ever seeing again, heating her skin with a warmth that she'd almost forgotten yet at once feels desperately familiar, that makes her come alive. Ten years- it's been ten years since she last kissed him like this, ten years of missing the warm softness of his lips, the seeking curl of his tongue, his heart pounding beneath her hand when she presses her palm to his chest; the heat and strength and care and love of this man.
Ten years and his kisses taste exactly the same.
Ten years and his hair feels just as soft as she remembered it when she slides her fingers into the short strands at the back of his neck. She's wondered how he didn't turn grayer over the years given all that he had to endure, yet save for his temples and a few scattered hairs throughout, the chestnut richness has lasted, the flop of hair that falls down over his forehead as boyish as the first day they met.
"Don't cry, Kate. Oh sweetheart, don't cry," he murmurs, voice drowned with heavy sorrow as his thumb sweeps beneath her eye, gathering her tears she hasn't known she's been crying.
"I'm okay." She sniffs, tilts her cheek into the warm comfort of his palm. "I'm just-" Blinking against the sheen of tears, her eyes rise to meet his while she trails her fingers along his jawline, smoothing the frown lines at the corners of his eyes, the edges of his mouth.
"I'm happy. I haven't been truly happy in so long."
He sighs her name and Kate soothes her fingertips over his lips, trapping his distress.
"Shhh, it's okay," she hums. "No more." There's been enough grief to last them several lifetimes. She wants their moments unmarred, wants to revel in the reverent, surreal, overwhelming joy that's filling her, threatening to burst her apart from the inside out. Her fingers slide down to the sides of his collar, gripping the fabric.
"Just kiss me," she whispers, tugs him closer by his shirt. "Kiss me and don't stop."
His forehead sinks to hers, his palms cradling her face, thumbs so gentle as he traces her cheekbones.
"Always."
Her eyes sparkle when the word falls from his lips, their word, and he suddenly realizes how long it's been since he'd last spoken it - to her or anybody else. It had always been their word, from the first time he'd ever said it like the promise it was. And even through all the years he'd been gone, even when he'd lost himself and all that he'd once had so completely, he'd never uttered it, must have known - somehow, subconsciously, instinctually - that it belonged only to her, that it was theirs alone.
He captures her beatific smile with his mouth, slides his lips over the tilted curve of hers, tasting her plump bottom lip. Her warmth, the taste of her, the softness of her flesh so shockingly familiar that he moans into her mouth, his fingers curving around the back of her nape, gripping strands of curls that run between his fingers like liquid silk. The couch cushions welcome him as he sinks back into them, her lithe weight draped over his chest and her mouth supple against his. The ends of her hair curtain his face, tickle his cheeks, his ears, his neck, leave his skin sensitized, yearning for her touch. Her tongue plays against his, curious, exploring, then sliding deep, as if she too is still stunned by the shocking familiarity of every touch.
There's nothing else - no thoughts, no memories of anything that came between them, there's only Kate, indomitable, extraordinary Kate, and he can't believe he ever thought he could be happy without her. It's impossible. She is as vital to his happiness as the oxygen flow to his lungs. He'd been running scared for so long; he'd worked hard to heal the emotional and psychological scars inflicted upon him and yet he had let fear keep him from the final step, the most important one - his unbreakable, eternal love for Kate.
Facing it had been like a veil lifting from his eyes, his vision cleared to see a future that was incomplete, would be grey and pale without her. She feels just like he remembers - now that he's allowed the memories back to fill the blank spaces of his past - slender yet strong in his arms, her back muscles rippling beneath his fingertips as he maps the length of her spine, brushes her sides, paints the curve of her ribcage with his touch. He aches for her, had almost forgotten what this could feel like - to want so much without fear licking at the edges of his conscience, without the ever-present sense of 'wrong' that had been his companion for years.
There's rightness to every touch, the brush of her nose against his and the graze of her teeth along his bottom lip, the soft roll of her hips and the slide of her thigh between his. His fingers sneak beneath the hem of her shirt, meet the delicate skin of her lower back and she shivers, her breath shuddering through her ribcage, caressing his mouth. He's clinging to her, pressing her ever closer with his fingers gripping the waistband of her pants, can't seem to get her close enough.
His lips traverse her jawline, the gorgeous ridge of her cheekbones where the taste of tears still lingers so he kisses their trail, murmurs sweet nothings into her skin while curving a palm around the side of her face, cradling her tenderly. Her eyes closed, forehead sinking against his she seems to just breathe him in.
"I can't believe you're really here," she sighs reverently, her words whispering over his face like a caress, and he tightens his hold on her. His arm banding around her shoulder blades, he holds her against him, snug and safe as she sinks onto his chest, her forehead hidden in the curve of his neck and her ear coming to rest above his pounding heart.
"I'm here," he murmurs inane assurances. "I'm here now. Not going anywhere."
She sighs, fingers clinging tighter where they are wrapped around the fabric of his shirt and neither one acknowledges the thought - how it may not be up to them, how they've learned the hardest way imaginable that it can all be taken from them at any time, through no fault of their own, just by the cruel hands of fate - and yet, here they are, clinging to each other and trying again, trying anyway, because it'd never be their choice to leave, and nothing else is worth living for.
He strums his fingers down the length of her spine, then back up, then down again in a soothing pattern that makes her sink heavy against him, her body loosened and her mind calmed, and he turns his head, kisses her forehead, kisses her right eyebrow, and the left, and the spot between them. She lifts her face to him, her eyes low-lidded but her pupils move, mapping the lines of his face, and he tilts up her chin until their mouths meet and she's kissing him again, tender and languid and perfect and endless.
She loses track of how long they're lying on her couch, coiled together and making out, reveling in the taste and feel of each other, reality surpassing the strands of memories she had so desperately clung to for years. She wants him, all of him, yet she wants this too, the ease of rediscovery, the languid reverence in every kiss, every tender and almost-innocent touch, and she's tired, happy but just so tired. She's fighting it, doesn't want to sleep, doesn't want to miss even one moment with him, but it's as if her mind is finally at peace, having given her body permission to rest, and she crashes hard in the cradle of his arms. Where she's home.
"We should get some rest," he murmurs against her cheekbone, as if he's read her mind.
She blinks up at him, nods hazily as she slowly untangles herself. "Yeah."
Fingers still entwined with his she rises, tugs him up with her, feels drowsy as she stands, legs wobbly with exhaustion.
He starts for the guest room, fingers loosening from the grasp of hers but she tugs him back, lifts their folded hands to rest against her sternum.
"Stay with me?" Her heart races, uncertainty warring within her. He's come so far, they both have, but it's been so much change in such a quick time span and maybe that is too soon; the last thing she wants is to push him if he needs to take things slow, if he needs time. "Unless you don't—?"
"No, no I do. If that's what you want?" His voice is low and just as uncertain; he sounds forlorn and unsure, and she aches to erase this uncertainty between them, the tentative tiptoeing they still do; wants him to know without a doubt how desperately she's missed him all along.
"Rick." She steps into him, cradles his face within her palms. "I don't ever want to spend another night without you."
She wakes early, when the sun has barely crested the horizon, her bedroom bathed in hazy shades of morning grey. It's barely six o'clock - three o'clock his time, she thinks, considering the time difference between New York and San Francisco as she takes in the sleeping man next to her in bed, unruly hair flopping across his forehead and his mouth slightly open. She fell asleep hard last night, sunk into a heavy, dreamless sleep with his body spooned around hers, his arm folded tightly across her chest and his breath whispering along the back of her neck. Kate brushes a thumb over his cheek and the stubble along his jaw, slides his hair back and kisses his forehead; when he doesn't wake, doesn't even twitch, she carefully slides out of bed, puts on her robe, and pads into the kitchen.
She stares out the window at the canyoned city sky line that sparkles and glimmers white-gold in the rays of morning sunrise, lets her thoughts drift at random while the coffee percolates. Once the brew is done, she pours herself a cup, taking it over to her desk. No time like the present, she decides, taking small, careful sips of the hot liquid while she waits for the Mac to power up, and then she sinks into her desk chair, opens an empty word document.
There's no hesitation, not one bit of doubt when she puts fingers to keyboard, frees thoughts into letters and words and paragraphs that form the succinct summary of her resignation, that mark a decision she realizes has been long overdue.
Kate decides to let him sleep while she gets ready, tiptoeing quietly in and out of her bathroom, her closet, her bedroom. She sets a note for him on the nightstand by his side of the bed and brushes a kiss to his lips before she leaves.
She steps outside the building into the still-cool morning air, inhales deeply. The air is crisp, seeps into her lungs, almost burns as her torso expands, then deflates as she exhales. She feels a little as if she's being reborn, as if a weight has been lifted, as if the axis of the world has finally been righted that had felt off-kilter to her for ten long years.
They meet for lunch at Remy's. After a round of hugs they slide into the semicircle booth one by one, the ones she considers her original gang - Lanie, then Ryan and Espo across from her, Castle next to her on her other side with his thigh pressed warm and reassuring against hers.
The small talk fizzles fast, leaves awkward silence hanging over them like an uninvited guest. Guilt has changed all of them, has been their companion for years just like it was hers - guilt for giving up looking for Castle, guilt for making Kate stop searching, the low hum of anger that he'd been held right under their noses and there was nothing else they could've done. They've all healed, moved forward in this new reality, yet she still sees it in their looks sometimes, in the ways they can't quite meet her eyes when the past comes up, like it is now, with Castle sitting among them once more.
She thinks they all know what's coming, but she doesn't know what to say, can't get the words out, her throat clogged with it. It's the end of something that's been broken, cracked and fissured, scabbed over and healed with jagged edges, yet was once big and vital, a lifeline to them all.
"You're leaving." Ryan says at last, more statement than question and it rescues her from the morbidity of her racing mind. His eyes are soulful and sad when he meets hers across the table, and her heart aches with it. These are her brothers; no matter what, they always will be that.
She nods, can't help the joy from cracking through the sadness, the relief almost tangible as it wells through her. She's going home - with Castle. Because this - New York, the precinct, her job - no longer feels like home. Home is with him.
"Oh girl," Lanie exclaims, a sob and a laugh becoming one as she wraps her arms around Kate. "I'm so happy for you!" She squeezes her tightly and Kate slides her arms around her best friend, hugging her close.
"It's about time," she announces when she pulls away at last, wipes a tear from under her eyes. "I never thought you'd last here this long once he moved to the other side of the country."
She glances at him but Castle laughs at it; she feels the low rumble of his voice reverberate in his chest and she twines her fingers with his, feels shy all of a sudden, smiling at her friends.
Lanie leans across her, hugging Castle as well. "Really, I'm so glad, for both of you," she says, kisses his cheek. Rick smiles back, the gratitude visible on his face and Kate is reminded once more how much more he had lost as well; not just her but every friend or acquaintance - how abjectly lonely he must've been.
"We'll miss you." Her gaze rises to meet Esposito's at his quiet words, and her eyes well with tears she hadn't yet allowed herself to shed. No matter what happened, the quarrels and disagreements they've had over the past years, Javi is still the one who's known her the longest, who's looked out for her when she needed it most, who's rooted for her and Rick when she couldn't yet see what was right in front of her eyes. She'll never forget that. His hand reaches across the table, and she slides hers into his, feels him squeeze her fingers in encouragement. "You're making the right choice."
"Thank you." She smiles, squeezes back, and she knows they'll part as friends.
"I think this calls for a round of drinks!" Castle gestures for the waitress, and as they sip their beers, the conversation falls back into a familiar rhythm, almost like no time has passed. The specter of her impending departure sits among them; she knows they are all aware that this might be the last time they'll come together like this, yet they're all determined to ignore it, for old time's sake; to relive once more a time when this was who they were.
She cries when they say goodbye. The tears won't stop running down her face as she hugs Espo who grips her tightly; she can barely handle to look at Ryan when he folds his arms around her, his eyes watery and sad; she clings to Lanie as the other woman wraps her into a tight embrace. "You'll come visit?"
"Of course."
And then they're gone, and she feels bereft and relieved both.
"Come on." Castle takes her hand. "Let's go for a walk."
They wander through Central Park with no clear path nor goal. Bikes whirr by and children squeal on playgrounds, runners zip past ambling groups of tourists. She inhales deep breaths, soaks up the crisp air, the unique atmosphere; she feels herself saying goodbye with every step and it's okay, she's at ease, because he is by her side.
"You okay?" He murmurs and she stops, turns for him. His eyes sparkle bright-blue in the sunlight, rivaling the color of the sky as he looks at her with concern lining his face. She marvels at him. Here they are strolling through the city he had been afraid to face for years, and he worries about her.
"You amaze me," she states simply. She's aware that he thinks he's no longer the person he used to be, that this experience has changed him irrevocably, but she sees the same man she fell for all those years ago, his strength and perseverance, his instinctive empathy for others, his exuberant joy and zest for life. It's all still there and as the rays of the sun kiss his hair, dip half of his face into shadow, it hits her all over again how much she's missed him, his presence and the joy he'd brought to her life. He knew her like no one else ever had, he made her laugh and feel so deeply, and enjoy life in ways she had given up ever having, and she wants him back, aches for this life with him, for every day and moment and tiny unimportant experience spent together. She grips her fingers into his lapels, drags herself into him while his arms band around her, and she can almost feel the moment charge between them, electricity sparking like a tangible thing as his eyes darken with the familiar glint of want.
She takes in his eyes, his lips, the lines of his face, meets his eyes again as her midsection clenches and heat rolls through her like a tidal wave, sweeping her up in its relentless path. He feels solid against her, warm and strong, biceps flexing as he holds her and his chest rising with every breath. She licks her lips; her mouth feels parched and she swallows, and his irises darken, a raw sound rumbling in his chest.
"Take me home, Castle."
The door has barely closed behind them when he has her pressed against it, fingers entwined with hers and pushed above her head against the solid wood, her leg twined over his hip and his hips welcomed within the cradle of her thighs. He's kissing her and it's relentless and devastating and glorious; he can't get enough of her taste, of her tongue seeking his and exploring his mouth, of the elegant arch of her neck and the brush of her breasts against him.
She's moaning, trembling in his arms, and he explores the smooth line of her jaw with his mouth, traveling down the length of her neck, his teeth nipping at the delicate skin. Her fingers curl into his hair, grip the strands as he hits a sensitive spot. He still remembers, like rote memory, each sensitive spot of skin that'd make her moan, shiver, claw, clench tightly around him; and he licks along her collarbone, setting the edge of his teeth against the ridge of bone.
Kate tugs at his hair, pulls his face back up to hers, eyes low-lidded, drowsy with arousal and lips smudged from his kisses, and devastatingly beautiful. He curves a hand around the underside of her thigh, hikes her leg higher over his hip, seeking her mouth once more when she brushes her fingers to his chest, halting him.
"Just like the first time," she whispers, drawing haphazard patterns with her fingertips right above his heart. Her eyes shine with warmth, and wistfulness, and love. "Our first time."
Castle runs his fingers through her hair, slides the strands back off her face. Her leg drops to the ground but he entwines his fingers with hers, and kisses her slowly, tenderly, pouring all his love into this kiss. The parallels aren't lost on him either – the memory no longer muddled by the terror he's since survived but its own thing, tangible and vibrant and clear - Kate pressed against his door, cradled by him, the two of them finding each other at last after adversity that could have torn them apart forever.
He hopes this is their last first time. Knows with certainty that he could not handle losing her again.
The sun is slowly sinking, bathing the apartment in gold and copper tones, and she looks like a goddess, almost like she shimmers in the twilight, indomitable and yet soft, warm, vulnerable. It aches, deep and visceral, how much he's missed her, how he loves her, but he banishes the sadness, forces the fears from his mind, unwilling to allow them space, to give them any power over him when they found each other again at last.
He smiles at her, brushes his thumb across her knuckles where their hands are folded together, and her eyes rise to meet his. He tugs on her hand, and she follows as he leads her to her bedroom.
His fingers shake as he slips open the buttons of her blouse, one by one, working down the neat row of pearl disks that feel minuscule beneath his fingertips, revealing the canvas of pale smooth skin, like silk to the touch. Her breathing trembles in her chest, her wide eyes watching him with rapt attention and what he sees, what he marvels at all over again, is the unassailable trust that shines in her eyes.
He feels breathless, unmade. His thumb traces the path of her sternum until the whorls of his finger come to rest atop the familiar round of her bullet scar. It has faded to a pale pink after all these years, feels smoother to his touch, barely noticeable yet he knows, he will always know, and so he lingers for a long moment, remembers, feels grateful. Her eyelids flutter and he catches her shuttered exhale with his lips and kisses her deeply, his tongue limning the curve of her bottom lip, caressing inside, curling against her tongue. She moans deep in her throat and her fingers run down the length of his spine, tremble at the low of his back, curve around his hips and back to his stomach, as if she's drawing the shape of him with her touch. His skin tingles all over, so familiar her touch, the distinctive way she caresses him, and he realizes that there are no false memories clouding his vision, no thoughts of anything that existed within the depths of his illusions, because in all the years between, he'd never been touched like this, with such veneration, such love.
Castle slides his hands beneath the fabric of her blouse, pushing the garment off the balls of her shoulders. She aids in his effort, shaking the sleeves off her arms. The blouse tumbles to the ground with the hushed whisper of silk, and Kate reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra. The blue lace loosens against her skin, and his breath catches in his throat, his heart thumping and the blood rushing in his ears. Rick trails his fingers over the slopes of her breasts, displacing the fabric so that the bra slides off her, joining the blouse on the floor.
Reverently, he traces the familiar curves of her flesh, circles her nipples, brushing the tip of his thumb against the dark pink flesh that rises and hardens beneath his touch. She whimpers and he captures the sound with his mouth, slides his tongue deeper while her fingers hook around his belt, deftly undoing the buckle, then the top button of his jeans. He feels her touch tremor through the thick jean fabric and he trembles, his knees feeling weak. He aches to feel her naked skin against his, to feel her warmth and the softness pressed to his sharp edges, like smoothest velvet, and he quickly unbuttons the rest of his shirt. She grins a little against his lips and he nips at her amusement, recognizes it for what it is – there's untainted joy in these moments together, in the purity of their touch, in the rediscovery and the way they know each other so instinctually, even after all this time. She steps back just slightly, creating a few inches of space between them to push down her pants and step out of them, toeing off her socks. He mirrors her movements, holding her gaze as he does.
She looks… happy. At peace, with him, with them, but also with herself, and for the first time in a very long time he feels like he's done something purely good - he's making her happy. He's felt so selfish for so long, for all the challenges he continuously imposed on his family. For accepting Kate's love for him, feeling secured by it, without being able to give anything back. For making her live in this holding pattern he didn't believe could ever end. Yet he can make her happy – he could set her world right by showing up, by being himself and coming back to her - where he belongs. It's not inherently selfless, but it is right, and good, and perfect.
He takes a step toward her, closing the gap between them. Wrapping his arm around her waist he walks her backwards a step, and another, until her knees hit the edge of the bed and she sinks down onto the mattress. It's like a ballet, their moves together almost orchestrated, coordinated by desire, trust, love, Kate crawling further onto her bed, Rick following her to the middle of the mattress, his body cradled by her knees while she sinks backwards, coming to lie against the royal blue sheets with her hair fanned around her head, haloing her, and a smile on her face that is goddess and sin both. He runs his eyes over the length of her body, down her toes then back up all the way, mapping her endlessly long, strong legs, her hipbones, the slight curve of her belly and the rippling muscles underneath, the proud rise of her breasts and the sharp line of her collar bones, her graceful neck, her cheekbones and the delectable curve of her lips, enjoying the way she seems to shiver just from the path of his eyes.
"Lace underwear...?" He winks at her, runs his index finger over her hipbone where the strip of dark lace kisses the protrusion of her bone, and her hip flexes, her stomach muscles quivering. He remembers - so many small things coming back to him now that are just Kate, had only always been Kate - how she prefers wearing simple, soft cotton underwear in vibrant colors that almost never match her bra, but how she purposely selects lace or silk pieces for dates, special occasions, or... seduction.
She smiles up at him, her fingers painting circles around his nipples, outlining the strip of hair that runs down the middle of his stomach but then her expression turns thoughtful. "I just... I…"
"I know." He leans down to kiss her tenderly, his heart thundering, the blood pounding through his body. "I want you, too."
Her smile turns soft, and if he weren't a better writer, if it weren't such a cliché he'd say that she has stars in her eyes because her pupils shine and shimmer in the fading light of dusk. Her hands frame his face, a palm on each cheek.
"You have me," she murmurs, lifting her head for his mouth, her lips whispering over his. "You'll always have me."
"Kate." He draws in a shaky breath, his forehead resting against hers and Kate runs calming fingers through his hair, drawing him with her as she sinks back into the pillows, her hair fanned around her and her arms flung over her head. His body follows hers, and his lips worship her face, paint kisses to the curve of her cheekbone, her forehead, her eyelids, her nose; those glorious lips and the line of her jaw, the proud column of her neck. She's humming and he feels the sound beneath his lips when he kisses the hollow of her throat and the swing of her collar bones.
"You're so beautiful." He kisses the soft slopes of her breast, slowly reaches her nipple, licking across the raised hard peak. She gasps sharply, her back arching up, seeking more. He sucks her breast into his mouth, drawing at her flesh, the curl of his tongue and the teasing edge of his teeth, relishing the familiar melody of her moans, the rhythm of her hunger. She's always been vocal, an interplay of sounds and words that guided their moments together and he still knows the exact pressure she likes, remembers when to tease and when to follow through. He venerates at the altar of her body, finds the other nipple with his mouth while his fingertips tease the first, circle round and round until she's writhing beneath him, her hair getting wild and messy, her mouth open and her eyes closed.
He traces a line up her arm, then down again, nips his teeth against the soft inner curve of her elbow and she cries out, her fingers twining into his hair. His mouth travels to her shoulder, the curve of her neck, seeking her lips once more for a deep kiss while his fingertips trace lower, play at the soft lace waistband that limns her stomach. Her muscles jump at his touch, her hips undulating in small, insistent circles, yet her hand in his hair doesn't guide or grip, doesn't demand. It crystallizes for him that she's handed all control to him, giving all of herself to his touch; she has placed herself into the hands of his love, without doubt or hesitation so that he can learn her anew, rediscover her at his own pace, without pressure or expectation. His throat clogs and his heart feels full. How lucky he's been – despite everything that's happened to him, to them – that she's wanted him, has loved him so much to wait for him for the past years, with no real hope that he'd ever love her like this again, with solely the power of her memories and the indestructible strength of her love.
"I love you," he husks, caresses her lips, the tip of his nose grazing hers. Her eyes flutter open, so gorgeous in the ensuing darkness, orbits of hazel and mossy green, like mystery and fairy tales.
"I love you so much."
She sighs, fingers curling at his ears. "I love you too. I always have."
A breath releases from deep within his chest, a rush of air audible in the rustled silences between them. "Thank you," he murmurs, his eyes sinking closed as his forehead meets hers, and her fingers trail over his cheekbones, his bottom lip until his eyes open once more. Kate presses a lingering kiss to his mouth, and taking one of his hands, she guides it back to her body, their intertwined fingers sliding down the curve of her breast, the sloped line of her stomach, down further between her legs. They both groan at the contact when his fingertip grazes the soft, pink, wet flesh.
"Touch me." Kate sighs the words against his lips, her hips seeking his touch. "Feel me. Just feel."
He finds her for a deep kiss, their mouths and tongues sliding together, heated and eager, and his fingertips circle just so, her wetness coating the whorls of his finger. He traces his touch over to her inner thigh, up to her navel, down to her hipbone again, teasing where she quivers, ratcheting her higher and higher. His mouth explores every line and dip and curve of her body, tasting her skin, swirling, suckling, savoring. He travels the length of her body, lingering at her nipples until her moans get louder and her legs shift restlessly against the bedspread; she digs her heels into the mattress, her knees falling open in loving surrender. He inhales the warmth of her scent, presses his mouth to the tender skin that slopes from her belly button down between her thighs, breathing against her.
"Castle." It's plea and longing and ache all wrapped into one, and he curls his fingers at her thighs, sinks his head between her legs. Looking up at her until she lifts her head, waiting until her eyes flutter open, until she's watching him, he holds her gaze, and touches his mouth to her.
She cries out at the first contact of his tongue, her head crashing back down into the pillow, and he moans, savors her taste in his mouth, drawing small, teasing loops and, when her hips are squirming, he presses the flat of his tongue against her flesh. She shudders beneath him, and he hums his love into her softness; incoherent murmurs of affection that make her shiver, and he knows she's close, seeking him fervently, her fingers gripping strands of his hair. He teases her with the curl of his fingertip and she squirms, a yes yes gasped up from the depth of her chest and that's all the encouragement he needs. His tongue never letting up, he slides a finger inside her, instantly feels the clench of her muscles around him, gripping, seeking; he finds that mystic spot that makes her fly, curls against it, his mouth against her, savoring the intensity of her flavor, tasting the strength of her passion in his mouth. Her muscles quiver, in her stomach and her legs, her whole body tightening, hips arching off the bed and then she flies apart against his mouth, her muscles squeezing around his finger, endless quivers wracking through her and he watches her in awe until she crashes back into the mattress, spent and flushed, her hair wild and her eyes closed and her mouth open in wrecked breathing.
She's breathing hard, her chest rising and falling; feels her ribcage expanding with the flood of oxygen, and the flushed glow of her cheeks. With weak arms she lifts a hand, curls her fingers into the soft, mussed strands of his hair, drawing light circles against his scalp. His stubble prickles her skin where his cheek rests against her abdomen, and his breath whispers across her hip like a caress, and she needs him closer, fervent and hard against her. Her fingers tug at his ears, slide to his jaw, his shoulders, and he crawls up her body, holds himself above her with his arms dug into the mattress right and left of her shoulders and his biceps bulging from the strain.
Kate runs her nails up the inside of his arm, savoring the coiled strength of his muscles. The unruly lock falls down over his forehead; his eyes are hooded as he looks at her, pupils dark and piercing with arousal and she frames his face with her hands, raises her still limp legs to hook them high over his hips, cradling his body to the warmth of hers. He groans and she feels him twitch against her.
She holds his gaze, rolls her hips, offering herself to him. They don't need words, they never needed words in those clear hushed moments between them, when all they know and all they are is in their eyes, and he slides inside her in a long smooth glide, and it feels brand-new and like they've never been apart. It's a confounding dichotomy that she doesn't waste time on, all her thoughts consumed by feeling him, reduced to just this, the unity of their bodies, the perfect way they fit together.
Her eyes flutter of their own volition, feeling him fill her deep, so deep, moving slowly out, and back in, sliding even deeper on the next stroke, and her breath catches in her chest. Kate trembles, searches for his mouth, curls her tongue against his in a seeking, slightly sloppy kiss.
He moves slowly, deliberate with every thrust and she tightens her legs around his hips, her arms around his neck; his chest pressed against hers, he grazes her nipples with every move, shooting arrows of pleasure to her midsection. He's warm, and he feels so strong in her arms, familiar, and already she knows she won't last long, not this time, not when she's missed him for years, ached for him deeply, viscerally. It's never felt with anyone like it does with him, and she undulates her hips into his rhythm, her fingers digging into his spine when he hits a spot deep inside, making her groan, yes and more and harder, strings of incoherencies that make his thighs shake, his strokes more forceful.
Kate, Kate, Kate, her name a supplication on his lips as he loses his rhythm, shivers; he slides a hand beneath her tailbone, lifting her hips and she cries out at the changed angle when he thrusts inside, hits a spot deep and intense. She clenches around him, feels his groan deep in his chest, feels his body tightening as he controls his need.
She gasps, squeezes her muscles, demands without words, doesn't want him to hold back. She wants him to lose himself, to know he can lose himself in her like she's lost in him. Wants him to fall apart forgetting anything and everything except for this glorious moment, with her.
Their hands entwine, raised high above her head; she squeezes his fingers and he thrusts harder, faster and she's clinging to him, feels his body graze her swollen nerves with every stroke. Pleasure spreads star-like from her midsection, arrows to every part of her body, whitening her vision, making her blood rush. She quivers where they are joined, feels his ragged rhythm, his labored breathing. Eyes closed he's climbing higher and she reaches for him with her whole body, asking for him, pleading wordlessly, only with the grasp and undulation of her body, and then she can feel it, the exact moment when he tightens, when he breaks apart, unmade by her, quivering deep inside her and sending her hurtling over the cliff with him, joining him in the fall. Stars burst before her eyes, every muscle tight and quaking, her hips flying up against his, shaking and broken and remade by him.
It's long minutes until she truly comes to, until the weight of him against her has her gasping for air and he rolls to the side, dragging her with him against his chest. She's spent, sweaty, savors the evidence of their joining wet between her legs. She rests her forehead to his sternum, a knee hooked over his hip while she listens to his ragged heartbeat, and breathes in his scent, in and out and in.
She must have dozed off for a while because when her eyes flutter open once more, the room is drenched in darkness, only the weak grey haze of the quarter moon peeking through the blinds, slicing long thin lines across the hardwood floor and the dark sheets on her bed. He's still beside her on his back, breathing rhythmically, his eyes closed but when she shifts, his eyes open, the dark blue of his pupils stark in the darkness.
"I've missed this," she sighs, raking her nails over his chest.
"What, the sex?"
He grins mischievously and she chuckles, pinches his skin playfully. "No."
He arches an eyebrow.
"Okay yes, that too. I really, really missed the sex too. But no, I meant this." She presses a kiss over his heart, curls her hand against his ribs. "These moments with you, the intimacy of it, the quiet, the comfort."
In answer he draws an arm around her, tugs her closer. She knows he understands, better than anyone. She doesn't want to linger on the thought, on the sadness and irreplaceable nature of lost time, so she snuggles her head into the curve of his neck, fingers trailing at the ladder of his ribcage, seeking the comfort of his quiet presence.
She stops her exploration when her fingertip brushes against an unfamiliar protrusion, so she reaches for the lamp on her nightstand, clicks it on. The mellow light dips the room into warm gold, and she turns back toward him, her fingers light as she seeks out the line of the unfamiliar scar.
Her throat clogged, she takes her time exploring his body with her eyes and fingertips, trailing lower to find a scar by his waist, another by his left hipbone. There are faint traces around his wrists where she supposes he'd been restrained for too long, and when her gaze travels lower, she finds his ankles misshapen, the bone at an awkward angle, the swelling - not instantly apparent yet she knew his body so well that she notices every small change. Her thumb lingers over his ankle bone and his eyes follow her, track the movement of her hand.
"Does it still hurt?" She wonders, caresses the skin with the whorls of her thumb.
"When the weather gets colder."
Kate sinks her mouth to his ankle, presses a lingering kiss to the protruding bone.
"It's okay now," he murmurs, and she looks up at him, finds his penetrating gaze. "It's okay." She holds his eyes for a long time, entwines her hand with his and squeezes, understanding passing between them for which they need no words. Her heart jumps in her throat, her insides coiled tight with the sharp, hot, breathless overwhelming love she feels for him. And then he smiles at her, full of warmth and trust, love and contentment.
Following the path of her fingers, she trails a line of kisses up his shin, over the scars by his side, his hips, his stomach and the ladder of his ribcage. His muscles jump and she takes her time mapping his body, pressing her love to every damaged spot, the healed evidence of the past. Some day he might tell her, share more details of his ordeal, but for now she simply savors that he's alive, so grateful that he's alive, that he made it back to her, that he loves her.
She worships his body, traces every sensitive spot that makes him jump and shiver and moan until his hips are restless against the sheets and his body seeking her.
She swings a leg over his hips, aligning his length with her body.
"I love you," she promises, sinks onto him, her body welcoming him into her warmth. He groans, sits up to cradle her in the bracket of his arms and it changes the angle, drives him deeper and she moans throatily. His hold is tight, clinging to her with every undulation of her hips against his. She presses her face into the curve of his neck, inhaling his scent, her mouth brushing over the cords of his muscles as they rock together, small sharp moves that wrack through her like spears of lightning, cleaving her.
"I've missed you," she half-moans, half-sobs, only vaguely aware of the dampness down her cheeks as she clings to him, needful and utterly undone.
"I've missed you so much."
He guides her moves when she comes undone, his hand at her lower back and his hips flaring up, rocking deep into her, drawing another sob from her mouth as he fills her; heat flares like starbursts through her midsection, scorching, spinning her to the edge of her universe.
"I'm here now," he promises, breathless as he finds her mouth, lips sliding against lips in breathless, messy kisses. "I'm staying."
She sobs as she breaks apart, her body in white hot flames as he rockets her into the orbit of sweet sweet oblivion, holding her tight so tight while he tremors around her, inside of her, with her.
"I'm yours. Always."
END