For the Castle Winter Ficathon. Future speculation fic on the next fifty years of Caskett anniversaries. Enjoy!
Year One: Paper
He got her confetti.
An explosion of confetti, to be more precise. Tiny bits of paper in a rainbow of colors…all over her office. She'll apologize profusely to the janitor later for the mess, but she can't stop smiling at the thought of him somehow procuring an industrial sized bag of confetti. Or, better yet, sitting down with a few hundred colored sheets and shredding his own. Then there's the banner (obviously not homemade) and the little not attached to a balloon on which he asked her to dinner, as if it would be there first date. As if there wasn't the not-so-casual reminder that they've been married a full year right above her head. At that moment, she'd wanted to fling herself into his arms, but Vikram…
As much as she appreciates his help with Locksat—and she does, really—that man is a bigger cock block than Martha and the boys combined. Not that it matters much, anymore, considering she's lying on their bed, blissfully naked but for the crisp white sheet wrapped around her body, panting after a few rounds of long overdue, energetic sex with her husband.
She doesn't even let herself think about the fact that this little bubble they're currently in can't last that long or that she'll have to leave soon to meet…okay, no. No thinking of other men while she's in bed with her husband. Or…well, Castle's not in bed. He's right next to her, on the floor, the last round landing them in this odd position where he's seated on the carpet, wrapped in the duvet. She smiles at him, wraps slim fingers around his much larger ones, their wedding rings clashing and making her grin even bigger.
God, she's so happy right now and the thought that it might have to end soon…
Again, she tries to push unhappy thoughts from her mind as she rolls over to flirt effectively with her husband. She kisses him a few times, addicted to the way he tastes and smells (she might just grab another one of his old tees from the closet before she leaves, just to have something with his scent on it for the next couple of days, to hold her over) and feels. God, he feels so good. It's just like back when they first got together, when it felt as if she couldn't go more than a few hours without him between her legs in some way or another. Eventually, when she had to go back to work, they'd learned a little restraint (though they made good use of more than one empty space in the precinct when the urge was too strong…and the back seat of her cruiser) but that all went to hell when he kissed her tonight. It's only been two months but it's the longest she's gone without him since he disappeared last year. And it's worse this time because she knows exactly where he is, but she won't allow herself to have him, to put him in any more danger.
At the thought of danger, she sighs, presses her face into his neck from behind and mumbles out an apologetic, "I have to go," before she kisses him once more and moves from the bed. Every step away from him is agony, but she reminds herself that it's the only way to protect him.
As she dresses in their closet (the huge, walk-in one that still houses a few pairs of her shoes, but little more on her side of it), she thinks about the confetti bombs and the little card and the banner and remembers that she hadn't really bought him anything for their anniversary. Except dinner. Which, yes, came in a paper bag, but they didn't really get to dig into it as they'd given in to a different kind of hunger.
A hunger that's still there, Kate muses as the ache between her legs increases, already wanting more. She internally scolds her lady bits—and feels ridiculous for doing it—then promises them, and herself, that this will all be over soon.
She hopes.
