Disclaimer: All things "Castle" belong to ABC.
Author's Note: For mobazan27, who requested smut and has been waiting patiently for this. A smutty, AU post-ep for 4x20 "The Limey" (and it is definitely smut so if that's not your thing, better stop reading now.).
What Happened One Night
Chapter 1
Kate stumbled getting out of the cab and only saved herself from falling by grabbing the taxi door. Whoa, okay, maybe better not try to move so fast. She gripped the door as she waited for the world to stop sloshing around her like water.
It took a minute until the sound of a car horn jolted her and she took a tentative step forward, releasing the door when the ground only seemed to tilt a little. She could do this. One foot in front of the other.
She looked up and—oh. Recognition broke through her alcohol-soaked brain. This wasn't her apartment. This was the loft. Castle. She didn't remember deciding to come here. But she was oddly not surprised either. Of course she was here, she always wanted to be where Castle was. And she fuzzily remembered thinking that she wanted to find out what was wrong. Wanted her Castle back.
She hit her foot on the door clumsily as she entered the building, waving off the doorman.
"Evening, Detective Beckett," he greeted her.
"Hi." She wasn't confident in her tongue's ability to pronounce Eduardo's name so she left her greeting at that.
Hmm. She was beginning to think that extra drink—or two or had it been three?—she'd downed after Colin had left to go to the airport had been a mistake. She hadn't planned to drink so much, let alone actually get drunk at all (she almost never drank so much) but Colin had asked what was going on between her and Castle and she'd answered automatically, as she usually did, "It's complicated," only for the word to come back and hit her in the chest. Complicated—which wasn't what Castle wanted, wasn't what he thought he needed in his life. And again, just as it had when Castle had first said that to her, the thought had made her reel with pain, hurt almost blinding her.
So she had finished her drink and after Colin had left, remained and ordered another drink. And another. The alcohol had made things better, or at least, fuzzier. Fuzzy was better than the sharp stab of hurt. Made her feel more… uncomplicated or something. Less broken.
(In some tiny, mostly unacknowledged corner of her mind, she knew full well that it was only a temporary fix that wouldn't actually help but it was a momentary reprieve and she wanted that.)
She was just so tired, tired of hurting, tired of hiding the way she felt, tired of standing up on her own—and the way the ground persisted in tilting wasn't helping. The floor was moving—wait, no, it was the elevator. How hadn't she realized before that elevators were dizzying?
She wanted… Castle. Yeah, Castle would help. He made everything better.
The elevator stopped and Kate stepped out gratefully. The floor still seemed a little uneven but it wasn't otherwise moving. And now she was here. Could see the door. His door.
She made her way to it, ending up leaning against the wall as she hit the door with her knuckles. Once started, she couldn't quite figure out how to stop the movement of her arm so she kept on knocking, finding the rhythm weirdly steadying.
The door swung open, startling her, and she pitched forward, her somewhat precarious balance teetering, landing on a shoulder. His shoulder.
"Beckett!"
She let out a little sigh. "Castle," she mumbled against his shirt, her nose nudging the skin of his neck. Something seemed to unravel inside her. He was so… cozy was the word her fuzzy brain supplied. And he smelled nice.
"Beckett, you—are you drunk?"
Hmm, had she said that aloud? Maybe. She couldn't remember clearly.
She felt hands grip her elbows and push her away, maneuvering her upright. She blinked at him, tall and broad and handsome and—scowling at her.
The thunder clouds on his expression hit her like a slap. No, this wasn't her Castle. Her Castle didn't frown like this. Not at her. "Miss you, Castle." She wanted her Castle back, the one who loved her.
He sighed. "Yeah, you're very drunk. Come on, Beckett." Then he was leading her across the room to the couch and gently lowering her onto it. His voice sounded hard—not what she was used to—but his hands were still gentle. He touched her as if he cared. Touched her the way her Castle would—had.
But then he released her, straightening up. No, no, she didn't want him to go. She wanted him back.
She grabbed his hand and tugged. He lost his balance and fell ungracefully onto the couch beside her, almost face-planting on the back of the couch, his shoulder hitting the couch instead.
"Beckett!"
Her hands reached for him again as she canted into him, seeking the warmth of his body, the comfort of his closeness. "I miss you, Castle," she mewled. Mm, his shirt was soft…
"I'm right here," he muttered, righting himself on the couch and trying to dislodge her.
"No, not you. I miss my you," she corrected him. She resisted his attempt to move away. She wanted him close, wanted his touch that made her think her Castle was still here, wasn't gone.
"Beckett, will you stop!" His voice rang out like a crack of a whip and he tore himself away, pushing to his feet.
She stared at him, his raised voice, the controlled anger of his movement, acting like a splash of cold water, some sobriety breaking through her liquor haze. And with it came the memory of the thing―one of the things—he'd drunk to forget, dim the memory of. And the understanding of why he didn't want to be near her.
The blonde. The fun, uncomplicated one. He was… with her. And Castle didn't cheat.
She'd lost him. Would never have her Castle again.
To her horror, she felt tears well in her eyes, a sob escaping her of its own volition. She choked, tried to find words. "You—you're with… her now. I get it. I do," she managed to say. She was too broken and he'd moved on. She'd lost her Castle. She couldn't think beyond that, couldn't plan, didn't know what to do now. And it hurt—oh god, it hurt worse than any physical pain she'd ever felt—and worse, it seemed like heartbreak was sobering her up. Not that there was enough alcohol in the world to make the idea of Castle not loving her anymore less than excruciating.
He sighed and ran both hands through his hair in frustration, leaving his hair messy. Adorable, her fuzzy mind supplied—and she flinched, shoving the thought away. Couldn't think like that anymore.
He returned to the couch, dropping heavily down beside her. "There's no one. I'm not with anyone, Beckett. I just… can't do this."
She blinked. He sounded sad. Why did he sound sad? Maybe she was still drunker than she thought because she didn't understand. He couldn't do what? Couldn't be near her anymore? "You don't want me anymore," she guessed dully. She wished she was drunker. Wasn't drunk enough to face this.
He gave a crack of laughter that sounded harsh to her ears. "Are you joking? No, I forgot, you're drunk," he corrected himself. "It's not that. It's that you don't want me."
What? She gaped at him, her not-quite-sober brain not processing his words for a moment. They just made no sense. Not want him—what kind of insanity was that? She felt as if she'd spent the last four years in a fever of wanting him, even if she hadn't always wanted to want him.
He sighed. "Come on, Beckett. I'll call you a car to take you home." He reached over to grab his phone.
No, no, she couldn't let him. Wouldn't leave now. She surged forward but wasn't coordinated enough and ended up toppling forward, landing half-sprawled over him, her nose pressed against his chest.
He gave a grunt of surprise but before he could react further—or push her away—she grabbed for his shoulders, trying to pull herself up. "No, no," she found herself saying as she tried awkwardly to find her balance, ending up somewhat precariously straddling his lap.
"Beckett," he choked, his entire body going stiff beneath her.
She pressed her nose against his neck, grasping his shoulders. "No," she said again dumbly. "I want you. Always wanted you." How did he not know? She needed to make him understand.
He made a strangled sound, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, and on unthinking impulse, she nuzzled the soft skin of his neck. He smelled nice. Felt good. She darted her tongue out. He tasted even better.
Deep inside her, something seemed to soften, melt, like butter on a hot stove, making her feel warm and liquid, loose and wanting.
"Beckett—are you—what are you doing?" he choked.
"Showing you I want you." Because she did. She really really did. He was so warm and solid and—her hands were eagerly exploring—his chest felt amazing. She should have gotten drunk and crawled into his lap ages ago. What had she been thinking? Never mind. She could make up for it now.
She found the hem of his shirt and pushed it up to bare his chest. Mm, geez, she wished she'd known his button-downs were hiding a chest like this, broad and muscled and just toned enough. Her fingers traced his pectorals, circled his flat male nipples.
He groaned. "Beck—Kate. Kate," he gasped, grasping one of her wrists. The sound of her first name somehow sent a fresh wave of heat spilling through her. She liked it when he called her by her first name. "Wait. You—we can't. You're drunk."
She nuzzled his neck again, kissed the little hollow of his throat. "Not that drunk."
"Kate, are you sure?"
He was wavering, his resistance weakening. She could hear it in his voice, in the huskiness he couldn't hide. And she could feel the lust pulsing through his body.
If he needed more convincing… She let her other hand, the one he wasn't holding captive, slide down his chest to his stomach and lower still to the growing hardness in his pajama bottoms. Oh. Oh wow, he was… big.
"You want me," was her inane response, her fingers tracing, learning, the shape of him. Her mouth was dry with lust, molten heat erupting low in her belly.
He gave a choked laugh, his fingers slackening his grip on her wrist. "My not wanting you has never been the problem."
What had been their problem? She couldn't remember and at the moment, it didn't seem to matter. He wanted her and she wanted him. What more did she need?
She touched her lips to his chin, faintly rough with evening stubble, leaving a string of kisses along his jaw and down his neck, pressing her lips to his throat and then lower to his chest, her tongue flicking out against his nipple, making him jerk and groan. She smiled and wicked impulse—wanting—had her sliding off his lap and onto her knees on the floor.
Her hands fumbled for the waistband of his sweatpants, managing to shove it down to his hips only to get caught there since he was still seated.
"Castle, let me," she almost whined.
"Kate," he gasped. "Tell me—tell me this isn't a one-time thing."
How could he not understand yet? She leaned forward to kiss his stomach, her tongue tracing the faint line of his abdominal muscles, delighting in the way the muscles tensed and jumped at her touch. "No, Castle, this is everything. You're everything."
He gave in with a groan and shifted his hips, allowing her to push his pajama pants and his boxers down over his hips, finally—oh, finally—baring him to her gaze.
She was about to have sex with Castle. The thought—belated as it was—seemed to finish the job as more sobriety returned to her. This was Castle. And she was done waiting. She just wanted.
She wrapped her hand around him, stroked him, measuring his length with her fingers. He groaned.
She bent forward and licked him, tasting him for real, and then she took him in her mouth. He panted, his hands curling into fists.
A thrill went through her at being able to do this to him, knowing, feeling, how much he wanted her and she set out to explore, learn exactly how to lick and suck and curl her tongue around him to make him moan and choke out her name. Make him lose control.
"Kate, Kate, oh god, oh god…" he chanted, the words spilling from him in an incoherent litany. She hummed in encouragement and as if that was all he'd needed, he exploded, his hips jerking convulsively.
She cut her gaze up to watch his face, his expression, and felt a rush of emotion—lust and possessiveness and yearning. She wanted to be the only person who would ever get to see him like this, at this peak of bodily pleasure, in this supreme moment of vulnerability. Wanted to be the only one who could reduce him to this.
He collapsed back onto the couch, panting, and she waited until he opened his eyes to look at her, his eyes hazy and midnight blue with lust and something deeper, stronger, than that.
He blinked. "Oh my god, Kate." His voice was low, husky in a way she'd never heard it before. She loved it.
"That was amazing," the words spilled from her.
A brief breathless laugh escaped him. "I think that's my line." He paused. "You're still dressed."
Oh right. She was, abruptly becoming conscious of the moisture undoubtedly ruining her underwear. She'd forgotten... or something.
She felt a smile curve her lips. "You wanna do something about it?"
He let out another little laugh and then he was pulling her towards him or she was surging towards him—or both, she wasn't sure and what did it matter. What mattered was that she was in his arms and then he was kissing her, kissing her deep and hard and it was just like it had been in a dark alley more than a year ago, only better. Because this time they didn't need to stop. They were never going to stop kissing, she decided fuzzily.
And then her thoughts were interrupted as he stood up, bringing her with him, his hands cupping her butt. She gasped and gave a breathless little half-laugh and wrapped her arms around his neck and held on.
She wasn't exactly thinking clearly and so she was somehow a little surprised when she felt softness at her back and realized he had lowered her onto his bed.
He crawled up after her, cupping her cheek with a gentle hand. "Kate, you aren't going to regret this in the morning, are you?" Oh, yes, he was her Castle again, the one who loved her.
The only thing she would regret was making this man—this dear, good man—wait for so long, making him doubt her.
She met his eyes. "Make love to me, Castle."
His expression changed in an odd, heady mix of awe and lust—and then he proceeded to do just that. Oh god, he really did.
His hands were deft and efficient as he stripped her of her shirt and she momentarily forgot how to breathe as he carefully slid her necklace up and over her head. He handled the chain with her mother's ring on it as reverently as if it were a priceless and fragile relic as he placed it on the nightstand and if she'd had any doubt about her feelings for him (she hadn't), they would have vanished completely. He peeled her pants off her and then her underwear, while she undid her bra, and then she was finally naked, every inch of her skin prickling with heat and lust, this burning awareness of his gaze. She vaguely heard him draw a sharp breath as he paused and just stared at her.
A hot wash of heat swept through her, her body shifting involuntarily, as she made a sound like a moan. "Touch me, Castle." Please, oh please, she wanted him to touch her with his hands and not just his eyes.
He moved back up until he was lying beside her, his eyes fixed on her chest, and she felt a smirk curve her lips, the thought flitting through her mind that if he wasn't going to touch her, she could certainly touch herself—but then she belatedly realized where his gaze was really focused. Her scar. The puckered little knot of hardened scar tissue between her breasts. The mark that had killed her. Paired with the companion scar along her side that had brought her back to life.
Oh. Shit. She'd forgotten. For once, she'd really and truly forgotten. She froze and then squirmed, not with arousal this time but with self-consciousness. How could she have forgotten the ugly marks marring her skin?
Her hand lifted, hovered, in a belated (and futile) attempt at covering the scar but as if her movement jolted him out of his trance, he grasped her hand, held it against the mattress. "Kate," he breathed. "You're so beautiful." As if to ensure she understood, he released his grip on her hand to flatten his hand along her side, covering the surgical scar, caressing it, and bent to press his lips to the scar between her breasts.
And then he crawled back up over her body to press another kiss that was more tender than passionate to her lips—or at least, it started out that way. But she parted her lips and the kiss deepened from there as he took possession of her mouth, the slick of his tongue against hers slow and sensual.
His hand slid up her side in a slow glide until he cupped her breast and she gasped, arching into his touch—oh yes please Castle.
She was already panting, impatient, her skin burning, arousal streaking white-hot through her veins, but he took his time. Oh god, did he take his torturous time, slow and thorough and oh so good as he stroked and caressed every inch of her, his fingers pausing to lightly pinch her taut nipples. His lips followed where his hands led, tracing a delicate, erotic line of kisses down her chest, laving his tongue over her over-sensitized nipples, making her gasp and then cry out.
She felt his smile against her skin—a very masculine, smug smile—she could sense that even without seeing it. "Ssh, Kate," he hummed, his voice somehow sliding over her skin like another caress, tickling her nerve endings, "Alexis is asleep upstairs."
He paused in his ministrations for just long enough for the words to penetrate her lust-clouded mind—although the pause only managed to ratchet up the spiraling tension in her body.
"Castle, please," she gasped.
She felt his lips curve again against her skin and then his hand slid around the curve of her hip and over her thigh, her legs parting in automatic invitation, an invitation which he accepted, his hand cupping the center of her. Her hips rocked into his hand, encouraging as he touched, caressed, explored. She was panting, trembling, wanting—and then he replaced his hand with his mouth and the world just went white, her vision blurring as everything narrowed down to him, to the touch of his lips and his tongue and oh oh god was that his teeth—and the coiling tension snapped, flinging her into mindless bliss.
When she finally drifted back to reality, it was to find him looking at her as if he never wanted to look at anything else, and he bent and kissed her again, allowing her to taste herself in his mouth, and she moaned a little in the back of her throat, her hands clutching desperately at the solid muscles of his shoulders.
Her hips arched towards him as she tried to tug him where she wanted him to be—where he belonged—but he resisted. Dammit, Castle…
"Castle."
"Are you… okay?"
She'd be fine, better than fine, if he would just cooperate but then, belatedly, her mind realized what he meant, was asking.
"I'm clean—and safe."
Her hips shifted and he settled in the cove of her body and her eyes almost rolled back in her head from the delicious tantalizing feel of him so close but not quite where she wanted him. "Please, Castle."
And then she felt him finally, finally slide into her and had to gasp for breath because he was… perfect, filling her and it had been so many years of lust and wanting and love and oh oh oh, why hadn't they done this sooner?
She was vaguely aware of hearing him groan against her shoulder, choking out her name, but then her hips were rolling against his and he was thrusting and she forgot everything else, lost all awareness beyond the feel of him, so hot and strong and solid and oh god yes just like that Castle…
She slumped back onto the mattress and he wasn't far behind, his hips jerking as he groaned something that might have been her name into her shoulder and then collapsed on top of her. He only lay there for a minute though before smudging a kiss to her temple and then heaving himself off her, rolling onto his back with a groan.
"That was…" he finally panted after a long moment.
"Mm yeah," she agreed on a breathy sigh and shifted closer to him, tucking herself against his side and he wrapped an arm around her.
She felt sleepiness crashing over her, tugging her under, and was only peripherally aware of him pressing a kiss to her hair as he cuddled her into his warmth.
Mm… She felt warm and sated and happy and didn't try to fight the exhaustion, only snuggled closer. "Love 'ou," she mumbled and then she was asleep.
A/N 2: Mobazan27, I hope this satisfied and was worth the wait.
Inspired by an old prompt I saw: drunk Beckett, sober Castle, and Beckett gets handsy when she's been drinking.
Thank you all for reading.