TITLE: Two Fires Lightning the Night
AUTHOR: redprint (also redprintiam)
RATING: M
KEYWORDS: Caskett. The Morning After. Post Always.
SUMMARY: Light touched dark and exploded into life. Two fires lit the night. Post Always. Rated M, kiddos! Consider yourself warned.
SPOILERS: Flowers for your Grave. Always.
A/N: I know. There is a flood of post-Always fiction. Blame it on Andrew W. Marlowe. He wrote an amazing finale and threw us at the mercy of our own imagination. I haven't read all of the stories out there (impossible to do), but this one is a bit darker than the others. Lots of Caskett banter and some very sincere admissions. Mild spoilers for Flowers For Your Grave & Always. Rated M.
Feedback is always welcomed! Don't make me beg for it.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Nope.
She could feel something warm and heavy pressing against her chest. The strange sense of someone. Her eyes opened slowly and blinked at the sight of his upper body pressed into her chest. He was asleep, breathing into her steadily. The clock on his nightstand was flashing a deep red colour over his features.
So much had happened in just a span of few hours. She hadn't tell him all of it, yet.
She ran her fingers gently through his tussled hair, her lips curling slightly at the edges. Her eyes wandered down his naked body, to his legs desperately jammed into hers. Her heart tightened. There was no way of reassuring him that she wasn't going anywhere, no way to make the fear go away. Her hand travelled to his arm that encircled her waist. She smoothed the taut muscles and traced a random pattern on his broad shoulder. She closed her eyes, squeezed them tightly. There was no way for them to separate love from pain.
And her love for him ran deep, deep inside her soul.
She leaned into him. "You're the only one I love," she whispered the words into his hair, inhaling his scent. Brave now that he couldn't hear her. Brave now that he couldn't see her. She planted a butterfly kiss on his head and closed her eyes.
"Tell me this isn't a dream," his voice was muffled but grave.
It startled her.
He raised his head. The agonizing blue of his eyes stared at her. He could see through her so easily.
She shook her head. No dream.
He nodded slightly, "I thought so." He put his head back down and looked at the digits on his clock. 4.27am. "You never call me 'Castle' in my dreams."
It shouldn't have come as a surprise to her, really, "You dream about me?"
"Nightmares, mostly," he bit the soft flesh of her belly, making sure to avoid the bruises.
Her eyes widened, "You're such a jackass!"
His smiled wickedly against her warm skin.
"Why, Beckett? Are you telling me you've never fantasized about me?" he found her finger and sucked it into his mouth.
Something inside her squirmed. If it weren't for the red digits on his clock he could have seen the crimson red spreading up her chest. Get a grip, she told herself, get a grip.
"We were talking about dreams, Castle." There. She managed to say it without a high pitch in her voice.
"Forgive me, Dr. Jung, for not being well-versed in the subject," he challenged her further. His voice was irritatingly dry.
"You can't control dreams," she stopped his hand molding her right hip.
"Oh, I don't know, Kate," he replied casually and glided his hand up to her right breast, "I'm a lucid dreamer. More than that – I had fantasies that went so out of control."
His fingers caressed the rosy peek, standing invitingly in front of his eyes. It sent shivers up her spine.
He looked up to her.
"Are you okay?" he asked with fake concern when he saw her contorted face. She was fighting the effect he had on her but he knew better than to feel sorry for her.
"Yeah," it came out unsure.
"Yeah?" he asked. He did it on purpose; repeat her words when the answer was clear.
But he didn't wait for her to actually answer. His mouth closed over her breast and sucked on the little peek. She moaned at the unexpected touch. The things he did to her with that mouth only an hour ago flashed in her head. Her insides convulsed, bent, twitched.
"Tell me, Kate," his voice was dark, demanding. His tongue circled languidly the plaint flesh. She moaned again.
Tell him what? She couldn't concentrate when he had her breast in his mouth. "What?" she was short-winded.
"Have you ever imagined my hands on you? Touching and exploring your body?" his voice was hot liquid dribbling over her without discrimination.
His hands smoothed her tight abs and cupped her inflamed sex. Her hips bucked against him. Her head was spinning. Flashbacks of her lonely nights spent touching herself hit her hard. The feel of her own fingers inside her never satisfied her as she wanted to be satisfied. But she could come from the mere memory of his husky voice.
He was in her head, he had to be. She wanted to scream.
He saw her agony and pressed down on her mound. Hot erratic breaths exploded in her lungs, opening her mouth. His eyes were piercing her insides. If blue could turn into a fiery red… She moaned, again, as if a sound so primal could express all the thoughts in her head.
"That bad, huh?" he joked.
"I'm sorry… I can't… oh, God…," she leaned back into the pillow.
He reduced her to a dumb cell bouncing around in his private universe, searching for solid ground. Her hand touched her forehead as if it was on fire. She stared at the ceiling and realized she was staring at their naked bodies. The image undid her. She came while looking at herself – at him looking at her. Her body convulsed violently while he held her tightly to him. Her hands found his shoulders and she clutched at him. She was stunning in the throes of her passion.
"You have a mirror," she stated when she regained some control.
He smiled secretly, "And you notice it now?"
She arched her brow.
"I thought you'd see it right away...and object to it," he had a cocky smile plastered on his face.
"I'm sorry, Rick," she wouldn't let him have it, "but if I'm not mistaken you wouldn't let me choose any normal position."
"Of course not. With all my imagination...what did you expect? And -," he silenced her with a finger on her lips, "as I recall you took great pleasure in it."
She did know that. She had never been that uninhibited, vocal or demanding. She placed a wet kiss on his neck and he groaned hungrily. His erection was pressed hardly into her side.
"I don't even wanna know how many women looked at that mirror," she provoked him.
"And I don't wanna ever know how many men did this," he found her bud of nerves and tugged on it.
"Jesus, Castle," she panted, "stop doing that!"
He smiled. A wild cat in his eyes.
"As long as I have a say in it, I'll never stop doing this, Kate," he circled his thumb over the sensitive skin.
She shut her eyes. The air in her lungs was about to ravish her throat. Again.
"Castle, please," she begged.
He slipped a finger inside her, just barely.
"Oh, God," she moaned. "You have to stop."
He gyrated his finger around the sensitive walls. "Last time I begged you to stop you'd have none of it."
She was breathing rapidly, her eyes semi-closed. He wasn't playing fair. "It's not the same."
He pushed deep inside her, making small circles as he penetrated her with a second finger. She groaned loudly. Her juices flooded his palm. It felt intimate, precious.
"I think when it comes to listening to one another it's pretty much the same, Kate," his voice was sultry, and yet so controlling. He hid well that he was having trouble breathing, too.
She looked at him. Dark pools gathered in her eyes. This wasn't about pleasure. This was about him punishing her for what she had done to him.
"Fuck you!" she hissed.
His eyes widened. He looked at her and gasped. She was on the edge of another orgasm, and so angry.
He withdrew his fingers, leaving an empty feeling inside of her. She wanted to scream in anguish. "What are you doing?"
"What you ordered me to," he looked at her. His hands went on both sides of her. She was astonishing. Her eyes were wild with sex, her skin flushed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. There she lay in all her glory, so defiant and so ready for anything he'd ask of her.
"You look amazing," he whispered against her lips and kissed her hard. His legs found their way between hers.
She gasped when his groin connected with hers. Her tongue explored his mouth feverishly. She wondered how it could feel so toxic, having him slide over her tongue. Her legs went around his waist, pushing him harder against her and jamming his erection into her belly.
Innocence was overrated in so many aspects.
He groaned madly, his hips thrusting into her.
She broke the kiss and deepened her teeth into the soft flesh of his neck. Her hands encircled his head in a dead grip. He tried to free himself, afraid to crush her beaten body, but she held him tightly to her, ignoring the soaring pain in her ribs.
"I'll never leave you," she spoke into his ear with the certainty of a lover of long years.
He trembled in her arms like a child. Tears formed in his eyes.
"Don't ever doubt that," she added firmly and cupped his cheeks. She looked into those kind blue eyes, full of tears now. The feeling was not lost to her. She knew the fear of losing a loved one.
"I love you, Kate," his voice was affected with so many emotions. He inched closer to her and kissed her upper lip.
Her arms circled his shoulders and he adjusted himself against her.
"I've loved you since the day you cuffed me," he breathed.
She chuckled remembering the day they met. "You stole evidence material."
"I've stolen many things since that day," he replied and slid inside her.
"Oh, my God," she gasped when he filled her. Her legs tightened around him, pushing him deeper inside. Her muscles pulsed around him to accommodate him.
He held her head for anchor and eased out of her. She groaned against his lips. She had never loved the feeling of man inside her as she loved it in that moment with him. He pushed back into her, awakening that place in her where light touched dark and exploded into life.
He shifted, supporting himself on his elbows, and quickened his pace. She could see both of them in the mirror above. Two fires lightning the night. She reached down and stroked his hips to encourage his movements. His mouth dropped open, letting out a strangled breath. His eyes were imploring her to let go.
She could feel it then. The beginning of another merciless wave of pleasure. Her mouth fell open and her hips bucked violently. Her head thrashed from side to side until her whole upper body bent in front of him. Flames licked her insides, clenching her hands into fists, now tugging at the linen sheets. She wanted to breathe desperately but another wave hit her again when he called out her name in release. They clung to one another desperately, breathing in each other.
He moved first to look at her. "This was beyond words."
She smiled broadly, "Coming from a writer the meaning is doubled."
He chuckled and rolled to his side. "You're incredible, Beckett," he lay on his back.
"Back to Beckett now, are we?" her lips quirked at the corners.
He turned to her, "Do you mind?"
"No," she moved on her side, closer to him, "as long as I can call you 'Castle'."
"Always," he teased her.
She smiled back and smoothed her hand over his chest.
"You were right, Castle," she said all of a sudden. "I did crawl inside my mother's murder and didn't come out."
She could see his face changing mood. He wanted to speak but she shook her head. "It brought me to you, eventually," sincerity dwelled in her voice.
He cupped her face with his left hand and traced her trembling lips with his thumb. "Are you saying you actually like me?"
She gently slapped his cheek and he smiled contently. His eyes closed slowly and he hummed.
She watched his handsome features, tracing her fingers lazily over his stomach. She was in awe of him. How could anyone give so much and ask so little in return? She ran her fingers down to his hips. How many times did she imagine them against her own? A mischievous thought passed her mind then. She neared her lips to his ear.
"I have fantasized about you many times, Rick," her voice was sweet honey, coming from a wicked side of the soul.
His eyes flew open instantly. He turned to her but she already got up. Her naked body moved graciously in the dim light of the room.
She was going to be the end of him. "Where are you going?"
"I need a break, Castle. And a drink," she licked her lips.
He gasped and jumped up, "Oh, no, you don't!"
THE END. Or shall I say THE BEGINNING?
"As if you were on fire from within.
The moon lives in the lining of your skin."
― Pablo Neruda, Ode To A Naked Beauty