Kate is more surprised than she really should be to find the shallowly snoring body on her couch. Hmp. He should have left when she told him to. But when does he do what she says? It shouldn't be a surprise. She pauses only briefly before remembering what brought her out of her bedroom and pads to the kitchen sink, pours a tepid glass from the tap. She should wake him up. Kick his ass. Make sure he leaves this time. Kate sips her water.

Apparently her reflexes have been dulled by sleep. She doesn't hear him get up. Doesn't feel him walk toward her. But she feels his breath skirt the edge of her nightshirt at her neck. Feels the vibrations when he speaks, low and gritty with sleep.

"Beckett."

"You should have gone home, Castle."

He says nothing. Breathes in and out, his hot breath on her back suddenly making her feel cold.

"Why are you still here?"

"Kate."

She won't turn and look at him. She's not afraid - of course not. Kate breathes out in time with him and takes a measured sip of water. The mountain comes to Mohammad. He steps in closer, crowds her, but doesn't touch her, just barely far enough away that their bodies don't touch but his shirt brushes hers. It makes it not so easy to breathe steady. She shuts her eyes and clenches her jaw, that tendon bulging, making itself known. She's mad at him. He's being insufferable. Pig headed. He's not being thoughtful. He's being an ass. She tries to keep telling herself that.

"You need to leave."

"I'm not leaving you, not while he's out there. You might as well stop telling me to."

"I don't need you protecting me."

"Ha!"

His laugh, right in her ear, shoots like a bolt down to her toes. It makes her flinch.

"We've been here before, remember. I'm not trying to protect you. Not equipped as it were."

"Then why are you still here, Castle?" She hates herself that there is a tremor to her voice when she asks him, just a whisper.

Her answer is him placing wide, flat palms on the counter on either side of her. He still doesn't *touch* her. Angles his head and releases a hot breath through his mouth under the line of her jaw. If she doesn't set her glass down she's going to break it. She sets it down, takes a breath. She's mad at him. She's not mad at him. Shit. She wants to be; needs to be. She also needs to take another breath. Why is that a hard thing to remember to do all the sudden?

"Kate." Castle's lip ghosts the shell of her ear when he says it. So low she feels it more than hears it. She can't take this.

Kate leans back, away from the counter. She's not sure why she does it. Is it to move away him, regain the upper hand? Or is it to finally make contact with him? His arms are solid in their place. That wouldn't deter her if she really wanted away from him. They did stop her though. Now she finds herself leaned against his chest, head lolled to the side making a perfect home for his neck and chin. He finds that home. They join like chain-link.

This is NOT what she wanted. Clearly the fight or flight response crossed its wires with the snuggle with your partner wires. That's a dangerous mix-up. There will be hell to pay. She means to move. Plans on it. That's what she's going to do. Only she doesn't. Kate is too preoccupied. This is a first and her brain is too busy collecting data like a horny anthropologist. She didn't expect his neck brushing against hers to be quite so soft, warm. Certainly didn't expect the day old scruff on his check to spark like a flare when it hit her jaw.

Despite being leaned against him she feels like she's about to lose her balance. She needs to brace. Her hands go out to the counter searching for an anchor. They find his hands instead. Did she do that on purpose? Are her hands traitorous too? She starts to move them but as they make their retreat, nimble fingers brushing up the hair on his wrists and forearms, against the grain, she leaves goosebumps in her wake. Goosebumps. Where else can she get a rise out of him?

What is she thinking? She has to get away. She leaves her hands on his arms, can't seem to remove them, but she needs distance. Kate leans forward, breaking the chain, bows her head and tries to suck in as much air as she can. Hm, this doesn't help. When her front hunches over her lower half parries the momentum and recoils back like a canon fired, stopping only when she hits him. That is so, so much worse. She hopes he'll take a step back. That's a lie. She doesn't know what she hopes. She wants to know, finally, what he'll do. It's been *years* and Kate has, NEEDS, to know the answer. It takes about ten seconds but she gets it. He takes a step forward; pushes her into the cabinet. Not hard but sure.

Kate doesn't expect it when his lips brush her spine through the rice paper thin cotton t-shirt. Takes what little breath she has away. Oh god, is he smiling? She could swear when the breath evacuated her lungs she could *feel* him smiling into her back. It makes her want to beat the living shit out of him, smug bastard assaulting her in her own kitchen. More than that it makes her want to fuck him. She's in big trouble.

He works his way north. The smile, if it was ever really there, has vanished. He's all serious. Past her shoulder blades he finally makes it to the top of her shirt. It's his Everest and he makes camp there. Castle works tirelessly exploring every possible bit of skin, tasting, as if he would find a bit that was different, softer, sweeter. Apparently he is on a data collecting mission as well. It tickles the baby hairs that curl at the nape of her neck under her ponytail every time he exhales. It doesn't seem like that little thing would be one of the most arousing thing in the history of Things-That-Turn-Beckett-On and yet…

She desperately wants to turn around now. Face him. She realizes she hasn't even seen his face in hours. Not since she yelled at him for hovering and driving her insane and told him to leave. She wants to see his face. There's so much to catalog there especially. But she's just too hungry to know what he's going to do next to think about moving.

Ah, her ear. That's what's next. Seems like an obvious choice – one that she is happy with. He finds that softest of all spots, the one right behind where the lobe connects, and relishes the discovery. Teeth come out to play. Oh that's good. That's very good. If Kate Beckett had it in her the sound leaking from her lips would be a purr. But no. Kate certainly does NOT purr. That mustn't be what that sound is.

That's it. No more investigating. Castle brings his right arm up, hers naturally coming with it, up to her waist and tightens his grip. He pushes her into the cabinets harder now. Hip bone collides with a drawer-pull painfully. Kate's hips shoot backward, equally hard, against him in reproach. This starts a pattern. Oh. Pain be damned, this is worth it. His lips leave her ear not even long enough for Kate to grunt her displeasure before he twists over her, bending like sweet grass, to find her mouth, hot and open.

That's when it breaks to pieces. Kate turns in his arms; bites. Castle yanks at her hair hard enough to make her eyes sting with tears. Legs are being pushed between legs, zippers snicking, seams screaming as they rip, nails scrapping - breaking the skin. Kate's lungs hurt. She slides onto the counter and she can't catch her breath; hopes she never catches her breath.

Castle was right to stay. Kate doesn't need protecting. Doesn't mean she doesn't need him.

A/N: Someday I might actually write a story with plot. As it is sexy-times are fun. Also, this has not been betaed. All mistakes, of which there are plenty I'm sure, are mine.

This wasn't really set in any particular time-frame. It's obviously after Dunn blew up her apartment ("we've been here before, remember"). It's possible to fit it in with the upcoming sniper case. Thinking about perhaps a prequel or maybe a morning after. Maybe not. For now though it's a one-shot and it is complete. Hope you enjoyed.