A/N: This is part of the AU universe of my fic, Another Life, but is being posted as a separate story to keep the rating down on that one. You don't have to read the whole thing to get the idea, but the first two chapters will set you up nicely for this. Go ahead, I'll wait. . . . Got the gist? Good.
I am not certain that there will be other M rated chapters but I will leave this as In Progress until the main story is Complete.
Thanks to Lou for being an amazing cheerleader and to Jennifer and Bee for looking this over.
Almost Famous
She. Is wearing. Lace.
Kate Beckett. In lace.
All she told him was that they had a lead and she was on her way to talk to someone, did he want in? When it required her to change clothes and he questioned her on why, he immediately tried to get out of it. He will do a lot of things to spend time in her company but a male strip club is where he draws the line. She spit out acquiescence after he whined for the fourth time with the caveat that she change first since they were nearly to her place.
He poked around her living room while he waited, grinned at her Richard Castle collection, ran his finger over the spines of thin volumes of poetry, the large bindings of classics. He lifted knick-knacks off the shelves, elephants and owls, admired the few framed photos she had, a stiffly-posed family portrait, a few candid shots of young Kate with her mother, one with her father when she's older, sitting on a dock, fishing rods in hand. He had just set that photo down when the bedroom door opened and she came out wearing that.
Castle's not certain how he didn't explode on the spot.
There's lace everywhere. Black fabric cups her breasts but a wide swath of lace outlines the swell of her chest. The damn thing looks see through but upon closer inspection (because of course he's looking closer), it appears to be a nude colored fabric under the lace that makes up the body of the dress. If you can even call it that. With the indecently short hemline and practically useless spaghetti straps, it qualifies more as lingerie.
"You're wearing that?" he squeaks, immediately clearing his throat in hopes that anything else he says doesn't make him sound like a 14 year old boy.
(Not that he can deny that he feels like one right now.)
She tilts her head at him, a smirk twisting her pink, glossy lips, a sparkle glinting from her coal-smudged eyes and plants a hand on a hip. Every rational thought that he's ever had is suddenly wiped from his brain and replaced with images of her. Images of her in that dress, out of that dress. Tactile visions of nudging that strap off her shoulder with his nose as he kisses his way across her shoulder. How her thighs would feel gripped in his hands, steadying her as she wraps her luscious legs around his waist. Pulling the lace aside to unveil her rosy nipples, lowering his head to suck-
"Castle!"
He snaps his head up when she barks out his name, finds her glaring at him in a way that she probably thinks is threatening but only enhances her devastating beauty. He doesn't even attempt to look chagrined, just quirks an eyebrow at her. She huffs exasperatedly, sliding her arms into the jacket she had brought out of the bedroom as well. Though, "jacket" might be a generous term for the sheer chiffon that does nothing to occlude his vision of her lace-covered ass as she walks toward the front door.
"Let's get going," she says, shoving her badge and wallet into a clutch. "I still need to take you home before I head over there."
"Oh no, I'm coming with you." He's finally spurred into motion at her words, crossing the distance to where she stands in the foyer.
"Really?" He should be afraid of that tone, the sharp and cold bite of the word.
"Yeah. Don't want you going in without back-up."
"How altruistic of you," she comments dryly, clearly disbelieving.
He can't take his eyes off of her. Nor can he choose just one part of her to keep his eyes on. He roams from her tousled mane of curls to the rarely seen gloss on her lips, down past her cleavage to the expanse of her exposed thigh, the muscles shifting as she drives, his hands itching to feel the creamy expanse of skin.
"Stop staring."
"I really can't," he blurts out before he can stop himself but finds that he doesn't regret saying it. "You do know how hot you look right now, right? I mean, you're always gorgeous but tonight, you're a vision."
She blushes, the red creeping across her face to the tips of her ears, down her neck and across her chest. She ducks her head, allowing her hair to cover her face but the move tells him all that he needs to know.
"Just stop, okay?" she asks softly, embarrassment laced through the request.
He forces himself to face forward, regretfully tearing his eyes away but it was never his intention to make her uncomfortable so he can grant her this request. "Sorry," he mumbles, the rest of the drive occurring in silence.
He sticks close to her in the club, feeling free to take up his appraisal again now that her back is to him. She grips his arm to keep from losing him in the throng of women, her fingertips burning through the fabric of his blazer. A drunken patron stumbles into him, pushing him into Kate's back, his hands falling to her waist for purchase, her hands covering his to steady them. They both freeze at the proximity, stunned at the unfamiliar (but admittedly welcome) sensations. She shifts back, presses more firmly against him until her back is flush along his front. Her breathing has quickened, her shoulders rising and falling in time with her chest, the air moving though her slackened mouth.
He has to be imagining this. She was just moving out of someone's way. Except that there was less than an inch between them, so how far would she need to move anyway?
Then her head drops back against his shoulder, tilting away from him, exposing her neck in a way that is too deliberate to be anything but a suggestion. So he takes it as one, raises a hand to brush the remaining strands of curls away and experimentally lays his lips to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, relishes the shiver that quakes her body. He works his way higher, allows his teeth and tongue to join the fray, tasting, nipping, kissing his way up to her ear. She drags his hand at her hip across her abdomen, his hand splaying wide at her stomach, hips rocking into hers as he tastes the skin behind her ear.
She moans, the sound rising to end on a whimper, and he smiles against her neck, a wide stretch of lips that he can't contain.
"Get a room," a woman mutters as she brushes past them, clucking a sound of disgust. Reality snaps back into focus, dark and disappointing.
He expects Kate to drop her hands, maybe even push him away but she just threads their fingers together and tugs him along behind her.
Everything else fades away, the gyrating men on stage don't faze him, the throngs of desperate women don't register. This is the kind of place that the old Rick Castle is kicking himself for not coming to, it's a smorgasbord of hookups. But at this moment, his vision is tunneled to the sight of the siren leading him through the crowd, the taste of her skin still coating his mouth, the heat of her body still lingering on his.
She wants him. She wants him as badly as he wants her.
She drops his hand as she slides up to the bar, placing both of hers on the edge of the brushed steel and gripping tight enough that the color leeches out of her knuckles. He can't keep his distance, can't think of a reason why he should and plants himself right behind her again, not touching, instead placing his hands beside her's on the bar, boxing her in.
"What was that?" he asks as close to her ear as he dares. She shudders, an amplified version of her earlier shiver and he smirks to know that he can do that to her with nothing but his voice.
"Later." The word scrapes out of her throat, thick with arousal and promise.
He dusts a kiss to the precipice of her jaw, murmurs, "I'll hold you to that," against her skin.
She flashes her badge to get things done, information from the bartender, moves some annoyed women off of a table near the stage. It's not what she usually does, especially when she goes to so much effort to not look like a cop.
He can't help but think that it's so that "later" occurs sooner rather than, well.
They sip their drinks as they wait for the next show to start (he has his fingers crossed that Hans will be the first one out so he doesn't have to suffer through too much of this), the thumping beat of the pop music blaring out of the speakers pulsing the already charged air around them. He's aware of her in a way that's almost painful, his skin too tight across his muscles, joints stiff as he fidgets, airways constricted. Castle feels it in every cell, his heart pumping it though his blood with every beat.
Anticipation.
They are magnets, the push and pull of their fields not always aligned but tonight, the draw towards her is too strong to resist. He watches his hand close the distance between them as if he's not even part of the action, feels the silk of her skin as he runs the back of his hand over her knee, the rasp of lace against his knuckles as he traverses higher, the open knit of the fabric catching as he circles a finger over her hip. He raises his face to hers, finds her eyes wide, her pupils pushing the hazel of her irises into a thin ring of color. The tip of her tongue darts out, just enough to wet her lips, before escaping back inside her mouth again.
He's leaning towards her when the lights go dark and the sirens go off, men in too bright yellow taking the stage.
He winces as he bounces off the wall, his head making contact with the drywall hard enough to rattle his teeth.
"What the hell was that?"
He rubs a hand over the back of his skull, finds the point of impact a little sore but not too bad.
"Castle!"
Right, he still hasn't answered her.
"Um, seemed like a good idea at the time?" He screws his eyes shut, bracing for another shove against the wall.
"Seemed unnecessary to me."
His eyes pop open to find her staring at him expectantly, impatience creasing her forehead. Why is she so mad at him? Those guys were all over her.
Ugh, those guys were all over her.
"It was getting out of control, he wasn't listening to you, none of them were. And their hands were…" he trails off, waving his own hands around in illustration.
"Were what?" she barks
"They were all over you! They were pawing at you and-"
She laughs, the sound bouncing down the hallway, her eyes bright. "That's what this is about? You were jealous?"
He's flooded with indignation, how could she think that? He was just trying to help her, just trying to get all those sweaty, half-naked men to stop touching her because how dare they? He takes a breath to refute her but everything that's running through his head makes her sound like she's exactly right.
So he straightens his spine, rising himself up so they're at eye level, squares his shoulders. "What if I was?"
He takes a breath to collect his thoughts but before he can say anything else, her hands are on his face, her lips fused over his. He swallows her whimper (that same glorious sound from earlier) as he wraps his arms around her waist, drawing the length of her body against his.
And then her lips slide wetly off his, she escapes what he thought was a vise grip and she's standing in front of him again, chiffon jacket hanging off one shoulder, lips pink and swollen, a triumphant gleam in her eyes.
"Good," is all she says before turning and walking down the hallway towards Hans' dressing room, adjusting her clothes as she goes.
He has no idea how her legs are that steady, how her knees are actually supporting her after that. He leans heavily against the wall as he watches her turn into a doorway.
"Good."
Her voice reverberates in his ears, the implication in that simple word setting his blood aflame. She not only wants him, she wants him to want her.
And that will not be a problem. Not even a little bit.
Kate's already scared information out of Hans by the time he joins her, the man babbling something about Derek's girlfriend and weekly flower deliveries. They exchange information, one of her cards for him, the stripper's contact information hastily scrawled on a scrap of paper for her and then she's breezing out of the room, Castle standing to follow.
"Dude," the blonde man calls out, whistling low in the wake of the detective. Castle raises an eyebrow in question. "She is hot," he says, the words laced with Jersey vowels.
"She's a lot more than just hot," the writer replies, chuckling at how little the other man knows about her, leaving him to his fantasies.
What use does Castle have for fantasy when the real thing is waiting for him?
She calls Ryan and Esposito from the car, has them start running down Hans' story to see if they can find Derek's mystery cougar.
It's an effort, but Castle manages to keep his hands to himself. He wouldn't be surprised if she kicked him onto the sidewalk if he distracted her while she was working. Besides, the faster all of this gets figured out, the faster the night is over and the faster they get to the aforementioned "later."
He has to wedge his fingers under his thighs to keep them from migrating toward her but whatever, he won't ruin this by being impatient. He's waited for her to want him this bad for almost three years, he can wait another few minutes.
They take the stairs and from his customary second position, he has no choice but to stare at her ass as she makes her way up. Not that he's complaining.
"Enjoying the view?" she asks between the second and third floors.
"Mmm-hmm," he hums in response and he swears that her hips sway a little more deliberately.
Evil woman.
He quickens his pace so that he's only a step behind her, snags her wrist as they mount the landing, spinning her to face him while simultaneously threading his other hand in her hair and laying claim to her mouth. She squeaks in surprise but quickly recovers, sliding her hands under his blazer and capturing fistfuls of his shirt, works her lips over his.
He summons his willpower to draw back, dropping his hands from her as well. "Oh, I forgot. It's not 'later' yet." He hears her huff as he turns to ascend the stairs again, smirking at her obvious frustration.
Good.
He's uncharacteristically quiet as the boys fill them in on what they found. He's not listening, far too distracted with his own overactive imagination. He thought that it would be fun to give her a taste of her own medicine in the stairwell but all he did was make it worse for himself. At the beginning of the evening, he had no idea what that lace felt like under his fingers, what her mouth tasted like, how welcome it would be to have her warmth suffuse through his clothing, become a part of him.
And now that he knows, it's difficult to focus on anything else.
"Yo." He's jarred out of his reverie when Esposito kicks the foot that's dangling off Ryan's desk. "Hot former-supermodel and you have nothing to add?"
He looks at the expectant faces of Ryan and Espo, can see Kate suppressing a knowing smile in his peripheral vision. He shrugs, completely nonplussed by the ribbing. "Yeah, I got nothing."
"I'm disappointed in you." Ryan frowns at him.
"Hopefully you'll be back on your game tomorrow when we go to see her," Kate adds.
"Guess I'll have to see how my evening goes," he shoots back.
She narrows her eyes at him, a move that just yesterday might have made him scared but now he just quirks an eyebrow at her, holds her gaze in challenge. She breaks first, breathing out a soft laugh and shaking her head at him. The boys are looking at them suspiciously, flicking their eyes from one to the other, trying to figure out what's going on.
But "Good work, guys," is all Beckett gives them. "Go home, we'll see you after we've talked to Rebecca Dalton tomorrow."
She walks away toward the elevator and he pushes himself off Ryan's desk to join her. It's normal, just walking beside each other to the exit, they do that every day. Maybe this time he positions himself a little closer so their shoulders brush, guides her into the elevator car with a gentle touch to her lower back, slowly lowers that hand so that he brushes his fingers along her backside.
No, that part's not normal.
That's as far as it goes, though. As much as it seemed fine to kiss in the back stairwell, there seems to be an unspoken rule that hands are kept to themselves when exiting out the front. And when getting in the car. And when driving through Manhattan traffic.
She's fidgeting, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, left leg bouncing. It's so unBeckett-like that he chuckles a little to himself, the sound causing her to cut her eyes over to him for a moment.
"What?" The word snaps out of her mouth, brittle as ice and it is everything he has not to laugh even harder.
He twists in his seat – as best as one can in a seatbelt – and leans into her, resting his arm on the console. "Feeling a little anxious about something?"
Her face contorts in some mix of annoyance and delight, her jaw clamped tight, the tight line of bone pressing against her cheek, mouth twisted in some vein attempt to not grin. Her mouth betrays her though, the corners curling up and filling the spaces of what she's not saying.
He drops his hand to her leg, sliding his fingers to caress the soft skin of her inner thigh, smiling to hear her breath catch. He slides his hand higher, under the hem of her dress, rubbing circles against her skin as he goes. He chances moving higher still, close enough to feel the heat emanating from her center when her legs clamp closed, her hand dropping to grip his wrist and withdraw his hand.
"If you want to get any further than that, you need to not distract me while I'm driving," she pushes out through clenched teeth. She places his hand in his own lap before moving hers back to the steering wheel.
His fingers tingle with the ghost of her skin, curling into a fist to trap the feeling there, not willing to let it go yet. He shifts back in his seat, his pants a little tighter than before, his grin a lot more smug.
They stumble out of the elevator, feet clumsy but hands and lips never missing a beat. He's not even sure who started it, he barely remembers the rest of the drive. He does remember her leaning across the console and kissing him senseless before she slipped from the parked car, leaving him to follow. He caught up to her in the lobby as the elevator doors were opening and it's been a flurry of sensation since then.
He has one arm wrapped solidly around her waist, fingers tripping staccato over the uneven knit of the fabric of her dress, his other hand tangled in the irresistible mass of her hair. Her hands are both shot through his hair, her nails lightly rasping against his skull.
She mumbles something against his mouth but he catches it with another sweep of his tongue. Her hands grip his hair tighter, holding him in place as she draws back.
"Key," she breathes. "I need to get my key out."
He can accommodate that.
He spins her so that she's facing the door but doesn't go, his arm banded across her stomach as he lays waste to the smooth column of her neck. He's struck with the thought that they're in the position that started all of this and his siege crumbles against the grin that stretches his lips.
"Kate," he grits out.
"I'm hurrying," she says, finally producing the key from the corner of her clutch and sliding it in the lock.
She misunderstood though. He almost ruined it, him and his stupid overactive brain almost ruined the whole thing. He almost asked why.
Why now? Why tonight? They've been dancing around each other for years, what makes this so different?
She pushes the door open, the arm that's still around her forcing him to tumble in behind, the inelegant entrance drawing a bright peal of laughter from her. It's one of the most beautiful sounds that he's ever heard, made even more special coming from her.
"You got this?" she asks, escaping his hold and turning to face him, eyes glittering with amusement.
"Yep, no worries, all good," he assures. The words come out as little more than air, breathless as he is in the storm of her beauty. He reaches for her, skimming his fingers along her cheek, down her neck and then back up to cradle her jaw in his palm. That magnetic draw brings him in close and he kisses her but it's not like it was before. This is tender where that was frantic, soft where that was desperate. One of them moans, low and sweet and he couldn't tell you which of them the sound came from if his life depended on it.
He doesn't care why anymore.
She pushes his blazer off his shoulders and down his arms, allowing it to drop to the floor before she runs her hands up his back, clutching at the muscles on either side of his spine. She nudges him back towards the couch with a bump of her hips to his, a move that has him wanting to skip this part altogether, haul her into his arms and lay her out on the bed. But then her tongue darts out to taste the corner of his mouth, running the tip of it along the seam of his lips and he opens for her, reveling in the deepened kiss.
His calves bump against the sofa and he sinks onto a cushion but she doesn't come with him. He looks up at her, the soft light catching her features and he loses his breath all over again. Not only because of how gorgeous she is but also because of the look on her face. She's smiling, a soft curve on her lips that shines warm in her eyes.
He loves her. The thought hits him without warning but he can't deny it. He spent the entire summer missing her, dreaming of her, wishing for her and now that he's faced with what he thought was an impossible reality, the reason that he was unable to get her out of his head becomes clear. He's in love with Kate Beckett.
She's looking at him quizzically, always observant to the changes in him. "What?"
He almost blurts it out right then but needs to sit on the thought, get himself used to it before he springs it on her. He threads their fingers together, looks up at her and says "I'm just glad we're here together," instead. It's not a lie, not at all but the words taste like one against his tongue.
She sees it for the truth it is though, a wider version of that soft smile on her face. She kicks her shoes off and joins him on the sofa, straddling his lap, meeting her mouth with his. "Me too," she admits softly.
She still has that completely useless jacket on and he gladly divests her of it, tossing it across the room as he lowers his mouth to her collarbone, gently sucking at the thin skin, moving his way across to her shoulder, finally able to nudge that strap out of the way. The feel of her skin under his lips and tongue is narcotic and he is already addicted. His hands find her knees bracketing his hips, his palms sliding up the length of her thighs. At her hips, he finally finds the dress, hiked up to accommodate her position. He slides his fingers under the hem, dipping into the crease of her legs, sliding across the edge of her underwear. He pulls back from path he's making across her chest to look at her as he runs his thumb against the crotch of the soaked fabric. Her head falls back, a deep groan accompanying the move.
She has got to lose this dress.
He reaches behind her, fumbling for a zipper but finding nothing. So he feels on either side, knowing that sometimes they're hidden there, and comes up empty. She giggles at him, a bright tinkle of laughter, and grasps his hand in hers, lowering them to the hem.
"No zipper," she explains, raising her arms above her head. "No bra, either," she adds with a raise of an eyebrow.
He surges up to crash his mouth against hers as he lifts the dress up, staying connected until they have to separate to lift it over her head. He drops it to the floor as he sits back to get his first look at her. She is beauty defined, golden skin and rosy breasts and soft curves begging to be touched.
So he does.
He splays his hands around her ribs, rubs a thumb over each nipple, causing her to gasp a breath. He wants to hear that sound again so he pinches the peak between his thumb and forefinger and isn't disappointed. She grips at him, one hand on a bicep, the other behind her on one of his legs, her spine arching her chest into his hand.
He has no idea what he did right in his life to be at the altar of this goddess before him.
He abandons his hand on her breast, smiling at her groan of disappointment, holding her steady with his hands on her back as he turns on the sofa and lays her down on the cushions. She goes willingly, completely pliant and trusting of him. It makes his heart stutter in his chest, his traitorous mouth almost blurting out his earlier revelation. But when he looks down at her, hair haloed around her face, completely unashamed in her nakedness, his mouth goes dry, the words falling to ash in his throat.
That's when he notices that her goddamn underwear matches. He's not sure how he missed the black lace panties until now but the sight of them drags a laugh from him.
"Going for a coordinating outfit tonight?" he asks, tugging at the waistband of the garment.
She props herself up on her elbows, shoots him an amused look. "Never know who might be under there. Best to be prepared."
A surge of white hot jealousy courses though him at the thought of another man being where he is right now. "Planning on picking yourself up a stripper tonight, were you?" He meant to say it as a joke but can hear the strain in his voice.
As can she. Kate sits up, grabbing his face in her hands as she kisses him fiercely. "There's no one else I want here with me, Castle."
He nods, throat suddenly tight at her proclamation. "Good." It comes out as strained as before so he clears his throat and tries again. "That's good."
She explores his face for moment and seems to like what she finds because the desperate look in her eyes dissipates. "Kiss me," she whispers.
He gladly complies, laying her back down as he does, hands roaming down her body again, mapping the topography of her ribs, stomach, waist. He dips a hand lower, hovering between her legs for a moment before she presses her hips up, seeking his touch. But he denies her, starts down between her knees and works his way higher as his mouth abandons her lips and paints a trail across her jaw and down her neck. His hand reaches its destination first, one finger lazily trailing along the lace covering her heat as his mouth circles around the curve of her breast. Her breath is coming in pants now, sometimes accompanied with a quiet whimper. He flicks his tongue over her taut nipple and a strangled cry escapes her throat, the sound spurring him on. He pushes the scrap of fabric aside and drags two fingers through her slick folds while simultaneously sucking her nipple into his mouth. She cries his name, grabbing a fistful of his hair with one hand, the other scrabbling for purchase on the back of the sofa. He circles a fingertip over her clit, her hips bucking, before sliding his fingers back down to position them at her entrance. He pops his mouth off her breast, waiting. She looks down at him, wets her lips and nods. But that's not what he wants.
"Ask me." His voice is gravel, arousal swamping his veins.
"Please. Please, Castle," she begs. He's never been able to deny her.
He slides his fingers inside her and they groan simultaneously at the contact. He lowers his mouth to her other nipple, her hand falling to take up his post. He's lost in the sounds and flavors and sights of her. He watches her pinch and roll her own nipple, takes from her cues to add his teeth to the mix on the other, pleased that her own movements stutter for a moment. His fingers pulse in and out of her, her wetness pooling in his palm. Her cries are getting louder, the jerk of her hips more frantic. She's figured out that his name from her lips gets her a harder press of his fingers, a more insistent suck on her nipple and now it's just a litany of "CastleCastleCastle" from her. He circles his thumb over her clit and the pitch of her voice changes so he presses firmly over the nub.
She shatters, an incoherent mix of his name and non-words spilling out of her, her walls squeezing against his fingers, the hand in his hair pulling hard enough to hurt. Not that he cares, not that he can care as he watches Kate Beckett have an orgasm. An orgasm that he gave her. He caresses her hair as she rides the wave down, pressing light kisses against her cheek, her neck, her chest.
It's a long minute until her breathing evens out, another until she opens her eyes to him. Her face breaks into a wide smile when she catches him watching her. He withdraws his fingers from her, a catch in her breath as he does. He makes sure that he has her eyes as he raises his fingers to his lips, sliding them in fully and sucking them dry. She reaches up to grip the back of his neck, dragging him down to capture his mouth, sliding her tongue inside to share the taste of her tang.
He comes undone, completely unable to contain his need for her any longer. He slides his arms under her, hauling her bodily to him, her hands gripping at his shoulders.
He tears his lips away, commanding, "Bed. Now," before diving back in for more. They move together, standing as one, the height difference jarring for a moment before he remembers the loss of her shoes. The chauvinistic part of him loves it, loves that she's smaller than him in this instance, loves that she has to stretch up to continue to kiss him. He walks her backward towards the bedroom, her fingers nimbly undoing the buttons of his shirt as they go.
"You're wearing far too many clothes," she mumbles, moving to undo his belt once his shirt is open.
"Thank you for solving that issue for me," he replies, slipping out of the button down.
She pops the button of his pants and slides his zipper down, the vibration of the teeth shooting straight to his groin. He groans at the sensation, dropping his forehead to hers for a moment. She slides her hands beneath his undershirt, running her them along his chest in the act of removing it over his head. She drops a kiss to his sternum, across his pecs, paying reverence to this newly exposed expanse of his skin. She pushes up on the balls of her feet, hands on his chest for balance and kisses him again, loose and languid, her tongue sweeping lazy across his, lips moving with no purpose other than connection. He wraps both arms around her waist and lifts her the last little bit off the floor, her arms snaking around his neck to help, mouth continuing its task. And with the solid weight of her in arms, the feel of her skin on his, the spark of their kiss, he's struck again with his earlier thought.
He loves her.
He walks them the few more steps to the bed and lowers her to the edge of the mattress, gently pushing on her shoulders to encourage her to lie down. She scoots back and leans on her elbows, watching as he slides his pants and boxers down his legs. Her eyes are wide and hungry as they peruse his body, bottom lip caught between her teeth, thighs rubbing together almost unconsciously. He grins to himself, more than a little arrogant, as he bends down to step out of the clothing pooled at his feet, taking his socks and shoes with. When he stands back up, her thumbs are hooked into her underwear, poised to remove them.
"Leave those on." It comes out far more demanding than he had intended but it does the trick.
She raises her hands like a suspect at a crime scene. "So bossy in the bedroom," she comments, a quietly delighted smile curling her lips.
He laughs at that, a genuine roll of sound, as a wave of affection washes over him. Of course he had thought about this moment, of what it would be like to be with her, touch her, taste her. But for some reason, he'd never considered this part, the "them" part. How they would still banter and tease and still be the same people only far more intimate than ever before.
He loves her.
He comes for her then, laying the length of his body against hers, pouring everything he feels for her into the insistent press of his lips on hers. She comes alive beneath him, giving back as much he's putting out, meeting him kiss for kiss, touch for touch. It's so much, too much, he's overflowing. Breaking from his assault, he lays his forehead on hers, tries to calm his frantic heart.
"Kate," he breathes, her name a prayer and a plea, confirmation and affirmation.
"Hey." Her voice is soft but concerned, trying to soothe him but wanting to know. "You okay?"
He huffs a laugh. He is more than okay. He is the most okay he has ever been in his life. He raises a hand to thread through her hair, anchoring them together. "Kate, you have to know, I have to tell you-" he stops, his breath caught in his throat, completely unsure if this is the right thing to do.
Her hand comes up to caress his cheek, her nose bumping against his. "Tell me what, Castle?"
He swallows hard, knows that he is beyond the point of no return. "I love you."
She stills and he's gripped with fear that his stupid heart has caused him to lose her forever.
"I didn't mean to be," he babbles. "It just happened, I didn't even realize it until tonight and-"
She steals the rest of his words with a kiss and it tastes like a promise. "I'm not, not quite there," she stutters out against his lips. "Just be patient with me?" she asks tentatively.
"Of course," he's quick to confirm. "Anything for you, Kate."
She smiles at that, her eyes soft and open. It's a smile that he's never seen before, a secret smile just for him.
She runs her palm down his side, slips her hand between them to wrap her fingers around the hard length of him. His breath hitches as she rubs her thumb over his tip, glides her hand down and back up.
"Castle, show me. Show me how much you love me," she whispers.
He presses a kiss to her mouth before trailing kisses down her neck, though the smooth valley of her breasts, across the satin of stomach, curls his fingers in the waistband of the final barrier and tugs the lace panties down her legs, dropping kisses in their wake. He takes the same path back up, her knees dropping open as he settles himself between her legs.
"Do we need…?" he asks, shooting a look at her nightstand, kicking himself that he's waited until now to ask.
She shakes her head softly, "Clean and on the pill."
"Haven't been with anyone since my last all clear."
She reaches down to take him in her hand again, runs the tip of him through her moisture. "You feel that? That's how much I want you." She scrapes her teeth against his jaw, a groan shuddering though him, before moving her mouth near his ear. "Now let me feel you."
He needs no further coaxing, gladly sliding inside, aided by the evidence of her arousal. Her head presses back against mattress, her mouth open on a moan. He's breathless at the feeling of being sheathed in her, draws out slowly and pushes back in just because he can. He's out of his body, living in disbelief that they're here, that this is happening.
"Hey," she calls softly, that soft and delighted smile on her face again. "I thought I asked you to show me."
"Now who's bossy?" he throws back, a rough roll of his hips causing any retort she might have to escape on a sharp gasp instead.
They move together, the thrust and roll of their hips in a choreographed dance as if they've done this a hundred times. Though in a way they have, there's been plenty of push and pull between them for years, it shouldn't be a surprise that they excel at sex together. Castle can't get enough of watching her, watching her eyes widen and flutter closed, her mouth pucker and slacken, her chest heave and fall. He loves watching her watch them, her eyes continuously drawn to the place where their bodies are joined.
He reaches behind her for a pillow, wedges it under her hips, reaches behind him to grasp her behind the knee and folds her leg against her chest. He withdraws and thrusts back in at the new angle, grinning when a deep groan that sounds suspiciously like his name spills from her lips. He picks the rhythm back up and has her writhing in no time, hands fisted in her sheets, eyes screwed shut, a constant stream of noise from her, moans, groans and the occasional gasping sob.
He slows the rate of his movements, reaching down to pry one of her hands from its grip, threading their fingers together. He looks up to find her watching him, her eyes flooded with affection.
Just be patient with me.
He leans down to kiss her and she meets him halfway, their mouths crashing together messily for a long moment. He eases her back down, joined hands beside her head as he starts the insistent roll of his hips again, the pitch of her voice rising as she crests higher and higher.
"Castle," she gasps between breaths. "Don't stop. Almost there."
He pushes into her harder, her movements sloppily trying to keep up with him. He presses a hand to her hipbone to still her movements, throws in a sharp thrust to make his point, his name caught in a sob inside her mouth.
"Look at me," he commands, her eyes meeting his a moment later. "Go ahead, Kate. Let go, I'm right behind you. I love you." It's his declaration that does it, her body seizing for a moment before she shudders around him, a deep guttural cry accompanying her release, a feral sound that he feels in his bones.
She takes him right with her, the orgasm flashing bright behind his eyes, hips twitching as he spills into her, her name a drawn out moan on his tongue.
He rolls them on their sides, sliding out of her as they go, holding her close as they both continue to come down. She tangles her legs with his, shifts even closer so that their chests and stomachs touch, buries her face in his neck. They're both sweat slick and radiating heat and can't let go. He feels her mouth opening and closing against his adam's apple, her foot rubbing against his calf.
And he feels the most content that he ever has in his entire existence.
I'd love to know what you think.
A/N: I felt weird saying this at the beginning but I wanted to mention this is my first explicit M fic. I hope it doesn't show. Too much.
