A/N- This is definitely adults only stuff, for those who enjoy that kind of thing. Also, this first chapter, I know everyone's written Post-Always, but I can't help it, so I added to the large body of work already out there.
I'll play with shifting perspective and the power dynamic a bit, since I think that's part of what I enjoy about them.
I hope one or two of you out there enjoy this as much as I did writing it (even if I'm REALLY late to the party)!
This disclaimer applies to all chapters: I do not own these characters and do not profit in any way.
Unquestioned
Part 1 of 2
In cannon/Post Always: Castle
Beckett takes his hand with such confidence that he can feel the certainty of her decisions through the contact. Taking a few steps further into his apartment, guiding them toward his bedroom with peripheral sight, she never really stops looking at his face. In her expression, he can see determination, desire, excitement, all things that quicken his heart's efforts to send blood southward. How is it possible that she is prettier like this, rain-, defeat- and sorrow-drenched, after fighting for her own life?
But there is an undercurrent beneath the beautifully arousing façade, and he can feel what he can only postulate is a still aching sense of guilt. She smiles heatedly, and he simply cannot believe his inspiration, his muse, his love so long unrequited, is looking at him this way.
She sways into his bedroom, looking more hurried with each passing breath, and he tamps down the urge to cut through her clothes with the force of years of desire and take her. But he isn't just a man of desire, he's a man of love, a romantic, fascinated by the moment as it unfolds. There are so many things they should discuss, he knows. What does this mean, how does she feel, will this last beyond this night? Not a single question has passed his lips since he slammed her against the door and finally felt her crushed against him.
Kate lets go of his hand, pushing his bedroom door shut with a foot while putting a palm against his chest to keep him where she wants him. She clumsily kicks her shoes away and shrinks a few inches in height. She's close, but not close enough. He is certain this won't go much further. Something will happen, something will prevent him from touching her, to stop them from being together. The tightness in his lower body intensifies simply at the thought of making love to her, and he shivers when the prospect of being inside her creeps into his conscious mind. He shoves the notion away from the forefront, wanting to savor each second as it lasts before the inevitable road block or disaster.
He's not sure if he's more intrigued by the physical prospects or the thought that she may actually let him into her heart. With all need for bravado dissolved, he knows he wants both equally. He watches as she drops her jacket from her shoulders. It hits the ground with disproportional weight. She seems to still be okay with shedding literal and figurative layers.
She comes back to him, fingers against his chest with barely a touch that tells him he's meant to stand there. And he's not going to push her, not yet. His mind keeps reminding him that this cannot possibly be happening. She wants to undress him, and she makes it clear with her eyes as she unbuttons his shirt. Rising on her tiptoes, she kisses him, her lips staggered between his and tugging him in. It is Kate's mouth on his, he's still stunned, and he knows beyond doubt that he's never been so intensely turned on his life, never wanted someone or something more than he wants her.
He realizes as she runs her hands down his chest, exploring the plane of his torso, that her fingers are pruned from being out in the rain so long, and the gentleman in him is reminded that she's probably uncomfortable. When he speaks, his voice is gravelly and low, and he states, "You're cold."
Just the corner of her mouth twitches up. She steps more fully into his space, her still mostly covered body pushing against him, chilly and sobering. "I thought, maybe, you could help me out with that," she answers alluringly. "If you don't have other plans."
"I definitely don't have any other plans," he answers immediately.
The playful seductiveness that she wants to convey is lost in the sadness he still sees behind her eyes. He knows why without asking, he can see and feel the regret she carries for hurting him.
His hand touches her face, thumb brushing her cheek. The possibilities in that second feel so endless, but he can't stop it, can't stop himself from curling his fingers behind her head and kissing her with all of the need he feels. Her lips part immediately and their tongues meet, the pair frenetically nip and pull as they kiss.
She moves away only a little, contorting quickly out of her shirt, and when her fingers grab his belt and drag him back to her, he thinks he may die from anticipation. He remains there, bewitched, as he gazes down between them and watches her jerk and slide the buckle open. He's so damn hard that he can't wait to be rid of his pants.
A doubtful worry crawls up in the back of his mind, wondering if she'll suddenly note the most obvious indications of his interest and reply, 'In your dreams, Castle,' or 'You know I have a gun' or something that she's said too many times before when he's gawked or made a suggestive comment. But she doesn't do anything so cruel.
Instead she opens his pants, each of the teeth of his zipper chattering as she frees him. Suddenly she seems too impatient, pushing his pants and boxers down his thighs. She hums a soft approval as she looks down at his exposed form for the first time. That hum, that whispered sound, resonates through his body. She drops to a knee, pulling his pants the rest of the way down to the ground as he helps her shuck them off. He's grateful his shoes are already gone, appreciative of every piece of apparel that is removed and a bit resentful of anything that remains.
He holds out a hand to help her stand, not because she needs it but because damn he loves her so much, and his desire to care for her is something that he feels on a very intrinsic level. She ignores his offering, her hands surrounding the outsides of his thighs and moving to the front of his hips once they're high enough. Her mouth moves slowly toward him, and his own thoughts are bursting and spreading like fire over long-dried brush.
He can only watch, frozen with a need that seems to have a gravity-force grip on him. Her head tilts and moves to the base of his cock, and he feels her lips surround the underside of his shaft. Her mouth works him over, laving, kissing, lapping at his sex. He's never felt anything like this, and he's had plenty of women in his time, but he already knows she'll ruin him for anyone else. After all, she isn't just 'some woman.' She moves patiently upward, savoring him until she reaches the tip, her tongue tickling the spot where his shaft vees beneath his cockhead.
Her lips envelop his tip and ever so deliberately slide downward, taking gradually increasing lengths of him into her mouth each time she returns. This will probably end him, although that isn't motive enough to make him stop indulging. But he looks down at her, sees her eyes gaze up at him, beautiful and lusty, and he can almost hear her still whispering, 'I'm so sorry, Castle.'
Clearly she isn't speaking, but somehow he hears it as it emanates from her. She apologized several times, but he never verbally responded. He wants their first night to be built on love and attraction, not guilt and apology. He reaches down for her elbows, knowing that no man, absolutely no man in his right mind, would ever even considering stopping her when she feels like this. Her confidence looks shaken, like maybe she's also worried this might come to an abrupt end and she'll be left with heartache. He shakes his head, the mere thought of her in pain forcing him to assuage her concerns. He can see another apology forming, or maybe he's wrong, but he responds before she can say it aloud.
"You don't have to be sorry. You're here. You came to my door…you said…you said you wanted me. You chose me," he states devoutly. "That was all I needed." Hell, he sounds so undone, almost crazy with desire for her body and her soul, but he doesn't care that he's bared his heart before her so plainly.
She smiles softly at first, unable to stop it from spreading as she appears warmed by the words.
He adds, "And maybe I needed to catch my breath, slow things down a little…just for a minute."
She pinches her lip between her teeth, a shyly anticipatory gesture that scrambles his brain again. He tilts his head as he looks down her body, that sinfully sexy black striped bra beckoning him. Instead he reaches for her pants, opening the button and zipper as he searches for her approval. As soon as she doesn't protest, it's his turn to kneel, pulling her pants and panties down together, pausing the momentary brusqueness to help her free each foot.
He moves to the apex of her thighs, and feels he's been somehow specially blessed as he smells her arousal, so delightful and intriguing that he cannot wait for the taste of her on his tongue. He's patient but impatient, moving closer but so desperately hoping to hear her plead for him the way his body is pleading for her. For a moment, he kisses her sex, as chastely as one can kiss such an intimate place, and then he feels her hips shift in invitation.
The thing that completely shatters the scant amount of cool he's maintained is the slippery moisture that's so abundant that it's evident even from that kiss. Kate Beckett is hot for him, ridiculously aroused with liquid heat, literally dripping with want. He doesn't hold her hips, he only allows his tongue to escape his mouth and trace the parting of her labia. He hopes he can taste this forever, vowing that he would drop to his knees to pleasure her whenever she desired. He wiggles his tongue, starting low near her entrance and taking his time to slink upwards toward her clit.
She's trying to order him to go where she wants him immediately, but he won't be rushed. His hands do not hold her hips, but she's right against his mouth. He doesn't have to hold her there, she stays under her own power, and he wants to know that, he wants to feel that.
At some point his hand moves to her hip and then to her ass, bringing her to his lips, while the fingertips of his other hand brush over the skin of her inner thigh. As the thought of being inside her returns to his mind, he finds his hand rushing, speeding more hurriedly upward. Her fingers press into his hair, goddamn he loves her needing him. The moment his finger pushes into her body, he feels electricity zip through him, because he, Rick Castle, is inside her. At least some part of him is, and it is intoxicating. He's wanted to be here, to be granted entrance, and even if it's only a finger, he is learning the shape, the contours, the feeling of her.
"God, Kate," he rasps out against her, the low vibrations of his voice causing her to cry out as her fingers press more forcefully to the back of his head.
"Fuck," she nearly sings, stretching out the word, her eyes growing wild with missing when he moves away.
He wants that first orgasm, that first frantic, desperate, fluttering explosion, to happen on his cock, to well up from her when he's buried deep inside so he can feel it all, and can see her face as she loses control. It's selfish, and he's okay with that. He's been through hell to get here, and he's desperate for them to meet that summit together.
She lowers her body, pushing him back onto the hardwood floor. The long strands of the nearby rug tickle his ankle, and remind him that they're so near his bed, but he's not about to interrupt this to suggest that they move. There's something so hot about her needing him so much that she can't be bothered to make it a few feet farther into the room. Her knees are on either side of him, she's actually straddling his hips, the heat of her is against his body. He suspects that if he can nudge her clit with his cock, lift his hips and brush against her just right, she'll unravel. And it's tempting, so tempting to do exactly that. She is flushed, pupils dilated, breath ragged, hair still hanging in damp strands.
Her bra catches his eye. He always assumed in fantasy that he'd have her topless before he'd know the taste of her. He licks his lips as soon as he remembers, and, yes, the flavor of her is still there. He sits up, reaching around her as he kisses her, so slowly, so passionately, that he knows she must feel the love he has. At least he hopes. His arms wind around her and he unhooks her bra, his hands finding her breasts before he sees them.
When curiosity wins, he backs up and looks at her in all her glory, just full enough to fill his hands, soft yet firm, and peaked. His lips descend a bit roughly on her. He's imagined this as well, but they're both too impatient for more foreplay right now. He reminds himself that if she allows them to do this again, he's going to spend time suckling there. He wonders if she has any idea how many things he wants to do to her, and how hard it is to choose between them all.
Her pelvis moves forward, and he feels her slickness on his sex. He's resting between her folds, not in her, but his position is so intimate, so familiar, that he's awestruck.
She presses his shoulders down, guiding him back to the floor again. Kate takes his wrists, moving them to the floor above his head. He's acutely aware of the fact that she is taking him, asserting her will, and he couldn't possibly be happier about it, or more turned on at the prospect. She moves over him, allowing him to slide through the cleft, so wet and warm and smooth, and he would tell her that he can't believe how fucking soaked she is for him if he could make the words come.
Lacing her fingers with his, she leans forward and kisses him one more time as she shifts over his body, tempting, luring, but not quite meeting the need that had built for either of them. She moves his hands closer together, and holds him there with just one of her hands, not that he's trying to escape. He can't really think of much he wouldn't do for her.
With her other hand she moves between their bodies, and he feels the delectable sensation of her long slim fingers surrounding his girth, bringing him right to her entrance, his glans pressing just short of being allowed within. One thrust, one lift of his hips, would breach her body. The thought of being 'in her pussy' crosses his mind, in those exact words, and he's not sure if he can wait any longer. He considers telling her that, wondering how she would feel about dirty whispered suggestions.
She looks down at his face for just a moment, and she smiles so lovingly that he feels fulfilled on some level even while so far from fulfillment. "Kate," he pleads, just that one word, but it somehow says more than all of the best-selling words he's published combined.
And yes, there are still a hundred conversations that should be happening. He should ask her about protection. He should ask if he should pull out before he comes. He should ask if she loves him the way he loves her, or if she'll be gone before dawn. As necessary as all of those questions are, they are forgotten, evaporated into the haze.
When he does nothing to pause or stop her, she presses with steady force, and the sensation of her body yielding to his penetration becomes his entire existence. As she brings him into her body, he growls in delight, sounding pleasured and pained all at once, but the feminine moan that escapes her lips, harmonizing with his own vocalizations, cuts into him. He's surrounded by her, the pressure gloriously crushing. He doesn't realize the way his whole body tightens from his toes to the top of his scalp; he only notices her, them, and their joining.
She doesn't move quickly at first, but she doesn't relent until he's swallowed up within her. It's heaven, sheer bliss, and he hasn't even hit that sweet spot yet.
Her inner muscles are snapped tight around him, he feels her wetness coating him, covering him. She's now got his hands beneath both of hers again, their fingers locking. This moment is a pause in chaos, one of joy and incredible sensations that won't easily be forgotten.
She leans forward, and it seems she needs to move, has to, and as much as he's enjoyed this so far, his body is grateful for any friction. Her nipples move over his chest, and he wants his hands back but elects to relish the way she's choosing to fuck him, to claim him for her own.
Her undulations begin small, but soon she's lifting away, and the cold air meets his shaft as the confines of her body slip away before taking him in again. She's moaning, calling out sounds that can't quite be translated. He's not sure if he should tell her that she's so damn tight he can barely take it. She's somehow firm and soft at the same time, and he wants to bury himself in her forever.
She leans back, a beautiful fantasy writhing over him, hips turning in long, desperate waves. His eyes are glued to her, to them, searching her body. He watches her breasts bobbing as he thrusts up from the ground, moving out of need rather than design. Her lips are parted as she pants, her collarbones lining the upper limit of her chest. Her taut tummy rises and falls with breath, becoming more stuttered. He's not sure if he should look, but he has to, just like he has to keep pushing into her body, and his eyes lower to their joining. He's confirming it with another sense, seeing the way he's pistoning in and out of her. The view does not disappoint, so hot, so erotic.
She pulls him up until he's sitting, her body between his slightly tented knees. Bringing his hands around her, she places his palms both on her ass, and she instructs him wordlessly to encourage her movement. She's so demanding, so decisive about what she needs, and it's perfect. It's her, he truly can't believe it. He's going to please her, to make sure he is the man she will call upon to meet her needs and quench her desires.
Now he's grinding into her, pushing her hips to meet his, their pace quickening. His eyes start to see in only black and bursts of scattered color. Damn he needs this, he needs to resolve this tension that's been building for four years. He knows nothing else has provided any relief for his longing for her.
She wraps her arms around his neck, her elbows resting on his shoulders while she holds onto him like he's her lifeline. She sighs the words 'close' and 'Castle,' she's too turned on to think enough to select his first name or say any more.
"You are?" he asks, his voice strained so much that the pride he feels upon hearing her words isn't clear.
She nods roughly, moaning out her pleasure, kissing him so deliriously that he's hurtling to the end.
"Let go," he rasps against her lips, and those few words make her scream.
Hard.
Her body clenches down on him, her hips jerking with less coordination, and he vaguely knows he's speaking in 'yesses' and curses as everything, every impulse, fires and explodes in bliss as he pours into her. He hears her whimper when his hearing returns, noting that his fingers ache from gripping her and holding her tight against him. They're still rocking, more like pulsing, together, not relenting but soaking up the final waves of release.
She crumbles onto him, their bodies still united. She's limp and sweaty, and the fact that she doesn't run away makes him smile into her hair. He takes her hand, his limbs heavy like he's moving under water. Bringing her hand to his lips, he places delicate kisses on her knuckles and then in her palm.
Her eyes finally meet his, although she's shy, which seems so strange compared to the abandon with which she's just screwed his brains out. She lets her still damp hair fall in front of her face.
He delicately slides the strands away, brushing them back, allowing their mouths to find each other again. That kiss, although less urgent, is deeper, more passionate, slow and melding.
As his pulse eases, the questions grow louder. He wants to know what is going on in her head, but remains silent. He knows how hard it was for her to come here, to be vulnerable, to risk rejection. For now, he's going to enjoy the afterglow, to feel her with him. Maybe, if he's as lucky as he hopes he is, he'll earn a second go.
She smiles at him with that smile, the slightly heart-shaped bow on her upper lip that he's wanted to kiss for so long emerging. Standing, perhaps regretfully, she slips off to the bathroom, and he's left to wonder if she's going to leave. If she does, he's going to be crushed. He already knows this. For the moment, he stays on the floor, waiting for the coming moments to unfurl.
Returning after just a moment, she crosses the floor, practically hovering above it weightlessly. She actually looks happy. She goes immediately to the light switch and darkens the room. He would have picked her up, carried her to his bed had she not disappeared so quickly. She reaches out a hand that he can barely see, but knows is there, and he takes it. Standing in front of her, he brings her body close to his, folds his arms around hers and manages to say, "Stay."
He imagines that she bites her lip although he cannot see her well enough to confirm, but he can feel her nod, and he's almost giddy as he leads her to his bed. He sinks down in first, lifting her over him so she's lying along the right half of his body. Her thigh drapes over him, her hand settling on his chest. He keeps looking up at the ceiling and smiling.
Up Next: Round 2: Beckett's Perspective
