Disclaimer: Still not mine.
A/N: Just a little something to show everyone I'm still alive.
In other news, we're trying to save my grandpa's house. Full story and donation options here: gofundme dot com (slash) 10rzvlk
"You know, we can have sex anywhere, anytime we want now."
"Castle, twenty minutes ago you were sad about the loft being an empty nest." He'd been moping and pouring scotch; she'd poured a lot more and now they're plastered together on the couch.
"I'm beginning to see the upside." It's the eyebrow wiggle that gets to her.
She barely hides her snort, almost spits her wine and presses the back of her hand to her lips.
"You're pretty." He slurs it, fumbles a little with the r's. "Soooo pretty."
She's delirious with it, the softness, the giggle bubbling in her throat. He's a sweet man, adorable and silly. He's also hers and they're alone. Adorable with his eyes twinkling and his hair falling down over his forehead. He's drunk and she's tipsy and with a shake of her head, she's sliding over to him.
"Oh yeah?" It comes out a lot huskier than she intended but he's just...cute. Hot. "You think I'm pretty?"
Her limbs are heavy and her body warm as she slips into his lap and just one smile has him pulling her closer. Maybe he's onto something with this sex fest idea.
Big palms settle against her back and she's nose to nose with him. His goofy grin crinkles his eyes and makes her heart pound. His breath hot on her lips, sending a shiver of pleasure straight down to her core and how did she get this lucky? How did she end up in Richard Castle's lap with a wedding band on her finger and an empty loft to celebrate?
"Very pretty. Gorgeous. Beautiful. Stun-"
"I got it, Castle." She shuts him up, ends any ridiculous thoughts about to come out of his mouth with a hard kiss, a little sloppy and just off center. Maybe she's more than a little tipsy.
It doesn't matter because they have a whole loft to themselves and they're both celebrating and a little saddened. Maybe it's time to fill it back up.
Okay, so she's definitely more than a little tipsy. But the thought evaporates as quickly as it appeared the moment his tongue slicks over hers. No more thoughts. Just touch. His touch. A little heavy, less than coordinated but she's hardly better. Tugging hard at his shirt until she hears a few buttons ping off something and then she's pulling away from his mouth, looking down and blinking hard to assess the damage.
"Oops." It's not the first piece of clothing to fall victim to their over enthusiasm and won't be the last but she gives him a wicked smile as she pushes the fabric off his shoulders. "Consider this payback for that quickie last week and the death of my favorite pair of panties."
"Bought you new ones." He pouts and it shouldn't be sexy, shouldn't have her blood boiling when his bottom lip juts out but it does. Oh it does.
She leans in, nips at that lip, sinks her teeth in and pulls until he's groaning. He tastes of scotch and faintly of wine from her own tongue. She doesn't know which is more intoxicating, the alcohol or the man between her thighs. But then he lifts his hips, pressing into her and oh it's definitely him.
It's sloppy, the way their hands fumble and trip over each other, the way it takes entirely too long to get her slacks off because she's reluctant to leave his lap. But somehow they manage, somehow she's mostly naked and wiggling against him. Smiling when his fingers dig into her hips and his breath comes out hot and stuttered against her shoulder. He peels her bra strap down with his mouth, too drunk to do so smoothly and she winces when his teeth scrape sharply over her skin. So she pulls hard on his hair in admonishment, giggling when he presses a soft kiss of apology to the top of her breast. His lips wrap around a nipple and make her sigh. He has her raking her fingers over his scalp just to feel him hum against her.
They're both feeling pretty good, both having a little trouble with sluggish movements and fat fingers but oh how she loves his when they slide down her ribs. He swipes his thumb over her surgical scar, something that still causes a tug in her heart. And this time it's a reward he receives; she slips her hand between their bodies, palms him through the denim of his jeans. Why is he still wearing pants?
"Off. Off, Castle," she whines against his temple. Gyrating in his lap because he's taking too long.
He called her pretty. They're drunk. The loft is empty and she's buzzing with it. She wants him right here, right now. On this couch.
They work together, partners, in getting his jeans down and once they're to his knees, she doesn't care anymore. She's got her prize in her palm and he's groaning into the curve of her neck.
"Kate...wait."
She doesn't. She can't. She lifts, guides him between her slick folds while he's still fighting the clasp of her bra. And enjoys the rough curse he bites into her skin when she rocks over him, teasing him. He's hard and heavy, hot and maybe she's teasing them both. Maybe she giggles a little until he twitches in her hand and then they're both moaning.
It's rough when she sinks down on him, her legs giving out until she's nestled in his lap and he's buried to the hilt. God, this is something she will never have any complaints about. They're married, they've had sex in multiple positions, a variety of places. Everything from quick dirty fucks to slow all night loving that leaves them boneless. And it never gets old.
She kisses him then, landing somewhere near his lips as she grinds and he lifts up. They've done this before too. Sloppy, I'm-a-little-drunk and horny sex. But she still finds the perfect pace. The grinding, the rocking, the bouncing that has him clutching her hips until his knuckles are white.
He's loud like this. Animalistic. The alcohol coursing through their bodies destroyed finesse. He's grunting and clutching at her, reaching a hand up into her hair to drag her mouth over to his. And maybe she's loud too. Maybe those are her moans echoing, maybe that's her high pitched keen to coincide with the sharp bow of her spine when he slips his fingers between them and rubs clumsy circles over her clit. She shivers, feels it from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and knows he felt it too. In the pulse between her thighs, the quiver he's caused by the way he stretches and fills her again and again.
More. More. She chants it against his cheek, lifts her hips and drops down hard. She feels the tug in her gut, the burn and pressure building. Kate hisses his name as her lips smudge over his nose before she makes it back to slip her tongue inside his mouth.
He's trying to speak and she doesn't let him. She can't because she's close, the tremble starts in her legs. Working up till the muscles of her abdomen tighten and she knows she's gone the second he breaks their kiss to suck at pulse point. One piston of his hips, one sharp upward thrust as she grinds down into his hand and she shatters. Loud and uncoordinated, her body slapping with his as he grips her hips and keeps going.
She's breaking apart, moaning, whimpering, shaking with it by the time he buries his growl against her breast. He presses deep, sending another shockwave through her and then he's coming too.
She doesn't move, isn't sure she can and he doesn't make her. They don't have to worry about being interrupted, no more Martha or Alexis coming home any minute. And she giggles against him when his fingers slide up her side.
"So damn pretty," he smudges the words against her chin.
"You're drunk, Castle."
"Doesn't make it less true." He has a point, so she doesn't argue. "You're drunk too."
Beckett slaps her hand over his mouth and blinks her eyes open to see a sweaty, panting, man with a devilish twinkle lighting his blue eyes.
"M'not drunk." She is. And she knows it. Just like she knows shifting in his lap will bring a slew of curse words from his lips.
She does it anyway. Enjoying the feel of him, loving when he stays inside and then she's lifting out of his lap. She leaves him gasping with his pants and boxers around his knees and his hair disheveled from her fingers. She wobbles a little, beams at him and wiggles her hips.
"Kitchen counter? Floor? Wall? Where next, Castle?"
The sound he makes isn't human. And when he stumbles to his feet and lunges for her, she knows she's in for it. Squealing, she takes off for the kitchen.