Disclaimer: I'm poor, so that's a no.
A/N: This was supposed to be Saturday Smut like two weeks ago. But things happened. Including the fact that my laptop is dead. And by dead I mean I would have to have the screen replaced and I can't afford that. So I'm borrowing the computer in the living room at night...
It's a game to him, a way to turn her into an incoherent quivering, throbbing mess while she's unable to do a thing about it. And sometimes, she turns it into her own game, makes him whimper with need knowing it'll be hours before he can get her alone. But she doesn't know exactly whom is in charge this time, isn't even sure he's trying to do anything more than hold her hand.
So she lets him slide his fingers through hers as he rattles off the address to the cabbie, doesn't say anything about the heat bubbling in her skin, the wine a buzzing undercurrent begging to be released. It's zipping through her veins, weaving and wrapping through every inch of her, nerves jumping at the slightest touch - like when his pinky brushes up her thigh. Or when he tugs his jacket tigher around her, hiding her.
Game on. And it shouldn't make her tongue dart out to wet her dry lips but it does. The press of his finger against the inseam of her jeans, higher than completely appropriate but low enough that he knows she won't stop him. Not yet. And it's the complete nonchalance pasted over his features when she chances a look at him. Eyes facing forward as if he hasn't creeped a little higher with the last stroke.
But she's okay. Okay enough to face out the window, silently watching a driver in another car that's stopped next to them. A young man, a little too enthusiastically into whatever song is blaring through his speakers. She can feel the bass. The hum creeping into her bones and she shifts in the seat, her leg brushing Castle's, his palm abandoning all pretense and sliding up her inner thigh.
Legs clamping closed, she turns to catch the smirk dancing over his lips. Realizes exactly what he's doing. How far he plans to take it and she's shaking her head, eyes widened. No. She is not about to let him do that to her in a New York City cab. Ever.
"Castle,"
"Tonight was great, wasn't it?" Small talk. He's pushing small talk when his fingers are wiggling, trying to find some room to move but she doesn't ease up, keeps her muslces locked because there is no way she's letting his fingers work their way closer. "Dinner, some wine, just us. Should do it more often."
Her brow furrows, her hand wrapping around his wrist and she opens her mouth to reply but nothing more than broken syllables escape. Brain fuddled by the way he scoots closer, turns into her, finally meeting her eyes.
The air evacuates her lungs as if sucked out by force, the darkening of his eyes startling her. She swallows, pulls at his wrist but he shakes his head, leans in to press his mouth to the corner of hers. She feels his lips moving, can barely hear the words he breathes into her.
"Stay quiet."
Her eyes slip closed as she tries to respond. He doesn't give her the chance, stealing a kiss, pushing through, tongue searching across the roof of her mouth, hot and wet. She can't resist the taste, can't find it in herself to not give him just this quick touch. And she's the one lost, fuzzy, floating somewhere between 'we can't' and 'never stop'.
The driver clears his throat, rudely, eyeing them in the mirror when she pulls away with Castle's lip still trapped between her teeth. And it takes her a moment, seconds, to realize she's relaxed, unclamped her thighs and he smiles into her cheek.
"Castle," It's barely a protest anymore. A whisper that doesn't have any bite to it because he's already popped the button on her jeans, making her fold her hands in her lap – cover for him. Her thumb pressing into his wrist, one final weak attempt to remind him they're not alone.
She watches the rearview mirror like a hawk, determined to not take her eyes off of it but then he's rustling around at her side, covering the sound of her zipper and she knows this is wrong, knows they shouldn't. Her leg is shaking, heart racing and god, this is doing it for her. Making her wet, ready and when she feels his palm against her abdomen, beneath the jacket, beneath everything, she freezes. Tries not to breathe too loud just in case.
But it's hard to be completely silent, hard to keep her eyes open when he slips his hand inside her pants. Her teeth sink into her lip, fingers wrapping back around his wrist, feeling the tendons ripple as he pushes through fabric. She chokes back a gasp, a moan, something. She isn't sure. A small quiet, "no" when she feels his fingers slide through her folds.
He stops, eyes the cabbie for a few seconds and then turns back, meeting her gaze. She knows what he sees, the disbelief, the reluctance, the pure raw need. He waits, resting, thumb swiping over her clit and she squirms. Body pulsing, cheeks flushing, skin heating and she knows there's no way she's really going to make him stop. Not now.
He still leans in, nuzzles her ear, whispers to her.
"I'll stop if that's what you want." But she knows he'll keep torturing her with slow strokes over her thighs, stealing kisses. No. That isn't what she wants at all but he knows that. She can feel his smugness through the nip of teeth over her earlobe.
"Damn you." Two words, laced with annoyance and it's a green light. He's already moving, fingers sliding against her and she barely manages to keep her eyes open. Just the heat of his hand, the press of his thumb, the way he slides two into her without warning, curling up, stroking inside – her hips jerking and something akin to a whimper slipping out.
Too much noise. Too loud. She knows and she twists, mouth opening against his shoulder as she crowds into his side, pulling his jacket around, feeling it slip down her arm as she bunches the tail of it in her lap. He mutters about his hand cramping, she doesn't care. Her hips rocking, gently, slowly, hoping no one sees. His fingers doing most of the work, the quick slide as he curls them, the circles he's rubbing over her.
She tries not to be obvious, tries to place her palm over his chest, not clench her fingers tightly in the fabric of his shirt. She doesn't do a very good job, pretty sure that she's panting into him, mouth open. Muscles tightening as she tries desperately to relax them, determined that she's not about to come undone in the back of a cab.
It's an effort, the way he thumbs over her, pressing, pushing, curling. Pulling her apart. And she she feels every part of her body reacting. Nipples puckering, skin flushing red, the moisture between her thighs growing, everything building with each obscene curl of his fingers.
But she won't fall over. She won't. She'll hold the last shred of control. Her eyes open, searching for a street sign out the window opposite her and she catches half of word, knows they're close and oh, oh she's really close.
Not even the sound of the driver muttering with his thick accent can distract Castle it seems, and she digs her fingers into him on a silent curse. Sliding down for a quick grope when he chuckles. She makes him cough, squeezing the length of him through his pants, just once.
And it happens so fast that she's not prepared, her body doing so well at holding back, almost numbing to the feel of him stroking inside of her but it ends with a slam of the brakes, their cabbie yelling in a foreign language at a car in front of them and Castle's fingers pressing hard, thumb pushing just right as the cab jolts to a stop and she's gone. Breaking apart. Unraveling.
Teeth sinking into his shoulder, trying to muffle the sharp moan as her muscles tense, clenching around his fingers. Biting hard and unforgiving, sorry the second she hears his loud 'fuck' in her ear.
A shouting match starting and she barely registers any of it. Nothing but the blood rushing through her skull, the air she's trying to get into her lungs and the very obvious gasp when he pulls his hand from her pants. And a few foreign curse words the cabbie yells at them as Castle wipes his glistening fingers against her jeans, her eyes watching, unfocused.
Busted. They're so busted and she doesn't care. Maybe a little, embarrassed and unsure of what to say, she's stepping out into the night as her other half shoves more than enough money to make up for their little backseat interlude at the man still fuming.
She clings, keeps his jacket around her, hiding that her pants are still undone as he steps into her, presses a hand to her back. As much as she hates to admit it, her knees are a little bit like jelly, making her lean into him as he ushers them inside.
She's still embarrassed, a little ashamed and a lot wanting by the time they make it to the elevator. They aren't alone, sharing with a woman that Kate is pretty sure lives somewhere on her floor.
She wishes they were alone, wishes she could shove him up against the wall and get him back but she settles for pushing her hip against his, shifting from one foot to the other, showing him exactly how impatient she feels.
As soon as the doors open, she pulls him by the wrist, lets him crowd at her back as she holds her pants up and fishes her keys from her pocket. No words. Nothing at all. Just the heat of him against her as she pushes into her apartment but the moment both feet make it over the threshold, she's spinning, grabbing his collar, attacking his lips.
She swallows his groan when her fingers fly over the buttons, unsnapping every single one with an efficiency she has no idea existed after the incident in the cab. The fact that she came, hard, in the back of car with just his fingers coaxing her along – yeah, it's an incident.
His shirt is on the floor before he ever pushes her pants down her hips, panties falling along with them and she shudders with the twist of his tongue over hers. It takes her seconds, maybe not even that long before she's inside his pants, her palm around him and the weight hot and welcome.
A mess of shoes sends them tumbling, her back smacking hard against the floor, his knee catching her thigh, making her yell out but he's cutting her off, apologizing with a kiss that has her forgetting the sharp pain in her leg, the bruise that's bubbling to the surface. Everything but the fingers skirting up her ribs, pressing against each one until she's helping, lifting just enough to let him pull the shirt from her body.
Wasting no time in getting her bare and beneath him, thighs spread and his body cradled between. She ignores the shoe pressing into her shoulder, doesn't care about anything but the way his fingers wrap around her leg, lifting as he buries himself inside, the way she ripples around him, eyes closing. She hooks her leg around him, lets him pull her hands away from his sides and accepts the pace he sets by rolling her hips into it, taking.
Her body singing when he links their fingers, pins their hands to the floor and she'd complain if he didn't feel so good, if he wasn't thrusting against her. Quick and dirty, barely inside the door. Oh god, the door. She opens her eyes, almost lets them flutter when he twists and plunges at just the right angle but she doesn't, she keeps them open, makes sure her door is actually closed. It is.
He leans in, blocks her view and she drags her mouth over his jaw, her body still hot, thrumming from the first orgasm, building to a second that she wants...craves. His voice rumbles, breath panting against her ear. His words strained in contorted pleasure.
"You can't be quiet." And she moans as if to prove his point, her brain screaming at her to have some control. "We got caught."
"Castle,"
"You lost." He's teasing, thrusting and teasing and her body is taking it, twisting beneath his, writhing as she buries her nose in his neck. "You're loud."
She bites her lip, not letting him have the satisfaction but he feels it. The pulse between her thighs, around him. The way her back arches, mouth searching for his just to shut him up. But he's right. She is vocal. She can't help it, doesn't even want to because this time, it's okay. She can be loud. She can moan against him, let it vibrate through her. She can let it echo when he gets just a little sloppy, the sound of their bodies downright indecent.
And when he pushes hard against her, into her, filling her, she gets loud. Shatters for the second time, his fingers gripping hers, and the feel of him sliding in and out, slowing, stilling, stopping. His groan barely heard. His arms giving way and her body catching his, chest to chest, noses bumping. Breaths ragged and she can't fill her lungs. He's too heavy but she doesn't make him move. Not yet.
Not when she rolls her hips into his one last time just to make him whine. Just for payback. And then he's kissing her, soft and sweet. A smile breaking them apart.
"Next time you try something like that, I'll shoot you when we get home."
"You invented this little game." She shoves him then, telling him that she did no such thing as he rolls, keeps hold of her hand.
"Me?"
"Mhm. I think you'll remember last week, Old Haunt, drinks, your pesky fingers" He kisses them, and she gives a smirk. Yeah she remembers. And the way he choked on his beer in front of everyone was pretty much her favorite part.
"Okay, I'll concede. You won this round." And both of them know the game will continue. The ball in her court.
a/n: By the way: Giving a writer's credit to Sav for like half of this story because we just text things back and forth and this was born.