A/N: A companion piece to 'bathed in the night', but can easily stand alone.
Set late season 3, more specifically post 3x23 (Pretty Dead)
I know the first chapter is short, but I think part two will make up for this...
Every once in a while he would catch her staring at him. He pretended not to notice, but managed to watch her through his peripheral vision as her eyes roamed his body and her tongue snuck free to wet her lips.
He didn't mind the extra attention, no, not at all, but it wasn't necessarily like her. He would never expect her to be so open about any sort of admiration she held for his body. He was open about his admiration for hers, always had been, but these types of things rarely swung both ways between them.
The problem, though, was that her staring had set him on fire. And he failed to find relief from the burn.
Was it possible to be set ablaze for days, nearly a week, straight? Flaming and feverish because of one woman, who was happily in a relationship with someone else.
Castle huffed indignantly at the thought of Josh as he roughly unbuttoned his shirt, frowning when he pulled too hard and one of the shiny discs broke free from its line of companions and scattered across the tile floor of his bathroom. Great.
He had only arrived home from the precinct a half hour before. It was late, but after they had closed the case of the dead beauty queen and he had parted ways with Beckett, he had stopped by the Old Haunt for a quick drink, hoping it would rid his mind of the salacious look his partner had sent him over her shoulder after a casual promise of "see you tomorrow". He didn't even think she was aware she had done it, but it still left him helpless and wanting, even wishing he had invited her along to share a drink at his bar. Her company would have done little good though, probably would have pained him more if he was being honest.
He slid the dark blue button down from his shoulders, let his undershirt follow, and then his pants. He was down to his boxers and had just reached to turn on the shower when he heard a sharp knock resounding from the front door.
Seriously?
He ignored the knocking and rid himself of his underwear. His mother was home and he knew she would get the door, took pleasure in greeting every guest with her dramatic flair anyway. The person at the door was probably there for her actually. It was nearing midnight and he surely wasn't expecting anyone at the socially unacceptable hour.
Castle stepped into the shower and sighed contently as the hot water pounded against the tense muscles of his upper body. He'd stayed up late, writing into the early morning hours for the last couple of nights, even falling asleep at his desk once, and the prolonged position of sitting in a chair, hunched over a keyboard for hours on end always left a slight but aching strain in his neck and shoulders. Usually, he would be rather proud of himself for losing sleep over his craft, but he almost felt ashamed tonight.
Because he hadn't been writing about Nikki Heat lately. He had been up writing about her, unable to sleep due to the images – the utterly inappropriate images – that had been swarming his brain the past few nights. Writing was the only way he knew how to find relief from the onslaught she caused, but he still felt an irrational tinge of guilt regardless.
God, just thinking about her had him hardening under the spray and he dropped his forehead to the cool tile wall. He'd gotten off on the thought of her plenty of times before, but tonight he knew it wouldn't be nearly enough to satisfy the craving. He wanted her there, in the flesh.
He curled his hand around his shaft nonetheless, pretending her long, slim fingers could replace his, and circled his thumb around his swelling tip. Having a writer's imagination did help in situations like these; he could picture her so clearly in his mind's eye, had memorized every line and curve of her lithe body he'd been granted the pleasure of seeing, especially when she donned that excuse for a swimsuit during their recent trip to LA. Her name slipped free on a quiet groan at the vision, but he startled at the soft gasp that followed and was too real to be fantasy.
Castle's eyes flew open and his head jerked towards the now open shower door, where Kate Beckett stood watching him.