Set post 6x21 - Law and Border. Beckett and Castle finish their game of strip poker.
Dedicated to Mads because she puts up with me for unknown reasons and constantly inspires me to try and write dirty dirty sex
He's not used to losing but he thinks this could be the best type of losing ever.
He's not entirely sure how he got so lucky but the girl sitting in front of him in a white cotton bra is looking at him like maybe this is the best thing that could have happened to either of them.
She loves him. Enough to put up with his obsession with winning and his morning breath, and his childish tendencies, and all the little things that he knows he does.
Losing himself to her may be one of the best things that's ever happened to him. That much he knows.
She's had that same look in her eyes since she asked where Martha and Alexis were. Like a part of her wants to skip the pretense of stroking his ego with a game of poker and skip straight to the fun part.
And good lord is it fun. It's loud and messy and sometimes sweet and slow but with her he has fun - she makes it fun. And he never knew how much fun until she showed him.
She's the one to wake him up at 5am on a Saturday with morning sex and syrup. She's the one to send him naughty texts in the middle of business meetings that make even the great Richard Castle blush.
She's the one who suggests they play a little game to make him feel better even after he acted like a child. It's not his fault! He never loses at Scrabble - he's a writer, it's like a requirement. But she clears the table like they cleared his desk last week after they couldn't make it to the bedroom. She slaps down a deck of cards and plops down on the floor like she's an over-excited puppy.
Yeah he's pretty sure she's the best thing to happen to him.
After Alexis.
Thank god Alexis isn't here.
Because there's a possibility that he lost a few hands on purpose just to see the look on Kate Beckett's face as he stands in the middle of the living room in his boxers and dress shirt, displaying more self-control than he thinks he ever has. Without breaking eye contact with his ravishing fiancée he starts to unbutton his shirt but she opens her mouth like she wants to stop him so he pauses.
"Leave it on." It's a gentle command, looking at him through her eyelashes, her mouth open and wanting.
"I lost that hand." Weak, Castle, weak.
"I know." Her eyes blazed a trail, hot and potent, across his skin as she travelled down his body and back up to his eyes, now black and shining with amusement. "You have other articles of clothing."
Call her controlling but Kate Beckett loves buttons. She loves pressing buttons – especially when it means she gets to play with her new favourite toy standing in front of her – but most of all she loves the buttons of his shirts. She has since the day he told her "it would've been great" and she woke up dreaming about ripping off all the buttons on this playboy dress shirt. With her teeth. Nowadays she gets to slip her fingers through his shirt buttons one by one, with careful, practiced, teasing fingers. She knows how badly she teases him – maybe she even gets off on it a little – but that man has a way with words. It's ironically indescribable. Let's just say he gives as good as he gets.
Like now, practically standing over her, slowly pulling his boxer shorts down his long, toned legs – years of chasing after her have served him well – exposing her new favourite toy.
He makes her want to be playful. With him it's fun. It's loud and messy and sometimes sweet and slow but with him she has fun – he makes it fun. And she never knew how much fun until he showed her.
So yes, when they want to have sex in the living room on a weekday night, it's poker games and half nakedness in a way no one would expect and calling bluffs just to see who is blushing down to their most intimate parts.
It's mutually agreeing to screw the game and just…screw each other. So maybe the word game doesn't work so well when words are irrelevant.
Like now.
When his tongue is down her throat and she's trying so hard not to rip the buttons from his shirt because god damn it she wants him so much right now. She wants him to take her slowly against the coffee table, her ankles locked around his neck as he thrusts deeper and deeper. She wants to grip the glass so hard she cracks it but is too far gone to care. She wants to see the light in his eyes grow darker and more dangerous as she plays with her breasts and never takes her eyes off of him. She's thinking about him anyways, it's only fair he gets to watch. She wants to be left screaming some nonsensical words as she comes down from her orgasm in burst of light. Words that will undoubtedly make an appearance next time she kicks his ass at Scrabble.
He doesn't leave her wanting for long.
Kind of.
His sleeves get caught in his arms because one or both of them forgot to undo the cuffs but her lips never leave his. Too distracted by her warm lips and her sharp tongue he haphazardly tugs at the material until they released their hold on his wrists and he goes straight for her bra clasp. Enough foreplay, he wants to get to the main attraction. Namely: her. His goddess, his firecracker, his muse. She could (and has) stopped traffic with just a look (and a flash of her police badge but that's beside the point) and now she's looking at him like all the fantasies he's had about her are exactly what she plans to do to him.
He probably should have eaten more protein at dinner.
He didn't realize that he'd stopped kissing her until she cleared her throat and her 'fuck me' look gained a dangerous edge. She wanted action.
No more words.
No more descriptions. Just
Oh god, Castle, right there.
Oh fuck!
Yeah.
Oh fuck yeah.
Ooh.
Oh yeah.
Oh fuck yes.
He made a mental note to improve her vocabulary of expletives but the note was torn to shreds by her bite into his shoulder as he thrust deeper and quickened his pace to match the urgency of her kisses and scratches down his chest.
Kate was seeing stars. Her elbow was going to be sore from slamming it so hard against the coffee table and her hips were going to hate her for doing most of the work at this angle but those stars behind her eyes were shining pretty bright. Like white hot flashes of pleasure bursting behind her skin. She was close to the edge, about to burst into a million supernovas, killing this metaphor with it.
She choked on her lungs when he suddenly stopped. Her eyes flew open, trained on him like a laser on the sniper rifle she was about to shoot. He was looking at her with his cheeky 'please don't shoot me' grin and she wasn't sure how long his cute face was going to keep him alive. Especially when she felt her body shaking with the violent need for release. He better have a damn good reason for
"So we're definitely not playing Scrabble anymore, right?"
Wha-her nostrils flared and her jaw fell slack in awe. He…wha-
"Oh sorry, I'll let you finish."
Her groan of annoyance was not the one she expected to be having but her head fell back and her eyes closed and she remembered that with their wedding in a few weeks it would be a bit suspicious if his body suddenly disappeared.