Disclaimer: If only. But it's a no to owning Castle.
A/N: So this is a what-if scenario for season 3. It was a prompt I received and fell in love with so here ya go. This was completed weeks ago, I honestly just fail at uploading anything I write on my phone. Sorry guys. (I'm working on my other stuff, I promise)
It's late. She's tired. Slightly annoyed by the crunching sound her partner is making as he pops another chip in his mouth, she huffs. He crunches louder. Or it seems like he does. She's been hyper aware of him. Of every sound, every breath, the warmth of his hand when he bumps her shoulder with two fingers to get her attention. It's been weeks since their kiss. A month. Beckett has been walking on eggshells ever since. Her body humming. Wanting.
A constant state of arousal with the simplest touch. His fingers sometimes brush hers when he brings her coffee and she spends several moments trying to control her breathing. And now she's in a car with him, parked and alone for who knows how long.
And now she's thinking about it again. The memory scorching through her body. The undercover kiss that led to so many things he doesn't even know about. The breakup with her boyfriend because she couldn't kiss him without pretending he was Castle. The guilt that came with that. The nights she wakes with her lips burning for his and her body strung taught and throbbing. He doesn't know. He doesn't have a clue that just last night she'd had her hand between her thighs and his name on her tongue. But she knows. And just the reminder of it has the same heat pooling low and curling inside. An uncomfortably pleasant hum that has no place resonating tonight.
They're working. Well she is. When she glances at him, he's commandeering the binoculars from next to her leg and pretending he's not completely obvious about using them. So not a cop.
She scoffs at him, reaching to pull them from his hands and completely ignoring his childlike protest. Completely ignoring the fact that his voice raises an octave and she can feel it pulse inside her. Someone's voice shouldn't be able to affect her, shouldn't have the ability but it does. And it doesn't seem to matter if he yelps in a girly fashion or drops several octaves to a rough low tone. She goes damp. He does that to her. It's worse now. Now that she knows what he tastes like, how soft his lips are, what his body feels like pressed so tightly to hers.
She needs to focus. To stop thinking about all of this when she's supposed to be watching the house. And who decided this was a good idea? To be in the middle of nowhere hidden by trees and essentially enclosed in a tight space with the man who kissed her so thoroughly that she can still feel it. A month later and she still knows he tasted like warmth and something heavy and dark, tempting. A hint of coffee on his tongue when he'd swiped it over her lips and she craves it. She wants to know if he'll taste the same now.
It's hot. She feels hot and cramped and she wants to stretch her legs. They've been sitting for two hours. Two hours of idle conversation, of hearing every sound he makes from a sigh now and then born of boredom to the rustle of his pants rubbing the seat as he shifts. And the way he munches the chips she brought along. At least it's quiet now. Except she doesn't want the quiet when she keeps thinking of his lips. This is the first time they've been alone since. For this long and in this close proximity.
The silence stretches a few more minutes and then she can't take it anymore. She needs conversation. She needs to stop thinking of his hands and his mouth and how it felt to run her fingers through his hair and her dream the night before that led to her getting herself off before she could fall back asleep. She needs to focus. On the case. Not the steady pulse between her thighs that has her shifting just a little to relieve some of the pressure. Or the jolt that sends up her spine.
"How's the book coming along?" As soon as she asks, she realizes how forced and awkward it sounds.
She doesn't do this. She doesn't randomly blurt out these kinds of questions. But if he notices the flush that burns her ears, he chooses to be a gentleman.
"Smoothly. You want details?"
"No. No, I can wait." She can. She can so wait. Except she's pretty sure she's not even talking about his book.
"Do you think this guy is ever gonna move?"
It takes a moment for her brain to catch up, to realize he means their target and no. She really doesn't. And they're wasting time, her legs are cramping, she's pushing full on arousal and this is getting more and more awkward. She shifts again. Ignores the uncomfortably slick slide of her panties against heated flesh and tries to school her features. Give nothing away.
"You okay?" And apparently fails. He's asking. Softly. As if something is actually wrong and the concern only adds to her heightened state.
"I'm fine. Leg cramp." She can feel his eyes, as if they're his hands. Trailing down her legs, lingering and she shouldn't have said anything. But it's the first time she realizes that she's not the only one feeling something.
Has his mind been the same place as hers? Has he been thinking about it too? Probably. It makes sense. This is the longest they've been alone and they never talked about it. Not once. And she refuses to believe he could walk away from their kiss and just forget about it. Maybe they need to talk. She has no idea how to even start that conversation.
Remember when your tongue was in my mouth because we had to save the boys?
Yeah, she's sure that's a terrible way to go about it.
But she still opens her mouth to let something tumble out. He beats her to the punch.
"Too bad we can't turn on the radio."
"Angry birds lost its appeal already?"
"It was Plants vs Zombies and I didn't want to kill my battery."
She was joking. But he's not and she shakes her head at him, at herself too because they're being ridiculous.
Both of them. She hadn't noticed but she does now. The way he fidgets, how he's trying to keep his hands busy and she finally gets it. He's stopping himself from confronting her, from possibly touching her?
She's not sure but maybe because her hands are itching to do the same even though they're supposed to be on point and focused.
"Castle, I -"
"Kate, are we okay?" He interrupts. He's good at it and the sound of her first name startles her enough to leave her staring at him.
"Uh y-yeah?"
"You've been a little quiet...I mean I guess I have too and we just -"
"We kissed." She blurts it out. Feels the tension double as it falls from her lips and there it is. She did it.
And he looks just as stunned as she feels. Her heart is racing in her chest, beating against her ribs and she can feel the flush from head to toe. And he's quiet. For once, Castle is completely still and quiet and she doesn't know what to expect.
He slowly nods. Frowning a little as he does and she's momentarily distracted by the crinkle between his brows. She wants to smooth it out, press her lips there and tell him that maybe they can make this into something. Even if it terrifies her. She just doesn't know how to be that brave. There's nothing stopping her. No Gina. No Josh. Yet, she's biting her lip and glancing back out the windshield instead of owning up to what she wants.
And maybe Castle has someone new, maybe...maybe she's conjuring up lame excuses.
"We did." His words are barely audible and she knows he's still trying to wrap his head around where she's going with this.
She doesn't even know. She just wants it to stop being awkward when they're alone and she wants the fire roaring in her belly to go away so she can do her job.
"We never talk about things." Not the words she's been trying to say but it serves the purpose. She doesn't have to look at him to know he's dragging his hand down his face. "And you've been quiet and fidgeting all night as if afraid to say anything. It's been a month, Castle."
It's harsh, biting and pushing. One last attempt to barricade herself and then he blows it to hell.
"You have a boyfriend. I wasn't about to make it awkward for you."
She doesn't. But he doesn't know. She could lie, she could and things would go right back to normal. Their normal. Banter and coffee. Lingering looks and innuendo. And maybe she should. But she won't.
"I don't." She drops her eyes to her lap, bites her lip hard and decides to risk it. She's tired. She's exhausted from holding him at arms length. "We broke up."
"I'm sorry." He isn't. And she lets out a snort of laughter because of course he's still trying to be as polite as possible about it.
It's absurd. They're crazy. Acting like a couple of kids instead of grown adults. And it's obvious the only thing she's managed to accomplish is to thicken the air with even more unease. It takes her two seconds. Maybe less.
One of him struggling to find words and the next she's giving in to the hormones that have ravaged her for so long.
Two seconds to change it all. To make that kiss they shared look tame as she reaches across the console. Not even deterred when he leans away as she grabs his face. She's supposed to be professional, supposed to be a cop. She's not either of those things the moment her mouth opens over his and the seatbelt digs into her hip.
He tastes the same. When his lips part and her tongue dips inside, he tastes the same. A little salty from all his snacking but divine. She doesn't want to stop kissing him, awkward angle be damned because he's leaning into it now, an active participant. Turning her into a puddle the moment she feels his palm on her neck and those smooth silky lips sliding against her own.
She's not as gentle as he is. His touch soft and hers hungry. She's wanted him too long. She's been thinking about it too much tonight and she's entirely too aroused to downplay it. To pull away and get back to the task at hand.
Hands. His hands. She likes his hands and falls a little bit in love with them the moment they tug at her sides. She gives in, forgets all about the house they've been watching and with her mouth still attached to his, scrambles into his lap. Her knee knocks against something, an ache forms. She hears and feels him grunt against her chin when she lands with no grace. Roughly dropping against him.
Her hips press down, she needs the friction. She's been needing it and his fingers grip into her hips, holding her tight against him. She's panting when she finally leaves his lips, rocking over him, she can feel him hard and hot. This isn't what she planned. At all. But she's not backing down. No more backing down.
"Castle," It's uncomfortable, she's arched and can't straighten but then he's sucking at her neck and it doesn't matter.
His breath is hot, his teeth nip, his tongue soothes and she can feel each and every tug deep between her thighs. She can feel him between her thighs and this is what she's wanted for weeks. Months. Longer than she will ever admit. A hand skims beneath her top, up each rib. Quick and efficient. And she doesn't stop him, arching into the touch when his thumb rubs against the underwire of her bra.
She's mumbling. Doesn't even know what she's saying but he takes it as permission. And the next thing she feels is his palm over her breast. The warmth of his skin against her nipple.
He groans, she shivers and it shouldn't be happening like this. But she's guiding him. Hands in his hair, she's the one in charge as she pushes at him. He follows her lead and the moment she lifts into it, the moment she offers, his mouth replaces his hand.
Her hips jerk with the first drag of his tongue. She's embarrassingly aroused, cheeks flushed, lips bruised, and he pulls the first moan out of her easily. With just that mouth of his and his teeth tugging at her nipple.
Eyes heavy, she watches, wants to see. Wants to know this is happening and it's fast and rushed. A little rough when she tugs at his hair. A little demanding and desperate when she lowers one hand and searches for his, weaving together and dragging. She leaves his fingers resting against the button of her pants.
Gasping and arching as he bites into the soft flesh of her breast. Her name a growl when he releases.
"Beckett." If she wasn't already soaked, his voice right now would do the trick.
She gets what she wants. For a brief second, his fingers slide beneath her waistband, slip beneath her panties and easily through her folds and she's not the only one humming in approval. But he doesn't move. He presses them against her, and stops. His eyes are dark, it's dark out but she knows his eyes are a storm of emotion when he lifts his head and she rocks against his fingers. Tries to reassure him because they've made it here, she doesn't want to stop.
"Kate." His lips slide over hers. Soft. Not as demanding or frenzied and part of her knows it's over. "He's leaving."
"Wha-"
"The suspect, he's -"
That's all she needs. Like ice water, it pours over them and ruins the moment. Reminds her why they're out here to begin with and before either of them can blink, his hand is gone and she's back in the driver's seat, trying to tamp down her lust. If only the rest of her body would cooperate.
She's still pulsing for him. And one look tells her that he's still just as aroused.
They're quiet again when she starts the engine.
It's been hours. Interrogations and confessions. Paperwork. Multiple cups of coffee and somewhat stilted conversation with Castle. Beckett doesn't know how to approach him. Not when he had his fingers so close to being buried inside her just a couple hours ago. She shouldn't have let it happen. Not like that. And that's what she wants to say to him. She wants to apologize. She wants so many things.
She starts with a nod toward the elevator while grabbing her things and he follows. His stare burning and intense when she pushes the button. And if anything it grows stronger when they're enclosed inside. She starts explaining without even looking at him.
"I didn't mean to start...that shouldn't have happened." And before she can continue, he's sighing in frustration. Drawing her eyes over to him and no, no he didn't listen long enough.
"Are you serious? Kate, you had your tongue in my mouth and I had my hand -"
"I'm perfectly aware of where your hand was, Castle and maybe if you didn't interrupt and let me finish," she pauses to watch the anger flash in his eyes and once satisfied, she starts again. Softly this time. "It shouldn't have happened on the job. I almost let him get away. We almost let him get away because we were otherwise occupied. That can't happen."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying, we need to be careful. Have some rules." He nods but she knows he's still not understanding her even though she's all but spelled it out.
She waits until they're next to her car, knowing he usually doesn't follow her quite this far and just as he's about to say goodnight, she tells him to get in.
It's an unspoken agreement that they're going to her place. An unchallenged one. He knows now and she makes it known that he won't be leaving when she asks if he's needed at home for anything.
He isn't.
They keep hands in check until she's sliding her key in the lock and then he's brave. His mouth on the side of her neck as she pushes it open. Slow kisses and easy steps as he guides her inside with his hands on her hips.
Castle barely remembers to kick the door shut probably her fault as she turns and kisses him. The fire is still there, the ache is still throbbing but it's softer. Less hurried. Tasting to savor. Hands are slow now. Exploring and gentle. His fumbling a little and she thinks it's cute that he's nervous. She is too. Her stomach is in knots when she pulls back and leads him through to her bedroom. Not bothering to hit the light because it isn't needed. His touch is the only thing she needs.
She's always expected it to go like it had earlier. A flurry of mouths and hands, a rush to get to all the good parts but as she swallows and touches his cheek, she realizes this is better.
It feels like hours of lingering touch, raging heat. And it feels like only minutes before she's bare on her bed with him hovering over her. How many times has she had this dream? How many times has she woke sexually frustrated and had to slip her fingers inside herself for any kind of relief? But it's not her hand that skims her stomach. Not her fingers that part her thighs. It's him.
His breath on her lips, his fingers that curl up into her and make her moan into his mouth. It's him, Castle, who swallows it, sipping from her lips. Better than their undercover kiss. Better than the stakeout makeout.
She has her fingers curled over his ears, brushing through his hair when she says his name. Asking and telling. They're both panting, already struggling to hold it together and she whimpers when he removes his fingers from her center. A moan bubbling when she can feel his hand, still slick with her arousal, slide over her thigh to pull her closer.
They could go all night. Drag this out. And they will. Next time. Not right now. She just needs him and when he presses against her, her hips jerk. Her teeth close over his bottom lip and he gives a gentle thrust the moment she rocks up to meet him, to let him in. She shivers against him as their hips kiss, he's bigger than she thought. Stretching and filling, a heavy ache that shifts when he pushes in just a little further. She didn't expect this.
The way he smudges his mouth over hers, one hand holding her thigh in place and the other linked with hers. He presses her harder into the mattress, squeezing her fingers and she squeezes back. Telling him it's okay. She didn't plan this.
It's a slow build. Each glide of him inside, the slow thrusts, the way she arches and writhes beneath him when he pushes deep. Her body on fire and pleasure bowing her spine. This wasn't in her dreams.
She cries out when he grinds down into her, skyrocketing closer to the orgasm twining within and dangling just out of her reach. She wraps herself around him, wanting more. Her mouth at his shoulder and nails gripping his back.
The heat builds between them. Sweat slick on their skin. His voice in her ear and she whispers back. Faster. Harder. Please. Castle. A mantra. The only words she can find. Barely getting them out. Too overwhelmed and swamped with him. He's everywhere. Inside her, surrounding her, with her. Touching everywhere. Skin on skin.
Nose against nose, lips skimming with each thrust. Contracting around his length, pulling him deeper. Needing more. And he knows. He must because before she can say a word, he's slipping a hand between their bodies.
Her eyes slam shut, head dropping back against the pillow at the first press of his fingers against her clit.
Her muscles tighten. Her breath leaving her lungs on a loud moan. A spark shooting up her spine, making each limb react. Legs locking around him, fingers clutching his hair and one arm tight around his neck. He barely has room to move and it doesn't matter, they rock, she grinds, he strokes and when she lifts her head to crush her lips to his, she mumbles his name.
She can taste hers in return. Lingering on his tongue. Nothing more than a vibration that echoes through her. Everything narrows. All she can hear is him. He's all she can taste and feel and smell. Sex heavy in the air and their bodies so close. Thrusts become quicker, sloppier, the press of his fingers has her shaking. The pressure in her abdomen travels low, a hard steady pulse between her thighs that intensifies with each push of his length inside.
She's keening against his lips when she comes. Pressing hard up into him. Milking his release seconds after. Feeling him thrust as deep as possible, she swallows any sound he makes, hand on his jaw. Swiping the sweat from his skin.
They slow to a gentle rocking until she's whimpering and he's trembling. Until it all becomes still and her limbs are too heavy. And then she's slowly untangling, letting him roll away and chasing seconds later.
She finds him easily, he didn't move far. And despite the heat of her skin and his, she rests her arm on his chest, chin pressing into the back of her hand.
Fingers crawl up her spine, lazily. Dragging at the moisture on the small of her back. They need a shower. Not yet though.
It's quiet. Not awkward like before but just quiet and she's trying to read his expression in the glow of the moonlight. Then she catches his lips tugging and a smile splits across her face.
"Hey." Her voice is rough. His matches.
"Hi."
"Stay." It's not a question and he doesn't take it as one.
He pulls her closer, his fingers tangling in her damp locks and she knows they'll need to talk. A lot of things need to be said but for now they're content to spend the night exploring with hungry touch and open mouths.