A/N: slightly pilfered prompt from twitter found at the end with thanks to Castle_Examiner and jam821
"Happy birth-"
This time she's kissing him.
This time he barely pulls the door open before she's pushing through it, dropping whatever feeble excuse she might have been planning to use, eyes warm and alive with reasons beyond the obvious that she wants to spend this night with him.
It's her birthday, a day that should be full of happiness and the only person who can guarantee it will end that way - whether she believes she deserves it or not - is her husband.
Dinner or dessert falls at their feet and Castle cannot contain the smile that breaks free. And this time she lilts into his chest, stealing his kisses hungrily, feeding from his mouth with a burning need that has her up on her toes, hand fisted in his hair.
"Was it the coffee?" He asks, between staggered breaths. He knows he's not supposed to but it's her birthday and a cup on her desk didn't seem like overkill.
She shakes her head, growls against him in a way that makes them both smile, laugh, knowing that sound and her unending frustration with him, her love, the way it spurs her to do deadly things between the sheets.
"Was it the bracelet?" She bites his lip this time, it wasn't a cleaned up version of the one caked in blood - he couldn't stand the thought of that wrapped around her wrist now - no, just a single cuff and her birthstone. Platinum, hard wearing. Beautiful.
"Just you." She gasps and, this time, he dives right back in, taking from her kiss everything she offers.
It's not a delicate balance or tentative reunion the way their anniversary had begun. This time, when their mouths pop apart and Kate sways away dangerously, her eyes are already alight with a hope he knows she still feels she has no right to. Hope Castle remains determined to remind her she gave back to him.
His hands grab for her waist, burn and linger there, keeping her close, tight against his chest. He holds her, cherishes the feel of his wife in his arms and stares into her eyes for a long moment, no words, searching their depths as their hearts race at the connection.
It's alive between them. Always has been. Now no different than any time before. Yet, perhaps, somehow, more that they have had to part and come back together.
He breaks the silence when her gaze drops to his lips and he can stand the absence of her kiss no longer.
"Time-in."
Not a question.
A demand that if she turns up on their doorstep - because it's still their doorstep - and kisses him like that, like life apart is ridiculous and any moment between them means more than everything else, then yes, yes it's time-in.
No uncertainty.
No doubt.
He misses her taste and the feel of her. Misses the moans that leave her lips unconsciously when he finds that perfect spot behind her ear, when he squeezes and she melts, when their lips meet and pop apart and she wants more. Castle kisses her as she nods, mumbling her agreement, catching Kate as she launches herself at him, thankful sob and broken need swallowed up in the frenzy of the joy they find in each other's arms.
His hands drag heat across her ribs, fiery trails he chases up and over her breasts, thumbs skimming, tweaking, burning her down to the bone. Castle feels her sizzle, twisted up with her craving, longing exhaled in the breath that dances across his lips before she kisses it into him.
He gasps, laughing as she drives him back, fast, forceful, her hands already up and under, removing a coat he hasn't had time to take off yet, his wife too hot on his heels. So hot in his arms that he can barely stay up on his feet.
The coat slides beyond his grasp and she's got three buttons undone on his shirt before she responds, eyes narrowed, determined.
"Yes."
It's like a drug.
One taste, one bite, one hard explosive meeting of their bodies on the night of their anniversary, and she's hooked. Re-addicted. Whatever it is, this inexplicable thing between them, she can't get enough. And she wants to spend all night showing him. Reminding him.
Worshipping him.
It's her birthday, she gets to make a wish, and being almost naked is not it.
Their hands battle, fall in line, find a synchronization as easy as breathing, their movements perfectly timed as they take each other apart. Ripping clothes off, buttons be damned as they fly left right and center. Castle unhooks her bra with sneaky fingers climbing, knuckles grazing just enough to make her leap at the sensation, skin to skin and -
"Get this off me."
"Absolutely."
Kate grins, doesn't care when she hears the rip and tear of material falling around her, she's already thrusting hard at his belt so his pants slide down his legs. Castle's hands suddenly bereft of lace and cotton as the remainder of her shirt falls to the ground and his wife gropes him.
Pants follow after. No skirt for ease this time, and no time to lament as the milk white of her thighs slips softer than silk against the tips of his fingers. Smoothing his hand as far as he can reach, Castle relishes the beauty of Kate's long legs, loses himself in the knowledge of what they can do, will do, once wrapped around him.
Fire burns in the lowest depths of his stomach, heat radiating, making it hard to concentrate on stripping her, making him harder still.
He aches for the woman in his arms.
Castle pauses for a moment, fingers in her hair and thumb over her lips, the feel of her body hypnotic, before he fuses their mouths together once more, dragging a thigh around his waist, just as he imagined, and holding his wife up on to her tiptoes.
Her body aligns with his sharply, pulling a hiss from her lips as pleasure splinters through her. The hot, wet pulse between her legs dancing a dirty beat, the peaks of her breasts tight and throbbing for his touch, scratching over his chest seeking relief.
Not once have their mouths torn apart from each other since they stopped talking. Breath somehow found in gasps and sobs, in moans as they divest each other of clothing, everything except his boxers gone before they ever reach the sanctuary of their bedroom.
His fingers skim, touch and tease. Savouring each caress without apology, loving her with everything of himself, the only way he knows how.
It's fire and heat and, much like their anniversary, a tumble into something dangerous that she can't stop.
A splinter of reality carves through the pleasure she's taking from his touch and, when he lays her back against the mattress, her kisses drift into something sweeter, almost dreamlike, soft and apologetic.
She thought she'd be home by now.
Her eyes burn as he parts her thighs, grip tight on her knees in the way he knows she likes, knows drives her higher and keeps her thrumming with the knowledge of what's coming next. Thumbs dividing, fingers racing up, pushing her wider with every inch they gain.
Her breath is an outrageous echo of sound that breaks the silence, hard heaving, chest fluttering and bouncing as she tries to fight the dizzy wash of desire that rains over her body.
He doesn't relent.
Castle stares deeply into her eyes as he touches, one finger drawing a line through the deepest part of her. Curling, seeking, stroking softly, toying until she's saturating his fingers with lust. Up and down and back and forth, stroking again and again. He keeps it up until her hips are dancing, vision blurring. Until she's panting and pounding on the headboard, knuckles white as she tries to hang on.
Another lead bottomed out, another route to get herself here - in his arms - dead-ended.
He stops and his body falls into hers, shaky fingers guiding him to her, she meets him, holds him, brushes through his boxers, squeezing hard, watching his eyes darken, before pushing at the waist band.
She wants to touch him. Have him. Hold him and love him.
"Please," she croaks, words lost in succession, one by one falling away.
Somewhere between the cupcake he left on her desk this morning and the card he slipped into her bag, the coffee that always means more and the bracelet she wasn't expecting, and the every single second of her life that feels wrong without him by her side, the missing him became overwhelming.
He smiles, softer now, complies, and finally naked, lays against her. Kissing, all the skin he can reach. Touching, until she's desperate and crying out. Teasing. Promise in every stroke.
She's reckless being here, too in love with him to adhere to her own plan, her own rules. She's foolish. She's -
"Thinking too loudly." Castle growls, lifting her with him so her back arches, her toes dragging the length of the bed as her leg slides around his body.
Perfectly into place.
Liquid and languid, lost in the moment.
He gives her no choice but to cling to him, no choice but to hold on tight, their bodies falling into each other, drawn like magnets, legs thrust wide apart as he hovers over her.
Her fingers slips between them, graze and nudge, invite and, with his lips over hers, fingers interlocked he follows her lead, allows her to guide him, and slides into her slowly.
They cry out.
Shudder.
Reach for each other.
Their mutual sigh makes the world around them fall silent. For a moment the hot, hard surge of her husband quiets the voices in her head. It leaves her nothing but the feeling of completion, long before they ever start to move.
Castle drops to his elbows, the slightest movement a shallow, delicious burn, a flex and flare of please, now, don't stop that neither of them give voice to. Not wanting the moment to end, they prolong every touch.
He spreads her hair across his pillow, strokes her face and tilts her chin to see her eyes. He memorizes the anticipation as it changes her expression, the want and need in battle with her fierce yearning for a justice that exceeds her grasp fading out as she loses herself to everything between them.
He grinds against her, an unyielding, slow rotation, invading, stroking. Her head falls back, nails digging in tight, nerve endings firing, unrepentant as they bombard her with sensation.
It's too slow and not slow enough as it begins to build.
He feels the silken pull of her around him, the tightening and the heat that increases, eyes forced wide to watch as her body shakes, wracked with rolling shivers, muscles alive and jumping. Castle pulls out and slides back in, pausing then only to kiss the gasp that leaves her lips.
Entwined, tight, deep, his nails rake her skin with practised ease. He leaves trails up the backs of her thighs, white lines that blister, smouldering embers sparking to life in her veins.
She shudders perfectly.
Every inch of flesh toying with him. Warm and wet, the sounds her body makes as they pull apart and slide together are music to his ears.
A symphony of arousal he plays to the beat.
"It's your birthday, Kate," he hums, mouth open at the pulse in her neck, and nothing else matters but this. His wife and her birthday and this, this sinful line he licks across her cleavage, her breast to his mouth, he paints the nipple with his tongue before swallowing it up, thrusting hard when she cries out.
Hard again because she feels fantastic, hard again because she pleads, begs and threatens that he must, must, must never stop. Harder still because he can and he wants and -
"Yes, Castle, yes."
It's teeth and tongue and the drag of her hands sliding up his back.
Sweat slick and sweet.
She flexes, lifts her legs higher, pulls him deeper, faster, and locks her ankles. No escape.
His hot, hard thrusts begin losing rhythm. Building to something uncontrollable, pounding, blood thundering through their veins, urgency in every arch and bucking snap of hips that pulls them in tight together, they fight it. Pushing back as long as they can, prolonging the inevitable.
Castle fists his hands in her hair and kisses her, locks their fingers together high above her head and growls when her nails dig in.
Pain and pleasure ripples, she bites his lip, he pushes deep and circles so she cries out loud and the snapping repetition of his hips, the soft burning stroke, against that hammering pulse of ecstasy pushes her hard over the edge.
She shakes around him, cries his name.
White light flutters around her vision and her body contracts with force that makes her spine snap, muscles rigid and searing, unwinding as they drag him with her, rippling still when he falls into her and holds on, now fighting together for breath they cannot find.
Explosive, it wipes them out, leaves them sated and panting, quiet. They come down, in sync, long and slow, their bodies battling the reminders of what they can do to each other in the heat of the moment.
They touch and kiss, fall apart and roll to their backs, hands tangled, never breaking the hold. They ignore the threat of morning, of separation, the dark of night and the warmth of their bed enough to keep their secret.
Instead, they revel in the time they have.
"Best birthday ever?" He asks, at last breaking the silence, glad when he makes her laugh with his deliberate predictability.
"Not yet," Kate grins, throwing a long leg over his waist, going for a little predictability of her own when she settles perfectly into his lap. Kate smiles down at him, takes a moment to touch his face before rolling her hips, hair spilling around her face when she leans in, "But it will be."
Prompt : From a tweet written by Castle_Examiner
I have this headcanon now that Beckett's birthday turns out much the same way their anniversary did, because they can't keep away anymore.