A/N: A birthday present for my beloved Jennifer. You know how sorry I am that it's late.
She loves the way he loves her in the sunlight.
His hand slips into hers as they meander down the path, fingers wriggling for purchase until they're anchored together. The move makes her have to step closer to him, the heat of his side seeping through her hoodie. It's not a cold day but it is a little chilly on this tree-covered walkway. She sees the sun spilling over an expanse of green grass to the right and is about to ask him if they can head that way when he tugs on her hand and leads her in that exact direction. Because of course he knew what she wanted before she even asked. He always has.
The trees become sparser and the sun dapples across the path. It catches in the mahogany and copper and goldenrod of her hair, in the cerulean and cobalt and cyan of his eyes. His steps falter a bit and when she glances over at him, he's smiling at her, wonder and affection swimming in those blue irises. It settles warm in her heart, tugs the corners of her mouth upward, the knowledge of how much he loves her leaving her a little breathless.
They walk across the grass for a bit before he halts his steps, sets down the picnic basket he's been carrying while she spreads out the blanket she had draped over her arm. They lounge on the ground sipping wine and nibbling on cheese and fruit. They make up stories of the other park-goers; the young couple with the toddler were high school sweethearts, the guys tossing a Frisbee back and forth are secret agents watching the man on the bench in the trench coat, the woman with the ice cream cone just had to have her dog put down and is drowning her sorrows.
She finishes her wine and reaches across him to place the glass in the basket. When she moves to settle back where she was, his hand closes around her wrist and gently pulls her to lay with him. He's on his side, head propped against his palm and she lies on her back, her side flush along his front. He moves his hand from her wrist, skimming the backs of his fingers down her side before resting it against her stomach, warm and heavy. Comforting. She sighs and wriggles in a little closer, swinging a leg over his. He drops a kiss to her forehead, her nose, her mouth, lingering on the latter with such tenderness that she can't help the soft whimper that escapes her throat. He brings his hand to her face, traces a finger across her cheekbone, her jaw, rubs his thumb over her lower lip. He watches the path of his fingers as if he's trying to memorize what they're mapping out.
His eyes meet hers and he looks embarrassed for a moment when he realizes that he's been caught staring but she just shrugs because she was doing the same to him. She stretches her neck up to press another kiss against his lips before snuggling against him once more, the sun's rays and Castle's love keeping her warm.
She loves the way that he loves her in fire light.
The ocean crashes against the sand, the constant droning creating a lulling white noise that causes her eyelids to droop and her body to relax. He chuckles, the gentle movement waking her.
"Are you falling asleep on me?" Castle asks teasingly.
"Yes," she answers, unashamed at her action. "This is what you get when you feed me good food and wine and then make me lay down in front of a fire."
"Make you? I don't recall you fighting me at all." His arm tightens against her side, pulling her even closer to him, her head on his chest, arm across his stomach, their legs intertwined as they lay on the lounge chair.
She forces her eyes open and cranes her neck to look at him, attempting a playful glare but knowing that she's far too drowsy to be pulling it off. She drops the pretense and instead watches the way that the light from the fire pit plays across his brow, his nose, his lips. She wants to kiss him but is so tired that she can't even summon the strength to close the inches that separate them. She settles for pressing her lips to his chest through the cotton of his shirt as she lays her head down again.
His fingers trip up and down her side, traveling from her hip to her ribs and back again. The motion is soothing and almost unconscious, evidence of how comfortable they really are with each other. She releases a long breath, melting against him.
"Sleep, Kate," he whispers into her hair, lips pressing against her crown.
She does, the flickering vestiges of the fire flashing through her closed eye lids, the sound of the ocean and his steady breathing drawing her under.
She loves the way he loves her in florescent light.
It's been a long day. More interviews than she can keep track of and three arrests since six this morning but finally a confession from a co-worker that was jealous of their victim's relationship. An argument and a shove down a flight of stairs that tragically ended a young life. Now two lives are ruined as Beckett watches the young woman be escorted out of interrogation in handcuffs.
Castle is at her desk, gathering an embarrassing number of coffee cups from its surface, a sheaf of papers tucked under his arm. As she nears him, she realizes that it's their victim's phone records that he had gone over this morning. He was the one that noticed the pattern of phone calls that caused them to bring in the young woman that became their murderer. Her mouth curves in a soft smile as she remembers him hunched over the table in the conference room, papers spread around him, holding a highlighter between his teeth, brows knit together in concentration.
"Let me take that for you," she says, grasping the papers he has wedged between his arm and his side.
"Thanks. There wasn't anywhere to put them so I was cleaning up." He holds up his hands, fingers laced through multiple mug handles.
"It's been a long day."
"That it has," he agrees. "Need me to fill one of these up to fuel you through paperwork?"
"That would be great." She can't help but reach out and run a hand along his forearm in thanks.
"Be right back." His voice is lower than it was a moment ago, the low timbre rumbling in his chest, down his arm, through her hand. She suppresses a shudder but not her joy that they can still do this to each other. A simple touch and an innocent statement feeding that flame that always burns between them.
He clears his throat quietly and hurries away to the break room, her fingers brushing his arm as he goes. She takes a shaky breath and turns to the disaster of papers on her desk, settling in her chair to get to work. She's separating the mess into documents that pertain to their confessed murderer and those that lead to other suspects when a mug appears in front of her, a carefully constructed heart floating on the top of the foam. She smiles to herself, waiting for him to sit in his chair and sliding her eyes over to him when he does. He's sipping his own coffee but raises his eyes to hers, projecting an innocence that she is intimately aware he does not possess.
She picks up the mug and takes a sip, eyes fluttering shut as the creamy liquid slides over her tongue. The familiarity of the taste is a comfort to her as is the man watching her when she opens her eyes. She knows that later the symbolism of the coffee will be replaced with his hands spanning her waist and his lips sliding over hers but for now, she's content with the warm mug in her hand and her partner at her side.
She loves the way he loves her in the moonlight.
Her eyes remain closed as his hands begin mapping her skin, the backs of her eyelids are as dark as the sky but his touch sparks pinpoints of light that dot her vision with the twinkle of stars barely seen. He presses his lips to the nape of her neck, her shoulder blades, her spine before nudging her to turn to face him, his lips finally claiming hers.
It's quieter when they do it like this, the rustle of the sheets, the wet slide of lips and an occasional breathy moan the only sounds that fill the room. They're gentle with each other in the night time. Perhaps it's a side effect of the fact that they're both barely awake or perhaps reverence for the late hour but their touches are softer, their coupling slower. She takes her time with her hands, sliding and squeezing them all over him, his thighs, his buttocks, slides her palms up his back before slipping over to grip his biceps as he positions his knee between her thighs, encouraging her to open.
When he enters her, their bodies snugly joined, she sighs at the rightness of the sensation. They move together to find the perfect rhythm, seeming to both sense what speed they need tonight. She rises up, up, up, softly cresting higher until she can hold no more pleasure. When she breaks open, he's there too, right with her. Always with her.
I'd love to know what you think.
(This is terribly un-betaed because Jenn's the one that usually does that for me. Sorry for any typos.)