"There are a hundred ways for this to go," Kate breathed, but clearly. She knew Rick's most strongly erogenous zone was between his ears. "And I want all of them."
"In one night?"
"In a thousand nights. More."
"That's spaced a kinda long way apart." He gasped under her hand. Her enjoyment of that showed on her face.
"I like to reread things sometimes. They can get more complex. You find more in a story once you get through the essentials of the plot."
"The little details, the characterization…"
"The in-group jokes the author makes."
"But it's not the first time, then."
"And some writers get better as they get farther into the series—"
The first way was achingly sweet, tender, slow, measured, thoughtful. They have been dancing around this so long. They drew back together from the goodnight kiss that had grown carefully out of a goodnight hug to something less tentative. "Don't go," one of them said. "Stay here."
"Are you sure? I don't want you to feel pressured."
"You're not pressuring me. I'm your partner. I'm your friend, and I want you."
"Tonight."
"Not just for tonight. I wouldn't do that to you."
Another kiss, a longer kiss. "All right. I want to stay."
"Then take off your coat."
The next way was hard, fast, sweaty, mind-blowing, sudden.
One of them turned around and saw the other one's eyes on them and either knew what had happened, they were kissing as though it was about to be rationed, which it was, because they were both supposed to be somewhere else (each somewhere different) in a very short time, which would not include getting fresh clothes.
Their ruthless efficiency in getting half-naked did not involve the death or injury of any buttons or zippers, though likely there was elastic that would never be the same. Rick's hand moved from her waist to her breast and if Kate was offended she offered a new meaning to 'tit for tat,' though he had never heard anyone call his ass a 'tat.' He did not then have the presence of mind to think he needed ink there.
Another way was more gradual, since circumstances permitted some forethought, some guess that there was a reasonable chance that seduction would be part of the night's adventures.
Underwear was selected, people changed their sheets, the bath and shower was extra clean in case, and there was an option of romantic music on the stereo.
It was not ever set going, because they ended up on the (freshly vacuumed) carpet within ten minutes, before music but after one of them dropped a sealed can of Wild Cherry Polar Seltzer on the kitchen floor. For this chapter they both smelled like cherries.
The way it was one of of them was perfectly (perfectly) happy doing something for the other and found tears coming so hard they needed to stop and hold one another for twenty-five minutes— before beginning almost at the beginning again, once more— not that anyone had been lacking feeling — was not one either would have repeated, but it came to be recalled, physically if not always consciously, as an important time that made the subsequent times even richer.
The way it was when it turned out neither one of them was actually awake. But that was all right.
They decided the way that ended with Castle on crutches for a week and in an elastic ankle brace for most of a year was just about not worth it, except that Castle said the look on Beckett's face at the precinct gave him more similes than he'd need for the next three books.
They were not able to agree whether Cheshire cats grinned like that because of the cream in that county.
The way it was each time when Alexis left for college gradually became more bearable.
It got better when Kate realized she had been holding her breath through the end of Alexis's sophomore year even though Kate said she was not, in any way, a mom figure.
They did not ask Alexis.
The way it was after childbirth was punctuated.
It did allow them to feel like they were sneaking around again, which was fun.
Although? Accurate.
They never tried it at the Westminster Dog Show, anywhere on Coney or Staten Island, or Yankee Stadium.
They will not discuss Santorini, the top of the Monument to the Great Fire of London, or the quiet disused section of the Classical collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
But Castle found some of the vases inspiring.
They were separately, deeply, embarrassed about the way it was when they were both so angry at one another it was that or use an axe, firearm, or table lamp.
They knew when things were that fraught they really needed to talk about it, even though it was probably just as well to take the edge off somehow and, oh… MY.
The way it was on Christmas morning never got old.
Nonetheless, after the first year, Kate refused to allow the Neiman-Marcus catalogue in the house.
The way it was when no one was keeping count any more was not always spectacular, but something they would reread with bone-deep gratitude and astonished joy.
The way it was when they were old was better than they would ever have dreamed, and the wrinkles were not something they noticed when they were busy.
Neither of them knew when it was what would be the last way, but neither of them would have done anything different.