Title: The lights go down - Chapter 11.5.

Summary: Bonus 'M' rated chapter. Goes with the story 'The Lights Go Down' at the end of chapter 11, and pre-chapter 12. Dedicated to Purplangel - she knows why.

Author: eyrianone

Rating: M - duh

A/N: If you haven't read the story this goes with 'The Lights go Down' this won't make a whole heap of sense. And forgive the cheesy last word - blame KB, she totally made me do it. I'll go hang my head in shame now . . . M rated fiction - oh boy!

Bonus Chapter: Post chapter 11 – pre chapter 12.

Somewhere in the back of his mind there is a silent litany of apologies that he's mentally sending to her. Sorry this is going to be fast . . . sorry this is going to be upright . . . sorry but this isn't going to be gentle . . . sorry this doesn't involve romance and silk sheets and gentle worship. Sorry this is all about need. Sorry this out of control.

Seriously out of control, because he has none. There's an almost animal need that's taken charge of his body and absolutely nothing that his civilized self can do about it.

He's wanted her too long.

Beckett is crammed between himself and his living room wall, forced up onto her tiptoes as he kisses her hungrily. He knows his partner is strong and combat trained but she feels tiny in his arms right now – a slender reed he could break if he's too rough with her but though he's very aware of her size it only fuels his desire more.

He breaks from taking her mouth to attack her neck, biting her rather than kissing her, branding her pale skin with his teeth and then soothing it with his tongue. Kate's fingers are entrenched in his hair as she offers more of her skin to him, the gasps escaping from her, the way she pulls his head closer to her – tells him that at least she isn't complaining.

Because she could easily stop him if she wanted too – he knows this – which is just as well the small thinking corner of his brain reasons - because he knows he can't stop this – what he's about to do – he couldn't stop it if he tried.

She's wearing too many clothes – damp clothes at that and the author pulls back enough to strip the upper half of her clothing from her body by yanking everything over her head.

He swallows harshly at the sight of her heaving chest – the black lacy bra, and so much Beckett skin he is momentarily forced to shut his eyes – God. He opens them again and finds himself staring at the slightly puckered bullet scar between her breasts – and his already elevated heart-rate kicks another notch higher. That bullet almost stole all of this from him – all this flushed skin and aching need and suddenly any more delay is just . . . unthinkable.

He kisses her again with apologies on his lips this time and the sting of tears in his eyes. He vaguely hears her 'ssshhhing' him and then she's kissing him back just as fiercely, but he wonders fleetingly if she comprehends just how desperate he now is. The scar – the reminder – the last twenty-four hours and he's on fire right now – he's just burning from within. Castle forces her back against the wall, can't even find the good grace to wince as her shoulders collide with the plaster. He keeps her there by the sheer strength of his kiss, both his hands going to the fly on her pants, the greedy fingers of his uninjured left hand finding their way inside.

Kate cries out – a needy breathless exclamation that sounds suspiciously like his last name, as his knuckles graze the dampness saturating her underwear. The heat of her against his wandering digits is scorching, so he pushes the barrier of her flimsy panties to the side and buries his fingers in her – swallowing her cry of surprise on his tongue.

His partner is wet and again the writer's eyes slam shut. Kate is seriously wet, her desire for him is coating his hand now and he can't contain his delight, groaning it into her mouth, as he feels himself grow harder in response - the ache in his groin becoming almost unbearable.

He has to be in her. Now. Five minutes ago would have been even better, but . . . he just pushes at her jeans, not caring about the sudden excruciating pain in his injured hand as he creates the minimum nakedness on her part that he needs.

He can feel her fingers against his stomach, busy at his belt buckle, and then she's mirroring his actions as she shoves at his jeans, pushing them over his hips, cupping him through his boxers, her hand stroking him all of twice before he's forced to push it away.

Anymore of that and he'll come – which he wants . . . needs to do, but inside her . . . it's his only thought now – get inside her.

Ignoring the pain now throbbing in his right hand he lifts her up, bracing her against the wall because though her jeans are tangled around her shins now, he's not stopping to remove them any further and except for her knees either side of his waist she cannot wrap her legs around him.

It seriously doesn't matter – this isn't exactly going to take long.

Her arms have wrapped around his neck, against his mouth she's whispering, pleading with him, and desperately urging him on.

"Now . . . now . . . please . . . now Castle . . . please . . . please."

He takes himself in hand, and then his bright blue eyes are boring into hers, one sure movement of his hips and . . . he takes her.

Slick and scalding heat envelops him and there's nothing he can do but move so he brings them together over and over until Kate's head slams back against the wall, a shrill keening cry echoes in his ears as he feels the intimate clench of her all around him.

"Oh God – Castle."

Moments, quick, frenzied, half-dressed dirty moments and Kate Beckett's coming apart around him and he's swears nothing – nothing has ever felt this good. He's seriously – he's dangerously close now, his movements are erratic, every thrust of his body into hers throwing her harder against the wall. He never wants it to stop but he's about to come, about to spill within her and it's this image that finally short-circuits his body. He bites down on her shoulder through the spasms – so hard there's a spot he actually breaks the skin – but by the shivers of ecstasy still thrumming through her he doesn't think Kate even cares.

They sink as one onto the floor, a heap with her in his lap, their foreheads touching, gasping for breath into each others sweat slickened faces.

"Kate . . . are you alright?' Sated, the red haze of their need dissipating, the chivalrous gentle side of him is becoming concerned.

But then she raises blissful, radiant eyes to look at him. He's never seen such joy on her face.

"Alright? Rick I'm . . . amazing . . . just, I'm so amazingly happy – that was . . . "

Relived he hasn't hurt her, the writer manages to grin.

"Quick?" He offers.

"I prefer passionate." She counters. "Beautiful in its way – because I've never felt needed like that Castle . . . never. God it feels so good . . . to be here like this – with you."

He leans into to kiss her – gently this time, no edge. "To be mine." He tells her.

Kate nods. "Always."