Yeah, still not owning them.

Any fool knows that bravado is always a cover-up for insecurity. That's the truth. And on that note, I'll say goodnight. God love you. - Bobby Darin

Castle moves in close, pressing his lips to hers and breathing her in. She tastes like coffee and red wine, rich and tangy. She kisses him back, matching his slow pace, gentle, giving him such intense feelings.

Acceptance, passion. Love, though she'd never admit it. Not yet.

His heart beats fast and erratic as her body trembles beneath him; her breathing is shallow and she grits out his name on a moan as his fingers brush over her nipples. He wonders how it got so heated, so fast.

Of their own volition, his hands flounder when she reaches for his belt buckle and with a pang of regret, he pulls away.

"Kate, you don't need to…"

She doesn't need to what? Damn his stupid mouth and his even more stupid mind. He's dreaming. He has to be. Because when does Richard Castle turn down the affections of this gorgeous creature underneath him? It's insanity. A nightmare. It has to be.

"Need to what?" she asks from behind hooded eyelids.

He sighs and rolls them again so that she is once again on top of him.

"You don't need to prove anything to me, Kate."

She searches his face, her eyes liquid and golden brown in the soft light of the living room.

He could smack himself. That isn't what he meant. Only… it is, isn't it? As much as he likes to put on the devil may care façade, he's terrified of what she might think of him. And he's just gone and piled his own insecurities onto her. She wasn't kissing him because she's avoiding a serious talk with sex; she's kissing him because she likes him. She told him so herself, not two minutes ago.

He watches as her mind clicks over from lust to close scrutiny; the black of her pupils recedes and the flecks of emerald green that he loves begin to creep back in.

She runs a thumb down his jaw, a little bit less than gentle, cupping his face with one hand and locking his eyes onto her own. It almost hurts, both her touch and her gaze. She's eyeing him like a suspect.

Suddenly, he's a little afraid. When she looks at him like this it feels like she can see into his soul. And he feels like he's done enough baring of that for one night.

"Is that what you think this is?" she asks, hurt and anger in her tone of voice.

He splays his hands on either side of her torso and runs a soothing motion up and down her sides. It doesn't work.

She knocks his hands away and instead kisses him again, biting down hard on his lower lip and nimbly unbuttoning his shirt in a matter of seconds.

"Is that what you want it to be, Castle?"

She practically rips off the shirt and tosses it aside in one swift motion; his body flops back down onto the sofa with an oof when she's done with him. She reaches for his pants then but he stops her with a hard kiss, bruising and full of passion.

"Kate, stop," he grunts harshly, because now she is doing exactly what he had accused her of. Her hands somehow find their way into his pants and she cups him in her palm, squeezes and elicits a gasp from him.

"Beckett."

She stills and he takes the opportunity to sit them both upright again. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair and she ducks her head in shame as they both take ragged breaths.

"It's just sometimes…" he starts, "we're just so good at that…"

He smiles and waits until she meets his gaze. She grins back and nods, knowing exactly what he's talking about. There's certainly no argument between them in the sex department.

"I wonder if maybe we should be better at the other by now."

"I thought we were doing pretty good at both tonight actually."

"Yeah, we were," he agrees, still wanting to smack himself for ruining it all earlier.

"So," she says. "Obviously you weren't done when I assured you that I liked you."

"Yeah, I guess not."

She turns and leans into the arm of the couch, patting between her thighs and beckoning him to come lay down between them. He comes willingly; it'll be easier if they don't have to be face to face. She runs her fingers through his hair, her nails softly scraping his scalp. She places a kiss atop his head and wraps her arms around his waist.

"You gonna talk about it now?" she asks.

"Do I have to?"

It's whiny; he knows it. But nobody has ever really called him out on his bullshit before. She'd let him off easy earlier and he's beginning to realize that with Kate, he doesn't want her to. And that's why he made the comment that had gotten them into this mess.

Slowly she has begun to push, to delve into what makes him the man he is. It's terrifying. He has, more than once, accused her of hiding behind walls but it turns out he has a few of his own.

"Talk to me, Rick."

It's the way she says his name that does it. The gentle, calm, smoothness of it. She's not going to judge him.

"I'm a needy man, Kate."

She softly snorts behind him. He smiles; can imagine her smirk, the eye roll.

"I'm beginning to realize that."

She rubs soft circles on his earlobe, the gentle tugging motion easing the tension in his head.

"All my life," he begins, "I've been trying to prove myself. To my mother, my friends at school, my fans and my critics."

"Castle, you don't need to prove yourself to me," she cuts in.

He knows. Deep down he knows. But until he hears it there's always going to be that niggling little voice of self-doubt telling him that it isn't true. That she will leave him once she learns that he isn't the man he has made himself out to be. It's been twenty years since he's been in a relationship that he can truly say was about nothing but love and even that was fairly short-lived. It's coming up on their one year anniversary and neither of them has said what he knows they both feel. He has been holding out, waiting for her to be ready, too scared to feel the sting of rejection again. And Kate, he suddenly realizes she might be doing the same. The two occasions he had voiced what he feels had been under less than ideal circumstances. Maybe she's just as afraid that he only used those words to sway her; to make a choice to live, to walk away.

It's not entirely untrue. He's done it before.

Meredith, Alexis loves you. I love you. Stay.

We work well together, why not get married, Gina? I love you.

He didn't even mean it then. He knows that now. Lust, affection, suitability. Maybe a close facsimile, but he really had no idea.

Kyra, I love you. Just stay. We'll work it out.

He'd meant it that time. Kyra had walked out the week before their one year anniversary.

Huh.

Abruptly, he knows exactly what this is all about. That insecure little part of his brain that still can't accept that this thing with Kate is real is rearing its ugly head and trying to sabotage it before he can get hurt again.

Stupid brain.

"Maybe I want to prove myself to you," he says. "To have you like me. Maybe the thought of you not liking me takes me back to being seven years old and told that even my father didn't love me enough to stay, so why would they want to like me."

He feels her suck in a ragged breath behind him.

"Who told you that, Castle? I'll shoot them."

Her voice is fierce, protective. He thinks she might actually do it.

"Jimmy Nadler. Captain of the Castle Hill little league team."

"You played little league"

He chuckles, his voice wry when he speaks. "For exactly one summer season. They hated me."

"I'll beat him over the head with a baseball bat then. It'll be more poetic that way."

God, he loves her.

"Aw, Detective Beckett, you really do like me," he says instead.

"You know I do," she murmurs, low and throaty. "So, Castle Hill, huh? The Bronx? That's a pretty rough neighborhood."

"Yeah, well, single, starving-artist mother, the seventies. You know how it is."

The neighborhood had actually played a large part in shaping him. The man he had become. School bullying aside; he had some very fond memories of the area. There was so much diversity, packed extremely tight into just a few city blocks. It's why he had…

"Oh my god. Castle! Is that where the name comes from?"

He laughs. If that isn't the inner fangirl coming out to play, then he doesn't know what is. He gasps dramatically and turns to look at her, smirking.

"You're not gonna post it on the fan-sites are you?"

He gives her a leer and a wink and her gaze narrows.

"Keep it up lover boy, and you'll be riding the fuck truck to pound town all by yourself tonight."

He coughs, almost gags on his own saliva at her filthy language.

Recovering he finally chokes out, "Maybe I just want to snuggle."

She raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow and wiggles as though trying to dislodge herself from under him.

"K, then."

And maybe she's not ready to say it yet, but he can at least give her a little push.

"Katherine Beckett, don't you even consider leaving this loveseat."

"Love seat, huh? Looks more like a sofa to me. Maybe a couch."

Oh, she's already on to him, isn't she? He should know better than to try and trick her into anything.

"You prefer wench-bench?"

And there goes the other brow.

"You're calling me a wench now, Ricky?"

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Backpedal, Rick.

"No, definitely not. A fair maiden you are. A forgiving young lass; gracious muse and the girl of my dreams."

She smirks, nods her head and then suddenly he's underneath her.

Whoa!

"Kick. Ass." he breathes, appreciatively. "Do it again."

She laughs, deftly undoing his belt buckle. He doesn't stop her this time.

"Now where would be the fun in that? There's no element of surprise. No mystery."

He rests his arms behind his head, enjoying himself as she takes control.

She alternates between kissing him and getting the rest of his clothes off as quickly as possible; her actions become almost frantic. His belt flies off and lands on the other side of the coffee table. Down comes the zipper of his jeans and then she's working the pants down his legs like a pro. He stares at her in awe, his limbs heavy, like lead, as she works her magic and traces her path with wet presses of her mouth.

She shimmies back up his body and gives him one last kiss before getting up off the couch.

Wait. What?

He watches in wonder and lets out the breath he's been holding as she seductively removes her shirt, followed by the camisole; her pants and heels. Finally she stands before him in just her bra and panties. Matching white lace, a small pink heart between her breasts; she's the very picture of virtue.

Ha!

As his mind numbly tries to catalogue and memorize that picture, she moves back in and again straddles his thighs. His mind is blank, can think of nothing but "Jesus" and "I'm the luckiest man alive".

Her lace-covered breasts rub against his chest, her panties against his hard on, setting him aflame. Completely aware of how very unmanly it sounds, he is powerless to stop the whine that escapes his lips as she grinds herself up and down his torso.

"Cat got your tongue, Castle?"

"Cat's got something alright," he grunts, thrusting with his hips and letting her know exactly what she is doing to him.

She moans into his mouth and he groans as her tongue slips inside. Their tongues tango as he runs his hands down her spine and nudges his hands beneath her underwear. He massages her, kneading and working ever lower until the tips of his fingers are met with the slick warmth of her arousal. She lifts her ass to gain him easier access and he slips one finger inside.

Her eyes drift shut and she arches her back, dangling her breasts tantalizingly in front of his face. He's not one to miss out on an opportunity when it presents itself.

His breath quickens as he removes his other hand from her rear to guide a breast to his mouth.

"Castle," she sighs, her hips rolling as he strokes her.

He takes a rosy, lace-covered nipple between his lips then, lets his tongue flick over the puckered flesh and rough material. She moans and falls into him, and he suckles her, taking more of her breast into his mouth.

"Please," she whimpers into his neck.

"You like that?"

"Oh, god," she moans. "Yes. More."

He quickly rolls her panties down her thighs, as far as he can manage and she wiggles to help him along, letting out an impatient grunt as they wobble precariously for a second on the narrow couch. She quickly sits back up, rolls her eyes for good measure and finishes the job for him. He reaches behind her to unclasp the damp bra as she settles herself above him and lowers herself onto his throbbing erection. The bra lands next to his belt.

Both of them gasp as she sinks down and he enters her. He grinds his teeth and thinks of baseball to keep from coming undone.

Slowly, she begins to move and they fall into an unhurried, almost languid rhythm.

"I like this too," she says with a smile as she undulates her hips.

He feels every tremble and each quiver as her body constricts around him, slowly bringing him closer to the edge. He brings his hands between them, keeping steady eye contact as his thumb makes contact with her swollen bundle of nerves. She cries out and her eyes close as he makes ever quickening circles and sends her to the brink.

"I like you," he says meaningfully.

Her eyes snap open and her mouth opens on a gasp as she comes for him. Over him. Around him.

That's all it takes. Release coils low in his abdomen, an almost painful pressure, and then he is free, floating high as a kite and into a night sky filled with stars.

She collapses onto him; he feels shaky and weak.

"I like you too," she whispers into his ear.

She raises her head then and looks up at him with such tenderness in her eyes. He feels like weeping. He might. He knows what she means.

Instead he says what he should have been saying all along. He presses two fingers to her lips, so she understands that there's no pressure.

"I love you, Kate."

A/N: Thanks to the Aussie pervs for tempting me with the "SnuggleF*%k" image. You all know the one that I'm talking about.

An extra special, smoochy thanks to Kellie for being my beta on the fly.

"Sodden are for panties because unless she's lactating, the only source of moisture is his mouth and ewwww sloppy kisser! Panties...can be sodden for reasons other than... erm... mouths. This is going to be one of those comments you put on your timeline, isn't it? Oh well."

Nah, Kel. I decided it'd be WAY better in the author notes. Muah!