Because Castle+Beckett+a motorcycle=sexy time. Obviously.
—
Castle follows Kate out of his building and onto the street, then almost chokes when he sees what's parked in front of them. It isn't her cruiser. Or any car for that matter. It's a motorcycle. A sleek, shiny, black motorcycle that Kate is currently mounting.
He must make some ineloquent, garbled sound, because she casts him a pointed look, all raised eyebrows and flashing eyes and she is straddling her bike with her thighs and he can't even believe this is happening.
"You coming, Castle?" she asks, flipping her hair over her shoulder and sliding her helmet on.
God, she even makes safety look hot.
He suddenly appreciates her choice of outfit even more than he did twenty seconds ago: black jeans, black v-neck, black leather jacket, not to mention the dark, smoky eyes, mascara, and pink lips, all of it combining and melding together like something out of his fantasies.
She is amazing. And hot. And really sexy. And kinda slutty when she wants to be and he loves it.
"Seriously, Castle," she practically groans at him, totally impatient, "let's get a move on," and then she's turning on the ignition and kicking the bike into first gear and revving something and he thinks he might actually faint.
He stumbles towards her, eyes a little wide, completely falling in love with this badass, biker chick version of the woman he loves. It makes sense. Fits in nicely with all the other versions of her he's catalogued over the years—the straight-laced, by-the-book detective, the break-all-the-rules and fuck-anyone-who-tries-to-stop-me detective, the Kate that he's been waking up to all summer, nothing but soft curves and soft smiles and soft kisses, the Kate he sometimes gets to go to bed with, totally in charge and so hot he feels like he's going to burst into flames.
So many layers to the Beckett onion. She always keeps him guessing.
She thrusts a helmet at him that is not nearly as cool as hers but he could not care less as he puts it on and tightens the strap before hopping on the motorcycle behind her.
He's riding a motorcycle. With Beckett. He never thought this day would come.
He wraps his arms around her waist, pressing closer than is probably necessary, but she's just so hot and he cannot possibly be expected to keep his hands off her in a moment like this, let alone not take the opportunity to align the plane of her back to his chest and slide forward on the leather seat so that her ass fits snugly in the v of his legs.
He thinks he hears her gasp a little when he locks his arms around her waist, hands settling low on her stomach, but he can't be sure because she's pulling out into traffic and then he can't hear anything except his pounding heart and the roar of the wind in his ears.
—
She takes the long way to the precinct, adds about twenty minutes to the commute and he loves her for it, cannot stop grinning as they zoom along. Heads turn as they zip around corners or pause at stop signs and he knows they're not looking at him, but who even cares when he is the one who gets to be with her and put his hands all over her.
She rolls into the parking garage a little before nine and cuts the engine, pulling her helmet off and shaking out her hair, whipping him in the face a little. Now that there's no wind he suddenly realizes how fantastic she smells—like leather and fruity shampoo and the tangy zip of her perfume underneath it all.
She doesn't make a move to get up and he follows her lead, though he gentles his grip around her waist, sliding his palms back so that they bracket her waist. She unzips her jacket and lets out a long sigh, before leaning back against him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.
Huh. He wasn't expecting that. He thought she'd be annoyed at him for being overly handsy or almost making them late or something. Not that he's complaining.
He sits there reveling in the closeness until he feels her shift on the seat, grinding back against him a little. Oh. She's turned on. Maybe as turned on as he is and this morning is turning into so many fantasies rolled into one that he thinks he might not survive.
He quickly undoes his own helmet, resting it against the back of the bike, before glancing around them and grinning when he finds the parking garage blessedly empty. He squeezes her hips lightly with his fingers, before sliding his hands forward, rucking up her shirt so that he can press his palms against her bare skin.
Her breath hitches, her fingers squeezing reflexively where they rest on his thighs. She scoots back at the same time he scoots forward and he has to bite back a groan because there is zero space between them and she must be able to feel how turned on he is by what they are doing.
She turns her head to the side, craning her neck so that she can press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, light and questing. He tilts his head down and meets her lips in a gentle kiss that quickly spirals out of control. She parts her lips to the slide of his tongue and he groans at the taste of her, the heat of her, the way she gives back as good as she gets.
He dips his fingers lower, underneath the waistband of her tight, tight jeans and she breaks the kiss long enough to let out a breathy yes that echoes in the large garage, bouncing off the metal rafters above them.
"We're going to be late," he points out, feels like he needs to before he can't, before he's not able to stop.
She thinks about it for about half a second, then mutters, "So?" making him grin, because the whole situation is basically amazing. Beckett is hot for him, wants to have sex with him on her motorcycle, so badly that she's willing to risk the wrath of Gates.
Best. Day. Ever.
He presses a kiss to her neck, sucking hard enough to make her gasp, but not hard enough to leave a mark. It would be difficult to make anyone believe any viable excuse for being late if she's standing there with a fresh hickey on her neck.
She sighs, a breathy little whimper that has heat zipping through his bloodstream. She reaches up and wraps a hand around the back of his neck and reaches for the button on her jeans with the other, undoing it one-handed and dragging the zipper down, a hint if he ever saw one.
He doesn't tease her, just slips his hand down her stomach, bypassing her underwear to slide two fingers against her, brushing his thumb over her clit. She arches into his hand, trapping it against the tight fabric of her pants. He splays his free hand against her stomach, holding her in place so he has room to maneuver, and picks up a rhythm that he knows will work her up quickly.
She moans his name, all husky and wanting, and he turns his head so that he can see her face, watch her expression as he works her over. Her eyes are closed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her cheeks flushed pink. He glances down and finds he has a nice view straight down the front of her shirt, has to bite back a groan because shit she is so hot, chest heaving, fingers curling lightly around his wrist, guiding him a little until he finds the perfect spot that has her tensing in his arms and coming apart with a sob of release that she muffles by craning her neck and pressing her mouth against his throat.
She goes slack against him, boneless and a little out of breath. He keeps his fingers circling lightly until he's sure she's done, then buttons up her jeans for her and reaches up with his other hand to push the hair out of her eyes and off her sweaty forehead.
He moves to get off the bike, contemplating heading into the locker room to take a cold shower (or seven) when she spins around on the seat with surprising speed and agility, hooks her legs around his waist and grinds herself against his crotch.
He lets out a strangled fuck, automatically reaching out to wrap his arms around her waist, hauling her close enough to kiss.
"Didn't think I'd leave you hanging, did you, Castle?" she breathes into his lips, hips rolling against his in tight circles and god how can she make a pun sound that sexy?
"I, uh…wasn't sure," he manages to get out as she sinks against him again and he can tell it's working for her too, can feel her body coiling with renewed need as she moves against him, soft, breathy moans of yes and Castle falling from those pink, thoroughly-kissed lips.
He manages to wait until her orgasm crests, until her back bows and she shudders against him before he lets go, pressing his mouth to hers in a sloppy, wet kiss, all tongue and teeth and lips, as they both come down from their high.
She melts into him, presses her face into his neck, completely spent. He really does not want to go inside. He kind of wants to stay in the parking garage all day or keep riding with her on her motorcycle or something.
It's going to take a seriously exciting murder to top what just happened.
"We should head in," she mumbles against his shirt collar, sounding just about as enthusiastic as he feels.
"Yeah," he agrees.
He stands up off the bike and she follows, but is still boneless enough that she stumbles a little. He reaches out to steady her, chuckling softly, and draws her into his chest, leaning down to press a light kiss to her lips.
"Feeling a little wobbly?" he murmurs, can't help it. He still can't get over the fact that he has this much effect on her.
She gives him a look, but it lacks her usual edge. "Don't get cocky."
"Too late," he says, grinning and hugging her tighter.
She rolls her eyes and pushes him away with a light shove to his chest. Spins on her heel and begins to stride away from him. He jogs after her, catching up quickly. "So, Beckett, did you like riding with me?"
"Shut up, Castle."
"Because that was really the ride of my life, if you know what I mean."
"Castle."
"You really rev me up. Get my engines running. Spark my plugs. Kick me into high gear."
"I am so close to pulling out my gun, you have no idea."
They reach the elevator and she presses the call button a little more forcefully than usual, before turning towards him and pressing a finger to the center of his chest. "I just gave you sex in a parking garage on my motorcycle. You better behave or you are taking a cab home."
He sobers up immediately, because she kind of has a point and he also really wants to go for another ride on her motorcycle and—
Shit. That's just too good. He knows he should shut up, but—
"I can't wait to go for another rideon your motorcycle, Detective."
"Cab it is, then."
—
Reviews=love.
In other news, I am currently watching the new promo on repeat and fangirling everywhere. So many feels. I can't even take it.