She never told him about the dreams.
Even after he came back - even after the many conversations they had, even after finding the answers to what took him away, even after spending entire afternoons in bed, intimately re-acquainting themselves with one another's bodies - she never told him about the dreams. But she remembered them. She would always remember them.
Sleeping had been impossible during the first few weeks following his disappearance. Kate stayed up all night, scouring every police database, chasing down every possible lead, anything to explain her should-be husband's disappearance. Where did he go? Who took him? What did they want with him? And why on her wedding day? The questions kept her up, her mind racing, unable to quiet the fear that grew louder every day.
She wouldn't have slept at all, if it hadn't been for a stern motherly talk from Martha. Day eighteen of Castle's disappearance had provided no more information than day one, and Martha could see that Kate needed the permission to rest, even for just one night.
"Let two of these dissolve in your mouth and get yourself in bed" was the instructions Kate had received from Martha. The small red tablets were herbal, not chemical, which made Kate feel a little better, although she was still wary about taking any sleeping aide. But she did as she was told, and the evening of Day Eighteen marked the first evening Kate had slept through the night.
But her sleep was not without dreams. And with the dreams came Castle.
In her dreams he always came back to her, whispering apologies, professions of love, promises to never go away again.
Each dream started the same: the feeling of him pushing the covers back, sliding himself into bed next to her. He would press his lips to the skin behind her ear, running his hand lightly down her arm until he found her hand, holding it and squeezing gently. The dreams were always slightly different, but they all played out in the same way.
She would stir, not quite awake, but not quite asleep anymore either. He would place another kiss, this time on her neck, his tongue sucking ever so slightly. A soft moan would escape from her mouth, her body shifting closer to his. He would remove his hand from hers, letting it shape the outline of her body, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip, until it rested on the hem of her sweatpants, his fingers dipping just underneath the cotton fabric, beginning to trace small circles with the pad of his thumb.
Another moan, another hitch in her breathing, and he worked his hand even lower still, nudging her thighs open, his fingers dancing their way through her trimmed curls, parting her folds, pressing her clit.
Kate would gasp, fully aware now, feeling the warmth of her desire flow it's way south to her core. Castle would continue his exploration, teasing her clit with his thumb as he slid one finger inside her, feeling her walls clench desperately.
The roll of her hips would be almost involuntary, chasing his movements, wanting him closer, needing to feel him inside her. Instead of more, he would remove his fingers completely, leaving her aching, wanting, desperate.
His touch would return almost as soon as it had left, his lips replacing his fingers, his tongue darting out, sucking on her clit. A moan would pierce the silence of the bedroom, soft and breathless and panting. Castle would quicken his pace, his fingers tightening their grip on Kate's thighs, and he would taste her completely, working his way from her opening back to her clit, his tongue matching the staccato beat of her heart.
The sensations would be too much - Kate's senses were in overdrive, every inch of her body aching, set on fire by Castle's tongue, his hands, the nearness of him. She would feel her release building, that molten heat bundling inside of her, coiling tighter, winding itself in her core, because of him. Always because of him.
"Castle…" she would breathe, making him flick his tongue a little faster, a little harder, right there, exactly where she wants him, her release so close, just a little bit more, rolling her hips once, twice, a third time…
The third roll of her hips would always be the one to wake her. Kate jerked awake, arching her back and swallowing hard, panting.
She sat up in bed, taking a moment to look around her bedroom. She was alone - always alone - her sheets a tangled mess, a sheen of sweat covering her body. It was a dream, it was just a dream. The rational part of her knew it had always been a dream. But she could still feel Castle beside her, the ghost of his touch sending goosebumps down her arms.
Her orgasm was fading, replaced by a deeper exhaustion than before. She sighed heavily, laying back down against the mattress, drifting off again, into another restless sleep.
That night marked the beginning of many nights to come: dissolve two small red tablets before bed and wait for the welcoming darkness to take her. With the darkness came Castle, each version more erotic than the last, each dream pushing Kate to the very edges of ecstasy, only to pull her back again as she woke.
Kate cried that first night after Castle was cleared to leave the hospital. He held her close as they slept, not questioning her tears, never knowing it was because of the solidity, the validation, the knowledge that this was real, not just another dream.
She never told him of the dreams. But she remembered them.