Feels Like Home II: Come In To Play.
AN: Follow-up piece to 4x17 "Once Upon a Crime." Also contains slight references to 4x07 "Cops and Robbers." Can loosely be considered a sequel to my story "Feels Like Home" (hence the title). It is not imperative to have read that one; however it may make more sense if you did; put you in the right mood. :)
AN: To Joy… for keeping the faith. :)
She only realizes what she's done when her palm comes to rest against his knee, his larger hand heavy on top of hers, their fingers laced together. It was automatic, the way she reached for him, she didn't even think about it.
He holds her there and it hits her hard, the heat of his leg seeping into the skin of her hand. The novelty of touching him so freely. The familiarity of being this close, their bodies side by side. The ease of their patterns.
All of this is familiar. She's been here before, months ago, and since. Welcomed inside like it was the most normal thing in the world for her to just walk into his loft with him. Welcomed into the arms of this family like she belonged with them.
Oh. Oh God. They are already a couple! Aren't they?
She hastily swallows a large swig of champagne, the fizz of the drink rising through her head, making her nose itch and her forehead sting.
An old married couple, so familiar with each other that there is no need for words, gravitating toward each other naturally, but no longer sparkling with passion and desperate need. Or maybe just a couple of friends, best friends at that, familiar and loving each other, but not in love, no spark. Is that what they are, where they are?
Did they miss their chance?
Her heart thumps painfully against her ribs. She has to fight to keep the swell of tears away, the rising panic. No, oh please, no. They can't… She squeezes his fingers tightly, almost a reflex. Looks at him from the side.
He's been so careful with her, giving her time and space, she can't even express how much his consideration, his respect, mean to her. And yet, and yet, she needs to admit that sometimes she misses it. The innuendos, the flirtations, the way they'd tease each other until even she expected them to spontaneously go up in flames of explosive passion.
Now they are comfortable. She knows he loves her; she's come to rely on it, that warm tender feeling inside of her, holding her up. But…
He notices her staring, turns his head. His gaze locks onto hers and the dark depths of his irises blaze through her like fire in her veins. Her stomach drops at the dark, almost desperate need that glazes his eyes, and her body flushes, hot and tingly, almost weightless with an ache for his touches all over her skin.
He schools himself quickly, levels his gaze to tender adoration and a friendly smile, but she's seen it, oh yes she's definitely seen it.
She tries to calm down the quivers inside of her, mentally tallies the scorecard in her head. Passion: Check.
Next point: Courage.
When Martha hands her another glass of champagne, she takes it.
"Did you have a good time, kiddo?" Martha sidles up next to her after the end of her performance.
"Oh I did!" Kate smiles brightly, lifts her glass to toast with the older woman. "Thank you for the private performance. You were amazing!"
"Thank you Darling." She sips from her glass. "Now, in the interest of not embarrassing my son any further in front of you," she swirls her hand through the air in an encompassing gesture, "I should admit that some things were perhaps slightly embellished."
Kate grins against the rim of her glass. "I know."
"It's just…" Martha grips her glass tighter, turns serious. "I did the best I could, with him," she admits, and there's a quiet need in her voice, for acceptance and understanding, that deeply tugs at Kate's heart.
"You did," she reassures Martha, turns to look at her. "He is…" Her gaze wanders to the other side of the room, where he is quietly talking with is daughter. The smile on her face appears naturally, an effortless transformation when she sees him happy, relaxed, safe.
"…wonderful," she sighs.
Martha bumps her shoulder against Kate's, startles her out of her reverie. She swivels around, meets Martha's eyes, but the older woman only lifts her eyebrows at her, smiles knowingly.
Then she turns and starts walking toward the front door.
"Alexis, come on let's go!" She yells over her shoulder while she slips into her coat.
"What drunken debauchery are you dragging my daughter to this time, Mother?" Castle follows behind Alexis, but stops to stand next to Kate.
"Oh nonsense Darling," Martha waves away his teasing concerns. "We are just taking Martin out to dinner, as a thank you for his excellent work with writing the play."
She ushers Martin and Alexis out the door, then calls over her shoulder on her way out.
"Enjoy the rest of your date!"
It feels like deja-vu. She's been here before. Sitting on his couch, across from him, sipping a drink, talking. Only this time, it doesn't follow an escape from near death, a too-close call, emotions high and raw. It's just been a regular day, a regular case, of sorts, and then they came home. No, not her home, here. Together. Spend time with his family. Together. And now they are sitting on his couch, together. In his home.
It simmers inside of her, warm and achy and deep. She just… wants to stay.
"Worst fairytale?" He quizzes her and she doesn't need to think long about that one.
"The original 'Little Mermaid'. Talk about depressing. That gave me bad dreams as a kid." She mentally shakes herself free of the mental image, changes the category.
"Funniest Disney quote?"
"Hmm," he narrows his eyes, taps a finger against his lip while he contemplates. She imagines it to be her fingers that touch his lip, how soft it would feel. Heat unfurls low in her abdomen, and she scoots closer, rests her elbow on the back of the couch.
"I'd have to say Aladdin, when he says, 'Look at that Abu, it's not everyday you see a horse with two rear ends,'" he recites.
She snorts. "Figures you'd like that!"
"Hey!" He sticks out his lip in an exaggerated pout, pokes her arm, and she laughs. Leaving his hand resting against her forearm, he smiles warmly at her. "Your turn. Sweetest Disney moment?"
He rubs his hand along her arm, up and down in slow strokes. She isn't sure he even notices his mindless gesture and yet her skin is sparkling under his touch. Her eyes flutter; she has a hard time keeping them open.
"Lady and the Tramp," she admits.
"Ah the spaghetti moment," he chuckles quietly, his face near hears.
Was he this close before?
Her heart is leaping inside her chest; so little space between them that she can feel his breath caressing her face. His hand travels up her arm until he lays it on her shoulder, warm and heavy, an anchor to her fluttering nerves.
She lets her head fall to the side, rests her cheek against his fingers for a moment, relaxes against his touch. She opens her eyes, looks up at him from under her lashes.
And there it is again, that dark passion, that desperate need in his eyes that she's been missing, and she wants it, wants to hold on to it, grab it and fall into it.
Her breath hitches, she swallows forcefully. The words dance out of her mouth, almost of their own volition, soft and aching.
"I want to stay here tonight," she confesses.
His eyes widen, his hand contracting against her shoulder. "Uh yeah… sure," he stumbles through his answer, then catches himself, clears his throat. "The guest room is prepared."
She slides out her arm, curls her hand around the curve of his waist, pulls her body closer to his. Shaking her head slightly, she whispers close to his mouth. "Not in the guest room."
For a few infinite moments, they are suspended in time, weightless within the draw that glimmers and dances between them, electric, sizzling, effervescent. She savors the moment, heat building until it is almost unbearable, pooling within her, with her chest aching, her limbs tingling.
"Kate…" he grinds out her name, dark and raw.
And she leaps forward and he pulls her onto his lap and into his arms, one around her waist, his other hand in her hair, cradling her head. She slants her lips on his, fast and needy, dives inside his mouth, and he meets her, so strong, drawing from her, and she wants more, she needs more, her arms wrapped around his neck and her fingers digging into his shoulder blades, against his spine.
Tongue dangling with his, she explores his mouth, savors his flavor, ferocious and male and needy, only stops momentarily when he pulls her irritating turtleneck up over her head. She dives for his mouth again, trails her hands down over his pecs, her fingers on the buttons of his shirt and then she just rips it open, tugs the shirt off his shoulders, palms finally skimming his warm smooth skin, running over his shoulders and his bicep, his chest, his stomach. His muscles contract under her touch and his eyes are hooded and it shimmies into her, his desperate yearning for her.
This. This is what she wanted. Needed. This passion, this fury of emotions, so vital and explosive. She feels achy and greedy, her head spinning, her skin alive. Her clothes are off so fast that she barely knows how it happens and it doesn't matter, nothing matters but his lips on her skin, his fingers mapping every inch of body, exploring and tender and wild and needy, and she arches against his touches, sobs sounds into his mouth. And then he rocks against her, inside of her, her legs wrapped around his waist as he cradles her on his lap, and she clings to him through swells and waves of sensation, buries her face against his neck, bites his shoulder, until her head falls back and dark sounds race up her throat and mingle with his.
She breathes hard, falls against his chest, and he cradles his arms around her, holds her so tenderly that her eyes well up. She breathes through it, her limbs deliciously heavy, draped around him.
"Figures we wouldn't make it to a bed the first time," she laughs softly, her words a murmur against the shell of his ear, and she feels the vibrations of his laughter rumble through his chest.
Then he tugs her forward, his fingers against her chin, mouth close to hers, and he looks at her, his eyes a bright blue, serious, and so full of love that her stomach quivers and her heart leaps and her head rushes.
"As long as we made it."
And then he kisses her again, sweet and long and languid.
End of Scene