LOVE BOAT
by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles
"Castle."
Mmm. Something feathers his cheek, soft and lovely, and he licks his dry lips, trying to decide if the voice, the touch, are worth waking up for.
It feels...early.
He swallows, his brain slowly registering the heat that surrounds him, cocoons his body. No problem; he loves the heat. He always sleeps with blankets piled up on top of him. Mm, yeah. He burrows into the bed - why is he awake again? - and attempts to remedy to this unfortunate turn of events.
"Castle."
Oh, yeah. The voice.
Familiar voice. He can just about see the face that goes with it-
"Castle, wake up. I need my arm back."
And a smile. Mm, there's a smile in that voice. He likes that. A lot.
Likes her. Kate.
A breath of deep contentment ripples through his chest. And then he realizes-
Oh. He's probably dreaming.
Shouldn't open his eyes then, not matter how tempting, how sexy that voice is. Keeping his eyelids carefully closed, he reaches out, finds soft fabric, goes up, up, to the smooth skin of the neck, the line of the jaw.
Nice. His dream has consistency too. It's the good stuff.
Taking advantage of that, he curls his fingers at the nape of this PhantomKate, and tugs, bringing her in for a kiss.
She falls into him with a surprised gasp (he's impressed at how realistic an impression his mind can create, considering he's not even completely awake yet), and he touches his mouth to hers gently, just a greeting, warm, moist, delightful.
Mm, Kate.
But then a sudden shove startles him, his eyes flying open as the momentum rolls him onto his back; he blinks a couple times in shock.
"Ow," Kate says through gritted teeth next to him, and he doesn't even need to turn his head to see her rub her wrist. It's all there, for him to see. Ceiling mirrors.
It makes everything a little surreal, watching it happen up there, his mouth hanging open as he stares at Kate's reflection.
"You slept on my arm, Castle," she explains, unaware it seems. She massages the skin from her wrist to her elbow, then focuses on her hand, hissing in discomfort as the blood rushes back to her fingers.
He cannot speak, can only gape dumbly as his brain struggles with this essential piece of information.
She's real.
Kate's real.
And she's lying in bed next to him, her dark curls an appealing tangle against the whiteness of the pillow, her thigh close enough to his that he can feel its warmth under the sheets.
She bites at her lip as she energetically rubs her hand and forearm, and her mouth is red and oh, so tempting-
He freezes.
Wait.
He kissed her.
But that was the dream. Right? That wasn't real. Couldn't be. If he really had kissed her, she wouldn't be lying here rubbing her arm like everything's fine, a small smile tugging at her lips, her whole face lit up like she's-
Happy?
"You're a pretty heavy sleeper, Castle," she remarks lightly, amusement dancing in the look that she gives him. "I wondered for a minute there if you were ever going to wake up."
"Sorry you had to take drastic measures," he answers without thinking.
She arches an eyebrow at him, her eyes suffused with incomprehension, more beautiful than anyone should be when they've just woken up.
"Like Prince Charming and Sleeping Beauty, you know," he keeps going, his mouth running away from him even as his mind screams shut up shut up SHUT UP. "Sorry you had to stoop to that."
She regards him curiously, lips parted, her eyes shining in the morning light. And then a slow, even smile spreads on her mouth, and she gives a little shake of her head.
"I wasn't the one doing the kissing, Castle," she replies softly, leaving him utterly speechless.
Before he's had time to wrap his mind around it, she's moving, pushing back the covers and swinging her legs out of bed, telling him she's going to have a shower - in other words, running.
It doesn't matter, though; doesn't make the smallest dent in the disbelieving joy that has wrapped around his heart.
He just kissed Kate Beckett.
And she doesn't seem to mind.
Is she still smiling? Yeah, yeah she is.
Still smiling.
Kate bites her lip and rolls her eyes, lifting her chin to let the hot water sluice down her hair. She lifts the mane off her neck to get it thoroughly soaked, then quickly lathers in shampoo. She turns, can't help still thinking of it, the unkind morning light refracting off the waves outside their stateroom, and yet his face bathed with gentleness, all forgiving shadows and distinguished lines.
It was only the deep ache in her arm that woke her, and only its continued throb that made her wake him at all. She might have stayed like that for. . .
awhile. She might have just stayed that way for awhile.
Yeah, still smiling.
He kissed her. Instinctive and reflexive and natural, a hum in his throat that she felt against her lips.
Her fingers are there now, as if to hold the feeling in, keep his kiss pressed to her lips.
That's ridiculous-
"Beckett?"
The door snicks open slightly; she pauses, blinks water from her eyes. "Castle?"
"I really, really have to pee. Can I come in?"
She chews on her lip, glances to the frosted shower door. If he thinks he can handle it. . .what can it hurt?
"Beckett. I mean, like, really have to pee."
"Come on in, then," she laughs, rinsing her hair as she calls back to him. "I don't care."
"Oh thank God."
She really tries hard not to listen. She is really not listening. Are they at this point already? Comfortable going to the bathroom in front of each other?
She lathers in conditioner, searches for her razor on the shelf behind her (and no, not because she's sleeping with him, it's just a courtesy because she's sleeping. . .with him. And because she shaves every day anyway. Right).
Well, with the shower running and the frosted door between them, and in an emergency circumstance. . .well, maybe they are at this point. It's not like he hasn't seen her naked in her bathtub (and told her he's got that image burned into his brain); they've been in some crappy and uncomfortable situations before.
Okay. She can do this. And-
She yelps as the water turns cold, the flush resounding in the small bathroom. She crowds away from the spray, shivering, goose bumps breaking out over her skin. "Castle!"
"Seriously? This place is crap, Beckett. Is it too hot or too cold? I should've ignored Gates and gotten us a suite. You think they have extras-?"
"Too cold. And leave it alone, Castle. It's fine," she growls back at him, reaching out a cautious hand to the water. Still cold. Ice cold. Like it's coming straight from the Atlantic.
"I mean, one flush and the water turns cold? That's crazy. How much is the NYPD paying for this? The taxpayers? Come on. As a concerned citizen-"
"Castle. Are you seriously still in here?" she snarks back, sticking a toe in the spray to check again. Maybe a little warmer now.
"I should stay to make sure the water heats up again. Cause if it doesn't, then-"
"Castle. Not another word," she yells back over the water.
"Going, going."
She hears the door click shut behind him and sighs, rolling her eyes. Trust Castle to. . .to Castle a really sweet moment this morning.
As Kate steps back under the almost warm water, she realizes to her dismay that she's smiling. Still. Or again.
Smiling like a fool.
Jeez. They're supposed to be having problems in their marriage, not solving them.
He didn't look.
He barely even cast a tiny little glance at the shower stall, and really the door was all steamed up, didn't let him see anything past a vague outline.
Of course, he still has this vague outline on his mind as they go down for breakfast and he bounces down the corridor next to her, unable to help it, even when Kate gives him a raised eyebrow.
The joy needs out somehow.
They make their way downstairs, saying hello to a slightly older couple that they met briefly the day before, and Castle is struck by how very different today is - what a bright contrast it offers to the somber misery of yesterday.
Amazing, really, what a good night of sleep and a smiling Kate Beckett can do to him.
And let's not forget that kiss, either.
An experience he finds himself... very eager to repeat. Who knows? Maybe their therapy session will provide the perfect opportunity.
The thought makes him grin, although deep down he knows that it's rather unlikely.
Their therapist, Alicia, is a soft-spoken, forty-something brunette, short and slim, whom he rather likes, actually. And he doesn't think she's the sort to play games with them.
They get to the main dining room - the Magenta room, as it's pompously called - and Castle remembers at the last minute to grab Kate's hand, lace their fingers. She's his wife, after all, right?
Just thinking the words, even if it's fake, even if it's a cover, sends a rush of delight through his chest. And then the kiss this morning-
Focus, Rick.
Kate not only lets him take her hand, but she gives a little squeeze back, meets his eyes with a smile. Partners.
Oh god, he loves her.
It thumps in his chest, the fierceness of it, the savage need, and he steers them towards the buffet, hoping that food will make for a worthy distraction.
It is absolutely *amazing* the number of breakfast options they're offered here. Seriously. Of course, lunch and dinner are technically just as impressive, but breakfast, for some reason, simply blows his mind away.
He's been in really, really fancy hotels when he was on book tours - even when he wasn't - and he's had wonderful breakfasts before, but honestly, he's never seen anything like this.
He can almost feel Kate's teasing smile at his side, but he ignores her.
She's still making fun of him because of yesterday. He has to admit, when he first saw the breakfast buffet, he may have lost it a little; and yes, he *did* say he had to taste everything.
Kate laughed at him, told him he'd never manage - and it turned out, to his eternal shame, that she was right.
So he's come up with a smarter plan: they have three days, which means he'll try a different third of the buffet every morning. Much more feasible.
"You sure you have enough, Rick?" Kate teases when he sits down at the table in front of her, two generously filled plates on his tray. "I wouldn't want you to starve until lunch. You know, in four hours."
"You're just jealous cause I got strawberries and you don't," he shoots back lightly, popping one of the fruits into his mouth.
"Jealous, huh?"
The challenging light in her eyes, the pressed-lip smile: he knows exactly what she's about to do. And the second her arm darts forward, he's scooped up the bowl of strawberries and cradled it to his chest, out of her reach.
"Not-uh, Kate," he mock scolds, enjoying it all the more because he knows how much she hates being treated like a child. "You want strawberries? You go get your own. Darling," he adds for good measure as a couple sits down next to them.
She narrows her eyes at him; he's not sure if she's responding to the darling part of the sentence, or the rest - probably both. He only grins, rather pleased with himself, until-
He sucks in a sharp breath. Was that - was that a toe? Trailing down his calf? Oh. Oh, yeah. Because now the ball of her foot is slowly caressing his ankle, nudging at the leg of his pant to get to the bare, sensitive skin underneath, and damn it, Kate-
"Really?" she purrs, and he focuses on her with some difficulty. It doesn't help - her eyes are shining with amusement, that soft glow of triumph and power all over her face, and she's absolutely-
Irresistible.
"Are you sure, Rick? You can't even give me a tiny, tiny-" her toe presses against the round bone, nail grazing his skin, and he firmly closes his mouth against the whimper that wants out, "-tiny strawberry?"
Oh jeez. Oh god. She's not playing fair.
He parts his lips, desperate for air, his whole body turning traitor on him, and his brain vaguely registers a clattering sound, somewhere around him. Kate laughs - low and delightful and god, *so* sexy - and as her foot deserts him (oh, why?) comprehension slowly floods his brain.
He reluctantly tears his eyes from her to the bowl and the strawberries scattered on the floor, his heart suddenly filled with a desolation that doesn't have much to do with the fruit.
"Well," Kate says, her voice bright with the laughter she's clearly fighting back, "I guess I'll have to get my own, then."
She gets to her feet in a smooth, graceful transition, and gives him a last laughing look before she turns her back on him and heads for the buffet. He can only stare at the lovely sway of her hips in those tight jeans, the adorable curve of her waist in that white, fitted shirt.
She's doing this on purpose.
Taunting him.
Well. Two can play at that game.
Kate brings back two bowls of strawberries from the buffet line - it takes longer than she likes, but it's worth it. She did inadvertently cause him to lose all of his fruit, so she owes him. Much like coffee. Coffee. Back to her coffee, still untouched on her tray across from Castle.
A few more people have filled in the spaces on the long tables, though not many have joined up, not that she can detect. She tries to pay attention to the wait staff as they thread through the dining room, but it's impossible to ferret out any malignant attitudes in this group.
A cluster of couples have taken up the far end of their table, chairs all pushed back, loud voices, too-loud laughter, and Kate's seat will be hard to get back to. Instead of taking her spot across from Castle, she slips in beside him, pulls her tray over to herself.
He's eyeing the fruit, so Kate drops a bowl in front of him with a smile. "All yours."
His eyebrow twitches, and she's fairly certain he hasn't exactly recovered from the stunt she pulled. That was nice; it feels good to tease again, to not walk on egg shells around him.
Always.
One simple word, and everything is clear. They're on the same page and there's no need to worry. He-
She startles, clutching the table, one hand arrested in mid-air with her coffee. Her eyes slide to Castle, but he's looking extremely nonchalant.
But his fingertips are on her knee, her thigh. Her-
She swallows a too-hot sip of coffee and chokes as it burns down her throat.
"Let it cool," he chides, taking the cup from her nerveless fingers with his other hand - other hand! - and smoothing his thumb over her kneecap. Like it's every day. Like it's-
His hand on her knee.
She pushes her tongue to her teeth to scrape her scalded taste buds, feels his hand clench around her knee - in warning or instinct, she can't tell. But really? Just her tongue?
Kate glances over at him, sees the way the power has shifted again. Back in her favor.
"I think I burned my tongue," she murmurs, lowering her lids so that her lashes fan her cheeks for a moment.
He's still got her coffee cup in one hand, and her thigh in the other (seriously, jeez, Castle), but he's staring at her lips, at the way her tongue moves against her teeth.
"Need - need me to check?" he says finally, leaning in.
"Oh, seriously, get a room," a man says with a laugh, plopping his tray down across from them.
Kate sees Castle startle, but she'd seen the man eyeing her while she was in line and honestly isn't surprised to find him showing up here. Though it is ballsy.
Castle sets her coffee back down by her plate, slides his hand (slowly, thank you, slowly) from her leg.
"I thought this cruise was for couples whose marriages were in trouble, but you guys have made up already, haven't you?" The dark-haired guy grins at them, and Kate is disconcerted by the strange image of Josh laid over his features. Beside her, Castle grows still, a sure sign of his growing dislike.
"Mm, comes and goes," Kate says instead, quirking an eyebrow at Castle to get him to follow the program.
He does, to his credit, and offers his hand across the table. "Rick. And you are?"
The man shakes. "Josh."
Seriously? Damn it.
"Nice to meet you. Saw your wife in line-"
Bet he did.
"-thought you maybe looked familiar-"
Shit. Is that a line or is that Castle's narrow fame following them?
"-but I guess we haven't met."
That's her cue to introduce herself, and for some reason, Kate feels entirely unwilling. Castle, always the social butterfly, only smiles back (at least it's his fake, charming smile) and slides his hand down the back of Kate's arm, does the introduction for her.
"This is Kate. And yeah, you know how it is, the good days are good and the bad days are bad."
She sucks in a breath and glances over at him, because that statement was just too true, too real, for it to not have some anchor in reality.
He's watching her again, his eyes communicating things she doesn't know if she's deciphering correctly. But she thinks, with a rush of relief, that he wasn't talking about her at all. He was talking from troubled relationship experience, from two previous divorces.
Not about her.
She breathes out slowly, turns her head back to Josh. With the dark hair and broad jaw and same cheekbones.
"So where's your wife?" she asks bluntly.
Why can't the passengers be murder suspects too?
Unbelievable.
This guy is *unbelievable*.
Josh II (whose resemblance to Josh I is certainly not doing anything to mitigate Castle's irritation) has been hitting on Kate - shamelessly hitting on Kate, might he add - for the last ten minutes, and nothing they can do or say seems to discourage him.
After the guy gave them a lame explanation for his wife's whereabouts, something about not wanting to wake her, he started to ask about Kate's job, which led to Rick's first mistake.
See, the NYPD prepared covers for them. Nice little covers that go with the fake IDs (they go by the name of Rodgers, which, of course, Castle is delighted with). Only-
Kate is supposed to work for a bank. Seriously. That's what the file said. Kate Rodgers, bank employee. But no one's going to buy that, right? This smart, gorgeous woman - working at a bank?
Besides, it's entirely too boring. Castle could weave a better story in his sleep.
So he saw fit to jump in before she could answer, and to tell Josh that his wife (heavy emphasis on the word wife) is a professor of Russian Literature at the University of Columbia.
When he saw the look on Kate's face, he realized it might have been better to keep his mouth shut. He didn't know how right he was.
The problem isn't Kate. No, Kate is amazing, as always; she's answered all of Josh's questions with seamless ease and confidence, talking about Chekhov and Tolstoy as if she's actually been teaching classes about them for the last few years. She's-
Brilliant. Stunning. And sexy as hell.
Problem is - he's not the only one who thinks so.
"So, Josh," Rick interrupts when he gets a chance, saving Kate from having to answer that stupid question, who's your favorite author and why. "What is it you do, exactly?"
The man flashes him a too-white smile, a little shark-like, if you ask him. "I'm a stockbroker. I work in Wall Street."
The way he says it - like no other explanation is needed, like it's an end in itself, the best career one could ever want - it makes Castle want to punch him a little. Okay, more than a little.
At least for Davidson he had a sort of grudging respect; he might not have *liked* the guy, but he could acknowledge he had some qualities, could admit that he seemed to love Kate, in his own way. Not to mention he kinda saved her life, too.
But Josh II?
The guy is, purely and simply, an ass. What kind of man comes to a cruise for marriages in trouble to hit on other women? Women who are clearly not interested?
"And you, Rick?"
He feels Kate's eyes on him as he weighs his answer. Damn. He should probably stick with their cover this time.
"I'm a lawyer."
Josh gives him a condescending little smile. "Ah, a noble profession. People who have been wronged need someone to fight for them, I guess. Unless, you know - they're making it up. I guess it must happen a lot?"
Oh, lovely. He's now accused of defending liars and villains.
"It happens," he says evenly.
"And what do you specialize in? Family law, criminal-?"
"Business law," Castle cuts him off, curious to see where that will lead.
"I see," Josh replies, looking like he couldn't care less. His brown eyes are on Kate again, and Rick doesn't like what he sees there.
"You don't find that too boring?" the man asks her with an unabashed grin, nodding towards the writer.
Castle is looking at Kate too, and he catches a slight movement under the table. Dropping his eyes, he realizes the hand in her lap is a clenched fist.
Really?
"Actually, Rick is very good at what he does," she answers coolly, ice in her green eyes.
"I'm sure he is," the man answers, looking rather pleased with himself. "But that's not what I asked."
Oh, wow. Doesn't this guy have any survival instinct? Castle almost feels sorry for him. You do *not* want to cross Beckett when she's using that voice. The deadly voice.
He's surprised, though, when she ignores Josh II completely and turns to him.
"Shouldn't we go? It's almost time for our session."
He glances at his watch. She's right; he feels a twinge of regret for the food that's left on his tray, but he's happy enough to leave their new 'friend' behind.
"Oh, where's your session?" Josh asks with another of his toothy smiles. "If it's on the deck above this one, I'll walk with you - I have a friend who wants to meet at the pool -"
Kate shoots him an appalled look as they stand, but then her eyes are on Castle again, thoughtful and somewhat hesitant; he arches an eyebrow, wondering what she is -
Her index finger on the corner of his mouth cuts that thought off, sends his mind spiraling.
"You had some - jam, left," she explains, her long lashes shadowing her eyes, but not enough to keep him from seeing it - this dark, entrancing look -
Before he's made sense of it, though, she's already kissing him.
Her hand slides up his neck, fingers splaying on his nape as she raises on tiptoe (to make up for the lack of heels?); he catches her, the delicious length of her body flush with his, as his lips part for her.
He might not have seen it coming, but that doesn't mean he's not going to make the most of it. The slow heat between their bodies, the slide of her tongue across his lower lip, against his teeth, the soft hum of pleasure that only he can hear - he takes every little thing she offers, gives back, dizzy with the taste of Kate Beckett on his tongue.
And when she lets go - when he lets her go - he feels the shiver run through her.
"Let's go, Rick," she whispers without looking at him, licking her lips (so hot, the way she does that). She takes his hand and starts leading him out, only throwing a careless "See you later," to Josh II.
Castle doesn't even need to see the guy's face.
The second they find themselves alone, in the corridor that leads to their therapist's office, Kate drops his hand and turns uneasy eyes to him.
"I'm sorry, Castle - I didn't know how else to get rid of him-"
He silences her with his mouth, his fingers at her jaw, working her just as skillfully as she worked him - gentle lips and aggressive tongue, an edge of need and a good deal of tenderness.
She looks stunned when he releases her. And he doesn't even care.
"Don't ever apologize for that," he commands softly; and then he takes her hand again, and directs them both towards their therapy session.