A/N: I would recommend that, if you don't know the songs mentioned in this chapter, you listen to them to get a better feel of the atmosphere. But that is up to you... Enjoy!

Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, though they have found their own way into my heart.


"Beckett, I just realized something.

I can't give you anything but love…"

-Richard Castle, The Blue Butterfly-


3. LOVE SONGS


It's very late at night. The four of them are the only ones left at The Old Haunt. Ryan took off a while ago, "Home to his loving wife" he'd said.

Lanie, sitting beside Kate, places her empty glass on the table and checks her watch. "Oh, my god! It's almost three!" She slides off the booth's bench and reaches for her coat and purse.

Esposito rises to his feet as well and, as he shrugs on his jacket, he offers to share a cab. Lanie doesn't decline and before starting to climb the stairs, she steals a cheeky glance at Beckett over her shoulder. Kate grins back and winks at her friend. For sure, that cab will make only one stop, Lanie's place. Castle walks them out to open the door for them. Meanwhile, Beckett grabs the empty glasses and beer bottles and sets them on the bar on her way to the restroom before, they too, head back home.

When a minute later, she exits the ladies' room, she is surrounded by dim darkness. Castle has turned off most of the lights, leaving the old underground space lit only by a couple of lamps behind the bar. Soft music is playing in the background, coming from the old Juke Box in the far corner, and she recognizes the late sixties' track immediately. 'I'm your puppet' by the Box Tops.

Out of nowhere, he appears in front of her and holds out a hand. "May I?"

She smiles and places her hand in his. He turns and walks them to a fairly open space between the counter and a couple of round tables he has pushed aside to make room. With a flip of his arm, he spins her around in a fast swirl and they end up chest to chest, their bodies bumping gently. His right hand slips around her waist, pressing against the small of her back, and they start to move to the rhythm of the music.

It's fun and light as he spins and swirls them around, softly murmuring the lyrics close to her ear. Soon the song comes to an end and he finishes the dance with a professional low dip, his strong arms supporting her weight while her long hair brushes the floor. She's laughing when he pulls her back up. She starts to let go but a new song, a slow tune, starts to play. Their eyes meet in the dim light and something intangible changes in the atmosphere. His face is suddenly serious, his gaze deep and enticing, as he threads his fingers through hers. A wave of serenity, along with a familiar electric current, washes over her. He tugs lightly at her hand and she goes willingly, closing the short two feet keeping them apart. She puts her arms loosely around his neck while his wrap around her waist, his hands resting firmly on her lower back. Tilting his head, he buries his face in her hair.

They barely have to move, the love ballad so slow and moderate that the slight shift of weight from side to side is enough for them to start turning in endless circles.

They have danced before. Years ago when they went undercover. And most recently, at Ryan's wedding. But this time is different, this dance is different. It's slow and intimate and romantic, just the two of them. And Otis Redding's deep soul voice singing 'I've been loving you too long'.

Kate rests her chin on Castle's shoulder, their cheeks touching, and he lowers his head, his lips making contact with her shoulder, brushing small kisses through the thin fabric of her shirt. He pushes her hair back and then his mouth grazes over the curve where her shoulder meets her neck. The touch is like velvet. Every smooth stroke across her skin is like a dozen unspoken promises that speak directly to her soul. He trails up her neck, continues along her jaw and stops near her ear, his mouth lingering there for a few seconds, his warm breath tickling her cheek.

It's barely a move, no more than a twitch of his lips against her temple, but she knows exactly what it means, what he is silently saying, when he mouths an 'I love you' across her skin.

She slides her hand up the back of his neck, threads her fingers through his hair, and tilts her head to him. "I love you, too," she whispers low in his ear and presses a tender kiss to the side of his throat.

He stops moving. His body is rigid against hers and his feet are glued to the old wooden floor. She pulls back in his embrace to look at him. Even in the faint light, she can see his eyes are glistening with emotion. She cradles his cheek in her hand, catching a tear at the corner of his eye with her thumb, and pulls his face to hers to kiss him. It's small, just a soft brush of their lips. He tastes like whisky. The sweetness of the last of his precious scotch 1875 St. Miriam Rock of Scotland he has shared with her and their friends just an hour ago still lingers on his mouth. And then something wet slips between their lips. It's salty and warm. A tear. He's crying!, she realizes. She's about to pull back but, before she can move, his hand is on the back of her neck, holding her in place.

"Castle…" The whisper dies on her lips as he captures her mouth with his again.

His kiss is so reverent and ardent, pouring with such devotion and adoration, it's almost unbearable. She traces his face blindly, wiping away the damp trails on his cheeks with her finger pads. He runs the tip of his tongue delicately over the seam of her lips and she opens up to him. Burning heat is slowly building up deep inside her, a tingling whirl arousing from the pit of her stomach, as he lazily explores the inner walls of her mouth.

Her back arches into him and she dislodges her lips briefly from his. "Is the door locked?" she whispers into his ear.

"Yes," he replies with a shaky breath.

She starts walking backwards with small steps, leading them blindly to the closest booth behind her. The back of her knees hit the side of the bench, and she lowers herself onto the worn brown leather until she's lying flat on her back, pulling him on top of her, his weight deliciously pressing her down into the seat's cushion.


It's almost like it's meant to be when they melt into one another to the much matching lyrics of 'Arms of a woman'. Wrapped in the arms of this extraordinary woman who loves him, he's home.


Thanks ;)