She's humming.
She's in her kitchen and she's actually hummingsome song her mother had loved years ago, caught up in a kind of happiness she hadn't fully realized was missing from her life. Another case is closed, she's home early enough to avoid an exhausted stumble to her bed, and Castle is on his way to her apartment with dinner. He'd texted a while ago to let her know he'd gone a little out of his way for the food, but she glances at the clock on the wall and knows he'll arrive any minute. Having already pulled her hair back and changed into jeans and a Henley – she hadn't wanted to get too comfortable – and with the wine poured and ready for them, she retrieves the two gifts she'd bought for him on their trip to the bookstore.
As she runs her fingertip along the edge of the wrapping paper, she has the passing thought that it's all too much, that the bright ribbons and Hallmark card scream the kind of normal they've never quite managed. It takes a few moments, but she calms quickly enough; Castle's birthday was a few days ago, and giving him gifts is an innocent gesture and probably the least he deserves. Then she chuckles when she remembers she was actually living with him on his last birthday, forced into his loft after her apartment was destroyed by Scott Dunn, and they'd celebrated with a family dinner. If she'd survived the inherent intimacy of wishing him a happy birthday alongside his mother and daughter, certainly eating take out on her couch and giving him a couple of books will be nothing at all.
His knock is sharp and familiar, so she pushes the gifts to the far side of the coffee table and clears a place for whatever he's brought them for dinner, then scurries across the room to open the door for him.
She laughs, completely uncensored, as she lets him in. "We found a burned body in an oven and you still have an appetite for pizza?"
"It would take a lot more than that for me to stop wanting pizza. And it's not like this pizza came from that same oven. I went across the bridge for the very best and all your senses will be truly delighted." He waves the box under her nose, as animated as usual. "You can thank me later."
"In that case, go ahead and get settled in the living room. The wine's already there, and I'm just gonna grab some napkins and plates."
Her back is to him, but it only takes a few seconds before she knows he's seen the presents. "Is this a belated birthday celebration for me?" he squeals.
"Something like that." She returns to his side and bumps into him with her shoulder. "We were busy with the case before, plus I didn't want to disrupt anything your family had planned, so I figured tonight would be okay."
He presses a quick kiss to her temple. "It's more than okay."
They move the birthday gifts to the floor to make more room for the pizza box, then settle onto the couch and grab for slices, the cheese hot and stringy as they pull the food toward their plates. They are silent for the next several minutes, occasional hums of pleasure aside, the pizza and wine keeping them far too occupied for actual conversation. It's only when they've moved onto their second slices that they begin to speak again, jumping into another movie discussion, this one about their film noir favorites.
"Double Indemnity is the best. There's really no question about it," she insists.
"No question about it?" He puts his plate down and turns toward her. Oh, this is serious. He's more focused now than he is in some of their interrogations.
"Okay, so which one do you think is the best?"
"The Third Man, of course. Or, wait, maybe The Maltese Falcon. Or Sunset Boulevard. Touch of Evil maybe. Or The Big Sleep." He pauses as his eyes go wide. "Oooooh, Beckett, you know what we need to do?"
Yes. Yes, she knows exactly what they need to do, but she'll let him say it. "What do we need to do, Castle?"
"We need to have a film noir marathon at the loft! You can come over on one of your off days and we can make it totally dark inside and I'll prepare different flavors of popcorn and we'll have blankets and pillows. Oh, it will be awesome."
His enthusiasm is contagious and she can't stop the huge smile she feels lighting up her face. "Sure, I think we can probably manage that."
They raise their wine glasses and touch them together in agreement before taking simultaneous sips. Then the conversation easily moves into an update about Alexis's recent trouble with a friend at school and her ongoing relationship with Ashley. Kate has always loved watching Castle when he talks about his daughter and tonight is no exception, though some insecure child inside worries whether her own dad has that light in his eyes when he tells people about her.
She swallows that concern with the last bite of her pizza, entertaining Castle with a story from her college days while he helps himself to a third slice. Everything about their dinner has been wonderful, but she squirms a bit as he gets close to finishing, his presents still waiting to be unwrapped. She jumps up to clear the table; on her way back from the kitchen, she brings the bottle of wine and refills their glasses.
"Am I allowed to open these now? You know that waiting until after we ate was pretty much hell for me."
She smirks, but nods as she sits down next to him again. "Yes, you poor, tortured birthday boy. You can open your presents now."
He starts with the card, seemingly satisfied by her simple handwritten greeting. Then he looks to her for guidance about which one he should pick up first, so she points to the heavier of the two. Pulling it into his lap, he flashes her an appreciative smile before he's even aware of the gift itself, and it takes her breath away. His unconditional adoration is something she's yet to fully accept, but she's working hard to earn it. Finally, he tears into the paper and gasps when he sees what she's given him.
"Oh, Kate, this is perfect," he breathes. "The Complete Sherlock Holmes."
"You really like it? Do you have it already? I know it's not all that clever, buying mysteries for a mystery writer, but it caught my eye."
"Hey, hey, hey." Doing his best to interrupt her messy explanation, he squeezes her hand. "No, I don't have it, and classic mysteries are never a bad gift for anyone. I love it."
If she thought she was nervous when he opened his first present, she's doing significantly worse during the second. The book itself isn't anything amazing, but-
"Wow. This is absolutely stunning." He's already past the cover, turning the pages almost reverently. "A coffee table book about Napa Valley? Look at these pictures of the vineyards. Everything is so beautiful."
Somehow they're pressed together now, the book resting on both of them as she struggles to confess at least part of her motivation for buying it. "I saw it the day you took me to the bookstore and I knew I wanted you to have it. And we both love wine so much, so who knows…I mean, maybe…I thought that we might-"
"Maybe we can get away from the city sometime. Go out to Napa for a long weekend or something."
Yes. She closes her eyes, so incredibly grateful that he was willing to pull the fantasy from where it was tangled up on her tongue. They haven't even talked about what they are yet, whether they're officially beyond their obvious friendship and on to something entirely more complicated, so planning a vacation is foolish. Still, it's what she wants. She wants to share a bottle of merlot in the heart of wine country. She wants to watch the sunset – or maybe even the sunrise – as it stretches over acres of the rich, California land. And she wants him by her side for all of it.
Eventually she'll be able say it aloud, instead of making flustered attempts to show him in her own shyly brave way.
But she doesn't have any more time to think about it now, not when his hand comes up to caress the side of her face, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. Then he's kissing her, and it's immediately different from the two others they've shared. There's none of the confused passion of their night in the alley, nor the almost-chaste simplicity of their goodbye in front of Remy's; this kiss is about tender exploration, full of questions and answers and a sigh of relief.
Her hand wraps around his forearm while he continues to cradle the side of her head, the innocent contact as important as the kiss that slowly grows, a wonderfully organic thing she wants to protect. She's opening for him before his tongue can even brush against her lips, inviting him closer, letting him take what he wants, and he doesn't hesitate to accept. It's intense, even as it remains so carefully gentle, and when he pulls back – she thinks he's checking to makes sure she's okay – she needs to capture his mouth again, needs to chase his taste until it becomes her own.
Eventually she feels him working his other arm around her waist, their position on the couch far from ideal when they'd rather be so much closer to each other. She's only mildly surprised by his strength when he shifts her into his lap, their mouths separating and her knees naturally bracketing his hips when she settles against him.
He moans.
Or she moans.
One way or another, they moan, their bodies giving away their secrets when she rocks forward. It warms her, but she's tempted to run from the feeling, pretend she doesn't know what this is doing to him; she's encouraged to stay when his hands slip beneath the hem of her shirt, gripping her waist and keeping her exactly where they both want her to be. There's nothing to say, no words that can adequately capture this moment, so they reclaim the kiss in lieu of breathless promises and dreams.
They move together so well, and she wonders whether their synchronicity will translate to the bedroom. It's a rhythm they've perfected throughout their partnership, the song familiar now, so she sees no reason why the sex will be anything less than amazing. Messy, silly, noisy, and far from everything they've probably imagined with busy hands and the cry of the other's name, but amazing nonetheless. For now, though, she's content to let him hold her in place, celebrating where they are instead of where they will be.
Eventually Castle breaks the kiss, and she whines in response, immediately feeling his smile against her neck. There's no apology, only mirth, but when he drags his lips along the underside of her jaw, she absolves him of his sin. Then she's distracted by the graze of his stubble, so barely visible that she probably would have never known it was there – how many nights has she missed it already? – if it weren't skating over her skin, arousing her in a way she isn't quite ready to confess in the quiet of her living room.
She falls forward in search of a place to drag the tip of her tongue, nuzzling her way past his shirt collar to suck at the warm juncture of his neck and shoulder. Whether it's his hips jerking upward or his hands pulling her down, his reaction is immediate and her mouth opens wide over him, swearing on a sudden exhale.
It's a lot, maybe even too much, their heartbeats reckless and their bodies close behind.
When she eases herself away from him, there's no doubt he's sensed it too. His eyes are clouded with lust, but there's a flash of caution there, the need to keep some measure of control. It's taken them two years to get here, and just over a month to get here, so letting a few minutes carry them away is probably unwise.
He traces the curve of her lips with his thumb, his palm soothing against her cheek. "Thank you for the wine and the birthday gifts. And for promising to go to Napa Valley with me someday."
She smiles at that, even while thinking that she should be thanking him for the pizza and the patience and everything in between; she can't voice any of it when an invitation for him to stay is so eager for the chance to be heard. After she's managed to crawl off his lap, she clears their glasses and the nearly-empty bottle, shuffling away to give him a moment alone. She's still at the kitchen sink when she hears him approach, turning to find him with his presents piled in his arms and a comfortable grin on his face. She quickly dries her hands and follows him to the door, her fingertips brushing against his back.
After the door swings open and the hallway beckons, he turns toward her once again and she rises on her tiptoes to kiss him. "Goodnight, Castle."
He mumbles his goodbye against her lips, then slips away before either of them gets the courage to ask for more.