Dangers and Rewards
On the walk back, still arm-in-arm, Rick's cell phone rings. He nearly drops the device in order to retrieve it in time to answer, pausing and asking Kate, "I've been waiting for this call. Can you give me a few minutes?"
"Of course," she replies, walking a few steps away to a newsstand to peruse papers.
But she hears parts of Rick's discussion.
All I'm asking is to wait and tell her you're coming when you're sure you can make it. Better for her to be surprised than disappointed.
The conversation is lost in the sound of traffic until Castle comes closer and Kate hears: You can call her every night if you want to, Meredith. That's great. Just don't promise her something you can't follow through with.
"Sorry about that," he says a moment later as he returns. "Alexis's mom...about the whole cancelling visits thing."
"No problem. I know I'm not great with kids..." Kate begins.
"Yea, I know. You're a complete jerk to mine," he interrupts to tease.
"No, I mean…I don't really know anything about raising them. But it must be really difficult navigating this situation."
She slips her fingers behind his elbow so they're arm-in-arm again as he replies, "Selfishly, I like having her to myself. I know I shouldn't say that, but deep-down, Alexis and I have a special bond because most of the time it's just been the two of us. I'm probably better off with Meredith visiting on the rare occasion, but Alexis should see her more often. I can't think of any career opportunity that's more important than her."
"Because you love your daughter so much. And it sucks that she doesn't have her mother here daily, but she has you. I think the important thing isn't the number of parents or the gender...what matters is that someone is there for them, someone they can count on, someone who loves them. And I'm positive that girl knows how much you adore her."
"Hope so," he nods his head, continuing a bit more quietly. "Were you doing your mojo thing on me?" he lightly accuses.
"Absolutely," she nods with great certainty. Then she asks, "Which mojo thing?"
"Where you hang around and use some kind of enchantment or hypnosis to trick people into opening up, telling their secrets, like you did with Alexis. Can you control other people's minds like that too? Jedi style?"
"Oh yea. That's how I'm living the dream every day," she retorts.
She tightens her arm around his as they walk into his building past the doorman. Noting the way she's rubbing her thumb against his arm in a sort of comforting gesture, she doubts he can feel it through that heavy coat. Being inside the warm building doesn't prompt either to break apart.
Kate seriously doubts many people have seen this side of the writer, the serious, contemplative aspects of him. She doesn't think he hides that he's a father, but she suspects he wants people to see him as fun and easy going, masking the realities of single parenthood and the difficulties of divorce. She doesn't have any 'mind tricks' in play, but she does believe he's showing her parts of himself that are only seen by a trusted few.
They walk into his place and separate. She stalls right inside the door. Kate reminisces on the recent feeling of him close by her side, and even though the temperature is pleasingly toasty indoors, she feels chills skitter across her skin. She leans against the wall beside the door and resorts to inaction, thoughts of coulds and shoulds and musts screaming, pleading their cases in her brain. Self-doubt, a concept that was relatively foreign to her until recently, reminds her that she's broken, and doesn't belong here. Damn how she misses the abundant confidence that has graced her most of her life.
"You alright?" Castle asks, the thoughts in her head dispersed with a sweep of his words.
"Me? Yea. I'm fine," she answers.
"I should have woken you up last night, had you move to the guest room. That sofa couldn't have been very comforta—"
"I slept great."
"You want to talk about your—"
"No," she interrupts more sternly. "Don't want to talk about…any of it." She leans her head back to the wall, shakes it side to side as her hand makes a swiping motion like she's dusting away the thoughts. "But if you want to talk about your—"
"Oh no," he says, similarly brushing away the thoughts with a gesture. "Now that that's settled…breakfast?"
She pushes off from the wall, moving toward him in an unwavering trajectory, but certainly not hurriedly. Taking another step into his personal space beyond what is polite, her eyes fix on his face, and she waits.
It is easy to see the progression of thoughts in his eyes, from the initial surprise that she's so close, which morphs into a flash of intrigue, and then…What is that? Is that…worry?
Before she can stop it, his concern infects her. She'd hoped for many looks at the end of that sequence: excitement, arousal, hell, she'd even be fine with a little hint of smugness. But she definitely didn't predict such concern.
He flickers a smile and narrows his eyes, explaining the reaction. "You haven't finished your finals."
"I know," she answers plainly, aware that she requested the temporary stay, but also understanding she doesn't want life to require her focused attention and good behavior at the moment.
All she's searching for is human companionship, connection, closeness shared with someone who needs the same thing. But it can't be with just anyone. She's drawn to him. It isn't only a desire for contact. It's a need for understanding, a chance to trust. The memory of his reassuring hand on her shoulder the night before while Alexis slept, or walking together as she held his arm, these occasions are some of her most personal interactions as of late. Seems silly, in a way, the types of meaningless touches many people would probably barely notice are significant to her.
She comes even closer still, just to the point of converging, offering a brush between pairs of lips, and then she retreats and waits.
Kate has been the one to instigate contact each time. While she appreciates and values the respect he's shown her in terms of physical boundaries (ignoring breaches of privacy), she wants him to take a chance here. 'Tentative' seems to be the last word she'd use to describe him, except with her. She flips through pages in her mental catalog, wondering if she's misinterpreted his interest all along.
Just as the rosy flush of embarrassment begins to emerge at her ears, he leans only a bit, pausing for the scantest flash one more time. He doesn't seem the type to entertain caution or nervousness, but those things are present now. He breaks through those reservations, though, and when he finally makes the move, finally owns kissing her, his caution abates.
As his mouth moves with hers, he's tender yet demanding, slow and certain and thorough. That kiss curls her toes, tingles her nerves, makes her flesh feel alive. Her mind only knows the present moment.
She feels his touch follow up the line of her spine, beginning just above low back and moving higher. Wishing she had already taken off her jacket, she imagines those fingers against skin, and shivers noticeably in his arms.
This shiver prompts a tightening of his hold on her, warming her, his hand continuing ever further upwards to her neck behind a veil of hair.
She reaches beneath his coat, her arms between the outer layer and his shirt, almost like she's stepping right into it with him. She tunnels under the heavy fabric, one hand pressing against his back just above his belt to push their bodies together, the other sliding up to his shoulder.
There's no need to tell him that she probably won't come. She imagines making any such confession would be a huge turn off for him. She likes him enough to fake (it's the only time she's ever felt this way). But this time it isn't about an orgasm. This is about closeness, intimacy, being with someone who probably cares about her. He hasn't said he cares, but she knows it, feels it, believes it. She cares about him, too. Lying about that is pointless.
And right now, she can't think of much she wants more than their bodies together, not politely and fraternally, but skin-to-skin, hot, sweaty, and close.
When her leg moves between his, her body increasingly conforming to him, he reacts like he's run into some unseen force field. His hands latch onto her hips, holding her just an inch away as he pants heavily against her cheek.
Kate knows now that he probably thought this was simply a kiss when they started, like those previous moments when they've allowed such interactions. His stare is a little wild, torn between the parts of him that want and need, and the parts of him with the power of reflection.
Her palms both press to his chest, swooping under the shoulders of the coat and pushing it away from him before he throws it aside. She waits for him to question her, to seek clarification, but he says nothing. Neither does she.
Unzipping her jacket, she pauses when he walks behind her, fingers slipping under the collar and carefully pulling it down. He sweeps the hair back from her neck, and his lips capitalize, kissing from her jaw to her ear and down her neck as he frees the jacket entirely and tosses it over the sofa in the general direction of his. Her arm drapes up and over, fingers grasping at his scalp to hold his head against her before she steps back to press her body against his front.
As she notes the growing rigidity at her back, she pushes against him in encouragement, but once again his hands lock on her hips to still her.
Returning to the front, he takes her face in both hands, kissing her deeply before his touch moves over her shoulders, down her arms, and to her waist. The heels of his hands slide up over her ribs, only barely brushing her breast, and she considers forcibly grabbing his hand and curling his fingers around one so she can feel the direct contact.
He has so many damn buttons down his shirt, but she's committed, opening each, or so she thinks, finally popping the last one she neglected when she shoves his shirt off his torso like it offends her to the very core. His arms tighten around her, pulling her against him, the feeling of his naked shoulder against her lips and his bare stomach against hers where her shirt has ridden up sending bursts of anticipation through her.
He shoves his forearms up her shirt, pulling it off in a way that isn't very agile or efficient, but seems to work well enough for him for now. When it's off, he steps back, holding her in place so he has a little distance, although she isn't sure if he's motivated by the need to cool off or a desire to look at her.
One hand circles her back, the fingertips scarcely brushing her skin as they skim to the front, touching her sides just above her pants, thumb climbing up over her tummy to her ribs. The backs of his fingers move over her bra, teasing her nipple, brushing the visible skin at the top of her breast.
Reaching behind her back, she unclasps her bra, seeing the enlivened stare he offers that isn't joined by any words. His mouth descends on her nipple as soon as the covering is gone, his arms closing in on her again, her naked stomach against his skin while he tastes her. He sucks and laps, sometimes tickling the peak with his tongue, with such fervor it seems to be as much for his benefit as hers. Her hands grasp onto him, back arching as she lifts her chest in offering.
While the need for more unfettered contact grows, she fumbles for the button on her pants, but he abruptly pauses, shaking his head to dissuade her. Covering her hands with his, he moves them away from her pants and brings her arms around his neck. "I got it," is all he whispers, skimming her lips softly before he looks down at the narrow space between them.
He takes that button for himself, popping it open, using both hands to slide down the zipper. Instead of more directly removing her pants, all of his fingers slide beneath the denim over her hips and around to her ass. Her jeans move lower out of necessity as he takes palms-full of her, finally allowing that space between them to become so little it nears imperceptibility.
His body's eagerness greets her, firm and inviting. And when his mouth moves to her neck and shoulders, all of those worries she carried into this fade further into the forgotten.
She gripes when he pulls away slightly. His left hand remains on her back, fingers stretching down to curve around her ass. But he pauses to watch his own right hand, the hand that slides into the opening created by her parted zipper. He deftly walks his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties as he moves closer to her sex.
Her eyes follow to where he's looking, both of them watching the way his hand disappears into her pants, doing things protected from sight but felt by both. He strokes down, following the parting of her flesh there in the darkness, feeling the wetness that seeps from her and is spreading. Her hold on his shoulders becomes more grasping, hanging on to compensate for the questionable stability of her legs.
Reaching further, he finds a more pleasurable point where he can swirl and tap at the sensitive gathering of nerves. One exploratory finger ventures lower, scarcely dipping into her, finding the source of such pervasive arousal, the fluid there thick, slippery, and plentiful. As he kisses her neck, she hears the groans that reverberate through him, the excitement he feels from provoking her pleasure.
When he pushes fully inside her with careful insistence, she muffles her voice against his shoulder, although there's no obvious need for silence. With the next few subsequent journeys into her body, he pulls back a little to see her face, monitoring her, looking for signs that anything isn't right, watching the sensual expression he's responsible for. She can't stop the seductive smile that emerges as her eyes meet his, nor can she control the way that smile disappears into delight as the heel of his hand presses against her once his finger is entirely buried within.
His thumb circles her clit each time he pulls out of her, and his palm presses more fully against that same spot when he's deep within her, and he continues the cycle so she never has a break from the fantastic sensations he's offering. But those feelings, the individual components created by lips and tongues, hands and fingers, bare chests and broad shoulders, all cease to exist as unique, distinctive elements and become one unified experience.
Instead of stopping him (or herself), her hand clamps down on his wrist, holding him there, demanding that he continue. She hangs on so tightly that his actions slow for a time before she begins to move more naturally with him. The last thing she wants is for him to go away.
Her brain screams please again and again, hoping to find some resolution here, to find some relief. And she gets close, so, so close, and the word please actually escapes her lips. Possibly a few times. For now she doesn't judge it, she has no space for judgement or thought, just vague observation.
There's a split second when she knows without doubt that he isn't stopping, and she isn't stopping, and her body has decided this is more than okay, and the satisfying sensation in her becomes an all-out firestorm of resolution, release, fulfillment.
At this point, the climactic surge that felt so elusive is now inexorable, those few precious seconds so long awaited slamming any residual hesitation from her head. It feels like forever since she's come with anyone else. It's fucking joy. And while it is, and should be, physical joy, it's more than that alone.
His hand refuses to abandon the heat of her sex and the internal throbs that beat against him. He pulls out and sinks back in slowly, just once more, letting his palm press at her front, following each of her sighs and moans like he's addicted to catching every one. It's a nice, easy, gradual trip back down (in some ways literally, because he had one of her legs lifted and hooked on his elbow and her other foot was high on tiptoes).
As she relaxes, she notes the scratches on his shoulder. When she remembers how to apologize, she knows she'll have to. It certainly wasn't intentional.
Thank you (prayed to the universe) repeats in her head now instead of please. It's just a fucking orgasm, she knows that, but she feels a little less dysfunctional, and a lot less tense, and she wants to chase moments like this again and again.
A voice in her head, like someone speaking softly and from a faraway distance, warns of the dangers of this thing she's engaging in. This is addictive, distracting. He could walk away tomorrow and throw away all they've worked for, he could make her regret her trust in him. If this all goes to hell, the rubble left behind will take her a long time to dig out from, and she'll have only herself to blame for caving in to her desires. But those reemerging warnings are challenged as she looks upon his face.
This is more reckless than she's been in quite a while, but the fact that her life doesn't feel like endless pain when she's around him sways her, makes her continue, draws her in. All of this may make her a fool, may prove the worst of her concerns are true. Or perhaps it will prove something else.
Burying her hand in the hair at the back of his head, she kisses him slowly, appreciatively, feeling the escalation to fervor hitting faster this time.
She doesn't know if the rampant affection she feels is evident to him, but it is blatantly obvious to her. It's partly a physical reaction, amorous feelings provoked by sexual satisfaction, but there was something growing between them well before they reached this point. That's probably how and why they ended up here in the first place.
His hand caresses her cheek, his thumb stroking tenderly. He speaks again after such lengthy silence, "I know you're concentrating on this semester and wanted to hold off on—"
"Maybe we could agree to take a hiatus from the wait, for today?" she suggests, a little flickered smile at the end.
"Or we could forget about the wait entirely and just…" He ceases as he sees her disapproval. Watching while she unzips his pants and reaches inside, he agrees, "Right…a hiatus from the wait. Got it."
"I want to be with you."
"I want that, too." His eyes droop shut and jaw relaxes as her fingers wrap around his girth and take a few lazy strokes before her grip tightens. His hips, pulsing slightly forward, begin to move more noticeably, and he pulls her hand away. He suggests, somehow certainly and tentatively, "Have protection in my room…"
"Come on," she replies without pause, taking his hand, but he doesn't budge initially.
As tender as he's been, there's a need behind his eyes that lets her know he doesn't take any of this lightly or indifferently. No, there's fire there. In case she doesn't realize it, he embraces her, shoving her to the wall and lifting her in one move, pulling her legs around his hips. His desire inflames hers, swelling fully as if it hadn't been resolved right here minutes ago.
They stagger through the apartment, fortunately ending in his room, although she really doesn't know (nor does she care) how they got here. Each touch could be described as frantic pawing as she tries to fight her way nearer to him.
A pause descends as each stop to get rid of their shoes, an abrupt but necessary hiccup in the progress they've made. While they're separated, he grabs the condoms that were hidden away from potentially curious eyes. When he looks at her in a way that pleads and compliments and appreciates, the depths of her fondness for this man bleed into her conscious mind.
Those feelings are either a sign that this is something she should avoid because of its possible dangers, or something she should hold onto because of its potential rewards.
She pursues him to his bed, watching him crash into it until he sits on the edge. He takes her hips in his hands and pulls her between his legs, their bodies finding each other again as they remove the bits and pieces of clothing from each other that have survived this interaction so far.
When the last scrap is gone, when they have nothing left to hide behind, she kisses him for what feels like the hundredth time (still wanting a hundred more). He lifts her knee and pulls it over his leg, propping it on the bed to grant himself easy access to her.
Even though she's already found satisfaction, he continues working on her, like his need for her pleasure is equal or paramount to his own. But he's hard, ready, and willing, clearly eager to allow this to continue. She takes a condom from the bed next to him and sits low on his lap by his knees while both of his hands gravitate to her breasts, cupping them as his thumbs tease her nipples.
He licks his lips, and she already imagines the feeling of him replacing a thumb with his mouth, and the thought of him at her breast like that again makes her urgency for him rise.
Directing him to lean back with a simple touch, she finally explores his sex, studying him, enticing him, while she rolls on the condom. She considers going down on him, she certainly wouldn't mind doing so, repaying him for the fantastic way she felt moments ago (and still feels, in a way). She decides to hold off, wanting the close contact she'll feel if he's inside her. Besides, maybe (hopefully) this won't be the only time this kind of thing happens between them, and she can save that for next time.
The condom in place, she doesn't volunteer the information that she has birth control handled on her end. She doesn't take any chances in this department.
Taking his shoulders in her hands, Kate pushes him down to the bed. Her body follows and conforms to his, returning to the comforting reassurance of his arms. And she finds that he holds her immediately and without hesitation.
Without further delay, she aligns her sex with his and takes him inside her, listening to the vulnerably excitable breaths he responds with. A moment of pause is required, seizing a chance to relax and let her body adjust to the fullness of him inside her.
He sits up, delicately kissing her neck and shoulders, his hand brushing soft circles on her back. He's still not rushing, and at this point, she really wouldn't blame him for exhibiting some impatience, but none can be found. Sweeping her hair away from her face, he directs her to look at him. Each open their mouths as if to speak, the moment charged with all manner of things that could be said, things that are thought, felt, and sensed.
Anything she might say would lack the cautious filter of forethought, so instead she fondly gazes down at him, waiting for and finding a similar returned stare from him that tells her she wants to continue.
She pivots her hips, lifting subtly as she does, and his hand swoops over her again like he needs to feel all of her at once.
For a moment while she continues, he leans back, bracing his hands on the bed and watching them together. Every look over her form is more amorous than salacious, the feeling of being so deeply desired making her skin tingle with heat. Shifting his weight to one hand so he can press her lower back, he carefully lifts off the bed, bringing his hips up to meet her so they're in unison, burrowing more deeply and thoroughly into her.
That vulnerability he showed as they began turns into strength. His more genteel qualities fall to the wayside as arousal provokes power and need propels urgency. Beneath the refined exterior, he's a man (an incredibly attractive man), pure and simple. It's fantastic.
How she loves bringing that side of him to the forefront, allowing the desirous, lusty, raw aspects of him out into the open, all directed at her, even as he remains considerate and caring in the way he treats her.
Her concerns were already hijacked by the pleasure she feels, by the abandon made possible by fantastic physical sensations accompanied with the belief that she's secure enough here to avoid resisting. And with that security, she moves more quickly, the pair savoring the delightful intimacy that is shared.
Hell, she may even come again.
Kate's so distracted she's already on her back before she knows what he's doing. He's still inside her, bodies beyond basic arousal, thoroughly crazy with need, finding outlets for things pent up within. But his hips slow, pulling away from her each time to take long but thorough plunges back in, burying to the hilt, his body pressing against hers and causing amplified sensations that make her more reactive.
In this slower moment, her legs curl around his and lock so she can pull him deeper, both seeking the closest connection the physical world will allow. He looks at her, watches her each time he rocks within her before he retreats again. He holds her face, caresses her shoulder, rubs her neck with the backs of his fingers. He's there. With her.
And he demands without an utterance that she is there. With him.
It's almost too much, something she'd normally turn away from, but she can't, doesn't even wish to.
This connection feeds something in her heart as the sex fulfills the needs of her body. It would be impossible for her not to feel cared about here, in this tight embrace that's anything but detached or impersonal.
She feels the sweat that coats them both, and sees the perspiration on his brow, believing it's as much from bodily exertion as it is from the strength required for restraint. And she's just fine with being fucked into oblivion right now, so restraint isn't really needed any more...it certainly doesn't feel like she's being used. Hopefully he knows he isn't being used either (or maybe he doesn't care either way).
It's not hard to flip him over when she decides to take back control. She leverages her weight on her palms on his torso, and unleashes the fullness of her longing. She rebounds on his lap more ardently, taking him for all he's worth, offering all she can. He seizes her hips in his hands, facilitating, also clearly done with patience. He watches the scene for as long as he's able, eventually forced to close his eyes. But one of his hands covers hers on his chest, like even when he has to go into autopilot, controlled by bodily responses not governed cerebrally, he still does not completely relinquish thoughts of who he's with.
His release dawns with fury, and his emphatic response, along with the pounding of his body against and into hers, sends her into a climax that peaks harder and more fiercely than her first.
She came twice more than she'd hoped for, and the resultant fuzzy haze in her brain is more relaxed and enjoyable than she remembers it being in the past. Her body remains where it landed, covering his.
Keeping her close, he rolls onto his side like he can barely move now, but his arms cross behind her and hold on like his strength knows no bounds.
She similarly wraps her arms around the back of his neck, cradling his head and holding it against her chest. His lips against her, he mutters, "Mind. Blown."
Just a few breaths later, she thinks he's asleep, so she pulls away, tying off the condom for him and retreating from the bed. "Leaving already?" he questions, lifting his head and seeming not at all pleased by her departure.
"Just saying 'hi' to your resident bounty hunter," she jokes. "Back in a sec."
Once alone in his bathroom, she leans against the door, pressing her hands to her face as she comprehends the lines she's crossed. The way he looked when he asked her if she was leaving harkens back to that same sadness she was trying to dispel, and certainly doesn't want to create more of in his life. Or hers.
The white flag of surrender affixed to Boba could easily carry an entirely different connotation now, although she knows that wasn't Castle's intention when he placed it there while she slept on his sofa.
This scares her in umpteen million ways. Sex that's this interpersonal and affectionately passionate, coupled with intense and desirous, isn't the norm, at least not in her experience. As one part of her brain absolutely berates her for her lack of focus and devotion to her cause, most of her knows the way this experience fulfilled more than her libido.
Still she feels intense guilt for abandoning her monastic-like, single-minded existence to pause for something so frivolous (and enjoyable).
She likes him, cares about him, deeply in truth, and maybe this is too much, too fast, but she doesn't want to walk away.
Once she decides to return to his bed, she acknowledges the possibility that now that he's thinking more clearly, he may become disinterested. Maybe he'd prefer to deny what happened between them. Or since he's had her already, he'll be ready to move on to someone else. She wants to believe that these worries are unfounded, but the universe has a way of making her worst fears materialize.
Kate goes back to his bed, trying to get into the exact position she left a few minutes earlier, her leg over his side, his head tucked against her chest.
"You came back," he says drowsily and with a hint of surprised relief.
She purrs softly as she finds the resting spot she sought, holding him as he holds her, limbs uselessly heavy but clinging. The fit together in this position.
He sleeps, exhalations puffing softly against her neck.
She watches his rest, her mind fluttering about again. She misses the silencing of her thoughts, but manages to doze on and off in the cozy embrace. Even though she feels like she should be accomplishing something more than lying in bed on a Saturday morning, it's so very comfortable that she allows it.
"So polite," he chuckles suddenly (before she even knows he's awake) kissing her softly, nuzzling against the junction of her neck and shoulder.
"What?" she manages, the sound of her voice relatively at ease, so different from what she expects.
"You said both 'please' and 'thank you'? You always so well-mannered during sex?"
Realizing she must have allowed the words to emerge beyond her thoughts while they were together, she decides to distract rather than explain, shakes her head and says, "More the opposite."
He moves back to see her better, and his replying grin is numbly intrigued enough for her to know she hit the mark.
"You earned the appreciation though...for making me feel so good," she whispers, her fingers exploring his chest, firm and mostly smooth, moving over his hip, enjoying the freedom to touch him.
"You too," he replies immediately. Tapping her back with his thumb as he considers something, he finally adds, "Were you serious about the hiatus thing?"
"Why? You want to do this again some time?"
"Without doubt. You?"
"I'd like that…very much," she replies, his hand sliding up over her ribs, certain intentions obvious simply by looking at him. She continues, "But I do have to finish this semester strong. The thing is, I really like—" She sees the minutes change on the clock on the table behind him, and she asks, "What time do you have to get Alexis?"
He glances at the time. "Soon. Coming along?" he asks as he gets out of bed and readies himself.
"I'm gonna head home, try to push forward with classwork and get things wrapped up. I'll see you Monday?"
He looks disappointed, and she can't discern if it's because he doesn't want to continue their work or because he wants to see her sooner.
"I finally got a cell phone," she says. "I can give you the number in case something comes up or you need to reach me."
His expression is slightly less displeased. "Sounds good."
She retrieves the phone from her coat in the other room, but gripes, "Gotta find the number."
"Gimme," Castle replies, lifting the phone from her fingers before she offers it, punching in his number, and waiting until his rings from somewhere else in the apartment. He clicks a few buttons before he hands it back, telling her, "I programmed in my number."
Feeling she appears too needy, she adds, "You don't have to feel obligated to call or anything just because we had sex. I only thought it would make it easier to finish up our project."
"Noted," he cheerily says.
"Really. No expectations here, don't worry. I can't even keep track of those guy rules…you know, how long you're supposed to wait to call, or maybe you're not supposed to call, or—"
"It all sounds exceedingly complicated," he adds, pulling her in, kissing her deeply, making her wish he didn't have somewhere else to be.
A few minutes later, they're out his door. They walk together two blocks or so before their paths diverge and quick touchless goodbyes are offered.
She's not even three more blocks away when her phone rings and Rick Castle appears on her screen. It's the first call she's accepted.
"Hello?" she answers when the ringing stops.
"Hey. I just called to ask how long I'm supposed to wait before I call you," he jokes. "I don't remember where we landed on that."
"Not really fond of rules are you…?"
He continues with carefree insistence, "So was it too soon? I'd hate to call too quickly and let on that I'm interested. That would be so embarrassing."
She giggles too softly for him to hear over the phone. Considering whether or not to return the sentiment, she replies lightly, "I think the more acceptable time to call would be either tonight or tomorrow night, after Alexis goes to bed. That would give us a chance to consider various callback strategies and what they mean, and we could discuss it then…hash the whole thing out."
"I could do that."
"I should warn you, I still might think you're interested since it's less than six days. Or maybe the benchmark is three days?"
"Same day or next day definitely comes off as interested," he notes with a scholarly air.
"It does."
"So I messed up my opportunity to play it cool and casual?"
"Probably."
"I can live with that," he answers. "Almost at Alexis's music thing, so I need to get going, but, Kate…?"
"What?"
"I had a good time. A really good time."
"Me too."
"So let's finish up that project, destroy Norton's test so hard it may learn something from us, and I'll get a sitter for after the final so we can have the whole night."
"Probably should." She hears Alexis calling to him in the background, and Kate says, "Talk to you later?"
"Count on it."
