He spends the ride to her apartment trying - and mostly failing - to keep his hands off of her because Kate Beckett will have sex with him in a lot of places but apparently the backseat of a cab is not one of them.

"Stop it," she hisses and he can almost taste the alcohol on her breath as it floats over his lips. "You are not putting your hand up my skirt right now."

"Why not? We just had sex in an alley, Beckett. I really don't see how a cab is any different."

"We didn't have an audience in the alley."

"Well, we don't know when exactly Ryan showed up so -"

"Stop talking." She slams a hand over his mouth, her eyes flashing amber in the haze of the street lights. "You can wait twenty minutes." Her hand falls away and she sits back, her head resting heavily on the cracked vinyl seat.

"I can." He leans in close, drags his lips up the column of her throat, his tongue darting out to press against her humming pulse. "But I really, really don't want to."

Kate rolls her head to look at him and fuck the fire dancing in her eyes should scare him but really all it does is stoke his own conflagration, sends the flames licking through his veins, fueled by overwhelming lust and vast quantities of tequila. He sways into her and her hand wraps around his neck, fingers dipping into his collar, nails carving divots into his overheated skin.

"Do you really want another man to watch me come?" Her tongue rolls over his bottom lip, hot and rough, and he moans softly against her open mouth. "You want him to see me and hear me and smell me? You want to share, Castle?"

"No," he growls, lips skidding across her cheek before catching her ear between his teeth and biting down sharply. "You're mine."

"Then get your hand out of my skirt and sit still because if you keep that up -" she grasps his hand, stopping the slow circle of his fingers on her inner thigh, "our driver is going to get first hand experience of just how loud I can be."

Castle grunts and flops back against the seat, the poorly padded cushion deflating violently under him. Smiling, she leans and in presses her shoulder into his ribs, her head coming to rest over his heart.

"Don't pout. It's not attractive."

He runs his hand through her hair, wrapping the silky curls around and around his fingers, and closes his eyes, lets the feel of her head on his chest calm his thundering heart. Kate hums and rests her hand on his chest, thumb swiping rhythmically over the hem of his shirt pocket. She's warm and heavy against his side, her body molded to his, slotting smoothly into the empty spaces he feels were made for her in his more pathetically romantic moments.

"Why aren't you more drunk?"

She looks up at him, laughter in her eyes. "Why do you think I'm not drunk?"

"Well, no sex in the cab for one. Also - "

"Wait." She leans back from him, her mouth curling into a frown. "Drunk automatically equals sex in a cab to you? I'm not sure I like what that implies."

"What, that I've had lots of sex in the back of cabs?"

"Yes."

"Well, I have had -" Shit. Shit shit shit. That is not a good look. "What I meant to say was that alcohol lowers your inhibitions - oh, I love that word." He pauses and cocks his head to one side, has to close his eyes to stop the spinning in his head as New York flies past the dirt speckled widows of the cab. "Inhibitions. It's a fun one to say. Lots of i's."

"Castle." The low growl in her throat hits him in the chest and crawls slowly out over his skin, makes him want to make her say it again. Preferably while naked, her body rolling under his. "I think you should stop talking now."

"Yeah, you're probably right." He smiles at her, feels his lips spread his cheeks wide. "You're so smart, Beckett. I love that about you."

Kate laughs at him, the remaining vestiges of her anger fading as her eyes soften. "I'm going to remind you of that the next time you tell me I'm being stubborn."

"Stubborn and smart aren't mutually exclusive," he huffs, tugging her back into his side. "And you are both. At the same time. A lot."

"Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember what I said about talking?"

"That I should stop?"

"You might want to do that now."

They ride in silence for a moment, the whir of tires on pavement the lulling him, dragging his eyelids down until he feels her hand slide over his thigh, pressing and warm, oh, so very very warm.

His lips lift lazily as she cants into him and he wraps his arm more tightly around her. Her tongue dips into the hollow of his throat, her breath hot and damp against his skin. He can feel the cab driver watching them and realistically there are two options here. One: They have sex in this cab - really, really fucking loudly because it's Beckett and they're drunk and it's his fucking birthday - and end up on page six in the morning. Yeah, no. She would not be happy. Two: No sex in a cab, raging erection, Beckett torturing him slowly, death.

Fuck, he hates being the responsible one. Especially when he's drunk and she moves her fingers like that.

"Kate," he murmurs and he bites down on his lip to keep the groan from escaping because her hand is moving lower and no, no. He grabs her hand away and she looks up at him, eyes glazed with lust, blinking. He tilts his head, mouth at her ear and he can feel a shiver race down her spine, a barely audible sigh pushing past her parted lips. "I don't need the driver seeing either of us come but if you move your hand any lower all bets are off and I will make you scream in the back of this cab."

She lets out a lilting laugh, but backs away, head resting against the cool window.

"You weren't that drunk two minutes ago," Castle whines, shifting uncomfortably. "It's like birthday torture."

Kate drops her hand onto the seat, wiggling her fingers. He narrows his eyes in distrust, but takes her hand, twining their fingers together, his knuckles pushing into the seat. "I was trying to be good. Also, I'm not really that drunk, Castle. Well, not as drunk as you, anyway." He stares at her, tries to make sense of what she's saying without getting distracted by the way her lips glisten in the yellow light. "I started faking the shots when it became painfully obvious that there was no way we were going to beat Ryan and Jenny at that game."

"You, Katherine Beckett, are pure evil."

She laughs, all throaty and gorgeous and where are they? He needs to get them the fuck out of this cab. Against a building. Any building. It's late, they'll be quick, he'll pay extra for the driver to wait around the corner, but she's shaking her head at him like she knows what he's thinking and damn it, she will never go for this.

"I'm thinking in my next book there might be carneys," he blurts, letting his mind carry him as far away from thoughts of her naked body thrashing against his as he can before he explodes. "I've always loved the circus because it's a never ending parade of the best kind of freaks humanity has to offer. Maybe somebody murders the strong man with his own five hundred pound anvil and Nikki Heat has to come in and investigate and one of the midgets who works there falls in love with her and Rook is jealous and -"

Her mouth is on his then, hot, tongue sliding over his lips and into his mouth. He grabs the back of her head, fingers fisting in her hair, and she smells so good, like sex and cherries and vanilla and tequila and home - they really need her home. She breaks away from him but doesn't retreat, leaves her mouth hovering over him, breath washing over his buzzing lips.

"Shut up, Castle."

"You threatening me actually makes it hotter."

She smirks, and then by some miracle they're at her place and he's paying the cab driver, muttering some sort of apology because there had been no sex but it's not like they were even close to being subtle either. He follows her into the building and she's heading for the stairs and - oh, shit he has to walk up stairs. He's drunk and horny and stairs are not his friend right now.

He grabs onto the railing, takes the hand she's holding out to him as well, hauls himself up flight after flight, his eyes glued to her body swaying in front of him. And then he's pushing her against her door, fumbling with the keys he's taken from her because he needs her inside - somewhere, anywhere. Kitchen, living room, stairs leading to nowhere; it doesn't matter. She stumbles into the apartment backwards and he's already hiking up her dress, sliding a finger through her arousal.

"Castle," she mumbles, but it sounds more like a moan. She's pulling away, chest heaving. "Before we do that or before we pass out, whichever comes first, I need to give you your birthday present."

"Wonder Woman?" He feels the excitement bubbling up in his chest, visions of a red, white and blue clad Beckett swimming across his mind. Yes. Present. He can wait for a present.

"You really think I'm going to go into the bathroom and do my hair like that right now? At," she glances down at her watch, lifting an eyebrow, "nearly three in the morning while we're both drunk?"

"Yes? Because you love me?"

"No, because if I leave you alone for the hour it would take to get ready for that costume, you will be passed out and I am not going through that hair process again." She steps into him and he wraps his arms low around her waist. "I got you a real present too."

"Your body in a skimpy superhero costume is the only present I will ever need."

"Remember that when I never get you anything again for the rest of our lives."

A chill runs down his spine and he lets his eyes slip closed briefly. The rest of our lives. So casual. It sounds like honey on her tongue, sweet and smooth and god, he loves her.

He loosens his grip and steps away because if he doesn't, he'll take her right now, right here and he's already pretty uncomfortable and he's hoping for some post-present sex regardless. "Alright, Beckett. Let's see what you've got."

He watches her move toward her bedroom, hips still swinging in that way that hypnotizes him, makes him forget what he's doing, where he is, his own damn name. She tosses a smile at him over her shoulder as she passes over the threshold, the fingers of her right hand flicking at him, pushing him back toward the living room.

Castle flops down on the sofa and unbuttons the cuffs on his shirt, rolling the sleeves sloppily up to his elbows. His head fills with air, threatens to disconnect and float right off his neck, and he leans back, anchors himself to the overstuffed cushions lining the back of her couch. He stares at the ceiling until his eyes slip shut, memories from the night playing across his mind. Kate, Alexis, his mother and her father and their incessant teasing. Lanie and Jenny giggling and the boys groaning while Kate kicked his ass at Guitar Hero. Kate's fingers tangled with his as he made small talk and traded pleasantries with his friends and colleagues. The way she felt under his hands, pressed between his body and a brick wall. Her lips, her hair, her laugh.

Kate.

"You fall asleep on me, old man?"

"Not old. Just slightly aged. Like a fine wine. Or good cheese." He opens his eyes and rolls his head slowly across the cushion, trying to control the slosh of blood against his eardrums. "You changed." She's barefoot, her toes curling into the edge of the area rug, yoga pants and a tank top having replaced her dress.

"Yeah, I needed that dress off."

"Then why did you stop me when I was trying to take it off?" Kate laughs as his face contorts into what he know is a pout but he doesn't really care. It's his damn birthday and he's been looking forward to unwrapping her for hours.

"Do you really think you have the dexterity for zippers and hooks right now, Castle?" He huffs and rolls his eyes and she laughs again, dropping down next to him on the couch, her knee pressing into his thigh as she twists to face him. "I'd rather not ruin that dress; I just got it."

"You take pleasure in killing my dreams, don't you?"

"A little bit, yeah." She drops a messy kiss to his cheek, her right hand coming to rest on the nape of his neck as she presses a gift wrapped box into his chest with her left. "Happy birthday."

The paper is slick against his skin, dark blue shot through with tiny silver stars, a night sky in the palm of his hand. Castle works his fingers under the edges of the folds, taking care not to rip the wrapping. Kate laughs and he looks at her, turning the box over to work at the other side. "What?"

"I just always assumed you'd be one of those people that just rip into it. Shred the wrapping to get to the present." She taps a finger against the side of the box. "I even taped it really loosely to help."

"I usually am," he answers honestly, attention returning to the present in this hands, "but this feels important so I wanted to take my time."

Kate sighs and leans against him, her arm curling around his neck, hand slipping down through the open collar of his shirt and coming to rest on his chest. She rests her head against his shoulder as he opens the last seam, her forehead cradled in the curve of his neck. Castle can feel the nervous energy pouring off of her, her heart pounding against his bicep. He presses a quick kiss to her crown, inhaling the scent of her shampoo.

"You still smell so good," he murmurs, pulling the lid off the box and parting the tissue paper, revealing his present.

He scans it and it's familiar yet distant, something from another lifetime ago and then he realizes what it is. His chest clenches and it blinds him sometimes, the fact that she's here with him, that after everything she's willingly and completely his. She might not let him bring up marriage - at least not right now - but she's here and she has this and he's never loved her as much as he does in this moment.

"It's-"

"No," he says quietly, looking up at her. He trails his fingers over the bridge of her nose, her cheek, her chin. He's taking in all of her, committing it to memory. "I know what it is."

Her eyes flick to the box and then back to his. "It's about me, isn't it? Not Nikki?"

Right, he hadn't used names, only pronouns. He never did reread it once he finished, instead crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. He'd needed to rid himself of the emotions while he waited for her; was forced to watch her break apart, unable to help no matter how much he wanted to. So he'd scribbled it out, poured his heart onto a yellow legal pad he'd swiped from her desk and then threw it away, his catharsis crumpled in her precinct wastebasket. He sees the creases in the paper now, the way she must have tried to smooth them out over time with books or heavy objects.

"Yeah," Castle finally answers, voice choked with emotion, "it's about you. Us. How did you - I thought I got rid of it."

Kate unwraps herself from around him, turning so she's facing him. She lifts her knees to her chest, wraps her arms around them and she's free of makeup, gorgeous, young. He watches as she closes her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. "I stayed at work after you left. I wasn't ready to go home and I was doing paperwork and I -" She laughs, lifting her elbow onto the back of the couch. She tilts her head, falling in front of her face and he tucks it behind her ear, needing to see her. To see the openness and love that have finally eclipsed the shadows of pain in her eyes. "I threw something out that I shouldn't have and when I went into the garbage for it, I saw it. I thought it was mine at first." She slides her fingers through his hair and he sighs. The buzz of tequila is waning, but this is better, she's better. "You made me want to be more, Castle. You made me - you made me want to work to get past all of this so that I could be ready for you, for this. That's why I kept it. To remind myself."

He pulls her into him, lips brushing over hers. His tongue slides over her bottom lip, into her mouth, kissing her with all the memories from that day. The way she had broken down but tried so desperately to hide it, the hollow look in her eyes that scared the shit out of him. She had gone from bad to worse to mending and he would have done anything for her then, did do anything when he sent Esposito to help her instead of him.

"I love you so much," he mumbles, breaking away from her lips and resting his forehead against hers. Her breath washes over his cheeks, warm and sweet, and he closes his eyes again, gives his galloping heart time to slow to a trot.

"I know." Her fingers, slim and cool, dance over his cheeks, the soft pads smoothing over the light stubble sprouting along his jaw. She leans back and he lets his eyes slip open, tracing over the soft lines of her smile. "Your love was - It was too much for so long, Castle. I couldn't carry the weight of it, not while I was in that place." She nods to the framed piece of paper in his hand. "And I'm sorry for that, for making you wait all that time."

His head is shaking before she gets even halfway through the apology. "No. Don't, Kate." He skirts his thumb along her neck, can feel her pulse, alive and jumping, under the thin skin. She has to know, has to understand that the wait - he'd do it all over again, exactly the same, if it meant getting to this place with her. "We needed that time. You needed to heal and I needed to let you. I spent a lot of time wishing I could make it better, wanting to take away your pain. But we both know that if I had, we wouldn't be here. We wouldn't have this -" he kisses her, hot and a little desperate - "and I wouldn't change that for anything."

Kate slides over his lap so she's straddling him, the curves and angles of her soft and pliant under his fingers. He can see the gratefulness in her eyes, the green flecks that have broken past the rich brown. Her lips lift in a wry smile. "You still wish we had sex after that first case, don't you?"

"Yeah, I really do. Come on, Beckett, it would have been so hot! You bit your lip and then whispered in my ear. You can't tell me that wasn't a come on."

She laughs, sliding closer to him, pressing the sharp edges of his present into his stomach as she leans her chest into his. He groans at the sensation, hands sliding under the straps of her shirt and over her shoulders. "Of course it was a come on, Castle. But I wasn't going to sleep with you just to sleep with you."

"Still would have been great."

"You have such a high opinion of your sexual performance."

He raises his hips slightly, gently grazing her. She lets out of a soft moan, head tilted back, the long column of her neck exposed. He slides his mouth over her clavicle, the familiar taste of her skin coating his tongue. "You've never complained."

She has one foot on the floor then, the other following suit and he's about to complain, to pull her back when she reaches her hand out to him. "Bed, Castle. Now."

Oh. Okay. Yeah, he can get on board with that. He takes her outstretched hand, his fingers curling between hers, and pushes up off the couch. She laughs at him as she starts to walk backward toward her bedroom, nodding her hand at the picture frame still clutched in his other hand.

"Bringing that with you?"

He looks down at the frame, a gorgeous combination of wood and metal, rustic yet somehow still sleek and modern, the glass reflecting his swimming image back at him. He looks tired but happy, his hair disheveled, collar spread wide, face tinged with pink and split with a grin so wide his cheeks are starting to hurt. The grin falters when his eyes focus past his reflection and fall on his own hastily scribbled words; words she saved and preserved, words she inspired and used for inspiration. His heads spins with it, the meaning behind her actions hitting him over and over, the feelings spiraling out of control until all he can say -

"Yeah, I am."

They cross the threshold to her bedroom and she leads him to the bed, the light pouring through her open curtains the only illumination. He pauses for a moment to place the frame on her nightstand, wanting to keep it close, not caring how overly sentimental he's being. Kate releases his fingers and steps into him, tucking her body against his side and resting her head on his chest. Sighing, his contentment ruffling through her hair, Castle wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly, his fingers tracing tiny circles along her back.

Kate turns her head, her breath sending fire licking across his skin as she noses open the collar of his shirt and presses a kiss to the center of his chest. Her hands snake between them and work at his buttons, deftly slipping the tiny discs through their holes, her lips skating aimlessly across his sternum. Tugging the tails from the waistband of his pants, she flicks open the final two buttons, sliding her hands over his stomach, up the curve of his ribs. Castle groans, her name trapped somewhere between his lungs and his throat, when her teeth run over his nipple, the ragged edges tugging and scraping at his skin.

His mouth lands on her naked shoulder, hands sliding under the hem of her shirt, fingers desperately seeking flesh because he needs to touch her now; needs to show her, make her feel what he's feeling. Lust and love and happiness swirl in his veins, mixing with the alcohol, pushing him up up up, filling his stomach with a scorching desire that pitches and rolls, drives his hips into hers. She moans when his fingers change course, dipping down, pushing under the soft elastic waist of her pants, his palms cupping her bare cheeks as he yanks her closer, tries to fuse their bodies through too many layers of fabric.

"Thank you," he murmurs, lips ghosting over hers. "Hands down the best birthday I've ever had."

She undoes his belt, slowly sliding it out of the loops. She tilts her head back and she's smiling and it's not enough, he not sure anything ever will be. "And your actual birthday isn't even until tomorrow," she teases. "Think of the possibilities."

The excitement hums through him and just thinking of her in that Wonder Woman costume has him hard and wanting and oh god he just needs to be against her, inside of her, the soft skin of her neck sweet on his tongue. She's unzipping his pants and they fall to the floor, a heaped pool around his feet. He steps back and kicks out of them before bringing her body back to his, the separation of even a few seconds too much for him right now.

"You need to take your pants off," he says with a groan, pulling his hands from her waistband and pushing at the stretchy fabric. "Too much material."

She laughs against his shoulder, pushing him back until he falls back on the bed. His elbows cushion his landing as he bounces on the mattress, staring up at her as she slowly slides the cotton pants down her legs. Oh, those legs. So long and toned and he needs to feel them wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to where he so fucking desperately wants to be.

She takes a step forward, confident and stunning, and tugs her shirt over her head, tossing it somewhere on the floor and he can't stop staring at the way her chest moves when she breathes, the pale pink scars that are so much a part of them. She moves to the edge of the bed and he sits up, running his hands over the backs of her thighs. His tongue trails around the curve of her belly button and he can feel the way her stomach contracts, the hiss of air she sucks through her teeth. He moves lower, can practically taste the heat radiating off of her, and he parts her folds with his fingers, sliding his mouth over her. She grips his shoulders, pushing his name out a gasp and fuck, she tastes so good. He's still aching for her though and it's not enough; he needs her on him, moving over him with ease and want and so much sexiness that he can't think straight.

Pressing his fingers into the hollow of her knee, he tugs her leg up onto the bed, her calf pressed into the mattress alongside his thigh. Castle leans back, slick lips breaking into a grin when she groans at the loss of contact, and slides his fingers together, dipping into her shallowly. She's wet and hot and climbing into his lap, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rolls her hips against his hand, seeking more of him. He teases her, lips skittering over her ribs, fingers slipping over her, into her, sliding across her clit; she chases him with her hips, rocking and writhing in his lap, driving him to brink with her low moans and grasping hands.

"Castle - fuck," she pants, her lips skimming his ear, tongue tracing over the shell. "Stop teasing. I need you." Her teeth close on his earlobe, sharp, pleasure blurring into pain and back again and fuck she's going to kill him with her body one of these days, all lithe and hot and his.

Her whispered threats melt into a mewling moan of pure pleasure when he slips two fingers into her, pressing as deeply as he can, his palm bumping her clit as he thrusts into her. She sinks down onto him, her weight pushing his arm down until the back of his hand is brushing over his throbbing erection with every sweep of her hips and shit -

"Jesus, Kate," he slurs as they topple over on the bed, his hips thrusting into her without his permission, the slippery silk of his boxers teasing them both. "You feel so fucking amazing."

She runs her hands down his chest, the tips of her fingers flickering over his skin until she reaches his waist. With a wicked grin, she pushes the silk down over his hips and takes him in her hand, massaging him from base to tip. His eyes slam shut at the way she works him, the steady, agonizing twist of her wrist and he can't think. He's buzzing and it's leftover tequila and building desire and he slides out of her, gripping her wrist with his coated fingers, stilling her. Her eyes are wide, full of passion and she bites down on her lip as he brings their hands to his mouth, rolling his tongue over the tips of his fingers. He lets out a strangled moan at how good she tastes and then he's inside of her, thrusting hard and fast, his hands gripping her hips as she rides him.

He tries to press up onto his elbows, wants to drag his mouth over her stomach and breasts, feel the flex and play of her muscles under his tongue but his body won't cooperate and all he can do is lay on the bed and watch her. Watch the way her head rolls on her neck as she slips over him, mouth open in silent ecstasy, throat convulsing with every dip and twist of her hips. Kate leans back and braces her hands low on his thighs, her bowed back pressing her chest toward the ceiling, the ends of her hair whispering over his knees.

"You're so gorgeous," he mutters when she starts to flutter around him, her hips bucking erratically as she works for her orgasm. He skates one hand up her side, letting his fingers dip into the spaces between her ribs, before taking her breast in his palm, thumb and index finger swirling over her nipple. "So gorgeous," he repeats and her head snaps up when he pinches her nipple, the hand on her waist sliding over, his thumb pressing firm circles over her clit.

"Castle."

Her voice is raw and rasping, eyes wide and full of so much desire and love that he can't fucking take it anymore. He needs her to come, needs to feel her clamping down around him as she lets go. Increasing the pressure and speed of his thumb, Castle bends his knees and plants his feet on the bed, slamming into her until her eyes roll back and she groans out a string of curses, her body going rigid above him.

"Come on, Kate," he pants, feet and shoulders digging into the bed. "Come for me."

His name is a primal scream on her lips when she comes, her body turning limp and crashing down onto his. He wraps his arms around her and her open mouth is on his neck as he pumps into her one, two, three more times and then cries out her name, his orgasm hot and heavy in his abdomen, body convulsing violently before collapsing onto the bed.

Castle tightens his arms around her, hands coasting up and down her back, her head resting on his chest. She breathes heavily against him and he tangles his fingers in her hair, his gaze drawn to the frame he'd placed on her nightstand. He can't read it in the dark, can only see the gleam of moonlight and street lamps reflecting off the glass but it doesn't matter.

She kept it.

Crumbled, discarded, safe.

"You okay?" Kate asks, her voice soft.

"You've worn me out tonight, woman. I think I'm too old for all these shenanigans."

"Really?" she deadpans. "So that was someone else trying to get me off in the booth tonight?"

"That was so awesome," he grins, proud of himself, and he doesn't need to see her to know she's rolling her eyes.

Gently, Castle shifts their tangled bodies, moving her off his chest and onto the bed, tugging the pillows and sheets into position. She sighs when they're settled, her body curving into his side, head on his shoulder and fingers splayed over his ribs. He yawns widely, jaw cracking, and she laughs, her body shaking under his arm.

"I really did wear you out, didn't I?"

"Yes. So worth it, though. We should have drunk sex more often."

"We'll see if you still feel that way in the morning."

"Afternoon, Beckett. I'm not getting out of this bed - or letting you out of it - until well into the afternoon." He presses a kiss to her forehead, his eyes slipping closed, words slowing along with his heartbeat. "We can spend the whole day having lazy hangover sex."

"No, we can't," she mumbles, her voice thick, sated. "Family birthday dinner, remember?. Have to shop and clean and cook."

Even half-asleep, his heart flips at her willingness to include herself as part of his family. "Cancel it. Sex instead."

"I'm not calling your mother and daughter and telling them that dinner is canceled because you want to stay in bed and have sex all day."

"Fine, I'll go. Will you make it up to me with lots of Wonder Woman sex?"

"Castle, go to sleep."

He's nearly asleep, visions of spandex and bracelets and Beckett crowding his mind when he hears her voice, distant, sexy, perfect.

"Happy birthday, Rick. Love you."

Happy birthday indeed.

finis