Enlightenment 9

A/N: If you missed the M-rated chapter, it is listed under a separate story entitled "Enlightenment Extra: All Lit Up." If you won't be reading the M chapter, I'll try my best not to leave any holes in the plotline where we pick up in this chapter. Further M chapters will be appended to "All Lit Up." There will likely be a Chapter 9.5 there in the next few days. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed or favorited/alerted these two stories. Reviewers, even if I missed writing you directly, please know how much I appreciate the feedback.

When consciousness finally overtook Kate, she knew three things immediately without even opening her eyes. One: she was naked in her bed. (She never went to bed naked, not even after sex, and certainly not after a shower after sex, but as she had recently discovered, sex with Rick was its own new category in her catalogue of experiences). Two: Castle was also naked in her bed. (He was wrapped completely around her and she had recently become acquainted with what his naked skin felt like against hers). Three: She'd had the most deliciously fantastic, ridiculously sigh-inducing sex of her life last night. (She had erupted into a fit of euphoric giggles after her first org—)

"Stop thinking so loudly, you're disrupting my peaceful snuggling."

And people said she had a bedroom voice.

Her eyes opened and took in the sun streaking through her blinds, the clock on her bedside table reading 8:17, the curve of his bicep as his arm flexed over her shoulder to tug her more firmly back against his chest. She turned her head back over her shoulder and caught sight of his cheek as he pressed his nose into her hair and inhaled.

"How did you know I was awake? I hadn't even opened my eyes yet."

"Your breathing changed. And then you made this cute little sighing noise and wiggled your butt back against me."

Now he just sounded gleeful.

"I did not."

"Would you like me to set up a snuggle cam so I have proof? I know this guy who does nanny cams—"

"Absolutely not."

"Fine, then you'll just have to take my word for it. You're a sighing butt-wiggler just before you wake up."

She turned in his arms to lie on her back so she could look him in the eye as she poked him in the arm.

"I am not, and if you say one word of any of this to anyone—"

"You'll what? You can't kill me now that we had the most absurdly amazing sex of our lives."

Her eyes widened.

"What? You seriously want to tell me that wasn't the best sex you've ever had? I've never had sex like that before, all mind-reading and soul-baring and love-making. Besides, you know I can tell when you're lying."

She couldn't pull off the angry and offended look when he'd admitted the same thing she'd just been thinking. She half-smiled and rolled her eyes instead.

"Fine. Yes. That was the best sex I've ever had. Happy now?"

"Yes, actually, I am."

He kissed her quickly on the lips and smiled his cheesiest grin.

Maybe he'd forgotten about the giggling. God she was so mortified now that she thought back on it. She'd never done any of these stupid things—sighing and giggling and butt-wiggling—with anyone else, why did she have to start acting like an idiot when she was in bed with Castle?

"And I learned something new, well lots of things really, but one especially useful new thing about you last night."

Oh God there was more? Something she'd forgotten? She could feel the heat rising up her neck into her cheeks.

"The sexiest sound I have ever heard you make was that euphoric little giggle. I mean your laugh has always completely turned me on, but now I'm afraid you're going to laugh at Esposito and Ryan being ridiculous and I'm going to have to drag you off to the nearest supply closet and rip your clothes off."

Leave it to him to fix everything in two sentences. She blinked once and looked back up at him with a sultry little smile.

"It's my new goal in life to make you laugh like that at least once a week for the rest of your life."

Okay, three sentences. She launched herself at him kissed him full out, morning breath be damned.

He moaned into the kiss and was already on his way to round two when her stomach growled very loudly.

He laughed into the kiss.

"I think I may need to feed you before round two."

"Maybe if we ignore it, it'll go away."

On cue, another loud growl, this time from him. Now she laughed.

"Or not."

She gave him one final peck on the lips and hauled herself off his chest and out of bed. She dug in her drawer for pajama pants and some slightly boring underwear, then leaned over to snag his t-shirt from where it had landed on the floor near the end of her bed. When she turned back to him, he was propped up, head on one hand, just watching her with a smile on his face.

"Do we have to put clothes on?"

"If we want to actually eat breakfast, probably."

"Spoilsport."

"I'll be right out."

She used the bathroom and brushed her teeth, put on the PJs and braided her hair. As she started to reach for her makeup drawer, she looked back in the mirror. In for a penny, in for a pound. She wanted real, well, real didn't involve eyeliner at 8:30 on a Sunday morning.

She opened the door to find her bed empty. Stepping into her slippers, she heard noise from the kitchen. As she stepped out into her hallway, he called to her nonchalantly.

"Kate, I think someone broke into your apartment."

"What? What do you mean?" She scanned the room quickly, and was about to turn back to her room for her gun when he continued.

"They didn't take anything, but they stocked your fridge. I've never seen so many non-takeout items in your kitchen before."

He was whisking eggs in a bowl as butter melted in a skillet on the stove. He had on his boxers and had apparently decided that if she was going to wear his shirt, he was going to wear one of hers. He must have dug the extra-large NYPD long-sleeve she'd gotten for running the precinct 5-K a couple of years before out of her bureau. Her shirt looked good on him. But she was miffed, yes, that's right.

"Very funny, Castle. Don't joke about things like that on my day off! I was about to go for my gun."

He just smiled and focused on whisking. Secretly she was proud of herself. One benefit of planning ahead was the opportunity to grocery shop the morning before the morning after.

As she sat down on one of the stools at her kitchen island, she noticed two champagne flutes full of what looked like orange juice, each with a strawberry on the rim. Wow, he was going all out here.

"What is all this?"

"We can't let the rest of that champagne go to waste, Kate. My mother would sense it from across town and show up here."

"But we left it out. It can't still be good, all warm and flat?" She eyed the glass closest to her warily, but she saw bubbles, so she lifted it and took a small sip.

"I put it in the fridge last night. You had a stopper in your drawer. It was either do menial chores or go completely insane waiting for you to come back out."

He poured the eggs into the pan and grabbed a spatula to scoot the edges in.

"I found ham and cheese—not exactly haute cuisine—but will it do for fuel?"

"Rick, you made me a mimosa with a strawberry. You're cooking me an omelet."

The coffee maker gurgled to signal it had finished brewing. She gestured toward it with one hand.

"You made me coffee. No one's ever made me this kind of a morning after breakfast, no matter how good the sex was."

He tapped his spatula against the edge of the pan, then set it down and grabbed his glass, circling to stand beside her. He tapped his glass to hers and they both took a sip.

"Mmm. Not bad." He looked at his breakfast cocktail with pride, then looked back at her with his best boyish grin. His tone was light, matter-of-fact, as he answered the question implied by her prior statement.

"Sure, but none of the others was the love of your life."

She sat there shocked and more than a little bemused as he kissed her quickly on the forehead and then skirted back around to flip the omelet. He held up two packages of shredded cheese.

"Swiss or cheddar?"

She was silent for a beat, opened her mouth to say something, couldn't figure out what, and closed it again. Since she couldn't formulate a reply to the first comment, she went with answering the question.

"How about some of each?"

"I like the way you think." He sprinkled a liberal helping of white and yellow cheese on the eggs in the pan.

"Please tell me we're sharing that thing." She'd been open and honest for the past twelve hours straight. That had to be a record. She deserved to evade one topic.

He added the ham and folded the golden fluffy circle over.

"I hope so, because I'm not sure I can be polite and give you this one while I'm making one for me. I'm now officially starving."

She stood and poured coffee for each of them, grabbed silverware and paper napkins, and set it all on the island. He pushed down toast in the toaster for a second go-round, then split and plated the omelet. She grabbed strawberry jam from the fridge and honey from her spice shelf and added them to the spread, sitting down and taking a sip of her mimosa.

He popped the toast before it singed and halved it, then put it on their plates, then set her feast before her and his at his spot. As an afterthought, he spun back to get the orange juice and champagne from the door of the fridge, finally circling around to sit beside her.

"What?"

She was smiling, taking a bite of her strawberry.

"Nothing. This looks fabulous." She cut into the omelet with her fork and took a gooey, cheesy bite.

"Mmm. This tastes fabulous. I may not let you leave."

He narrowed his eyes at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Then my evil plan has succeeded. I've always thought the way to your heart was through your stomach." He dug in to his own plate of food.

"If you keep feeding me like this, you're going to have to start going running with me."

"Oh, and you ruined it for me."

"I don't mean today, don't worry."

"Speaking of today, when do you need me out by?" He was concentrating on his eggs, trying to play it off as a casual question, but she heard the undertone. He was steeling himself for disappointment.

"I distinctly remember the phrase 'when we do this for real, the outside world better not expect to hear from us for at least a day and a half' coming out of your mouth a couple of weeks ago. That would mean you're not off the hook until eight AM tomorrow, by my calculations."

He put down his fork, took hers out of her hand and put it on her plate, stood and grabbed her around the waist, pulled her up and kissed her full on the lips. He pulled back and searched her eyes, then asked in a soft, awestruck voice.

"Really? I really get you for the rest of the weekend? Just us?"

"Yeah, Castle, don't act so surprised. I want to be with you. I'm sorry I haven't done a better job of telling you so." She reached up and kissed his cheek. She smiled up at him. "You don't need an evil plan to stay with me, though I'm never going to tell you not to fix me a five-star breakfast."

He hugged her tight against his chest and spoke so quietly it might have been to himself.

"I'm already getting used to this." He squeezed tighter. Her ribs were pulling a bit, but she wasn't about to complain.

"You're not the only one. Though at some point we will get tired of each other. You're going to want to write and I'm going to want to take a bath and read a book or work out." He kissed the top of her head and spoke into her hair.

"I see no reason why all of those can't be accomplished while maintaining physical contact with each other."

"Okay, Rick, let me eat my breakfast before it gets cold, and then you can hug me again afterward."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

He let go and turned back to his plate, shoveling in eggs and toast and slurping down coffee.

"I have no desire to Heimlich that omelet back out of you when you inhale it." He stopped eating and turned to her with his kid-in-a-candy-store face.

"You can do that?"

"Part of the job. CPR certified, the Heimlich maneuver, all that."

"It's kind of like a hug, when you think about it."

"Eat your breakfast, sappy-Rick."

Half an hour later, the dishes were done and he'd retrieved the paper. She had the Arts section on her end of the couch, and of course he had the Sunday Book Review over in the corner of the "L" on the other end.

"Patterson's still number six with that co-authored thing."

He folded down the edge of the page in her direction.

"You know he asked me to co-author. I told him I didn't think I could give adequate attention to Nikki Heat and also start a new set of characters."

"You mean adequate attention to me, of course."

"Of course."

"Do you regret it now? Sounds like their book's doing pretty well."

"Not for a second." He leered at her. "You require my full attention, Detective."

She traded out for the crossword and grabbed a pencil.

She scribbled in a few words and then got stumped.

"What's a 12-letter word for 'Show of affection'?"

"Oh no-ho-ho you don't. You can't start the crossword without me."

"I'm not starting without you, I just asked you for a word."

"You are incorrect on so many levels. A: you cannot use me for the hard words and then take credit for doing the crossword. And two: it's called a puzzle for a reason—I can't participate unless I can actually see the puzzle. Come over here."

He refolded his section of the paper and laid it aside, waving her over toward him.

"Rick, you're being ridiculous."

"Stop arguing and get your non-best-selling-author butt over here."

She stood up and moved to sit beside him.

"Uh uh. Right here in front of me so I don't have to crane my neck and look at it all sideways."

"Seriously?"

He just raised an eyebrow and scooted further into the corner so she could sit in the v of his legs.

"What is that? A pencil? You cannot do the Sunday Times Crossword with a pencil. I expected better from you, Beckett. This requires commitment. We need a pen."

"But what if I want to change an answer?"

"Commit. No waffling."

"Fine." She went to her office for a Rollerball, and while she was in there she turned on her Beatles playlist on iTunes. She showed him the pen, then sat down cross-legged in front of him and leaned back against his chest, holding the paper up where he could see it over her shoulder.

"First of all, what are you doing trying to fill in a 12-letter clue when there are tons of easier ones you could do? Look at 3 down: starts with an 'L,' drink with foam on top. Lager. That gives you a letter in the middle of your long clue."

"Yeah, but you can't switch and go down like that. I always go through all the across clues and do the ones I can answer, then come back and do the down clues."

"But it's so much harder that way. Let me introduce you to the wonder that is the cluster method."

"I don't know, Rick. That sounds kind of kinky…"

"Oh, yeah, Miss 'I can do this thing with an ice cube' and "Next time without the tiger.' I am so not the one with the dirty mind in this relationship. I wouldn't mind seeing the ice cube thing, though. Maybe later, since now that we've started, we have to finish this."

"If I had known this was going to cause so much whining and complaining I'd have kept my mouth shut."

"And miss out on the fun of playing word games with a wordsmith?"

She rolled her eyes and uncapped the pen to write in "L-A-G-E-R."

A/N: I am quoting this Sunday's New York Times (2/19/2012). No copyright infringement intended.