A/N: Two mornings after, one in Rick's bed, one in Kate's. Takes place in season 5, episode 1, "After the Storm".
I. Kate
Kate picks up a shirt she finds on the back of a chair - not the one he wore last night, the one she took off him, that's somewhere in the hallway - and throws it on. Even if Martha and Alexis are supposed to be in absentia, she isn't taking any chances.
She knows the place well enough now - she did live here for several days, after all - that she makes coffee without thinking much about it. While it brews, she goes back into the bedroom to see whether he's awake yet.
He lies as she left him, flat on his back and sprawled out as if holding the mattress in place. He's a big man, and it's a big bed, but Kate still gets the impression of a child flinging himself into sleep like he flings into everything else.
Oh, God, she's watching him sleep. Could anything be more sappy?
Kate goes back in the kitchen to doctor the coffee, smiling to herself. Over the past twelve hours her assessment of what is sappy has been revised. Maybe it's because she spent the night with a brilliant wordsmith; phrases that would have sounded hilarious coming from anyone else sounded right at home in Richard Castle's mouth.
His mouth. She has to breathe deeply when she thinks about it. She's been diligent about maintaining her emotional and physical boundaries, especially with Castle, so when her emotional barrier went down last night, so did the physical. With a crash.
She's felt his arms around her before, his hand brushing the skin of her back lightly above her low-cut gown, his cheek against her hair, the vise grip he had on her mouth as he dragged her away from Roy Montgomery's last stand. And, of course, he's kissed her before, if only in a desperate charade.
It was his mouth that had taken her first, last night, just this side of his front door, a plunging, hungry assault, as if he didn't think he'd get another chance. His hands were on her shoulders, her waist, her head, in her hair, but it was only to steady her while they kissed.
The wall she'd said would take some time to come down? It had vanished instantly at the look in his eyes, lit by a flash of lightning through the window, a look that rewarded her and warned her at the same time.
She's stood in the bow of a boat on a stormy sea once, and it felt just like this. Exhilarating and dangerous and primal, and most of all, free.
At last Kate shakes herself out of her reverie and picks up the two mugs, heading back to the bedroom. When she gets there, Rick is sitting up, looking bewildered, until his eyes fall on her and his face lights up with a smile.
"So it wasn't a dream."
II. Rick
Rick's eyes are closed, but he's not asleep. He's playing an old game with himself - one he hasn't had occasion to play for a long time. He calls it "Guess where I ended up?"
He doesn't have to guess; he knows exactly where he is. In Kate's bed, completely, blissfully naked, and under his eyelids he can tell there's a sunrise starting to trickle in through the blinds. He's lying face down, diagonally on the queen size bed. It's been a while since he slept (or cavorted) on anything smaller than a king, but as Kate is plastered against his side and over his backbone, he's more than happy with the arrangement.
From the sensation of her even breathing on his skin, as well as the sheet wrapped around his left foot, he deduces that someone has kicked off the covers. Probably his fault - he tends to overheat at night, even without such an incandescent lover as Katherine Beckett.
Rick can feel her head resting to one side of his spine, hair fanned out over his shoulder blade, one leg curled over the backs of his thighs. He could stay like this forever, but all at once he absolutely, positively has to yawn, and the movement of his ribcage disturbs his companion.
Kate curls into a stretch, limbs stiffening for a moment and then melting into languor again. She rubs her cheek against his back and he manages to emit a soft, satisfied sound, makes another one when she drags her nails lightly down his backbone.
"Nice kitten," she murmurs, then laughs when he lets her feel his low growl.
("Never...ever...call me kitten...")
She placates him by spreading out her fingers and sliding her palm in circles over his back, slowly. He wonders how he looks to her (vanity, thy name is Castle); to his knowledge this is the first time she's seen all of him in the buff.
(Leaping out of his bed wrapped in a sheet, their first morning after, does not constitute being in the buff.)
Apparently, Kate appreciates his physique, if the way her hands are fondling him now is any indication. She cups the swell of his ass with one hand, and Rick hums with pleasure. Then she stops and he feels her weight shift as she leans over for a closer look.
"Castle. You have a tattoo."*
"What? Oh my God! How did that get there?!" he exclaims in exaggerated horror, then grins when she smacks his backside.
"How is it that for four years I didn't find that out?"
"Um...because up until the other night, I haven't been without pants in your presence? Though not for lack of trying, I assure you."
She's tracing the circular pattern with a fingertip. "How long have you had this?"
"Ages. Got it when I was in college, trying to impress somebody or other."
"Was anyone impressed?"
"Sadly, no. Thus did I incur an unseemly blot on the proverbial escutcheon."
Kate laughs. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" She gives him a squeeze and he growls, this time with pleasure.
"Call it what you like...just...don't stop doing that," he says.
"I have a better idea."
Rick opens his eyes at last and leans up on his elbows, looking over his shoulder at the goddess in his bed. "I want to hear what could be better than this."
"You haven't found my tattoo," she smirks.
"Yet," he purrs, and then he pounces.
A/N: Nathan Fillion's tattoo can be seen in the Firefly episode "Trash". Along with the rest of his rugged handsomeness.