A/N-Going to try to get back to my usual Tuesday/Wednesday posting days. I'm a little off-schedule. For those interested in such things, I also have a one-shot I'm planning to post at some point, but it's a silly/smutty kind of thing, not much depth, but hopefully fun. Thanks to all of you-JQK

Solidarity

Kate hurries to Norton's classroom, ready to take the absolute last of her finals. She had two on Monday, three Tuesday, and one earlier in the day. Despite being relatively well-rested, at least physically, her mind is nearly spent. There is a reason why the man in the Registrar's Office offered her such a stern warning about taking so many classes when she'd enrolled.

Interestingly, back when she signed up, she wanted to be so busy she didn't have time for anything else. Now, only a few months later, she can't wait to have some freedom again.

As she enters the back of the classroom, she finds Castle waiting with a cup of coffee. "Guess this is it," she says as she accepts the cup. "Thanks."

"I thought today would never come," he agrees as they find their usual seats.

She is poor company for those few minutes before the test as she studies one final time. The last minute review is interrupted when Norton approaches their table. "Mr. Castle? Didn't expect to see you today," he says.

"You said I have to pass the final. So here I am," Rick answers.

"I said you should be able to. I'm sure Ms. Beckett provided all the tutelage you could require."

"Above and beyond," Rick says without the slightest hint of suggestion noticeable to anyone but Kate. But she kicks his leg just hard enough to remind him she appreciates discretion, and feels herself flush slightly at the mere thought of the memories that might be playing in his head.

Norton says, "I see no need for you to waste your time taking the assessment."

"Oh," Rick looks thrilled for a moment, then a bit crestfallen. "We studied so hard. I'm here and I'm ready, so I'll take it."

"Sure," Norton offers a baffled stare. "When you're both finished, I'd like to talk to you."

Kate begins, "I have an appointment—"

"It will just take a moment," Norton interrupts to insist.

After the professor leaves, she says to Rick, "You don't have to sit through this."

"Solidarity," Rick replies, nodding his certainty, and she fights the urge to kiss him there in the lecture hall.

They take the test side-by-side, in the same exact seats they'd sat in together over the previous weeks. The man who had started out as an annoyance, asking to borrow everything from a pen to her text book, now means so much more. The test he willingly agrees to take and his devotion to their goals portrays his loyalty. She cannot put a price tag on that.

When the test is over, Norton meets them to discuss their papers, more specifically, how impressed he was. Kate has the 'A' she wants, and as they near the end of the conversation, Norton adds, "Kate, here's a letter of recommendation for the internship with Judge Stover's office. Mr. Wheatley and I traded recommendations for you for each program. I'm submitting your name for the internship with NYPD Homicide, and he'll do the same with Judge Stover. I will be shocked if you aren't the selected applicant for both. Whichever you choose, best of luck."

"Thank you, Professor," she replies, shaking his hand.

She's flattered by all of this, excited about her academic success and professional prospects, but right now, she just wants to get the hell out of there. Swooping by the spot where they'd sat, she grabs her backpack and coat and rushes out the back door. She's so hurried she realizes Rick is several feet behind her, catching up.

"Come on. Let's go," she says, tugging his sleeve.

"Need to stop by your place?" he offers. "I have my car."

"Everything I need is in here," she answers, patting her backpack.

"Great," he replies, a bit of a jog in his step. "My things are in the car."

She takes his hand as they walk, even though they're still on campus and people may see. And, no, she doesn't care in the least if they do.

Since they'd been planning this for so long, she assumes they'll hurry straight to the closest hotel and refuse to emerge for twenty-four hours. Instead, they get in his car and drive out of the city.

Seeing the signs, she asks, "You have a place at the beach?"

"Not yet. Might look into it this spring. Wouldn't mind having one."

"You say that like most people say 'I wouldn't mind a slice.'"

"You like the beach?"

"Love the beach."

"Found the perfect spot for our night away. Kind of cold to be outdoors, but we'll have an enclosed porch looking out over the water, fireplace, moonlight on the waves." He glances over and adds, "Also a bed...just in case we make it that far."

She leans back against the headrest in his car, watching the world go by while, for once, her to-do list is starkly empty, and that makes her fidget a bit.

"You know, sometimes you surprise me, Castle," she notes.

"How so?"

"I figured you'd locate the nearest hotel, and we'd be halfway through round two by now."

"Disappointed?"

"No," she replies evenly.

He hooks her pinkie with his, the pair holding hands on the shared armrest between them, and says, "That would be fine…if today were only about the admittedly abundant amounts of attraction and desire that exist between us. But, when it comes to you and me…I felt a little romance was called for."

She gently squeezes his hand as she turns back toward the objects passing by her window.

It's a little unsettling how much she loves the places in her life where he exists, too. She even enjoys spending time with him when Martha is in town, or when they're hanging out with Alexis. Although it's nice to have this man all to herself for a while.

Initially, she'd tried to keep distance, but he had (and still has) a way of sneaking through her armor.

At this point, she decides to enjoy him rather than fight it, even if it means accepting heartbreak when it's over. And heartbreak, when dating a man like Richard Castle, feels inevitable. She doesn't want to waste much time thinking about that while he's driving her to a romantic spot for the night, holding her hand and glancing over with those cheerful blue eyes.

The hotel is small, probably only a handful of rooms, with a tastefully decorated Christmas tree standing in the sitting room next to registration. She'd sworn the preceding Christmas would be the last she'd celebrate, but she supposes if she and Rick continue seeing each other (given his family situation), she can't forget the season entirely.

Since they have little luggage, she and Rick carry their bags themselves up the backstairs. She leaves her shoes by the door, ready for relaxation.

They are on the third floor, the one with the best view, she guesses. These rooms are traditional, still using brass keys and pin tumbler locks rather than keycards. She sees an already crackling fire and large buckets of firewood, should they wish to keep it going. This room is cozy, elegant yet warm, and definitely quite romantic. "This okay?" he asks, sounding more nervous than he should as he stands near a table with a bottle of champagne.

"It's perfect," she replies, quickly surveying the space. "You didn't have to do all this."

"Well," he says, taking his bag and hers and placing them on the table before closing the distance between them, "I kinda like you. So…"

"Do you?" she questions, softly biting her lip.

"Think so," he replies, his expression demonstrating his certainty on his behalf.

"Me too."

"That's good." He teases, "It's important to like yourself—"

"Shut up," she grins. "I was talking about you."

"Oh!" he feigns cluelessness. "That's a relief."

As he reaches for the bottle of champagne, she holds the glasses so he can pop the cork and pour.

"To our incredible though short-lived academic partnership, and…to all the things that may follow," he toasts. They drink, and before she has the chance to swallow, his lips move to hers. She swears she can feel the bubbles from his last sip. "And to think…" he says, taking her hand and leading her out to the enclosed balcony, "you were actually concerned I wouldn't take this project seriously."

"I still don't really understand why you did."

"I was willing to put up with you for the sake of my work," he dramatically (and sarcastically) retorts.

"A lot of effort for a guy who already has the success-trio working for him...plenty of money, a bit of fame, good looks."

"Could you repeat that last part again?" he asks, tilting his ear toward her.

Somewhat coyly, she confesses, "You're nice to look at. Not really a secret."

"Didn't know you felt that way."

"Yea, well, you talk about how handsome you are enough for both of us," she ribs, finding him enjoying the banter.

He looks so smitten, and it's endearing to find someone with so much confidence appearing so taken. What's happening between them sure as hell feels real. It's possible, of course, that she's wrong. Even if she is, she won't regret knowing him, or the time they've spent together.

If things continue as she suspects (hopes) they will, there will be plenty of complications. She's young, he's already divorced and has a child. She's still laying foundation for a career, and he's already established in his field. On top of it all, she feels she carries too much baggage for anyone to want to stick around long term. But all he does is push to see more, to know more, to have more. And there's something about him that makes her accept the complications, refusing to allow those details to call the shots.

On the enclosed balcony sits a tub, plenty of space to look out over the water, and a corner with an inviting chair where she'd normally curl up with a book, although she doubts she'll spend any time there today.

"You know, this was a huge mistake," he theatrically declares, stealing her focus from her thoughts and bringing her back to the moment.

"What was?" she asks.

"Coming to the beach when it's too cold to get in the ocean. I mean...we came out here, but there's nothing whatsoever to do."

"You're right," she chuckles. "We're gonna be so bored."

"I mean...unless you can think of something to get into."

"Pretty sure I have something you can get into," she says as he responds with his own quiet version of a giggle.

He stands before her, almost touching, and looks at her in a way that provokes responses far more powerful than she's accustomed to experiencing in circumstances such as this.

"Guess if I want something done, I've gotta do it myself," she decides, swallowing the last of her champagne before she plucks the glass from his fingers and finishes his last swig as well. (It is a ridiculously delicious beverage.)

Kate takes both glasses to the table in the main room, and when she turns back, he's already kicking off his shoes as he checks his reflection in the window.

"Come here," she demands, watching the way he near-skips over to her. He's seldom short on enthusiasm.

His hands grab onto her hips, fingers tugging at the hem of her shirt like he plans on removing it, but he hasn't quite begun yet. Leaning against the wall, he studies her as if waiting for a show. It is clear from his posture and anticipatory expression that he's expecting her to strip down before him, to peel her clothes off and allow him to watch. But that wasn't what she meant when she suggested handling things for herself.

Kate removes his hands from her, letting them hang at his sides.

As she regards the man before her, she notes the way being here warms her, makes her feel a fullness in her heart that has been elusive in her life. In fact, she's not certain if she would have found it without him.

When she steals another kiss, she takes it more for herself than for him, something slow and sweet, and it makes the emotions that swirl around in her more prominent.

Why he's still here, she is not sure. Why he searched so hard to find her, confuses her. Why he continued to show up when she didn't even want to talk to him, baffles her. It is unclear why he held on while she kept him at bay, why he marked her birthday, or invited her repeatedly into his life. Most of all, she is uncertain why he wants to help her solve a mystery and heal her heart. The questions don't change the fact: he is still here.

And now that she's had a taste of that in her life, a sampling of partnership, companionship, and mutual affection, she does not want to let it go.

So she's going to take this trip, this time together, to show him this gratitude, to attempt to make her attachments to him clear. Although love and sex are not one in the same, she suspects (for her) they are intertwined this time.

As the kiss pauses, she doesn't find a look of desperation on his face, as she expects. His look doesn't scream hurry the hell up. No, he's watching her with heavy, hooded eyes filled with contented adoration. How is she supposed to resist that?

His shirt comes off easily, forgotten even before it's balled up and cast aside, and her touch roams down the back of his neck, feeling the tendons slightly strained that signify the corporeal eagerness that thrives in him. Her hands move in mirrored patterns over his shoulders and down his arms, feeling the way his muscles fill her palms, the surprising softness of his skin, the hairs that brush in the direction of her touch.

When she reaches the place where his collarbones join, her thumbs trace the line down the center of his chest, other fingers fanning out, her own urgency growing. She's showing him something here, allowing him to see the cards she prefers to keep close to her chest, because far less perceptive men would feel the love in the way she acts upon him.

Her hands surround his sides, enjoying the feeling of him, noting the way his body fills when he breathes in, or the twitching in his abdomen when a particular point of contact tickles. As she opens his belt, she licks his nipple, moving down his ribs with tiny kisses, trailing down below his navel as she unzips his pants.

"Kate…" he says when no other words seem fitting, his fists balled up at his sides.

"Hmm?" she asks, reaching into his boxers to offer a sample of the rewards to come.

"Your clothes?" he requests softly, his eyes already roaming over her so he's prepared the second more skin appears.

Kate kneels, pulling down his pants and boxers, catching his sex in her mouth as soon as it's bared for her. She'll deal with her clothing later. She wants to do this right now, to take her time, allow his excitement to build gradually and fully. He leans back for the wall, bracing himself a bit, praising softly from words that don't originate in his brain, "So good," as he welcomes the sensations she brings about with devotion.

Her intention is to let him finish like this, to offer pleasure when nothing is expected from him. That's part of the fun of starting this way, knowing she can melt him, enjoying the way he's so compliant and wrapped up, all while remembering they have plenty of time for him to recover, ample moments to be together again here before they must go.

She is truly stunned when she is pulled up by the elbows, her body crushed desperately against his. She squeals as he buries his face against her neck, and he laughs at her surprise.

"Have to have you. Now." He kisses her roughly, ravenously, declaring when he's able, "You're right...if you want something done…" before he pulls her shirt off, jerking her arm more than intended when her elbow gets caught.

As she looks at the way he looks at her, her heart threatens to tell him how she feels. This fills her with elation and fear, which he mistakes for discomfort.

"Did I hurt your arm?" he winces.

"No. Not at all," she replies, reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra, using a convenient distraction technique that works far too well.

First releasing the button and zipper on her pants, he kisses her, lifting her to the tips of her toes while he uses one blindly groping hand to try to pull them off her. He has to put her down, dropping quickly to his knee to remove the things that still cover her as she rests a hand on his shoulder so she doesn't fall down. Before he comes back up, he rids himself of the clothes that have managed to remain on his ankles in spite of their best efforts to disrobe.

The man brings a sense of urgency, a frenzied excitement, to these moments together, and as much as she believes he's serious about the business of sharing fulfillment, it doesn't seem to dampen his playfulness in the least.

They wordlessly agree to move toward the sofa, although relocation doesn't slow them down. Using her heel, she pushes against the back of his knee, forcing it to give out so that he sits down. He's surprised enough to find himself seated, but the look in his eyes when she moves forward to take him inside her is downright lovable. He raises a questioning eyebrow, maybe wondering about the lack or protection or perhaps reciprocation, or maybe even something else, but unless he specifically asks, she doesn't feel like speaking when she prefers the art of demonstration.

Her long arms and legs encircle his body, holding him close. He helps support her weight as she brings them together, but she controls this, the pace, the depth; every point of contact is as she dictates. Even his breath is controlled by the way she moves against him. He remains nearly still, appearing so vulnerable as his eyes gaze with muffled urgency upon her.

There is something she feels every time they've been together like this. He is always right there, anchored in the moment with her.

Desire threatens patience, and as he tries to kick the coffee table out of the way, he uses far more force than necessary, sending it into a standing lamp, dropping local newspapers and magazines from the tabletop, spilling a vase filled with fresh cut flowers. The periodicals are likely soaked in flower water, the lamplight extinguished, and the sounds of crashing behind her convince her to turn.

His voice demanding and lusty, he states, "If you're worried about that right now, I'm doing something wrong."

"Not worried." She shakes her head, lips parted by heavy breaths as she denies the very idea. "Checking for glass," is her more complete answer, coupled with a quick move that pulls him down to the floor on top of her.

He seems energized by this idea, by the thought that she wants him on top of her, free to seek and give pleasure right there where they have the most unencumbered space in which to move. She plants her feet high on his back, angling her body up to him, fingers grappling for more. "You definitely aren't doing anything wrong," she adds, calling out with a gasping stutter as he provokes such reactions.

"You're incredible," she exhales into his ear, feeling the more ardent movement of his body against and within her.

"You too," he barely speaks, appearing so aroused he's slightly dizzy.

"I mean it. So incredible," she growls as she hangs on even tighter. She begins but cannot seem to complete the thought, "You…"

The man cannot answer, not now, and she delights in the overwhelming passion he's consumed with, for once bereft of words.

Her moans emerge unpolished, telling him plainly that she's so very close without the need to speak. She flips him, crashing down on top of his body, keeping his pace and increasing it slightly, hands pushing down hard against his shoulders. But she manages to say as desires rapidly ascend, "Wanna feel you come in me."

The combination of her words and her avid participation firing through him, he's helpless to refrain, making final efforts to ensure he's not the only one fulfilled. His one hand leaves her hip and moves between their bodies to help her along, displaying a bit of sexual chivalry that she appreciates through her every nerve ending. Although she barely needs that nudge.

She's louder than she has been with him before (an addition he seems to enjoy quite thoroughly). Here, far from their obligations and free to let go, the fervor consumes them both.

Her lips kiss his jaw so very gently as they remain there in a naked and rubbery-limbed pile on the floor, her foot tapping the puddle of water created by the overturned vase.

It takes time for his body to respond to his orders again, but when it does, he holds her close. These after-moments can be powerfully vulnerable ones, the times when minds begin to register what bodies so wantonly expressed and enjoyed.

But some of her first thoughts are shared without filter. "I can't believe I came again," she chuckles, her laugh shaky from her body's exertion.

She nestles against him, feeling the way his hand suddenly stops rubbing her back after a few seconds of delay. "Ouch," he notes.

Pressing her palms to the floor, she lifts her weight off him and asks, "What's wrong?"

"That's at least a little insulting. You can't believe you came? Was that a comment on my abilities or—"

"Oh no," she lowers back down onto him and shakes her head so he can hear and feel the denial, attempting to make a point, wondering why she couldn't have simply remained silent. "No, nothing like that. You are amazing. I told you that again...and again."

"Okay. So why'd you say it?"

"It's nothing," she argues. Trying to change the subject, she mentions, "That vase is toast."

He is not willing to allow the conversation to turn. Looking slightly less concerned and more intrigued, he insists, "Tell me."

Spending too much time pondering over how to answer, she only increases his curiosity.

"Oh my god," he brags, suddenly looking quite proud and certain of himself, "I'm the only guy who's ever made you—"

"No," she interrupts with annoyance. "Not that either."

Looking stubborn as hell, she knows he will not let this go. Groaning her resistance, she finally says, "I didn't have a problem before. Then everything changed…you remember how I said you get me out of my head?"

"Yes."

"After everything that happened, after I left Stanford and moved back, and I just…couldn't seem to get out of my head long enough to enjoy…sex."

"Frustrating."

"Yea."

"So the first time we were together, you didn't think you'd get off?" he asks.

"Nope."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't want to seem sexually frigid or uptight—"

"No," he sharply rejects. "You…you are neither of those things. I know from experience."

"It was embarrassing."

"Nothing for you to be embarrassed about. Now maybe your former partner or partners should be ashamed…"

"It wasn't their fault."

He redirects and continues, "The point is that you could have told me. I would have been more—"

"But you didn't have to be more anything. Being with you that day…it wasn't about having an orgasm. I just wanted to be close. After that, everything else fell into place."

There's the love drunk stare he gives. Words don't exist to describe how that look makes her feel. He murmurs, "I like that, too. Being close, I mean."

"Good."

"And orgasms, obviously. But I didn't think I needed to spell that one out," he adds, waiting for and finding her soft snicker. "Ideally, we can have both."

"Yea," she replies, knowing that once again he's learned more about her. She doesn't mind as much as she thinks she should.

A bit more seriously, he mentions, "Along those lines...we should be a little more careful. Got a little reckless there, going protection-free. Not that I'm exactly complaining, but—"

"Wasn't reckless. I've got it covered."

She sighs, finding his body beneath her to be her absolute favorite place to lie, and confesses, "It's nice…being here."

"It is. And we have tonight, and almost all of tomorrow. Lots of time."

Lowering her face to his shoulder again, she feels a bit of concern as she knows even this shared time has an expiration. They've talked about this night, waited for it, planned for it, but nights away like this surely can't happen often, and who knows what will come of their relationship in the weeks and months to follow.

He shifts a little on the floor, and she guesses the hard surface beneath them doesn't feel so great on his back, so she stands, extending a hand to help him up as she looks at the disorder they created in the room around them.

"And you thought we weren't gossip column worthy," he insists.

She speculates on a potential headline, "Thrill-writer and Latest Fling Destroy Cozy Getaway in Heated Tryst."

He hugs her, kissing her temple. "Not quite," he corrects. "Try: Gorgeous Scholar Joins Literary Genius for a Night of Passion and Romance."