Passions Past
Chapter Ten
By Dana Keylits
A/N: Buckle up - and don't be afraid.
Disclaimer: The character of Bette Porter does not belong to me. She is the heavenly creation of Ilene Chaiken and I am simply borrowing her for a quick spin around the block. So to speak...
He's been gone from the table for too long and Kate is starting to feel uncomfortable sitting in Bette's formal dining room without him. She excuses herself, self consciously glancing at the half dozen people gathered around the expansive, exquisitely set, table, and heads in the direction he'd gone, at what feels like, a million years ago.
The hallway is long, endless, it seems, with art of every genre adorning it's walls. Kate thinks it odd that there are no pictures of Bette's family, especially her children, anywhere. It's as though her home were a gallery, every inch expertly decorated, but hardly lived in.
She passes by door after door, opening them but not finding him, until she comes to what must be the guest bathroom and she hears him. He's laughing. What is he laughing at? He must be on the phone. She knocks gently on the door, but he doesn't respond, so she tries the knob. It's unlocked.
She quietly opens the door and peeks in.
She stands rooted to the spot in the hallway, her white knuckled hand clutching the knob. She wants to scream, or run, or kill someone. Instead she stands mutely in the doorway, watching him. Watching them.
Her lover and her ex lover.
And, they're together.
Kate stares in horrified disbelief as Castle's mouth devours Bette's, his hand hidden beneath the silken fabric of her blouse, her fingers tangled in his hair. She is grinding her hips against him in a slow seductive waltz.
She is going to faint, or vomit, or die. She wants to just disappear, fade into the ether, cease existing. She is unable to absorb the scene unfolding before her and all she can do is stand there, stand there and watch as her future and past collide, crushing her, exploding into a million sharp pieces around her. Leaving shards of deadly shrapnel coursing through her as she becomes nothing more than collateral damage.
Her vision clears, and she suddenly finds her voice. "Castle!" She croaks. And they both look at her.
Bette steps away from Castle, not bothering to close her blouse, Castle wipes his mouth and straightens up. "Kate, I, ah. We...she"
Bette saunters towards her, unabashed, unapologetic, unafraid. "Hello, Kate," she purrs. "Rick and I were just getting to," she glances behind her, "...know each other."
Kate is once again stunned into silence. Her mouth hanging open, her narrowed eyes darting between Bette and Castle in utter disbelief, her heart has unwillingly lodged itself in her throat and she is desperately afraid she'll lose her life's breath, that she'll collapse into a puddle of regret and pain and remorse.
She'd spent so many years protecting her heart for a reason, protected herself from him for so long for a reason, and now, everything that kept her from him, every doubt or fear she'd had about him, about them, was suddenly playing out in real time in front of her.
Before she knows what is happening, Bette is in front of her, caressing her cheek with slender, soft, well manicured fingertips. "Why don't you join us?" She smiles.
That smile, that sultry smile that used to make Kate's stomach feel like a score of butterflies had just taken flight.
Kate jerks away, as though the woman's touch has burned her, she absently rubs her cheek. She spins around and steps backwards into the room. "What the hell, Bette?"
Then she feels him behind her and every emotion she's ever felt in her life, from birth to now, floods her mind, her body, overtaxing all of her senses and she inexplicably finds herself leaning against him, searching for relief, for promise, for this nightmare to be a nightmare.
He dips his head to her neck and playfully nibbles, snaking his arms around her middle, pulling the curves of her ass against his growing, throbbing, erection. "Let's just go with it, Kate," he suggests in a low throated growl. She wants to run and hide, or turn around and slap him, claw his eyes out, claw her eyes out. But she can't, she can't move, can't run, can't breathe or talk or scream.
Instead, she tilts her head to the side, allowing him free access, closes her eyes and moans, a deep, tortured moan that begins low in her belly and rises through her throat, spilling over her lips.
When her eyes flutter open, Bette is there. She's right there and she leans in, places her soft mouth on Kate's, and kisses her.
Kate is hurled through time to thirteen years ago when she and Bette shared their first kiss. The dynamic thrill of their bodies responding to each other in such a guttural way races through her veins and, unable to stop it, perhaps unwilling to stop it, Kate leans into Bette's kiss.
She's in a bubble, not really herself, but not not herself. She can see and feel and hear the things she is doing, but as thought she is possessed by some unseen force that bends her forcefully to it's will.
She relishes the masculinity of Castle behind her, his swollen sex rubbing against her backside, and savors the femininity of Bette's mouth on hers, her fingers playing with the buttons on Kate's blouse, her breath warm and salty and seducing Kate with the skill and expertise of an aging Geisha.
Before she knows it, Bette has both of Kate's wrists in a viselike grip and pins Kate against Castle using her hips. Kate's head rolls back onto Castle's shoulder and she closes her eyes. Bette has relieved Kate of her blouse, and Castle is fumbling with the clasp of her bra. When it's off, Bette takes both of Kates breasts into her hands and squeezes, teasing the nipples with her thumb, before Castle brings his hands around to encompass them.
Bette moves to pop the button on Kate's black dress pants, and Kate's eyes shoot open.
No! No, I don't want this. She screams. But only in her mind, for all that squeaks out of her mouth is a tempered, pathetic, mewl.
Bette's mouth is covering hers again, and Kate whimpers into it.
No. I have to get away. I don't want this. I don't want them. I don't want either of them.
She struggles to pull away, the force that has taken possession of her body will not easily let her go, but Kate finally manages to break free and she stumbles away from them, towards the door. She has to get out the door.
She's naked. How did she get naked?
She searches frantically for her clothes, but before she can even believe what is happening, she watches, glued to her spot, as Bette turns to face the vanity, her hands gripping the counter. And then, Castle, her Castle, runs his hand beneath Bette's pencil skirt, snaking his hand along her peach shaped ass before roughly pulling Bette's lacy black panties down.
He quickly unzips.
Kate is dying. She wants to get out of there, to scream, to hurl things at them, to smash every breakable thing in the room, if she'd had her gun with her, she'd kill them. But instead she stands, her emotions a cyclone inside of her, and she stares.
Bette turns to Kate, smiling. "Kate. Come here."
She is a marionette and someone else is controlling her strings. She floats to Bette who steps back, forcing Castle back, and then pins Kate between herself and the counter, her lips suckling Kate's nipples, as Kate stares into Castle's hooded dark eyes.
And then Castle enters Bette, and Kate opens her mouth to scream. Nothing comes out, so instead she squeezes her eyes shut and begs. Please let me wake up, please, let me wake up, please, oh please, oh please!
She sits bolt upright in bed, panicked, panting, her head swirling with images of Bette and Castle. Together. Fucking. A wave of nausea overtakes her and she holds her hand to her mouth, as though that might make it stop, which it doesn't.
When her heart calms enough for her breath to reclaim itself, she glances over at Castle as he sleeps beside her, curled into the fetal position, his back to her.
She tentatively reaches over, as though wanting to be sure of him, and lightly brushes her fingertips against the small of his back. But when the gut-wrenching image of him and Bette flitters across her consciousness, she quickly pulls her hand away. Then she looks at him with narrowed eyes, the heat rising in her cheeks, and, without thinking, without reason, she hauls off and smacks him. Hard.
"Jackass!"
Castle's eyes fly open, "Wha? Ouch," he croaks, rolling onto his back and rubbing his shoulder. "What was that for?"
She growls at him, actually growls.
He opens one eye to look at her. "Wa-did-i-do?"
She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.
Looking sheepish, he lifts the covers and sniffs. "Did I fart in bed again?"
"God, Castle. No! You...you were with...ugh!" She rubs the heels of both hands against her eyes, trying to erase the offending images from her mind.
"Kate. What? What did I do?" He asks, his voice rising in panic.
She suddenly realizes how foolish she's being and leaps from the bed. "Nothing, never mind." She quickly walks towards the bathroom. "Go back to sleep."
"Whoa. No. You don't get to hit me and then not tell me what I did."
She pauses, placing one hand on her panty-covered hip, the other she uses to nervously tug at the hem of her t-shirt. "I had a dream." She disappears around the corner and into the bathroom, dodging the smugly amused look currently taking possession of his face.
When she returns to the darkened bedroom, he is leaning back against the pillows, his fingers laced behind his head, his lips arranged into a crooked grin.
"You had a dream." He says. Waiting for an explanation.
She makes a face.
"And in this dream I did something," he continues.
She climbs into the bed next to him and sits up against the expansive headboard, draping the covers over her bare legs. She folds her hands into her lap, and side glances at him.
"More like you did...someone," she retorts.
"Ahhhhh," he nods. "The classic," his fingers curl into air quotes, "...cheated-on dream."
She makes another face. "I don't know how classic it was, Castle."
His eyebrow curves up, "Oh, really? Did your dream have a 21st century twist? Bondage? Punishment? A threesome?"
She winces when he says it.
He sucks in a sharp breath, "A threesome! Whoa, Kate!" He cannot contain his excitement.
"Don't. It wasn't a pleasant dream, Castle. In fact, I'm still pissed at you!"
"You know that's not fair, right? It was your dream, Kate. Not mine."
"I know. Shut up."
"Who was I with? Was it you and Lanie?"
"Ugh. You're a pig."
"Not Gates," he says, frowning.
She gives him one of those looks.
"Oh, God. Please tell me it wasn't Ryan or Esposito," his face a mask of anxiety.
"Ew, Castle, they're like my brothers. Stop it."
"Okay, good. He nibbles on his thumbnail, thinking, and then it crosses his face, that moment when you can almost see the lightbulb blink on. "Oh, wait! I know," he squeals, actually squeals, sits up and rests his weight on the palm of his hand. "It was Bette! Wasn't it?"
She hesitates, hates that he can read her so well, and then resolves herself to the inevitable. "Yes. Fine. Okay? It was with Bette. But," she holds up one finger, "I did not enjoy it. In fact, I wanted to scream, to stop it, to run out of the room, but I couldn't!"
His face an unabashed reflection of his eager, salacious curiosity, he asks, "what did we do, Beckett?"
"Oh, no. No way. I'm not telling you that! It's bad enough I have those images swimming around in my head, no way I'm going to fill your head with them!" She slumps lower beneath the covers and gathers the fabric of his t-shirt into her fist, pulling him towards her. "Now, come here. We're gonna do it. And by it I mean..."
"Wait, what? No!"
She raises her eyebrows, "No?"
"No." He sits up, looking put upon.
"What do you mean, no?"
"I am not some sex slave you can mount any time you want."
"You're not? Since when?" She asks.
"Since," He's searching. He shakes his head. "That's not the point. The point is, If you're not going to put out," he folds his arms across his chest and leans against the headboard, "...then neither am I."
"Yes, you are," she states.
"No," he replies, looking straight ahead, "I am not."
"Yes, you are." She says again, her lips bowing with the licentious pleasure of their little cat and mouse game, already feeling the remnants of the disturbing dream fading into the ether.
He shakes his head, but she can see his resolve waning. "No."
"You know you want to, Castle," she hums, leaning into him, her breath hot on his ear. She licks his earlobe, then nibbles it.
He shivers.
She smiles.
"I ah, no, you are not going to use your witchy powers on me, Kate."
She gets on her knees beside him, leaning back on her heels, she peels off her t-shirt and tosses it to the floor, her breasts immediately covered in goose bumps, her nipples standing deliciously at attention. Purring, she whispers with the deep throated voice of one about to get very, very lucky, "I think you and I both know that it is only a matter of time before you realize you've painted yourself into a corner that you do not want to be in." She leans in again, kisses him softly on the lips, then the chin, then the neck. She revels in the shallowness of his breath, the measured, inflexible stance of his body, every muscle straining, every fiber and cell concentrating on repelling her.
He hums, then mumbles incoherently, squeezing his eyes closed, his body rigid, he's fighting it.
Time for the big guns.
She runs her hand over the sheet along his thigh. Inching further and further up until she's got him between the legs, and he immediately responds, a kittenish grin creeps along her face.
"You think that'll...aaaaahhhh," His mouth drops open and all of the air in his lungs escapes in one long, anguished sigh. "No fair."
She strokes him patiently as he rises against her hand, and when he's swollen and full, she let's go, leaning back, smiling at him with hooded eyes, a sideways grin.
"Oh, good boy," she teases, her eyes on his full erection.
She flops down on her back, peeling off her panties, "Now get in here."
"Really. Just like that?"
"Just like that, Castle. I want it old school. Plain, ordinary, missionary style, vanilla flavored sex. Nothing fancy, nothing kinky, don't even need foreplay. Just make love to me. Now."
She grabs his t-shirt again and this time he doesn't resist but climbs on top of her, pushing his boxers down and wiggling them off until they end up a scrunched up heap at the foot of the bed. She pulls his t-shirt off, wanting to feel the warm, soft flesh of his bare chest against hers.
He presses against her, the full length of him covers the full length of her, his hands tucked beneath her shoulders, his face inches from hers, he searches her eyes. "Why? If you're so mad at me, why do you want to make love?"
She blows out a puff of air, wiggling impatiently beneath him. "Because, I need to replace the image of you and her with the reality of you and me!
He nods. "'kay," and, guiding her legs apart with his knees, his lips at her throat, his fingers tangled in her hair, he slides into her, easily, slowly, deliberately, filling her completely.
And, she throws her head back and moans.
"Oh,"
He pulls out, then slowly back in.
"Very,"
Her hips rise up to greet him.
"Good,"
He establishes a slow, tortured, cadence.
"Boy!"
She wraps her arms tightly around his neck, savoring the full, complete, correct feeling of their coupling, her hips keeping perfect time with each thrust of him into her. He smiles, then covers her mouth with his in a deep, slow, full bodied kiss, their tongues reaching, swirling, sauntering from his mouth to hers in a beautiful, languid ballet.
She moans into his mouth, keeping her eyes open, she wants to watch this, watch him. Erase the images that only a few moments ago had left her angry and tortured.
And, it's working too, because all she can feel is him. His body on top of her, his body inside of her. His mouth on her lips, her chin, her neck, her collarbone, then taking in one nipple to suck and nip and then the other. All while moving inside of her as though in time to a measured song only he can hear.
And she is building, reaching, higher and higher, and she knows she will be soaring into an orgasm soon. She fights the urge to close her eyes, because she wants to watch. She needs to watch. Watching will heal her. And, he seems to know it, because he's watching too, his baby blues stare into her and she cannot stop it, cannot prevent the avalanche that radiates from between her legs and crashes over every inch of her body.
She cries out, his name a prayer on her lips, as wave after wave after wave washes over her in a tsunami of pleasure.
And, he holds her, holds still until every spasm has subsided, until her breathing has returned to normal, and she whispers, "don't stop." So he continues, and then he is building, climbing, cresting until he explodes inside of her, their eyes still fixed to each other, hooded and dark and naked with the affection, the abiding love, that passes between them, that consumes every molecule in the room.
Satiated, complete, happy, he collapses beside her, her arm lazily lands across his chest and he laces his fingers between hers. "Okay. I was wrong. You can make me your sex slave any time you'd like."
She rolls on her side, swinging her leg across his middle, nestling her head on his shoulder. She closes her eyes, and now what she sees behind her eyelids is him. Him as he comes, him as he moves inside of her, him as he coaxes her body towards purest fulfillment. Him. She sighs, deep from her throat, she sighs, completely content.
He holds her tighter, whispers in her ear, "You know, Kate. You know that I would never cheat on you. And, I know that this," he pauses, "...thing was just a dream, and it isn't in your conscious mind, but you obviously still worry about it."
"Castle, I..."
He places a silencing finger over her lips. "It's obviously still in there, in your brain. And you've muddled it up somehow with whatever unresolved issues you have with Bette." He places his palm against her cheek, tilts her face to his and kisses her sweetly on the lips, then whispers against her mouth. "But, I am getting tired of having to reassure you that I'm not going anywhere. I'm in this, Kate. I'm all the way in this. Don't doubt me anymore, okay?"
"Castle. It was just a dream."
"I know. I know it was. I'm just saying."
She nods, she knows what he's saying, and he's not wrong. It does tug at the corners of her mind, wakes her in the middle of the night, skitters across her brain anytime he mentions Alexis' mother or she sees him talking to another woman. She hates that it does, but it's there, and she is trying to chase it away.
Tonight helped.
It helped a lot.
"I'm thinking we shouldn't go," Kate explains after brushing her teeth and throwing on the navy bathrobe she keeps at his place now.
"Okay."
"That's it? Okay?"
"Okay. I told you, I'm good with whatever you decide."
"In spite of the fact that you checked yes on the RSVP card?"
"I did that because you refused to decide, which meant that you wanted to go, but were worried about whether I wanted to go. I did that so you could take me out of the equation."
"What are you, my therapist?" She asks, mocking annoyance as she spreads moisturizer on her face.
"I'm not wrong, am I?"
She glances at him through the mirror. He's standing behind her, in his t-shirt and boxers, flossing his teeth.
"No. Probably not. But, I've thought about it, and I think it's best if we don't go."
"Okay. We're good then."
She spins around, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him on the tip of his nose. "We're good."
They emerge from the bedroom, still in their robes, and find Martha curled up on the couch, sorting through the days mail.
"Good morning, mother," Castle sings, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. "Are you just getting up or just coming home?"
"Oh, pooh." She says, shooing him away. "There's a full pot of coffee on, help yourselves." She instructs.
"Thank you, mother, you're always so generous with my coffee" Castle replies, never bypassing an opportunity to needle his mother about her rent-free living arrangement with him. He links his pinky finger around Kate's and they stroll to the kitchen for coffee.
Martha grunts, used to it by now. "Oh, by the way darling, I put that RSVP card that was sitting on the counter in the mail for you. You're welcome."
A/N Okay, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I know that was manipulative and gratuitous and mean. But, I had to do it. Once the idea of it skittered across my brain, I simply had no choice! I am all about having my cake and eating it, too! :-) I'll be hiding, now...over there.