A/N: Still procrastinating with individual responses - I know I'm so lame. But still - here is my Valentines gift to you - and yeah we might be slightly verging into 'M' territory a little at the end of this update here.

Chapter Eleven: Seize what's Yours.

It's an onslaught – his mouth on hers, brutal and possessive and ever so slightly out of control. It's both a dream and a reality and the only way she can breathe right now is through him – but Kate wouldn't have it any other way.

Her partner's hands have laid claim to either side of her face now, holding her to his mouth as he takes what he clearly needs, and all she can do is hold onto his elbows and try to give back. Try to convey both in her compliance and her participation that she's with him every step of the way.

That she's his – completely.

But Jesus – she's never been kissed remotely like this before. She had no comprehension even that a kiss could contain so much . . . of everything . . . most especially love. But she should have known she realizes - she should have known that the way she feels about this man changes everything, heightens everything . . . means more.

Her heart is so full right now, beating so hard. There a crazy sensation in her stomach, heat pooling between her thighs, her skin feels weirdly alive. Neurons and nerve endings singing everywhere . . . it's almost too much. It's almost too good.

She never wants it to stop.

And then it does.

Castle pulls back from her breathing hard, his pupils have dilated, his eyes have gone dark with desire, and Kate shivers. Because he looks absolutely deadly right now . . . strong . . . male . . . and her stupid knees tremble. She fights it but she can't contain the nervous smile that breaks over her face, because she wants him so badly . . . this possessive, strong and demanding version of her usually gentle and humorous shadow.

She doesn't think she's ever been this turned on.

Maybe it's the sudden knowledge that Castle could control her – he could make her physically ache for him that's so delicious. No man has ever had that power over her – normally that power is hers alone to wield – but she has a feeling that for once he has the upper hand here – in this moment - and if someone's going to be begging it'll be her.

Beckett opens her mouth to say something, but finds there are no words on her tongue so instead she just pushes herself back into his arms and buries her head against his chest closing her eyes tight. The tight desperate desire within her fades beneath an avalanche of gratitude as her partner's arms go around her and he holds her close. And suddenly though Kate has no words, she has plenty of tears of relief, she clings to him her fingers grasping, fisting in his shirt – fighting for control.

"Shsshhhh. It's okay. It's okay Kate - I believe you." The author whispers to her softly, his damaged right hand cradling the back of her head. Her tears are making his shirt damp and gentling his desire. His breathing slows, his heart rate is calming down beneath her cheek – it's unbelievably soothing - hypnotic.

Needy words finally form in her mouth, spill forth, she refuses to filter them. "I can't lose you Castle. Not now, not ever . . . "

Each word is a balm, a salve – to both of them.

"You won't Kate . . . you won't. I love you." He promises her. "I love you."

The writer can't quite wrap his head around how quickly he's gone from sadness and utter despair to pure elation ramped up by desire.

Because it's everything that Beckett's just handed him – absolutely everything and he cannot possibly be so lucky. During their fight last night, when she inadvertently confessed to remembering his declaration of love – his whole word and all his hopes for a future with her had gone up in flames. So he'd run from it – run from her as quickly as he could. And when he'd woken up this morning – still running – Castle had been convinced he was only delaying the moment when he had to deal with losing her . . . and now . . . as swiftly as his world had been ending; it's been born anew.

This kind of stuff only happens when he's writing it – when he has all the control - and yet it's truth.

A truth it seems he's forever been waiting on, for the woman he loves to love him in return. For her to need him – to be willing to sacrifice everything for him – just as he's long been willing to do for her. An equal love – that's what he's wanted, prayed and hoped for. To be her everything, because she is everything to him.

It's such a huge relief for the author. It's so huge that he can feel it down to his soul – this gift of freedom – this chance to love. There's so much he's been wanting to give to Kate – to be for her, and so much he's needed in return. It's a miracle, his miracle that she's here; she's nestled in his arms.

"Tell me again." He murmurs into her hair. "Tell me – please Kate."

Castle swears he can feel her smiling against his chest, feels her sigh happily as she replies.

"I love you."

"Rick." He urges, and he feels her smile widen.

"I love you Rick." She responds. "I want you Rick."

His breath catches in his throat and sticks there a long moment, because it's not just her words; it's the desire in them, coating them – the need. The both of them are running on adrenaline, are burdened by lack of sleep. They are over-emotional, un-fed and injured – so the idea of him taking her to bed – taking her – right this minute – it shouldn't be an option for him, it shouldn't be all he can think about . . . but he needs to . . . he needs too . . .

"Castle. Take me to bed."

Oh hell. She thinks. It already sounds like she's begging as these words fall out her mouth without real thought as it's the only thought in her head. There is only desire singing through her body as exhaustion and pain flea before the magic conjured simply by the nearness of him. The fever his touch ignites.

The need is so strong – it overpowers everything else, usurps the need for nutrition and rest – right now all she can feel is want - wanton. An aching emptiness he can banish for her, a 'togetherness'– a sense of being complete that only he can make her feel. She needs it . . . she needs it . . .

"Kate . . . . We should . . . I mean you need to eat – to rest – we have all the time in the world."

They are the right words, he knows they are the right words – but they sure sound wrong, they don't sound convincing at all – hell even he doesn't believe him – not when he utters them in that tone. Shit. Castle forces himself to try again, to be persuasive – he can do persuasive – he's a master at persuasive.

He clears his throat, tries to ignore the warmth of her all down the length of him, the scent of her hair, the softness his fingers are tangled in, the desire that's determinedly rising again and forcing everything else away.

"Kitchen Kate . . . I'll cook you something . . . we should talk . . . and eat . . . you should sleep – we could cuddle or something."

Dammit not smooth . . . and not convincing at all. Not when his voice has noticeably dropped, and his body is hardening, and he's afraid he might be shaking from trying to hold it all back.

The writer closes his eyes; he reaches for some sort of control . . . holds on – but tenuously.

Against him she smiles, Kate can't help it and after all he cannot see - her face is still buried against the breadth of his chest, while her partner speaks words to her that try to disguise what he actually wants to do. She wants possessive Castle back – the dangerous – deadly looking one, so she shifts very purposefully in his arms, pushing her lower body against him, delighted when his hips push back helplessly and she feels him hardening against her.

Oh. Dear. God.

But this is what they need – this is what he really wants –she knows it. Absolutely feels it because this is what she wants too. More than food, or rest – after the last twenty four hours nothing else but this can matter – their desire – their mutual need.

She almost destroyed everything between them, she almost ruined their future. So now it's imperative she gives him everything – she wants to be his, truly his, because only when she is can he fully be hers.

So claim him then. Her heart demands.

And right now. Her body insists.

Her brain stutters, searching for the right words to speak, the words to banish her partner's gentle, chivalrous side – and make the more dangerous version of him take control again. Kate shivers, pure anticipation – before she removes her head from his chest and looks up at him – ready to let him see reflected on her face the words that she will find – will let flow out of her now.

They finally come.

"If you want me take me Castle. . . I need you to touch me just because you have to make me yours. Please Rick – please . . ."

Her words just undo him. They take his tenuous control and they shred it. They sweep away his token resistance – and set him aflame. Pure possessiveness rises in him. It's greedy and fueled by the pain of the last day – by the terrible soul-breaking 'almost' loss of all his dreams. Castle lets go of his worries and his concerns – becomes aware of nothing but his need.

He feels it spreading through him as the deepening desire in her eyes eggs him on – and he grins suddenly like a predator, while he watches her struggle to contain her gasp of triumph.

"Oh you're mine Kate." He tells her roughly. "And not just now - forever . . . do you understand? I promise you'll never question it again by the time I'm finished with you."

She never will – not ever, because he takes her hard against the wall.

It's quick and dirty and somehow exactly how they both always knew it would be the first time. You can't repress all they've too long denied and have it be anything but fast and desperate . . . purely needy . . . and physically overwhelming.

But then he takes her to bed – and the lovemaking begins.