rather close to M rated

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His mouth against hers. The rough desperation of his hands. The groan in his chest that rumbled between them, the vibrations she felt from his noises.

Awfully talkative, even when he wasn't talking.

She grinned around his bottom lip, her teeth plucking. He growled and caught her hips, wrapped his arms around her. Crushed her down against him.

She couldn't breathe. Who needed it? She couldn't move much other than to suck on his bottom lip until he went a little weak, moaning, his strength failing him. She slithered down, out of his arms, shoving her hands into the waistband of his boxers as she went.

"Ah, hell," he husked. His fingers tangled in her hair, a swipe at her ear, a fist near her head. Like he was trying to catch her and failing miserably.

She scraped his hips in her haste, nails scoring the flare of his flanks. The material tangled at his thighs, stuck, and in the darkness she couldn't see damn near enough. Kate grunted in frustration and shifted up again, rising over him in the bed.

"Take these off," she demanded, fingers hooked in the twisted material.

He stared up at her for a heartbeat. She felt that pulse in her body, the strange tension of waiting, of hesitation, and she didn't understand.

Was he saying no?

But before she could falter, Castle surged up to meet her, another brutal kiss. She was stunned by the aggression in his mouth and hands, by the assault of rough and ready.

He caught her leg and tugged, drove her back to the mattress. She gasped, rattled, winding around his body to get closer. She dragged at his shirt, palms to the heat of his back, the flexing of muscle and sinew; she couldn't get it over his head. He wouldn't let up.

Burning mouth down her throat, buried between her breasts. She moaned and clutched the back of his neck, gripping tightly, but he didn't release, his teeth tearing at the scar.

She whimpered. His head came up, eyes feral in the grey light of the day they had shut out. "Hurt you?" he husked.

She shook her head and arched her back, got her hands under her to fling off her shirt. He helped, eagerly helped, tossed the t-shirt somewhere past her head.

"No bra," he said, a glittering gaze down her body. He was half raised over her, propped on an elbow and hip, staring. His free hand came to cover her sternum, a hesitation between her breasts before benediction over the scar. "I do that? Or is it always so angry."

She glanced down, though she couldn't see much other than his head in her way as he laid a soft kiss over her heart. Her body rippled with astonishing emotion, the rolling wave of feeling, and she couldn't help clutching at his ear, guiding him up.

"Must be you," she whispered. Against his lips where he was already sipping a kiss from her mouth. Another. Another. His touch gentler, but deeper. Harder. "But you didn't hurt me. It doesn't hurt when you touch me."

The noises he made. The growls and grunts and the half-spoken calls, the constant touching, nudging, using his mouth in ways that went beyond mere kisses.

His mouth feathered back to her ear, a hand caressing her ribs, her side, the scar where the surgeon had put in his hand.

"I feel like all we've said to each other is you hurt my feelings and you hurt mine too." A breath against her ear that made her shiver. He lifted his head and his face was moving, expressive, intense. "And that isn't helpful, that doesn't propel us forward past this. I want to be past it, don't you?"

"When you say 'past this' - what's the 'this'? Because I have this terrible sinking sensation in my guts that you mean… you mean me. You want to get past me."

His eyes narrowed. "Wouldn't be pressing my hips into you if I wanted past you." His head tilted, lips twitched. "Well. There's one way I want past you, kinda, know what I mean?"

A choked noise in her throat, laughter that came out. This was going to be their sex life, wasn't it? He'd make lewd stupid jokes in the middle of things and she'd fall in love with him all over again.

"I want to get past this too. Both ways you mean." She nudged her hips up. "But you still have those boxers on."

He grinned, dipped his head - and his hips - getting closer. "Let me say one more thing before."

She groaned.

He laughed back and gave her a placating kiss, all too brief. "Don't let me hurt your feelings without saying something. And I - when you do the same, I'll tell you. Only way to stop this vicious cycle."

She huffed, tightening her arm around his neck. "Or, you know, we could just have sex."

He blinked. "Alright. Point for you." And then his hand pushed down her panties and cupped her.

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