A/N—thank you so much for the words of encouragement. I'm really hooked on this pairing, and excited to have some readers to share that with. This is the last chapter of this Season 1 story. I hope you enjoy it.

Next I'll either work on a Non-Canon-Hurt/Comfort story or maybe I'll go back to Graveyard. Whichever I get finished first I'll post.

Again, thank you so much!

Season 1 Non-Canon, continued

Multi-perspective

Flowers for your Confusion Part 3 of 3

Kate goes straight home from the club, standing under a blasting shower and trying to figure out what the hell happened over the last few hours. Realizing that she won't be going to sleep, she dresses in her training clothes and goes to the precinct gym for a good workout. That always clears her head.

It's not even 5AM yet as she strolls through the basement of the 12th, a woman on a mission. From down the hall, she hears Lanie, "Girl, what in the world are you doing here at this hour?"

"You're here," Kate points out. "If there was a body, why wasn't I called?"

"There was a body, but it's a DUI, so no need to call in homicide."

"Oh."

"Yea. 'Oh.' So let's get back to you." Lanie pulls Beckett into the autopsy room. "You go out on that blind date last night?"

"Yes. But it wasn't really a blind date."

"This must be good. Who was he?"

"You can't say anything."

"Girl, you know I won't. Another cop?"

"Worse. You remember that writer, Cast—"

"Oh, no way!" Parrish interrupts joyfully. "You hit that?"

"No," Beckett chuckles, signaling to Parrish to be quiet.

"Why not? What are you doing here with me instead of barely climbing out of that man's bed and walk-of-shaming yourself back home?"

"Didn't seem like a good idea."

"What wasn't a good idea? Getting some? Having fun? He looked like he was into you. You could be walking around all covered in afterglow. Instead you're here. At work. No one I know, and I mean no one…needs to get laid as bad as you. So what did he do to mess it up?"

"I had a lot of fun."

"How horrible," Lanie sarcastically retorts. "Get out of my morgue and go get laid. Right now."

"The thing is…we kinda hit it off. So I'm not sure where we stand."

"You hit it off and that's a bad thing? If you don't know where you stand, go find out. You live too much of your life here, with death and suspects and grieving families. Everyone tells me you are absolutely fearless…but it's not the whole truth. You're fearless, unless you think you might make a connection, let someone get close to you. You want to live on a deserted island, I can't stop you…but at least invite a guy to visit once in a while."

"Fine," Beckett says, hurrying out the door before more could be said.

"I'll be by later to check on you. I better find some evidence that you've actually had yourself a good time…" Lanie snickers as she calls after Kate.

When there's a knock on his door early Sunday afternoon, Castle pauses his frenzied writing to answer. He's still in his pajamas, having napped only a short while before the story called to him. At least his desire to write distracts him from the sting of Beckett's speedy vanishing act.

The moment he opens the door and sees her, he winces, assuming she's here to skewer him for the arrangement he made with the mayor. She's dressed for a workout she clearly hasn't had yet, and he's guessing the only things that keep her from her fitness regimen are duty or rage. Since no one is dead at his apartment, it must be the latter.

"I wouldn't be happy to see me either, if I were you," she says, an almost apologetic expression on her face.

"What?"

"I'm sure your mom is pretty upset that I shot her down last night before I even gave her a chance. It was a little hasty," she teases tentatively.

"Mother told me what you said when she answered the door. I know she can come on rather strong, but I can't fault her for her excellent taste." He's smiling, hurt already forgotten now that they're speaking again.

"So I thought maybe I'd come back and see if she's still interested."

"Hate to tell you, but she isn't here. She and Alexis are catching a preview and grabbing some dinner with the cast."

"Oh," Kate says, looking past him into the apartment, and he thinks she's trying to see if anyone else is there. He hopes she's worried about the presence of another woman.

"You know, you're actually pretty funny," he observes, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. "Why do you try so hard to hide that?"

"I don't. Just not a lot of opportunities for levity when I'm working a homicide and trying to keep the civilian who was following me safe in spite of himself."

"Yea…I guess not."

"I'm not an impulsive person," she bluntly explains, joking stashed firmly aside.

"Okay?"

"I had a surprisingly nice time last night. But I try not to go back on my word, especially when I make a promise that I think is in my best interest."

"I didn't expect you to go back on your word. But I also didn't think you'd run off like that. You could've let me take you home…unless you were afraid you couldn't resist me, alone in a car."

"That's why I want to apologize. I'm sorry I left like that. It just felt like things were getting out of control."

"Out of control is when the best stuff happens."

"I'm plenty used to diffusing out of control situations. But, typically, even when everything else is chaotic, I am not."

"For the record, I was not the provocateur. You, you were the one who kissed me…I was a perfect gentleman. Well," he hesitates, "maybe not perfect. But still a gentleman. Mostly."

"I thought you might mention that."

"Not…that I have any regrets about your decision whatsoever. I enjoyed that part very, very much. What I could have done without was the post-kiss disappearance."

"You said before that people rarely surprise you. I'm usually good at sizing people up pretty quickly. But you took me off guard. I had fun and…I got caught up in the moment and I shouldn't have."

"Why not? Isn't that half the fun in life? Finding moments and getting caught up in them?"

"Not for me. Not usually. It's not like I expect some big commitment, but I also respect myself enough to be more than a faceless lay in an overstuffed little black book. I am more than a meaningless quick thrill that you can look back and brag about screwing once."

He leans closer, knowing that he's flirting hard even though she'll probably rebuff. "Wait, hold on …Who in the hell said anything about 'quick'?"

Her mouth opens a bit more, and he can see that the words hit her exactly the way he'd intended.

Moving even closer, close enough that they're almost touching, he adds, "I promise you…you couldn't be a 'meaningless faceless lay' if you tried."

He glances quickly at her lips, expecting that she's about to run again, but damn he wishes she won't. He's truly startled when she grabs the two open sides of his bathrobe and pulls him closer until she's kissing him. It's not as cautious as the last time, their tongues immediately savoring and exploring, the heavy sounds of their pants and whimpers of pleasure appearing unimpeded. He's certainly not as reserved this time, deciding that if she's going to pull away, he can't stop it, but he sure as hell can enjoy it while it's happening.

She's still hanging onto his robe, and pulls him across the hall until her back crashes into the other wall, narrowly missing the door. This woman only seems to have two settings: idling or full throttle. He loves that about her. She sure as hell doesn't feel guarded now. His hands are roaming over her back and neck. He discovers that her hips fit perfectly in his hands. He could make out with this woman forever.

"Castle," he vaguely hears once, and then three or four more times as he's running his open mouth along her neck, licking and tasting her salty-sweet skin.

He realizes that she's pushing against his shoulders, and he pauses. He puts his forehead to hers and murmurs, "Sorry."

He doesn't want this to end, he definitely doesn't want her to leave. His teeth dig into his lip as he bites it to bring himself out of that lustful fog and back to moderation.

"Don't be sorry. I don't want to stop," she replies, shaking her head as she touches his face. "I just thought…maybe you'd invite me in."

"Of course," he answers, smiling slightly as he gestures for her to enter, wearing a mask of sangfroid.

He can't maintain such cool for long, so on impulse he lifts her, pulling her legs around his waist as the backs of her knees hook on his hips. He feels her giggle before seeing the smile on her face as he spins her around and stumbles clumsily into the apartment, locking the door behind them.

"Oh, um…There is one little thing we should probably talk about," he manages. As much as he doesn't feel like dampening the mood, he thinks she may be irritated if he doesn't tell her about his conversation with the mayor in the wee hours of the morning.

"Right," she answers, "of course. I'm single, disease-free."

"What? Oh that's great. I'm currently girlfriend-, wife- and disease-less, but that isn't wh—"

"Good," Kate avidly replies, grasping the back of his head and fervently kissing him where he stands.

At least he tried to tell her, right? But his attempt to disclose is forgotten because the things he wants (needs) to do to and with her are far more important than anything else to him for the moment. She's so damn sexy, self-assured, flexible. How in the hell is he supposed to think about anything besides this insanely hot woman in his apartment?

They make it a few feet before an upwelling of impatience demands that he touch her. He places her on the kitchen counter, unzipping her jacket and yanking it away from her arms. His hands are practically shaking with anticipation as he reaches for the hem of her tee shirt and pulls it over her head. She's wearing a sports bra, nothing fancy, but he kind of likes it because he assumes she was carrying out her usual routine when she decided she had to see him instead of working out. He's pleased to be a distraction. Of course the clothes he likes best are the ones she's no longer wearing.

Her arms move under his robe as her legs tighten around him to pull him near. His hands finally slide over her ass cheeks, lifting her as she hangs on. The woman has the most amazing ass, and as much as he's enjoying touching her, he'd love to get a better look at her. He uses the opportunity to jerk her yoga pants over her hips, dropping her back onto the counter so he can pull them down. She chuckles when they get stuck on her feet, a tangled mass of pants and underwear caught on her sneakers. "Damnit," he gripes, stepping back and pulling off the shoes without untying them or even extricating them from the rest of her clothes before letting them fall.

He licks his lips in anticipation as he gets a good look at her. She's nearly naked, and every bit as delicious as the meals he typically enjoys concocting. He watches as she pulls her bra off, enjoying the bobble of her full breasts after they're released. For a moment, he's slightly slack jawed as he takes in the scene. Some incarnation of this moment will definitely make an appearance in his books, because it's seared into his brain.

She wiggles her finger in a come-hither motion, and he obeys instantly. His mouth eagerly seeks her breast, tongue swirling over her turgid nipple, and then moves to the other, too eager to linger anywhere too long. He pauses briefly to explore the valley between them, kissing the flat part of her chest there and feeling the thud of her heart drumming against her ribs.

In this moment she sees yet another side of him. He isn't cocky or entitled, in fact there is an odd sweetness in the way he acts as he learns her body. Something about him almost seems awed, like she is somehow unique in his mind. This all makes her feel more assured, like perhaps this isn't a mistake. After all, she doesn't know what this is, if it's anything. Maybe they'll have fun this one time, and move on forever. Or, perhaps, this will become a regular thing for them. Or maybe, just maybe, it could be something more. Whatever it is, she admits to herself that she hopes it lasts longer than today.

It feels so good to be touched again, to enjoy the escalation of desire with another person who's as invested as she is.

He cradles her thighs in his hands and carries her to the sofa, sitting down before she falls onto his lap. She feels the burn of his stare as he looks her over, and notes the steady progress of his fingers up her inner thigh. The soft pad of his middle finger moves to the parting of her flesh and finds the hot, silken treasure awaiting him.

He's audibly panting as if his finger is the recipient of pleasure rather than the provider, and it's turning her on ridiculously. With his palm up, he oh so gently brushes her clit, slides downward and dips shallowly inside her, and carefully draws the moisture upward so he has a greater pool to swirl around in. Soon two of his fingers are moving over that sensitive nub, circling and flickering, and he's quickly ratcheting up her arousal.

This time, when his finger moves lower, he presses into her, groaning like it's his cock that's entering her. After only two pumps, a second finger joins, and her head tips back in ecstasy. His fingers scissor and stroke within her, not just poking, but feeling, caressing, and exploring, conforming to her body.

She's clutching onto his shoulders, her grasp locked on him as her torso leans back. Each time he's inside her, his thumb rolls over her clit and she's edging higher, although he doesn't stay there long enough to grant her much longed-for release. It's uncanny the way he seems to know how to touch her, almost like she's directing him except she can't pinpoint his next move. His fingers are so much larger than her own, pressing against her walls and filling her more completely. The combining of these factors, along with his unmasked enthrallment, makes it all so astonishing.

As she gets close, so very near the edge, he kisses her roughly, nibbling her lip before he entreats, "I can't wait to watch you unravel."

He doesn't even finish the sentence as her body clamps down on his fingers and she calls out a string of unintelligible phonemes. She feels the fireworks more than she sees them, plunging over harder and longer than she has since…well she has no idea when.

For a few wonderful, carefree seconds, she rests her forehead on his shoulder. In her mind, she thought he would be the type to push her mouth to his cock the moment she finished, immediately expecting reciprocation. But he doesn't rush her. She feels the way he's gently rubbing her back, placing feathery kisses on her shoulder that make her feel so unexpectedly cared for.

Remembering who she's with, she prepares for what she is certain will be a gloat-fest. After all, that felt wonderful enough that he does deserve to be a little pleased with himself. But when she lifts her head, he isn't smug or proud. He's staring with an intensity that is startling, without a hint of silliness or arrogance. The experience is so powerful it reverberates through her.

He lifts up and turns, placing her on her back on the sofa, and kisses a long, lazy trail down her stomach. When she realizes that he intends to go down on her, she grabs his shirt and pulls him up so he's lying on her. "What are you doing?" she rasps.

"Interviewing. Or, more accurately, auditioning. Wasn't that the agreement?" he asks, moving his stubbled chin down the upper part of her chest. "I'll focus on you for now, and you can gather all of the information you need to decide if I'm worth another…visit."

"I thought that offer was for last night only. Besides, I've seen enough. I don't need an audition," she giggles as his fingers roam and tickle. "I want this," she adds as she reaches between them and palms his erection, stroking over his thin pajama pants, the smooth silk of his boxers sliding over his girth. "Is that a problem?"

"Wh—umm-i-it's not a problem for me. I just want to make sure you're…getting what you want."

"It's definitely what I want. But…maybe we could find somewhere a little more private?"

He looks around the space, like maybe he's forgotten they're in his living room.

"Just in case your family comes home early," she adds.

"Oh. Yea, hell," he nods. "They won't. But that's a really good idea. I really should have thought of that."

She grins at his lack of brain function, reaching up and sucking on his lower lip, pinching it in her teeth before she replies, "Let's go."

When he stands, his pajamas are evidently tented, his shirt is wrinkled and gathered from their frolicking, and his robe got lost somewhere along the line. His hair is actually kind of mussed up but still mostly ordered, which she finds even more amusing. She quickly gathers her displaced of clothes before he takes her hand and leads her to his room.

Once they're in his room, he locks his door and she pulls his shirt off him with the same hasty resolve with which he removed hers. She hops up as soon as he holds onto her, using her toes to push his pants and boxers down to the floor as she kisses him against the door.

She pulls away for a moment, creating enough distance to look him over. He feels so exposed under her stare, a feeling that is not typical for him. Stepping backward toward her pile of clothes, gaze locked on him, she grabs her jacket, fishing out the wallet from her pocket. She unzips it and quickly retrieves a condom.

He feels a stab of jealousy that she carries them with her, which he doesn't think makes any sense. But he wonders, suddenly, if she carries them all of the time. Does she have a go-to guy, not a boyfriend, but someone who she has sex with on a regular basis. She has needs, surely. He feels an urge to ask who in the hell she's been sleeping with, although he knows he has no right to ask such a question, nor does he wish to admit that who she sleeps with already matters to him.

This pang of envy concerns him slightly, and when she notes his hesitation, she argues, "No condom, no sex. Sorry, Castle, that's a rule I won't budge on."

"Of course," he agrees immediately. "Fine by me."

"Oh. You looked—"

"Everything's fine because I agree completely. Safety first," he interrupts, coming close, taking the condom from her fingers and tearing open the package with his teeth before raising an eyebrow.

"Okay," she seems a little confused, like she wants to further question his inner thoughts.

So he distracts her, coming close, visually scouring her. He flicks the empty packet for the condom to the floor, holding the rubber in one hand while he grabs the base of his shaft with the other. "Wait," she demands, nibbling her lip before she adds, "let me do that."

She crushes her body to his, his erection trapped between them, kissing him for just a moment before she takes his manhood in her hands. She grabs his balls just firmly enough to express something that feels like ownership to him (and he doesn't mind that in the least). With her other hand she fists his cock, stroking with nice, long, tight pulls that suppress his concerns.

His eyes are closed, and he finds his hands reaching back to the dresser to brace his body. Playing him all too well, she shortens and loosens her strokes, and he finds his body involuntarily rocking toward her to plead for more contact. She ceases touching him almost entirely for a moment and when he searches for her motivation, he watches while her finger taps the bead of lubrication leaking from him. With just the pad of one finger, she smears the fluid over his cockhead, the scant touch teasing something fierce. She's so meticulous, so thorough in her study, and it drives him wild with the need to fuck her with everything he has. She's trying to break him, he thinks. Damn it's fun to be in her crosshairs. And nerve-wracking.

She snatches the condom he has pinched between his fingers. The lubed rubber feels chilly compared to her fist, but only for a moment before their bodies warm it. When she sheathes him, carefully rolling the prophylactic into place, the entire gloriously process tests his patience.

He senses he's become too idle, so he wraps her up in his arms, listening to her "yip" in surprise, and he falls back against the wall. He crashes into it hard, so hard that it will hurt once he cares about the remainder of his body again.

Her arms and legs are wound around his neck and hips, and he sees a definite mischief in her smile that sends a hot surge straight to his groin. As controlled as she is, this woman definitely knows how to make a man forget the world (hell, he can't even remember his address). He feels the heat of her pussy against him, inviting him in. He pushes toward her as she presses toward him, bodies fumbling for fulfillment, his need for gratification growing as she can no longer silence her vocal responses.

Grabbing his cock, he guides himself to her entrance, watching her cleave to him. She is bracing most of her weight, maintaining only enough distance to avoid sinking down onto him.

Pausing considerately, Rick brushes his lips to hers. It's a tender and caring gesture in what has been a hurried race up until this point. He wants her, so entirely, but he only wants her if the feeling is mutual. Her greenish eyes look heavy with desire, and although he paused to ensure consent, he finds she overwhelms him fully.

Just as he's frozen in place by her captivating stare, she covers his hand, the one holding his dick, and tilts her hips forward and lowers her weight.

He grunts harshly in aroused satisfaction, washed away in sensations he hasn't really braced himself for. She doesn't give him time, either, to adjust and prepare, to firmly wrest control again. Oddly enough, as reckless as he may seem, he usually has very good self-control in sexual situations, and she's shaken all of that.

If that shook his methods, what she does next shatters them. She hooks her hands behind his neck, extends her arms so she can look down at his body, and puts his hips in a vise lock created by her legs. He's completely lost the upper hand in this situation, and it feels so incredibly good that he's not even interested in shifting the scales back in his favor. She's way too good at this.

Her body moves with graceful power, undulating her torso and hips. As agile as she is, she is not at all gentle. He is the one inside her, but she is clearly the one fucking him. He's pretty sure he's found his ideal partner.

His hands slide up her corresponding thighs, and he feels the lithe strength of her finely tuned body. It's hard to believe there is anything in the universe but the two of them, there, like that. Vaguely he feels like he's being watched, and sees that she's studying his face, her own expression is one of heat and fascination. And alluring confidence.

She should be confident, because he's about twenty seconds from hitting his trigger point, and once he's there, there's no going back.

Pushing his shoulders away from the wall, he grabs on tight to her hips to hold her still. After all, he doesn't want to be the only one awed. She may have said she doesn't want an audition, but he definitely hopes to demonstrate that she wants to stick around.

As her lips meet his, the kiss slow and thick, he takes clumsy steps toward his bed. He misses his target, though, crashing into his side table. The entire collection of items on top of the table is displaced, a lamp and bowl fracturing as they hit the wall and floor. He laughs, not caring in the least for his things when he's far too busy having the ride of his life.

Flopping back on the bed, still clinging to her so he can stay ensconced within, their bodies stop when he hits the mattress. She calls out with a jolt of erotic sensation because when their progress is abruptly stopped, his body slams against hers. He pauses for a second to check on her, relieved when he sees her smile. It's a worriless look, a true expression she cannot govern. It's also one of the prettiest things he's ever seen. He chuckles as he braces on his elbows and kisses her again, relishing the feeling of both her body and the affection she bestows.

When he knows for certain that she's fine, he rolls her under him, noting the way her arms drop to the bed, palms up and bent at the elbow. For a moment, she's willing to relinquish the upper hand to him. He kisses her inner elbow, watching a shiver spread across her skin, and then begins to thrust shallowly inside her again. He's precise, giving himself some time to rein in his racing libido, to let things build and crest at a more manageable pace. His body moves increasingly with each plunge as need dictates he must, working her up into a frenzy as well as he can. He sucks her collarbone and neck, nipping lightly and playfully, enjoying the way she's allowing him to give and exchange pleasure. With each sigh, moan, and gasp, he's learning her, and he can feel her enjoyment mirroring through his senses.

He flips her, letting her back on top. The way she fucks him is too hot to deny. Plus, from here, he can see her better, and his hands are free to roam. Looking down, he grabs onto her hips, holding her still just above him. He lifts his pelvis, watching as he disappears into her. "God, Beckett, you feel incredible. So tight. So slippery and hot."

She leans down, finding his ear, and he remembers the last time she whispered at him, and the way it made him feel. Just a few days ago, he didn't yet know her touch, and it still zapped him hard.

"And you," she purrs, "So. Damn. Hard." Her voice drops low, adding praises in inaudible fragments.

His eyes peer higher, as if in prayer, and she drops her fingers to the fronts of his shoulders and begins to ride him harder, faster, more wantonly. He holds onto her and won't let go, pushing and shoving their bodies together in the tempo she's dictated. They are so good at this cadence, at knowing the rhythm of the encounter like they're following the same silent song.

Both have forgotten promises of self-restraint and thoughts of auditions from the night before. They're two intrigued souls, a pair of attracted beings, racing to satisfy the same uncompromising biological force that pulls more ferociously because of the connection they haven't even fully explored yet. Her entire self tenses, he sees the muscles in her neck and tummy contract, feels the clench of her thighs and clamping of her core as she ardently moves to claim him again and again. He bottoms out within her each time, his balls smacking against her. He's close, so close, suspended at that spot right before orgasm, it's almost too good to let go, but he knows the rush that awaits him.

She cries out his name, first "Cast…" soft and sweet, like a devoted whisper, and then she screams the final syllable, stretched long as her passions ascend. When he joins her, it's completely unavoidable, a seizing of his body, mind and faculties. His hips hover above the mattress as he's trying to move through her, to merge if only it were possible.

They'll both leave bruises on the other from this fevered encounter, but few moments of existence are less filled with pain, obligation or worry than the seconds after orgasms like these.

The first need he is aware of is to stay in her, so he needs to keep her against him. "Stay," he murmurs.

"Condom," she reminds him.

"Right," he answers, begrudgingly but cautiously pulling out of her depths and rolling away so he can get rid of it in the bathroom.

As he stumbles back to her, reality seeps back into his brain. He wouldn't really be all that surprised to find her already dressed to leave. The sex was truly phenomenal, and he wonders if that will make it easier or harder to convince her that this really shouldn't be the only time it happens for them. He's only regained rational thought for a few seconds, and already he has plans. Lots of plans.

But she's still tucked in his bed beneath a wrinkle in his bright white sheets. He slips in next to her, savoring the warmth and softness of her sated body. Lifting her slightly to slip his arm under her, he wraps her up and holds her close. He assures her, wordlessly, that she isn't meaningless, that she matters. She doesn't resist, not in the least, and he moves with her as she inhales deeply, and slowly exhales into the moment. He matches her breath, sharing one of the most basic needs with her in perfect synchrony. He softly hums his appreciation for this moment of utter relaxation and connectedness.

He could get used to this, used to this feeling, this woman.

"You know what?" he asks, carefully broaching conversation.

"What?" she sighs contentedly.

"You…are a wild woman."

She giggles, looking at him for a second before hiding her face. "Too much for you to handle, Castle?"

"Just the right amount of too much to handle," he compliments. "Seriously. Damn, Beckett. I don't mind saying it…you were right. My expectations were pretty high, but I had no idea how you really are."

"And you…" she replies, pausing carefully, "you are not all talk. You have the skills to back up that confidence, believe it or not."

"I think that's a compliment."

"It is," she nods subtly. He can't even fully enjoy the commendation because he's already thinking about how to win her over and make sure this isn't a one-shot tryst.

Since his second divorce, he's been pretty committed to keeping relationships light and short, but Beckett, well there's just something about her.

"We should definitely do this again some time," he starts, realizing that he sounds needier than he wants to. "I mean sex like this… it would be an absolute tragedy to deny ourselves."

She glances at her watch and says, "I don't have to leave just yet. Unless you want me to."

"Me? No way I want you to leave."

Her fingers tickle the crease between his thigh and torso, and she offers, "So as soon as you're ready—"

"I'm game if you are. But I was talking about other days...after today."

"Oh?"

He thinks maybe she's leaning toward a flight response, so he tries to sound casual, "If you can get a few days off, we could go to the Hamptons next weekend. You could use me up, subject me to your every tawdry whim, with no one around to hear me scream."

"A weekend away?" she asks hesitantly, clearly undistracted by his joke.

"I'm just being practical. You don't want to tell me where you live, and there isn't much privacy here," he explains quickly, hoping she won't read too much into it. "Up there, we'd be totally alone. Just you, me, my better-than decent selection of wine…And an entire weekend for each of us to prove to the other that we're the best they've ever had. Unless you're afraid you can't keep up?"

"Might be fun," she flirts.

"Might be? Oh, it is sure to be. Or maybe now that I know certain other things about you…," he says with lascivious undercurrent, "you'll invite me to your place. I'd love to see your lair." He scrambles to deflect any sobriety from the situation, and adds, "Or maybe you're afraid you'll get hooked."

"Me?" she scoffs. "We're not even dressed yet and you're already trying to lock down a weekend."

"Fine," he answers before his brain thinks better. "I don't know if I'd say I'm hooked just yet, but I definitely enjoyed my first sample and I'd really, really like to have more."

Honesty was the right way to go, because her defenses drop again. "Alright, Castle. If you haven't already moved on to the next woman AND I don't have a case next weekend, you can come over to my place."

"I don't deny that I like to shop around. But that's only because I haven't found what I really want. Besides," he says, lifting the edge of the covers and peeking under them at her body. His tone turns animated and enthusiastic as he continues, "Have you looked at yourself lately?"

His hand slides over her skin from her shoulder, down her side and over her leg. "What?" she asks, appearing off guard.

"You are truly gorgeous, Beckett. I can imagine a lot, but I can't think of any better way to spend next weekend."

"You're pretty attractive yourself," she replies, sliding her calf up his leg, scratching her short nails softly up the back of his neck, her intentions clear. "Good thing that case is over so you're not consulting anymore."

Suddenly he remembers his news, the information he wanted to share with her before they had sex. "About that…" he begins with a nervous wince, but her body is tearing his mind away from responsibilities and onto more interesting things. "I really like where you're going with this, but there's something I should tell you."

She laughs softly, "I know, Castle."

"You do? You know?" he replies, eternally hopeful. "Seriously?"

"Yea. You obviously find I inspire more than your writing," she teases as she wiggles against him.

"True. You are…very inspiring." He's having so much difficulty concentrating, but clears his throat, feeling that whatever is going on between them could lead to something much more than a fling. But that isn't what I need to talk to you about."

"Listening," she smirks, but she's slinking down his body, kissing a trail down his chest, playfully nibbling a nipple as she slides down the bed.

Grabbing her elbows and pulling her up so they're lying on their sides facing each other, he insists, "We can continue in just a minute, but I can't think when you're doing…that. Listen, I need to do research for my book, so last night I called—"

He is interrupted when her phone rings. "Hold that thought," she says as she hops out of bed.

"You really need to answer that now?"

"It's the Captain," she replies, knowing from the ring tone. She's frantically searching through her clothes. "He doesn't call unless—" she pauses when she finds it, and answers the phone with a succinct, "Beckett."

Rick's frustration that she's left his bed and suspended the conversation is heavily moderated by the sight of her standing in front of him completely naked. But her expression changes, and while she's still on the phone, she begins to untangle her knot of clothes and dress.

"Beckett!" he whispers as loudly as he can.

She shushes him and shakes her head, eyes wide with worry. "No, sir. The TV. I'll be right there."

Hanging up, she explains, "I have to go. It's nothing personal. I'd rather hang out here a little longer. But I'll give you a call later, okay?"

"Beckett… Kate," he entreats, not fond of the thought of her disappearing…again.

Her expression apologetic, she replies, "I am sorry. Unless someone is dead, it'll have to wait."

He cringes, and decides to blurt it all out quickly, just so she doesn't think he's hiding anything when she hears it from Montgomery very soon anyway. Then her phone rings. "Esposito," she explains to Castle.

She speaks to the detective for a moment, telling him, "Hang on a second."

Putting her phone on mute, she leans down to Castle. She offers a gentle but unfortunately brief kiss, enough to make his heart pick up. "I'll call after work. Talk then?"

"Looking forward to it," he says, watching as she leaves his room and he hears the door shut as she leaves his apartment.

The case Beckett responds to is wrapped up rather quickly. She and "the boys" question the man who called it in, and by the second question, he crumbles and confesses. There isn't much of a mystery involved.

It almost irritates her that there isn't more to this case, because she left Castle's bed but she wasn't really needed at work. Even more unfortunate is the fact that she now is saddled with the paperwork.

As she walks to get coffee a few hours later, giving a final read over the report she is going to file, the Captain calls her into his office. "You have a fan," he comments, telling her that Castle is drawing on inspiration from her for his next novel. Although she already knew that, she acts surprised.

She doesn't have to act surprised when Montgomery tells her Castle is planning to shadow her on the job for the foreseeable future in order to do "research." She definitely hasn't heard about that before. As she turns back to face the shadow in the door behind her, she sees Castle there waiting, happily grinning.

She leaves the meeting and storms down the hall. Castle hurries after her trying to hide the fact that he's scrambling. He argues, "In my defense, I tried to tell you about this earl—"

"Shh," she growls, still fleeing.

"Give me a chance to explain."

She whips around, eyes beyond fiery. Poking his chest to punctuate each word, she grumbles through gritted teeth, "Not. Here."

He stops, grimacing as he awaits her explanation. She looks around to see if anyone is watching, and nods down a long hall for him to follow.

"Can I remind you that you're surrounded by cops here? Killing me in this building probably isn't the best id—"

"What were you thinking?" she interrupts with a harsh whisper as she continues rushing down the hall.

"I tried to tell you."

She pauses her retreat for a moment, facing him. "You couldn't have told me during dinner? Or ice cream? Or dancing? You had plenty of time."

"I didn't know then. I set it up after you," he leans closer, speaking like he's sharing the secrets behind a dark conspiracy, "kissed me like that and vanished without explanation."

She crosses her arms. "In the middle of the night? You called the mayor at 3AM?"

"He pointed out the lateness of the hour as well." Castle grabs his phone, and offers, "You can check my recent calls, or call him to verify, if you want. It's the truth."

Beckett stares wild eyed for a few seconds, clearly stunned, and tugs his jacket sleeve gruffly and continues down the hall. "Why?"

"I wasn't ready for this story to be over yet. I'm dying to see what happens." Rick continues. "Look, I tried to tell you before the…you know…the stuff we did earlier. And I tried to tell you before you left. You were more interested in getting down with yours truly and seeing dead people." He pauses, considers, and adds, "I'm not sure what that says about you."

"So it's my fault you didn't tell me?"

"No!" he whoops, quieting when she shoots daggers with her eyes. "It's not your fault I'm irresistible."

She scowls, trying to intimidate him.

"Alright. If you really want me to, I'll quit. No shadowing," he offers.

"Good."

"Really? You're going to make me quit?" he gripes with absolutely no poker face.

"You offered."

"I just said that, and you were supposed to say I could stay. At least that's how I would write it. Come on. Please. Just give it a try. A few cases. It'll be fun! And kinda sexy. Think of it: Detective by day, lover by night…"

She shoves him into a towel closet near the locker room. "No sex," she orders as she firmly presses the door closed.

"Fine," he answers too quickly. "No. Wait….you mean no sex now? Ever? At work?"

"Yes."

"Which?"

"All."

"Seriously?" he whines. "I have to choose between the story and sex? And not just ordinary sex. That was…" he makes an exploding sound, enhanced by his fingers mimicking two expanding blasts. "Wow."

"I'm sure you have plenty of other prospects. Find someone else to sleep with."

Castle looks away. He's been trying to keep things light. He's not ashamed to show his interest, but the romantic and caring heart he tries to keep hidden already knows he wants more than sex from this woman. How in the hell is he supposed to keep it cool when faced with a decision like this? His heart answers, but his brain chooses more casual phraseology. "I'd much rather sleep with you."

"Then no shadowing."

He feels crushed, not wanting to surrender his newfound inspiration, but still feeling like maybe this thing with Beckett could be something more. "Fine," he says, defeated, "I won't shadow you."

"Really?" she gasps.

Now he's quite confused, because she made her stance clear. Maybe she just doesn't want to see him at all anymore, and that hurts far worse. "What do you want, Beckett?" he asks, defeat peeking into his tone. "You want to pretend we never met?"

"You're willing to give up your research and all of this inspiration?"

"No. I'm not. But if you're going to force me to choose, I'll have to pick the best option."

A smile emerges on her face. "Fine. You can shadow me." She launches herself toward him, vacillating between kissing him and bossing him around.

"And we can keep doing…" he palms her rear, leans back a little to meet her eyes, "…naked, sexy stuff?" His eyes flutter shut as her lips return to his and the sensations she causes overwhelm all other objectives.

"Yes. But not at work."

"Okay."

"I mean it, Castle. Absolutely no messing around at work!"

"I'll remind you for the second time that you are the one who kissed me. I like this pattern."

She silences him with her touch. He's not going to fight the discrepancy between her words and actions as long as it involves her kissing him while saying they can't screw around.

"No one can know," she adds into his mouth.

"Not a problem."

"I'm serious."

"Part of what I like about you," he replies as his lips move to her neck.

"I'm going to treat you exactly the same. My job is not a game. No free passes or special treatment." She gasps out a moan as her explanation of the rules fades.

"Understood," he replies, utterly breathless, giddy, and stunned.

She pauses, demanding that he meet her eyes. "No matter how good the sex is…I'm not going to take it easy on you."

He beams, "I wouldn't want it any other way."

THE END