Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

A/N This chapter will move into M territory. If that's a place you'd rather not visit, you'll be safe if you stop reading after the line, "Let's get these jammies off, Castle."

They've gone 50 miles—not even halfway to Manhattan—when she sees an all-night diner ahead and pulls in.

"Bathroom break?" Castle asks when she cuts the engine.

"No, food."

"Food?"

"Yes. I'm starving. Aren't you?"

"I could eat."

"Right." She snorts. "Could eat."

They take a booth by a window, even though it's getting on for eleven. She barely looks at the plastic covered menu before waving over the waitress. "I'd like the Blue-Ribbon Deluxe Premiere Burger Plate and a cup of coffee, please."

"Geez, Beckett," he says. "That's more food than you usually eat in a week."

"I've worked up quite an appetite," she says, pinning him with a look. "And I'm really going to need my strength in a little while."

The paper wrapper that he'd been about to shoot from his straw flutters to the table.

"And you, sir?" the waitress asks.

"Same," he says, looking at the wrapper as if he has has no idea how it got there. "I'll have the same."

"The only thing I've had in the last twenty-four hours is three bites of a BLT and half a doughnut. I need strength for— riding." Kate unfolds a paper napkin and puts it on her lap. "Especially my thighs. And my back." She smiles. "Have you had any today, Castle? Food, that is."

"Scotch," he blurts.

"Scotch? I assume that was before your half of the doughnut, unless you sneaked a drink to steady your nerves while I was putting on my bathing suit."

"Yeah, before."

"Anything else?"

He attempts to redirect his thinking from her thighs to what he might have eaten today; eventually he remembers. "Um. A couple of raspberries. And part of a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich before I fell asleep by the pool. And the other part of that doughnut."

"No wonder you said you could eat, Castle."

Their identical, artery-defying meals arrive: double-bacon cheeseburgers, curly fries in portions roughly the size of a motorcycle wheel, potato salad, and cole slaw. Their intake, however, is far from identical, since at least half her fries and all of her potato salad end up in his stomach, not hers. While they're eating she tells him about some of the particularly revolting cases he's missed, none of which affects his appetite. "The exploding hand is still the best," he says, dragging yet another fry through the pond of ketchup on his plate. "I can't believe I wasn't there for that." He takes the last bite of his burger and asks hopefully, "I don't suppose there was any video?"

The waitress has reappeared and is refilling their mugs. "Would you like some dessert? It's included with the Blue-Ribbon plate."

"Wouldn't miss it, Wanda," he says. "What's on offer?"

She rattles off a long list, finishing with, "And Boston Cream Pie. Made right here, not in Boston."

"Good, wouldn't want anything from Boston." He points his spoon at Beckett. "She hates the Red Sox."

"Me, too!" Wanda says. "In our house we call 'em the Red Pox."

Her customers laugh, and Castle mentally triples the tip he's going to leave her. "You sold me on the not-Boston Boston Cream Pie. What about you, Beckett?"

"Too full, thanks."

"Could you bring an extra fork, please? I bet she'll want some of that pie."

"Sure thing," the waitress says, raising an eyebrow and simultaneously—though she doesn't know it—elevating her tip again. She's back with the pie (and forks) less than a minute later.

Castle pushes the dessert to the middle of the table. "Dig in."

"Nope, it's yours."

He spears a chunk of pie and chews happily. "It's so weird that they call this pie when it's really cake."

"That's Boston for you," she says. When his third forkful is halfway to his mouth, she reaches across the table, grabs his hand, and takes the fork between her lips. "Mmmmmmm," she moans, and runs her tongue across her bottom lip.

"Thought you'd had enough, Beckett."

"My appetite for creamy things is never sated," she says, deadpan, passing the fork back to him.

"Jesus," he mutters, and runs his hand down his face. "I have to eat this fast."

Five minutes later they're standing by the bike, snapping their helmets in place. "Listen, Castle," she says, as she throws one leg over the seat. "If you think you're gonna get sick from all that food you just chowed down, tap me on the shoulder and I'll pull over. I don't want you barfing on me."

"Cast-iron stomach," he says, slapping his belly. "You have nothing to worry about."

To her astonishment, he was right. When they get off the highway in Queens, though, she pulls into a gas station. "I'm gonna text my friend. He lives about ten blocks away. I want to let him know that I'm leaving the bike in his garage."

"Why are you doing that?"

"I park it there, Castle. Can't afford to keep it in Manhattan."

"I can."

"You're not paying for my parking."

"I'm not. You can put your bike in the space where my Mercedes usually is."

"I'll have to take it back eventually."

"Fine. Eventually doesn't have to be now. C'mon, if you park it in Queens we have to find a cab and no one will one want to take us into Manhattan at one in the morning."

"Okay, okay. I'll just let Manny know so he doesn't worry."

Castle immediately looks anxious. "Wait, he worries about you? Is he someone I have to worry about?"

"You should see him. He's ripped. Covered in tats. He adores me."

"Oh, shit."

"He loves me like a sister, Castle. He's gay."

She sends a quick text to Manny and has only just put the phone back in her pocket when it pings. She takes it out, chuckles, and replies. There's another ping, a bigger chuckle, and another reply.

"What's this, the Manny and Kate Comedy Hour?" Castle asks, clearly jealous.

"No, he's just a sweetheart. You really want to read these?"

"Yes."

"Maybe if you stop whining I'll let you."

"Not whining."

"Castle!"

"All right. See? I'm my usual jocund self. May I read them now?"

"Jocund? Man, you're working hard for this." She passes him the phone.

"Hi, Manny. Not going to leave the bike after all. I'll probably be by in a couple of days. Will call. Thanks. Smooches."

"You with the new old guy? Things must be working out, hot stuff."

"Yeah, I am. Hope so."

"Remember what I said, Kate. Any shit from him and I'll stomp him with my stilettos."

"Thanks. Love you."

Castle looks at the screen for far longer than it takes to read five short texts. "Stilettos, huh?"

"Yup. Red patent. Size fourteen. He's got incredible legs."

He consults the small screen again before looking back up at her. "Um, so, 'new old guy.' Is that...?"

"You? Yes."

"I might have to ask you about that later."

"Okay. Now give me my phone, please."

He slips it into her back pocket and lets his palm linger for a moment before he gets on the Harley. All the way home to Broome Street he holds on to her waist as tightly as he can, and lets go only because he has to when they reach the garage and have to dismount. With his helmet hanging from his hand by the strap he asks almost shyly, "Would you like to come up? Will you come up, Kate?"

With her own helmet against her hip, she smiles and nods. They take the elevator from the garage; neither says a word, but he hooks her little finger with his, and they walk into the loft that way. She looks around the space that she'd become familiar with in March, when she stayed there after her apartment blew up. "It's so quiet."

"No teenaged daughter, no melodramatic mother."

"Not a word of criticism about Martha, Castle. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for her."

"You wouldn't, huh?" He's backing her against the sofa.

"No."

"Let's not talk about my mother."

"Good plan." She knows he's about to kiss her, but she takes his hand and gives it a tug. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"Upstairs."

He's surprised. "Upstairs? Why?"

"I stayed there for a while during the winter, remember?" She pulls him towards the open staircase.

"No way I could forget that."

"You know what I secretly hoped, every night?"

"No," he answers, from the sixth step.

"That you'd knock and I'd say, 'Come in,' and you'd open the door and stop there and tell me, 'I just wanted to say goodnight.' And I'd say, 'I can't quite hear you from over here.' So you'd walk closer and say it again, and I'd ask, 'Don't I get a goodnight kiss'?"

They've reached the guest-room doorway. "And what would I do?"

She turns and puts her arms around him. "You'd kiss me, like this." She is very gentle as she begins to kiss him, and moves her hands from his back to his shoulders and then to the sides of his face. "Close your eyes," she whispers, and when he does, she kisses each eyelid. "Night."

His eyes pop open. "Night?" He sounds both horrified and heart-broken.

"That's just what I was hoping for then. That you'd kiss my eyes close and say goodnight."

"That was all?" He still sounds horrified and heart-broken.

"Your daughter was right down the hall, Castle."

"Okay." He looks longingly at her. "But I don't want to say goodnight."

They're standing next to the bed, and the backs of her legs are pressed against it. "I don't want you to, either," she says, before grabbing the hem of his tee shirt, pulling it over his head, and dropping it onto the floor. "Let's get these jammies off, Castle."

"Yours, too," he says, ridding her of her shirt as she had his. And then he returns her gentle kiss, but instead of progressing to her eyelids, he moves to her shoulders. He starts by kissing her on the right one, and while he moves his lips and tongue first to the curve below her ear and then into the dip of her collarbone, he uses one hand to push her bra strap slowly down her left arm. As he kisses his way across her upper body, he pushes down the other ribbon of a strap.

He's nowhere near her breasts yet and she's already almost delirious. "I can't, I can't move my arms, Castle. Take it off, please. Take it off."

He reaches behind her, unhooks her bra, and lets it join their two shirts. She buries her hands in his mane of hair, and she's groaning, pressing his head down her chest. He takes one of her breasts in his mouth, tweaking the nipple of the other between his thumb and finger, and nudges her with his forehead until she drops backwards on to the mattress and brings him with her. He's somehow managed to unbutton her pants, and he slithers down to the end of the bed so that he can drag them off her.

She'd thought that she'd wanted gentle at first, for their first time, but she's changed her mind. Slow and quiet can be next, like the second movement in a symphony. She's burning up; she wants fast and hot and hard and loud, fortissimo, and she's pretty sure she'll have no trouble persuading him.

"Castle, Castle."

He'd just begun to move his hand underneath the band of her lacy bikinis and she startles him. "Kate?"

"Come here, come up here."

She wants him up there? When he already has evidence, on his fingertips, of just how much she wants him down here? "What?"

She's scrabbling against the silky coverlet, and she can't get any purchase, can't grab him to haul him back up. Finally she gets hold of his forearm. "Please, please, please."

Using his knees and his hands, he moves until they're face to face, and he's propped up on his elbows. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing. Thank God you're not wearing a belt." She's frantically unzipping his jeans and trying to push them down his hips—while her own hips are, of their own volition, rising to meet them. She wraps her hand around him and gasps. "You're as ready as I am. I can't wait, Castle. I can't. It was so long I was waiting, I can't wait." Her heel is in the small of his back, and she's trying to shove his pants off with it, too. "Get those off."

He wriggles out of them, and his shorts, as fast as possible, and hovers just above her. "They're off."

"I know, I see, I feel. I need you inside me now, please. Don't wait."

His eyes are inches away from hers, and he sees everything in them, all at once. Want and desperation and lust and happiness and—he'd bet on it, but he won't say it out loud—love. "Well, since you said please, okay."

She raises her head as she wraps both legs around him. "Don't tease." Her mouth takes his, and he takes her, in one smooth, uninterrupted move. He's never experienced anything like it. She's perfect. They're perfect. He could stay like this forever. Not forever, but he wants to savor this.

She's never experienced anything like this, never wanted something so passionately and been instantly fulfilled. It's thrilling. She never wanted to be possessed, hated even a suggestion of someone possessing her, but she wants it now. "Move, Castle," she says against his lips. She's thrusting up against him, sweat-slicked, using her feet and hands to try to pull him closer, so they're one person. She's always hated that idea, too, the surrender of self, until now.

Anything she asks, he'll do. Anything. He'd rather explore her slowly, every bit uncovered and caressed, but if she wants this, right now, so does he. He's driving into her relentlessly, and she's wild. Unrestrained but completely focussed. She's clenching around him, squeezing him, and he's trying to hold back.

"Don't. Don't hold back," she says.

Jesus, is she reading his mind? He barely knows what he's thinking, but she's latched on. And then she bites his nipple and he presses his thumb on her clitoris and she screams and he spills into her and they both go into some other starry sphere, and collapse. He tries to roll off her, but she won't let him. It's a while before they can breathe evenly, and then he does roll over, and pulls her on top of him.

"You are so good at this," she says, and kisses him over his heart. "Way beyond good. You are stratospherically good, but I don't want to know how. Is that terrible? I don't like that there was anyone before me. It's stupid, I know."

"Not stupid, Kate," he says, and kisses her back. "You know what's strange? Fantastic strange, but strange?"

"What?" She smoothes his eyebrow with her finger.

"It felt, feels, as if there never was anyone before you. As if, as if they were, they've been erased. We've got a clean slate, it's a clean slate. Okay?"

"Okay."

"It could it be a little bit dirty, though."

"Oh, it could be a lot dirty, Castle."

He laughs, and she laughs, and then he's very serious. "There's not going to be anyone after you."

"Or you."

They lie like that for a while, making out a little bit, whispering in the dark, even though they're alone in the loft. And then he drifts off, holding her hand. He needs recovery time; she doesn't. So she watches him sleep, flat on his back. They're here now, the here that she'd been pushing away for so long. And tonight, in the end, or the beginning, because this is definitely the beginning, it had all been so easy. No, not easy, exactly, but so right. It seems, they seem, so inevitable in the afterglow. She doesn't usually trust afterglow, she's deeply suspicious of it, but this is different. This is the real thing. She's feeling fuzzy and nostalgic and giddy, like a lovestruck girl in some musical. She thinks about My Fair Lady, and thanks Martha and the musical gods for delivering her here. And looking at him she remembers a song she hasn't thought of in years. She hums it softly, never taking her eyes off him.

We have nothing to remember so far, so far,
So far we haven't walked by night and shared the light of a star.
So far your heart has never fluttered so near, so near
That my own heart alone could hear it.

They've been together so long without being together. That's why this is so familiar and so new, all at once. His eyes are moving, but he doesn't open them. She rests her cheek on his chest and hums again.

We haven't gone beyond the very beginning,
We've just begun to know how lucky we are.
So we have nothing to remember so far, so far.

"What is that, Kate?"

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's beautiful. What is it?"

"Just an old song. About us."

TBC

A/N Thanks to everyone who drops in on this, and especially to those who leave word.