Misconception

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He wants to set fire to the whole world. The whole world.

Maybe then they'd stop knocking down his door and that shirt would stay off.

Once back in his bedroom, Kate turns slowly and looks at him as if she knows everything he's thinking. And while it's true that often they're on the same wavelength - it's always with a case. As he's come to find out, it's never in their personal relationship.

So she has no idea how much he wants her, craves her; she has no idea how much he'd like to muzzle his mother and find some deserted island to escape to. She has no-

"Can I have one of your shirts?" she says. Her fingers come up and toy with the pocket of his plaid shirt, her forearm brushing the skin of his chest in electric jolts. It's the height of eroticism, and he finds that mournfully pathetic. Light skin on skin is what has him about to drop to his knees.

But it's her skin. And her body so tantalizingly close to his.

"Have any shirt you like," he says finally.

She stands right where she is and he just stares at her, transfixed until he realizes she's waiting on him to pick one out. A shirt. He never wants to clothe her again, never. He hates all shirts, all of them; he wants to reach in and snap open her bra and have it all come tumbling-

"Not to have," she tells him, as if in reassurance. "I'd give it back-"

"It's not that-"

"Besides, it would smell like me after a while, and I'd want it to smell like you."

"How many shirts?" he gruffs. "I have drawers full. I have favorites. Can you borrow one of my favorites and I'll-"

She smiles, and it's shy, it's that shy smile again that absolutely guts him, and he finds himself grabbing the sides of her damn shirt and using it to tug her closer, bring her right into him. Kate Beckett. Kate Beckett.

"I love you," he mumbles into her hair, not sure why he feels ashamed of it, only that he can't look at her shy-smiling face and say it.

Her arms lift and wrap around his neck, wrap around his whole head in fact, like she's encompassing him. He feels a shuddering breath being pulled up out of him and he can smell her hair and some day soon he'll pull on a t-shirt and smell her all over it and know she wanted his smell and maybe put her nose against the cotton and closed her eyes and-

"We need to tell your mother," she says softly.

"You totally killed the mood," he groans.

"I think she already did," Kate says lightly, her fingers stroking through his hair, on and on, down over his neck, behind his ears. He suddenly feels like he might cry.

"We're having a baby," he whispers.

"Now who's killing the mood?"

Castle laughs, able to lift his head from her, grinning as she slowly slides her arms down from around his neck. "All right, let's get you a shirt. Something with a superhero on it."

"Wonder Woman," she grins.

"Boring. You're far sexier than Wonder Woman." He sighs, pulling her with him. "I wish I had Electra. I looked, after you said you'd want to be her, but I never found one."

Kate bumps his hip with hers as he drags her towards his closet and the organized drawers inside. When he glances over at her, she's flushed and pretty and sweet, new love, his writer's brain supplies dumbly, but it is. She reaches out for a white one, but he pulls out a baby blue (oh, God, baby) and she takes it from him, letting it spill out unfolded.

"Oh, you're cute. Captain Planet?"

He shrugs, but he's pleased that she thinks he's cute.

"Hold this for me," she murmurs, pressing the shirt into his chest and releasing it so that he has to catch it. He holds it against himself as he watches her undress, sliding right back out of her shirt and dropping it on top of his pile of dirty laundry in the linen hamper like she belongs here.

She does belong here.

And her shirt most definitely belongs off.

"When are you moving in with me?" he says roughly, releasing the shirt back to her.

She shrugs it on over her head and it displaces her hair so that it looks shiny and soft and he can't help touching it.

Kate billows out the hem of his t-shirt and eyes it. "All in good time, Castle. And what do you think you're playing at? There's no way you still wear this - it fits me."

He narrows his eyes at her.

She reaches out with both hands and pats his chest. "Too manly for a shirt this small, Castle."

He feels his chest puffing up with pride, like he's five years old, but he can't help it. She's looking at him like he's delicious and her hands are tracing over his bare chest and scratching lightly at his nip-

"Kate," he barks, gripping her wrists. "Can't do that if I have to go back out there."

She grins, that wicked smile she had on his countertop when he got demanding, and then she steps forward, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing her smile into his shoulder. He hugs her against him, her skin making the cotton of his t-shirt warm, her body close. It feels like support, like she's bracing herself for what comes next, and he's so honored that it's him she wants support from.

"All right," she murmurs, leaning back to tug on his shirt. "Button it up, kitten. Time to talk to your mother."

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