Misconception
X
Parking the car - nearly two blocks away after circling twice, her anxiety rising - and then getting out, watching Castle shift his bag on his shoulder, and then taking his hand, really the whole process of arriving has left her both aching and overwhelmed.
Filled and empty, paradoxically at the same time.
The nearness of his body-
She tries to savor it, everything, each gesture and the cadence of his walk towards her building, the way the street light golds his hair, the crisp scent of sidewalk and his aftershave mingling together. Tonight is different from all other nights, even from that one night in a hotel, because tonight it begins.
She doesn't want to miss it.
Not that she could miss - well, that, no. But.
She's afraid she'll miss something. Something important. She'll let something slip unnoticed and lose the whole meaning of their plot, forget her place in the narrative, find an ending before they've started. If he doesn't like what she - like it, like her?
What does she do then?
Kate's hand is shaking when she tries to unlock the front door. Such a stupid thing, how cliche, but this is everything, tonight. Everything. So much everything that her fingers feel unwieldy.
She finally shoves open the security door and Castle follows her inside the narrow lobby, moves past her for the stairs, taking her hand with the key ring tangled in her fingers. Does the trick, stilling her shaking, grounding her once more.
But it also starts that electric current between them, the humming buzz of their connection, and she is aware of him in a way that encompasses the whole world, her senses blown wide.
She wants him so badly. She's been carrying it inside like a secret, lighting her up and keeping her warm this winter. And then these last few weeks, she was carrying it like a knot in her throat, a tightness she couldn't swallow past, the need for a deep breath that would never come.
But now.
It's a clamoring in her head, drowning out her own voice, it's a pounding in her heart, demanding and urgent.
It's the future, but it's being revealed to her in clear strokes, definite and concrete, something she doesn't have to simply believe in any longer, the two of them, because it's reality. It's love given flesh and breath and she's carrying it too.
She loves him. She didn't mean to, but she wouldn't - couldn't - wish it away, doesn't want to ever not have it now that she has. And even if he - even if he doesn't - the baby will always be the best parts of loving him. It's scary and it's real and it's coming whether she's ready or not, but that just means she will always be able to cup that face in her hands and say I love you no matter what happens.
In her hallway, she blurts it out before she knows she's going to speak. "There's no after for me. After us. There's nothing after us. I can't-"
Castle turns, a whole body turn, as if he's orienting to her. "There was never going to be an after." His lips twitch, some of that furious certainty is softened. "Unless you mean the morning after. There will be that. You owe me a morning after, Kate Beckett."
She can suddenly breathe again, and now her terrible awareness recedes into a shared anticipation - to be, to love. She twines her arm through his and strides down the hall, their steps in sync, and her shakes completely gone.
It's the easiest thing in the world to open her front door and lead him inside.
X
Castle drops his overnight bag on the floor and doesn't even look at it, just kicks it to one side. That move must look funny, because Kate laughs and presses her hands to her cheeks - they've flushed, the pink going all the way down her throat (and where else? how far down?) - and he grins back, glad he's eased the tension.
All good tension, of course, very good. He likes that, loves even more the way she keeps blurting out what's on her mind, I love you, there's no after us for me. There has been a dearth of real words between them this past year, and now that they've started talking, neither of them seem to be able to turn it off.
He's very okay with that.
He wants her plenty vocal tonight.
She must be able to see it on his face because her eyes grow as dusky as nightfall, stars in her irises, and she's launching herself at him. His back hits the door and he catches her shoulders, drags her as close as he can have her while her mouth devours him. He pushes back into her kiss, tonguing the swell of her bottom lip and then inside, and she moans.
The noises she makes. God.
He fists her shirt and rucks up the material with both hands, yanking at the thin cotton he let her borrow. And then he's pressing his palms intently against the hot skin stretched taut over her rib cage, measuring the whole gorgeous framework of her body. She grunts something, a command or direction, but he misses it, moves instead to pull the shirt over her head.
Her hair is a halo around her face for an instant, her eyes heavy but purposeful, and then she's working on the button of his pants.
Castle curses under his breath - what breath? - and pulls her back against him, hips to hips just to slow her down (he'll never last). She whines in the back of her throat but the kiss grows intentional, slowing, consuming, little pauses where they rest mouth to mouth, her breathing fast as his own echoes. Lips barely touch lips. Her nose nudges his. She kisses him again; he can hear the wet parting as they break apart, staring at each other.
He feels drugged with her.
He spans her sides with his hands and skates up her ribs to cup her breasts. Kate lets out a sound and rocks into him, a full body arch that leaves his mouth dry, his heart pounding in his fingers.
He coasts to her back, pressing open the clasp of her bra at her spine. She draws in her shoulders as if to do the work herself, but he drags his mouth to her neck and then to the strap of her bra, sucking lightly at the marks left in her skin.
She wasn't wearing a bra that night in the hotel. It was all sudden and startling glory, and he's deeply involved in tonight's slow reveal. The black material shimmers under his fingers.
"Castle," she whispers.
He lifts his gaze to meet her eyes. Her arm comes around his neck, cradling his head, fingers in his hair. Her other hand works at his pants again, but he has a goal in mind and he likes distracting her. He slides a thumb under her bra strap and drags it over her shoulder, down her arm; goose bumps break out in the wake of his touch, and a shiver goes up her spine.
He kisses the slope of her breast and spans the narrowest part of her torso, lifts both hands to remove her bra.
Kate lets it fall, and then from her fingertips.
His every breath is labored.
"Now you," she says, flicking those fingers at him.
Castle lifts his shirt up and over his head, tosses it away, reaches in for her. Kate's fingers hook in the waist of his pants - God, the feel of her fingers against his stomach is electric - and then she's pressed against him, chest to chest, the heat and raw friction of naked skin.
Her mouth touches a wet kiss to his throat. Her voice is silk. "Come to bed."
X