The howl of a nearby werewolf startles her, the animalistic bellow loud enough to pierce the pulsating beat of the music she can barely hear herself think over. Laughter and cheers erupt at the drunken canine's antics and Kate grits her teeth as she shoulders her way through the crowd of faceless partiers, bats her way through the screen of fake smoke clouding the air and spider webs hanging from the ceiling like streamers, and climbs onto the first barstool she reaches. She currently despises Lanie for talking her into this.
She won't deny that the widely advertised Halloween themed event from the club she and her best friend have frequented in the last couple of months appealed to her, but she had never had any intention of actually attending the festivities. But of course Halloween had fallen on the one night she had off this week and Lanie had practically begged for her to come, persuading her to drop her identity as Kate Beckett for one single night and hide behind a mask like everyone else. But Lanie had disappeared with an underdressed mummy over half an hour ago and Kate had been left to drift in a sea of ghoulish dancers.
"I think I'm way too old for this," a voice on the barstool beside her huffs as he props his elbows on the sticky counter of the bar.
Kate quirks an eyebrow over the golden arch of her mask as she studies the man next to her. He is older than her, but can't be by much. From what she can see in the dim, flashing lights of the club, he appears lean, muscular and broad. He's wearing a mask like her, simple and black and complimenting to the red and gold details of the Victorian-like costume he wears. Steampunk, her mind supplies with intrigue. A definite change from the array of male vampires, pirates, and superheroes filling the crowd.
"You don't look old to me," she quips, tracing her index finger around the rim of the glass the bartender slid over to her, the champagne flute filled with bubbling purple liquid that she doesn't intend to drink. "The costume may be a little too far back in time though."
The masked man turns towards her on the stool, offering her a sly curve of his lips. "Hey, it was either this or space cowboy."
She wrinkles her nose. "I take it back. Perfect choice."
Her new companion laughs - a dark, rich sound that makes her insides quiver without her permission.
"And what are you supposed to be?" he asks, striking blue eyes that shine through the holes of the mask perusing the costume Lanie had bought for her before she had even decided if she was coming tonight.
Kate glances down at herself in uncertainty. She forgot to ask exactly what she is. Her costume has a sort of renaissance feel, but she doesn't necessarily think she would fit in that era. Then again, no one dressed like this would fit in the 14th century.
The crimson red satin of the too short dress barely covers the length of her thighs, the decorative black corset with gold detailing accentuates her slim middle and gives her a little more cleavage than she would usually put on display, reminding her of her brief stint in Vice a few years ago. But the black thigh-highs with the lace edges seem to hold her companion's attention, along with the four-inch pumps that make her legs look even longer.
She never would have picked this costume for herself and yet, the way her fellow masquerader is looking at her has her silently thanking Lanie for the first time tonight.
She finally shrugs and crosses the legs he can't seem to shift his gaze from, relishing in the flash of lust the move evokes. "Someone looking to have fun tonight."
His eyebrows rise above his mask and his lips curl into a seductive smirk. "I think I can help with that. I'm Rick, by the way."
She takes the hand he offers her, reveling in the rush of electricity that travels up her arm and shudders down her spine.
"Kate," she returns, keeping his hand in hers as she slips from the stool. "Think you're feeling young enough to dance with me?"
He's utterly entranced by the masked woman named Kate. No, no, bewitched is a far more fitting word and so very appropriate for this enthralling Halloween night he's been drawn into.
He hadn't come expecting to find anyone interesting, he never does when he ends up in one of these clubs, but the requirement of masks, the promise of unknown identities and costumed anonymity for a night had appealed to him. He's tired of being Richard Castle, tired of writer's block and ex-wives. Normally, he would spend the holiday with Alexis, carving pumpkins and trick-or-treating, but she had been invited to her first real Halloween party and she was such a responsible thirteen year old, he hadn't been able to deny her for his own selfish reasons when she had begged his permission for attendance to the supervised gathering.
The loneliness had left him glum, the out of place feeling in the club of partygoers had made him feel even worse, but now… now he has the mysterious Kate leading him onto a dance floor and pressing her scantily dressed body so deliciously close.
She didn't look at home in the nightclub setting either, uncomfortable and all alone on a barstool, but the movements of her body belie any of his previous assumptions. The sway of her hips steals his focus, the sharp bones protruding through the blood red satin so very inviting. He drapes his palms over the thin fabric, watches in fascination as the eccentric hazel of her eyes flashes up to meet his gaze. Sparks of gold that rival the color of her mask flicker along the circles of her irises as she allows him to draw her closer, her chest brushing his, arms rising to lace loosely around his neck, coaxing his body into the sensual rhythm she's created.
The hot rush of her breath ghosts along his cheek as she leans in too close, her body grazing his with every movement, her hips grinding slow and dirty over the leg that has somehow managed to become pushed between both of hers.
The music, the shouts of the masked monsters filling the club, makes speaking to her impossible, but for once, he doesn't need words. His hands span the cage of her ribs, feeling them expand beneath the bondage of the corset, and glide lower, down the arching small of her back until his fingers are skimming the perfect curve of her ass hidden beneath the tiny black overskirt.
Her lips, cherry red and tempting, part. The tip of her nose clashes with his and the ink black pools of her eyes flare with bursts of lust. He doesn't know this woman, Kate, but he wants her, more than he's wanted anything in a long time.
He hauls her closer, nearly groans at the way she meets him, rolling her body against his, their masks the only barrier left between them. Her hands cradle the back of his skull, fingers toying with the fine hairs there, and he abandons the perfect curve of her spine to bring one of his hands to the harsh line of her jaw. He's just about to kiss her, a breath away from tasting the intoxication of her mouth, but then the song ends and they're shoved by the intertwined bodies of a witch and warlock and the moment is lost.
They're only allowed that single dance before the DJ decides to become a little too enthusiastic with holiday spirit, abandoning the pulse of electronic beats in favor of blasting the Monster Mash.
"Rick?" Her voice crackles over his name, her tongue sizzling with electricity he wants to taste. "Want to get out of here?"
He's nodding before words can form on his lips. She may resemble a sexed up renaissance queen from medieval times tonight, but she holds the power of a siren, luring him to wherever she pleases with the mere silk of her voice and the hypnotic gleam of her eyes.
"You sure you want to be out here?" he questions as she guides him from the nightclub, into the chilly evening air and the bustling streets of the city. "It's getting close to the witching hour."
Her enticing red lips spread into a smirk as she glances to him over the bare curve of her shoulder.
"Don't worry, I'll keep you safe."
She holds his hand as they stroll down the sidewalk together. The mischief of Halloween fills the streets, partyers and crazed believers roam the city, and for the first time in what has to be years, she feels relieved that she has the night off, that she's spending her late night hours with a man who sends tendrils of heat curling through her blood with every glance rather than corralling lunatics possessed by full moons and mythical ghost stories into holding cells.
"Where are we going, Kate?"
She loves how he says her name, loves the sultry heat in his voice every time it passes through his lips.
"My place, unless you have somewhere better to be," she challenges, noticing the dare for him to offer contradiction has the striking sapphire of his eyes swirling indigo. She can't wait to rip the mask from his face, to see the display of his eyes without the frame of black surrounding them.
The fingers around hers tighten as he tugs her close, her side bumping his as he uses the proximity to crane his neck and nip at her ear.
"I couldn't fathom a more alluring location."
She rolls her eyes and chuckles, low and throaty to distract him from the shiver racing down her spine, trying to convince herself it's the growing chill in the air, but she's not cold at all. Not with Rick's hot breath in her ear, traveling down the skin of her neck.
He's exactly what she needed tonight, exactly what her body's been craving, and she quickens their pace on the sidewalk, eager to finally get him in her home, in her bed, and have the fun she mentioned she was looking for.
They keep the inappropriate touching to a minimum on the way back to her apartment, especially when they have to share her elevator with her neighbor from a floor below and his ten year old zombie daughter who just returned from trick-or-treating. But when she finally unlocks her front door, she tugs him past the threshold and uses the wall of his back to shut the door, ready at last to embrace the tension that's been thrumming between them all night.
She expects him to grab for her, waits for it with eager anticipation, but first thing Rick does is lift tentative fingers to her face, trailing them along the strings of her mask.
"Can I take this off?"
Sudden, ridiculous nerves rise in her stomach, insecurity she rarely faces curling around her intestines and climbing up her ribs, but she nods her head, allows him to ease the golden mask from her face. Her eyes snapped closed before he could remove her cover completely, but they flutter open at the soft sweep of his thumb over her cheek, wiping away some of the glitter from the black detailing of her disguise.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, smiling shyly, and it strikes her that he appears just as unsure about revealing his identity as she did.
The same insecurity is hiding in his gaze, the same uncertainty she had felt only moments before. He's a stranger, nothing more than a one night stand she'll likely never see again, but they had both gone to the club looking for the same thing. To be someone else, to forget, and the common ground brings her comfort, confidence.
Her fingers slide along the edges of his mask, detaching it from his skin and dropping it to the floor and – holy shit.
She has Richard Castle up against her door.
"That bad, huh?"
She quickly bites her lip when she realizes her jaw has dropped at the sight of him. She may have just given herself away, allowed him to see the recognition in her expression, but her teeth pinning her bottom lip cause his pupils to dilate, that moment of hesitancy and tentativeness finally evaporating under the weight of arousal and she silently rejoices at the diversion she's created.
She doesn't want to talk anymore, she wants to forget.
"No," she murmurs, skimming her fingers along the waistband of his slacks and trailing them lower, lower until she can cup the bulge in his pants and hear the sharp intake of his gasp. "Not bad at all."
Kate's mouth is at his neck, sucking like a vampire – he can't help comparing her to sensual mystical beings tonight – ravenous and thirsty for blood, and her fingers are ripping at the buttons of his vest, clawing for the billowing white shirt underneath. He tries to help her, tries to catch a button or two, but he's distracted by the bare slope of her shoulder and the smooth line of her neck so close and in reach.
Her hips buck against him when he presses his mouth to her jugular, laving his tongue over the beat of her pulse, sucking and nipping at the skin until she whines and shoves him away. But she doesn't go far, her mouth fusing against his, allowing him his first taste of her, ensuring he may never have enough.
He tugs at the tangled laces at her back, pulls and jerks until the corset finally loosens and she tears it from her body, tosses it towards the living room area behind her. Her home is nice, he thinks distractedly as she sucks his tongue into her mouth. It's warm and carries a bohemian vibe, different and inviting – just like her – and it makes a part of him, the stupid part that usually leads him to disappointment and heartbreak, wishing there was a chance for more with her. But he can tell by the determined press of her lips and the dexterous fingers tearing apart the buttons of his shirt that she isn't looking for more.
Doesn't mean he can't try to persuade her.
Later though, because right now he has his hand up the skirt of her dress, tracing along the lace edge of the wickedly small underwear underneath, gliding over the harsh bone of her hip, down to the center of the sodden thong. And she's so wet, so responsive when he barely brushes over the swollen parts of her, he can hardly think straight let alone discuss the possibilities of seeing her again right now.
"Bedroom's down the hall, on the right," she breathes, her hips jerking hard against him when he presses two fingers to her clit, the lace of her underwear creating an added friction that has her moaning against his throat as she tries to meet his hand for more, but he removes his hand from her skirt before he can push her too far.
He swallows her whine of protest as he uses his freed hands to lift her up, her legs coiling around his waist with ease, and follows her directions through the foreign apartment, tripping over the corner of a coffee table, bumping into a wall, almost missing the door to her room.
"Stop laughing," he mutters, nipping at the grinning skin of her cheek when she chuckles at his struggle. It's her fault the journey to her bedroom takes so long – her mouth and her hips and her hands touching every piece of him she can reach and turning him into a stumbling mess of a man.
"Then hurry up and get me to the bed," she growls, pushing his shirt down his shoulders, rolling her hips hard against his and thank god they're finally in her bedroom.
He sets her down so he can shake the mangled sleeves of his shirt from his hands, snapping the cufflinks in the process, hearing them scatter across her floor. Kate's struggling for the zipper at her back, tugging too hard where it's become stuck in the middle, and he swats her hands out of the way, glides his fingers down the curved line of her spine as the zipper's descent reveals the expanse of smooth skin.
She isn't wearing a bra and her breasts brush against his chest, the straining peaks of her nipples grazing his skin, and he cups his hands over her ass, lifts her body against his.
"Fuck," she groans when their hips meet and her body comes into contact with the hard bulge still trapped beneath two layers of clothing. "Why aren't you naked yet?"
"Too busy getting you naked."
She chokes on a laugh but pushes on his chest to reach between them, removing his pants from his hips with impressive speed and sliding her hand inside his boxers, stroking him, stealing his breath.
They finally collapse onto her bed together, his fingers tangling in the sides of her underwear, tugging the thong down her legs and peeling the sheer black nylon of the thigh-highs down too, smearing his open mouth over the flexing muscles and smooth skin he unveils until his lips reach her ankle. Her leg twitches and he watches her push up on her elbows, her chest heaving as she grabs for him, shoving at his boxers until they're both naked.
"Stop teasing," she barks, the command breathy and desperate as he kisses the fevered skin of her throat, unashamed of the mark he's left above one of her collarbones.
"Where's the fun in that?"
He palms her breast as she reaches for the top drawer of her nightstand, lowering his mouth to suck on her nipple. She mewls, clawing at his back with her nails, jolts of pleasure and pain intertwining as they surge through his system.
He lifts his head to see her rip the condom open with her teeth, his arousal rising to painful heights at the sight, and has to grit his teeth when she rolls the latex over him, grazing her fingers along his length before she lifts to meet him. He kisses her again, both of them gasping when he brushes against her, his tip dragging through the moisture between her legs.
"Now," she begs, her hips bucking in desperation. "Now, Rick, please-"
Her back arches as he slides inside of her, her eyes slamming shut and her lips falling open against his. His head falls to her shoulder, breath coming in short sharp pants at the exquisite feel of her body around his.
She hums, soft and low in her throat when he moves, a long slow thrust that she rises to meet, and he forces his head up, his eyes open. He doesn't want to miss this. He wants to memorize her, wants to know exactly how to elicit those sinful noises from her body, how to make her twitch and jerk and scream. He wants to know everything.
The rhythm they've created has her close to explosion. His hands are all over, massaging her breasts, circling her nipples, skimming her ribs, and his mouth is ceaseless in its assault on her neck, her collarbones, her shoulders – wherever he can reach – yet he keeps the pace of his thrusts steady, long slides that drive deeper than she thought possible, and she has no idea how she hasn't come apart within seconds.
Her legs curl around his thighs, heels digging into his muscles and making him jerk, rhythm faltering for a moment as he hisses against the hollow of her throat. She's tempted to flip them, to ride him hard and fast, but oh, he feels so good and he knows just how to move above her.
"Yes, like that," she groans as one of his hands curls around her thigh, lifting it higher up his body and deepening the angle of his length inside her, and she undulates her hips to meet him, biting her lip to suppress the pathetic keening noises building in the back of her throat.
Her eyes keep fluttering shut under the weight of pleasure, but every time she opens them, they always find his, blue flames dancing over her face, her body, alight with desire and intrigue. It's a change from what she's used to, from the less personal encounters she's had. She can't remember a time a man paid such attention to her, to what she likes, if any man ever has at all. She had expected him to fuck her, but no, god - he worships at the altar of her body like his life depends on it.
"Castle," she moans pressing her heel harder against him, but he stops completely.
"Castle?" he teases against her jaw and she lowers her right hand, scores his ass with her nails, smirking when his hips stutter.
"Shut up and move."
He must be just as close, just as wound up as she is, because he listens, thrusting shallow and sharp and then so deep-
"Faster," she practically begs, the whimpers falling from her lips before she can stop them, but she's just so close, and then he starts to talk.
"You feel incredible, every part of you." She tightens her legs around him, tries to breath through the thunder of her heartbeat and blink past the white spots clouding her vision. She doesn't like conversation during sex, but his voice already has the ability to shoot arousal through her veins, hearing his words husked and whispered in her ear, hearing him tell her how much he's enjoying what they're doing, how it feels – it's all she needs. "You're so wet and tight and pulsing, Kate, burning-"
She fists a hand in the back of his hair and kisses him, breathless and frantic just as her orgasm hits her and turns the world a mystifying shade of white. It only takes him one more thrust and the relentless squeeze of her muscles to drag him along with her, and she shudders at the hot spill of him inside her, clutches his neck when his body caves in over hers.
Kate combs her fingers through his damp hair, feeling his body sink deeper against hers, the weight a welcome blanket over her as she floats back down, but he lifts before they can both drift off. The sheet is covering her before she can shiver and she turns on her side to face him, keeping him close with a hand on his arm and a leg over his thigh. It's been awhile since she's done anything like this, and she wouldn't normally share her bed after the reason for bringing another person into it is finished with, but she's sleepy and sated and doesn't want him to go, to end the magic of the night. Not yet.
The sun has just started to rise when he wakes in a stranger's very comfortable bed, the first light of November eradicating October's final black night. He sighs, mournfully, at the start of the new month. Halloween's always been his favorite time of the year, but he thinks he's grown to value it even more after last night.
Mm, yeah. Definitely his favorite.
He knows he has to get up, has to get home before Alexis wakes or his mother comes strolling in from her own night of partying, but he fights with the strong yearning to fall back into the blissful sleep he emerged from. He wants to stay in the spellbinding bubble he's created with Kate.
But Alexis will be up in an hour and he forces himself to blink past the sleep lingering in his eyes.
Kate is draped over his body, gloriously naked and wonderfully warm, and he tries his best not to wake her as he shifts.
"What're you doing?" she croaks, squinting at him in confusion when he attempts to slip from beneath her.
"I have to go," he murmurs, sweeping the curtain of hair from her face, wiping a smudge of leftover eyeliner from the skin shadowed beneath her lashes with his thumb.
"Why?" she asks, dropping her head back to his shoulder and curling her toes at his shin. Not helping at all.
"Because it's early and I should probably be home before my kid wakes up."
Her eyes flash open. "How early?"
He glances to his wristwatch. "Almost six."
"Shit." Kate throws the covers from her body – seeing her naked again really isn't helping him get out the door – and scrambles for the bathroom.
"What's the matter?" he asks, following her inside. She's put a robe on, but it hangs open, giving him glimpses of her breasts, her stomach… he really doesn't think he can leave yet.
"Work," she sighs, snatching a makeup wipe from a package on the counter and swiping at her eyes. "I have to be at the precinct in an hour."
"Precinct?" he echoes, stepping in closer, watching her eyes narrow at him in the mirror.
"Homicide detective," she fills in, diverting her gaze from his, down to the sink, as if she's expecting a bad reaction, but he practically squeals with glee.
"I'm amazed by the depths of your hotness."
Her brow creases, but a hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth even as she tries to keep a straight face. She likes him, he can tell she does, but she doesn't want to and he doesn't exactly understand why.
"There's a key on the table by the door, you can just lock up and leave it in the potted plant in the hall once you're out."
The vibrant excitement in his chest deflates a little, but he doesn't allow it to deter him, and he moves even closer, settles his hands over her cloth covered hips.
"Can I catch a shower with you before I go?"
Her eyes flash to him in the mirror, swimming with arousal but shuttered with restraint.
"I don't have time and you need to get home."
The hands on her hips slip forward, over the edges of the robe to span across the bare skin of her abdomen. Her entire body shudders at the touch and he knows he can change her mind, knows he's succeeded when his hands travel higher to cup her breasts and she arches forward into his palms.
Her head falls against his shoulder as his fingers tease the tips of her breasts, drawing a soft moan of pleasure from her lips and he loves the sound of her, the sultry tone and the breathlessness to the noises he can pull from her. He doesn't know her, he reminds himself for what feels like the hundredth time in eight hours, but he's never been so fascinated, so in sync, with anyone else.
Castle trails his lips over her neck, scrapes his teeth over that spot behind her ear to feel her tremble, until he reaches the lovely porcelain shell itself.
"Please, Detective?"
She spins, sheds the robe, and shoves him into the shower.
She really likes the way Rick Castle touches her, like he can't get enough of her. The way he draws out every one of those touches long enough to drive her insane and keeps her so close to the razor sharp edge of ecstasy without letting her fall.
"Hey Kate?"
She glances up at him as she dries her hair with a towel. He's finally dressed, back in his costume from the night before, and she suddenly feels guilty for ripping his shirt in the midst of her frenzied need for him.
"Can I see you again?"
Her stomach drops. She wants to say yes, the syllable on the tip of her tongue and pressing against her teeth, but she's not… she can't. He seems like a really good guy despite the tabloid's unflattering talk of him, and she thinks she could learn to care about someone like him, but she can't. Her mother's murder still holds first place in her mind and her determination, obsession, causes everything good in her life to crumble, but she can't give up, not until she has justice for her mom.
She would ruin him.
"Rick, I'm sorry, but I-"
"It's okay," he assures her, too quickly, and when she looks up she can see the rejection hiding in the artic irises of blue. "I just thought - I didn't - I'll leave my number. Just in case you ever change your mind or want to do… this." He waves his hand between the two of them, glances back to her disheveled bed before rubbing the same hand over his neck. "Again."
She chuckles at the wince claiming his face, finding awkward and embarrassed Castle quite endearing, and tugs him by the collar of his wrinkled shirt. She won't call him again, even when her body starts to ache for his, just as it already is now, because judging by the events of this morning and the connection between their bodies that could potentially seep into her heart, it would never be just sex. He would want more and she wouldn't be able to give it.
"Or I could just get myself arrested, let you use your handcuffs on me," he grins, but she rolls her eyes, rises on her toes to steal one last taste of his mouth before he goes.
His kiss is hard, ruthless and searing, his tongue pushing past her lips, painting her mouth with heat, making sure she knows exactly what she'll be missing.
"Until we meet again, Kate," he winks as he takes a step back, roaming his eyes over her towel-clad body one last time before he can disappear.
She exhales heavily once he finally exits her room and hears the front door click shut, shaking her head at his final remark as she forces herself to resume the task of dressing for work.
When she's presentable and hustling to make her way out of her apartment on time, she notices the masks. Arranged neatly on the bookshelf in her living room, gold and black, side by side with a slip of paper between them. She plucks the sticky note she recognizes from the stack on her desk and brushes her thumb over the handwritten numbers, smiling sadly to herself before placing the paper back on the shelf the way he left it.
She never calls.
He sees the elusive Kate again over a year later – no mask, her hair cropped short, her body concealed in a button up blouse and slacks – but her eyes still spark with recognition, with heat, and his body still hums with electricity when she finds him at the bar of his book party.
She keeps the conversation professional, devoid of all emotion or memories while she explains her reason for tracking him down, but once they're alone in the elevator, she finally looks at him with an arched eyebrow and a familiar trace of a smirk on her lips.
"When you said I could arrest you, I didn't think you meant it so literally."
He shrugs as she escorts him to her squad car, grins at her before she can shove him inside. "I just couldn't bear to spend another day away from you, Detective," he admits, melodramatic and evoking an eye roll.
He notices how she avoids eye contact with him when they're in front of her colleagues, how she doesn't touch him or talk to him in anything other than that clipped police tone. She wants to keep their first meeting a secret, he doesn't mind, but when they're alone in her car, driving through the city, he leans forward, resting his chin to the back of her front seat, close enough to make her startle when he whispers, "Good to see you again, Kate."
Her gaze flickers to him in the rearview mirror as he sits back, and although she tries to repress it, she sighs and allows the small smile to claim her lips. "You too, Rick."
She takes him in for questioning, takes him back to her apartment the same night. His mask from their Halloween meeting is still sitting beside hers on the bookshelf.