Heartlines
by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles
She feels so good in his arms.
Castle loves the one-shoulder dress with its bare skin - okay, well, really, Castle loves her bare skin, and the dress gives him plenty of it to brush his lips across. He does, loving the shoes too, for putting her shoulder in kissing distance.
"Keep it PG, Castle," she murmurs, threading her hand through the hair at the nape of his neck and tugging his head back up.
He chuckles at that, feels her shiver in response.
He loves slow-dance music. He loves this parquet floor and the dimmed lights as they dance; he loves Beth and Alex's wedding reception. He loves-
Kate Beckett. He loves Kate Beckett, and he wants her for always.
And on that note. "Hey, Kate?"
"Mm?" She draws her cheek away from his, looks in his eyes. Oh God, what amazing eyes, and what has he done so right in this life to deserve the way she looks at him?
He clears his throat. "You got plans tomorrow?"
"Might go into the 12th and catch up on the stuff I've missed today."
"Paperwork or a case?"
"Mostly paperwork. Hard to work on a case on Sundays. Why?"
Castle brushes his hand down her back, then up again, feeling the arch of her body against his, deliciously strong and insistent. "Well, I have that book signing at Book Culture. Broadway and-"
"114th, yeah. I know it."
"Want to meet me there afterwards? Starts at two, but it probably won't end until six or seven."
She presses her mouth to his cheek. "Maybe surprise you in line?" she murmurs. He can hear the smile in her voice.
"Mm, yeah. Stand with all the swooning fans. Flaunt your relationship with me and make 'em all jealous-"
"You wish."
"Maybe you wish-"
"I don't need to flaunt anything. I know I've got you."
He laughs, hugs her a little tighter to himself, the material of her dress warm with the heat of her skin. "You do. That's true. So you'll come?"
She gives a warm, entirely-too-seductive laugh, and he hears how that question might sounds.
"Do my best, Castle, but I need your help."
"What happened to keeping it PG?" he murmurs back, already halfway ready to ravish her on the dance floor. The sway of her liquid silk body against his, smooth lines and warm flesh, the fingers at his neck, the vibration of her voice-
"I'll try to come," she says on a low laugh, apparently still thinking naughty thoughts.
But she'll try. Well. Okay, that will have to be good enough. "If you get there late, meet me at the employees' entrance. It's in the alleyway - all the shipments come through there so it's two wide double doors. You won't be able to get in, but I'll be leaving that way. But I don't want you to be late."
"Sure," she says, and he can tell she's already on to something else. "Hey, seriously, Castle. No inappropriate groping on the dance floor."
He laughs and slides his hands away from her ass, taking a little step back so she's less distracting. "Can't help myself sometimes. I just want your body."
She growls at him, her hand at his neck squeezing. "Well I want your body too, but you don't see me acting like a-"
"You started it. You can't be saying things like that to me," he interrupts. "We're in public."
He leans back a little and sees her smirking, knows he's got her. It's that sexy smirk, that I want to be alone with you smirk. He so loves it.
Castle leans in and captures that smirk, that sensual mouth with its secret smiles. When he pulls back, for decency's sake, she leans in after him, cheeks flushed.
She rouses, lifts her lashes to look at him. "The second Beth and Alex walk out of here?"
"Yeah?"
"You take me home, Castle."
Beth can't stop giggling as Alex blindfolds her, then pushes her into the limo. She's had enough champagne to still be light-headed, but she's also eaten enough cake to not be drunk.
Not completely, at least.
The leather of the limo seats is soft under her fingers, and after a second or two she feels the warm weight of Alex against her shoulder. He smells of cake and champagne, just like she does, but the underlying scent is manly and him, and when his lips meet hers, when his tongue pushes inside her mouth, she moans in pleasure and parts for him, her arousal all the sharper, the more sudden because she can't *see* him.
The car takes a turn and she falls deeper into him, her hand coming up to his shoulders to steady herself (sure, that little voice in her head mocks, whatever). His strong arms come around her, securing her to his chest, and Beth runs her thumbs over his cheeks – she knows his face so well, doesn't need her eyesight – before she leans in for another kiss, gentle, almost hesitant.
The limo ride is entirely too short, the car slowing and then stopping before Beth has had time to do much more than conduct a careful exploration of Alex's mouth.
"Should have picked a hotel that's farther away," she whispers, and he laughs in her ear, delighted, joyful, a wonderful sound that lifts her heart, lights up her whole being.
"I wasn't the one who picked it," he replies mysteriously, before sliding outside and helping her out.
Mmm, they should try the blindfold in a… different setting, she thinks as she shivers at the contact of his hand, large, warm, a little callous – but the palm so soft and welcoming.
"You'll tell me if I'm walking on my dress, right?" She asks, using the first thing that comes to mind and trying to distract herself. "Cause I really can't see a thing here."
His lips brush hers – she tenses in surprise, feels a jolt of electricity in her belly – and she feels his smile.
"I'll tell you. But we're almost there, Beth."
He has a way of saying her name – gets her every time. Like those small, four letters are wrapped in tenderness, are one single breath of relief and love. She can't…
Ah, he's making her sappy. Well, she supposes, if there's a day when you can get away with being sappy, it's your wedding day, right?
Stifling a smile, she focus on walking straight as she follows him into a place that she can't see, recognizing the quiet sound of revolving doors. She can hear Alex talking to someone – won't he take the blindfold off now? She feels a little ridiculous, all those people who can see her but she can't see them – and he takes her hand, leads her to what she assumes is an elevator.
"Can I take it off now?" She asks when the doors close on them, itching to see his face, to look into his blue eyes.
Alex laughs softly.
"So impatient," he teases. "We're almost there. Just wait a few more minutes, honey."
Ah. The little bastard, using pet names to soothe her. And it works, of course; her stupid stomach does a little flip every time he calls her something sweet and entirely too cute, something she wouldn't take from anyone else.
Fine. She will wait, then. The elevator ride seems endless, but Alex's fingers have curled on her waist and are drawing entrancing patterns there, and it's all she can do not to shiver.
At last she hears the doors gliding open, and Alex is out before she can react, cradling her hand in his.
"This way," he says, tugging her after him. She gathers her skirt with her other hand to keep herself from tripping, notices how soft the floor seems, even under her heels. Carpet, then.
What *is* this place?
He lets go of her fingers to fumble with what she guesses is the key to their door, then says in a voice that she can't quite place, "Okay, come in."
Beth steps forward cautiously, pauses to take off her heels with a relieved sigh. The carpet is soft and warm under the soles of her feet; she curls her toes in pleasure.
"Can I look now?"
Even as she asks, his fingers are already working on the fabric circling her head, undoing the knot deftly – she has to blink against the sudden afflux of light, shade her eyes to let them adjust.
And when they have –
"Oh, my god," she murmurs, pressing a hand to her chest, stunned, breathless.
The sitting room is resolutely modern, gorgeous in its simplicity, the dark wood furniture contrasting with the white walls, the pale carpet giving way to a lovely hardwood floor.
The overall impression is that of a wide, open, luxurious space, nothing too much – just enough.
She gets a glimpse of the bedroom through its open door; it looks just as amazing as the rest, through that to the bathroom, and oh – the bathtub is sinfully large, calling for her. She cannot resist.
With a joyful, breathless laugh, Beth claps her hands and runs to the bathtub, stops to turn on the lights and admire the whole setting, the marble counters, the flowers that put the exactly right amount of color to that black and white wonderland.
Oh, god, this is just – she can't –
Giddy, exhilarated, Beth swirls around to see Alex leaning into the doorframe, smiling, his face alight with how much he loves her. It's all there, open, exposed for her to see, and it's like her heart is breaking out of her chest, flying to this amazing man, and all she can do is follow.
He opens his arms just in time to catch her, both of them stumbling from the impact – Beth never does anything halfway – and they fall to the bed together, laughing until her mouth finds his, awed and grateful and overwhelmed.
She tries to say it all with this kiss, pour everything she feels for him in the delicate sweep of her tongue, the tease of her teeth at his bottom lip, the sigh of abandon she gives him when he parts his mouth for her.
Tears – stupid tears – are choking her, and she has to let go in order to suck in a breath, desperate, feeling a little bit like she's drowning.
"I love you," she pants when she's gathered enough oxygen to do so, her heart so full, overflowing.
"My wife," he whispers back, and there are no words, no words to describe that look in his eyes, the pride and wonder, the exultant, childish joy. Love and triumph laced together.
Oh, Alex.
She bites her lip and smiles, slowly; she lets the beam out of her, hoping to show him – to let him know what he does to her, how much this means. She can feel it radiating from inside her, all this happiness, a ribbon of warmth curling in her chest; he has to know, right?
He *has* to know that this is all him, all for him.
He grins back, emotion shimmering in his eyes, and because her dry throat won't let her speak – because he's stolen all her words – Beth can only lean into him and take his mouth again.
She can see now how her fears were wrong.
All wrong.
Because it's not about her being good enough. This man, who chose her, who loves her so much – this man *makes* her good enough.
Makes them. Together.
Together they're good enough.
Kate captures his hand in the darkness of the loft, grateful that Alexis decided to spend the night with her grandmother (knowing, of course, that when Castle left her to give Alex the envelope with their gift inside, he probably caught his daughter alone and heavily suggested this sleepover idea - but Kate doesn't even care, not a bit).
Castle is tugging on his tie, trying to unknot it and slide it off his neck with only one hand. Kate keeps at his mouth, shuts the front door by curling her hamstrings, lifting her foot, even as he trips after her, their bodies slamming together, hers crushed against the door, her knee raised and brushing his thigh.
"Castle-" she gasps, can't say what she wanted to say with his mouth at hers. What was she going to say? Who cares. His teeth-
She bites back and he slams back against her, bodies flush, his hand at the back of her neck the only thing that keeps her head from hitting the wood. On purpose, of course; he probably was a little ashamed of the marks he left on her last time. But she likes the Rick Castle that leaves marks, loves the Rick Castle that-
His hands. His thick, strong fingers and oh-
"Castle-"
The dress is just getting in the way now. And his suit - his pants - "Off."
He growls back at her but doesn't move away, doesn't obey her order, just nibbles a line down her neck as he rucks up her dress with those too-smooth hands, the skin of his fingertips brushing the skin of her thighs. She bucks against him, finds herself straddling his leg, her arms around his neck.
"Don't rip my dress," she threatens, biting his earlobe, sucking on it to get his attention.
"Yes. No. No, I won't-" He shivers and his fingers clutch at her thighs, hard enough to bruise, but he's already pushing her away from him. Trying to be civil. Kate doesn't want civil, but-
She lets go, leans against the door, presses her palms flat against it. Tries to breathe while he looks at her with those unintentionally sexy, adorable eyes. That smile he has, where the corners of his eyes scrunch up, the crow's feet radiating out, that smile that has such joy and childlike happiness and - and - and oh, damn - there's nothing childlike about that - need, lust, love.
She manages to stand without the aid of the door, disgusted with the way she teeters in heels that are never a problem when she's not so thoroughly drunk with him. She grabs his forearm for balance as she leans over and works the shoes off her feet, feeling the play of muscle as he strives not to reach for her.
She knows he's getting an eyeful down her dress; she's entirely okay with that. In fact, she might have done that on purpose-
"Tease," he rasps, and his mouth is at her ear as Kate straightens up. "Sexy, ridiculously hot, amazing tease."
"Flattery will only get you in my bed," she murmurs back, grinning at the sharp spark of lust that ignites in his gaze. She reaches for the zipper in the side of her dress, fingers fumbling, but he knocks her hands aside and does it himself.
The sound of the zipper parting makes her heart pound, watching his eyes as he reveals skin.
"You gonna talk dirty to me tonight, Detective Beckett?"
She watches him for a moment, prolonging the mystery, then brushes her hand along his adam's apple, feels his pounding pulse under her fingers. Her thumb at his jaw, Kate remembers the look on his face when he was standing up with the groomsmen, remembers how he only had eyes for her. Misty eyes, completely unashamed of it, and thinking exactly what she was thinking - I want that with you.
Teasing and sexy are fine; they've done that. She wants tender instead, slow, the way his hands will worship the length of her body and make her tremble, make her cry out softly.
"No, not tonight." she answers finally. "Just love me, Castle. And let me love you."
"I'm gonna need help getting out of this dress," Beth mumbles from somewhere down his chest. They're still on the bed, a tangled mess of limbs; neither has mustered the resolve to move.
"Uh-huh," Alex answers, wiggling an eyebrow even though she can't see him.
She laughs – such a carefree, beautiful sound – thumps his ribs lightly. "Not like *that* – well – yes, like that too, but no, not what I meant. I actually can't get out of the dress on my own. Lucie helped me with the zipper and the bows and she tied them so tight…"
"Sounds like exactly the kind of mission I dreamed of when I was seventeen," he pipes up before his brain can stop him.
But Beth – his lovely, wonderful Beth – isn't disgusted in the least; instead she looks at him, mirth dancing in the green depths of her eyes.
"Oh yeah?" She asks sultrily, running a hand though her hair. "I'm your seventeen-year-old dream?"
"You're my thirty-one-year-old dream as well," he assures her with a smile, knowing his honesty is shining through his words.
"You don't have much imagination, do you?" She teases, even though she can't quite keep the delight out of her voice.
He grabs the hand that rests on his chest, links their fingers together before bringing it up to his mouth to kiss, slow, sensual.
He feels her shiver, and grins. "I have plenty of imagination," he murmurs, licks at her palm. "Only, none of my fantasies really measures up to this."
He gets a sharp intake of air for an answer, and knows his own face is starting to hurt from so much grinning, but there really seems to be nothing he can do to help it.
"Okay," he says, attempting to get up and failing miserably. He tries again, manages to rest some of his weight on his elbow. "Let's get you out of that dress, then. And into that huge bathtub?" He adds as an afterthought, remembering the child-like pleasure in her eyes when she caught sight of it.
The smile on her face is answer enough.
Alex propels himself up, eager now, impatient because there is still so much to say, so much to show her, and he needs a battle plan, needs to organize this. Lazing in bed, no matter how nice it feels, is certainly not the best way to spend one's wedding night.
Well, okay. Yes. But. . .still.
He pulls Beth to her feet, heedless of her reluctant little sigh, but noting the general exhaustion in her whole body, the slumped line of her shoulders. A bath is a good idea.
The relaxing, hot water, and Beth's soft body against his – oh, yeah. And he's fairly confident in his ability to rouse her afterwards.
She was not joking about the dress, he quickly realizes; he has to unlace the back, untie the bows, and *then* pull the zipper down. But her quiet, blissful exclamation when he finally starts taking the bustier off her is oh, so worth it.
She's not wearing a bra underneath, and the expanse of her bare back is too attractive for him to resist its call. He leans in, presses gentle kisses along her vertebrae, playfully tracing some of them with his tongue.
Beth arches against him, her hands coming to rest on his, splayed at her waist as if to absorb even her slightest shivers.
Bath first, he tells himself; but still he has the hardest time letting go of her long enough to let her step out of the dress.
She turns to him when she only has her blue lace panties on, takes his breath away.
And her eyes, oh – her eyes glitter like faceted diamonds, so dark and rich and lovely; she looks both very young and very old in that moment, very different from the woman he fell for, with her happy laughter always ready to spill.
He loves this, loves getting to see different aspects of her; he wants to spend his life finding what's hidden behind the surface smile, wants to learn about the secret currents of her heart.
He brushes a gentle, reverent kiss to her lips, his thumb caressing her cheek, the round line of her jaw. Then he takes her hand and leads her into the bathroom, starting the water before he goes to unbutton his shirt –
Beth's light fingers stay his; she gives him a meaningful look, and starts undoing the buttons herself. One at a time.
She presses a kiss to his skin between each new button, and by the time she gets to his waist, Alex's eyes are closed. His hands are fists at his sides; his breathing has turned rather erratic, because he sucks air in whenever Beth lets him.
The simple knowledge that she's on her knees in front of him – oh, man.
When he dares to slit an eye open, he realizes with some relief (and, okay, maybe a vague sense of disappointment) that she's moved away; she's back on her feet, standing in front of the bathtub. Staring at the water running.
Uh. Okay.
"Beth?" He asks quietly, leaning in to stop the water before it overflows. She jerks, startled; he sees her eyes land on his face, sees the realization of her surroundings blossom.
"Are you –" She pauses, chews on her lower lip, looking more unsure than he's seen her in awhile. Well, no, not unsure exactly. Considering, rather. And irritated at herself.
She tosses her hair back, seems to make a decision. "Are you paying for all this?"
Wha–?
She's serious. Oh.
"What if I am?" He asks, honestly curious to see where this leads.
She tilts her head, green eyes studying him. Damn; serious Beth is way too sexy for her own good.
"I feel like I should say this," she starts, and takes a step back when he tries to kiss her. "Alex," she scolds. "I'm trying here. You better listen. I'm not well-known for my ability to be serious."
He laughs – has to – but she's so adorable and *serious* that he tries to calm down and listen.
"I'm not sure how fair it is, if this –" she gestures around them, "is your money. I'm not like Kate, Alex. I like gifts, I – I love getting new things. Travelling. And – I'll never say no if you offer. I'll just - take it. Without thinking. Because this is what I do. And, and, you've only published one novel, and I know it's selling well, but maybe you should consider using your money for something–"
He's heard enough; he stops her with a light finger on her mouth, amused and touched by the bewildered look in her eyes.
"Our money," he says.
The silence is only broken by the murmurs of the water lapping at the bathtub; Beth's eyes widen, and he watches his words sink in.
"But I don't have as much as you do," she objects after a moment. "I could never give as much –"
He shakes his head, links their fingers together.
"Just money, Beth. Trust me, honey, you have so much more to give. So much more. This is just a convenience. A means to an end. It won't make me happy. *You* will. You do."
She works her mouth, but no words come out. She has this stunned, grateful, warm look on her face, a smile that starts in her eyes and travels to her mouth, illuminates, transforms her.
"Our money," he says again, his voice strangled, because he can't quite believe his words did that. "I want us to share everything, Beth."
Eyes soft with love, she wraps her arms around his neck; her lips tell him everything he needs to know, how deeply she cares for him, how moved she is by something that he didn't even think twice about.
His hands curl around her elbows, pull her closer; his half-naked body eagerly welcomes the contact, heat rushing through his veins when the silk-like skin of her abdomen meets his, so tense and good.
His wife, his wife –
She takes the beautiful burn of her tongue away and he moans in displeasure, tries to pursue her, but it's only so she can whisper in his ear, her voice so dark and sexy, "I want us to share everything too."
And as he kisses her, as he feels her nimble fingers work at the belt of his dress pants, he can only think yes, yes –
Sharing is good.