Nocturne Chapter Five
"And you don't know me yet, knowing takes a long, long time
And time is all we have, never traveling in straight lines."
-Mary Chapin Carpenter, Ashes and Roses, 2012 Rounder Records
No copyright infringement intended.
His eyes open slowly at the gentle brush of one fingertip against the outer curve of his knee. Some earlier version of himself would be horrified that he's nearly fallen asleep like this, naked in his bathtub, with Kate Beckett laid out over his chest. But this current incarnation—the more mature one, he thinks—can't bring himself to feel guilty about the past few minutes of lying here, absorbing as much of this willing, relaxed, resting Kate as he possibly can.
He's never seen her like this—well okay, but he doesn't just mean the nakedness, technically he's seen her naked in a bathtub once before. He's never seen her guard so entirely and intentionally down. And gratitude swells in inside him for this moment of peace and quiet with her.
So when his lids had begun to droop a few minutes before, he had indulged for a moment. But now, now this single digit has revived him, as it trails a feather-light line down from knee to ankle, then back up again, over and over. And he cannot ignore that this slender finger belongs to the heap of sleepy woman pinning him back against the end of his tub—his Kate.
He knows they can't have been out for long—the water is still toasty warm. But when she adds a second finger, and some swirling curlicues to her exploration, goose flesh erupts along her path and spreads to overtake his whole body.
Oh, she's definitely not sleepy. The quickening rise and fall of her chest and the deliberate shift of her strokes to the inside of his calf and knee make that very clear.
Making love is the last thing he could think of after seeing her battle scars, but he's no saint. And damn it, right now with the short nails of both hands trailing up his inner thighs, she's no angel.
His whole body is so loose, his mind so fluid, his heart so open, he would do anything for her at this moment. Not that he wouldn't at any other moment… but oh, she's put her lithe fingers to work on his calf muscles, and he needs to fight fire with fire.
There's a swoosh of water when he unwraps his arms from around her waist, and the gentle noise is almost a shock in the complete silence of his powerless loft. But with his hands free, he goes about exploring new slopes and valleys, slick and warm with the fragrant water of their bath.
This is the perfect position to appreciate the softness of her breasts as they dip beneath the surface of the water. They give and take and mould to his hands, tighten at his touch. He will never tire of touching her. Will never tire of finding ways to make her gasp and sigh, her heartbeat skip and jump.
His body is responding in spades to her touch, and she must feel the evidence because she shifts her hips slightly to trap his arousal between them.
Stars flash behind his eyes when she rocks her hips back against him, deliberately, torturously, and he drops his hands to her waist in a futile effort to still her movements.
"Evil woman," he whispers quietly into her mouth as he turns to give her an awkward half-kiss.
Smiling into his mouth, she rocks back again.
Painfully erect, he nudges his hips lightly against her low back just to relieve some of the sweet tension. The move backfires, because now he can remember with crystal clarity exactly what it felt like to press inside her, relieve all the tension, and the sense of soul-shaking want makes him dizzy.
Without any warning, she sits up, shifts away from his chest, rippling the now-cooler water against his overheated skin.
She kneels, guides him to stretch out his legs, straddles his thighs, settles herself back against his straining length. She's leaning forward, still facing away, hands braced on either edge of the tub, the slender line of her spine cast in shadow by the flickering light of the candles.
He watches the perfect curve of her ass as she slides up his length. His hands find her ankles, trace over her calves, kneading the muscles with his fingers. He's just had her, just been inside her only a couple of hours before, but if anything, that experience only makes him more desperate to have her again. He's an addict. And he's only now realizing how quickly withdrawal has set in. Oh, but the glory of that snap of pleasure, the heat licking through his veins when they break together, it's worth the searing need.
And then she's aligned and sliding down, encompassing him with her body.
The warm water has softened all the edges left over from doubts and nightmares, and while that heat soothes, the heat of her body, tight and sweet around him, inflames.
Every sensation is heightened, every nerve impulse is sharp as she takes him in, sinks until their hips are flush and he's buried deep.
Tight, hot, clutching rightness descends.
Hands tracing up her thighs, he sits forward until his chest meets her back.
He lets out a hot breath against the curve of her neck, spans her waist with his reaching fingers.
She hasn't moved, hasn't shifted at all, and he feels her ribs expand against his in a deep, slow breath before she finally, slowly rises and sinks again.
Nothing he has ever imagined could compare to the feel of her body against his, warm and slow and trembling with need—need that he can fulfill.
Her breath expels fast and hard as his hands skirt her ribs on their way up her body. He finds her nipples hard against his thumbs as he brushes over them, forcing a sharp intake of air from her. He scrapes his nail lightly across one and gets a gasp, then stretches the taut point until it softens, and immediately takes it between his thumb and forefinger and squeezes it gently back to a hardened peak. His name spills off her lips, and he just cannot get over how vocal she is, how responsive and open and willing.
She's so caught up in what his hands are doing, she's stopped moving. When he repeats the whole torturous sequence, she squirms, writhes under his hands. Oh, she likes this; she wants the jagged edge of roughness, the sweet contrast of a gentle touch.
He wants her weight on him, leans back to rest against the end of the tub and pulls her with him. She shifts around him with this new alignment and he feels her inner muscles spasm hard. He has leverage now, and he presses up into her, tests her response to the angle.
"Oh God."
Her head tosses from side to side, lands with her nose against his cheek. Yeah, this is definitely working for her. He feels her flutter around him again as he thrusts.
"Good?"
"Fuck."
That would be a yes. Wow, so she talks dirty in bed… Or in bathtubs… Good to know.
Everything about this position is working for him, having her body over him, back arching, breasts thrust out into his hands, the curve of her ass pressing back into his hipbones, warm water lapping at their skin as they rock together.
But as much as he loves finding new ways to caress her breasts, there are other places on her body he has yet to explore.
Tracing down the convexity of her abdomen, he dips a finger in her belly button, skirts its rim, brushes across the flat span between her jutting hip bones. He knows she's sore here, even though in the dim light and the deep water of the tub he can't quite make out the bruise. He's trying to be gentle, trying not to push too hard or do anything that would hurt. But he realizes this position must be straining her sore muscles.
"Is this hurting you? I don't want—"
"Ssshhhhh. Just love me."
He doesn't need to be told twice.
His fingers trail downward, brush her curls, nudge lower until he can skirt her outer folds, spread wide around where their bodies are joined. She moans and shifts her hips, can't seem to decide where she wants the contact most.
He moves to trace her inner lips, swollen and stretched taut around him, and a growl rumbles from deep in his chest.
The sensation of her slight tightness around him, and the simultaneous stretch of flesh under his fingers nearly overwhelms him. The two perspectives on their merging almost push him over the edge, and he has to move his hand slightly away to get control of himself.
The flat lengths of two fingers drift up to brush lightly over her center, and she gasps against his neck, where her lips have drifted, open and seeking. Recognizing the same tiny, high-pitched noise of pleasure from their earlier coupling, he leaves them there, just providing the slightest friction as she moves under them. She must be over-sensitized after all of their lovemaking, and this near-lack of pressure is just enough, because she's humming now, speeding her hips.
The pleasure is already coiling, sweet and sharp at the base of his spine. He thrusts up to match her faster rhythm, and she's bracing her arms on the edge of the tub, finding leverage to meet him. Every movement is punctuated by a shallow breath, a faint, airy cry, and he feels her walls flutter around him.
Taking a chance, he adds pressure with his fingers against her bundle of nerves, and her back bows as her voice calls out, begs him not to stop.
The world could be ending in flame and flash around them and he wouldn't stop drawing this gorgeous pleasure from her.
Another clutch of her muscles, and her movements still.
Following his body's instinct, he pushes faster, harder, and then she's tightening around him, rhythmic waves of pressure from her pull his own climax from his body, and he releases inside her, wave after wave cresting until he thinks it may never stop—they may never stop.
She collapses back with a huff of breath, boneless as they recover. Blood slowly returns to his brain, and he notices the water level might be a bit lower than it was before… and the room might be slightly darker, too. Less flickering. He smiles at their enthusiasm, kisses the top of her head.
The action seems to rouse her, and she shifts, separates from him, gets off her knees and curls up sort of sideways in his lap.
"God, we are so good at that."
Turning a raised eyebrow on him, she drips sarcasm.
"Really, Castle? 'Good' is the best you can come up with?"
"Hey, that was a complete sentence. I'm pretty proud of myself, actually, considering."
Her hand lands warm on his chest, strokes up and down.
"I guess I can let it slide just this once."
"There was definitely a lot of sliding."
She groans, and he's sure he feels her eye-roll where her head is resting against his neck.
Realization dawns, and a completely different warmth fills his chest.
It's easy to be with her like this. They can do this and still be them.
He hears a hum overhead and feels a gust of cool air.
"I think the power's back."
"Mmm. Can we leave the lights off anyway?"
Wow, she's totally a closet romantic. He'll take it.
"Of course. I've got candles to last a week."
Oh, he really didn't mean to imply that…
"Don't think we'll need them in the morning."
His heart dances a little jig. She really is going to be here when he wakes up. He really doesn't want to move, but the water is starting to get cold.
"We should get out."
"But it's comfy here."
Adorable, sleepy Kate is about the cutest thing he's ever seen.
"Yeah, but I don't want to be responsible for making you all pruny."
"Fine…"
Uncurling herself, she stands, a little slow to stretch here and there. As he does the same, all sorts of achy places remind him that he hasn't made love all night in a very long time. But her body is the one that worries him more. She starts to step out of the tub.
"Hang on a sec. I think there's a puddle."
He steps out first, grabs his towel from the rack, drops it next to the soaked bathmat, gives her a hand out.
Ushering her to the shower, he starts the stream of hot water. They soap up, rinse off, he washes her hair. Neither speaks, letting gentle hands ask and answer.
She's smiling when he dries her off, wraps her in his robe, scrubs a towel through her hair. Why she is letting him take care of her like this is beyond him, but he isn't about to bring it up.
And then she does the same for him. So maybe that's why—give and take. The feel of her hands roaming over him, tickling with the fluffy towel makes him grin too. He leaves her with a fresh toothbrush to turn off all the lights.
Seeing his living room lit again just reminds him that only a few short hours ago, his night was going very differently. He had been thinking about a night of scotch alone in the dark; now he thinks about what he has in his fridge for their breakfast. It's gonna have to be one serious breakfast after all this.
When he returns, she's righted the covers, tucked herself under them, but her eyes are still open. He goes to his dresser to pull out a t-shirt, some shorts.
"You really think you're gonna need those, Castle?"
Oh.
Well, maybe not.
# * # * # * #
And ode to Joy: thank you as always for the all-hours beta, and for your impeccable research skills on spelling words that may or may not actually exist in the English language.
Review that made me laugh: Actually, it was for chapter two, but Muppet47 totally made me cackle at work: "Mommy is READING." Thank you Serebranka for correcting my Russian! I am so excited to have a dialogue coach in another language! I am so glad people liked the tattoo.
Twitter: Kate_Christie_
Tumblr: kathrynchristie dot tumblr dot com
Playlist (still adding on): Youtube dot com slash playlist ?list=PLnXP8GXCbzfUFfhqEpWCAz4-3xPWCzhKC
