To the most compassionate woman I've ever known, who continually amazes me with the strength of her empathy, her love for and intuition with people; who never fails to show understanding and forgiveness; who truly lives up to the depths of her heart.
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kairos
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'Thank you... For loving me so much.'
Of all the things he could've imagined she would say, this hadn't ever entered his mind.
He stares up at her, his throat parched, too stunned for words. His heart hammers hard against his ribcage, so strong that he wonders if she can feel it thump against her skin. She's draped over him, lithe and warm and so very distracting and... she knows?
She knows.
She knows he loves her.
She knows he loves her and he can't think clearly, can't breathe, can't seem to grasp it. Had she heard his desperate, ill-timed confession when she lay dying in his arms? Detected the truth in his every word and smitten look and love-sick action? Unraveled the breadth of his feelings when he cradled her in his arms in the dark of night, brushed his fingertips across her skin in silent worship? He's never been good at hiding it, his love for her always right there on display.
Her eyes are wide, the forestry of her pupils shot through with bright morning sunshine and so, so beautiful as she looks at him, flooded with such intensity, such feeling that he's astounded by it. Her teeth snag at her bottom lip, her breath uneven in her chest. Her fingers tremble where they linger so lightly against his chin, and suddenly his mind clears as if a thick wall of trees has parted in front of him, the gnarly tangle of branches giving way to the wide-open, sun-flooded, unlimited possibilities beyond when he realizes-
He doesn't care how or why - it doesn't matter one bit as long as she's here, as long as she found her way to him.
The knowledge that he loves her had freed her to seek his comfort, his touch, the safety of his arms when she needed him most, and isn't that what love is?
She's here.
His hands tighten around her waist, fingers digging into her spine where he's holding her firmly against him, her lithe body molded to the planes of his.
She's here now, with him, and so he says the only thing that matters.
"How could I not love you, Kate? You are remark-"
The rest of his sentence melts into the softness of her mouth. Her lips cover his; a little shy at first, her mouth lingering as she kisses him slowly, the hum of a whimper whispering against his lips. It's achingly soft, the way she nips at his bottom lip and for a moment he's too stunned to react, overwhelmed by all his dreams coming true - Kate Beckett melting into his arms, warm and soft and trembling, kissing him, but then her tongue curls against the seam of his lips, seeking him. He opens to her, can't help but moan into her mouth, his fingers clattering down the ridges of her spine and up the arc of her neck.
He draws her closer and she sighs his name as they tangle together, their kiss deepening, and oh, oh, the lovely, erotic dance of her tongue and the way she tastes, the honeyed spice of her flavor, at once familiar and yet so different from that elusive kiss so long ago; it's brand-new, breathtaking, real.
He feels heat flushing his skin, tingling down his spine and into his limbs, fingertips and toes, his insides tightening with need so stark like he's never felt before, so very right.
He kisses her, sipping at the font of her mouth like a parched man at a well of fresh spring water, deep and longing and audacious, each quest of his lips, every curl of his tongue infused with the depth of his love for her.
He doesn't realize they've rolled across his bed until he feels her hips arch beneath him and a moan travel from her mouth into his, becomes aware of the balletic glide of her fingertips that have snuck beneath his shirt and dance across his stomach. Bracing on his forearms he lifts himself up, his eyelids heavy as he blinks them open, his lips still tingling and every part of him yearning for her. He can't help staring at the pink flush of her cheeks, her slack lips, the wet shimmer that he painted them with. The distinct, gorgeous lines of her face, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. The profound infinity of her eyes and he's drowning in them, in her.
Oh, Kate.
He wants her so much, every part of her, always has; every fiber of his being aches for her and his hips surge into hers before he can stop himself. She gasps, her eyelids fluttering, fingers digging into the flesh of his waist before her eyes open again and she looks up at him, her pupils dark and glazed.
"Kate..." And it's 'I want you' and 'are you sure?' and 'oh god please' and 'there's no turning back', all rolled into the raw, drawn-out syllable of her name, all the stymied words and questions he's too overwhelmed to ask.
"Castle," she whispers. Her other hand slides around his neck, fingers trailing up the side of his face, lingering against his cheekbone as if she's exploring his features by mere touch alone. Her thumb brushes across his bottom lip and his breath catches in his throat at the tenderness of her touch, pure and yet raw with insinuation.
"Rick..." She lifts her head toward him, her gaze focused on his mouth. Her knee brushes his hip, her heel wandering up the back of his thigh. She tightens her leg around him, fitting him tightly into the cradle of her thighs where he can feel the mysterious, alluring heat of her body.
His heart thunders, the blood rushing in his ears, drowning out everything. Everything but her. Kate.
Her lips whisper across his as she hums the words that make his head spin and his insides coil sharply, send him soaring into elysium.
"I want you... I just want you."
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I apologize for the lengthy and entirely unintended pause in this story; the last months have been very busy, and work and life had to take precedence over my focus on this piece.
I'm so thankful for your patience with me, for all of you who are still here, still reading. Thank you for the joy you bring me with each of your thoughts and comments.