Author's Note: Happy Friday everyone! Thank you for all the support you've given this story so far. A special thank you to manuxinhace for the extra-big smile I had plastered on my face after reading what I've officially deemed my review of the week :) I've got Kate's next wish lined up but after that my ideas for her fantasy requests are getting thin, so if there's anything you want to see her ask for, let me know!
Warning: Rated M.
Fantasy Fridays
Chapter Three: The Crown Vic
It starts like any other stakeout. Castle gets to the bottom of his strawberry milkshake and goes overboard with exaggerated slurping sounds, earning him a punch on the arm. He reaches for the AM/FM button when he thinks she's not looking, and she slaps his wrist. It's accompanied by his familiar whine: who listens to AM radio after 7pm?
They chat about having Alexis home for a week over fall break, and about what she's planning to do about the rusty ring of mold on her ceiling from her upstairs neighbor's busted pipes. Most of the time they're quiet, lost in the familiarity of one another. The complete lack of pressure to say anything is refreshing after a long day at the precinct.
Beckett's been on dozens of stakeouts over the years, and as annoying as Castle can be, there's no one she'd rather spend the night with. Granted, she'd much prefer to be holed up in his bedroom than sitting in her Crown Vic, shifting as the seats grow more uncomfortable by the minute.
When she finally switches the radio over to FM and tunes into a classic rock station, she expects a grin, or a flash of wit. What she gets is his hand on her thigh, heavy and warm.
Okay. She can deal with that.
His pinky starts drawing circles, catching on the inseam of her jeans.
Uh oh.
"Castle."
He turns to her, an innocent hmm? on his lips.
"Whatcha doing there, buddy?"
"What? I'm not allowed to do this? It's perfectly innocent."
"Yeah, I'll bet." She used to sound threatening. What happened to that?
"It's a good six inches away from … anywhere serious." He slides his hand up, slowly, sending her blood in a frenzied dash for anywhere but her head. "Okay, maybe now only three."
She can mostly keep it under control around him, but it's late, and dark, and she hasn't had him since yesterday afternoon. Good lord, to think she'd been in relationships where she could go weeks without missing it.
Castle leans over and more of his weight falls behind his hand. He brushes his lips just under her ear.
"Might you care to revise your rule about the Crown Vic, just this once?"
"Not a chance, Castle." But her eyes are closing, and her head is hitting the headrest. Oops.
"But Beckett," his voice lilts teasingly, "it's 12:01. It's Friday."
She sighs. "I knew this would come back to bite me in the ass."
"Mmm, biting. Might want to save that particular location for when we're at home, though. Not a lot of room in here."
He runs his hand up her leg, but instead of going straight for the good stuff, he skirts around the outside of her hip before darting under the loose cream satin of her blouse. His fingers are warm on her stomach, his palm spanning her. Oh, he does have big hands. The leather of his seat creaks as he leans further over and starts working at her neck with his hot mouth.
"No hickeys, Castle. The boys will go crazy if they find any evidence of this when we get back to the 12th."
His lips soften, and then he's angling his chin into her just the way she likes it, the way that just borders on tickling. It makes her insides unstable, as if one good shake could send all her organs to all the wrong places.
He drags a thick finger under her waistband, runs it hip to hip. She opens her eyes, chancing a look at him although she knows it will be her undoing. It mesmerizes her, the way the muscles in his forearm work as he twists to undo the button of her jeans. She likes him in dress shirts, but she loves it when he rolls up his sleeves.
She captures his mouth and dives in just as he drags her zipper down. She doesn't know what to do with her hands; one kneads into her own thigh, the other scrabbles over the center console before snaking up through his hair. She pulls his head back until she's almost looking down on him, bearing her lips and tongue into his mouth proprietarily. She likes to get a little bit dominant in the kissing, in the beginning. But she likes to get submissive later on.
He takes control back when he slides his fingers down, caught tight under her clothes, pressing hard into her as he rides over her clit. It's rough, it's too much but not enough, and she wriggles her hips, hands suddenly busy trying to free herself of her jeans. She's about to attack her highly impertinent underwear when Castle speaks.
"Mm, better leave those on, Beckett. Don't want to make a mess of the seat."
"It's leather." She throws the words at him, catches the hot flash of desire in his eyes that makes him slick one finger through her wetness, playing at her entrance.
He's got Kate Beckett dripping wet with her pants around her knees in the driver's seat of her Crown Vic, and it's hotter than he ever could have imagined. Then he feels her palm land on his erection. She gropes him through his jeans, alternately stroking and grabbing, and shit she's going to have to stop if this is going to be about her.
In an effort to fend her off, he shoves two fingers high inside her, without preamble. He can be gentle, but most of the time she doesn't like it gentle. He doesn't mind. It makes their tender moments that much more meaningful.
He settles his thumb on her clit, pressing downwards to find the fingers he has buried inside her, and she moans. Loudly. There we go, Beckett, good girl.
And then he just goes, wrist twisting as he pumps his fingers in and out of her, collecting her arousal and slicking it up to where his thumb is pressing feverish circles in perfect rhythm to the stroking. She's panting, breathing fast and dry, eyes pressed shut and head rolling, hand still on his thigh grasping for him in the moments where she has the presence of mind to pleasure him back.
Suddenly, she's frustrated. It happens sometimes, when it takes longer to get her off than she would like. He has all the patience in the world - has been known to spend ridiculous amounts of time chasing her fourth or fifth orgasm - but she can't always wait. She rips her left foot out of her high heeled boot and shimmies one leg out of her jeans, shifting in her seat to change the angle of her pelvis, lifting the long line of her bare leg until her foot's resting on the dashboard. Her blood red toenails glisten black in the night.
He can't stop watching her foot. It slips against the glass, leaving damp, misty marks on the cold windshield. He's still working her, adding another finger and scissoring her open, wishing he could get his mouth in on the action.
His eyes dart up to her chest. The mottled rosy blush creeping up her neck is her tell; it's how he knows she's really close. Well, that, and the fuck Castle harder fuck. The woman is a fucking wet dream. And she's definitely really close.
Castle bites her shoulder and looks back to the windshield. He knows exactly how dangerous those powerful legs can be. She gave him plenty of bruises before he worked out where the safe zones were. He should really tell her to put her leg down. But before he can say anything, the panting stops suddenly, her breath caught on an inhale, and her most private muscles twist tightly around his fingers as she spasms, and damn, her leg is tensing - oh no -
Fuck.
He hears the sharp snap as the windshield cracks and hopes to God it doesn't cut her orgasm short, because Kate Beckett interrupted is not a happy thing. Her eyes are still closed, mouth falling open on his name, body still fluttering, clenching, writhing. Thank God.
He swirls his fingers in her before withdrawing, leaving her with a hard circle on her clit that always makes her shudder one more time.
Her eyes drift open, soft and warm. Won't last long -
"What. The. Fuck."
"I didn't do it!" he squeaks.
"Did you seriously just break the windshield?"
"Um…"
"Castle, I'm gonna kill you!" She's mortified, pulling her underwear and her jeans back on in haste.
She starts to open the car door, but remembers she's on a case, instead huffing petulantly and crossing her arms tightly over her chest. He can't help but wonder how hard her nipples are.
Castle shifts back into his seat, adjusting his trousers in an effort to quell his insistent hard on. They're quiet for a few minutes. He knows she's deciding whether to be satisfied or seething, and he hopes she chooses satisfied because it's going to be a long, long night if she doesn't let him do anything about this problem in his pants. He really didn't think this one through.
Finally, she breaks the silence.
"Oh for God's sake, get in the backseat, Castle. Can't have you looking like that all night."
Fortunately for the case, the suspect shows up just after dawn. Unfortunately for Beckett, she forgets to wipe down the window before calling Ryan and Esposito in for backup. The killer's in cuffs and in the back of a squad car on the way to the 12th before the boys notice.
"Yo Becks, what happened to your windshield?" Esposito asks. Castle tenses, but Beckett's got her reply ready.
"Rock from an dump truck on the Lincoln Highway." She's good, he has to hand it to her. Nonchalant, steady.
"That so?" Ryan squints at the vehicle. "Why are there fingerprints on it?"
Not such a hard question. Maybe she'd been inspecting the damage. Castle waits for her to explain it away.
A blush creeps up her face, but her eyes are steel as she replies.
"They're not fingerprints. They're toe prints." She grabs Castle's arm and shoves him towards the car. "See you boys back at the precinct."
Castle can't keep the proud smirk off his face, even if the boys are making gagging noises behind them.
Hint for next week: Castle finds most of his post-injury boredom cured by Kate's spectacular birthday fake-murder surprise. She finds him typing madly away on his laptop, mind spilling over with ideas for Nikki. Sometimes she forgets that he's the writer that she'd idolized for so many years before meeting him, but not this time.