A/N: Thank you immensely for your responses so far. This chapter clears up the Season 5 finale arc and is quite fluffy. We'll be back to completely smooth, sexy sailing next week. I also want to apologize for springing that unexpected angst on you guys in the last chapter. It's unfortunately where our beloved show went and therefore where the writing took me. But hey, without the clouds we wouldn't appreciate the silver linings! :)

That being said, for this chapter I tried to get into Beckett's head for Watershed, but I just couldn't make the puzzle pieces click. So, instead of delving into all that messiness, let's pick up after the proposal.

WARNING: RATED M.

Fantasy Fridays
Chapter Nine: Not So Bad Yourself

"I'm telling you, that fan with the scary biceps? She must have been a cyborg. Nobody has skin that firm," Castle shudders visibly. "I'm sure I could feel some metal plates under there when she made me sign her 'guns.'"

Kate snorts, holding back her laugh even though they're the only two in the elevator. She's purposefully standing a few feet away from him. It's unusual for them; they've found over the last year that a lot can be done with a few seconds of privacy in an elevator. When they're at the precinct it's where they can reconnect as a couple if a case starts to make them forget they're more than just partners.

So it's weird, this space between them. But it's okay, because they're doing it on purpose. They're doing a different kind of role-playing today. It's awkward, yeah, but it's sort of delicious too, trying to act like the opposite of what they are.

And then the elevator doors slide open on the vibrant street-style mural painted on familiar hotel walls, and the gravity hits. Years of waiting and wanting, and it almost happened here. She aches for their missed opportunities.

"After you," Castle says as he sticks a clumsy hand out to keep the doors open.

She drags her carry-on down the hallway and tries not to think about how just a few days ago she'd used it to go to D.C. But this time it's full of swimsuits and floaty dresses, not the crisp white shirt and severe suit that she'd worn in the interview.

Everything is different now. Everything. And in honor of it, they've decided to take a little trip - not just to the other side of the country, but into their own history.

She'd woken up beside him yesterday - the day after he'd proposed to her - feeling lighter and surer of herself than she'd felt in a long time.

Castle wanted to be with her. Seriously be with her. He wanted to marry her, and it had healed wounds she didn't even know she had. She'd been so afraid to tell him that marriage, or at least some sort of promise of forever, was what she really wanted. All that work, all for him, and she was still holding back. Maybe they'll laugh about it a few years down the road, but for now she's just annoyed at herself.

She'd woken with the imprint of her ring sore on her cheek, and she'd taken a moment just to watch her sleeping partner. His face was more relaxed than it had been in days. She'd traced the crags and lines of it, musing that they matched the sexy rumble of his voice perfectly. She realized that they hadn't really had a chance to sit down and talk. She hadn't had a chance to properly apologize. So she'd woken him up with warm kisses, on his eyebrows, the tip of his nose, those soft, lopsided lips, and told him she wanted to go somewhere with him. Just for a few days. Gates had already beamingly accepted her notice and she had some vacation time in reserve. She didn't need to actually go into the precinct again until her last day, when she'd have to turn over her badge and her gun.

She had a lot to do, a lot of logistics to work out regarding the move to D.C., but the plans could wait a few days. She needed to spend some time with him. With her fiancé. Work past the disaster of this week. Get back on solid ground.

He'd agreed immediately, latching on to the idea that it was a good way to celebrate their engagement. She could tell he'd been touched that she even thought of it. And when he'd told her where he wanted to go, told her about this fantasy, something had pulled in her heart. Not to mention other places. Because she remembers all too clearly the nights they spent in this hotel - in separate rooms - with longing thick in the air around her and her bed achingly empty.

She stares at her ring again. It's so heavy, so gigantic that she wonders how she'll ever get used to wearing it. She'd felt like half of the people at the gate in La Guardia were plotting ways to steal it, but it was probably just cop paranoia and the newness of the rock on her finger.

Castle stands outside the door to their suite and flips the keycard over in his hand. "You sure you want to do this?"

"Yeah. I think it's a great idea," she assures him.

They open the doors and the L.A. sun floods through the room to greet them.

After dinner - at Drago, of course - she undresses carefully, with the doors to the living area closed tightly and her bag open on the bed. They're pretending like they're staying in separate rooms, so she's in the same one she was in two years ago.

She finds her soft purple trapeze top and slides it on, feeling comfort fall over her like a blanket. It's what she wore that night - the night that they missed each other. She knows that's what he wants to recreate. Only this time, he wants to rewrite their ending.

She slides out of her room and closes the door softly. It's quiet, and there's a sort of magic to the night, to the clear sparkle of the beachfront stars beyond the wall of windows. The lights are low and Castle's on the couch, sitting exactly where he'd sat before, in exactly the same plaid shirt. Something does a loose flip in Kate's belly. Those tingles of almost unbearable nervous arousal haven't wrecked her body in a long time, but they're so familiar. After all, she'd lived with them for years. It got to a point where she'd start to physically shake if she was in his loft alone with him, the chemicals in her body reacting to him like a pot of water over a flame. She'd lived in a constant state of being flushed and pink, before she'd even really realized it was love.

Castle's eyes are soft, his smile timid as he pats the cushion next to him to invite her over. She can tell he's feeling some of the same memories swamp over him.

"Thanks for dinner," she says, sinking down next to him.

"Anytime," he says.

It's enlightening, playing this game, seeing what's changed over the past year. She still thanks him for dinner, in the same words, but somehow a completely different way. In New York, they go home together after dining out. She doesn't think about what to put on for bed other than to find something that she feels like wearing, regardless of it's skimpiness.

They'd have wine, like they do now, but her feet would already be in his lap. Hell, she'd probably already be in his lap.

Castle watches as her eyes fall to his shirt, sparking with recognition, and he almost chokes when she bites her lip. He's sure she doesn't realize she does it half the time. She certainly doesn't realize what it does to him.

He looks at her in turn, strokes his gaze over where her breasts look soft and tempting, just like they had last time - not that he'd been looking - okay, he'd been looking - and he forces himself to reach for their two wine glasses. He gives her one, nearly sloshing the liquid over her chest in his haste, and she tucks a grin into herself.

They both take long, deep sips, more for nerves than thirst, and when their eyes meet over the rims of their glasses, she hums.

"What?"

"Just trying to remember what you said."

"I think I can probably pull it up out of the old memory bank."

"Writer," she murmurs. As if she doesn't remember every word too.

"So. You ready?" He reaches out, rubs his thumb along her jaw, and even though her eyes close and she tilts her head into the caress, she stops him.

"No touching yet."

He nods. Takes a deep breath.

"You know what I thought when I first met you?"

She doesn't have to act. His words have even more of an effect on her now that they did then. Her eyes burn with the kind of tears that she won't shed. Ones that come when a memory catches you by the heart and squeezes.

"That you were a mystery I was never gonna solve. Even now, after spending all this time with you, I'm still amazed at the depths of your strength, your heart."

His eyes are so open, so welcoming, so safe, just like they were then. She doesn't dare blink, doesn't dare look away until he's finished, watching for every tide of emotion in them, reveling in the feel of her own.

And then there's that cheeky glint that she loves in spite of herself.

"And your hotness."

"You're not so bad yourself, Castle."

She smiles, keeps his gaze, feels the same tug, the same desperate desire to kiss him. She'd known back then that he'd wanted to. It was written all over his face. But he hadn't leaned in. He'd waited for her to make the first move, and she'd chickened out.

"I wanted to kiss you," he says.

"I know."

"God, I so wish you'd wanted to kiss me. In your eyes - for a second - I thought you did."

"I did. I did want to kiss you," she confesses. "Desperately," she whispers, blinking once with the honesty of it. "What do you think it would have been like?"

Her heart is thudding, pulsing so hard he can probably see the throbbing veins in her throat.

She's hypnotized, and he is too, something connecting in their gaze that brings the world down to the single, invisible line that ties them together.

He moves carefully, slowly, leans towards her. Her eyelids flutter but she fights to keep them open. He brings his thumb up to her jaw again.

"Now?"

He doesn't wait for her answer. Just curves his palm around under her ear, lets his lips slide in to land on hers, just gently parted to meet her own. At first it's one long press, unmoving, this joining, so tender, so reverent. And then it's slow, sweet, careful. The rush that builds to a heady roar as he breathes in all her oxygen, and a full wave of love rushes down through her. It's exactly like what she imagined it would have been like had it happened, on this couch, in this city, two years ago, and it seals up something inside her that had been hurting.

It's one of those kisses that seem to last forever, boring to watch from the outside, but every millimeter of movement is felt keenly by both of them. They finally part just enough for their lips to separate, and Castle presses his forehead to hers, runs his hand from her neck down the length of her back and up again. The shiver it brings makes her impatient, and she blindly seeks his mouth again.

The second kiss is more urgent. Just a little at first, until it crescendoes, and suddenly it's not at all like it would have been back then because she's sure they would have gone slow, needed time to learn each other, but know they have a year's experience under their belts and they know exactly what works. So when she curls her fingers around his ears he grabs her hips and hauls her onto his lap, and suddenly the innocence of love ignites into lust when she feels him through her thin black leggings, long and hard and arching up for her.

She grinds on him as she kisses him, drawing out his moans like some kind of sweet torture.

"Fuck, we're good at this," he breathes around her mouth, and she can't think clearly enough to express her agreement. She loves to move - loves to move on his lap and he knows it, and his hands on her tighten as he shifts her to one side, positions her directly over one thigh. He flexes his muscles as she rolls herself over him, uses his palms around her waist to press her down even harder.

"Oh, God," she chokes out. It's the only warning he gets before she splinters, stiffens. She comes on his thigh. They're both still wearing every article of their clothing.

She hides her flushed face in his shoulder and starts to giggle.

"I'm pretty sure it wouldn't have happened quite like that," he grins.

She pulls back, looks at him with huge, adoring eyes. "No?"

"I would have wanted to draw it out. Maybe I would have pulled you onto my lap, but then I would have picked you up. Carried you to the bed."

He slides his hands under her ass and does just that.

He throws her down on the bed and she bounces twice, laughing.

"I probably wouldn't have done that either, actually," he says, looking sheepish. "Remember in the beginning, when I was so careful with you?"

"Too careful," she agrees.

"And you told me you wouldn't break."

"Haven't yet."

"I would have unpeeled you, layer by layer, kissed every inch of your skin, because it would have all been new to me."

He gently moves the hem of her shirt up, rakes his fingertips so lightly over her belly that she jumps. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of her leggings, drags them down slowly.

He shivers when he sees that she's not wearing anything underneath them. Her heat rises, a sweeter scent than anything he's ever known. She's wearing his ring now and he gets to have that forever.

"God, Kate, were you wearing anything under your leggings two years ago?"

"Disappointingly, yes."

"A thong?" he asks hopefully.

"Nope. I was wearing very sensible underwear. I didn't tonight because I knew I'd be impatient."

Castle lowers his face, rubs his chin over the top of her thigh.

"Impatient for what?"

"Don't make me say it."

"Say what?"

"Cas - oh," she finishes his name on a moan as his tongue lands on her, hot and broad and rough. Her hands slap to his head and she holds his ears as he drags his tongue up and down each fold, into her, around her clit. He brings her to her second orgasm in an embarrassingly small amount of minutes.

This time she doesn't go limp. She goes wild. She tears his clothes off and he's nothing but agreeable about it, helping whenever she lets him. His cock is aching now, used to getting more instant gratification, but she's oh so worth it. It's so worth it to pretend it's the first time.

"Would you have let me be on top that first time?"

"I did when you came to the loft, didn't I?"

"I'd have wanted to be." Instead of flipping him like she does most often, she rolls him over carefully.

"You know what? This is fun and all, but I want to have sex with my fiancé now if that's alright."

He grabs her hands, feels the hard edge of her engagement ring and gets lost in the joy of that for a moment. It distracts him for long enough that when she sinks onto him it's a hot, sweet surprise.

She leans down over him, pressing grateful kisses to his neck, his face. All the while their hands are woven together tight.

"I love you." She starts saying it, over and over again, like the proposal has let out the flood of all the I love you's that she's tried to hold back over the year for fear of driving him away.

She realizes now that that was silly. He always wanted them.

A/N: These chapters never turn out the way I think they're going to when I sit down to write them! Must learn how to control my tone. This one was so fluffy, and it's supposed to be a sexy romping series! Sigh.

Let me know what you think.