A/N: This chapter picks up right after Kate's fired from the AG's office. Although we didn't get to see much of it on the show, I'd like to explore this missing time a little bit more thoroughly, so we'll spend at least a few chapters with unemployed Beckett.

This chapter is for the fabulous and hilarious mobazan27, who requested twilight rain. Had to change the vehicle, but hope you like it anyway. ;)

WARNING: Rated M.

Fantasy Fridays
Chapter Fourteen: Tight Black Leather

He's been walking on eggshells all day. The air in the loft is thick and tense with his fiancé's mood. He retreated to his office an hour ago on the pretense of writing. Really, it was just to get out of her hair, because he could tell he was annoying her with his overeager attempts to distract her from the fact that she's unemployed. That she was fired.

The minutes tiptoe by on the clock at the top of his screen. His document is empty, because she's his muse and when she's frustrated, it's his words that freeze.

Through the bookshelves he watches as she peels herself off the couch, trouncing into the kitchen to rip open the refrigerator door. It's the third time she's looked for a snack in the last half hour, and each time she huffs and slams the door in favor of plopping back down in front of Temptation Lane reruns.

This time, though, she heads for the bedroom. She doesn't even glance at him through the open door, just beelines for the closet.

He's torn. Does she want him to go to her? To slide his hands over her hips, press a kiss to her forehead and let him shoulder some of the hurt, the frustration? Or will it just piss her off, seeing the pity in his eyes?

She doesn't give him much time to decide, because a minute later she's breezing back out of the closet wrapped head to toe in black leather, her helmet in one hand and the keys to her Harley in the other.

"Be back in a bit," she calls, halfway to the door already.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

He's not about to let her run. That's what partners are for - she shouldn't have to deal with this alone. He intercepts her at the door, placing himself between her and the world.

What's he supposed to say? Kate, you need to talk to me? I'm not letting you suffer all by yourself somewhere?

Instead he settles for "It's been a while since I've ridden bitch," accompanied by an uncertain but cheesy grin.

Apparently it was the perfect thing to say, because it coaxes a smile out of her, and something in her posture loosens.

"Let me get dressed," he says, his mouth already running. "I'll be five minutes, I promise. Oh, and we should take some food - a picnic - grab everything that's left in the fridge, and, since you're driving, a bottle of that sparkling grape juice Alexis insists on drinking."

He beams at her from the door to the bedroom just in time to catch one of her most spectacular eye rolls, and he knows she'll be okay.

The late afternoon sunlight streams through the canopy of leaves, tinting everything with the first orange of autumn.

He loves riding almost as much as she does. He doesn't even mind that he's on the back, not when he gets to rest his hands on her thighs and feel her quads flex when they round the twisty curves of road. Her back is warm against him, she's nestled perfectly between his legs, and every now and then the wind licks the ends of her hair up under his helmet, tickling his neck.

She's so hot on a bike, it's unbelievable.

He loves watching her with it. The way she circles it, all business, to check that it's ready for the road. She used to pay for a space in a parking garage, but he convinced her to move it into one of the spaces below his building that was allotted to him. He didn't tell her that he'd simply sold his third car to make room - he didn't really need anything other than his Mercedes and the Ferrari.

He loves how she rocks down with all her weight to kick start it. He loves how she spreads her legs with her feet planted firmly on the ground to hold the bike up while he gets on. He loves how her wrist jerks as she juices the engine. He just fucking loves Kate Beckett on a bike.

He hasn't ridden with her in a while. They'd been out on the bike a lot during the summer of her suspension, and every time they ride together it reminds him of the simple bliss of those days, when he couldn't keep his hands off her for more than a minute, when her smile came bright and easy. He's glad she got suspended, he really is, because they had two months to just bask in one another, learn each other. The smell of leather and gasoline reminds him of how very well they'd worked as a couple, right off the bat. In bed and out.

It took only a few months of working in the AG's office to fade her. But when they hit the open road on their way north, she opens up, starts talking to him through the headsets he had fitted last summer, and even though he can't see her face, he knows she's smiling.

They stop on the banks of the smallest lake in the Palisades Interstate Park. It's where she heads almost every time she goes for a ride, less than two hours north of the city and in a completely different world.

She's always used her bike to escape, from the day she brought it home and watched her dad's eyes bug out. Before she met Castle, when her existence outside of work was hardly more than showers, sleep, and takeout, she'd spend her days off on her Harley. If she'd had a choice back then, she would have preferred to work seven days a week, but laws are laws and riding though the forest seemed as good a way as any to spend time when the precinct kicked her out at the end of sixty hour weeks.

Castle fumbles his way off the bike - she's never teased him about his ungraceful dismounts for fear he'd stop riding with her. He pries his helmet off his head, shaking his hair out and then grinning broadly at her. He's got red lines on his forehead from the helmet, but he's adorable.

He takes a moment to breathe in the air, and she loves that they're the same in that - city kids who can appreciate nature.

Then he sets to work, and she watches with an amused smile as he pulls a checkered blanket from his backpack. He spreads it on the ground where the tree line ends, so they're as close to the lake as they can get and still have some privacy, and then he starts covering it with the random collection of snacks from their fridge.

Kate peels off her jacket. Heat flutters through her when Castle rakes his eyes over her skimpy red tank top.

"You forgot your bra."

"Oops," she says, feigning surprise when she looks down.

She leans back and the last rays of light filter through the canopy of leaves. She closes her eyes.

"Stop gaping like a fish and feed me, Castle," she teases, but she's gentle with him. Her mood is already a hundred times better, lifted a little bit from the drive but mostly by him.

There's fresh strawberries, artisan cheese with apricots, a pack of nearly stale crackers, the huge green olives left over from last night's Italian, and a Snickers bar. She laughs out loud when Castle pulls two champagne glasses from the backpack.

And when they've finished the sparkling grape juice, they lie down together as twilight falls over the forest.

She rolls into the heat of him, resting her head on him as he finds her bare shoulder and starts tracing winding patterns on her skin.

"We should head back soon," she says, but neither of them make any attempt to move.

Her hand is over his heart, and the thud of it is hypnotizing. He scrapes her arm lightly with his fingernails, and goosebumps rush out and down to her wrist.

This happens all the time with him. These moments, innocent moments where the still and peace seem impenetrable, and then with one single touch, everything shifts focus, zooming into the sensations he can cause in her body. She's almost ashamed of it. But it feels too good to care.

She props herself up on one arm and dusts a kiss to his lips. He's shifted too, he's felt it too and he's on the same page. The kiss is hungry, active, deep. Wet. She bites his lower lip and tugs, and he groans and pulls her over so she's lying on his body.

She knows they have to get moving or they'll be stuck in the woods overnight.

"Castle, wait - "

"Don't think so," he mumbles between kisses, and his lips do something magical to her jaw and her train of thought is off the rails. He takes advantage of it and rolls her onto her back, pressing the length of his body against her. He slides his fingers through her hair and finds a leaf there, then he circles his hips into hers and gives her a look that leaves very little to the imagination.

"We need to - " she stutters.

"Un-un."

It's almost annoying how good he is at distracting her. His mouth moves down to her neck, and his hand curves around under her jaw on the opposite side, holding just tight enough to put pressure on the blood that's thundering through her. Her neck is her weak spot, and he knows it. Dear God, does he know it.

She's tried and failed to describe how it feels when his mouth is making love to her neck. Shimmery, maybe? She literally can't keep her eyes open under his assault, and she finally gives up, accepts that they're about to have sex in the woods, in the open air.

And then he's off her, and her neck is cold where the breeze cools the trails of his kisses.

She sits up. Stares at him. He's breathing hard, and his eyes are hazy.

He wants her as much as she wants him, so what the - ?

"You're right, we'd better get back. Dark soon," he manages to croak out.

"Um. Yeah."

Really? Is he serious? She thought he'd learned his lesson about leaving her wanting. The hard way.

"You pack up, I'll get the bike started?" he asks.

She shakes some of haze from her head. Maybe he just really wants to get home, but she knows he's not shy - they've enjoyed their share of semi-public sex. They've never done it in a forest, so maybe something's creeping him out.

She packs up the bag, amazed that her hands are even working. She's only just managed to slow her pulse when she turns to see him astride her bike, looking downright delicious. She's always appreciated his body type, has always loved how broad he is, and he looks incredible with her Harley between his legs.

Fuck it.

She strides over to him and takes the helmet he was about to put on. She swings one leg over the bike, straddling it and him so she's facing him. Her legs drape over his thighs.

"Kate I thought we were - "

"Hush," she says. Two can play at this game.

She wriggles in his lap and feels the lust return.

She has him where she wants him, can feel his resolve crumble, and when he reaches between them to undo his fly, she grabs his wrist.

"Not on the bike," she says. Her thoughts aren't in order, but she knows it's not smart to fuck on a motorcycle that's being held up by one small kickstand.

"Wanna get the blanket back out?"

"No, just, um, here," she says, sliding off his lap and pulling him from the bike as well.

He's clueless, doesn't know what she wants, so she kisses him hard on the mouth and then turns in his arms. She takes his hand and guides it to the button on her pants.

When he slides his fingers over her, into her, he growls at the heat he finds there.

He starts in on her neck again, his fingers working in tandem through the slickness below, and her body arches, her head falling back onto his shoulder.

She doesn't want to come without him this time.

She finds the strength to rip her neck from the magnet of his mouth, then shoves her pants down - not even very far, just enough so he can get to her - and she marvels at how her fiancé can make her feel like the same desperate, horny teenager who first bought the bike.

She grinds her bare ass into his lap once, then bends over, resting her forearms on the black leather seat of her Harley.

She hears him swallow. His awe is so endearing, but he needs to just get inside her already.

She's about to complain when he smacks her lightly on the ass, then runs his palm over her tailbone, up under her shirt and over her spine. She's so distracted by the touch that she doesn't hear him rearrange his clothes, and it takes her by complete surprise when he starts pressing into her. He's slow, and hot and so very hard, and she's leaning over her bike, full to bursting, full of Castle.

He gives her another little light smacks, his way of saying he appreciates the view.

"Put your helmet on," he commands, voice gruff.

"What?"

"I want to hear you. Through the headset. Put your helmet on."

Her fingers tremble with arousal as she searches blindly for the helmet that's perched on the backrest, and she tugs it on. She feels him withdraw, just as slowly, and she aches for him in the small moment it takes for him to bend over and get his helmet too.

"Can you hear me?"

His voice is loud, there's no engine noise to compete with, but she doesn't make a move to turn it down. She can hear his every breath, can feel his every heartbeat as he slowly pushes himself back inside her.

"Yes. Yeah."

"How do I feel, Kate?"

"Amazing. Fucking amazing," she says.

She cusses like a sailor when they're together. It's one of the things he discovered during their second night together, and he kind of loves it.

He speeds up, then slows again, drawing her moans from her like a musician coaxing notes from an instrument.

"You feel huge," she says.

He looks down, watches himself disappear inside her, and his abs tighten as he withdraws, so very aroused by the glimmer of her pleasure on him.

No one's ever made him this hard. He would swear that his cock has gotten bigger since he's started having sex with Kate. It's probably just his imagination, but fuck, he does feel hard.

And when her fingers curl around the leather of the seat, holding on tight, he swells with a primitive pride, knowing that he's making her feel good, that he can make her feel like this.

The woods come alive as their bodies do, and he realizes suddenly that it's raining. Not many of the cool raindrops reach them through the leaves, and it's a light shower, but the noise of it is gorgeous. The rhythmic patter of rain, the rhythmic sounds of their skin, their blood. The combination is too much, sensory overload, and the curve of her body as it envelops his in the twilight nearly pushes him over the edge.

But he won't go without her. Not just because he's addicted to the sight of her having an orgasm. She's spoiled him, and he never wants to come again without her body gripping him, milking him.

He slows, just a fraction, gathering himself. Pacing himself.

"No, no, don't slow down, it's okay, I'm close," she says, her voice so clear over his earpiece, and it's all the permission he needs.

They crash over the edge together, tight and thrilling and alive.

And somewhere in the tumble of pleasure, she's grateful, because only Castle can give her these moments where nothing is missing.

Love to hear what you think. xx