A co-authored fic by chezchuckles, griever11, and jstar1382.
Kate Beckett rolls her eyes. "It's a song, Castle." She dismisses him with a wave of her hand, but she knows dismissal isn't that easy. He's already unbuttoned his shirt. His chest and the smooth and golden skin that curves with his pecs are taunting her.
Also how are his forearms so thick?
"Why the hell is it so hot in here?" she growls.
"Ah," he sighs, nodding now. "So take off all your clothes. Got it."
"Little slow there, Castle."
"Excuse me for not realizing just how far back you were reaching for that one. When was that? 1998?"
"2002," she snaps. "Senior year of college."
"Oh my God, please tell me you have slutty co-ed stories-"
She slaps her hand over his mouth to silence him, not at all ready to hear what he thinks she did senior year of college.
He licks her palm.
Beckett's eyes widen. She jerks her hand back. "You…"
"Tried and true method, Beckett. Works every time."
"Sounds like a lot of people have tried to shut you up," she mutters, wiping her hand on her pants. Scowling. Her only defense is a good offense. "Next time, a ball gag."
He gapes at her. Flushed cheeks, bright blue eyes. Mouth parted.
Oh. Did she say that out loud?
Oh, hell. It's stifling in this elevator car.
Kate drags the tail of her shirt out of her pants and plucks at the fabric to fan herself. She wipes a hand at the back of her neck, pacing away from Castle and those forearms that flex and bulge every time he unbuttons another button.
Wait. "Why are you - what are you doing?"
"I have on an undershirt. Cool it, Beckett."
"I'm nowhere near cool right now," she growls. "Keep your shirt on. It's not that hot. You don't see me stripping."
He makes a noise in his chest that sounds like please do and she glares, but now her feet have taken her back to him, a tight circle in the confines of this somehow very small former service elevator.
Is that her breathing? Harsh, raspy, sex-starved?
He blinks like a lazy cat, waiting for her to come to him. "It's a known medical fact that men's body temperatures are naturally higher than women's. You don't want me dying of heat stroke all because you needed a faster commute time?"
She drags in a rough breath, tries to glare at him; she really does try to rally. "You - you - you were the one."
"Oh, was I?"
Oh, help. She's going to maul him.
"At least unbutton your shirt a little, Beckett. Helps. You look like you're going to faint."
She shouldn't. Goading him is only playing with fire. But before she can even think better of it, she's popping the buttons on her dress shirt, one by one, from the bottom, her eyes locked on his. Challenge. Dare.
Castle peels his own shirt from his body and drops it on top of his jacket. His shoulders are so very broad. His biceps are mouth-watering.
"That should be a crime," she growls.
He blinks, all innocence. "What?"
"Filling out a white t-shirt like that."
(...)
"Be-Beckett?" he squeaks.
Is that his voice? Damn, who would've thought that the idea of his partner checking him out would leave him sounding like a cartoon character. It's not ideal, especially when her lithe body is inching closer.
He's going to faint.
Beckett opening her shirt while checking him out will be the death of him, but what a way to go.
"What's the matter, Castle? Can't handle the heat?" She smirks and her eyes trail down his body, holding a second too long near his groin. She's messing with him, she has to be. "It's not so fun to be on the receiving end of lewd comments, is it?"
Her gaze is burning a hole through his body. It does nothing to calm the hammering of his heart against his ribcage, but he does notice the hitch to her voice.
Not as cool and collected as she's trying to play it.
She's standing practically on top of him at this point, so much so that he can feel the warmth of her breath tickling his chin. The sliver of skin that's visible between the two sides of her now parted shirt is mesmerizing.
Black bra, his brain notes subconsciously.
Black lacy bra. And he wants more of it. So much more.
This is such a bad idea. They're friends. They're partners. They joke. They flirt. But always with clothing on. That's the one most important detail.
There are rules - boundaries - and usually they have the benefit of being in public spaces with lots of people around. Usually, they're fully clothed. Usually, they haven't spent the last few weeks living out of the same space, seeing each other every morning, saying good night at the base of his stairs.
But not now. Now they're trapped, alone, together, where they could definitely act on a couple fantasies of his that had to be removed from his last novel.
Hell, this situation itself could be excellent Nikki Heat inspiration. Either that or it's the start of a really bad porn movie. At this point, his brain is too muddled with heat and arousal to come up with a reason why they shouldn't just go for it. Why he shouldn't just pull her against his body and do all the dirty things he's imagining?
"You're standing really close to me, Detective. Are you scared of the dark?"
"If I said yes, would you protect me?" she whispers, lips brushing his ear, her teeth grazing the lobe.
To hell with playing it cool.
(...)
The atmosphere in the elevator shifts the moment she speaks against his ear. She can sense that he's no longer able to continue their little game; she can hear his ragged breathing and see that his chest is heaving. She can't help but trail her lips along the smooth line of his jaw, the taste of his skin on her tongue. She hums, a guttural sound from her throat that surprises even her.
""Don't you dare lick me again." she whispers in his ear. She paints his cheekbone with one flick of her tongue.
He's practically swaying into her.
She avoids the seeking nuzzle of his nose, pulls away. "Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"
He jerks back, both hands coming up to grip her waist as if to steady himself. Her shirt flutters open wider, goosebumps forming as air hits her exposed skin. She's suddenly very aware that her black bra is showing.
Good thing she put on a nice one this morning.
His hands squeeze. "I'll lick whatever I want." The strangled tension in his voice is her only warning before his mouth descends.
Her hands react instinctively, one curling around the back of his neck while the other splays wide over his abdomen. The material of his undershirt is thin and she feels him contract under her palm.
Delicious.
Their lips press together like they've done this a million times before. He pushes his tongue inside, and she grants entry, receiving his fierce exploration. His jaw is coarse with the beginnings of a stubble and every slide of his skin against hers sends a jolt of need straight down to her toes.
She tries pushing back, worrying his lip with her teeth, and he groans, retaliates by sucking her tongue into his mouth for more, deeper.
Oh.
It's exactly right. He tastes like this morning's first coffee and welcome winter sunlight, everything amazing in the world, and how has she lived so long without this?
Needing more, she fists his shirt, fingers scratching the skin at his side as she drags him closer. Her hand at the back of his neck tightens, urging him on unashamedly.
"Beck- Kate," he mumbles, words lost in the insistence of her mouth. His lips leave hers to line wet kisses down her neck, to speak against her skin. "This, this."
"So good," her voice joins his, a fever pitch to her need.
Without warning, his hands grip her and he lifts, spinning them so she's backed up against the wall. His biceps trap her in his embrace but she's not complaining. Not when she can feel every ripple of movement in his muscles as he presses against her, his hands cupping her ass, lifting.
Her legs wrap around his waist, hips connecting with his, that friction that makes her head fall back. Her hands sink into his hair, keep him close at work on her throat.
His lips leave her neck with a pop. She drops her head and his eyes lift to meet her gaze. She moves a hand to his cheek, her mouth forming a smile for him, and their lips meet again. Her mouth falls open immediately and she drinks him in.
The evidence of his desire is pressing into her, right between her legs, and oh my god, why is her clothing so restrictive? He's thrusting against her in a broken rhythm and she attempts to match his pace, slow but erotic. Winding her up.
The metal railing digs into her ass, a harsh counterpoint. She arches her back to make space for his hands as they move, scorching every last bit of skin. His fingers dip under the elastic band of her bra.
They're really doing this.
She's too far gone now, pleasure driving her to the brink of insanity. Her hands tug at the hem of his shirt, but they're so tangled together that she can't get the material higher than his chest. Good enough. Her fingers drag across his heated skin, play at his belly button, palms skating up to rub his nipples.
He almost buckles at that, groaning as he staggers, and she chuckles. Her legs tighten around him to hang on and she takes advantage of his momentary distraction to toy with his belt buckle. She's thrumming with anticipation but Castle is haphazard and too random in his lust to do much more than suck at her neck, the bare skin above her breasts.
She can fix that.
But of course, she's just begun to unbuckle his belt when all the lights come on and the entire carriage jerks into motion, sending them sprawling to the floor.
(…)