A/N: This story in its entirety is dedicated to the first person I ever met on FF, Happy Birthday Diane. I was hoping to keep it as a surprise, I hope I succeeded. To everyone else Merry Christmas x thank you for reading, reviewing, alerting and making me smile! Festive Hugs all round!
Fire and ice.
He stumbles as he turns them and she laughs, not lost in the moment but enjoying his weakness. Enjoying that she gets to him.
And judging by the hard, thick feel of him under her hand, she's getting to him a lot.
But it's an almost bitter sound that leaves her mouth, not merry more merciless. To her own ears it sounds harsh and unyielding and it's fucking aggravating.
Fire and ice.
He retaliates, anger and arrogance indignant when she snickers against his lips and he claims her mouth again before the sound can die over her tongue.
He's hard almost the moment she gets her hands on him. Rolling her fingers up and down, squeezing and molding around him, imagining her body contorting to absorb him.
It's almost too much.
She thrusts her tongue so far into his mouth she half hopes he'll choke on it only to find herself almost delirious with pleasure when he sucks her deeper.
Her nose grazes his, stubble harsh against the edge of her lips and her cheeks but she will not close her eyes whilst he kisses her. She won't give him the satisfaction of seeing her melt.
Electric blue and smoldering red.
She can taste his anger like pepper that scalds each harsh kiss to her lips. She can hear it in the rough rasp of material as she wrenches open his shirt.
She can feel it. Everywhere.
His skin is soft and warm, with a hard edge of muscle that she doesn't even realize she's touching, openly caressing and reveling in, until he hums straight into her mouth.
Anger ripples through her again when he shudders and delves between her lips, seeking out that noise she won't acknowledge. He's enjoying it too much and not enough and she takes it out on his nipples, dragging her nails over them harshly. They rise up under her touch and she tweaks them, uses her nails to nip at him and make him flinch.
He smells like ink. Or maybe she imagines it. It's not as if he writes with a fucking quill. She's fantasized about his inky fingers leaving patterns over her naked skin. Large blue thumb prints spanning the entirety of her usually blush-pink nipples.
She's imagined herself purple with the smudges of their connection.
His hands open wide and engulf her waist, her head, her ass, her whole body suddenly feeling wrapped up in his and she gasps, feeling Castle push himself back inside her mouth forcefully.
Mmmm.
Fuck, no, she didn't moan. She won't, isn't and will not make that happy little rumbling sound again. She's mad at him and she will stay that way.
Not enough to the character.
That's a fucking insult, to her and to Nikki. But she's not a character, she's Beckett. Katherine. Kate! She's a multi-faceted woman of substance. She's flawed and she's human.
She's real.
But he doesn't do real.
Does he?
Before she has a chance to answer the voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Lanie, she gasps again. Her head's tugged back by his eager hands, fingers angling her jaw for a deeper, more thorough kiss that she can feel to the tips of her toes.
Thundering in her pulse.
In the pulsating wet flesh between her legs.
She grinds against him, wanting his fingers down from her face and pushing up inside her.
She shivers when he pushes back, makes her take a step back and still manages to get his thigh riding higher, sliding up under her dress. He follows it with his hands and she gasps, her mouth popping wide.
His fingers are freezing, ice cold pinpricks against her skin, but everywhere his fingertips graze her flesh she burns.
He swallows down the outraged gasp that leaves her when his ice cold - and still dripping wet - hands slide up the backs of her thighs and under her dress.
She squirms, eager to get away, desperate to get closer, she shoves him away with her hands flat to his chest, pulls his pelvis in flush with hers using the deathly and relenting grip of her thigh muscles.
He urges her up, and she comes, lifting her legs and wrapping them around him, ankles hooking at his lower back. She tastes the smoky bite of anger that ripples through the kiss.
She sinks her teeth into his lip, hard, and waits for the taste of blood that never comes and something hard nudges into her ass.
She's balanced on the row of basins, her dress up around her waist.
She claws at his back, rakes through his hair to tug his back and her eyes open. She glares at him even as his tongue finds it way back into her mouth, even as she curls a hand between them and squeezes him again.
She fumbles, breathes deep and then flicks open the zipper on his pants, her hand sliding inside to claim him.
His eyes flash open as hers slam shut.
Fuck, Castle.
She doesn't mean to speak but she does, and though her eyes are closed she can feel his focus on her face. Her words, his name, slipping free just as he does, smooth like velvet and hard as rock.
Castle growls her name. A hard, controlled Beckett, right into her ear that sends ripples straight to her core. Just his voice, his voice and the swirl of his tongue over the cartilaged ridge of her ear.
He captures her wrist when she starts to encircle him, arms primed to pump the length of him and drive him wild. He tilts her chin and her eyes open, staring straight into his.
Midnight blue pools leak into an obsidian black of lust.
He swallows, wets his lips and his hands open on the highest swell of her thighs, driving them apart to step between. His palms scorch, each finger spread wide from the rest and sizzling, skin to skin.
Their eyes lock.
Chests heaving.
Mutual anger simmering to a blood boiling need.
The tips of his fingers claim the moist scrap of silk that barely covers her and without another thought he drags it down her legs.