AN: Rough week; and feeling a bit forlorn. Here's a little happy; I needed that.
#13 Closer Than This
When it finally happens, it is completely unexpected.
One moment she's laughing at his joke, a step ahead of him as they walk away from Remy's after lunch, the bright midday sun spreading warmth across her shoulders and the top of her head.
And the next he's kissing her.
His fingers gripped around her wrist he whirls her around, toward him; the laughter's still etched across her face as she tumbles into his arms and then his lips seal over hers, sipping at the width of her smile, his tongue sliding past her opened lips, slow and warm, almost agonizingly tender.
He's kissing her in the middle of the sidewalk on a random Tuesday, no warning or lead-up, just his lips on hers, sweet and exploring, his palm splayed wide across her cheek. Just the pillar of his body crowded against hers, with a throng of people parting around them, unfazed as only New Yorkers can be.
The sun is painting shimmering gold across her closed eyelids and for a moment she stands frozen, the world around her stilled in breathless anticipation. Her heartbeat throbs through her veins, tingles in her fingertips and down to her toes, flushes her cheeks pink.
Then he nips at her bottom lip and she gasps in surprise, sinks into his embrace, boneless, molten, her back arched against his arm that's firmly banded around her waist. He slides deeper into her mouth, his tongue curled around hers, a groan vibrating from his throat as he plays, teases, savors her. He tastes like salty fries and him and she wonders inanely whether he can still taste the flavor of her strawberry shake that lingers in her mouth.
When he slowly pulls away she wavers on her feet, her eyes clamped shut, lips parted around her panting exhales. He trails his thumb along the rim of her cheekbone, caresses her damp bottom lip and her eyes flutter open. He's watching her, eyes impossibly dark against the stark bright blue of the afternoon sky.
"We should head back," he murmurs and she can't stop staring at his mouth, the way the words form on his lips, the way they glide off his tongue, roughened with latent desire.
"Or we'll be late."
He curves his palm around her elbow, guides her forward and she stumbles after him, her mind completely blank.
He doesn't touch her again all day.
He hovers close to her like he always does, brings her coffee, rearranges her pens by color and length, buzzes around her, laughs and talks; his face close when they theorize, his eyes shining with bright excitement - always so tantalizingly near and yet he avoids even the glance of a touch.
As if he hadn't grabbed her, hadn't kissed her senseless mere hours ago, as if his taste didn't still linger on her tongue. She longs for the feel of him, again and again and again, craves the soft touch of his lips, the needy, hot slide of his tongue, the heat of his solid body crowded against her chest, the tease of his fingertips along her jaw.
Yet he's staying frustratingly away, as if he's suddenly discovered what the boundaries of personal space actually are. No skim of a fingertip along her hand when he passes her a mug, no 'accidental' bump of her hip when he stands by her side in front of the murder board.
Nothing, nothing.
He's driving her absolutely crazy.
By the end of the day, she feels like she's going to jump out of her skin. Her nerves are frayed, frustration rolling off her in waves. She can still sense the hum of his mouth over hers, the phantom flavor of his tongue lingering on her lips; her insides are jittery with suppressed need, spreading a tingling sensation from the back of her spine to her fingertips, the back of her knees, down into her toes.
The yearning in her expands concentrically, consuming her body, overwhelming her senses until all she feels is this deep, contracting ache, until she's drowning in a scorching torrent of desire.
She tackles him in the parking garage. Her fingers gripped around the lapels of his coat, she drives him backwards until his back connects with her car, the length of her body draped along his as she pulls herself close, closer. A breath rushes from his chest at the impact; his hands wrap around her waist automatically as his eyes widen, then darken with vivid longing.
She stares at his mouth, the slant of his opened lips and her heart hammers against her ribcage.
She doesn't kiss him.
"Why did you do that?" She grits the words through her teeth, the blistering roll of want leaving her flushed, brave, frantic. "You can't just kiss me!"
His eyes flash, the grip of his fingers tightening around her waist and she sees the flare of protest in his stormy look and no, she didn't mean-
She presses her fingers to his lips, seals in the words before he can voice them. Watches his mouth, the clench of his jaw; her voice no more than a whisper. "You can't just kiss me and then stop."
She feels the gasp rush from his chest more than she hears it. "Kate…" There's yearning in her name as he strokes the vowels with the low rasp of his voice, hope and want in the dark blue of his eyes and she curls in closer to him, his broad body firm against hers, almost vibrating with suppressed energy. Her forehead, her nose, her mouth almost touching his, so near that she can feel the heat of his skin seeping into hers.
She loosens her grip on his lapels; instead her fingers slide around his neck, softly curl into the short hair at his nape and he moans helplessly at her touch. She blinks up at him from under her lashes and she knows, she knows that everything, every feeling and emotion, every repressed desire is laid bare on her face. No strength left to hold back. "Why did you kiss me?"
His fingers grip her tighter. "Because I want you, Kate. I want you so much, I can't breathe."
"Then take me, Castle." She hums the words against his lips, a challenge, a plea as the rush of his warm breath mingles with hers. 'I'm yours,' her thoughts fill in the blank space between the words and her deepest desires, the ones that roar in the pit of her stomach, try to geyser to the surface. 'I'm yours, I'm ready, I'm already yours.'
Their eyes lock, hold; anticipation flares between them, sparkling, sizzling; almost palpable in the air. Her eyelids slide closed as her lips brush his.
"Take me."