He hadn't been sure he'd be able to make eye contact when he finally spoke, but some wicked part of him wanted to catch the flash of hurt when he called her out.
He regrets it immediately.
No amount of heartache can be cured by the pool of tears threatening to spill down her face. No hope of a future together will be restored by slicing her open with the sharp edge of his anger. He's done nothing but give them matching wounds and he just wants to reach out and heal hers, but she has already stepped back and she flinches at his touch.
"What are you talking about?"
She's breathless and her head is tilted with the weight of her confusion, but he drags her from the many couples still happy on the dance floor, stopping only when they're less likely to become a spectacle. "Your shooting. You remember every second of it."
She's quiet for so long, and he thinks she might be forming another lie until she chokes out the beginning of something nearly as pathetic. "Oh, god. I didn't want-"
"Didn't want what, Beckett?" The use of her surname stings her, and he's not at all sorry about that. "Didn't want me to know the truth? Didn't want me to realize that my feelings are unrequited? Didn't want me to have a reason to finally step away from your pathologically lonely life?"
Her eyes narrow as she backs him against the wall and hisses, "I didn't want to have this conversation until I was ready. But you know what's really fucking funny here? That I decided I was ready to talk at the same time you decided you didn't want to listen."
And then she's gone, stalking toward their table and grabbing her heels and clutch, and he really doesn't want her leaving while she's this upset, really doesn't want her distracted late at night while she's all alone.
Really doesn't want her to have the last word.
So, he follows her and yanks his jacket from the back of his chair, not bothering to put it on as he hurries after her; the chill between them is far worse than the cool night air. Kate rushes from the reception hall and through the lobby, shoving the front doors open and only glancing down the dark street before she crosses. He calls her name a few times, earning nothing more than an over-the-shoulder glare for his efforts, and Castle can't quite figure out how he's gone from being hurt and humiliated to chasing after Kate for a chance to work this out without any more pain. A chance for her to admit she doesn't love him, and a chance for him to walk away with his head held high.
Without warning, he finds himself caught in the muted rush of a revolving door, nearly tripping in his surprise as he's dumped into another building; the front desk and luggage carts suggest they're in a hotel. He has no idea where she's leading him, but after shadowing her for so long, he has no choice but to find out.
Of course he's crowded at her back as they spill into the hotel lobby. Even with anger, miscommunication, and half-truths between them, he won't give her space, and she scoffs at the idea of him calling her "pathologically lonely" when he's never more than a step behind her.
Though she supposes she understands all too well about being lonely even when one isn't alone at all.
At least he's stopped shouting her name, so that's one less embarrassment as they make their way to the elevator; another guest waits there, and Kate isn't interested in having an audience for anything about to happen. When they ride up to her floor, neither of them speak – nor does the tired gentleman trapped in their awkwardness – but Kate finally snaps when they're moving down the hall and toward the room she'd checked into that afternoon.
"I don't get it, Castle. From the moment you met me, you've claimed to want the story. You've spent years turning pages, devouring chapter after chapter of my life as though you couldn't get enough of it, but then you reached a plot twist you didn't like and you're ready to bail on the ending. You're insatiably curious and you've never stopped pushing before." They arrive at the door of her room, but she falls against the wall beside it and looks up at him. "Why are you giving up on me now? Why couldn't you turn one more page?"
She spins back to the door and fumbles with her clutch until she finds the key card, unlocking the door a moment later. There's no reason to linger in the entryway while she waits to lock the door behind her – Castle can handle that – so she shuffles further into the room and tosses her shoes and purse onto the floor. When she hears the rattle of the chain sliding into place and the solid thud of the deadbolt, she sighs and takes a couple of steps back toward him.
Slumped against the door, Castle closes his eyes as though he is afraid to keep the conversation going, but is finally resigned to seeing it through. "Tell me why I should keep going, Kate. What comes next in your story?"
Moving closer still, she remains silent until he manages to look at her again. Everything is so damaged, their hearts scraped raw, but she forces herself to believe that they can do this. She isn't ready to accept the alternative.
"Next is when I tell you that I love you, too."
His jaw drops.
She catches it with the palm of her hand, cradling his face when she leans in to kiss him. Dozens of questions hoping to be given a voice are replaced by the exquisite drag of her tongue against his, and he's at war with himself; he wants answers, but he never, ever wants to stop kissing Kate Beckett. Her body presses further into him – if she has questions of her own, she's getting plenty of answers with that thrust of her hips – and some stupid part of him just wants to laugh. He's been so turned around for the past few days, even more so in the past few hours, and he has no idea how they've ended up in a random hotel room making out against the door after she's told him she loves him, but somehow it's so perfectly them. At the very least, the entire mess deserves an eye roll and a smile of surrender.
They can take care of that after the kissing.
Right now, they're busy trying to maintain some sort of civility with their mouths while their fingers claw for any skin to touch. His jacket has fallen to the floor beside them and he's trying to toe off his shoes as he reaches for the zipper on her dress, and he can't figure out where the damn thing is and fuck it, he grabs the hem of the skirt instead and tugs upward until it's bunched around her hips and his hands can skate over the bare skin of her thighs. Kate has pulled his tie loose and untucked his shirt, and now she's scrambling to unfasten the buttons in her way; her progress comes to an abrupt end when he slips his hand down the front of her lace thong and her knees buckle.
"God, you're wet," he murmurs against her lips.
She hums in response before another deep kiss leaves him physically unable to speak. They begin to stumble through the room, eventually separating long enough to forgo their frenzied attempts to undress each other, and ridding themselves of their own clothes instead. He grabs her wrist just as she goes for her thong and shakes his head. He'll remove that when he's ready.
They're tangled together again, so much revealed to them now and explored with hands and lips and fingers and teeth that can't seem to satisfy their needs quickly enough. It's chaotic and everything he always suspected they'd be – though he'd given up hope in recent days – and he wants to touch and taste every inch of her. He nudges her backward until she's sprawled on the bed and he can crawl over her, flicking the tip of his tongue over one taut nipple before he shifts his head and takes the other into his mouth. Then, ignoring the way he aches for her, he travels the length of her body, seeking the secret spots that make her squirm and smiling against her skin with each new sound she makes.
His hands are wrapped around her ankles when he begins to make his way back up, opening her further to his curious gaze, and he watches the horizon of her chest rise and fall as he kisses a path along the inside of her leg. She's stunning. And there's still so much they haven't said, so much that could go to hell tomorrow, but even if this is all they ever have, he will love her for every second of it.
Finally, he tucks his fingers into the waistband of her thong, draws the lace down her trembling legs, and tosses it aside. It leaves her exposed. Vulnerable. And his to adore.
The heat of his breath, promising everything that will follow, has her eyes slamming shut; this is exactly what she's waited for, and though part of her screams that they are being careless with partially-broken hearts, Castle's mouth is on her and she doesn't want to think about anything but the dream that is coming true. After so many frustrated whispers of his name, and all the nights she came in an empty room, she's lost in the way his tongue slides through the arousal he's found waiting for his touch.
She's spinning out of control quickly, and she thinks she'd be embarrassed if she weren't so swept up in this desperate, carnal need. There's no way to hide from him now and she arches into him for more, silently begging; his broad hands bracket her waist in response, pushing her back down to the bed. Being held in place only heightens every sensation, and she combs her hands through his hair until she can pretend to have some measure of control while her core weeps and the tension builds. It's unfair how well he knows her, how he's perfected the combination of licking and teasing and sucking and humming that has her panting while he brings her to the edge and keeps her there.
"Please," she cries, and it's all it takes for Castle to suck on her clit one more time. He seems equally intent on keeping her hips pinned to the mattress while she comes against his mouth, and she can only gasp for air when he eases her back down, her body still shaking as he lies alongside her and kisses her neck.
It's not enough for her, so she rolls toward him and captures his mouth with her own, moaning at the flavor lingering on his tongue. She's still heavy with pleasure, sated and happy in a way she hasn't been in so long, but she's also done being passive in her enjoyment of his body, so she keeps moving until he's fully on his back. Then she swings a leg over his, positioning herself on his thighs with her knees resting on either side, and reaches forward to stroke him while she studies his reaction.
He's observed her for years, and it's wonderful to stare back unabashedly; the timid glances she's allowed herself aren't sufficient anymore.
So she delights in the flutter of his eyelids as he fights to watch her watching him. She revels in the whimper she elicits when she runs her thumb over his tip. She enjoys the twitch of his hands when she rises on her knees to rub him back and forth across her center. And she definitely appreciates the groan of her name as she lowers her body and takes him deep inside.
Somehow his hands find their way to Kate's waist and the contact helps ground him. He's really here – they're really here – and he can't let his mind wander to the many hopes and fears that have driven him to this moment. Instead, he memorizes the swell of her breasts, the rhythm of her hips, and the scar he'd ignored during his first survey of her body, the reminder of just how alive they are, damaged and still deserving of love.
Without thinking, he brings his fingertips to her side, tracing the line of the healed surgical wound there, then trips across her bare skin to feel the mark on her chest, her heartbeat strong beneath it. Kate falters under his scrutiny, and it comes as no surprise when she brushes his hand aside and leans down to distract him with a kiss, even as she rocks against him again. He gives her a moment to gather herself, comfortable with the near-silence of their connection, but eventually submits to the demands of the words on his tongue.
"You're beautiful, Kate."
He thinks she's overwhelmed, speeding up as she grinds against him and ignoring the way he'd passed the compliment from his tongue to hers, but then she begins to chant, "No, Castle. You. You. You."
It's all he can do to rein in the emotions threatening to spill into the small space between them, and he turns his attention to the physical desire that jerks his body toward hers, wanting to be buried that much deeper, gripped that much tighter. He'd love to slip a hand between them, make her come with his fingertips pressed against her, but he's aware that's she has taken control here. Kate has set the pace that will work for her, their skin slick from her efforts, and he simply guides her movements while she slides down his length time and time again.
When everything becomes a bit messier, their occasional kisses sloppy and the collision of their bodies more erratic, he knows she's close. And while he doesn't want to let go – is a little afraid of letting her go – he knows he's been fighting his own release for too long.
The expression on her face may be enough to force his climax; her eyes are unfocused, her mouth open, and her cheeks flushed. It's erotic and more than he'd imagined. "I love you so, so much. Come for me, Kate. Come one more time."
She claws at his shoulders and he hears her mumble close, more, god, want, fuck, and ohhhhhhhhh just before he feels her muscles spasm against him. He chases her in the next second, bucking his hips and wrapping his arms around her until he's spent, careful not to make her stay on top of him if she's ready to run.
But she isn't.
Instead, she nuzzles impossibly closer to whisper, "And I love you."
They're drowsy and she thinks they might be about to fall asleep, willing to ignore the need to clean themselves up if it means they can stay like this, her body draped over his while his hand traces random patterns across her back. Suddenly he freezes, his palm spread just above her hip, and she jerks her head upward, eyebrows knitted as she waits on whatever Castle's about to say.
"Where the hell are we?"
She barks out a relieved laugh. "I got a room at the hotel across the street from the reception. I just figured I'd be tired after drinking and dancing for hours, plus it was more convenient to get ready here this afternoon."
Castle nods as she rolls off his chest, and they work together to wriggle beneath the duvet and pull the sheet over their cooling bodies. Then she curls into his side, unwilling to lose contact completely, and sighs happily when she feels his steady heartbeat against her fingers.
They'll get up soon. Maybe they'll shower. Maybe they'll enjoy round two. Maybe they'll enjoy round two in the shower. The possibilities are endless.
"You know I'm still mad."
Oh, and there's that, too. They'll have to talk. "I know. And an apology won't instantly make things better, but I am sorry, Castle. I never, ever wanted to hurt you. I just wanted to deserve you."
His responding kiss is long, lazy, and perfect, but when he pulls away to speak, it's his turn to sigh. "We both have broken parts of us. And plenty of things we keep hidden for fear that sharing will do damage we're not prepared to handle. But perhaps we need to give each other a little more credit. Tell the truth a little more often."
"Allegedly, it conquers all."
He smiles at that, though she recognizes the flicker of conflict in his eyes; there's more he'd like to say, but he's choosing to pass on the opportunity for now. "Maybe we can continue this conversation in the morning, after a nice breakfast and lots of coffee?"
"Sure, Castle," she smirks, "But what will we do with ourselves in the meantime?"
The question is barely out of her mouth when he covers her body with his, pushing her legs apart with his knees and sucking on an overly-sensitive spot on her neck. One of his hands comes up to tease the underside of her breast, and her nails dig into his back in retaliation, even as she pulls him closer.
He hasn't properly answered her, but she's sure they can think of something.