"Always kiss me goodnight."
October 2012
He thinks she's reluctant to leave.
Castle watches her with quiet reverence, when he's sure she isn't aware of it, keeps track of the way her eyes drop to her watch and finds more in the soft sigh that follows the words, she'd better be going, than he thinks she ever intended for him to hear.
He hopes she is, reluctant, in a completely selfish and couldn't you stay a little while longer kind of way, he hopes. If she is he might convince her, asks outright just to see her nod and smile and curl into him.
And she does at first, at least the first three times he insinuates she could stay, could sit with him a few more minutes if she wished to, and she does, at first. But eventually she pushes up and away, standing with a resigned look on her face. She holds out her hand for him and when he takes it she braces, ruefully smiling when he tries - and fails - to tug her back down.
"I'm going home, Castle." She insists, a gentleness in her voice that wraps around him, makes it okay and not an issue, just a necessity, so Castle sighs and pouts and lets her have his hand. Kate pulls him up, leans back on heels until he has no choice but to stand or see her topple over and her fingers slide down his arm and push into the heat of his palm.
"Could stay?" He hums, meandering idly, finding their way to his door and she purses her lips, dropping his fingers and waiting expectantly.
He laughs, he can't help it. Can't help the amusement he finds in the habits they've developed, the ones she clearly enjoys.
When she lifts her arm for the coat he offers - her smile warm with delight when he catches on to her unspoken request - his fingers trip over the pulse of her wrist. Touching the warm, bare skin, Castle can see it on her face, as her eyes dart to his, drop to where they touch, she is, she's reluctant to leave.
She ducks her chin and hides the smile as best she can, but Castle sees that too, notes the way the heat touches her cheeks from that one simple stroke of his fingers and he lets it settle, allows it to be enough that even though she's still leaving, she wants to stay.
Their eyes catch again as he stands in place waiting for her with his arms wide open, it shimmers through them both. New. Thrilling. As if he hasn't kissed her and touched her and seen her naked, as if they haven't been dating for months now. As if he hasn't trailed every inch of her body and told her he loves her a million times over. As if she hasn't done exactly the same. Yet she blushes and it's sweet and soft, and there really is no reason for her to be going home.
His heart pounds and if it's always like this then so be it. He smiles and waits - arms extended - holding her coat as she catches the sleeves of her plum colored shirt so they don't ride up her arms before she steps back, allowing herself to be tugged in.
And he does, he does tug, because he likes her close, likes to inhale the soft skin of her cheek as he stands at her back and draws the sides together across her chest.
She huffs as she stumbles, his arms catching her around the waist, pulling her until she's leaning into him, laughing on the tail end of an indulgent sigh, and if it's always like this then yes, so be it. It's magical.
They're not the newest thing, not by a long shot, but they're taking their time and he likes it, doesn't want to rush, doesn't want to miss the moments like this when she's loose and warm in his arms, leaning back against his chest and not wanting to leave.
He likes the slow progress and these silly nothing moments when the simplicity of offering to help her on with her coat makes him feel good, useful, trusted. When she calls him sweet and he knows she means it because her smile catches her by surprise and completely takes over her face, spilling happiness out across her lips. When the soft touch of their hands makes her look at him as though he's the only thing she sees.
Maybe he is. His heart beats frantically at the possibility, she makes him believe it. Maybe he is.
Castle whispers her name into the curve of her neck, a plead around that one bitten out syllable and she shivers, voice shaky when she she replies, a little breathless, "Castle." It's almost a whine, a contingency, a threat and a moan, and no one has ever - will ever - say his name the way she does.
It makes his breath catch and his fingers shake.
Old habits are meeting their fledgling relationship head on and casting fiery shadows over things he once thought of as innocent. Her hands slipping through the proffered sleeves of her coat and brushing against his, easily, something they've done before, but what follows after always - will always - feel new.
Kate turns in his arms and her cheeks are pink specs of reckless anticipation and he knows it now, she's reluctant to leave, she is, but she's going anyway. The moment her coat is in place, and even though her chin is dipped to hide the flush of heat to her face, Kate comes for him, letting the heat build and slowly engulf them.
"You could stay." She blinks up at him, the shake of her head at his request bringing a cascade of hair about her face. His fingers slip through the strands, not playing with them because he knows it annoys her, but simply tucking it back behind her ear and stroking his thumb across her cheek.
"If I stay -" she hums quietly, tipping into his touch, drawn to the scent and soft familiarity of his skin, " - if I stay, I don't get to kiss you goodnight."
It startles a sound right out of him, an electric jolt straight through his system and it gets him like that sometimes, the way she loves him back. The way her simple, honest words rattle right through him, claiming and true. It blanks his mind, nothing but her in the moment, nothing but the way the words resonate, filling his entire being up with confidence; joy.
He wants to tell her it's not true, but he doesn't, instead waits for that sweet, little smile, the one she gives him when she's pleased with herself, when she catches him off guard with the fierceness of her conviction, her feelings, happy to have rendered him mute. Maybe just happy.
She sighs and shaking hands claim his face as they linger together at his door. Her eyes are dark, darker still when he pulls her into his chest, immediately rewarded with a gasp of delight. When she says things like that - I don't get to kiss you goodnight - he needs her close, needs her body touching his everywhere possible.
His hands are low on her waist and hers are still cradling his face, staring into his eyes as the beat of their hearts keeps drawing them back together. She takes her time with it, comes in for him slowly, the press of her forehead first, then the soft brush of her nose along the length of his. She inhales him, lashes fluttering to stay open and the quiver of each one dances over his cheek.
If she stayed, she could kiss him goodnight until the sun came up and it was time to kiss him good morning.
She methodical, slow, practised and at ease, and the way she kisses him, the way she loves him rises up through his body, casting everything else aside, a volcanic rush of heat and desire firing his blood.
Castle feels his hands curl in the material at her back, sliding high to the nape of her neck, holding her tight. His thumbs sweep the sensitive underside of her jaw until her moan is lost in the brush of her lips and the sweeping glide of her tongue touching his.
If she stayed, she could kiss him goodnight in the bedroom, in the bathroom tasting like toothpaste, in the shower wet and warm.
Kate's hands drop from his face and her arms come up around his neck and shoulders, she lifts herself into him, swamping his senses with nothing but the taste and sound and smell of her. She clings and steals his vision, casting herself straight into his imagination.
If she stayed ...
Castle kisses her back and tastes a future filled with them, them in a myriad of incarnations and possibilities, spread out endlessly and shining bright.
He can see a goodnight kiss across shared pillows in their own home, over breakfast and across tables in countless countries when they escape from the hustle of everyday life, getting lost in each other. Birthday kisses over cake, sweet with frosting and sticky fingers, mouths clashing around laughter.
Each kiss sears an image of crystal clarity in his mind, over surprises and announcements and holding her hand as they walk down the street. It's maybe babies and let's get a dog and running in the park even though she laughs at him and calls him slow. It's knowing she'll do it every time so he'll chase her, catch her, kiss her.
It's every beautiful second they spend together like this, alone and happy. It's the harder times, the heartbreaking ones, interspersed and holding them apart and oh, so much sweeter when they come back together.
It's maybe we'll implode and maybe we'll continue to be amazing, maybe we'll get married and live happily ever after. Maybe I'll balance coffee on the sunshade of a stroller when I meet you for lunch.
It's a goodnight kiss that means until tomorrow and the next day and maybe even always and when she pulls back from it, humming contentedly, Kate brushes her thumb across his lip and smiles. She smiles as if she knows - and she probably does - and doesn't mind at all that his mind has just planned out the next five, ten, twenty years of their lives all around a goodnight kiss.
"That's why I go home," she murmurs, grins when he lifts her a little bit, up onto her toes, earning a squeak, not letting go, "so I can kiss you goodnight."
Her touch is light, his heart full, and it's not the first time he's kissed her goodnight, it's not the first time he's known for sure, it's not even the first time he's allowed himself to believe it will all work out.
And he knows it will.
Because she's it, she's the only person he wants to kiss goodnight, every night.