A haiku for the dedication:

Stalky leopard, the
mind who makes the words better –
cartographical.

Chapter 26: 2x17, Tick Tick Tick

So how long have you two been sleeping together?

Kate absolutely will not admit to him that she likes to relax with a glass of wine like this and she might actually be doing this even if he weren't here. She's been on edge since the moment she saw the feds drive onto her crime scene and start usurping every last ounce of her authority and even though she's finally at home, she's still wound up. Alert. (Hunted?) But he doesn't need to know that.

She does not want to foster this notion in Castle's mind, the notion that he can just pop in unannounced, hold up alcohol and schmooze his way inside. She doesn't. This will not become a regular thing.

Not that she's…worried…about anything. No. It's not like it's going to impair her judgment where it concerns him. It's not like that. She just…doesn't want it to keep happening.

And he does not look really, really attractive right now. Or ever. Just in general.

She grudgingly lets him rifle through her kitchen drawers for her corkscrew as she pulls out glasses and heads for the living room.

"So is this what you sleep in? Because not that you don't always look good, but I had really, reallyhigh hopes for something a little skankier. A lot skankier, actually."

Of course he did. "Don't be ridiculous, Castle," she drawls as he follows her into her living room, settling on the couch across from her. "These aren't my pajamas."

The look on his face is one of utter disbelief. His mouth actually falls open. She flicks her eyebrow up. Didn't think I'd dish it out too, did you, Castle?

"Please. Do tell."

She bites her lip, tells herself it's no big deal that she's flirting with him. It's harmless. "Who says I have anything to tell?"

His eyes get wide. "Please tell me that means what I think it means."

Seriously? "Do men really think all women sleep naked?"

"When the thought of it is so very appealing? Yes."

"How flattering," she deadpans. Of course, he's never really been subtle, has he?

He holds out wine, and she tries to say no. He won't have it. "No, no. Agent Shaw said we need to decompress. And nothing decompresses like a 2000 Chateau Neuf de Pâpe."

"Oh, well, if Special Agent Shaw said so." She can't stand his new fascination.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Oh, no, Castle. You don't get this. She deflects. She's good at deflecting. No way she's going to admit that it's really…well. No. Focus on the toys. "I just see the way that you listen to her. The way that you look at all of her fancy equipment. Now my murderboard's not enough for you? Now you need a smartboard?"

"Oh, I'm very fond of the murderboard," he leers. "I enjoy spending time with the murderboard. I really like taking everything off the murderboard and listen to it squeak when I put my hands all over it."

Oh, come on. Seriously. She glares at him. Ignores the quick lance of heat through her blood at the thought of Castle's hands pulling things off and she just, she can't help it, he has big hands. Big, strong hands. There are so many things those hands could do.

She can usually censor these thoughts. Tonight she just can't.

Kate, this is a bad idea.

"Castle, I'm not – "

"I don't think this is about the case at all." Her heart sinks. Of all the times for Castle to suddenly pick up on something and refuse to lose his focus… "Are you jealous?"

"No," she hisses, then swears mentally. Way too fast. Easiest tell in the world. Seriously, Kate.

And of course he catches it, his eyes lighting up mischievously. "Kate Beckett is jealous. Oh, my, Detective. You are green with envy."

"Castle. Shut up."

"No, no. This is healthy. We need to be honest with each other." He grins, way too pleased. "So what precisely makes you unhappy? Are you feeling threatened because she's honing in on your eye-candy?"

Kate feigns confusion. "She's not honing in on Ryan."

"Funny. Do you think it'd help to confront her? Tell her you need more alone time with your darling Castle?"

She rolls her eyes. "Why stop there? I might just challenge her to a jello-wrestling match."

"I think that would really, really help." He sets his wineglass down and leans back into the sofa cushions, his eyes dancing, and she sternly tells herself she doesn't want to get closer, run her tongue over the line of his jaw. She doesn't. What is wrong with you tonight, Kate? Get a grip.

(He could get a grip on her – slip his hands under her shirt, until his fingers brush against – )

Shut up, Kate.

"Admit it. You're jealous because you don't like me spending time with her. Building theory. Talking about the case."

"That is completely – "

" – true?" he cuts in defiantly, arching an eyebrow.

Her face is getting hot, but she tries to keep herself together. He's leaning into her space, but she won't flinch. Won't admit he's getting under her skin.

But he smells so good.

"Don't worry." His eyes are a little too sincere, a little too warm. "You won't lose me. I'm all yours, Kate."

(Kate)

They're sitting way too close together to be respectable, talking quietly so she can't move away, and it's like gravity, this pull that's so natural, so inevitable she almost doesn't realize how close they are until her whole body is turned towards his, and she feels deliciously weak, her heart pounding, because this is different and she's not sure –

(I'm all yours, Kate)

- his hand touches hers and the shock that runs through her almost makes her gasp, because there's no way a single touch can be so electric, and her whole body is awake, aware, on edge, waiting for –

"Castle – "

"Shhh."

She's not – but it's not – he's leaning closer, or is she? – and it's just –

- and then she's kissing him almost by accident.

She's so startled she doesn't know what to do. But Castle doesn't give her a chance to reconsider. His mouth is working over hers desperately, hot and pleading and seductive all at once and her head is spinning and she just doesn't want him to stop. Not now. Not when she's this wound up. This entire case is a mess of danger and sick fear and careful control and gritted teeth and she is done holding back. She wants to lose control.

So she lets him have it.

The shallow kiss gets deeper, and his tongue is aggressive and demanding and his hands are sliding under the hem of her shirt and it's exactly what she was thinking of but it's so much better than she thought it would be. He tugs her knee, pulling her into his lap as his teeth sink lightly into her bottom lip. She rolls her hips down onto him slowly, relishing the sharp gasp she feels ripple through his chest, the sudden hot friction flooding her body with sparks.

"Oh, God, Kate – "

And then she's leaning back, tugging him with her until he crashes into her. Her sweater ends up on the floor and she ends up pinned to the couch beneath him.

"You know, if you think about it – "

"God, you're so annoying," she mumbles against his lips, sliding her hands under his shirt, raking her nails lightly over his skin.

"You're sexy when you're annoyed."

She bites his ear and he groans. "Shut up, Castle."

"You know," he manages between kisses, "I know another really good way to decompress."

"As long as it involves you not talking anym- ohhhhhh –" she gasps as his tongue hits a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. Her hips rock involuntarily, driving her lower body into his, making them both groan deeply.

"So what do your pajamas look like, Kate?"

"You really want to see them?"

"No." He kisses her hard, hot, unrelenting. "No, I want to see what's under them."

She can't stop kissing him, so she drags him with her, impatient, bumping into the end table and then hissing as she hits her elbow on the wall as she tries to get him out of the living room before he gets her completely naked.

"Impatient much?" he whispers into her mouth, and she growls, biting at his lip. Oh, the look on his face. His eyes are dark, hot, dangerous.

"Keep teasing me and you're sleeping on the couch tonight."

"And leave you all hot and bothered? Never. I'm here to help you, baby."

"If you ever call me 'baby' again, I will have you know, Mr. Castle, that I sleep with a gun."

He yanks her t-shirt over her head and kisses her hard and brief as she finally gets him into her bedroom. "That is so hot."

The door shuts behind him and he pins her up against it, and it's only seconds before her laughter turns into a long, breathy moan. And then there's no more talking.

The morning after they lose control becomes the morning a body is dumped on top of her newspaper.

That's definitely a first.

So instead of a leisurely breakfast and maybe another round on her couch, they get an insane psycho who still wants her dead, a victim, and crime scene tape. And federal investigators. Who already thought they were sleeping together.

Shit.

Kate's in the kitchen answering questions, glaring at Ryan for some reason. Castle's impressed. She's poised. Her hair is smooth, pajamas un-rumpled, and she looks every inch the professional, even in that adorable baggy t-shirt and leggings (she hastily pulled on clothes before the feds got here).

Of course, now that he knows what every inch looks like without the pajamas –

He blinks, forces his mind back to murder. Away from Kate's naked body. Oh, that body, arching up against him as he sucks a line down the column of her throat, lets his hand slide further and further down until she's whimpering underneath him, her nails digging into his back as she begs him faster please oh yes oh just like that –

As if she's telepathic, she glances up from the kitchen and her eyes catch his. The message is clear. Castle. This is not the time.

He clamps down on any lingering desires to just stride over and grab her for everyone to see. He needs to follow her example. For all anyone knows, he slept on the couch last night. And he meant to, he really did; he came here to protect her as best he could, if only as a doorstop to give her time to react if she got attacked. That's their story. And she's resolute, unflinching. No one would know, just from watching her, that the kitchen island she's leaning against is exactly where he pushed her up onto the counter an hour ago, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and –

Um.

Probably should stop thinking about that right now.

Especially if he ever wants it to happen again.

(He really, really does.)

Unfortunately, Ryan and Esposito don't seem to be buying the couch story. And in their defense, he has to admit…yeah. The couch story is pathetic. The only way to spend the night on Kate Beckett's couch would be with her on it too. Preferably without clothes.

And the way she ended up in his lap, sinking her hips into his, pulling him into her bedroom, and then her hands, and then her mouth –

Nope. Not right now.

"I see Beckett in her jammies, wine glasses on the table – "

Oh. Should have cleaned those up. "There is nothing going on between Beckett and me. No more than there was yesterday." (Technically, they started going at it against her bedroom door before midnight. So it's not exactly a lie.)

Ryan gives him a look that says I know you slept with her. "Dude. You made her pancakes."

"It's just breakfast." Why does no one even pretend to believe that he slept on her couch? Is it that lame of a story?

Esposito will have none of it. "Pancakes is not 'just breakfast.' It's an edible way of saying thank you so much for last night.'"

(She's flexible. Very flexible.)

"Come on, Castle. We're your friends. Details."

Oh, come on, seriously. No. He can't. Not when Ryan and Esposito are like her little brothers (not okay), and definitely not in a room full of people who already thought they were doing this.

(And how is it possible that their first time was a frenzy of so hot and you're mine and a tiny bit of life is short, why are we waiting?)

Castle pulls the guys in, and they're grinning, thinking they're going to hear wild tales of lechery and debauchery and wild orgiastic –

He says it clearly for them. "There are no details."

(She's loud.)

Esposito gives him a disgusted glare. "I can't even look at you right now."

(They didn't make it to the bed the first time.)

Ryan purses his mouth, scribbling on his little notebook. " 'Witness…refuses…to…cooperate.'"

(He woke up sometime in the night to find her hot mouth trailing down his chest, down, down, down oh God Kate until his hand was fisted in her hair as he groaned helplessly under her.)

There are no details. No details.

…for anyone else.