Tumblr prompt: set after sucker punch, Beckett seeks comfort from Castle but she doesn't want to talk if you catch my drift.
I'd rate the second part M, I think? I don't really know how to rate things tbh but I'd rather give you fair warning. It's marked off with a line, nothing super graphic.
The knock at his door was quiet, almost hesitant. Like the gentle brush of knuckles that were pulled away just that split second too late.
It was almost midnight, if he had been in bed - like any sane person would be after a day like today - he wouldn't have even heard it.
He dropped his kindle to the cushion beside him as he rose from the couch, groaning as if he were a decade or two older than he actually was. He shuffled toward the door as quickly as he could, determined to catch whoever's better judgement against unannounced midnight visits had kicked in too late.
His ignored the pounding in his head - something all the action movies seemed to neglect in their portrayals of badass, head butting heroism - as he reached for the door and heaved it open.
"Beckett?"
She was the last person he would have expected. He wasn't sure why. If he made a list of everyone who was falling into a habit of showing up at his loft unannounced, it would contain only one name.
"What are you doing here?"
She stood in silence, like a deer in the headlights. Not at all how he had left her, just a few hours ago, at the precinct.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here."
She shuffled on her feet, as if she were trying desperately to get her legs to move, but they would not cooperate.
"Is everything okay?" he asked, growing more concerned by how skittish she seemed.
She hesitated, as if she wasn't quite sure.
Is everything okay? It wasn't a difficult question: a simple yes or no would suffice.
"Come inside," he offered, reaching out for her hand.
She looked down, tentatively placing her hand in his.
"I wanted to make sure you were okay," she said as he lead her inside, kicking the door shut behind them.
"Make sure I'm okay?" He laughed nervously. "Shouldn't I be the one checking on you?"
She stopped, pulling her hand from his.
"You did, and I'm okay." She offered a half-hearted smile, the best she could muster right now. "Now it's my turn."
"I'm okay," he reassured her, stepping closer to her and forcing his own dulled smile.
"You're not, though. I can see that you're not."
He straightened his posture, uncomfortable by just how easily she could read him. How well she actually knew him, not just the persona he projected.
"You know, through dinner, I wasn't sure," she confessed. "I thought maybe I had convinced you to stay."
She almost had. That was, until he reminded himself just how royally he screwed everything up for her today.
"You put on a good act," she added with just a touch of bitterness.
"Not good enough, apparently."
"It's not your fault," she reminded him.
"You said that."
"And I'll keep saying it." She stepped forward, too close. "Until you believe it."
Her fingers grazed his forearm, her touch sparked like electricity, and lingered just a little too long.
"Why did you come here, Kate?"
She opened her mouth to answer - no doubt some slightly varied version of the conversation they had just had for the second time tonight - but he cut her off before she could.
"I know it wasn't to ease my guilty conscience, so don't bother lying."
She crossed her arms, chewed on the inside of her lower lip. "Fine. That's not why I'm here."
"So, I'll ask again: why did you come here?"
"It was a mistake." Her feet turned toward the door, preparing to flee. "I shouldn't have come."
"Well, you're here now." He held his hand out to stop her, hovering just inches from her waist. He took a breath, took the risk and rested his hand on her body. "Just talk to me."
"I didn't come here to talk, Castle."
"Oh."
She waited for his rejection, for him to argue all the reasons why they shouldn't. A pointless task, she had already gone over them all on the way here.
But he didn't.
He wouldn't. Couldn't. Despite his brain screaming that this was a bad idea - the worst idea - he couldn't turn her away. He was only human, after all.
He hoped that her better judgement would kick in again, soon. He knew it was there. It had pulled her back as she knocked on the door. It had excused her late night visit with exaggerated concern for his conscience. It gained strength in her acknowledgement that this was a mistake, before disguising itself as confidence, a straightforward statement that should have triggered his own better judgement.
He inched toward her, amping up this dangerous game of chicken.
One of them was bound to back down, right?
His lips caressed hers, cautiously at first. But as her fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, he threw caution to the wind.
His hands roamed her body, pawing at the too many layers of clothing that separated his fingertips from the bare skin he longed to touch.
"We shouldn't do this." Her soft pants tickled along his jaw.
The taste of her lingering on his tongue and the racing of his heart both worked against his brain, against what he knew was the right thing to do.
She was vulnerable, not thinking straight, obviously.
If she wanted to stop, he would. But, at this point, it might near kill him.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop."
She paused for a beat, this was her last chance to walk away.
"No." She shook her head, captured his lips with her own.
If this was her way of convincing him to stay, he was sold.
Her touch sparked through his every nerve ending, setting his body alight; unrestrained desire, blazing through him like wildfire.
He sat on the edge of the bed as she straddled him. He was surprised they had made it this far. If he was being totally honest, the knowledge that his family was upstairs sleeping was the only driving force behind the move to somewhere more private. Had they been alone, he probably would have stripped her bare in the living room, given in to his most primal desires and taken her right there on the floor.
But as she gazed into his eyes, her skin sweaty and glistening, melting into him as her body pressed against his, he was thankful for the change of pace.
It was intimate - slower, softer than he had expected - but he liked that. He liked that she was vulnerable with him, not trying to hide, not trying to create any sort of emotional distance.
He knew, without any doubt, this wasn't just sex. Wasn't just an escape from the pain that the day had caused her. She needed him. All of him.
He gripped her hips, guiding their pace, and she so willingly relinquished control to him. Their bodies moved in perfect synchrony, as if they had done this a million times before.
He slid his palms up her back, pushing her body into his as he buried his face in the curve where her shoulder met her neck, breathing her in.
He pressed his lips to her pulse point, peppering kisses down the column of her throat and across her collarbone. He nipped at the skin, before soothing the pain with the swirl of his tongue.
She tangled her fingers through his hair, pulling his head back so that her mouth could crash against his. Their tongues danced, possessive and greedy, their kiss growing sloppy as they both tiptoed toward the edge of satisfaction.
And when they finally dove over the edge, they fell into a blissful haze, collapsing back onto the bed, a tangled mess of limbs.