Written for the Kink meme. Prompt at the end.


Her eyes search his at the door. Pupils rapid, darting back and forth, manic with something he's seen flares of before but hasn't dared put a name to. They've pushed themselves to the limits of what they'd call acceptable tonight. Friendship ended somewhere around dessert and this holding pattern they've got going on gave way three sips into the third coffee. Yet, here he is, lingering at her door, watching her watch him with the same expression clouding her face as when she fell to her knees in the bank.

Like she doesn't want to let him go.

Like she can't.

He walked her home because of it, that unspoken vulnerability in her eyes, screaming meaning in the silence. His uneasiness ratcheting up when she didn't bother to fight him on it. She doesn't give up, doesn't back down, but she allowed him to walk her home, nodded her acceptance to his offer quietly, never showing any trace of her patented stubborn Beckett resistance.

It's unnerving.

Now they're at her door and his chest is thumping hard with hope and fear, adrenalin pressing everything into pinpoint precision. His eyes have been tied up with hers since they made it to her floor and the last remaining steps drag him closer to saying goodnight.

He doesn't want that either.

She turns with the key in her hand and a million unsaid words on her tongue, plain as day in the soft way her lips pop apart as if in preparation for a conversation that never comes.

He almost died.

A bank blew up while he was inside it and he could have missed out on so much. On life, on his family. He could have missed out on being with Kate.

Holding her.

Kissing her.

Loving her.

His life could have ended and the maybe soon, one day, someday thing they hover around would have remained untouched. He almost died.

He's about to leave her at her door and all he can think about is what if he didn't?

What if he didn't leave?

What if he asked her to let him stay?

What if he kissed her hard enough they both forget the reasons they were waiting in the first place?

His skin feels too tight, the air too thick around him and the beautiful, broken looking detective stands too far away. Her lips press together and she frowns, lost somewhere in the depths of her own thought process. She's watching his mouth, yet her eyes flash up to meet his as if she knows what he's thinking.

They speak at the same time.

"I-"

"You-"

She turns, the key still in her hand, fingers gripping the lapels of his coat, heels bringing her in close. Her gaze is raw when she whispers, "You almost died-"

Honesty between them, somehow new and terrifying, shockingly perfect, both aware of how close they came to losing the other, now, before, a million times in the years that stretch out between them. Life has been a merciless bitch when it comes to keeping them at a distance.

No more.

"Kate-" he steps closer, thighs and hips bumping, her chest fluttering with rapid drawn breath against his own, and she cuts him off.

"I don't want you to-"

His eyes fall, the hands at her shoulders drop, but her body slams into his and her words burn his flesh as they sink in, branding him.

"I don't want you to leave." Her eyes are wide, searching his, "You almost died and all I could think about was -"

This?

You?

Us?

It doesn't matter. Without giving himself the chance to second guess her meaning, or worry for tomorrow, he kisses her.

Castle touches her face and stokes the silken apple of her cheek, thumbs her lip and swallows down the growl in his chest.

He finds himself possessive, and met with equal possession. The tangle of their gaze is fueled by four years of tension, and it spills out into action.

Her nails scrape his chest and they fall into each other.

Her soft, pliant mouth opens on a moan, lips wet beneath his now and her eyes flutter closed in anticipation. He could have died and her tongue slicks against his, insistent and demanding, tasting like the wine he poured at dinner.

He inhales and her skin smells like affirmation. Like life.

Castle strokes his tongue to the roof of her mouth, nips at her to feel the longing in the smoky bite of her kiss, lost in the flavorful, billowing heat. Her breasts press to his chest, hard nipples reaching through the layers of clothing and rasping against his shirt.

His fingers drop to hold her waist and her hands band themselves around him, slipping up from his lapels to fist in his hair. Her nails scrape again, and Kate clings to him, claims him, devours him and kisses him hard, hooks her leg around his calf and swallows up his body in the fire of her own.

The door opens at her back and she tumbles inside, her mouth opening, opening, opening under his, relentless. Her desperate groan echoes through him when she clutches Castle tighter and pulls him in after her.

He barely keeps her up, her long legs knotted with his own, between and around, miles of delicious blood boiling, lithe limb between calf and thigh wrapping him up until he's forced to lift her just to keep them both from crashing to the ground.

They collide with the door instead. With each other. A hungry sound escapes and with their mouths fused together it's impossible to tell who makes it.

Hard wood slams shut, the bang ricochets through them, through the building and he presses himself as close to Kate as he's ever been. Her eyes flash open, dark, molten chocolate, burnt to a crisp by the fire that ignites between them.

Her hips flare forward, feeling him solid and urgent at the apex of her thighs, tongue drawing a last long line in departure from his kiss.

"God, Castle." Her lips quirk in amusement, delight, surprise, their lips pop apart and Kate Beckett tries to catch her breath, too ragged breathing tearing her chest apart, blanched skin stained pink and wanton.

She stares him down, astounded. Feral.

He should gloat or pass comment, anything, something she'd expect, but he can't. Her eyes search his face and her breath stains his lips with promises she's begging to keep and he still can't. This moment goes beyond expectation and innuendo, tease or flirtation. He almost died tonight and the single, solitary thought, the lone image that flashed before his eyes as the bomb blew apart the robbers, was her.

The woman he loves and almost lost.

Kate Beckett.

He has no words for that.

His own heart hammers, his body aches with want and she's in his arms and under his hands and open, willing, actively dragging him back to her mouth when he's too slow to get there himself.

She's feisty and not the least bit afraid of taking what she desires.

Kate watches his lips as they approach, the too slow descent earning a dirty rip and roll of her hips, her pelvis grinding him hard. She wets her own mouth as she waits, the pink skin turning red, blood drawn to the surface by the dark, delicious swipe of her tongue, taking in every last drop of taste that remains from his kiss, feasting on her own lips. The sexiest thing he's ever seen a woman do.

His thumbs slink beneath the edge of her shirt and he anchors her to the door with his own weight. Hips and thighs driving her hard, trapping her, Kate squirms, not to get away but only to move closer, to feel the heavy shift in muscle spear right through her.

Warmth radiates from her skin and the heat between her thighs is flint and spark to his own reaction. Spurred by the thump of her head when she throws it back, Castle follows the line of her collarbone with his tongue, teeth and mouth working in tandem to mark her flesh.

He nips and she shudders. Bites and her hips flex caught up in a sinful rhythm with his own.

Her eyes glaze when he finds her nipples, both large hands cupping, palms stroking the lace of her bra until the tender nubs have risen and graze a forceful stripe over his lifeline.

"Off." Her breath in his ear makes him jerk, thrust against her, a vicious, rutting grunt of his hips dragging a drawn out, hissed "yessss" from her lips.

Her hands roam up to his hair, his shirt, cup his shoulders, curl around his back to pull him in tight against her, clawing her way closer to his skin.

"Take. It. Off."

Kate squirms, but her eyes find his, hands in tandem as they whip the shirt up and over her head. He can't even look down, drink in the sight of her naked and clinging to him before she takes his mouth again.

Her kiss stings.

He almost died and so did she.

She tastes like rubble and aftershocks, like danger and forever and a million stupid things that he forgets the moment he learns them, absorbed in the heat of her mouth, the hot, wet slide of her tongue.

She climbs him.

Aggravated by her drop in height, her inability to lead, the growl at the back of her throat is almost bitter in annoyance making her kiss fiery. Castle fists a hand in her hair, angles her head back, keeps her from squirming so he can feed from her mouth savagely.

She likes it, loves it. Loves the dominance and the force and the undeniable proof of life she tastes in his kiss.

She shudders and he feels her ankles hook at the backs of his thighs. She might have almost lost him, but he nearly died, he could have died, and the fierce need to feel alive and whole and virile makes him reckless.

He teeth rake at her pulse, nip at her collarbone and the long open vee of her skin is a heaven sent path straight to her breasts. He follows the trail with his tongue, hitches her a little higher, hears the wood scrape at her back and the moan she gives up.

That moan.

That fucking devilish sound that makes him hard.

Castle laves the valley between each bobbing breast, tugs the black lace of her bra a little lower and sucks on her flesh with enough force to bruise. She whimpers and hums his name, her head thrown back and the haphazard curl and fall of her loose hair making her look like a goddess lost in rapture.

But she's everything beautifully human, flawed and broken, fierce and soft everywhere he touches.

He needs to spread her across her sheets, peel away the layers and learn her piece by piece. He wants to trace every curve and valley, slip inside her, wet and warm, map every inch of her skin with his tongue and live forever in her erotic embrace.

"Castle?" Her voice is a quiver, a broken thing drenched with lust and burdened by shared knowledge. He almost died and she did, not that long ago. She died. Her eyes shine too brightly when he looks up, his hands falling from her breasts, back to her face, cupping her cheeks.

They need to chase away those memories, those thoughts, need to pound an undeniable rhythm the universe will hear. They need each other and nothing more.

No walls, no barriers. No more excuses.

They kiss again but slower this time, softer, heat building moment by moment, breath forgotten. Her legs drop until she's back on her feet, wobbling, her fingers slipping between them and working his buttons.

Her hands are hot when she finds skin, palms gliding across his stomach, up and out, removing the material from his body, getting to know him the way Castle pictured himself learning her.

In sync in mind, thought and action.

Her nails rake his muscles, testing his reaction and he tastes, then feels, her smile into their kiss when he jumps. She sets his muscles alive with the electric dance of her hands, the flutter of fingers rough and soft and desperate.

Shirtless, they turn and Kate steps away from her door, walking backwards. Castle follows without question or hesitation, reaching to unzip her jeans, kicking off his shoes and pressing her into the wall just outside her bedroom.

His fingers run the length of her waistband, span the circumference of her curves, measure how easily she'll fit her body with his.

Like predestination. Fate.

Kate sighs into his touch, and the straps of her bra slide down her arms. She smiles at his look of confusion, watching him catch her wrists and bring the underside of her palm up to his mouth.

Castle swipes his tongue over the pads of her fingers, tasting the lingering sweat of her skin before she steps out of his shadow and closer to the bed.

Her nipples are the same rosy red flare as her cheeks but it's the angry scarlet line at her side that catches his attention, the bright dot in the center of her chest that beckons him closer.

He's never seen her scars before, only imagines them alone in his room, in the dark.

Her eyes drop and for a terrified second Castle thinks she's ashamed, embarrassed, only her gaze is focused and she gasps, her hands reaching for him. Confused, Castle follows her stare and sees mottled bruises appearing below his ribs, the finest spindly lines of stupidity in action, prickling each rib like a spiderweb.

He threw himself toward his mother when the bomb exploded, a misguided attempt at chivalry given the fact they weren't ever in danger. Now his ribs ache, not with pain, no comparison in wound to her own, but with the simple yearning to have her touch him.

Her fingertips trace the line from his heart to his nipple, curve below the muscle of his pecs and trail all the way to his navel. In turn he presses the open palm of his hand to her side, to the jagged scar, and immediately she flinches.

Instead of retreating Kate pushes herself into his touch, sighs as the heat radiates over her, permeates her skin. Castle swipes his thumb below her breast, spans her rib cage with both hands and drops his head to the mark left behind by the sniper.

He almost died, and she did, but they're alive now, together, and nothing in the world is more important than that.

Castle kisses her skin, touches his tongue to the puckered mark and closes his eyes. A moment and then it's gone.

He licks a path from her scar to her nipples, takes the erect peak into his mouth and bites at it with his teeth.

"Fuck, Castle. Do that again." She demands her hands scrunching his hair in her fists.

He laughs darkly around the swollen bud, pulls it into his mouth firmly with the dirtiest, dragging suck he can muster and keeps at it until Kate's rocking on the balls of her bare feet, the rasp of her thighs rubbing together a roar in his ears.

Her legs quiver and she hums in satisfaction. His compliance a deception she walks right into.

With his hands on her hips and the recklessness flooding him once more, Castle pushes her toward her bed and orders her back.

"Lay down, Kate."

At the use of her first name her eyes flash up to his, hair spilling around her face in a shameless mess. Her lips pop apart and she steps slowly, her naked chest dancing, breasts lifting as she goes. To his amazement her knees give out when she finds the mattress, insolence prevalent in her gaze but something darker, deeper finding like in him and clinging to it.

She goes and his blood fires through his veins, fireworks and rockets, pounding loud in his ears, the room surrounding him in nothing but the scent of her skin, the faint aroma of her desire rising up, dousing him with every movement.

Her hands shake when she falls flat, lip between her teeth, her eyes never leave him, tracking every movement as though he were a suspect. Criminality of want takes over his hands and he robs her of speech with his first touch.

Her body quivers when he reaches for her jeans.

Castle takes his time, draws them down the length of her legs, trails her silken skin, strokes the back of her knees and the outer edges of her thighs, snicking his fingers under the soft and simple cotton, tugging down her underwear, casting both into a puddle at his feet.

She doesn't speak, barely breathes, yet every exhale is a thunderous roar.

Naked, one hand coils by her chin, the other grips tight to the comforter above her head, Castle takes a step closer and drinks in the vision of her laid out before him. His blood drives south and he feels the tightness of his jeans chafe his erection. His skin rasps for freedom but his mouth fills with saliva and the urge to taste her becomes almost unbearable.

He's seconds away from dropping to his knees and feasting on her when she speaks. Retaliates. Steals his intentions out from under him.

"Now you," Kate lifts her leg, pushes herself back a little, affords him the briefest glimpse between her legs, sweet, wet lips glistening in invitation before her foot drags the length of his thigh. Her toes skim his straining cock, testing his size, and she shudders her approval, tongue darting out to press between her lips. "You, Castle." She demands again, finding her voice, even as his hands slide down and begin to unbutton.

Kate lifts herself on her elbows, blows her hair hotly from her face and watches the slow descent of his zipper, licking at her lips, imagining his taste.

The rasping teeth sound like eternity, her eyes on him make his blood bubble under the surface, strain the already burgeoning weight of his erection to near painful pressure.

When his clothes follow hers to the floor and his cock springs free, arching up towards his stomach, her knuckles white out with the force of her grip on the bed.

Naked, Castle lifts his knee and presses it between her splayed thighs, nudges her to make room for him, legs open and wide apart. He feels her intake of breath at the intimacy of the act ripple through him, coiling tight in his stomach.

"Kate?" His eyes question, unspoken inquiry demanding and her gaze finally flickers up from the sight of his naked body, her cheeks stained red with desire. She makes no apology for staring, her hands rising up and over until she's cupping the rigged muscles of his back, drawing him closer.

She hums his answer, tongue darting out to taste his lobe, nose brushing his, mouth open, biting for a kiss that she groans at the loss of, before she falls back and brings him with her, a smile wide over her lips.

He's missing something and now his detective turns thief and takes unlawful possession of his ability to form sentences. Her hands wraps around his cock and his thrusts into her palm in shock, her dirty, delighted moan fluttering against his lips.

Her body arches beneath him, her fingers low and reaching, sliding over the head of his erection with her thumb and, suddenly, unexpectedly, sheathing him in latex. Her fingers grind, imitation of a slow drag so close to perfect Castle has to push her off.

He links their fingers together and pins their joined hands by her head, allows her to keep the other free when it wraps almost innocently around his neck and urges him down. Her lips open under his on a stuttered gasp and he takes her mouth at the same moment he spreads her wide apart with the pad of his thumb and rolls it over her sopping skin.

Her hips buck and her tongue circles, the jut of her hipbones bruising when they thud into his, narrow and pointed and begging to be bitten. Castle can already see the path his mouth and teeth will leave over her skin, a dirty trail to follow time and again.

He strokes over the burning nub that strains against the surface of his thumb, hard, tiny pulsations that make her whimper into his mouth, cause her nails to cut into his hand.

His eyes close at the heat and soft thud of her heartbeat as it surrounds his fingers, fingers that slide lower, dance, stretch her open and curl inside. She's wet and warm and that scent rises up again, drenches his fingers and the space between them with the bitter spice of sex, and vanilla, cherries, dark chocolate and fucking.

He'll taste it if it kills him.

But she rocks hard against the invasion of his fingers, the two inside that he rolls in waves over her fluttering walls, and the one without that sets a punishing rhythm.

"Cas -tle," Her head slams back and her eyes roll and it's always been sexy, but this, this is life in their connection and completion in the joining of her bodies. Tasting will come later.

Withdrawing his fingers when she's right on the edge Kate's eyes open and never passive, never lacking force or drive she buckles his knee, brings his body hard to the bed and rises up and over him, her hands free and on his chest, mapping the width that seconds before held her captive.

She drinks in the sight of him, throws her hair back and over one shoulder with a haphazard swish that tightens his balls and the thin barrier of latex that engulfs him. She smiles, rests her weight on his hips with one hand and reaches for him, rolling his tip back and forth slow enough to make his vision burn when he forgets to blink.

He will not miss a second of it.

She slips him inside and sinks down slowly, her mouth open and her eyes glazed and the heat that surrounds him hotter than a thousand infernos, more lasting, more brightly burning than anything he's ever felt before. Will ever feel again. Her muscles squeeze and clench and finally relax, trembles quaking through her when he slides deep.

"Kate?"

She nods, smile slow in coming but worth the wait. Just like her.

It blossoms and she tests herself with a leisurely, grounded rotation, a swizzle grip of muscle around him that makes him bark out her name in surprise.

The dark shadows of her bedroom bleed out over her skin and he chases them away with his hands, wet fingers swiping at her nipples so they glisten with her desire, wetter still when she takes his fingers into her mouth before guiding them between her legs.

Her rise and fall is slow, slower than they both need but the feel of him inside, her, everywhere under his hands, too hard to resist.

His kisses her and their mouths barely brush, the build up coming now in thunderous waves, muscles tight each time he leaves her body, tightening inexplicably further still when she sinks back down.

Eyes locking, his hands grip her waist driving her lower, pushing himself deeper, but it's not enough.

Nothing between them and still they need more.

"Closer." Her hissed demand ends on a growl as he flips them, lifts her legs, up and over his shoulders, rakes the back of her thighs with his nails and drives himself back in with ferocity.

She cries out, loud in the dark, fists her hands in his hair and drags his mouth to her own. The taste of him still burns with smoke and danger, but their tongues meet and the thick, driving weight of his cock inside forces the cries of her ecstasy into their kiss.

Knees tight to her chest, she takes him in, pulls him tighter when he goes to retreat and hears the hitch in her own breath when he catches on and pounds that last inch in without restraint.

Their kiss breaks off out of desperation for air, his hands at her hips on the bed, her eyes half closed and losing him to the piston snap of power thrusting hard into her.

It's tight and it burns, muscles stretching raw and sweet, Castle growls and sweat blurs his vision, dropping his head to her chest. He roams her skin, exertion mingling with delight, with the ever increasing build and flare of pleasure sparking up his spine, pooling low in her belly.

He catches her hands by the wrists and they cling, to each other, to life, to everything they almost lost.

Her muscles tighten, clench and ripple, the grind of his pubic bone flint and spark once more and she cascades suddenly through the explosive burst of an orgasm that's been building from the first moment they met.

Lightning crackles behind his eyes, his balls ache, burn and throb with the force of their build up.

She squeezes him tight as her body comes undone, hair a mess around her scrunched face, eyes closed, lip white between her teeth as she holds her breath, before that too explodes out of her, chased free by a litany of oh, fuck, yes, Castle.

The last hold he has on his own control snaps, the next long stroke inside her bursting him apart. His arms give out, chest to chest, he collapses on top of her, his hips still frantic as Castle spurts long and hard and deep inside, making her flinch and cry out, the heat too much, burning, fire consuming them both.

Wrapped up in each other, they throw themselves to the flames, riding wave after wave of pleasure that whites out the existence of everything else.


Afterwards, when the shuddering of her body dies down and his skin begins to cool, Kate rolls closer and brings his arm around her waist. She watches him over her shoulder, innocence belying everything they've done together and that sweet, heart breaking vulnerability back in her eyes.

They glisten, but this time the tears fall. Quiet. She doesn't sob or make a sound but grief and relief leak from her in equal measure and Castle knows all too well the terror she experienced.

He almost died.

He almost lost her not so long ago.

And the great and powerful universe he holds in such high regard is a cruel master more often than not. Tonight they share their burden together and almost holds power over them no longer.

Castle uses the arm around her stomach to pull her close, her back to the warm, solid wall of his chest, one arm beneath her head sliding low to meet the one curled at her belly. He knots their fingers together as she weeps, thumbs her cheek and hums quietly into her hair, that he's here, he's alive and so is she, until he feels her give up, give in, and sleep.

He doesn't. Not for the longest time.


She wakes him in the night with a kiss, crawling into his lap and riding him slowly, sweetly, painstakingly close, no need for affirmation this time. Their eyes stay wide in the dark and no words are ever spoken between them.

He feels the shift when she comes, when he follows moments later, smiles on both their lips.

Nothing will ever be the same again.


Castle and Beckett

After realizing how close they came to losing each other in the bank heist, Beckett drags Castle back to her place and instigates hot, desperate, needy sex followed by tight, I-can't-breath cuddling