Disclaimer: Same as always folks. Not my characters, I just like putting them in interesting positions.

A/N: Okay so I forgot to clear some things up in the fic I posted yesterday, basically...all my stuff was deleted. This is me reposting each piece.

Early season 5(ish)


The steady stroke of eyeliner across her lid is somewhat satisfying in the early morning exhaustion. She's warm, sleepy, wearing a shirt that doesn't belong to her, a little dopey with it but the thick black line is perfect, sweeping up at the outer corner of her eye. With her hair still a mess, Beckett leans in toward the mirror to check closely, make sure both eyes are even. She knows she's being watched when a low groan and the shuffle of bare feet on tile break the silence.

Her mornings are different with him. The man behind her usually interrupts the routine she's had for years at least once per day. It's a new routine that he's become a part of, integrated himself into. Sometimes it's small, him swiping the tube of toothpaste from her hand or chattering about his ideas for his writing as she puts the finishing touches on her makeup. Sometimes it's a palm settling on her hip and lips against her cheek as she's trying to get dressed and some mornings it's his fingers wrapping around hers to tug her back to bed for five more minutes that turn into twenty when his mouth gets creative.

When an arm snakes around her waist and the prick of stubble rubs against her neck followed by wet open-mouthed kisses, she drops the eyeliner into the sink. She watches him in the mirror, sleep ruffled hair, mouth busy against her skin. It still sends a jolt of arousal between her thighs when those sleepy blue eyes find hers.

"Couldn't find you," he murmurs against her skin as she tilts her head to one side, giving him the access they're both craving.

"Right here, Castle."

"Naked."

"M'not naked. I'm wearing a shirt." One she didn't see a point in buttoning and he's right. She's mostly bare in the mirror, his arm around her waist pressing the fabric to her, exposing one of her breasts.

"My shirt."

"I borrowed it. Didn't think you'd - oh - mind." His hips press against her ass, his hand strokes down her rib cage, and she might be moaning just a little. "Where's your hand going there, bud?"

"I have no idea. Complete mind of its own." He offers a smirk in their reflection and Beckett feels her lips tug in a soft smile. This is why she's stupid in love with him.

"Mm. Let him know he only has ten minutes."

"Noted."

She sincerely doubts it is but still grips the edge of the sink as his fingers trail below her navel in a steady descent, thumb swooping against the crease of her thigh, urging her to open for him and she does. She parts her thighs to give him the green light and drops her head back against his shoulder at the first stroke.

Any fantasies she'd had before they got together have been overruled by the reality of just how talented his hands really are. The dexterity of his fingers as he presses and curls two up inside her has her hips rocking for more and her ten minute stipulation flies straight out the window. He knows when to slide, when to move, when to rub.

His breath is hot on her face, tempting, and she wants his mouth just as much as she wants his fingers to go a little faster, a little deeper. More. Never one to back down from what she wants, Beckett lets her hand drift over his. Her palm against his knuckles, the heel of her hand pressed hard, making him slide his fingers just a bit deeper as she grinds down.

Satisfied with his growl, with the sparks of pleasure tightening her abdomen as he applies pressure to her clit, she clumsily searches for his mouth with her own. Somehow landing his jaw, smudging her lips against the rough stubble, biting his skin when he curls his fingers just right.

His groan and the press of him against her is all the encouragement she needs.

"Kate," he growls and she almost loses it, almost comes that very second as her knees weaken and she has to give up guiding his fingers with her own to grip the counter. It's still new. To hear her name in such a rough tone, one filled with arousal, warning. "That's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

She opens her heavy lidded eyes, unaware of when exactly they slipped shut and is met with her own reflection. Flushed skin, lips parted, hair even messier than when she rolled out of bed, pupils blown wide. And wrapped around her, pressed behind, is Castle. His arm strapped to her torso, his fingers just out of sight curling faster, harder, his palm rough against her clit.

But his eyes are locked on hers, a piercing stormy blue. Determination etched into his brow and the clenching between her thighs quickens. He's right. He's so very right. The second he reaches up with his free hand to pinch and roll her nipple between his fingers, she's flying over the edge. Mouth open on a moan and white knuckled, she comes with his name a mantra in her head.

He kisses her cheek, then her shoulder that's been bared to him as he stills his fingers, slips them out of her to trail back up, over her stomach, up her ribs, over the neglected breast. A glistening trail marking her skin and his ten minutes are up but still a command spills from her lips.

"More."

He wastes no time, she knew he wouldn't. But when she tries to shrug out of the shirt, he stops her when it bunches at her elbows, tells her to leave it be. She does with a nod, never taking her eyes off his in the mirror.

They aren't shy with each other, never really have been. They don't need words or cues to know what the other wants and she leans over the counter before his hand ever presses between her shoulder blades to urge her down.

She watches him strip, bottom lip tucked between her teeth. She's already soaked for him, because of him. Ready and aching to be filled, she grinds back against him as he positions himself at her entrance and in one swift stroke he's buried inside her. The tops of his thighs sealed against the backs of hers and the thick weight of him settled deep.

Last night had been slow, simple and sweet but she wants something else now. Something primal floods her bloodstream, sets fire to her need for him and she's the one who moves first. She pushes back, groaning when he slides just a little deeper.

"Castle," she whimpers as he moves, as he pulls his hips back and thrusts into her.

Castle. More. Faster. Harder.

She doesn't say a word, doesn't need to as he listens to every thought she has. Growling, groaning, muttering her name when she wiggles side to side but he never lets his eyes slip closed. An unspoken agreement between them. Watch. Look at us.

She watches. She watches herself, watches him. Her muscles tightening one by one with every slap of their bodies, every obscene twist of his hips, she can't look away. This is new. They haven't done this.

He's close. His skin flushed, face twisted as if he's holding back, holding on for her. She can't speak, can't tell him to let go, that she'll follow. She opens her mouth and all that comes out is deep moan as he drives into her.

When he leans over her, kisses her shoulder, her back, trailing heated lips over her skin, she reaches for the fingers wrapped around her waist, tugs them free to twine hers through. She holds his hand, keeps him close as he pushes into her one last time. A guttural groan loud in her ear as he spills inside is all it takes to unravel her again.

She comes silently, her lips parted, panting and weak kneed as he collapses against her back, forehead pressed to her shoulder. His breath fans her skin. It takes him several minutes to move. A dull ache starts in her hips and she wonders if there's already bruising from the rough edge of the counter or if it'll take a few hours to purple her skin. Her insides quiver, a pulse between her legs, a clench around him once more and she can't help but grin. Well worth it.

She's beaming at her own reflection before he ever looks up again, and then he's smiling too as he lifts just a little, his arm a tight band beneath her breasts.

"That was more than ten minutes," she pants, out of breath and delirious from the orgasms.

"You gonna cuff me?" They share a chuckle, his becoming a groan when she wiggles back against him.

"Maybe next time." Because there's always a next time. They do this now. They kiss and have amazing sex and somehow the man who used to annoy her to no end became the man she adores.

The man she loves, the one she lets take five more minutes pressed to her back, still inside her because he just doesn't want to move yet. Her mornings are so very different with him around and she's going to keep him.