It was just an average Friday night at the Castle loft. Rick was searching for food, Alexis was sleeping over at Page's Martha was at Chet's and Kate Beckett was reading a book on the sofa.
Okay, so, maybe that part wasn't too average, but seeing as Kate was living here until she found an apartment that hadn't been reduced to ashes, this was home. And being Kate, she was reading. Sure there was no warm bath and no glass of wine, but she had company and (no matter how much they bickered) Castle's company was preferred to being alone…well, until her decided to interrupt her in the middle of her last page.
"What are you doing!" He exclaimed.
"I'm reading a book, Castle, what does it look like I'm doing?"
"You're reading the 9th Judgment!"
"Exactly, it's a book," she brushed it aside. What was with him?
"It's a Patterson book!"
She sighs and closes the novel, knowing she's not going to get anywhere. "So?"
"He's the enemy!" Castle exclaims as he shuts the refrigerator and leans against it. "The completion!"
Kate frowns in confusion, her brow furrowing in the process. "I thought you two were poker buddies."
"So what's the problem?" Kate drags herself off of the leather couch and into the Castle kitchen. She's been living here for two weeks; it's evident in the way she leaves the book on the coffee table, tosses her blanket aside, and jumps up on the kitchen counter.
"Remember how you were jealous of me building theory with Jordan?"
"I was not jealous of her—" she tried to defend.
"Now you know how I feel!"
Kate smirked. "So let me get this straight, you're jealous…of a book?"
"This is not funny!"
She burst into laughter. "Castle, this is very funny."
"No it's not, next thing you know you're going to fall in love with his work, and have him start tailing you around, and you'll forget that I even exist!"
She stopped laughing. "What are you more worried about, me replacing you, or forgetting you?"
"Well, both, obviously."
She rolled her eyes. "Castle," she has to think about her words for a moment before she settles on the ones she needs. "you're my best friend. You don't have to worry about me replacing you. Not to mention this book was his crappiest one yet….Patterson's lost his touch. You are without a doubt the better writer."
The combination of these words brought what could only be described as a shit eating grin to his face. "Seriously?" Rick Castle, though over confident and cocky as he may seem, had never heard these words come from the dear detective's mouth.
"Seriously," she vowed as she hopped off of the counter, making her way over to him.
Oh, how the writer wanted to say something to convey his feelings, and yet the words refused to come.
"Besides, there's another thing you have over him," she pointed out as she stepped into his personal space—wasn't that how all of their conversations ended?
"And what would that be?"
Kate bit her lip for a second, pretending to debate telling him or not.
"Please, Beckett? Come on, don't leave me hanging," he pleaded.
Kate inwardly smirked to herself. She could have some fun with this… "I don't know Castle," she purred, slipping her hands around his neck. "Are you sure you want to know?"
The novelist—master of words—only swallowed harshly and nodded his head.
He was backed up against the refrigerator, and her entire body was pinning him there. He couldn't move if he wanted to. That wasn't the problem, because, frankly, Rick was enjoying being in this position much more that he should've—which was exactly what Kate had been aiming for.
One second Kate was looking into his eyes, as though she was trying to make a decision, the next she was kissing him
She was kissing him. It took a moment for this to register in his head. Her hands were tangled in his hair, his hands were on her hips, and holy shit. He was kissing Kate Beckett.
Kate smiled against his lips. He tried to ask her why, but all that came out was a groan as her tongue caressed his lip. She took advantage of the situation, her tongue was dueling against his a second later. Naturally, she was winning.
His hands slipped under her shirt. His index finger had hardly brushed against her flat stomach when he heard squeak and felt her sharp intake of breath and she pulled her stomach in. He chuckled, his fingers tracing patterns into her sensitive skin. She squirmed, and grinded her hips into his in the process. Rick groaned. This woman was trying to kill him. He was still in sneakers, whereas she was in socks. With this little fact tucked in the back of his mind, he managed to spin her around and pin her against the fridge; her socks slid gracefully, his Nike's kept their footing.
Kate's eyes widened as she felt her body pressed against the cool metal door, she shivered, Castle had her shirt up enough that the fridge's icy touch covered her lower back. This hadn't been her plan. Damn, she thought, he is good. She pulled her hands out of his hair, raking them down his chest at a dangerously slow pace. When she finally found the hem of his t-shirt she grasped it and pulled the article over his head, returned her lips to his, and tossed the shirt onto floor. She tangled her hands back into his hair, refusing to release her hold on him, except for desperately needed oxygen breaks. She was hyperaware of the fact that things were getting a little out of hand, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She just wanted to stay in control.
Despite her protests, Rick pulled away. Kate opened her mouth to say something more intelligible than the whimper that had just escaped her lips. Her words were cut off by a gasp as he started kissing her neck. His hands found their way up the back of her shirt, continuing to form patterns over her skin until he delicately pulled it off—gauging her reaction, she assumed—and dropping the t-shirt on top of his own.
Seeing as he was a little preoccupied, Kate helped him kick off his shoes before successfully copying his earlier maneuver and pressing him back against the cold door. She guided his lips back to hers, slid her tongue between his lips and pressed him even tighter to the refrigerator behind them, emphasis on his hips. She could feel how much he was enjoying this. Struggling to fight the stupor threatening to cloud her mind, she threaded her foot between his legs, delicately spreading them apart until her thigh was between his. She pressed against him just a little harder before pulling away completely and stepping out of his personal space, leaving the writer slumped against the silver appliance, panting, shirtless, and desire shimmering in his electric blue eyes.
She leaned in to whisper in his ear, making sure her warm breath hit all the right spots. "That is something I would only do with my favorite author," her voice was husky, whether from emotion or lack of breath, Castle wasn't sure.
He just stared at her, soaking in everything. The fact that she was standing in his kitchen in socks, jeans, her bra and her mother's ring around her neck was impossible not to soak in. Throw in her swollen lips, messed up hair and the way her chest heaved as she gasped for breath and you had what was without a doubt the sexiest thing he had even seen in his life.
And just like that, she turned on her heel and sauntered upstairs in the direction of (what was currently) her room. He stared at her with his mouth on the ground, unable to resist watching the familiar sashay of her hips.
She paused at the top of the steps. "Get your jaw off the floor Castle," she called over her shoulder with a smirk before disappearing down the hallway.
He just slumped against the fridge until he found the ground, still staring in her general direction. What the hell just happened?