So, the summary says that this chapter was "co-written" with Cora Clavia and shimmeryshine, but, I'm going to be real with all of you here, the two of them did nearly all of the work (because I am slow and lazy and sometimes porn scares me and then I have to run and hide under the table). But now I get to take all the credit, and I kind of am secretly hoping that my entire life will start to work out exactly like this fic has. The part where I get credit for other people's work, that is. Well. The porn part, too.

She's slumped in the passenger seat in a lazy post-coital haze (and really, after her first year of college, this was not a situation she ever expected to be in again) when she notices how tightly Castle's hands are wrapped around the steering wheel, clenched at 10 and 2 like it's his first time driving. The lines of his shoulders are rigid, his back, usually bowed in a casual arc, is ramrod straight, and - oh. She doesn't even try to hide her predatory grin.

Castle, always freakishly in tune with her, must sense the change, because he's suddenly glancing over. He swallows, shifts a little at her look. "What?"

"Now who's tense?" she asks, feeling sated, feeling dangerous. She stretches her arms high above her head, rolls her neck languorously, lets her left palm fall down onto the sleek fabric of his slacks just above his knee.

The noise of the wind is not quite enough to drown out the low growl that rumbles around the back of his throat as he shifts, his quad jumping under her hand. "Not that I don't. Um..." He trails off as she drags her nails lightly upwards. "Driving, Beckett," he finally grits out, the muscles of his throat already working.

"I thought you said you were good at multitasking," she purrs.

She's not - not seriously-

And then her hand is sliding higher, thumb catching on his waistband as her long, sure middle finger ghosts its way up the inseam of his pants, entirely too casual. Her slow drag gains more pressure and his right hand jerks from the steering wheel, attempting to still her but only succeeding in pressing her fingers down harder. The smirk that she tries to hide is overshadowed by his groan.

"You don't want me to help you drive?" she breathes into his ear, and, wow, that is not going to help him drive at all. The sound of creaking leather reaches him as she turns in her seat, her motion limited by the safety belt, but then she's angled towards him, and he's gritting his teeth, clenching the steering wheel with his left hand as he uses his right to pull hers away from his lap. She hums in disapproval. He steadfastly keeps his eyes on the road. Don't look at her. Don't look at those dark eyes, that red mouth, the flush over her cheeks that he just gave her when he put his hand -

"Maybe just hold that thought till we're back home?" he manages, tightening his grip on her hand still as she tries to reach back down. She's leaning over and her breath is hot and thready across his face, crumbling his resolve because she knows exactlyhow to touch him, but this is better, this is safe -

But then she's moving again, and he's only just got time to realize what's happening as she catches his wrist and tugs his hand closer and then his index finger is enveloped in her mouth, hot and wet, and then her tongue swirls and the hard jerk of the steering wheel at the feel of it is the only thing that keeps him from losing it completely. Adrenaline pumps through his veins as a car honks loudly somewhere to their right, and he feels her smiling around his finger as he clumsily tries to navigate back into his own lane. Her lips tighten around his knuckle as she lets him slide over her tongue and out into the cool air. She blows on him lightly, as if he needs any more stimulation, taking a little nip with her teeth before leveling him with a dangerously mischievous grin. He can hardly tear his gaze away from the way she's looking at him, all but climbing over the emergency break and into his lap, and it's all he can do to keep one hand on the wheel instead of reaching to drag her over. He needs more hands.

She has hands though, feels like a hundred hands as she reaches for his lap again, and her fingers are raking up his thigh and sneaking downward and he just can't and it's too much and he needs to drive straight because if a cop pulls him over it's going to be so horribly embarrassing to explain the painfully obvious bulge in his pants (though the evil smirk on her face might be explanation enough) and he's not oh fuck, Kate, not -

Her fingers curl around his zipper and his blood is rushing south so fast, so hot, he half wants her to keep going because she's so fucking sexy but this is so wrong, this is so unsafe.

"Kate." His voice is rough. He swallows hard. "Kate, this isn't a good idea."

Her hand stills (he supposes that's a good thing) and then withdraws (probably also a good thing) and he's taking deep breaths, telling himself just wait, New York isn't so far now, we'll get back to the loft and I can push her up against the kitchen counter -

"Castle." Her voice is low and throaty and smoky and heavy with sex and danger and maybe this isn't - "Pull over."


"Pull the car over."

Does she honestly mean - is she really asking him to -

"Now." His body responds to her command like she's got him across an interrogation table, wheel angling them to the side of the road before he can even really check that the path is clear. He can see her fingers grab for the emergency brake to steady herself, slender fingers wrapping suggestively as he glances down, her eyes darkening at his reaction, but isn't this exactly what she wanted? Him out of control and desperate for her?

The wind stops flicking her hair around the second he jerks the car to a stop, leaving it wild and in her eyes and she looks ravaged except she's the one already advancing on him like she's going to eat him alive. His eyes drop to her mouth at the thought, and he watches her deliberately lick her lips, the moisture that clings there making her tongue look wet and perfect and fuckhe wants to yank her to him, crush her mouth to his, kiss her hard and hot and dirty until he can swallow that filthy smile of hers.

He flicks a glance at her eyes, wide and dark and so dangerous, so feral that it's lethal, and then she's releasing her seat belt, clicking his off, her fingers following the strap across his chest, and he takes a slow breath, because at this rate he is absolutely going to embarrass himself -

"Just relax, Castle." Her whisper is soft, gentle, and it almost helps, really. He manages to suck oxygen into his lungs, his eyes flickering shut, because there is no possible way-

It's so quick. The soft pressure of her fingers on his thigh. The sharp tug as she expertly undoes his zipper. The sudden rush of air leaving his lungs as her hand slips inside. And then she's all over him, her fingers hot and firm and stroking, her mouth a whisper away from his.

She tugs a shallow kiss from him, barely connecting, stealing his breath more than anything as she rests her forehead against his, pulling him free of his pants, letting her thumb drag up and over him.

"How do you want me?" she exhales into his mouth as her fingers start moving again, and he has to deliberately tense his hip muscles so he doesn't completely fly off the seat at her. She's doing this on purpose, this wild, naughty, calculating creature he's somehow gotten lucky enough to call his, she knows just how to press his buttons in every single way imaginable. Words are his domain, but when she's wielding them like this, in his ear, in his mouth, he's certain he'll never be able to write another sentence ever again.

"Castle..." she whispers, letting her tongue slide into his mouth, stroking against his with the same exact rhythm her hand is pumping in his lap. He has to weave his fingers into the back of her hair to pull away from her, tugging a little too sharply as she lets him separate their mouths with an obscene sucking noise that goes straight to his dick. He leaves his fist there, tangled in her hair as his eyes immediately trip to her mouth, he knows what he wants her to do and so does she but she's not moving until he asks.

"I want - I - "

Her finger caresses the tip of him lightly. His eyes roll back, his hand in her hair clenching, his legs cramping painfully. Fuck.

"Say it, Castle."

He can't look at her, can't, just can't. Not when she's like this.

Her soft breath flutters over his cheek. "Do you want me to fellateyou, Castle?"

Fuck. A helpless noise escapes his throat. Her hand is still touchinghim like that.

He shuts his eyes.

"Is that what you want?"

His throat is finally working, producing coherent sound. "Yes."

She smiles, pressing her smug grin against his cheekbone. "Was that so hard?" she asks, twisting her palm just the way he likes it. Hard. Yes.

He doesn't speak then, just uses the grip on her hair to give her a little push, closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the look she shoots him for even trying that. He feels her head drop though, holds his breath as he waits for the feel of her tongue to replace the feel of her fingers, waits for that warm, heavy wetness, but it doesn't come.

"You're not going to watch?" she pouts, breath skirting across the dampness already accumulating at the head of him, making him twitch. He does open his eyes then, watching her under heavy lashes as she glances up at him, so close to where he wants her.

She holds eye contact as she leans in, drops an open mouthed kiss on the underside of him, that first touch of her lips enough to make him groan, his hips jerking involuntarily. Her tongue flicks out, wet and pink and dragging over his painfully aroused flesh and his free hand is clutching desperately at the driver's side door and he's gasping and it's too much, too much, too good -

Her mouth closes around him, lips soft and wet, tongue pressed against him, and then she sucks and he can't help the loud moan that escapes him, his fingers curling tight in her hair as she hollows her cheeks again and again. It's all liquid fire after that, bursts of heat because of her mouth and then her hand is cupping and godis that the back of her throat? He can feel the sharp prick of her nails into his hipbone as he realizes he's trying to rise to meet her rhythm, feels her try to hold him down as she works her magic, and she's so fucking good at this he almost can't believe it.

Her mouth slides off of him with a slow suck then, leaving him aching and wet in the open cab of his Ferrari. "Hold still," she pants, out of breath from having him in her mouth and oh god oh godhe has to grip the door even harder because even thinking about what she's doing to him is almost too much at this point.

"Beckett, I'm -" he starts to say, but she presses a hand up to his mouth to quiet him, levels him with a dark look, a smoldering look, and even just her fingers on his lips is suddenly so erotic that his mouth gets dry and fuckthis is such a reckless, stupid -

And then she leans back in and his mouth opens on a soundless moan as her lips take him again. She works him harder this time, tongue curling over the tip of him, and he throws his head back, body clenching as she sucks firmly, fingers tracing over him, rhythm getting steadier and faster and fuck he can't stop the shit incoherent noises from escaping his throat as fuck her head is bobbing up and down in his lap and he's clutching at her hair, the door, the steering wheel, anything, and the ache is unbearable and tightening and fuck and oh fuck and she just keeps sucking and oh fuck he just can't - ahh.

Stars burst behind his tightly squeezed eyelids as he finally gives in, feels her grunt softly around his length, a dirty hot rush of pure bliss spilling from him and into her mouth because she doesn't stop, only goes and goes and then he can feel her swallowing around him and he thinks he breathes her name like a prayer to the sky above because godhe really does completely fucking worship her.

The leather at his ear creaks softly as his head lolls back against the headrest, eyes blinking up at the starry night as he sits completely still, just feeling her. She's being gentle now, enough that it snags in his throat because whenever they do this it's never just sex and he suddenly has the completely overwhelming urge to grab her and just kiss her.

So he does, grab her, putting his palms on both of her cheeks and pulling her right up to his mouth, kissing her soundly until she disengages, breathing shakily into the scant space between their lips.

"Hey," she laughs breathily, pressing her hand to his cheek gently, and her palm is warm and sweaty and it's because of thisand he's still having trouble breathing.

"You." He kisses her again, teeth tugging lightly at her bottom lip. "You're unbelievable."

Her fingers tangle with his as she kisses him back, the frantic need gone, replaced by this warm glow that's softer and relaxed and so sated."You like that?"

He groans, still slumped in his seat. "Just. Unbelievable."

She rests her forehead against his shoulder, her hair spilling over his chest, and it's so peaceful, so oddly sweet, his heart twists hard in his sternum because it's all of her, never just one thing, just - it's perfect. It's all perfect.

"You think we should head back?" she asks after a moment.

He chuckles weakly, manages to tuck himself back into his pants, sets one hand on the wheel while he looks around. Lucky no police drove by. "Yeah."

She hums low in her throat, eyes dancing. "You know, I really love this car."

He turns the key in the ignition, grins at her. "Just the car?"