AN: Sequel to Never-Gonna-Happen Land – read that first! (Episode reaction pieces to 4x21, "Headhunters.") Because CastleFan1012 asked so nicely.
He stumbles a little when she grazes her teeth against the tendons of his neck, and she giggles, tightens her legs around his waist.
He climbs the stairs with her clinging to him like a koala wrapped around a tree, and carries her closer to her bedroom. She places soft kisses along his jaw line and down his neck while he moves, and he growls in his throat, a low thrum of urgency vibrating off his skin. She can't get enough of the flavor of his skin, a touch of musk and slightly salty against her tongue.
A wave of need washes over her, leaving her drenched and shivering.
At her doorstep he lets her slide down his body, back onto her feet and her knees feel wobbly when she tries to stand up straight.
He's staring at her, his eyes like black diamonds, glimmering in the muted hallway light, asking silent questions. Kate holds his gaze, and reaches behind her to twist the door knob, pushing open the door to her bedroom decisively.
Castle's eyes are still on her, holding her captive with deep, blatant want that mingles with respectful consideration. It makes her stomach flutter, hot and intense, and she reaches up, rests her palm on his cheek in quiet reassurance. Yes I want this. His skin is heated, the slight stubble an enticing rasp against her hand.
His eyes fall closed and he leans his cheek further into her hand, breathing her in. I want you.
Without her heels, she is shorter than him, and so she tilts up, softly grazes his lips with her mouth while she trails her hand over his shoulders, down his arm until she reaches his hand and laces her fingers with his.
Castle blinks open his eyes and she tugs him forward, tugs him with her as she steps through the door.
They are quiet, too quiet as they stand just inside her bedroom, still by the door as if they've grown roots, hands twined together, staring.
There's a sense of wonder in this that won't subside. She wants this, wants him, so much. She's wanted him for a long time and the past weeks have only exacerbated that feeling, making her ache with fear that she might have missed her chance, that she might lose him before they even started.
Part of her still can't believe that she is here, like this, with him, and the small smile on his lips tells her that he feels the same, touched by that same sense of wonder.
Here they are, and they didn't need many words, only needed momentum. She wants to hold on to that, that desperate urgency, that magic between them and so she leaps forward, her arm around his neck as she pushes his back against the door.
His reaction is immediate, like alcohol touched by a flame they are ignited, and his arms go tightly around her waist, pulling her against his body, within the cradle of his legs.
She covers his mouth with hers and he opens to her, unfurls under her touch. Lips and tongues, nips and tugs against pliable skin and she delves inside, explores the ridges and nooks of his mouth.
He meets her, both needy and giving. "I've missed you, Kate," he growls into her open mouth, his hands stretched wide on her back, holding her in place and she whimpers in response. He grazes along her lips with his teeth, follows the trail with his tongue, soft and warm on her skin.
"I've missed you," he murmurs against her jaw, his lips traveling along the line of her chin, then kissing down her neck. "I've missed you, I've missed you."
Kate drops her head back, tilts it sideways, giving his mouth better access while she lets his words wash over her, and he slips over her collarbone, trails his tongue along the dip by the bone. His touch is sure, hot and wet, setting off sparks of fireworks against her skin. Already he is finding just the right spots and she is hanging on to his shoulders for leverage, digging her fingers into his flesh.
"I've…" she tries to grasp for coherent words, pushing them up her throat, "…missed you too," she murmurs.
Suddenly he pulls her tightly against him, one arm around her shoulder blades as he rests his face in the crook of her neck.
"Kate," he mutters, breathing in her skin, his voice almost frantic as he clings to her.
"Shhh," she murmurs calming sounds, twirling her fingers through the soft hair of his nape, "it's okay." She tilts his head up so she can look at him, and his eyes are hooded, his face desperate, almost anxious. Oh Castle.
She places one palm against his cheek, the other on his heart. "I'm here Castle," she reassures, her voice raw, trying to convey all that she hasn't been able to put into words.
"You have me now," she whispers, rests her forehead against his, "you have me."
It's reverent, the way he pulls off her sweater, peels off her bra, takes her in as she stands before him, illuminated only by the soft glow of the lamp on her nightstand. He looks at her face, warm and adoring, and she conveys her silent permission before he even allows his eyes to travel down, perusing her shape. His gaze is worshipping as it trips along her skin, and she tingles from head to toe, heat unfurling low inside of her.
He tilts forward and places a soft kiss between her breasts, on top of the harsh spot that mars her skin and she sways forward, against him. His fingers trail underneath her breast, follow the path of her surgery scar, thin and only slightly raised off her skin now, his touch almost awed as he caresses her.
Her heart is racing, and he rests his palm on top of it, feeling her, breathing her in.
"There's been nobody else," he murmurs, kissing the puckered scar again. Then he rests his chin against her, looks up and she finds his eyes, finds truth, blatant honesty.
"Nobody but you, Kate."
Blood rushes in her ears at the depth of his confession, making her heart flutter. There's a flood of love, the heat of desire washing over her that she can barely contain and her knees buckle from the force of it. She tugs him up by his cheeks, up toward her face, pulling his chest flush against hers.
"Thank you Rick," she whispers against his lips, holding his eyes. Tries to convey the depth of all she is feeling. "For waiting for me."
She always thought it'd be fast, the first time they did this, desperate and explosive, racing to the finish line. Three years of pent-up, unresolved sexual tension, bursting from the seams, tumbling all over the bed. Or against the wall or the door or on the desk.
But there's a reverence, an intensity to this that she thinks shouldn't surprise her, and yet it does, and it's better, it's everything. She feels with all her pores, the lines of her skin almost fuzzy, as if she's floating above the mattress, a limber boneless mass in his arms.
His naked body covers hers as she is laced around him, her legs cradling his hips. She's trying to keep her eyes open, wants to see him; doesn't want to miss a moment of this but every time he moves within her, her eyelids flutter, her back arches, head thrashing on the pillow.
His strokes are long, intense and deep inside of her, and she holds on to him, their fingers clenched tightly together as he brings her higher, climbs with her toward that elusive, mysterious cliff and she wants to draw it out, wants to feel like this forever but it's too much, just too much, and it's him, only him, always him, and so she spirals, white light and dancing sparkles and all her muscles contracting at once.
And he's right there with her, follows her. Like he always does.
She cradles him within her arms, her fingers softly trailing through his hair, loving touches down his cheek while his head rests on her chest; he is trying to catch his breath, and she is breathing just as harshly, her ribs rising and falling rapidly under his cheek.
He is warm and heavy on top of her, holding on to her tightly, and a smile stretches across her cheeks, her brain a giddy jumble of love. One and done, she thinks, feeling elated and happy and at peace, my one and done.
"I love you Rick."