A/N – A sequel to Waiting Game, if you sort of squint and somehow merge Waiting Game and canon. Don't ruin my story with your logic.:)

Cover Up

A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on. – Winston Churchill

In retrospect, maybe keeping their relationship a secret wasn't such a great idea.

Kate swallows a moan as Castle shoves one hand up her shirt. The other is curled around her butt as he drags her closer, his hips locked to hers, his arousal heavy and thick even through two layers of clothes.

"Oh, god, Castle…"

He rocks into her and her eyes almost roll up in her head. "This is ridiculous." Ridiculous that they are making out behind the stairs in the parking garage. Ridiculous that a day of secret looks and smiles and touches has them so worked up that they can't make it the 50 feet to her car.

"Ridiculously hot." Castle's breath is fast in her ear, his hands almost rough, and maybe she shouldn't have teased him quite so much; shouldn't have done what she did in Gates' office, the thing with her foot. It has clearly pushed him over the edge.

But then his hand slips under her bra and she has to remind herself to breathe; grit her teeth against the sounds that want to come out of her throat, and really, it's fine, the stairs sort of hide them, right?

Her shirt is rucked up, the rough cement of the wall abrading her back, but Kate barely notices because she is achy, hot, and she has to get closer, get to his skin. She yanks his shirt out of his pants, her hands on him finally, and they need to stop, but...

"God, that thing with your foot." Castle's voice is muffled in her neck. "Did someone teach you that?" His thumbs ghost over her nipples and Kate arches into him, the sensation shooting down her spine, bowing her back. "Because I'm sending them a thank-you note."

Kate sucks in a breath, can't force out coherent words, and this is why, this is why they should tell, expose their relationship; so they can act normal at work, show normal affection, instead of surreptitiously teasing each other into a frenzy of want.

Okay, so the teasing is mostly her. But it's not like Castle is complaining, and she loves it; loves seeing how far (not very) she can push him before he explodes. Loves it when he does. Loves that everything between them is deliciously clandestine, that it belongs just to them. That he is just hers.

Kate isn't an idiot. She knows this can't last forever. Soon they will have to tell. Soon they will probably want to tell, but until then there are no knowing looks from co-workers, no snide comments about the research he did for the sex scenes. No paparazzi, no appearing on page six. None of the down side and…

Castle runs his hand down her leg and pulls her closer. The inside of her thigh slides tight against his hips and oh the shift hits her so exactly right that she can't hold in the moan of sheer relief. She's wanted him like this for hours. Hours and years, and now she can have him whenever she wants.

Yeah. It's hard to see the downside to this.

Keeping them a secret? Best. Idea. Ever.

Castle has never been so turned on in his life. It is awesome.

"Are we really doing this?" His breathing is so erratic he can barely get the words out.

Kate answers by licking his neck and makes some sound that is either a hiss of pleasure or shhhh and either way that translates into don't stop and Castle doesn't think he can even if he wanted to.

They are making out in the parking garage! They could get caught! Someone could come out of the elevator any second. And everyone knows that assassins and spies hang out in parking garages, so it's public and dangerous. And hot.

Castle has the absolutely perfect curve of her ass in his hand, her tongue is in his mouth, and she is making these noises, god it makes him crazy, and he's being too rough, too hard, but he's just barely at the edge of control. He grabs her hips, tries to hold her still against the fucking concrete wall, classy, because if she keeps rolling against him like that he is going to seriously embarrass himself.

"Castle, no…" Kate is straining against his hands, trying to align her hips with his, trying for more friction. Her pupils are dilated, her eyes glazed. She is as out of control as he is, and it makes it so much harder makes him so much harder but they have to at least get in the car, and how is it that he is the voice of reason?

Because Kate isn't. The voice of reason. Ever.

It turns out that Kate, otherwise the epitome of responsibility and behavior befitting an adult, is not at all opposed to breaking the law and engaging in lewd public behavior. With him. A lot.

In fact, she is most often the instigator, and the dichotomy between Bad Ass Detective Beckett and a Kate who is so hot for him that she drags him into the third stall of the fourth floor ladies room at 2:17 in the afternoon completely blows his mind.

Castle has envisioned one or two or three hundred Seduction at the Precinct scenarios, and it's hard to grasp that they are actually coming true, especially since Kate has turned the tables on him (on a few memorable occasions, put the table under him) in the best possible way.

More than once it has crossed his mind that he must be in a coma. He will wake up any second and it will turn out that this is all a figment of his imagination. Or perhaps he has fallen into an alternate universe; he has somehow gone through the wardrobe into a very sexy Narnia, because, oh god, he loves her and how did he get so lucky.

Because it is awesome. Awesome

Just yesterday, in the corner of the interrogation room - the lights off and a chair shoved against the doors that only lock from the outside - she'd whispered, her breath hot in his ear, "I knew it would be like this. I knew we wouldn't be able to stop." Her lips had grazed his neck right before she'd sucked his earlobe in her mouth. His head had almost exploded, and that was before she'd unbuttoned his pants.

And then she'd made him lose his mind, all lips and tongue and skin in the dark. By the end he was holding her against the wall, one hand on her bare thigh, the other over her mouth muffling her cries, trying to keep them from being overheard by all of homicide.

Because, honestly. They had locked the door with a fucking chair.

But at least there was a door. Here they are out in the open, exposed; only partially hidden by the stairs. And as aroused as he is because Kate and danger and Kate, as aroused as she is, Castle knows she doesn't really want to get caught. She would be mortified, and in addition to the knowledge that it would kill him to see her that upset, is the horrible suspicion that getting caught would probably mean the end of all this fabulous sex.

So they have to get to the car.

"Kate." She snakes her hand between them and pops the button on this pants, and they have to move right now. "We have to …not right here…"

"Shh, Castle, just let me…" He still has her hips pinned to the wall. She is straining forward, and oh god, somehow his mouth is between her breasts, and did he unbutton her shirt? Her hand is still on his stomach; she isn't even touching him yet, but he is past the point of reason and suddenly the car is totally too far away.

He lets go of her hips; Kate slams against him, her hand slipping down the front of his pants, her slim fingers surrounding him, and then he can't wait, can't stop.

It's too much to ask.

Castle quits trying to pretend that he didn't know all along it would go like this; that he ever had the slightest chance of stopping, not when he is soaked through with love for her. Not when he lives in a constant state of amazement and desperate gratitude that she lets him touch her at all, and really, expecting him to deny her anything ever is ridiculous.

Everything else narrows to nothing, the stairs, the concrete wall, the flickering overhead lights, all of it gone. There is only Kate, surrounding him, consuming him. Her voice is in his ear, pitched low with want, and he can't think. There is only her.

Her hand is down his pants, her shirt unbuttoned, his mouth against her breast as she chokes back a moan. He is lost in her, completely lost. So when a door slams in the stairwell, echoing throughout the garage, it takes him half a second too long to react. They don't stop, don't pull apart to stare at each other, their eyes confused and clouded with urgent desire, until they hear the footsteps, not several stories up, but right above their heads.

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