A/N: Was inspired by the WriteRCastle's tweet today and this popped out! HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA.
Beckett's just stepping out of the shower when she hears her phone buzzing in the other room, two buzzes, not one – a text message. She grabs her towel off the rack, wrapping it around her body tightly as she squeezes out her hair, hopping on one foot over her pile of discarded clothes as she makes her way through her bedroom and to her bedside table, scooping the phone up off the tabletop.
It's from Castle, of course.
Alexis and Mother are gone until the weekend. Come over for some fireworks? ;)
She groans at the message. This is the man she's dating, the best selling, millionaire writer who uses smiley faces in text messages. She pretends to contemplate his invitation for a moment, keep him on his toes.
Fireworks or "fireworks"?
She already knows the answer, but she likes it when he tells her what he wants to do to her. There's just something about having your favorite writer write things that only you're meant to see. She shivers lightly at the thought, dropping her phone down on the corner of her bed as she steps into her closet, looking for something light to wear. New York in July is stifling, and if she's going to be doing any kind of fireworks, she's not going to want to be wearing a lot of clothes. Or any clothes?
She groans and rubs her hands over her face, already too on edge because of a text message. He's going to ruin her.
Her towel almost falls to the floor when her phone buzzes again, startling her out of her thoughts. She grabs a blue tank top and a pair of jean shorts from her closet before letting herself reach for it.
Come over and find out.
She chews her lip as she regards her phone, already letting her towel drop so she can slide her shorts on.
Are you going to be lighting things on fire?
His reply is instant: Only you.
Stop playing hard to get, I have beer! See you at 8.
She rolls her eyes at her phone like he can see her and turns on her heel to go dry her hair, her tank top already pulled tight across her chest.
It's 8:10 when she shows up at his door, barely knocking before he's yanking it open and pulling her inside with an over enthusiastic hi! and a grin that reaches all the way to his ears. His mouth comes down on hers fast and hard, his hands gripping the sides of her face as he kisses her soundly and then backs away just enough to see her face.
"Hey," she pants, a little out of breath and off kilter after his one man welcoming party, still not quite used to how physical they can be with each other now, how physical he always wants to be with her. She watches as he gives her a once over, eyes trailing slowly up her bare legs, over her stomach, the light swell of her breasts beneath her tank top, and then finally up to her face, framed by her lightly bouncing ponytail.
"I've never seen you in shorts," he says absently, fingers trailing up her back until he's tugging on the end of her hair, tilting her head back just enough to drop another kiss to her lips, this one slower, softer.
She groans lightly as his tongue rolls over her bottom lip, but then he's pulling away, relieving her of the small bag of snacks dangling from her hand. The sound of her footsteps echo loudly in his empty loft as she follows him into the kitchen, and she savors it.
They're completely alone.
"Why didn't you go with Martha and Alexis?" she asks him as she leans her elbows on the counter, watching him throw a few beers and some wrapped up food into a cooler.
He eyeballs her as he works, throwing her that little lopsided smile he loves so much. "More fun here."
"How so?" she asks, thinking about the oppressive heat and thick crowds in the city compared to the spacious, breezy beach awaiting him in the Hamptons.
He finishes packing the cooler, closes it and slides it across the counter as he comes up behind her. She doesn't move, just turns her head toward him slightly, but then he's pressing himself against her back, one hand trailing up the outside of her bare thigh as he leans in against her ear. "You're here," he breathes wickedly, biting at her neck just as he lets a finger dip under one of the legs of her shorts.
He's gone as quickly as he came, leaving her biting her lip to keep down a groan as she watches him strut across his living room. "You coming?" he asks her, looking devilish and oh she's in trouble if he's already got the upper hand like this.
"Isn't that usually my line?"
The private roof terrace of Castle's building is lush, full of flowers and greenery and the perfect view of the cloudless night sky. A prime spot for watching someone else light some fireworks off. Beckett shifts in her little plastic beach chair, stretching out her long legs as she grips the damp neck of her second beer bottle, throwing back a large swig as she lets her other arm glance across Castle's.
"You should wear shorts more often," he says lowly, trailing a singular finger up and down her thigh, drawing goosebumps in its wake.
"You've seen me in nothing, why the fixation on my shorts?"
They both start a little bit at the casual way she says you've seen me in nothing, everything still so new and fresh. Acute. They're really doing this now.
His chair squeaks as he leans closer to her, pressing his nose to her hair as he lets his hand move from her warm, bare skin to the material of her shorts, pressing against her inseam with three bold fingers. "I just like them."
The fingers of her left hand, the one not precariously holding her beer, close sharply on her arm rest as he lets his fingers press down against her, rubbing up and down and up and down until she's swearing out his name.
"I kind of want to leave them on you," he whispers, popping the button at the top with a smooth twist and dragging down the zipper. She can only groan in response as his hand slides down her belly and over her underwear, damp with the evidence of what he's doing to her. Lighting her on fire, as promised.
"I don't think that would work out very well for you," she manages to get out, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth as he moves her underwear to the side, dragging a finger up and circling it perfectly over her. "God."
" – bless America," he laughs into her ear, and then he's catching her Castle with his mouth as he kisses her, stroking her tongue like he's stroking her between her legs, everything just bright and so, so good until she hears the tell tale pop pop overhead and opens her eyes to find lights exploding across the sky.
He drags his fingers out of her at the sight of them, leaving her arching for him, so not done, but then he's hopping out of his chair and dropping to his knees in front of her, tugging her shorts down her thighs.
"Castle what are you – " she starts to ask, but it dies on her lips as he presses his mouth to her bare stomach where her shirt has ridden up, tonguing her like his mouth is somewhere else.
"Lift up," he orders, and she finds herself obeying, head dropping back against her chair to watch the next wave of fireworks overhead as he tugs her hips to the edge of her chair.
The first time he touches her with his mouth, a bright white star bursts directly over them, large tendrils twirling and fizzing out into tiny spirals, feeling altogether like a drugged out dream, a physical manifestation of the intense pressure building up inside of her. He has definitely been planning this all day, and she'd completely roll her eyes at how cheesy it is for them to be doing this as fireworks go off over them if it didn't feel so fucking perfect. She's still got her beer in one hand (miraculously), but her other releases the white knuckled grip she's had on her arm rest to plunge straight into his hair.
He hums against her at her response to him, making her hips arch up, seeking out more friction, more of his tongue, more of that vibration, more of everything, anything and he gives it to her relentlessly. Fingers slide and crook, his tongue flicks, flats, smooths until her naked thighs are all but pressed against his cheeks as three huge sunbursts spread across the black sky, red and yellow and green and purple popping at the edges until she can't take anymore and breaks apart around his mouth, the wide open surface of her eyes acting as glassy little mirrors, reflecting firelight back to the stars.
He finally stops when she yanks his head away, all too much because he will keep going if she doesn't stop him. He looks up at her from between her legs, looking smug and debauched as the fireworks turn his face a rainbow of colors. She lets her thumb trace softly down his cheek, across his lips until he bites it into his mouth, and then she's groaning and throwing back another large gulp of her beer as he laughs around her finger.
"How long – " she tries to say, falters as his wide palms trail up and down her naked thighs. She gestures up at the sky instead and he catches her meaning, how much longer will the fireworks last?
He shrugs though, doesn't know, but then she's dropping her beer and pushing him back to his own chair, straddling him aggressively.
"My turn?" he chokes, grinning at her, hands gripping her thighs until she's unzipping his pants and he's groaning into the hollow of her neck.
God bless America, indeed.