A/N: Posting this at almost 4am because I wrote it in the wee hours, in the quiet, kind of obsessed with thinking about Castle and Beckett captured in a quiet moment, so it felt right to post it nowwww. Kind of challenged myself to keeping it in that moment, so no dialogue. Just a little something different (in a good way, I hope!).
It's dark and quiet, nighttime blanketing the white sand of the beach and the sprawling roofs of his house, the bedroom around them cast completely in shadow. The clock on his bedside table blinks out a time in the single digits, but she doesn't see it, isn't aware of anything but the way he's cradled between her thighs, hot and solid under her as she rocks leisurely atop him. His tongue is in her mouth, sliding against her own as one of his palms spans her backside, helping her keep her unhurried rhythm, anchoring her to him.
She moans appreciatively into his mouth, a quiet little sound in the stillness of the room, just enough for him to swallow down, just enough to tug a matching sound from deep in his chest, rising to meet her heated body. Both of their eyes are open as she grinds against him, bodies tightly together, rubbing pressing giving taking.
It's never been like this for her.
She's never crawled on top of someone in the middle of the night just to feel connected to them. Even now as she moves, twists, pitches, it's not about racing toward a finish that will numb her, give her that high she's looking for, wear her out, it's about climbing there with him. It's the rush of solving a crime piece by piece, each addition to the murder board earned, grasped, worked out together. She's breathing justice into his mouth now, their bodies partners in his bed just as they are everywhere else. Even his tongue tastes like coffee to her, mixed with the ever-present taste of it in her own mouth, and it's like everything she ever needs right there at her fingertips.
Her thumbs cradle his cheeks as his knees slide up behind her, bumping her back softly as her strokes get longer so she can catch the full length of him, driving her higher. The rustle of sheets sounds like waves against her knees as they grip his sides, over and over again as she kisses him tirelessly and the bubble around them narrows even further, presses in around her even more acutely until they are absolutely everything.
She needs to be tighter on him suddenly, so she spreads her knees wider, lowers her stance, uses a hand to sweep the hair over one side of her head as her mouth hangs open at the change in angle. The friction is perfect and she can feel him watching her face, watching her get off on grinding against him. A choked groan tumbles from her lips as the reality of what they're doing hits her, as it often does in these moments. It's Castle here with her, so completely with her and it makes everything feel so much bigger, like in the context of his presence, everything is enough, everything is just right.
She bites her lip tightly as her hips start to move in circles, as his fingers slide wordlessly between their bodies to help her, not because she is incapable of doing this alone, but because he knows she likes it when he helps, because he likes to make it good for her. And it is, it's so good, so so good as her abdomen catches fire and it's like gasoline running wild, she can't control it once it catches, can't stop the flood of him all the way down to her toes as she buries her face in his neck, keeps moving for him as he tenses, follows her.
The dampness at his neck is irresistible to her as she presses her mouth to it, rearranging herself over him just enough so she can spread out along him, so they can both linger in the moment they've just created. Their bare stomachs rise and fall against each other, panting breaths and then slower, perfect contrasts. She doesn't want to move, doesn't want any space between them and she doesn't know when this became a thing she wanted. Him, in her space unequivocally.
He kisses the crown of her head softly as she relaxes into him, his fingertips dragging up and down her spine in light, soothing patterns. She feels blissful and light, content in a way she's been grasping at uselessly for years and years and here it is, all in this man and this life she's built for herself. These choices she's made. They've made. Everything.
He doesn't make her move. Just drags his fingers through the ends of her hair, untangling it for her, pulls the sheet up over them eventually. She does drift off of him slightly as she starts to fade, body sliding down into the crook of his side, the cool, crisp sheets blissful against her still hot skin. Their legs entangle under the light cover of the sheet as her eyelids get unbearably heavy and slide shut, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks and then he's whispering things in her ear, things he thinks she doesn't remember in the morning, things just for her, but she does remember them, collects them like notes, like the dedications he leaves for her in his books.
One day she'll give them back to him, breathe them against his skin as he drifts beside her, but for now she takes, builds herself up, makes herself ready.
They're strong together, tough. Together together together.
It's this word that echoes around her head as she finally gives in to sleep, their fingers curled together quietly at her hip.
(Maybe this is what she will whisper to him one night in the dark: stronger together.)