A/N: SPOILERS FOR 5.01. For Nancy because weird things make her happy jk jk I luv u. Written at like 4am, so you know what that means cough cough.

She's wearing a see through top and a pair of eyes made liquid, lined in charcoal when he knocks on her door for the first time after.

She had called, invited him over. She had called.

"Booty call?"

His smirk is easy as he leans against her doorframe, leather jacket holding in the heat threatening to combust him from within just at the sight of her. Her bottom lip is already tugged tight between her teeth, eyes roving up and down as she tries to take him in and hold back her laugh all at the same time.

"Why don't you come in first, Casanova."

She's going for annoyed but failing, her amusement and apparent good mood saturating her entire demeanor. He brushes past her as she holds the door open for him, letting his leather clad arm brush her bare one. The click of the deadbolt is sharp, pinging around the roomy front entrance as she locks them inside, just the two of them, alone, together.

The look in her eye is molten as she makes her way toward him in the living room, every step she takes smooth and calculated like a predator. He can't keep his eyes off of her.

She stops just as she reaches him, the toes of her shoes just brushing his as she reaches out to smooth both hands down the lapels of his jacket, looking down his shirt and then back up to his eyes, hers half hidden by a curtain of curly, caramel hair.

"Hey," she whispers, millimeters away from his lips, and it's the single sexiest word he thinks he's ever heard her say because she's basically breathing it into his mouth and he's really already drunk with her.


She sways closer to him, palms sliding from his chest to the sides of his neck, cradling him there as her nose bumps his, but her lips stay frustratingly out of reach.

"You beckoned?" he tries, and then laughs softly at his own accidental joke. "Beckett beckoned, get it?"

He watches her roll her eyes from an inch away, and it's that so familiar gesture that pushes him into action. He can't stand another moment not touching her, so he reaches for her face with both hands and pulls her in, dragging a kiss over her barely parted lips. She sighs into it immediately, fingers tightening around the back of his neck, rising up onto her toes as he feels her stomach brush his softly. It sends tendrils of electricity from his gut to his toes, memories of her arching underneath him the night before so vivid in his mind that it overrides everything else. All he can see is her, all he wants is her.

The searing roll of her tongue over his bottom lip only makes things worse, the way she takes his mouth when he opens it to groan only making him more and more desperate for her. He needs to take off his jacket, he needs to take off her everything, but he can't seem to stop long enough to do anything but keep kissing her over and over and over again.

It's almost like they're dancing in the middle of her living room, her arms still clinging tightly to his neck, but his, his are blazing a path down her sides, brushing the undersides of her breasts like they are magnets to his fingers, circling the tissue paper fabric at her waist as he pulls her closer and closer until friction threatens to burn him alive.

He gasps sharply when one of her hands suddenly moves from his neck to traverse a path down his back because she's using nails and raising goosebumps as she goes, pulling him into her as he does the same. He arches against her stomach, knows she must be able to feel him there, feel what she's doing to him, how she's undoing him in the middle of her living room wearing all of her clothes but she doesn't stop. The long spindly slide of her fingers pause as she reaches the bottom of his shirt, playing under the hem for a moment until she's hooking into one of his belt loops, hanging on as she finally rolls her hips against his. He can feel the tension at her waist, the way she's trying to control herself, but she's failing, finally giving into the rhythm of his body as she sucks at his tongue, as desperate for this as he is.

His left hand finally wiggles its way underneath her shirt, sliding up the warm skin of her back with his full palm, playing at the clasp of her bra, working it undone until a sharp banging sound cuts through the hazy lust permeating his brain.

Beckett freezes under his hands and they both hold their breaths as they strain to listen for the sound again, neither with it enough to have any concept of where it came from or what it was.

The sound comes again – a knock on her door.

"Hey Beckett, it's Ryan!"

They both stare at each other wide eyed until she shoves at him, motioning farther back into the living room.

"Just a second!" she yells toward the door, dragging her fingers over her own lips as she tugs her shirt down, trying to erase any sign of his presence on her body. It makes him growl a little bit, feel possessive. He wants her so, so badly.

As she backs her way toward the door, she levels him with a look, eyes bright but slightly panicked.

"Look normal," she hisses at him.

He nods too many times, reaches out to casually lean against the closest hard surface he can find, immediately slips on his sweaty palm, barely manages to catch himself before he completely face plants on her living room floor. He hops up quickly, wiping his palms on the front of his jeans as he gets straight again and resumes casually looking like he didn't just have his tongue down her throat.

"If that's even possible for you," she mumbles as she finally turns and wraps her hand around the doorknob.

And then Ryan breezes in as his alone time with Beckett breezes out, leaving him slightly more than uncomfortable in his jeans, and her still in that shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination.

(Even if he had seen her naked only the night before.)

It's almost 2am by the time they're alone again. There are guns, a sniper caught, an explosion, and trying to fit back the puzzle pieces of the file coveted by everyone in Beckett's life, but then it's just them again. The boys sent home, the pieces of the file safe, for now, and the two of them standing toe to toe in almost exactly the same spot they had been in that morning.

He shuffles from foot to foot, knowing what he so desperately wants to do, pull her into his arms, but so unsure of how they do this now. Will she let him?

"Don't you dare think of leaving, " she says, voice full with herself, strong, cutting straight through any doubts clouding his mind.

"Wouldn't dream of it." The smile he gives her is soft, and then she's stepping into him, resting her forehead on his collarbone as his hands move to trail up and down her back. She's still wearing that damn tissue paper tshirt.

"Stay," she breathes into his neck, dropping a kiss there in the wake of her words, bringing his blood back to life. He has no uncertainty as to what she is asking.

He reaches down to tilt her chin up to him then, covers her lips with his own, and it's a hard, solid kiss they share, hot and claiming, reigniting the raging fire they had had to hastily put out hours before. He's moaning into it as she stands up to her full height, presses against him from chest to knees, touching touching touching.

"I've been thinking about this all day," she strokes into his mouth with her tongue, twisting the ends of his air in her grip, making his skin tingle.

"Me too."

His palms find their way down her lower back and over the pockets of her black jeans, cupping her sharply and pulling her against him, making her gasp.

"Take these off of me."

She's straining against him as his hands circle around to the front of her jeans, fingers playing at the bare skin of her stomach before releasing the button clasp. The slow drag of the zipper is almost as loud as Beckett's panting breaths against his mouth, and he soaks it all in, collects it as he finds just the right buttons to push.

She almost sobs when he lets his middle finger press inside of the inseam of her jeans, all the way down the front of her soaked underwear. Her own hands start frantically tugging at her pants as he plays with her, a lazy smirk on his face as she cuts him a glare for not following her directions.

Castle watches as she expertly wiggles out of those tight, tight pants she loves so much, finally moves his hand off of her when she has to kneel to pull off her boots. Just as she's tugging the second one free, she tilts her head forward, inadvertently brushing her forehead against the sizeable bulge in the front of his jeans and he sucks in a sharp breath as the room goes completely still.

She of course does not miss a thing.

Her green eyes are almost swamp like as she peers up at him from beneath her thicket of lashes, narrowing at him knowingly. Yanking her pants the rest of the way off, she doesn't break eye contact with him, and also doesn't move to stand up, instead rising up onto her knees on the floor, scraping her nails softly down the front of his thighs. He glances up at her ceiling sharply before he can even stand to look back down at her, kneeling in between his legs the way she is.


"Something wrong, Castle?" she purrs at him, voice dripping sex and all he can look at is her mouth, the way her tongue darts out to lick her lips, the way her throat contracts around her words.

"No?" he manages to strangle out, fisting his hands at his sides to keep from reaching for her.

"Is there something you want? Something I can do for you?" Her voice is hardly more than a whisper as her scraping fingers turn to swirling, inching closer and closer to his zipper until she unexpectedly darts forward with her head and pops open the button of his jeans with her mouth.

Her mouth, god all he can think about is her mouth as she pushes his shirt up enough to drop a hot little kiss just below his belly button.

But before he can answer her, she's rising again, all bare long legs and that damn white tshirt, and she's nudging him back toward the couch. He doesn't know what to do so he just sits down, watches as she chews her lip for a second and then drops back down onto the rug, tucked right between his thighs.

"Have you ever thought about this?" she muses, almost to herself as she lets her palms press up over the tops of his thighs, her thumbs grazing him through two layers of fabric that may as well not even be there at all. He wishes they weren't there but he thinks he could feel her touch through a concrete block for how hot it is.

His head thunks backward onto the cushions before he can answer her, fists pressing tightly into his own eye sockets.

"Yes," he finally manages to croak out, looking down to find her staring at him, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Me too."

His hips rise up of their own volition at her confession, that she's thought about this, getting on her knees for him, putting her mouth on him and oh god he thinks maybe he is in way, way over his head with her, doesn't know if he can handle Kate Beckett in the bedroom at all.

"Do you want me to?" She purses her lips in question, unzipping his pants tooth by tooth as he holds his breath and watches her reach inside and pull him out, handling him like she's made of electricity.

He watches in a daze as she leans forward, lays an open mouthed kiss to the side of him, stealing any remaining breath he possessed. For a master of words, he has absolutely none for how she makes him feel.

"Castle, do you want me to – "

He interrupts her, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips, suddenly overwhelmed with how grateful he is that she is here, that she called him, that she wants him. "Only if you want to," he breathes into her mouth, letting his thumbs stroke up and down her cheeks, inhaling her.

He feels her shiver under his palms.

"I want to." She leans in for one more kiss, fiercely pulling from him until they separate and then she's shoving his chest back against the cushions behind him.

Everything is a hot, wet, sucking vortex of bliss after that, her mouth closing around him slowly and then fast, sucking and dragging, and her tongue oh god if he had known, if he had known what it could do to him he doesn't think he could have survived the last four years at all. She's ruthless, all over him, the nails of the hand not working at his base scratching lightly across the taught skin of his lower stomach, delicious twirls of pain sparking against the pleasure she's expertly extracting with her mouth. It's such a perfect contrast, and of course she does it like this, works into her strengths like she always does, he should have been able to guess.

Everything gets to be too much so quickly, embarrassingly quickly he's pretty sure, but he seems to have almost no control of himself when it comes to her, so he reaches down to cup her cheeks, tugging lightly.

"Kate," he manages to choke out, and he hopes she gets what he's trying to say because his brain is refusing to cooperate. She hums around him one last time, which almost does him in completely, and then her mouth is gone, leaving him on the edge of ruin in its wake.

His eyes are slits as he watches her, no idea what she's about to do until her fingers hook into the waistband of her own underwear, sliding them down and off her legs. She doesn't break eye contact with him for a second as she does it, brazen as ever. He assumes she's going to climb into his lap, but she surprises him, as always, when she leans forward again, teeth glinting through a trademark smirk. This is one he's never seen before though.

She's reaching for him again before he can even try to ask her what she's doing, and he watches wide eyed as she fists her own underwear and then wraps it around his dick. He's still slick with her saliva but there is absolutely no mistaking the dampness of her underwear, how completely turned on she must be by this. The part of his brain still remotely capable of coherent thought sends rapid fire images through his brain of her squeezing her thighs together where he can't see, of her sliding a hand down between her own legs while she touches him, of her moaning around him because this gets her just as hot as it gets him, and then her hand is moving again, up and down and the fabric of her underwear gives this ridiculous friction that has him straining to hold on. He tries though, he really tries to draw it out, this moment, but then she's leaning back in and wrapping her mouth around her own underwear and him and it's instantaneous, the hot stroke of lust that slams through him and he thinks maybe he blacked out a little bit because all he is aware of is the hot pulse between his legs and then the soft, feathery touch of her lips along his neck and then his mouth as his eyelids flutter open. He doesn't even remember closing them.

"Are you okay?" she laughs into his ear, and then he's wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her across his stomach so she's straddling him, catching her little squeak with his mouth.

"You are…" he trails off, truly at a loss for words, which she seems to find adorable, because her forehead is crinkling and she cradles his cheeks in her palms, kissing him softly.

"You can write a book about me later, how about you put that mouth to better use?" She stares right at him as she rotates her hips against his stomach, moaning softly at the friction she's creating for herself, an invitation. A request.

She gasps as he grips her hips and flips her off of him and down onto the couch beside him so he can situate himself between her legs, one of his hands pocketing her ruined underwear as he tucks himself back into his unzipped pants.

He may not be able to find the words for what she makes him feel, but he thinks he may have found another way to show her. They never were ones for big, wordy speeches, everything in subtext, looks, touches. This is their arena, just the two of them, and he swallows the arch of her hips whole, intent and focused on proving to her just how much she means to him.