Because it's back and...feelings everywhere! Because it's not mine but I love it.


I'm amazing when you're beside me

I am so much more

...

And I feel your fingers

Pound like thunder

and I am so much more


"Oh, I'm pretty sure I'll think of something." There's a lilt to the end of her sentence, a trace of temptation through the words, like she's planning something or thinking dirty thoughts, and he just can't get over how much he loves this side of her, that he gets to see it.

And then her hand is on him.

And apparently he gets to feel it too.

Squeezing hard, seeking him out with ease and intimate knowledge, confidence in her movements, before she trails his zip.

Fingers firm as she cups the solid length of him through the material, the hot heat of her palm tight around him, gripping him, bringing him to life in a sudden rush of fire and pounding blood.

Evil woman...In the precinct, a living fantasy.

It doesn't take much, a few touches of her devious hands and she has him where she wants him, how she wants him.

Hard and intense under her rhythmic squeezing, with the doors of the elevator still open. She faces away from him with an air of innocence and devilry, a contradiction of emotions in everything and she pulls it off so well.

Pulls him...drags, grips and digs into him, just shy of painful, barely touching, delicious.

She works at the hard lines of his body with her hand. Nails biting through the thick material so vivid in pressure she may as well have him naked under her questing hands.

And he jolts nearly out of skin, blood rushing towards her pulsing fingertips, all of him desperate for her, her claiming of him in her workplace overpowering him.

His heart thudding heavily in his chest, pulsing in his limbs, through the length of his body until he's shuddering with need...bare seconds have passed and she has him rising for her like she's his commanding officer, snapping her fingers - stroking, curling, grinding - to bring him to attention.

He almost barks out a 'yes ma'am' when she presses her hand further underneath him, cups everything, clenches around him.

He sees the corner of her cheek lift as she smiles, pleased with herself when her sudden and intense touching has him lifting up onto his tiptoes, hips thrusting forwards, into her hand as her thumb slowly rotates, her hand releasing and running the length of him.

And suddenly, she's not squeezing so much as stroking anymore, her palm spread wide and flat, a taut brush over tight and rapidly tightening material and it's...taking too damn long for the doors to close.

He rocks into the way she rolls her fingers together, circling and slinking along the expanding length, and she's driving him crazy but he's proud of his body, of hers for making him react like this...of her in general.

Wonderful, gorgeous, clever, confident and in...she's really truly in this with him.

And her eyes are trained on the doors of the elevator as they finally, finally, finally, slide closed, fingers massaging and he waits until the cold rush of metal aligns, sinks together with a gentle thud, his lips lifting, quirking with pleasure at this Kate, the one she gives him glimpses of, the one she unravels brilliantly in front of him.

The one who calmly and methodically goes for what she wants, doesn't take no for an answer.

Then he grasps her wrist, fingers knitting across the tight rise of his skin through the denim, where they touch, where she still clings to him, and he spins her around as she turns into him and forces her back.

Slow steady steps, three of them, that have her pressed with her back against the wall of the now moving elevator.

Her hair falls across one side of her face on the first step as she drops her head forwards, eyes locking on his lips, chest rising fast and frantic with each escaping breath. Her fingers finding purchase and home in one sure movement that leaves her restless hands twitching at his hips.

His hand rises on the second step, sliding past the wave of her hair as it settles over her cheek, cupping her face against the warmth of his palm. His knee falls between her legs, with the steady stride and his thumb traces the line of her lips before he curls the strands of her hair up behind her ear, wanting to see her face.

The third step has her against the wall, lips and eyelids and legs parting as she meets his eyes, the darkness within nothing more than love and fire, so much light, the woman that stands before him looks at him like she's free...or maybe just free in the moment.

"Tease," He breathes, the word like liquid flame and as it licks across her lips she shakes her head, mouths brushing across each other with the slow movement.

"Not a tease," She whispers back huskily, "I am most definitely doing..."

She lets out a squeak of surprise, when he growls her name, her eyes slaming shut as he leans against her fully, thrusting into her hard, popping the button of her coat and sliding his other hand inside, finding her warm and waiting body.

She shivers when his fingers lift the shirt away from her stomach, he could tease her through the material, but he doesn't. Instead he seeks out the quiver of muscle. Knowing she can feel his fingers drum along the line of her ribs as they roam hire, running the length of her bra.

Her breath hitches when his thumbs work in tandem, one over the dividing line of her lips, pressing the skin aside and seeking the wet moisture at the edge of her mouth. The other drags across her nipple, back and forth in ever increasing pressure until the bud rises up against the pad, torturing her even more.

Her body a beautiful traitor in it's reaction to him.

His nose skims hers, fingers moving still, her hands drifting between them to stroke him almost lazily, letting each other get worked up as they drop down another level in the building.

She pants, her ragged breath escaping her chest deliciously painfully and she squeezes herself tight, muscles dancing between her thighs before she slides against his leg, riding him a little heavier, his gasp of surprise and delight her reward.

Mouth opening as her eyes close again, she can feel the hot press of him against her hand, so much harder than before.

It's divine, the feel of him, what she does to him, and she can feel the hot slice of want as it seeps through her clenching muscles, wet against her jeans, the burning heavy thrum of her body making her hips rock, her stomach ache with a tension only he can alleviate...

But not before he makes it ten times worse, makes it hurt so wonderfully as she bows and arches desperate to give in to the mounting swells of pleasure.

Everything thickens between them, desire like glue that binds them together. The tension resolved? Never, it's back, it never left? She doesn't know anything other than it creeps over her skin and screams at her to touch him, let him touch her.

She feels herself swell as he does, thickening muscles, weeping lust, lips clenching in time with her fingers as her teeth press at the tip of her tongue.

He growls, or murmurs against the movement of her fingers, his hand at her cheek angling her face and when she opens her eyes she almost comes apart right there and then. His eyes the deepest blue, full of love and sex and pride...

He's proud of her, maybe in awe and he shouldn't be, he looks at her like she's the most amazing thing he's ever seen. And if she's amazing...what does that make him?

He stands by her side like it's the simplest thing in the world, when she knows it's not, and she catches his hand, not needing it to guide her to his mouth, her lips parting around his as she all but inhales him.

What does it make him?

She drags their connected hands down the length of her body, over the breast he isn't teasing to distraction with the steady slide of his thumb. Down over the curve of her hip, their kiss just smouldering to life. Tongues meeting and greeting, tasting and oh...the hot haven of his mouth...

Beautiful, beautiful.

What does it make him?

She slides their locked digits down between her legs, presses the long curling fingers against her, through the barely there but still too thick denim. His hand lifts and she feels him smile into her kiss, her fingers tighten and the smile widens, hers chasing it.

Both as bad as each other.

And what does it make him?

It makes him hers, wonderfully and wholly hers.

To touch and be touched by.

To love.

To grope in an elevator after an intense meeting with her Captain if she wants...and oh...she wants...

He drags his fingers across the seam, their pulses becoming one mutual beat of pleasure that bathes them both in another wave and when he flattens his hand, spreading his palm and sliding it back so his fingertips brush the cheeks of her ass he groans.

He swallows around her tongue, drags it deeper into his mouth and she knows it's because he can feel the waiting dampness of her desperate body just millimetres above his touch.

Kate feels her hand dart away from his, curling its way around his neck so she can hold him to her, heavy kisses, sloppy and needy and he takes and takes and takes from her lips, dragging everything she has to the surface.

His fingers start to soothe not awaken, almost too gentle in their touch. But he doesn't bring her down from the hefty height of desire, the ledge she sways on precariously. Instead he holds her there, balanced and quaking against him.

It could be in retaliation for what she started, it's not.

She could call him a tease when his hand slides reluctantly out of her shirt and down her stomach, when the hand between her legs doesn't withdraw but just slows, slows, slows and stops.

She could scream into his mouth when he pulls back slow and steady, tongue licking at her lips when he moves away, the burning fire between leaving wisps of smoke at the edge of the kiss, crackles of kindling where they touch, sparks of flame everywhere.

She could, but she won't, as her feet come together and her own hands drift away from him. He steps back, pulling his jacket around him more tightly, hiding what she does to him from the rest of the world.

She won't because he's not a tease and neither is she, as much as he loves calling her one, as much as she loves pretending to be one for him.

It's not a tease or a taunt or a torment with no resolution. It''s a promise, it's the igniting of a flame they will spend the rest of the night stoking to life but never extinguishing.

It's a spark she will capture and cherish and explore for the rest of her suspension, and this, this touching in the elevator is not the worst way to end her day.

She smiles at him as the doors open and she pushes off from the wall.

She flicks her eyes across the enclosed space, takes in the redness of his cheeks, the pitch black luminosity of his eyes, the strong lines of his shoulder, and she can't resist.

"You coming Castle?" She angles her head, lets him see the quirk of her lips before she hides it away, swearing silently to let him find it again later.

He smiles back, cocky and self assured and hers, before he steps aside, waves his hand in front of him and says, "Yes, after you...Kate."