A/N: SPOILERS for the 502 "Cloudy with a chance of murder" sneak peak. A few things raised questions in my mind and scanning tumblr, a whole lot of perceptive fans agree with me. I decided to play around with the "morning before work" scene. Hope you enjoy!


Castle is temporarily paralyzed after she kisses him and walks away, a smile on her face, caused by him, and did she just breathe "Wow"? His mind was already spinning with the fact that she was letting him help her with this, her morning routine, something she had done, alone, for so many years. Seriously, Kate Beckett was letting him call her sexy and asking for his advice on what to wear? He'd have to somehow slip some more… playful outfits into her closet. See how she reacted. She'd been open to pretty much everything so far. He watches as she prepares to leave, the morning light makes the white of her shirt and her tan skin glow. Suddenly he doesn't want her to go, needs her to stay with him. He can't help but blurt the first thing that comes to mind

"So that's a no to carpooling, then?"

She just rolls her eyes as he knew she would, closes her dresser door and makes for the exit of her room. A little bubble of panic bursts in his chest. Her first day back at work, back at crime scenes, back to interacting with psychos who could at any moment break and try to hurt her next. He's lived with it all for four years, but he'll never get over the worry. Now that they're actually, finally, truly together, he knows he wouldn't survive if anything happened to her, with the full knowledge of all that he'd lost. Once again he finds his mouth opening, words tumbling out.

"Kate, wait!"

She pauses in the doorway but doesn't look back at him.

"I have to ask you something," he says. She turns around with her patented "Really?" look.

"You have to ask NOW?" she inquires.

"It's important!"

"What is it, Castle," she sighs.

"Woah… did you know you're really hot when you're exasperated?"

She just raises her eyebrow and waits.

"I have to ask, because I am, to be honest, rather shocked with you right now."

Her brow furrows in that adorable way.

"Did no one ever teach you how to dress?"

The brows draw even closer together. "Excuse me?"

"Katherine, honestly… a black bra under a white blouse? What kind of message are you trying to convey to your fellow detectives?"

"Castle, someone has been murdered. I don't think anyone is going to notice what colour my bra is. I'll probably be wearing a jacket all day anyways."

"But I'll know! And come on, I don't think you arriving one minute later to the scene is going to make a difference. Please, the faux paus is killing me. It will haunt me all day long."

"Doesn't the thought of my underwear haunt you all day long anyways?"

"Touché," he grins and bows his head. "But still…"

She glares at him for a moment before speaking again. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope."

"And I'm just going to waste more time if I keep arguing?"

"Yep."

She takes a few steps back into her room. "No funny business Castle, I'm serious, we do not have time."

"Nothing funny, I swear! I'm just trying to do you a service, here."

"You've done me plenty of services in the past few weeks," she says slyly, unbuttoning her blouse.

He leers at her. "Hmm, how right you are. But if you don't want funny business can you please not bring stuff like that up?"

"I'll try to contain myself."

Her dry humour and snarky banter only serves to make his heart thud with almost overwhelming love. He was kind of pathetic… and he so okay with that.

"How do you know so much about women's fashion protocol anyway?" she asks. "Don't you usually just rip the stuff off? Or is this another one of your metro things?"

He pretends outrage as he answers. "I'll have you know I am a regular attendee of Fashion Week in Paris. The way we costume ourselves is an integral and telling aspect of the societal and cultural status of modern day man."

"Uh-huh. Right. You don't just go to pick up foreign models."

"If that's what you think, why don't you come with me this year? Those models don't have anything on you."

She looks at him and there's something in her eyes. His throat clogs. Is she actually considering it? Would she actually let him take her to Paris? If anyone had told him a few weeks ago that she would be legitimately considering offers to flit off to Europe, he'd have laughed in their face.

The odd something in her eyes disappears and she's back to her normal self.

"It's not even till next year," she says, dismissing the subject.

By now her shirt is off, tossed over the top of her floor length mirror. Her hands rise up behind her back to undo her bra but he's standing in front of her before she can start.

"I got it," he says quietly.

They're close enough that their breaths mingle in the short space between them, but their bodies aren't quite touching. He can smell the coffee she just sipped from, the coffee he made for her. She hesitates for a moment before letting her arms fall to her sides. He gently slips his arms under hers, reaching behind. His eyes stay locked with hers as he unclasps her bra with professional speed. He extricates his arms from hers and reaches up, placing a finger on top of her left bra strap. Being as careful as he can, he slides it down her arm without ever touching her skin. Her mouth is closed now, pursed, and he can tell she's having to work to keep her breathing even, calm. Beckett's eyes blaze into his as he slides the other strap down. The heat between their bodies is palpable and he wants nothing more than to brush his fingers across her smooth skin, take her in his arms, kiss her until she forgets all about work.

Instead Castle takes a step back from her. She exhales slowly, the warmth of his breath no longer caressing her cheek. He reaches out to her with both hands and finally his eyes leave hers, dropping to her chest. He takes a moment to appreciate the little dark spot on her left breast, a mark his mouth had left the night before. He purposely avoids thinking about the scar she's covered almost perfectly with make-up. Then with a precision that belied his large hands, he gently clasps the edge of each of her bra cups with two fingers. Exerting as little pressure as possible, he draws them away from her skin. His eyes move back to hers as the garment slides soundlessly down her arms, away from her body. He grips it in one hand while they stare at each other. Her mouth works open but no words come out. Then she frowns and breaks eye contact with him, shaking her head a little bit. She clears her throat but her voice is still a bit hoarse when she speaks.

"So if we don't want the fashion gods to strike me down, what am I supposed to wear?"

One side of his mouth curls up into a devious grin. He moves to her dresser, opening the doors wide before pulling out the top drawer.

"I know just the thing," he proclaims. He finds it quickly, her intimates drawer surprisingly organized. He forces himself not to let his eyes wander over the silky, lacy, satiny wonders the drawer holds. No time for that.

"Here we go," he announces, turning around and holding up the item he'd been looking for. His breath catches in his throat. She hasn't moved an inch from where he'd left her, but he thinks she's standing just a little taller. Her shoulders are back a little more so that her chest thrusts out a bit further than normal, not that she needs any help in the perky department. She's looking up at him through a curtain of dark eyelashes, her thick, wavy hair brushing her bare shoulders, cascading down her back. She has a little grin on her face, this little smirk, and he forgets how to breathe. His hungry gaze wanders her naked skin, unable to not notice the way her dusky pink nipples are tight and wanting. He knows his jaw is hanging open, and when he looks back into her eyes he can see her amusement. She's daring him to keep his word.

No funny business.

How he wishes he'd never promised that. How this woman, this detective, this marvel, ever became his he will never understand. But she is his, as he is hers. The power she holds over him is complete. He would in this moment do anything, anything she asked him to. And she knows it. Her brazen confidence, the level of comfort she has in her own sexuality just drives him even crazier. With a deep breath and a somewhat painful gulp, he walks the few steps back to her.

"You have something for me?" she breathes. She's using that voice, and he wants to curse and yell and rail against her hussy witchery. Bad form! He needs to regain the upper hand. Or at least get back to even ground.

"I do," he says in a deep voice. "But that's for after work."

She blinks a little too quickly.

"For now I have this." He holds up the bra he selected, a nude coloured piece that looks plain and normal, but had the silkiest, softest texture. She holds her arms out to the side just a bit, opening up a space for his arms to wind around her. The action causes her chest to thrust out again and he looks down. Maybe if he looks at her enough now, drinks in this perfect, pristine image of her, he won't be as tempted to stare at her when he gets to the crime scene. Hah. Yeah right. He had thought it was hard to control himself before he knew what she actually looked like, how she actually smells and tastes and sounds. He breathes out slowly, deliberately, his hot breath washing over her skin. She shivers, barely detectable, but he knows her now, picks up on the tiniest of details. Little goosebumps spread across her arms and her breasts are practically begging to be touched.

His eyes fall to her left hand, over which he loops one side of the bra. He repeats the move at her other arm and quickly shimmies the straps up and over her shoulders. He reaches out with both hands and grasps the two cups in his hands. He knows there's no way of doing this without evoking some measure of a reaction and finally gives in, cheats a little. He molds the cups to her breasts, lamenting the loss of the sight of her taught arousal but making up for it by squeezing the full flesh, just a little. To make sure the cups were securely fastened, he would tell her if she complained. Not a single word escapes her mouth, only a shaky breath and a soft sigh. His hands reluctantly leave her, brushing lightly over her sides as he wraps his arms around her and finds the edges of the back. His lips brush her forehead as he leans into her, their torsos meeting, flush, for just a moment as he does up the clasp. His hands splay over her skin when he's done, smoothing the back strap before moving down, his fingers brushing her spine, spanning just above her waist.

Her hot breath hits his neck in shaky pants and he has to squeeze his eyes shut, wage a battle with himself to not crush her against him. When he realizes they've been standing there unmoving for how long he doesn't know, he finally pulls back. He takes several steps back and wipes his palms against his pants, slightly embarrassed but not surprised that they were so sweaty. She stares at him for a few moments more before silently turning away and grabbing her blouse off the stand mirror. He takes the opportunity of not being watched to compose himself further. He swears the two of them could light fires with the electricity that always crackled between them. The rustling of her shirt is the only sound in the room as he wonders how they're going to get through the day, together but not allowed to show it, surrounded by the people who could read them frightening accuracy. He knows he's going to be a swooning mess. He just hopes she can keep it together. She probably will. Super Woman had nothing on Kate's crazy powers. He scrubs a hand over his face and wonders if he should have another coffee. It's going to be a long day and they hadn't got much sleep the night before.

Beckett finally turns back to him, fully covered, and he's both mournful and relieved. He almost expects her to send him a barbed comment about wasting more time than they should have, but no jibes escape her lips. She just looks at him with a soft expression, full of warmth and affection and complete acceptance. He loves her too much for words to ever express, no matter how many novels he writes.

He wants to go to her, give her another goodbye kiss but they both know if they get within two feet of each other, clothes will fly. She simply smiles, nods her head, and turns to leave.

"I'll take a cab," he calls after her.

And then she's gone. Trusting him alone in her home. He wonders how much time he should wait before he leaves to meet her. Maybe he has enough time to explore that intimates drawer after all…

The End


Please let me know your thoughts! This darn thing kept me up till past 3am last night; I kept thinking of new lines, new ideas, and having to jot them down in the notepad of my blackberry. Oy. Reviews let me know the lack of sleep (while I'm ill) was worth it! Happy Castle Monday!