Disclaimer: I don't own Castle. Hm. That sounded dirtier than I intended.

A/N: I was in the mood for this - haven't been in much of a writing mood the last few days. Sorry guys. Another post-ep for 'The Squab and The Quail', Hope you enjoy...note the rating guys because I definitely grabbed it by the balls.

She bites it down. Tries not to let her disappointment show and it's so much easier now that her face is half hidden by part of the massage table. The scent of vanilla, the rose petals, it's all romantic and yet she's thinking. She just needs to stop thinking. It doesn't take much, just a press of warm strong fingers into the curve of her spine and she's melting.

A hum spills from her lips, her eyes flutter and she sucks her lip between her teeth. He's always known just how to touch her, make her crazy with need but this is different. She's the only one bare of clothing. He's being sweet and slow and all of her uncomfortable thoughts drift away. His hands. She's always loved his hands and now they're on a mission - pushing, sweeping, massaging her exhausted muscles.

The beginnings of arousal races through her veins, singing in her blood. She sinks, molds, liquifies as his fingers brush over the swell of her ass, digging into one cheek rather roughly. She shifts into him, raising her hips until his hand pulls away. It doesn't matter that she's a little hurt by his lack of knowing - his obvious inability to understand what she meant by her question. Where are we going?

It echoes in her brain, causes her heart to feel heavy and cracked. But her body is still flushing, heating, preparing. She's not about to stop him when she feels his palm rest over the back of her thigh. She lets out a moan. Just the thought of him being so close. One slip of his thumb and he would rub against her, feel the damp heat between her legs.

She shouldn't. She should enjoy this for what it is but her legs part of their own accord. Just a fraction but she knows he notices. The way his hand stops mid knead of her outer thigh. But it's his fault. He's the one who said full body massage. And since he's all up for making her feel good - well, she might as well take advantage.

He falters for only a second before he blatantly ignores the fact that she's growing more aroused. He continues, pressing sharply into the spot just above the back of her knee - chuckling when she jerks. It sends a rush of liquid heat to settle low in her abdomen. She bites her lip, tightens her inner muscles to relieve some of the pressure that's steadily building.

It makes it hotter to think that he's still fully clothed while she's bare before him, languid beneath his touch, and then his thumb is pushing, pressing, molding? - she can't even describe it - into her calf and she's officially a puddle of heat. Burning, blazing, fiery heat that she's sure is making her thighs moist.

Her hair is getting in the way, she can taste it when her tongue darts out to wet her lips and yet she can't move. He's got her paralyzed to anything other than uncomfortably shifting her hips. She blows out a pant of air, hot, and in need. It pushes a strand of pesky hair out of the way for a brief second but then it's back, sticking to her open mouth.

She wonders if this has been his intention the whole time. To get her hot, swollen with want. So goddamn wet for him. She can't even find it within herself to care if it has been. She's enjoying it too much. The way her muscles tense, relax, buzz with his touch. She says not a word, doesn't want to break the spell - the lie - he's cast over them. Everything is fine here, not a thing out of place.

She hears his breathing change, knows this is starting to affect him too. Good. She shouldn't be the only one getting so worked up by a couple well placed strokes of those too talented fingers. It's all heavy stroking, light brushing, quick kneading and then he hits that spot and she's done playing. The arch of her foot, that one little spot right in the middle that has her hips slamming down into the table she's resting on. Nope. Done.

"Castle..." Her voice is breathier - needier - than she likes but it's too late. She can't take it back and try again. It's out there, dancing through the air, crackling with tension and desperation. What this man does to her. What she can do right back to him. It's everything.

She twists, shifts her weight until she's no longer lying on her stomach but sitting up instead. Knocking his hands out of her way, swinging her legs over until they're dangling and she's just staring at him. She sees the protest forming, the lines in his face crinkling as he mentally constructs what she's sure is a misguided attempt at chivalry. She doesn't want it. She wants him.

Just some reassurance. The feel of him, the way he knows when to be rough and when to slow it down, gently piston his hips until she's thrashing. Yeah, she needs that.

"Take off your clothes, Castle." That's better, her voice is back. Smoky and low, everything she knows makes him weak in the knees. He cocks his head to the side, questioning but she give hers a firm shake. "Now."

And then it's a rush of his hands, a zipper sliding down, pants falling to the ground, a shirt next and she gets to watch. Her palms itch to caress but there's time. She hopes there's lots of time. Days. Years. An infinite amount of moments. But she still doesn't know and it bothers her.

She'll choke it down for now, enjoy this because he's so obviously aroused and she's ready for him. She's taking charge, standing, pushing on his shoulders until the backs of his legs hit the mattress and he falls with a bounce. It takes a second, maybe a few, and then she's straddling him, letting the swell of his erection rest between their bodies.

Her mouth is drawn to his, a magnet she's powerless to resist. She doesn't try. Doesn't want to because honestly she's still aching, raw, her chest still stings and this is helping. It shouldn't but it is and she's oddly okay with it. Lips touch, a spark flying towards an open stream of gasoline. The flame ignites - engulfs them - in a clash of teeth and tongue. She loves when he's sweet, when he's loving and easy but she adores his rough and playful side. This - him stroking his tongue over hers as if nothing in the world is more important - is new. It's different.

She likes it. She really likes it and her hips rock to show him just how much. He groans into her, letting her swallow the sound as her fingers find purchase in his hair. Soft. She used to wonder before they were together if it was as soft as it looks. It is. She pulls her mouth from his, blazes a trail of nips and sucks along his jaw.

"M'sorry Kate." She doesn't want his apology. Maybe she did an hour ago but not now. She just wants him to shut up. To stop being so clueless sometimes. She loves him and his dorky inability to pick up on her hints but this is just too much. He's a guy. She gets it. She does. She didn't spell it out. Where are we going? She should've been a little more specific.

So it's not entirely his fault that her heart is a rock in her chest, weighted down and feeling like a burden. Still. She still feels it. She tugs his hair, a little harder than she usually does when he whispers another 'I'm sorry'. She doesn't want it. She knows he didn't purposefully take her for granted. It just happens in relationships. It isn't intentional and it doesn't mean you don't love that person. He grunts, shifts beneath her and she's moaning, gliding over his thighs.

No more. No more teasing. No more waiting. She's been wanting him since he turned her down for that stupid video game. Her teeth scrape over his neck once before she pulls back, lets his hands settle on her breasts. She almost forgets her mission, almost lets the feel of his thumb rubbing over her nipple completely blot out everything. But she doesn't. She gazes at him, lidded eyes almost black with lust as her hand dips between them. She shifts, raises, guides him until he's pressing into her, sliding, stretching as she repositions herself into his lap. Her head drops, hair curtains her face as she stares down at where they're joined. His body meeting hers.

She rocks gently - doesn't lift, doesn't strain just a soft roll of her hips that has her full, almost impaled by him. That's how she feels sometimes. Like he impales her, rips her open, pours into her and leaves her a tangled heap of nothingness. Not always in a literal sense but an emotional one. Now for example, she's lifting her chin, rocking her hips and he's letting her. He isn't pulling her closer. Isn't crushing their bodies together. He's just letting her be and it tears her open, leaves her struggling to catch her breath.

A little faster, a little harder and she moves from watching their bodies to watching his face. The way his brow furrows when she twists to the left, the way it smooths back out in pure ecstasy when she drifts back to the right. Just a figure eight motion that leaves them both panting and his fingers clutching into her skin. Not hard enough to leave marks but just enough to make her lean further into him. She's the one who presses their bodies together, lets her mouth rest just next to his ear so he can hear and feel the hot breath pouring out of her as he thrusts.

She feels his words against her skin, scorched into her clavicle by his the hot press of his lips but it takes her a few seconds to understand. It's mumbled, a broken sentence punctuated by each twist of her hips. A jumbled mess of words drowning in her sighs. She forces herself to quiet, to bite her tongue and glue her lips together so she can listen.

"Kate..." She moans, shivers against him. The way her name sounds when it's falling out of him, something tortured and slathered with a pleasure she knows all too well, it sends a rush of molten lava through her entire body, settles in her core. Makes her body tighten around him. "Everywhere."

She doesn't get it. Doesn't understand but he's clutching her flesh, digging his fingers into her back, her hair, she just feels him over every inch of her body. Maybe that's what he's rambling about. Maybe he feels it too. The way she's over him, hot, slick, a mess of long limbs and silky skin.

"Anywhere." She can't. She just can't make her brain comprehend when he's latching onto the scar between her breasts. Scraping his teeth over it and laving it with his tongue. She's too busy throwing her head back, tilting her hips hard into his. "Everywhere."

"Castle, wha- oh." Those fingers she loves have slipped between them, helping her race towards the edge of the cliff and she's done talking. Nothing more than sighs and breathy moans leave her mouth. A sharp yelp when he bites into her breast - teeth imprinting in the soft tender flesh.

Sweat beads on her skin, makes their coupling easier, bodies sliding, pushing, pulling, grinding together. It's a delicious ache that builds in her. Something that has her eyes fluttering, hips thrusting and taking from him as he gives. She doesn't really know if she's the one sweating or if it's him. Maybe both. Definitely both, his hair is damp in her fingers and she feels so hot.

Her skin is on fire, burning, consuming, engulfed in flames. She feels it crack, sizzle, pop, and she's so very close. A whimper from her lungs, a growl from his and she's gone. A tossed over, limbs tightening, body seizing, earth quaking kind of gone. She can't move - a second of stillness but his aren't stopping and then she's clutching, scraping fingernails down his scalp, over the back of his neck, tearing at the skin of his shoulders as she comes.

Her soul rips apart, shreds and shatters into pieces but then she hears him. Hears her name in that growl that signifies his own release. Feels the way he falters, stops, slowly and roughly thrusts twice more before spilling into her. She loves that. Loves how he sounds, the way he feels. She's struggling, her head coming to rest on his shoulder, her lungs fighting for air and his hands turn soft and ease up her back until he's hugging her, lightly kissing at her cheek.

"Everywhere." She hears him say it again. Still isn't sure what he means. She's too busy being a broken heap quaking against him, muscles spasm, twitch, shake. "We're going everywhere, Kate. Anywhere."

She chokes out his name.

"Rick, I -"

"We work. We make each other better." He's still trying to catch his breath but she loves how he sounds. How his chest heaves with hers. The way his eyes sparkle when he pulls back to look at her. Yeah, she really loves those blue eyes. "We can be anything we want. We can go everywhere, do everything. I love you and if you're with me in this, then you know. You know, Kate."

And just as easily as he ripped her apart, he takes every single piece and puts her back together again. She does. She knows.

a/n: Also, let's take a moment to appreciate the fact that it's Stana's 35th birthday today. :D She's just the greatest. One more thing, it really annoys me that spell check underlines her name every single time I use it. Stana. Stana. Stana. It's not misspelled spell check! It's her name!