Disclaimer: Is this even necessary at this point?
A/N: Another Saturday means more smut. This Saturday Smut idea might be the greatest thing my brain has ever accidentally coined. This one is a tag to Always. So yes, it's their first night together and how I've pictured it in my head. (and apparently Sav and I have the same brain when it comes to Caskett sex.)
I split it into more than one chapter and I hope it still makes sense when all is said and done.
His hand is warm. He's warm. That's one of the many thoughts racing around in her head as she tugs him towards his bedroom. Her heart pounding and skin tingling. The goosebumps rising on her flesh because she's really here, she's soaked to the bone but she's here with him. She's doing this and he's following, letting her lead the way as she's letting him inside her walls. Watching them crumble to the ground as he steps in close behind her, her eyes stinging again with unshed tears. She's done hiding. Done with trying to keep him at arms length when she just wants to be held, when she just wants him.
And it's flooding in her veins, flowing freely down her spine, settling in a flare of heat between her thighs, this tangle of emotions, of overwhelming awe that this is happening. She's making it happen. He's not exactly an unwilling participant. Crowding in behind her as he closes the door, body bumping into hers, hand pushing the wet tendrils of her hair out of the way as his mouth latches onto her neck. A pulse of warmth against her cold skin, the puff of his breath hot and burning.
She wonders if she's shaking - if he can feel the energy buzzing through her. The excitement, the wonder, the thrill of this. The fact that it's happening, that she's turning in his arms, hands finding the buttons of his shirt as he smothers her mouth in a kiss. God, his lips are soft. Like satin against her own. Smooth and luxurious. Perfect. Just the way she remembers them - no, actually no they aren't. This is better. Way better than any memory she has and the feelings of guilt that accompanied kissing someone other than her boyfriend at the time.
There's no one else here. No one lingering in the back of her mind. No one but him. Castle. It's his hands pushing at her drenched clothing, sneaking beneath her shirt to rest hot and heavy on her sides, skim up to tease along her ribs. One finding the scar, pausing, lips faltering against her own and she realizes what this means for him. This is her, finally letting him in, letting him see all of her and it pushes her forward, makes her drag her mouth along his jaw, down his neck as she works the buttons free, shoving her hands inside as his remain completely still.
She's tired of standing still. She's tired of going nowhere and she lets him know with a whisper of his name into his ear, the pleading in her voice as she tugs the fabric of his shirt down his arms. She wants him moving. She wants him out of his head because she doesn't know what he's thinking right now and that scares her. She wants this. She needs him. And she's the one who steps away, watches as his shirt hits the floor before she reaches toward the hem of her own. He's caught, eyes glued as she raises it over her head, listening to the heavy plop of it as the wet cloth finds a home somewhere near the end of his bed.
She's reaching around for the clasp of her bra - ready to share her scars, herself - when he stops her. A hand wrapping around her waist, fingers closing over hers, nose stroking over her own. She likes this. Being so close to him, feeling his breath on her lips, shivering in his arms as he sighs into her.
"Kate," It's the first thing he's said since her back hit his door and it's her name. Soft, velvet on his tongue, a promise between them. She doesn't know of what but it's a vow of something and that's more than enough to give her courage. To let her fingers fumble with his as she unsnaps the clasp, letting him pull the straps down her arms and she feels almost shy. Almost self conscious because this is Castle. And it should be weird that she's bare from the waist up, that his palm is stroking down from her shoulder, dancing over her collarbone, his eyes following the motion as it settles over her breast and a moan slips passed her lips but it isn't weird at all.
The way her skin tightens at his touch should have her running. The nerve endings firing a crazy array of sensation that shoots straight from the nipple he's brushing his thumb against to the moisture pooling between her legs but she doesn't want to run anymore. She wants to get closer, she wants to be as close as possible. Meld her body into his, feel him inside, and those thoughts used to scare her, make it awkward but it's happening and it isn't awkward at all.
Because she's always known they'd end up here, well she's been hoping. Maybe not quite like this. With so much ache and longing in the air and the threat of this being something he could back out of at any given second but god, she's wanted him for so long. Just his touch, the feel of his hands, the way he kisses. And yeah, she's scared. She's diving in feet first with no way of knowing what waits below. But the way he presses a soft quick kiss to her lips, one hand at her hip and the other drifting to the puckered round scar, makes it worth it. He's worth it.
She's greedy as her hands seek his skin, arms winding around to explore the planes of his back, nails biting into the skin when he dips his head to suck against her pulse point. Something low and throaty claws up from her lungs, expels on a sigh that has him moving, shifting into her, hips meeting hers and making this seem even more real.
She can feel him hesitate, hands skittering to a stop at the button on her pants and she leans back, lets the back of her knees hit the mattress. Her eyes search for his, catch the blue and hold as they darken.
"You gonna help me out of these wet clothes, Castle?" And it's just enough to have his lips quirking up, the spark lighting as he hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband, dragging them down, panties and all in one swift tug.
Now she's a little nervous. A bit unsure or herself because he's staring down at her, not even ashamed of his ogling as she kicks off her shoes, steps out of the uncomfortably soaked material. And she's flushing, her skin pink as it heats because she's not even sure how much of the dampness was from the rain and how much was simply her need to feel him. To have him. To just be with him.
Her feet stumble as she toes out of her socks, making her fall, the mattress catching her and she doesn't want to look up, doesn't want to see if he's laughing so she doesn't. Not yet, not until she hears the rustle of fabric against skin, the way it sounds when it drops and the feel of warm bare flesh against her shins. His body pushing into hers, chest forcing her to lie back against the pillows. It's easy to pull him closer, to twine her legs with his a hum of content as he settles, hips pressed to hers and a solid, hot weight against her stomach.
She doesn't know what he likes, doesn't really know what to do with her hands until he shifts against her, mouth lowering. She watches, heady with arousal as his tongue pokes out between his lips and yes. Yes, that's exactly what she wants. His mouth on her skin and she moans at just the thought of his lips closing over her nipple, mouth sucking and tongue teasing. But he doesn't, he follows his hand, the one against her ribs, the finger tracing over the scar. That's where his mouth lands. Soft, warm, a barely there touch of his tongue that has her squirming, gasping as all the air leaves her lungs.
"Beautiful." A gruff whisper, nothing special but it is to her - has her fingers carding through his hair, closing over his ear and giving a gentle tug. Tears gathering and lump forming, she doesn't want this to be tainted. Doesn't want it to be about her mother's murder or the fact that her body is aching from being tossed around like a ragdoll.
As nice as it feels to have someone touch her, caress her battle wounds in such a way, she just wants to move on. To get away from it. To fall into something bigger than the both of them. She's diving, needs him to dive with her.
She pulls him by his ear and a hand on his jaw, drawing him back up until she can taste his lips. Body rocking into his and mouth opening to let him inside. A slow tangle of tongues, of teeth nipping and she wonders if he's stalling, if he doesn't know what to do and that's why his hands are no longer touching. The frantic pace against the door is gone. Replaced by this man who fumbles. Like he doesn't know which part of her to touch first and when she melts into the pillow, lets her eyes find his, she knows exactly why.
He's learning her. And she's learning him. The way she wraps her fingers around his wrist, slowly forcing his fingers to ghost over her, palm sliding to cup her breast, eyes never leaving hers as she guides his fingers down, rubbing them into her skin, dancing along her abdomen. The way they widen when she lifts her hips, slides both their hands between their bodies until he's stroking through her folds, her eyes slipping shut at the groan that rumbles from his chest.
It's a slow burn, the way he slides his hand against her, the press of it as his body shifts until she can feel him and all she's thinking is how close they are to doing this. Both bare, wounds open, just waiting and he's no longer hesitant. He's the one who abandons her, his hands bracketing her hips and eyes searching hers. She knows what he's asking.
"It's covered. I'm clean." The words are barely out before a slow thrust finally joins them. Walls crumbling to rubble, arms wrapping around, holding close, hands skimming over unknown territory as they rock together.
She's free. He makes her free with every twist of his hips, every push. Each kiss he peppers over her neck, her cheek, landing lazily over her lips, it all makes this too much. And not enough. Thighs trembling, muscles tensing to meet him, to feel the pressure he creates with every inward slide and she doesn't know why they waited. Why she hasn't done this before because he feels so good, his hands, his mouth soft against her own, the way he fills her - so good.
The tangle of energy, of pleasure starts buzzes in her bones, forcing its way up to the surface with every moan he coaxes out of her. The low sounds that vibrate through both of them, slipping from her mouth and into his. She lets it go. The anger, the pain, all of it. Nothing matters right now, nothing but him. Nothing more than the way their bodies fit, the way he trembles beneath her hands, the muscles of his back rippling as he slows his thrusts. Makes her chase, crush him down to her chest and steal his breath.
Castle. It's her writer above her, inside of her, pushing her closer, making her body flutter, spasms that are racing through with every drive of his hips. She thought he'd push her away, that he wouldn't forgive her for the things she said, the way she acted. That they wouldn't get to be here, he wouldn't be kissing her back, naked and pressed as closely as two human beings can get. But they are. They're here.
He's the one. It's always been him and she's admitting it. In this moment with her body preparing itself for the pleasure about to boil over, she's admitting that she loves him back. As his lips skirt over her chin, along her jaw, she's stepping through the rubble, meeting him on the other side as he glides over her, into her, sloppy and uncoordinated, trying to hold himself back. And that's what does her in, has her arching into him as he stills. The sound of her name imprinting into her neck, the strain of his body hard and unforgiving as she follows him over the cliff. Diving. Free falling with him.
It ends. All of it. Everything. Except him. He's still here, face still buried in her neck, hand gripping her hip. And she can feel it in the harsh breaths he's sucking in, lips touching her skin, that he's afraid. She holds him, doesn't say anything as her fingers cradle his head, her other wrapping around him, settling against the small of his back, legs locking to keep him in place.
She gives him this moment to let it all sink in. And she does the same, turning into him, lips at his ear as she thinks of what she could have lost. What she almost didn't get to have because she chose vengeance over him. She almost died and she never would have known what this felt like. To have him so close, to have him take over her thoughts and her body. It's enough to bring the tears back to the surface, to have one slip out as he cautiously turns his head, raising up to meet her gaze. He looks a little lost, unsure and she knows how he feels. Because she has no idea what to say right now - not after letting him inside, letting him break through every last barrier she had.
She's left raw and open and so is he. She parts her lips, wanting to say something as he lifts his hand. Tangles it in her hair, fingers twining around the wet strands just behind her ear, his thumb swiping over her cheek.
"I resigned." It's the first thing out, breaking the silence that's settled. The words forced and too loud in the tacit bubble they've embraced themselves in. And it's not what she wants to say. "I uh -"
"It's not worth it anymore, Castle." She watches him, her eyes wide, begging him to see. To understand. "I want to be here."
The words melt into him, pushed in with a chaste kiss and he seems to like her explanation. Not asking for anything more at the moment and letting a slow easy smile spread over his lips. He looks younger than he has in days and she feels the weight lift from her chest.
"So," And it's the way he raises his eyebrows, looking down at her breasts that has her laughing, making her realize that nothing is different. He's still Castle. "This isn't exactly how I thought this night would go."
"Not even when you invited me for the double feature?" Because she had. She'd thought it over, thought about how she might only make it through half of the first film before her hand mysteriously ended up on his thigh. But then things had become complicated. Words that shouldn't have been said. Things that shouldn't have happened.
"I'm sorry, Castle, I'm sorry that everything -"
"Maybe you could start at the beginning, tell me how you ended up here and soaking wet." She almost makes it into a joke. Almost twists it into something salacious. It would be easy but she doesn't. She owes him this, so she lets him roll away, wincing when he slips out of her to lay on his side. She follows, mimicking the position, a hand resting on his hip. And with an ease she didn't think was possible, she opens her mouth and lets the words out.
a/n: Okay, so basically this is going to be the three rounds they experienced in their first night. In order. First - intense, second - raw, third - playful. It's all been written, I just split it because it ended up being almost 7000 words.