Bachelorette Number 41319 [Castle/Beckett]
bachelorette number 41319
“Is it okay for me to put my hand under your dress if you’re not my girlfriend?”
castle/beckett - nc-17
a/n: Set during 2.14 - The Third Man, when Castle and Beckett leave their respective dates to go solve some crime. Except, in my head they took a little detour first. For Nancy because she harassed me until I wrote this and also because I love her.
A writer’s brain never stops imagining, creating, spinning scenarios of what if and where how why, but even his brain, his multimillion dollar mystery writer brain, full of murder and mystery and tawdriness has failed to deliver this particular scene to him in advance. Perhaps that’s why he’s currently slack jawed, grasping onto the wall of a public restroom in a five star restaurant as Kate Beckett kneels on the tops of his shoes, quick fingers yanking down his zipper.
He starts to ask what but it dies in his throat because she looks determined and he really, actually does not want to distract her. What is distracting him, though, is the small black cell phone she’s still cradling in the hand not insinuating itself down the front of his pants, speaker up.
She’s still on hold with Esposito, fuck.
“Are you going to hang that up?” he manages to choke out as she wraps her entire palm around the front of his boxers, flicking her eyes up to his.
“No.”
Okay. “What if he picks uhhhhhp?” The end of his sentence trails off as she truly gets a hold on him, pulls him out, then spits on her own palm. Oh god.
“Then you should be quiet, don’t you think?” She’s sassing him, trademark deadpan cutting him to the quick even when she’s on her knees, and then he’s biting his own fist to keep from groaning aloud as her hot mouth closes over him. Her movements are precise, practiced, almost too much already, and he can’t help but think she’s trying to prove something.
“Beckett,” he growls when she twirls her tongue and her hand in almost the exact same way, and then she’s gazing up at him, from between his legs, and all he can see is the long train of his purple tie leading right down to her purple eye shadow, a perfect segue from him to her, too perfect coupled with the way she’s undoing him with her mouth and he needs her to just stop for a minute. His right hand leaves the wall and tries to slide into the back of her hair, but she’s got it up and curled so he can’t quite get a grip on her, which is fine because the second he touches that updo she’s flinching back from him with a pop.
“If you mess up my hair, I will kill you,” she threatens, panting a little bit.
He’s had about as much as he can take of her mouth, both literally and figuratively, she’s the one who dragged him into the bathroom by his tie, she’s the one who started making sexual advances at him while their dates wait for them in the dining room, and he just needs to know what the hell is going on.
“I’d be bad if your date noticed you’d been sucking me off in the bathroom since you’re not my girlfriend,” he says exasperatedly, but oh doesn’t that do it, because instead of giving him a second to think, she’s up and rounding on him like she’s ready to pounce.
“That’s right Castle, I’m not your girlfriend.” She looks murderous, lips pink and shiny, pupils black and blown, her hand squeezing him once, hard, before releasing him all together. “Not that anyone in New York City believes that now, after that stupid article.”
He tucks himself back into his pants as much as he can, watching her face. “Since when do you care what everyone else thinks of you?”
Her eyes flash at that, because she usually doesn’t but for some reason this time she does.
“What did you say to make them think that?” Her voice is even, careful. She doesn’t care what everyone thinks of her, she cares about what he thinks of her. Oh.
“I swear I didn’t,” he starts, but she flinches back a little bit and he knows it was the wrong thing to say, the wrong way to start. “I didn’t talk about how big of a fan you are or how hot you are or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.” He turns them a little bit so that she’s the one leaning her shoulder against the wall, slumping slightly as he lets one of his hands come up to press into her hair, tilting her chin enough for her to look him in the eye. “I think I was bragging about you.” He puts on his best sheepish half smile because they don’t usually talk like this, in sincere compliments and main text not subtext, but he wants to reassure her.
“Oh yeah?” She reaches up to finger his tie and he steps closer to her, pressing her body softly against the wall at her back.
“Yeah. Beckett, do you think I’d bother with any of these other women if I could have someone like you?” It’s more than he means to say, but he sees it sink into her, sees that she might believe it.
“You know I’m not a number on a list, Castle.” She says it like it’s a shortcoming, like he doesn’t know what he would be getting into, like he hasn’t been around her enough now to know exactly what he would be getting into. Like he even has a choice in the matter, like he can control the way he feels about her now.
“I hate lists anyway,” he breathes into her cheek as he lets his nose graze her there, lips barely connecting with the blush she’s sporting. “I wasn’t even number one, so what do they know.”
She laughs a little bit under him, arching away from the wall enough to make him painfully aware of how open his pants are.
“So do you want to be my girlfriend, detective?” he whispers in her ear, biting down just enough to elicit a hiss from her, but then she’s up on her toes, her mouth brushing his ear.
“No.”
He opens his mouth to protest, pulling back far enough to trail his eyes over the smirk on her face, but then she’s wrapping her fist around him again and a thick groan tumbles out from his chest.
“We’re not fifteen Castle, I’m not gonna hold your hand and go with you to the school dance.”
“Okay, I’d rather you hold my - ”
She interrupts him with her mouth, hot and insistent against his, tongue matching the strokes of her hand until Esposito’s voice sounds shrilly at his elbow. Castle jerks back from her as she removes her other hand from between them, pressing the phone to her ear.
“Yeah?” she says, nonchalant, like she’s not in the middle of rounding third base with her not-boyfriend-partner when they’re supposed to be working or dating other people or something that doesn’t involve a locked bathroom and hands in naughty places. She’s shooting him bedroom eyes, and if she thinks it’s fair game to do this to him when he can’t say a word, he’s up for some turnabout.
He knows Espo is rattling off some semi important case developments that Beckett should probably be listening to, but he can’t help the way he widens his stance a little bit, dips his head down so his lips can wrap around the delicately thumping pulse moving against the smooth skin of her neck. She squeezes his shirt inside of his jacket in warning, but he’s not looking at her, just tasting her, using his tongue and his teeth and his lips to make his way along the collarbone bared by her swooping red dress. He can feel her pressing her back against the wall, trying to get away from him on purpose or by instinct, he doesn’t know, but it’s the way she’s all but holding her breath, gripping his shirt without pushing, that makes him keep going.
“Is it okay for me to put my hand under your dress if you’re not my girlfriend?” he asks directly against the ear not currently pressed to her phone and feels her shudder under him.
“Yes…I am,” she says into the receiver probably, but Castle runs with it, letting his entire broad, flat palm slide up the inside of her left thigh. “No,” she gasps, and then “no, I mean, yes I can after dinner.” She physically moves the phone away from her mouth as his fingers reach the warm, damp cloth between her legs, pressing two firm fingers to the front of her underwear. “Oh my god, stop,” she swears at him, reaching down to tug his wrist from under her dress. “Let me call you back after dinner,” she finally squeaks into the phone as she thumbs it off, tossing it onto the counter next to them.
“Are you kidding me?”
“What? You said yes,” he mumbles into her neck, and then her mouth, as he shakes off her wrist and continues on his way under her dress. He waits then, to see how long she’ll let this go on, how far she’ll let him push. It’s pretty obvious to him that it’s been a while for her, her body’s responses to him eager and on edge, she wants this as much as he does. It’s her call though, and he waits for her instruction, as always.
“Are we really doing this in a bathroom?” she breathes, gripping the back of his head as he moves aside her underwear, pressing his fingers against slick, slippery skin.
“Do you want to go somewhere else?”
“No.”
“Do you want to stop?”
“No. Do you?”
Castle catches her eyes for a beat and then slides his hands down to hoist her up by the thighs. “No.”
“Then hurry up.” He swallows the words right out of her mouth, crushing her to the wall and against him as he pushes up her dress, loose enough to slide right up her torso without any issue. Her hands are in between them in a second, and then he’s pressing into her, enveloped in wet hot heat and then she’s moving, groaning, grabbing him by the ears, the shoulders, his hair until he drives her into the wall one last time and she breaks with a tight grind against his pelvis, shivering hard against him as she comes. He’s right behind her, mouth at her ear as she squeezes around him and pants out his name into the miniscule space between them.
They both stagger upright as he lets her slide down the wall, damp clothes sticking to rapidly cooling skin. Neither of them even removed a single item of clothing. He rights himself as she readjusts her dress, pats a hand over her hair, regards herself in the mirror. “I’m going to just need a minute,” she says, gesturing toward the stalls and he nods, running a hand through his hair.
“Of course.” He takes a step back to leave, give her some space, but it feels wrong to just leave, especially when he has no idea what just happened here, what it means, so he takes another step toward her, places his open palm gently against the shoulder blade left bare by her dress.
“Go get rid of that blonde and meet me by my car,” she says before he has a chance to say anything, making a grin split wide across his face.
“Detective that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” She snorts as he covers his heart with both hands, leaning back against the door.
“Too bad I’m not your girlfriend,” she says, leaning coyly against the countertop by the sink.
“Too bad.”
He’s grinning as he pushes out the door, twirling his own purple tie.
“Is it okay for me to put my hand under your dress if you’re not my girlfriend?”
castle/beckett - nc-17
a/n: Set during 2.14 - The Third Man, when Castle and Beckett leave their respective dates to go solve some crime. Except, in my head they took a little detour first. For Nancy because she harassed me until I wrote this and also because I love her.
A writer’s brain never stops imagining, creating, spinning scenarios of what if and where how why, but even his brain, his multimillion dollar mystery writer brain, full of murder and mystery and tawdriness has failed to deliver this particular scene to him in advance. Perhaps that’s why he’s currently slack jawed, grasping onto the wall of a public restroom in a five star restaurant as Kate Beckett kneels on the tops of his shoes, quick fingers yanking down his zipper.
He starts to ask what but it dies in his throat because she looks determined and he really, actually does not want to distract her. What is distracting him, though, is the small black cell phone she’s still cradling in the hand not insinuating itself down the front of his pants, speaker up.
She’s still on hold with Esposito, fuck.
“Are you going to hang that up?” he manages to choke out as she wraps her entire palm around the front of his boxers, flicking her eyes up to his.
“No.”
Okay. “What if he picks uhhhhhp?” The end of his sentence trails off as she truly gets a hold on him, pulls him out, then spits on her own palm. Oh god.
“Then you should be quiet, don’t you think?” She’s sassing him, trademark deadpan cutting him to the quick even when she’s on her knees, and then he’s biting his own fist to keep from groaning aloud as her hot mouth closes over him. Her movements are precise, practiced, almost too much already, and he can’t help but think she’s trying to prove something.
“Beckett,” he growls when she twirls her tongue and her hand in almost the exact same way, and then she’s gazing up at him, from between his legs, and all he can see is the long train of his purple tie leading right down to her purple eye shadow, a perfect segue from him to her, too perfect coupled with the way she’s undoing him with her mouth and he needs her to just stop for a minute. His right hand leaves the wall and tries to slide into the back of her hair, but she’s got it up and curled so he can’t quite get a grip on her, which is fine because the second he touches that updo she’s flinching back from him with a pop.
“If you mess up my hair, I will kill you,” she threatens, panting a little bit.
He’s had about as much as he can take of her mouth, both literally and figuratively, she’s the one who dragged him into the bathroom by his tie, she’s the one who started making sexual advances at him while their dates wait for them in the dining room, and he just needs to know what the hell is going on.
“I’d be bad if your date noticed you’d been sucking me off in the bathroom since you’re not my girlfriend,” he says exasperatedly, but oh doesn’t that do it, because instead of giving him a second to think, she’s up and rounding on him like she’s ready to pounce.
“That’s right Castle, I’m not your girlfriend.” She looks murderous, lips pink and shiny, pupils black and blown, her hand squeezing him once, hard, before releasing him all together. “Not that anyone in New York City believes that now, after that stupid article.”
He tucks himself back into his pants as much as he can, watching her face. “Since when do you care what everyone else thinks of you?”
Her eyes flash at that, because she usually doesn’t but for some reason this time she does.
“What did you say to make them think that?” Her voice is even, careful. She doesn’t care what everyone thinks of her, she cares about what he thinks of her. Oh.
“I swear I didn’t,” he starts, but she flinches back a little bit and he knows it was the wrong thing to say, the wrong way to start. “I didn’t talk about how big of a fan you are or how hot you are or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.” He turns them a little bit so that she’s the one leaning her shoulder against the wall, slumping slightly as he lets one of his hands come up to press into her hair, tilting her chin enough for her to look him in the eye. “I think I was bragging about you.” He puts on his best sheepish half smile because they don’t usually talk like this, in sincere compliments and main text not subtext, but he wants to reassure her.
“Oh yeah?” She reaches up to finger his tie and he steps closer to her, pressing her body softly against the wall at her back.
“Yeah. Beckett, do you think I’d bother with any of these other women if I could have someone like you?” It’s more than he means to say, but he sees it sink into her, sees that she might believe it.
“You know I’m not a number on a list, Castle.” She says it like it’s a shortcoming, like he doesn’t know what he would be getting into, like he hasn’t been around her enough now to know exactly what he would be getting into. Like he even has a choice in the matter, like he can control the way he feels about her now.
“I hate lists anyway,” he breathes into her cheek as he lets his nose graze her there, lips barely connecting with the blush she’s sporting. “I wasn’t even number one, so what do they know.”
She laughs a little bit under him, arching away from the wall enough to make him painfully aware of how open his pants are.
“So do you want to be my girlfriend, detective?” he whispers in her ear, biting down just enough to elicit a hiss from her, but then she’s up on her toes, her mouth brushing his ear.
“No.”
He opens his mouth to protest, pulling back far enough to trail his eyes over the smirk on her face, but then she’s wrapping her fist around him again and a thick groan tumbles out from his chest.
“We’re not fifteen Castle, I’m not gonna hold your hand and go with you to the school dance.”
“Okay, I’d rather you hold my - ”
She interrupts him with her mouth, hot and insistent against his, tongue matching the strokes of her hand until Esposito’s voice sounds shrilly at his elbow. Castle jerks back from her as she removes her other hand from between them, pressing the phone to her ear.
“Yeah?” she says, nonchalant, like she’s not in the middle of rounding third base with her not-boyfriend-partner when they’re supposed to be working or dating other people or something that doesn’t involve a locked bathroom and hands in naughty places. She’s shooting him bedroom eyes, and if she thinks it’s fair game to do this to him when he can’t say a word, he’s up for some turnabout.
He knows Espo is rattling off some semi important case developments that Beckett should probably be listening to, but he can’t help the way he widens his stance a little bit, dips his head down so his lips can wrap around the delicately thumping pulse moving against the smooth skin of her neck. She squeezes his shirt inside of his jacket in warning, but he’s not looking at her, just tasting her, using his tongue and his teeth and his lips to make his way along the collarbone bared by her swooping red dress. He can feel her pressing her back against the wall, trying to get away from him on purpose or by instinct, he doesn’t know, but it’s the way she’s all but holding her breath, gripping his shirt without pushing, that makes him keep going.
“Is it okay for me to put my hand under your dress if you’re not my girlfriend?” he asks directly against the ear not currently pressed to her phone and feels her shudder under him.
“Yes…I am,” she says into the receiver probably, but Castle runs with it, letting his entire broad, flat palm slide up the inside of her left thigh. “No,” she gasps, and then “no, I mean, yes I can after dinner.” She physically moves the phone away from her mouth as his fingers reach the warm, damp cloth between her legs, pressing two firm fingers to the front of her underwear. “Oh my god, stop,” she swears at him, reaching down to tug his wrist from under her dress. “Let me call you back after dinner,” she finally squeaks into the phone as she thumbs it off, tossing it onto the counter next to them.
“Are you kidding me?”
“What? You said yes,” he mumbles into her neck, and then her mouth, as he shakes off her wrist and continues on his way under her dress. He waits then, to see how long she’ll let this go on, how far she’ll let him push. It’s pretty obvious to him that it’s been a while for her, her body’s responses to him eager and on edge, she wants this as much as he does. It’s her call though, and he waits for her instruction, as always.
“Are we really doing this in a bathroom?” she breathes, gripping the back of his head as he moves aside her underwear, pressing his fingers against slick, slippery skin.
“Do you want to go somewhere else?”
“No.”
“Do you want to stop?”
“No. Do you?”
Castle catches her eyes for a beat and then slides his hands down to hoist her up by the thighs. “No.”
“Then hurry up.” He swallows the words right out of her mouth, crushing her to the wall and against him as he pushes up her dress, loose enough to slide right up her torso without any issue. Her hands are in between them in a second, and then he’s pressing into her, enveloped in wet hot heat and then she’s moving, groaning, grabbing him by the ears, the shoulders, his hair until he drives her into the wall one last time and she breaks with a tight grind against his pelvis, shivering hard against him as she comes. He’s right behind her, mouth at her ear as she squeezes around him and pants out his name into the miniscule space between them.
They both stagger upright as he lets her slide down the wall, damp clothes sticking to rapidly cooling skin. Neither of them even removed a single item of clothing. He rights himself as she readjusts her dress, pats a hand over her hair, regards herself in the mirror. “I’m going to just need a minute,” she says, gesturing toward the stalls and he nods, running a hand through his hair.
“Of course.” He takes a step back to leave, give her some space, but it feels wrong to just leave, especially when he has no idea what just happened here, what it means, so he takes another step toward her, places his open palm gently against the shoulder blade left bare by her dress.
“Go get rid of that blonde and meet me by my car,” she says before he has a chance to say anything, making a grin split wide across his face.
“Detective that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” She snorts as he covers his heart with both hands, leaning back against the door.
“Too bad I’m not your girlfriend,” she says, leaning coyly against the countertop by the sink.
“Too bad.”
He’s grinning as he pushes out the door, twirling his own purple tie.