[ millific ] leave the pieces
title: leave the pieces
author: sardonicynic
rating: nc-17
character(s): kate warner (24), bill pardy (slither), kate beckett (castle)
pairing(s): kate/beckett, kate/bill, kate/beckett/bill
spoiler(s): through season one of castle
summary: three hearts break and scar.
word count: 1537
disclaimer: the characters aren't mine; the words are.
a/n: written for austen. concept built upon certain millicanon events of one drunken night in provence, but set just post-season one for beckett, during her estrangement from castle. this, uh, went to darker places than i intended. (i mostly blame a recent viewing of chloe.)
warnings: language, explicit sex, alcohol abuse.
props: title taken from a wreckers song of the same name; a platter of s'mores to moofoot for her eyes and brain.
[ milliways ]
"Hey, sheriff."
"Hey, yourself."
She leans in and kisses him, hard, as if his lips and tongue could melt the Manhattan winter from her bones and blood.
It almost works, too, until he pulls away, and he's frowning.
"You smell like her." His voice is low, rough with sleep and suspicion. "Christ, Kate, you taste like -- "
"I know." Her icy fingers curl into his wrinkled T-shirt, and she pretends not to notice how he tenses. "She needed me, sweetheart."
"She always does."
His paper-flat tone hurts to hear, and she swallows thickly.
"Bill, I -- "
I'm sorry is there, sitting as heavy as Beckett's taste on her tongue, but she can't say it; saying it is a betrayal, somehow. You don't understand what this has done to her.
He studies her for a long minute, eyes unreadable in the shadows of the suite, and rolls away.
When he gets out of bed and pads to the kitchen, she tells herself he's getting a glass of water instead of pouring a drink.
- - - - -
[ milliways; manhattan ]
It starts as it always does: gentle concern and a soft-spoken question; a long conversation over coffee or cocoa or wine, depending on the hour and the events of the day or week; a quiet tête-à-tête concerning a certain mystery novelist, carefully never named; an inevitable you're working too hard and an answering so are you; a fleeting touch that leads to one that lingers; a trip through Beckett's door and to her apartment.
"You're tense," Kate says, her lips hovering over the curve of Beckett's neck and shoulder, and she smirks to herself when she sees how her breath raises goosebumps on Beckett's skin. "Again."
"Am I?"
Beckett's question rolls into a soft groan when the pads of Kate's thumbs knead twin knots of tension, and her head falls forward.
"Guess I am," she concedes, the words catching in her throat as Kate's fingers curl past her collarbone.
"You are," Kate says, snaking an arm around Beckett's stomach to draw Beckett closer.
Beckett shifts on the couch, leaning back into Kate's torso, and tips her head to rest on Kate's shoulder.
Kate angles a smile at Beckett. She dips her head, brushing Beckett's lips with a teasing kiss while her fingers ghost up Beckett's ribs to trace the underside of one cotton-covered breast.
"I can help," Kate whispers, and despite the half-dozen times they've done this, she still doesn't know who needs it more.
- - - - -
[ los angeles ]
He's rougher than usual, and Kate doesn't mind.
Tonight, after a day of long meetings and even longer conference calls to London and Tokyo, she's inviting it, her nails carving crescents into his shoulders, her legs wrapped around his waist.
Maybe it's the whiskey she can smell through his skin and taste on his tongue, or maybe it's that this is the least-inhibited sex they've had in weeks -- maybe it's both, the whole more than the sum of its parts -- but she doesn't care when he's fucking her with such single-minded determination.
"Does she touch you like this?"
She jerks when his thumb circles her clit, and her eyes open with a soft gasp.
"What?"
"Or like this?"
He rubs her again, faster, and she can only moan.
"Goddammit, Kate, tell me."
There's desperation in his voice, edged with something black and ugly.
"Like this," she manages, and slips a hand between her legs. Two fingertips join the pad of his thumb, moving clockwise instead of counter, and her back arches. Tension spirals higher and hotter in the pit of her stomach with every deep thrust.
"Bill -- "
She trembles when her orgasm hits, focusing on the feel of Bill buried inside her while she imagines Beckett sitting on her face.
- - - - -
[ manhattan ]
"Come with me."
"I can't."
"You can," Kate says, her fingertips painting light lines down Beckett's bare thigh. "I'm taking a whole week off -- even my laptop is staying in L.A -- and Bill's leaving Dave in charge of the department. We're just going to work on things."
Beckett's mouth opens, closes, and she shakes her head.
"That's not something I should intrude on."
"But this is one of the things we have to work out."
"I shouldn't -- "
"Bill and I already talked about it, and we both want you there. Even if you can only come for a day or two." Kate nuzzles Beckett's sweat-damp throat. "Please?"
Beckett shivers.
"I can't -- "
"Please?" Kate repeats, and her mouth closes over Beckett's pulse-point.
Beckett swallows with obvious effort; her fingers circle Kate's wrist to guide Kate's hand between her legs, and Kate hears acquiescence as Beckett breathes Kate and oh and her hips tilt into the touch.
- - - - -
[ milliways ]
Upstairs, she swallows her nervousness and assures Bill and Beckett that this is okay. They're all sharing, and besides, isn't this something they've all wanted for months?
Agreement is layered with hesitation, so she sinks to her knees, taking Bill in her mouth; Beckett joins her a moment later, sucking a bruise low on Bill's hip and combing her fingers through Kate's hair. Less than a minute after, Bill's hand covers Beckett's, his fingers tightening on Kate's scalp with a ragged groan.
Kate doesn't want to push him too far so fast, so she pulls away with a wicked half-smile, cheeks flushed.
Beckett's lips are there to meet hers, and Kate lets herself get lost in a deep, searching kiss.
Watching above them, Bill breathes an audible, shaky sigh.
"Jesus, you two're gonna kill me."
In bed, they're a tangle of limbs: elbows and knees and lips and tongues, warm breath and tentative touches.
It's okay, Kate murmurs into Bill's ear, her hand dipping low on his stomach.
It's all right, she whispers, her tongue sweeping the delicate ridge of Beckett's clavicle.
Skin slides over skin; Kate's eyes trace the slender curves of Beckett's body and the solid lean lines of Bill's. Teasing the corner of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, Kate rolls a condom onto him, and she smiles when she hears Beckett's breath quicken.
Beckett eases onto Bill's lap with encouragement from Kate, and Kate settles close behind her, knees spread wide, thighs cradling Beckett's, her breasts pressing against Beckett's shoulder blades.
The headboard creaks and taps the wall when Bill leans back against it, his eyes flicking from Beckett to Kate and back.
Kate kisses the curve of Beckett's shoulder, her eyes on Bill, and when Beckett sinks onto him, something shifts between the detective and the sheriff as Beckett's spine stiffens and Bill's hands tighten on Beckett's hips.
She can't be certain from this angle, but Kate doesn't think Beckett is meeting Bill's eyes; Beckett's head is angled, as if she's concentrating on the sweat-sheened expanse of his chest, and Kate doesn't have to guess who Beckett's trying not to see in Bill's familiar features. But Beckett groans softly and grinds down, hard, harder, pressing her breasts into Kate's cupped palms, nipples pebbling against the friction.
Though Bill can't have much leverage, if any, in this position, it's clear he's striving to give as good as he's getting, fingers digging into Beckett's skin as his hips arch.
Beckett's blunt nails leave angry parallel stripes on his torso, and while the world shrinks to the bed and three trip-hammering hearts, Kate knows this is bigger than her, bigger than any one of them, and maybe even all three combined; these punishing kisses and bruising grips aren't about want, they're about need, and a kind of power struggle that can't be defined with the eight parts of speech.
As she rocks in tandem with the rhythm Beckett sets, blood rushes too fast in her veins, racing like liquid fire beneath her skin. She slides a hand down Beckett's stomact; two fingers spread Beckett's slick folds while a third circles her clit. Kate can feel Beckett tense, feel Bill move into Beckett, and she can't stifle a moan.
"Come for us, Kate," she murmurs near Beckett's ear, redoubling her efforts between Beckett's legs. "Please."
When Beckett arches with a sharp, soft sound, Bill snaps her hips even closer, shoving himself deep inside her as his own climax overtakes him.
Kate stays close, the pads of her fingers gently reading Beckett's aftershocks like they're written in braille; Bill is breathing hard, his head bowed against Beckett's temple.
At length, Beckett's hands relax on Bill's red-streaked chest, and her forehead falls to his shoulder.
Kate bends to kiss Beckett's throat, and only then does she realize that Beckett is fighting tears.
Ignoring the ache between her legs, Kate's eyes meet Bill's, unspoken understanding passing between them. He draws Beckett closer, stroking her hair while Kate's fingers mimic the same movement along Beckett's spine.
Her lips meet Bill's, then drop to Beckett's crown, and she wraps the two people she loves most in her arms.
"We're here," she says, the whisper leaving her mouth like a lullaby.
"Right here," Bill says, and the tenderness in those syllables is something Kate hasn't heard in weeks (months).
Beckett nods jerkily beneath Bill's chin, and Kate thinks that maybe -- maybe -- the three of them are okay like this, the walking wounded at the end of the universe.
author: sardonicynic
rating: nc-17
character(s): kate warner (24), bill pardy (slither), kate beckett (castle)
pairing(s): kate/beckett, kate/bill, kate/beckett/bill
spoiler(s): through season one of castle
summary: three hearts break and scar.
word count: 1537
disclaimer: the characters aren't mine; the words are.
a/n: written for austen. concept built upon certain millicanon events of one drunken night in provence, but set just post-season one for beckett, during her estrangement from castle. this, uh, went to darker places than i intended. (i mostly blame a recent viewing of chloe.)
warnings: language, explicit sex, alcohol abuse.
props: title taken from a wreckers song of the same name; a platter of s'mores to moofoot for her eyes and brain.
[ milliways ]
"Hey, sheriff."
"Hey, yourself."
She leans in and kisses him, hard, as if his lips and tongue could melt the Manhattan winter from her bones and blood.
It almost works, too, until he pulls away, and he's frowning.
"You smell like her." His voice is low, rough with sleep and suspicion. "Christ, Kate, you taste like -- "
"I know." Her icy fingers curl into his wrinkled T-shirt, and she pretends not to notice how he tenses. "She needed me, sweetheart."
"She always does."
His paper-flat tone hurts to hear, and she swallows thickly.
"Bill, I -- "
I'm sorry is there, sitting as heavy as Beckett's taste on her tongue, but she can't say it; saying it is a betrayal, somehow. You don't understand what this has done to her.
He studies her for a long minute, eyes unreadable in the shadows of the suite, and rolls away.
When he gets out of bed and pads to the kitchen, she tells herself he's getting a glass of water instead of pouring a drink.
- - - - -
[ milliways; manhattan ]
It starts as it always does: gentle concern and a soft-spoken question; a long conversation over coffee or cocoa or wine, depending on the hour and the events of the day or week; a quiet tête-à-tête concerning a certain mystery novelist, carefully never named; an inevitable you're working too hard and an answering so are you; a fleeting touch that leads to one that lingers; a trip through Beckett's door and to her apartment.
"You're tense," Kate says, her lips hovering over the curve of Beckett's neck and shoulder, and she smirks to herself when she sees how her breath raises goosebumps on Beckett's skin. "Again."
"Am I?"
Beckett's question rolls into a soft groan when the pads of Kate's thumbs knead twin knots of tension, and her head falls forward.
"Guess I am," she concedes, the words catching in her throat as Kate's fingers curl past her collarbone.
"You are," Kate says, snaking an arm around Beckett's stomach to draw Beckett closer.
Beckett shifts on the couch, leaning back into Kate's torso, and tips her head to rest on Kate's shoulder.
Kate angles a smile at Beckett. She dips her head, brushing Beckett's lips with a teasing kiss while her fingers ghost up Beckett's ribs to trace the underside of one cotton-covered breast.
"I can help," Kate whispers, and despite the half-dozen times they've done this, she still doesn't know who needs it more.
- - - - -
[ los angeles ]
He's rougher than usual, and Kate doesn't mind.
Tonight, after a day of long meetings and even longer conference calls to London and Tokyo, she's inviting it, her nails carving crescents into his shoulders, her legs wrapped around his waist.
Maybe it's the whiskey she can smell through his skin and taste on his tongue, or maybe it's that this is the least-inhibited sex they've had in weeks -- maybe it's both, the whole more than the sum of its parts -- but she doesn't care when he's fucking her with such single-minded determination.
"Does she touch you like this?"
She jerks when his thumb circles her clit, and her eyes open with a soft gasp.
"What?"
"Or like this?"
He rubs her again, faster, and she can only moan.
"Goddammit, Kate, tell me."
There's desperation in his voice, edged with something black and ugly.
"Like this," she manages, and slips a hand between her legs. Two fingertips join the pad of his thumb, moving clockwise instead of counter, and her back arches. Tension spirals higher and hotter in the pit of her stomach with every deep thrust.
"Bill -- "
She trembles when her orgasm hits, focusing on the feel of Bill buried inside her while she imagines Beckett sitting on her face.
- - - - -
[ manhattan ]
"Come with me."
"I can't."
"You can," Kate says, her fingertips painting light lines down Beckett's bare thigh. "I'm taking a whole week off -- even my laptop is staying in L.A -- and Bill's leaving Dave in charge of the department. We're just going to work on things."
Beckett's mouth opens, closes, and she shakes her head.
"That's not something I should intrude on."
"But this is one of the things we have to work out."
"I shouldn't -- "
"Bill and I already talked about it, and we both want you there. Even if you can only come for a day or two." Kate nuzzles Beckett's sweat-damp throat. "Please?"
Beckett shivers.
"I can't -- "
"Please?" Kate repeats, and her mouth closes over Beckett's pulse-point.
Beckett swallows with obvious effort; her fingers circle Kate's wrist to guide Kate's hand between her legs, and Kate hears acquiescence as Beckett breathes Kate and oh and her hips tilt into the touch.
- - - - -
[ milliways ]
Upstairs, she swallows her nervousness and assures Bill and Beckett that this is okay. They're all sharing, and besides, isn't this something they've all wanted for months?
Agreement is layered with hesitation, so she sinks to her knees, taking Bill in her mouth; Beckett joins her a moment later, sucking a bruise low on Bill's hip and combing her fingers through Kate's hair. Less than a minute after, Bill's hand covers Beckett's, his fingers tightening on Kate's scalp with a ragged groan.
Kate doesn't want to push him too far so fast, so she pulls away with a wicked half-smile, cheeks flushed.
Beckett's lips are there to meet hers, and Kate lets herself get lost in a deep, searching kiss.
Watching above them, Bill breathes an audible, shaky sigh.
"Jesus, you two're gonna kill me."
In bed, they're a tangle of limbs: elbows and knees and lips and tongues, warm breath and tentative touches.
It's okay, Kate murmurs into Bill's ear, her hand dipping low on his stomach.
It's all right, she whispers, her tongue sweeping the delicate ridge of Beckett's clavicle.
Skin slides over skin; Kate's eyes trace the slender curves of Beckett's body and the solid lean lines of Bill's. Teasing the corner of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, Kate rolls a condom onto him, and she smiles when she hears Beckett's breath quicken.
Beckett eases onto Bill's lap with encouragement from Kate, and Kate settles close behind her, knees spread wide, thighs cradling Beckett's, her breasts pressing against Beckett's shoulder blades.
The headboard creaks and taps the wall when Bill leans back against it, his eyes flicking from Beckett to Kate and back.
Kate kisses the curve of Beckett's shoulder, her eyes on Bill, and when Beckett sinks onto him, something shifts between the detective and the sheriff as Beckett's spine stiffens and Bill's hands tighten on Beckett's hips.
She can't be certain from this angle, but Kate doesn't think Beckett is meeting Bill's eyes; Beckett's head is angled, as if she's concentrating on the sweat-sheened expanse of his chest, and Kate doesn't have to guess who Beckett's trying not to see in Bill's familiar features. But Beckett groans softly and grinds down, hard, harder, pressing her breasts into Kate's cupped palms, nipples pebbling against the friction.
Though Bill can't have much leverage, if any, in this position, it's clear he's striving to give as good as he's getting, fingers digging into Beckett's skin as his hips arch.
Beckett's blunt nails leave angry parallel stripes on his torso, and while the world shrinks to the bed and three trip-hammering hearts, Kate knows this is bigger than her, bigger than any one of them, and maybe even all three combined; these punishing kisses and bruising grips aren't about want, they're about need, and a kind of power struggle that can't be defined with the eight parts of speech.
As she rocks in tandem with the rhythm Beckett sets, blood rushes too fast in her veins, racing like liquid fire beneath her skin. She slides a hand down Beckett's stomact; two fingers spread Beckett's slick folds while a third circles her clit. Kate can feel Beckett tense, feel Bill move into Beckett, and she can't stifle a moan.
"Come for us, Kate," she murmurs near Beckett's ear, redoubling her efforts between Beckett's legs. "Please."
When Beckett arches with a sharp, soft sound, Bill snaps her hips even closer, shoving himself deep inside her as his own climax overtakes him.
Kate stays close, the pads of her fingers gently reading Beckett's aftershocks like they're written in braille; Bill is breathing hard, his head bowed against Beckett's temple.
At length, Beckett's hands relax on Bill's red-streaked chest, and her forehead falls to his shoulder.
Kate bends to kiss Beckett's throat, and only then does she realize that Beckett is fighting tears.
Ignoring the ache between her legs, Kate's eyes meet Bill's, unspoken understanding passing between them. He draws Beckett closer, stroking her hair while Kate's fingers mimic the same movement along Beckett's spine.
Her lips meet Bill's, then drop to Beckett's crown, and she wraps the two people she loves most in her arms.
"We're here," she says, the whisper leaving her mouth like a lullaby.
"Right here," Bill says, and the tenderness in those syllables is something Kate hasn't heard in weeks (months).
Beckett nods jerkily beneath Bill's chin, and Kate thinks that maybe -- maybe -- the three of them are okay like this, the walking wounded at the end of the universe.