Underneath-A Going Under Epilogue
Title: Underneath (A Going Under Epilogue)
WC: ~5500
Rating: M
Summary: She sounds nervous. She looks nervous. Good. She should. She has a lot to be nervous about.
A/N: So, Going Under was an "episode fix" for Under the Influence (5 x 11), because Cartographicals was not best pleased with the Caskett-impoverished ep. It was supposed to be a one-shot. Then a two-shot. Then it became a three-shot. Then a four-shot. This is the epilogue to it posted as a separate story because of the rating change.
This chapter is for my very dear Cora Clavia who needs a more pleasantly occupied mind.
She peers around the edge of the door like she can't quite believe it's him. Her hair is wild and loose on her shoulders. She must have gotten restless and taken it down. He feels a pang of regret for all the little hair pins he won't be hunting for.
"Castle," she hisses, "where the hell did you go?"
She sounds nervous. She looks nervous. Good. She should. She has a lot to be nervous about. He's furious.
He pushes through the door and reaches for her lapels-his lapels-as he crosses the threshold into her front hall. He spins them one hundred and eighty degrees and presses her shoulders against the door as it clicks shut. She lost her boots and the few inches of height that go with them somewhere along the way. In her bare feet, he looms over her.
"Where did I go? Where did I go?"
His left hand sweeps up suddenly and she ducks her head to the side. It bares the long arc of her neck and he lands a sharp nip at her skin as his fingers find the security chain and he slots it in place with a decisive jerk. He answers her annoyed look with a wicked grin and another nip.
"I was a good neighbor," he says as his hand falls from the chain to her shoulder. He peels back the collar of his jacket and lazily trails a string of kisses up and up, using his teeth as he goes. "I carried groceries. I talked about bridge. I came up with a completely plausible story for why I was carrying your sweater in a dimly lit stairwell that hardly made me sound like a stalker at all."
"Sweater!" It's the worst kind of epithet. Or it would be if she weren't having trouble catching her breath all of a sudden.
"Sweater!" he mimics as he chuckles into the curve of her neck. He tosses the offending garment behind him.
He reaches inside the jacket to grab one end of the scarf. He tugs, twining it around his palm as it slips over her bare skin.
Her hand snakes out and grabs the tail end of the scarf as the last of it skims along the inside of her breast. He circles his wrist at the same moment, pulling it tight between them, but there's really nowhere for either of them to go.
"You play . . . bridge?" She's trying for casual, but his hips are crowding against hers and she can't quite suppress a gasp.
"Mmmm. And spades. And hearts. And canasta." He sucks at the skin behind her ear. "The ladies love me."
"Old ladies," she sneers.
"Lucky for you," he retorts. He drops his free hand to her waist and curves his fingers up and over her hip.
She sucks in another breath at the sudden sensation of skin on skin and gives an irritated tug on her end of the scarf.
"Ah ah!" He swiftly unwinds a length of fabric from around his palm and slaps at her hand. She blinks up at him in disbelief. He seizes the moment and jerks it away from her. "You've had your fun. My turn."
She twitches one hip forward and snatches at his arm, but he anticipates her. He pushes back and yanks at the wide cuff on his jacket. He gathers the fabric in his fist, trapping her hand inside.
Her head snaps up and she fixes him with such a glare that he almost falters. Almost. But her mouth drops open at the same time and she just looks so affronted that it saves him. Only one of them has the right to look affronted here.
He leans in and kisses her hard. His tongue sweeps along the length of hers and he catches her lower lip with his teeth. She makes a frustrated, confused sound that's almost a mew and he tries not to laugh. No time for laughing. Also, it will get him killed.
He works fast. She's off kilter now, but it won't last. He steps into her and pulls at the sleeve of the jacket as he moves. The silk lining slips easily over her skin and he breaks away from her mouth to urge it further off her shoulder.
He bites down on the rise of skin behind her collar bone and feels her fingers go slack inside the the sleeve. He lets go the cuff and gently draws her arm out. Her eyes flutter open and she resists at first, but he catches her wrist and uses his teeth there, too.
"Easy, Kate," he breathes as he sucks at the pale skin in time with the pulse beneath. "My turn."
She glares at him from underneath her lashes, but she's sagging against the door and biting her lip like she's fighting back a whimper. It's a feint and he knows it. He strokes his thumb over her wrist and leans in to kiss her anyway.
Sure enough, she crooks her elbow and braces a palm against his biceps like she's about to push him away. He steps them back from the door, stealing her momentum. She crashes into him with a grunt of surprise. He winds the scarf, once, twice, around her bare wrist and slips the long end underneath the wrap, securing it in a loose knot.
He winds the slack around his palm again and looks pleased with himself. Knows he must look it, because her jaw sets and a blush that's only part arousal flares over her cheekbones. Good, he thinks. Good. He can work with part arousal.
She pivots to step between his feet and throw him off balance. The fact that her front hall is a cramped space is the only thing that saves him. He turns with her, skimming the jacket off her other shoulder and letting it fall to the floor in the process. He splays a broad palm wide over the center of her back and captures her mouth as it falls open in surprise again.
She's well and truly frustrated now, which means it's time for decisive action. He rakes his hand down the center of her spine, dragging heavy fingers over the prominence of each vertebrae. She arches her back with a hiss and he lowers his mouth between her breasts. He presses his teeth into the mark that started it all and follows the path with his tongue.
She bites out a curse and he takes it as encouragement. He sucks hard at the skin and moves on, nuzzling and licking at her areola. He unwinds the scarf from his left palm a little, giving himself a little more room and a slightly freer hand to work with.
He closes his lips over her nipple and uses the distraction to tug her hand along by the wrist as he runs a finger inside the waistband of her pants from hip to navel. They both gasp at the sudden contact as their loosely joined hands slide low between their bodies.
He thumbs clumsily at the button of her pants and she senses weakness. Her own thumb hooks over the top of his fly and she curls wicked fingers over the bulge beneath.
He groans and loses focus. The thought flits through his mind that his turn is suddenly and definitely over. His head tips up and he catches the flicker of a satisfied smile on her lips, but it dies as his cheek rasps over her breast. Maybe not, he thinks. Maybe not over.
He pulls back just slightly and skims the backs of his nails around her side, just grazing the outside of her breast. He brushes his lips over the swell of one breast, then the other, barely letting the rough stubble of his chin, the rough pads of his fingers, brush against her skin. She goes loose and liquid in a moment.
The fingers of her free hand find their way into his hair. She arches against him urging more contact, but he works against her, teasing with his tongue and teeth and always retreating.
His thumb finally flips open the button of her soft, grey pants and the fact seems to remind her that she has another hand. He feels one tug at his fly and braces for the assault, but she lets her wrist go slack and and her fingers slip away from his waistband.
He looks up at her, curious at first, then nervous, as she's suddenly all about the eye contact and that can't be good for him. She flexes her wrist and manages to snag his. She slides her palm over the back of his hand and laces their fingers together. He swallows hard and wonders how bad this is going to get.
She makes him wait. For an eternal moment, she makes him wait, then she slides their hands up. She pauses with both their fingers, his and hers, toying with the top of her zipper, then pushes down, a slow, slow descent. He moans a little at the heat when they hit bottom. She laughs and he retaliates, swiping the flat of his tongue over one nipple, then the other on his way up to kiss her mouth.
She loosens their fingers and he slides his palm sideways. He smoothes the flat of it over her thigh, spreading the grey fabric of her pants wide and letting it start to slip down over one hip. He reverses course to start the process on the other side, but she pulls her wrist up short and stops him.
The fingers of her other hand tighten in his hair and their kisses go from casual afterthought to dead serious in a heartbeat. Her tongue is heavy, aggressive against his so suddenly that he gets a little dizzy. He anchors his free hand at her hip, pushing the waist of her pants down a little further and the black arc of her underwear peeks out.
It's only then that he registers the fact that her other hand is sliding down hard over the silk of her panties, tugging his hand along for the ride. He turns his wrist and flattens his palm over the back of her hand, adding pressure. She moans into his mouth and curls her hips up, sending their joined hands into the tight, wet inferno between her legs.
She grinds against the heel of her own hand, with his providing backup, and he feels his turn slipping away from him again. She bites hard at his lip and the sudden sharpness gives him a focus. He closes his fingers tight around hers and bucks his hips. The move startles her and their bodies break apart a little-just a breath of space between them.
He reaches up behind them with his free hand and loosens her fingers from his hair. He kisses her palm and steps back from her, bringing one wrist down to join the other in between their bodies. He keeps his eyes on her as he unwinds the scarf from his other palm and loops the free fabric around her wrist.
She gives him a hard look, and for a minute he thinks she'll stop him. This isn't how this usually goes. At all. She raises her chin and something about it makes him stubborn. It makes him insist. He yanks her hands down and kisses her.
"My turn," he whispers fiercely against her lips. "My turn."
He pulls back again and meets her eye. She's not pleased. Not entirely. He shows her his teeth in a predatory grin and her eyes flash darker, but some of the tension goes out of her arms and she gives him the barest of nods.
He grins again, softer and more than a little goofy this time. He's spoiling the effect, but he doesn't care. His turn.
He winds the scarf around both wrists in a figure-8 pattern and finishes with a loose, but secure knot. He pulls at the slack between her hands and works the fabric up and down her forearms a little, making sure it moves freely. He gives a final tug and brings her closer.
He drops the scarf and runs his hands up to her shoulders, spreading his fingers wide around her back. She's shaking. Her breath is dragging in and out, shallow and ragged. He looks up, alarmed, but her eyes are blazing and the color is high in her cheeks and . . . Oh.
He kisses her quickly on the lips, then drops his mouth to her throat. He crowds against her and lets the fabric of his shirt drag over her breasts enjoying the helpless, frustrated sounds falling from her as she presses closer.
He lets his hands fall to her waist and skim her pants off her hips. They pool around her ankles and he steadies her by the elbows as she lifts one foot, then the other free of the puddle of fabric.
He steps back and his eyes sweep over her. Miles of gorgeous skin, one pair of tiny black panties and the Little Scarf that Could. His breath stutters in his chest and she catches him in one of the adoring looks she hates. She gives him a baleful stare in return and he smiles back.
He hooks a finger over the center loop of the scarf and backs them into the living room. She stands firm at first, more out of habit than anything, and her arms extend, her bound wrists stretching out between them.
He quirks an eyebrow at her. "You comin', Kate?"
She closes the gap and lets him lead her backwards toward the bedroom.
He's on guard all the way through the living room and down the hall, but she behaves. More or less. There's a certain amount of hip and shoulder action that he thinks might be more tan is strictly necessary and she gets her way, stopping their progress when his attention wanders, pressing him into the wall while she experiments with the limits of motion in her hands and wrists.
She makes her real move, though, when they near the bed. She swivels her hips and hooks her calf around his. He stumbles as the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. She raises her arms and drops them over his head and she's on him, her knees tight against his hips and her mouth making the most of his surprise.
He recovers and laughs softly against her cheek. He was definitely expecting something, half expecting this, and she really doesn't stand a chance when he rakes his fingers down her sides, carelessly brushing against her breasts with the heels of her hands.
The laugh annoys her. It definitely annoys her and he pays for it in the sudden downward grind of her hips. But without her hands free, she can't really anchor herself to capitalize on it. He curls his own hips up to emphasize the point and has fleeting moment of regret at the ridiculous illusion that the heat between her legs is burning him through three layers of clothing. He stills her hips with heavy hands.
"You done, Kate?" he breathes as his tongue flicks her ear. She shivers, but doesn't answer. He pulls her earlobe into his mouth with his teeth. "Are you done?"
He doesn't wait for an answer this time. He slides his hands under her arms and pushes them up over his head. It unbalances her and her thighs tense as she struggles to steady herself above him. He curls his fingers around her biceps to anchor her and ducks his head to drag his lips across her breasts.
His eyes flutter open, and even in the low, soft light of the bedroom, he sees the little blooms of red marring her skin where the sweater chafed. He kisses each softly, murmuring silly apologies. He hears her huff out a laugh above him, but her spine is soft and she lets her arms take her weight against his hands.
Warmth flares up in him at the feel of it. He raises one hip and urges her to turn with him.
"Let me take care of you, Kate," he whispers as he eases her back on to the bed.
She tenses as her shoulders make contact with the comforter, not quite sure what to do with her arms. He kneels up next to her. He catches the slack of the scarf in one hand and smooths the other down her ribs. He leans down to kiss her, taking her arms above her head.
She arches her spine once, not entirely happy with the way it leaves her exposed, but she meets his lips and shivers when his palm skates over one breast, then the other.
"Let me take care of you," he repeats.
She nods slightly and pushes herself up, bringing her shoulders to rest in a more comfortable position against the pillows. He sits back on his knees, eyeing the scarf.
She watches him for a long moment, then inclines her head. "Closet."
He gives her an inquiring look, then gets it. He smiles down at her and leans in for a quick kiss. "Back in a second," he says softly, then tugs at the scarf and adds, "Be good."
She rolls her eyes as he ducks into the closet and makes small talk while he rummages through her vast collection of scarves. She's just at the point of complaining when he pops back out, a length of dark green stretched between his hands. The retort dies on her lips and she stares with wide eyes as he approaches the bed.
He sits alongside her and keeps up his patter as he winds one end around the bed post and checks the knot. He's not sure whether it's for her benefit or his. The patter. This isn't how this usually goes and they're both a little breathless.
He brings his palm to her cheek, letting his thumb trail over her lower lip. She pulls in an unsteady breath and wiggles her fingers at him in exaggerated impatience.
He nods and loops the scarf between her hands, green winding through blue, as her chest rises and falls. He looks at the free end consideringly and makes one more circuit for good measure before knotting it off around the bedpost. He tugs at one scarf, then the other, testing the slack and the knots both.
"Ok?" he asks quietly.
Her eyes are huge and dark as she peers up at him. She shakes her head from side to side, her hair fanning out on the pillows.
His breath catches and he reaches for the nearest knot instantly, but she gives chase with her mouth, nipping at his wrist. He stills, looking down at her curiously.
"Clothes off, Castle," she says shortly.
He blinks down at himself like he's only just realized that he's down one belt and that's it. His fingers travel to his cuff, instinctively following the order at first, but he stops himself before he can undo the remaining button.
His hand moves swiftly down her body and he can't help laughing at the melodramatic gasp that rushes out of her when his fingers hook over the top of her panties and peel them down her thighs.
"Clothes off," he repeats. "Excellent idea."
"Castle!" His name rises to an unsteady shout as he tosses the soaked fabric aside and his hand reverses course, pausing to trace the crease of each hip. "Not what I meant," she says through her teeth.
"Really?" he asks conversationally as he nudges her thighs apart with his fingers. She arcs her hips up with a furious noise, but he'll only give her the most fleeting contact. "What did you mean, Kate?"
"Your clothes," she grinds out, trying to keep her tone even as his fingertip drags over her clit. "Off. Now."
"Hmmm." He pretends to think about it as he drags two fingers, then three, in haphazard patterns over her. "You're not really in a position to give orders, Detective."
He pushes a finger inside her to emphasize the point. Her heels dig into the mattress and her lower back peels off the bed. And that's . . . well . . . interesting. He's hardly touching her.
He plants his thumb against her clit experimentally and slides a second finger just barely inside. He watches, fascinated, as her mouth falls open and she pulls against the scarf, her head thrashing from side to side between her arms. He skims his free hand up over her stomach and palms her breast. He slides his fingers deeper inside and makes a broad, tight circle with his thumb and she's screaming his name and shuddering against him.
He gently withdraws his fingers and presses his hand hard against her, stilling the irregular rise and fall of her hips. He pulls his legs up on to the bed and stretches out alongside her, his head resting just below her breasts. He drags his cheek, his lips, his teeth lazily over her skin and waits for her breath to slow.
"Castle." His head lolls against her ribs as she pulls in as much air as she can. It's not much and the words come out low and sexy, rather than commanding as he thinks she means them to be. He doesn't quite hide a smile against the underside of her breast.
"Clothes off. Now." It's closer to a bark this time, but he's still smiling.
He tilts his head up to look at her, furrowing his brow in mock concern.
"Oh, did you not hear the the thing about orders?" He rolls toward her. Plants his one hand and one knee on the far side of her. He pushes up to loom over her, framing her body. "And positions?"
She moves to pull her knees up, but he pushes back, trapping her thighs between his own. She rolls her shoulders with an impatient noise and he crowds closer. She cranes her neck up and lands her teeth none too gently at the corner of his jaw and continues the assault down his neck.
He closes his eyes tight. The contrast between the furious energy of her mouth and the fact that she has nowhere to go-that she's pinned beneath him-is almost too much and this is not how this is supposed to be going. He fights back. He fights dirty.
His mouth drops to her neck. The confluence of her shoulder and the long column, just over the dip of her collar bone and into the rise of her shoulder blade. He sucks hard at the skin and tucks his elbows tight to his side, limiting her movements even further.
He feels a short string of cries ripple through her throat and almost goes weak with relief. Almost. He scrapes his teeth over the spot for good measure, pictures her pale skin going dark under his lips and his hips roll against hers without his say so.
Fortunately she's too far gone to notice. He pulls his left hand in, circles his thumb over her breast for good measure and uses the cover of her moan to catch his own breath. His forehead falls against her shoulder and he nibbles carelessly at her ear.
"No orders, Kate." He feels her shoulder bunch in protest, energy coiling under the weight of his forearm, and he closes his thumb and forefinger around her nipple and pulls, not exactly gently. "No orders. But I do take requests."
Her eyes fly open in disbelief, but he doesn't flinch. He stares back her. Tugs at her nipple again and keeps his eyes on her as he dips his head to kiss her jaw. He feels the muscles there work furiously under his lips and a thrill runs through him as he wonders how this will go. He's not in the habit of pushing her like this. Neither one of them is in the habit.
She stiffens beneath him and there's half a second of worry. She jerks her head to the side, pulling away from his mouth and an apology bubbles up in him. But she dives back in the next instant, working her mouth under his.
"Please," she breathes against him. It's low and longing and he feels like his spine has suddenly gone missing. "Please. I want your skin on mine. I want you, Castle."
He loses himself, then. For a long string of moments, he's lost in the long line of her body beneath him. In the mingling of soft sounds and breath between him.
She says his name again and he tears himself away, reluctantly. He plucks awkwardly at his cuffs and loses another button. Her head drops back and she laughs as she hears it skitter and bounce across the night table. He frowns at her in consternation. Thinks he shouldn't let her get away with it, but the bow of her arms above her head makes him hurry. Hurry.
He peels the shirt from his shoulders and tosses it aside. He comes back to her, his mouth eager on hers as he drags his chest up and over her ribs.
"Skin," he murmurs as she shivers against him. "Skin."
"Skin." She nods as her tongue eagerly traces the corner of his mouth. "More, Castle. More." She winds her ankle around his calf, dragging her toes over the denim to make her point.
"More . . . .?" He presses his hips down and leaves the syllable hanging. She growls and snaps her teeth at his lip, but he pulls back in time. "More what, Kate?"
She arches her lower back and circles her hips. He's not expecting it. He's a fool and he's not expecting it and suddenly he's in trouble. She looks up at him, sweet and wicked. "More, now."
He groans and falls to one side of her, unwilling to travel too far from the heat of her. He fumbles at his fly. She twitches her hips to the side, bumping against him. He's not expecting that, either, and the contact is almost painful. His hand shoots out and lands, heavy and low on her abdomen. He presses his palm over her pubic bone and says her name once. A warning. Probably a warning.
She bucks against him, then settles back, the satisfied look on her face strongly implying that was entirely her decision. He narrows his eyes and can't resist. He strokes one finger between her legs. Hard. Back to front, just once, ending with a little flourish over her clit.
Her mouth drops open and he can't keep up the act. He grins and leans in to kiss her.
"Patience," he says. "Patience, Kate."
He drags his hand back to his pants and the mystery of the zipper seems to have solved itself in the meantime. He lifts his hips and scrambles out of the jeans, hooking his boxers as he goes. He lets out a frustrated noise as he kicks at his socks and can't get purchase. He gives in and sits up to use his hands, shrieking a little at the unexpected nip of her teeth at his lower back.
He rounds on her as he finally manages to shed his second sock, but she's already settled back against the pillows again. The picture of innocence. As if she didn't just tip her hand. As if she doesn't have a lot more freedom of movement than she's been letting on.
The realization burns through them both as their eyes meet. He lays a heavy hand on her hip and lowers his lips to the skin just under her navel.
"Good," he rasps as his tongue flicks out. Her eyes drift closed and he feels her shiver. "Good."
He rolls himself on to the bed and she makes a discontented sound as his head drifts lower. "Castle . . ."
"Shhhh," he replies as he fans his fingers up and down her sides. "Let me. Let me."
He brushes his lips over the front of one thigh, then the other, coaxing them apart. She resists briefly, then relaxes as his fingers curl pointedly over her hips, pressing them down into the mattress. He smiles against her skin as she lets one knee fall open and shimmies her hips to accommodate him.
"Good," he says again as he plants a firm kiss against her clit. He keeps his hands heavy and warning on her as he strokes his tongue between her lips. She pushes back frantically at first, then a sigh shudders through her as she settles into the slow pace he sets.
He gets caught up in it. The taste of her under his lips, the long tug of her body against the the tension of the scarves, the rough sounds rumbling through her. They go back and forth with each other. Nonsense words and push and pull and it takes him a while to register his name.
"Castle." It's drawn out and barely a whisper. "Castle, please. Too much."
He pulls back and climbs her body quickly.
"Sorry," he breathes as he lowers his mouth to hers and lets her taste herself. "Sorry."
She nods, her tongue eagerly sliding over his lower lip, savoring .
"Please," she says again and he nods with her.
He rests on his elbows and nudges his hips up toward hers. They both gasp at the contact. He jerks, hard and uncontrolled into her and meets exquisite resistance. She's incredibly tight, always, but this is more. This is different. This is new, he realizes as she jerks against the scarves. "God, Kate."
She curls her leg around his. Slides up from calf to thigh and arches against him. He anchors himself at her shoulders and thrusts again and again until he's finally buried in her completely. He stills and tries to catch his breath, but she's writhing under him and her voice is a burning constant in his ear. "More. Please. More."
He raises up half on his knees, steadying himself with one hand on the mattress as his other drags the length of her arm, fingertip to breast and back again. She lets out a strangled howl and he starts back down the same path. He pauses at the knot between her hands. His fingers hook through it and he jerks at the fabric.
Her shoulders peel off the bed in response. Her eyes fly open and she's a sudden, long line of tension below him. He thrusts into her, hard and erratic. He feels her clench around him. Hears a wild noise from her and almost sobs with relief. He finds some reserve of energy he didn't know he had and works her over the edge with rough movements of his hips that shove her thighs wider and grind her clit against him.
She calls his name and takes him with her in a long rush that rises and settles into small, slow movements. Him against her and back again. He falls to his elbows and kisses her face, her chin, and nowhere in particular. She rolls her head on the pillow, following his lips. Pressing closer with small, contented sounds.
He reaches up for the scarf, working his fingers into the figure eight and loosening the fabric as he goes. She flexes her wrists lazily and eases them free. He kisses one palm, then the other, as she slowly lowers them to his shoulders. She drags the blue scarf along behind her and he shivers as it hisses over his own skin.
"Ok there?"
"Mmm. Ok here," she murmurs sloppily. She runs her fingers over his back and shoulders. She stops short as she encounters one angry furrow, then another. "You ok?"
He chuckles against her neck. "Sure. Will be. You might owe me a shirt."
She flicks his ear with her fingers. He bites her shoulder in protest and rolls to the side, taking his weight off her. "You definitely owe me buttons."
"Sorry," she says and it's unexpectedly sincere. She leans into him and smooths her palm down his spine, carefully avoiding the scratches. "Sorry."
"Mmm, no sorry," he kisses her lightly. "No. Feels good. Your hands feel good."
"Don't you forget it," she teases.
"Never," he agrees as he runs his own hand back and forth between her shoulder blades.
They're quiet, then, and he's surprised when her slow, even breaths fan over his cheek. She's falling asleep. He glances at his watch and wonders if he should wake her. It's barely 7:30 and she'll never sleep all the way through the night.
"Kate." He drags a fingertip down her spine and says her name again, but she doesn't stir.
"Kate," he repeats. He lays his hand over her hip and shakes her gently. Her eyes flutter open and she looks distinctly annoyed. He kisses her nose. "It's early. You should eat. Get up for a while or you'll be awake in the middle of the night."
She shakes her head and buries her face against his shoulder. "Tired. Don't know why I'm so tired."
He laughs and reaches over her to pull the comforter up and around her shoulders. It's awkward, but it'll do for now.
"Can't imagine," he whispers into her hair. "Can't imagine why."