Technicality-A one-shot Caskett episode insert for Scared to Death (5 x 17)
Title: Technicality
WC: ~1300
Rating: M
Summary: "It's her, of course. He can't decide whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, he misses her. On the other hand, he misses her, but he's probably cursed and there are rules and he'd really like to see his next birthday. On a hand to be named later, he's likely to die a sex-starved wreck and not see his next birthday if he dodges her call." Insert for Scared to Death (5 x 17)
A/N: Brain: Ooooh. Phone sex. Me: No. Brain: No, totally. For really realz. Phone sex. Me: Absolutely not. Et voila.
He jumps when his phone rings. He's jumped at everything in the last two hours. Every single noise. Every shadow and sweep of light across the windows. Every imaginary brush of something over his skin. But he practically hits the ceiling for the phone.
It's her, of course. He can't decide whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, he misses her. On the other hand, he misses her, but he's probably cursed and there are rules and he'd really like to see his next birthday. On a hand to be named later, he's likely to die a sex-starved wreck and not see his next birthday if he dodges her call.
"Beckett. Please tell me you have some bulletproof, logical theory that means I'm not going to die."
There's silence on the other end of the line. It's only a second. Maybe two. He knows it's really no longer than that, but it stretches out. For him-the state he's in right now-it goes on long enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck.
"Kate?"
It's a whisper wrapped around a quaver that's a half a second from turning into a squeak.
She laughs, of course. Breathy and low. "What are you wearing, Castle?"
"Funny, Beckett." It's not, though. The adrenaline rushes out of every cell, leaving him more than a little shaky and he's a few weeks out from finding any of this funny. "Seriously. Do you have anything?"
"No."
She draws it out. A caress of vowel and consonant that makes him think of the way it feels to drag his lips along the curve of her hip. The soft moan and the spot that makes her press closer.
"S- so . . ." He swaps the phone from right hand to left, blotting his suddenly sweaty palm on the hem of his shirt. "What's . . . . what're you doing?"
"Hmmmm . . ." There's a rustling on her end. The hum lingers. It drifts away, then winds back around to curl itself around his ear. "Thinking."
He swallows hard. Shivers chase up from his toes. Down and out from his scalp. All over. It's ridiculous. Not that Kate Beckett thinking doesn't make his list of top ten sexiest things, but it hasn't even been twenty-four hours. It's still ridiculous.
"About . . .?" He rolls on to his side, propping the phone between his ear and the pillow. He's going to regret this. He knows she's going to make him regret this.
"Technicalities."
He can picture the grin on her face. The slow tug at one corner of her mouth and the tip of her tongue peeping out, only to disappear again. He can taste it.
"Kate." He turns his head to bury the groan in the pillow, but it's useless. She knows what she's doing. She knows exactly what she's doing.
"I know you're scared, Castle." She breaks character a little there. Soft laughter, but it's fond. It's worse. His stomach tightens and his skin prickles with all over heat. "But, really . . . what counts? There are rules, right? So what . . . exactly . . . counts?"
She turns it back on, just like that. Pitches her voice just so and paints pretty pictures on the back of his eyelids. He sees her bare skin against the pillows. One arm flung over her head. Fingers curled tight around the bed post.
"Counts?" He's reduced to mindless repetition of the last thing out of her mouth. He shifts like it will bring her closer. Like there's some relief to be had, but the tug of fabric over his groin is excruciating.
He makes some sound. He must. She's laughing. A devastating ripple that runs right through him. All through him.
"I mean . . ." He hears the whisper of sheets over the phone's speaker. An airless, silent moment and then the sound is wider. Fuller. She has it on speaker. Both hands free now. "How far could we go before we were in trouble, do you think?"
"Beckett." He chokes on it. The hard sounds strangling him as he flops on to his back again. He flicks his own phone over to speaker as hand creeps down, tugging at the drawstring of his pants. "You're . . . not nice."
She ignores him entirely. Goes on as though he hasn't spoken at all, but he knows her. Hears the way his desperation drives her on. The way it feeds the fire.
"Would you touch me, Castle?" There's a catch in her voice. Not quite a gasp and he knows it. The sound she makes when the tide turns between them. The first flick of his tongue at skin she doesn't show in polite company. The first brush of his thumb over her nipple as it shivers up to meet him. "Would you watch?"
The question makes him freeze. It drives him right out of his mind, because it's like he is watching. Like he can see the slope of her knee. The lazy way it falls open. Her foot flat on the bed and her hips arcing up. Rolling against her hand as her fingers drive down and pause to circle. To disappear inside her, curling and reemerging, dragging a glistening trail up and around and around.
He's wordless. Unmoving and absolutely transfixed by the images racing through his head.
She doesn't seem to mind. She doesn't seem to mind at all.
"Would you kiss me?" Her breath comes harder now. The words a little sloppier, but he can hear the wide smile. She's enjoying herself in more ways than one. "Maybe that's allowed. Just your mouth. If you kept your hands to yourself."
His hips jerk up from the bed. He almost comes right then, with his motionless hand wrapped around himself. He sees her looming above him, the bedroom light dancing gold on her skin. He feels the bite of cuffs at his wrists and the press of her thighs at his ribs. He tastes her, sharp on his tongue and hears the long, gorgeous silence before her screams split the air.
"Kate, God."
"Castle."
It's jagged. Quick and urgent and he knows what's next. His name again on a long, low breath. Pretty and wanting and there it is now. Drawn out and he can feel her breath dragging over his skin. He knows the stutter of her hips and the rough drag of her palm over one breast, then the other. The curve of her neck as her spine peels off the bed and she dissolves into short, hot, wordless gasps.
"Come, Kate." His wrist jerks. It's something on the other side of pain at this point. He's desperate. "Come with me."
He hears her. Somewhere over the roar of his own mind he hears her breath catch and the way she clenches her teeth against it. The way she keeps herself quiet, and there's something adorable about it. The contradiction of the wanton woman who called just to prove she could get him off in under a hundred words and the pink-cheeked girl who tugs the covers up right away and sometimes worries, well after the fact, what the neighbors might think.
"You ok, Castle?" Her voice is warm now. Gentle and maybe the tiniest bit contrite, though he wouldn't count on it.
"Well . . ." He tips his head back. Stares up at the ceiling. "I'm definitely doomed. And I have to change . . . like everything . . . but yeah. I'm good."
She laughs. Rich and full on. It's a different kind of trouble.
"Shame for you to die on a technicality, though . . ."
She trails off and he knows this smile, too. He knows the pull of her lip between her teeth An invitation he's not dumb enough to turn down twice.
"Be there in twenty minutes."