After The Storm (3/6) [Castle/Beckett]
after the storm (3/6)
His new Nikki Heat novel is going to turn into a beach vacation edition if he doesn’t get this version of her out of his system.
castle/beckett - (kind of super duper) nc-17
a/n: I feel like I should apologize to anyone who thought this was going to be case-y/plotty fic and was disappointed by the lack of case solving details. Use your imaginations for how Castle found her and then dive into my gratuity mmhmm. Ty for your time.
Castle’s supposed to be writing, has got a deadline looming with the shadow of an overbearing publisher slash ex-wife slash ex-girlfriend hanging over him, but instead of tapping away he’s staring out the office window of his Hamptons house, transfixed. He’s got a perfect view of his private beach from where he’s sitting, and Beckett is currently enjoying said beach in every possible way. She’s a little bit far for him to see too many details, but his eyes follow the line of her body, laid out on her lounge chair, black bikini stark against her tanned skin. Her hair is down and draped half across her shoulders and half dangling down the back of her chair, lazily blowing in the breeze as she soaks up the sun, as she soaks up his sun and he wants nothing more than to chuck his laptop across the room and go join her.
His cursor blinks steadily as he stares at the sentence he stopped writing half way through ten minutes ago in favor of gazing at more interesting sights. The train of thought he’d been entertaining is long gone, replaced with sense memories of her skin and her mouth and then he’s clicking the lid of his laptop shut and taking the stairs two at a time until he’s well on his way down the windy path to his beach, sand crunching beneath his bare feet.
He stops to watch her up close before she knows he’s there, checking to make sure she’s awake because she’s lying so still. She reaches up to swipe at a stray strand of hair after a moment, very much awake, and he walks close until his shadow casts darkly across her face, her nose scrunching up in displeasure.
“Castle,” she half whines, letting her oversized sunglasses tip down enough to make eye contact with him. Before she can finish, he steps closer, leaning over her to pluck the glasses from her face, smile into her eyes, and trail a finger down her nose. The look she gives him is half affection half annoyance (her very own special blend), and then he leans down to brush a kiss across the sun warmed skin of her neck. One of her hands threads through the hair at the back of his head, but she turns her face, protesting with a huff of air. “You’re blocking my sun, you know.”
He hums noncommittally against her pulse point, open mouthed kissing down the open expanse of her chest, brushing the underside of a breast with his knuckles. He hears her sigh, but she makes like she’s pushing him away.
“I thought you were supposed to be writing?”
He sucks a trail back up her neck to her ear, biting gently and then pulling away to slide her sunglasses back onto her face and sit on the edge of her chair. “It’s too hard to concentrate when you’re sitting out here half naked like this.” He knows he’s pouting, but it’s true. His new Nikki Heat novel is going to turn into a beach vacation edition if he doesn’t get this version of her out of his system.
She rolls her eyes at him and he recognizes the gesture by the movement of her head alone, eyes now hidden behind the trendy black plastic of her glasses.
“I need a hit of inspiration.”
“Inspiration,” she deadpans.
“Inspiration.” His eyebrow rises and he can see the smile hiding behind the purse of her lips and he knows he almost has her. “From my muse. Strictly for business purposes of course, wouldn’t want to disappoint my fans with mediocre writing, you know how it goes.”
She gives him an mmhmm and stretches both arms above her head in a move that is entirely too casual to be uncalculated. Kate Beckett uses her body like a weapon, even while on vacation. With the shift, her hair moves off her forehead, revealing the fading bruise from her encounter a week earlier with Jerry Tyson and Castle frowns a little bit at the sight of it, running his thumb over the only thing marring her perfect face.
Her forehead wrinkles when she realizes what he’s doing.
“Hey, how’re - ” he starts, but then she’s grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him straight to her mouth and swallowing the second half of his sentence whole.
When they first arrived in the Hamptons, he thought he was going to have to hide the car keys to keep her from going back after the first weekend, the first case that crossed her team’s desk when she wasn’t there, but it's strangely the opposite. He can hardly get her to leave, and every time he tries to bring up her ordeal with 3xk she cuts him off with her mouth or her hand or both or neither and it’s not yet gotten to the point where he’s going to insist rather than give her her space. Especially when her space is in his space and then her hand is toying with the waistband of his shorts and space is the last thing on his mind.
She lets him get her off against the lounge chair because his beach is mostly secluded and he leaves her bathing suit on, sliding his hand down the front of her bottoms, stroking up and down lewdly as she watches.
She likes to watch, and he’s a performer by nature so it works for them, doing as much for him as it does for her. She groans into his touch as he works her, watching as his hips jut forward even though he’s too far away to reach any part of her with his lower body, but just the suggestion is enough and then his thumb is pressing and he’s pulling a kiss from her lips and she gives in on a moan and tries not to bow into his palm too obviously but probably fails.
They’re good like this.
She wants them to keep being good like this.
He doesn’t try to ask about Tyson again until a few days later when she startles awake in his arms, the sun barely trickling through the big bay windows of his bedroom.
“Hey,” he whispers groggily in her ear, pulling her back against his chest until he feels her tense muscles start to loosen a little bit, waking from whatever she had been dreaming. “Bad dream?”
She grunts noncommittally, shifting against him until the fingers of his left hand brush her bare stomach, her shirt bunched up somewhere just beneath her breasts. She’s warm to the touch, body still loose with sleep despite the abrupt way she woke.
“You know, if you want to talk about it…” he trails off, leaving her the option of having this conversation without having to look at him, but before he can press, he feels the fingers of her left hand curl around his and then she’s shoving his hand down between her legs where she’s even warmer than the rest of her.
He huffs a breath against the back of her neck, making her arch back into him a little bit as she puts pressure onto his fingers, leaving no question as to what she wants from him. Bossy as always. He trails figure eights lightly across the front of her underwear, teasing her as he scoots closer.
“We’re going to talk about this eventually,” he breathes into her ear as he switches up the pressure of his hand, suddenly pressing his palm fully against her. She gasps against it and he thinks he can hear her biting her own lip. “Distraction sex is only going to go so far.”
She groans as he shoves her underwear to the side, taking her with two fingers as he talks to her.
Her voice is devastatingly throaty when she responds. “Seems to be working for me.”
“You’re just lucky I’m insatiable.”
She laughs a little bit into her pillow as he drops a kiss in the crook of her shoulder and then he’s nudging her with his hips and she slides a leg across the bed a little so she’s straddling his hand and he stops talking so he can drink in the noises she’s making because she sure as hell is not afraid of being heard (at least in this respect).
Distracting him with sex is probably the best idea she’s ever had, and it’s all she can think about as she lays practically stomach down in his bed, hips jumping erratically. It's all friction now; his fingers aren't even inside of her anymore, just the hot, solid press of his palm against her clit, his hips encouraging hers against his hand and the mattress. She can feel how hard he is behind her, feel the long press of him against her backside but he doesn't move to make this about him. A loud groan comes bubbling up out of her throat as she tries to swallow it down, gasping and arching as she feels him tongue the back of her neck.
Her fingers grip the edge of her pillow tightly as she rolls her hips against his palm, feeling vaguely like she should be embarrassed about how out of control she is, how much she does not remotely care that she’s essentially rubbing herself off against his hand as an avoidance tactic. He feels good, so good, and all she wants is to let him envelop her in this cocoon of lust and never think about work or murder again.
The hot slide of his tongue makes its way from the back of her neck to her ear, flicking against her ear lobe in that way she likes, making her angle her head to give him better access. He’s practically growling against her as he ends up almost completely on top of her back, pressing her more firmly into the mattress. She feels surrounded, overwhelmed, claimed by him and her eyes slam shut as he starts chanting her name into her ear. She can barely stand to hear his voice while he’s doing this to her, the reality of it still fresh enough to send lightning zipping through her blood and straight between her legs, and then she’s open mouthed gasping against her pillow, breaking apart with a mess of shuddering jerks. He doesn’t let up until she completely stills, moving with the soft rolls of her hips as she comes down, kissing the back of her neck and her shoulder like he’s kissing her mouth.
She goes boneless then, not even lifting her hips for him when he pulls his hand away, but he doesn’t move away from her. Instead she feels him slide his hand along her backside, where his hips are still pressed, and then it’s moving in a suspiciously rhythmic motion that makes her stomach clench all over again. Her head peeks up as she peers over her shoulder at him and he’s staring at her with eyes so dark they could be twin thunderstorms, fist wrapped around his own cock. His hand is still slick with her.
She flips over then, drawn to the sight of him touching himself for her, because of her, and lets her leg drape over his hip to cradle his movements with her body. She doesn’t touch him, just watches as he looks her over, still wearing one of his tshirts and a pair of thoroughly jostled underwear, and leans in to tug a kiss from his lips. He kisses her back, following her mouth as his hand moves, tongue sliding wetly against hers, fast and a little bit desperate. Her blood pounds in her ears as her hips unconsciously cant forward, catching the feel of his knuckles along her lower abdomen. She pulls back from him then, just far enough so she can watch him again, watches his eyes rove their way over her face and then downward, drinking her in.
“Do you want me to pull my shirt up?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper and she sees him start at the sound of it, thoroughly enveloped in a haze of lust. Her finger runs up and down his moving bicep as his eyes trail their way back to hers and then he’s nodding, croaking out a yeah that makes her want to swat his hand away and straddle him but she’s caught up in the voyeuristic haze of the moment and instead moves her hand to the hem of her shirt, dragging it slowly up and along the flat expanse of her stomach and over the undersides of her breasts until his hand starts moving faster and she can no longer breathe because he’s so completely bare and open before her and if her breath weren’t choking her she thinks she’d confess every single thing she’s never told him on the spot.
They’re so good here, she doesn’t want to ruin it.
His new Nikki Heat novel is going to turn into a beach vacation edition if he doesn’t get this version of her out of his system.
castle/beckett - (kind of super duper) nc-17
a/n: I feel like I should apologize to anyone who thought this was going to be case-y/plotty fic and was disappointed by the lack of case solving details. Use your imaginations for how Castle found her and then dive into my gratuity mmhmm. Ty for your time.
Castle’s supposed to be writing, has got a deadline looming with the shadow of an overbearing publisher slash ex-wife slash ex-girlfriend hanging over him, but instead of tapping away he’s staring out the office window of his Hamptons house, transfixed. He’s got a perfect view of his private beach from where he’s sitting, and Beckett is currently enjoying said beach in every possible way. She’s a little bit far for him to see too many details, but his eyes follow the line of her body, laid out on her lounge chair, black bikini stark against her tanned skin. Her hair is down and draped half across her shoulders and half dangling down the back of her chair, lazily blowing in the breeze as she soaks up the sun, as she soaks up his sun and he wants nothing more than to chuck his laptop across the room and go join her.
His cursor blinks steadily as he stares at the sentence he stopped writing half way through ten minutes ago in favor of gazing at more interesting sights. The train of thought he’d been entertaining is long gone, replaced with sense memories of her skin and her mouth and then he’s clicking the lid of his laptop shut and taking the stairs two at a time until he’s well on his way down the windy path to his beach, sand crunching beneath his bare feet.
He stops to watch her up close before she knows he’s there, checking to make sure she’s awake because she’s lying so still. She reaches up to swipe at a stray strand of hair after a moment, very much awake, and he walks close until his shadow casts darkly across her face, her nose scrunching up in displeasure.
“Castle,” she half whines, letting her oversized sunglasses tip down enough to make eye contact with him. Before she can finish, he steps closer, leaning over her to pluck the glasses from her face, smile into her eyes, and trail a finger down her nose. The look she gives him is half affection half annoyance (her very own special blend), and then he leans down to brush a kiss across the sun warmed skin of her neck. One of her hands threads through the hair at the back of his head, but she turns her face, protesting with a huff of air. “You’re blocking my sun, you know.”
He hums noncommittally against her pulse point, open mouthed kissing down the open expanse of her chest, brushing the underside of a breast with his knuckles. He hears her sigh, but she makes like she’s pushing him away.
“I thought you were supposed to be writing?”
He sucks a trail back up her neck to her ear, biting gently and then pulling away to slide her sunglasses back onto her face and sit on the edge of her chair. “It’s too hard to concentrate when you’re sitting out here half naked like this.” He knows he’s pouting, but it’s true. His new Nikki Heat novel is going to turn into a beach vacation edition if he doesn’t get this version of her out of his system.
She rolls her eyes at him and he recognizes the gesture by the movement of her head alone, eyes now hidden behind the trendy black plastic of her glasses.
“I need a hit of inspiration.”
“Inspiration,” she deadpans.
“Inspiration.” His eyebrow rises and he can see the smile hiding behind the purse of her lips and he knows he almost has her. “From my muse. Strictly for business purposes of course, wouldn’t want to disappoint my fans with mediocre writing, you know how it goes.”
She gives him an mmhmm and stretches both arms above her head in a move that is entirely too casual to be uncalculated. Kate Beckett uses her body like a weapon, even while on vacation. With the shift, her hair moves off her forehead, revealing the fading bruise from her encounter a week earlier with Jerry Tyson and Castle frowns a little bit at the sight of it, running his thumb over the only thing marring her perfect face.
Her forehead wrinkles when she realizes what he’s doing.
“Hey, how’re - ” he starts, but then she’s grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him straight to her mouth and swallowing the second half of his sentence whole.
When they first arrived in the Hamptons, he thought he was going to have to hide the car keys to keep her from going back after the first weekend, the first case that crossed her team’s desk when she wasn’t there, but it's strangely the opposite. He can hardly get her to leave, and every time he tries to bring up her ordeal with 3xk she cuts him off with her mouth or her hand or both or neither and it’s not yet gotten to the point where he’s going to insist rather than give her her space. Especially when her space is in his space and then her hand is toying with the waistband of his shorts and space is the last thing on his mind.
She lets him get her off against the lounge chair because his beach is mostly secluded and he leaves her bathing suit on, sliding his hand down the front of her bottoms, stroking up and down lewdly as she watches.
She likes to watch, and he’s a performer by nature so it works for them, doing as much for him as it does for her. She groans into his touch as he works her, watching as his hips jut forward even though he’s too far away to reach any part of her with his lower body, but just the suggestion is enough and then his thumb is pressing and he’s pulling a kiss from her lips and she gives in on a moan and tries not to bow into his palm too obviously but probably fails.
They’re good like this.
She wants them to keep being good like this.
He doesn’t try to ask about Tyson again until a few days later when she startles awake in his arms, the sun barely trickling through the big bay windows of his bedroom.
“Hey,” he whispers groggily in her ear, pulling her back against his chest until he feels her tense muscles start to loosen a little bit, waking from whatever she had been dreaming. “Bad dream?”
She grunts noncommittally, shifting against him until the fingers of his left hand brush her bare stomach, her shirt bunched up somewhere just beneath her breasts. She’s warm to the touch, body still loose with sleep despite the abrupt way she woke.
“You know, if you want to talk about it…” he trails off, leaving her the option of having this conversation without having to look at him, but before he can press, he feels the fingers of her left hand curl around his and then she’s shoving his hand down between her legs where she’s even warmer than the rest of her.
He huffs a breath against the back of her neck, making her arch back into him a little bit as she puts pressure onto his fingers, leaving no question as to what she wants from him. Bossy as always. He trails figure eights lightly across the front of her underwear, teasing her as he scoots closer.
“We’re going to talk about this eventually,” he breathes into her ear as he switches up the pressure of his hand, suddenly pressing his palm fully against her. She gasps against it and he thinks he can hear her biting her own lip. “Distraction sex is only going to go so far.”
She groans as he shoves her underwear to the side, taking her with two fingers as he talks to her.
Her voice is devastatingly throaty when she responds. “Seems to be working for me.”
“You’re just lucky I’m insatiable.”
She laughs a little bit into her pillow as he drops a kiss in the crook of her shoulder and then he’s nudging her with his hips and she slides a leg across the bed a little so she’s straddling his hand and he stops talking so he can drink in the noises she’s making because she sure as hell is not afraid of being heard (at least in this respect).
Distracting him with sex is probably the best idea she’s ever had, and it’s all she can think about as she lays practically stomach down in his bed, hips jumping erratically. It's all friction now; his fingers aren't even inside of her anymore, just the hot, solid press of his palm against her clit, his hips encouraging hers against his hand and the mattress. She can feel how hard he is behind her, feel the long press of him against her backside but he doesn't move to make this about him. A loud groan comes bubbling up out of her throat as she tries to swallow it down, gasping and arching as she feels him tongue the back of her neck.
Her fingers grip the edge of her pillow tightly as she rolls her hips against his palm, feeling vaguely like she should be embarrassed about how out of control she is, how much she does not remotely care that she’s essentially rubbing herself off against his hand as an avoidance tactic. He feels good, so good, and all she wants is to let him envelop her in this cocoon of lust and never think about work or murder again.
The hot slide of his tongue makes its way from the back of her neck to her ear, flicking against her ear lobe in that way she likes, making her angle her head to give him better access. He’s practically growling against her as he ends up almost completely on top of her back, pressing her more firmly into the mattress. She feels surrounded, overwhelmed, claimed by him and her eyes slam shut as he starts chanting her name into her ear. She can barely stand to hear his voice while he’s doing this to her, the reality of it still fresh enough to send lightning zipping through her blood and straight between her legs, and then she’s open mouthed gasping against her pillow, breaking apart with a mess of shuddering jerks. He doesn’t let up until she completely stills, moving with the soft rolls of her hips as she comes down, kissing the back of her neck and her shoulder like he’s kissing her mouth.
She goes boneless then, not even lifting her hips for him when he pulls his hand away, but he doesn’t move away from her. Instead she feels him slide his hand along her backside, where his hips are still pressed, and then it’s moving in a suspiciously rhythmic motion that makes her stomach clench all over again. Her head peeks up as she peers over her shoulder at him and he’s staring at her with eyes so dark they could be twin thunderstorms, fist wrapped around his own cock. His hand is still slick with her.
She flips over then, drawn to the sight of him touching himself for her, because of her, and lets her leg drape over his hip to cradle his movements with her body. She doesn’t touch him, just watches as he looks her over, still wearing one of his tshirts and a pair of thoroughly jostled underwear, and leans in to tug a kiss from his lips. He kisses her back, following her mouth as his hand moves, tongue sliding wetly against hers, fast and a little bit desperate. Her blood pounds in her ears as her hips unconsciously cant forward, catching the feel of his knuckles along her lower abdomen. She pulls back from him then, just far enough so she can watch him again, watches his eyes rove their way over her face and then downward, drinking her in.
“Do you want me to pull my shirt up?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper and she sees him start at the sound of it, thoroughly enveloped in a haze of lust. Her finger runs up and down his moving bicep as his eyes trail their way back to hers and then he’s nodding, croaking out a yeah that makes her want to swat his hand away and straddle him but she’s caught up in the voyeuristic haze of the moment and instead moves her hand to the hem of her shirt, dragging it slowly up and along the flat expanse of her stomach and over the undersides of her breasts until his hand starts moving faster and she can no longer breathe because he’s so completely bare and open before her and if her breath weren’t choking her she thinks she’d confess every single thing she’s never told him on the spot.
They’re so good here, she doesn’t want to ruin it.