Due North-Wish Fulfillment-A Caskett PWP three-shot set in S6
Title: Due North-Wish Fulfillment
WC: ~3600 this chapter, ~4600 total so far
Summary: "Her eyes dart around the room, apparently unchanged since she left it. She's a little thrown by it. A little intrigued. It's not the champagne-and-roses surprise she was expecting, and the color is rising in her cheeks now. She tries to cover."
A/N: This chapter is more NSFW. Also long for PWP. I edited as best I could.
She's silent on the elevator ride up. He is, too. He has the hat tucked under one arm and keeps his eyes on the light gliding from floor to floor. It annoys her. Unnerves her, really. She'd expected stammering apologies. Promises that he'd make it up to her. She thought she know how this would go.
She has no idea.
She's the one who breaks first. Right at the door to the room. Her room, and he knows she's dying to know how he got a key in the first place. She won't ask, but she breaks anyway. She shoulders it open and pauses. She looks back over her shoulder like she might not let him in. Like she wants him to sweat.
"It's only for dress." She looks him up and down. "The red."
"Is that really how you want to play this, Miss?"
He has her by the elbow. They're through the door and he's flipped the security bar before she has time to pick her jaw up off the floor.
He turns to her. Crowds her down the short hallway into the room. It's none too big, dominated by the bed with most of the remaining floor space eaten up by a spindle-legged writing desk. There's really nowhere to go. That makes her nervous, too, though it suits him exactly.
Her eyes dart around the room, apparently unchanged since she left it. She's a little thrown by it. A little intrigued. It's not the champagne-and-roses surprise she was expecting, and the color is rising in her cheeks now. She tries to cover.
"Miss?" She raises an eyebrow. Straightens her spine and rolls her shoulders back.
He holds for a beat. For two. He looks her up and down until he sees it. The barest flicker of uncertainty. The first hint that she knows-really knows-this won't go her way. That nothing will play out as she expects.
He reaches past her to set the hat on the desk. She watches. She doesn't want to, but her eyes follow its path and there's a trace of regret. More than a trace, and it almost breaks him. He almost grins. She likes the costume. She really likes the costume, but they have the whole night at least. There's time enough for all kinds of games.
"New Jersey license?" He gives her another once over. "I don't think so." He shakes his head. "I assume the name isn't yours either."
Her eyes widen. Her pupils dilate. She's caught. It's not much more than a hunch and the attention to detail he can't really help, but he has her. The broad strokes of it, anyway, and the air crackles between them now.
"How old are you, Miss . . .?"
He lets the question mark linger. He takes another step toward her. Backs her right into the wall. Her fingers curl around the corner. Around the molding of the bathroom door. She's holding back. Still pissed and not willing to let him win without a fight at the best of times.
But he can give her a fight. He's more than willing.
"Not twenty-four." He reaches for her. She ducks away, expecting him to go for her elbow again. Her wrist or some other place within the bounds of propriety. Something that fits the bill, but he slides his palm down her side. Over the curve of her hip. He lets his gaze follow, a slow drag up and down. "That's what it says. Your fake ID. Ambitious."
She doesn't answer. Her jaw twitches. She's struggling to stay still. She's losing. He splays his fingers out and up. He rests his thumb lightly against her lowest rib. He presses against the rise and fall as her breath comes faster. She's losing. They both know that.
"Not twenty-four," he says again.
His free hand snakes out, too fast for her to react when she's already coming undone. He has her by the wrist this time. She tries to twist away. Instinct and outrage, but he has the advantage in the small space. He steps back, pulling her toward his body in one motion and spinning her to face the wall in the next.
"I don't want to have to cuff you, Miss . . ."
She laughs at that. Something strangled and low that stretches out until she hears the snap of metal and the creak of leather. Something that dies entirely when she feels cool silver circling her skin and the tug of his finger at the short length of chain between the bracelets.
". . . but I will." He dips his mouth to her ear. There's heat rising from her skin. "How old are you?"
"Seven . . . seventeen." The word snags on something. A wanting sound caught in her throat. One eye cracks open, burning brown and gold. Desire with a hint of mischief mixed in. A hint of defiance. "ID only made me twenty-three."
He jerks at the cuffs again. Turns her to face him and her eyes are open wide now. He crowds her body back toward the wall, hands curled around her hips. "But seventeen makes you a runaway."
She swallows hard. Her chin twitches. She nods, though. "Something like that."
It's a lie or the next thing to it. "I can't help you if you won't cooperate, Miss . . ."
"Black," she says and that's true enough. A little further along the breadcrumb trail before she stands up to him again. "Can you even question me?" She takes in the uniform. Up and down and up again. Worse for her than for him, though. Her breath hitches. "Me being seventeen and all."
She's trying to recover. Trying too hard, and that's her in the here and now. She's trying to get at him. Not at all pleased that he's gotten this far and sure that he hasn't really thought this through. She should know better.
"I've advised you of your rights." He steps to the side. He's behind her before she can react, and the cuffs make her awkward. "Given you every opportunity to speak with counsel. Offered to call your parents . . ." He lets that linger, too. He steps her toward the bed. He turns, quick enough that she's unbalanced. She sits on the edge of the bed with a hard bounce. "But you declined, didn't you?"
She's silent. Biting the inside of her lip and trying to get control of her breath, but he presses. He doesn't give her a minute. "What am I supposed to do with that, Miss Black?"
"I . . ." Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Nerves and want, both. She looks up at him through her lashes and he sees the Kate that was. The Kate whose story they're telling together. Young and awkward and trying too hard to be grown up. To be in control. "I bet you . . . have some ideas."
He sighs like he's disappointed. He drops to the bed beside her and fishes out the key to the cuffs. A key. No release button. She registers that they're the real thing. He feels the pulse pound in her wrist as he unlocks one bracelet and eases her arms in front of her.
She rolls her shoulders, a little for comfort, a little for effect and she's killing him with this rendition of herself. This blend of her now and then. He holds on to the open circle, leaving her with one hand free for the moment. He leans back from her a little.
"I think you're in enough trouble without making more for yourself, Miss." His tone is level. Polite and reasonable. It gets under her skin instantly, just like he knew it would.
"Trouble?" She lunges for him. She swings one thigh around his hip and scrambles into his lap. Her hands dart here and there, tugging at buckles and gliding over rough serge and polished leather. She's all teeth and ferocious energy and the uniform is really doing it for her. He closes his eyes and concentrates on his breath. On the tipping point. If he wanted the story one whit less, he'd let things play out exactly like this.
But he wants the story. His eyes flick open. Her gaze catches his. Just a fraction of a second, but enough.
Make me. Make me tell.
She struggles up on to her knees. She raises her hands high overhead. He takes the cue and skims her shirt up and off her free arm. She smirks like she has him. Tugs at the cuff still circling her wrist and the chain makes music. She thinks she has him. He lets her think it long enough for her shirt sleeves to clear the cuffs and drift to the floor behind. Long enough for her to flip open the front clasp of her bra and shrug out of the straps.
Just long enough to let her guard down before he turns the tables. Before his hands close around her hips and he has her on her back, urging her up toward the head of the bed. Not taking no for an answer.
He grabs for the silver dangling from her wrist. Her eyes flick to the headboard. A solid piece of padded fabric. No posts. The corner of her mouth twitches up. He lets her have it. The gotcha moment before he slams her wrist above her head. He tugs the heavy bedspread down and sweeps the pillows aside.
She jerks hard at her wrist. Instinctive. But he's already snapped the free bracelet to a D-ring fastened to a wide strap buckled all the way around the mattress.
"The fuck, Castle?" She's sputtering. Completely caught out and furious.
He catches her other wrist before she's had time to regroup. He clears the linens and pillows there, too. There's another set of cuffs waiting. Another set closing with a satisfying snick that has her shoulders rolling up from the bed and her eyes flying wide open.
"Constable," he says gruffly. "And I don't appreciate the foul language, Miss."
He sinks back to one thigh, looming over her. Considering.
She's spitting mad. Her jaw works and her eyes flash. She's tugging at the cuffs and twisting her hips. But there's a shiver coasting over her skin, too. Anticipation that makes her breath ragged.
She's gorgeous like this. Pale skin with pink blooming here and there. The dark peaks of her breasts straining up and the jut of her hip bones just above the fabric of her pants. She's fucking glorious with her arms flung wide and her hair tumbling over the pillows. Helpless and defiant.
"What brought you to Canada, Miss, Black?"
He tugs at the buckle over his hip-the one she left half undone, even though she makes a sound of protest now. He works at the strap running diagonally next, sliding it from under the epaulet with a swift motion that snaps the leather and has her hips rising from the bed without her say so. He folds the length in two. A loop with the ends spilling over his palm. He pulls it taut. Another sharp crack. A suggestion that has her lips parting in a not-quite silent moan.
"I asked you a question." He sets the two belts aside and slips open the button at his throat. She's silent. Fixated on the swift motion of his fingers as he works his way lower. "Miss Black?"
The sharp note of command brings her eyes back to meet his as he shrugs out of the coat. They're unfocused, though, shifting rapidly from his face to his bare arms to the braces holding up the pants. The very tight pants that are definitely hiding nothing now and that curls up the corners of her mouth. Satisfaction that she's not the only one coming undone.
And he can't have that.
He drops on to his palms. One on either side of her shoulders. She makes a soft sound of surprise as he lands. Another, louder this time, as the fabric of his undershirt roughs against her skin.
"What." His mouth lands below her ear. His teeth mark her. "Brought you." He glides down her body. He sucks hard at the hollow of her throat. Another mark. "To Canada?"
"A guy," she gasps. She presses up her body upward. Closer to to his mouth. "A man."
He brushes a kiss beneath her chin. Something gentle that frustrates her. It's not the kind of reward she was looking for.
She arches her spine, insisting, but he pulls back entirely. He rolls on to one elbow. Flattens his palm over her abdomen. She shoots him a look, half desperate, half pissed off, but she stills. He nods, pleased. A good girl gesture she hates a little and loves a lot when it's this kind of story.
He lets his hand travel up. His fingers feather over her nipples, but it's just a stop along the way. His thumb brushes over her lips and his fingertips coax her eyelids closed. He lowers his mouth to her breast, hovering. Waiting to see if she'll play along. If she'll stay still.
She will. She does. He closes his lips over the tight peak as it strains up toward him. He runs his tongue in a leisurely circle, around and around. He sucks and teases until she gives in. Until her own lips part and she lets loose the moan she's been holding tight between her teeth.
"Older than you." He kisses along the inside of one breast. Lets his hand play lightly over the other before he fills the palm of his hand with it. Before he squeezes hard. Pinches at it and lets her body tell him how much is just the other side of enough. "Quite a bit older."
"Yes." She pants. Her eyes are squeezed shut and she's worrying the corner of her lip with her teeth. "Older."
He lowers his mouth over her other breast. Lifts his hand to play over the wet surface he's just abandoned. A harder pinch there and teeth at the other. She cries out, even as her hips buck closer to him. "You like older men, Miss Black?"
Her eyes flick open at that. She can't resist. "Some."
She can't resist, so he makes her pay. He pushes up from the bed. His hands and mouth abandon her skin long enough to pull something outraged from her. Some cross between Constable and his name, both mangled by fury.
He moves quickly down the bed, shoving one hand beneath her hips, tearing at the button of her dress pants with the other. His fingers hook over the waistband and drag them none-too-gently down her legs. Her heels dangle from her toes until he yanks the whole lot down at once, panties and all.
"Some?" He plants one hand at the inside of her knee. He leans in, trailing kisses in a low string from hip to hip. "Him? Did you want him? Did you want him to want you?"
"Yes." She draws her heel up to the bed. Her eyes drop closed again and she settles in to the stretch at her shoulders. Her knee bends. Falls open under the slightest pressure of his palm. "I wanted . . . wanted . . ."
"This?" His fingers travel swiftly up the inside of her thigh. He circles her clit once. He dips a finger inside, then another. He angles his wrist to press his whole hand tight against her. She's flooding his palm already. "Is this what you wanted?"
"God." Her low back curls off the bed. She thrashes against the weight of his shoulder, the muscles of her abdomen fluttering as he nips and sucks at the skin there. "Yes. More. Want more."
He obliges momentarily. He sweeps his thumb out to press hard against her clit. A lingering touch that skips away and leaves her stranded on the edge.
"More." He eases his fingers out of her. Dips his head and lets his tongue slick just once over her before he's scaling her body. Touching his fingers to her lips and sharing the taste in a kiss. "Maybe later."
He swallows her protest. A hard sweep of his tongue over hers and a firm hand at her shoulder. The press of his chest against hers.
"You didn't get what you wanted, did you?" He slides his hand to her jaw. He jerks her chin up, waiting for her eyes to open. Waiting for her to face him. "Not from him. He left you. Where?"
She swallows. He presses his fingers over the rise and fall of it. Soothing, but demanding, too. Taking in the details. Waiting patiently for her to give.
"Hotel," she says quietly.
Fear creeps in now. Unpleasant memory. He kisses her. Draws out the sting of it. "Bad?"
"Bad." She nods. A crooked smile to show she's ok, really. "But then . . ." She arches her body against his. She hooks her ankle around his calf and draws her foot up slick leather of his boot to the yellow strapping that runs the length of his leg.
"Then." He pulls his knee up, planting his thigh higher between hers. "A knock at the door?"
She nods again. Sinks her body against him. He lets her for now. Braces himself to one side and just enjoys the roll of her hips. The way desire floods through her. The way she's utterly open with it. Shameless.
"A knock at the door." Her head falls back. She arches her throat up towards his mouth and he feels the words vibrating there.
"And do you know why the police would be interested in you, Miss Black?" He twists. Lets the weight of his upper body settle on to one elbow and snugs his thigh more firmly against her. "Do you have any idea why we're here?"
She shakes her head. Her eyes are wide. She's speechless. Back in the moment. She's afraid, but that comes second. She's exhilarated. A bad girl getting off on this. On all the trouble she's in.
He wants her. Suddenly. Badly.
"Did he cuff you?" He drags a rough hand up body. Along her ribs and the length of her arm to the outpost of one wrist, high above her head. He closes his fingers around it. Heat and metal and resistance.
"No." That's all her. His Kate, still furious about it after all this time. "Disappointing." She grins on that, though. She catches his mouth in a rough kiss.
"Disappointing. I'll bet," he murmurs back. "Was he very proper?"
He works one hand between their bodies, fumbling at the fly of his pants a little more than strictly necessary. She's wild with it. The incidental contact. Pressure and retreat.
"Proper." She chokes out. "Polite. Incredibly fucking polite."
"It's not what you wanted." He frees himself, finally. Clumsily, and that's not entirely deliberate. He's as caught up as she is, and the soaking wet heat of her drenching the head of his cock very nearly undoes him right then and there. "It's not what you wanted at all."
He reaches up to claw the braces from his shoulders.
"Leave . . . don't . . ." Her voice is raw. His hips jerk toward her, well beyond his control at this point. Her eyes roll back in her head at the contact. Too little and too much with the fabric dragging at the inside of her thighs. "Like this. Just like this."
He slams into her, helpless to do anything else. Her body clamps hard around him. There's a filthy sounding grunt from one of them. Both of them, probably. He drags himself back out with effort that might kill him. She's so fucking tight already.
"Like this?" He focuses on the words. On the feel of them in his mouth and the taste of sweat beading on her breast when his tongue flicks out. He pushes back in, slow this time. "Is this what you wanted?"
"Nooooo." It's anguished. Her thighs flex. She pushes against him, but he's letting himself press her down into the mattress. He's using his weight and some miraculous reserve of patience to hold back. To make her beg. "Hard. Please. Hard."
It doesn't break him right away. Somehow it doesn't. He drags in and out. He has the will to tease her a little while, but the litany turns filthy somewhere along the way. Her hands open and close, both twisting to pull hard at the short length of chain at the cuffs and he's out of his mind when her teeth sink into his shoulder. He hooks an elbow under one thigh and drives into her again and again. A short, hard grind until both their bodies snap tight and neither one of them can movie.
His eyes squeeze shut and the world is shards of black and amber as he gasps for breath against her chest.
She's sort of . . . gone when he can breathe again. Her mouth is slack and her hips are still rolling up into his. Short, fluttering movements around him, but it's detached. Like there's nothing here but her body and all it wants from him.
"Kate." He lets his breath tickle her ear. He makes his hands heavy on her skin and calls her back. "You with me?"
"With you . . " She says it on a sharp breath. It startles her. The sound of her own voice. Her lips draw up in a wide grin. Sleepy. Lazy. Spent. "With you."
"Hey." He kisses her. Presses his own grin to hers. "Good. Missed you."
"Already?" She rolls her shoulders. He draws back, remembering. Reaching for the bedside table. For the key he'd tossed there. She shakes her head, though. Stretches and teases him with the arc of her ribs pressing into his palm.
"Already."
A/N: There's a short epilogue I'll post after looking over it a bit. Thanks for reading.