(no subject)
Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 3/?
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: Season Three.
Notes: I have to apologise for the time leap. I tried, I really did, to write something between this chapter and the last, and I got about a thousand words of something set during Nikki Heat, but nothing fit and everything felt like it was just filler, so I decided to stop fighting it and roll with the punches.
Summary: “That was amazing,” he tells her. And then, “the way you knocked him out.” But he means the kiss, the them, and she knows.
--
the gasp and stutter of a heart 3/?
--
Rick’s cheating. He knows it’s a bad idea, even as he’s grabbing her by the arm and stealing her shock away with a kiss. He’s not cheating on her, or with her, though her boyfriend means that’s technically true, too, but he’s borrowing a piece of a fantasy, toying with a taste of their future.
He’s taking liberties he doesn’t deserve but her taste is familiar and foreign, all at once, and she isn’t fighting him. Instead, she follows him when he pulls away and then it’s biting and hot and electric and he nearly forgets about the armed man ambling towards them, nearly forgets about the two detectives that are somewhere behind that door.
He’s going to want to talk about it this time, and she’s going to want to ignore it again and that makes it almost painful when she spins away to knock out the guard. He’s not sure he can live through another month of sorry in every glance.
“That was amazing,” he tells her. And then, “the way you knocked him out.” But he means the kiss, the them, and she knows.
He’s already proven that nothing between them has to change. They had a taste of what they could be, a stolen moment where what-if was what-is and when it passed they didn’t let things change. And maybe that’s a bad thing, but they’re still good together, and nothing has to change except that they could be great together.
“Lets go.”
She’s slipping towards the doorway then, diving headfirst, gun drawn, into whatever the next moment holds.
“Stay behind me.” Her voice is a whisper and she motions him back and they’re not wearing vests, they’re not expecting backup. She didn’t hand him her extra piece - he doesn’t know if she still caries one - but he’s all she has to watch her back and so he decides, for once, that he’s going to do as she asks.
She presses her back against the wall at the top of the stairs and he’s there, next to her, when she leans around to try and scope out the room but, in the end, they hear them before they can see them.
“Shoot out one of his kneecaps.”
Someone screams in protest and then Kate springs forward, into action, fierce and deadly, and she takes the first one down before she’s even properly around the corner.
He’d be turned on if he weren’t so damn terrified.
There are more shots, one and then two and he thinks maybe he hears the zing of one as it flies above his head, but still Rick hangs back, waits for his chance, and moves in the opposite direction.
They can flank them this way and it’d be a brilliant plan if only he wasn’t so useless and without a gun.
He spies Esposito, watches the other man shrink in on himself, trying to make himself a smaller target while the bullets fly around him. Ryan’s on the floor, on his back, and Rick panics for a moment, thinking the worst, until the younger man rolls.
Alive then.
Good. That’s good. He can keep going with that.
Rick sticks to the edges of the room. He stays in the shadows, stays low, hidden behind crates and hulking pieces of metal as he circles around. He knows he’ll be no good to any of them if he winds up shot.
And yes. There. Kate’s taken out the second guy before Rick sees the third weaving through the warehouse towards her.
There’s nothing nervous about the way the guy handles his weapon, mid-shoot out and there’s nothing but steel in the set of his shoulders, and this is him, Rick realises, this is their guy. Lockwood.
He’s getting closer to Rick’s position and the writer pauses. If he moves, he’ll give himself away and windup with a shiny new bullet hole. Or worse. But he’s close enough to see the assassin’s shoulders lock, watch him steady the rifle.
Lockwood aims, finger at the ready, and whatever it is that overtakes him, it’s white and hot and surges through his veins so fast that Rick forgets where he is. He forgets about the gunfire and the warehouse and the danger because -
Kate.
- Him or her and he’ll always pick her.
Instinct, raw and animal drives him and then he’s on top of the guy and he doesn’t stop until he feels something break, until he hears the crack of bone, and he’s not sure if it’s his hand or the man’s face, but the sniper’s stopped struggling beneath him and that’s good enough.
There’s blood on his fist, red and hot, and he lets Lockwood’s weight drop to the cement floor.
“You okay?”
“Huh?”
Kate’s looking at him, concern on her face, and he realises that he’s still breathing heavily, still on top of the unconscious man. He relaxes the fist that’s still clenched, drawn back, at the ready.
“Never better,” he says and they both know it’s a lie.
“Help me untie the guys,” Kate says, pausing next to him to place a hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“See if he’s got a knife,” she says when he hauls himself off the guy.
She’s all business then, checking the guys, securing the scene, and it’s not until much later, when her hands turn gentle around his and her expression becomes tender, that he can think about how close he came to losing her to a bullet. Again. Fuck.
If he thought three years of nearly could make him immune to it, the way his heart still squeezes his chest in fear tells him otherwise.
He could have lost her tonight.
Before he told her.
How he feels. What she means. What they are to him. Why he comes back.
Still, he finds a laugh for her, a smile when she jokes, because that’s who they are and it’s what they do. She thanks him, for having her back, and he promises her always and when she leans over and kisses him lightly he thinks, maybe, their forever might not be that far away after all.
--
Her apartment is dark when they enter and he fumbles for the light switch because he ended his relationship with Gina and she dived into hers with Josh. He was done pretending and maybe she wasn’t, and he can’t stand the reminder. Not tonight.
He’s kept his distance since that night, the one they don’t speak of, and he doesn’t know what he expected, but he’s surprised that nothing has really changed.
He’d been there earlier, of course, but it’s only now, without the threat hanging over their heads, without the sense of the immediate, that he allows himself to look. He lets his eyes roam and he finds them drawn to her couch. He knows she’s giving him an odd look as he stares, but he can’t stop. He’s looking for some sign of them, her and him, or them, her and Josh, but he finds neither and he doesn’t know if he’s okay with that because, at least, if she’s passing up a chance with him, he’d like to know it’s for something worth it.
“You okay, Castle?”
“Not really.” At her raised eyebrow he adds, “My hand is killing me.”
“Lets get some more ice on it.” She lifts it between her own gingerly and the tenderness he’d seen on her face earlier stretches to encompass them.
Rick lets her lead them to the kitchen, and he’s careful in the way he ignores the way it mirrors that night. Their night. It’s almost the same. Almost, except that, this time, he’s the one who’d nearly lost her.
Fuck. He nearly lost her, didn’t he?
She lets go of him to open the freezer and he doesn’t mean to crowd her, but his heart is still tapping out a wild pattern in his chest and he finds himself standing so close that he can feel the cold gust of air over her shoulder.
They’d given their statements at the scene, his from the back of an ambulance, hers while hovering outside.
Kate saved the lives of two officers and apprehended the suspect in their murder case, but IA had still taken her gun and her badge. It was procedure, they’d assured her, nothing more.
Rick had insisted on escorting her home. Partners. They were partners. Partners looking out for each other. Nothing more.
She hadn’t fought him.
Now, he’s not sure if it was the wisest idea. He can still taste her on his tongue from earlier in the evening and he remembers the feel of her around him from earlier in the year and he’d seen the press of the other man’s lips, the grim determination in his eyes. He’d nearly lost her and heaven help him but needs her - needs her like he’s needed nothing else.
Her hand on his chest snaps his attention back to her and he blinks. She presses until he steps backwards and she pushes far enough that he has to lean against the counter.
Kate follows his forced retreat, keeping the space between them minimal and when she twists around him to reach for a dishtowel her hair tickles his cheek.
It’s too much to try and not breathe her in, so he settles, instead, for hoping she won’t catch him.
The hand settled on his chest moves with her, long fingers stroking against the fabric of his shirt and it’s meant to soothe, he thinks, but it doesn’t.
“Your heart is racing, Castle.”
“Must be the adrenaline.”
It’s thin and there must still be traces of it on his face - fear, anger - but Kate says nothing as she lifts his hand between them and begins to unwrap the bandage.
“Do you think this could be it?” He isn’t sure why he’s asking except that he hasn’t the courage to bring up the kiss or the couch or the great big them in his mind but he doesn’t want to leave and he doesn’t know what else he can say.
It’s familiar territory for them, theorizing on a case. It’s their thing and he expects her to fall into it with him, expects to find their feet somewhere comfortable, but Kate pauses and when her eyes flick up to meet his, he can’t read the expression in them. “I don’t know, Castle.”
“If we can get Lockwood to roll over on who hired him, we can find out who ordered the hit on your mother.”
“Yeah.”
Kate reaches around him again to grab the ice and Rick winces when she presses it against his bruised fist.
“Do you think he’ll talk?” he prompts when she remains silent. “Kate?”
“I don’t know,” she admits.
She sounds so defeated that Rick lets it drop and they stand in silence as the ice slowly melts between them. His hand is numb by the time she finally steps away and drops the ice in the sink.
He thinks she’s going to ask him to leave, but then Kate steps closer, closing the distance between them and her face finds the crook of his shoulder and wriggles it’s way across until her nose is pressed in the space where his throat meets his chest.
She takes deep breaths, in through her nose, out through her mouth, and he knows because he can feel them against his skin.
She feels fragile pressed against his chest, too thin, and she’s lost some weight, he thinks. She isn’t eating well, he knows, hasn’t been sleeping well either. He’s been sneaking real sugar into her coffee for at least the last few weeks but it hasn’t made much of a difference. She must know, because she’s been leaving it more often than drinking it, but she’s never called him on it and yeah, he’s worried about her.
Rick tightens his arms around her when he feels her body start to tremble.
Adrenaline, he thinks, leaving her system, but then he feels something wet and hot against his neck and realises they’re tears. She’s crying silently, face hidden against his neck, but she’s in his arms and that means something, so he pulls her tighter against his chest and lets his lips drop to rest on the top of her head.
He whispers to her, keeping his voice soft and his promises simple as he runs his palm along her back in slow circles.
Eventually, the trembling stops and then she tries to pull away with a soft, “Sorry.”
Rick tightens his arms around her. “Don’t be.”
She turns her head and he thinks he feels the press of a kiss against his neck.
He pulls away then, tries to glimpse her face, but she drops her head. “Kate?”
“I killed two men today, Castle.”
Oh.
Oh.
“You saved two men today.”
She shakes her head, presses her face back against his neck and he wraps his arms around her once more, lets her find comfort in him. Hopes she does, in any case.
He hasn’t seen this side of her, this weight she carries, and he wants to tell her that she’s being ridiculous, except that she’s not, not really. She saved two men today, yes, but there are two men who are dead too. Her fault? No. But by her hand, yes, and he can see how that would hurt her all the same.
“It was self-defence,” he says against the top of her head. And then, “You did what you had to.”
When she doesn’t respond he keeps speaking, doesn’t know what else to do. “I could have killed Lockwood, I think. When I saw the gun trained on you I snapped. Didn’t know what I was doing.”
She tenses in his arms then. “You wouldn’t have killed him, Castle.”
“I might have.”
“You didn’t.”
“No. But I would have, if I’d been too late-” He can’t finish the thought.
She tries to pull away then, tries to look at him, but he locks his arms around her, buries his face in her hair.
“How can you have so much faith in me?” It’s broken, her question, muffled into the collar of his shirt and his heart breaks a little because he can’t tell her, can he?
They slept together once, a moment of life and affirmation and surrender to the need, the pull between them, and it was more than a month before the silences between them stopped being awkward, before they found their equilibrium again.
“You’re easy to believe in,” he tells her instead, because it’s the truth, even if it’s only half of it.
They were finally someplace comfortable, somewhere between the touches that are a little too frequent and the tense moments that are a little too revealing, and he’s not willing to give it up. He’s not. Except-
Why do you keep coming back?
“Castle-”
Why?
“I love you.” And then he drops his arms, and it’s almost funny how it makes him recoil from her as fast as it makes her from him. Except that it’s not because he didn’t mean to say it, didn’t ever mean for her to hear it, even if he thinks she must have known it by now.
“I can’t-”
It’s a sentence he’s finished enough times in his own head to know where she’s going with it.
He cuts her off with, “I’m sorry.” And steps around her, tries not to meet her eyes.
“Thanks for the ice.” And then, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Beckett.” Because he’s her partner, her friend, and not her lover. It’s a box he checked himself.
Partner, then.
And he’s nearly there, nearly out of the kitchen, when her hand catches his arm.
He opens his mouth - to apologise again? He’s not sure. But she’s spun him around and she’s pulling him towards her and her lips are bruising against his.
She tastes like tears and metal and it’s not an I love you too, it’s more an I need this but she’s not kicking him out and that’s more than he expects. He had his chance earlier, when she’d asked him why he keeps coming back and he’d told her what she’d needed to hear instead.
Partner. Not Lover. Partner because he was sure that’s all she wanted from him, except that she’s kissing him now and it’s hard and rough and a little bit desperate.
Kate’s tongue pushes past his lips, demanding, and it’s intense in a way that none of their previous kisses have been. She tugs on his lips, pulling them between her teeth and biting and hot and he meets her need with his own.
Rick lets his hands slide down her back to her waist. He pulls her against him and he can ignore the pain that shoots through his hand when her lips leave his to travel across his jaw and down his neck.
Two small hands fist in his shirt and buttons fly as she’s pulling him closer and pulling the shirt apart at the same time.
Rick slides his hands to her bottom, lifting and spinning to settle her on the counter. She pulls him between her legs and his teeth nip at her neck.
A hand finds him through their clothes and he groans, dropping his forehead to press against her neck as his hips move of their own accord.
He’s near his breaking point.
But he won’t be able to ignore this tomorrow, he knows, and so he pleads, “Tell me to stop, Kate.”
“Don’t,” she says. She flicks open the button on his pants. “Don’t stop.”
--
TBC…
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: Season Three.
Notes: I have to apologise for the time leap. I tried, I really did, to write something between this chapter and the last, and I got about a thousand words of something set during Nikki Heat, but nothing fit and everything felt like it was just filler, so I decided to stop fighting it and roll with the punches.
Summary: “That was amazing,” he tells her. And then, “the way you knocked him out.” But he means the kiss, the them, and she knows.
--
the gasp and stutter of a heart 3/?
--
Rick’s cheating. He knows it’s a bad idea, even as he’s grabbing her by the arm and stealing her shock away with a kiss. He’s not cheating on her, or with her, though her boyfriend means that’s technically true, too, but he’s borrowing a piece of a fantasy, toying with a taste of their future.
He’s taking liberties he doesn’t deserve but her taste is familiar and foreign, all at once, and she isn’t fighting him. Instead, she follows him when he pulls away and then it’s biting and hot and electric and he nearly forgets about the armed man ambling towards them, nearly forgets about the two detectives that are somewhere behind that door.
He’s going to want to talk about it this time, and she’s going to want to ignore it again and that makes it almost painful when she spins away to knock out the guard. He’s not sure he can live through another month of sorry in every glance.
“That was amazing,” he tells her. And then, “the way you knocked him out.” But he means the kiss, the them, and she knows.
He’s already proven that nothing between them has to change. They had a taste of what they could be, a stolen moment where what-if was what-is and when it passed they didn’t let things change. And maybe that’s a bad thing, but they’re still good together, and nothing has to change except that they could be great together.
“Lets go.”
She’s slipping towards the doorway then, diving headfirst, gun drawn, into whatever the next moment holds.
“Stay behind me.” Her voice is a whisper and she motions him back and they’re not wearing vests, they’re not expecting backup. She didn’t hand him her extra piece - he doesn’t know if she still caries one - but he’s all she has to watch her back and so he decides, for once, that he’s going to do as she asks.
She presses her back against the wall at the top of the stairs and he’s there, next to her, when she leans around to try and scope out the room but, in the end, they hear them before they can see them.
“Shoot out one of his kneecaps.”
Someone screams in protest and then Kate springs forward, into action, fierce and deadly, and she takes the first one down before she’s even properly around the corner.
He’d be turned on if he weren’t so damn terrified.
There are more shots, one and then two and he thinks maybe he hears the zing of one as it flies above his head, but still Rick hangs back, waits for his chance, and moves in the opposite direction.
They can flank them this way and it’d be a brilliant plan if only he wasn’t so useless and without a gun.
He spies Esposito, watches the other man shrink in on himself, trying to make himself a smaller target while the bullets fly around him. Ryan’s on the floor, on his back, and Rick panics for a moment, thinking the worst, until the younger man rolls.
Alive then.
Good. That’s good. He can keep going with that.
Rick sticks to the edges of the room. He stays in the shadows, stays low, hidden behind crates and hulking pieces of metal as he circles around. He knows he’ll be no good to any of them if he winds up shot.
And yes. There. Kate’s taken out the second guy before Rick sees the third weaving through the warehouse towards her.
There’s nothing nervous about the way the guy handles his weapon, mid-shoot out and there’s nothing but steel in the set of his shoulders, and this is him, Rick realises, this is their guy. Lockwood.
He’s getting closer to Rick’s position and the writer pauses. If he moves, he’ll give himself away and windup with a shiny new bullet hole. Or worse. But he’s close enough to see the assassin’s shoulders lock, watch him steady the rifle.
Lockwood aims, finger at the ready, and whatever it is that overtakes him, it’s white and hot and surges through his veins so fast that Rick forgets where he is. He forgets about the gunfire and the warehouse and the danger because -
Kate.
- Him or her and he’ll always pick her.
Instinct, raw and animal drives him and then he’s on top of the guy and he doesn’t stop until he feels something break, until he hears the crack of bone, and he’s not sure if it’s his hand or the man’s face, but the sniper’s stopped struggling beneath him and that’s good enough.
There’s blood on his fist, red and hot, and he lets Lockwood’s weight drop to the cement floor.
“You okay?”
“Huh?”
Kate’s looking at him, concern on her face, and he realises that he’s still breathing heavily, still on top of the unconscious man. He relaxes the fist that’s still clenched, drawn back, at the ready.
“Never better,” he says and they both know it’s a lie.
“Help me untie the guys,” Kate says, pausing next to him to place a hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“See if he’s got a knife,” she says when he hauls himself off the guy.
She’s all business then, checking the guys, securing the scene, and it’s not until much later, when her hands turn gentle around his and her expression becomes tender, that he can think about how close he came to losing her to a bullet. Again. Fuck.
If he thought three years of nearly could make him immune to it, the way his heart still squeezes his chest in fear tells him otherwise.
He could have lost her tonight.
Before he told her.
How he feels. What she means. What they are to him. Why he comes back.
Still, he finds a laugh for her, a smile when she jokes, because that’s who they are and it’s what they do. She thanks him, for having her back, and he promises her always and when she leans over and kisses him lightly he thinks, maybe, their forever might not be that far away after all.
--
Her apartment is dark when they enter and he fumbles for the light switch because he ended his relationship with Gina and she dived into hers with Josh. He was done pretending and maybe she wasn’t, and he can’t stand the reminder. Not tonight.
He’s kept his distance since that night, the one they don’t speak of, and he doesn’t know what he expected, but he’s surprised that nothing has really changed.
He’d been there earlier, of course, but it’s only now, without the threat hanging over their heads, without the sense of the immediate, that he allows himself to look. He lets his eyes roam and he finds them drawn to her couch. He knows she’s giving him an odd look as he stares, but he can’t stop. He’s looking for some sign of them, her and him, or them, her and Josh, but he finds neither and he doesn’t know if he’s okay with that because, at least, if she’s passing up a chance with him, he’d like to know it’s for something worth it.
“You okay, Castle?”
“Not really.” At her raised eyebrow he adds, “My hand is killing me.”
“Lets get some more ice on it.” She lifts it between her own gingerly and the tenderness he’d seen on her face earlier stretches to encompass them.
Rick lets her lead them to the kitchen, and he’s careful in the way he ignores the way it mirrors that night. Their night. It’s almost the same. Almost, except that, this time, he’s the one who’d nearly lost her.
Fuck. He nearly lost her, didn’t he?
She lets go of him to open the freezer and he doesn’t mean to crowd her, but his heart is still tapping out a wild pattern in his chest and he finds himself standing so close that he can feel the cold gust of air over her shoulder.
They’d given their statements at the scene, his from the back of an ambulance, hers while hovering outside.
Kate saved the lives of two officers and apprehended the suspect in their murder case, but IA had still taken her gun and her badge. It was procedure, they’d assured her, nothing more.
Rick had insisted on escorting her home. Partners. They were partners. Partners looking out for each other. Nothing more.
She hadn’t fought him.
Now, he’s not sure if it was the wisest idea. He can still taste her on his tongue from earlier in the evening and he remembers the feel of her around him from earlier in the year and he’d seen the press of the other man’s lips, the grim determination in his eyes. He’d nearly lost her and heaven help him but needs her - needs her like he’s needed nothing else.
Her hand on his chest snaps his attention back to her and he blinks. She presses until he steps backwards and she pushes far enough that he has to lean against the counter.
Kate follows his forced retreat, keeping the space between them minimal and when she twists around him to reach for a dishtowel her hair tickles his cheek.
It’s too much to try and not breathe her in, so he settles, instead, for hoping she won’t catch him.
The hand settled on his chest moves with her, long fingers stroking against the fabric of his shirt and it’s meant to soothe, he thinks, but it doesn’t.
“Your heart is racing, Castle.”
“Must be the adrenaline.”
It’s thin and there must still be traces of it on his face - fear, anger - but Kate says nothing as she lifts his hand between them and begins to unwrap the bandage.
“Do you think this could be it?” He isn’t sure why he’s asking except that he hasn’t the courage to bring up the kiss or the couch or the great big them in his mind but he doesn’t want to leave and he doesn’t know what else he can say.
It’s familiar territory for them, theorizing on a case. It’s their thing and he expects her to fall into it with him, expects to find their feet somewhere comfortable, but Kate pauses and when her eyes flick up to meet his, he can’t read the expression in them. “I don’t know, Castle.”
“If we can get Lockwood to roll over on who hired him, we can find out who ordered the hit on your mother.”
“Yeah.”
Kate reaches around him again to grab the ice and Rick winces when she presses it against his bruised fist.
“Do you think he’ll talk?” he prompts when she remains silent. “Kate?”
“I don’t know,” she admits.
She sounds so defeated that Rick lets it drop and they stand in silence as the ice slowly melts between them. His hand is numb by the time she finally steps away and drops the ice in the sink.
He thinks she’s going to ask him to leave, but then Kate steps closer, closing the distance between them and her face finds the crook of his shoulder and wriggles it’s way across until her nose is pressed in the space where his throat meets his chest.
She takes deep breaths, in through her nose, out through her mouth, and he knows because he can feel them against his skin.
She feels fragile pressed against his chest, too thin, and she’s lost some weight, he thinks. She isn’t eating well, he knows, hasn’t been sleeping well either. He’s been sneaking real sugar into her coffee for at least the last few weeks but it hasn’t made much of a difference. She must know, because she’s been leaving it more often than drinking it, but she’s never called him on it and yeah, he’s worried about her.
Rick tightens his arms around her when he feels her body start to tremble.
Adrenaline, he thinks, leaving her system, but then he feels something wet and hot against his neck and realises they’re tears. She’s crying silently, face hidden against his neck, but she’s in his arms and that means something, so he pulls her tighter against his chest and lets his lips drop to rest on the top of her head.
He whispers to her, keeping his voice soft and his promises simple as he runs his palm along her back in slow circles.
Eventually, the trembling stops and then she tries to pull away with a soft, “Sorry.”
Rick tightens his arms around her. “Don’t be.”
She turns her head and he thinks he feels the press of a kiss against his neck.
He pulls away then, tries to glimpse her face, but she drops her head. “Kate?”
“I killed two men today, Castle.”
Oh.
Oh.
“You saved two men today.”
She shakes her head, presses her face back against his neck and he wraps his arms around her once more, lets her find comfort in him. Hopes she does, in any case.
He hasn’t seen this side of her, this weight she carries, and he wants to tell her that she’s being ridiculous, except that she’s not, not really. She saved two men today, yes, but there are two men who are dead too. Her fault? No. But by her hand, yes, and he can see how that would hurt her all the same.
“It was self-defence,” he says against the top of her head. And then, “You did what you had to.”
When she doesn’t respond he keeps speaking, doesn’t know what else to do. “I could have killed Lockwood, I think. When I saw the gun trained on you I snapped. Didn’t know what I was doing.”
She tenses in his arms then. “You wouldn’t have killed him, Castle.”
“I might have.”
“You didn’t.”
“No. But I would have, if I’d been too late-” He can’t finish the thought.
She tries to pull away then, tries to look at him, but he locks his arms around her, buries his face in her hair.
“How can you have so much faith in me?” It’s broken, her question, muffled into the collar of his shirt and his heart breaks a little because he can’t tell her, can he?
They slept together once, a moment of life and affirmation and surrender to the need, the pull between them, and it was more than a month before the silences between them stopped being awkward, before they found their equilibrium again.
“You’re easy to believe in,” he tells her instead, because it’s the truth, even if it’s only half of it.
They were finally someplace comfortable, somewhere between the touches that are a little too frequent and the tense moments that are a little too revealing, and he’s not willing to give it up. He’s not. Except-
Why do you keep coming back?
“Castle-”
Why?
“I love you.” And then he drops his arms, and it’s almost funny how it makes him recoil from her as fast as it makes her from him. Except that it’s not because he didn’t mean to say it, didn’t ever mean for her to hear it, even if he thinks she must have known it by now.
“I can’t-”
It’s a sentence he’s finished enough times in his own head to know where she’s going with it.
He cuts her off with, “I’m sorry.” And steps around her, tries not to meet her eyes.
“Thanks for the ice.” And then, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Beckett.” Because he’s her partner, her friend, and not her lover. It’s a box he checked himself.
Partner, then.
And he’s nearly there, nearly out of the kitchen, when her hand catches his arm.
He opens his mouth - to apologise again? He’s not sure. But she’s spun him around and she’s pulling him towards her and her lips are bruising against his.
She tastes like tears and metal and it’s not an I love you too, it’s more an I need this but she’s not kicking him out and that’s more than he expects. He had his chance earlier, when she’d asked him why he keeps coming back and he’d told her what she’d needed to hear instead.
Partner. Not Lover. Partner because he was sure that’s all she wanted from him, except that she’s kissing him now and it’s hard and rough and a little bit desperate.
Kate’s tongue pushes past his lips, demanding, and it’s intense in a way that none of their previous kisses have been. She tugs on his lips, pulling them between her teeth and biting and hot and he meets her need with his own.
Rick lets his hands slide down her back to her waist. He pulls her against him and he can ignore the pain that shoots through his hand when her lips leave his to travel across his jaw and down his neck.
Two small hands fist in his shirt and buttons fly as she’s pulling him closer and pulling the shirt apart at the same time.
Rick slides his hands to her bottom, lifting and spinning to settle her on the counter. She pulls him between her legs and his teeth nip at her neck.
A hand finds him through their clothes and he groans, dropping his forehead to press against her neck as his hips move of their own accord.
He’s near his breaking point.
But he won’t be able to ignore this tomorrow, he knows, and so he pleads, “Tell me to stop, Kate.”
“Don’t,” she says. She flicks open the button on his pants. “Don’t stop.”
--
TBC…