Chapter 3: 3. Three: Tuesday
Three
by Sandiane Carter
He's texted Alexis his whereabouts, so he doesn't hurry the next morning. He takes his time and lingers in Kate's bed, that silly delight cascading over him when he realizes once again that he's allowed into her space, into her life.
(He would say into her heart, but she hasn't said it back yet, and he doesn't want to presume. Although, really, it might not be presuming when she looks at him like that, beautiful and smiling and wide open).
Holy crap, it makes him dizzy, makes his head spin. How much she's given him, is giving him - and for years he got only tiny scraps of her, little glimpses into Kate Beckett, dreams and fantasies, an unfinished sentence, an unfathomable look, and now - now-
He gets the whole thing. He gets-
So much.
He doesn't even know where to start.
"Memorizing my bedroom, Castle?" she teases, a hand splayed at his ribs. Her voice holds that dark, lovely, morning roughness; it pulls him in, makes him press his lips to her round shoulder, her sharp jaw, and brush that content, lazy smile.
"Yes," he admits unabashedly, shifting closer. "I'm fascinated, Beckett."
"Oh yeah?"
She says that laughingly but she also arches against him, tilts her head back so he can get at her neck; he takes what is offered, worships her clear skin with his mouth, lavishes it with his tongue. He will not say no to her.
He will never say no to her again.
When she finally manages to drag her sore, satiated body out of bed and into the shower, it is well past eleven and she would probably feel ashamed if she had any energy left to spare.
She doesn't, though, and so she rests her back against the wet tiles, her eyes closed, her body soaking in the warmth as she tries to ignore the places of her that are not so thrilled with being sprayed with water.
It will probably take some time for the bruises to heal, for her neck to stop complaining when she stretches it, but it's all good. She doesn't mind. Not when she has Castle to soothe the marks with the gentle caress of his thumb, of his lips, of his tongue.
Mmm, his tongue-
Kate opens her eyes and forces herself out of it, torn between laughter and consternation when she realizes that she's fantasizing about the very man who is still currently in her apartment, and who thoroughly - oh, yeah - thoroughly had her just an hour ago.
She turns off the shower (enough of that) and steps outside, drying herself with one of the white, oversized bath towels that she loves and bought for herself.
Hm. Clothes.
She drifts lazy eyes over the messy pile of her yesterday clothes, decides against them, but can't manage the willpower to go into her bedroom, open her drawers, put herself through the exhausting process of choice.
"Kate?"
Her head swivels and she smiles, can't help it, knows a disgusting amount of sweet, sickening love must be pouring out of her eyes. At least Esposito isn't here to make fun of her.
"In here," she calls back.
Castle pushes the door open and finds her; his whole face goes soft and she remembers a time, long, oh, so long ago, when a much younger Kate Beckett declared firmly to her best friend Maddie, "I will never fall in love with a gentle man. I want him to be challenging, to know what he wants. I don't want a big softie."
Well, she knows better now, doesn't she?
She didn't know at eighteen. Didn't know she didn't have to choose, that he could be both. She can almost see her mom's smile, hear her laughing, scolding voice in her head. Oh, Katie.
Castle kisses her, mouth opening against hers, so very tender; his hand is at her neck and something must be wrong with her, because all her hardness, all the reserve is gone, and she never wants to stop basking in his love.
"Hey," he murmurs into her lips, and oh god, oh damn they're that ridiculous couple you see in movies and want to laugh at, because she whispers back, "Hey," and her mouth breaks into a grin.
Ah. Can't help it now, anyway. Too late.
"You're kinda hot," he huffs into her cheek, and wow, she laughs. She actually laughs.
Oh dear god.
"Having trouble finding clothes?" he hums, and she rolls her head off his shoulder, meets his joy-filled eyes.
"Makes you happy, uh?"
He doesn't even pretend to hide it. She expects him to offer his help - she's already preparing a really good 'no' answer - but he surprises her instead.
"I made you breakfast," he announces proudly, so adorable that she has to stand on tiptoe and press a kiss to his mouth.
"Oh?" she says, encouraging and pleased and silly. She remembers that last time (oh, in another life) and tilts her head at him, regards him curiously. "Is it pancakes?"
He looks a little disappointed that she's seen through him so fast.
"Well. It *is* the thing I do best," he defends himself, pouting, and Kate smiles - or was she already smiling? She can't seem to turn it off these days.
"Not complaining, Castle," she tells him brightly. She pauses. "Well, unless there's a dead body waiting at my door."
He wrinkles his nose at the memory. "Ah, I - I haven't checked. I will - go do that. Right now."
He moves away but she catches him, hooking her fingers in the first thing she finds - the waistband of his jeans. "Wait," she breathes, hovering close, her lips brushing at his collarbone. He shifts back to her, arms coming around her, light and unassuming.
"Kate?" he says, her name a question but no uncertainty, no trace of doubt in his voice.
"Just. Stay here for a little bit," she commands, nestling into his chest, breathing in that recognizable Castle smell, mixed with hints of something else she thinks - ohh, the pancakes. Mmm. Smells delicious.
She loves being in bed with him, loves to have him stunned and gasping, the feel of his body moving in rhythm with hers, but she also loves this - just - little bursts of normalcy, peaceful, quiet moments that she thought, for a few dreadful hours, she'd never have with him.
"Kate?" he whispers against her hair, lips moving at her temple.
"Hmm?"
"I love you too."
Weekly Power Status
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Ranking 
-- Power
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