Author's note: Hey, all you young'uns turn around now, please.

To the rest of you, apparently I'm not very good at resisting peer pressure. Also, yes, still a tease. But give them time.

As soon as he steps far enough through the frame, hand nudging at the small of her back, she whirls and uses his body to close the door. His right shoulder blade collides with the wood, followed by the left, and oh, she's not going to be gentle with him, is she?

Her hand sneaks between his arm and torso and he hears the quiet click of the deadbolt.

"Kate?" he manages to gasp out, but her mouth covers his before he has a chance to ask any questions.

Long fingers curl into the front of his shirt, tugging the fabric into her fists. Any harder and she'll rip it right off of him. He wouldn't complain.

They ate breakfast with his daughter. Laughed over pancakes (she whisper-asked if it meant what she thought it did, and he murmured yes, even if they haven't done anything more than literally sleep together - he's thankful for her, thankful to her). And then they made some excuses and hurried out.

Not to the precinct. Not to a crime scene.

To her apartment.

And now, she has him pressed against her front door, every curve of her body molded to every hard line of his, filling each other's hollow places. Well, not all of her hollow places. But there's plenty of time for that. And he wants to enjoy what comes first. Or who, as the case may be.

He fully intends for it to be her.

Castle isn't sure what he expected to happen when they arrived at her apartment, but this wasn't exactly it.

He'd expected slower, maybe - cuddling on the couch that turned into making out on the couch that turned into her gently leading him by the fingertips into her bedroom. He'd pictured deep, lingering kisses as he carefully divested her of first her shirt and then her pants, and then everything else.

But she's ferocious instead, teeth biting at his bottom lip, fingers digging into his sides, one heel (at least she'd kicked her shoes off) pressing against the back of his knee.

She has her claws in him, she's dug in deep. Dislodging her now would rip him to shreds. In more ways than one.

His legs are going to give out if she keeps up this sublime torture much longer though, and that's absolutely *not* how he wants this to go - with him collapsing in her entryway.

Time to fight fire with fire then.

He breaks from her lips - and her tongue..oh damn, her tongue - to trail open-mouthed kisses across her cheek to her ear, nudges the shell with his nose and lets his warm breath wash over the fine hairs of her neck.

Her fingers clench at his sides, and he lifts one hand to cradle her head as he drops his mouth to her clavicle, suckling the skin he finds there. She shudders in his arms, and he hollows his cheeks, increasing the pressure.

He's hoping she has a clean turtleneck to wear to work tomorrow.


Her voice is breathy in his ear, low and rasping and undeniably sensual, but whatever she might be trying to say dies in her throat when he strokes his free hand down the planes of her back and over the wonderful curve of her ass (where he plans to spend plenty of time later) to curl around the back of her strong thigh, hitching her leg higher and tighter around his hip.

A low groan echoes through the apartment, and he's certain he's never heard a sexier sound in his entire life. She's fully pressed against him now, heat seeping through the thin layers of fabric between them. When did their coats disappear? Yeah, not that their coats matter too much at the moment.

What does matter is the way her fingertips prod at his spine, the way her nails graze his scalp as she holds him to her, the way her breath stutters with every flex of his thumb at her hamstring, the way her heart pounds wild and reckless against his chest.

Her hand leaves his hair to curl around the back of his neck, squeezing rhythmically, keeping time with the beat of his heart. If that's not an example of how well they fit together, he's not sure what is.

Well, actually he can think of something else that would prove how well they fit together. And it seems as if that proof might finally be forthcoming.

He can't hold back his smirk and she feels it, grips his neck and pulls back with a tug, his lips separating from her skin with a wet pop.

"What?" she asks, and after pausing briefly at her red-ripe lips, he meets her gaze.

Her eyes are dark, the green almost gone completely, pupils wide with arousal.

He just smiles.

She shakes her head, soft curls brushing against his hand with the movement.

"Mind out of the gutter, Castle," she says seriously, but the quirk of her mouth gives her away.

He lets his eyes drift over her face, down to the revealed skin between them (and oh, yes, she'll definitely be wearing turtlenecks or boatnecks or completely buttoned-up shirts for the next few days) until he reaches the edge of her collar.

The soft swells of her breasts barely peek out from the fabric, but he can certainly feel her chest against his own, every shallow breath that inflates her lungs pushing her closer to him.

"Did you really think it would be elsewhere, Kate?" he teases, bringing his hand around from the back of her head to brush his thumb across her cheek. "Where's my mind supposed to be when you're wrapped around me like this?"

He can see her almost start to bristle at the semi-joking comment, but then she slides her gaze over their entwined bodies, one hand grasping at his shirt when he readjusts his hold on her leg.

"Yeah," she laughs quietly. "Yeah, you've got a good point."

He loosens his hold on her slightly, a moment away from kissing her gently, somehow sensing that the time for hot and fast is gone and now they'll shift into tender and slow. And then she rolls her hips against his and suddenly it's full speed ahead once more.

Why did she wait so long to do this?

His body is strong against her, all firm muscle and scorching heat and delicious, delicious friction.

She moans into his mouth, feels his grip tighten on the back of her leg, fingers digging into her flesh.

Closer. She needs to be closer.

She presses her body tighter to his, her breasts flattening against his chest, their lower regions gaining proximity as well. He groans his approval of the idea and she smiles against his lips.

It occurs to her in this moment that they're still standing in the entrance to her apartment when there's a comfy bed waiting for them. Or her couch. Of course, the kitchen island is closer, as are the stairs that hold a fraction of her library.

Really, any number of nearby surfaces would do. And the bed is so very far away.

But, oh, she can just imagine sinking into the soft mattress, his solid weight pinning her, his blue eyes sparking with delight and lust and pure adoration. She can imagine rising up to meet his mouth, feeling the light burn of her abdominals as she strains toward him.

She can envision the look on his face when she flips him.

How his shock will turn to desire. She can feel the way his hands will tighten on her hips, leaving his fingerprints on her skin, physical evidence of their encounter.



That's not her imagination at all.

His touch burns at her waist, thumbs working to get at her hipbones. His typing-callused skin grazes the iliac crest on either side, and she jerks into him roughly, movements uncontrolled.

He chuckles, mouth at her ear, lips curling around the cartilage.

"Bed, Castle," she growls. "Now."

Her breath catches in her throat as he slides the other hand around her thigh, hoists her up, and spreads her legs.

Both ankles hook at his lower back, bringing her closer, ever closer. When her arms twine around his neck to press her body flush against him from sternum to pelvis, his eyes slam shut. He stumbles, catches himself in time to keep them from falling, pulls his head back far enough that she can see the dilation of his pupils in dark, vivid detail when he opens his eyes. He grins at her.

"Yes, ma'am."

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