Author's note: This will be familiar to some of you. A couple of years ago, for purely scientific purposes, I created a second account and posted a few stories. Some of my friends in the fandom knew about it early on, others didn't until now. Anyway, I figured I'd finally post these under my own account. Just because.

He holds her steady, one hand tight against her firm belly, fingers splayed across her smooth, damp skin.

Her leg is hitched up, foot resting on a ledge that for most men might hold a basic bar of soap. This is Richard Castle though, and he has a shower caddy that holds his favorite body wash and a sea sponge alongside shampoo, conditioner, and a half-empty bottle of some kind of lotion meant to be applied to wet skin. The ledge is clear.

"It smelled like you," she husks. "I was just going to take a shower, but I stepped inside and it just...surrounded me."

He huffs a laugh into her ear. "Powerless to resist, were you?"

She tilts her head as he feathers his lips down from her ear to her neck, tongue darting out to dip into the hollow of her collarbone, lapping away the collecting moisture.

"Yes," she groans, not sure if she's responding to his question or the way his teeth are scraping across tender skin. Maybe both.

"Really?" he asks, and his voice is far too smug for her liking, but she's beyond caring at this point.

Not when one hand has risen to tease her breast, index finger and thumb gently tweaking a nipple in time with the pulsating stream of the shower. Not when he's pressing against her back, hot and hard and ready. Not when his other hand cups her between the legs, his palm slick with water and her. Not when he's whispering all the things he wants to do to her in that low, breathless growl that makes her stomach quiver in anticipation.

He flexes his fingers and she shudders, makes a keening noise she barely recognizes as her own voice. The writer chuckles, the sound dark and rich as it echoes off the smooth tile walls. "Okay there, Beckett?"

She turns her head, catching his ear between her teeth. The intended reprimand backfires though, because he yelps, and his hands jerk, and it's just rough enough to make her moan. And he chuckles all the more.

"Even when I'm not trying-" he starts, but she cuts him off, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss as she leans back hard, forcing him against the wall. She hears the slap of his shoulder blades as they collide with the tile, feels the quick exhale into her mouth when their bodies meet.

He groans, and she breaks the kiss on a smirk. "You were saying?"

"Evil, evil woman," he pronounces breathlessly, dropping his head to nibble on the cords of her shoulder.

She laughs. "You love it."

"Mmm," he hums, the vibration against her skin raising goosebumps in its wake. "I really do."

She sinks further into the cradle of his thighs, grinding against him as she lifts a hand to run her fingers through his damp hair, holding him close. "I love you."

"You love to tease me, you mean," he growls, thrusting his hips against her.

Her short nails rasp against his scalp as she lets out a smoky laugh. "That too."

"Two can play at that game, you know," he murmurs, her only warning before a finger curls into her, thick and dexterous, seeking all his favorite places within her body.

She bucks into his hand, but as always, his strength catches her off guard, and he holds her steady, keeps her exactly where he wants her.

"Castle," she gasps as the heel of his hand grinds against her. "Castle, please."

Her head falls forward, damp tendrils of dark hair slicing across her vision for a brief moment. And then she can't keep her eyes open any longer because his mouth is working feverishly at the nape of her neck in counterpoint to the finger - no, fingers now - inside of her and the rhythmically squeezing palm at her breast.

Pounding water and labored breathing echo in the enclosure, punctuated by low groans, quick gasps, a sob, and then - and then a drawn out sigh.

She slumps against his chest, head dropping back to rest on his shoulder as his lips whisper across her temple, his fingers tracing soothing, nonsensical patterns around her belly button.

Grateful for the moment he's allowing her, she nudges his cheek with her nose, doesn't say a word but blinks lazily at him. He stares back with bright eyes, eyes not as glazed with lust as she might expect.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his lips finding the corner of her mouth.

She smiles, stilling his hand on her stomach with the linking of their fingers. "More than. You?"

The curve of his mouth against her cheek makes her heart flutter in her chest, urgency forgotten, at least for the moment.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Yes. Come sit."

He walks them forward, keeps his front pressed to her back, and she can feel the way he still needs her, can feel the fierce longing between them.

His skin slips against hers as he turns them, and then he sits on the narrow bench that juts into his large shower, his hands gliding down her sides until they rest warm and sure on her hips. Kate pivots in his grasp, suppressing a shiver when his fingers pass over the sensitive skin above her sacrum.

"You want me to sit?" she asks, her voice light and teasing as she lifts a hand to trail her fingers over his clavicle.

His blue eyes darken and he nods wordlessly, his grip tightening on her hips. Smirking, she takes a step forward, bracketing his thighs between her knees. And then she sets both hands on his shoulders, lowers herself until she can feel the play of his muscles beneath her.

Letting out a breath, she leans in, hands rising to cradle his cheeks. She slides closer to him, watches as his eyes flutter closed. "You're so beautiful."

He laughs, but his eyes stay shut, crinkling at the edges as the corners of his mouth lift. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

She presses her lips to his forehead, traces the raised line of the scar on one side before dropping to his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, the strong line of his jaw, the center of his chin. He stays still through her adoration, doesn't move a muscle as her fingers smooth his eyebrows and her thumbs smudge the dark circles under his eyes.

Neither of them have gotten enough sleep lately, but she can't bring herself to be sorry. Not when she knows what's been keeping them up at night.

Endless phone calls full of bad jokes and worse innuendos; long talks about their respective days - her cases, his signings and appearances; whispered declarations of love and longing and the ache of separation.

He'd only been gone for five days.

She's not sure when she became this needy creature who can barely function without him nearby, unable to think without his warm presence at her side in front of the murderboard, unable to sleep without the heat of him at her back in bed.

"So you really missed me?" he teases, eyes open again, his fingers kneading her tense muscles, one hand on her thigh, the other at her lower back.

She doesn't try to deny his smug assumption; he had caught her red-handed, standing in his shower stall with the hot water pelting down exactly where she wanted it as her strong hands caressed her own body, his name on her lips.

The detective hadn't expected him home for another day, had woken from a vivid dream that took long minutes to fade only to find herself pulled back into the fantasy as soon as his scent surrounded her in the shower.

"I really missed you," she affirms, dipping her head to press her mouth to his fiercely.

She slides forward on his hips, tries to get closer, tries to get him where she wants him to be, but his hands are firm at her waist, holding her back.

"Really, really?" he whispers, his blue eyes twinkling, one eyebrow quirked rakishly. "Because it seems to me you were doing just fine on your own, and I-"

Narrowing her gaze, she cuts him off with a sudden firm grip that makes him gasp, makes her grin. "I missed you, Castle."

His breathing doesn't settle as she works her hand up and down, thumb skating over his tip at the end of every stroke. Her gaze never leaves his face.

"Kate," he groans, his grasp on her waist tightening and loosening again in time with her movements.

She studies the clench of his jaw, her eyes drifting down to watch the way his Adam's apple bobs. He's panting, mouth slightly open, and when her eyes meet his again, the blue has deepened to midnight, lids half-shut and fluttering with every slide of her hand.

"How about you?" she murmurs, her voice lower than usual, clogged with steam and want and the image before her of the man she loves at her mercy. "Did you miss me?"

He grunts his answer, and she laughs. "Incoherent already?"

"Damn near," he grits out. "Beckett-"

She recognizes the warning in his voice for what it is: he's close and if she doesn't slow down...

A final squeeze and a quick exhale later, she's gliding her hands up his torso, enjoying the twitch of his muscles beneath her fingertips. He's not rock hard. Well, his abs and chest aren't rock hard.

But he's firm and toned, and she always marvels at the strength he hides beneath his dress shirts.

Her hands rise from his chest, brushing his collarbones and the sides of his neck to finally cup his cheeks, fingers sliding into the short hair at his temple as she leans forward to kiss him. His mouth is hot under hers, his tongue parting the seam of her lips immediately to map her warmth, to tease and tangle and tempt.

Brushing her nose against his, she braces the balls of her feet against the slick floor of the shower, pushing her body toward his until she can feel the hard length of him trapped between their stomachs, no space separating them.

"I'm glad you're home," she murmurs, feels the hitch in his breathing when she grinds against him. "So very glad."

"Me too," he agrees hoarsely as she hooks one arm around his neck, her other hand dropping between their bodies as she lifts herself up off his lap.

She meets his hooded gaze, finds passion and lust and devotion swirling in his blue depths. His palms drift down to grasp her thighs, she steadies herself over him, and then she sinks.

He groans at the slow slide and she answers with a low keen of her own, her heart pounding harder with every passing moment. She could swear hours have passed before she's fully settled over him once more. It's been too long since they've done this.

Dropping her forehead to his shoulder, she allows herself to just breathe against him, allows herself to feel him doing the same, absorbing the moment, the rightness.

His hands rise to her back, smoothing over her muscles, gentle under the steady stream of hot water from the showerhead.

"Love you," he whispers, mouth at her ear. "Love you, Kate."

She turns her head to press her lips to his jaw, lets her teeth scrape against the tender skin below his ear and then soothes the abrasion with her tongue. He shudders, and she feels the slight movement through every inch of her body.

Lifting her head, she meets his eyes. "Love you too, Castle."

He grins.

And then he moves.

It's slow at first, easy and languid, a subtle shifting of his hips, rocking against her as one large hand spreads over her back, the other skirting her side to palm her breast, his thumb brushing gently over the puckered skin in the center of her chest.

He does it every time without fail, a reminder to both of them of how close they came to never making it to this place, this moment. A reminder that they're stronger together, that they've saved each other time and time again. A reminder to say and do the things that matter before it's too late.

She leans forward into his touch, nipple hard against the lifelines of his palm, and he brings his mouth to hers.

Give and take, the kiss mirrors the movement of their bodies, the wet slide and the slow release. She nibbles on his bottom lip and he thrusts harder into her, drawing a gasp and a whimper from her throat.

He maintains the pace then, faster than before, desperation laced into every meeting of their centers. Too long. Five days is too long, and she has no idea how she lived without this for four years.

His breathing is harsher now, his movements becoming jerky and uneven. He's straining, she can tell, working hard to keep the steady pace, but it's too much for him.

Her name escapes on an exhale, her name over and over and over, and then his hand drops from her breast, settling between them to work at her furiously.

"Castle," she sobs. "Rick-"

His thumb is quick, dancing against her as his hips continue their rhythm. The first flutters of climax spread through her abdomen, and she presses her cheek to his, her breath faltering and her finger clenching his shoulders.

He doesn't stop. He doesn't stop and she can't hold on. He doesn't stop and her whole body curves into his, his fingers finally deserting her core to hold her steady while she quakes around him, his hips rising in a final arc as he spills into her, the sound of their mingled cries drowning out the rushing water.

His hands cradle her back as she sinks down again at long last, aftershocks and oversensitized nerves still making her quiver. Tugging her forward into his chest, his fingers trail along her curved spine, tripping over her vertebrae.

"Too much," she groans, and he laughs, his hands halting their movements.

He shifts beneath her, his flesh still embedded within her body, and she growls. "Can't you just stay still a minute?"

"Sorry," he whispers, but he doesn't sound sorry at all, and when she lifts her head, his eyes are sparkling.

She shakes her head. "No, you're not."

"You're right," he says softly, his lips curving upward. "I'm really not. I called you in, by the way."

She sits up fully then and he groans, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "You did what?"

"Called the precinct," he clarifies. "Told them you weren't feeling good."

She shakes her head. "Good thing it was just a paperwork day."

He nods and tilts his head to meet her lips in a gentle kiss. His mouth is soothing now, tender, and it makes her chest ache, makes her stomach flip.

When they break apart, his eyes stay locked on hers, his heart bared in his steady gaze.

"So," she says coyly, dropping her eyes and trailing a finger slowly up his chest. "If I'm not feeling good, are you going to help me feel better?"

He smirks when she meets his eyes, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips before he speaks in a tone that sends pleasant tingles up her spine. "If I were a doctor, I'd recommend complete bed rest."

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