It's normal, now, the solid warmth of the broad chest pressed to her spine, the way she nestles her backside into the bowl of his hips. He'd had a hard time convincing her not to wear pajamas, but now she's glad for it. But we always sleep naked at home, he'd whined, low enough so that her dad wouldn't hear. There's a thick wooden door and a hallway separating the master (and only) bedroom from the living room of the cabin, where Jim Beckett had insisted on taking the pullout couch for the night. Even Kate's most serious eyebrows hadn't been able to persuade her father to reclaim his room.

Kate closes her book (not Patterson - he's not allowed in bed with them) and is about to turn off the light when Castle's voice rumbles just behind her ear.

"You know, now that we're naked, we might as well…"

"Come on, Castle," she whispers. "We cannot have sex in my dad's cabin while he's sleeping in the next room."

"I'll be quiet, I promise," he begs, eyes sparkling.

It's not really him that she's worried about, but she'd eat a mongoose before admitting that.

"No, Castle. End of discussion. We'll be home the day after tomorrow. You can have me as much as you want then."

"Oh believe me, I fully intend to," he leers. "But I want you now," he continues with a pout, the hand on her hip gathering her tightly against him, taking the opportunity to show her exactly how much.

"Well, if you keep that up, we'll never get any sleep," she scolds, eyebrow sharply raised.

"Can we take a walk tomorrow? Before everyone gets here for dinner? I'm sure we can find a nice tree - "

"No! Castle. We are not having sex up against a tree! We've been doing this for two years, I think you can hang on for two days."

"I didn't hear you complaining about the tree last time, but fine, you win. You better prepare yourself for Saturday, Mrs. Castle."

"Ooo, I'm so scared."

"You should be. I'm not letting you out of bed until at least noon."

Kate wriggles out of his grasp to reach for the lamp and realizes the light in the adjoining bathroom is still on. She steels herself against the night air and pushes the covers off.

Rick smacks her ass as she stands and the sound rings through the room. Kate turns slowly, trademark Beckett death glare trained on him.

"Don't think you won't be punished for that later, Richard Castle." She waggles a finger at him, then her eyes narrow adorably, lips pursed in disapproval. She runs on tiptoes across the room, switches off the bathroom light, and returns to him. They settle back into the warmth of one another, both grinning like loons into the dark.

Castle falls asleep in seconds, as usual. Kate's stayed at the cabin a few times since taking a bullet to the chest, but it's still difficult to sleep here. Memories of Vicodin and blood and three months without Castle creep at the edges and cling to the shadows. But at last, she dissolves into sleep to the drone of crickets and the smell of sodden fallen leaves and earthy loam.

And then Castle's hand starts moving.

He does this, sometimes, in his sleep. Strokes her. Envelops a breast with his wide palm. Usually it's soothing, not meant to start anything, but this time something is different. Maybe it's because she's not totally conscious.

He's touching her the same way he always does, but tonight it's lighting her up like it did in the very beginning. Her head buzzes with desperate arousal, her body flushing with heat, pulse pounding and throbbing everywhere all at once.

He squeezes, pulling her breast fully into his palm, thumb brushing and circling and she's pretty sure his careful attention has her graduating from a B to a C cup.

And then his hand moves south.

She wants to ask him if he's awake, but knows it would break the magic of this moment, this woozy onslaught of lust. If she speaks, the bitter fingers of reason and logic will return and make her grab his hand and pull it away.

His fingertips brush lightly over her curls and she feels like she's stepped into an incinerator. The room tilts - or is that just her head spinning? She's so turned on it's unbelievable. She's having a really hard time remembering why she told him this was a bad idea.

Castle extends his middle finger and slowly, deliberately, strokes her, parting her folds, ending with a delicious swirl over her clit. Oh, holy fuck.

He's definitely awake, then.

But that's all he gives her, one maddening caress, and then his fingertips slide back up, trailing over the soft skin of her belly, far too innocent and gentle for the hunger he's awoken.

She lets him meander gently over her until she's sure he's not going to make another foray into more exciting lands. She's burning for him, but she knows he won't proceed without permission, so she rolls her hips back into him, feeling the answering hardening of his body behind hers. It's an invitation, blatant and irresistible.

Sure enough, he responds. His finger dips lower again, slicking through her with scandalous ease this time. He growls softly but doesn't say anything, respectful of the silent enchantment of this moment, but she imagines his words anyway, voice choked with awe at finding her so wet and ready.

It still gets her, how even after all this time he's surprised by how desperately she wants him. The pad of his finger draws hypnotic shapes over her clit, which is so hard now that it's difficult for him to keep under his finger. It keeps obstinately sliding from side to side, out from under the gorgeous pressure of his talented assault.

He renews his efforts, trapping her at last and grinding tight circles into her. Sparks fly up her spine and her breathing starts to sound embarrassingly heavy. She tilts her body, lifting her upper leg and hooking it over his, spreading herself for him, giving him better access.

Unexpectedly, the movement frees him, and he springs up hard and hot between her legs, pointing directly towards where she's aching for him.

No no no no no. She said they couldn't. But her muscles are convulsing, clenching on nothing when she wants there to be something, and as the pace of his ministrations quickens, as her mind melts into molten want, Kate gives in.

When she tips her pelvis back, she doesn't expect him to enter her right away, but she's so wet and he's so hard, and they're too good at this, too practiced, that it only takes a fraction of a second and then he's wrapped up inside her, letting out a whispered moan as she encases him in velvet.

"Oops," she says, her voice low, throaty, and mischievous.

He chuckles darkly but doesn't say anything, just continues to rub her, stoking the fire. He keeps his body still as she gyrates against him. It's languorous and exquisite, and she's already so close.

There's too much skin between them, her ass and his thighs making it impossible for him to drive very far into her. She needs him deeper than this, usually, but there's nothing about the way his fingers are working over her that isn't doing it for her.

She hears herself panting, the harsh, breathy volume of it escalating as the bud of her orgasm starts to open, and she tries to quiet down. It's not working. He feels too good, so so good, and she has to bite down to keep from chanting (okay, screaming) his name the way she loves to.

He knows her well enough to tell exactly when she starts to come, her ragged inhales rasping sharply in the silence, echoing through the room. She's desperate to do something about it, but she has no self-control left, not with him delving into her, not with his fingers pinching and pulling and parting and pressing. She prays he has the sense to do something, to help her, otherwise she's going to be loud.

In an answer to her silent pleas, Castle clamps one hand heavily over her mouth.

Oh, fuck. It's something he's never done before, and the warm, salty pressure of it is like pouring gasoline on a fire. Forget that slow, budding, radiating, orgasm. With the addition of his hot palm over her lips, she's bucking, writhing, combusting when she comes, hard and electric and intoxicating.

When she settles from the jerky aftershocks, she realizes he's still rock hard inside her. In the haze of post-coital bliss, she doesn't remember where she is, doesn't remember why she can't ride him until the headboard breaks.

She grins lasciviously at him in the dark and twists her body, throwing a leg over his lap and straddling him, preparing to take him into her properly this time. Deep.

The bedsprings squeak and they both freeze.

"It's okay, Kate," he whispers, tapping her hip to nudge her back off him. She knows what he means - he's offering to let this round go without getting his own satisfaction. Sweet, silly man.

There are ways to not make the springs squeak.

So instead, she slides down his body and takes him into her mouth, tastes how perfectly his flavor mixes with hers.

It doesn't take long to bring him to the edge, but she panics when she sees his head loll to the side, and she knows exactly what he'll say as he comes, knows exactly how loudly he can moan.

She reaches up, but the angle isn't right, she can't cover his lips, so she shoves her fingers into his mouth, and then he's sucking, and she's sucking, and his hips buck up into her and he comes in a hot, silent rush.

They crawl back into their sleeping positions like nothing ever happened, but their skin is damp and their hearts are pounding.

Kate can't look at her dad the next morning when he asks if they slept well.

Author's Note: Okay, so that's my first M fic out there! Lots of thanks to Dmarx and The Keddster for looking over this one and giving me the courage to post.

I have some even spicier little stories in progress - would you like more? Let me know what you thought of this one!

Bri x