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Enough for now

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Happy Birthday Nic, the conclusion to your gift xoxo

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An alternative ending to Sucker Punch (2x13)

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She turned her head toward his, her mouth drifting across the slight stubble that lined his jaw until their lips connected.

The touch, the heat, was nothing she'd imagined, and yet it was everything she'd dreamed of on the days when their banter and innuendo crossed the line of teasing, leaving her with an ache that burned. On the nights when she'd read Nikki in the bath, and it wasn't her hands that slid between her thighs, it was Rook's.

It was Castle's.

His fingers buried themselves within her hair, nails scraping across her scalp, sliding down low, cupping her cheeks, and, as he held her face between his palms, he pulled back, and her breath caught.

"Beckett, are you... sure?" He swallowed, hard, and her gaze remained transfixed on his bobbing Adams apple.

Was she sure? No. This wasn't her, and this complication wasn't something that she needed in her life.

But...

Her teeth tugged his bottom lip into her mouth, putting an end to any further questions he may have had, because if his mind was short circuiting as much as hers was, there would be no further inquiries.

She sure as hell wasn't listening to any voice of reason.

It had been too close today and if the feeling of his solid form against her body hushed the fears that had sprung forth, catching her by surprise, then so be it.

One night. One night, and then they could go back to what they did best; ignoring the obvious, hiding behind smirks and smart ass comments.

One night had to be enough.

Her fingers tugged at his shirt, freeing the material from where it was tucked into his pants, and, exposing his skin, her nails scraped lines up and over his abdomen as she explored the forbidden.

A shudder rocked his body into hers, his chest a firm wall that shifted until they were flush, her hands trapped between them, and with nowhere to go, she flexed her fingers, the tips of her nails digging into his flesh.

Damn, he felt good.

His hands inched their way around her shoulders, until he was wrapping her in his arms, and she breathed him in, her lips widening as he sought access, his heartbeat a rapid thud against her chest.

It mimicked her own, the rush of blood loud in her ears, drowning out all the ways that this was going to go wrong.

With her lips opening under his, he transferred his weight forward, his arms drawing her into his chest. The desire to touch as much of her as possible before she twisted his ear, or tugged at his nose, declaring that this was a hallucination, overwhelmed every one of his senses.

And yet, as his hands skated low over the smooth planes of her t-shirt, the soft cotton of her yoga pants, he reached the curve of her rear in one piece.

Whatever the reason for this unexpected change in them, he needed to bottle this feeling now, needed to record every sensation, because for all the times that he'd written this, dreamed this, the actual feeling of touching her far outshone anything he'd ever experienced.

He nudged his thigh between hers, his hips knocking into her stomach, their height difference such a stark and unexpected notion that he staggered back a step, and all the progress they'd made uncoiled.

Damn.

The hesitancy in her eyes left him frozen in place, but she didn't look away, and as each second blended into the next, he took his life into his own hands, fingers curling around the hem of her shirt, the back of his knuckles grazing the toned skin of her sides.

A war raged inside her. He could see it in the tightening of her jaw, the line between her eyebrows emerging, and as he straightened his fingers along her ribs, he gave her a way out.

"What do you want, Kate?"

His lips closed on her name. Kate. Such a foreign word for his tongue and teeth to articulate, such an oddity for them, but wasn't this - his thumbs ghosting under the edge of her breasts, the taste of her thick in his mouth - the very definition of 'out of the ordinary'?

"Tonight."

It was all he needed to hear, and while he had no idea how he was ever going to be able to go back to what they were yesterday, if this was the price he had to pay, then hand him a pen; he was ready to sign his life's savings away.

Her shirt was the first thing to disappear. He lifted the material up and over her head, an incredible expanse of skin revealed with his actions, and, throwing it to the left of them, the shadows of the room swallowed it whole.

Damn, she was beautiful.

His fingers traced the straps of her bra, the blunt rim of his nails gliding over the swell of her breasts until they met at the clasp sitting low in the valley of her chest, and with his heart wedged in his throat, he flipped the clip open.

The way her shoulders shook was enough for the unlocked sides to shift apart, and his palms cupped the now free and heavy weight, his thumbs arching to trail a path over her soft skin until he circled each of her nipples.

"Castle."

He sucked in a loud breath of air as his name drifted from between her lips, the urge to hear it again and again a fist that squeezed his body tight, and, placing a foot between each of hers, he edged his hips forward.

It was apparently the sign that she'd been waiting for, and her fingers bent low into the gap of his pockets, her angled knuckles digging into his pelvis for a moment before she stepped back, her arms extending, encouraging him to follow.

Tonight. Tonight regrets were useless - he was lucky to be standing here after today - and striding forward, he skimmed his mouth across hers, across the ridge of her cheekbone, the line of her jaw, his hands caressing every square inch of her skin that was in reach.

He was probably not going to survive tonight, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of a better way to exit the world than buried deep within Kate Beckett.

The low light of her bedroom hid - hopefully - the creases that no doubt marred her forehead, the way her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip, the panic that was returning, and as she rolled onto her side, her back toward him, their combined sweat cooled on her skin.

Each breath exited her chest in a rasp, her naked breasts straining against the sheet as she tucked it around herself, the enormity of what had happened falling onto her shoulders, her eyes closing under the weight.

Their mouths had danced as one, finding a rhythm that not once portrayed how new they were to this, his lips staying on hers as they slowly made their way into her bedroom, and with tentative hands, she started at the bottom of his shirt, releasing each button.

Her fingers had stumbled as she'd drawn the material off his shoulders, the skin of his chest brushing feather-like against hers. The solid muscles of his arms, which he concealed underneath a vast range of expensive suits was now exposed, and her hands sought to smooth their way across every inch she could reach.

In those moments, when she'd allowed herself to cross that line in her head, when she created a scenario of how this would occur, them, together, she had always assumed that it would be hard and fast, angry and impatient. She'd thought that he'd wriggle his way under her skin until one day she snapped and they'd crash together in a tangle of limbs, teeth barred, nails clawed.

That when it was time to go back to who they were, that it would be easier, some uncertain looks and a "let's just forget about it." Not once had she thought it would be unhurried, deliberate, that she'd have the opportunity to feel, to absorb every second as it unfolded.

The way he'd cradled her to his chest as he laid her upon her bed, his elbows holding his weight as he hovered above her, his eyes drinking in every plain and dip of her body, mapping every detail, leaving her uncovered in the way only he could.

The way his teeth had nipped gently along her jaw as he worked his way to her neck; the feeling of his tongue against her skin was now a scorch mark that wouldn't fade.

The way her name had fallen from his lips, scarcely a breath, over and over as he whispered it into her flesh, a shiver breaking out through her body as he'd peeled away the last layers that separated them.

She'd tried to shove it aside, attempted to be oil to his water, not allow what was happening to be anything more than what it was, yet, as their bodies joined, her legs wrapping high around his waist, his mouth finding the tender spot in the arch of her neck, it all fell apart.

She fell apart.

And now, as he breathed deeply beside her, the effort to inhale a task just as difficult for her, she had to figure out what was to happen next.

Tonight was over.

Where did that leave tomorrow?

He'd always known that Kate Beckett was going to be the death of him, and as he lay frozen next to her, his heart thrashed, a bucking bull that could, at any second, kick its way through his ribs and out of his chest.

Granted, if this was what he died from...

The aspect that most surprised him wasn't that being with Kate could so easily bring about his demise. No, one look at her narrowed glare as she'd shredded him over one of his well-timed, rather clever comments had told him that. No, it was that his passing wouldn't be just because he'd been with her, it would be that there was a second, much more painful death had occurred.

It would be the moment in which he stood and walked out of her apartment. The way he would now have to pretend that he hadn't kissed her lips, that he hadn't touched her skin, that he hadn't broken into mind-shattering pieces inside of her.

He shifted onto his side, the sheet falling off his hips and he made a half-hearted attempt at grabbing for it, before letting it slide off; it wasn't like she hadn't seen it all minutes ago.

"I should...?" His fingers coasted across her bare shoulder and leaning forward, he rested his lips on the delicate angle of her neck, the taste of them perfect against his tongue.

He'd purposely asked rather than stated, hoped with all he had that she'd shake her head and indicate that he could stay, but as she remained facing away, she turned the tables around on him.

"Yeah… Tonight's over. Right?"

What she said was true; the hands on the clock would have sailed past midnight long ago, but did that have to mean that they were done? Was there any chance that they could face tomorrow together?

The hand that he had on her shoulder, drifted down her arm, his fingers finding hers, and knitting them together, he squeezed as his nose nudged along the shell of her ear, the front of his body closing the gap between them until he was flush with her back.

"I could stay? Until tomorrow?"

She pulled their hands up to her mouth, her lips peppering a kiss onto his thumb before her body relaxed in front of his, and he closed his eyes, the call of sleep whispering his name as her reply, a quiet hush, reached his ears.

"Stay."

The end

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Thank you for all your wonderful words of support xoxo

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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for their behind the scenes polishing and editing xoxo

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Thank you for reading xoxo