Come In From the Cold

She never thought it would be that way. Or maybe she never allowed herself to truly think how it would be. Because this, it fits. And maybe that's how it was always supposed to be.

She doesn't know when she got so brave. Or reckless? No, brave. Decisive. It's been a long time coming.

It's been a long, draining day. The dreary November cold seeping into her bones, the drizzly rain making her shiver. She solved her case fast, but the scene was gruesome, and she feels numb. She misses warmth and smiles, sunshine and the scent of flowers. She misses having fun.

He's not been around today. Meeting with the publisher, he said, and editing. She doesn't miss him, of course.

But maybe, she'd like to see him anyway.

She shouldn't.

She thinks of his smile for a moment, and heat blossoms in her belly. She really shouldn't.

She steps outside, tries to hail a cab. But the ones driving by are occupied, and they are few and far between. She shivers. Her hair is getting wet, heavy strands hanging in her face. Droplets run down her collar as she turns to walk to the subway.

Seven is her line to get home. She takes the three.

She is soaked by the time she knocks on his door. She should've brought an umbrella.

He opens the door. The surprise on his face is short-lived, giving way to an easy, happy smile.

Her smile is automatic, an instant reaction to the warm welcome she can see in his face. And the weight of the day is sliding off her shoulders. It takes her breath away, feeling it happen. Realizing that this isn't the first time either.

Somehow, he's become her safe haven. Her shelter from the cold.

She lifts an eyebrow at him. "Won't you ask me to come in?" Her saucy tone of voice is entirely on purpose.

He opens the door wide, ushers her inside. "Beckett, you're soaked!"

She's trying to peel off her leather jacket, isn't very successful. He comes up behind her, tugs at the sleeves to help. She shimmies, feels his fingers ghost against her back.

"You should go take a shower," he suggests. "I can throw your stuff in the dryer, bring you some dry clothes."

She turns around, takes him in. There's caring in his eyes, and a tad of concern. But he's smiling too. His blue eyes lit up with a slow-burning fire. For her. She knows it's for her, has known for a long time now.

It warms her, deeply. A slow, heated churn. It tingles in her fingertips and the roots of her hair.

And so she smiles at him, all teeth and bright eyes. Slowly backs away, walking backwards. Heading in the direction of his bedroom.

"I won't be needing clothes."

She soaks up the heat from the shower. Jets of hot water come at her from every direction, the pressure delicious against her skin. She feels her muscles relax, knots loosen. Steam billows through the bathroom, swirling traces of Castle's scent around her. She inhales deeply, her tummy deliciously weightless.

"Would you like some wine?" He calls from outside the bathroom door.

She loves this shower. But she has her priorities.

"Sure, thanks."

Stepping out of the shower, she dries off, then wraps the towel around herself, squeezes the moisture out of her hair and runs her fingers through the tangles.

He knocks again. "I come bearing gifts," he quips.

"Then come on in," she calls back.

He's not as fast as she thought he would be. She smirks to herself, just a little.

He steps inside, extends his arm with the glass of wine for her.

Deliberately, she takes a step closer, and reaches for her glass. Sipping slowly, she savors the rich flavors while watching him over the rim of the class.

He's staring at her. Tries to be polite and not look too closely, but he can't not look.

Droplets of water run from her hair, and his eyes follow as one trails over her collarbone, down her chest before it vanishes into the edge of the towel.

He has trouble breathing, his chest heaves in a quick rhythm.

"Kate?" And his voice is pressed and raspy.

She worries her lip with her teeth, hasn't thought through her next steps. His eyes cloud over, dark glittering sapphires and her whole body contracts.

With breathless, all-consuming need.

And so she steps closer, drawn, pulled. "Castle," and it's not more than a whisper that makes it out of her vocal cords.

He holds her eyes with his. Plucks the glass out of her hand and puts it on the counter, then puts his next.

He reaches out, grabs the knot that holds up the towel, right on top of her breasts. And tugs her forward.

She comes willingly.

Her face so close to his now, she inhales his scent, stares at his lips. She's quivery and achy, restless. God, Castle, please,

"Kiss me."

He swallows her words, fusing his mouth to hers.

His lips are, oh, so soft. And yet he's strong and fast. Can't seem to get enough as he kisses, nibbles her upper lip then her lower lip, exploring her shape and taste. He outlines the contours with his tongue and she gasps, opens her mouth further.

He swoops inside, deep, and she can only meet him, pliable in his arms as he pulls her against his body. It's furious, needy, the way he clings to her, and her knees buckle. He holds her up, meets her tongue, and she gives back all that she has, pours all her feelings for him into his mouth. More, she needs…

She pulls away, and he stares at her, mouth open, wanting, his lips swollen, gasping for breath.

She holds his eyes as she reaches between them, fingers the knot of the towel.

And then she lets it drop.

She wakes early, darkness surrounding every surface of the room. She barely sees, but she feels. The sheets are sinfully soft. He's spooned against her back, delicious nakedness rubbing her skin. Warm, regular breaths graze her shoulder blade. He has one arm draped around her waist, holding her to him.

She has no words, only a silly smile that steals across her face when she recalls the night. She hums to herself, revels in the pleasant soreness she feels, the muted aches in her limbs. His touch, his lips were everywhere, and she was wild, a complete abandon that she's not sure she's ever allowed herself before.

She turns in his embrace, snuggles against his chest and wraps one arm around his torso. He murmurs in sleep, but adjusts, tangles his legs with hers so he can pull her close to his body.

"You, Kate Beckett," he suddenly speaks, his voice a low, raspy hum vibrating through his chest, "are truly extraordinary."

She smiles against his clavicle, rests her forehead against his throat. His arms tighten around her, holding her against him. His fingers idly caress the tender skin on the back of her neck.

She drops one, two soft kisses against the skin of his chest. Then follows with a breathy whisper. "I love you too."

FIN