Unwritten: Breathe Me.

Summary: "Don't worry, Castle. It's been a while, but I think I can remember what to do." An addition to Chapter 16 of "Unwritten" by Caffinate-Me. Co-written by Kate Christie and Caffinate-Me.

A/N: A big thank you to Dtrekker for the amazing and very last minute graphic for this fic. We love you Angie!

Disclaimer: We can imagine that this is what AWM had them doing behind closed doors.

Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me

Warm me up
And breathe me

Breathe Me, Sia

Breathe Me.

Her palms ran down his cheeks, relishing the feel of bristly five o'clock shadow against her work-hardened skin. The manicurist had blanched when she saw Kate's hands earlier that day, scrubbing at the calluses as hard as she could, but still they remained—a treacherous reminder of the past ten years. Willing the thoughts of prison and the workroom out of her mind, she pressed herself against him, two thin layers of clothing the only thing separating them. One arm held on, wrapped securely around his neck, anchoring her upper body as her ankles locked behind his back. She rolled her hips, triggering a half-choked moan.

It had been way too long.

Kate hadn't realized how much she had wanted this, yearned for this moment over the past few months. Imagined flashes of it had flooded her mind: phantom lips on her own, hands ghosting over her while she lay in bed at night in her solitary cell, her fingers doing what she wished his could do.

Snapping her from her descent into memory, his hands slipped under her shirt, warm palms meeting overheated flesh. She shuddered involuntarily as he pulled her against him, the smile he brushed against her lips a self-satisfied smirk. She countered with another roll of her hips, and a flare of satisfaction rose in her when he let out a low groan.

She could do this—allow herself to be free. She wasn't a captive here. She could be in charge.

Freezing, her body went rigid as he stopped in the middle of the room. A new level of clarity shone through the haze she had been living in the last two days since walking out of the gates of the prison and back into the world.

She could be in control.

Her legs unwound from his middle, traitorous knees buckling as he lowered her to the ground.

He let out a chuckle. "Getting a little light-headed there, Beckett?"

A burst of anger flared inside her, and she surged up in a bruising kiss, her fingers fumbling with his tie, throwing it to the side.

"Don't call me Beckett."

Regret flashed in his eyes where playfulness had been just a moment before. She didn't like to be called Beckett; that was what she had been called in there.

"Kate."

Her name was a whisper on his lips, filled with more tenderness than she had experienced since her mother had died. She shuddered again. His hands dipped below the waistband of her jeans, brushing gently over her skin, sending a trail of goose bumps dancing over the sensitive flesh of her belly. She growled in response before going back to undo his buttons, fingers trembling.

She could do this.

Shaking, she pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Castle pulled back, his hands coming up to still hers, and she huffed in exasperation, attempting to free herself from his grip.

"Hey." His voice low, soothing. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

There was a moment of freefall inside her chest as her heart slowed, stopped, mechanically restarted. Her eyes fluttered closed, and in her most practiced but unconscious gesture, she drew her lower lip between her teeth. He didn't want to do this.

Finally she found her voice, the realization clear.

"You don't."

Of course he didn't. In the heat of the moment, it had seemed like a good idea—high off of a date with a gorgeous woman without mental issues.

She could taste the alcohol on his breath.

But when it came down to her, jittery and fumbling like a teenager on prom night…

"Oh, no," Castle replied, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, thumb caressing the hard line of her cheek bone. "I definitely want to do this, but…"

He paused, glancing around the room as he drew in a breath, weighing his next words.

"You have done this before, right?"

Her eyes flew open. He thought…?

This insecurity she could fix. Reaching up, kissing him gently, she smiled against his lips. "Don't worry, Castle. It's been a while, but I think I can remember what to do."

She stepped back, her lips once again tucked between her teeth as she pulled in a deep breath and reached for the hem of her shirt, drawing it up over her head.

His eyes widened as he looked down at her, a hand coming up to run through his hair. They raked over her partially bare body: thin frame, abs taught and toned with muscle, a litany of yellow and green bruises fading, scars outlining her past, what she had overcome. Survived.

Desire pooled in his eyes.

Yes, she could do this. She could be in control. Finally.

Reaching behind her back to unfasten her bra, she was stopped by his hands, gentle but firm, against her upper arms, a soft smile on his face.

"Hey, slow down. You've gotta leave some of the fun for me."

Dropping her arms, she absorbed the warmth from his hands as they stroked up and down: soothing, inciting.

Stepping in, he brushed his lips along the shell of her ear.

"I'm not in any hurry."

A surge of affection for this man washed over her, for his romance and his kindness. He wanted this to be special for her. She had no defense against that tenderness.

Nodding in agreement, she laid her head on his shoulder, inhaled his scent, let her ribs expand and fill her up with him.

His fingers tickled the skin at the edge of her bra straps as they slid down, sought the clasp, unlatching it. Removing the black satin from her arms, his hands returned to hover at her breasts. Head still resting against him, she couldn't gauge his expression, so she leaned into his chest and spoke instead.

"Please."

The warmth encased her flesh, and her nipples peaked insistently at his touch.

Sinking further into him, her hands started work on his belt and pants, and both dropped together to the floor just as he attached his mouth to the curve of her neck. She sighed against his skin at the crystal clear reality of that contact, at the feel of his tongue tasting her. He hadn't been kidding about slowing down. She still had on pants, and they were no nearer to the bed, but his hands and his mouth were so distracting…

The outside world dimmed, faded, and they had nothing but time.

But she did want to kiss him. It took Herculean effort to raise her head, but she drew him up from her neck, and then everything else was easy. Parting her lips, letting him inside, letting him set the pace of the kiss—it wasn't what she'd ever thought she wanted, but with him… Ceding some of her hard-won control was its own heady rush.

Her arms were around his neck when she felt his hands unfasten her jeans, nudge them down over her hips. She stepped out of them clumsily, half-falling into his waiting embrace.

Backing toward the bed, he framed her face with his hands.

"So beautiful."

He hadn't even had a proper look at her.

Reaching the edge of the mattress, he climbed to the center, grabbed her hand and tugged her with him, until they were kneeling, chests and hips aligned and grazing softly together with every quickened breath.

Her hands, sure and seeking, wrapped at his waist, outlined the curves of muscle and bone, found his navel and drew out a chuckle. Ticklish…. Good to know.

Mapping his chest, firm and solid, she elicited a gasp when her palms met his nipples. He seemed content to watch her until that moment, but in a flash he was surrounding her again, catching her up in his arms, shifting her down to lay beside him.

His mouth went to work again, first at her breasts, hot and demanding, making her arch into the sensation. And then he drifted down, leaving a fiery trail in the wake of tongue and lips and teeth as he inched toward her last scrap of clothing. When his lips met black satin and lace, he used the tip of his tongue to trace the edge of material in a maddeningly slow swipe from hip to hip.

Her patience nearly exhausted from all this slow build, she lifted her hips, made a greedy little moaning noise at the back of her throat. He responded by hooking his thumbs in the lace at each hip, sliding down that final barrier.

She wanted him inside her, but he seemed to have other plans. One hand skimmed up her calf, insinuated itself between her knees, parted her thighs, and he settled between them, his intentions quite clear even in her lust-induced haze.

Watching him from the angle of his pillow, she tried to prepare for the onslaught. Though she was no prude, this always seemed so intimate, made her feel so exposed. The first puff of his warm breath across her oversensitive flesh made her gasp, shut her eyes, but she opened them when she felt his hand grasp her own. She squeezed tight as the flat of his tongue made contact. She couldn't suppress the tiny thrust of her hips.

One long, thick finger parted her folds, slid inside, and she thought she might fly off the bed. When that digit curled, pressed firmly against her, she wasn't sure what was happening—the sensations were too intense—but she knew she wanted more.

Slowly, he swirled over her, eyes swiveling up to look at her, watch her reacting to him: her harsh intake of breath, her slow, vocal exhale, the pressure of her grip on his hand. As the motions of his fingers and tongue escalated, so did her cries. Everything was spiraling up, shifting so fast after all the waiting.

Too much waiting.

She was so close, desperately rocking her hips by the time he closed his lips around her and suckled. A second finger joined the first, spread her wide, stretching gloriously where nothing and no one had—oh he was stroking harder, and the coil finally released inside her. Sparking warmth bloomed over her body in riotous waves of pleasure. He gentled to ease her through, and as she came back to herself, dizzy and breathless and boneless in his bed, he separated to climb up her body.

All she could process, the only thought in her head, was that she wanted all of him, and she wanted it now.

"Rick?"

He seemed to understand the urgency, shed his boxers, reached over to his bedside table, and sheathed himself quickly as he pressed between her thighs.

Finding his eyes, she opened wide for him, pulled him over her with all the strength she could muster. The weight of his body pressing her into the bed made her feel wild, unhinged… grounded. He kissed her, and his hard, heavy length pressed low in her belly. She had told him that she knew what she was doing, but she had neglected to mention that she hadn't been the most experienced… and he was not small.

His hips retreated, aligning them, and he parted their lips in favor of locking eyes. Nodding her answer to his unspoken question, she felt him, smooth and insistent, against her entrance. And then he pressed forward, gentle but steadfast, and the pressure was staggering, almost like the very first time.

And then her taut flesh succumbed, and he inched inside her. Letting out a startled breath, she stiffened at the intrusion. She had forgotten what this was like—the give required from her own body to let his inside. His look was one of utter panic, but he hadn't hurt her, just surprised her a bit. Eyes wide, she breathed through flared nostrils and made the conscious effort to let everything go, let her body relax.

As all of her settled around him, a smile teased at her lips, and relief washed over his features. When she wound her legs around him, used her heels to encourage him deeper, he seemed to understand that what she wanted most was more.

And so he gave it to her. Gave her everything.

He slid deep, found a slow, steady, maddening rhythm that wound her up again. Pressed tight against her, his body spoke all the words his lips were afraid to voice.

And when her feet dropped to the bed to find purchase, to keep up and speed up and carry them up together, her body answered his. Realization dawned in his eyes just as she neared the edge, and he ghosted his lips over her own, sharing breath, not quite a kiss. The pool of heat that had been gathering since he entered her surged, spread out in rivulets of shocking heat that unfurled through every nerve.

When her body stiffened, arced against his, he breathed her name against her lips and let go with her, thrusting in shaky bursts as her release dragged his forcibly from his body.

As they stilled, he tucked her against his chest, still too overcome to separate from her. And to her surprise, she felt no hint of duress, restraint, confinement.

She just felt loved.

After their chests ceased heaving, he did let her go, slid off toward the bathroom, returned a moment later to pull down the covers and tuck them both underneath, drag her against him, spent but wakeful. Sleep was the furthest thing from her mind in this hazy, rosy cloud of bliss.

Afterglow. She recognized it without a memory to go on.

His chest expanded with intended words, eyes blinked brightly at hers through the dim city light slating in through the blinds.

"You okay?"

She lifted her head at the quiet question, arms folded across his chest, propping her up so she could look into his inquiring blue eyes, which shone slightly grey. She smiled up at him, the way his hair stuck up and flopped over his forehead at the same time. Remembering the look in his eyes when he thought he had hurt her, the relief when he realized he hadn't. There was no one else she could even imagine doing this with. No matter how hard she had tried to deny it, to convince herself that it wasn't true, she trusted him, more than any other person in her life.

"More than okay. You?"

His hand ran over her back, fingers caressing the line of the scar there, still a puckered angry wrinkle. His hand stilled, fingers pressed into the flesh, both of them remembering her lying desolate and almost alone in the hospital. She felt her breath hitch. Just another reminder of how his presence superseded every single "almost" since she had let him in.

He nodded, his hand moving again, dipping into the small of her back, demarcating his own claim to her body. But this ownership was right. This possession was wanted. He voiced what she had been thinking. "You're really here."

Smiling again, her body relaxed down into his, her hand trailed up and down his broad chest, enjoying the feel of the fine hair under her fingertips. "I'm really here."

He fell silent, head resting back against the pillow as he stared up at the ceiling, and she rested her head against her folded hands, turning to stare out into the dark expanse of the room.

"Why did you start writing?"

He sighed under her, fingers coming up to caress the back of her skull, brushing through her hair.

"Because I had to. The words would just swirl around in my head and I had to get them out; saying them wasn't enough. I would speak them once and then they would be gone. No permanence, and sometimes they would come out wrong. But when I wrote I could make sure they were right. I could tell the story I wanted to tell, not the one others wanted to hear."

She swiveled her head back around to look up at him. "Why true crime? With this… passion, the creativity you have, you could have written anything."

"I wanted to write a novel. I tried for years," he whispered as she stared up at him, splayed across his chest.

His fingers tangled and untangled in her hair, unconsciously undoing complications.

"What happened?" She whispered back, not wanting to break the silence with her voice. "You're an excellent writer."

"The words wouldn't come. I had no inspiration." He sighed. "It's lying half finished in a box somewhere."

"You should finish it."

"I should." He ran a hand up her back, squeezing her to his chest in a half hug as he dipped his head to look in her eyes. "You inspire me."

A playful smile flashed across her lips as she wiggled her hips slightly against him. "I can feel exactly how much I inspire you."

He growled, his arm tight around her back as he rolled them over, grinning at her surprised yelp of laughter.

"I love it when you laugh. You should do it more often," he whispered, his lips almost touching hers as he once again hovered over her.

Oh, but this time it was her turn to lead. She distracted him with a kiss, letting him get lost in it just enough… and then she flipped him, ended up straddling his lap, smirking down at his flabbergasted expression. Not displeased, though.

"That was so hot."

She let out a single loud note of laughter, leaned into him just a bit, and then he was curling up to meet her mouth, grip her ribs.

Covers forgotten, the chill in the room hit her flushed skin, heightened the feel of his hands kneading into the muscles on either side of her spine.

His weight shifted toward her, and suddenly his thighs were propping up against her back, forcing her weight against him so that there was no longer a question in her mind about round two.

Hell, at this rate, she could probably handle round five. She had a long dry spell to make up for, after all.

Breaking their kiss, she grabbed protection from his drawer, wrapped her hand around his base, stroked gently up and down, reveling in his body's response to the tease. His hands braced behind him to hold him upright at the sensation.

When a gruff "Kate" assaulted her ear, she covered him and rose up, poised to take him, put him out of his misery.

Above him now, she could watch his eyes widen as she slid herself along his length, teased herself with his tip, making her own breath hitch as she circled him at her center.

When she could stand no more, she perched over him and sank fast and hard, taking as much of him as she could at once.

"Jesus, Kate!"

His exclamation drowned out what she was sure would have been a very unladylike grunt of satisfaction at their rejoining.

But she couldn't help it—she was so full with gravity pulling her down. And straddling him, she had full command of the angle and pace.

Craving speed, she rose and fell hard, almost immediately rose again, but he had picked up her rhythm, and so this time thrust to meet her—eyes shining with a dare—if she wanted hot and fast, he was ready.

Yes, yes she did.

One hand caught in his hair and the other at her own breast, she rode him with abandon. He attached his lips to her other nipple, bit down until it stung, then soothed with a flick of his tongue.

Panting out every breath, she felt her fingertips, her toes, her lips start to tingle. On the verge of hyperventilating, she slowed, opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) and found him leaning back, looking down intently at where they were joined, watching himself be engulfed by her over and over as she moved.

"Rick."

Lightheaded and unable to hold herself upright any longer, she pitched forward, pinning him to the bed with her upper body. His arms came around her clutching her against him, and something clicked where their bodies met. And then the tingling took on a whole new meaning.

The look in his eye was almost feral when he thrust up into her, processed her unwitting cry. His hands pressed at the base of her spine, pulled her hips down hard against his.

All semblance of restraint evaporated as they fed off of each other's lack of inhibitions, rising higher, merging steadily into one writing, pulsating form. Two bodies, two minds, aimed at one goal—creating, sharing, multiplying pleasure.

Dark determination shone from his eyes, fixed on hers, waiting.

She knew he was waiting for her, could see the strain of holding back in the pointed press of his lips, the crinkle around his eyes.

Nearly there, she let out a frustrated huff at her body's unwillingness to fall. If he would just let go, she knew the force of it, the raucous delight of it would overtake her, too.

"I need you to let go," she breathed.

His eyes narrowed for the briefest second.

"Not without you."

"I'll be right there. I swear. Just go."

The snap of his hips, reverberating suddenly and fiercely through skin and muscle and bone, taking over, forging deeper with every push, bottoming out, was what finally sent her over. The climax stopped her breath, froze her body in a tight, needful clench around him, and then he gave in, finally letting everything loose, unbridled, impassioned under and around and inside her.

She wasn't herself at first—she was some ethereal being, floating outside her body, reveling in the sheer joy of the moment. When she did return to herself, it was to a cloud of sated lust, a limp and exhausted heap, held up only by the firmness of the body beneath her, ribs expanding and contracting with every breath, skin warm and dewy against her own.

She felt alive. But there was something else circling that she couldn't quite put her finger on… Oh, yes. She felt free.

She rolled off of him, her body sagging limply into the mattress. The cool night air wafting gently over her overheated skin, sheets and blankets bunched forgotten at the foot of the bed. Her hand flailed slightly as she felt him get out of the bed once more, fingers curling into the abandoned air but her eyes never left the black expanse of ceiling.

The mattress dipped as he crawled back into the bed next to her. His hand ran down the side of her leg gently, fingers caressing her, thigh, knee, back up over the jutting flare of her hip and across her belly.

She breathed out a sigh as his fingers danced over her ribs and down her other side.

Her hand rose to cup his face, thumb brushing against his cheek, mirroring her actions when they first found themselves in the room seconds, minutes, hours before. Time had lost all meaning.

He drew in a breath, parting his lips to say something but she silenced him with a look, a small smile, a feathered touch of her finger to his lips. He didn't need to say anything. She could see it all reflected back to her in his eyes. Right now, that was enough.

Nodding, he reached down and grasped the heavy blanket from the foot of the bed, drawing it up over them as he settled back against his pillow, turning to face her. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her snugly against him as his body turned heavy, sinking into the cloud-like bed.

Listening as his breathing evened, she turned her head so she could watched her fingers dance along his brow, tracing the line of a faint scar she found there, down the line of his nose and the gentle flair of his cheek bone. Her thoughts drifted through time and space without reason. She dared to think that the moment could not get anymore perfect than it was, the welcome weight of his arm grounding her to this reality, to him, to a future she could almost imagine.

Almost.

A/N two: Wow, how lovely to have the opportunity to contribute to a story I have SO enjoyed reading. A fanfic reader's dream come true. Thank you, and hope this has been even half as fun for you as it has for me. -KC