ii. new ways of making them felt

She loves these moments. The quiet ones she shares in bed with him, when she allows herself to marvel in how happy and content and safe she feels. She's not sure she's ever felt that way before, and each time it knocks into her, blows her over until she's left with a feeling of overwhelming love.

Love for him.

His head is on her shoulder, his body pressed against her side, and she runs her fingers through his hair. She can feel his warm breath blow across her bare clavicle as he breathes, can feel the slide of his fingers on her exposed stomach. It makes her feel so very cherished.

"I love your skin," he says, breaking the silence and refocusing her attention on him. She hums in the back of her throat in acknowledgement and he continues, "And sometimes I think about the fact that someone else got to love your skin, too." He presses a kiss to the base of her neck. "I hate that."

She tries to crane her neck to look at him, to see his face and work out where this sudden admission of jealousy is coming from, but his face is hidden. Her eyebrows crinkle. "Why?"

His body tenses, like he's caught in a shrug and he doesn't meet her eyes. "I guess I'm a possessive man, Kate. Especially when it comes to you."

"I've noticed," she says, not really able to contain her small smile. It's good that he can't see, but she'd bet that he could hear the pleasure in her voice.

"Is that okay?"

It should bother her, but it doesn't. Not really. With anyone else it would, like a constant reminder that someone else feels entitled to her. But with him it makes her heart flutter when he asserts how much she means to him. "You're pretty good about keeping it private," she says. He's silent and she continues, "You know none of them matter anymore, right?"

He's quick to respond. "I know. I do, Kate. And I don't want to sound melodramatic about it, considering my past. But sometimes I see your skin and then I realize that I'm not the only one to have seen your skin and then I can't stop myself from filling in the blanks." He sighs out a laugh. "Writer's curse."

They're quiet for a long moment. She continues to run her fingers through his hair, unconsciously trying to sooth away his worries. Then she realizes.

"Do you want the stories?" She's volunteering the information before she really realizes what it means.

"I -"

They have an unspoken agreement to not share details of their sex lives before they got together. She doesn't want the details of his, not really. She's pushed his playboy past out of her mind and doesn't need the reminders, instead she chooses to live in their relationship. His past doesn't matter anymore. He's made it pretty clear that she's his future, and that's enough.

He's asked about hers on occasion, some comment or scenario tipping him off to what he thinks is some juicy tidbit about her past, but he's never pushed. And she's never really volunteered the information. It's more fun to tease him with it anyway. Or at least, she thought it was. She never really considered the possibility that it was something that really bothered him.

"If you want," she clarifies. "Whatever you want to know."

The earnest tone in her voice makes him pull back. He studies her, contemplating whether he really wants to know. She tries to keep her face neutral, not wanting to push him either way. If this is important to him, she wants him to be able to ask. Something crosses his face and he speaks in a low voice. "I -" he hesitates again, "You'll answer questions?"

She nods. "I'll answer." She's giving up a good amount of control, but he's worth it. He's always been worth it, she's starting to realize. And maybe it's better this way. She's not ashamed of her past and she'll tell him whatever he wants to know, but she's not sure how far he wants to go. She'll let him set the pace.

He pulls her closer to him and presses his face against her shoulder again. He's quiet so long that maybe she thinks just offering to tell him was enough but then he speaks, his voice low and quiet. It doesn't break the bubble of safety and love they've created.

"How old were you when you lost your virginity?"

He's going all in on the first question, apparently.

She focuses on the weight of his arm across her stomach, lets it anchor her to him. "18. In college."

"Was it awkward?"

"Everyone's first time is awkward," she says, trying not to laugh. "Wasn't yours?"

"Fair," he affirms. "But that was mostly my fault."

"What, Ricky Rodgers wasn't the ladies' man?"

"Ricky Rodgers didn't have a lot of experience," he clarifies with a grimace, raising his head again to look at her. "I kinda … got thrown into the deep end, so to speak. No real learning curve." She doesn't press. She's doesn't really want to know. "Did you?" he asks. "Have experience, I mean."

She hesitates. She's not ashamed, she's not, she just knows he's going to make a bigger deal out of this than it is. "I had some experience. Just not … helpful experience."

She lets him think about that. "So what, you read a lot?" His eyes light up. "Did you have naughty books under your mattress? Did you read them before bed?"

"I -" she can feel the blush rising up her chest and she tries to push it down. "There might have been books." His eyes grow wider. She takes a breath, knowing what she's about to admit will make him crazy. "But mostly I experimented. By myself, at first. And when I felt like I wanted to be with someone else, I thought it would be easier … to start with something familiar. And I knew my body pretty well, so … "

She trails off, locks her gaze with his. It takes him a second to put together her meaning. She can tell when he does, because his jaw drops and he glances down her body before he meets her eyes.

"Oh my God, Kate Beckett, were you with another girl?" He reaches out and runs a hand down her chest, between her breasts. It makes her tingle. "Please tell me you were with another girl."

She wants to touch him, so she trails her fingers up his arm to his shoulder. "I was with another girl."

"That is so hot," he groans out.

"That doesn't make you jealous?" she asks. "I thought that was the whole point of this trip down memory lane."

"The point of this trip down memory lane is to make me not jealous. And that doesn't make me jealous," he says with conviction. "I like that very much."

"Well, I didn't do it to feed into some male fantasy. Consider it me wading into the pool."

His hand starts to wander again, travelling down her stomach and up again, all the way to the underside of her breasts, continuing in long, slow circuits. "I'm not sure I'd say … that … is wading in, but -" She laughs shortly. "Was it - was it what you were looking for?"

Her eyes close and she half shrugs. "It was nice. Familiar, almost. Very low pressure."

His hands grow bolder. He travels down her hipbone to her thigh, including it in a few of his lazy caresses before he pushes her leg aside far enough to slip his in between. When he shifts closer she sighs softly, loves when she feels more of his weight over her body.

"Was it a relationship?"

"Like, were we a couple?" He nods. "No. Not - we were friends. Just curious."

He keeps up his soft touches, up, down, around her skin. "How far did it go?"

She knew he'd want details. He's a curious person by nature, and this … honestly, she'd have been a bit disappointed if he hadn't.

"Hands, mostly."

"Hands, huh?" His hand makes a final journey down, finds a spot between her legs. She knows he can feel her, warm and wet against his fingers. It thrills her, this walk down her sexual past with him so willing and close. His touch is soft, so soft, and her breath hitches. "No toys?"

"No." It's a more of a breathy whisper as she lets herself enjoy his touch. "No toys."

He's quiet, but his fingers keep moving. She struggles with herself, tries to keep her hips from moving with the pulse of his hand. It's hard and her body compensates by making her breath come faster, more irregularly. And then his hand stops and she wants to cry. She opens her eyes to look at him. His eyes are wide and she can see him backtracking.

"Mostly hands?" He pauses, and his eyes narrow, like he's trying to size her up, trying to figure out what she's capable of. "Did you -" Her slow smirk cuts him off and he groans loudly. "Oh my God. And did she -"

She pushes her hips up into his hand, tries to bring him back to her and continue what he started, but he's just staring at her. "Occasionally. Not a lot. Just - sometimes. When it felt right."

Finally his fingers start to move again. He spreads her wetness around and she can feel it coating his hand. "Did you like it?" he asks in a low voice.

She's not exactly sure what he's talking about because it's hard to focus when his fingers move like that. Does he mean going down on another girl? Just being with another girl? So she splits the difference and answers honestly. "It was fine. Just nothing special, you know? No real spark for me."

His fingers slide up, past her bellybutton and over her stomach. They leave a trail of wetness in their wake and she shivers, shivers from the loss of his fingers between her legs, shivers from the cool air on her skin, shivers at the warmth of his body pressed against her. "No spark?" He peppers kisses to her collarbone and her neck. "How long did it last?"

"A couple of months. It was nice, but there was just something … missing." Her fingers are in his hair, holding his head to her skin. She moves her head to the side to give him more room and tingles shoot through her body when he starts in on the sensitive spot at the base of her jaw. "So I went looking elsewhere."

He pulls back. "With men, you mean."

"In college, with a guy from my English class," she says with a smirk.

"And it was awkward?"

"Different," she clarifies. "Very traditional. We dated for a while. Took it slow. Rounded the bases appropriately."

He studies her. "So there was kissing." She nods affirmatively. "But he wasn't your first kiss," he says with a waggle of his eyebrows. She shoots him a look, but he's undeterred. "Did this start as mostly hands, too?" She nods again. "Here?" He places his hands on her breasts, starts slowly teasing her skin. "And then were mouths involved, too?" His mouth joins his hands and she lets out a sound akin to a whimper. He's not sure if it's agreement or pleasure. "Tell me. Tell me about it."

"Oh," she breathes out when his lips come up to play at the skin of her neck.

"Kate. Focus."

She wants to glare at him, to tell him she can't focus when he's so close and doing that with his lips and his fingers, but she tries. Tries to push away the feel of his tongue on her neck and his fingers brushing her nipples. It's difficult because all she wants to do is lose herself in him, so she just starts talking.

"He - oh - he touched me. He was fast. Eager. Not like you." She gasps when his fingers travel back down to that spot between her legs. "Oh, not like you." She revels in the feeling, loves the feeling of him between her legs.

"Did he touch you here?"

She tries to hold back her moan when he slides a finger into her. He can do so much with his fingers, with his touch, and she loves it. He's building that tension in her stomach and she can't help but grind her hips against his hand to try to help it along.

He adds another finger and continues his torturous pace and leans his mouth close to her ear. "Kate. Did he touch you like this? Did he worship your body with his mouth? Tell you how much he wanted to see you come apart under his hands?"

She can't focus on his words. It's just his fingers on her, his voice in her ear, and it doesn't even matter that he's talking about her being with another man. He's everywhere, filling her body and her mind. She doesn't care about her past. She just needs him, wants him desperately. His name escapes her lips on a gasp and she turns her head and searches for his mouth with hers.

When she finds his lips she kisses him hard, tries to focus all the lust in her body into her kiss. His fingers shift and she uses his tongue to stifle her moan and her hips move faster. She's close, so close to the edge of her pleasure, but he keeps her there, doesn't let her shatter around his fingers.

"Did he make you feel this?" he growls against her cheek. He adds his thumb to the mix, circling it around the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex.

And then she can't anymore and heat explodes in her body. She comes around his fingers, clutching at his bicep as she rides it out, panting his name. He continues to work her, bringing her down until she can collapse boneless and sated under his arm.

He waits while she catches her breath, pressing soft kisses to her skin. She struggles against the heaviness of her eyes to look at him, wanting not much more than to snuggle against him and fall into a blissful sleep.

"That was so much better than story time," he says with a cheeky grin.

Even though her brain is fuzzy and she feels like she's seconds away from sleep, she can't stop from asking. "Yeah? You don't want the rest of the story?"

"Maybe later."

His voice is warm and it makes her feel happy. Lighter, almost like she's given him something that no one else can and it fills her with love. She wraps her arms around him, pulls him closer to her body and closes her eyes. She smiles when she feels his lips at her cheek. "Okay," she hums. "Later. For now, we sleep."

"Sleep? Kate -" he whines.

Her voice is low. "Sleep, Castle. I promise I'll make it up to you."

prompt: Kate tells Rick about her first times while he fingers her.