A/N: Happy Caskettaversary.

The first tinge of awareness arrives with the feel of his fingers walking down her spine. A gentle press followed by a firmer clench of his palm about her waist, circling the naked dip of her hip.

"Three years," he mumbles and her face breaks into a wide smile hidden by her pillow, a thrill of joy washing through her too fierce to sleep through.

She comes awake then, slowly, to soft caresses that spiral the ends of her hair. Hot breath tickling the base of her skull, the touch of a tongue, a kiss, love laced over her flesh almost in secret as she sleeps.

Her smile widens and just from the feel of his touch she can tell he's smiling too.

Fingers wiggle at her scalp only to drift low, reminding her last night was one of those rare occasions she forgot to throw on his shirt after. One of those wonderful occasions where after became more and yes and again, and again and again until clothes were the farthest thing from her mind. Just breathing, and him, and sleep.

"Three years," he hums again. Castle's voice drops dangerously low, fueled with intent and challenge, and her steady breathing deviates into a shallow gasp that gives her away.

He laughs, pleased, kisses her shoulder, peppers three little kisses there, and she can almost hear his brain ticking over. Applying stratagem and theorizing. Three years. Third time's the charm and three is the magic number. The mechanisms whir, a low buzz through his body that electrifies her own as he plans how best to apply those rules of three to his satiated - though clearly not for long if his hands have anything to do with it - spread eagled wife.

He doesn't play fair, and she loves that about him.

He rolls them and his body dwarfs her in the bed, the width of his chest mapped to her back as his hands move high and low, palms spread to glide over as much skin as possible.

He likes to touch things.

Namely her.

Mainly her.

First thing in the morning and last thing at night as though reclaiming what they have. Driving away daylight and darkness until there is nothing but them. Ready to begin anew and replenished.

She groans and relaxes into the weight of his body pushing hers down into the bed. Kate allows him to loosen her limbs with soft digging fingers, finding knots she has no right to given all they did to relax her last night.

She'll be marshmallow on a warm day when he's done with her. Soft and sticky and sweet on the tongue.

Her whole body shivers in anticipation.

"Three years ago today" he mumbles, hands caressing low on her back, squeezing the muscles of her ass as he pushes her flat, "you came to my door."

He waits, a heartbeat trapped in stolen breath, as though expecting to find her surprised, to have found she's forgotten.

Instead she moans at the stroke of his fingers and smiles just the way she did that night.

How in the world could she forget?

"Three years," she echoes and the melting of his tension pours his body over her like lava. Hot and invading and perfect, until she doesn't know where she ends and he begins.

Of course.

Of course she remembers.

Remembers it vividly.

Kate will never forget the storm in his eyes, more tumultuous than the one raging outside. She wasn't sure she'd survive it at the time. The pain she'd caused him, the hurt he'd inflicted and then ... then the all consuming, raw passion of their first night.

She shudders and he lifts her knee, widens her legs and spreads her for his touch. The thickness of his thighs sliding between her own stirs memories of being kissed against his door. Gasping for air and being swallowed up by him instead. Being thrust on to his bed and lifting her arms to him in disbelief.

In desire.

In love.

They've come so far yet it swirls through her mind as though it were yesterday. She can taste the rain on her lips and feel the wind in her hair.

"Three years ago today you came to me soaking wet." His fingers slide between them and he groans, greeted by sweet memory and welcoming murmurs. "And drenched in rain." He chuckles lewdly when she groans, and laughs, and she bites down on her lip.

His fingers are circling inside her and he has her giggling, tickles just so he can feel the contraction of her muscles around him with each laugh. It's not fair. Not fair how wonderful he makes her feel, every time. How wholly unprepared she is for it, every time.

Three years and he still takes her by surprise.

He shifts his weight and she groans, wants to feel him, wants her husband, here and now, driving right alongside the spark of memory of their first night. A memory that seeks to set her on fire.

She wants to burn in his embrace, lose herself to the flame just as she did then.

Castle curls an arm about her waist, slides his hand underneath them to touch her. Wide thumbs and driven fingers peel her apart like flower petals, stroking slowly, chasing when her hips buck at the caress.

"Three years -"

"Castle."

She interrupts, and laughs, and groans, and everything all at the same time as he keeps her dancing against their sheets. For seconds, or years, slow strokes and hot breath until she mashes her face into her pillow and bites down.

Her muscles clench, slick over his fingers, the sound of his touch driving her higher and higher until she's arching back and pressing herself open for him.

Please and I just want you and yes, I will marry you and when I met you my life became extraordinary and every, every, every word spoken at the same time, tied up in the love she so desperately wants to share with him again.

"I love you," is all she manages, all she needs in return when the words spill from his lips at the exact same moment.

Laughter and love.

Tender fingers part her and he slides inside, voice a growl that spreads her name over her body like syrup, the deepest vibration catching her unawares.

"Three years." It's a curse, a prayer, a plea. Lust laid bare in the brutal force of his tone. Pleasure raw and tangled up so tight in the words only she would ever hear them, understand them.

Her face lifts and even at this strange angle, swollen and heavy, spread wide and with him pressing somehow shallow and deep at the same time, he finds her lips, never leaves her unkissed.

Their hands knot, fingers bind themselves to each other, wedding rings molten and trapped between the ever tightening grip.

His movement is slow and soft and building. At first.

"Three years -" he repeats breaths tight and quick, suddenly mimicking his hips.

She gasps, his body crashing into hers as the first wave overtakes her, "And counting."