Bottled Lightening

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or it's characters.

Rating: M for language and mature themes.

Summery: A kiss that never was. One shot.

AN: This scenario has been floating around in my head for awhile now... I decided I needed to take a break from my other projects and get this out in light of a certain something released recently by abc. This fic has an alternate ending located in chapter two. Why the alt ending? Because while this stands on it's own well enough, I felt the extra ending lends a little more credibilty to it. So read it with or without the extra ending.

It's short.

Over before it begins really.

But she feels it in her toes. Like he creates a vacuum with his lips, sucking all her longing and passion from hiding. Causing her skin to tingle with anticipation, and her heart to pound in a heavy desperate thud, erratic and skittish.

Feels like a teenager, stealing that first kiss behind the bleachers with Joey Randolf. Skipping study hall to make out and believing she was being rebellious by dating the resident bad boy. Hopping on the back of his bike and feeling the wind blow through her hair. Free. Alive.

He surprised her.

Out of nowhere and then his lips... His hands on her face, almost tenderly cradling her there while he slid his tongue against her lips. Tasting the secrets he coaxed out. Like a snake charmer, his tongue playing a mesmerizing song, tantalizing her, begging her to open and let him in.

And so she does, her hands landing on his arms, fingers sinking into the solid mass of them. Anchoring him in place. Like little hooks, holding him there. Holding him up. Just holding him as something inside ached, so deeply, so keenly, so... in the pit of her stomach, just calling his name like a story her very blood knew without explanation. His name like a mantra in her marrow.

His lips against hers so shocking, his tongue is earth shattering. One brush against hers is all that is allowed. Like trapping lightning in a jar. She gasps, so softly only he can hear, as if he has sucked the oxygen straight from her lungs.

And then he tears himself away. Her head reels and she longs to pull him back. Needs to feel it again, that strange deadly pull. That sense altering touch. Longs to pull him back and feel him sink under her skin, drugging him with her tongue just as he intoxicates her. Lulling him in to an electrified oblivion.

Instead she hits him. Her hand hard against his cheek, leaving a bright pink mark and a dull stinging sensation in her palm and an even sharper one in his cheek. Not electric. Not desired.

Not what she wants, but exactly what she needs.

He smiles. Like he knows better. Like he knows how her heart still pounds in her chest at the thought of how close he still stands. Like he can see the need in her eyes, despite the darkness that surrounds them. Like he knows just how much she wants to push him backwards and assault him with her still tingling lips, the ghost of him still warm there.

Like he know she wants to spar with him. Not verbally, though she knows his words can incite this feeling too. But physically hold him down. Hit. Kick. Scream. Bite. Suck. Tease. Lick. Fuck.

The urge is primal. Written in her DNA. Unavoidable.

"Didn't want to blow our cover." He smirks as he reaches out and lifts her chin, closing her mouth. Her skin soft and pliable under his fingers. He wants to pull her back and run tangle his fingers in her hair again, run his tongue along her neck until she tilts her head back and moans for more.

She jerks back, shrugs her shoulders like she's removing the moment from existence.

"Don't you ever... I mean never... try that again." Her voice is cross, but she trips on her words. She slams the door for good measure as she gets back in the car. Fire dancing from her eyes. He joins her that silly, stupid smirk still on his lips.

She hates him. Hates him so much she just wants to tear his clothes off and kiss him again.

Hates him so much it makes her sick when she thinks about it. Nauseous and dizzy, her heart sinking to her toes as fear's icy grip strangles it. Hates him so much she can't live without him.

Who exactly does he think he is?

His lips on hers like a brand. Like he has seared his name into her skin. Claimed her with his mouth. Tattooed his taste on her tongue. Like she is his and has no say in the matter. Like she never did.

She fights the urge to brush her fingers against her lips, to see if his lips' lingering heat jumps to her fingertips. To try and recreate the pressure—that delightful insane pleasure—of his lips seeking and exploring hers.

Her fingers tap the steering wheel mindlessly and he reaches over and places his hand on hers, stilling them. She jerks her hand away quickly, but not fast enough to escape the thrill of joy her body betrays her with at his skin against hers.

"I promise. I won't do that again. Not unless you ask me to." He tries to wipe the smirk from his face, tries to act seriously, but he knows. Knows that she liked it. Wanted it. Still wants it. She knows he knows.

"Never going to happen." She gave herself away when she jerked away from his touch. She would kick herself if she could.

"I know." He tries to let her save face. It was a stupid move on his part, but he still can't be sorry he did it. Not with her taste still on his tongue and the tiny little crescent marks her nails left on his arms still fading.

"We're with other people." She spits out trying to convince him.

"I know." He murmurs all too aware of the other people in their lives. The mess this will make.

"I can't stand you." She declares as if trying to convince herself.

"I know." He locks eyes with her and she feels like she's going to throw up.

"God, why did you do it?" She sighs as she tears her eyes away and looks out the window.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time?" He suggests uncertain of his motive. Wondering if perhaps he could have found a better way to keep them from detection. If perhaps, good as it was, it was a bigger mistake than it was worth.

She turns back to him and looks at him as if she is weighing his words.

"Next time you have the urge to do something as stupid as that was... don't. Just don't do it." Her voice is serious, but inside she is not so sure she would object to him doing it again. That scares her.

"Noted." He fidgets uncomfortably next to her as she continues to scrutinize him. Like she doesn't believe him. How can she when she doesn't trust herself not to rip his clothes off and do much more than kiss him? What is wrong with her?

Like he is suddenly very uncomfortable with the reality of the situation. Why wouldn't he be, she is his...? He doesn't altogether know what she is exactly. More than a muse. More than a partner. More than a friend but less than a lover.

"I'm serious, Castle. That was without a doubt, one of the most moronic moves you have ever made." She reiterates, needing something to fill the awkward space between them. Knowing it will never be the same now that she knows how he tastes.

"I got it. Don't kiss you. Do you give Josh this much grief about it?" He questions flippantly, but she senses something else behind it. Something she doesn't like on him. He feels something else besides humor, something darker almost like jealousy. He doesn't like that she makes him feel that.

"Josh and I are dating! He's allowed to kiss me! You and I are not dating and therefore not allowed to kiss." She yells at him and he can tell she is moments from losing control again.

"I was kidding. Lighten up, Detective." He shoots his mouth off and she wants to shake him. It's as if he doesn't realize how stupid his move was. As if it wasn't important. She can't bear that thought, the idea that it didn't move his world like it did hers.

"I'm not. Do you realize how badly that could have ended up?" She demands and he's suddenly angry with her. As if she has the right to tell him anything, he wants to hate her for being so cold about it. For not wanting to kiss him again. He doesn't care how screwed up it is. Doesn't care how much she hated it.

It was just a kiss. Just two people brushing lips. She doesn't need to chew him out for it. She didn't have to like it, but he didn't need the third degree about just how much it could hurt things.

He already feels it. Already knows just how fucked up he is because of it.

"No, I'm afraid I don't really. It was a kiss. Just a kiss. It wasn't even a real kiss." He bites out.

"I'm not yours. You don't get to just stick your lips wherever you'd like." She's desperate, at the end of her rope. All she can think about his is damn lips and how much she wants them on her skin. How much she needs them. How screwed they both are.

"If I could, do you think I would stick to your lips!" He demands. Wants to tell her all the places he'd like to put them. Wants to tell her all the ways he'd like to piss her off.

"See! You admit it!" She knows she's freaking out, but she can't help it. He knows he's been caught, but he tries to downplay it. There is nothing worse than craving someone as much as he craved her, and having that person know about it and not return the sentiment.

"Admit what? You really need to relax." He tries to mislead her, get her to forget his outburst. He can't stand the idea that she doesn't want him the same way. Won't allow her to voice it.

"You want to kiss me! It would be disastrous, Castle. It would ruin everything." Her voice cracks and he sees something hiding in her eyes. She looks away quickly and he smiles.

He knows that look. He is sure he is doing a piss poor job of hiding it himself. For the first time since they got in the car he looks at her, really looks at her and observes all her little tells. The way she bites at her top lip anxiously. Her hands tugging and picking at her pants, her shirt, the seat next to her. The way she refuses to look him in the eye for more then two seconds.

"No. What is 'ruining' everything is the fact that you can't let it go. I think you liked it." He says slowly, his voice curling around each syllable like a lover. Caressing his last sentence like she wishes he would caress her. Tender and gentle and... God, she is losing it.

"I think you're delusional." She spits out and shifts in her seat, his eyes burning a hole in her.

"Think what you will, but you kissed me back." He growls, his voice so low she feels it in her bones.

"I didn't." She denies.

"Right, and that sexy little thing you did with your tongue was also all in my head?" He whispers and shifts closer. His heart racing so loudly he can't hear himself think. Can only think about closing the distance between them, about making her lips play with his again. About her slender fingers wrapped around more than a steering wheel.

"See you're already making up things that didn't happen." She searches frantically for an out. He can feel the tension, and he knows if he keeps pushing she will snap eventually. He needs her to snap, needs that wild spark of lightening to burst free from the jar she keeps it locked in. Needs her skin and her breath and her being, all wrapped up in him.

"Ask me to kiss you again and I'll prove it. Or are you afraid?" He is close enough, so she shifts closer to the door, as if to bolt at any minute. His words spark that ire, his implication making her want to throttle him.

She doesn't think he should be allowed to ask that question. Not when he knows what he does. So she turns to face him as she delivers her answer, uses her anger to stave off the desire. To strengthen her resolve against him.

"I'm not afraid, and I'm not going to kiss you again and feed your over active imagination."

"Chicken." He whispers, his breath rushing across her lips. She wants to close her eyes and let him lean in the rest of the way and... and...

"You're so infuriating!" She presses her hands against his chest and shoves him away.

"And you're a picnic." He rolls his eyes, not really surprised by her actions but perhaps a little disappointed. " Just ask me." He sighs.

"I won't. I don't need to. Grow up."

"Let loose. You don't have to control everything." He continues to coax, but he has hit a sensitive topic for her. She's too angry to hear him.

"Now I'm controlling?"

"You give new meaning to the word. Three years, Kate. Three years." He spits out with venom of his own. So frustrating. She needs to be kissed. Needs to shut up and listen to what she wants.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She demands not understanding just what the hell he's trying to get at with his stupid three years. Three years of annoying the snot out of her? Three years of making her worry endlessly about him? Three years of putting up with his stupid books, his stupid face, his stupid tongue and hands and... three years of wanting him to just shut up and kiss her.

No, not kiss her. She wants to kill him. Hate not love. Detest not desire. Kill not kiss.

"I've been waiting three years to hear those words. And you've been avoiding them. Painting over them. Had them locked up so damn tight no one could ever hope to free them. So just ask me before you explode." His voice is loud in the small car. His words spill from his lips quickly. His frustration evident.

"I'm not. I haven't. I don't. I..." She can't speak, can't find the words.

"Say it with me: Kiss me again, Rick." He prompts.

"I told you it isn't going to happen, drop it." She fights.

"I want you, Castle." He torments.

"There isn't enough room in this car for your ego." She hides.

"I can't stand another minute without you, writer boy." His voice shifts to mimic hers.

"I would never say that!" She wants to laugh and hit him at the same time.

"C'mon, Becks. You know you want to." Something about the way he murmurs her nickname, the one only he uses, makes her feel... alive. Like a woman, with all the correct working parts.

He wants to claim her.

"Shut up." She hates him for making her feel that way.

"Not until you ask."

"Never."

She is so stubborn he just wants to rile her up even more.

"Oh Rick, I love it when you-"

"I said: Shut up!" She interrupts then closes the distance between them, sealing her lips to his roughly.

Giving in.

Her hands clawing at him, trying to match the ache in the pit of her stomach. To answer the desperation he sent racing through her blood. To quench the thirst in her veins for his loathsome and irritating presence. Like a junkie, like a mad woman.

He responds by pulling her out of her seat and onto his lap, sliding his hands down her back, over her ass, through her hair. His fingers tangling and tugging, twisting and tasting. Tumbling into sheer bliss. Rushing head first into her. Her shirt tugged out of the way so his fingers can find flesh. Warm and inviting as her fingertips find his hair, directing his lips to her neck with a rough tug.

Wet and warm, her body responding to his every breath, he fills his hands and his heart. Taking whatever he can from her. She makes him crazy.

She aches to bare herself, to tear away his clothes and forget control. Forget fighting the ever present rules. To live dangerously. She can't get enough of him.

His lips travel up her neck, his teeth catch her earlobe.

"You taste like sin and heaven." He murmurs as his fingers work a few buttons free. "I want to touch you." He traces the shell of her ear with his tongue and she shudders against him, powerless to object. Her sharp gasp sending liquid fire through his veins as his fingertips trace the curve of her breast, her fingers in his hair guiding his mouth.

Famished.

She pulls away from his lips.

"Don't. Talk." Finds his lips again and grinds into him, his hands clamp onto her hips as he pivots up to meet her. Again and again as he sucks on her swollen bottom lip. As she whimpers and moans, putty in his eager hands.

So close.

And then her cell phone rings and she jumps away from him. Clasps the top of her shirt together, suddenly remembering they are in public and that she has broken the rules.

"Beckett." She responds in a quick breathless bark. His fingers trace the side of her neck and she shudders, tilting her head just so. "Ok Sir. Of course." She crosses her legs and closes her eyes as he scoots closer and places his lips on her collarbone, pulls her hands from her shirt as his lips travel lower. Illicit and exciting, he intensifies his attentions.

"Yes. No." She tangles the fingers of her free hand in his hair as he licks and sucks on the curve of her breast—her perfect, succulent breast that he has waited years to touch, it's almost too much. His tongue forces itself under the edge of her bra as his hand slips between her thighs, resting halfway up he squeezes. "Of course not." She trails one finger behind his ear and up.

Then suddenly, she grips his ear in her death grip and pulls his head from her chest.

"Ouch!" He objects and pulls his hand from her thigh to free his ear from her grip. Then rubs at the abused ear with one hand.

"What was that? Oh, nothing. Castle just hit his head. Yes, I know he can be clumsy. Right, ok. Thank you." And then she hangs up and smiles.

"What was that about?" He demands.

"What? I didn't want to blow our cover." She smirks. "Our suspect has been spotted downtown." She starts the car and rolls down her window. The windows fogged up, she wipes at the windshield with the corner of her sleeve.

"Right." He pouts.

"Cheer up, this means we don't have to sit here all night." She smiles as she pulls out from their parking spot.

"I was rather enjoying," he clears his throat. "sitting here."

She blushes.

"I could tell." She smirks with a quick glance down at his lap. He folds his hands strategically then glances over to notice her shirt still undone to her navel.

"I wouldn't talk if I were you. Is that a new look you're going for? I'm sure the boys will love it." He teases.

She glances down and swears, takes one hand off the wheel and buttons herself up as she drives.

"Shut up." She warns him. "Just shut up."

He smirks and looks out the window, watching the night as she maneuvers the city streets.