Title: A Castle Crumbling

Author: eyrianone

Rating: M

Spoilers: Post-Ep 'The Limey'

Summary: He has to get her out of his system somehow . . .

Disclaimer: (From ViaLethe) – 'Words are mine. World ain't.'

A/N: There was a very lively debate going on via Twitter last night – those who think Castle slept with the 'stewardess' versus those who don't think he did. I personally don't think he went anywhere near her with a ten foot pole 'sexually' – so of course I then wrote this as if he did – yeah I can't work that one out either - go figure. And pre-emptive FYI - like I don't know guys don't usually angst over stuff like this - I'm in my early forties, married with teenage sons so there are plenty of men in my life - but this is a work of fiction and shoot me if I'm a romantic in my heart!

ecrum·ble

v. crum·bled, crum·bling, crum·bles

1. To fall into small fragments or particles; disintegrate.

2. To give way; collapse: an ego that crumbles under pressure.

She's waiting for him as he leaves the Twelfth, the Ferrari idling and as he smiles at her – slips into the seat beside her – he hears what he just told Beckett again in his head.

She's fun and uncomplicated . . . I think that's what my life needs right now.

He tries not to notice that he's sad it isn't a lie – because he's had about as much of maddening, challenging and frustrating as he can take.

The blonde stewardess looks over at him slyly, her painted red mouth pursed 'just-so' and then she slides her hand over from the steering wheel to his knee, trails her fingertips slowly and deliberately up his leg until she's at the top of his thigh.

"Where do you want to go Rick?" She purrs at him – and its welcome he realizes - a message that's so shockingly clear – so blatantly inviting. She wants him and she isn't making the slightest hint of an attempt to hide it, it's on display, clear and undisguised and unmistakable.

It's heady – he can't help it. She isn't the woman he wants – she isn't the woman he's in love with. but she wants him - and he's human - and he needs that.

God help him - but he does.

It's just been so long . . .

Castle takes a deep breath, doesn't allow himself to stop or pause and debate what he's about to do, he just lets her desire for him soak into his skin from where her fingertips are still making patterns on his thigh. He could fake a pretext – they could continue this charade with dinner, but he's had it with concealing his needs, and sick to death of denying them.

He could just take her home . . . .?

Oh no. Too much of Kate lives there.

"How about the plaza?" He says decisively, smiling calculatingly at the blonde, trying it on again - all that twinkling magnetic blue eyes, handsome face and white teeth.

And Jacinda smiles back – the way women usually do - the way he'd forgotten they usually do.

And suddenly it's as easy as it's always been it seems . . . all he's got to do is just get back in the saddle.

He hasn't stayed at the plaza in years, but the desk clerk still recognizes him – and his preference in a suite. He could hate that but it makes this easier - too easy maybe – its like a riding a bike.

By the time they reach the door her lipstick is all over his face and her tongue is in his mouth and if she tastes wrong, and feels wrong and she doesn't make the right noises . . . at least he's aroused enough he can pretend as if his heart doesn't notice.

They don't make it as far as the bed.

The suite is lit by little more than a courtesy lamp on the dark mahogany nightstand – and that works for him – makes everything about her darker and more exciting and more like . . . he ruthlessly stops his mind in the middle of going there - rips open the blonde's blouse instead.

Silences her giggle with his mouth, ravages and claims and suddenly its better because now she's whimpering . . . and oh he likes that – the need.

Her hands are swift - deft on his belt buckle and he returns the favor with her bra, snapping the front clasp with expert fingers and palming her flesh instantly. Warm and yielding and if it burns at his senses that the mounds are too large and too fake, at least the fire burning now in his blood is hot enough to still consume him.

He stops looking then – closes it out – lets his body have the control - goes back to kissing her brutally so that she won't notice.

She palms him through his boxers and he hisses – thankful - at least that is real, potent - undeniably good. Spurs him on – stokes him higher, his eyes might still be closed but he hitches her up the wall his long fingers seeking her as he pushes the damp fabric of her underwear aside.

Shouldn't he know how long it's been since a woman was wet for him?

"Rick." She murmurs breathlessly as he attacks the column of her neck with his lips and his tongue. "Rick – please." Shut up! He has to kiss her again just to silence it . . . whimpers and moans and gasps of pleasure he welcomes - but not his name . . . not that . . .not when it should only be whispers of 'Castle . . . please - Castle' instead.

Jacinda bites his lower lip and hooks her legs around him – and he pretends he doesn't notice how much better the fit would be if she were taller.

He has to take her then – just do it – just get this over with – needs to let that physical release undo him, so suddenly there's a condom in his hand, and he's sheathing himself; uncaring that his heart is burning with shame - figuratively going up in flames inside him.

But isn't it better this way? Maybe the fire within can purify him.

Maybe this is the only way . . . burn out the idea of Kate – eradicate her.

Still - he has no choice but to bite the blonde on the shoulder - purely to keep the name 'Kate' off of his lips as pushes inside her.

Fuck. So wrong – it's all wrong - badly wrong . . . Oh God. He hates that he needs this - has no words for how much he despises that in spite of everything it feels . . . so damn good.

Oh God . . . does it ever.

Yet he hates everything about his inability to prevent this - including the weakness that means it isn't going to last long.

But still - he's large, he's powerful and he's experienced - so she'll come before him.

It's bad, because they shouldn't be - but his thrusts are deep and strong . . . if not true.

Jacinda's head hits the wall behind her on a muted scream as she flutters wildly all around him, her body arched and helpless in his arms.

And Castle hovers for a moment caught in time – trapped between the crippling emotional pain of this and the mind-numbing physical pleasure.

And yes – it fractures his heart when the pleasure wins and he spills reluctantly within her – fully aware the dying echoes of another woman's name have been ripped from his core into the space around them.