A/N: Having watched that episode...how could I not.

She's hovering above him, the firm roll of her hips tugging him towards oblivion and his hands span her waist, urging her on, when the spark of light at her ear catches his eye and he smiles.

Wide and bright and proud and answered by her own, lip teasing, soul quivering look of happiness.

She's wearing the earrings.

Naked, straddling him and riding his body with this slow determined sensual grind that is driving him steadily steadily insane. Each twist and roll of her body pulling these short sharp gasps of ecstasy from her mouth.

He only hears them when he gives up kissing her long enough for them to break the silence around him, he doesn't hear them enough because he can't bare to be separated from those lips.

She eases down the length of his body, the hot thick invasion of him so very deep and her mouth opens for his kiss. Their smiles departing, lingering instead in touch and taste, and the sudden feel of him, so very very good as he withdraws.

Hot and perfect. A slow tease of muscle against skin, firm against soft, wet over hard and she cries out. Kate can't let him go and she drops back down, slithers forwards and twists.

Thigh to thigh and hips aligned so tight he has to suck in a ragged breath to stop his lungs exploding. Her chest sweeps his, firm nipples sliding, taut and sweet, and he can't stop his thumb from grazing one just to feel the whole of her body shudder in reaction.

She rolls her pelvis, drops down and slides back, absorbing every single throbbing inch of him, lets the sensation pulsate between them, the muscles between her thighs answering in response, quivering for the feel of him. She has to move, gliding forwards, hands over his chest and hips lifting up. She has to, she can't stay, still humming low, loud and just over his heart where her lips are pressing.

Castle looks up, tries to find her eyes in the shadowed veil of silence and wonder that has settled around them, but this great mass of hair falls over her face, keeping her from him.

His fingers tangle in the strands but he doesn't seek to pull them from her, he just touches, strokes, thrusts up to hear her moans of pleasure because he knows intimately how she looks. He has forever committed it to memory.

He could, word for word and syllable for delicate syllable, map the expressions on her face, the parting of her lips and the bewitching dart of her tongue when it reaches out to wet them. He could describe in finite detail every glorious inch of her face. Cheeks flushed pink and eyes hidden, darkened, smoke swirled and hazy behind each curled tendril.

Something cold touches his chest and he flinches up into her, feels her nails in reaction, the both of them caught by the sudden jerk of movement. Kate lifts her head slowly, languid pleasure and need rolling from her in symmetry to her body.

His hands map the entirety of her back, conversing in silence with each individual muscle and bone and pore over her skin.

He lifts up to pull her forwards, one hand at her neck, lathing her lips and jaw with the tip of his tongu,e until he can bite at the end of her earring.

He tugs and she gives, coming closer, the rapid rise and fall of her chest making her breasts ache as they touch his, pinpricks of painful pleasure back and forth as they sweep and...his mouth...

His mouth hot at her ear, breathing her deeply, blazing and moist, taking the lobe and hooked-stud backing of the earring between his lips. Biting and licking and rolling them together over his tongue.

"Can't wear these in public." He growls.

She couldn't anyway now that Gates has seen them, but she knows what he means and-

"No." She agrees.

"I'll get you something else." He promises, sucking again. He flicks his tongue over the little nub of metal, pulls her tender flesh into him more and more. The hand at her hip urges her on, keeps her moving, thumb brushing low under her navel in tantalizing sweeps, soft skin coming alive beneath his touch.

Her body answers his before her mind can demand it does, and all she can do is gasp, the long slow withdrawal of him, the ache and slide of wet muscles singing for more, pulling soft sounds from the back of her throat and she arches into him again.

His fingers replace, invade and curl up seeking, urging, circling until...

She mewls, murmurs, moans.

That right there, that sound she makes.

Beautiful and exotic and perfect. The way she rubs her head against his cheeks, buries her face in his neck, the way she kisses him and her hips press down, her body slithering against his fingers.

Perfect.

He pulls back just enough, needing to touch, needing to be inside her at the same time and they realign, the heat of her expanding around him, welcoming him back.

Perfect.

Soft breath breaks across his cheek as he bites her ear, and she can't keep still, fingers and him buried so deeply inside her she shivers, her mouth opening and closing against his chest.

"No don't." She shakes her head, not enough to dislodge him. "I want them." He bites down again, pleased, his grin at her jaw making her shudder, "I'll wear them here..." In the bed, in his arms, in the muted light of "ohh, do that again..." He does before she even has to ask and his fingers slide between her legs, one hand at her chest, touching her heart, her breasts, her skin, everywhere, everywhere. "I'll keep them in your drawer."

Everything about him becomes silent, he freezes, save for his harsh and panting breath and his mind is flooded with images of her.

The curl of her relieved smile spreading so fast across her face and the way she just had to touch him when he said her gift was perfect. How she lifted to the tips of her toes to claim a kiss, holding onto him as she did.

He rolls them so exquisitely slowly, his body large and surrounding her own, invading and deep and jumping with the movement . Every cell alive with the feel of it, every hair sings at the contact, every muscle cries out as it shakes or squeezes, as it withdraws or clings or unfurls.

He rolls until he lays above her, spreading her hair across the pillow with one hand, tender and gentle.

The throb of sensation builds between them and she flexes against it instinctively, soft and giving walls suddenly tight around him. A needful yearning squeeze pulling him deeper, making him groan, pull back, push in and grip her tighter than he means to.

She cradles his face in her hands, her eyes penetrating and deep. Rhythmically caressing, her nails slide through his hair as she pulls him in close, whispers something about Valentines day and claims his mouth.

Her teeth aren't sharp against his lip when she bites it, more tender and passionate than he could ever wish for.

"My drawer." He smiles, rocks and thrusts and lifts her closer, fingers fisting in the sheet at her hips.

She invites him in.

Into her body, into her heart and now into her home, her bedroom. She continues to astound him.

She's remarkable and pliant and quivering to his touch, demanding with the surge of adrenalin that ripples through her, smiling, sighing and delighting in everything he offers.

He wants to ask her again. The question posed but never answered.

She lifts her hips pulls him closer and flexes muscles that should be illegal or at the very least held against him forever and always, and she whispers, gravelly, hard, frantic, yes, yes, yes.

He bites her shoulder and he knows, beyond a doubt he knows...

"My...Valentine." She croaks, shudders and gasps. Her ankles cross at his back, one hand weaving through the strands of his hand, over his shoulders until she clings, nails and all, to his biceps.

The other hand drops to the bed, forcing herself away from the mattress, taking every last little bit of him in, claiming him, her eyes loving and feral.

Demanding.

He dives deep inside of her, feels the quivers and fluttering, hears the moans and curses breaking their way free.

A contradiction.

He holds her tight, her thighs smooth like liquid silk beneath the tips of his fingers, each parried thrust answered with the surge of her hips. He licks the indentations of her clavicle, the line of sweat running at the edge of her jaw, meeting her lips with a swipe of his tongue.

The smartest person he has ever met, the fiercest, the most loyal, most loving and kind and caring and...

Beautiful.

So so beautiful as she cries into his mouth, an urgent sound of desperation and longing, of delight and realization. Her body splintering in release, shaking him to the very core before she takes him with her, coming apart together.

A gentility of sound that reverberates around her bedroom.