100 Sex Positions of the Kama Sutra
By Dana Keylits

Chapter One Hundred: Suspended Congress

A/N: Buckle up, because this one's a rollercoaster ride. It takes place just after Squab and Quayle.

The plan had been to sleep for a bit, wake up, cuddle, and then make love again, finishing their journey through 100 Sex Positions of the Kama Sutra. After they'd finished position ninety-nine, that had been the plan. But, like all best laid plans, it hadn't gone quite the way they'd hoped. In fact, it hadn't gone at all as they'd hoped. And so here they were, a week later, a fight later, and finally returning to position one hundred of the Kama Sutra. The last position of the Kama Sutra.

She was actually sad about it. Even though she hadn't been too keen on the idea to begin with, Kate had to admit to herself that she'd enjoyed it, well most of it anyway. The trips to the hospital she could have lived without. But, the nagging feeling at the back of her mind was about more than just missing it. After everything that had happened this week, she was worried that without the motivation of getting through that book, it might mean their sex life would wane and whither like it seemed to do for so many other couples entering their second year together.

It could happen to them, right?

"Wrong!"

Kate looked up from the report she was studying and frowned at the M.E. "What? How can you know that?"

"Girl? Seriously? This is Richard Castle we're talking about. The guy has been crazy about you since day one!"

"I know," Kate replied, shrugging as she tossed the paper back onto Lanie's desk, watching as it landed harmlessly atop a stack of blue folders "...but we've been together for almost a year now, maybe the novelty has worn off."

"You said he gave you a full body massage the other night, right? No strings attached?"

Kate smiled, remembering the queens treatment from a few nights before, but then also remembering the lingering questions about where they were headed that had been tugging at her consciousness for awhile now. "Yes, but..."

"No buts, he's still into you, girlfriend, and you're still into him, so you've got nothing to worry about."

Kate frowned, cocking her head. "You know, he only did that because he was jealous of Eric Vaughn."

Lanie huffed, "Well he should have been jealous. The way that man looked at you?" Lanie gave Kate the once over. "Hell, I was jealous."

"Lanie." Kate protested, making a face as she blew an errant strand of hair from her eyes. "Stop it. I had no interest in Eric Vaughn."

Lanie laughed, snapping off her exam gloves and tossing them in the trash bin. "I know you didn't," she squared herself in front of Kate and wagged her finger at the statuesque detective, "And Castle knew it, too," she held up a staying palm, "So would you please stop worrying?"

Kate tucked her lower lip between her teeth and frowned. She nodded slightly. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right," Lanie agreed, sitting down at her desk and firing up her computer. "Now, do you want to go over the toxicology results on Mr. Clean over there?" she chin nodded at the bald-headed victim laying on her exam table. "Or, should I tell you my hourly rates for couples therapy?"

He wanted it to be just right, to be perfect, to be magical. So, he'd made sure that Martha and Alexis would be away for the evening, sending them to the Hamptons for a grandmother/granddaughter bonding weekend, he'd stocked the pantry with her favorite food, their favorite wine, he'd even bought brand new candles for the bedroom - although, based on the illustration in the book, he figured they wouldn't exactly need the bedroom. Still, he wanted it to be as romantic as possible.

They'd had a tough week, and they'd both been struggling lately, clearly Kate had something troubling her mind, and Castle had himself been a million miles away at times, an unnamed worry gnawing at the darker spaces of his consciousness. He couldn't quite place the unsettling feeling that had been creeping in lately, but he'd also not really given it much attention, hoping, perhaps childishly, that it would just go away.

He glanced at his watch and flinched - Kate would be there in less than ten minutes, and he wanted the candles lit and ready, the wine opened, the food ready to be heated whenever they were ready to eat it. He glanced around the loft, fluffing pillows, straightening chairs, inexplicably as nervous as he was the first time they were together.

Satisfied that the loft was ready, that he was ready, he shrugged, poured himself a glass of wine, and took a sip of the robust crimson liquid, relishing its warmth as it cascaded down his throat like molasses.

And, then he waited.

He waited for Kate.

But instead of perfect, the night had been awkward, instead of magical, it was tense, instead of just right, it was all wrong.

Kate had come in looking annoyed and fidgety, the stress of her workday hanging around her like an angry cloud, and that had made Castle nervous. He'd thought the wine would help, but Kate had a pounding headache, so she'd requested only water, which left Castle with an open $300 bottle of wine to drink all by himself.

Not a good idea.

He'd hoped they'd get to the position before eating, because sex on a full stomach wasn't, well, it wasn't sexy. But, Kate had skipped lunch and was starving; so he'd put the food out early and they'd sat down to eat. They'd tried small talk at first, Castle's meeting at Black Pawn, Kate's new case, whether Alexis and Martha had made it to the Hampton's, but then they'd fallen into an awkward silence that stretched through the rest of the meal; one that neither of them seemed to have the key to unlock.

By the time Castle had cleared the dishes, Kate was rubbing her forehead, a pained expression on her face. He dropped the sponge in the sink, and glanced at her as she sat rigidly at the dining room table. "Kate, what's wrong?"

"Hmm?"

"What's wrong?"

She glanced up at him and shrugged. "Nothing."

He stared at her, giving her his tell me look, expecting she'd revise her statement and open up about whatever it was that had been bothering her. But, after several seconds ticked by and she didn't, he huffed and turned around, a sudden flash of anger rising in his chest. "Fine, don't tell me," he muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He heard her sigh heavily, and then the unmistakable scrape of the chair against the hardwood floor as she stood up. "Maybe I should go," she offered, resignation in her voice.

He spun around, feeling the color rise in his cheeks. "What? No. Beckett..." he gestured towards the bedroom, but let the words hang in the air because even he knew that was probably off the agenda.

She shook her head. "I don't think that's gonna happen," she said, jamming her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. "You're obviously..."

He threw the dishtowel on the counter and walked towards her. "I'm obviously, what?" he cocked his head as he waited for her reply.

She threw him an annoyed glance, "Something," she replied. "You're obviously something, but I wouldn't know what that something is, because we haven't talked in like," she raised one hand and then let it drop to her side, "...a week."

He raised his eyebrows and took a step closer, leaning slightly forward. "Oh, and that's somehow my fault?"

She closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping. "No, Castle." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "No, I'm not saying that."

He shook his head and angrily folded his arms across his chest. "Well, that sure the hell is what it sounded like."

She opened her eyes and glared at him, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, vertical lines troubling the space between her eyes. "Well, it's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

She spread her arms wide. "That we haven't talked!"

"And, whose fault do you think that is, Beckett? Because I haven't exactly heard you opening up, either."

"Well, can you blame me? Castle, ever since Eric Vau..."

The anger that had been rising in his chest suddenly erupted to the surface and he held up a staying palm, interrupting her. "Oh, no." He wagged his finger. "You do not get to throw Eric fucking Vaughn in my face!" He still hadn't completely purged the murderous thoughts he'd had about the billionaire playboy from his mind, and hearing his name now, only brought back the insanity he'd felt then.

Which was why he was about to open his mouth and jam his foot right there in it. "And, I'm still not convinced you two..."

"Us two, what?" she exploded. She took a step closer and he could feel the heat that radiated from her like a solar flare. "What are you saying, Castle?" Her eyes were blazing, flex of gold floating amidst a turbulent sea of green, and she glared at him angrily, one hand planted firmly on her hip.

He pursed his lips, could feel the lines of his jaw jumping as he ground his teeth, and he simply stared back at her. After a few seconds, he unclenched his fists, he hadn't even realized they'd been balled up at his sides, and attempted to steady his breathing. He'd fucked up. Big time. He didn't actually think anything about Kate and Eric Vaughn. He trusted her. He did. But, he was hurt and lashing out. "Nothing," he finally replied, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm not saying anything." He looked down at her feet, noticing for the first time that she'd taken off her shoes and the sock that covered her left foot had a hole in the toe. In the midst of their current quagmire, the observation felt absurd.

"Exactly," she murmured.

They stood that way for what seemed like forever, until he finally ran a hand through his hair and inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes and exhaled. "Kate," he started, his voice calm, measured, not betraying in the slightest the anger and frustration that coursed through him. "Let's just table this for now, can we? You've had a long day, I'm not happy with how this night turned out, why don't we just..."

"Well, I'm very sorry to have disappointed you," she said flatly.

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the bite in her comment. "Why don't we just watch a movie or something? Take our minds off..."

She backed away and shook her head. "No, no...Castle, we can't just..." she gestured towards his office where the TV was housed, "...watch TV and forget that there's something wrong here."

He pounded his fist into the palm of his other hand, startling them both. "Yeah, but that's the thing, Kate." he bellowed. "I don't even know what's wrong!"

They stood in angry silence for a few seconds before Kate finally whispered, "We're not communicating, Rick."

"Okay," he replied, squaring himself in front of her. "Why not?"

She shook her head, her chestnut curls bouncing around her shoulders. "I don't know."

They were wasting their time with this. They were fighting, without either of them even knowing why. They were having the same argument over and over, going around in a circle that never seemed to lead them anywhere. He stuffed his hands in his front pockets and flared his elbows out, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, I don't either. So, I guess maybe you should go. Maybe we can just think about it, and figure out..."

She spun on her heel, grabbing her jacket and wiggling into her shoes before he even had a chance to complete his sentence. She flashed him an angry glance. "I'll call you later."

And then she was out the door.

She swiped angrily at the unbidden tears that were streaming in a jagged river down her face, punching the button on the elevator, desperate to get out of sight in case Castle decided to come after her. The doors pinged open, and she stomped into the elevator, punching the button for the lobby, and folding her arms tightly across her chest as she leaned against the back of the cab. Fighting the tears was a hopeless endeavor, and as the doors slammed closed, a choked sob ascended her throat and her whole body trembled with grief.

What the fuck was that? She'd picked a fight with him, obviously. She'd actually picked a fight with him about nothing. But, why? Because she was afraid? Because she was afraid of the restlessness she'd been feeling? Afraid of where they were going? Or, perhaps more accurately, not going? Because she just wanted him to take charge, to open up, to tell her where he thought they were headed in their relationship?

Was that good enough?

She wiped her nose on her sleeve and tried to stifle the sobs that were reverberating from the walls of the elevator. What had he done to set her off, really? Except ask her what was wrong and then, with reasonable justification, get angry when she didn't tell him?

And, why hadn't she just told him?

Because, you don't actually know what's wrong, do you?

She waved a hand in front of her face, as though waving away a bothersome insect.

Or, you do know, but you're not ready to voice it. Isn't that what's really going on here? For both of you?

"Shut up," she muttered, closing her eyes as a fresh row of tears fell down her cheeks. Just then, the elevator stopped at the lobby and the doors slid open. As she stepped out, she was suddenly overcome by the uneasy feeling that by walking out of the door of his building, she was actually taking the first steps towards walking out of his life.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and opened the door.

And then stepped out.

Having polished off the $300 bottle of wine – by himself – he'd switched to whiskey and was pacing back and forth in front of the closed door that, minutes before, Kate had stormed out of, his unspoken accusation probably ringing in her ears.

He could kick himself. Why hadn't he just let her finish her sentence? Why did he have to dredge up his own stupid insecurities about Eric Vaughn?

He felt like an ass.

And yet, it wasn't entirely his fault. Clearly something was going on with her, and for whatever reason, she wasn't sharing any of it with him.

Well, to be fair, Rick. How much sharing are you doing with her?

Plenty. I do plenty of sharing with her.

Do you? Really?

"Shut up," he mumbled, draining the contents of his glass and, fighting the overwhelming urge to chuck it across the room, dropped it with a clank on the table behind the sofa. "Just shut the fuck up."

"Castle?"

Startled, he whipped his head around to see her standing at the door. "Wha-?" Kate had tentatively let herself into the apartment, half-out and half-over the threshold. He crossed the room in three long strides, stopping just short of being able to reach out and touch her, as though some invisible barrier prevented him from getting too close. "Kate." He choked, his normally booming voice muffled by the lump in his throat. He fought back the unbidden tears, trying to temper the growing swell of emotion that threatened to topple him like a fallen tree. "What are you doing here? I thought..."

She'd been crying, he could tell by the glassy look in her eyes, the smudged makeup, the tremble of her chin. He wanted to gather her in his arms, but he couldn't move, he could barely breathe, feeling as immobile and impotent as a marble statue.

She took another hesitant step through the doorway, and looked up at him, a mournful look in her eyes. "Castle," she whispered, "what are we doin'?"

His arms hung limply at his sides, and he could feel the weight of them, as though they were filled with stone. He shook his head, "What do you mean?"

She frowned and he could see the bouncing of her jawline as she mulled her answer. "I mean. What are we fighting about?" She squinted at him, her nose crinkling, her head cocked. "What is wrong with us?"

"Kate," he started, his mind working overtime to figure out the right thing to say. "Kate, there's nothing wrong with us." Her shoulders slumped and she sighed. He took a step forward and held up one palm. "I mean, I think we're just getting way too much in our own heads, here."

She glanced up at him.

He took another step closer, close enough now that if he'd wanted to, he could reach out and touch her. His body ached for it, every fiber and pore of him tilted towards her, and yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. Afraid that she'd slip away, afraid that she'd reject him. "Kate, we're fine," he tried to reason. "We just need to work through whatever it is..."

"Do you still want me, Castle?"

He stumbled backwards, as though, instead of asking him a question, she'd just punched him in the chest. He frowned. "What?"

He watched her eyes glass up and she took another step towards him. She was fully in the apartment now, the door partially ajar behind her. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Do you still want me?"

"Of course I want you, what kind of question is that?" He asked, and, finally released from the clutches of paralysis, closed the distance between them, gently reaching out to touch her arm. "Kate, why would you ask me that?

She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him through tortured eyes. She shook her head. "I don't know, I just thought..."

Suddenly overcome by emotion, by passion, by fear, he seized her mouth with his own, his hand at the back of her neck, his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her to him. He could taste the salt in her tears and a sob escaped her throat. But, she kissed him back with equal fervor, her tongue bold and curious, her hands flying up to frame his face as they kissed.

No more words passed between them and he backed her up against the door, that door, that door where it all began, and pressed his body firmly against hers, feeling the vibration of her emotion, the swell of her tears, one knee sliding in the space between her legs. She reached for his belt, divested him of his pants, her hands flying over the buttons of his shirt, and he gathered the hem of her sweater in his fists and yanked it up and over her head, her hair falling haphazardly around her shoulders, framing her face in a chestnut halo. She reached behind her and unclasped her bra, gazing into the depth of his piercing blue eyes as he pulled the straps down her shoulders, letting the black garment fall to the floor between them.

He was already aroused, and she rocked her hips against him, her lips traveling the column of his throat, her breath hot on his skin, her hands skating beneath the soft fabric of his boxers. He swallowed in an attempt to banish the lump in his throat, fighting the tears that rimmed his eyes as he tried to sort through the jumble of thoughts that, like a cyclone, tore a destructive path through the center of his brain. She was whispering something, but all he caught was a strangled "Rick," so he covered her mouth with his, their kiss deep and adoring, as though it were a talisman against the dark forces that would tear them apart.

She wiggled out of her jeans and he pushed them down her legs, bracketing her body as she stepped out of them and then he dipped his head to the hollow of her neck, using his tongue to map a trail from her throat to between her breasts, pausing at the fading scar where a bullet had torn through her flesh, nearly taking her from him forever. He closed his eyes to temper the flow of tears that threatened to come, and then gripped her tightly when she whimpered beneath him, obviously lost in the same devastating memory. With her fingers tangled in his hair, he continued his path down her body, kissing his way along her abdomen until he reached the lacy waistband of her soft black underwear. He glanced up at her and saw that she was crying. He almost stood up, but she stopped him, mouthing without voice, I love you. Without breaking eye contact, he took the delicate lace in his teeth, and slowly pulled.

A torrent of emotions rippled through her and she felt chaotic and wobbly, without breath or thought or deed, her mind a tsunami of conflicting thoughts, with one that repeatedly looped through her consciousness, I love him.

But the demons that lived in the darkest corners of her mind were planting seeds of doubt, asking whether love was enough.

Yes, her better angels answered, yes, for you two, it is enough

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, he was looking up at her from his place on the floor, her panties in a puddle around her feet, his eyes misty and so, so very blue. He curled one hand around her thigh, slinging it over his shoulder, and then, with a hooded glance up to her, dipped his head between her legs, releasing sparks of pleasure throughout her insides.

She threw her head back, making painful contact with the unforgiving wood of the door, but not caring, and braced herself as he employed his tongue to tease and torture her. Her belly coiled, her flesh puckered, her breathing stalled in her chest, and she whispered his name, over and over. But she didn't say Castle, not that, she said Rick. Like a litany, a prayer, a spell that would bind them together no matter what wicked forces in the universe that wanted to come between them.

She was at the precipice, her fingers twining through his hair, her shoulders braced against the door. She rocked her hips in cadence to his tongue, her leg wrapped around him, the pressure inside building and spiraling.

And then, she soared.

Crying out, her strangled shouts echoing from the high ceilings of the loft, filling the empty spaces in the room, she rode the waves of her orgasm as though each delicious crest were the last. He held her up, his chin pressed against her hardened pearl as she contracted around him, and when she was finally done, her body humming, coated with sweat, he kissed his way up her body until his lips covered hers in an unbridled kiss. The heady experience of tasting herself on him overwhelmed her senses, and she whimpered into his mouth.

He sipped her up.

She smelled like lavender, tasted like salt, and her body felt tranquil against his, satisfied, serene. He gripped her tightly, pinning her against the door as her heartbeat slowed, her breathing steadied, and he peppered her neck, her cheeks, her forehead with little kisses as she veined around him. When she'd finally collected her breath, she looked into his eyes, searching or speaking, he couldn't tell which, and then offered him a smile that lit as slowly as a fuse.

His insides did somersaults.

He knew what was next.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, skimmed his lips with her own, whispering, "I want you." As she pressed her lips against his in a bruising wanton kiss, he picked her up and she coiled her legs around him, gently guiding his full erection inside of her, her inner muscles gripping him tightly. With her back against the door, he thrust into her, forcing the air from her lungs and she gasped. He eased out, only to do it again, and again.

And, again.

The sound of her body banging against the closed door, of their flesh slapping together, their breath ragged and heavy filled their ears, and made for curious titillating conversation for anyone who happened to pass by his door.

It didn't take long and he was close to climaxing - she was too, he could tell by the feel of her body around him, the way she was breathing, the expression on her face, even the scent of her, and he increased his pace, establishing a punishing rhythm, relishing the feel of her warm wet body against his, her breasts smashed against his chest, her arms and legs tangled around him.

And, like a gift from the heavens, first she came, sharp and furious, and then, seconds later, he did, emptying himself into her, not just his essence, but his every thought, his every feeling, every worry and want, his pain and pleasure, his secrets and desires, and he felt both dominating and dominated.

He pinned her against the door, waited until they'd both recovered, and then eased out of her, lowering her to her feet. She rested her forehead against his shoulder, sliding her arms around his middle as they stood in silence, naked, sweaty, breathless and still.

Finally, she slowly raised her head, her gaze fixed on his lips and a crooked smile crept along her face. She reached up, palming his cheek as she ran the pad of her thumb along his bottom lip. "We did it," she whispered so softly that he barely heard her.

He nodded, gently kissing her mouth. "Yes, we did. That's it. The one-hundredth."

"Hmmm," she hummed, looking faraway. "I liked it."

His face split into a grin and he framed her face with both hands. "Me too."

They kissed and then he stepped back, reaching for her hand. "Will you stay?"

She nodded and allowed him to tow her to the bedroom. They were both so exhausted, emotionally, physically, mentally, that talking seemed impossible, even though he knew they still had so much to say.

It would have to wait. For now, he just wanted to envelop her in his arms, keep her close, covet her body beneath the warm cocoon of his bedcovers as they drifted off to sleep together. In this moment, this time, this space, everything was perfect. Everything was magical.

Everything was right.

The End.

A/N: And, there we have it. We have reached the end. I want to thank you, dear readers, from the bottom of my heart for all of your support, encouragement, and lovely, lovely reviews. This story has been a true labor of love - one that has been a part of my life for almost 17 months now. I know that not every chapter has appealed to every reader (including this one), but so many of you stuck with me from chapter 1 to 100, and I cannot tell you enough how very much that means to me. It lifts me up, truly, as a writer, as a person, as a Castle fan. So, thank you!

A special thanks to the fantastic guest-writers who contributed to this story, and to everyone who has helped me with story ideas, beta reading, and general muse-like assistance. You all were invaluable!

Also, if she's reading this, a special thank you to KB.