90. 91: Saturday

91

He couldn't get away until noon, and by the time Castle makes it to Kate's door, he's itchy with sweat from the walk up. He's wearing dress pants and a once-crisp button-up, but his plan is perilously close to getting scrapped in favor of shorts and a tshirt.

Still, he knocks on the door and hears the flowers crinkle in his damp palm, waits on her to answer.

"You have a key-"

She stumbles to a halt at the sight of flowers, but his mouth is dropping at the sight of her lithe figure standing just inside her entry.

"Why are you naked?" he gasps.

She grabs him by the wrist, taking the bouquet, and rolls her eyes. "I'm not naked. Goofy man. What are the flowers for?"

"First of all, I'm falling down on the job if you feel the need to ask the occasion - every day is a good day for flowers. And second, Beckett, holy smokes-"

"-holy smokes?" she laughs.

"Holy smokes, you're in black lace underwear and a tiny scrap of a tank top. Spaghetti straps. I - I can't even - I just-"

"Flowers means you're apologizing, Castle. So what're these for?"

He's still struck half-dumb by her long and gorgeous legs and the hard edge of her shoulder blades under the strap of her camisole. "No apologizing. Just. Three months, Kate."

She grins widely at that and steps into him, brushing her breasts against his chest. "You're all dressed up, Castle. Going somewhere?"

"Thought so," he murmurs, gazing down at her, tripping right past her eyes to the lush curves of her body. Her hand not holding the flowers trails up his chest, tapping on the buttons of his dress shirt, skirting the hollow of his throat, curling at his chin.

"Thought so?" she breathes.

"Plans may have just changed. Didn't realize you'd be half-naked when you opened the door." He can't stop staring, can't help the way he leans into her, hands already at her waist and seeking that hot skin.

She shivers. "It's hot today. My air conditioning has been crap ever since they had to fix it."

"You're definitely hot," he says, hears the earnest and deep devotion in his voice, can't help it.

"What plans, Castle?" she says, her fingers curling at his ear and her hips bumping his. The hand with her flowers moves and he sees her place them on a shelf, but he's entirely not with it enough to figure out what's going on.

"Plans?"

"Why so dressed up?"

"Oh." Dressed up? Oh. "Three months, Kate."

"You taking me out, Castle?"

"Not anymore," he gets out, his throat tight with need, mesmerized by the dark and dangerous humor in her eyes.

"Oh, too bad," she sighs, starts drifting away from him. Castle grabs her by the wrist, yanks her back, then crowds his body against hers, pushing her back to her bedroom.

"It can be dinner plans," he promises. "I had a thing, was gonna celebrate, but the thing is nothing compared to this."

She smiles at that, draws her knee up the outside of his leg until he grabs her behind her thigh, helping.

"Can I kiss you?" he breathes out, staring at her mouth, the perfect curve of her lips as they thin with her smile.

"Why are you asking permission?" she says, curling her fingers in his hair and tugging him down.

When he presses his mouth to hers, open and heat-seeking, her tongue darts out and skims his lips, smoothing the way, letting her right inside. He groans and reaches down for her other leg, hooks both at his hips so he's carrying her, moving back towards her bedroom.

She breaks from his mouth with a gasp and squeezes her knees around him, rising up a little, kissing his temple, his eyelid, down his nose, sinking back against him and rolling her hips. He groans and knocks his knee against the arm of her couch, but no, no he is not taking her on the couch again, not today, not on their three month anniversary.

"Hurry," she moans, and the ragged sound of her voice makes his hips buck hard against the vee of her legs.

"God, shut up until I can manage to get us to your bed," he grunts at her. "Otherwise it's the floor, Beckett."

"What I want to do to you, the floor's no good," she growls, squeezing him again, her arms like bands around him, her body so humid and rich, constantly moving against him.

He manages to get his hand under the back of her shirt and spread across her ribs, scratch at her spine until she arches, pressing flush to him. He takes another couple of steps, thinks he's got it, and bangs them both into the doorframe.

They both groan and she bites his collarbone. "You're going to maim me before we even get a chance to-"

"If you didn't want to be mauled, don't answer your door in black lace underwear," he spits out, then hauls her off him and onto the bed.

She grins, feral and dark, then gets to her knees and reaches for him, hands undeterred and immediate and clever.

"Come here, Rick. I wanna celebrate our three months."

"Oh, my flowers," she says suddenly, lifting from bed by pushing off of his chest.

"Whoa, wait - where are you going?" he grumbles, tugging on his boxers to follow her. She scoops a tshirt from the floor and shrugs it on even as she heads back out into her living room.

"I don't want them to wilt," she says, but she turns to look at him over her shoulder and pauses, waiting for him by her couch with her arm stretched out to him, palm ready and waiting for his.

He takes her hand, amused to be holding her hand in her own apartment, and she laces their fingers together, loose and casual and intimate. It's nearly seven, and they really should get dressed again, head to dinner, but he can't pull himself away from her.

She leads him into her kitchen, stopping to pick up the flowers from where she'd placed them. Then he follows her to the kitchen, lets her hand go so she can find a vase for them.

Just an arrangement, nothing really that special, but lots of purple - dyed gerber daisies and something that might be a lily - with splashes of orange and red poppies. He thinks. Not sure. He didn't ask, he just walked into the store like a regular person and let his eyes roam, and then he picked the one that looked like it fit in her apartment. He didn't even check the price first, because if he had, he would have switched and bought something more expensive.

But he didn't. And she's arranging the huge bouquet into four different jars - not even vases, the woman doesn't even have a vase? - a pretty blue beer bottle, a clear mason ball jar, a coke bottle, and something that looks like she bought it straight from the fire, hand-blown and misshapen and sure, yeah, that could be a vase if he squints and doesn't look at it too hard.

"Stop breathing down my neck," she laughs, elbowing him away as she runs water in the various vases, but her head turns and presses a kiss to cheek before he can get too far.

Castle leans against the kitchen counter, watches her arms flex and extend as she fills them with water, positions them around her kitchen, the living room. She comes back to him and leans her whole body against his, flush and warm and strong, and then she lifts on her toes and kisses him.

Slow.

Thorough.

Wet.

He remembers to breathe, slides his tongue against hers, stroking, teasing, and finds his hands suddenly under her shirt and climbing her ribs, all soft and warm skin, brushing the underside of her breasts, cupping her shoulders with his forearms pressed against her back.

She moans and rolls against him, twice, her fingers dancing along the waistband of his boxers, to his sides, to the flare at his lower back. Kate skims her mouth to his chin, back against his jaw, her breath so ragged, so heated and stormy against him that his fingers are going numb, his knees running to water, his body capsizing into her.

"Three months," she whispers, scrapes her teeth at that spot just under his jaw where she likes to dwell. He shudders as her tongue comes out to play.

"Three - three months," he echoes. "And three weeks of vacation together in which we didn't kill each other."

"Miracle of miracles," she hums. "A break-in. A couple panic attacks."

"My daughter. My mother-" She laughs at that; he grins back, then softens his voice. "Our first big fight."

She sighs and her body eases against him, no longer held away with tension, her movements less aggressive and now more - adoring.

Her fingers skirt his ribs and she slides her palms up his chest to cup the sides of his neck, thumbs rubbing his jaw, like she's cradling him, like she's curled up into herself, into them, and holding him close. He wraps his arms around her tightly, squeezing her to him, feeling the way she melts and releases and just sinks down into him.

Her feet are scrunched up against his, cold, and he can just feel the way their toes thread together, just like she laces their fingers together too, and it's nice. It's weird, a little bit - she's the only woman who's ever worked her toes between his - but it's intimate, and he likes it, and it's that strange Beckett flavor.

She presses her mouth at his jaw and sighs. "Even when we fight, it's still-"

"Good," he fills in, his voice harsh with the sensation of her body against his and the way her hands hold him.

"It is," she sighs in agreement. "It's good. I've never had that before. Never been frustrated with someone like I am with you, and still wanting - still needing it. You. Us."

He shifts his embrace higher, curling in around her for a moment, hard and tight, and then he eases back.

"I've never-" He pauses and tries to fit the words into his mouth so he can push them out, get them right. He likes to think he leaves it all out there on the surface, that he's not some unfathomable mystery; he likes to think that he makes it obvious how he feels. About her, about anything.

But. Sometimes the things he feels he needs to say to her are stuck in his throat, that they're too much or wrong or too revealing. Because she matters so much.

He brushes his mouth against her cheek just to feel the way her body tightens for him; it gives him confidence.

"I've never had a friend," he murmurs finally. "Like this. Like you. A partner."

Those hands on his face grow strong; her head comes up so that he sees her. She's swimming in emotion, all of it reflected in her eyes, filled up. His breath catches.

"Rick. I love this. I love us."

He lets out a breath of a laugh, relief and ease and the way she's looking at him, and then he leans in to capture her mouth. But she stays him with two fingers, her nose nudging his, and her breath sliding against his cheek.

"I love you," she adds, curling the fingers of one hand in his ear. "I love you, and I am so - so - I don't even know. Nothing sounds like enough for what it means. Just-"

"Happy three months," he supplies with a little shrug. "Three months, Kate. Just the beginning."

Her arms tighten around his neck and she lifts into him, nodding at his cheek. "Yes. That." A quick breath in and then her hands are strong on him, tugging him back so their eyes meet. She's grinning. "So take me out to dinner, Castle."

Kate watches him as he has to iron his pants and shirt, wrinkled from being crumpled in the floor. He has shorts and tshirts at her place, but nothing nice, and he probably should.

"You should bring some stuff over," she says, frowning as she watches him spray starch to the line of buttons and press the iron against the material. "Just to save time at least."

"I like to iron."

"Oh good. I'll have a pile for you," she smirks, sitting cross-legged in her messy bed with - still - only a shirt on. She does enjoy teasing him.

"I'll do them, too. Especially after we fight. It'll be soothing."

"You say that like it's a foregone conclusion we're gonna fight," she laughs.

"Oh, it is," he says darkly, but he raises his head to give her that smirky, cocky grin. "So get me a good stack going. I'll need it."

"So pessimistic, Castle. Gonna have to break you of that bad habit."

He barks out a laugh and his arrogant cockiness disappears, subsumed back into the real Castle, the eager one, the joyful one. His finger flicks in her direction, some kind of acknowledgement or approval, and he looks her up and down. "You wearing that?"

"Why? You got a problem with what I'm wearing?" she retorts, smirking.

"Not at all. I do think that where we're going - yeah, they might. No shoes, no service, Beckett."

"Mmm, shoes," she murmurs, stretching and surreptitiously watching him under her lashes. He follows the rise of her chest and the length of her arms, then drops his eyes back to his ironing. She smiles to herself and finally gets up. "We have a reservation?"

"At eight."

"Ah, that's soon," she says carefully. She really hates cutting it close, hates even more to be late, and he knows that.

"They'll hold it."

"Okay," she says finally, glancing at him as she heads for her closet. Of course they will; it's Rick Castle, right? So. She can take as long as she likes. His fault, tossing aside the plan and dragging her to bed.

Well. She liked that too. More. Yeah. More.

"Castle," she calls out on a whim. "What's your favorite color?"

"Orange," he says back, unhesitatingly.

She huffs as she looks at her closet, frowns. "On me."

He laughs at that. "Does nude count as a color?"

She does laugh at that, glancing over her shoulder at him, an eyebrow raised, and he grins, entirely unrepentant.

"Okay then. Blue. Red. Green, oh that green - no wait, that black with the v-neck, or you know that flowy thing all bronzed and - arg, I don't know."

She smiles to herself and glances over her shoulder at his dress shirt. Beautiful plum, deep, and she remembers seeing a purple and silver tie. "My favorite color on you is-"

"Blue," he says without a beat. "Or purple. Hard to tell sometimes, but your eyes narrow and-"

"Yes," she murmurs and turns her head back to her closet, can feel herself blushing. Damn. "Blue. The purple - that one there, especially, also very good."

She can practically feel him smirking from all the way in her closet and she ignores it to run her fingers through her dresses.

Not that she's looking to match him, exactly, but she really does love purple.

He couldn't resist: he ordered a limo. Figured for their three months anniversary, he might get away with it.

Besides, he got her cheap flowers, didn't he?

He still holds his breath when they step outside her building and the long, sleek black car is there waiting for them, but Kate gives him a laughing look over her shoulder, her mouth pursed in that not-quite-disapproving smile that he really, really loves.

"Couldn't help yourself, huh?"

He grins back at her, steps a little closer so he can rest a hand at the small of her back. The dress she's wearing is gorgeous, a deep purple silk that clings to her figure, falls in a straight line to her feet. She asked if he didn't think it was too much, too dressed-up, but he fell in love after just one look at that low, v-shaped neckline.

Beautiful. She's beautiful.

"You look like a movie star," he answers her smirk with a shrug, knowing his eyes say it all, how proud he is, how grateful he has her at all. "Had to make sure the car was appropriate."

She's reached the door but turns to him, her smile softening, her eyes so bright, so clear as she steps close.

She dances her lips along the edge of his mouth, curls her fingers around his ear and whispers, "All for you, Castle."

He kisses her back lightly - it's only way he's not going to make them more late - then he moves to open the door for her. She rolls her eyes but gets in smoothly, holding her dress up, the pliant curve of her body distracting him for a second.

Jeez, they just spent the whole afternoon doing exactly that. He's gotta get a grip.

The restaurant they're going to isn't far, just a five-minute ride. He's surprised when Kate takes his hand again, laces their fingers together; the soft stroke of her thumb against his is haunting, intimate more than erotic. Does she do that because she knows he needs the contact? Or because she's come to need it as well?

Her eyes find his and she smiles, that slow, wide parting of her mouth where he gets to see teeth, tongue, all of her joy tumbling out.

Three months and she still leaves him speechless.

"You know," he blurts out without meaning to, "sometimes I think it's ridiculous how much I love you."

She laughs, just this one delighted breath. "It's okay, Castle," she shoots back, an evil glint to her eye. "Of all the ridiculous things that you do - this one I don't really mind."

The car brakes, saves him from having to come up with a decent comeback. "We're there," he says after a glance through the window, and when he gets out of the limo, turns to circle around the car, he's disappointed to see Kate is already at his side.

"I can handle my own door," she smirks, her head cocked at him.

"Not the only thing you can handle," he replies, wiggling an eyebrow.

She shakes her head at him, but links their arms together. "Restaurant, Castle. Behave."

He loves it when she gets bossy.

The place he picked is low-key, but elegant, a spacious room with just enough tables to grant the customers their privacy. The colors are mostly blue and white, probably an attempt at recreating a Mediterranean setting to compliment their cuisine; Castle thinks it works out pretty well.

He's never been here before, but Alexis and his mother have both heard "great things" about this restaurant. He waits until they're seated, menus in hand, to risk a look at Kate.

She's watching him with a hint of a smile, those dark, knowing eyes.

"Nice place, Castle."

Oh, good. She likes it.

He grins, relief and pleasure mixing in his veins, feels the nudge of her foot under the table. That's what she calls behave, huh? He nudges back, doesn't do anything else since the waiter is going to come back anytime to take their order.

"Do you know what you're having?" she asks, studying her choices carefully.

The way she does that - it reminds him of Detective Beckett, how intensely she would peruse her murder board, that same little crease between her brows.

"Um, no," he answers, looks down at his menu for the first time. Whoa. He has no idea what dolmas, bakalao or psarosoupa are. "That's cool," he murmurs, excited that he might have to order blind.

"Dish descriptions are in English, Castle," Kate tells him, a note of amusement in her voice. Spoilsport.

He hesitates for a moment - both the turbot fillet and the seafood sound amazing - but by the time the waiter comes back with their cocktails, he's managed to make up his mind.

Once their orders have been taken, he raises his glass, waits for Beckett to do the same. "To three months," he toasts with a smile, an arch of his eyebrow, "and not killing each other."

She laughs, a silent thing that makes her chest tremble, and clinks their glasses together. "To us," she agrees, her eyes intent on his as she drinks.

He can barely taste the alcohol underneath the exotic fruit, the drink almost too sweet, but he feels the slow swirl of it in his body, the delicate buzz that unfurls inside him. Of course, it could just be Kate's bare foot caressing his ankle, toes dipping under the hem of his pants.

Her skin is cool against his and he shivers, the cocktail sloshing in his glass.

"Careful," Kate warns, her voice teasing, dark and lovely. It wraps around him like a spell, roots him to the spot, ties knots in his throat.

How he loves her.

And that reminds him-

"I didn't get you anything," he says softly.

She quirks her lips at him. "I didn't get you anything either."

He lets out a breath of laughter - hadn't expected that - and then shakes his head. "But I want to-"

"No, Castle," she says, her voice warm and gentle. "I don't need anything."

"Let me finish," he says, nudging her ankle with the side of his foot. She presses her lips together, gives a little wave of her hand as if to say Go ahead.

"I didn't get you anything, but I want to show you something."

She lets out a little puff of laughter and scrapes her hand through her hair, settling her elbow on the table as she looks at him. A little uncouth table manners, but a lot sexy, and he momentarily loses his train of thought as she bites her bottom lip, her hair falling around her arm, her eyes on him.

"Think you already showed me something," she says, her lips pursed around the words before stretching into a grin she can't hold back.

"Uh-huh, I love your dirty mind," he sighs back happily, reaching a hand out to stroke his knuckles along the inside of her arm. She drops her hand from her hair and wraps her fingers around his bicep, the two of them pitched forward into the table, as close as they can get.

"Castle," she admonishes, her thumb brushing over and around his arm. "What did you want to show me?"

He blinks and remembers, letting out a little laugh as he comes back to himself. He lets go of her and pulls away to reach into his pants pocket for his phone.

Kate sits back as well, but he can see the faint pink of her skin in the deep v of her neckline. She leans her head towards her raised hand, curls her hair back behind her ear as she watches him.

He unlocks his phone and calls up the email app. Castle finds what he's looking for, taps the screen to make the image full screen, and then hands it over to her.

"What is this?" she asks, taking the phone in both hands, cradling it in her fingers.

"Dedication page of Frozen Heat."

Her eyes dart up to his, and then back to the image of the galley that Black Pawn sent him to okay.

For Kate,for this summer,for always.