86. 87: Tuesday

87

"Hey, Kate!"

She startles, coffee sloshing onto her thumb. At least it's mostly lukewarm. She's been up for a while. A good long while. She should have gone home last night, come back this morning, but she couldn't make herself leave.

Kate turns her head at the kitchen island to look at Castle, sucks the coffee from her hand. "What?"

"We should do this. Let's do this! Wouldn't it be fun?"

He's pushing the newspaper over to her and tapping the page. The Comic Factory. "Wasn't that where Bobby Mann was the night he died?"

"Yeah, but - it's - okay, ignore that for a second. Look who's headlining tonight at eight."

She lifts an eyebrow and shakes her head at him, but reads the line up. "Donald Glover. Oh wow, isn't he old for stand-up-"

"Ka-ate. Seriously?"

She opens her mouth, watches his face hovering somewhere between horrified and ecstatic. Can't be the guy from those movies with Mel Gibson, then, can it? "Not Lethal Weapon."

"That's Danny Glover. Donald Glover is from Community, and he's got a band, Childish Gambino. We should go to this tonight. He's hilarious."

Kate sips at her coffee, shrugging at him. "Sure, Castle. Fine with me."

"No. Not acceptable. You need to have more enthusiasm than that. This is Donald Glover. The guy who-"

"Castle. You know I don't get a chance to watch much television. I-"

Suddenly he's hustling her off the bar stool and manhandling her through the living room towards his study. "You gotta watch. I have them on my DVR. Tons of episodes. Kate. Kate. You're gonna love-"

"Castle," she warns with a huff of breath, letting him hustle her into the armchair set up in front of his desk. "You and I don't always agree on what's funny."

"I have realistic expectations. I promise. You're gonna love it. It's smart funny."

She lifts an eyebrow, but lets him turn on the television, find his show from the list. He's eager and happy and his hair is sticking out over his forehead because after he showered she might have possibly ran her fingers through it again and again, and then she might have taken him back to bed.

Even through her passive silence, Castle's joy is undimmed. He's still grinning at her over his shoulder as he starts the first episode, and then he wriggles his eyebrow and comes for her in the chair, dropping down.

"Oof," she mutters. "We don't both fit-"

"Sure we can. Scoot your butt over."

"It is over."

He digs his arm behind her and bodily picks her up, worming his way into the armchair and then depositing her on his lap. She rolls her eyes at him, but curls her knees up and sits with him, tight and close, smiles at the feel of his lips and teeth nibbling at her neck.

"I thought you wanted to watch your show."

"No. I want you to watch my show. While I watch you."

"You're kissing me, Castle."

"Kissing might also be involved."

"Hm."

"Hush. Watch."

We are forty lightyears outside of the Buttermilk Nebula although it's possible that. . .yeah, it's a sticker.

At that Kate laughs so hard she nearly falls off the chair; Castle takes it as a perfect opportunity to slide both arms around her, grinning and pleased with how much she likes it, and he pulls her back farther into his lap.

"Get outta my chair, Castle." But she's laughing still and wriggling her ass into his thigh, her bone digging in sharply. He gasps and shifts, giving her more room, while the episode runs.

"You wanna see his stand-up tonight?"

"Yeah," she answers, leaning back against his chest and hooking an arm around his neck. "Should be fun."

He's grinning at her, preparing to stand up and shove her off his lap, just to be funny, when she suddenly presses her lips against the hinge of his jaw, her hair soft at his ear. Castle goes still, made immobile by the lightness of her touch, and then she pulls back, watches him for a moment, and comes in again to brush her lips just under his eye.

His thighs clench, his body stiff as she moves in, her mouth delicate and tracing the line of his nose. Castle lets out a ragged breath, feels her body rocking into him, her lips pressing to his eyelid.

"Kate," he whispers, his fingers clutching at her hip, the back of one knee.

Her body unfurls over his; she rises up with her legs bracketing him like parentheses, the back of her hands at his abdomen and drifting.

Her mouth skims his, careful sips, and he tries to be good, tries to take it and wait on her, wait for whatever it is she wants to do, but he can't help sliding his hands along the back of her thighs, cupping her, bringing her flush to chest with the force of his movement.

She groans and her breath is hot at his cheek, her mouth wet now when it lands at his temple, the corner of his eye, scattered shots that make his guts clench.

"Castle," she husks, her voice entirely out of control, raspy and low and doing terrible things to his insides. "Castle, touch me."

Oh yes.

She makes them late.

She makes them late and she can't feel sorry about it, can't even care when he looks at her like that, adoring and demanding all at the same time.

"Again," he said to her, and she couldn't stop, didn't want to stop, and so she's made them late. Or he has. Together, they're late.

He buys the tickets at will-call and she can't even pay attention to how expensive they are because she's still thrumming, still feeling that tingle in her fingertips, along her lips.

"Come on, Kate. What are you doing?" he says, tugging on her hand, halfway towards the double doors.

She won't tell him she's daydreaming about him, can't tell him. Instead, she hurries after Castle and into the theatre's brick-walled lobby, her hand twitching around his, not sure she's with it enough to enjoy the comedian.

They find seats at a back table to one side, lost in shadows. His hand uncurls from hers as he pulls out her chair; she sits and waits for him to claim the one at her side, then leans in close to his warmth in the cool air of the club.

They order drinks and he adds an appetizer, artichoke dip and pita chips, gives her a flashing grin, his eyes so blue in the darkness. She can't help herself, leans in and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, brushes her thumb over the spot as he tilts his head, half-questioning, half not questioning it.

"You like artichoke dip that much?"

"No," she laughs, rolling her eyes at him. Lame, Castle. "Just you. But you know that."

"Yeah," he grins, entirely too smug.

The emcee interrupts their nice moment with a shrieking mic and a burst of welcomes. Kate turns away from Castle, reluctantly, but drops her hand on his thigh.

For later.

She's feisty.

Ung. Really, he wants to take her by that hot hand and drag her into the bathroom really quickly, just get it out of his system, but he knows it wouldn't work. It wouldn't do a thing to assuage the need; he'd want her all over again.

And she doesn't even mean it.

Well, okay, he could quickly convince her to mean it, but she's just being - unconsciously sexy. She's just leaning in, her fingers stroking, dancing, caressing. She's not trying to tease; she just is.

After a while, the edginess is impossible to sustain, and jeez, it's not like they didn't just do this a couple hours ago. His body finally gives up the fight and he slumps back into his seat, taking a breath, able to concentrate on the warm-up guy.

When Donald Glover comes on stage around eleven, Kate turns to him with that wide, brilliant grin and leans in to put her mouth to his ear.

"Thanks for this," she says, her voice undercutting the laughter and the mic both. "Thanks for making me laugh."

And he gets that she doesn't just mean tonight, today, but a few days ago in the rain, and in bed yesterday, and at the precinct as well. Making her job easier.

Making her life-

"So much richer this way," she says, and her palm strokes down his jaw before she turns back to the stage.