Absolutely beautiful.

He didn't hesitate.

Richard Castle claimed her mouth before she could even finish her irritated, impassioned, not a little bit careless ultimatum. He took her in close, pressed her against the line of his body, stealing breath, words, wonder.

Kate surged up, closer, holding on to him by his ears as if he might at any moment break away. He felt the whole curve of her undulating to meet him, hot and rich and not at all still, ever moving, questing, seeking answers he didn't have the words to question. She was shock and awe, hit and miss, overwhelming and ethereal all in the same instant, so that he felt he had to constantly keep hold of her to keep her, press every part of her to him to make sure she was really there.

He wasn't going to let go for anything.

And then he did, because he had to breathe, he had to speak, he had things to say: "Anything at all, Kate. Anything you'll give me-"

Her eyes flashed dark, like antimatter igniting, and her mouth, the lines smudged by his mouth, dropped open to ruin it with imprecations or confessions he wouldn't, couldn't hear.

"Everything," he insisted heatedly, amending his words with more words. The words were never right, never accurate enough. Wasn't that why he wrote and wrote and wrote for all these years? What were 28 best sellers when they never got it right?

She was a snake in his grip, sinuous muscle and writhing power, working now as if to get away from him even as she ignited.

"Everything, everything," he repeated and struck again, towering over her, bruising her with his mouth, as if he needed to punish her for making him say it, when clearly, words were never going to win her over.

Kate Beckett sucked in a breath the moment he let her, then dived back into it with him. She didn't need the words, only this, the feel of his warm palm at her neck, a brand, and his mouth breathing in time with hers. She felt underwater, moving slowly and gracelessly, her movements blocked or countered by his, neither of them fitting right or close or matched, but blending, give and take.

Insistent. Total. All or nothing with him.

Kate rejected his answer of 'anything' and went for 'everything' instead. She eased up only long enough to caress both of the soft tips of his ears with her fingers, trail her hands down his cheeks, the sides of his neck, to his broad shoulders, and finally to wrap around his biceps.

"That's better," she finally answered, and nudged his mouth aside so she could get at the line of his jaw.

Like a rooting puppy, he went back blindly for her lips, nibbling, drawing them in, but she broke free to make her mark against the underside of his jaw where stubble had just begun. She scraped her teeth over it, then his earlobe, and his body shuddered, his hands stilled, his mouth paused so he could pant against the top of her head.

Before she realized the mood had shifted, Castle was pressing her into himself, enveloping her in a way she both thrilled to and hated, as if he could protect her, keep her, and his hands were gentle and shaky against her back, soothing.

She lowered herself down, feet flat, sliding against his front as she went and making him shudder again, in waves, his hands fisting in her shirt for a moment. She liked Castle uncontrolled, surprised to discover that what normally passed for uncontrollable was, in fact, nowhere close to this. This was the Castle she'd wanted, all this time. The interesting Castle.

He breathed in deeply again, palmed her cheek so that he could press her head against his chest, but she didn't want that, she didn't want to be cradled like she was ten years old; she wanted back the man without thought or reason, wordless.

She pushed back, hands at his biceps, and made him look at her.

Her chest squeezed, because he looked so afraid, so desperately afraid of her, afraid of what she might say. And she wasn't stupid enough or messed up enough to think, even for a second, that he didn't want this, that he regretted it. No, she knew he was afraid of her because he wanted it so much and she might not.

"I'm not sure about everything Castle."

And his fists, still in her shirt, jerked involuntarily, pressing her hips against his to thwart her, but she hurried on, hoping that something of what she wanted was in her face for him to see because words wouldn't do it justice.

"But what I've got," Kate paused, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to that spot where his collarbone hollowed out and his skin was so soft. "You can have."

The End.

To all those who reviewed, whether it was once or every chapter, thank you so much for your encouragement and enthusiasm. Somehow a small little story about Kate Beckett moving into her new place turned into an epic about Richard Castle's crusade to win her heart. Thank you for being along for the ride, and for letting me know how fine the scenery was.

This story is complete.

"The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of laughter."

-Ecc 7:4