A/N: Wishful thinking for the end of Undead Again. Spoilers for the sneaks.

He's going to leave.

He says this is his last case with her and he is going to leave. No more coffee, no more late night phone calls, no more Nikki Heat sneak peeks, no more pulling her pigtails, no more crazy off the wall theories, no more him.

She panics.

"Castle wait," she blurts, grabs his wrist, stills him just inside the break room. They're standing by the espresso machine, her espresso machine, their espresso machine. Fitting. She had never wanted that either, but now she can't live without any of it.

He's weary around the eyes as he regards her, stops and just stares. He looks tired and resigned, like he's already given up and she suddenly can't believe she hasn't just told him everything already. The hot slide of panic curls further up her spine at the very real thought of him walking away and never coming back and it's what gives her the strength to say, "Don't go."

"Beckett…" She can hear the hesitance in his voice, he doesn't know what she means and she really, really needs him to know.

Her tongue feels thick in her mouth with what she's about to do, as thick as the blood hurtling through her veins and pumping against her chest.

"I want you, to stay. With me." Her voice is careful, precise, her fingers curling into the wrist she's still holding onto, trying to press her intentions into his skin and his brain all at once.

His eyes turn dark at her words, something there he doesn't usually let her see, and she can feel his pulse start to pick up against her thumb. "I want you to think about what you're saying," he says slowly, rounding on her a little bit, walking her backward into the room until the backs of her thighs hit the coffee table.

"I know what I'm saying." She swallows, watches him watch the bob of her throat as she does, feels a pink flush racing up her neck. They don't do this. They never do this.

"What do you want, Kate?" He won't look away from her eyes, won't back off. She can feel his thighs brushing hers now, he's so, so close to her.

"You." It's blunt and true, and the way his eyes widen give her hope that she's getting her point across. She did not wake up this morning planning on begging him to stay with her, but in the face of losing him, she'll say absolutely anything. It's all true anyway, all of it. Oh, how she wants him.

He raises his hands to her face, cups her cheeks as her fingers still weakly grasp his wrist, levels her with look that could melt chocolate, a look that does melt her, and then he's pressing against her completely and she has to catch the sharp gasp that comes rushing up and out of her chest before everyone in the precinct knows what they're doing.

"I'm going to kiss you," he breathes against her lips, so close she can taste the coffee on him already. She gulps. "I'm going to kiss you because I want you to know what it means to want somebody, to want you."

She thinks she nods once, gives him some kind of permission because then his mouth is pressing furiously against hers, hands tilting her head back and oh she can't help the little groan that comes spilling from her lips and then he's chasing her tongue, sliding the whole slick length of himself against her teeth and her tongue and everywhere at once and it's too much, too much and not enough and everything. Her body arches against his, feels the edge of the table behind her wobbling a little bit, digging into her thighs, leaving marks she's pretty sure because he's being relentless, taking her mouth over and over again, deep and wet and claiming. She can't breathe, can't do anything but feel him there, feel nothing but him and the blistering coil of want for him low in her belly and then he's gone, stepping away from her with a wild, feral look in his eyes that tells her everything he's never wanted her to see.

She can't move. One of her hands is braced on the table, the other uselessly hanging by her side as her eyes lock on him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She licks her lips slowly, tasting him, letting him watch her do it, swallowing heavily and taking everything he has to give. She wants it. More of it. All of it.

He walks closer to her again as if she is a magnet and he has no other choice. She reaches out to tug him the rest of the way across the room, her fingers fisting in his shirt and not letting go. Their foreheads bump together, her hair hanging in waves around their faces.

"Can you handle how much I want you?" he asks, voice beyond strained. She can feel him vibrating with barely checked control, but she knows he has to be sure. They've messed this up too many times.

"Yes." It's a promise, a plea. She lets her fingers sink into his hair, holding him to her while she presses away from the table and into his body. She can feel how much he wants her glancing across her stomach, and she has the sudden urge to prove to him that he undoes her just as much. All he's done is kiss her and she can barely keep it together. "I – " she starts, stops. "Me too – I," she growls in frustration, lets go of his shirt long enough to grab his hand and press his palm into her stomach. He stops breathing, lets his eyes drop from hers to where she's grasping him, watches as she presses his hand downward because she wants him to know what he's just done to her but then he's sliding his palm around to grip her hip tightly instead and his lips are pressing firmly against hers again, breathing in so sharply through his nose she thinks he might be trying to inhale her.

A phone rings loudly at a desk near the door, jolting the both of them, making them separate their mouths abruptly. They're both breathing roughly as she pushes him off of her, levels him with a hooded stare.

"Yo, Beckett!" Esposito yells from the bullpin. She doesn't take her eyes from Castle though, trailing a finger across her lower lip as she watches him straighten his shirt. She starts backing her way toward the door.

"You coming?" She goes for smooth but her voice is ragged with want.

"Yes." He clears his throat. "Yes."

She smiles and nods, turns to walk through the doorway but feels him crowd her from behind, splay his fingers across her hip possessively.

"We're going to need to finish this conversation later."

She rocks back into him for a moment, keeps her eyes forward, makes sure they're not being watched. "Absolutely." She wants to say meet me in my car right now, but they have a case and she should at least try to be professional. It's been a whole five minutes and she's already losing all semblance of self-control when it comes to him.

He releases her as they clear the wall giving them cover, but she can feel the ghost of his fingers on her skin, of his lips on her mouth, his body against her. His eyes are glued to her and she feels like she has his name written all over her skin and everyone can see it.

She's not sure that's even a problem anymore.

Because he's staying.

He's staying.