Top Three

"They're probably having beach sex. Which is the third best sex after elevator and White House." – Jack Donaghy, 30 Rock

Elevator

"We are not doing this," she gasps, a hand darting out to the side to brace herself. His fingers are fumbling with the button of her pants, shoving her shirt up and out of his way. "We are so not doing this."

The man grins against her throat even as he slides his hand down over her stomach and under the fabric of her black dress pants and her panties. Her hips buck as his fingertips tease at her entrance. His resulting groan into the curve of her shoulder makes her shiver. "Oh, but I think we are."

He wastes no time as he slips two fingers into her, thumb already pressing her clit in tight circles. Her head falls back onto his chest, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open as she pants into the already hot air in the elevator.

"Castle, I need…" She trails off, out of breath. She turns her head, lips coasting sloppily over his neck.

"What?" he asks, voice deep and gravely. His fingers still as his arm keeps her back against his front; her squirming is certainly not helping his situation.

She doesn't trust that her voice will be quiet enough – she knows most of the precinct will be right outside of the metal doors trying to get the elevator started again. So instead, she moves her own hand to cover his. Her fingers wrap around his wrist, angling him to the point where the heel of his palm is pressing tightly against her. "That," she moans as softly as possible.

His fingers start up again even as her hand stays at his wrist, holding him to her. She's grinding her hips down onto his hand, breathing becoming a high-pitched keening.

The orgasm comes as a surprise to both of them. Kate barely manages to bite back the strangled sob. Her fingers tighten around his wrist as he slows down, placing soft kisses along her jaw, helping her ride the last waves of pleasure out.

Her forehead tips forward onto the wall, her breath fogging up the stainless steel. "God, Castle, we did not just have sex in the elevator at work," she sighs.

He's the one who re-fastens her pants as she gathers herself. When she pushes off from the wall, unsteady in her heels as she tucks her shirt in, Castle is across the car. He grins as he dips his fingers into his mouth, cleaning her moisture off of him. "That was fun," he says with a wink.

"Shit." She runs a hand through her tangled hair, wrapping an elastic around it into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. "Never, ever again."

White House

Her gown rustles as she gets out of the back of the limo after Castle, taking his hand with a grateful sigh. Lights from photographers blinds her almost instantly, making her blink furiously.

"Deep breath," he whispers for her ears alone as his palm settles on the small of her back. She turns her head, just the barest hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

He should not be the comfortable one right now. It's her invite that got them here. Hell, she could have brought Gates or Velasquez or Johnson or anyone. But she picked him and she really wishes he wasn't so goddamn good at this.

She squeezes his arm, nails digging into his wrist through the fabric of his tux. "I'm good," she says with a smile plastered in place for the press.

He works the crowd like an expert, laughing at their bad jokes and throwing his own back at them. He's genuinely funny, amazing at turning around their questions about Nikki and Rook and are you ever gonna put a ring on that detective of yours?, morphing them into carefully placed propaganda for the next book and away from Kate. She's thankful.

She's even more grateful when they reach the doors to the building, sighing and relaxing into his side. "God, I hate the press."

"But they love you. Us."

"Mostly you," she returns. "You're the crowd-pleaser."

"But you're the beautiful one."

"There's no press here that you need to charm, Castle."

His breath whispers over her ear as he ducks his head down. "What if I was charming you?"

She turns, brushing her lips over his. "Oh, you don't need to charm me."

He tightens his fingers around the fabric of her dress, wrinkling the chocolate brown silk. "We're early."

"Okay," she trails off, nodding to one of the Secret Service agents tucked into a corner.

"So we're gonna take advantage of it." Castle is looking around for somewhere. Anywhere. "God, is there a bathroom or a broom closet or the freakin' Oval Office nearby? Preferably the third because that would just be too cool."

"You're impossible," she groans. Then she steps away, swatting at his hand as it chases her. She walks over to one of the not so inconspicuous agents along the wall and flashes him a winning smile, nibbling at her lower lip in a way that makes him nearly reconsider even finding a room – the little nook over there looks just fine. When she turns, long fingers beckoning from her side, he dashes over, ignoring the knowing look from the guy with the earbud.

"Beckett. Beckett, what'd you –"

She grabs a door knob and yanks it open. "I got us a room."

The room is small, decorated in minty green. There are a few chairs clustered around a low coffee table scattered with books on history and one on interior design. There's a door off to the other side of the room, closed.

He doesn't spend much time examining their surroundings. Instead he spins her up against the door, already fighting with the skirt of her dress. "Damn, did you have to wear so many clothes?"

"We're at a dinner for law enforcement agencies at the White House. Kinda calls for formal attire." She swats his hands away from the black fabric before pulling it up around her waist. "Halfway there, Castle. Up to you now," she murmurs, cheek pressed to his as she cups him through his pants.

Castle groans into her neck, fingers already bruising her sides as he searches her hips for her panties.

She can feel his gasp when he finds none. "What? You guys never have to worry about pantylines showing." Kate is busy undoing his pants, dragging at his boxers. "See? No problem with boxerlines…"

"Thank God for slinky dresses."

Kate hooks one leg around his thigh. "Fast, Castle. No idea when someone else will have to use the bathroom."

"This is a bathroom?"

"It's the White House," she reminds him, shoving his pants and boxers down before she gives a little bounce to get her other leg up at his waist. "Now are we gonna do this or are we gonna admire the architecture?"

His fingers dip shallowly into her, dragging some of her moisture up and over her clit. Her hips jerk closer to him and he quickly replaces his fingers, positioning himself so that when he loosens his grip of her hip, she slides right over him. Castle swallows her gasp, pressing her back against the wall as he begins to push into her.

Her head falls to the crook of his shoulder, nipping at the muscles of his neck gently, not enough to leave marks. "Shit, Castle," she groans, breath hot over his skin as her heels force him deeper.

When his thrusts start getting sloppy, she can feel his rough whisper as her lips coast his throat. "I need you with me."

She snakes her hand down between their bodies, pulling her head back to press her mouth to his cheek. Her fingers rubbing in tight circles and her voice is low when she speaks. "Now. Now."

They shatter simultaneously, the only sound a barely-muffled keening as she buries her head into his shoulder.

He keeps his hands at her sides, making sure that she has her feet under her before he rights his clothing. She's tugging her hands through her hair, trying to make it look like the sex-tousled curls were what she was going for in the first place. Castle reaches over and smudges his thumb over some of her stray lipstick.

"Now we should be right on time," he says with a little smirk. He waves ahead of him, holding the door open for her. "Thank you for that."

She takes his hand, bringing it to her lips. "It was my pleasure, Castle."

They pass another couple headed for the same room, the two women giggling as they duck through the door under Castle's arm with a pair of breathy 'thank you's sent back at him. Not five seconds after he lets the door swing shut, the familiar bump of a body hitting the wall is heard.

He walks straight into her when she turns, pushing up on her toes so that the heels of her shoes are off the soft carpeting. "Great minds," she murmurs, voice still gravely. Her lips slide across his jaw before she pivots, starting back toward the main dining room where the tribute dinner is taking place. "However will we top 1600 Penn Ave.?"

Beach

Vacation is nice. Normally she spent it on her couch with a book that had been neglected due to work. Maybe a glass of wine. She'd stay in her pajamas and order all of her food in and only really leave the apartment to go for daily runs or to get the newspaper and her mail.

But vacation with Castle is even better. Her bare toes push at the hot sand, her margarita glass chilling her thigh as she balances a book on her knee. Her hair is tied into a braid, coiled up into a bun off her neck, sunglasses dimming the sunlight. The waves lick at her feet.

Yes. Vacation with Castle is much nicer.

"Need more sun lotion?"

"You just want a reason to rub your hands over me," she tosses over her shoulder at him.

"What's your point exactly, Beckett?" He braces an arm on the side of her chair to press a kiss to her mouth, one that is just as hot as the summer sun.

She rolls her eyes, giving him a shove. "I'm good."

"How about more alcohol then?"

"Won't say no," she says, holding the glass up for him.

He switches hands, tequila for sun lotion, and tips the bottle down toward her glass. The alcohol doesn't make it into her glass but does spill all down the front of her body. "Oops."

The tequila is ice cold against her sun-warmed skin and she hisses as it waterfalls over her swimsuit, sticking in the fabric. "Castle!" She manages to save the book, shaking the pages out before she tosses it onto the sand.

The bottle follows the book, digging into the sand so that it stays upright. His arms brace on either side of the beach chair, pushing her further back into the mesh as his lips touch the hollow of her throat. "I'd hate to waste this top-notch tequila," he says, licking a line down to the edge of her black bikini top. "Right, Beckett?" Castle's fingers are already working furiously at the strings tying the top behind her neck.

Her half-hearted glare disappears quickly as his mouth fuses over her nipple. The triangle of her bikini top still covers her breast but she can feel the suction of his mouth against her. Once he gets the strings untied, he flips the cups of the bikini down and continues to tongue at her pebbled flesh. She arches out of the chair, his hand pressing against her bare stomach to keep her in the low seat. Her fingers let the margarita glass fall onto the beach in exchange for diving into his hair.

"Wasting more alcohol," he growls against her chest.

She finds the tequila bottle and brings it to her mouth, swallowing the burning liquid. "Come here." Her hands tighten in his hair, dragging him back up her body. The kiss tastes like tequila and a hint of lime from the margarita.

Kate wedges her knee up against his side, pushing him up and over the arm of the chair. He huffs as his back hits the sand. She grins against his lips, stealing the rest of his air before sitting back onto his thighs.

"Thank God for your private beach," she says, working at his swim trunks.

Balanced on one her forearm, she reaches the other hand between their bodies to position him so that she sinks onto him when she lowers her hips flush to his. Her forehead falls to touch his, breath mingling. She lifts up until he nearly slips from her before his arm bands around her lower back and pulls her down to him, thrusting up into her at the same time. The strangled gasps with each meeting of their hips are lost among the roar of the waves.

She can feel her body coiling, teetering on the edge. Words are impossible – words that aren't his name or please – so she bites down on his shoulder.

He gets the message. His hand presses harder into her back, keeping her against him as he bends his knees enough to get a little more leverage under him.

It's just enough. Kate muffles her keening in his neck as he continues to thrust into her. She does her best to clench her body around his, drawing out their pleasure as long as possible.

Then she rolls off him, shakily running a hand over her hair. Her sunglasses hang off one ear crookedly. She tosses them to the side so she can turn her head, finding him smiling next to her.

"Thank God for my private beach," he agrees.