* Rating changes to M near the end of this chapter.*

Why Not Me?

Chapter 2

Castle focuses on his breathing, on the pound of his feet on the sidewalk. He keeps his eyes trained on the uneven layers of asphalt, the sunken cobbles just waiting to turn an ankle or tear an ACL. He crosses from Broome, turning left into Lafayette before running block after block towards East Houston, through Little Italy and Nolita to Bowery. By the time he loops back on a zig-zag route through Prince and Elizabeth Streets, he is soaked in sweat and the rain has begun to fall.

Just great, he thinks; the perfect end to the perfect day. When thoughts of Kate and Demming kissing in the precinct and his stupid, disastrous confrontation with his partner seep back into his consciousness, he deflects. He's far happier focusing on the puddles seeping into his sneakers than his derelict romantic life and freshly-ruined partnership.

He told her how he feels. Okay, obliquely. Fine, he implied that she already knows how he feels about her when really, how has he shown her? Recently, he's behaved as if he has no clue how he feels about Kate Beckett when he's known all along how much he cares about her. He knew from day one: she's extraordinary in every way. There is no other woman for him, no one who compares.

Gah, this is such a mess!

He might be able to admit how he feels about her now, but has he backed those feelings up with actions, words, and deeds? No. He masked them completely by dating other women right under her nose. Yeah, that's bound to garner loyalty, to signal hope that one day they could mean more to one another than loyal partners and precinct friends. I mean, what a total come-on that was. Dating Ellie Munro, kissing Kyra. Even Beckett's best friend, Maddie, wasn't off-limits to his roving eye. He's behaved like a hound, a cad, and he dared to tell her that he wouldn't be her plaything anymore? Dared to criticize her for rubbing Demming in his face?

He runs harder until his lungs burn, but as he turns the corner into Spring Street, almost on the home stretch, he slips on a wet, uneven curbstone and goes down hard, bruising and skinning his knee like a little boy. He quickly rights himself, feeling stupid and stupidly vulnerable for falling on a city street. He leans against a graffiti-scarred brick wall to catch his breath. Bent over at the waist, his head bowed, he watches the rain mingle with his blood until it runs in pink rivulets down his shin. It's a great metaphor for his life, which feels like it's circling the drain.

He's limping a little as he enters his building. His muscles are already stiffening up. The rain has stopped but Castle is soaked through, his sneakers so waterlogged that he's in danger of flooding the lobby. Eduardo hurries over with a roll of paper towel and the First Aid kit that he keeps beneath the reception desk. The doorman gives Castle a pad of gauze to staunch the flow of blood before he stains the white marble tiles or frightens any of the other co-op owners.

The elevator doors are already closing when Eduardo calls out to him. The last thing – in fact, the only thing - that Castle catches is "Miss Beckett."

He keeps the dressing pressed to his knee until the elevator comes to a stop. He peels it off before exiting on his own floor so that he can walk without hunching over like Quasimodo. He'll take care of the wound after he warms up in the shower. He's just extracting his key from the tiny zipper pocket in the waistband of his running shorts when Eduardo's message finally makes sense.

Waiting outside his front door is the only thing guaranteed to simultaneously piss him off today while sending his blood pressure skyrocketing to dangerous levels: Kate Beckett is dozing on his hallway floor. Her back is to the wall and her adorably curled hair looks so feminine and soft framing her face now that her features are at rest and not pinched by yelling at him. Since he last saw her at the precinct, she's changed into a short floral skirt and a navy Henley. Her tan legs are bare and she's wearing cowboy boots that he's never seen before. They're made of burnished red leather and have three-inch heels. She looks about twenty-one and is dressed as if she just stepped off the set of Coyote Ugly. He stares at this youthful, boho Beckett he never even knew existed. How can there still be sides to her that he's never seen? This question makes him angry at Demming all over again as he tortures himself imagining all the parts of Kate that Beckett might have allowed the robbery detective to see.

He stands there watching her for just a second or two longer before he hears her inside his head complaining that his staring is creepy. So he stops. But he has to tear his gaze away by sheer force of will.

Rather than wake her up he steps over her bare, outstretched legs and puts his key in the front door. She's a cop who sleeps with one eye open and a gun under her pillow, according to urban legend. He's pretty sure she could hear the tumblers inside the lock shifting from a block away.

Sure enough, he has the key only half-turned when she stirs. He pauses to watch while she rubs her eyes and pulls her legs beneath her so that she can rise to her feet. His attraction to her is magnetic, instant. He used to love that. Right now he hates the compulsion. He also kind of hates himself for not offering her a hand; it goes against the grain not to.

"Beckett, what are you doing here?" he asks without feeling. If anything he sounds beaten down and exhausted.

Kate looks at him calmly for a second or two, absorbing his tone, checking out what he's wearing, observing that he's drenched to the skin, scanning him from head to⏤

"Castle, you're bleeding," she exclaims. Her eyes widen. "And limping?"

He sighs and turns away from her. He's soaked through, his skin chilling fast. His sneakers are making squelching sounds and leaving a trail of drips and wet tread prints on the hall floor that a crime-scene tech would take all of a glance to decipher.

"What the hell happened to your knee? Were you mugged?" she persists in the face of his silence.

She's on her feet now but doubled over. Her cool fingers wrap around his lower thigh before he can protest or pull away. And it's so unfair that he finally gets to feel those delicate hands caressing a prized piece of his anatomy - he's been told that his thighs are world-class - when he knows that she's involved with someone else.

"Beckett, it's late. I'm pretty beat…and soaked as you can see. I just want a hot shower and bed. In case you forgot, we don't work together anymore if you came about a body drop. Eduardo can call you a cab. Go home. Get some sleep."

He misses the jump of her eyebrows at his mention of a hot shower and bed. He's missed a lot of subtle changes between them lately.

She straightens up, her hands now on her hips instead of his thigh. He hates himself for causing that development though she's still staring down at his leg. She shakes her head at him. "Castle, just stop for a second. You're bleeding. Please, let me help you."

He's all out of fight and even more crushed by disappointment now that he can see her again in the flesh. He shrugs his shoulder, pushes his front door open with his foot and goes inside. After a second's hesitation, Kate follows him over the threshold.

She dawdles in the entrance to the loft for a few moments waiting for the invitation that never comes. Castle has the opposite plan. He squeaks his way across the wooden floor and disappears into his bedroom without looking back. Kate is stumped for what to do next. After momentary procrastination, she decides that he meant for her to follow him, and so she does. When she gets to his darkened bedroom, she can see through into the lighted en suite. Castle has taken his wet sneakers off and tossed them next to the laundry hamper. He's leaning on the bathroom counter with his back to the double vanity, his wet running shirt and shorts are sticking to his skin revealing a hell of a lot more of his body than Kate has ever seen before. She really likes what she sees.

When he drops his head into his hand, she feels compelled to announce herself by clearing her throat and letting herself inside. She gives him a feeble smile then sinks to the floor in front of him, inspecting the gash on his leg while kneeling like a loyal subject before her king. She touches his thigh gently and a muscle jumps beneath her fingertips.

"Sorry," she says though he doesn't appear to be in any pain.

Castle is in agony, though it has nothing to do with the cut to his knee. It's her. All her. Kate kneeling in front of him like a supplicant, her face level with his groin, her fingers caressing his skin, and that caring and engaged look on her face. When she looks at him like that he could forget that Tom Demming exists. Only he does, and his partner – former partner - is dating the guy.

Castle pulls away from her and Kate recoils in surprise, falling back onto her heels. Her skirt rides up and Castle has to look away.

"Wh…did I hurt you?" she exclaims.

"Beckett, you have to go," Castle says. His voice is dangerously low and managed by forced control.

"What? Why? We need to clean this up. Are your tetanus shots even up to date?"

More roughly than he intends, he takes her arm and turns her towards the door of his bathroom. Her skin feels warm and invitingly soft beneath his chilled fingers.

"Look, I need to take a shower before I catch pneumonia. And believe it or not, I can look after a little graze. I took care of Alexis' cuts and scrapes her whole life. I know the drill."

She shrugs out of his grasp and turns back. "Exactly, so how about you let me look after you for a change. You're always looking after everyone else."

"Kate…Beckett…this," he indicates both of them, "isn't that. I'm not your brother or your father. I'm not even your partner anymore. I can tend to my own wounds." He might as well have said lick his wounds because he sounds so obviously gutted to be fighting her on this. "You should go home to your boyfriend."

Kate chews her lip but doesn't move. Her hands are back on her hips again, highlighting her slender figure and pushing her breasts up and out in an unfortunately enticing manner.

Again, Castle has to tear his eyes away. "Please, Beckett? It's time for you to go," he says with resignation and pleading in his voice.

Kate shakes her head and stands her ground. "Let me help you. Castle, please? Before you bleed out on the beautiful white rug of yours," she adds with a little more humor in her voice.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head like he's giving himself a good talking to.

Before he can protest further, she's sunk back to her knees and is inspecting the cut by gently moving his flesh this way and that. "It doesn't look too deep," she says, "And I don't see any grit or glass in there. If you irrigate it under the shower, flush it with a little soapy water if you can stand it, I'll fix it up for you once you dry off."

He doesn't say anything because he can't. Kate Beckett's fingers are flirting with the back of his left knee, sliding up and down from his calf muscle to the outside of his thigh. Her right hand is on the inside of his thigh and when he looks, he can see right down the front of her Henley where the top two buttons are undone. Her pale breasts rise in an enticing manner from the dark shadow of her cleavage.

If he was chilled to the bone before, he's now burning up and the bone issue…well, it's still there but of a whole other kind.

When he doesn't speak, Kate looks up at him. That "bone" issue is now so prominent that it's blocking her view of his face. His damp, silky running shorts are decidedly tented in front. "Fuck," he mumbles under his breath as heat crawls up his neck.

He's about to squirm out of her grasp and demand that she leave when he feels her hands sliding higher up his thighs. She gets so high that she slides them beneath his running shorts, cupping the cheeks of his ass, which are encased in the mesh liner underneath.

"There is no Tom," she stuns him by saying. She leans back to look him in the eye, "And there certainly never was a boyfriend. We…didn't..."

Castle swallows loudly. His self-control is slipping. He hears her knees crack and the next thing, she's standing right in front of him.

"I'm sorry I dangled that…that excuse for a relationship in front of you. It wasn't fair on you and it certainly wasn't professional."

"What happened?" Castle manages to grind out.

"You were right. It should never have been him. Not when…" She chews her lip again and he dares to touch her arm. She looks right into his eyes. "Not when…not anything. I've been avoiding my...attraction to you. The whole Demming thing was dumb." She drops her head. "I'm sorry I used him and I hurt you. I didn't mean to, Castle. It was selfish of me."

She's so close now. He can feel her warm breath on his face. Her feet are planted either side of his bare ones and with her boots on, they're the same height. She inches forward. His eyes slam shut and he groans in an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain when her cool hands scorch up his thighs and she rests her stomach against his, pressing her pelvis against the bulge in his shorts. She grinds her hips a little as if she's testing him out. It's more considered than teasing, has a lot more intent behind it. It's also the sweetest torture he's ever endured.

"You asked me why him and not you. Truth is, he asked and you…" She shakes her head. "You didn't. I thought you didn't want me. Not like that. Not anymore." She pushes against him again, and her eyes are zeroed in on his face watching for any clue, any telltale flicker. "You date other women, Castle…all the time." He can hear the hurt in her voice and he hates himself for putting it there. "You might think I know how you feel about me. You might think you made it clear." She shakes her head. "But with you, it's mostly guesswork. Before today, I'd have said all evidence to the contrary. Not five minutes ago you were with Ellie Munro. Or did you forget about her already? I certainly didn't."

He grips her arms hard, fighting to hold her off him without hurting her. "I'm sorry. But Beckett, you can't just⏤"

She dodges past this protest to kiss his neck. "I prefer it when you call me Kate," she whispers with an intimacy that is utterly new for them but bewilderingly familiar. When she runs her teeth down the cords of his neck, he feels his resolve slipping and his hurt dissolving away into incoherence. He has no right to that hurt in any case, as Kate just pointed out.

She presses in closer still and this time he lets her, softening his grip on her arms to more of a caress. She kisses his neck, his jaw, beneath his chin where a shadow of stubble has begun to form. He can feel the flutter of her eyelashes against his skin and hear the heavy pant of his own breathing between them. She is an exquisite, squirming goddess under his hands.

When she palms him through the front of his shorts, any objection or argument he had left deserts him. He drops his hands to her waist, lifts her up to a squeal of surprise and turns her around, depositing her on the counter where he'd just been leaning. Then he steps in close, invading her space, nudging her knees apart with his body so that he can get between her legs. Her short, chiffon skirt rides up, exposing tan, muscled thighs. He enjoys the view without shame or hurry, and she lets him. He places his huge hands on her knees then slowly runs them up her thighs, taking her skirt with them. Eventually, he rises so high that he exposes the black satin of her underwear. Boldly, he palms her just as she touched him.

"Crossroads, Kate," he says, looking her hard in the eye. "What are we doing here? Because we keep on with this and there's no going back."

She wets her lips and nods eagerly.

"I need you to say it. Because this changes everything."

"Will you still be my partner?" she asks, and it's the only moment since she arrived that he's seen even a flicker or nerves or fear, of vulnerability.

He nods. "But this can't be a one-time thing. Not with you. Not for me."

"Tell me how you feel about me," she says. "You said I already know. But I want you to tell me."

They stare at one another, long and hard, with only the sound of their breathing in the silence of the loft.

Castle clears his throat. "We do this and I'm…I'm all in. So if that's too much for you."

She grabs his wrist to hold him still while sliding her butt forward on the counter, bringing her body into even firmer contact with him. "Touch me," she whispers. She closes her eyes as his fingers stroke the front of her arousal-dampened underwear.

"I'm in, too," she says. "I'm in all the way, Castle."

He grins for the first time in what feels like weeks. She's tugging at the waist of his shorts, urging him to take them off. Then she's pulling at the hem of his running shirt, too, alight with stunning impatience.

Castle is naked in no time at all and when he looks up, Kate has discarded her Henley. She's sitting on the edge of his vanity with her skirt rucked up around her waist and the tight mound of her underwear on display. But if he's staring at her black lace bra, she's doing even more intense staring at his naked, highly excited body.

He reaches up beneath her skirt, one hand on either side of her hips as he begins to tug her underwear off. Kate wiggles and shifts her butt to help him drag them down her thighs with the hooks of his thumbs. Once her underwear is lying in a tiny heap on the floor on top of his own wet clothes, Castle touches her for the first time. Every nerve ending in her body comes alive and she grips his bare shoulders hard, dragging him in for a bruising kiss.

He fits snuggly between her thighs and she tightens her legs around him like a vice. When she takes him in her hand, the height of the counter is perfect. She arches her pelvis to help him even as she guides him closer before, together, they slide into one another, as slowly as they can manage with their hearts pounding and their bodies demanding more. They are a seamless fit.

Kate kisses him deeply. Her tongue strokes his and her fingers slide through his hair, setting his body alight when she caresses his scalp and neck. She's already pulsating around him and aching to move when she whispers in his ear, "I think you're in all the way now," and smiles against his cheek.

She gasps into his neck when he pushes impossibly deeper. His fingertips grip the soft flesh of her buttocks and squeeze hard, joining them together for what seems like it might be forever.

"No, this is what it feels like when I'm in all the way," he says, sounding like the cocksure Castle she knows.

All laughter stops the second they start to move.

The End

A/N: Thank you for reading, those of you who are still hanging out in the fandom. We are a dwindling little gang. It's great to hear from all the reviewers, named and anonymous guests, to know you still care about these stories. Liv