A/N: Inspired by venice4change's tweets from the first day of shooting on season 5 today. Not spoilery at all, unless you consider them being in her apartment a spoiler (in which case I just spoiled you, so you might as well read on I guess). I'd also like to give a shout out to all those twitpics of Beckett's various kitchen counter tops because of reasons.

The first time he comes over afterward, it's…strange, new, exhilarating, a twinge awkward. Neither of them knows where to put their hands. He kisses her hello in her doorway, twin smiles split across their faces when he pulls back, a heavy air of I've always wanted to do that hanging between them.

They linger. She smiles. He raises his eyebrows suggestively a few times, and then she's nervously gesturing to the kitchen and auto-piloting to her coffee pot.

"Coffee?" she asks, but she can already feel him following her, the question unnecessary.

He leans his forearms onto her center island, watching her as she grabs two mugs, flips on the machine, taps the counter three times before turning around. His eyes flick back up to her face when he notices her looking, and she feels warm all over because his eyes were definitely, definitely not anywhere north of her hips just then.

The sound of her throat clearing doesn't really help things because then he's staring at her mouth and then her throat, and then finally her eyes again when she mirrors him on the other side of the counter.

"No pancakes?" he jokes, and she's sure she can feel her own cheeks pinking against her will. What is he doing to her?

"You have to earn pancakes, Castle." The lift of her eyebrow makes his eyes widen as she goes for a saucy grin, turning back to their coffee as she hears the pot filling up. Her fingers are just wrapping around the handle when she feels him behind her, all at once pressing against her back.

"Is that a challenge?" His mouth is at her ear, hips tucked tightly against hers as the counter top presses into her stomach. She releases the coffee pot with a soft gasp, letting him move the hair from her neck over her opposite shoulder and then her eyes are sliding closed as his mouth makes contact with the skin behind her ear.

She never pictured him being this aggressive at first. Maybe when provoked, after they work into this a little bit, but it seems like he's already done being careful with her and she couldn't be more glad about it. The scrape of her nails against the edge of the countertop sounds loud to her hyper aware senses, the harsh drag of it a delicious contrast to the low rumble of his voice against her ear.

They've done this exactly once, in a bed, and she doesn't quite know what to do with herself when his hands dip under the hem of her white tshirt, mapping the flat expanse of her stomach with hungry fingers.

"Not sure if I'm in the mood," she tries to say, going for unaffected, but then his hands are sliding up further, reaching cotton and underwire and flesh already heavy with her want for him and she can't help the low moan that slips up from out of her throat.

Instead of responding, he spins her around, trapping her against the counter as her eyes drop dangerously to his mouth. He comes closer then, lips almost brushing hers as his fingers make trails underneath her tshirt. "If you're not in the mood, I could stop," he breathes against her mouth, as close as he can possibly get without touching her.

Her heart is hammering in her chest at his words, their usual give and take so much more dangerous when he's allowed to be touching her, when he's allowed to be this close to her mouth. The crush of his lips is sudden and all consuming, and she really, really does not know who closed the distance between their faces but the gasp she releases is swallowed by his mouth and then his tongue is sliding against hers and she can't possibly get close enough no matter how high she presses onto her toes.

"God, Beckett," he swears as both of his hands move to bracket her face, his fingers spread wide on both sides of her head, glancing her ears as he holds her mouth to his, takes from her relentlessly again and again until his shirt is fisted in her hands and he's suddenly trying to pick her up and put her on the counter. The full coffee pot is right behind her though so she twists into him and away, making him stop, panting.

"Not right here," she manages to choke out, eyeing the coffee and he gets it, doesn't want any of her skin drenched in the scalding liquid (though she's fairly certain she can see the quick play of a fantasy across his darkening eyes, her and coffee and his mouth).

He spins her around again then, dizzying as his mouth passes over hers, tongue sliding as they try not to step on each other's feet. Her back hits another counter then, the one in the middle of her kitchen and his hands are all over the waistband of her black skinny jeans, popping the button and then yanking them down her thighs. She helps him kick them off frantically, fisting a handful of his hair when his tongue dips into her bellybutton until she's blessedly free of them.

Castle takes advantage of his positioning to scoop her up by her thighs until she's coming down hard on top of her counter, the cold press of metal against the bare backs of her legs making her gasp, the cold press of –

"Castle," she hisses, back arching because of the temperature change and because he put her right on top of her stove.

The broad stripe of his tongue licks up her throat until he reaches her face, eyes devouring her as he pushes her legs apart to stand between them.

"What?" he grits out, completely distracted, focused only on touching her, getting under her clothes.

"We're not doing this on my stove." He does start at that, pulling back enough to sweep his gaze along the counter top, the cool, unused burners staring back at him.

"They're off," he shrugs, diving back in for her mouth as she grunts, trying not to arch into the way his fingers are dragging up the insides of her thighs.

"Castle."

"And the dials are on the other side." He presses his thumb against the front of her underwear and she can't help but swear at him, her eyes narrowing into slits as she tries very hard to clear the lust hazing her brain, telling her to forget about everything but his mouth and his fingers and his body.

"But – "

"Don't you trust me, Beckett?" he whispers into her mouth, one hand still between her legs and the other holding her firm against the countertop, unrelenting. And she does, she really, really does but this is not about trust it's about having sex on a stove and oh god his fingers are inside of her underwear now and really, the only thing she thinks is in danger of spontaneously combusting is her if he doesn't get a move on so she settles back against the burner (oh god) and starts yanking open his pants.

She can feel him smiling against her mouth the second she gives in, typical when he gets his way so she squeezes him hard through his underwear until he's bucking into her hand and sliding his tongue slippery against hers again.

"Come on, Castle," she says, definitely not begging and then his pants are gone and her underwear is shoved aside and she's biting his shoulder because he wanted to have sex on top of her stove and she's letting him.

A day, it's been one day and already he's – she gasps mid thought as he grabs her thigh, shifting her position a little bit, making her crazy as their mouths connect again, sloppy and wet but all she wants is him as she presses roughly against the stovetop, hard enough to leave crescent shaped bruises she's pretty sure, but really she hardly cares as long as he doesn't stop.

His thrusts are getting messy, uncoordinated as she holds onto his shoulders so she snakes a hand between their bodies, desperate for release. Her knuckles bump against his lower abdomen as she touches herself and he speeds up, trapping her hand as he spreads a palm across the side of her head, kissing her deeply one last time before she snaps, bowing sharply as fire spreads from her middle outward in strings of white hot bliss and then he's following, biting her shoulder to muffle his satisfied groans.

When she finally slides bonelessly off the counter, adjusting her mostly ruined underwear, all she can do is lean against him, hiding her face, gingerly moving from foot to foot. He puts his hands in her hair though, tilts her head back so she's looking at him, leans down to kiss her once, softly.

And then he has to go and open his mouth.

"Was it too hot to handle? Did you burn for me Beckett?"

His grin is insufferable as she pinches him on the arm, making him flinch with a girlish squeal.

"Shut up, Castle."

He just grins harder though.

"Aw look at how cute you are when you're all fuzzy and satisf – " he stops mid sentence as her fist wraps around his ear and then she's turning them, dragging him until he's the one pressed up against the counter, leaning back so far that it's his back almost pressed flush against the burners.

"Don't flatter yourself by thinking I couldn't have gotten off of there if I had wanted to."

"So you wanted me to take you against the stove then?" He yelps as she twists his ear harder, the smirk falling from his face and into a grimace.

"Castle," she growls and then he's conceding with an okay okay because she looks murderous but also pink cheeked and he probably felt the way she couldn't help but roll her hips a little bit against the thigh she's pressed against. He lets his eyes sweep down her body, the generous view down her v-neck from this angle before he hooks a hand at her hip, pulling her up so she's all but on top of him on the counter.

"How about I make it up to you?" His eyebrow rises as her eyes roll but she doesn't move away.

"I don't know, Castle," she finally says, letting her index finger trail along his bottom lip. His eyes get glassy almost immediately, watching her. "Sure you can handle the Heat?"