Yes, I do things here in batches. Nothing for a few weeks and then I have an insomniac night and upload a bunch. At least thus far seems to be cooperating.

This comes from a kink meme prompt, but the prompt shall go at the end so it doesn't ruin the... direction of said story.

Kate's never entirely sure of the exact moment when her dream switched over to reality. Her first memory is of his scent – cologne and toothpaste with a lingering hint of the pizza they'd had for dinner – notifying her of his proximity. On instinct, she inhales, savoring the warmth that stirred in her chest at the familiar smell and leans back into the warmth of his chest. He responds with heavy limbs, fingers dragging across her hip before settling against the lowest plane of her abdomen, spreading and hauling her firmly against his frame.

Then his nose and his lips are nuzzling their way through her hair, finding her ear and sending shivers down her spine. He's mumbling, first just sounds and then its Kate followed by a breathy more. It all feels hazy and she can't seem to move her limbs, so she lets him hold her, giving in to the need to be here with him.

It's a familiar dream, one she's had before and she indulges easily, lifting her chin and settling her hand over his. He hums his approval against her cheek, swirling his heated minty breath across her face, inviting her to turn to face him. But his grip on her is firm, arm slung heavily across her waist, his thick fingers pressing just inches above her clit, igniting a wave of heat along her skin that leaves her wishing she could have this every night. He has a hand under her and its found its way to her breast, palming with a possessive curl of his fingers. She loves this dream and eagerly arches against him palm, encouraging him to continue on.

He's tugging her back against him clumsily, his palm dragging up, pushing up her t-shirt and seeking out skin. Soon, he has her gasping as his thumb brushes the underside of her breast through the bunched up t-shirt. His breath is still steady and deep against her ear, but his unconscious body seeks hers, his hips squirming until she's met with his erection settled firmly against the back of her bare thighs. It feels hot against her skin and her own body writhes against it eagerly.

"Mmmm, Castle," she groans, feeling that hand once more roving downward, wriggling its way past the elastic waistband of her shorts, tracing the edge of her underwear aimlessly. He just grunts in response, moving against her with renewed eagerness and she feels it. His erection is aligned against the crotch of her panties – his chest pressing against her back to bend her forward, his thighs tucking up to rest behind her own – and it's too real. She's wet and her body aches with arousal at the feel of him wrapped around her.

He's really behind her with his erection dragging along her crotch and his fingers really are down her shorts.

Fighting the urge to bolt straight up for fear of waking him, she drags in a breath, eyes flying open to scan the space, scrambling to remember why she's curled up in a bed with an unconscious, possessive Richard Castle. Her heart hammers in her ears as she hears him explaining that the hotels knew that he wasn't into drugs, but that they might uncover the concierge that linked the hotel and their victims if he had a "companion."

The memory has her rolling her eyes all over again, cursing the fluttery excitement she'd felt at the prospect of the ruse. It had been a thin plan at best, but selfishly, she'd wanted a taste of what she might have if she was ever ready. But that's all she'd expected – a taste. His hand at her waist or on her wrist, perhaps the brush of his lips against her cheek or maybe even her neck, that, she thought, would be enough to have her distracted and conscious of his every move for the rest of the day.

But he's been a gentleman all day, his skin never meeting directly with hers, instead lingering in places where her clothes separated them. The only "taste" of him that she'd been graced with was his mouth, constantly whispering and joking at her ear, hovering between amusing and grating on her very last nerve. Waking up to this… it feels way too much like winning. Like she's being rewarded for denying herself, and him, for so long.

When his hand shifts again, any thought that this might be a dream is evaporated. Dreams have been this good, this realistic. He's pulling her back again, his hips rocking subtly, creating a new kind of friction against her already aching body.

Part of her mind is screaming at her to get up, to get away, that she can't let this happen like this. They're on a case and he's not even conscious. If he wakes, it's only going to break his heart when she tells him she's not ready. If he doesn't, then it becomes yet another secret to bear.

But the sensations are too good, too much of what she's needed for months and she can't seem to make a move to stop him. She feels so overheated and overwhelmed by his presence that she can scarcely catch her breath. Their bodies are so close now that she's hyper aware of the fact that she's leaving a damp place against the crotch of his pajama pants with the weight of her arousal.

That knowledge alone has her head spinning. It's been so long since she's been touched like this and it takes every ounce of self control she possesses to not just roll over and kiss him into consciousness so that she have all of him. Here, in this bed with him, she knows that's what she needs, but she's still too scared, too broken and it's only the fear of hurting him that keeps her in place.

But it's his fingers that block any hope she might have of bringing a halt to this little interlude from reality.

His fingers are curling, nudging their way along the crotch of her underwear, pressing the soft cotton into her until his thick fingertips are dragging against her clit. His aim is terrible and the movement should be all wrong but none of that seems to matter at the moment. Meanwhile he's got his mouth moving against her neck, wet and too hot and sticky but beneath his heavy breaths, she thinks she hears the sleep-impaired syllables of her name and suddenly, she's too far gone to dare stop him.

She bites down on her lower lip hard, struggling to keep quiet. It's not fair, she knows, but she drowns the guilt with the sound of his rasping breath, promising that if she can't give him anything else, she can give him this one night, this one reality laced-dream to keep him going.

Suddenly, he's groaning, the sound of Please, Kate, echoing through the hotel room as he shifts himself, rolling onto his back. While she hadn't doubted it before, actually hearing him stumbling sleepily over her name gives her one more excuse to keep going. He's dreaming about her, about them. She wonders if they're here or somewhere else in his mind, but has little time to contemplate the possibilities before he's dragging her bodily across his chest.

The position is awkward and before she can think it through, she finds herself straddling him, resting on her knees. His hands roam for a moment in confusion, but find their way to her thighs, smearing her own wetness along the bare skin.

As his hands settle in, she leans forward just enough to see his face for the first time since this began. There are pillow creases on his cheek and his lips are slightly parted as she brings her hand to rest on his chest as she feels his hips began to move against her center. He's close – his fingers digging into the tops of her thighs as his movements grow jerky, the muscles of his abdomen tightening with anticipation – and she can't stop staring at the softened, dazed expression that's on his face.

She rocks her own hips, aiding his movement until suddenly his hands are at her waist, pressing her down hard against him as his head falls back against the pillow. Her instincts are in control now and she's moving with slow, careful strokes against him, vigilant in her observation of his expression. Some where in the back of her mind, a little voice is expressing (pointlessly) that she's always thought that he'd be a talker.

As though he'd heard the question, he starts muttering her name again and again, alternating between Kate and Beckett and Love. Then he's tightening, hips lifting and pressing up against her and she knows climaxing against her. It's too much and she feels the tears against her burning cheeks before she knows they've arrived.

Before she can extract herself, his hips slowly still and his hands are reaching upwards. He's under her t-shirt, playing his fingers along her spine as she tries to bite back her tears. Her body is screaming for release, even as the guilt crashes in, and can't help but respond to the feel of his fingers on her skin.

She's the one grinding then, riding against him as his hands curve downward to cup her ass, tilting her forward until she's nearly flat against his chest. His mouth ends up against her hair with a whispered please and it doesn't take long before she's so close to the edge that when one of his fingers accidentally grazes up against her clit, she comes hard against his hand, muffling herself against his chest and nearly forgetting that he won't even remember this come morning.

The tense, throbbing lingers even after the initial wave of sensation subsides and it isn't until her heart rate returns to normal that she attempts to rise. But when she lifts her head from his chest, she realizes that it will be impossible to deny it all come morning. Their skin is damp with sweat and the unmistakable smell of it mingled with the musky scent of sex and hung heavily in the room. Then there was their clothing equally rumpled and damp, to the point that it clung against her skin.

Even if she's still not sure when she'd phased from dream to reality, there's no doubt in her mind of when the last of her illusions shattered.

She shifts, lifting her knee to dismount from his lap when he's suddenly awake. He blinks, eyes opening slowly as his fingers tighten once more at her waist to keep her on top of him. In the dark, she waits for him to react, but even in the dark, she can see it's not confusion that is dominating his features. There are still tears staining her cheeks and there's no way he can miss the sticky, heated mess between them.

But no questions come. He just breathes her name softly, a smile spreading across his lips.

Had he been awake the whole time? She can't tell but he's way too calm, too confident as his hands shift upwards. One spreads across her back while the other hooks behind her neck to pull her down until he's kissing her. Her tacit resistance is ignored, though it's little more than a tightening of her muscles anyway, as his lips press chastely against her own before his head lifts to deepen the kiss. His mouth opens and she melts against him, giving in to the feel of his teeth nipping her lower lip until she opens for him, allowing his tongue to tease against the inside of her mouth. Any satisfaction she might have gleaned from her orgasm is gone and his lips reawaken her body.

Then he's rolling onto his side, arranging her at his side so he's got one arm under her and the other over and his lips are dragging a heated trail down her throat. She can't decide if he'd been awake the whole time or if he too is still lost in a dream, but she can't care. While his heavy, unfocused touch had been enough to captivate her, this insistent, demanding path he's taking is slowly killing her.

His hands are at the hem of her shirt, tugging upwards as he whispers in what is nearly a whine, "I didn't even get to see you naked…"

Her eyes dart up at the sound of the sleep still tingeing his voice to find that his eyes have fluttered shut once more. The knowledge jerks at her chest and she can't figure out why. Perhaps he'd drift back off, just imagine the whole thing was a dream and give her back some degree of deniability. This is her chance to gently bring this to a close, but she never excepted that facing her fears would be far less terrible than the possibility of pretending that it had never happened, but she finds herself aligning her face with his and placing a gentle kiss against his lips.

In her head, her pulse is pounding like bass drums as she shifts, peppers kisses against his cheeks and his jaw, nudges against him, and whispers, "Castle, c'mon… wake up…"

The moment her plan works, she feels his body tighten and his lashes fluttering against her face as he pulls himself back from whatever dream he'd been lost in. His hands still and he pulls back from her kisses only to find he's trapped by the weight of her leg draped over his hip.

She should be terrified of what is happening, but finds adrenaline and excitement are winning out. All she can hope for is that her bravery will survive until morning and that she isn't destroying this before it even begins.

His panic is rising and she reaches out to run her palm against his cheek to calm him. "We were dreaming, Castle," she whispers, trying to find his eyes in the darkness.

He's got his mouth open and eyes darting everywhere – from her eyes down her torso to the place where their hips are cradled so tightly together – and he can't seem to catch up. A high pitched squeak manages to escape his throat as he tries once more to pull himself away and his confusion seems to increase as he realizes that she's the one holding on to him.

"We were dreaming… together…" she echoes, stroking her fingers into his hair. She needs him to understand, to accept this because it's a proverbial point of no return. No amount of fear can erase the feel of him against her and she's never going to be able to deny herself again.

Then, his hand is moving. He's dragging his fingers first along the front of his pajama pants, and the over her shorts and his confusion begins to melt from confusion to awe. Lifting his eyes to hers, he asks, "Did we… you know?"

She's smirking at him, trying to hold back a little snort at his childish words. "Depends on your definition of you know."

He shakes his head, staring at her. "Was there… penetration? I mean… you're still dressed and I…" He's stammering hard and something like elation is starting to flutter in her stomach.

It rolls out with her laughter and she strokes his cheek soothingly. "Then no. I'd like to think you couldn't sleep through that…" She punctuates it with a kiss because she can see doubt creeping up again.

Again, he's blinking and looking her up and down with this this has got to be a dream look so she tries to calm the bubbly, giggling sense of relief that is spilling over inside of her. When his eyes settle once more on her face, she thinks maybe he's starting to feel it too. "I knew you were just trying to get in my pants. We both know this isn't my fault or you would have shot me dead."

"My fault?" she counters. Using the leg hooked over him to her advantage, she pounces, flipping him onto his back, her hands pinning his shoulders down quickly. "You're the one who was…"

There's more to say, but he seems to be done, silencing her by dragging her down into a kiss. His hands are so much rougher this time, holding her against his chest as he takes his time savoring her mouth. When he breaks for a breath, he asks, "Do I get to see you naked now?"

She's laughing and letting him pull her t-shirt up over her head, wondering when the questions will come. Even if she's ready to answer, he seems intent to just revel in this new experience, his fingers tracing her skin eagerly. It's her turn to wait and his turn to live out the dream they'd shared.

So she gives in.

Prompt from the Beckett/Castle kink meme on LJ: Castle/Beckett, undercover, sharing a bed, Beckett wakes up to Castle humping/grinding against her in his sleep, extra props if she gets him off in his sleep

Also, there's one more part to this, to be posted soonish.