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Beckett tips her head back and drains her glass, the whiskey burning her throat before she feels its fire spread through her belly. She knows she's teetering on the edge of one too many but fuck it, tonight she doesn't care because she's sitting in the Old Haunt and watching Castle flirt with anything with tits. Anything but her that is.
She still doesn't have a clue what changed between them but she's sick and tired and frustrated as hell and that's not a feeling she enjoys. She signals for another round of amber colored anesthetic and studiously works on drowning her sorrows.
Her desperation must be obvious because when she glances back around the room she sees Esposito watching her far more closely than the game of pool he is ostensibly playing. He catches her eye, then looks away at Castle, his face crinkling into disapproval and reminding her that Castle may no longer have her back, but Espo always will.
She watches as he flubs an easy shot, conceding the game with a wry shrug of his shoulders. When he walks over to her booth and slides in beside her, she's almost sure he missed on purpose. She feels the heat of his thigh against her own and it really isn't what she wants right now, but she doesn't actively not want it either, so she swallows half of her next drink in one gulp and notes the way the alcohol increases her pleasure in his contact.
"You okay?" he asks, his eyes never leaving her face.
"Not really," she replies, then raises her glass and waggles it a bit. "Getting better though."
"A rather temporary solution."
"Better than nothing." She tips the drink towards her mouth once more, sucking down the remains before rattling the cubes against the glass. When she raises her hand to signal for another, Esposito lays a hand on her arm, pushing it down.
"Enough," he says.
"You think?" she asks, and the huskiness of her voice betrays the fact that she is talking about more than whiskey.
He doesn't answer, so she puts down her glass and slides her hand onto his thigh. He twitches a bit at the feel of her fingers, chilled from the glass, tracing up the inside seam of his jeans, but he doesn't move away. They have a history, she and Esposito. Not for years now, not since Castle came onto the scene, not since Lanie, but there was a time when they sometimes found relief in each others bodies. Simple uncomplicated release, no strings, no god damn feelings other than an easy friendship. Right now she thinks she misses that so she trails her fingers higher and scratches one nail down the bulge at his crotch. He hisses a little between his teeth and she can see his pupils dilate.
Suddenly, she is very aware of the thong she's wearing and she presses her thighs together, shifting against the vinyl of the seat as she instinctively seeks some sort of friction. Esposito watches her, his eyes traveling down her body and back up before he slides a hand around behind her back and dips his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants to hook two fingers into the black lace he finds there. Then he pulls up and it's her turn to gasp at the pressure. He notes her reaction and clenches and releases his fingers again and again, watching her with hooded eyes as she squirms in her seat.
The burn of the whiskey somehow merges with the heat pooling between her legs and hot press of his knuckles against her spine. Suddenly she can't take it any more. She palms his cock through his jeans and squeezes firmly as she leans over to breath into his ear.
"Bathroom. Now." Then she punctuates her words with a quick swirl of her tongue and presses her arm into him to get him to move.
They don't bother to hide their exit but she doesn't think anyone is watching. And if they are, well, the five whiskeys she's drunk are filling her with a fair amount of I don't care, so she grabs his hand to hurry him along and crushes her lips to his as she opens the door to the ladies room with a sharp shove of her hip. She's on him as soon as he's thumbed the lock shut, frantic hands fumbling at his fly, nails catching a bit on the rough fabric before she manages to draw him out and sigh at the heavy weight of him in her hand. She releases him long enough to lick her palm before reaching back down but he grabs her shoulders and holds her away.
"Beckett, what do you want?" His eyes are dark and serious.
She wants to just say you, but that isn't precisely true and although this thing they have has many sides, none of them include lying, so she gives him the courtesy of the truth. "I want to forget. I want you to make me forget."
She knows that even though she hasn't said it, one little word is ringing in the air between them as surely as if she had shouted. Him. She wants to forget Castle and right now Esposito is not much more than a means to an end.
She waits, her chest heaving, to see what he will do with her admission. It doesn't take long. Esposito gives the slightest nod and then wraps his fingers in her hair and spins her around, pressing her up against the wall and pulling her head to one side so he can sink his teeth into the tendons of her neck. It's going to leave a mark, but right now she doesn't care. This is exactly what she needs.
"Push your pants down," he growls into her ear, and she starts to comply, her fingers hooking over the edge of both jeans and thong. He glances down. "Leave the thong," he grits out.
She obeys, shoving her jeans below her hips. She doesn't get a chance to move them further before he reaches around her and presses two fingers to the soaked satin that barely covers her clit. She moans and grinds into his hand, doing her best to open herself further but restricted by the tug of the denim still wrapped around her thighs. Between that and the way he has her pinned against the wall, she's essentially immobilized and that thought, coupled with the feel of his cock against her ass, is doing all kinds of good things for her right now.
Apparently it's doing it for him as well because he makes a guttural, animalistic noise against her shoulder and abandons her clit to pull her thong to one side as he slips his cock into the soaked crevice between her thighs. There's no way he can penetrate her from this position, she'd need to spread her legs or bend over much further for that, but since he doesn't release his hold on her, he doesn't seem to want that anyway.
"God, you're so hot, so wet," he whispers into her ear, his voice graveled with lust.
Then he starts to thrust against her, between her, and every stroke drives the head of his cock across her swollen nub. This wasn't exactly what she pictured when she dragged him in here, but god, it's all she wants right now. She whimpers, softly at first, then louder as the pressure builds unbearably. Thankfully, he remembers that their current location is far from private and releases her hair to press his hand across her mouth, effectively muffling her rising cries. She struggles a bit against this new restraint, biting at the palm of his hand hard enough to make him gasp before he presses up against her even more firmly and thrusts ever harder.
He releases his hold on the lacy fabric between her legs and it slides back into place, trapping the head of his cock even tighter between her folds. With every thrust, the satin triangle forces him up against her and she can feel herself nearing the edge. She's pretty sure he's almost there too, if the way his thighs are quivering against her ass is any indication.
His free hand drags a wet and sticky trail up under her shirt until he is palming her breast through her bra, fingers kneading almost painfully hard as his thrusts become more uncontrolled. She winces slightly when she feels his teeth against her shoulder blade as he groans deep in his throat and shatters. The hot spurt of his come against her clit is what finally takes her over the edge with him and the next thing she knows, she's shaking and sobbing out her release as he holds her tight, his shuddering breath hot across her back.
They don't speak, after. They don't need to. He wets a wad of paper towels and hands them to her before grabbing several for himself. He cleans up and stuffs himself back into his pants while she slumps bonelessly against the tiled wall, her jeans still half off and her arms too limp to do anything useful. When he has himself presentable again, he reaches out one hand and trails a finger gently down her jaw, his eyes asking the question his lips fear to form.
Yes, she nods almost imperceptibly, yes, I'm better now. Then she watches the door close behind him before her breath leaves her lungs in a sigh, because she might be better, but better is still a long way from good.