Title: Hot on the Scent

Author: mindy35

Rating: M, implied oral sexiness

Disclaimer: Not mine, no monies, pinkie swear.

Spoilers: Nothing major

Pairing: Castle/Beckett

Summary: Castle investigates why Beckett smells like cherries.

An exaggerated snuffling sound was approaching her ear.

It deviated up into her hair, rifling through the tousled strands.

Then it headed downwards, painting a warm, clingy trail against the skin of her neck.

Beckett's eyes crept open. "What're you doing?"

His head rose only briefly from his task. "Investigating."

"Investigating what?"

"You."

"Okaaaay..." Beckett rolled onto her back, one arm flopping above her head on the pillow.

"To be specific," Castle went on, stretched out beside her, head in hand, "I am hot on the scent of the elusive cherry smell."

She blinked up at him with half closed eyes. "What're you talking about?"

"For over a year, from about…mm – October 2009 to round December the following year, you smelled like cherries." He lent down, tucked his nose under her jaw and inhaled deeply. "Used to drive me crazy whenever I got close to you – not that you often let me." He tucked his nose into the opposite nook of her jaw and gave another searching sniff. "I quite literally used to dream about where that cherry smell might be emanating from, not to mention how I could get a taste of whatever it was."

Beckett began an exasperated laugh. "Castle—!"

"No, don't." He pulled back suddenly, pressing a finger to her lips. "Don't tell me. I'm having way too much fun trying to find it myself."

She snorted drowsily but let him continue his investigation. "You're a very weird man, you know that?"

"Thought you liked the weird ones," he mumbled, sweeping some hair off her shoulder before dragging his nose down the inside of her arm.

"Love, Castle," she bent her elbow, capturing his head in a one-armed hug, "I love my weird one."

"And however weird I may be…" he lifted her arm to his nose, checking her wrist for the sought after scent, "I still happen to be a weird man with an extremely acute sense of smell. It's like my superpower."

She lifted a lazy brow. "That's your superpower?"

Castle's expression turned smug. "Well, that and—"

"Don't say it."

"I'm just sayin', you did come like, six—"

"We're not keeping score here," she interrupted, voice high-pitched and horrified.

"And you certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself," Castle went on regardless, "what, with all the moaning and—"

She clamped a hand over his mouth. "Zip it, Ricky."

"Or what?" he muttered through her fingers. "You'll make me?"

She sat up, hand covering his mouth and eyes glowering in warning. "Believe it."

Castle just smiled, watching as she withdrew, dropping her hand from his lips and collapsing back on her bed. "You're still recovering, I get it." His gaze roved over her a moment, tracing and memorizing her naked, lax form before he cleared his throat to ask, "So. Wanna know what your superpower is?"

"I don't need superpowers," she answered, eyes closed. "I have a gun and a mean right hook."

"Also, you have the sexy Goddess hair happening."

"Not at the moment, I'm guessing."

"And the eyebrow thing."

Her eyes opened partway. "What eyebrow thing?"

Castle arched one brow high in demonstration. "A single quirk can stop a man in his tracks."

Beckett gave a slightly puzzled frown. "That's not a very impressive superpower."

"You've never been on the receiving end of it." Castle placed a hand flat on her chest then began drawing it down her body, his nose lowering to taste intermittent points along his path. "You also make a mean margarita. And look incredible in a swimsuit. And are surprisingly good at making up dirty limericks."

She looked down at him, one hand trailing across his shoulder. "Those aren't superpowers, Castle, those are just things you like about me."

His head lifted then nodded. "Probably true. And that list could go on all day. But—" he held up a finger, eyes wide with the thrill of discovery, "in the meantime, I have detected a vanilla-y, shampoo-y scent in this vicinity." Castle took a fistful of her hair and breathed it in. "While a little further down, I can smell what remains of the perfume you wore last night." He gave her neck a final sniff of confirmation then pulled back to smirk at her. "If I'm not mistaken, that's Fracas. D'you buy that for me?"

"Actually, I bought it for me," she replied before shooting him a worried look. "Why, you wanna wear some?"

Castle smirked. "So cute."

She shrugged. "Well. I try."

"Now, ordinarily," he resumed, indicating the residual perfume on her neck, "this might be my favorite scent. But…I have a new favorite. Right here." He beckoned his finger then pointed between her breasts. "This, here…is what I call Eau de Beckett. This is pure Kate, the best smell yet." He nuzzled his nose into the delicate dint and drew her into his lungs. "I'd cover myself in it if I could."

"Not sure whether that's sweet or disgusting," she mumbled, fingers digging into his scalp.

"Well, love is generally a bit of both so…" His sentence trailed off as he began to retreat down her body, nose and lips never leaving her still sensitized flesh.

Beckett lifted the sheet as his head disappeared beneath it. "Hey, where d'you think you're going?"

He kissed her belly, glanced up at her. "I've got some more investigating to do."

"Down there?"

"Just being thorough. I learnt from the best."

Beckett let the sheet drop with a resigned huff. "I don't think you're going to find any cherries down there, Castle."

His reply was low and lilting and completely unintelligible.

She shook her head at the ceiling. "I'm so glad I didn't understand a word of that."

"Me too," he rose, the sheet wilting comically on his head, "Cos it really was very dirty."

Then he went back to his task, which seemed to be less about locating the cherry scent that had taunted him and more about simply making her come apart at the seams. Again. Something Castle was startlingly good at – and was only getting better at the more frequently and avidly he practised. Perhaps it was because she had so recently returned from that glorious peak he took her to that he was able to send her flying off it again so quickly. Or perhaps it was simply that her body was growing accustomed to surrendering to the pleasure he so abundantly and insistently gave it. But one minute she was gasping his name in exasperation and exhaustion, telling him she couldn't possibly come again. And the next, she was just gasping his name, with no other thought it her head, just sensation pulsing through her in potent, purifying waves, making her body buckle and spasm under his teeth and tongue and lips. When he was sure he had rung every last drop of pleasure from her orgasm, Castle withdrew his fingers, stroked her thigh once and rested his cheek against her stomach, waiting for her to float back to earth.

It was in these next few minutes, while he was buried beneath her sheets, snuggled between her quaking thighs, that Beckett used what little remained of her functioning brain to fling a hand towards her bedside drawer, slide it open and pat around inside until her fingers located a familiar tube. It was almost empty but she managed to paint her lips with the very last beads of the substance she hadn't worn in years. Just the faintest whiff of the stuff brought back memories of that particular time, of the first full year she'd spent with Rick Castle, renowned author, incorrigible womanizer, amateur sleuth and unshakable stalker. And she'd tried everything in her power to shake him. Rattle him. Rid her personal space of his childish games and unrelenting challenges and effortlessly charming smirks and far from subtle advances. But she failed. Because that was the year she reluctantly gave into accepting him as her partner, the year Castle slowly become indispensable to her. That was the year Beckett had to admit to herself that there was some indefinable spark between the two of them that wasn't going to go away, no matter how vehemently she denied its existence.

Looking back, that was the year she knew. She tried not to – but at least some part of Beckett knew even then. She loved Richard Castle like she'd never loved any man in her entire life. And despite her best and most private efforts, that feeling was only growing stronger and deeper and harder to hide by the day.

He was rising now, wriggling out of his canopy and propping himself over her with a satisfied, affectionate smile. "Now…tell me that wasn't powerful."

"Super powerful," she had to admit with a spent laugh.

He hummed and leant down to kiss her – then abruptly pulled back. "Oh my God. There it is. The cherry smell." He swooped in, plucked at her lips greedily, sucking them slick one at a time. "Oo, and I can taste it. Cherries. Mmph, you taste so good..."

"It's just lip-gloss," she said between eager nibbles and bites.

He shook his head as if to dislodge this information. "Don't tell me that, you'll ruin it."

She rolled her eyes and pulled his body down on top of hers with a moist skin-on-skin smack. "God, you're weird."

He smiled against her mouth, deepening their kiss as he mumbled, "Mm…you taste good too. Just you. Without the cherries."

"So," she snaked her arms up round his shoulders, tugging on his ears until he released her mouth, "case closed? Investigation over?"

"Not even close," he murmured, adjusting his body so it fit better against hers. "I'll never be done investigating you."

"Too bad," she replied, pressing on his chest to reverse their position. "Cos it's my turn now." Castle went willingly, blue eyes glued as he watched her rise above him and flick her hair off her shoulders. "And when I catch a case, Castle, I always, always get my man."

"Well, I wouldn't want to interfere with your impressive case closure rate," he told her, hands tucking behind his head and hips surging beneath her. "So by all means, Detective, investigate away. I'm all yours. To do with what you will."

"Then what I wanna do—" she leant down, placed her hands flat on his chest and deposited a feather-light kiss between them, "—is this." And without any further warning as to her intent, Beckett ducked beneath the sheets to treat Castle to a taste of his own gloriously gratifying medicine.

END.