Chapter 2

And indeed that's what happens. He brings in wood while Beckett sets a delicious smelling stew simmering, and then she shows him how to lay the stove and light it. It's comfortingly domestic: harking back to a much older time, and after dinner, they change to panther and lie together near the stove, warm, cosy, and snuggled. Beckett is so rarely her larger form that he forgets how sleekly lethal it is: slim compared to his massive bulk, but utterly deadly.

Except for now, with their tails entwined and their bodies so close that the fur merges and they can hear and feel each other's hearts beating. Beckett nestles her head into his shoulder, and they are simply quiet and still together: peace all around them. The woods are not silent: the wind rustles, and Castle's feline hearing can pick up small sounds of animals, the rippling of the water and then, shockingly loud, the thundering of heavy rain; changing the smells from outside. He snuggles closer to Beckett, and purrs: a deep rumble in his chest. She turns her head – her eyes are green, but his have always stayed their familiar blue – and pushes it into the muscles of his neck, nipping lightly.

She wants to play. How nice. Castle looks lazily at her, and uses one massive paw to try to flip her on to her back: a little gentle roughhousing which they'll both enjoy as panthers. She bats at him, standing up and circling him, patting with a soft paw, claws retracted. He stands and pats back, stalks her a touch, looming in her peripheral vision, treading heavily after her as she slips away from him. Finally he pounces when she's back on the rug, lands across her and pins her down, jaws around her neck as any alpha male big cat would do, and she purrs and sighs and relaxes under him and suddenly she's Beckett-human who's playing with his ears and he changes and then the rug is put to uses which it surely didn't expect.

The shower is efficient, and the big bed exceptionally comfortable, and Castle sleeps better than he can remember with Beckett snuggled against him and the old-fashioned quilt and – surely feather? – pillows around his head. It's not as if he has problems sleeping, either – just that the clean fresh air and lack of city noise leave him totally refreshed. He dozes off again.

The next time he wakes there is the insinuating smell of bacon, the sizzle of possible pancakes, and very definitely the aroma of coffee. He bounces out of bed and downstairs to find breakfast in progress, Beckett looking happily ravenous, and the table set.

"If you'd slept much longer I'd have eaten all your bacon," she grins. Castle fakes a fainting gesture, and gasps theatrically. "C'mon. Sit down and eat up, and then we can go out."

The weather has cleared. Castle suspects that it is a lot colder outside than the cosy cabin, but it's sunny, and panthers have warm fur coats. He sits down and they make a very good breakfast, which they will undoubtedly run off shortly.

Castle is exceedingly glad of his thick fur coat. His nose twitches as he pads out of the cabin, discovering a whole host of interesting smells. Beckett locks up, shivers and changes, stalks down the steps, turns and bares her teeth in a coughing laugh – and takes off. He's after her in an instant, but she's fast, and she's sneaky, and she knows the area and he doesn't. She's disappeared.

He thinks, sitting on his haunches in a handy, sunlit clearing. Then he listens, cocking his ears this way and that, and discovers a patch of silence. He sniffs the air, and then begins to stalk her scent and silent surroundings, padding darkly through the trees. He finds her, sitting elegantly lethal at the edge of the river: a black marble statue – until the wind shifts a little and she scents him and moves – but now he has her trail and is on her tail as she stretches out, racing through the woods until his greater stride length brings him alongside her and instincts take over and he brings her down, pinning her to the ground and only just not carrying on to take her. They're really going to need to discuss that, because she smells totally aroused and ready – and he certainly is – but they've never discussed sex in any form but human and they really, really should.

Instead, he nips assertively at her haunch and swats her rump: indicating his displeasure at her running off, and she cough-laughs at him again, rises, swats him which is entirely unfair, and streaks away again. He catches her up at the door of the cabin, staying feline until she's opened the door and they are inside – it's cold – and then catching her into his arms and kissing her hard and just a little roughly until she's breathing harder and soft in his grasp and utterly ready for him.

By the time they reach the bedroom the cabin is bestrewn with clothing, some of which retains all the buttons with which it started. Neither of them care. Beckett falls on to the bed and pulls Castle over her, not waiting for gentleness: takes his mouth as hard as he had, a moment before, ravaged hers, wriggles once, twice, beneath him and rises to his thrust. It's short, fast and hard and rough, and while there's a lovebite blooming on Beckett's shoulder there's a matching one on Castle's and his back is scratched. They collapse together, limbs entangled, both limp.

"Can we play chase again?" Castle says very hopefully.

"Tomorrow," Beckett yawns, and turns over to flop across him. "Not now."

"Okay," he agrees amiably. "When I can find my knees, I'll brush Onyx, if you like? You're all tousled. It's very sexy, though. Thinking of which…um… when I caught you out in the woods… um… we should really talk about that. Before tomorrow. Because chasing you down and catching you like that was really, really hot. I mean, really hot."

"I noticed," Beckett says dryly. "You were – hmm – difficult to miss."

"I'm glad you didn't miss my substantial assets." There is a growl. "Didn't you think it was really hot too?" Castle asks, sex infusing his words. "Your pheromones said you did. I could scent you – and that was pretty difficult to miss too." She colours delicately. "You did," he says with smug satisfaction. Beckett colours up further. "So we should decide what to do about it." He strokes across her naked back. She curves into his touch, just as Onyx does, bonelessly flexible. "Because if you don't wanna, then we should make sure I catch you here. It's too cold to be disporting our human selves outside. You wouldn't want me to freeze. It wouldn't be satisfying."

Beckett snorts. "Who says I'm going to let you catch me? If you can't catch me that's your problem."

"I thought we just proved I could catch you. We're talking about what happens after I've caught you."

She grumbles under her breath, then speaks.

"I don't know. I looked it up" –

"You did?" –

"Might as well. I knew you'd bring it up."

"You love it when I bring things up," he notes salaciously. "Ow! That's not nice."

"Anyway," she carries on unsympathetically, "it looks painful. I don't do pain."

"You do pain on me," Castle mutters.

"Only if you ask nicely." Castle hears a distinct snigger, and vows that Beckett will pay for that. In the nicest possible way, of course.

"Okay," he says.

"But since there are still cats being born every minute, I'm guessing the cats might not find it painful."

"Okay – er, what?"

There is a pause.

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"We don't have to."

"I know. But…" she smiles wickedly, "…we should try it. Just once. Where's your sense of adventure?"

Castle gleeps. He'd thought she was reluctant. "We could just change straight back if it hurt."

"That could be embarrassing. We'd never manage simultaneous timing. And getting it wrong would be really… icky."

"Yeah," Castle agrees fervently. "Ugh. Same form only." She nods vehemently.

"But not till tomorrow. You promised me brushing," she entices, and is abruptly Onyx, curled on his chest and purring quietly.

Castle's stomach doesn't purr, it growls. Loudly. "Let's have lunch first, and put the stove on, and be cosy all afternoon. And you know, I really won't mind a bit if you don't get dressed again… ow! Stop that."

Beckett slithers very intently all across him and then, most unkindly, pulls on underwear – it's very pretty, but it's totally unnecessary – and casual tee and pants. "Lunch," she says, and exits, to be heard descending the stairs and investigating the kitchen.

Castle takes a few moments longer to compose himself and dress. When he gets downstairs, he's instructed to bring in some more wood and light the stove. He puts the brush conveniently close to a large and comfortable chair near the stove, and does as he's told. The fact that carrying a heavy basket of logs around shows off his flexing biceps has nothing to do with it at all. He can see Beckett sneaking ogles out of the corner of his eye, and plays up to her heated glance.

Lunch does not take long to prepare: a thick spiced pumpkin soup, warmed rolls and butter; some apple pie and cream for dessert. For someone who never knowingly cooks at home, Beckett has provided ample quantities of delicious, yet simple and homely, food, and is proving pretty adept at preparing it. They give it the time and respect the food deserves, and tidy up afterwards without hurrying. The weather is less pleasant now than earlier, and tip-taps of rain are already smearing the windows.

The stove is stoked and adjusted, the cabin has become warm and cosy, and Castle arranges himself in the rocking chair with his laptop to hand should Onyx-Beckett fall asleep draped over his shoulder, as she is wont to do in feline form after petting and brushing. If his theory (and her reaction when he'd brushed her out of her bad mood when he theorised about natural fabric levels) is correct, it's because petting her ears and brushing are leaving her totally post-orgasmic, which in human form leaves her sleepy (eventually) and cuddlesome. He is already addicted to cuddlesome Beckett: just as he'd originally (Beckett apparently unavailable) fallen in love with beautiful, pettable, affectionate and cuddlesome Onyx; so he loves the same aspects of his extraordinary Beckett. And all the other aspects too.

While he's been thinking, Onyx has prowled across the floor and has perched herself on his lap, curling flexibly into a position which clearly indicates her desire to be brushed. Castle has a considerable desire to oblige. She drapes over him, Castle begins to brush, and Onyx begins to purr: softly at first, then more forcefully, and then continuously. Her eyes are shut, her tail curled around her, and her ears loose and relaxed. She's – Castle thinks – entirely blissed out. He stops brushing, and she mews at him with a touch of complaint. He begins again.

Quite a lot of brushing later, Castle stops and is not complain-mewed at. He rearranges Onyx so that she's asleep on his shoulder, where she's warm and snuggly, and reaches for his laptop. Some considerable while after that, she wakes up and purrs in his ear, which makes him jump. The laptop is put out the way, and Beckett appears on his knee, nestled into his neck and nibbling mischievously.

"You were asleep," he points out.

"It's my vacation. I do sleep."

"Such a cat. Sleeping all day. Does that mean you'll be up all night?"

"Shouldn't that be you?"

"Could be arranged," he smirks.

"I wasn't sleeping when you couldn't find me this morning," she murmurs seductively. "Maybe you should do a bit more sleeping."

"It's so much more fun to be awake and make sure that you're tired out," he rasps back. "I can tire you out in so many ways."

"Promise?"

"Surely. Dinner first, then playtime."

"Being parental here is entirely inappropriate."

"Who's being parental? I'm never parental."

"Barely adult, most of the time," Beckett snarks.

"That wasn't what you said earlier. More like oh God yes all man.You definitely said man."

Beckett mutters darkly. Clearly she doesn't like being quoted back at herself.

"And dinner first is simply so that you don't faint with hunger." He smirks evilly. "Fainting with desire is expected."

"Conceited much?"

"It's not conceit when it's true. You'll be overcome by my manly talents."

Beckett snorts. Castle, offended, slips a hand under her t-shirt and caresses her spine, and she softens and purrs.

"See? All contented and purring again. Just how you should be." It feels so good to be petting her again that he simply keeps on doing it.

The evening passes comfortably. Both of them change: Castle to the huge panther, Beckett returning to Onyx and positioning herself between his huge front paws where she feels cosseted and protected. Not that she needs it, but sometimes it's nice for her to have someone else doing the protecting, Castle thinks, and preens himself that he's the one on whom she relies for that to be the case. She stays happily nestled in until bedtime, and even then, much later, both sated and satisfied, she cuddles in some more. Fortunately Castle loves cuddling her as much as she has found she loves being cuddled.

She sleeps better than she ever has, judging by her bright eyes when she wakens and her almost-enthusiasm for the day even before they've had coffee. Astonishing, Castle thinks. Pre-coffee Beckett is normally as friendly as a rabid wolf. This morning, she's only mildly irritable, barely even titchily tetchy.

"C'mon," she encourages. "Eat up and let's go out."

Ah. Beckett wants to play chase again. How nice. He smiles wolfishly at her, and munches on his pancakes. He'd better fuel up. This morning is going to be energetic.

Beckett isn't quite tapping her fingers by the time he's made a good, but rapid, meal – but it's close.

"Ready?"

"You sure are," he smirks. She growls. "Let's go."

As yesterday, she locks up, changes – then swipes at him to swat him and then takes off at full stretch. Castle, never one to make an effort before it's necessary, pads softly and slowly into the woods and then finds a nice, almost warming, patch of sunlight to enjoy while he's triangulating on possible Beckett-locations. He works out whereabouts she is, and slinks off to stalk her. Something about stalking panther-Beckett appeals in a very visceral way to panther-Castle.

He doesn't have much trouble finding her. The wind is blowing back towards the cabin, and her scent is very strong. He sneaks up to a small clearing, where she's sitting in the sun, circles around to come at her from behind, and pounces.

And misses. She's streaking away. He recovers his footing (pawing? Surely not?) and hightails it after her, becoming more aroused with every yard that he covers.

This time, when he finally overtakes her and brings her down, they let it happen, both far too excited and aroused to stop. Cat form sex, it transpires, is a lot of fun for cats, and the physical adaptations of a cat are extremely interesting. It certainly seems that feline-Beckett appreciates them.

They lie in the weak sunshine, purring occasionally at each other, and eventually pad back to the cabin for lunch.

"That was fun," Beckett says, her eyes wickedly glinting.

"I'll chase you any time you like." Castle's eyes are glinting too.

After lunch it's still sunny, but neither of them want to go anywhere. They occupy the swing seats on the porch; the weak sunshine and warm clothing enough for comfort: Beckett with a book and her woolly-socked toes tucked up under her; Castle with his laptop and producing a constant stream of tapping. So passes the afternoon.

After dinner, Castle decides that it's time to start trying to tease (in so many ways) the truth about ear-fondling and brushing out of Beckett. Coffee arrives at the small couch, barely big enough for both of them, forcing them (as if force were ever needed) to nestle together. Perfect.

He starts with desultory chit-chat about anything that they're interested in (which between them, is nearly everything. Castle is congenitally curious about the whole wide world, and Beckett, while not so curious, certainly takes considerable interest in the events around her.) and gradually works it around to the earlier events.

"I really liked stalking you," he says.

"If I were you," she returns very dryly, "I wouldn't say that in public. Stalking is not cool. I might have to arrest you."

"Stalking Beckett-panther" – he has a sudden thought – "You know, you ought to have a name as a panther" –

"I do. Kate Beckett."

"No, no, no. Like your cat is Onyx. Your panther ought to have a name. Ebony."

"Ugh."

"Adamantine."

"Double ugh."

"True. Your panther was all soft and receptive earlier. Mmmm. Um… Fatality. Lethality."

"No!"

"But it's true."

"No."

Castle ponders, totally distracted from his point by this interesting trail. "I know!" he bounces. "Black Death."

"That was a disgusting plague that killed a third of the global population."

"It didn't."

"There were lots of them. In the Middle Ages it killed around a third. Maybe more."

Castle declines to argue further, because she'll only go to Google and prove it. Beckett is far too fond of factual accuracy.

"But it's accurate. You are black and you are deadly."

"If you call me that I will break both your legs, and then you won't be able to play chase."

Castle pouts. "You'd miss out too."

"Not as much as you would," Beckett points out evilly.

"Oh? And why might that be?"

Castle spots an opportunity to begin. Beckett's provided him with the perfect opening.

"I could sit on your lap…" she insinuates. "You wouldn't have to go anywhere at all."

He likes that idea. Possibly without the broken legs and attendant pain, however. Still, right now he has a different game in mind. He snuggles Beckett into his side in a semi-sensuous fashion.

"I thought there might be a different reason," he says, and allows his fingers to wander over her waist and down on to her hip.

"Oh?"

"I thought that you might be thinking that I'd still be able to stroke you." He carefully doesn't mention which form he might stroke. "Like this," he says, and walks his fingers back up to nestle just at the undercurve of her breast, with an occasional brief foray further upward.

"Could be arranged," she says, her tone underlain with the first hints of arousal.

"Yes," he drawls. "You like being stroked."

"I'm a cat. Didn't you notice? Cats like being stroked. Whatever form they're in."

"Do they indeed." Which is not at all a question. He proceeds to prove the point by stroking a little more intently and a lot more wickedly. Beckett tries to retaliate, but Castle is feeling rather more alpha-male than usual, courtesy of the panther form and the thrill of the (sexual) chase, and he simply wants to possess – and elicit answers from – her. He lightly puts her hands behind her and holds them there in one wide span.

She raises an eyebrow. "I didn't bring my handcuffs."

Castle's eyes flare hotly. "Another time," is all he says, and her eyes turn deep green, so he grips a little tighter, and takes her mouth. His hand plays far more possessively: cupping her firm breast, thumb rolling over the hard nipple and then repeating, one side then the other – wouldn't want to miss one out – rubbing and stimulating, balancing her against the arm behind her and gradually pushing her backwards so that she's a little arched towards him and gorgeously accessible. She flexes as he moves from her luscious mouth over her neck, lightly nipping at the sensitive spot so that she mewls, wanting more, but he wants to move downward.

Her t-shirt is in the way, but that's an easy obstacle to overcome: it departs forthwith and leaves the pretty bra in which she'd begun the day (he really doesn't know why she bothered with it but it sure looks good) on display, the coloured lace barely hiding anything and certainly not her excitement. Merely to continue the theme, he releases her hands for a moment to lift her and dispose of her soft cotton pants as well: the panties match the bra (they always have, for the few weeks he's been able to observe – and oh, how he has been observing), and then imprisons them again. In that instant, she's flicked open his button-down, a naughty, sensual smile on her face which he simply has to kiss; and does.

"Wicked," he rasps into her ear, and she merely wiggles against him. "I wanna play. You gonna let me play?"

"Maybe," she husks. "Am I going to enjoy it?"

"Oh, yes. You will," he promises, and begins in earnest.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.