Chapter 14

Castle stared at her. She needed to ask?

"Of course," he said emphatically, rather than the casual sure which had been on the tip of his tongue. Beckett instantly relaxed, collected his hand and curled it around her waist, and nestled neatly into the crook of his arm.

"What is that restaurant? And why didn't you tell me about it before? It's wonderful."

"Never thought about it."

"So why now?" he asked mischievously.

Beckett shrugged.

"C'mon, that's not an answer."

"You found nice restaurants in NOLA. I figured I'd find you one here."

"It was lovely," Castle said, in default of ruining the chance of a very pleasant rest of the evening by saying something like aw, how sweet, you really like me don't you? which would undoubtedly not help at all. "But you still haven't told me what it was."

"It's a tasting restaurant," she admitted. "They never have the same menu twice. They just do lots of little plates – like tapas, but they don't just do Spanish dishes, they do everywhere."

"It was wonderful," he repeated. "Will you give me the name?"

"Sure." She reeled it off and he tapped it into his phone, one handed to avoid letting go of her.

"There. That's definitely one for the future." He smiled. "But you were going to take me home," he said plaintively.

"The lost-puppy look doesn't do it for me, Castle," she snarked.

"I don't want to be your puppy," he pointed out.

"If you were, maybe you'd stay when I told you to, rather than running into dangerous situations that you aren't trained for."

"Where's the fun in that? Anyway, I'm good in dangerous situations."

"You're not supposed to get into dangerous situations. You're supposed to observe, not participate."

"But participation is so much more fun," Castle murmured, "don't you think? Observation is very...lonely."

"Depends," she riposted.

Castle dropped that line of conversation, which was rapidly descending towards the gutter (at least in his head), and waved down a handy taxi. "Yours?" he checked.

"Yep. But I'm paying for it."

Castle pouted. "Don't I get to give you anything tonight?"

Beckett's smile lit the cab. "Sure you do, if you behave now."

"Oh, I'll behave, Detective." He wrapped his arm around her, and played with a tendril of hair, curling gently around her ear. His other hand found its way to her knee, and entwined itself with hers. "Of course, you didn't specify the type of behaviour."

"Didn't I?" It was wholly disingenuous and insincere.

"No. How...imprecise of you."

"You'll just have to guess."

"I'm good at guessing," Castle pointed out, and smiled soulfully. "What's my prize for guessing right?"

"Wait and see."

On balance, and taking the previous night into account, Castle went for generally good behaviour being the correct option, and confined himself to tuckings-in, pettings of the knee, finger-twinings and the occasional tiny buss to her hair. It was an effort, but the effort was rewarded by Beckett continuing to nestle in, twine her fingers in return, and lean her head on his shoulder. As far as Castle was concerned, Beckett's block couldn't arrive soon enough. She was humming contentedly into his neck, very slightly off-key, but despite that it was vibrating down his nerves to leave him wholly aware of her.

Beckett paid the cab fare, but Castle practically had to handcuff himself not to interfere. He reminded himself sternly that it was her evening and he had to let her do it her way – or suffer (definitely suffer) the consequences.

Beckett would have been happy whichever type of behaviour Castle exhibited (yeah, because you're simply totally happy that he's here with you, snarked the brainworm), but the soft cosseting suited her very well and reassured her that the previous night hadn't been some sort of rogue brain-frazzle. (I told you, yelled the brainworm, he's wanting more than hot sex. She liked hot sex, she thought crossly. What was wrong with that? Nothing, admitted the brainworm, rather sulkily. But you love cuddles and cosseting too. So? Didn't everyone? Why the freaking hell don't you just admit that you're in love with him already?)

Uhhhhhhh what?

(You're in love with him already. How many times do you need to hear it before it gets through your dumbass head? Didn't we have this conversation and you wouldn't believe it?)

Uhhhh?

(You took him on a date. You've never taken anyone on a date. You wanted to make him happy. You've never bothered with that before either. That wasn't true. Yes it is. It was not. She'd made Will very happy. If that's your standard, I have a nice supply of slugs for you to date. She stuffed the brainworm in a small oubliette and ignored its sniggers. If it wouldn't die, it could be imprisoned. It promptly wiggled out from the oubliette and smirked.)

"Beckett?" Castle said, "are you okay? Because you've been standing on the sidewalk for a full minute and if you're subject to petit mal seizures how have I never noticed before and how do you get to be a cop and if you weren't before should I take you to the ER and" –

"Stop. No seizures. No ER. I just... got distracted."

"I'm a huge distraction, but can't we be distracted inside? It's starting to rain."

"You won't melt," she snarked, but opened the door and achieved her apartment without any further fugues.

She shrugged out of her coat, kicked off her heels and put her gun and shield away while Castle divested himself of his own coat and padded to the couch.

"Coffee?" she said when she returned.

"I'm okay, thanks." He smiled hopefully. "Why don't you just come over here?"

Beckett redirected her feet from the kitchen to the main space and the couch. As she got there, Castle caught her neatly round the waist, and plopped her into his lap. She wriggled to become comfortable, and nestled in.

"You liked dinner?" she asked.

"It was great. I wouldn't have wanted the name if it wasn't." He cuddled her. "You can take me on another date any time you like."

"It..." she stopped, which was rather interesting, and then restarted, which was definitely interesting. "I guess it was."

Castle's jaw hit the floor coincident with both his eyebrows hitting the ceiling and Beckett burying her hot face in his neck. Unusually, he engaged brain before opening his mouth. "I liked it," he pointed out. "We should do more dates. Especially if you know more tiny gems like that restaurant."

Beckett emerged. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she grinned.

"You can show me them all," he grinned back. "But..."

"But?"

"If this is a date..."

"Ye-es?" she said suspiciously, and then grinned very evilly at him. "Something you want? Something you're expecting?" She peeped through her lashes mischievously, and paused for a second. "Something like this?" and she leaned in and kissed him, gently and far too briefly.

"Something like that, sure. But I was thinking of something a bit more like this," and he tipped up her chin, leaned down fractionally and kissed her a lot more enthusiastically. Beckett appeared to appreciate that, since she was kissing him back, passionately.

She was also undoing his shirt. That seemed a little unfair to Castle, who couldn't do the same to her t-shirt and couldn't pull it off her because she was inconveniently glued to his front with her arms around his neck. Accidentally strangling Beckett was not a good plan.

He forgot about removing her t-shirt almost immediately after she nibbled around his jaw to his ear and started to breathe suggestions into it in a husky murmur that went straight to his groin. Her hands wandered over his chest, and played insinuatingly with the firm edges of muscle, his flat nipples, the dusting of hair; following that last downward with a series of gentle scrapes which left him hopelessly aroused and were undoubtedly the reason that he failed to notice the sneaky opening of his pants until he was already captured and caged in her long, elegant fingers.

"I invited you on a date, Castle. This is my evening. Just" – she smirked – "lie back and think of Manhattan."

"Aw, surely I can do a bit more than that?"

Beckett's fingers moved. Castle grew within them. "Oh, you will. But you did all those sneaky nearly-dates" –

"They were so dates" –

"In NOLA," she finished, ignoring his interjection, "and you got your own way for all of them" –

"I did not! You flirted and teased and wound me up and left me hanging" –

"Who was it edging me for most of the night?"

"And you edged me for most of the day!"

"Anyway, my date, I get my own way. Just enjoy it." She smirked naughtily. "I did."

Castle did as he was told. He settled back and did his utmost not to indulge his instincts, which wanted to strip the navy t-shirt, the dress pants, and everything underneath and then make love to Beckett till they were both sated and exhausted and snuggled together. If he'd been truthful, he would have confessed to a certain degree of nervousness as to what Beckett might do – he wasn't at all convinced that she wasn't going to get him all hot and bothered (he already was all hot and bothered) and then keep him there all the rest of the evening whatever she'd said about not wanting to play games because she was pretty keen on being on top even if she'd done it with dirty talk and teasing and making him watch not touch – but... it was her turn. He gave himself up to her desires.

As soon as he did, she changed tack. She stopped purring filthy suggestions into his ear – though she could act on them any time she pleased – and moved back round to kiss him passionately but without the hard edge of demandingness with which she had begun. Her hand, however, was still committing dark and evil deeds and – oh if you're going to do that Beckett can we find the bed now – it was wonderful but he had better think some cooling thoughts right now oh fuck – never mind her hands, her mouth was wicked and if that was where Beckett directing affairs for the evening got him he'd be her toy as often as she liked but he wasn't going to let on because...because... he'd had a good reason but he couldn't remember it and anyway he was totally enthralled and entranced by her in and out of bed and oh Beckett please Beckett now Beckett... he shattered.

When he came back to life she was snuggled up to him in his lap again, with a satisfied cat-who-got-the-cream smile. She'd undone him in no time at all...but, he realised, this time she hadn't made him beg (he'd done that all by himself), or made him wait, or... well, anything like that. She'd merely enjoyed herself. And him. And now she was all soft and snuggly and...well...kissable.

So he did.

He kissed her gently, without assertion or demands, in keeping with the previous night and her current demeanour. He was very aware that this was still her evening and her lead, even if she was presently lax and cuddly. Her return kisses were equally soft and teasing, and her hands were curled around his shoulder and middle, rather than arousing him again. His own hands slid around, untucking her t-shirt from her pants, and landing on smooth skin. She purred at him, and then leaned in for another kiss, gliding fingertips down over his pecs without a hint of a scratch; stroking tantalisingly, then raised her hands again and pushed his shirt off.

"That's not fair," Castle muttered. "I can't get at your shirt. You're in the way."

"You could use your words. For a writer, you're really bad at saying what you mean."

Castle snorted. "I'm bad at talking? You, who never says anything, are saying I'm bad at talking?"

"I'm not saying you're bad at talking – you never stop talking. You don't say what you mean. You could just ask me..."

"May I take your shirt off, Detective?" Castle asked with exaggerated courtesy and a dose of sarcasm.

"You may." She unglued herself and wriggled to assist its departure.

Castle managed not to gape at the latest version of made-for-sin underwear, but he examined it closely. "How many pretty scraps do you have?" he wondered.

"Lots," Beckett smirked. "Lots and lots and lots."

He smiled slowly and very seductively. "Oh, goody," he drawled. "Lots to uncover."

"You're already...hm...uncovered." Oh. So he was. He was sure she'd put him away... when had she done that?

"That's not fair, Beckett. Why aren't you as uncovered as I am?"

"You haven't suggested it."

"May I uncover you?" There was no sarcasm this time.

"Yes."

He didn't need another invitation: deftly flicking open the button and unzipping her pants, lifting her to whisk them away. Pants were definitely an unnecessary addition to a Beckett in his lap who was purring and pleased to play. Besides, they covered up some more of the prettiest sinful scraps he'd seen in his life, and if he'd known earlier about that particular aspect of the apparently buttoned up Beckett he'd have shadowed her on an out-of-state visit months ago.

But at that precise moment, he was shirtless and rather uncovered, Beckett was (by her own request) wearing two miniature scraps of lace, and the time for thinking was quite indubitably over.

Especially as Beckett was sliding off his knee (not good), tugging him up (neutral, depending on why), pushing off his pants (definitely good) and leading him to her bedroom (excellent).

She stepped back from him, surveyed him from head to foot with an expression he'd never seen before (or never taken time while in NOLA to see), and although the little golden flecks of arousal were dancing in her eyes there was far more to her mien than simple, overwhelming lust. An astonishing conviction began to form in the remaining shreds of Castle's mind. Suddenly she smiled mischievously.

"I think you could take your socks off," she grinned.

Castle sat down on the bed and stripped off his socks.

"Perfect," Beckett said with satisfaction, and pushed him down so he was flat on his back in her bed. "There." She regarded him again, slowly and arousingly. Castle didn't need more arousing. Simply looking at Beckett was all that he needed to be totally aroused: deep blue lace over cream curves, cut to flatter and enhance, made for delight.

"Come here?" he said hopefully, still giving her the lead.

She slinked the two steps to the bed, and as she reached it he reached out and curved broad hands around her hips, not quite pulling as she extended hands to his shoulders and settled herself over him. She gave a small, contented sigh and then descended on his lips: gently seeking entrance and, when that was immediately given, raising the temperature by raiding and exploring to her heart's content. Castle wasn't behind in the exploring stakes, and let his hands wander freely over her. Shortly, her bra mysteriously fell off, and all his good intentions cindered in a flash. Conveniently, hers seemed to have gone walkabout too. She stopped kissing him, slid his boxers off, then smirked, sitting just where he would have wanted her and moving her hips very slightly.

Beckett was precisely where she had wanted to be. No games, but plenty of teasing, would be the order of her evening. (You'd better be planning to tell him, the brainworm growled. She ignored it.) She wiggled seductively to ensure that she was in the perfect alignment, watched Castle's eyes drop to her chest and then undertake a slow sweep down and up again, and wiggled a little more. He made a small whimpering noise, entirely inadvertently.

"What do you want?" she asked teasingly.

"You. Just you." He sat up – wow, he must have been doing some ab crunches – and gathered her in to kiss her. "Just you," he repeated, "right here with me."

She certainly was right there with him: held firmly against his chest with his fingers tracking her spine.

"What do you want?" he asked in return.

(Tell him! Tell him! howled the brainworm, waving a set of pompoms. She didn't need its encouragement, thank you. Brainworms should not be encouraged at any time.)

"You," she admitted. "Just you, too."

(Finally!)

She kissed him, and took them both sideways to hit the bed so that they still faced each other; wrapped a leg around him to keep him where he should be, and put her mouth to his ear.

"Make love to me, Castle."

He ran his hands down over her sides and rolled the panties away with the end of the movement, leaving him at the right point to lavish attention on her proud breasts and hard nipples; while her hands explored and committed delicately, evilly erotic acts as he did. Every touch was slow and lingering, every taste flirted with sinfulness. Each gesture said as much as words ever could have done.

Sultry succeeded slow, seductive succeeded sultry, and as hands became more demanding, bodies closer, damp became wet and hard became iron, they moved together until Beckett wriggled and guided him in and rolled them both so that she rose above him and slid down and that was the closest he'd come to heaven this side of life. It had only been six days since he shadowed her all the way to NOLA with a plan for seduction and now she was as completely, totally entrapped as he was.

He couldn't have cared less. He'd caught Beckett just as much as she'd caught him.

And then he stopped thinking altogether because there was nothing in the world better than the feeling of Beckett about him and moving with him and being his. It really didn't matter which of them was on top, him or her or neither, because any way they came, they were together.

Afterwards, showered and sated, they fell asleep cuddled up with each other, Castle's nose buried in Beckett's hair; her hand clasping his as it lay over her, keeping her safe, keeping him close, and in the morning she was still tucked against him: woke with a sleepy smile.

When she got home that evening, sunflowers in blue-splashed china vases had invaded her apartment, and in the middle of them sat Castle, himself smiling like the sun.

"Like them?" he asked happily, already knowing from her blazing smile that she did.

"Love them," she said. "Love you."

Fin.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

A new story is in progress. I hope to finish it and post as part of the summer Ficathon.

Just in case any of you might have missed it, my original novel, Death in Focus, by SR Garrae, is available on Amazon.