Chapter 21: Filling the darkness

Beckett still hasn't worked out what is going on with Castle, but she's given up trying for the moment. She's still jazzed from clearing the pool table, buzzed from beer and not much food, and difficult questions can wait till tomorrow. She wants some uncomplicated fun. If Castle's up for staying around, even though she made her position clear, then she's happy to carry on too. She's not thinking about how much it hurt her when she thought he'd walk away. She doesn't think about why Castle might want to stay around. She doesn't think about whether he'd understood her position. Actually, she just doesn't want to think tonight at all.

The expression on Castle's face just before they all quit the bar has left her pretty confident that the ride home won't be…bland. She doesn't notice that Castle's only told the driver his address. And once the cab is moving he's got one arm round her shoulders, fingers over her collarbone just a fraction shy of indecently low, and the other hand is currently on her leg, just a fraction short of indecently high.

"Where'd you learn to play pool like that?" He hasn't been humiliated that badly on a pool table since he was nineteen. It would be emasculating, if it weren't Beckett. She's tougher than every man he knows. Even with her nightmares included.

"College. Cop bars. Covered my drinks bills hustling." The immediate picture of a younger Kate, carefree and ready to take on the world, cleaning up at the pool tables at Stanford with drooling frat boys all around, none of them any match for her, replaced by a darker image of her intent stare, in some dingy cop bar on the Upper East side, still winning but with no joy in it, dances in his mind, reminding him how she came to be a cop. He's momentarily forgotten his plans for the cab ride, until Beckett shifts slightly, encouragingly, when it all comes tumbling back. He eases closer, extends the fingers of both hands, one down, one up, strokes gently. There's a soft hum of satisfaction.

"Like that, Beckett?" He extends again, curling slightly to match the curves of her body. This time there's a soft gasp.

He's whispering evil things in her ear, what he'll do, how he'll touch her, how she'll react, and his hand has crept up her thigh until he's hit her hip and his fingers still aren't touching her the way they ought to be. She's damp and hot just from the words, the expectations he's arousing, but when she tries to wriggle into a better position he stops her and just keeps teasing till she grabs his hand and attempts to move it herself to where she wants it.

"Eager, hmm? Wanting more? I told you you'd need to wait, Beckett." She doesn't want to wait. And she thinks she knows how to make sure she doesn't have to. She glides her free hand around his jaw, lightly grazing over his lips, down the vee of his collar, down further over his shirt, and pauses. He's not looking quite so cool now. Her hand slips past his belt buckle and it's his turn to gasp and jerk his hips into her.

"Now who's wanting more, Castle?"

He seizes both her wrists and traps them within the hand trailing over her shoulder. "Naughty, Beckett, very naughty. Now you'll have to wait longer." And he's teasing her again and she's making little noises till he kisses her to muffle that the noises are becoming moans and that's not how she behaves in the back of a New York cab but what he's doing to her is just so hot that she can't help herself and she's just about to – and the cab's stopped and Castle's stopped and he's getting out and paying the driver.

"Timing is everything, Beckett," he murmurs in a voice that should have narrated the Bad Boy's Guide to Seduction. She'd hit him, if she didn't need every ounce of muscle control to be able to stand up without falling into him. Her knees don't seem to be working quite as well as usual.

She's halfway to the elevator in the spacious lobby, smiling with distracted politeness at the doorman, when she appreciates that this isn't her building.

"What are we doing here? I was sharing a cab to go home. I don't remember saying I was coming back to yours. I want to be home." She's petulant with frustration. Castle's loft is not, to her mind, private. Right now, she very much wants to be in private with him.

"I said I'd pick you up at dinnertime. Now I'm going to make sure you eat something. And I need to eat. Alexis is at a sleepover and Mother's with Chet so I haven't had dinner either." His eyes are guileless. She's instantly suspicious. "And then I'll help you keep the nightmares away." His grin is wicked.

Castle's playing a very careful game. He needs to be enough like his normal bouncy, Beckett-baiting self that she doesn't notice anything different. But he also needs to make sure he stays close enough so that she eats and so that he can protect her from her dreams. Since she's clearly still interested in the more enjoyable aspects of the last month, as long as he doesn't make too much of a fuss of her, it's likely he'll get away with it. Time enough later to start to show her he's in this for real.

Beckett hmphs with irritation and directs a familiar glare at him.

"Food, Beckett. How about mac-'n-cheese, and I've got lots of ice-cream for after? It'll be quick and easy, and I won't make you have seconds. Even if you ought to. Those sharp edges of bone are really uncomfortable. It won't hurt you to be a little more cuddly." He thinks he's gone about as far as he can without inciting violence. Violence is not the plan at all.

"Go and sit down, while I make dinner. Wanna drink?"

"No thanks. Water?" Water swiftly appears. Castle's being competent in the kitchen – it's always a surprise that someone who bumbles around behind her at the precinct barely managing not to fall over his own feet can be so physically adept, so together, as soon as he's elsewhere. Or doing other things. Mmmm. Very enjoyable other things. Suddenly she remembers all the things he'd whispered in the cab. She opens a button on her shirt.

"How long do I need to wait, Castle?" It's sexy and feline and going straight to his groin. But he's still bent on showing her that, even if she can clean up at pool, he can keep her in total disarray while she waits. Just like he did in the cab.

"Till it's ready, Beckett." Till you're ready. "You need to be patient. Preparation time is critical. It needs care. Detailed attention. Perfect timing. Adding the right…spice. Tasting the recipe along the way. Otherwise the culmination is unsatisfactory." He's grinning evilly and she knows he isn't talking about food. She squirms a little.

"Are you hungry yet, Beckett?" The intonation is wicked and his tone is getting lower with every passing word. It slinks along her skin to places she'd rather he was touching. Seduction seeps into every sentence.

"Depends how good a cook you are." She can play this game. Even if she's squirming already.

"Oh, I'm a very good cook. You'll appreciate my cooking." And she thinks again of every dark provocative word he'd breathed into her ear, in the cab. She's wet just remembering how he'd insinuated his tongue around the word naughty. How he'd brought her right to the edge and stopped. How he'd said I'll take you. She opens a second button.

"Ready, Beckett?" Oh yes. "How much do you want?" There's a question with more than one answer. But she looks up and indicates when there's enough on the plate. Time enough to play after dinner. And there's no reason she can't turn the tables for a while.

Watching Beckett slowly sucking macaroni from her fork, carefully catching the melted cheese with the tip of her tongue, is not helping Castle eat his own portion. Every time she does it he thinks of what else she could do with her mouth. It's possible that he might not be able to make her wait till after dinner. He swallows and tries not to look at the edge of lace under the vee of her shirt, tries to think of anything that doesn't take his mind straight to the bedroom. He's failing miserably. He's on the point of conceding control of the game to her when she puts her fork down, not quite finishing the whole plateful but near enough to be reassuring. It gives him a chance to recover. Just as well. She's controlled the game this whole time. It's his turn. If he plays well enough, she'll stay all night. He'll keep her nightmares away. He will.

The space-age coffee machine produces the same excellent coffee that Beckett remembers from a week ago. Strangely, Castle seems content to sit a discreet distance from her. It's not what she expected. Until he acquires a slow, lazy smile that's just unbearably sexy.

"Did my cooking satisfy you, Beckett? Worth waiting for?"

"Mmm, I don't know. A little bland, perhaps?"

"You like a little more flavour? Not just plain? A little spice?" He's moving closer with every question. The smile might be lazy but his eyes are getting darker. Hotter. The innuendo behind the words is really beginning to do it for her. She's been all wound up since the pool game, unsatisfied need roiling low in her stomach. She likes this more dominant version of Castle as much as she likes the polished, finessed, playful version. He stretches out a long finger to tug at the vee of her shirt, taking the opportunity to undo the next button.

"C'mere, Beckett." It's not really a request.

"Make me." She knows exactly what she's doing. She wants to see if he's really up for this game. And underneath she's unconsciously trying to establish if this is passionate or just protective – or pity. She doesn't want or need pity or protectiveness.

"I said, Come here." That's definitely not a request. When she still doesn't move, he grips her round the waist and moves her, firmly. "That was naughty, Beckett." The silky emphasis he puts on naughty convinces her that he's as into this game as she is. She peeks up through her eyelashes in a way that's calculated to entice, and when she's sure he's looking at her face slowly swirls her tongue over her lips.

"I can be good," she whispers, every short word dripping sensuality. "Very, very, good." She wets her lips again. "Or very, very, bad. Which shall I be, Castle?"

"I think you should be very, very good at being very, very bad. And then I'll decide what you deserve as a consequence." Ooh, yes. You decide, Castle. Let's see how you play.

Castle's intrigued. Also hopelessly, utterly aroused. Clearly adventurous had encompassed a wide range of exploration. Arousal is momentarily quashed by terror that when Alexis goes to college she might be adventurous. He knows it's a double standard: he's completely delighted that Beckett is adventurous. But Alexis is his daughter.

Thought is extinguished when Beckett trails her nails over his neck and down into his collar vee, follows them with her lips, slowly undoes the next button down, and the next, and then the next, scraping gently and kissing the scrapes as she goes. Then she stops unbuttoning, just as Castle was beginning to anticipate the next one's opening, which is rather closer to more…interesting…areas. Instead, she opens his shirt wide, flicks her tongue lightly over each nipple, runs the palm of one hand over his chest, down to his navel, circles again with her finger, moves away. He sighs in disappointment. Before he can tell her what he thinks of that, she opens the final button, pulls his shirt wide open and very slowly slides it off, stroking as it falls. He's breathing harder, and she hasn't done anything significant yet. Slow anticipation is everything. She's amazing.

"Good, Castle?"

"Getting there. What happened to bad?" He's baiting her. What she's doing is better than good.

"Good things come to those who wait." There's a pause. Allurement slithers through the air with every soft, sinful word. "So do bad things. Shall I do bad things to you?"

"Sure." It's deep and slow and dominating and utterly tempting. "As long as you're prepared to face the consequences of your actions."

She shoves his shoulders hard and flat against the back of the couch, straddles him and kisses him wetly, gliding her mouth over his, tongue driving him wild, nips and soothes and kisses down his jaw, his neck, laving over his sternum and further down. He's pinioned by her actions. She's slipped off his lap and is on her knees in front of him, playing with his belt buckle, the button and zip of his pants, oh god she's undoing his pants and stroking through the slit in his boxers and he thinks he knows where she's going with this and it is absolutely the most erotic thing anyone has ever done with him because it's her and oh fuck her hands on him and her mouth round him and where the hell did she learn that she does something appallingly dirty with her tongue and oh fuck his fingers are clutched in her hair please don't stop oh god Kate don't stop now except she does and he's left unsatisfied and groaning and very painfully hard and she will pay for that oh yes she will. Just as soon as he can move again.

"Timing is everything, Castle, I believe you said earlier?"

He will quite definitely kill her. He hauls her up and strips her shirt and pants so she's left in more of that come-on-and-touch-me underwear (and how much of that does she have, honestly?) and pulls her straddled over his lap against the hard hot weight so that he can press up against her and feel the jerk of her hips against him and hold her down on him while he grinds on her and makes her writhe some more.

"That was very, very bad, Beckett." She's laughing at him. He can tell. She won't be laughing in a moment. "I should spank you." She squirms, just a little. That might be interesting, another time.

"Turnabout is fair play" she smirks. "Maybe I should spank you. You've asked me to before." That could be interesting too.

He growls and leans all the way over so she's flat on her back spread wide with him between her legs and he pins her hands above her head and holds her down while he whispers darkly in her ear, outlining all the dirty, sexy things he should do to her as consequences. She wriggles. The voice and the words and the tone hit straight between her legs without the involvement of her brain.

"Why don't you start, then? Can't you keep…up?" And with that his rather fragile control finally snaps and she's left stunned at all the ways a very talented tongue can touch and suck and lick and make her gasp and writhe and then moan while he holds her wide open and right on the edge for far longer than should ever be possible and what was her name again? She's begging desperately before he finally lets her come. He didn't even need to take her panties off.

It's just as well everyone else is out. They make it as far as the study wall before the remnants of their clothing are finally off, hot bodies pressing into each other, fierce possessive kisses giving way to nips on neck, ears, clavicles, just hard enough to be delicious. Her hands are clutching his ass, bringing him into her, encouraging the slow, almost-painful slide stretching her open and filling her deeper than she'd thought was possible. He's so good at this, one hand holding her up on her toes and the other slipping through the heat between her legs, stroking and sliding and circling and bringing her up to the edge and letting her drop back again. He knows exactly what he's doing: these are the consequences he's inflicting. She's loving every tantalising movement, until finally he can't hold her back any longer and muscle spasms tighten hard around him and she screams and comes. He plunges desperately into her and comes himself.

The next time they actually get as far as the bed. Beckett pushes Castle down and glides over him, taking him in and riding him till he's begging her more, faster, please Kate now but she thinks he needs a taste of his own medicine and slows up until he flips them over and thrusts hard into her and sets the pace he wants until it's both of them frantic for each other to be closer, harder, faster, deeper, more please more now oh yes and this time they come together.

Exhausted sleep overtakes the messy tangle of naked limbs and sheets and pillows and comforter.