Reminder before starting: this and the next chapter are M rated.

Chapter 4

Castle plopped down on the couch, extending his hand. Beckett dropped into the other corner, as far away as she could possibly be, and reluctantly put her fingers into the centre of the space between them. Castle cast her an amused glance, but merely laid his hand on hers – and drew it back as if burnt. "Ow!" he exclaimed. "That hurt!"

Since Beckett was sucking her fingers in the manner of a small child who had touched a hot stove, she didn't say anything for a second. Then, "What happened?"

"It burned!" Castle said indignantly. "How did you do that?"

"I didn't! My fingers are burnt too. You must have done it."

"I didn't!"

Beckett wiped her fingers on a handy Kleenex, and then examined them. "There's no mark," she said.

Castle looked at his own hand. "Nor here. And people don't get hot enough to burn other people anyway. Try again?"

Her fingers landed on the couch, and his slid carefully up to them, meeting only at the tips. This time, it was merely warm, not scorching. "That's better. You're not burning hot any more." His fingers moved a little more over hers, almost covering the top joint, then a little more. He didn't try to interlace their fingers, but he wasn't meeting any resistance. He slid a little further, slowly, and took the emotional temperature of the room. Calm, he found, with an interesting undertone of anticipation, which began to strengthen as his fingers sneaked further, until he was completely covering her slim hand.

Much as he would have liked to curl his hand around hers, trapping it, he refrained. "Okay, let's both look at this connection." He reached out, but somehow, he also sank in.

Beckett didn't try to sink down for a few seconds, being too busy trying to recover her composure. Castle's broad hand above hers was strangely warm – and strangely arousing. She hadn't any intention of acting on it, though. Large, blue-eyed men were all very well, but she could live for some considerable time without their arrogance and general ability to annoy and upset her. She shrugged her shoulders, to cast off the unreasonable sensations, and sank in – but somehow, also, reached out.

The expressway between them was still right there, which was annoying in itself, but looked smoother and stronger, which was downright infuriating. She poked at it, and found it to be solid. Exactly not what she wanted.

She liked it even less when the end threw out some tendrils and wrapped them delicately around her fingers, tugging gently. When she didn't move, it tugged harder. Ridiculously, she thought it felt hopeful, and a little wistful. She took a step towards it, and was rewarded by a sense of joy. When she listened harder to the city's whispers around her, they sounded happier too, the minor key of earlier sliding towards a warmer major tone.

When she looked up, she saw an oddly translucent Castle at the other end, staring at the road between them. As she watched, he took a stride forward – and the road smoothed and strengthened again. The song of the city chimed joyfully.

Beckett stared sceptically at the road before her, ignoring the hopeful tuggings of its tendrils. This was not working. Anything but. The note of the city's hum changed, carrying a tinge of disappointment, though as she saw Castle take another step, it cheered up again.

Oh, no. It was her city, and it was betraying her. She had been quite happy being single. She was quite happy staying single. The city had no business trying to influence her. She was its spirit.

How could a city want to matchmake anyway?

Oh. Oh crap. The city reflected the sum of its inhabitants…and far too many of them watched telenovelas, soap operas and crime series where the major uncertainty was whether – or when – the main characters would get together. The viewers tended to have very strong views about that, generally to the effect that they should fall into bed at the earliest possible moment. Beckett, who hadn't watched a soap opera since Temptation Lane had been cancelled, had no interest in that and no information on any such series, but it seemed like the city had a totally different view.

Well, hell. Why now? Why him?

Why her? This was not fair.

Castle, reaching out to test the bridge (it was a bridge, whatever Beckett said about it being a road), found himself being tracked by tentative tendrils of the same shade of grey as the stone of the supernatural bridge. Compulsively curious, he reached for them, and let them wrap around his wrists, tugging him gently towards the bridge. He took a step, and the bridge became smoother, stronger, more elegant. Now completely enthralled, he took another, and the city's song swelled over him, full of life and joy. Within it, he could hear a pulse; an underbeat of soft drumming in a rhythm that he ought to recognise but, as yet, didn't – until he did. It was a heartbeat, and he'd only failed to comprehend because it was an integral part of the music. Previously, his ability to hear heartbeats hadn't come as part of a symphony.

On the other hand, this certainly wasn't weakening or removing the link between himself and Beckett, which probably wasn't doing much for cop-and-her-shadow relations. He looked across the bridge, and saw a semi-transparent Beckett on the other side, frowning blackly and glaring at the structure between them. Even transparent-Beckett's frown was tangible. As he watched, she solidified a little, but didn't come any closer to the bridge, then she disappeared, slowly, like the Cheshire Cat, though the last thing to go was her scowl.

Of course, he followed her back to the everyday world.

"That was useless," she railed. "It made it worse, not better."

"I don't get it," Castle said. "The bridge" –

"Road."

"I saw a bridge – was encouraging me on to it. It pulled at me." He watched her face change. "It did it to you, didn't it?" She nodded unhappily. "And every time I took a step it got happier."

"Roads or bridges don't have emotions."

"But the city does," Castle suggested, regarding her closely. "Doesn't it? Or do you have emotions that the city reflects? Because if so, it sounds like you were happy that I was getting closer."

Beckett's look should have flash-fried him, but Castle had her trapped. "The city does. It's the sum of what the population feels, but I can affect it in a small way and it can affect me. In a very small way."

"So you're telling me the city wants me to get closer to you?" he said slowly. "That's…weird."

"Tell me about it," Beckett said bitterly. A discordant twang sounded in the undertones of the city. Neither Castle nor Beckett spoke for a moment. Castle's brow was furrowed, Beckett merely scowled.

"The city has emotions…" he said slowly, "but that's only because people have emotions and people live here to give the city them. So how – oh. We're a walking, talking cliché, aren't we? People watch TV, and TV gives you all the tropes. People buy into them. So, so does the city. Oh." He stared at her. "I don't wanna be a trope or a cliché," he complained.

"Non-cop trying to be a cop's partner? I think you already are."

"I am not!" Castle said indignantly.

"Hmm…Bones, White Collar, Chuck…Perception… even I, Zombie."

"Totally different," Castle tried.

"Exactly the same."

"No, they're not."

"They are. And in some of them it's a male-female dynamic. You're a cliché." She paused. "And you've been trying to become a trope since the day I arrested you."

Castle grinned. "Nothing wrong with a good enemies-to-lovers trope, though I'd prefer to skip the enemies stage and go straight" –

"Shut up."

Castle, recognising the martial light in Beckett's eyes, changed the subject. "So anyway, the city is trying to push us together?"

"Seems so," she grumped.

"Aw, that restores all my faith in the universe," Castle said sweetly. "See, we're meant to be together. You could just accept it and be happy." His smile was seraphic. "It'll make your city happy, too."

"And you."

"Yep."

Beckett glared. "And what about me?"

"Oh, I think I could guarantee you'd be really, really happy too." His smile turned lazy and predatory. "Really happy."

"You sex-crazed maniac."

"Sex god will do."

"So what exactly do you find with your Finder's talent? Your libido?" She slid a look down below his belt. "Could take some finding."

"Very mean," Castle drawled. "You're only ever that mean when you're trying to hide something – usually, that you like me really."

Beckett conducted an excellent imitation of a codfish, goggling eyes, opening and shutting mouth and all. Even her hands flapped.

"You can't deny it," Castle said smugly. "If you could, you would."

"I hate you," Beckett snapped.

"Now who's the trope? That phrase is always followed by a hot make-out session – unless it's HBO, when it's a hot sex session. I'm game if you are."

Beckett emitted a wordless screech of sheer rage, and even expecting the emotional backwash, Castle was hard put not to react equally angrily. He took a few, slow breaths, exhaling second-hand anger, replacing it with his own smooth suavity. The air around him calmed.

"That's not an answer," he improved the shining moment, and compounded his sins by stretching out and taking one flapping hand into both of his.

"What the hell?" they said together, flung back into the odd half-world – and this time, standing on the bridge, or road, surrounded by the grey tendrils. The bridge, through Castle's eyes, had altered to an elegant span, gilded and curlicued, gleaming in some unknown light. The city's song was triumphant. Beckett's face was not triumphant. It was, in fact, filled with bogglement.

"What happened?" she gleeped.

"I don't know." Castle looked about him. "But if I had to theorise, I'd say that all the city was waiting for was contact between us." He pulled a little, to bring her closer. "So let's see what happens if I hug you," he said, and did.

Nothing more happened. Beckett stood completely unsoftened within the hug. "What is this?" she asked the air around her, and tried to fade back to the real world. It didn't work. "Let go of me," she demanded. Castle did, and she partially faded, then returned. "I can't go back if you're touching me," she said crossly.

Castle paused for a second. "I can't get into my Finder's lair. That's…strange. I should be able to take you with me, like the first time."

"The first time, we were in my apartment. Now, we're in some weird place that the city's cooked up." She looked around. "Now the road's got flowers and picnic benches along it," she said even more crossly.

"I still see a bridge, but it's got a little padlock on it now, just like that one in Paris – Locks of Love – except there's only one padlock, so it doesn't spoil the lines."

Beckett made an indeterminately unhappy noise.

"Come on, it's cute. Don't you want to see my view? Cause I wanna see yours. Give me your hand back, so I can see."

She reluctantly extended her hand, which Castle had no hesitation in clasping, nor in tugging gently to bring her much closer. Abruptly, the scene around them changed again: the smooth road of Beckett's vision meeting the bridge of Castle's view; the verdant verges and delicate ironwork of each becoming one.

"Wow!" Castle enthused. "Look at that! It's gorgeous."

Beckett stared at it. "What just happened?"

"Uh…well, you did hold my hand and you weren't angry or furious, so…um…I think the city's decided we're, um, sort of together-ish." He breathed. "Which," he said in a very different tone, "is an absolutely excellent decision that I think we should both support." He kept her hand, and wrapped his other arm around her to bring her in against him in another, tighter, hug. "Like this." The merged scene sparkled happily.

Beckett was fighting a losing battle on two fronts: the effect that the city was trying to have on her and the effect that Castle's hug was having on her. The two were reinforcing each other, which was not fair on respectable poliads. The hug was cosily warm, but she could sense how Castle felt, which was hot. Hot for her. It wouldn't have mattered, because she was perfectly capable of ignoring anyone who was hot for her – and she did, frequently – but the city was jabbing her with his underlying emotions, which were a good deal more complex than merely lust, and carried a frightening undertone of something a lot more potentially permanent. The combination wasn't helping her to control her own, complex, emotions one little bit, and the city's sappiness, fuelled on telenovelas and soaps, was washing away her defences from underneath.

She gave in to her deeper feelings, and softened against Castle's wide chest. He dropped her hand, but instantly used the now-free arm to enclose her completely, tucking her head on to his shoulder, which was just at the right height to be leant on. In fact, Castle was just the right height for her to be aware of many things, one of which was substantially present at just the right height for her to be extremely aware of both it and her increasingly enthusiastic reaction to it.

Upon her thought, Castle's large hand slipped slightly, and stopped a little below the small of her back, not – yet – approaching dangerous territory. His fingers moved slightly, stroking. The small movements set up a sympathetic resonance along her synapses, which was rapidly slinking through her whole body. Quite without her brain's knowledge or permission, her body snuggled closer, curving into the movement of those excellent fingertips.

Castle, naturally, noticed the snuggle. Snuggles should be encouraged, especially when they felt so good in his embrace. He stroked a little more provocatively, with a little more intent, and added a tiny kiss to the top of Beckett's dark head.

She looked up, eyes wide, lips a fraction parted.

He bent down.

Every hidden emotion exploded at once as their mouths met. Suddenly, everything was open to them: every thought, feeling and emotion that the other had.

Suddenly, neither of them cared. All that they cared about was the searing, searching kiss; the battle-dance of tongues and lips, the sneak attack of teeth lightly nipping; and then the grip of her hands on his shoulders; his palms pressing on the curve of her ass. She rolled against him, dropping her fingers to the vee of his shirt, parting the buttons, smoothing the cotton away so that it fell, disappearing, unnoticed by either of them, as it left his body.

Fired up by the slide of her hips on his, Castle ran hands under her silky t-shirt, flipping it off and over her head, leaving it to float wherever it might go, and mightily appreciating the lace shimmer of sin and sexuality that it had covered, now stunningly, arousingly on display, covering satin-soft skin, which, he was already sure, would fit his hands perfectly, more voluptuous than he'd ever expected, infinitely desirable.

Skin met skin and lace overlay, and the fire between them blazed. Hard hands pressed and held; greedy mouths ravaged, raided and took everything that was given; fingers explored the intimate spaces and shapes between them.

"Bed," Beckett panted. "Real world." She tried to surface. "You too," she breathed out when she failed.

"Together," Castle rasped. "Now."

They fell back into the everyday world, fused at the lips, and tumbled into Beckett's bedroom without ever letting go of each other, plastered against each other so closely that you couldn't have put a Kleenex between them. Pants hit the floor, Castle's back hit the bed with Beckett on top of him: his busy, wicked fingers found the clip of her bra and as quickly opened it.

He rolled a little, so that they lay, face to face, and lifted away from kissing her. "You're so hot," he murmured. "Let's take it just a little more slowly, and enjoy it. I wanna enjoy you, and I want you to enjoy me."

"Sounds good," Beckett purred, and drew a slow hand over his side, down to the waist of his boxers. "These aren't required, are they?"

"Not if you're the one taking them off." He smiled sleepily at her. "I don't think you need your bra, either."

"No," she drawled. "Nor" –

"We'll get to that," Castle breathed. "I've got plans for that wicked little scrap of panties." He drew a gentle line downward, and then through their centre. Beckett squirmed, and drew a line of her own downward, taking the boxers along with the slide of her long, knowing fingers. Castle kicked them off, then turned her on to her back and slowly glided the straps of her bra down, stroking the curves of her breasts as he did, then her ribs, and down to the jut of her hipbones as he took them over her hands to let the bra fall. "Gorgeous," he growled, deep in his throat, and brought his hands back up to cup the full weight, thumbs rubbing erotically over peaked nipples; softly moulding and massaging, utterly absorbed in providing all the movements that hit straight at Beckett's over-sensitive nerves and wound her up, so that she made small sexy noises and kissed him hard, stroking over his hard, thick length so that he made predatory noises in his turn.

He didn't stop playing, though. His mouth moved downward, seeking and finding small places to make her wriggle and whine needily; lapping at the swelling mounds and then sucking, giving small, teasing nips to stoke the flames, tiny marks to claim her. She scraped nails along him, and he groaned, tiny revenge.

Retaliation was slow, and soft, and sensual; nips and kisses moving ever downwards, a path towards sweet perdition by way of sexual torment; the delicate panties slipping, sliding under wicked fingertips, never quite enough; and then the small movements to sneak beneath, and out again; a small stroke over soaked skin; a tiny touch on tensing nerves; a slow entrance and withdrawal; none of it deep enough or hard enough. "Take them off," she ordered.

"In a minute." He caught her hands as she tried to do it herself. "No, no. Just wait. Anticipate. You know where I'm going, don't you?" Sin soaked every syllable. "Down," he purred, and the word was wicked. She gasped as his mouth reached the lace top of her panties; he leaned his stubbled chin on her stomach, spreading her wide with firm hands and then holding her there with broad shoulders, his hands rising to her hips. "Delicious, and I haven't even unwrapped you yet." The lazy smile and hot blue eyes promised infinite pleasure. "You're going to be really, really happy."

She mewled as his fingers moved inwards.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.