This chapter is also firmly M-rated.

Chapter 5

Castle slithered downwards to be perfectly positioned, firmly controlling his inclination to tear off those tantalisingly tiny panties and take his Beckett. (His Beckett? What? But his brain said yes, mine.) Take her all the way to the stars.

He began. The soft fabric covering her slid oh-so-gently from side to side; a tiny pull rubbed it over the sensitive nub of nerves. Her breathing quickened, the mewling became more frequent. His fingers teased and tantalised, always through the fabric, always just a little less than he knew she wanted. At the back of his mind, he could feel a sense of immense satisfaction, a tidal wave of joy and rightness poised to crash over them.

His evilly talented fingers glided over the fabric again, and Beckett moaned. Somewhere within the noise was a suggestion that he should get on with it right the fuck now Castle! He would have teased some more, but he could barely control himself now, let alone if he continued. He knelt up, and delicately rolled Beckett's flimsy scrap of underwear down her long, lush legs and away.

She sat up, hauled him to her mouth, and kissed him hard, locking those magnificent legs around him. All thought left his desire-drenched brain, all need to use his lips and tongue to turn her to a melted mess under his mouth: all that was left was the simple, primitive instinct to surge into her open, willing body, to thrust and take and give and simply be, two made one.

He leaned forward, until Beckett was once more lying beneath him, flushed and panting, gripping his shoulders to bring him to her, then releasing one elegant hand to palm and then clasp him, somehow, without him realising, sheathing him and then bringing him to her, open and ready. He pushed forward, she arched up to meet him and it was perfect. She was perfect.

Beckett, barely able to think, but fully able to feel, had had enough teasing, however wantonly, wickedly delightful it had been. She wanted more, and more was precisely what she had achieved. Castle, rampantly ready, poised and perfect. And then he pushed forward: thick and long and rigid; filling her completely. He stopped, totally within her, then flexed slightly to withdraw and thrust again. She pulled him down to her, taking his mouth as he took her body, owning him as he did her; and they moved together, dancing to the beat of the city's music, as the rhythm speeded up, driving them on into magnificent movement and finally, explosion, echoed in the crescendo of the city's song.

Sated and exhausted, Beckett drifted into a doze, surrounded by the twin comforts of Castle's big body wrapped around her and the soothing, contented lullaby of the city. In her doze, she curled into him, wanting to be in contact, to have his touch, to give hers. Her hand slipped into his, bringing both to the valley between her breasts, perfectly placed. Doze turned to slumber.

When she woke, Castle was still softly whiffling, still tucked around her, and still deeply asleep. She took the opportunity to observe, which was a thoroughly pleasant sight: broad, firmly muscled without being overly so, and, um, well-endowed. Her admiration of the immediate surroundings completed, she sank back into the flow of Manhattan, and found, to her complete non-surprise, that the stream of subconsciousness was happy. The sun was shining, she noticed as she lay there, the birds were singing – as they always did in spring, she reminded herself – and all was right with the world. A tiny uncertainty, that she might have been unable to reach her other world without Castle in tow, dissolved.

Well. Nearly all. Castle was asleep, when he should have been awake. Albeit he was spooned around her, cuddling her, she would far prefer that he was kissing her. It had been frighteningly good: all her anger and snark burned off in the flashfire of mutually blazing desire and the scorching heat between them.

She stopped. Why should she be frightened? There was no reason to be frightened…he was as abnormal as she. He couldn't reveal her secret without revealing his own, and insanity wasn't a desirable characteristic.

Oh. She just…hadn't wanted to be pushed. About anything. And he'd pushed, and pushed, and pushed.

Except.

Sure he'd teased and flirted and suggested dinner, with an undertone of and plenty more is on offer…but it was on offer, not a demand. He hadn't touched her with any intent until he'd revealed his supernaturality, and even then it hadn't been sexual. More…arrest-like. His incessant flirting had been annoying, but for all her snapping and snarking, it had been harmless. Which was just as well, because if he'd done anything more than flirt, he'd have been castrated. She'd have been head of the line, but Espo, Ryan and Montgomery would have been squabbling for second place.

So why had she been frightened?

She had no idea.

Unless…she sank down into the city, and began to taste the flow of its borrowed emotions. Ah…there it was. More damned soaps and telenovelas, where, for drama's sake, every potentially romantic interaction carried the seeds of blow-ups and destruction, sometimes through many seasons. The city had been worried, and that had affected her. Still, it had never affected her that badly before…

Before Castle showed up. She'd never affected the city as much before, either. Feedback loop, she thought, but why? Why would Castle showing up create a feedback loop? He wasn't a poliad.

But he was, she suddenly realised, a celebrity. Famous. Notorious. Talked about all over Manhattan – and the country. Featured on page six. Rumour – from the city's undercurrents (which wasn't an official search or run but certainly provided a massive amount of information) – told her that he was on the next Eligible Bachelor list. And he was the only other supernatural in Manhattan.

So if she added all of that up…as much as the city responded to its inhabitants, it would respond to their thoughts and feelings about one Rick Castle. And because that same Rick Castle was a huge personality in his own right, once the city found that she was even a little interested in him, it started to react to his interest in her, which hadn't been hidden in the slightest.

Castle whuffled, and tried to pull her in even closer. Beckett resisted slightly. She wasn't a pillow or a plushie, and his embrace was already rather closer to a cage than a cuddle. He made a disgruntled little noise. "C'mere," he muzzed. "Not morning. Not time to get up."

Beckett thought that it was long past time he got up, though not necessarily out of bed. She wriggled round to face him. "Hey," she said softly.

"Tell me this isn't a dream?"

She pinched him at the midriff.

"Ow!" He caught her hand. "That wasn't nice." He tugged, and she fell across him. "Got you," he said smugly. "Now, what shall I do with you?" Beckett could think of several things he could usefully do, none of which involved any abilities of a supernatural nature. She wiggled herself into a comfortable alignment, which, not accidentally, meant that her mouth was poised over his lips. "I could kiss you." Heat flared in now-wakened eyes; desire hardened his body beneath her. She tongued her lower lip. He pulled her down and kissed her hard, fighting off her attack on his mouth and reversing it until she conceded. "Like that." His smile turned lazily predatory. "That's a nice kiss," he said mildly. "But this" – without effort, he lifted her – "is a naughty kiss." He settled her over his mouth, and, big hands spanning small waist, held her there as he fell to turning her to a melted, mewling mess all over again, until she cried out and shattered.

"I like naughty kisses," he said sweetly. Beckett couldn't find breath to say anything, and simply lay sprawled across him, lax and satisfied; Castle's arms around her, fingers petting idly. After a short while, she grinned against his pectoral, and wriggled slightly to lean up, elbows on each side of him. She smiled wickedly, and in one sinuous, sinful movement slid down to take him into her.

He groaned, his eyes darkened, and in one fast movement he rolled them so that she spread below him, laughing like Lilith as she dug long fingers and sharp nails into his back, urging him on. He set a hard rhythm that she matched: he thrust and she arched and together came and conquered.

The bedroom filled with the undertone of slowing pulses and the soft sounds of easing breaths. Castle rolled off to one side, keeping Beckett's hand within his: both lying on their backs. Peace reigned.

"I'm not on shift today," she eventually said.

"Good." He snuggled her back into him. "I wanna see what that place looks like now." He grinned. "And play with you some more."

"Play?" she said.

"Well, we could get out of bed, and then go get some brunch, and then do normal date-type things like go to a gallery or museum or grocery shopping" –

"That's not a date thing. Grocery shopping is a pain."

"I like it. All the ingredients for cooking" –

"You cook?"

"Sure I do. I like cooking." He turned to her. "Don't you?"

"Not much. Ready meals and takeout are much easier."

"You have to let me make you dinner," Castle bounced. "I'm a great cook, and you'll love it. What don't you like? Cabbage? Broccoli? Eggplant?"

"Chocolate," she said, deadpan.

Castle choked. "You don't like chocolate? How can you not like chocolate – you meanie! You're winding me up."

"Yep," Beckett grinned. "But it was worth it to see your face. Not like chocolate? That's barely human in my book."

"So if I didn't like chocolate, you wouldn't like me?" Castle said plaintively.

"Nope." His face fell. Beckett's grin grew wider. "I'd love you, because I could eat all the chocolate you didn't want and never have to share."

He drooped. "But I like chocolate too."

"Just so long as you buy your own and don't steal mine."

"Beckett! I would never steal your chocolate." He grinned back at her. "You'd shoot me and Lanie would help you hide the body."

"Too right," Beckett said. "Anyone stealing my chocolate is fair game."

"Anyway," Castle purred, "I can think of better things to eat than chocolate." His slow gaze over her made the meaning clear.

"Breakfast," Beckett said, uncomfortably conscious of the emptiness of her stomach.

"As you wish," Castle said smoothly. "Though I do feel you're missing out on my gourmet skills."

She blushed. His skills were undoubtedly not to be missed out on, though gourmet wasn't usually applied in that context. "I'm hungry," she pointed out. "And you were the one who wanted to see what the other place looks like now."

Castle's butterfly concentration shifted. "Oooh," he said happily. "I can't wait. Come here, and let's go see!" He sounded like a five-year old hunting for tadpoles in a pond.

"Okay." Truthfully, she was curious as well. "First, though, I want to get dressed." Castle made a little face at her. "Dressed," she reiterated.

That done, by both of them, she took his hand. "Let's go."

"Three…two…one!"

They went together.

"Wow!" Nobody could have told which of them said it.

"What happened?"

Castle paused. "Uh…we did, I think."

Beckett stared around. "I've never seen anything like this before. I…it was more like a stream, or a river."

"My lair never looked like this either. It was just a space. Nothing in it at all."

That couldn't be said of the place in which they were now. It was beautiful. Soft green grass surrounded a sinuous path, the bridge had become delicately gilded and arched, spanning a slow-flowing river joining ponds filled with water-irises, golden reeds, and water lilies, all blooming in riotous colour.

"I think this could be defined as a romantic bower," Castle said, staring at slim aspens, waving in a warm zephyr-breeze and arching shadily over a corner of the grass. Clematis wound about them.

"Another trope," Beckett pointed out, "but it's really pretty."

"Tropes are tropes for a reason. People like them." He smiled down at her, and drew her close. "I like this one," he murmured, and kissed her.

"Which one's that one?" Beckett flirted.

"The one where I spend my time kissing you in a romantic setting, with no interruptions." He kissed her again, harder; drew her in against him. "It would be even better if we were naked, though."

"Insects. Grass burn. Stones."

"You think?" Castle said, and sat down on the turf, taking her with him. She plopped into his lap, exactly where he wanted her. "I think that since this is the consolidated epitome of the Hallmark romantic bower" – Beckett giggled – "there won't be any of that. It'll be perfect."

"All those romantics," she said rather cynically.

"Nothing wrong with romance," Castle said, "as long as it's with the right person." He smiled wolfishly. "I'm the right person. As long as it's you."

"You must do a lot of weight training," Beckett said casually.

"Huh?"

"To be able to lift all that ego around."

"Mean. And untrue." He took her hands into his. "You're the right person. Right here, right now, right by my side."

Beckett stared.

"What did I just say?" he squawked. "I don't talk like that."

"Didn't you mean it?" Beckett clapped a hand over her own mouth. "I don't say that either." She looked around, and then frowned. "Give me a moment – and don't move your hand, either." She held his hand tightly, and scowled around her. "Enough," she said to the air. There was a small susurration of wind, and although the surroundings didn't change, the air of sugary romanticism dissipated. "That's better."

"What?"

"All the people in the city, wanting Hallmark. I just want the truth."

"You always do," Castle said. "And mostly, I guess you find it."

She cast him an odd glance.

"For the families. You find truth for the families."

"I guess," Beckett said. "But I prefer the truth for everything. Not some Hollywood glossy insincerity."

"I don't want insincerity," Castle agreed. Beckett glanced at him. "Not for this. Not for you. PR and that sort of thing is all insincerity, but you and your team do reality."

"When do you do reality?" she asked, but it wasn't a gibe or snarky, it was a genuine question.

"At home, with Alexis," he replied. "Everywhere else wants Richard Castle, celebrity author."

"Including the city."

"But you just changed that, somehow."

"Yeah. It affects me, but I can affect it too. If I want something badly enough, it responds." She half-smiled. "Like that footprint. I want evidence, and if there is some, it'll appear. And then we can use it – properly, justifiably and backed up with everything else."

"I get that," Castle said, and Beckett heard his honesty.

"So I don't want this buried under other people's expectations and all that. Whatever it is, it's for us to work out."

"Yeah." He smiled. "How about we do some working out now?"

"Is that spelt making out, huh?"

"Could be. If you wanted it to be."

"I could be persuaded," Beckett purred, and smiled like a succubus.

Castle grinned like a wolf, and fell on her mouth as if starved, raiding without compunction and ensuring that Beckett was firmly wrapped in the cage of his arms, where she should be. She didn't seem to be objecting, that was for sure, but she was attempting to ravage his mouth in return. He wasn't inclined to allow that.

Unfortunately, he also didn't seem to be able to stop it. Beckett was both entirely irresistible and totally sexy, and he couldn't fight his own urges, instincts and body. He sank into her desire, took her into his, and succumbed to their joint want.

The turf was soft, without stone or insect, still less ants: all of which had come in Beckett's way in her wilder days. The city's romantic impulses were thoroughly welcome when it was, potentially, her back that would be bruised by any roughness. She was pretty sure that Castle would appreciate it too, since if there was the slightest hint of roughness she'd make sure he was underneath.

Right now, however, the best sort of underneath would be her hands underneath his shirt, which was easy to accomplish, and then underneath the opened belt and pants, which was positively encouraged and then reciprocated. Lips met again, shirts departed bodies and disappeared, unmarked by either.

Castle laid Beckett back and slipped an arm beneath her neck, admiring the lithe form stretched on the grass, the come-hither smile and desire in her eyes. He leaned down and kissed her.

She tugged hard and he fell over her; in the moment of confusion she rolled them over and triumphantly straddled him, laughing, which didn't seem at all fair to Castle. Still, she might be on top, but that gave him so many other options…for instance, he had both hands free to roam where they might.

One hand took itself to catch both of Beckett's slender wrists. That necessary protection from revenge achieved, Castle's other hand wandered freely around her waist, and then began a slow, spiralling climb along her ribcage, until it teased at the band of her bra. She wriggled, and her breathing came a little faster. His hand glided upwards, cupping the surprisingly generous curve and stroking a broad thumb over the hard peak. Breaths began to become panting, and she arched into the seductive strokes. He released her hands so that he could undo the bra, which presently fell away, leaving him free to feast on the swelling bounty in front of him.

Beckett gave herself up to the excellence of Castle's mouth and ministrations, drowning in the heat of arousal as he sucked and licked and left her gasping for more. More arrived, and more was demanded. He was so good at this. She forgot any notion of driving him wild in favour of being driven wild. She'd reciprocate – ooohhhh, do that again – later. Much later. She did so like a man who was happy with his work, and Castle felt enormously happy. She'd let him be as happy as he wanted to be, since it was making her happy too. Totally happy.

When Castle finally took a breath, Beckett, through a haze of satisfaction, slid down a little, kissed him hard, and wriggled one hand down to divest him of his boxers, which were simply in the way. They weren't exactly containing him, either, but…nicer to be naked.

The boxers made it down to his knees before Beckett couldn't reach any more, but in some mysterious fashion her panties were also around her knees. She wriggled one foot up to hook them off, and then applied her remaining toes to pulling Castle's boxers off. Natural flexibility meant that she was entirely successful. Natural devilment meant that she was perfectly positioned to take advantage.

So she did. One well-placed wiggle, grip and glide later, she had quite definitely taken full, filling advantage of Castle. He grinned lazily up at her. "Found something you like?"

"Found someone I like," she grinned back. "So have you."

"Never denied it."

"Is that part of being a Finder?"

"It never was before," he said, and flexed strong thighs. "But I hadn't met you then." He moved again, and then flipped them over. After that, there was no talking for some moments; though there were plenty of noises, and then twin cries of release.

"So what does a Finder do?" Beckett asked. "You know what a poliad is, so what's a Finder?"

"Exactly what it says. I find things."

"Like?"

"If I lose something, I can find it. I usually find what I want, too."

"Mm?"

"A career, writing, success… Not the two divorces, though. I didn't want those. I thought…" He trailed off, and snuggled closer. "Anyway. I find things. Sometimes I even find things I didn't know I wanted. Things I need." He paused. "I Found you." The emphasis was stark. "Here in the city where I found fame. My poliad."

Fin.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

Happy Hallowe'en!

A gentle reminder of my original novels: search SR Garrae on Amazon.

I shall be in Charlotte and Savannah shortly (and Boston, but that's for family). If anyone has any recommendations for Do Not Miss attractions, let me know! I've obsessively searched the tourist information, but recommendations are always appreciated. Thank you.