Please remember the beginning of this chapter is M-rated.

Chapter 4

His finger slid along the lace rim of the cup of her bra, again, gliding over the smooth, satiny skin, then dipping under by a fraction, enough to quicken her breathing. He stopped, and kissed her: sure and searching, certain of his welcome. Beckett opened like a flower in spring, suddenly delicate, fresh and gorgeous. His mouth seduced, inviting her to allow him to do more, go further, take her with him, anywhere and everywhere they wanted to go. She moved against him, and acceded.

Castle leaned Beckett back, still kissing her, then began to move from lips to jaw to neck and then, as she made a dissatisfied little noise, down between her clavicles. The noise mutated to a soft gasp, and then to a long breath. He kissed to one side, then the other, and she gasped again, and tried to move him to where she wanted him. He didn't shift.

Beckett, having stopped most of her thinking some time earlier, had nevertheless expected Castle to simply…go for it. His reaction to her wasn't subtle, and she'd been pretty sure he could find the bedroom. This slow, smooth seduction was…

A gift. Possibly the only gift she would appreciate – or even receive – this Christmas. Gifts should be appreciated, enjoyed, and played with. She let the strange sensation of having a Christmas present that she actually wanted seep into her mind, and then simply let go of her stress and heartache as Castle continued his expert touches and kisses. Explosion would have been amazing…but ultimately short and probably unsatisfying.

He traced down her cleavage with a delicate touch of his tongue – and then stopped. She growled, in a very don't-stop-now fashion.

"Wouldn't we be more comfortable somewhere else?" he drawled, in a soft, dark baritone that should have been bottled and sold as an aphrodisiac. It flowed over her skin and seeped seduction into her synapses, coating her in arousal.

"That way." She pointed.

Castle smiled – and then took her with him as he stood, holding her bridal-style. Wow. He had some serious muscle under there. She ran a hand across his chest, then back, to check. Yep. Wow, again. He dipped his head and proved that he could walk and kiss at the same time, though he did (fortunately) stop kissing to manoeuvre them through the doorway to her bedroom.

He set her down as carefully as if she were fragile crystal, and simply looked at her, appreciating every inch of her body from her toes to the crown of her head. "Gorgeous…" he purred. "I think we were…here." A broad finger landed in her cleavage.

"I think – ohhh," she gasped as his finger took a slow, sensual path across the thin fabric of her bra, "you're overdressed."

"That sounds like a hint." His lips lifted. "I can take a hint."

He unbuckled his belt, opened the button of his pants and unzipped, pushing them away. Beckett unashamedly ogled. There was a lot to ogle at: almost too much, in fact. Still, if he could use his mouth and hands that well, he should be able to use the rest pretty effectively too. She gave a tiny wriggle. Castle reacted instantly, whipping off his shoes, socks and pants in one suavely confident move, to join her on the bed. His wide palm stroked from her sternum to the edge of her panties, and she wriggled again.

"You like being stroked? We can do a lot more…hmmm…stroking." This time, he glided over her breast, and the nipple sprang to a hard point. He returned to the same point, and stroked more firmly. She arched into his hand, and he repeated it on the other side. She gave a contented, approving noise, and he slipped an arm beneath her neck, dipping to kiss her but continuing to play with her breasts. She essayed some touching herself, one hand sneaking under his chest to find the muscle of his back and then a firm ass; the other teasing at his nipple as he was teasing hers.

"Now," he murmured darkly, "now that we're somewhere more comfortable, let's see if you like this."

Her bra became unfastened, and then became a floor ornament, about which Beckett (normally obsessively tidy) couldn't have cared less. She was far, far too focused on trying to retain even the slightest level of input, as Castle proved beyond all doubt that his mouth knew more about what to do, and how to do it well, with a small, firm breast than anyone she'd ever met before. She was drowning in the sensations: making little mewling noises that would embarrass her if she weren't so totally aroused; soaking wet and halfway to climax without him having got close to touching the nerves between her legs.

"I guess you do." He did it some more, on the other side. She didn't even try to stop her frantic movements, nor her desperate noises, nor the indentations of her nails where she gripped him.

When he slid a hand over her panties, she cried his name and demanded more, harder, yes right there right now and then soared and shattered.

Castle waited the instant or two that it took Beckett to open her eyes, and then cuddled her in as soon as he was sure she'd realised he was him, so to speak. She wiggled into him in a thoroughly kittenish, enticing way, and smiled contentedly as he wrapped around her. She fitted against him to perfection, those amazingly long legs placed neatly to twine with his; slim body tucking into his embrace so that he could spoon her in and have her totally enclosed in his big body.

Of course, that also meant that he could play some more…

He allowed the hand that had been almost beneath her to wander up a fraction, sliding across her hipbone – really, she was only just the right side of thin – and the hand around her to glide back into her cleavage, not – yet – across the delicate curves. She stretched languorously, and pressed back against him. His fingers dipped below the lace edge of her panties, and she moved a fraction, encouraging him lower. Naturally, he obliged. She moved again, and he took the panties down and away with the movement of his hand, allowing him freedom to tease – and tease he did, until she writhed and wriggled and panted, and then turned in his arms and kissed him hard and pushed his shoulder down so he lay beneath her.

She sat across him, perfectly positioned right where he wanted her, and then leaned forward to kiss him, unashamedly naked: glistening with a tiny sheen of sweat and utterly gorgeous. He clasped his hands around her back, and responded. Response begat response, until she lifted off. He actually heard himself whine as she did, but then she reached into her nightstand, fumbled for a minute, and drew out a foil packet which she ripped open. His boxers departed his body, Beckett's eyes widened slightly, but then she smiled seductively and, well, took him in hand. Ohhhhhh. Her touch had burned when it was just her hand in his – her hand on him was a whole new experience. She rolled the condom down, after a wicked little flirt of her fingers which left him gasping for breath and impossibly even harder than he had been, gave him another caress, and shifted back to straddle him. He sat up, caught her in, and kissed her hard, trapping her in his arms.

"You cool with this?"

"No, I always pull out at the last minute," she said.

"Isn't that the man's line?" Castle teased.

"If I wasn't happy, you wouldn't be here."

"Just checking. I've never…uh, everyone has to be cool with it."

"If I wasn't, I'd arrest you. I might arrest you anyway for ruining the mood." She tried to slide sideways, and found that she couldn't, which Castle had expected.

"Aw, don't be like that. If I didn't ask, you wouldn't respect me in the morning." He kissed the tip of her nose. "I think I can get you back in the mood…" he flirted, and moved one hand to stroke her slim ass.

The feline smile returned. "Manners maketh man," she murmured, and leaned in once more.

Castle lifted her, positioned himself, and lowered Beckett slowly on to him. She gasped, hands biting into his shoulders, and squirmed slightly, sliding further down. He barely fitted. She was so hot and wet and tight around him that he could hardly restrain himself from thrusting up and filling her, then flipping her to lie open beneath him. He resisted his instincts. He really wanted to make this great.

When she slid the last small way to take him in fully , it felt as if all his Christmases had arrived at once. She was perfect.

And then she moved, and he moved, and he found a whole new definition of perfect sex, followed by finding a whole new world of mutual climax, and finally finding her cuddled into him and sleepily cute.

Beckett, satisfied, and sated, snuggled in and enjoyed what would surely be a one-off evening. She was therefore astonished when Castle, petting gently at her hip, turned her around to face him, and smiled softly.

"That was amazing," he murmured. "I…well, I had an idea."

"Mmm?" Beckett hummed, not really sure where he was going with that sentence.

"I'm all on my own at Christmas, and you don't have any plans…so, uh, why don't we spend it together? I can do Christmas dinner, and you can bring nothing, or dessert, or whatever you want, and exchanging gifts is a bit tacky so we don't need to do that but, uh, anyway…" He wound down from his breathless run-on as he noticed her complete lack of comprehension. "Uh…will you have Christmas dinner with me, Kate?" he summarised.

She stared at him. Christmas dinner? She didn't want to have Christmas dinner with anyone. She simply wanted to work her shift and go home and try not to cry. All her contented cuddling into Castle's warm body dropped away in the cold chill of her memories, and she pulled apart from him, curling under her quilt and hiding her face in a pillow.

"Kate?" Castle questioned. "Are you okay?" A tentative hand arrived on her shoulder. "Kate? You don't have to if you don't want to." Hurt tinged his tone. "I just thought…it was great, and I thought you might want to spend more time together."

Beckett managed to force out "Not you." She paused, to steady her voice. "Christmas."

"I wasn't proposing crackers and party hats," he said. He had been, but he wasn't any more. He wanted her company far more than he wanted all the celebratory trappings of Christmas. "Just a nice meal, which I'll cook since my cooking skills are exceptional, and company." He managed a smile. "You can tell me more about police work and detecting."

"I'm at" – sniff – "work."

"When do you finish? We can eat any time."

Beckett eased a touch at Castle's lack of insistence on Christmas things. "Four," she said.

"Dinner at six, then. That'll give you time to go home first."

Castle gave a tiny sigh of relief as she unfurled a little and curved into his hand on her shoulder. He wriggled under her quilt, and tucked her back into him. Her skin was chilled, but that was okay: he was always warm. She'd warm up in a moment, as long as he kept her close.

He fell asleep with her still held against him, an arm around her slim waist, the other under her neck, so that she wouldn't be cold any more.

He was shocked into life by the screech of an alarm. Beckett jerked into life, sitting bolt upright. She stared frantically around and then at him. "You – you're still here?"

"Uh…we fell asleep." He smiled sleepily, regarding her tousled morning state with approval. "We tired each other out. It was great." The smile turned lazy. "We could do it again?"

"What time is it?" She looked at the clock, and yelped. "I have to get going. I'm on shift in an hour." She dived out of bed, aiming for a bathroom. Castle yawned, and then followed her. "Space!" she growled, and locked the door in his face.

Some three minutes later she emerged. Castle whipped into the bathroom, hearing the unmistakable sounds of clothes being laid out, and extracted himself so that Beckett could shower. She didn't seem receptive to sharing a shower, and besides which, shared showers should be savoured, not rushed. He found his clothes, and spent a little time admiring Beckett's choice of underwear: amber, lacy and silky.

"Can I get a shower?" he asked when she whisked back out.

"Sure." She wasn't really paying him any attention, intent on her hairdryer and make-up palette.

Another ten minutes later, he emerged, to find Beckett made-up and dressed; drying her hair with swift efficiency.

"I've got to go," he said, just as she said exactly that. She stopped. He didn't. "I wanna see you again. When do you finish work?"

"Shift finishes at five."

"I'll pick you up from – where?"

"But I won't be done at five. I told you that, and I thought we were just having coffee."

Castle's face fell. "When?"

"I'll text you. I said that, too."

"Promise?" he wheedled.

"Okay." She smiled, but there was something a little sad about it.

"I really do wanna see you again. Tonight."

"I said I'd message."

"If you don't, I'll text you."

"I said I would, okay? You're pushing. Stop it."

Castle coloured. "Okay. I didn't mean to." She raised an eyebrow, which was seriously intimidating and totally hot, all at once. "See you later."

It wasn't until he reached his loft that he realised he hadn't asked which precinct she worked at. Except…she'd said. She'd said – near the Twelfth.

The Twelfth? Roy's domain? That…could be difficult. Or it could make everything so much easier, he contradicted himself. If…if the snippets of story coalesced into inspiration, then he'd need to research. Where better to do that, than Roy's own precinct? Still, Storm was a howling success, so he didn't need to worry either way.

All he needed to worry about was whether he'd see Kate Beckett again tonight, and what he'd cook for Christmas dinner. He hummed all the way through a happy morning spent plotting the best non-Christmassy Christmas dinner in the history of Christmas meals, and finally settled on an entrée of prime rib with roasted winter vegetables, roast potatoes, peas and thick gravy, with redcurrant jelly. There would be a chocolate lava cake for dessert, with ice cream, but what to do for the appetiser? And what wines should he choose? Decisions, decisions…

Another short while later, he'd fixed the wine problem. The appetiser was still nagging at his mind, but eventually he settled on paté, which could be pre-prepared, with fresh sourdough bread. He bounced a little, happy that he wouldn't be lonely this Christmas, happier still that he'd met the intriguing Kate Beckett, but still unhappy that Alexis was in LA with Meredith. He just hoped that Meredith would give their daughter a proper Christmas, with trees and tinsel and presents and fun. He'd call, later. He called Alexis every day.

Some hours later, after six, Castle's phone chirped.

Finished.

He sent back At the 12th in twenty, meet you outside? instantly.

Okay came back in scarcely more time. Castle whipped into his coat, scarf and cheerfully Christmas-tree decorated hat, and bounced off to the Twelfth Precinct. After calling Alexis, he'd spent some quality time selecting a restaurant that didn't have a Christmas set menu with no other options – that wasn't Remy's. Good as their burgers had been, he wanted to take Beckett somewhere better. He finally landed on a small family-owned Italian restaurant, where he had known the owners for years and could be confident that it would be relaxed but delicious.

He reached the doors of the Twelfth precinct, and looked around. Beckett wasn't there. He vacillated for a moment, trying to decide whether to go in and wait out of the cold, at some risk of their association being noticed – he couldn't have said why he didn't want to expose it, but he'd somehow had the impression that she didn't like revealing anything – or to stay outside and shiver. Beckett suddenly appeared, just before he had to decide.

"Hey," he said. Her head flicked around.

"Hey."

He looked properly at her. She was pale and somehow tired. "Let's go," he suggested. "I made a reservation at a casual Italian restaurant. Great pasta and we can have some good wine with it, if you like."

She gave a shrug. "Sure."

He glanced sharply at her, swathed in a heavy, three-quarter length coat, belted at the waist; a toning scarf and beanie; heeled boots – and, as he looked again, stress lines at her brow.

"Did you get any lunch?"

"No time."

"You need to eat," he said: cheerfully commanding. "It's only a block away." He followed up with a strong arm around her middle, and steered her in the right direction. She didn't, disappointingly, snuggle in, but she didn't pull away either. After a moment, he noticed a drag in her step, and slowed a fraction to compensate.

A few moments later, they were inside the restaurant, had been unswaddled from their respective outerwear, and were seated at a quiet table in the corner of the room, cosily far from the door.

"Wine?" Castle asked. "You look like you could use a glass."

"Please." She gazed at the menu without apparently seeing it.

"Red? White?"

"Red, please."

Her skin was strangely translucent, the veins sharply, coldly blue on the back of her hand. Castle, with amazing self-control, didn't comment, but ordered a bottle of a very drinkable red, and then some mixed antipasti and grissini to be going on with.

Beckett tipped back half of the first glass of wine without a breath, and only then noticed that there was food. She didn't hesitate to take her fair share of that either. After a few moments of silent consumption, she looked up. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't realise how hungry I was."

"Busy day?"

Beckett stared at her hands, clasped around the bowl of her wine glass. "Yeah," she dragged out. "You could say that."

"What happened?"

"We went out to arrest our suspect – no doubt he's our man – and he pulled a gun on us." Castle gasped. "I was nearest so I took him down, but it was a little lively for a few moments. He never had a chance to fire, though."

"Were any of you hurt?"

"No," she said, but it wasn't wholly convincing.

Castle held her gaze.

"Okay. I turned my ankle. It's fine." He held her gaze a little longer. "And I'm a bit bruised where I landed on him. It's not like TV where they never seem to get hurt. Taking someone down like that does hurt, but you just have to do it."

Castle, firmly biting his tongue on words such as you should take more care and I don't like that you're hurt, neither of which were appropriate or likely to further his acquaintance with Beckett (acquaintance? Is that what the cool kids call it, said a small, sardonic voice in his head), simply refilled her wine glass.

"The lasagne is delicious," he suggested, "but everything on the menu is great."

Beckett scanned down, closed the menu with a snap, and looked up. "I'll go with the lasagne."

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.