Chapter 6

Castle spent Christmas morning, following a call with his daughter which left him deeply depressed that she wasn't with him, consoling himself that his ex-wife had at least made an effort to produce a proper Christmas for her. It took him until lunchtime to recover, but then he lost himself in the discipline and enjoyment of preparing an excellent meal, so that all he would have to do later was put things on to cook at the correct times. Although his editor would never have believed it, he was thoroughly organised.

Once everything was in order, he took himself to his study, and (in some Christmas miracle) found inspiration for Storm. He set an alarm for five minutes before the first part of dinner had to be put in the oven, and began.

Beckett hobbled into the precinct, marginally less achy than the previous day, regarded the tinsel on her chair and screen with irritation, and ignored it in favour of her cold case files and paperwork. There were plenty of files, and there was always paperwork. Ryan and Espo were continuing their male-bonding-bromance (which had been progressing, in fits and starts, since Ryan had joined the team) over Christmas presents, over-exuberant families, and whether small children should be seen all day or just part of it. In Beckett's view, they should be kept with their own families.

The day passed. Various cops had brought in various treats, so lunch was a relatively pleasant affair, if Beckett ignored the commentaries on the best way to do Christmas. She hummed neutral-pleasantly, and didn't comment in any way.

Nothing happened. This was entirely reassuring…up until Beckett thought about the coming meal, and began to panic. She reminded herself that it wouldn't be a Christmas menu, and then that she had a guest-gift, and then that she couldn't disgrace herself more than she already had by weeping all over him several times, which was utterly ridiculous for a grown-ass woman of twenty-five. She could do this.

And if dinner was too much, she suddenly thought, well, she could always simply kiss him. She'd been too tired and too upset the previous night, and the night before that she'd been too sore – but he'd been truly excellent in bed, and now that she thought about it, she would be delighted to do it again. She was pretty sure that he would be delighted to do it again too. Best of all, excellent sex had nothing to do with Christmas at all.

The thought carried her through the rest of the day. Every time her worries and Christmas-dislike resurfaced, she thought about Castle in bed with her, and succeeded in squashing her negativity until shift was over and she could – cautiously – walk out, rather than limp.

She went home, showered, changed into a pretty top and wide-legged dark dress pants, curled her hair and put on a little more make-up than would be appropriate for the precinct, and regarded herself with some satisfaction.

Unfortunately, leaving directly on shift-end and her normal efficiency of dressing and make-up had left her with almost an hour to fill before Castle would arrive to pick her up, and while she would normally simply pick up a book and read, she couldn't settle. She also couldn't pace about. She turned on her TV, but it was full of upsettingly Christmassy movies, and then adverts for various charities. She turned it off, before any of the charities could be particularly and horrifyingly relevant to her, and tried to go back to her book.

She'd – well, not hoped exactly, but wondered whether this year her father would pull himself out of the whiskey bottle long enough to call her. There was no point in calling him. If he hadn't called, he was drunk. Just like he'd been drunk all year. He'd either plead with her or curse at her, and she wasn't up for experiencing either.

She forced herself back to her book, ignored her unreasonable disappointment, and read determinedly, but without any enjoyment, until she could legitimately find her outerwear and the chocolates.

To her immense relief, Castle finally knocked on the door, and smiled down at her. "Great, you're all ready. Let's go. Everything's cooking but I don't want to leave it for long. It would be terrible if my excellent cuisine were spoiled because I wasn't there to keep an eye on it." He waited politely while she locked the door behind them. "And I'm starving. I didn't have much lunch and without Alexis here I didn't have the usual quantities of snacks and chocolate to nibble."

Beckett boggled slightly. "I thought chocolate for breakfast was confined to small children?"

"No, no. Chocolate is good at any age."

"Yes, but…"

"See, you agree." He spotted the box in her hands. "Is that chocolate?"

"You'll see," Beckett said. "Wait till you open it."

Castle flicked a glance at her, noted the crease between her brows, and put an arm around her while considering how best to irritate her out of her discomfort with the day. "That's so unfair," he whined. "I want to know."

"I want doesn't get."

"That's seriously disappointing, you know. Does that mean I don't get you?"

"What?"

"Well, what if I want to kiss you? Do I not get to kiss you because you're saying if I want something I don't get it, so maybe I should say that I don't want to kiss you so that you have to work out the double negatives and then I will get kisses which is what I really wanted all the time and" –

"Stop! My brain is exploding already."

"I could cure that," Castle said innocently.

"Yeah, you could stop talking for a moment."

"Okay," he said even more innocently, and kissed her instead. "There," he smirked when he'd lifted off. "That wasn't talking."

Beckett gleeped helplessly. All she actually wanted right now was more kisses. "I didn't ask you to kiss me," she said instead.

"You said you wanted me to stop talking. So I did."

"That isn't the same as kiss me!"

"Oh, you want me to kiss you again?" He did, gently. "I think we should save any more kisses for home," he suggested, smugly.

"That wasn't what I meant!"

"Oh. But you liked it. You kissed me back. And now you aren't upset any more so…win-win." He ushered her into the elevator, into the car, and all the way back to his loft, in which period she monumentally failed to unboggle her bogglement.

Castle's loft was full of tantalising smells of roasting prime rib, gravy, and other deliciousness. Beckett, whose lunch hadn't been extensive despite the quantity of treat foods provided, sniffed appreciatively and wondered how quickly the meal would arrive.

Castle was prodding at pans and stirring pots, then looked up. "It's all fine," he said. "You can take your coat off, you know. Give it here." He took it, unwrapped her scarf, lifted her hat from her head, and hung them all up tidily in a closet. He looked her up and down. "Gorgeous," he murmured. Beckett blushed delicately. "Wine?" he asked, returning to the kitchen area. "I put out a nice red."

"Yes, please."

Castle poured, and then raised his glass. "To serendipity," he toasted.

Beckett drank, and then raised her eyebrows. "That's really nice," she complimented him.

"Thank you. I thought it would suit the meal. Home-made paté, prime rib, and chocolate lava cake. And coffee, of course."

"Sounds lovely."

Castle noticed that Beckett had kept her back to his decorations, and didn't comment. Taking them down would have made more of the point than he wanted to – or that he thought she'd appreciate. "I hope you're hungry."

"Yes. I didn't have a lot of lunch."

"I'd better feed you, then. I don't want you – nope, that's wrong. I do want you to faint."

"What?"

"I thought we'd already established that I don't get what I want, so if I want you to faint from hunger, you won't. It would be, um, interesting if you fainted into my strong arms, though. I could" – his eyes danced – "provide mouth to mouth resuscitation, too."

"Really," she said sardonically, sounding much older than she was.

"I'd prefer to kiss you, of course." He grinned. "But dessert comes after dinner, so, Kate – shall we?" He gestured to the laid table, and produced paté, butter, sliced, lightly toasted sourdough, a bowl of salad and a jug of dressing in quick succession.

Beckett had just about closed her dropped jaw when Castle guided her to the table, pulled out her chair, and invited her to sit. She did: the implications of his cheerful comment still pooling hotly at her core.

"Here's to the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Castle toasted, "and to next year."

"Cheers."

"Now, let's eat." Castle followed his own advice and took two slices of toast and a large chunk of pate, with rather less salad than healthy eating would suggest. Beckett had rather more salad. Cops didn't have much of a healthy diet, so she'd take advantage of green stuff when it presented itself.

"This is really nice," she said with some surprise.

"I like cooking. One of my favourite pastimes." Castle smiled lazily in a way which conveyed exactly what one of his other favourite pastimes might be. Beckett absolutely refused to blush, and munched down on another piece of toast in a way guaranteed to make weaker men than Castle cross their legs and wince.

The paté finished, Castle refused any help in clearing the table, brought out all the trimmings, and then, with a flourish, the prime rib. Beckett's mouth watered at the appetising aromas, and quantities of beef more appropriate to a whole streak of full-grown Siberian tigers disappeared in amazingly short order. The excellence and non-Christmassy nature of the food appealed to her appetite.

"Where do you put it all?" Castle asked, impolitely but astonished by her capacity. "You're rake thin, so where does it all go?"

"Hollow legs," Beckett flipped back, and took another forkful.

"There's still dessert."

"I always have room for chocolate."

And indeed she did. Including second helpings. And then coffee, with the chocolates that she'd brought.

Castle, no mean trencherman himself, frankly stared, with a large helping of admiration. "I'll just leave the chocolates where you can reach them," he suggested.

"Okay."

Well fed, well wined, and for once well contented, Beckett curled around her full stomach on Castle's comfortable couch and considered that, for a Christmas Day, this had been a pretty good way of spending it.

Castle plopped down beside her, smiling, and slid a gentle arm around her. "I'm glad you came over."

"Me too." For once, she wasn't watching her words. She snuggled into his side, totally relaxed. "It was good."

"You don't have to rush off," he murmured, and held her just a little tighter. "It's still early." His tone suggested that further delights were on offer, which might or might not involve eating but definitely wouldn't involve ingesting calories. Beckett wasn't averse to the idea, though she was enjoying the unusual sensation of snugglement and – oh. That was called happiness. She made a contented little noise.

Castle heard the contented noise with the same joy as he'd noted the snuggle in, and celebrated the occasion by dropping a kiss on Beckett's head. When she looked up, he dropped another kiss on her nose, and when that produced an opening of her mouth, took shameless advantage and kissed that, much more deeply and thoroughly. She responded by taking his mouth right back, and despite the amount she'd eaten, she was as lithe and flexible as he could have wished. All that limberness was presently in his arms, then on his lap, just where she belonged, kissing him, just as she should.

He sneaked fingers to the waist of her stylish pants, and untucked her shirt so that he could stroke the smooth skin beneath.

If only he'd remembered that the last time he'd touched her bare skin it had fired up in instants. If only…

The hell with if only – there was no if only about now. He didn't need to remember anything, because he remembered all of it. Every single individual instant of that astonishing night was branded on his body. His hands knew what to do, where to touch, where to be gentle and where to be forceful. His mouth knew how to kiss her; how to leave her gasping. The buttons of her shirt and the band of her pants fell open, the zipper whispered down, and with one swift lift and sweep the pants puddled on the floor at his feet. She turned in his lap and straddled him, rolling hips into the hard hot weight between them, as frantic as he.

"Bed," he rasped, and lifted her as he stood: she locked her legs around his middle and her hands around his neck as he carried her to his bedroom.

"Wow," he said, as he laid her down, and not in the good way. "You're bruised from head to toe."

Beckett had given herself up to the hard, drugging kisses that she'd liked so much the previous time, leaving her hot, soaked and desperately encouraging him with her own ravaging lips. He really, really knew how to light her up, and all she could think was more. She did not want a discussion of her bruises, which she could happily forget in the heat of great sex. So much better than Icy Hot or even baths.

"Strip," she ordered. "I want you naked."

Castle looked down at her, lying on his bed as if she owned it, shirt undone, hair messy, sexy, matching pale blue underwear; heat in her face and command tone on her lips, and decided to ignore the bruising in favour of her explicit invitation. She was looking at him like he was the only thing she wanted in the whole wide world. He couldn't and wouldn't resist. He flung his clothes off, and joined her on the bed, as naked as she'd ordered him.

"Now it's your turn," he growled. "I want you naked too. I'm going to peel off every pretty scrap you're still wearing and I'm going to enjoy every touch along the way." He smiled wolfishly. "So will you."

He started by pushing her shirt wide, revealing the excellent cut of the bra beneath, then raised her a little and whisked it away. One thick finger traced down from her collarbones to the point of her cleavage. Her tongue touched her lip in an intensely sensual lick. He took inspiration from the gesture, and bent his head to trace the route again with his mouth. She wriggled. He moved sideways, and teased his tongue at the lace of the bra. A hand lifted her again, and the bra clasp opened. A little more teasing, and the bra removed itself – for Beckett surely had no part in its departure – to allow Castle to play as he pleased.

Pleasing himself, of course, meant pleasing Beckett – which, from her soft noises and considerably less soft grip on his shoulders, he was achieving in spades. He grinned against the soft curve of her breast, and carried on until the noises weren't soft any more, and indeed were entirely profane, until she lost words altogether. He stopped, and leaned up on one elbow, incidentally disposing of the unnecessary bra, gazing down at Beckett's perfectly beautiful skin, even under the livid bruises. He dipped, and kissed each one, as delicate as a perching butterfly, moving downwards across her sternum, then stomach, and then pausing.

"I can always manage a second dessert," he purred, parted her magnificent legs, and feasted. After half a minute, he resorted to holding her thighs so that she didn't break his neck (accidentally, naturally). That minor potential disaster averted, he carried on. She tasted wonderful, and he made the most of his tasting; long, languorous licks, short flicks over her most sensitive parts, teasing little strokes inside. She gasped and panted, writhed under his lips, and finally cried out wordlessly and came hard against his mouth as he drank her down. He slithered up to cage her lax, sated body against his. Kate Beckett, he had decided, wasn't going anywhere.

Fortunately, that very same Kate Beckett had already concluded that she didn't want to go anywhere. Castle's hard, wide body enclosing hers was…perfect. In a moment or two, she might consider inviting some other forms of perfect union, but right now he was warm, cosy, and petting her affectionately; peppering the back of her head and neck with tiny kisses, and generally treating her like an adult version of a comfort object.

Of course, there was one rather large difference, presently making itself felt against Beckett's lower back. She turned in his arms, and wiggled. The large difference became larger. This didn't worry Beckett in the slightest. He'd fitted just fine the first time. He'd fit just fine this time. She wiggled again. Castle growled, and then pushed her on to her back, rose over her, and took her mouth with a pleasingly desperate roughness. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and, by way of variation on a theme, wriggled, which brought the salient areas into almost the right alignment.

"Something you'd like?" Castle husked. She wriggled again, which fixed the problem. He slid forward, but not far enough. She growled. "Definitely something you'd like more of." The growl intensified. Castle smiled sweetly.

Beckett decided that enough was quite enough. "Stop teasing," she said.

"But you love it. You wiggle so nicely."

"I said stop teasing," she commanded, and applied her well-groomed fingernails to Castle's rear.

"Doesn't work on me, but it feels so good. Do that again." He shifted another inch forwards, exerting extreme self-control. Beckett made a whimper-adjacent noise. "You like being taken slowly," he purred. "Slow can be so good." She didn't answer in words, only another small mewl. Castle moved a further inch, and she moaned. Small muscles began to flutter.

Abruptly, he stopped his slow invasion and simply pushed home. She gasped and then hauled his head down to kiss her as he pulled slightly back and then thrust forwards, setting a rhythm that she matched. She was perfect around him.

He was perfect around her. She moved with him, then soared and fell in a blazing climax.

They lay, exhausted, still wrapped together.

A while later, Beckett shifted fractionally.

"Don't go anywhere," Castle murmured. "Stay here. Baby, it's cold outside," he half-sang.

"I'm not cold," Beckett said, which was entirely true, since Castle was snuggled around her like a blanket.

"Good. Stay here," he said again. Serene silence fell around them. Eventually, Castle found some more words. "Stay till tomorrow."

"Uh?"

"Don't want you to go home yet."

Beckett didn't bother thinking. "'Kay," she yawned, and let her lashes fall. She pushed them up again. "I thought I'd be lonely this Christmas."

"You don't need to be. Just stay." He swallowed. It was far too early to say this, but… "You never need to be lonely at Christmas – or any other time – again."

She never was.

Fin.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers for coming along on this rather late Christmas story.

I'm afraid we're all done, till I next find inspiration for Caskett. In the meantime, you can enjoy my Casey & Carval novels, if you haven't already. (I have to remind you. If I don't, who will?) They're all on Amazon or free on Kindle Unlimited, under SR Garrae.