Chapter 5

Castle reached over to the nightstand and randomly picked up a chocolate from the box, then carefully rubbed it over Beckett's lips. "Keep your eyes shut," he said. Her tongue peeped out, and tasted.

"Chocolate," she purred. Her lips opened. Castle drew the chocolate back slightly, and lifted her to follow it. He reckoned he might achieve a moment of teasing.

He reckoned wrong. Beckett sat up through sheer will and, no doubt, a hundred abs crunches per day, grabbed the chocolate – and dusted it across his mouth. When his lips parted, she leaned in, whisked the chocolate out of the way, and kissed him firmly.

Then she ate the chocolate herself, which hadn't exactly been the plan, and smirked at him. "Nice." He pouted at her. She leaned back to him, and kissed him again, tasting of chocolate and praline and smugness. "Very nice."

Castle smiled back, dangerously. "Nice? I think we can do a little better than that." He slid over her, taking her wrists and pinning her hands by her head, settling into the cradle of her hips and pushing just a little, rubbing the fabric of his boxers and the hard bulge beneath them against her.

"Can you?" she husked. "Better than chocolate?"

"You liked it just as much earlier." Masculine appreciation shone in his face. "But I think we can do better." He shifted his hips again, and she arched a little into them. His hands still encircled her wrists, weight on his elbows, and then he lowered to her mouth and began to take it: softly inexorable, requiring entry. She succumbed without a fight: hands clasping his, lips open and accepting, a woman who was perfectly happy to be pleased and pleasured.

Beckett was quite content to see where Castle intended to take her. He'd done pretty well the first time, and she'd return the favour – just not quite yet. She was simply going to enjoy him enjoying her.

Her good intentions lasted, oh, at least a full minute. Then they were scattered to the four winds when he moved off her mouth and down to her breasts. That mouth. It should be illegal. Except for her enjoyment. Why did he spend so much time talking when he could be doing that instead? She buried her hands in his hair and held him precisely where she wanted him. Fortunately, that seemed to be where he wanted to be. She released her death-grip on his head, and, through a fog of arousal, noticed something wrong. He had clothes on. Well, one garment. Still, he shouldn't have any garments on at all. She reached down, stroking over his sides and then to his adorable ass (adorable, is it? Awww. She stomped on the brainworm. It re-inflated without any damage), taking the unwanted boxers with her as she went, and essaying a small stroke of a very large asset.

That was frustrating – ohhhhh, do that again – she couldn't reach any further down, and she also couldn't sit up because Castle's breadth was pinning her down and he'd caught her hands again but this time they were above her head in one of his and the damn boxers were gone because she could feel him hot and hard and (most importantly) naked against her thigh so she tried to wriggle to bring him where he should be but he wasn't having it.

He stopped kissing her breasts. "Want something?" he growled. "Because I want you. Just like this: open and uncontrolled and naked and with me. Mine." He committed another illegally sexy act on her breasts, and stopped again. She emitted a whimper. She never whimpered. Ever. (You do now, the brainworm smirked.)

"I want chocolate," she fibbed. She had to get some game back somehow. Whimpers were simply not on, however good he was.

Castle obviously heard the untruth. "Do you? Let's just see what we can do about that." He stretched, and secured a chocolate without giving her a chance to move. "Chocolate." He paused. "You know, I like chocolate too." The chocolate slid along her lips without waiting for long enough for her to suck it in. Learning from the previous experience, he was also still holding her hands above her head and slightly pressing down on her. "No stealing the chocolate this time." He traced it over her lips once more, slowly, allowing it to melt slightly and giving her tongue time to taste it. When he took it away, there was a smudge of chocolate on her mouth. He dipped, cleaned it away with his own mouth, and followed up with a deep kiss.

"Chocolate, or kisses?"

That was an unfair choice, especially when his hips shifted slightly and he rubbed against her.

"Both."

He smiled. "Sure," he murmured, and even the voice was seeping straight through her skin to her core. The chocolate glided over her lips again, and then his covered hers with the sweet taste dissolving in both their mouths and he kissed her again: strong and sure and searching out every sensitive point, releasing her hands and cupping her face. She forgot about game, or chocolate, or anything that wasn't his hard body pressing on her and his firm mouth tasting her. Her hands ran over his back and the firm ass, glided around and under to take him in hand and circle him, guide him home. He thrust, and she opened, and then they moved together and then the world was simply him with her and then they became one.

"Wow," Castle murmured, his breathing still fast, his heart pounding under her ear, only just beginning to slow. "I think that was better than chocolate."

"I don't know," Beckett murmured, silky sin slithering through every word. "I think we should test it again." She snagged a chocolate, slid it part way between her lips, rolling them to be on top, and then kissed him. He bit the chocolate in half, pushed her gently back by the shoulders so she was sitting straddling him, and smiled sweetly.

"Delicious."

"You – you stole my chocolate!"

"Uh? I ate the half you gave me."

"Thief," Beckett sulked. "That was mine."

"Maybe you shouldn't have put it in my mouth, then. I like chocolate too." He pulled her back down and cuddled her. "Come here. It's much nicer to have you tucked in." He smirked. "Especially when you're naked."

Beckett humphed, with less ire behind it than there should have been. She was feeling ridiculously soft and un-snarky. Normally if someone had stolen her chocolate (or candy, or anything sweet. I'm surprised you've got any teeth left, still more that you've got no fillings.) she would have shot them. But then, if she shot Castle, there wouldn't be any more chocolate, because he'd be dead. He did make excellent chocolate. Hmm. Dilemma.

She stopped thinking about the problem, and snuggled in. Punishments for theft of chocolate would wait. Some thought was clearly required, in order to find an appropriate consequence.

Which was not going to include Castle getting to snuggle her in like a teddy bear. (Liar, was all the brainworm said. Beckett wiggled to become totally comfortable in Castle's arms.) Her firm intentions dissolved as he petted down her back and then played with tendrils of her hair. Fidgeting, it seemed, had some advantages. Now if he would only not try and imbue her with the non-existent magic of Christmas (the magic of chocolate would be just fine) then all would be well.

He was humming. Which might have been okay, but he was humming All I Want For Christmas (is you). No no no no no. No Christmas songs. She elbowed him.

"Ooofff. What was that for?" he complained.

"No dumb Christmas songs."

"But it's Christmas. You've got to have Christmas songs."

"Nope."

"You don't sing carols?"

"Nope." That was not entirely true. Beckett's one concession to Christmas was to attend the midnight service on Christmas Eve, when she sang every carol and hymn in a full-throated mezzo. That fitted her principles. Dumb pop songs did not.

"Don't believe you," Castle singsonged. "I bet you do." His eyes lit with mischief, and something much more. "Come to the midnight service with me. All the old favourites. Very traditional." Something about the sable murmur bypassed Beckett's brain to go straight to her emotions. "Even if you don't usually sing, you must have learned them all at school. They'll come straight back to you. Childhood memories do."

"Especially if you haven't actually left childhood," she snarked.

"Christmas deserves childlike wonder and joy," Castle said, suddenly and shockingly serious. "It's the only time of year that something greater than ourselves steps in."

Beckett dropped her eyes. She wouldn't confess it, but he was right. "Okay. I'll come with you." Castle's answering hug nearly broke her ribs.

"You'll love it. I'll send you the details." He actually sat up and started looking about him for his phone.

"Now?"

He turned back to her, and refocused. "Maybe not," he breathed. "Maybe my attention should be right here," and he rolled them over and rose over her and then kissed her long and deep. When he'd finished owning her mouth he moved round to nip at her ear and kiss a spot where the nerve must have come to the surface, and then returned to her mouth without a pause.

And then he moved down to her breasts, again, and did sinfully sexy things that should have him arrested and imprisoned (yeah, right, sniggered the brainworm, in your bedroom) because she couldn't get herself organised to do some sinfully sexy things right back at him; and then moved downwards a little further, lazily, slowly, leaving anticipation singing through her body.

"Who needs chocolate?" he asked rhetorically, and struck.

"Castle!" Oh God. Oh fuck. His mouth. Oh God. How did he do that? Tongues – oh God, Castle! – shouldn't be able to – oh fuck do it again – do that. She stopped thinking. Words became incoherent noise became simply his name and her body under his mouth and ohhhhhhh. World? What world?

"See? Better than chocolate."

"As good as," Beckett contradicted.

"I could make you admit it," Castle tried.

"Go for it," Beckett said happily. "I'll just lie back and enjoy it."

Castle growled. Beckett smirked. Chocolate and cunnilingus might not be a restaurant pairing (though there were certain specialist clubs that Vice knew about…) but it worked for her.

"If you're good, I might even share the chocolates," she enticed.

"You only want me for my chocolate-making prowess," he pouted.

"Not just your chocolates." She reached down and achieved an extraordinarily arousing touch which made her meaning perfectly clear.

Castle spluttered. "I feel so used," he humphed, but his eyes crinkled and his lips quirked.

Beckett simply reached down, took a firm grip of his ears, and used them to encourage him to arrive at her face. Conveniently, that left other bits of him firmly positioned right where she wanted them. Luckily, he seemed to want them there just as much. She wriggled.

"Definitely used," he sighed, and sank into her. She'd have made a snappy retort, but he felt so good that she forgot to be snarky. He fitted just right, and he knew exactly what to do. So, of course, did she. And they did, until they soared and flew and came together.

Eventually, of course, he had to go home. Equally of course, he left the chocolates.

"Till tomorrow."

"See you in the precinct." He regarded her soulfully. "And tomorrow night, but not Friday," she conceded. The soulful look acquired a hint of dolefulness which was totally unjustified. "Seeing Lanie." Which was true, but materially incomplete and misleading. He smiled broadly, caught her in and kissed her soundly, then bounced out the door.

The baking class proceeded much as the first one had, though Lanie acquired yet more merit badges from the acidulous instructor by producing perfect cakes and then frosting them in opulently extravagant swirls. Beckett stuck to the basics, and took home her box of cakes with some contentment.

A Thai takeout with some salad eaten, she sampled one of her cakes. They tasted pretty good, and they didn't come with excessive Christmas decorations. On the other hand, she couldn't keep eating six cakes twice a week. She really would get fat, or she'd have to spend hours exercising. It just seemed such a shame to waste them – oh. She could give some to her dad. That would do. He'd like them, they wouldn't be wasted, everybody happy. Efficient, and logical. She divided the cakes into two boxes, and whisked out with one to go see her father.

When she returned, buoyed on her dad's appreciation – he'd eaten one straight away, and his eyes had widened – she had another cake, and tried to get comfortable with her excellent coffee and really quite good cake. It wasn't working. That wasn't logical or efficient.

(You know what's missing. Don't. Do so. You want Castle. Etc. Don't. Liar. Just call him already. Beckett strangled the worm with a handy charging cable. It tied it into a bow around its non-existent neck, and took a theatrically exaggerated knee.)

Instead of calling Castle, which was quite illogically needy and anyway surely he wanted time with his family when he'd seen her all day at the precinct (but you didn't get kisses at the precinct), she went to the fridge and selected two – only two – of the huge box of chocolates. Unfortunately, eating them with due attention to their perfection reminded her of chocolate flavoured kisses and foreplay, which had not been the intention.

She switched on the TV, to distract herself, and found only tacky Christmas movies or Christmas-themed episodes of shows. That was ridiculous. Even the sports channels had elements of Christmas, and she couldn't bear the news, which also had dumb Christmas-related stories. Christmas was a con.

(You agreed to go to the midnight service. That was different. Very different. It had meaning. Shopping did not have meaning, until the bills came due.)

She supposed that she could also distract herself by finding her small Christmas tree, and did so. That occupied a whole fifteen minutes, including putting on the tiny baubles and plugging it in. It glowed cheerfully through its fibre-optic ends. It was tasteful, efficient, and logical.

Somehow, it didn't seem like enough: a small light almost overpowered by the undecorated spaces of her apartment. She humphed, and ignored the nagging feeling. Weren't home-made cakes quite enough? She didn't need tons of tinsel, or to wallow in wreaths, which only left dead leaves on the floor. Her presents had all been purchased, and only awaited their wrappings. It was all fine.

Beckett sat bolt upright. It was all Castle's fault. Endlessly waffling about his Christmas plans and decorations and excess. Well, she wasn't going to be invaded by his over-the-top ideas. Christmas was over-rated and over-hyped, and she wasn't going to play.

On which note, she washed and went to bed with a good book – Stephen King's Firestarter, which had absolutely nothing at all to do with Christmas – and didn't think about Castle or Christmas at all. She had a well-disciplined mind which did what she told it to, and she told it not to think about either thing.

Which was just fine while she was awake. Unfortunately, when she was asleep, so was the self-discipline. Her dreams were…well. They involved Castle, and the sort of Christmas presents and activities that were strictly for adults, in private. And chocolate. Some of her dreaming mind's uses for chocolates were…um…well…um… okay, eating was involved.

She woke hot, bothered, and frustrated, and in a state of mind where anyone mentioning Christmas would find out the Norse use for mistletoe, which involved contriving a stabbing weapon. The population of the bullpen walked wide around her desk. Ryan and Esposito took one look at the way she was dealing with the paperwork and hid behind their computers.

Even Montgomery decided not to tweak Beckett's tail about her contribution to the home-made baking. It was LT's turn that day, and he'd made crullers, which were perfectly adequate. They'd disappeared as fast as any form of food ever did in the precinct. Cops ate anything which didn't eat them first.

The black cloud of toxic anti-Christmas-cheer around Beckett's desk didn't diminish as her coffee consumption increased: in fact, if it were possible, it intensified. She took three crullers, and left her Glock conveniently close to her hand in case anyone was stupid enough to object.

Castle wandered in sometime after ten, sporting a sunny smile, two cups of coffee, and a scarf decorated with Christmas trees and tinsel in silver thread.

"Christmas coffee service," he carolled. Beckett growled out a thank you, which sounded quite a lot more like a death threat. He dropped his voice to a low murmur. "And some chocolate."

It was amazing how fast that burned off the black cloud. "Chocolate? Where?"

"Right here." He held the box a little out of her reach. "But there's a price."

"Price?"

"Yep. You put up a Christmas decoration in your apartment."

"You what now? You're blackmailing me?"

"One decoration."

Beckett suddenly remembered that she had one Christmas decoration up. "Okay."

Castle handed over the small box of two chocolates, and grinned. "I get my decoration shortly." She quirked an eyebrow. "Protection of the NYPD. You get medals for that." Eyebrow lowered, replaced by an eyeroll and a glare. "It's my duty as a concerned citizen to protect the NYPD from your uncaffeinated wrath."

Beckett bit the first chocolate in two with a snap. Castle sat back and assumed a saintly mien. The glare dissolved at exactly the same rate as the chocolate did, and by the time it was finished, Beckett had returned to cool normality.

"So when do I get cakes again?" Castle asked hopefully.

Beckett shrugged. She hadn't been planning to make cakes tonight, especially since she was on shift today. "Tomorrow," her mouth said without permission. What the hell? Her mouth was still talking. "Come round after dinner." No, no, no! Where was her self-discipline and control? She didn't do cooking for herself, never mind others.

Oh God. This was going to be a disaster.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.