2: Witness evidence

It all went nova the instant he touched down on her full lips.

He only meant to kiss her gently, a little encouragement, a cure for the doubt he'd seen in her eyes that sears his soul. So he'd dipped his head and held her closer and kissed her closed-mouthed. Simply to take her doubts away. But her lips had been satin-soft under his and he's wanted to kiss her for far too long and then her mouth opened just a little and he can resist anything at all except temptation.

As if that temptation hadn't been bad enough she'd traced her tongue against the seam of his lips and obviously he wasn't going to turn that invitation down but he really hadn't meant for it to turn into a full-scale battle for possession of the other's mouth.

Except it did. Beckett had invaded the instant he'd given her the slightest chance and the feel of her mouth on his is so much better than he'd dreamed but then he'd simply stopped thinking and reacted. She might have started it, but he is definitely going to finish this. She nips on his lip and her hands are in his hair but no matter how hard she tries she's never going to be able to compete with his strength so he slips his palm round the base of her skull and re-angles her head and fights back till he's taken possession of her mouth in return.

He nibbles gently along her jaw and drops dirty little kisses under her ear and nips her earlobe. That's better. She's breathing harder and making tiny sexy noises and he's going to turn her into a melted mess before they are done. And then he's going to do it again and again and he will prove that she's been wrong not to be with him before. He delicately licks at a spot behind her ear and she wriggles against him and gasps, so he does that again before coming back to that sinfully seductive mouth, hot and wet and receptive.

And then she cheats. He hadn't even noticed that she'd undone his shirt until her hand is inside and scraping very lightly over his pecs and playing with his nipples and that lights him up like a firework and suddenly the tiny bow at her waist is undone and he really doesn't care any more that he'd meant to unwrap her slowly and appreciate her (he hadn't meant to unwrap her at all but he's completely forgotten that) because he just has to strip her of that dress and be skin to skin.

Pulling the second little bow has had exactly the effect he'd hoped. The whole dress falls apart in one go and leaves him with the astonishing sight of one Beckett in a very sexy red lace lingerie set and not one stitch more. After that his brain has absolutely nothing else to do with what happens. Castle, famously smooth and sophisticated, lover par excellence and never, ever fazed, completely loses his cool. Beckett is hauled up, where he can press her hard into him and while ravaging and plundering her mouth, and then he pushes her down so that he can slide hands over her and cup her perfectly-fitting breasts in his palm. She likes that.

She also likes it when he palms and then rolls, pinches gently and then replaces fingers with mouth. Oh, yes, she likes it. She arches up to give him free access to lick, suck and nip at the soft underside and then kiss better the small marks he's leaving; to move over and match on the other side; and then to nibble his way back over her collarbones to her mouth and take it all over again. His unsuspectedly primitive side is thoroughly pleased to note that she's completely lax under his ministrations.

"Proved you wrong," he growls, in between hard, possessive kisses.

"Huh?"

"It's you who had no idea. I had plenty idea."

"How about you – ohhh" – as he nips on the spot behind her ear – "stop talking and put – ooohhh – some of the ideas into practice?"

"Is that an invitation?"

"No, it's an – ohhh, do that again – order."

"I don't think you're in any position to give orders, Detective. But feel free to prove me wrong."

That was a very big mistake. He should never have said that to someone trained in unarmed combat. He should also never have challenged Beckett. All his size and strength are completely useless against wickedly fast hands and the fact that Castle is intensely ticklish. He's left squeaking and squawking and trying to evade and failing, and then he can't catch his breath for long enough to catch his Beckett either. She's escaped his lap and his arms and this is so not fair… oh. Oh oh oh. Ohmigod. Oh fuck. Ohmigod.

Cool, collected, sardonic, reserved and formal Detective Beckett is kneeling on the floor, in a scarlet bra and panties that would not disgrace the La Perla catwalk (nor would she), with tousled sex hair and swollen lips and a sensually seductive smile on those same lips, a wicked look in her eyes and oh oh oh when did she open his pants and how did he not notice her doing it? She is very delicately playing with him: teasing the soft skin over hard weight and feathering her fingers – ohhhh – and rubbing and circling and her nails are just scraping against him in a very provocative way.

"Like that, Castle?"

"Christ, Beckett," is all he's capable of.

"Answer me," she commands.

"Ye-es." She does it some more. He groans.

"Looks like you were wrong, Castle."

"You're – Beckett! – not ordering me around – fuck!"

She raises an interrogative eyebrow.

"Really?" She runs a nail from tip to root and back again. "I think you'll do anything I want you to." She licks her lips. Castle groans again. "Kiss me, Castle."

He thinks about refusing for a scant second. Then he wonders why he's even let that idea into his head. Then he leans forward and tips up her face and kisses her just as she demanded.

And then he employs equal swiftness to detach and trap her naughty hands without doing himself a critical injury and to pull her back up while he stands himself, hoists her up so he needn't stop kissing her and crushes her into him. Then he holds her very tightly just where he needs her – and from the heat radiating from her where she's wrapped her legs around him that's just where she needs him – and starts towards the bedroom, one hand pressed over her tight ass and one holding her head for his mouth. Taking orders? Not likely, Beckett.

Beckett was just beginning to turn Castle into a hopeless, undone mess when he cheated by employing size and strength to stop her. So not fair. On the other hand she's pressed tightly against some very interestingly active areas – and he was very enticingly large in her hands – and she is pretty certain that if she wiggles a little he'll be very eager to do what she wants him to. She wiggles. It feels very, very nice. So she wiggles some more. This time it's much more of a sensual, serpentine squirm.

"Stop that, Beckett."

"Or?" she says mischievously.

"Or we'll stop right here and you'll find out what your bedroom wall feels like on your back."

"Can't you wait, Castle?"

"Feels like it's you who can't wait, Beckett." His hand slides over her rear and finds slick heat. "Definitely," he says over her indrawn breath, and strokes her some more. The wall is an increasingly attractive option… if he hadn't just made it through the bedroom door. He teases a little more, for good measure, and drops Beckett on her neat bed. It won't be neat shortly…

First, though, he is going to admire. Dark hair, all messed up and spread out over the lilac pillows; dark eyes, wide and invitingly come-hitherish; smooth cream skin, unmarred; full breasts not quite spilling over a lace bra; slim waist flaring into enticingly shapely hips and more scarlet lace; a tiny triangle and slice of silk covering soft damp skin; legs… legs… more legs, ending in deep red heels. All spread out over a pale lilac comforter: pretty as a picture. It's not a picture that could be hung in public, that's for sure. This picture screams scorching sexuality and hard hot nights. How convenient. He's pretty keen on scorching sexuality and hard hot nights too. Just as long as both involve Beckett being with him.

He smiles darkly down as he undoes the heels, and starts to consider how best to turn Beckett into a writhing mass of sheer lust. She'll be his, and there will be no more of this proving him wrong at all. He'll prove once and for all that they belong together.

And then she smiles, licks and parts her lips, stretches and ripples all the way from head to now-bare toes and follows up that method of leaving him utterly bereft of brain and breath by sliding her own hands down over her breasts to her hips and tucking her thumbs into each side of her panties in an attitude redolent of if-you-won't-I-will which is just not going to happen. If there is any removing of Beckett's underwear to be done – and there will be – then he is going to do it. And he's going to turn her to a puddle while he does.

"No!" his frazzled hindbrain shoves out his mouth. "Hands off." Beckett smirks, and doesn't move her hands away at all. Castle's primitive instincts get tired of waiting for the rest of him to catch up to the game and move him all by themselves. He slams down on the bed and grabs Beckett's hands, slaps them above her head and holds them in one of his to keep them there – there's a remarkable lack of argument, which he might have noticed if his brain hadn't ceded all control to his body – and proceeds to use the other hand to play with the fabric of her bra, slipping it over her taut nipples and using the soft friction to wind her up and up and up till she's moaning. That's better. If she's going to wind him up, he's going to do the same to her.

Beckett has achieved exactly what she wanted. Castle mindless with desire and totally incapable of thought. Any tiny fragments of doubt had evaporated at the point he undid both bows. He'd just been messing with her. Rather more successfully than she'd have liked. Still, if he hadn't been she wouldn't be here. And here is very pleasurable. Very pleasurable. And then he grabs her hands and starts playing with her bra and thinking seems far too much effort when she can simply enjoy. So she does. He's really very, very good at this.

Her bra seems to have disappeared. That's okay. As long as it's still in one piece – oohhh does it really matter if he's doing that with his mouth? He nibbles round about her nipple and she moans and pushes against his mouth for more.

"You like that, Beckett." She tugs to try to free herself. She wants to play. She hadn't finished, earlier. He stopped her. It wasn't fair. Tugging doesn't seem to be achieving much. Hmmm. Castle had turned out to be terribly, terribly ticklish. Beckett is terribly, terribly flexible. And if it doesn't work, then at least he'll be in a very good place to arch up and rub against. She wriggles in a way that has at least as much – ooohhh yes do that again – to do with the wicked abilities of his mouth as with her nefarious plan, squirms happily into a better alignment – ohhhh yes – and bends her knee in such a way as to allow her toes to hit the dip between Castle's hip and midriff which she already knows is unbelievably ticklish.

He squeals. Positively shrieks. It's the work of an instant (and years of drills) to flip him on to his back, whip his pants off, and divest him of his boxers. And then she starts to get her revenge. She's never backed away from a challenge in her life and she's not going to get turned into mush without a whimper. (Well, there probably would be whimpers. But not many. Other noises, now…) On the other hand he deserves to be made to whimper. And to make other noises… She starts with a sharp nip on his collarbone, just to point the moral that she's on top now, and then proceeds to slide over him. She has neither the size nor strength to keep his arms out the way, but in another minute he won't have enough brain left to realise that. She not only likes doing this, but she's very, very good at it.

Beckett is draped over his entirely naked body and is very unfairly not naked herself. He would do something about it, but his arms don't seem to be connected to his brain any more. He thinks that what she's doing round about the level of his nipples – oh Christ – has snapped some vital connection. Then she slides wet silk against him and he stops thinking at all because all he can do is feel heat and moisture against his own hard weight but there's fabric in his way and… and his primitive brain gets fed up of all this civilisation and ditches it again. The panties get abruptly ditched, too. Primitive Castle ignores Civilised Castle's upset that he didn't get to peel them off slowly. Primitive Castle is too busy trying not to make primitive noises of complete incoherence and haul Beckett back up so that he can simply possess her. She is going in the wrong direction…

Or not. Ohfuck. Ohmigod. Ohfuck. Her mouth her mouth her mouth oh fuck. Her sliding against him had been almost too much. Her mouth round him and her hands and ohhhh her tongue and teeth and fingers and ohhhhhh Beckett and his hands are in her hair but he doesn't know if it's to hold her there or pull her away and then it really doesn't matter because she twists her tongue and flicks her fingers and he's gone.

When he's stopped seeing stars he also realises that he's not the only one who's gone. Beckett is missing. Well, not touching him. No-one's touching him. He sits up and looks around and spots her lying on the other side of the bed. Smirking. Okay then, Beckett. She may have taken round one, but this is a series not a one-off.

"What are you doing all the way over there?"

"Thought you'd turned over and gone to sleep," Beckett says lightly.

"Nope. I'll certainly turn over" – he flips over and pins her under him – "but I've no intention of going to sleep. You can go to sleep if you want to." He leans up on an elbow and smirks down. "When I'm done with you you'll be exhausted."

"Little overconfident there, Castle. You get… distracted… so easily." The smirk widens.

"That what you think? We'll see about distraction." He pulls her closer to the centre of the bed and examines her with focused intent. "I don't think it'll take much to distract you at all." He dances his fingers down the centre of her ribcage and over her flat stomach, stopping a little above where he might have.

"Pretty," he says happily.

"Pretty?" Is that the best he can do?

"Very pretty." Hmmph. He's spent months with his tongue metaphorically hanging out when her clothes are on and now they're off the best he can do is pretty?

Castle looks even more happily at Beckett's slightly sulky pout. Of course she's not just pretty. She's absolutely stunning. But the pout is worth it. He leans down and kisses it. Then he continues on down over her throat, round under her ear because when he does that the way she wriggles and makes little sexy noises is just fabulous, then down over her collarbone and nips in revenge for the mark that's already sure to be blooming on him. His 'n' hers lovebites. How romantic.

When he starts to pay some proper attention to her breasts – which are, he is now noticing, rather fuller than he would have realised from her terribly formal button downs – little sexy noises start to move into moans. This time she is going to be left completely incapable of thought and conscious movement. He's just as talented with his mouth as she is, and this time she won't be able to prove him wrong.

The soft traces of her perfume tantalise his nose, and it occurs to him that she knows he likes that scent. He kisses over her stomach and swirls around her navel. She wriggles, and he holds her still to play some more until she's squirming in his grip and making quite a number of noises. She's stopped with the orders, too. The few words that are intelligible sound much more like requests. In another minute or two, they'll be pleas. If she can speak at all. His mouth moves lower and sure enough she's enjoying that. Ohhh yes. He parts her magnificent legs and strokes the inner face of her thighs delicately.

"You seem to be distracted, Beckett."

"From what? I'm still – oh god do that again – thinking of Manh – oh god – attan." She can still snark? Oh, she is going to regret that. He traces a finger along the crease of her thigh, and she twists.

"Manhattan, hmm?" His finger eases inward, over soaked soft folds and curls, strokes and slides and flicks inward ohh she's tight and out again and it needs some force to hold her where she needs to stay, under his hard hands and soft fingertips, while he simply stays stroking her as he takes her higher and higher. "How's Manhattan now?"

"Uh?" That's better. Manhattan? No way. The only thing she'll be thinking of is him. He strokes more forcefully and she bucks under him and that is not Manhattan she's calling for. She's looking for a very different form of high-rise. First, however, she's not just going to forget Manhattan, she's going to forget her own name.

He adopts a comfortable posture and replaces wickedly talented fingers with wickedly talented mouth. He's intending to turn her inside out and upside down.

She's so sensitised that she's screaming as soon as he places lips on her and teases by barely touching. She curves up into him and demands more with menaces, which he's only too happy to give. She tastes ambrosial, and he's instantly addicted. He's more addicted to her frantic pleading and begging for more, harder, deeper please Castle don't stop more now! and the feel of her shattering into orgasm because of him. He's going to make that happen again. Very, very soon. Round two, to Castle. He slithers up the bed and cuddles her in. No way is Beckett getting the chance to wiggle away like she did the previous time.

His arms around her, locking her into the cage of his big body, are the only thing that stops her wiggling away. She certainly tries – or at least tries to turn to face him. Not gonna happen, Beckett. For the next stage he wants her where he can play without let or hindrance.

"Proved you wrong, Beckett."

"Uh? What?"

"I don't think that was Manhattan you were thinking about." Beckett turns her head a rather limited amount and produces a sleepy, sexy pout that still manages to convey sulkiness. "You seemed pretty distracted to me." His hand roams downward. "I like distracting you." And further down. "You liked being distracted." And slips back between her legs. "Let's just concentrate on distraction for a while."

It's a very short while. Having come once, Beckett is easily worked up and over again, and while Castle has plans for his own satisfaction, he finds himself perfectly content to postpone them for that same short while in favour of proving that he's perfectly right for Beckett.

Helpfully, she seems to feel the same, sliding slickly against him in a very insinuating manner which insinuates him right into her. It's amazing. Perfect. She arches to take him deeper and he thrusts to take her higher and they find a rhythm almost immediately and oh she's his, she has to be his. Which seems to be just fine because that sounds very like mine from her until it turns into ohhhh Castle! at exactly the time he's groaning out ohhhh Beckett! And now she's a soft, lax, beautiful bundle below him and once she's opened her eyes again he's going to show her that this all means that they fit as well together in this as they do in everything else.

Instead of opening her eyes, she – what? – snuggles in against him and drapes an arm round his chest. Beckett? Cuddlesome? Beckett? The Moon is clearly made of green cheese. On the other hand he'll eat an entire Moon's worth of green cheese if Beckett wants to be cuddly with him after – and during – spectacular sex. He cuddles her in return, and pets her lovingly.

Oh. Ohmigod. Ohmigod. Lovingly? Ohmigod.

Ohmigod yes! Of course. Lovingly. It might take a time for Beckett to realise – it's taken her considerable time to come round to this first step – but she will. He can't put a single fingertip on why he's so sure, but he is. Deep down to his bones.

If this is the Game of Life, he's – no, they've – just won. He cuddles in closer, takes due note of the answering curl into him, and falls blissfully into sleep.

Beckett has never felt so good, or so content with where she finds herself. She snuggles as close as she can manage, and drops a possessive arm over her companion. He retaliates by cuddling her in further, which puts her in the perfect position to embrace him lovingly.

What? Oh my god. Oh my god. Lovingly? Oh my god.

Oh. Yes. Of course. Perfectly logical. He's good at her, and good for her. Why'd she ever bother fighting it? He might take a little time to realise, but she's sure he'll get there eventually. She drops happily into sleep.

When they wake, spooned together in an affectionate embrace: Castle's arms round Beckett and her hands wrapped over his, neither of them actually mention their individual realisations. Beckett is normal-service snarky, and Castle retaliatorily smug. The only slight difference is that both of them have acquired a possessive tone. Well, and they are naked in bed together. Conversation is brief.

"I think that I'll be seeing a lot more of you, Beckett."

"We're going to the ballet next week, aren't we? You'll certainly see me then."

"I think you'll want to see me before that," Castle purrs, looming up over her and trailing a hand through her already-damp core.

"Really? I think you'll want to see me first," Beckett ripostes, finding hard evidence to support that view.

"Come here, Beckett." He pulls her over on top of him and slides home. "Prove us both right."

Fin.

Thank you, everyone. Your reading and/or reviewing is very much appreciated.