Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.
A/N Okay, I miscalculated. There will be one more chapter after this.
For a big man who often seems to be something of a klutz, Castle moves with surprising grace, even while carrying her in an awkward position, with the additional distraction of her tongue moving acrobatically around in his mouth. He manages to walk them across the living room, through a short hall, and into her bedroom, where they topple together, one heated mass, onto the quilt that covers her bed.
He's gotten her sweater off and is working on her blouse, while she's concentrating on ridding him of his jeans. The belt is somewhere on the floor, she has undone the button, and now she's tugging the denims down with one hand while her other is busy with what the zipper set free.
"Get these damn things off," she says, pulling hard on the belt loops. "Wait, what's this?" She puts her fingers in the front pocket, which has two immediate results: an increase in his arousal and—"A bone? In your pants?"
"Gotta brush up on those terms, Beckett," he says, temporarily halting his very satisfying exploration of the soft skin below her ear. "It's not a bone, it's a bo—"
"Bone!" she repeats, holding up a Milk-Bone dog biscuit between her thumb and index finger. "What are you doing with a dog biscuit?"
He grabs it from her and tosses it several feet away from the bed. "Later, Beckett."
"But—"
He silences her in one almost seamless move—flipping her onto her back, reaching into her jeans, running his very soft hand under her microscopic underwear and dragging two fingers in such a way that her silence gives way to a delectable, musical and protracted moan. A string of expletives follows, in the filthiest, most imaginative combinations he has ever heard, culminating in some impassioned demands that he is insanely happy to accommodate.
One sweaty, exhausting, exhilarating hour later, Beckett is sprawled on top of him, rubbing her thumb across his cheekbone. "Hell of a second date, Castle," she says. "Hope I didn't break any of your dating rules. You know, go too fast, something like that."
"I think the rulebook just went out the window," he says, and laughs.
"That's not the only thing that went out the window. Or somewhere near it." She raises one perfect eyebrow and holds his gaze.
"What?"
"The biscuit, Castle. The dog biscuit, which I can see from here. It landed on the window sill."
If ever there were a time to think fast on his feet—okay, his back—this is it. Ah, deflection. Deflection, but not a suspicious complete change of subject. That should work.
"You know, Beckett, I'd be a great pet. I'm well-bred, just ask my mother. Well-read, anyway. Extremely well-groomed. Completely housebroken. Never bite except love bites."
"Good to know, especially since you just nipped me a few times."
"I come when I'm called, and most important? I haven't been neutered."
"I could tell." She can't help laughing, and neither can he. "Let me ask you, do you tricks for treats?
"Oh, yeah, you should see me roll over and beg. I might do that at any moment."
"You're not so good at sit and stay, Castle."
"I'll sit and stay here with you, anytime."
She rests her chin on top of her hands, which are lying flat against his chest. "Castle."
"Hmmm?"
"The dog biscuit."
"Oh."
"Why are you carrying around a dog biscuit?"
"I'm not."
"Splitting hairs here, Castle. You were until I removed it from your pants pocket and you hurled it across the room."
"Well," he says, stalling for time by looking at her ceiling and trying but failing to think of a credible reason to ask her something about it. "For emergencies. You know, suppose a slavering beast of a Doberman chases us down a dark alley and corners us against a chain-link fence. I could give it a biscuit and while it was chewing it we could escape."
"There you go," she says solemnly. "Did you just think of that?"
"Just, you know, since the case with Royal and everything. Made me realize we might run into dogs at any time. There was that dog who belonged to the guy who lost his memory, remember him? The case with the murdered gallery owner a couple of years ago? I could have cheered up that sweet dog if I'd had an emergency biscuit in my pocket."
"So, you're practicing canine altruism now, is that it?"
"Something like that."
"Uh-huh." She looks into his eyes until he finally blinks. "You know I'm going to get to the bottom of this, Castle."
He uses that as a cue to squeeze her butt. "Have I told you that you have a gorgeous bottom, Beckett?"
"In a more colorful way, yes, I believe you have. About half an hour ago."
"Speaking of time," he says, smiling. "You doing anything Tuesday?"
"Why, Rick," she says coyly, fluttering her lashes. "Are you asking me out on a date? A third date?"
"Tuesday is two days away. It could be our fifth yes, I'm asking you to go out with me on Tuesday. You know what day it is?"
"Other than it's Tuesday? No."
"Oh, God," he rolls his eyes. "Am I the only romantic here? It's Valentine's Day." He pauses. "Will you be my Valentine?"
She pauses even longer before asking, softly, "Aren't I already?"
"You are. Hey, are you hungry?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry, I don't have, um, much to eat here. Except for that dog biscuit on the window sill."
"How about cookies?"
"Oh, yes. Got some of those. A guy I know made them for me."
"I'll race you."
"You're on, Castle," she says, rolling off him. She lets him run past her, then turns around and jumps back into bed. "Beat ya!" she shouts from her rumpled nest.
He's halfway to the kitchen, but goes back. "Did you use ninja skills just now? Because you definitely did not pass me, pass go or collect 200 cookies, so how did you beat me?"
She waves a cookie over her head in triumph. "See?"
"Where did you get that?"
"It was on the bedside table. I put it there last night so." She doesn't finish the sentence, just sits, blushing, with the gingerbread in her hand.
Castle is on all fours, advancing towards her from the bottom of the bed. "So? You put it there last night so? So?" He grabs it and eats half in one bite.
"So I could look at it when I went to sleep." She picks at a thread on the hem of the sheet. "Been a long time since anyone made me a cookie, Castle. Especially one shaped like a dog."
His heart melts. He pulls her to him and hugs her as hard as he can without cracking her ribs."I'm gonna make you cookies every day, Beckett."
"Maybe not every day," she says into his neck. "Don't want to be the fat lady at the circus."
"Fat lady at the NYPD."
"Same thing," she says, and they both laugh until they run out of breath. Eventually they order Chinese food, which they eat in bed, and then he leaves, claiming that he's taking his mother to some off-Broadway post-performance fundraiser when in fact he's going home so that his mother, who has been dog sitting, can go out.
Tuesday arrives too soon and not soon enough. It has finally occurred to Castle that Pretzel isn't his. He's Beckett's. No more walks around town; no more rolling around on the floor and playing tug of war with a sock; no more conversations, no more having a warm, furry, loving creature fall asleep behind his knee or pressed against the small of his back.
And then it also occurs to him, in a burst of realistic optimism, that when he stays over at Beckett's—because that is definitely happening—he could be falling asleep with a couple of loving creatures. One has two magnificent long legs capable of doing things that make him gasp, and the other has four very short ones that are nonetheless adorable.
Since Alexis and his mother have dates on Valentine's Day, he has invited Beckett to the loft for an elegant dinner. He's ready way ahead of time, and spends the half hour before Beckett is due to arrive telling Pretzel everything he hadn't already about his soon-to-be-owner. "I'm going to put you in your crate for a little while," Castle says to the puppy. "When it's time for the surprise, I'll come get you, okay?" He knows the dog understands every word.
The plan is to bring out Pretzel after dessert, but they're only halfway through their salad when Castle takes his napkin off his lap and drops it next to his plate. "I can't wait," he says, as he stands up and walks towards his bedroom, leaving Beckett with nothing but a confused expression and a forkful of arugula.
Castle gets the puppy from his crate, puts on his halter—complete with a heart-shaped tag engraved with PRETZEL on one side and Beckett's phone number on the other—and clips on his leash. "Here we go," he whispers, as he scoops him up.
He returns to the table, uses his free hand to drag his chair next to hers, and sits down. "Katherine Beckett," he says, "may I present Pretzel Beckett? I think he might like to kiss your hand, and then put his head on your lap. I know I would, and our taste in almost everything is the same."
Castle would be willing to bet the royalties of all past, present and future Nikki Heat books that Beckett's eyes have never been that big. "Happy Valentine's Day," he says, as he puts the puppy on her thighs.
She looks down at the dog, then up at him. Repeats the motion, and then repeats it again. "Pretzel?" she says.
"Pretzel Beckett," Castle says, emphasizing the last name. She remains wordless. "He's yours. Do you want to ask me anything about him?"
"Ask?"
"Okay, he's a rescue, from Akron, Ohio, the first city to have a police car. Eighteen ninety-nine. Bet you didn't know that. He's four months old and housebroken and in perfect health and has all his shots. He likes to sleep on his right side or curled up, sometimes with one ear sort of flipped over his head. He thinks he is a retriever but he's really a dachshund. He has a dog walked named Fred who will come to your apartment twice a day to take him out and play with him. He is also enrolled in Puppy Parade, where he can spend up to twenty hours a week hanging out with other dogs, going swimming, things like that. Kind of like camp, only without arts and crafts since even though he is a totally amazing dog he doesn't have opposable thumbs. And you know his name is Pretzel, right? Which by the way is a food he loves but shouldn't have very often and you should scrape the salt off first."
"He's from Akron?"
With all the things he just told her, that's what stuck? "Yeah, I flew out and got him a while ago."
She looks down at her lap. "He's mine?"
"Yeah," Castle says, squeezing her knee. "And I think he's already at home with you. Look at him sacked out there."
She looks up into Castle's eyes with a watery smile that makes him want to kiss her under her eyes. "He's mine? You got him for me? A dog?"
"Not a dog for you, the dog for you. Pretzel. You guys are the perfect pair."
"You mean, like you and me?"
TBC