Chapter 2
Castle suddenly stopped looking. "Hang on. This is why you were cursing like a dockworker earlier."
Dammit, he'd worked it out.
"There isn't a fastening." He stared at the bra, rather than her breasts. Then he rolled Beckett over on to her stomach, and stared some more, and then rolled her back. "How do you put it on?"
"What?"
"Research. If this is how bras are now – especially your bras – I need to know about it. So, how did you put it on – and why were you swearing about it?"
Only Castle could interrupt a hot session – and their first session, at that – for research. That was a mood-killer, for sure. Beckett rapidly sat up, and humphed, looking for her shirt.
"Where are you going?"
"Shirt. You're more interested in research than me, so I'm going to research whether there's a cup of coffee in the kitchen with my name on it." She swung her legs off the bed.
Castle swung her legs right back. "You didn't let me finish. Most importantly, I was going to say before you started sulking, how do you take it off?" He grinned wolfishly. "That's the research I'm interested in. I wanna take it off, but I don't wanna spoil it. It's pretty." He gently pushed her back down and provided some tangible proof of his appreciation.
When she could gather thought again, Beckett considered. She wasn't actually sure how she could take it off, that having been the last thing on her mind earlier. Well. The second-last. The last thing would have been that Castle was taking it off. Or trying to. (Yeah, right, sneered the brainworm.)
"I don't know," she admitted.
"How don't you know?"
Beckett flushed. "'Cause I only got it at the weekend and I haven't worn it before."
"Aw, that's so cute. You put your pretty new underwear on, all for our first date. I'm touched."
He was certainly touched. His nose was touched in a pincer grip of death that stopped just short of amputation.
"I hate to burst your bubble, but actually I hadn't done my washing because of the case. You know, the dead guy?"
"You're so hot when you talk about homicide in nothing but sexy underwear," Castle oozed, which didn't improve Beckett's mood one bit. Nor did his removing her hands and holding them out of the way, without apparent effort. "I like my nose," he said happily. "Leave it alone." Small plumes of fumes metaphorically emerged from Beckett's ears.
"Now," he said. "Let's do some investigation. You know it's great when we investigate together. We can investigate how this bra-contraption" –
"Bralette."
"– comes off." He looked ridiculously and dorkishly hopeful. "I do love solving mysteries," he said wistfully.
Something about the big blue eyes bypassed Beckett's brain and went straight to the very small area responsible for soft emotions. It might have been a square millimetre of her left ventricle. Wherever it was, it made a sudden raid and conquered her common sense. (Crap, said the brainworm rudely. You're just trying to make excuses for what you want to do. You could and would tie him into a pretzel if you didn't want this. She tied the brainworm into a pretzel. It unwound.)
"Okay," she said, and smiled sensuously. "Let's have a go."
"It's your bra, so you get first go," Castle grinned.
"You like watching strip shows?"
"When it's you." His eyes roamed up and down. "Oh yes. Definitely when it's you."
It was exceedingly clear that Castle's mood had not been killed, and the expression on his face (that wasn't where you were looking, snarked the brainworm) swept Beckett firmly back into the mood with him.
He sat back on the bed, eyes hotly alight and riveted to her. This, Beckett thought, could be fun. Castle's tongue would be hanging out. The sensuous smile intensified, and she sat up herself, legs in lotus position, which certainly attracted Castle's attention, although not precisely to her legs, and prepared to drive him crazy.
She did drive him crazy. Crazily laughing, that was. She attempted to remove it as she would a t-shirt, and found that her arms, yoga notwithstanding, did not bend backwards or anywhere other than at her wrists and elbows. She only just didn't get stuck. Which dumbass idiot invented this bralette anyway? Then she tried to remove her arms from the shoulder straps, which was okay but really not the sexy reveal she'd been going for, and the thrice-damned garment then rolled itself up under her arms, squidging her breasts into two splodgy sausages. She had really nice, pert breasts, not splodgy sausages.
Castle fell over laughing. She unfolded, and kicked him, almost gently.
The bralette stopped turning her into a butcher's counter and rolled itself up over her breasts. That didn't improve matters. Castle was practically crying. She yanked it down and put it back on properly, then turned over into her pillows and presented the semi-hysterical man with a very offended rear. (Nice to see you being the comedy act, the brainworm remarked. Beckett fed it through a meat grinder and then nuked it. It reformed, with three heads, all of which smirked.)
Castle managed to stop laughing eventually. It had been a nice change for Beckett to be the one struggling to maintain her dignity, and failing. He was so frequently the butt of the joke, and while he was happy to be a comedian most of the time, a little rebalancing wasn't unwelcome. However, Beckett sulking in the pillows was very unwelcome. He prowled up the bed, and extracted her.
"Out you come."
There was a filthily black mutter.
"It's my turn." He smirked evilly. "I think I'm going to like undressing you. I like unwrapping presents, too."
"I'm not a present."
"No, but you are a gift," he said, and hoped she couldn't see down into his soul, covering sincerity with a smirk. "Now, come here."
He swept her into his arms, and indulged himself in kissing her firmly until the sulkiness had been replaced by passion and both of them were breathing much harder: hands exploring; sitting had become lying and while her hands grasped and curved around hard weight, his slipped and slid through moist heat, over nerves, eliciting male groans and female moans. Taking the bralette off had been entirely forgotten as they mutually found the spots that made each other gasp and move.
Castle's expert, experienced fingers took over from any thoughts his brain might have had; operating entirely on passion and instinct to dip below the pretty navy fabric and find Beckett's soaked, hot core; to glide fluidly to circle the knot of nerves and then dip down and enter; a broad finger in the tight channel, a thumb still flicking over the most sensitive spots: a slow thrust, a second finger, and she cried his name so he did it again and again and again and she cried out, again, and came against his hand.
He kissed her as she came down, gentle and sure, and kept her against him, safely in his arms where she should be, as she recovered. Recovery was indicated by a full-body stretch, from toes to messy curls, and then a mischievous smile and wiggle against a part of Castle which appreciated the wiggle immensely. He lay back and enjoyed the sensation of lax, snuggly Beckett.
Right up until he realised that lax, snuggly Beckett was actually sneakily stripping his boxers and slithering downwards, while still pretending to snuggle. That was – oh fuck, that was – oh fuck, Beckett! She slithered back upwards, and resumed snuggling. Somehow that didn't seem fair, but he didn't have the strength to level the field. He settled for hanging on to the Beckett body, and snuggling.
After a few quiet moments, Castle became aware that the bra-thing – oh, yes, bralette – was still very resolutely in place. That was unreasonable. He thought carefully. Beckett's contortions, whilst amusing, had indicated that the bralette was...um...fitted. He didn't want to tear it, although he could always offer to replace it. He wouldn't mind at all buying Beckett underwear.
Back to the immediate underwear, rather than the potential for underwear, however. His fingers wandered around the bralette's band, and tried a sneaky dive under it. Hmm. Some slack, mainly because he could easily count Beckett's ribs. She was so slim, but he'd never realised it when she was giving orders in the precinct. True, he wasn't exactly thinking about her slimness when she was giving orders. More her...um...hotness. She could give him orders...well, some orders. He could give her orders, in return. (And the chance of her obeying, said his brain, would be nil.)
His fingers wandered a little more, up over the silky cups, and came to a stop conveniently placed to play teasingly with the small, firm mound and the peaked nipple. She hummed encouragingly, inciting him to continue, and then add his mouth, causing little gasps and sighs, small wriggles and tiny squirms.
He settled himself comfortably over her, pressed against her core, propping himself up on his elbows and cupping her face.
"Beautiful," he breathed, and then squawked as she pulled him down and kissed him hard. He extricated himself, eventually and with regrets, and grinned down.
"I think it's my turn to try to divest you of this item," he murmured, and knelt up between her spread legs, placed her hands above her head, slid his thumbs under each side of the band, and smoothly took it up and away without so much as a breeze touching her make-up.
"There." He stayed put, and simply observed. "Just as gorgeous, but a lot more accessible." Beckett appeared to be speechless. "Now that we've proved that you can't take it off but I can, obviously I'll need to help you with your underwear on a regular basis." Her mouth opened and shut several times without sounds emerging. "So glad you agree," he added suavely, and moved to one side so that he could assist with the last remaining piece of underwear, which was shortly whisked off.
"What?" Beckett managed, the intimidation value of which ejaculation was notably diminished by her nakedness.
"You need help removing your underwear, so I'll provide it," Castle repeated, with an angelic smile and a distinctly devilish wander of his hand downwards.
"I do not need help," Beckett squawked. "I've been dressing and undressing myself since I was three."
"Not what today's evidence showed," Castle smirked. "And" – his voice dropped half an octave and acquired a velvety quality that prevented her ears comprehending any words and rubbed sensually over her body – "you certainly seem to like it when I do it." His fingers glided through the proof that she liked it. "So obviously you should let me help, and do things you like." One finger did something that she very vocally liked. "Like that." Words appeared to have departed from the Beckett brain, except for the key words of Castle!, more, and a clutch of disgraceful profanities, mostly featuring the single word fuck. He'd get to that. But beforehand, he had a much better idea.
Being Castle, and being totally confident of his, um, abilities, he didn't hesitate before moving straight down Beckett's beautiful body and applying all the tricks of a very talented tongue to removing any objections to his presence which she might have thought up. Thoughts were entirely unnecessary, and indeed entirely unhelpful. Fortunately, any ability Beckett might have had to think had been lost at the first sweep of his tongue across her. Castle was pretty certain that she was enjoying him almost as much as he was enjoying her. Something about the way her magnificent legs were endeavouring to strangle him. It was almost as affectionate as when she mauled his nose. He tried a delicate nip, and she exploded on his name.
"You like that," he said very smugly. She couldn't even muster a growl, so satisfied was she. "You like me. Lots." He grinned ferally, and prowled back up her body. "I like you, too. Lots. So obviously we should like each other a lot more."
Her eyes were shut, and she was pretending not to listen, but the tiniest quirk of her lips told Castle that Beckett was paying attention. Of course, she might have been paying attention to his wandering hand, not to his words, but he'd take her attention wherever she directed it right now, as long as it was he to whom she was attending.
Ah. Ohhhh. Maybe he should be attending to her. His attention was suddenly...um...riveted. The quirk was now quite definitely a smirk. He'd thought his hands were talented. Oh, God. Oh God. Ohhhhhhh. He lost all ability to think and then succumbed to instinct alone. Instinct – and Beckett's wicked, wanton hands – brought him above her, poised at her entrance, and then let him thrust forward and surge into her with a low roar.
She hauled his head down and captured his mouth, rolled him over and rose above him; he hauled her down and took her mouth in his turn and rolled them again, pinning them where they landed before one of them fell from the bed, which would really ruin the mood and probably do one or both of them considerable damage. Much better to stay in situ and be very, very happy together. He kissed her before she could kiss him, which became mutual kissing, mutual touching, and then only the two of them, moving together in hard, fast rhythm until they exploded and shattered and fell together, still locked in each other's embrace.
"Mine."
"Nope, mine."
"I called dibs first."
"This isn't like calling shotgun!"
"No, because I always drive. I got there first." She stroked a hand over him, very possessively. "Mine."
Castle harrumphed. "Not fair."
"I think it is." The possessive stroke became a possessive grip, which moved up and down. "Don't you want to be mine?" she said in a sultry voice.
"Of course." Even if he hadn't (in what universe would that be, he wondered?), he wouldn't have dared disagree when her hand was – oh fuck Beckett no fair! – right there. But... "But you have to be mine too. I'm not a pet."
"Mm. Pets are soft and fluffy."
He was not soft. A little fluffy, maybe – that deliberately adorable floppy lock of hair on his forehead – but not soft. Of which Beckett was perfectly well aware, since she was lazily ensuring that every inch was extremely hard.
"Not a pet, then."
"No!" Castle said indignantly.
"So what are you?"
He smiled slowly, and leaned up on an elbow. "I'm the best lover you'll ever have," he said arrogantly, and kissed her as her mouth opened on a response. He lifted off. "I'm the only lover you'll ever want to have," and kissed her again, as she squawked.
"You think?" she tried.
"No, I know."
"How?" she challenged, eyes sparking.
"Because I'm here." He leaned down. "And here," as he moved across her. "And here," and he shifted slightly and filled her up. "And you like having me here."
"I like having you here," she argued, and rolled them so he was flat on his back looking up at her.
"Works for me too," Castle shrugged. "Top, bottom, I don't mind – as long as it's you."
Beckett gaped at him.
"Close your mouth, you'll catch flies," Castle said annoyingly.
"As long as it's me?" she said in an unflattering squeak. (Idiot, yelled the brainworm. Listen to what he means, not what he says. What the fuck did that mean?)
"Yeah. As long as it's you. You don't think I'd be doing this with Ryan or Espo, do you?"
"You don't seem to be doing it with me either."
Castle raised a suave eyebrow, which considering he was naked and flat on his back with Beckett straddling him took some doing. "Are you sure about that?" he murmured wickedly, and flexed his hips just enough to prove that even the momentary thought of Ryan and Esposito just for once didn't lead to coitus interruptus. Not that they'd quite got to the coitus part of that till now, though there had been far, far too much interruptus which had certainly not improved the chances of coitus.
She gasped.
"I think you might want to change your mind about that," he rasped, and rolled them again. She might have protested, but she was too busy arching up to him and leaving nail marks in his back and raiding his mouth to bother, and then he touched between them and she exploded beneath him and he thrust once, twice more and came himself, collapsing over her.
Thank you to all readers and reviewers.
