T

Ticklish

NOTE: this is another continuation- this time of N, November. Please note that I put chapter N at the beginning of this chapter to make it flow correctly. T follows afterwards.

N

November

Kate woke, the sun intruding into the bedroom. She yawned, and instead of getting up like she knew she should, she rolled over into the body beside her, snuggling further into the warmth of the comforter. The man beside her shifted slightly. "Three more minutes," she mumbled, reaching for the covers when his movement caused them to fall a little. When she heard no answer, but a soft chuckle, she took that as acceptance and let the sleep pull her back in.

It was then she felt it:
The scratching on her chin.

She squirmed, completely involuntarily, and a small giggle escaped.

Giggle.
Kate Beckett did not giggle.
Not ever.
Not for any reason.

But she was a girl.
And she was very ticklish.

"Stop that," she mumbled again, snaking an arm around the white pillow she was using, protectively. The light itch continued, traveling from her chin to her cheek and then down her neck. Another giggle escaped. "Stop!" she said between fits of laughter, attempting to sound serious but to no effect.

"Good morning," Rick told her, still running kisses up and down her neck, lightly.

She grinned despite herself and turned onto her back, looking up at the man hovering above her. He had his arms holding his weight on either side of her head and his legs tangled with hers. "I was trying to sleep," she told him, trying to sound stern.

"I know. It was very un-Beckett-like, so I had to investigate," he told her earning another beautiful smile and musical laugh. When she turned her head, her hand threading her hair a bit, he planted another kiss on her exposed neck, brushing his chin against her deliberately.

She reached up with a hand, grabbing his chin, loosely. "You need to shave," she informed him, to which he replied with a kiss to her lips.

"Nope," he told her, smiling at her confusion. She maintained her hold on his chin a moment longer, scratching at his scruff lightly with her fingernails, lovingly.

"Why?" she asked, her bottom lip finding home between her front teeth.

"No-Shave November."

"Excuse me?"

"No-Shave November. The glorious month where shaving is not expected. From men, that is," he eyed her with a grin that was contagious. She released him and he planted a kiss on her jaw. She arched into the touch involuntarily, and she could feel the accomplished smiles in his kiss. "The boys and I are making it into a competition. Whoever has the longest beard by December 1st."

"I have to put up with that thing for a whole month?" She asked.

"Yep," he continued his ministrations. "You are so beautiful," he tells her, his eyes wandering to her body bellow her.

The hand that was once holding his chin found his arm beside her, her nails again working them up and down, soothingly. "What if I don't like it?" she asked him, curiously.

Her free hand found the nape of his neck, massaging with her nails until they were buried in his hair, pulling him closer and letting out a soft gasp when his mouth found the spot right above her clavicle.

"It'll grow on you," he replied without missing a beat, and she couldn't help but smile at the pun.

The light sensation the soft scruff on his chin was creating was now traveling down the flat plane of her bare abdomen, his lips touching her skin every once and a while as he continued downward. He traced his tongue around her navel, playfully, earning a shiver and a small sound of feeble self-control, before planting his lips there and blowing a raspberry.

Laughter rang out through the quiet morning air and she squirmed under him in the most delightful fashion, doing her best to get away from his lips and stay there at the same time. "Castle!" she squeaked, a little shell shocked, the vibrations, although over, still tingling, ever-present on her stomach. She felt the smile in the way his facial hair scraped lightly against her skin, upward in an accomplished grin as he planted a soft kiss there before moving on.

Her hands left his hair and found the sheets, clutching them, trying to still herself as laughter shook her. "Castle," she tried again, her voice coming out shaky despite her efforts to keep it even. Even then, it sounded like a warning.

Neither of them bothered with clothes the night before, so when he continued moving, no inevitable cotton barrier came. He hovered there a moment, letting the hair on his chin tickle her most sensitive spot lightly, his hot breath spreading over her. She wriggled in kind, letting out a growl that was mixed with excited laughter and impatience. He couldn't help but chuckle when one of her hands left the sheets, threading his hair, rather roughly. She didn't seem to know what to do with herself.

"Make up your mind," he told her, laughing, the vibrations causing her to tighten her hold on his head, damn near involuntarily.

"Touch me already," she whipped back, and although he couldn't see it, the infliction in her voice told him it came through clenched teeth. He lifted his eyes enough to see her- her head thrown back and eyes slammed shut as she tried to compose herself, self-control evaporating like a puddle of water on a dry summer night.

It may have been the sexiest thing he had ever seen.

His fingers traveled down her waist, feather-light and torturously slow until they rest at her hips, scraping his nails there, again very lightly, before gripping them so she wouldn't move. He lifted his lidded eyes once again to make sure her eyes were still shut to find they were.

And then he lowered his mouth.

She cried out, her back arching as found the bundle of nerves he was aiming for. If she pulled any harder on his hair it would all fall out, but it only egged him on as he continued, working her quickly to her peak before giving her release.

He didn't stop, working her through her orgasm before traveling upwards again, barely skimming her stomach and breast before claiming her lips with his, eager for the contact. Her mouth was just open in a way that allowed her to breathe without losing contact, leaving him perfectly capable of nibbling her bottom lip, planting languid kisses of his own anywhere he could reach.

When she seemed to regain basic motor functions, her arm lifted from its limp position on the bed and snaked around his waist. This time it was her fingertips running down the toned chest above her, snickering at the sharp intake of breath he took when she followed his happy trail, along with the sensitive nerves there, with a fingernail, lightly.

"Careful," he warned her, placing another lazy kiss to her mouth. "I'm ticklish." It was only as she grasped him that she caught his eye, an evil glint playing in hers, an equally wry smile forming at her lips.

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