Chapter 2: Checking it twice

"Oh yes, I've been good."

"Are you sure? I think you're a very bad boy." She runs a firm hand straight down his front and strokes over the hard bulge. "This doesn't feel like you're a good boy at all." She strokes some more, and he groans. "Nope. Not a good boy." She pauses, and steps slightly back. Then she grins evilly. "I might make an exception. It is Christmas. If you look really hard, then I'm sure you'll find I've got a present for you." She's barely finished the sentence before Castle has pounced on her. This time he doesn't give her the opportunity to say anything more. Conveniently, she'd rather he was using his mouth like this. More Christmas kisses.

She brings a leg up around him and rolls in, pressing over him and squirming deliberately over the weight there, undoing his button-down by touch and playing naughtily with his pecs, rolling his nipples till he forces her hands away. That's not fair. He only gets a present if she does. She hadn't finished unwrapping.

Oh. Okay. He just wanted to do a little unwrapping of his own. Though normally you unwrap the top layer first. Castle seems to be unwrapping rather lower down. (She'd drawn the line at stockings. She's not in Vice any more.) He's descended, leaving the dress untouched, and is currently peeling off her pantyhose, very carefully. He slips them off and replaces her foot in each shoe and looks up from his position, kneeling at her feet.

"What does Santa like?" he asks. His wickedly talented fingers run up the inside of her ankles and keep climbing. "Does she like this?" He opens her a little wider, and kisses each knee. His mouth follows his fingers. "Or that?" Her hands grip on nothing, and she wobbles, unsupported. His hands come up to her hips to hold her steady.

"Is this being a good boy?" she asks huskily.

"I'm very good," and his mouth reaches the naked skin of her thigh. He certainly is. Very good. Excellent, in – ohhh – fact. She likes that present. She likes it more with each stroke of his tongue. She'd like it even more if she didn't have to stand up. She reaches for his head and pulls him up.

"Bed," she breathes. "Santa only comes when you're in bed."

"Is that so?" He looks disbelieving. "Better go to bed, then. I wouldn't want Santa not to come." He walks her all the way to her bedroom, kissing her all the way, and pushes her backwards till she's lying flat. "There. Santa can come any time she likes. I'll be good for the whole night." Huh? The whole night? What exactly is being planned here?

He ducks his head back down and proceeds to show just how good he is. Good and well-behaved are clearly not at all the same thing. She'll take good. Well-behaved would be very dull. That is – ohhh – not dull. The man is not just good, he's excellent. Truly ta- ohhh –lented. Santa will definitely be coming Castle please yes now tonight.

She seems to have been a little more unwrapped than she'd anticipated. She's still got the dress on. And her heels. The rest is mysteriously missing. Must have been the elves. She very much hopes that Santa doesn't come but once a year, though.

Time for her to finish unwrapping her present. Castle's darkened eyes are smiling rather smugly down at her. Hmmm. That won't do. If there's any smug satisfaction to be had, she'll have it. She sits up and shoves his shirt off his shoulders. There. That's a good start. She always takes the first layer of wrappings off quickly. After that, she wants to… savour… it. She pushes Castle's big frame down into the pillows. "Santa's come," she purrs sensually into his ear. "Time for her to give you a present."

She slowly slides his belt from its buckle, not touching anything other than the leather. She smiles very naughtily, turns her back on Castle's head, and straddles his middle. He breathes harder, and reaches for her, spreading large fingers intimately over her thighs, under the skirt. She tuts. "That's not being nice, Castle. That's being naughty. Don't you want a present?"

"I thought I'd got my present when Santa came. All wrapped up in red velvet." His fingers move in a way that indicates what he thinks his present is. She squirms against him. "I like red velvet cake. It's one of my favourite things to eat." Cake, Castle. Cake. She is not a cake.

"No, you've not had your present yet. Be good, and you'll get it." His fingers stay still on her, but don't drop away. She lets that piece of disobedience pass, for now, and undoes his pants. His hips flex as she pulls the pants away. Ah. There's the Christmas costume. She giggles. Giggles? She doesn't giggle. But the boxers have little cartoon reindeer speckled over them, interspersed with Christmas trees. She peers more closely at the pattern, not scrupling to breathe moistly over Castle's – er – assets. Reindeer? Christmas trees? Ah… and candy canes on the trees. How… sweet.

"Christmas boxers, Castle?"

"Yes. Appropriate clothing for all circumstances. Essential for the well-dressed writer about town."

"Appropriate, hmmm?" She twists round to look at him. "Really? I guess I'd better leave them there, then. If they're appropriate to the occasion." Castle grins back.

"I'll let you decide what's appropriate. You being Santa and all. I wouldn't want to interfere with whatever Santa decides to bring me." The dirty look in his eyes tells her he's only too happy with the present he thinks he's about to receive. He has no idea. She turns back round and delicately peels off the boxers – mmmm, silk, mmmm – mmmm! Oooohhh. That's a very pretty view indeed. Oooohhh yessss. And all hers. Whose present was this anyway?

She rolls the boxers down his legs, stretching out till her chest is flat along his legs and her soaked core is resting over his heat. Then she slowly flexes back to sitting up and starts to enjoy herself. Definitely her present. All nicely unwrapped, no batteries or assembly required. Time to play with her new toy. She strokes gently, then firmly, then plays with the soft skin for a while. This present comes with sound. Mostly oh fuck, which seems a bit profane for most presents – she's sure that the talking toys in FAO Schwartz don't say that, but then again she's fairly sure that you can't buy this toy in FAO Schwartz either – but she likes it. So does he. She plays for a little longer, then decides that it's time to switch it up.

That was not the plan. That was absolutely not the plan. It was her game. This is not fair. She was happily deciding all the plays and he's changed the whole game. It's her present. It wasn't as if she'd been unkind. Not at all. She'd simply decided that since her fingers were tired it was time to use her mouth. That's no reason for him to pull her down flat and do the same. Not at all. How's she supposed to concentrate on giving him his present (or playing with hers) if he's doing that? She twists her tongue evilly and uses her teeth in a totally filthy fashion and removes any control from Castle at all. He's stopped. He seems to need all the air he can get. He's not talking any more. Well, only one word. Beckett Beckett Beckett Beckett. Then it degenerates into an uncontrolled jerking of hips and a – well, roar. He definitely liked his present.

Oh. She's flat on her back, again. This time she seems to be lying on Castle's chest. How'd that happen? He shouldn't have been able to think for at least a few minutes. Come to that, he isn't talking, so he can't be thinking. He can't do one without the other. Ever. So this had nothing to do with conscious thought. She tries to wriggle off to one side. Nothing happens. Oh. She's not sure about that. Castle's instinctive reaction is to keep tight hold of her? That's... worrying? Weird? Way out? Welcome? What?

After a moment or two (a very gratifying pause, that) Castle's clearly regained brain function. He's talking. He's not making any sense (this is not new) but he's talking. She makes a considerable effort to loosen his arms and manages to roll over. Not off, she notes, merely over. She looks down into his rather dazed eyes.

"Mine," he says again. That must be the seventh or eighth time. "All mine. My present." It doesn't make any more sense with repetition. She stares blankly at him. He's displaying a particularly smug grin and radiating satiated satisfaction.

"What are you talking about?"

"Mine." She glares. It doesn't work nearly as well when she's wearing a minimalist red velvet Santa dress as when she has her gun, but she tries.

"Mine what, Castle?" His hand slides over the velvet dress and finds the curve of her ass.

"Mine. I spent years trying to catch Santa and failing. Now I've got her." She just knows she's gaping at him. What is he on? He can't possibly mean that the way it sounds. Her thinking is substantially impeded by the movement of his hand. It's stroked all the way down over the fabric and is now stroking over smooth skin. She is very aware that she is naked under the dress – and that's his fault, too. As is the fact that she's very hot and very damp. His fingers are starting to move in some very distracting patterns.

"What" – she gasps as his fingers trail across her – "do you mean?" She can't even manage a sharp tone. That's useless, if she wants answers.

"I've caught Santa, and now I'm keeping her. She's my present." He's deluded. Delusional. She drops her head down on his shoulder and wishes it was a brick wall to beat it against. That is just such a ridiculous statement she doesn't know how to refute it. "Mine," he says happily, again. His fingers slide slowly through her and pause to dip inside.

Okay, she'll indulge the delusion. She lifts her head. "You can't keep Santa. Santa is for everyone."

"Santa's only for everyone on Christmas Eve. Anyway, Santa is able to be everywhere in only a few instants on Christmas Eve. She's like a quantum wave. Particle. Both. Schrodinger's Santa." Beckett boggles at him. This is insane. Utterly insane in a way that only Castle ever manages. How can he be like this even in bed? "So I can have her all the time because quantum theory means that she can be delivering presents and still be with me." Her head crashes back down on to his chest in despair. There's just no arguing with the man. She'll get lost in another go-around of sheer madness. One last try.

"You do realise that Santa isn't real, don't you?" Castle fakes an expression of horrified misery.

"Santa isn't real? Nooooooo!" Then he smiles. "Of course she is. She's right here." Aaarghhhhh.

"If I'm Santa then I can't possibly be a cop. So you'll have no-one to follow around."

"Santa has to have a day job." What? "Otherwise how would she live? She has to eat. So she needs a job. So why not be a cop?" Castle is smirking smugly. For every excuse she comes up with, it seems he's going to have an answer. She's never going to win this. She simply doesn't have the sheer insanity required to deal with it. Her head flops down again.

Castle rolls her over and off him on to her back on the bed. She looks up at him leaning over her. He smiles happily. "My present. My Santa." He kisses her, very unfairly, just before she's about to argue some more. Assuming she could think of an argument. She hates it when he uses insane theorising and silly stories to out-argue her. If he'd stick to logic and common sense there would be no problem. She'd win, every time.

If he stopped stroking like that she might be able to think of a good argument, too. Ohhhh. It's cheating, to play with her like that and stop her thinking. Even if it feels so very, very good. When did being naughty start to be so nice? It's ridiculous – oohh. Maybe she should just enjoy the moment and leave the argument for later. She tugs his head down, ignores his ow – what's he got ears for, if it's not for directing him to the right place? – and kisses him firmly, nipping his lip and then stroking him till the only insanity he's producing is insanely arousing actions and reactions.

She's still wearing the dress. This is not sensible. She'd like to keep this dress. Strictly for private purposes, of course. She's not wearing it in public ever again. Especially not near Castle. Especially not when it seems that he's exploring the contents in a way which should be kept very private. She tries to undo the zip, hindered quite considerably by Castle's objections to her actions.

"I like velvet. So very strokable." Yes, but that's not the dress he's stroking.

"It'll need dry-cleaned," she says pathetically. It was supposed to be an acerbic comment. It all went wrong about one letter in when he slipped a large finger slowly in and out. She's sure he only did it so she couldn't talk. Well, he was wrong. Even if it did sound a lot more like a moan.

"Oh." Finally, something's registering. "That's okay. I'll get you another one."

There's something in his tone… if she could just concentrate for a second… if he wasn't slowly taking her higher… if he wasn't rising over her… if he wasn't inside her and it didn't feel so damn good and explosion wasn't building in her and her brain shatters along with her body and his.

"Maybe you were right."

"Uh?" He's admitting she was right?

"The dress." Dress? He's worrying about the dress? She's not worrying about the dress. She's not worrying about anything at all. Santa doesn't just come once a year, it seems. Or even just once a night.

"What about the dress?" What about the dress? Who cares about the dress? Double standards are definitely operating here. For someone who'd objected – forcefully – when she tried to take the dress off, it's all very different when he thinks it should be removed. Humph. On the other hand, she can't do that when she's taking it off. There is no way that anyone would be flexible enough to unzip themselves and drop kisses – dirty hot wet kisses and occasional nips – on each vertebra. Major flaw in the human design, that. Mmmm. She likes this. Maybe the dress had some advantages after all. Not that she'll tell Lanie that. Or Castle. She might even allow Lanie to live, after a little casual torture and a small amount of maiming.

Ooohhh. The kisses have reached the dimple of her back. Oh. That is no fun at all, Castle. He's stopped. She makes a cross little noise, which has no effect at all, and rolls over to try glaring instead.

"Perfect," smirks Castle. "Total mental attunement." He puts on a disgustingly sappy expression. "We share a deep and meaningful connection." Ugh. That is totally ridiculous. Just because they finish each other's sentences half the time does not mean that they have a connection. She growls, to prove it. It's deeply disturbing that the growl is more of a satisfied purr. Realising that she is currently totally satisfied – though the prospect of more gift-giving later is not unpleasant – is also disturbing.

Castle sliding the dress very slowly up and over her head, peeling off her push-up bra as he goes, and stroking, petting and/or kissing every single inch he exposes, is doing nothing for her ability to think. Nothing. Lying naked beneath his hot gaze is also not helping. He's produced that gaze at odd intervals in the precinct. There, it's easy to shrug it off. Right now, it's not. Though… she shrugs. Ha. That fetched him. But now she'll never be able to meet that look again without blushing furiously. He's doing some really, really wicked, naughty and stunningly nice things with that evil, evil mouth, and if he adds a lick of his lips to that look in the precinct she'll be forced to arrest him for provocation. There's no doubt about his guilt. Castle is a very bad boy indeed. He shouldn't be allowed any presents at all. Beyond the one of which he's already taken possession, of course.

"There. All unwrapped. Now I can see the whole of my present." He produces a predatory smile, which makes him resemble a large, lazy, lion, idly contemplating his next meal. "I like slow unwrapping. I like anticipating my discoveries. It makes playing with my present" – he draws a firm hand down the centre of her body and stops a little north of where he should – "so much better." He grins happily. "And now that I've caught Santa and she's my present I'll have something" – why does that sound like someone? – "to unwrap all year round." Hold on – what? Not just a Christmas fling? What is happening here? "A gift that keeps on giving." Wait a moment. Hang on. This isn't – ohhhh. His fingers trail through her until she stops thinking.

Castle bends down and kisses her again, deep and slow and sure, rolls till she's tight against him and she really did not instruct her leg to come up round his middle, skin to skin and heat to heat.

"Of course, it's better to give than to receive," he drawls deeply. "I've received my presents" – his voice drops yet deeper into a fur-edged semi-growl that slinks over her nerves and should absolutely not be allowed on account of its effect on her brain – melting – and body – also melting – "and now it's my turn to give." She rather thought he had. Given, that is. Given her two very much appreciated presents. Still, she can cope with more presents.

Ohhhh yes. She shouldn't be asking for more presents. She certainly shouldn't be begging for them. It's bad manners to ask – please Castle yes Castle – for presents. Please more just like that please. How is it that under his touch she's one single erogenous zone? It's not physically possible. Ohhhh please don't stop. He's playing her like an instrument, but she's fairly sure that the noises she's making aren't carols. Or indeed singing. She shatters like a thrown snowball.

"I love Christmas," Castle murmurs. "Don't you?"

"Uh." Can't she even manage words now?

"But I always felt that Santa got a bit of a raw deal, only coming once a year." The predatory smirk reappears. "I feel that Santa should come a lot more often. Every night, at least."

"Uh?" This is not articulate. Nor is it stopping Castle. She really ought to concentrate. This sounds vaguely as if it might be important.

"So that's settled."

"What's settled?" She's sure she's missed something.

"You're my present, and Santa ought to come every night. So you'll have to spend every night with me, Santa."

It's not fair. She can't object if her mouth is full. Kissing her was cheating. So's doing that. And definitely that. Her brain has fried. That's surely why she's saying oh, okay then.

And then she's not saying anything at all.

Before she falls asleep, tucked into Castle's arms, she thinks sleepily that she'll have to give Lanie a present now.

Thank you all. Happy Christmas.