Chapter 3

He rolled off, and took her with him so that he didn't have to lose contact. Beckett emitted a contented purr, and – astonishingly – stayed put. He'd swear it was a snuggle, except that this was badass Beckett, who didn't know a snuggle from a standard lamp. Of course, he'd never heard her purr before either, so maybe, just maybe, at home she snuggled and purred and was cuddlesome.

And maybe the moon was really made of green cheese, too.

He lay there, with Beckett sprawled over him, and decided that this was likely as close as he was going to get to cuddlesome, which was a tad disappointing. He liked cuddling. On the other hand, he was pretty keen on sex with Beckett, which had exceeded his expectations (which had been sky high) by some distance. It would just be nice to have cuddles too.

Oh. Ohhhh. Ohhhh, cuddles. Beckett had quite positively, definitely, absolutely, totally snuggled into him, tucked her dark head into his shoulder and nuzzled her nose into his neck, thrown an arm over his chest with a thoroughly possessive grip of her hand, and finished the job by tangling her insanely long legs into his. She did cuddle, and snuggle, and she was purring. He would never have believed that post-sex Beckett was soft and snuggly. More clean-up-and-go-home. Except this was her home. Well. Make it clear she expected him to go home. Ugh.

On balance, he adored snuggly, soft, post-sex Beckett. He made absolutely sure he had a strong, protective arm around her, linked his other arm into it to hold her cradled to him, and promptly fell asleep with the best cuddly object ever.

Beckett woke up because she was sweaty, sticky and, she discovered, stuck. Through her sleep-soaked incoherence, she found that she was stuck to Castle. Correction. Castle was stuck to her. She didn't like being sticky. Or stuck, for that matter. She wriggled out of his arms.

Correction. She tried to wriggle out of his arms. Said arms tightened, and suddenly it seemed like too much trouble to try to extract herself. That might, of course, have had something to do with Castle rousing, so to speak. His eyes were still firmly closed. Wriggle away turned into wriggle over, which left him in a very interesting position with a great deal of, er, potential. She stopped wriggling, and simply, um, slid.

Castle growled, tugged her down, and demonstrated that he could be very fully awake in less than a millisecond given the right encouragement. This had to be the best wake-up call she'd had in years. He fitted perfectly, hitting all the right spots, and most importantly he knew his way around the, um, area. Ohhhhh Castle!

"Good morning, Beckett," he said happily, a little later, when both of them were showered. Dressed... um... well... she had a robe, but he was swathed in a rather inadequate towel. Coffee was happening. Castle had wanted pancakes – she had too – but since her fridge contained one week-old half-portion of Chinese takeout and some worryingly blue fungus, it wasn't going to happen. She had an idea.

"We could go out and get breakfast."

"Yes," Castle said very thoughtfully. "We could." He paused. "But..."

"But?"

"But I'll have to help you put that bra on."

They didn't get breakfast. And they had to order in lunch. The bra watched, from the floor.

The next day, two dozen bralettes were delivered. Beckett stared at the package when she got home.

"Castle!" she screeched down the phone. "What have you done?"

"Me? Done?"

"Don't play innocent" –

"Certainly not. Being guilty is much more fun. Shall I bring the handcuffs, Detective?"

"You bought me those dumb bralettes. What did you do that for?"

"I like them."

"I can't take them off myself, you idiot!"

Castle said nothing, very meaningfully.

"You... you..."

"You don't have to wear them every day, you know. Unless you want me to take them off every day. I won't object if you don't," he said helpfully. Beckett howled again. "You liked it when I took the original one off. So did I. Uncovering all that pulchritude" –

"You aren't getting out of this by using ten-dollar flattery! Take them back."

"They won't fit me."

There was a wordless screech of fury.

"Aw, Beckett."

"I don't need any more underwear."

"Well, you could just not wear any, the next time you haven't done your washing. That definitely works for me" –

"I will shoot you."

"You'd miss me."

"Like I'd miss a thorn in my foot."

"Mean. I know you don't mean that. You could mean the no underwear" –

"Shut up. Now."

"But it" –

"Shut. Up."

"Okay."

The call was cut.

Some time later there was a very familiar, bouncy, rap on the door. Beckett cursed under her breath, and opened the door.

Ten seconds later, she cursed aloud. Castle had bounced straight past her into her bedroom and – why her, why now?

"Ooooohhhhh you've been peeking," he enthused. "I knew you'd like them." He grinned ferally. "You've been trying them on."

"How did" – Beckett snapped her mouth shut two words too late. (Not too late at all, smirked the brainworm, wearing shades and smoking a fat cigar. I know why you didn't stop yourself.)

"You're wearing one now," Castle said, half an octave lower and with a predatory expression on his face. He prowled up to her. "And since you can't take it off by yourself, you put it on because you knew I would come over." He put both large hands around her waist. "Didn't you, Beckett?"

"No," she said unconvincingly.

"Telling lies is naughty," he purred, and slipped his hands under her soft t-shirt on to her skin. She breathed a little deeper, and her eyes gleamed greenly. His hand slid upward, and stroked under the band. Her hands went around his neck, without her brain getting in the way. He leaned down, slowly, bringing one hand up to cup her skull and hold her for a hard, possessive kiss. "Let's see."

At that point he realised that his belt and pants had become undone. He shimmied his hips, which allowed them to fall off, and then ran his fingers around to the fastenings of Beckett's pants. Fair was fair, after all. Her zipper opened, and his fingers pushed the pants off so that they could explore the thin silk and dip below into damp heat. She gasped, and he removed his fingers and pressed closer, hoisted her up so she wrapped legs around him, then laid her out on the bed and loomed above her, hands locked and pinned against the pillow. He shifted slightly against her: hard weight against hot heat, lazy smile reflected in her dark, dilated pupils: she bit her lip seductively, inviting him down.

"Not yet," he murmured. He let go of her hands, and sat back on his knees to unbutton his shirt, slowly. She watched the show, eyes alight. When the shirt slid from his wide shoulders, she sat up, and stroked both hands down from neck to the edge of his boxers, teasing his nipples and then resting with her thumbs tucked into the waist. "Not yet," he said again, and took her hands away so that he could remove her t-shirt and examine the sheer fabric barely concealing her breasts.

"You were ogling, so I get to ogle too."

"I don't ogle!"

"Leer?"

"That's for dirty old men. Like you."

"I'm not old. But I'll happily be very dirty with you. Just have patience. All this hurry is really quite unnecessary. Taking it slowly will be even better. Wait and see. Or better still, wait and feel." While he was talking, his fingertips had been exploring her midriff, sinking slightly to tease the front panel of her panties, rising to play at the undercurve of her breast. Her breathing became shallower, half a sigh: he brought her forward to straddle him so that he could take her mouth with sure, strong confidence.

"Take them off," Beckett growled, tugging at his boxers.

"Sure," he said happily. "You only had to ask." He lifted her without any apparent effort, and rolled her pretty panties away. She was lying on her back with his face leaning on her stomach before her mouth opened.

"Not mine, yours."

"You didn't specify. And I prefer yours."

"You wanna wear my underwear? We need to talk."

"Nope, and right now I don't want you wearing it either." His wide shoulders nudged her legs apart. "It would spoil all your fun."

"Don't you mean your fun?" she snipped.

"No. See, I could do this" – he stroked his tongue down her stomach – "whether your panties were on or off, and I could do this" – his tongue parted the soft curls – "just the same too, and this" – the tip of his tongue drew a wicked little circle and she gasped – "but you wouldn't enjoy it half as much because you'd lose the – er – finer points." He demonstrated with another wicked little circle.

"Stop talking."

"Would you?"

"Would I what? Just stop talking and" –

"And? Would you enjoy it more with your panties on? Because – ow!"

Beckett had got tired of the talking and, since Castle wasn't doing anything useful with his mouth, pulled his head up by way of his nose. It worked in the precinct.

It didn't work in her bedroom. Castle removed her death-grip on his nose with consummate ease, and tutted at her.

"That's rude. Just when I was asking you what you liked best, you spoilt it. Patience, Beckett. Didn't we just discuss patience?"

She growled at him. He smirked.

"Slow and steady wins the race. Or in this case, the prize."

"I prefer less talking, more action."

"I like both."

"You never stop talking."

"If you hadn't interrupted me," he said with a saintly smile, "I wouldn't have stopped the action either."

"What action? There was no action. You just talked. So much for your reputation."

"My reputation is well-deserved." Beckett emitted a disgusted noise. "And if you'd just let me carry on, you'd have found that out. Although you already know" –

"Pah!"

"Because you were very obviously enjoying the fruits of my research yesterday. And the night before. I didn't hear you complaining about anything then. You were demanding more."

"Hmph."

"But if you don't wanna play that's okay. We won't do anything you don't want. Consent is very important."

The prim tone was quite infuriating. Beckett was duly infuriated, and expressed it by hauling Castle towards her by his convenient ears and kissing him to shut him up. Approximately half a second later she realised that the rat had played her, although at least his ears had suffered for it. Her kiss had been entirely subsumed in his much more predatory and possessive attack, and somehow she was pinned down by the bulk of his body with thick weight pressing demandingly through his boxers and against her. (And it feels good, said the brainworm smugly.)

"You could just have said, you know."

"I did. You ignored it."

"No, you just got impatient. A bit like you got impatient with your pretty bralette. Which, I notice, you're still wearing." His eyes darkened again. "Do you need some help taking it off?"

"It can stay on."

Beckett ended the discussion by conquering his mouth again in such a forceful fashion that Castle couldn't fight back – especially when she followed up with the forceful and rapid removal of his boxers. Of course, she couldn't both kiss him and get the boxers completely out of the way, but as soon as her evil fingers explored, raided and took firm hold of him, Castle managed to lose the shorts without further delay. Unfortunately, losing the boxers seemed to have restored some brain function, which considering where his blood actually was didn't seem right at all. Where was physiology when she needed it – oh. Ohhhhhhh.

Okay, not kissing her was not fair. Not letting her have her own wicked way was also not fair. But since he was determinedly kissing down her body and – oh fuck oh yes – was back to where he shouldn't have left and thank Christ not talking, she'd put up with the unfairness. He shouldn't be able to do that with his mouth but he could practice as much as – ohhhh – he liked on her. She couldn't stop the noises spilling from her mouth or the wild twisting of her hips but luckily Castle was exerting some extremely impressive strength to hold her wide and mostly still and – fuck Castle – he'd teased and licked and sucked and – ohhhhh God don't stop – now he was flickering from inside to out and her hands were in his hair to make sure he couldn't stop and oh fuck Castle!

Castle slithered up the bed and gathered Beckett in. That had been profoundly satisfying. Reducing Beckett to a mass of writhing lust was definitely satisfying. Cuddling her lax, snuggly body afterwards was perfect.

Of course, cuddling her wet, wriggly body was pretty damn good too, and right now, the wriggles were indicating that she was about to initiate more than cuddles. He guessed he'd cope.

His hands ran up her body to the edge of the bralette – he really, really liked these bralette things, mainly because it ensured he got to take them off and undressing Beckett was something he could get used to in, oooohhhh, about half a second or so – and insinuated his thumbs under the band.

"Nuh-uh," Beckett murmured. "Paws off."

"But..."

"Nope."

"I want to play," Castle pouted.

"So do I. Patience." She smirked. "You keep telling me to be patient." She rolled Castle on to his back, and examined him from toes to top. "Hm," she said. Castle flexed his muscles, and the hum acquired an edge of arousal. Her gaze strolled back down, and took a rest somewhere around the middle, at a particularly scenic spot.

"Staring is creepy," Castle tried.

"Just deciding whether my eyes are bigger than my mouth," Beckett tossed back.

Castle choked, and then preened, and then pulled her down across him to kiss her. His thumbs slipped back to the band of the bralette. Without looking, she tapped his fingers sharply. Castle whined at her.

"Nope." She sat up.

He whined louder. "Come back and be kissed."

"Thought you wanted this off?"

"You can't take it off yourself."

Beckett smiled, inscrutably feline.

"You can't! That was the whole...point... Beckett?"

Beckett executed a boneless, beautifully sinuous squirm, and the bralette hit the floor. She smirked.

"You... you... you played me!" Castle squawked. "You could take it off yourself all the time!"

Beckett sniggered.

"Hang on. You weren't faking the first time. You'd never make a fool of yourself like that." He scowled. "I bought you all these pretty things so I could peel them off you slowly, stroking and kissing all the way, and you've been practising so you don't need me."

"You didn't have to buy me anything. I didn't ask you to," she noted. He huffed, since it was entirely true. Beckett never asked him for anything.

"Who says I don't want you to peel them off me?" Beckett husked, crawling over him. "Who says I don't need you?" She rubbed herself over him. It was very clear that she wanted him. Castle growled deep in his chest. "Of course, if you don't want to..."

"Who says?" Castle mimicked, and trapped her, rolling them again and imprisoning her beneath him. "I've got you." He deployed his far greater bulk to prove it. "Deceiving me wasn't kind."

Beckett executed another sinuous, sensual movement which resulted in her legs around his waist and Castle deep within her. "But then you might not have been here," she pointed out. "Seems like you like being here."

"I do," Castle purred dangerously, and moved. "And here" – he pushed again – "and here" – she moaned as he hit the perfect spot – "and here" – his fingers took a detour and she cried out his name, so he did it again and then gave up anything resembling thought because she was just so tight and hot and wet and perfect and all his and nothing remained but her and him and them and explosion.

"It wasn't fair, you know."

"What wasn't?" Beckett murmured into his neck, nestled into his embrace.

"Making me think you needed help."

"Awww," she said insincerely. "Would you rather not have come?" Somehow he wasn't at all sure that she meant travelled to my apartment.

He waggled an eyebrow. "Would you rather I hadn't?" She snuggled closer, and didn't answer. "Anyway, you deceived me."

"You deceived yourself. You knew I did yoga."

"I didn't know you were a contortionist."

Beckett unsnuggled marginally, and assumed a perfect King Cobra pose, feet firmly placed on the back of her head. Castle's eyes bugged out. She unfolded, and flopped back on to him.

"I'm flexible," she said.

"But two days ago you couldn't take it off yourself."

"The first time. Of course I worked out how." Castle pouted. Beckett stretched a little and kissed it. "You won't be here every time." He pouted again, and got kissed again. "But when you are," she breathed into his ear, "I'll let you help."

"I can be flexible too," he noted.

"You can?"

"Mm. Definitely. But one thing I'm not flexible about at all."

"Mm?"

"Being in love with you."

Fin.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

Hope the US readers are having a good Labor Day weekend.