Chapter 2: Mujer

It's his turn to deal again. She looks at her cards, and considers her options behind a perfectly blank interrogation face. About that point she's mildly distracted by a slight draught around her ankle. She moves her leg. The draught resolves itself into a definite touch, skimming lightly under the leg of her pants. She glares at Castle. The touch disappears. So, sadly, does her train of thought. She loses the hand, and takes off her jacket, not without some relief. She's really very hot. On the next hand she's prepared for his tactics, and when she detects a foot playing with her pants leg she coughs slightly to attract Castle's eye, then adjusts her neckline, ensuring that her hands are interestingly close to her cleavage. Castle loses that hand instantly. Beckett is noticeably smug.

Right up till the point he takes his shirt off. At that point smug disappears. Oh. Oh wow. That's just unfair. Couldn't he have taken his watch off? That is a very nice view indeed – and very, very distracting. Still, she's got game. And a very substantial advantage. She's only lost one shoe. Castle is left with a watch, pants and underpants. On that basis she'll have won. And had a nice view to look at while she does.

He shuffles the deck. She wasn't aware that shuffling cards required the flexing of pectorals as if auditioning for Mr Universe. Not that she'd want Mr Universe. Muscles on muscles inflated by steroids are less than attractive. Castle's muscles, on the other hand, are extremely attractive. Much more so than she'd anticipated. Her body is responding to them in all sorts of brain-scrambling ways. Still, she intends to win. She looks at her cards, which are hopeless, and has an idea. If she's not going to win this hand, and given that if he takes off any more clothes she will start losing, which is a bad plan; she can at least leave him brain-fried. Her cards remain hopeless, and though she bets and bluffs to the top of her considerable ability, she loses the hand. She pauses, and waits for Castle to fall into the trap.

"Aren't you going to pay up, Beckett." Gotcha.

"I'm considering my options," she murmurs huskily. "I could take off my necklace." She slides her hands up over her breasts and pulls the neck of her top down slightly to expose the chain. Castle squeaks. She's sure he didn't mean to. "Or a shoe." She stretches a leg out in front of her and entirely deliberately rubs it over Castle's calf. Feels like there's some nice firm muscle there too. "Or a sock." This time the extension of her leg leaves her toes, still in a sock, in his lap. She wiggles them. That's definitely a very firm muscle. Hard, one might say.

Oh. There seems to be a hand round her ankle. Her toes are now wiggling in thin air, which is wholly pointless and achieves nothing. On the other – er – hand, her foot is being massaged. The sensations run right up her leg and stop at the top, adding to the flowing, pooling heat in her body. Still, get with the programme, Kate. You had a plan. You still have a plan. She tugs her foot away, not without some regrets. He's good at that. She wonders what other areas might benefit from a massage. She might make a few suggestions, later. She notices that her breathing has mysteriously accelerated. Equally mysteriously, so has Castle's. She wonders idly if her eyes are as dark as his. Stop it, she scolds herself. She has a plan.

"Or I could take off my shirt." Castle's jaw drops. It flaps like a demented bat. He is utterly, totally dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. Brain-fried. When she pushes her chair back so that he has a perfect view of everything north of her waist and puts her fingers on the edge of her top he – oh. That's not a whimper, this time. That is a wholly predatory growl. In fact, it sounds like his brain may be fried but his body is not. She thinks that his extremely basic instincts are about to take over. Well, that's a win too. Oh yes.

She slides her top up slowly to reveal a slice of toned abdomen. The growl is considerably louder. Castle, in fact, looks poised to pounce. If there weren't a table in the way. However, it is a very small, though perfectly formed and fortunately very sturdy, table. It is not going to be much of a barrier. Its suitability as a barrier wasn't why she chose it. Not at all. Another inch of satin skin goes on display.

She's astonished by Castle's self control. He managed to hold out until she pulled the top over her head and flexed her own chest in its very pretty red lace bra. Now, however, the table is on the floor. So are the cards. So are the Hershey's Kisses. Just as well they're wrapped. She, on the other hand, is not on the floor. Nor is she on her chair, any more. She has been yanked up against Castle and she is – yes, the word is crushed – against those excellent pecs and she is currently not going anywhere at all. Not that she wants to. He's currently engaged in proving to criminal conviction standards – beyond all reasonable doubt – that he can provide the right kind of kisses. Very much so. Well, she won the war. She'll let him win the peace.

She likes the way he kisses: deep, hard, searching and very much sure of himself and her reaction. She also likes the way he's holding her: tight and close and his hand is roaming interestingly over her rear and making her squirm provocatively against him (though she was intending to do that anyway) and now seems like a very good time to deal with a rather unnecessarily done up button and zip and oh he liked that. And he liked that (astonishing what one well-directed stroke can do). And she definitely likes that response. She squirms against the hand undoing her pants and imposing equally well-directed movements as it does.

Somehow she's only wearing her bra and panties and he's still holding her right up against him and he's got his thigh in between hers which is pressure where she really, really wants it and ooohh he's found a spot she didn't know she had on her neck and this is the good kind of aggression and maybe it's time to accede to his demands. Necessary checks are rapidly exchanged and approved before this goes too far. Lust is one thing – but stupidity is not helpful.

"I think you like these kisses too," he whispers darkly. "Don't you?" She emits a little gasp which seems to be an acceptable answer. His hand pulls her tighter into him and then catches the leg that's wound itself round his waist. "You like me playing with you, too." His fingers flex and slide intimately over her. She's not capable of answering. She lets her own fingers explore, and listens to him fail to find any words too for a moment. His assets do seem to be quite extensive. Certainly large enough to meet the claims she's currently making. Her hand grips and slides, to make sure. He goes back to plundering her mouth and ensuring that no matter how much she tries to fight back he's the one who's leading the charge.

"Bedroom. Now." She's used to giving the orders. She's not used to Castle obeying them. But he's – just for once, hallelujah – obeying this one. Though she hadn't quite expected to arrive on her bed by being dropped from his arms nor for him to be propped over her in quite such a wholly dominant, predatory manner. She'll admit it has some very interesting – and welcome – effects. He's looking down at her as if she's the only woman in the world and if she didn't know better she'd think he'd planned this. (He didn't – she thinks. She did – she knows.)

She runs her hand encouragingly over his body and palms him. He retaliates by using one large hand to pull and slip the fabric of her bra across her erect nipples and stimulate her breasts till she's panting and making little noises and then slides down her body to use that – oohh – excellently mobile mouth about which she will never complain again to first lick and then suck and – ohhh – nip and what had she been doing because she's totally forgotten it and mmm he's still moving downwards and his hair is really, really soft and what conditioner is he using because she might try it ooohhhh. She doesn't need to think. She just needs him to keep going down. She likes the reality even better than the thought. He will, too. She's perfectly confident of that.

He draws a wet, dirty circle around her navel and then stops, briefly, rises back to her mouth. A few seconds later it's clear why. "That's better, Beckett. It's very sexy, but we don't need it now." What's better? Oh. Hmph. Her bra is not a rug. Even if it's suddenly decorating the floor. He bends back to her bared breasts and proceeds to prove that the excellence of their first encounter with his mouth was no accident. She proceeds to prove that he's not the only one who can play. She runs her fingers lightly over his chest, which promptly expands in a highly flattering fashion, and then scrapes gently downward until she's reached her goal. Then she feathers lightly up and down and round about until it's clear that any more playing will be less than perfectly helpful at this point. Clarity is aided by Castle forcibly removing her hands and holding them out the way. Which is no fun. He shouldn't be using his surprisingly extensive muscle and weight advantage like that. She pulls, hopefully. It doesn't help. She's stuck. It's amazingly hot.

She flexes gently under his grip, and wriggles a little. Castle leans over her and smiles lazily. It's the same expression as she's seen on the lions at the Zoo. It says I like to play with my food. Guess she's worked out what she is now. Prey. Oh well, that doesn't seem like such a bad outcome suddenly. She can cope with being eaten. She'll have her turn to be the predator in time. Oh yes. She smiles back equally sensually and flexes again. He growls, deep in his chest. Just like the lions. It vibrates down every nerve and vein and twitches all the muscles deep in her core in ways which leave her flushed and panting and wet.

"Now isn't this a nice game to play?" Castle asks, and then draws a line straight down from her neck to the very edge of her very brief panties.

"It has a few good points, I suppose," Beckett drawls. The effect is somewhat spoilt by the small mewl in the middle of the sentence. "It's a little inconclusive, though. How do I know if I've won?"

"I don't know how you know. I know how I know I've won, though."

"Oh?"

"I've won if you're calling my name."

"In your dreams. But in that case I'll claim a win when you're calling mine."

"And in yours, Beckett. Shall we play?" His fingers wander down a fraction further and his smile turns a little more mischievous as he teases and she mewls again.

"Knock yourself out." It's a challenge, and she knows how he'll respond. It's not only she who's competitive. This time the fingers catch on the edge of the fine fabric and take it with them. The smile's gone, too. He slithers down the bed, kissing as he goes. This time he doesn't stop at her stomach, takes a brief, light nip at her hipbone as he passes, swirls his tongue over the tiny sting and carries on down, nibbling behind her knee so she shudders and moves restlessly, ending up right down at her feet. Her feet don't need nibbled, or kissed. Castle falling at them – now that she can deal with.

He sits back on his heels, running his eyes over her naked body, gloriously naked himself and utterly unashamed. She looks him up and down as hotly as he is doing to her, sits up and reaches for him. He gathers her into him, jerks his hips against her as she straddles him and he slides over her slick heat as she leans back and he balances her all the way down as she opens to him and if he had been going to use his mouth first he isn't now and that is just fine with her because he feels very, very good as he slowly slides into her and she stretches around him and oh yes he fits just perfectly and she wraps her legs around him to take him deeper and he kisses her and then he moves and she moves and slowly he pulls out and slowly pushes in and by the time he's done that a few times she's already moaning and his fingers move down between them and circle and moan becomes calling out and he circles her more intensely and Castle don't stop he thrusts harder, faster and Beckett he groans and yes, now, more, harder, Castle! it's all too much and too good and she's lost in the movement and the moment and then the release.

She doesn't want to move. There's a nice warm chest and soothingly rhythmic heartbeat under her head, two nice warm arms around her, and she's nicely tucked in. That's just – well – nice, for now. She can't think of any other word. She can't, in fact, think. When she's a little less limp, she'll think. Probably about the next step. He's played with her quite sufficiently well that making this a regular event is not at all a bad idea. She wiggles, tentatively, and finds that she isn't going anywhere just yet.

"Let's just stay right here," Castle rumbles softly. "No need to go anywhere right now." Okay, then. She snuggles back down, for a short while, and allows her brain to start functioning again. It tells her that this is all very pleasant and should be encouraged. Her body rudely interrupts her brain to tell her much more forcefully that she should be starting on the second round of games round about right now dammit. She doesn't normally let her body tell her what to do, but since it's been right so far tonight she'll listen to it some more. Fortunately her brain, for once, is not disagreeing. She likes it much better when they're both on the same page.

She wiggles not sideways, which would be unproductive and pointless because (one) she won't be allowed to wiggle away from Castle – so much is clear, his embrace is not painful but there's not a lot of wiggle room – and (two) it's the wrong direction, but downward. She'd missed this chance earlier. Castle, who seems to have been more or less asleep (at least he hadn't turned over, she'd prefer he were awake if she's under him) for the last while, abruptly returns to wakefulness when her mouth flickers briefly but deliberately over his nipples and then continues on down to areas which are more in need of ministration. Well. Not in need, precisely. But she wants to, and she enjoys it, and she's wiggled sufficiently far that she's perfectly positioned.

She licks, just once. Castle gasps. She doesn't do it again. He's very tense. She should relax him. She takes him into her mouth and twines her tongue across him. He makes some formlessly desperate noises. She likes that. She likes it even better that his hips are jerking spasmodically under her mouth. She adds a measured use of her fingers and, as a small change, her fingernails, to the evil, filthy actions that she can take with her tongue and smiles wickedly as Castle's noises turn into some language that she's sure he shouldn't be using forced out on a series of tortured groans and he is completely at her mercy. Of course, she doesn't deal in mercy. She only deals in justice, and right now justice demands that she reduce him to a melted mess. So she does. He's frantically repeating her name – not many other words seem to be left in his head, and all of them are profane – and if winning is the number of times she's made him say her name then she's about six months ahead on the score sheet. On a once a week basis, naturally. It's all profoundly satisfactory. She won the poker, by default, Castle having retired from the game, and now she's won this game too. She smirks with a considerable aura of self-satisfied smugness, and wiggles seductively back north to her comfortable Castle-pillow.

Unfortunately her comfortable Castle-pillow appears to have other ideas. Which is not fair. It's moved. It shouldn't have done that. She wanted to snuggle into it and be cuddled, but it's not there. She emits a very dissatisfied harrumph.

"You sound like an elephant," Castle says, obviously without any filter left at all. That is not flattering.

"An elephant? Are you calling me an elephant?"

"A very pretty elephant?" He looks as if that should make it all okay. She tries to sit up to punch him. "Okay, okay, not an elephant. But I thought you liked elephants." Now he's pouting plaintively from somewhere quite a long way south of her head. What's he doing down there when he ought to be up here so he can be utilised as a pillow? Can't he be useful for anything for more than one round?

Oh. Ohhhh. That's a variation on useful that he can continue with. Ohhhhh. She becomes aware that there is a substantial unfairness in their respective abilities in this direction. Specifically, he's big enough and heavy enough and strong enough to hold her still and do whatever he likes – ohhh yes Castle – while she has to adjust – ohhh please just like that more – oh the hell with thinking just don't stop ohhhh Castle!

It takes her some time before she can feel her limbs again, at which point she realises that Castle is back to cuddling her. She turns into him and peaceably tucks her head into his neck. He slides a distinctly possessive hand over her back. She considers objecting, and rejects it. It feels good. She runs an equally determinedly possessive hand over his shoulder.

"So are we going to do this again, Beckett?"

"Maybe," she says teasingly. There's a gentle but meaningful pat on her ass.

"Maybe?" Castle sounds professionally offended. She smirks. Teasing him in words is fun. Teasing him physically is, however, much more fun.

"Okay. But next time let's do it without the cards."

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