3: Dessert

She's still breathing hard when she finds that Castle has wriggled himself up next to her and is gently dropping kisses on her hair and not so gently holding her in against him. He also appears to have filched her bra. She is, in fact, stark naked in his arms. Of course, so is he naked, which makes it fair. She wriggles round to face him and then stretches in such a way that she slides across every inch of his body between knees and neck. Very definitely including the key inches. He rumbles happily, and rolls over so she's lying on top of him. How convenient.

She slithers to the side, which produces a less happy rumble and a plaintive request that she come back. Plaintive is abruptly replaced by panting when she demonstrates the benefits of having at least one hand free to roam. And stroke. And grip. And feather. This time it's stopping which produces complaints.

Beckett's hands are evil. Gorgeous, and gorgeously talented, but evil. She's barely begun and he's groaning and right on the edge of explosion. He tries to retaliate and she tuts at him, as if she were a maiden aunt and he caught scrumping apples from her garden.

"Stop it, Castle. It's my turn for dessert."

"But I wanna."

"There'll be plenty of time for second helpings later." He rumbles again, resignedly. Rumble turns to indrawn breath when Beckett starts her helping of dessert with a flick and twist of tongue and lips around his nipples, traces the dusting of fine hair downward… and downward… and his hands didn't need any permission or encouragement to have attached themselves to her head and if her fingers had been utterly evil then her mouth has come straight from the school for succubi oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. He can't help thrusting up into her mouth oh fuck her mouth and he is completely under her spell and calling her name and she won't stop and he can't stop and this is all completely too much and he gives himself over to the wet heat and the soft tongue and the scrape of teeth and gives in to her without a single regret.

He manages to reach down and pull her up and cuddle her against him again, right where she fits perfectly. He could definitely get used to this: Beckett snuggled in, naked together after a first round of spectacular sex. Not only that, but she clearly has magical rejuvenating powers, because he's barely regulated his breathing but he's nearly ready for another helping of dessert.

Castle is a very nice dessert. Even better, he cuddles her. Beckett likes cuddles, off-duty, especially cuddles from large, muscular, naked men who know exactly how to please her. Castle, for all his annoying ways in the precinct, seems to know instinctively what pleases her (him, a little voice tells her) and he's very, very good at it. He can certainly have second helpings. And thirds. And even fourths, if he has the appetite. Although… she drags the memory through the fog of sensations and the seductive scent of Castle around her… they were going to share… pie. Mmmmm. Yes. Pie. And she need have no doubt at all about the quantity, quality and texture of the filling. Mmmmm.

She wiggles a little against Castle: just enough to make sure that he's in the mood for filling – ah yes, perfect – and then drops a teasing, featherlight kiss on the light stubble on his chin. Then another, working her way round to the vein at the side of his neck, which is pulsing in a very pleasing rhythm, and then a little nip, to see if he likes it – he does, though marks should stay well hidden if she doesn't want some irritatingly accurate questions tomorrow – and another kiss, and –

Oh. Well. That was a little surprising. Instead of being nicely cuddled over him, she's flat on her back and he's over her and ohhhh he's waiting right where she'd like it but he's invaded her mouth and taken no prisoners at all except her because she's definitely trapped in the cage of his body and isn't torture illegal because he shouldn't be torturing her like that and he's sliding against her and no matter how she tugs and grips at his shoulders he won't do what she wants and – hang on, that's cheating – he's taken her hands and caught them in his and held them beside her head and this is not fair.

And he's stopped kissing her, too. This is not the plan at all. If he carries on like that, she won't share her toys with him. Of course, if she does share her toys she could make sure she could do whatever she wanted. He'd be stuck. But then, she might get stuck. He'd flipped her over far too easily, and then he'd have complete freedom and she… wouldn't. Which wouldn't be fair. Arousing, exciting and wholly erotic – but not fair, and she's only playing that game if it flips both ways. Bait… and switch.

"I do love cream with my pie, Beckett. How fortunate that there's plenty of it." It takes her a minute to get past the sheer sexuality of his tone – if he bottled that voice he'd make more money from it than from his bestsellers – to the actual words. He wants to play that game, does he? Right, let's play.

"How fortunate that the filling is…ample." He breathes in.

"I wouldn't want you to be disappointed by any insufficiency. But maybe we should talk about the best way to enjoy it?" She could drown in the sea of sensuality around her arising from his words.

"Slowly. It should be savoured. Each morsel fully appreciated as it enters."

He moves a little, and she squirms under him, trying to catch him in.

"Slowly? You like deferred gratification? Taking your time to obtain the full pleasure?" She squirms a lot more. If she could just shift an inch or so more… dammit. He slides against her again and all her careful gains are lost but ohhhhhh that felt good. He's pressing all the right buttons.

Castle can sense just how much Beckett's enjoying this. As much as he is, in fact. She's so perfectly confident of what she likes, so much fun and ohhhhhh she's so hot and so slippery and he's barely able to control himself but he has to because this is shaping up to be the best night of his life. The way she responds to him talking dirty is unbelievable and she can give it back too.

"Slow and easy. No need to hurry. Taking it too fast means you don't receive the full benefit." She wiggles underneath him, and he lets her.

"You want the full benefit? But slowly?"

Castle moves very slightly and slips forward a scant inch, poised point-perfect, and then leans down to investigate her mouth again before she can protest. She links her fingers into his in a gesture of acceptance, and gently, seductively nips his lip, soothes it with her tongue, then takes his mouth assertively and makes it very clear that the time for talking is over. Maybe it is. But that doesn't mean that he'll let her stay silent. He knows exactly what she wants. She knows exactly what he wants.

And so he slides a little and she wiggles a little and suddenly stopping, so that this goes slowly, is the second hardest thing in this room. Even that small contact is mind-blowing: he can feel her tightness and pushes a little further, and kisses her deeply, teasing with each thrust of his tongue, moving a little deeper into her in sync with his kisses, stealing her breath and the gathering sexy noises that turn into moans and she's clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper at her pace not his. It's so hard not to give in, give up, just give her what she wants, which would be her giving him what he wants, but this time she will have to take and not give. She can give later. Next time. There will be many next times.

He slides a little more, and a little more than that, and she's moaning and he thinks it's his name and suddenly he's all the way there and it is amazing and perfect and his.

Ohhhhh fuck that feels good and he could usefully move a little faster than that but ohhhhh the slow movement is building her up and up and up and she's twisting under him to try to take him deeper but no matter how she tries to pull him closer it's still the same slow stretch and fill and he feels just right and it's amazing and perfect and hers.

She takes his mouth in an unmistakably possessive fashion, unlinks their fingers and wraps one hand around his neck to keep him firmly in place and wriggles the other down between them to reach the point where they join and tease them both and that's stopped this slow movement because he's just lost it completely. No brakes. No brakes is very, very good. And then she stops thinking at all because all that's left is the movement and the moment and they're in it together.

And then there's nothing left except them, and quiet aftermath.

Beckett is an absolutely delicious dessert, Castle decides, through the sea of satisfied sensuality surrounding him. Them. He snuggles her in properly, pulls a handy comforter over them so that they don't get cold while considering the next few steps, and relaxes into this wholly acceptable new pursuit of… enjoying dessert. So to speak.

"So, Castle," Beckett hums contentedly, "does your pie have enough flavour and spice?" Castle arranges her a little differently, pulling a long leg up round his middle, and grins into her hair. Beckett wants to play some more? What a perfectly lovely idea.

"Mmmm. Yes. Of course, I'd need second helpings to be sure," he drawls. "Did yours have enough filling to be totally satisfying?"

"Mmmm. Yes. I'd need another portion to be absolutely certain, though."

"Maybe we should share some more pie."

"Maybe we should."

Saying that might have been a small error in judgement. She should simply have acted. Because now she's been turned round and Castle is behind her and all the actions she might have taken are going to have to wait. Again.

"It's my turn," she complains.

"Yes. Your turn to have another helping." His fingers wiggle across her midriff. Then one set wiggles upward and one downward. This makes her wiggle, and squeak. Castle neither wiggles nor squeaks. This is unfair, especially when she is wiggling against some very firm areas indeed. He should be a little more affected by it. If it weren't for the heavy breathing in her ear, she'd think he was entirely unmoved. She reaches down and behind, and is very unimpressed when Castle removes her mischievous, searching hand, puts it back in front of her, and murmurs in her ear, "Naughty, naughty. Wait your turn."

His upper hand is playing gently with her breasts, petting and palming and ever-so-carefully pinching hard pink tips. She likes that, she decides, and pushes demandingly into the large, warm hand that fits over her so very nicely. But she likes that even better. His other hand is tracing sinuous, seductive patterns down across her stomach, along her hip and thigh, back upward and he's holding her so that moving to bring his hand where it ought to be is not quite possible without a lot more effort than she wants to make. Why make an effort to change something that is so very, very much what – and who – she likes? That would be silly, and Kate Beckett is not silly.

On the other hand, she is sneaky.

She wiggles again. Serendipitously, this time her wiggle rearranges their relative positions just enough that she can glide down and take him in as she goes. She would smirk, but somehow that second helping of filling has converted her smirk into rather more of an ohhhhhh. Castle's hands stop playing for an instant. Ha! Now the way he's holding her against him means that he can't take himself away.

"Stealing extra helpings, Beckett?"

"I think I'm sharing them," she breathes, and demonstrates. Castle's grip reflexively tightens on her.

"Okay, sharing is good. I can share too." He nibbles delicately on her neck, and reinstates his hands where they were. "Where was I? Oh, yes. Right here." Fingers wander a little further down, tease through soft curls, and slip through slick flesh over sensitised nerves. She squirms helplessly under his sinful stroking.

"I like finger food," he purrs into her ear. "All the textures there in my hands."

"I agree it has some advantages. Though the correct utensils can be very helpful too, for a well-planned meal." He can't stop a strangled gasp and jerk. He didn't mean to do that. Is she saying what he thinks she's saying? And should he investigate under her bed, or just in her purse or on-duty clothing? She might even have a uniform… And then she twists very slightly and he forgets all his salacious speculations because she's smooth and slippery and spectacular and his fingers move and she moves and then he moves and then she's his or he's hers or they're theirs all over again.

When he recovers, which takes a little time, (he is not twenty any more, regrettably, though since that would have made Beckett ten or so it's actually definitely not regrettable so maybe he should simply want to have back his twenty-year old self's stamina and minimal recovery time) he finds with considerable pleasure that Beckett is still cuddled up into him and happily content. Replete, in fact. Just like he is. He rearranges himself and Beckett to achieve her head on his chest and her arm over him; with his arm under her neck and the other lightly on her waist; their legs intertwined. In a little while, a shower might be indicated. In a little while. This cuddled closeness is far too pleasurable to disturb.

Beckett's eyes drift open. She's warm, cosy, and her pillow is moving gently. Possibly this is because it's not a pillow but Castle. She peers at the clock and finds it to be the middle of the night. It's not time to wake up, and she really ought to have switched off her lamp. She does that, then closes her eyes firmly, cuddles back in and starts to drift back to sleep. Then she wakes up again, with a very wicked thought and expression. She hasn't had a midnight feast in years. Castle is sleeping quietly on his back. Perfect. She's totally awake now. She switches the lamp back on. Castle doesn't even twitch. How – useful.

She slides softly down Castle's body, not making any…er… untoward gestures which might spoil his sleep or the surprise. It's rather helpful that they hadn't quite got round to pulling the comforter wholly over them again: it means she can see what she's doing. She wouldn't want to spill her food, after all. Very uncouth.

Castle wakes up very suddenly and emits a cry of alarm which rapidly mutates into a groan of delight. He hasn't been woken like that before. Usually he's been wide awake to start with. He's undone before he can think of anything to do or say that isn't Beckett Beckett oh fuck Beckett more Beckett yes Beckett! And then it takes him some time to be able to think at all, by which time Beckett is smirking happily from her pillows and not even cuddled up nicely. Well, two can play at that game. And they will.

"Stealing snacks, Beckett? Haven't you had enough?"

"Midnight munchies."

Castle gives her a wolfish expression. "Really? You sure do take a lot of feeding. How fortunate that I have the resources to – hmm – satisfy you. Fill you up."

"Fill me up? That's good to know. I'm a little hungry right now."

It's all he needs. He's devouring her mouth in an eye-blink, holding her to him and thrusting his thigh between hers to let her find friction on the hard muscle and skin; she rubs against him and mewls as he presses her into the pillows and sandwiches her between his re-invigorated body and the sheets and slides firmly home into paradise. When he's sure she's been totally filled up, he spends some focused time ensuring that this time she's so wholly satisfied that she can't do anything other than react and make incoherently desperate noises of need and want and encouragement and wholesale delight, and then the world goes white and there's nothing left but limp Beckett under him.

Castle is large, and heavy, despite his excellently formed musculature, and he is squashing her. She squeaks a little, and tries to push him off so she can breathe. Fortunately, he takes the hint and rolls over, taking her with him and kissing her happily as he does.

"You still hungry, Beckett?"

"No," she yawns, snuggling into his neck. "Not now."

"I am," Castle purrs, dangerously softly. "You got more than me. That's not fair."

Beckett smiles sleepily at him. "I can't …eat… any more." Castle smiles. Hungrily.

"I can. You don't need to." She hums assentingly, and lets him have his way.

He nestles her into the pillows and kisses his way down that gorgeous, lax, cherry-and-sex scented body, making sure to taste her breasts, nibble softly on her nipples: just enough to tease her; allows his fingers to drift lower and heat her up slowly; follows with his mouth and opens her wide so that he can taste and lick and tease and nibble and eat his fill until she cries out his name and comes against him.

When he curls her back into him she's boneless and so close to asleep that there's nothing to do but sleep too, wrapped together as close as the lovers they've now, finally, become.

"Breakfast time, Beckett," Castle carols into her barely-awakened ear.

"Urrgh. Coffee," she whines. Mornings are not for carolling. Mornings are for surviving.

"No, no, no. You have to have breakfast."

"Ugh. Coffee." She pauses. It occurs slowly to her sleep-soaked brain that Castle isn't exactly in the kitchen. "What's for breakfast?"

"I thought we could share cherry pie."

"I've got the cream."

Fin.

Thank you to everyone who's enjoyed, read and reviewed this little piece of fluff.