Reminder before you begin: mildly M-rated chapter.

Chapter 3

One hot bath, with bubbles, one hot chocolate, with marshmallows, and one full night's sleep, with dreams of Castle's warm blue eyes (among other, more scorching, visions), later; Beckett sipped her third morning coffee, checked her watch for the fifteenth time in half an hour, and wondered sulkily why Castle hadn't turned up yet. The fact that it was barely nine-thirty did not, she felt, provide an adequate excuse, and the coffee wasn't entirely masking the nasty taste from the antibiotics. Life, Beckett humphed, was not fair.

She found herself a book, and told herself firmly that there was no significance at all to it being a Richard Castle book. None. She didn't stare at the back cover photo at all, either. Not for one single little instant.

She didn't need to. Castle's blue eyes were etched on the back of her retinas, and soon (get here right now dammit!) they would be here in person. (Maybe there would also be hugs, she thought, and squished it.) She concentrated on her book, and only wished the door would ring once every minute or so, which was perfectly reasonable.

Finally (that was to say, less than half an hour later), the doorbell rang and Castle had arrived.

"Hey," Beckett said, with entirely faked coolness. It lasted all of half a second, at which point Castle had just about shut the door, and therefore had one hand free to catch her as she stepped into him. He automatically hugged her, which was…just what she wanted. Ah. Oh. Um. Er…Ooops? How did she fall into that?

"Hello," Castle oozed. "This is a much better way to say hello than coffee – though I brought you some of that too."

"You did?" Beckett woke up with a bang, but found that she wasn't going anywhere without some serious escapologist manoeuvres. "Where?"

"In my hand. But if you don't stop wriggling like that, it'll be on the floor." He smirked lazily. "Let me put it down, and then you can wriggle like that as much as you like." The smirk mutated into a rakish grin. "It feels like you're all better."

"I still have to take the antibiotics, though," Beckett grumbled. "They taste horrible, too."

"Have your coffee, and then I'm sure we can think of something to pass the time." The glint in his eye suggested that Castle had many ideas, and all of them unsuitable for polite – or indeed any other – company. Since Beckett also had many ideas for passing the time, likewise requiring no other company, that was just fine with her – what? It must have been Castle hugging her that had fried her brain. These were not thoughts that normally invaded her head and overrode her common sense. Going to bed in the morning was not civilised. She should wait till later – what?

About that point she became aware that there was excellent coffee in front of her and an excellently snuggly arm around her. Clearly it was time to stop thinking and drink the coffee.

The coffee flowed down her throat and finally removed the horrible taste; Castle's thick fingers continued to draw little patterns at the top of her arm; and altogether Beckett felt deeply cossetted, which wasn't a feeling she was used to. She wriggled deeper into the embrace, and felt even better. Being looked after, she decided, was something that she could get used to, very quickly. A happy, contented noise exited her mouth; her head laid itself on a lovely broad shoulder, and life was just plain perfect. She hummed a little tune.

"Blue Eyes?" Castle grinned. "Why, Detective. I might start believing that you really do like me after all."

Beckett gave an indeterminate grumble, and tried to sit up straight. Somehow, it didn't seem to be happening. It wasn't that Castle was stopping her, either. Her body simply didn't seem to be obeying her mind. That might, of course, have had something to do with the little kisses and nuzzles on her hair, or maybe the warm, muscular chest against which she was balanced, or even the way – quite without her conscious knowledge – her legs seemed to have tucked themselves up on the couch so that she was a cosy Beckett-ball curled into Castle's lap.

"You really do," he added, in a far different tone. "That's good, because I really like you too." He held her close, and stroked down her hair and then her back. "We should like each other," he murmured, gently tipped her face up, and dropped a tender buss on her nose. "It would be so good." Another kiss, lightly landing on her lips. "Even better than solving crimes together." This time the kiss included a delicate touch of tongue on the seam of her mouth. "Just like this." Her lips opened under his, and any thoughts of any nature whatsoever dissolved in his eyes on hers and then, as her eyes closed in arousal, the taste and touch and smell of Castle around her and with her.

He kissed with assured expertise; but with an open, passionate desire that took away any idea that he was touching just anyone: it was all about her, all around her. She opened and gave back with interest, falling into his sensual spell; tongues meeting, twining, withdrawing and then exploring once more. He investigated her mouth as deeply as she would investigate a murder, and with the same meticulous attention to detail and small clues; when he delicately nipped her lip she wriggled, when he traced her palate she pulled back a little; so he repeated the first but dropped the second. Observation obviously had its uses: and this use was far better than creepy staring.

Kissing Castle was unlike kissing anyone else, ever. He knew – it must be magic – exactly what to do and where to do it: he was strong enough to take the lead and relaxed enough to surrender it to her when she demanded that he let her raid and conquer. His hands roamed the planes of her back, soft and gentle, unpressured; though she curved like a cat into his gliding strokes he didn't go further; didn't push. Her own slim hands stayed locked around his neck, fingers running into the soft short hair at his nape, playing but not pressing. It didn't seem to be the time for pressure, or hurry, and truth to tell she didn't want to hurry anyway. Kissing Castle was the best way to spend time she'd come up with in ages, and she wasn't going to spoil it by rushing.

Eventually, however, she separated from his mouth, but stayed nestled in, idly twiddling a tendril of hair, close as she could be. He pouted at her. "I was enjoying that. Why'd we have to stop?"

"Um…" Beckett said, which didn't really express her feeling that they should just possibly not spend the entire morning kissing. Her gaze fell on the clock. Oh. They had spent the entire morning kissing. How had that happened? "It's lunchtime. I'm hungry."

A truly inappropriate expression hit Castle's face and gravitated to his lips, which began to part on what was sure to be a truly inappropriate comment. Beckett forestalled any inappropriateness by elbowing his ribs.

"Ow!" he complained. "That's not nice. You're being mean to me, and after I came to keep your ill self company too. Humph."

"Do you want any lunch, or will you keep feeding on whine?" Beckett asked tartly, which didn't really sit well with her snuggled in cosiness.

Castle closed his arms around her. "I could feed on you," he murmured – "Ow! Stop that, Beckett."

"Stop the innuendo, then. Do you want lunch or not?"

"What's in the fridge?"

"Same as last night."

"Septic shock cultures and strange new life forms, then? I guess we're having takeout."

"Or we could go out."

Castle's eyes turned darker. "Why would we want to do that, when we're all cosy here? Much nicer to stay put. You never know what might come up."

"I think I've got a pretty good idea," Beckett said dryly. The problem might be bringing it down. Though she had some thoughts for arranging that, which didn't involve iced water but might involve ice. Castle opened his mouth. "Takeout," she said over the start of another inappropriate comment.

"Okay." He pulled the pile of menus, still on the table from the previous night, towards him. "Thai? Mexican? Something spicy to block the taste of the antibiotics – hadn't you better take them now?"

"Ugh," Beckett gloomed. "Yeah." She slid off Castle's knee, and ignored the strange feeling of bereavement, wandered off to take her medicine and make horrible faces in the privacy of her bathroom, and wandered back to find Castle already on the phone, ordering immense quantities of Mexican food which included all her favourite dishes.

"They'll only be a few minutes," he said, and reached for her. "Come and be hugged while we wait. You look a bit green every time you swallow that stuff."

"I feel a bit green," Beckett quavered. "Ugh." Castle petted, which was a very acceptable response to the quavering, though she'd rather no quavers, no antibiotics, and a good lunch followed by some enthusiastic, um, exercise. She didn't mean yoga.

Still, she could have the good lunch. Her stomach would have settled by the time the delivery arrived, and she was, she discovered, hungry. Fortunately, before she actually began munching on her own fingers or Castle's enticingly present ear and neck, the food arrived and she could dig in. Fajitas and vast quantities of side dishes disposed of, washed down with a bathful of soda, she felt better. The spices had indeed removed the nasty taste.

"How can you eat that much?" Castle wondered. "There isn't enough of you to fit around it."

"I didn't exactly get much to eat yesterday. I missed lunch, then I wasn't hungry last night, and I haven't had breakfast. I'm starved." She munched another churro, liberally covered in chocolate sauce, and then had an exceedingly interesting thought. A further churro twirled in the chocolate, and made its way to her mouth. Her lips pouted and slowly parted around it; allowing it to slide a little way inside, then she withdrew it equally slowly, shorn of chocolate. She dipped it again.

Castle, who would normally abhor double dipping, didn't care, just so long as she kept making promises with her lush, chocolate tinged lips. He couldn't take his eyes off her, but one fast flick upwards told him that she couldn't keep her eyes away from his. He summoned all his self-control, and survived another obscenely inflammatory suck.

The third one smashed his self-control to smithereens.

The churro was disposed of (by Castle) in two bites, and he replaced it with his own avid mouth and greedy tongue, muffling Beckett's complaints about being deprived of her churro and sweeping her up and into him. Softness, gentleness, and slowness were all forgotten; the blue of his eyes had turned almost to black, and the only think he could think of was responding to Beckett's utterly unsubtle provocation. The remains of lunch didn't go flying, but that was merely a serendipitous side-issue. Neither Castle nor Beckett would have noticed or cared. They certainly didn't notice or care where their flung clothing landed, scattered broadcast from couch to bedroom door; they didn't notice or care that it was barely afternoon; and indeed they didn't notice or care about anything at all beyond each other.

Castle stopped devouring Beckett's mouth for a moment, to take in the absolute perfection of creamy skin covered – barely – by tantalisingly translucent flimsy fabric and intricate lace, a deep green that intensified her eyes. Even the dressing on the cut didn't detract from the magnificence of her endless legs, leading his hot blue gaze to the miniscule briefs at the top. His mind completely blown, he simply picked her up and dropped her on to her bed, falling over her and ravaging her all-too-receptive mouth.

Beckett, having made it through the morning without stripping Castle naked and handcuffing him to her bedpost (which fantasy had occupied a substantial proportion of her dreams during the previous night), had taken one good look into his eyes, seen far more than he would have expected – and decided to dive in. Over the morning make-out session, the care he'd taken to stick with her lead; to pet and cosset and cuddle but not to drive or force or dominate or push (there would be time enough for all of those, later); simply the affection he'd shown…it was so very different from his smirky, arrogant behaviour in the precinct and previously that she could barely believe it, and it was incredibly attractive. His eyes had spoken volumes, and all of the words had spoken of far more than simple sexual desire.

She'd opened her campaign on realising that Castle had ordered churros for dessert…and it had worked perfectly. The blue of his irises had bled to navy after the first lascivious lick, and then he'd flexed those particularly appealing muscles and simply…acted. Though eating her churro was unfair, and she would have revenge for that…later. Lots later. And now, here she was, stripped to her pretty, sexy bra and panties (good choice, she congratulated herself) with Castle, down to his boxers, poised above her and looking as if he was about to start on a particularly juicy dessert.

She would have admired his musculature, but she didn't get the chance before he took her mouth as if it were the last hope of salvation: owning it and (though she was never ever going to tell him) owning her. She'd never be able to let him go: staring into the depths of those blue, blue eyes: seeing everything he'd never told her – as, she was sure, he could see straight into her soul through her own eyes, and realise everything she hadn't said.

He drew back, and his touch turned softer, delicately tracing her jaw; her fingers glided over the still-smooth cheeks and chin above her; learning the planes of his face; the cords of his neck; the hard edges of clavicles and collarbones surrounded by the smooth play of hard muscle, and then around and down, over his back, reaching the waistband of his boxers, and stopping there. Leaning on his elbows, neatly positioned to press against her just where she had this minute decided she liked him very well, Castle cupped her face and stroked, following fingers with lips in teasing, feathery, butterfly kisses which barely brushed her skin but left sparks coursing through every nerve. She turned to try to meet him, but he murmured, "No," and she gave him his own way.

As he kissed around to her ear, she didn't regret it for a second. She wriggled beneath him, and mewed when he found a sensitive nerve, running directly from neck to heated core. Her hips lifted to roll into hard weight, he groaned, and traced a line directly around the lace edges of her bra; slipping below the fabric, then retreating, moving to lean up over her where one hand could be free to cup and palm and play, and then to slide under her and release the hooks. Her bra fell away, and Castle's eyes darkened to midnight.

"So pretty," he growled.

Beckett flexed, and Castle lost words. Fortunately, Beckett thought, he didn't lose action, or instincts. Both of those were working just fine. Ohhhhh yes. Ohhh, do that again, Castle. On second thoughts, do that. Lots of that. After another second of that, she stopped thinking entirely. The man could really use his tongue, and he hadn't even made it past her ribs yet. It was pretty clear he was going to, though. The expression in his eyes was feral.

He grinned wickedly. Beckett grinned back, just as wickedly, and managed a swift squeeze of substantial assets.

"I knew you liked me," he said. "I know I like you. Shall we like each other?" he asked again.

"Let's," Beckett agreed, and made any further discussion moot by wrapping her legs around him as tightly as she could. He took the brick-hard hint, and dipped his head to kiss her sternum, then, as she loosened her grip, began to move downwards, dropping a line of tiny kisses behind him, which were barely there in physical touch but carried a whole world of erotic anticipation, all of which was pooling in Beckett's centre.

Pool turned to flood as his tongue and lips ran along the top edge of her silky panties, big fingers slowly began to roll them down, and, once the panties had departed her feet, Castle, in a leisurely fashion which left her gasping, kissed back up the whole length of her legs: one side then the other, widening her as he went, and then began to prove that his tongue wasn't only excellent at talking, or at her breasts, but had another talent. Oh God, it had another talent. As did his lips, teeth, and especially – ohhhhh Castle! – his fingers.

She lay limply against him where he'd sneaked upwards to cuddle her in, happy to be locked in his embrace and tucked safely into his chest. She just needed a little moment, and then she'd attend to the asset pressing at her rear. She wiggled blissfully, and turned round, pushing Castle down on to his back and then squirming over him so that she could decide how best to, um, make them both happy. Oh, decisions, decisions.

She decided.

A brief reach into her nightstand, a briefer tear of foil, and Castle was dressed and ready. She took a moment to admire the impressively erect anatomy, and then guided him home, taking him in slowly. He was, um, sizeable, and she needed a little time to adjust. It had been a long time.

It was worth waiting for. Oh, fuck, he fit just perfectly: every hard, thick inch of him; all the way. She flexed inner muscles, and almost came on the spot. He smiled up at her, eyes still dark and intent, but hazed with total desire and…oh, just admit it already…love. She gave the same look back, and he pulled her down to his mouth and kissed her hard; pulled her up on him and let her slide slowly down again; falling into a leisurely, lazy rhythm that brought a groan to Castle's throat, a thin noise from Beckett, and then a slow, delicious, full-body climax that left her sprawled across him with no desire to move, ever.

Castle was also quite happy not to move, ever. He liked this Beckett-blanket; head on his heart, legs entwined, arm around him as his was around her. She shifted, and sat up, looking down at him with a worryingly unreadable expression.

"Have I told you that I love your blue eyes?" she said.

Fin.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

I'm writing a Christmas Caskett story, but I'm not sure how long it'll be. I hope it'll be done for *this* Christmas.

Otherwise, if you miss me, read Death in Focus and/or Death in Camera, in that order. (If I don't shamelessly promote, no-one will.)