Chapter 8

Finally, the door resounded with Castle's knock, and Beckett whipped across the room to let him in. Not that she was going to allow him to know how happy she was that he was there, oh no. He'd get big(ger) headed.

"Hey," she said. Castle, not one to miss an opportunity, not only hugged her but also indulged in a lengthy and searching kiss. Most surprisingly, Beckett hadn't filched the box of chocolates (he had spent the afternoon making some more for her, of course), but was enthusiastically kissing him back: her hands around his neck. He concluded that she was delighted to see him, and continued to take full advantage of delighted, wrapped-around-him Beckett. With a little careful movement, he steered them both to the couch, sat down with Beckett landing on his lap, and managed to put the box down so that he could devote both arms to hugging her.

"I brought you chocolate," he said.

"Thanks." But she laid her head on his shoulder rather than diving into the box.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You aren't eating the chocolate."

Beckett blushed brightly enough to melt the chocolate. She'd been so caught up in kissing Castle that she'd actually failed to notice the box. (So much for not letting him know how happy you are that he's come. Or should that be you?)

His gaze flicked around as Beckett covered her flusterment by taking a chocolate. "Oh, you put up the star. It looks really good there."

"Yes. I put it up," she said, with considerable emphasis on the I. "Unlike the rest of the stuff, which I don't remember putting up at all."

"That's 'cause you didn't. I did. Call it a Christmas present."

Beckett made an indescribable noise around her mouthful of chocolate.

"Besides which, you haven't taken them down."

She swallowed the mouthful. "That's because the first time I tried you practically burst into tears and I can't afford to replace the rugs if you flood the floor with your weeping."

"That was practically poetic, Beckett. I must be rubbing off on you." (Getting off, more like, said the brainworm happily. And don't you just love it?)

"Not obviously."

"Do you want me to?" He stopped that line of conversation swiftly at her expression, and put a stray chocolate to her already-parting lips. Rather than berate him, she took the candy. Then she took his mouth. Then he took hers.

She sank into the kiss. All her general irritation and anti-Christmas feeling dissolved as something bigger took their place: a feeling of homecoming and safety; warmth and love – oh my God. OhmyGod. OhmyGod. (Dumbass. It's taken you this long? All that chocolate has addled your brain as well as settling on your hips. It had not. Her pants were just as loose as they had been a month ago.) She stopped kissing Castle and gleeped frantically. Nononononono. It wasn't happening. Nonononono. It was silly. Ridiculous. It had only been three weeks since he kissed her. Not even three weeks. She couldn't possibly have fallen for him in three weeks. Life wasn't like that. That wasn't logical or efficient or Beckett-like at all. She gleeped some more.

"What's wrong?" Castle worried. "You just stopped. Did I do something wrong? What's up? Did I hurt you? Didn't you want kissed?"

"It's okay," she managed.

"So come back and kiss me. You haven't any cupcakes to feed to me" –

"Is that what you call it?"

"Yep – so come and kiss me to make up for it."

"Make up for it?"

"Yep. I like your cupcakes." He smiled wolfishly. "Especially when they're so nicely presented to me. Presentation is so important."

Beckett, who felt that talking was entirely unnecessary (and might reveal something your dumb idiot head should have known three weeks ago. Which you should tell him. Shut up, she said. The brainworm didn't, but Beckett tuned it out), took the easy way out and kissed him.

Castle didn't seem to be objecting. Beckett's hands slipped into his hair, just in case he might think about escaping, and his settled around her to keep her close. She hadn't been planning to go anywhere – except, perhaps, the bedroom. (Definitely the bedroom. Wasn't your shirt buttoned a second ago?)

Her shirt had been buttoned a second ago. So had Castle's. In some mysterious fashion, which had nothing to do with unwrapping one's presents (not Christmas presents, which had to wait till Christmas – silly idea! – but in Beckett's normal efficient fashion, supplied for her immediate enjoyment), both shirts appeared to be unbuttoned. Very strange. Ah well. One should never look a gift Castle in the mouth. Far better to kiss said mouth. So she did.

"My present," Castle murmured into the kiss. "Lemme unwrap you a bit more." He didn't wait, simply pushed the shirt back from her shoulders and swept it down her arms and away. "That's better."

"My present to unwrap," Beckett stated, with all the possessiveness she'd applied to her chocolates. Castle's heart sang. He'd wanted her to sound like that about him: wanted to be indubitably hers – and for her to be indubitably his.

"So unwrap," he said, and smiled. "Just try not to tear the wrappings, 'kay? I hate sewing."

Beckett slid her hands over the smooth cotton, drawing it up and out of Castle's pants, then languidly unfastened the final button, which had been hiding below his belt. The shirt was pushed wide on his shoulders, baring his broad chest. She picked up a chocolate, and drew a leisurely line along each collarbone, and then one straight down from clavicles to sternum. A little trail of chocolate contrasted with his skin. She rubbed the chocolate across his lips, and then over her own, finally slipping it between hers with a seductive slither. The shirt fell away as she leaned forward, the tip of her tongue peeking out of her mouth, to trace and clean away the line of chocolate.

Castle growled deep in his chest as she raised her head and licked a faint hint of chocolate from her lips. "You had cupcakes," she pointed out. "I prefer chocolate."

"I prefer you," Castle rasped, and tried to pounce. Beckett wasn't having that. She pounced first. In the pouncing stakes, however, weight and bulk was always going to defeat speed. She might have got there first, but Castle lost no time in reversing the position and landing firmly over her. "Now I've got you." He descended on her mouth, pinning her hands in his, and simply conquered: kissing her till she couldn't think, exploring, searching and owning every moist inch and eliciting small, needy noises and heavy breathing.

"This would be a lot more comfortable somewhere else," Beckett forced out through the fog of don't stop, as Castle was smoothly kissing around her jaw to her earlobe. He stopped, instantly.

"It hurts?"

"No, but… there's not a lot of room and if you fall off you'll squash the chocolates."

Castle muttered darkly. "You're more worried about the chocolates than me?"

"You bounce."

"What? I'm not fat!"

"You bounce around like Tigger on uppers."

"That's not much better." He sat up, pulling Beckett with him and obviously admiring her slightly dishevelled and half-undressed state. "On the other hand" – he ran that hand down the centre of her cleavage – "somewhere else would have some advantages."

Beckett found herself standing up, and then found herself minus pants, which were puddling on the floor around her feet.

"Well, well," Castle said slowly. "Christmas underwear. Very sexy."

"It is not."

"Dark red and white edging?" (He's got you there. Nonsense. She'd bought them in July. Christmas had never occurred to her.) "It's seasonal. And did I say sexy?" He stood up himself, and loomed over her. "Christmas underwear for a Christmas present." He swung her up bridal style, and kissed her. "Let's go somewhere more comfortable."

Beckett's bed was certainly more comfortable than the couch. Castle had managed to kick his shoes off while plopping her on the bed, and was propped up on an elbow surveying her and following his gaze with wicked fingers. They danced up and down, and wandered over the white lace edging of her bra and panties, insinuating but never quite delivering on their erotic promise.

Beckett was quite sure that Castle's actions were unfair: however, she had a cure for that. (You could try telling him how you really feel. That'll cure a lot of unfairness. Look at him. He's totally besotted and you're not telling him that you are too. You're the unfair one here.) She would start by removing his really quite unnecessary pants. After all, with all the cupcakes he'd eaten, she wouldn't want to find that he had materially changed shape. (He hasn't. Except for the extremely obvious area. Could you stop drooling like that? It's embarrassing, and I'm drowning. Worms don't have much of a height advantage. Good, Beckett thought vengefully.)

She dragged her fingers down his chest, played idly with his nipples and heard the indrawn breath with pleasure, then continued downward to palm across him and then languidly undid his belt and pants button. He had definitely changed shape. Very attractively. The zipper susurrated in the quiet bedroom, and her fingers succumbed to the attraction of the new shape, dipping beneath the fabric and finding hard flesh. She played for a moment, then decided that the pants were, um, constricting, and drew them off.

She outright laughed. "Seriously? Candy cane boxers?"

Castle merely smiled. "Christmas delights come in many forms, Detective. Come here and I'll show you."

"Or I could show you." She wriggled back up from his feet, and demonstrated. Candy canes were all very well, but there weren't any of those in her bedroom. Castle-canes, so to speak, were. Excellently lickable, suckable, and generally providing immense oral satisfaction. It appeared that Castle was experiencing oral satisfaction, too, from the profane and animalistic noises he was emitting and the way in which his hands had knotted themselves in her hair. His hips flexed and he lost all control under her ministrations, coming on her name.

Having expected Castle to be devoid of thought, brain and physical co-ordination for a few moments, Beckett was somewhat surprised to be pulled up, tucked in, and generally prevented from doing anything that wasn't snuggling in and being cuddled. It wasn't that she objected (You love it), but that he really shouldn't have been able to do anything. Though… he certainly wasn't managing to do anything else. Maybe it was simply an instinctive reaction. Castle touched things without actually ever engaging his brain, so it made sense that cuddling didn't require brain either. She lay over his chest, listening to his heart slowing to normal, wholly at ease.

His fingers began to pet (you normally call that fidgeting. Don't tell me you're getting to like it?) and stroke along her side and back. It was soft, gentle, and totally erotic, despite avoiding all classically erogenous zones.

Oh. That would be because his fingers had sneakily gripped her waist and turned her on to her back and his wicked, evil lips were exploring classically erogenous zones. The man shouldn't use his mouth for eating or talking, when he could do that with it. (You like him eating, the brainworm leered. Beckett's one functioning neuron produced a moa-bird, which ate the worm. Unfortunately, the worm didn't also become extinct, and reappeared as the bird disintegrated.)

He lipped, sucked, nipped and licked. Then he moved down, still nibbling – and there wasn't even any cupcake to nibble, only bared Beckett. She wriggled. She couldn't help it. Castle grinned against her stomach. "You like this." The grin widened. "You love it."

She startled.

"What?" Castle's surprised face popped back up. "How can you be…surprised…by…that…" His brow furrowed. Thought was unwelcome. Castle stopping was also unwelcome. Solution: stop Castle thinking. Beckett wrapped long, strong legs around his shoulders, and pressed meaningfully. It had the right result. Castle stopped thinking about anything except the bounty before him, and returned to his work. Beckett returned to utter pleasure and a complete lack of any thought.

"Yes…there…ohhhhhh fuck Castle Castle!"

She'd barely recovered from the first full-body orgasm when he'd risen above her and filled her full and kissed her deeply and begun to thrust: strong thighs flexing, hard body possessing her and just perfectly, totally right within her. She dragged him down to cover her, heedless of his weight, and arched and gave up to him and they fell together. As before, he cuddled her in.

Castle wasn't quite asleep, but was certainly well on his way there, when he heard a definitely sleepy mumble.

"Think I love you," it said.

"What did you say?" A stunned squeak emerged from Castle's mouth.

"Huh? Didn't say anything." She curled down again.

"You did so. You said – you said you loved me!" He hauled her up to his mouth and kissed her frantically, desperately.

No. Nononononono. (Yesyesyesyes yes! said the brainworm. You did. Didn't. Did.) She didn't say that. She couldn't have been that relaxed. It was all Castle's fault. He'd seduced her with chocolates and a beautiful star and sneaked ridiculously over-the-top Christmas decorations all over her apartment and totally blown her brain. (That wasn't your brain, you know. Shut up.) What had happened to her common sense and reserve? (Castle happened, dumbass.) She tried to pull away, and failed miserably. With every second that Castle wasn't saying anything in return, her spirit shrank.

"Do you? Really?" He kept kissing her. And he still wasn't saying anything in return, like I love you too. Though she supposed at least it wasn't shit this is a disaster. "Promise?" He appeared to realise that she wasn't saying anything. "You did mean it, didn't you?" His voice wobbled.

What? (Wake up, idiot! He's totally insecure. What? Insecure. It means – I know what it means. He's desperate for you to mean it.)

"Because I do too," he stammered. "Love you, I mean. Not me. That would be, um," –

"Egotistic."

"Yeah. But do you really?"

Beckett was speechless, staring down at him. "You do?" she eventually managed. (Are you terminally dumb? Because it sounds like it. Look at the man. He's terrified.)

"Uh…er…yes?"

(Told you so. Idiot. All that chocolate has gummed up what little brain you had. Beckett gummed up the brainworm. It didn't work.)

"Really?"

"Yes. So could you just come back here and kiss me again because I'm not sure I believe you're real but then again Santa is real so maybe it is real and – mmmmffffff!" There was a short pause. "Okay, I think you're real – ow! Okay, you are real. But" – he became hesitant again – "did you mean it?"

"Do I tell every random guy I meet I love him?"

Castle, belatedly recognising the trap, declined to be netted. He shook his head.

"Well, then. What do you think?"

"Say it again. I wanna hear it."

Beckett, embarrassed to the point of bursting into flames from the heat of her blush, hid her face in Castle's chest and muttered something completely unintelligible. "Now you," she said, more audibly.

"I love you too, Kate."

She wrapped herself around him, and held him close: as close as he was holding her. Shortly, soft, deep breathing filled the room.

"Did I dream all of that?" Castle asked, hours later.

"If you did, so did I."

"Ooooohhhhh, joint dreams. It must be fate."

"So you think it was just a dream?"

"No." He emphasised his words by tugging her into him and kissing her hard, which led to other matters becoming hard, which led, in the natural order of things, to hard meeting soft and both of them touching the stars.

"I'm hungry," Castle complained.

"There's chocolate, so I'm okay."

He scowled theatrically. "You won't share?"

"I've never shared my chocolate with anyone. There is no love greater than the love of chocolate." She smiled. "But there might be one equal to it." She slid out of bed, retrieved the chocolates, and returned to slide back under the covers. She picked out a chocolate, and put it to his lips. "There."

(It really must be love, the brainworm snarked.)

Castle reciprocated. Four chocolates each later, they regarded each other.

"If I have any more I'll be sick," Castle said.

"Not me." Beckett popped another one in her mouth. "But I do want some left for another time." She closed the lid, and snuggled back down.

24 December

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes." Beckett pulled on her hat and gloves and locked up. "Where are we going?"

"St Paul's Chapel of Trinity Church, 209 Broadway."

"Mmmm. Traditional carols."

Castle stared at the back of Beckett's head as she preceded him into the elevator. "You've been before, haven't you?"

"Yep."

"Why have I never seen you there?"

"Don't know. Maybe you weren't looking. Anyway, you hadn't even met me last Christmas."

He slung an arm round her. "But now I have," he said comfortably, "and aren't you pleased about it?"

"As long as you keep bringing me chocolates." She smirked as he spluttered. Discombobulated Castle was fun. He dropped a very welcome kiss on her hair.

The chapel was already busy: the organist playing Christmas voluntaries until the service began.

During the service, Beckett raised up her voice, and completely missed Castle's utter astonishment as she lost herself in the pomp and ceremony of the old hymns and carols; as she listened to the readings and the Gospel. Beside her, Castle's fingers twined into hers and his baritone joined her mezzo; but he didn't think she really noticed him at all.

It wasn't until they spilled out, candles doused and snow settling on their hats and coats, that Beckett returned to herself, still thoughtful and pensive. Castle respected her silence, but wondered.

"Do you want to come back to the loft? I've got mulled wine, and cinnamon cookies."

"Okay." She paused. "I always go to the midnight service," she murmured. Castle hadn't heard that quiet, confiding tone since she'd said It was my mother…this is for the life that I saved. And this is for the life that I lost. He stayed silent, inviting her to continue just as he had that night. "It… helps. I don't like the season. Mom…" She breathed in harshly. "But it reminds me that there's something bigger. Hope. A light in the darkness."

Castle only put a gentle arm around her, and didn't try to talk.

"And now you're here. Another light in the darkness."

He gulped, and tightened his arm. She turned within his embrace, and kissed him.

"Merry Christmas, Castle." She kissed him again. "Just one thing."

"Anything."

"Mm. Promise me you'll do all the Christmas cooking."

Fin.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

Thoughts are with anyone in the path of the Indonesian tsunami. I hope you stay safe.

Merry Christmas, to those who celebrate, and the compliments of the season to everyone, of all faiths or none. I wish you all health, wealth and happiness in 2019. Joy to the world, peace on earth and goodwill to all.