78. Take more than a doctor

“Me? How?  Why?”

What is Beckett doing? On the other hand, this might just be the way to get her and her dad back on the same page.

“You are going to convince my dad to see Dr Burke and then he’ll see he was wrong.  I bet Dad’s tried to talk to you” – Castle looks guilty – “and I know you won’t have told him anything so you can stop trying to hide behind the couch cushions, so now you’re going to use it.  Okay?”

“Okay,” Castle squeaks, utterly intimidated. Juggernaut-Beckett is clearly on a mission, and has reverted to Detective Beckett, terror of Manhattan’s murderers.  He still doesn’t understand why she’s seized on this as her crusade, if she’s still pretending she doesn’t care, but actually why doesn’t matter because with a little bit of effort this is all going to come out right.  “But Beckett, to do that I’m going to need to talk to your dad openly, and I might need to speak to Dr Burke.”

“Fine. Do whatever you need to.” Yes! “He thinks he’s so clever, dragging up everything and putting his spin on it.  Well, he’s wrong, and I’m going to prove it.”

“I thought he was helping you?”

“He is.”

Castle leaves it there. Beckett has obviously channelled the Red Queen, and is believing six contradictory things at once.  He’s not going to go there.  He’s got a free hand to try to help fix Jim and his Katie, and he’s got permission to talk to Dr Burke, which he thinks will be extremely helpful, for both of them.  He could use the chance to offload his thoughts to somewhere that talking won’t invite disaster.  He also needs to be able to talk to someone who isn’t Beckett about Beckett, and at this point there are precious few of those around.  On balance, this is working out just as he’d like.  Beckett is back to being Beckett, rather than the shocked ghost of earlier, and he’s got the freedom to act which he’s been hoping to have for some time. 

“Okay,” he says, positively. “I’ll help.  It’ll be just like solving a case.”

“Yep.” Beckett emits a satisfied, predatory noise. “That’s it.  Just like that.”

She turns in his grasp. Her eyes are brightly burning with the same thrill as when she has a mystery to chase down.  She’s ablaze, and it’s beautiful.  She downs the remains of her coffee in one gulp and smiles with the gleam of a cut-throat razor.  Then her eyes flare and she swoops and conquers in one swift movement. 

She’s invaded his mouth before he’s really caught up with her intent, plundering as she pleases and overwhelming all his unprepared defences. He surrenders his mouth without even starting to fight her but turns her again and hoists her so that she’s in his lap, trapped in his grip, and while she may have won the battle for his mouth he’s definitely winning the battle for her body.  Her shirt falls open and his hard hands raid and ravage her breasts, plucking through the silky bra, commanding her nipples to stand to attention so that each time he palms across them she gasps and shifts; the enfilading strokes sweeping away the line of her control and allowing him to regain command of the front she’d thought she’d won.  He takes rapid advantage of the position and sweeps into her mouth, gaining ground with every thrust of his tongue, each small nip on her lower lip, holding the position with the hand in her hair that keeps her open to his attack on her warm, willing mouth.

He completely misses the guerrilla attack on his own button-down until he realises that there’s smooth skin sliding against his stomach. He’s been ambushed, and it feels so good that he almost doesn’t care, until he works out that he could use her own tactics on her by simply sapping under the zip of her pants.  As his fingers reach hot, damp fabric over flesh, she sighs and concedes to his conquest and brings one hand to curl around his neck and one to continue her stroking over his pecs: now soft and enticing rather than raiding.  Clearly not in the mood has been burnt off in the blaze of a course to follow.

Their kiss deepens and slows, Castle’s clever fingers gliding and sliding, pressing delicately and pushing the fabric to slither over her and rub oh-so-gently on stimulated nerves, never enough to satisfy as her nails bite against hard muscle. She’s in the wrong position to be able to return the favour, quite deliberately.  Castle appreciates Beckett in any incarnation: badass, or Kate, or Kat; but he’s every intention of ensuring that whichever she is tonight, pretty shortly the only incarnation that will be present is the one which is screaming out her pleasure under his hands and mouth and body.

He stops teasing, but keeps kissing, braces himself and stands with her in his arms, carries her to the bedroom and stops before the bed. “Is this what you want?” he growls.  “You said you weren’t in the mood.”

“I changed my mind.” She smiles sensually.  “You didn’t seem to object.”  She peeps up through her lashes with smoky, sleepy eyes.  “But if you do…”

“Mmm?” Castle hums, playing along with her game.

“I guess I’ll just put on my pyjamas and go to sleep,” she purrs.

“Really? How boring.  I’m sure I could overcome any objections.”

“Objections?”

“Yeah. Like I object to you still having your shirt on.”  He plops Beckett down on the bed, and strips her shirt in one movement.

“That was only one objection. You implied you had more of them.”  Her tone drips sultry sexuality into his ears and straight to his groin.

“I object to you having pants on,” and they’re gone in a flash. “I object to you not kissing me,” and his lips cover hers for a moment.  “I object to you not undressing me.”  On balance that may have been one objection too many.  Beckett sits up, produces a variant on a judo throw which he might last have seen Espo evading on the mats and which leaves him face down on the bed, whips off his shirt, pants and boxers almost before he’s drawn breath, and then stretches out and smirks.

“Any more objections?” she husks.

Castle smiles lazily as he turns over. “Yeah,” he drawls dangerously.  “You’re not screaming my name yet.”

He doesn’t take her bra off. He doesn’t take her panties off.  Instead he leans down, at his own pace rather than allowing her tugging to pull him down, and slowly teases his tongue along the seam of her lips.  When they open in wanton invitation, he doesn’t accept it, simply licks slowly over them again, and nips gently.  Her breathing elevates, and her hands grip on his shoulders.  He acquires a slow, feral smile, and does it all again, and again, till she’s panting.  Only then does he remove bra and panties.

“Castle,” she half-whines. “Kiss me properly.”

He kisses her once, hard and sure, and then peppers little dabs and nips down her throat and across her collarbones until he’s landed in the valley between her small, tight breasts. “Now, let’s see what you like today,” he rasps, and sucks her nipple into his mouth.  She gasps as the suction bites along every nerve between her nipple and her core.  When he repeats on the other side, her nails start to dig into his back.  He continues, switching from side to side, until gasps have become a high keening and she’s twisting under his talented mouth.  He sucks and rolls, presses and palms, small bites and swift soothing strokes, winding her up and up and up.  She can’t think through the sea of sensation, drowning in him, desperate for more and so searingly hot she’d be surprised she isn’t burning him if she had room in her brain for anything other than the feel of his mouth on her skin and the electricity sparking down her veins.

He stops, takes her mouth again, searchingly possessive with his bulk above her, pressing her down into the mattress and one hard thigh between her legs, holding her still and rubbing through scalding liquid heat. She tries to arch and curve against him, wanting his mass above her and around her, but he stays just that fraction above her to leave her needy.

“Not yet. I haven’t finished.”  She whimpers, a little crossly.  “It’s all about what you like.”  He kisses his way back down her body and stops at her navel.  “I know what you like.”  The soft-as-sin baritone tickles erotically across her stomach.  Impossibly, she thinks she’s wetter.  She does like it.  She loves it.  His tongue circles her navel and she wriggles frantically, trying to manoeuvre him further down, opening for him and making wanting, desperate noises that are becoming closer and closer to his name as he trails firm fingers through the soft folds, not quite touching where she wants him, and then he leans in and licks one broad, firm stroke right through her centre and she cries out his name; he does it again and twists his tongue around her and this time she screams for him. 

“No objections now, Kat. None at all.”  He licks some more, his tongue twining at one end, entering her at the other, of each strong stroke.  Her noise is continuous, her hips bucking against his hands, hers in his hair and she’s right on the edge, frantic for more, and then he thrusts two hard fingers into her and it’s just what she needed and she screams again and shatters and slumps.

Castle slithers up the bed and gathers Beckett into him. She looks very satisfied.  Very.  He smiles, smugly sleepy, at her.  “There,” he rumbles.  “What you like.”

“Mmm,” she agrees. “What about what you like?”

“I like you,” he drawls. “I like you over me, and around me, but best of all I like you right here under me.”  He rolls to be over her: happily predatory and looming assertively large, settling into the welcoming cradle of her hips.  “Mm.  Yes.  Perfect.”  She wiggles a little, trying to align him properly.  “Don’t wriggle.  I’ll get there.  When I’m ready.”

“You’re not ready?” Beckett’s syrupy, sexy tone and quirked eyebrow – plus the sudden movement of her hand to close around him – indicates that she thinks he might be.

“Anticipation, Beckett. Anticipation makes everything so much more intense.”  Hot blue eyes bore into hers.  “Don’t you think?  Isn’t that first taste of chocolate sooo much better if you’ve been thinking about it all day?  Or that delicious steak?”  She squirms, arching up to rub against him.  He smiles, and detaches her questing hand, returning it to lie around his neck.  “Or the touch of my tongue when I taste you?  The scrape of five-o’clock shadow on your thighs?  My fingers on you, or in you?”  His face is intent, his eyes dark.  “Isn’t it better when you’ve imagined it for a while?” 

His voice is deep and dark and seductive; falling down the octave and resonating through her body; drawing her into his picture, into his desire and the cage of his frame over her; the hard weight poised between her legs but not yet filling her; she’s soaked again and mewls as he doesn’t simply move, take her and fill her and possess her.  “Is that something you like?”  He focuses only on her.  “Because I can make sure that you… anticipate… beforehand.”  She quite definitely whimpers.  This is unfair. 

“Castle, stop teasing.”  He slides a little back and forward.  She whimpers again.  “Stop that.  I’ve had enough anticipation.  How about reality?”

“Reality? If you wish.” 

He shifts very slightly, and then moves very slowly, regardless of her fingers digging into his ass to try to speed him up. “This much reality?”

“More.”

He moves a little further. “This much?” 

She hisses, and digs nails and heels in.

“More,” she gasps out.

By the time he’s sunk fully into her she’s teetering right on the edge and all she can do is moan more.  He slides slowly back, forward; in, out: savouring the tight heat around him, the slight edge of the scratch of her nails, the noises she makes when she’s ready to fall. Some assertion, plenty of strength, and keeping her safe with, and within, him.  But for now, it’s time to give her what she wants.  He brings a hand between them, takes her mouth with complete ownership, thrusts once, twice, thrice in time with his fingers over the tight cluster of nerves and she releases his name into his mouth as her body shudders around him and releases his.

After, she curls into him, soft and satiated, happy to be held and petted as he’s very happy indeed to hold her close and pet her. She’s so rarely soft and pettable: only with him, only trusts him to see this side of her, and so it means more than just the after-sex cuddles.

Beckett nestles herself into Castle, as close as she can manage without actually sliding under his skin. He’s so good for her.  He makes her whole: has held her up when she couldn’t stand.  He’s had her back, and now they’ll solve this one last problem and she’ll find her way through. 

Then, anything will be possible. Everything will be possible.

Castle contemplates his study, his desk, his laptop and his phone on Wednesday morning, none too early, without any great enthusiasm or indeed intelligence. His extremely enjoyable evening had been followed by the extremely unenjoyable need to get a cab home slightly after midnight, after which a sudden burst of inspiration (case-related, for a wonder) had left him typing frantically until dawn.  He’d managed breakfast with Alexis, who had regarded him with a sardonic mix of pity and I-know-where-you-were-last-night-dad which was rather disconcerting, but less than four hours’ sleep since then hasn’t exactly left him on top of his game.  He considers another dose of concentrated caffeine and decides that it would be simpler to inject it than drink more coffee.  Since he doesn’t have a little vial of extracted caffeine, that’s not going to happen, and besides which needle-marks in one’s arms give entirely the wrong impression. 

He leans back to review his likely day. He intends – if he can force his brain into gear – to think about how to talk to Jim and how to talk to Dr Burke.  Dr Burke is probably easier, but they’ve missed something last night.  Beckett will have to tell Dr Burke that Castle will call and – much more importantly – that she has consented to Dr Burke talking to Castle.  He persuades his poor tired fingers and brain to send Beckett a text setting that out.  Ten minutes later he receives a reply: I thought of that too. Already done.  Good to go.  Beckett’s investigative efficiency is clearly in full spate.  Castle wonders vaguely if Dr Burke has any idea what’s about to happen to him, fails to find much in the way of sympathy for him since it’s Castle who ends up with a miserable Beckett whom Dr Burke has caused rather than a sexy, happy Kat, and finally succeeds in getting his brain into first gear.

Dr Burke first. At least that has no emotional overtones.

Castle’s decision is initially thwarted by his complete ignorance of Dr Burke’s phone number. His neuron-deficient brain eventually prods him into a Google search which remedies the lack of a phone number.  It does not remedy Castle’s strong suspicion that he is completely unprepared for the impending conversation.  He tries to remedy that by researching emotional abuse for a while, and concludes that it is – one – very complicated and – two – potentially correct.

In his soothingly decorated Midtown office, early on Wednesday morning, Dr Burke sips his tea, savouring the delicate flavours, and regards the e-mail which has arrived only a moment ago with an expression which in a lesser man would best be described as consternation. Since he is not such a man, he would describe his view of the e-mail as mildly surprised.  He re-reads the short, brusque text.  Dr Burke. I authorise you to discuss any matter and aspect of my treatment with Richard Castle.  Detective Kate Beckett. 

Dr Burke does not understand this development at all, but he is quite certain that it may readily be turned to advantage. He had wished to speak with Mr Castle, and now it appears that he will be able so to do.  He hopes, however, that Mr Castle does not prove to be a typical celebrity: brash and overly convinced of his own worth.  He sips his tea slowly, and ponders how best to extract information from Mr Castle.  He has a free session in today’s appointment list, at three.  It will probably be most productive if Mr Castle attends at that time.

He steeples his fingers beneath his chin in his habitual gesture, and considers whether Detective Beckett had intended him to attempt to contact Mr Castle, or whether Mr Castle is to contact him. Since Dr Burke does not have Mr Castle’s telephone number, and has no intention of wasting his, or his excellent receptionist’s, time searching for it when it is sure to be unlisted, and since Detective Beckett has not provided it, he assumes that Mr Castle will call him.  This seems entirely appropriate.  Dr Burke is a busy man, and in fact his first patient will be arriving shortly.

At noon, just as Dr Burke is contemplating with pleasure a refreshing pot of fresh tea and a few moments’ peace in which to restore his equilibrium from a trying patient who is prone to – Dr Burke winces at his own phrase – verbal vomiting without the slightest interest in applying the knowledge thus revealed to improving their life, his receptionist puts through a call. Dr Burke sighs, before picking up.

“Dr Burke, I have a Mr Richard Castle who wishes to speak to you.”

Dr Burke’s irritation at being disturbed is curbed. He is interested in hearing from Mr Castle, and he is a little impressed that Mr Castle has contacted him within a short time of Detective Beckett forewarning him that such would be the case.

“Please put him through.” There is a short click.

“Dr Burke?”

“Indeed. Good afternoon, Mr Castle.”

“Hey. Thanks for speaking to me.”  This is a good start.  Celebrity or not, the man appears to have at least basic good manners, even if his use of slang is regrettable.  That is a step better than Dr Burke had expected.

“Certainly. Detective Beckett has informed me that you might call, and given me permission to speak to you.”

“She said I could talk to you, too. I wouldn’t have called if she hadn’t.”

“I think it would be best if you attended here, so that we may have a conversation without external distractions.” Dr Burke can hear female tones in the background.  From the repetition of Darling, where is my script, he surmises that the voice belongs to Mr Castle’s mother.  Dr Burke cannot imagine that this distraction will assist with any discussion.

“Sure. When?  Today?  What’s your address?”

“I have a session available at three, if that will suit.”

“Yeah. That would be great.  Where?”

Dr Burke gives the address, and Mr Castle rings off. This afternoon, Dr Burke thinks, will be interesting.