13. Eat that blowfish sushi that kills people

"Where are we going?" he whines, tugs at the blindfold with the hand she isn't holding. The cab takes a sharp turn, the momentum pushing her against him, and she takes the opportunity to snag his fingers away from the black fabric.

"Castle. Do I have to cuff you?" she says. Her voice betrays her; she was aiming for stern, but she's having trouble filtering out her amusement.

Still, she relishes the following silence on his part. A little shocked, a lot turned-on, or so she thinks.

He clears his throat. "Do I - do I have to answer that question now? Or can I leave it open for later?"

Kate throws her head back and laughs, thoroughly delighted with him, with tonight, with the fact that they're doing this. She's taking Richard Castle on a date.

Finally.

"I'd have thought the cuffs were a little too much for a first date, Rick. Even for you."

His lips curl up, unmistakable, at the word date; she feels the answering flicker of warmth in her chest, and her fingers move of their own volition, her thumb cradling the back of his hand.

"I think a lot of people would argue over your very liberal use of the phrase first date," he shoots back smugly.

"Oh, really. You one of them, Castle?" She's arched her eyebrow even though he can't see her - force of habit.

He waits for a few beats before he answers, a silly-tender expression on the portion of his face that she can see, "No. Nope. I'm perfectly happy with the term first date."

He would be.

She's toying with the idea of leaning in and kissing his cheek, just because he's sweet and she feels like it, when the cab comes to a somewhat brutal stop, the seatbelt cutting her air supply. Ouch.

"We're here, miss."

"Thanks," she says, a little breathless, getting her wallet out and giving their driver a twenty. She can tell Castle is growing restless at her side.

"Can I take off the blindfold now?" he asks eagerly after he's unfastened his belt.

So impatient. "No," she answers insistently, taking the change from the cabbie. "I'll tell you when you can."

He heaves a long, dramatic sigh - you'd think he'd been denied his favorite candy - and she takes back his hand before she gets out of the car, pulling him after her.

"Careful," she warns as she leads him onto the sidewalk. "There's a step here."

Of course, he trips on it - she wonders if he's doing it on purpose - and he stumbles into her, his weight knocking her off-balance, causing her fists to close tightly on his shirt in an attempt to hold on. "Castle," she breathes as she finds her footing, half-scolding, half-laughing. "Watch out."

"Not my fault if you're such a terrible guide," he mutters, but he has a smile on his face and a hand on her waist, and he's so obviously enjoying this.

"Uh-huh," she says, letting go of his fingers and turning him around so she can untie the blindfold. "Well, try not to get us both killed, will ya? Leave that-" she pauses for dramatic effect, "-to the blowfish," she finishes, grinning, as she loosens the fabric and lets him see.

He stares, mouth open, at the window of the Sugiyama, then turns to her, blue eyes alight with excitement.

"You're using our date to help me cross one more item off the list."

Huh. Said like that, it doesn't sound so good, but he doesn't...seem to mind. In fact, he's-

Stepping closer. Leaning in. Kissing her.

His lips are warm and his tongue is, too; she moans, surprise and pleasure both, as she parts her mouth for him, feels his hands thread through her hair. He's enthusiastic but gentle, a strange combination that feels so very like him; and she's just relaxing into him, starting to give back, when he breaks away, his smile wide and radiant.

"You're amazing," he beams, and her heart stammers in her chest, an arrhythmical thud that doesn't sound too healthy. "And I had to do that, you know. In case we both die in there."

Right. She nods slowly - not much use for words now - and lets him lace theirs fingers back together, lead her inside.

Oh, neither of them is dying tonight.

Cherry blossoms in frosted yellow vases line the wall, the lighting is warm and recessed, the bamboo floors are slick under his dress shoes. Castle pauses and waits until Kate is seated in the booth, and then he slides in across from her.

She's apparently called ahead because their waiter mentions the three course meal as if in confirmation, nods his head when Kate agrees, and asks only about their beverages.

Castle has no idea, and there are no menus in sight, but Kate asks for sake - karatanba, cold - and it arrives in a gorgeously labeled glass bottle with two miniature bowls that serve as cups. Frosted, jade green glass. Kate pours the sake and gives him a soft look.

"So. How does this work?" he asks. She seems to be taking great delight in controlling this night. Ever since he gave her space, she's been rather . . . relentless, as if she's stepping up her game. He's willing to sit back and let her have it; he wants to see how far it goes, how much she's put into it.

"Three course kaiseki," she says. "Look it up."

He pulls out his phone, glances around, and hides it down by his leg, feeling a little wrong for being on a device in here, amidst the tone and tenor of serenity that the restaurant gives off.

According to his phone, the three course kaiseki means grilled fish of the day, fugu sashimi, toban, and shokuji. A handful of delicious words which thrill him to no end: toban is something like grilled fish steak served on a toban plate which sizzles, shokuji is rice, miso soup, and Japanese pickles, but fugu sashimi -

the deadly blowfish.

Raw.

"This is the best ever," he breathes, googling fugu on his phone as discreetly as possible in the busy restaurant.

Kate's knee brushes his; he glances up at her. Her eyes are brilliant, directed at him. "What's it say?"

"Fugu can be lethally poisonous so restaurant preparation of fugu is strictly controlled. Only chefs who have qualified through rigorous training are allowed to deal with the fish, removing the toxic parts to avoid contaminating the meat."

When he looks up after reading that, she's got an elegant little arch to her eyebrow that he adores.

He drops his eyes and reads again, "The domestic preparation occasionally leads to accidental death, thus becoming one of the most celebrated and notorious dishes in Japanese cuisine."

"Why does your bucket list contain so many items which might actually cause us to kick the bucket?" she sighs.

Castle lifts his eyes back to her again and grins. "Yeah. That may be why there aren't so many I've done?"

She shakes her head, but her hair spills around her shoulders and falls forward. He reaches out - can't help himself - and brushes it back, his fingertips skimming her cheek.

"We - we aren't going to die," he says. But he wonders. A little bit. "I can't believe you did all this."

She gives him that Mona Lisa smile, mysterious and alluring and reserved. "I like sushi. This will just be a little more of a . . . an intense sushi experience."

"I'll say."

"Lately, I'm all for intense," she grins, the slip of her lips giving her away. "Besides, I did my research. I know what the symptoms are."

He lifts his eyebrows, freaking out a little bit. Just a little. Not much. Symptoms of poisoning. Toxicity. "They are?"

"Dizziness, exhaustion, headache, nausea, difficulty breathing. Paralysis with consciousness but the inability to speak. Breathing stops. Asphyxiation."

He feels his chest tightening like he's already poisoned. "Why again are we doing this?"

"Because it can be done," she says, then tilts her head. "Why? Are you afraid, Castle?"

God, she's amazing. She's just - so very sexy, and her hair is in soft waves around her face, her cheekbones sharp, her eyes saying things he's wanted to hear for so long now.

"Not - not afraid. No."

At that moment, their waiter slides a platter of grilled fish carefully onto the wood table, the presentation precise and exquisite, before he then settles a square white plate in front of each of them. He nods his head and disappears.

"Chopsticks," he sighs.

She laughs lightly. "You'll be fine."

"With the noodles, I'm fine. But this is rice," he mutters, but still, he picks up the chopsticks from their little smooth stone. Cool; they fit in the grooved resting place perfectly. This place is awesome.

The platter in the center of the table holds a delicious looking tuna, seared in some kind of sauce that smells tangy and tantalizing, laid on a bed of rice and framed by lemon wedges and cilantro.

Kate slides her chopsticks under a few slices of fish, expertly transfers them to her plate. Her shoulders are bare in the sleeveless black shirt, the neckline draped low, a glitter of gold between her breasts from her mother's ring on its chain.

Gorgeous. "Kate?"

She glances up, a piece of fish halfway to her mouth. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

That spark of pleased pride lights up her eyes; her mouth twists in that pressed lip smile.

"You're welcome."

By the time the waiter brings the potentially deadly fish to their table, Kate is deliciously buzzed. Maybe it's the warmth of the sake running through her veins, or the little sounds of pleasure Castle makes as he tries not to gobble down the food; but she feels empowered, feels bold and dangerous, and she slides a foot out of her black heels, touches her toe to his ankle.

Castle jumps, and the waiter, who's just setting the plate in front of him, looks up in alarm, backs away as if he might be responsible.

"Sir? Is something wrong?"

Kate bites her lip, trying to hide her smile, but her partner gives her a knowing, narrow-eyed look as he replies, "No, no, don't worry. Everything's fine."

The young man retreats with a nervous little bow and a few words, hoping they'll enjoy the food, and she finds herself on the receiving end of a very blue stare.

"Trying to give me a heart attack before I can die of food poisoning, is that it?"

The smile breaks out in spite of her efforts. "Jeez, Castle. You got me." And as if to support her statement, she moves her foot a little, finds the edge of his pant leg, nudges it to slide under.

His skin isn't warm but her toe is cooler, and she feels his distinct shiver against her. Mmm. She needs to stop this.

They're in a restaurant, and the thoughts in her mind - completely inappropriate.

Not to mention, this is their first date. Well. First official date, anyway.

From the darkness that's flared in Castle's eyes, he's not in a much better place himself. Kate sighs, forces herself to take a mental step back. And while she's at it, take back her foot, too.

Her shoe feels cold and not nearly as comfortable as his skin.

"Not sure I wanna try this after all," he murmurs, his voice washing over her, warmer, much more abrasive than the soft sounds of the water features that surround them.

This-?

Oh. The food.

She lifts an eyebrow at him, question and challenge both.

"I'd rather live to see the end of the night," he explains, rather unnecessarily, since the intimate, suggestive curl of his mouth and the twinkle in his eye are speaking volumes on their own.

"You're the one with the stupid bucket list, Castle," she points out rather breathlessly. And then she reaches for the chopsticks and snatches a piece of fugu sashimi, brings it to her mouth. Holding his eyes the whole time as she puts it on her tongue.

She chews slowly, lifts her chin a little so he can watch her swallow. That's what he likes, right? That's what most of his list is about. The danger, the thrill, the excitement.

And Kate knows she can give him just what he needs.

"Your turn," she says then, nodding at the fish, giving him that smile that is not quite a smile, is just her lips pressed together, and an inviting nudge of her eyes.

He watches her for a moment, stunned, before he slowly shakes his head and picks up his own chopsticks.

"So hot," he breathes as he reaches for the fugu, sighs. It sounds like he's bracing himself, but she's not sure if it has more to do with the sashimi or with her.

Probably with her, because he doesn't show the slightest hesitation chewing and swallowing the thing. Her skin is tingling when he looks up at her, gives her an appreciative smile.

"Pretty tasty, huh?"

She's not sure she can find words, so she hums instead, tilts her head as she watches him.

Pretty tasty, yeah.

She doesn't stop toying with him all through dinner. He wishes she would, so he could swallow without choking. The waiter has gone from looking concerned to looking appalled, as if Castle is a heathen in the house of Epicurus, staining the restaurant's good name with his constant gagging.

Castle is pretty sure this has been the most inelegant meal he's ever managed to choke down, but it's all because of her.

She just won't stop.

She switched sides in the booth so that now she presses up against him; she's using her left hand to hold the chopsticks (a feat of epic proportions; he feels entirely unequal to the grace that is Kate Beckett). She eats precisely, neatly, not delicate or dainty, but enough, and efficiently, as if she's on a mission.

Every time she moves, she moves against him. Every time she breathes, he feels her chest rise and fall. Every time she takes a sip of water or sake, she replaces her hand on his thigh and strokes her thumb over his knee like it's the most natural and easy thing in the world.

So yes, he's having trouble swallowing.

He needs to turn the tables, bring about a role reversal here, because he will not, absolutely not survive this night if she keeps touching him like that.

When the miso soup arrives, they are given spoons and he feels like now is the time, the only time, to make his move. Leave his mark on her like she has on him.

He lets his left hand fall to his lap, squeeze her fingers briefly, and then he trails up her forearm to her elbow, strokes the soft spot where her arm bends.

She gives him a slow, predatory look from beneath those lashes, but no - not-uh - he isn't the prey here. It's her.

She just doesn't know it yet.

Kate senses the moment it changes for him, the moment he decides to take back the night.

He stops fidgeting, stops swallowing hard, stops gingerly layering fish in his mouth like he's not sure what will happen.

He stops being nervous. It's like a switch has been flipped.

And while she thoroughly enjoys making him nervous, she finds this side of him, this purposeful and daring and clever side of him, she finds it downright thrilling.

His thumb tracing designs into her arm, over her elbow, her bicep, skirting the outside of her breast through the thin material of her dress. He looks at her while he does it too, as if in challenge, and while she would normally slide her fingers a little higher on his thigh, accept the challenge, at the moment, she's not sure she can move to save her life.

Waves of arousal suffuse her body, tingling and alive, as he only barely touches her. He leans in, satisfaction so smug in his eyes, and he places an open-mouthed kiss to her neck - all too brief, all too good - before he goes back to the soup.

Soup.

Kate keeps her eyes forward, realizes her hand is clutching his knee in a death grip, her voice gone. She's breathless, and pleasantly buzzing, and she wonders if - just maybe - the fish really will kill her.

Or he will. One of the two.

So maybe they're just alike. She wants thrilling and dangerous as much as he does.

But she doesn't want to swim with sharks to get it; she just wants him.

Castle doesn't want to leave.

The food is all finished, the bill is paid - she wouldn't let him - and most customers have gone already; only he and Kate remain in this part of the restaurant, sides still brushing as they lean back into the seat, the lights subdued, the cool caress of the water features in his ear.

He wants to stay like this.

Indefinitely.

But then Kate's fingers curl around his thigh and she smiles at him, tender, a little wistful maybe. "Come on, Castle. Wouldn't want to bring you home after curfew."

He gives a startled, somewhat breathless laugh - all this touching is getting to him - as he remembers. "We don't have to abide by Alexis's rules, you know." Stay with me. Just a little longer.

"Hmm," she says, but she's moving away, and he feels the loss of warmth keenly. Of course, it's not just warmth. But when he follows her, the look she levels on him, bright and soft, completely makes up for it.

"I think they're good rules, Castle. I'm gonna stick to them."

The rules his daughter made. His heart pounds in his chest, torn between rebellion and adoration. Not long before adoration wins.

"And," she adds, brushing a hand to his arm, "the waiters are starting to look at us funny."

He follows her gaze, and the little cluster of waiters hastily looks away. But he can tell she's right. Eh. They probably want to go home, too.

"Okay," he surrenders with a sigh, shrugging on his jacket. "Guess it's time to go."

Kate reaches out for the lapels, smoothes them, her hands lingering on his chest for a tad too long. "Share a cab with me?"

So he's not the only one having trouble to let go. He smiles, catches her fingers as she drops them, stroking her palm. "Sure, Kate."

He loves the way she blushes when he says her name like that.

Even in the cab, Kate Beckett cannot seem to stay away from him. It's honestly bordering on embarrassing, as if she were glued to his side; of course, Castle doesn't complain - why would he? - but to herself, since she's always been a strong, self-sufficient, independent woman, this is-

Yes. Mortifying.

Well. Maybe mortifying is a little extreme. So what if she likes his profile outlined by the city lights, his fingers tangled with hers, the heat of his shoulder against her cheek? She can feel him humming too, a low tune that she doesn't recognize, and the sensations well up inside her, fill her up, so good - more happiness than she knows what to do with.

She closes her eyes and shifts her face, pressing her forehead into the fabric of his jacket. She doesn't want him to think she's breathing him in, but. She kinda is.

Mmm. Castle.

"Hey, Kate?"

No. She doesn't want to move. "Hmm?" she answers, lifting a lazy lid to take a look at him.

He seems...worried. Like he's trying to hide it from her, trying not to let it bloom into full-panic mode, but it's not really working. She lifts her head from his shoulder, peers at him. "What?"

"I'm feeling a little - queasy. And hot."

Queas- oh. Oh.

It's all she can do not to burst out laughing in his face. Hold it together, Beckett.

"Oh?" she says, giving him her best innocent look, hoping the darkness will help.

He wavers for a second, then shakes his head, obviously trying to man up. "I'm sure it's nothing."

She presses her lips together. Tight.

"But if it was something," he lets out in a rush, seems unable to help it, "if - you know, in the very unlikely event that I did get food poisoning, well-"

She raises her eyebrows, waiting for his conclusion.

"Maybe you should be kissing me right now. In case, well. In case you never get the chance again. I wouldn't want you living a life weighed down by regrets, Kate."

She finds herself laughing, the sound bubbling on her lips, sweet and delicious, and then he's kissing her, his palm cradling the back of her neck, his smile wide and pleased against her mouth. She hums into his lips, feels him shift so he can come closer, press himself to her; she cannot find it in her to deny him.

Although she knows he's not dying.

She slides her arms around his neck and meets his tongue with hers, a moist, luscious glide that elicits a groan from him, leaves her wanting more; he pushes her against the seat and she arches, can't help it, her body seeking his. Instinctive and needy.

She contains it as best as she can, only allowing herself one more sip, one more taste of him before she splays her hands on his chest, gently pushes back. He protests, makes a child-like sound of frustration, so adorable that she has to bite her lip, keep the grin in.

She's not sure it works too well.

"You're not poisoned, Castle," she says, laughing a little, trying to cover the unsteadiness of her voice.

"How do you know?" he gasps dramatically. "I could be dying right now, Beckett-"

"No, you couldn't. The restaurant we were at - the blowfish they serve is non-poisonous. It's engineered that way."

His mouth drops. He stares at her. There's too little light for her to make out the emotions in his eyes, but she settles back and waits, completely unrepentant, confident that he'll come around.

"You - you tricked me," he says, sounding vaguely indignant. "You told me - and then when you ate it -"

She smirks, lets him see. Yep. She put on a pretty good show.

"Kate Beckett," he chides, but now his voice is different, less shocked, a lot more arousal to it. Ah. Harder to resist as well.

"Well, you did say we could cheat," she points out. "And I said I wanted to do more life-friendly stuff, didn't I?"

He grins, slow, dangerous. "Didn't want to let me risk my life?" he asks seductively.

"No," she breathes, not sure why she's answering his teasing with bald honesty. "Can't lose you to a stupid fish, can I?"

Not when he's survived a few bullets, a freezer, a nuclear bomb-

His lips on hers cut off her mental list. He works them gently, a raw, tender, meaningful kiss, and she finds herself gripping his shoulders, needing something to hold on to.

"I love you," he murmurs against her mouth, and she draws a trembling breath, caught thoroughly unawares, even though really she should have-

Castle backs away a little, sighs as he rests his forehead to hers. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't-"

"No," she cuts him off, her fingertips at his mouth, pushing the apology back, refusing it. "No, Castle, I - me too. I-" come on, Kate, say it, say the words - "I love you too," she pants finally, exhausted, triumphant, breathless.

She's struck him silent, his lips parted against her palm; he regards her for a long time, emotion shimmering in his eyes.

"Kate..."

And then the cab stops at his place, the driver grunting at them. "We're here."

She chokes on a laugh, the sound strangled in her throat; Castle closes his eyes, shakes his head in disbelief. "Come on."

But it's good. Better this way. She pushes on his chest, slightly too enthusiastic at the prospect of being alone, stumbling under the force of it. "Go. Go, Castle."

"Kate."

"Alexis is waiting. Go on."

He catches her hands, kisses them, again and again.

No, no, this is not good - this is making her want to come up with him. No. She shoves on him, forces him out of the car, then closes the door on him. He leans in the window, rolled down to let in the warm night air, and he whispers against her skin, "God, you're killing me, Kate."

She shivers, turns her face for a quick brush of his lips, then leans back in the seat.

"Go home to your daughter, Castle."