Den of Thieves
AU
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No, no, no flag on the play.
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It rises up, strangling him from the inside.
How he wants her. He wants her. He's never not wanted her but now that Demming is slumming around like a mangy dog begging for scraps, Castle wants her. Wants a flag on the play and foul and harm and all of that, whatever the damn sports metaphors are that will make Beckett walk right past Demming and over to him instead.
It's not even lust. It's purer than that. Darker.
He wants to step between them and assert his claim. She's his detective, his muse. He's written an entire book about her, for her, because of her. He's writing the second; it's nearly finished, and it's all because of her. Why doesn't that count for something?
It ought to count for something.
He will make it count for something.
Demming has no claim, and just because he asked, politely, in that way that boys ask when they're pretending to be grown-ups, doesn't mean Castle can't change his mind and step in.
He scrambles to his feet and follows Demming out of the conference room, moving fast to pull ahead of him. He takes a look back, sees the robbery detective's surprise. Castle shakes his head. Snooze, you loose. But he doesn't say it; he only thinks it, and it's mostly directed at himself.
He's been too long asleep.
Now is his moment because there are no other moments left for them.
From behind him, in his dust, Demming hisses, "Hey. Castle. What the hell, man?"
Rick approaches Beckett at the white board, the marker tapping against her bottom lip. Her eyes on the board, making connections. He should ask her out. He should kiss her - take that marker and snatch it out of her fingers and press his mouth to hers until-
"Beck-" His throat works. "Kate?"
From behind him, Demming tries to get to her first. But Castle steps in front of him, fills her vision when she turns her head.
"Go out with me," he says, the words more intense than he meant them to be. Demming gives a growl and paces away, stalking, and Beckett's eyes flick between them, back and forth.
Castle doesn't falter, doesn't look behind him, doesn't pretend this has anything to do with Demming. Only that Demming has thrown a harsh light on his reality, the secrets he knew all along.
"Dinner. Someplace nice. You deserve it." He steps into her personal space. "We deserve it."
"Castle," she says slowly. Takes a step back.
He catches her hand, just her fingers, rubbing across her knuckles. The movement is out of sight of the rest of the bullpen and he sees her eyes scan the room, her shoulders coming up.
"What are you doing?" she says fiercely.
"I'm asking you out."
She opens her mouth to negate him, but he squeezes her hand.
"I'm asking you out because it's been over a year now, and I am more impressed with you every day."
Her mouth drops open.
"And I think you know that." He draws his thumb across her knuckles and lets her hand go. Giving her the chance to choose. To save face if that's what she needs.
Beckett turns her head, giving him her profile, her eyes on the murder board. He can sense his moment slipping, but she takes in a deep breath.
"After our case," she murmurs. Her cheeks are pink, and she slides her eyes back to his. Is she smiling? He can't quite tell; he knows he's staring at her, and now she ducks her head. "Castle. After."
He grins. "Okay. Yes, after the case is closed." He doesn't know what to do now, what to think, but she looks sweet, and fidgeting before the board, and he should probably sit down and stop looming over her.
So he sits down. In his chair. By her desk.
She shoots him a dark look, mostly the usual scowl, but he detects a note of curiosity in the twitch of her lips.
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