Plus One

co-authored by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles

"Did they really ditch their dates?" he asks her, delighted for many reasons, but chief among them is the idea that Esposito and Lanie have abandoned their plus-ones to ride to the reception dinner together.

"They did," Kate grins back at him, leaning over to toss her camera through the open door and onto the seat. He hands her into the car, delighted by this too. That she accepted riding over with him. Castle nods to the driver and gets in after her, unable to keep his eyes off the sharp points of her knees, the length of her thigh, the definition of her calves as her shoes push-

He clears his throat, tries to redirect his eyes, finds her smirking at him. Oh she knows perfectly well. And she only lifts an eyebrow at him.

He sighs. "You're not giving me permission for that now too, are you? Because you're taking all the fun out of it, Beckett."

Well, that's not true. The fun is there, even when he's been caught looking.

She only shakes her head, not really an answer, and he can practically feel her laughing inside.

"That was a nice ceremony," he says, trying to keep the pedantic conversation going. The safe conversation.

"Mm," she murmurs, her head angled towards the window. The car is snaking through the wedding guest traffic, attempting to make it back onto the avenue.

"Kinda long," he says. Then mentally adds, That's what she said. Because he can't help it. Her legs make him start thinking like this. And the narrow sculpture of her waist on those hips. And the fall of her hair over her shoulders. And - okay, and really her whole body.

And in that dress. This dress. Damn.

He clears his throat, tries to think of something innocuous. "Which entree did you ask for?" The card that came with the invitation had a choice between three different meats. "Cause Alexis chose chicken, and I chose steak, and now I'm wondering if I can eat Alexis's dinner too. I'm starving."

Kate bubbles up with a laugh. He turns his head and is struck by the tender joy diffused across her face. As if she finds him not only amusing, but also precious. God, it's giving him chills. He hopes his brain is working, memorizing this, because he wants to dream about this, wants to slide this into his fantasies.

Lately his fantasies have been so G-rated it's pathetic. And yet they give him the most satisfaction, the strongest sense of rightness and good, than the steamy scenes of Beckett in a sweater dress speaking Russian, or Beckett with her heel on a man's wrist and her gun cocked and ready.

Uh-huh. Those are good.

But these are better. Kate turning that dazzling smile on him as he hands her coffee, the two of them alone in the precinct, she steps closer, their chests nearly touch, she's raising her hand and-

"I had chicken, but you can eat some of mine if they won't feed you enough, Castle."

Feed you. . .oh. Right. "What a good partner," he gushes, giving her a cheesy grin. "Sharing your dinner with me."

She reaches over and thumps his shoulder. "I share my dinner with you all the time. And lunch. And even my coffee when you're being annoying."

Yeah, she does do that. Let's him have the dregs while he goes and makes her another cup. Mm, the cold last swallow of coffee that Kate Beckett has had her mouth and tongue all over-?

None of these bland questions are quite working out how he would like. Instead of calming him down, they're only riling him up.

"Oh, hey. Here we are. That was fast," Kate says, and he swears there's disappointment in her voice.

He's not disappointed; he needs to get control of himself again. Preferably not in an enclosed space, where the very air smells of Kate, tastes of her. Not that he knows what she tastes like - except for that undercover kiss, and mostly that was mint and adrenaline, the spike of heightened awareness as they approached the guard.

Kate opens the door when the car comes to a halt at the drop-off in front of the hotel. Castle opens his as well, sighs as he gets another long, lingering look at her legs as she exits the car.

He's in for the best, worst night of his life.

Castle looks a little - flustered - as they make their way inside the hotel. Kate ducks her head, hiding her smile, and slides a hand into her purse to make sure she still has her camera.

She wants memories of tonight. She needs them, needs the joy, the light that surrounds Jenny and Ryan, the tentative reconciliation between Lanie and Esposito. And of course - the man at her side.

She can't remember the last time she saw Castle smile so much, his grin so wide that his face seems about to crack open with it, eyes crinkled with such happiness that you can barely tell their color anymore. And what it does to her, his delight, his exuberance -

She doesn't have the words for it. Doesn't have words for the way her insides lift in response, for the way everything in her opens up, brimming with anticipation, so eager for the light. Like a flower that's been shut in the dark for too long, and suddenly the door opens, sunlight pouring in.

Yes, she needs memories of this moment. For when she's back in darkness again.

With a deep breath, she forces the thought back, and in two quick strides she catches up with Castle, slides her hand inside his elbow. Her anchor. She likes the touching that they have going on, light and unassuming, because she doesn't want to assume. Doesn't want to make him think -

He deserves better than this.

When he feels her fingers on his arm, he gives her a look that's equal parts surprise and soft pleasure, and she smiles at him, unwilling to break the moment with words, conscious of the way her heart bolts every time his eyes meet hers, that wealth of tenderness in them.

She releases a slow breath, tears her gaze away.

The hotel lobby is spacious, and elegant without being over-the-top; it doesn't scream luxury, and Kate likes that. One of the bridesmaids shows them inside the ballroom where the reception is held; there's already a considerable number of people there, but no Ryan and Jenny yet, as far as she can tell.

The green and white theme suits the room, Kate thinks as she looks around. It gives it a freshness, a brightness that it wouldn't have otherwise. Another ballroom - the dining space, probably - opens at the end of this one; if she cranes her neck, she can catch a glimpse of tables that confirms her theory.

"Nice, huh?" Castle comments, having obviously completed his own appraisal of the place. "I quite like it."

"You might want to sound a little less surprised when you say that to Ryan and Jenny," Kate replies, not trying to hide her smirk.

"Oh, no - I didn't mean -" he narrows his eyes at her when she grins (he's rather adorable when he's embarrassed) and finishes in a dignified voice, "that was me being impressed, Beckett. Not surprised."

"Uh-huh," she says, and in a different setting - at a different time - she might bite her lip to keep herself from laughing, but not tonight.

"You must be Detective Beckett," a friendly voice says on her right. Kate whirls around, meets a pair of blue eyes that looks strangely familiar, even though the dark blonde hair, the heart-shaped face and the bright smile aren't.

"And Richard Castle," the woman adds, her eyes traveling to the writer, her cheeks flushing lightly. A fan, then. Kate can't blame her. "I'm Colleen, Kevin's older sister."

Oh. That explains the blue eyes.

"Please, call me Kate," she asks as they shake hands, and she sees a flash of pleasure in the older woman's eyes. Not so much older - just a few years, the detective thinks.

"I must say, it's really exciting to meet you two. Kevin's talked so much about you, and of course we've all read the Heat books, so - you know."

"Oh, don't believe a word they say," Kate laughs, cutting her eyes to her partner. "Castle here has a...vivid imagination."

"I," he starts vibrantly, all puffed up and ready to defend himself, before he pauses, lets the air out. "Have to admit that she's right," he finishes on a smile, winking at Colleen. Kate shakes her head, grins, amused at how well he played her.

Ryan's sister looks like she's about to faint. Or burst into a fit of giggles.

"Excuse me for a minute," Castle says suddenly, disappearing before Kate has time to even say a word. She tries to keep an eye on him, curious to know where he's going in such a hurry, but there are too many people in the room, too many tall guys dressed in black tuxes - she loses sight of him after a few seconds.

Well. Thanks for the support, Rick.

She has to admit, at least his absence has the welcome side-effect of allowing Colleen to relax. The woman's whole body loosens up, and from there it's much easier to get a conversation going.

She learns that Colleen is a lawyer, but is on a maternity leave right now - gave birth to a little boy a month ago. Kate remembers Ryan telling them that he was an uncle again, and feels a new admiration for the woman's flawless figure.

She can only hope that she -

Thank god, Castle comes back and interrupts before she can finish that thought, and a second later Colleen gets called away by one of the guests.

"Done," he whispers to Kate, his lips entirely too close to her ear. The shiver that runs through her reminds her of the wedding ceremony, of the glances sneaked during prayers, and her stomach flips.

"What have you done, Castle?" she asks suspiciously, trying to gather herself, to keep up that light, teasing thing they've got going.

"Just switched your place card with Alexis's, and saved you from a terrible fate," he answers, grinning and obviously very satisfied with himself. "No one even saw me. Swift as an arrow, like a bolt from the blue -"

"Yeah, Castle, I got it, thanks."

She's tempted to roll her eyes at him, but there's an eagerness to please at the back of his look, a puppy-like quality hidden behind the surface pride, and she finds herself brushing her fingers against the sleeve of his jacket, giving him a light squeeze.

"What a good partner," she says, not sure if she's joking or serious, but unable to fight back the smile that wants to blossom on her face.

He only grins back, but his childishness is belied by the solemn look in his blue eyes.

Oh.

He sees too much.

Castle honestly expected her to shake him off the moment they got to the reception. Not in a bad way, but in that same methodical, room-clearing, detective way. She would do her side of the room, he would do his.

But it's not happened like that so far. The guests are all waiting on the bride and groom to arrive (he thinks they had pictures? but no, there was a bridesmaid here to show them in), and they all mill about in the grand ballroom.

"I'm starving," Kate says suddenly, right at his elbow again. She peers around his shoulder towards the connected room where the tables are set up. "You've been in there. You do any reconaissance?"

"What do you take me for?" he grins. "I'm starving too, remember? Head tables, three of them, on the east side, and then round tables for us lowly peons. They've already started setting out water and tea on the tables, bread baskets. Haven't served the plated food yet."

She sighs. "So we've still got some time."

"But there's bread," he says, raising his eyebrow at her.

"There's bread," she murmurs, and lifts her eyes to him, looking both scandalized and thrilled at the same time.

"Kate?" He's willing to take her lead on this.

"Bread. I. . .yes." She casts a delighted, excited smile his way. "Let's go."

Kate grabs his arm and starts threading them through the crowd of guests, smiling when someone catches their gaze, putting off those that try to stop them. He steers her away from Lanie and Esposito; she glances over her shoulder at him in askance.

"I'm not sharing my bread with them. Remember what Esposito said? It's every man for himself in prison."

She laughs, so bright and beautiful that his chest aches. It's probably a good thing he can only see her face in profile as they move through the room. Otherwise his heart might have stopped.

He nearly runs into her back, not paying attention, stops himself just in time, his hands at her hips, her shoulders brushing his chest. She half-turns, lifts her hand to wrap her fingers around his tie.

It's got to be an unconscious gesture. She doesn't seem to notice what she's done, and her extraordinarily high heels have her right at eye level. Mouth level.

"Okay, we need a plan," she murmurs. He notices that they're only a foot away from the wide connecting archway to the dining room, but still on the fringes of the crowd. They won't attract notice this way.

"Go in. Stuff a few rolls down our pants. Get out," he says. "Simple."

She draws back, lets her eyes travel down his suit and then glances at herself, down her body, inviting his eyes to follow. Form-fitting, sleek, elegant, all curves and legs-

"You see any place for me to stuff a roll?"

Oh dirty, dirty Beckett. He narrows his eyes at her, meets her gaze head on, but he can't think of a single thing to say back.

"Uh-huh. That's what I thought. A plan, Castle. A good one."

She's leaving this up to him?

Castle glances away from her, towards the dining room, debates the wisdom of stealing food-

Her stomach growls. Loudly. He laughs and glances down at her stomach, travels back up to her eyes. (Any excuse to trail his eyes up her body). "Beckett. How uncouth."

"Feed me, Castle."

Yes, right. Feed her. Be a man, Rick. Step up.

Her eyes are on his profile as he studies the dining room, brow knit together, blue eyes shining in reflection. A small smile tugs at her lips and she presses her mouth together, splaying a hand on her belly to try and stifle any unwanted sounds.

Damn, she's starved. She woke up inordinately late this morning, had a solid breakfast - one her mom would have endorsed - but that was at noon, and now it's nearing seven, and the thought of a bread roll is enough to make her legs tremble.

"Hurry up. My stomach is eating itself."

"Alright, alright," Castle murmurs, stepping closer, eyes still intent on the busy ballet of the catering people, waltzing in and out of the kitchen. "I might have something."

A very different kind of want erupts in her stomach at the nearness of him, the shaved smoothness of his jaw within kissing distance, but she shrugs that off, concentrates. Food. Food is what she needs.

"I'm waiting, Castle."

"Okay. So, obviously, that door they're all rushing through leads to the kitchen, right?" He doesn't wait for her nod to go on. "But see, that other one? I've only seen a handful of them use it. So I'm thinking, maybe it's a way out. Maybe there's a courtyard or something, a back entrance."

"And?" Kate pushes, unable to quell her impatience.

"And," he says, giving her a pointed look, "we might be able to hide there once we have the rolls. Unless you want the whole crowd to know we're stealing food at a wedding, of course. Cause then we can eat here, sure."

She glares at him. "It's not stealing if we are supposed to eat them anyway," she hisses. "But a hiding place to eat those rolls is good. Now, any idea on how we get them?"

"I'm still working on that," he says defensively, his hands half raised as if to ward her off. "Jeez. You never get this nasty when you skip lunch at the precinct."

"Because I'm *working* then, Castle. I'm busy. I don't have time to listen to the unhappy lament of my empty stomach."

A smile crosses his face, the boyish look in his eyes so adorable that she wants to hit him and kiss him at the same time.

"Unhappy lament, huh? My, my, detective. Hunger is making you quite the poet."

"Castle," she growls, teeth bared, her fingers clawing on the fabric of her dress to muffle the impatient noise of her stomach.

This is not a joke -

"Okay, okay," he hastens to answer, throwing himself back a little, clearly afraid of what she could do to him. And rightly so. "Well, you know what? Let's just go in there, pretend we got lost, ask for the bathroom. Infallible plan."

"Castle, wait, no -"

But he's already laced his fingers with hers - wait, what? - and he takes advantage of her confusion to drag her inside after him, before she can protest any further.

He strides confidently through the room, and she has to give it to him, they've almost made it to the head tables when someone thinks of stopping them.

"Um, sir? Miss? If you could wait in the ballroom," a twenty-something waiter tells them, a hesitant smile on his freckled face.

Castle whirls around, throwing off her balance - she staggers, has to catch herself on his shoulder. She suspects that he did it on purpose. Bastard. "Follow my lead, Kate."

He turns back around. "Sorry," he apologizes to the guy, a profusely honest smile on his face. "We don't meant to bother you, but we're looking for somewhere private. An alcove. . .or a bathroom? That would work. It's. . .urgent." He leans in a little, gesturing for the waiter to do the same. "See, my wife here," he whispers in the way of confidence, nodding to Kate, "she's insistent. If you know what I mean. Any chance you could show us to the nearest bathroom? With stalls that lock."

He did not.

He did not.

Follow his lead, he said.

Oh you are going to get it, Richard Castle.

Kate lets her eyes glitter with all the things she pushed down during the wedding, then slides up to Castle's back, so close, the heat between them rising exponentially. She feels the shiver he can't control, slides a hand under his jacket to his waist, fingers hooking in his belt, then gives the waiter a long, knowing look over Castle's shoulder.

It's all she has to do.

The young man blushes deeply, his eyes suddenly riveted to his feet, and Kate feels her own cheeks burning. Richard Castle is a dead man for this. (Even though this is so very fun. She loves the way the backs of her fingers brush his side and make his skin quiver.)

"Uh. S-sure," the waiter stutters, wrenching his gaze from the floor and glancing nervously at Castle, his eyes darting away when they fall on Kate. He's an interesting shade of red now; the detective herself feels a little like laughing, breathless yes, but laughing all the same.

He points his finger to the door that Castle assumed led to a courtyard.

"Just, go through that door, and go up the first flight of stairs. Bathroom is first on your left," he says, the last words almost incomprehensible because he's speaking so fast.

"Thanks, man," her partner says with a wide grin, and he pushes it as far as to clap the waiter's shoulder in gratitude. "You've made my day."

The waiter opens his mouth, closes it, and then hastily retreats to the kitchen. Not wasting a moment, Castle links his arm with Kate's, directs them to said door. They have to skirt one of the tables to get to it, and in a smooth move, he snatches the basket of bread, cradling it to his chest so that no one can tell from behind.

"They'll think they forgot the basket on that one," he breathes into her ear. Kate looks over her shoulder, certain that someone must have seen that, but no: all the catering team is so busy, no one is even glancing in their direction.

And then they're through the door, running up the stairs, hand in hand, laughing breathlessly like two terrible children. Instead of turning left towards the bathroom on the second floor, Castle keeps going, putting another flight of stairs between them and the catering people.

Then he lets go of her hand and sits on the steps, gesturing for her to follow. His face is bright with the same exhilarated triumph that she feels dancing inside her.

She waits until she can breathe normally to arch an eyebrow at him.

"Your wife wants somewhere private, Castle?"

"At least I made an honest woman out of you."

She narrows her eyes at him, but that insane, thrilled grin is cracking through; her glare doesn't even phase him.

"Hey, I got you your bread, didn't I?"

Hmm. She can't refute that. And speaking about bread -

She reaches into the basket and revels in the feel of her fingers closing around the soft crust, before she eagerly bites into the roll.

Oh. Food.

She does manage to keep her delighted moan in check, but she leans back against the wall, her control faltering as she swallows, her eyes closing in spite of herself.

When she opens them again, of course, he's grinning at her. And there's no way she can get a scold on her face, not with those crinkled eyes, not with the way his adam's apple works as he swallows - makes her want to press her mouth to that spot, see if it's as smooth as it looks.

"You're welcome," he says cheekily, wiggling an eyebrow.

She says nothing, regards him with the most serene expression that she can gather.

But the next moan? She's *so* letting it free.

She leans against the wall across from him, licking a crumb from the corner of her mouth, her eyes on the bread she's pulling apart in her hands. Castle can smell the rich scent of the rolls and the tang of her perfume; he wants to taste the butter he can see shining on her lips; he wants to touch her neck with his tongue and see if he can find the spot where she dabbed on her perfume.

Really not a good idea to think these thoughts in an enclosed stairwell with her knees pressing against his thigh. With the way her hand brushes his against the basket, both holding it between them. With the way that same hand sometimes drops to his upper thigh and rests there, careless and unconcerned.

And even though he wants to touch her, more than just brushes of their hands, he's strangely at peace with this moment.

It's good. It's healing. He didn't know he needed it, but he did.

"We should probably head back," she grimaces, brushing a thumb along her bottom lip, the roll curled in her fingers.

Castle makes an exaggerated motion of looking at his phone, narrows an eye at it. "No way, Beckett. It's only been six minutes. My manhood is at stake here."

She bursts into laughter, her eyes flaring with pleasure and maybe, just maybe, a spark of arousal as well. He'll take it. But honestly, the laughter is better. The laughter makes him feel good, like he's doing something right.

"So what's an acceptable time, Castle?"

He raises an eyebrow, looks her up and down. "Are you seriously asking my *number*?" he mimics, knowing she'll get it, she'll know.

Her mouth parts in startled amusement, not laughing at this, but maybe because she's stunned. Or breathless. And then she gets a clever, sly look in her eyes and grins. "No. I'm asking what your wife's number would be."

His wife's number would be? His wife-

Oh, hell, Kate.

Is she asking - How many times?

She's smirking; she totally knows she's scored on that one, and he can't even form words, can't even look away from the self-satisfied, pleased look on her face because he wonders if that's also the look she has in bed, after one of those times - and, yes, there will be more than one-

Gotta stop this.

Have to stop.

But first-

"As high as you like, Kate."

Point for Castle.

No doubt about it. She is in serious trouble.

And she doesn't even care.

Now that she's pretty certain her legs will hold her again, Kate clatters back down the stairs, her heels slapping each step because she still doesn't quite have the presence of mind, the control over her body, to keep her shoes from making noise.

"Jeez, you're making enough racket to wake the dead," he mutters, and his hand slides down the outside of her arm as if he knows.

He must know.

What it's doing to her.

He's behind her on the stairs, right at her back, and she has to watch every step as she goes just to keep from tumbling. Her ankles are weak, as if she's never walked in heels before, as if they really have gone to the bathroom on the second floor and how many times-

No, no. Not a good time for this.

She gets to the landing, pauses a moment to let him pass her on the stairs. She sees the look he shoots her, as if he's worried about this now, so Kate snags his elbow as she follows him down, just to. . .to reassure him.

And maybe to help hold herself up.

"This long enough time to save your reputation?" she murmurs. She has no idea what time it is now, only that they've been laughing in the stairwell for entirely too long and that the rolls are gone.

"Mm," he murmurs. He doesn't take the opportunity to make another comment and she wonders if that means he's as scrambled and breathless and - and hot inside as she is.

He leaves the basket on the floor in front of the stairwell door; someone who works for the catering company will see it eventually, right? And think it got overlooked. Kate walks steadily beside him, feels her chest brush the back of his arm when he stops suddenly.

"What?" she whispers.

"The door was. . .right by the head tables, Kate."

"Oh."

"If they've already seated everyone, then we're going to be walking right in front-"

"Oh no." She shakes her head at him and squeezes his elbow. "No. Find another way around, Castle."

"Me?" he squeaks, widening his eyes at her. That helps. Oh good, thank you. That helps bring her equilibrium back, a sense of familiar balance.

"You. This was your brilliant plan. Hide and eat-"

"You were the hungry one. And it's your turn to think of a plan."

She narrows her eyes at him, glances down the hallway. She can see a few catering staff looking their way, but they're too busy to really stop and ask questions.

She peers around Castle towards the other end of the hall, past the stairs, to the white door there. A fire exit with a push bar and a warning sign that an alarm will sound. No good.

"Okay. We have to go back upstairs, get off on the second floor, take the elevator back down to the lobby, and then-"

"Come in the back. Late," he finishes, nodding. "Good plan."

She nods back, reaches down for his hand, twining her fingers with his and pulling him back to the stairwell door. She shouldn't, she really shouldn't hold his hand when they've just spent the last fifteen minutes in a kind of verbal foreplay, but she can't help herself.

She loves the feel of his hand enveloping hers, loves how the slightest bit of distance will tug on their linked palms and bring him hurrying closer, right at her side.

Where he should be.