Stepping Out
Chapter 5 – Show Me Your Moves!
Once his coughing fit subsides, Castle has the presence of mind to retrieve Kate's hand from the back of his pants before she can do anymore damage. He holds onto her wrist and yanks her round to face him. Time to show the woman who's boss. He's been messed around enough for one day.
But Kate's not finished with him yet.
"American Smooth, Castle. Not the Pasodoble," she scolds gently, tugging playfully on the front of his shirt while he holds on tightly to her wrist. Her lips are inches from his, he can feel her breath on his cheek, and they aren't even 'in hold' yet.
She's going to kill him!
He's convinced by this point - there's no way he'll survive today. No way in hell. In fact, he should really be calling his mother and daughter right now to say his fond farewells, because Kate Beckett is slowly killing him, with the looks, and the touching, and her voice, and her body, and it's all such sweet torture. He can think of worse ways to go.
Can dancing be fatal? Maybe they've solved this case without even trying – perhaps the pro dancers went up in a flash of pyrotechnics, just like he's sure he's about to?
So he goes back to ninja mind control, thinking of something sad this time to calm himself down – like eggs without chocolate and marshmallow, coffee without cream, apples without cherries, Alexis off at college, Ryan without Esposito, Rick without Kate. Okay, scratch that last one, because even the mention of her name is getting him hot, and she's walking back towards him, so he needs to get a grip.
"Oh Castle," she calls as she crosses the floor, her voice a teasing singsong, full of flirtation and promise.
Killing him...she's literally killing him!
"Beckett?" he replies, his voice barely a squeak, catching in his throat. He sounds like a teenage boy for god's sake! Get. A. Grip.
"You gonna show me your…" she smirks, pauses a beat or two.
"Show you my…?" he swallows, hard.
"Your smooth, partner?" she laughs, throwing her head back and tugging him back to the floor.
Oh this is it…game on!
Fernandez explains, in his rudimentary English, which is actually starting to grow on Castle, that the American Smooth incorporates steps from four ballroom disciplines – the Viennese Waltz, Foxtrot, Tango, and today, they're starting with a Waltz.
The class is instructed to take their partners in hold, beginning in a closed position. Translation: full body contact.
Castle eyes Kate up, walks around her, flexes his shoulders, cracks his knuckles, rolls up his sleeves, and then delays some more.
Kate looks flighty, overeager, her eyes all bright and shiny. He's never seen her looking so keen to get so hands on…with him, and it's troubling him – deeply.
"What's wrong Castle? You struggling with the concept of full body contact?" she taunts, her eyes laughing, lips twitching.
"No," he huffs, his hands now stuffed in his pockets.
"Then why don't you get your ass over here? No way we're managing full body contact with you stood way over there," she points out, quite reasonably, since he's still out with arms reach.
So they meet, bodies aligned, hips slightly offset, her chest pressed up against his (again), her right hand in his left, two arms extended. Then Castle's right hand settles tentatively at her back, and finally, Kate's left hand comes to rest on his well-defined bicep, and she squeezes lightly, once, catching his eye as she does so, knowingly. Full. Body. Contact.
Castle's back to struggling with the breathing thing, but Kate seems to be in her element, and she's not protesting that he's getting too close or touching her in the wrong places, and he's thinking maybe 'next time without the Tiger' might be a not too distant possibility, if he can just pass this test. So he concentrates. Hard!
They learn some basic steps, and pretty soon they're having fun, spinning around the room, laughing, and it feels pretty good. They're used to working as a team, (cuffed or not) and so they pick up the Waltz quickly, lapping their classmates as they work the floor, fluid and light.
The look in her eye tells Castle that Kate's as aware of his body against hers, as he is of her, and he's pretty sure she's not objecting. Her back is arched to perfect the ballroom posture, head turned elegantly to the side, pressing the lower half of her body firmly up against his, and as they move together, the friction of skin against fabric, and fabric against skin is delicious torture.
Long forgotten hours spent humiliating themselves in High School gym class come flooding back, and they start to trade stories, losing themselves in reminiscing as they travel the wooden dance floor. Two songs later, and they're definitely flirting, delighting one another with naughty word games - verbal foreplay, really; the art form they've made it their business to perfect over the years.
"Face to face - back to back," calls out the instructor, naming steps he wants them to perform, and Kate laughs in Castle's ear, carrying on the word play they've started.
"You've got my back," she giggles breathlessly.
Yes! Kate Beckett just giggled…like a girl!
Her lips skim the shell of his ear when she speaks, sending sparks of desire down his spine, and he pulls her closer to him.
"Simple Twinkle," yells Fernandez to the class, and Castle leans in this time.
"In your eye. There's a simply beautiful twinkle in your eye."
Kate laughs, playing along, but the air is turning serious around them. His hand tenses at her back, holding her tighter, her fingers brush the underside of his arm, stroking rhythmically, their joined hands grip just a little too firmly, and her hips… My god!
The class goes on dancing, twirling and rotating, but Kate and Castle slow to a stop, like a spinning top that's run out of steam. And just like a spinning top they're both humming when they slow, happy simply being together, eyes sparkling with possibility, and the aura of shared longing.
Then they're standing staring at one another, speechless, oblivious to the room and the music, teetering on the verge of something.
Castle drags her off to the side of the floor as Ferdandez shouts out,
"Grapevine."
"Let's get out of here," Kate says urgently. "We need to find the nearest bar. There's a bottle of red with our name on it," she adds, tugging on Castle's hand. "That's the only grapevine I want to get close to tonight."
They don't stop to look round. Don't care if their classmates or the teacher will miss them. They just have to get out of there right now, because they've worked themselves into a hot mess of need, separately and together, and now they need privacy to work out what it means.
Kate's wild child side is showing as she drags Castle out into West 57th Street, a woman on a mission, laughing giddily that they're cutting class. He so rarely gets to see her in a dress, so he gladly follows half a pace behind just to get a better view as he tails her down the street.
Castle suddenly realizes that they're just over a block from the Plaza Hotel, and his heart is in his mouth as he weighs making a suggestion that will either bring them both delicious relief or lead to the kind of painful, crushing rejection he's come to expect. From Kate.
She stops suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk, pulling Castle to a standstill beside her. Her face is beautiful; open, hopeful and needy. It takes his breath away, how vulnerable and exposed she looks, and he feels as if he might actually be staring into a mirror, because it's his own face her sees reflected in hers. These are his emotions she's displaying, the ones he's been perfecting hiding from her for months.
His heart nearly stops when he hears her say,
"Plaza?"
It's barely a breathless whisper, but he heard it, and there's no way he's letting her take it back. Not now that it's out there. But it doesn't look as if she wants to anyway.
So, he squeezes her hand, and decides to take the lead for a change, drawing her up 5th Avenue, until they round the corner at Bergdorf Goodman, pass the Pulitzer Fountain in Grand Army Plaza, and then run lightly up the front steps of the Plaza Hotel together, dizzy and a little out of breath.
The lobby is hushed and cool, the thick carpeting muffling all sound, until they pass by the entrance to the Palm Court. Music is drifting out into the hallway, and Castle feels his brain tune into the slow, quick, quick, slow rhythm, and he nearly groans out loud, because they're so close to heaven. But Kate Beckett and music, it's like a siren call. He turns to look at her.
"Tea dance," he notes dumbly, his heart sinking when he sees her radiant smile. Because if this is what she wants, he knows there's no way he'll be able to refuse her. He has no defenses when it comes to this woman – can't refuse her a thing.
So, when she turns to him, her thumb idly stroking the soft skin on the inside of his wrist as she holds onto his hand, and then leans in close, her breast brushing against his arm, he's not sure what to expect.
He holds his breath.
"Rick," she says softly, tugging on his hand, pulling him to her, face flushed. "The only dance we're gonna be doing is the horizontal tango."
And he laughs out loud.
With this promise, she leads him towards reception, hazel eyes sparkling, a seductive smile on her face, vivacious and confident.
"Time to show me your moves, Richard Castle," she throws over her shoulder.
And now he knows – he's going to die a very happy man.