Not really sure what "first" this is, but it's definitely something. First public event attended as a couple? First time Castle almost blows their cover? Don't know. I just called it "Dance" cuz that's basically the main plot point for this one…
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"Have I told you how beautiful you look?"
Kate glances at him over the rim of her champagne glass, one eyebrow raised. "Yes," she murmurs, taking a sip and giving him a look that says be cool.
He's trying. He really is. Gates is at this party and he knows they have to keep a low profile, but shit it's hard to keep it together when she's standing next to him in a dress that was clearly meant for her, the fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places, showing just enough skin to make him want to touch.
And the thing is—now he can. He's allowed to touch her. He's allowed to say she looks beautiful. If Gates weren't here he'd grab her and drag her somewhere discrete and—
"Castle," she hisses, nudging him with her elbow.
He snaps to attention, realizing his gaze had been glued to her chest for a longer amount of time than was probably socially acceptable. He scans the room, breathing a sigh of relief when he spots Gates deep in conversation with the mayor, completely oblivious to his less-than-subtle perusal of his partner's body.
"I can't help it," he mutters, shifting on his feet beside her. "That dress. I mean…Jesus, Kate."
"You sound annoyed," she says.
"I'm annoyed that I can't touch you," he practically growls.
Her eyes widen a little and he doesn't miss the way her chest flushes pink at his tone, her body canting towards his without her permission. She takes another long drag of champagne, her gaze steady on his face. She finishes the glass, tongue darting out to catch a wayward drop. His eyes are immediately pulled to her mouth, dark and wanting.
She clears her throat and he takes a step back. Shit. He has to pull himself together.
"Dance?" she asks him.
He turns back to her, surprised, but offers his hand automatically, leading her into the middle of the floor. "I thought you said you weren't going to dance," he says, bending his head close to hers.
"I thought you wanted to touch," she says, letting her voice go husky on the last word.
He lets out a quiet groan, his fingers flexing at her waist. "You're cruel."
"You were going to get us caught."
He almost argues with her, but quickly realizes there's no point. He was—is—going to get them caught.
He pulls her into his arms, maintaining a perfectly respectable distance between their bodies. She rests her hand on his shoulder, fingers curling around the fabric of his suit jacket. He finds her other hand with his own, twining their fingers together, bringing them up to rest against his chest.
She eyes their joined hands pointedly and he sees her debating whether or not to pull back, to unlace their fingers, insist on a chaste palm-to-palm touch. But she doesn't. If anything, she leans closer, close enough for him to get a whiff of her fruity shampoo, and the underlying scent of her body wash—lavender, he thinks.
He leans forward automatically and his nose bumps against the edge of her hairline. "You smell good." He sounds far too growly and possessive, he knows, but he's had three—four?—glasses of champagne and she's perfect and he loves her.
"Castle," she mutters, her voice filled with warning.
"I want to kiss you," he says.
She draws in a shaky breath and tips her head forward, her temple brushing against the line of his jaw. He tightens his grip on her hand, his fingers curling reflexively at her waist. She's going to pull away, he knows she is—
"Me too."
Oh.
He glances down at her and realizes for the first time how large her pupils are, her eyes moss-green and darkening. How much has she had to drink?
"I say we cut our losses and just go for it, right here, right now."
He thinks it's a wonderful idea, but her lips purse disapprovingly at his suggestion. "Stop it."
"I don't think I can," he admits.
"Self-control," she says.
His face softens and one side of his mouth quirks up—apologetic, almost. "I've never had any self-control when it comes to you."
She smiles at that. "No?"
"You know."
Her smile grows crooked. She bites her lips. "Do I?"
His arms curl reflexively at her tone, pulling her further into the cove of his arms until zero space remains between their bodies. She's warm and soft and smells like a goddamned spring garden. He's going to lose it.
"Beckett," he breathes and feels her shiver at the growl in his voice.
He bows his head towards her, feels her body grow rigid. "Wait, Castle—"
And then the music stops.
She pulls away from him, tilting a little on her heels, her mind fuzzy from the champagne and Castle. Jenny, who had been dancing with Ryan nearby, reaches out to steady her.
"Whoa, Kate, you okay?"
She nods quickly, shooting a glance at Castle, before turning away and heading off in the direction of the bathrooms.
Ryan steps towards Castle. "She okay?"
"Yeah, she just, uh, had too much champagne," Castle answers.
Ryan nods, seeming to accept this, and Castle heads over to the bar. He holds out for all of three minutes before he's striding quickly in the direction she disappeared.
He rounds the corner and nearly runs her over. She grabs his hand and drags him further down the hallway. They come to a dead end far away from the ballroom and lights and music. It's dim and pretty well-hidden and it's good enough for him.
He grabs her and backs her up against the wall, catching her mouth in a deep, wet, needy kiss that has her knees going weak. She clings to him, her body curved in an arch against him, her mouth parting under his firm, deliberate pressure. He shifts them slightly and works a thigh between her legs, then lets out a frustrated growl when her dress gets in the way.
"Maybe it's for the best," she says panting against him.
He glances from her kiss-swollen lips to her heaving chest and lets out a groan of want, pressing her into the wall with his full body weight. "I want you," he whispers raggedly, feeling completely, ridiculously, undone.
He ghosts his lips across hers, flicks his tongue out against her bottom lip, before withdrawing, moving down the column of her neck to the hollow of her throat, the angle of her collarbone, where the smell of her perfume is rich and full.
"Castle," she practically whines, shifting against him—just enough friction to drive him crazy without getting any kind of release.
He leans back. "Okay," he murmurs.
He pulls away slightly, easing the pressure on her body, and runs his hands up her sides and around to the small of her back.
She rests her hands on his chest and takes a steadying breath. "Just a couple more hours."
He nods. "Then we're leaving."
"And going straight back to my place."
"Where we will have sex against your door."
"Castle!"
"No? I thought you liked that."
She grins goofily and presses a chaste kiss to his lips before pushing him away and straightening her dress. She watches him fiddle with his tie, making it worse, before stepping forward and tightening the knot herself.
"Save me a dance?" she asks.
He smiles, presses a quick kiss to her forehead. "Always."
—
Hopefully more to come soon. I'm loving all the feedback and suggestions. It helps jump start the muse on those slow, writers-block days, so thanks for that!