A/N: Holy cow, I'm stunned by how many of you are interested in this story! :) This chapter is dedicated to my awesome friend LaLa111202. It is a blast talking about writing with you. To watch a video of the ridiculous game they play in this chapter, Google 'plunger game.' I do realize this chapter is getting out of character, but it's fun to play with Rick's crazier side!
And now: on with Castle's Plan.
Chapter Two
Craving
Firstly, he needs to know if she does actually want him.
In bed.
Sure, there's been mountains of innuendo, heaps of shameless flirting, and that thing she said once about the hot wild thing she likes to do that he suspects has nothing to do with putting killers behind bars … but he has to be sure.
The next time they're at the precinct together, he hands her a coffee and takes a deep breath. But then she smiles. It's pathetic, that all she has to do is smile and his bravado goes out the window. He'd been prepared to come on strong and bust her door down (figuratively, of course) and she'd melted him with one little curve of her lips.
The evidence from the basement seems insubstantial now, faded into myth over the three days since they were cuffed together.
More evidence. That's what he needs. Stronger evidence to bolster his case.
All morning he thinks, staring at her even more than usual. Which is impossible, because lately he's been staring at her all the time.
He wriggles in his chair. He's never loved such an uncomfortable piece of furniture in his life. He'd surreptitiously brought in a bottle of Febreze and given it a good spray a few weeks after he started shadowing her. A dozen times he's suggested purchasing a new chair: top of the line, ergonomic, hydraulic, the works. They both know he'd never do it. Four years and they're both a little bit attached to that rust-colored piece of crap.
Mentally, he whips himself back on task. Before he lets himself take a Richard Castle-sized wrecking ball to that fabled wall of hers, he wants to know exactly what it is that she wants (hopefully him). Then, and only then, he'll try to hold a mirror up for her and make her see it, convince her to stop hiding from it. He just has no idea how to get the information he needs.
He makes his first breakthrough while he's brewing their third pair of coffees for the day, while the silver frothing wand splutters deep in the beaker of milk. Next to the battered and abandoned Mr. Coffee from the precinct's pre-Castle days, there's a new notice on the bulletin board. The precinct is holding its annual Sports Day in two weeks. His mind starts percolating with a million ideas of how to work some justifiable Beckett-touching in. There are some activities he'd be embarrassingly shitty at, like basketball and wrestling. But a three-legged race? Definite potential.
Hold on a second. Something tugs at him. A memory of laughing with his mother over a video he'd found on YouTube.
He's got the perfect game. One that will draw her out and give him a definite answer about one of the three things he needs to know before he can start his seduction.
He's going to be the butt of a lot of jokes at the 12th for a long time (like he isn't already).
It will be totally worth it.
After Beckett and Castle win the three-legged race, they collapse onto a bench in Central Park. She leans down to untie the three red scarves that bind her left leg to his right. It's breezy for May, but he'd worn basketball shorts anyway, hoping for a little skin to skin contact. Unfortunately, she'd shown up in black yoga pants. He can't really complain though. It's been totally awesome.
Her long fingers work at the knot at their ankles. It's taking a while; she can't quite get a grip on the fabric with her short nails, but Castle is 100% okay with that. Quite a lot of her back is exposed by the cut of her black lycra tank top and the braid tucked over her right shoulder, and he has to grit his teeth to stop himself from leaning forward and licking the sheen off of her vertebrae. She's still flushed with the glow of their recent victory, and he suddenly realizes that when they finally do this relationship thing, he might actually start working out just so he can accompany her to the gym.
She's laughing and saying something about the looks on someone's faces when Castle looks across the field and snags Esposito's attention, flicking his eyes to the black duffel bag next to the soccer goal. Espo nods and starts unpacking the bag.
For a second Castle loses himself in the sensation of Beckett's fingers brushing over his thigh as she removes the last scarf. God, he's so gone for her.
She shakes her leg out and stands up.
"I think the next game's starting," she says, noticing the group of cops lining up into four rows on the edge of the field. "What's this one, potato sack relay? What do you say we go kick some more ass, Castle?"
"Bring it on," he replies, and trots after her. They join the group just as Esposito and Ryan start explaining the rules of the game to the other cops. This particular favor had cost him bigtime: two weeks without the Ferrari, and insider information in case Espo wanted to start a pool about how Beckett would react to this. He'd recommended betting on the use of a phrase that involved the word shit, and that she'd leave the park before participating in the kickboxing tournament, even though it was her specialty.
Castle didn't dare put any money in the pool. If she found out about it … let's just say he really doesn't want to join the Vienna Boy's Choir.
Ryan claps loudly to get the crowd's attention. "Okay, everyone, this is called the Plunger Relay." Castle watches warily as Beckett's brows knit together in confusion.
"One person from each team stands at the end of the field with a roll of toilet paper between his legs," Ryan continues. The cops start to grumble. Maybe this wasn't such an awesome idea. Ryan demonstrates by placing a roll of toilet paper between his thighs, hole pointing out. Someone whistles, and Esposito picks up the explanation.
"The next person has to run across the field with a toilet plunger between his legs. When he reaches the end, he has to put the plunger through the toilet paper roll." He ignores the lewd comments and catcalls and keeps talking. "Once they've succeeded, the plunger becomes the new roll holder, the ex-roll holder runs the plunger to the next team member, and so on and so on until all members have plunged."
"We are totally going to own this game!" Castle brags. Loudly.
A few cops look backwards. He thinks they might be the ones with money riding on the next words to come from Beckett's mouth. Sure enough -
"Castle," she hisses. "You have got to be shitting me."
Esposito hides a grin.
"This is ridiculous," Beckett carries on. "Old drunk ladies play this game, Castle." He can see her cogs turning. She rounds on him suddenly, eyes clear and blazing. "This was your idea, wasn't it?" Her index finger drills into his sternum and it hurts.
He looks down at her and cocks an eyebrow. He loves her in heels, but he's glad she's in running shoes today. He takes a step into her, leering over her.
She doesn't cower; she never has. Her spine straightens like a rod.
"If you don't want to play, Beckett, we can sit this one out."
"As if. Are you sure you're up for it though?"
Dammit, how does she still have the upper hand? Her voice is lilting and teasing, like the idea of him putting something between her legs doesn't bother her at all.
Oh, wait, there it is. She swallows a little more forcefully than usual. Castle takes advantage of the chink in her armor.
He sets his voice to stun mode.
"Oh, trust me, Detective. I'm up for it. My aim is exceptional."
Something flickers in her eyes, but it's gone before he can grab it and seal it away in an evidence bag. Beckett crosses her arms and takes up position at the back of the nearest line. She might as well have just said "harrumph." Castle stands behind her, close enough for her to feel his body heat.
Even though she's unimpressed by the game, she doesn't seem to have caught on to his plan.
Esposito blows his whistle and the first four players take off down the field, plungers waggling obscenely out in front of them. Castle wishes Beckett's back wasn't to him so he could read her, wishes everyone wasn't cheering so loudly so he could zone in on the evenness of her breathing. He didn't really want to give her this much time to prepare; he knows what Beckett can do with a minute and he really needs an unguarded reaction.
Suddenly, it's her turn to plunge. Esposito and Ryan are in stitches watching their boss stumble gracelessly towards Karpowski, plunger waggling between her thighs.
"Be gentle with me, Beckett," Karpowski pleads, and Castle can feel Beckett's smile from a twenty yards away. Her body loosens as she laughs, finally pulled back into the spirit of the day and the ridiculousness of the moment. He can't take his eyes off her when she smiles like that. Then she tucks the roll of toilet paper between her legs and he's never been jealous of an inanimate object before but hey, there's a first time for everything.
When Karpowski hands him the plunger, he thanks her a little too sincerely and she looks at him like he's crazy. She'll never know how much she helped his cause by bringing Beckett's guard down.
He feels like an idiot as he makes his way towards her, and doesn't even notice that their team is in the lead. She's studiously avoiding looking at him, but he won't take his eyes off her. Not now.
He's a yard away when she finally focuses on him. Their eyes lock, releasing that same stomach-flipping rush of adrenaline they get whenever they have theory sex, or whenever they get a little bit to close to talking truthfully about their relationship.
He flicks his eyes down to set his aim, then goes the rest of the way blind. The world collapses in on them, time slowing as he prepares to capture her reaction.
He knows her tells. A rosy, mottled blush spreads from the center of her chest, creeping out from underneath the cover of her tank top, spreading over her collarbone and up her throat. Her pupils contract at first, then expand until there's hardly any hazel left.
Her lips fall apart.
She stops breathing.
The tip of his plunger slides through her toilet paper roll on the first attempt. If his hands touch her hips, it will disqualify them, so he balls his hands into fists and digs his nails into his palms to keep from grabbing her and pulling her even closer. At the end of the slide, their hips meet. His knees are bent, so his momentum knocks her just slightly upwards and back.
If her reaction is even one millionth of what it would be like if they were doing this for real, he's never going to survive actually having sex her.
They're both paralyzed by the moment, until the shouts of the rest of their team bring them back. They're about to lose their lead.
Castle pulls out. Emboldened by her reaction and high as a kite on love, he takes a risk. He winks at her. Her responding flash of anger scatters some of that mesmerizing desire rippling in the depths of her eyes, but she doesn't have time to berate him. She grabs the wooden handle of his plunger viciously, wrenching it from between his legs before bolting off for the finish line.
He smiles, but not because his team won.
The evidence is absolutely unassailable.
Kate Beckett totally, definitely, 100% wants to have sex with him.
She doesn't say goodbye to him before he sees her ducking into her Crown Vic and pulling away from the curb. The sun is low in the sky, but there's plenty of day left. He settles in to watch the kickboxing tournament on the lawn, the rustle of cash changing hands behind his back as Esposito collects his winnings.