This chapter was probably one of the easiest to plan. And is probably exactly what you're thinking it'll be, a sexy companion to the three poker scenes. I am just that predictable. And as always, the whole thing is just my idiot self-indulgence of whining why aren't they being sexy now? and then making them be sexy because I can.

Quick logistical note: for my purposes, in the first two poker scenes, Castle and Beckett are sitting next to each other. Because they should have been. Seriously.

And a zillion thanks to the inestimable cartographical for being a wonderful editor on this chapter. Cheers, Carto!

Chapter 5: 1x08: Ghosts

You're not afraid of a little…action, are you?

Poker night, Castle's place. Kate has to hand it to him: the man plays host well.

It's been fun, but it's winding down. Everyone else folds, and it's just them.

"What's the matter? You're not afraid of a little action, are you?"

Oh, damn you, Castle. With that devilish look and that filthy imagination she knows he has. She knows what he's thinking about.

She very carefully toes off a shoe. This could either work very well or be really, really awkward.

"All in."

Timing is everything. She waits until everyone is laughing, and while everyone's chuckling, she leans over and ever-so-casually brushes her foot against the inside of his ankle.

She has to give him credit. He doesn't flinch, doesn't move. There's only a slight, sharp intake of breath that gives him away, and she's pretty sure no one else notices it. He flashes her a quick glance, but she schools her face into perfect nonchalance. Give him nothing. Let him be the one who can't handle it.

He swallows and looks back down at his cards. Kate lets herself smile a little. So Mr. Steals-A-Police-Horse-Naked gets nervous over a little game of footsie, huh? So much for the dashing, daredevil playboy.

She flicks a glance down at her cards and suppresses the urge to make a face. Blah. Nothing. She's got nothing. And Castle's poker face is good, but she's relatively sure he's got at least a decent hand.

This calls for desperate measures.

So she manages to slip off her sock too, scootches just an inch in her chair to give herself better reach, and slips her bare foot under the hem of his pant leg to trail lazily over his bare skin.

That gets his attention. His hands actually falter a little, and she can tell Martha's watching him curiously, and this is perfect, because his poker face is slipping.

He glances at his cards, looks back up at her…

…and folds.

The boys crow with delight. She grins. "Maybe someone should change their middle name to loser," she laughs, raking in her winnings. Nice try, Castle. Try thinking with your brain next time.

His eyes are on her, and it's not just you-beat-me-at-poker. There's something a little darker in his gaze. And for a second she wonders if maybe she went too far.

But his mouth twists into a look that says You just wait. And her skin gets warm thinking about all the ways he could make her pay. Because he's a bad boy. And she's always had a thing for the bad boys.

And then her phone rings, and just like that, they have a case.

"You might want to think up some chips for the pot. 'Cause it looks like it's just you and me."

The guys whistle at that, but she's wrong. Because if it were really just them, they wouldn't be playing cards. And maybe this table would be put to a very different use. Because he can't explain exactly what it is, but he's into her. He's really into her. Maybe because he can't quite figure her out. Or maybe because she turned him down flat and he's not used to that. Or maybe because she's way just too good to even give him the time of day and he likes challenges. And gorgeous women. And mysteries. And she fits all those categories.

She's doing well tonight. Her poker face is good, but since he spends every minute of every day watching her more closely than is strictly necessary for 'character research' (Pffft. Like he's fooling anyone.), he can see the very slight twitch of her mouth, the minute widening of her eyes. She's got something, he's almost sure. Question is, how good is her hand?

But he remembers the dirty trick she pulled last time they played cards here. He remembered it a lot the next time he went to bed. She's an evil woman when she wants to be.

Payback's a bitch, Beckett.

He very slowly, very subtly drops his hand below the table's edge and carefully brushes her thigh.

Her throat bobs as she swallows unsteadily. He watches, intrigued, as her chest rises in a quick breath. She's steadfastly not looking at him, but the blush that spreads over her cheeks tells him she's not entirely unaffected.

He slides his hand just a bit north, a little closer to danger, a little further than he should, and feels the tension as her thigh muscles contract under his hand, her legs pressing together slightly. His throat constricts. Oh. She's – oh.

Castle suddenly realizes he's half-seriously considering seeing if he can get her off in front of her boss and a judge and the mayor and that's not exactly what he'd planned this evening. He's worried that maybe he went too far and she's going to file a sexual harassment claim or a restraining order or just arrest him or shoot him or worse, not let him follow her anymore –

- but then her eyes sweep up to meet his, and he feels his blood heat up. Her eyes are heavy, dark with hotness and danger and something that makes his mouth go dry. Her gaze flicks down, her eyes fixated on his mouth, her lips parted slightly. And then she looks back up at him. And she bites her lip.

He can see her tongue pressed against her teeth, and his hand on her leg twitches, because she is absolutely doing this on purpose and her breathing has gotten a little shallow and she's got those unexpected bedroom eyes and now he's thinking about exactly what he wants her to do to him and who the hell is this woman and what did she do with Kate Beckett?

She turns away, back to the table and the other cardplayers, who are oblivious. And he hears it as clearly as if she'd said it aloud:

I dare you.

"All right, Detective Beckett. I'm all in." And oh, is he ever.

And she doesn't push his hand away.

That's the only reason he's still confident enough to tease her. "What's the matter, you afraid of a little action?"

The other players are laughing, but the smile that curls over her face can only be described as wicked. And he has a feeling she knows exactly what kind of action he's interested in.

Markaway laughs. "Do us a favor, Detective. Beat his pants off."

Exactly. "Yes, please. Beat my pants off if you dare." And then he can take her pants off, and then –

"Beckett, do me proud."

"To hell with proud, make him cry like a little girl!"

He's pulled his hand away from her leg, because the other guys aren't blind and they'd eventually start to wonder why he's trying to sexually harass her into folding. But then he feels her knee nudge his. And she looks up at him, and his breath catches –

She sets her cards facedown. "Sorry, fellas. Just not my night."

He likes winning. But as he rakes in the pot, he feels her hand brush ever-so-lightly over his leg before she stands, and he likes that even better.

He was going to ask her to stay for a drink, maybe revisit the idea of his hands on her and end up in his room where he can find new places to put them, but she leaves with the rest of the players, shooting him a last dark glance, and if she starts using these bedroom eyes on a regular basis, he will not be responsible for what he does.

He hands over her winnings, and she tries to deny it, but it's futile and she knows it. Castle knows her too well. She knows he probably feels faintly guilty about taking her money in the first place – not that she's destitute, but the man is a millionaire, more times over than she knows – so she lets him hand it back. "All right. I was trying to be nice. I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your friends." He'd done the same for her.

"Now we're even."

But he's got that look in his eyes, the one she's learned to both distrust and enjoy, because he's entirely too good at pushing her buttons and he apparently has no qualms about undressing her with his eyes while he does it.

And she hasn't forgotten the way he turned the tables on her the other evening.

And sure enough, he's not done. "So what do you say to a little…showdown? Head to head. Toe to toe." And of course he's got a deck of cards ready. "Winner take all. Mano a mujer."

So he doesn't speak Spanish. Eh. She pauses, her brow furrowing as she retrieves her somewhat limited Spanish vocabulary. "'Hand to woman?'"

"Whatever it takes."

That makes her a little flush, and in spite of her better judgment, heat blossoms in her skin. Because she's a woman and she thinks about his hands on her (again) and maybe less clothing between them and –

Oh, no you don't. Rick Castle is not going to get the better of her with that sexy, I'm-a-bad-boy, devilish smirk of his. She leans forward, her eyes narrowing. "You're on."

"No mercy."

Oh, don't have mercy on me, Castle. Be rough. "I'm gonna make you hurt."

"Oh, you're gonna get hurt."

That smirk on his face is just about the hottest thing she's ever seen, and they're both leaning in so close, she can feel the heat of his breath, skimming over her face like a dare, like a tease, like a taunt singing what are you going to do about it?

"What are we playing for?"

"Pride." He gives her a blatant up-and-down look. "Or clothing."

The second one has its appeal, and it probably shouldn't because she's not even tipsy so there's no excuse, but who cares? "I think I've got a bag of gummibears."

"Shuffle?"

"Deal."

She snags the cards he holds up. Bring it, Castle.

They're halfway through Texas-hold-'em (it's the most non-sexual game of cards they've played in the past week, which she finds disturbingly disappointing) when he pauses, eyeing her like he's trying to decide what she tastes like and whether or not he wants it on his tongue. "Is the coffeemaker still on?"

This is a police station, so it's never off. "Coffee? This late?" She twitches an eyebrow.

"I thought you'd be keeping me up all night, Detective." He's smirking at her, eyes dancing wickedly, and she feels a soft blush creeping over her cheeks.

"Did you, now?"

"Oh yeah. I really like playing with you."

There's no mistaking the tone in his voice, or the way his eyes have gotten darker, and she swallows because she feels almost lightheaded and yeah. She needs to breathe. Right now.

Kate retreats hastily to the break room and stares at the coffeemaker. Because this is crazy. Because she has no idea what's happening. Because okay, yeah, so they've been feeling each other up during poker but he's a wealthy playboy and she's not his type and he's done nothing but leer at her since the first day they met but it's different now and the way he's been looking at her she knows that he wants to do things to her, wants her to do things to him, and she thinks she wants it too and it's late and she's tired and her guard is down and seriously, what the hell?

She hears footsteps, hears the door open and shut behind her, and only has time to take a deep breath before she feels him stepping behind her.

And then his hands are on her waist, thumbs slipping under her shirt to caress her sides, and his lips are on her throat, sucking lightly on her skin, the line of her neck.

"C – Castle – " she manages to gasp out, but nothing else makes it through her mind, anything like we shouldn't be doing this or this is a bad idea or let's just go back to your place right now.

His breath is hot on her neck, his voice low and rough and sending shivers down her spine. "God – you are driving me crazy – "

She tries to reply, but then his tongue hits the spot behind her ear and she bites back a moan, her hands clutching the counter desperately. He gets bolder, one hand sliding inside her shirt, spreading over her stomach, fingertips pressing hotly into her skin. She sighs in pleasure as he bites at her earlobe, his tongue soothing the sting away, and this is just all kinds of a bad idea but she doesn't care.

He steps back for a second, and she manages to take a breath, and then his hands are on her again and he's turning her around and shoving her back till her hips hit the counter and he's kissing her so thoroughly she can't breathe, can't think. He pins her against the counter and his tongue traces her lips, slips into her mouth, hot and wet and aggressive and curling over her teeth and catching the little gasp that she can't stop. She twines her arms around his neck, her chest pressing flush against his, and his lower body drives harder into hers, sending a low growl through his chest that vibrates against her, and her skin is buzzing and her blood is fizzing uncontrollably and holy shit.

His knee slides between her legs and a groan tugs through her chest, rocking her body, and then he hits just the right spot against her. Her knees falter and her mouth opens and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue in further, swirling over hers. Her back arches in spite of herself, and his hands slide down to her backside, gripping her hips, pulling her more roughly into him. She rocks blindly against his leg, a low moan finally escaping her throat as his tongue does this incredibly dirty trick and she clutches weakly at his shoulders, her hands fisting in the fabric of his jacket and if something doesn't change soon, either she's going home with him or he's just going to lock the door and push her up onto the counter and –

"Hey guys, I – oh. Oh God."

She freezes, because Kevin Ryan is standing in the doorway staring, saucer-eyed and slack-jawed, and he just walked in to find her sucking face with Richard Castle and why the hell did they do this at the precinct where it could have been anyone –

Castle seems to wake up first, letting go of her, stepping back, still breathing hard as she slumps back against the cabinets. Her knees still aren't doing so well.

"Ryan – it – we weren't – " She's having trouble putting together a sentence, but it's not like he would believe her anyway. We weren't what? Weren't playing tonsil hockey just now? Weren't groping each other during poker all week? Weren't having eyesex in front of everyone? Weren't flirting since the first day we met?

Castle's pulling himself together. Though she knows how excited he just got. Knows exactly how excited he just got. He looks up at Ryan with an uncomfortable expression. "Maybe you could just keep this a secret?"

"I – right. I didn't see anything."

Ryan does an awkward about-face and leaves, his eyes still looking a little glazed.

She briefly closes her eyes (shit) and steals a glance at Castle, who looks like he's not sure what to do.

"Kate – "

He looks as freaked out as she feels. Because what just happened?

She runs a hand through her hair (he tousled it quite a bit and there's no way she's walking out of this room looking like Rick Castle just pushed her up against the counter and – shit, because he really did all of it and she let him and now it looks like he just did her up against the wall) and takes in a breath before she answers. "I don't know what to say."

He doesn't reply, and as she looks up to see him watching her, Kate feels a giddy rush of pleasure. He's watching her with that hungry look on his face. Like he knows exactly how she tastes and he plans on tasting it again. More.

So she takes a step closer, puts a hand on his shoulder, and stretches up to place a delicate kiss on the corner of his mouth. It's soft and warm and drugging and for a second she just wants to turn her head and capture his mouth for real and maybe push him back into the break room and maybe finish what they started there in the first place.

But she just lets him go.

"Good night, Castle."

She leaves with one last smoldering glance. He doesn't move. She walks out with an idiot smile on her face.

I'm all in, Castle.