Remember that one time Beckett wore that little lacy black thing and they went to the strip club?
Edits by ma bijou, Sandiane Carter.
Chapter 50: 3x7, Almost Famous
She's very adventurous. You have no idea.
He's not remotely prepared for the little black lace number she walks out of her bedroom wearing.
The sort of cardigan-thing she's draped over what's essentially a short, lacy black nightgown does precisely nothing. If anything it's making the situation worse. Like she's making this halfhearted effort to hide herself, to say look but don't touch. But he likes touching things. And right now he's thinking so many wrong, wrong things about putting his hands on that dress. And under that dress. And -
Stop.
He follows her out the door and away from the bedroom.
He gets through the strip club because he can't take it seriously. He absolutely cannot take it seriously when oily orange men make duck faces at Beckett. He knows she's looking at them, but they're not her type. Her type is tall, dark and handsome. He's seen the pattern.
He doesn't like thinking about that.
After the nightmare of a strip club that didn't involve any of Kate's clothing coming off, they're finally back in familiar territory. The precinct. Safety.
At first, anyway.
She's leaning over the computer to look at something Ryan's pointing at, and every single man (and plenty of women) on the floor are openly staring at her chest. Well - okay, not true. Some are staring at her ass. Even that stupid long sweater can't hide it.
He tells himself to stop staring, but that's been a failed goal all night.
She stands up again (relief) and crosses to her own desk. But to his chagrin, she doesn't sit; she leans over her desk, riffling through some papers, and he's getting that view again. Which is fine, except everyone's getting that view again.
It really does look like lingerie, and the unwelcome, unwanted thought crosses his mind that maybe she wears it for Josh. Maybe she lets Josh take it off her.
He wants to cover her with his jacket.
"Beckett. Beckett." He has to stop himself from touching her because that would really just make it worse.
She turns her head and yep, she's irritated. "What?"
"You - you're - it's kind of showing things."
She stares at him like he's speaking Czech. "What?"
"They're all staring at you," he hisses.
She huffs, glancing around. "Castle. Stop it. It's just a dress."
He's irrationally angry at her, furious at her for wearing this lingerie, because dammit Beckett, who even wears things like this in public?
She grumbles something about giving him a ride home. He figures it'll be fine.
She refuses to talk to him in the elevator, or across the lobby. By the time they start crossing the garage floor, he's fed up with this.
"Beckett." She doesn't turn around. His fists clench. "Kate."
"What?"
She's livid, glaring at him, her eyes fiery, and he can't -
Suddenly her tongue is in his mouth and her hands are in his hair and they're stumbling back until she's pressed against her car, sandwiched between the door and his body, the soft, flush warmth of her breasts crushed against his chest.
It's wrong. It's so wrong. But she feels so good, all soft and silk and heat and her body fits against his and she lets out a little whimper that gets trapped in his mouth. She's not wearing a bra. And he knows that because he can feel her nipples, puckered tight against his chest through the thin material of her little nightgown, oh shit, and he wants her in his bed. He wants this indecent little dress on his floor and he wants her and she wants him. She's clawing his jacket and he's pulling her sweater off and he's about two seconds away from pulling her into the backseat of the car and -
"What the hell?"
Ryan.
Ryan's here. He just saw that. And he looks furious.
Beckett takes in a breath, instinctively pushing him away, folding her arms to hide herself. "Ryan - "
"I don't want to know."
She won't look up. Ryan's glaring death at Castle. A few uniforms come into the garage, talking loudly, and they get all the way into their cruiser before Ryan speaks again.
"I'll take you home, Castle. Get in the car."
His tone allows for no argument. With one last, lingering look at Kate, Castle follows Ryan to his car.
"Jenny? Hi, sweetheart. I'm leaving now. I'm gonna give Castle a ride home, so I'll be back soon, okay? Okay. Yeah. Love you too."
Castle slides into the passenger seat silently. Ryan gets in, but instead of turning the car on, he shoots Castle a glare.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Castle just stares out the window. He has no answer.
Ryan takes a breath. "Look. Everyone knows you're into her. You always have been. And if you want to be a dick to the woman you're dating, go ahead. But don't force Beckett to cheat on someone just because you can't get your head out of your ass."
Castle bites back his retort that she wasn't pushing him away.
She kissed him back.
Somehow, that just makes it worse.
At home that night, Castle lies in bed, staring at the ceiling. Stupid. Stupid.
He stares at his phone. He shouldn't. He can't. He won't. If he's going to call someone, he should call his girlfriend.
He doesn't call anyone.
Because they don't talk about things.