Stepping Out

A/N: Okay, this story was supposed to be complete, but some of you asked for this, so I've written it. The hilarity dies down a bit and things turn a little more serious. These characters – what can you do? But I think it's still sweet. Someone asked what the M rating was for on this story – I guess it was for this. You've been warned. Let me know what you think?

Epilogue – Tango Fandango

Kate hovers by Castle's side in front of the check-in desk while the receptionist examines the Plaza's room availability. What had been an impetuous idea, born of lust generated on the dance floor and spur of the moment madness, was now seeming a little unwise, given their obvious lack of luggage, and Kate's handsy behavior in the hush of the hotel lobby.

Because quite frankly, they have late afternoon quickie written all over them.

"Mr. and Mrs…?" enquires the Eastern European blonde, smiling tightly at them, her voice lifting with the obvious sham of a question.

"Castle," replies Castle confidently, as Kate fiddles with the little button on the back of his pants pocket, distracting him to the point of insanity. Apparently she's not even listening, since she raises no objection to his lie about their marital status.

Castle grabs hold of her hand, tugging her alongside him like an errant child who needs to be kept in full view to prevent further misbehavior. But Kate just turns side on and resumes her flirtation with his clothing.

"We, eh, have a lovely double room for you on the tenth floor, or we can do a…"

"We'll take it," rushes Castle, desperate to get Kate somewhere private before the urge to throw her across the Guest Services desk becomes too strong to resist.

"I'll just need an imprint of your credit card for any incidentals, Mr. Castle," says polite, patient Ekaterina, who is trying hard to turn a blind eye to Kate's friskiness.

Yeah, there's no way this pair are married her look says.

Three years, countless hours of longing and dreaming, fantasizing and scheming, and all it would have taken was a stupid dance class, thinks Castle, as Kate runs her nails all the way up his back, firing sparks of electricity across his skin and down through his muscles.

"You okay?" he asks, turning to look at her, quite unable to believe his luck. Because, honestly, her behavior's starting to worry him a little.

If he didn't know better, he'd say she was drunk. But she's just smiling contentedly at him, looking more relaxed than he thinks he's ever seen her. Okay, so he'll go with the flow for now. No sense asking too many questions, and risk shutting her down. Kate Beckett wants to get jiggy with him, who's he to complain?

The (Slavic?) blonde hands him two key cards and tells them to enjoy their stay, her knowing smile loaded with something like dirty collusion. He thanks her, and quickly takes Kate's hand, walking her to the elevator ahead of him, his other hand pressed against her back to propel her forward.

The doors slide open and they step inside, Kate first of course. When they turn to face front Castle reaches for the button for the tenth floor, but an elderly couple with a small, white, fluffy dog are heading their way, and the woman catches Castle's eye before he can hit Door Close. So, he groans inwardly, and presses the Door Open button instead, waiting patiently while the woman takes a torturous amount of time to offload Matilda, (what a stupid name for a dog) onto the floor, untangle her lead, and then shuffle into the elevator after her. The woman smiles warmly at both of them, her eyes twinkling as she takes in Kate's amorous stance.

The tall detective is standing behind Castle now, with an arm wrapped around his waist and her chin resting on his shoulder. In fact, draped is the word he thinks he could legitimately use, and he files it away for future reference as a potential Nikki Heat descriptor.

"Honeymoon?" asks the woman, grinning at the pair.

'No, first time,' Castle nearly blurts. But he wisely goes with, "Anniversary," instead, grinning cheekily as he reaches behind to kiss Kate's cheek, hoping to shut the conversation down before Beckett gets any naughty, playful ideas to embarrass him. Somehow, today, they've stumbled into a complete roll reversal. Because since when was he the responsible one?

Finally the elevator stops at Matilda's floor, and her aging parents shuffle out after her. Castle breathes a sigh of relief, and Kate peels herself off of him, coming back to stand by his side, her pinky tracing delicious, random patterns on the outer edge of his thigh.

"Anniversary?" asks Kate, missing nothing. "What are we celebrating, Castle?" she teases, too playful by half as she bumps him with her hip.

"I…uh. I have no idea. But I'd kill for a glass of Champagne. So, let's just make something up," he suggests, feeling a little stressed, somewhat out of control, and totally in need of a drink.

His mind is a blank white space, filling up with panic and a deep fear that this is all just a cruel joke and he's about to be bitterly disappointed.

"First time," Kate points out bluntly, to Castle's amazement.

No mystery where this is headed then.

But, of course he knows it's their first time. Jeez woman. Where have you been?

"Do we need anything bigger than that to celebrate?" she asks flirtatiously, her hand slipping down to brush his crotch.

"Guess not," he chokes in reply, a little stupidly and a whole lot distracted, because the way she said 'bigger' and the care she's taking to feel him up has him swallowing nervously. Not the time for performance anxiety, big boy, he tells himself. So not the time for that!

Castle fumbles the key card in the lock, while Kate shifts impatiently at his side, eventually snatching the piece of plastic out of his hand and stabbing it into the door herself. Of course, the green light flashes on her first attempt, and she pushes him triumphantly through the door backwards, her hands on his lapels.

"If you can't put the key in the lock, Castle," she drawls, "I'm getting kinda worried about your ability to find my…ahhh," she squeals, as he tackles her, lifting her up and carrying her towards the supremely large bed. He shuts her up with his mouth on hers, and his large hands wrapped around her butt and her upper back.

They hit the mattress with a bounce, and Kate kicks off her heels, scooting backwards and pulling him down on top of her. They're both breathing hard and laughing, a tangle of arms and legs, until they find themselves staring into one another's eyes, faces inches apart, pupils dilating, and then the laughter dies away to a single hiccup. Their smiles drop a little, becoming shy and a little self-conscious.

"Hey there," says Castle quietly, as he balances above her, one knee resting between her legs, their pelvises connected.

He has her arms pinned above her head, and she isn't resisting him one little bit. In fact her quiet submission is making him hot, and he flashes back to the dance class. Is this the horizontal tango she promised, because he's hoping for a perfect ten?

"Hey, yourself," says Kate, smiling up at him, finally freeing a hand to trace the outline of his cheek and jaw ever so gently with her fingertips. "How'd we get here?" she asks, looking around them at the large, elegant room.

Her question makes Castle nervous, and he wonders if the spell is about to break, her earlier, seriously out of character behavior just some aberration in the space-time continuum. But he realizes that if that's the case, then he has nothing to lose. So, he takes a roll of the dice and says,

"We followed our hearts?"

It's a tentative suggestion, and Kate blinks at him, stunned (in a good way he hopes), before the sweetest smiles breaks out across her face, and she reaches up to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

"You, sweet, silly man. I meant 'The Plaza' here, not 'you and me' here. I know how we got here, Rick - sheer blind faith on your part, and pure dumb luck on mine. I owe you. For sticking by us, and for dancing with that tramp today," she confesses, grinning.

"Who? Marietta?" he asks, confused.

"Oh, it's Marietta now, is it?" teases Kate, as Castle looks down at her, punch drunk with love for this woman lying beneath him, and kicking himself for mentioning the Latin dancer's name.

"Kate Beckett, are you jealous?" he asks, delighted and incredulous all at once.

"Shut up, Castle. Where's that Champagne?" she asks, shoving him in the chest, determined to avoid answering his question.

Because the truth is that watching him dance with that random, attractive stranger had sparked all kinds of jealousy within her. Enough for her to throw herself at him in class, and then drag him off to a hotel room in the middle of the afternoon. Because suddenly, after months of waiting until she was ready, she realized with a jolt that she needed to claim him before another soul could swoop down to rest him from her. She has an impulsive, irrational urge to brand him, and fix a return address label to him just in case he ever gets lost.

And Kate is scared. She needs to get this next part out of her system, to find out if they have any longevity to them beyond years of pent up lust, before Richard Castle gets a chance to break her heart.

"Champagne coming up," he agrees, rising from the bed and pulling her upright with him.

Kate's dress had ridden up when they'd landed on the mattress, and so she smooths the skirt down over her thighs.

Castle pouts a little then wanders over to the ice bucket on the coffee table to withdraw a bottle of Laurent Perrier. Beads of condensation drip from the sides of the chilled bottle, and ice cubes tinkle and crack in its wake.

"What's the pout for, Castle?" she asks, watching him unwrap the foil and unwind the metal cage from the top of the bottle.

"Nothing. I was enjoying the view is all," he says, hoping his honesty isn't going to get him in trouble. She has a wicked glint in her eye, and he wouldn't put it past her to inflict some special brand of pain on him today.

"Well, get that opened, and we'll see what we can do about improving the view," she says seductively, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on one elbow while she watches him pop the cork, and then pour two frothing glasses of Champagne with trembling fingers.

She's on her second glass, the slightly bitter, pepper and grapefruit liquid loosening her limbs and her tongue as bubbles tickle the back of her throat, and threaten to rush up her nose.

"Come here," she says to Castle, holding out her hand.

They're sitting on the bed; her back is propped up against the headboard, legs stretched out in front, and he's lying down at the foot, watching her. He takes the offered hand and crawls up to join her, shoulders bumping as he plumps a pillow and sits back beside her.

"You rang, m'lady?" he jokes in an attempt to mask the nervous tension he's feeling.

"Castle, are you nervous?" Kate asks playfully, clinking her glass against his.

"Well, damn, just say what you're thinking, Beckett," he laughs, shaky and most definitely nervous now.

She's throwing him off his game, and making him worse. Brave, straightforward Kate, instead of fragile, avoiding Beckett, will take some getting used to. And it looks like this is going to be his first lesson.

"Well?" she pushes, sipping delicately from the crystal flute, and nudging him with her elbow. "Nervous, Rick?"

"If I say yes will you think less of me?"

"If you tell me what you think I want to hear I'll a) know that you're lying, and b) think less of you. Truth's what counts now," she says, drawing her knees up and turning to look at him. "No more hiding. No more lies. No more dancing around this…us."

Her hand grazes his shoulder, index finger tracing behind his ear, until it tickles too much and he tips his head to one side, trapping her hand against his shoulder to stop the delicious torture.

"Nice pun," he says to her dancing reference, avoiding as long as possible, until she arches an eyebrow at him, demanding his answer. "Truth?" he repeats.

"Truth," she agrees, nodding and waiting for him to confess.

"Nervous would definitely be one way to describe it," he admits, reaching a hand out to lightly graze her knee. "You?"

Please say yes, he thinks, or I'll sound completely and utterly pathetic.

"No. I was, but not anymore. I know what I want," she says plainly, confidently.

"Are you drunk?" blurts Castle, watching her as she pours another soupcon of Champagne down her throat.

Kate laughs, and this time the bubbles do their stuff, rushing up her nose and making her cough.

"What? You think the only way I'd be here with you is if I'm drunk?" she asks, amused by his insecurity.

"Thought had crossed my mind."

"Castle, where have you been these last months?"

Her honesty is killing him. He wants to get back to the hot looks and the touching they were doing on the dance floor, because this little truth sharing session is threatening to expose him. There's a severe risk he might just let go all of the pent up emotion that he's been stuffing down somewhere deep inside for months in one great rush of sobbing and tears. Not manly at all.

"I've been right here, Kate," he replies, fighting to control his voice as he takes her hand and flattens it in between his own.

"I know you have. Waiting. For me," she admits quietly, her eyes kind and warming. An apology is swimming there amongst hazel swirled with green and sparks of gold. "No more, Castle. I'm…are you ready? Do you still want…?" she hesitates.

She looks vulnerable for a second and it bolsters him.

"You?" he breathes, unable to believe she even has to ask the question.

She nods, dips her head to look at her small hand sandwiched between his large, soft, capable ones. Hands she knows will catch her if she falls.

"Kate. You really have to ask?"

The room is so quiet that the silence is becoming oppressive. He tries to keep his voice low, but still the question comes out a little too loud.

"I want you to be sure."

Sure! Is she nuts?

"I've never been surer…of anything. Ever," he says fiercely.

"Really? That sure?" she laughs, nervous now too if the tremor in her voice is any indication.

"But what about you? You said you know what you want. What is that, Kate? I'm…I don't want to misunderstand, or make a mistake, and get this wrong."

It all comes tumbling out in a rush, and Kate's heart plummets at the pain she's sees she's caused him, and the hundred little ways she has diminished him, beaten out his cocky self-assurance with her put downs and rejection until he is reduced to this bundle of uncertainty. She blushes as she thinks of all the subtle ways she's told him that he's not worthy…of her, when the exact opposite is true.

"Castle, I love you," she admits softly, assuredly, as if this fact should be patently obvious to him.

It's the best apology she can think to offer, the one truth she knows he needs to hear for the healing to begin. He says nothing, and if his stillness is anything to go by, she thinks he may even have given up on breathing. Time for the resurrection.

"I love you, and I'm sure. I'm so sure. I'm sorry I kept you waiting for so long. Forgive me?" she asks, raising her eyes to his, dark lashes lifting to reveal a sparkling, hopeful fearlessness that makes him catch his breath.

He doesn't trust his voice, not with something as big and important as this. So he takes her Champagne flute from her hand and places it on the night stand, and then he captures her face between his hands and he kisses her, allowing all of the passion and the emotion he's been carrying around in anticipation of this day to flow into her.

Their emotional rawness is quickly transformed back into desperate need in an act of alchemy precipitated by that single, breathtaking kiss. The future begins in that moment, on that bed, as Kate's arms encircle his neck, clinging on as he breaks her open, exposing parts of her heart that have never seen the light of day. He nourishes this fragile, starved thing with his love and his caresses, tenderly soothing her body back to life, before whipping her up into a desperate, aching frenzy.

His hands are in her hair when he feels her nimble fingers begin working their way down the buttons on his shirt. Then she's pulling on his belt buckle, and popping open the button on his pants as he runs his tongue down her throat to the base of her neck, nipping lightly on her clavicle then soothing the reddened skin with soft kisses.

Kate arches beneath him, and then resumes tugging at his clothing, her breath coming in ragged, uneven pants.

"Help me," she implores, and he lets go of her long enough to strip off his clothes.

"Your turn, Kate," he tells her, undoing the tie at the back of her dress and swiftly unwrapping her like a special gift.

The soft, grey jersey falls apart in his hands, opening to reveal the one sight he has always known would surpass every expectation and every hopeless fantasy his creative imagination could conjure up. He's a man of words, but he has none eloquent enough to describe the woman beneath him, so he gives up trying and worships her with his body instead.

When he slides over her she lets her eyes fall closed, allowing herself to feel her way through this moment by surrendering to his touch alone. His lips graze her cheek, her eyelids, teasing and holding back. She tries hard to contain her need, to lay still and be good, but desire is building within her, an urgent and painful ache that she can't control, and finally she has to give in to it, finding his mouth with hers, her eyes still closed.

Castle groans in surprise at the sudden assault as she forces her tongue inside, wet and demanding, stealing the breath from his lungs. He adapts to her pace, matching her need, listening to what she's telling him without any words.

Her hands roam his back, his sides, nails wounding occasionally, as she pulls him roughly against her. Her legs are tangling with his as she kisses him frantically, her hips working rhythmic circles underneath him.

"Kate, slow down," he whispers, trying to sooth the urgent, wild part of her that doesn't believe in love or forever.

"Castle," she chokes. "Please? I need you," she begs.

Begs. Kate Beckett just begged him, but he has lost the urge to crow. Just wants to give her whatever she wants if it means he sees her laugh and smile at him everyday from now on.

So he gives in to her plea, and he claims her, slowly, carefully at first, delighting in the feel of her surrounding him. Her eyes fly open, desperate panic in them, until she sees him looking down at her, and her face softens, her body opening up for him.

They move together, gently, unhurriedly, taking their time as they experience one another in this new and richly intimate way; intrepid explorers.

Castle drops his head to her right breast, teasing her nipple with his tongue and then sucking gently until Kate's moans drive him to buck his hips harder into her. Their rhythm increases. The blood pounds in his ears.

"I think we finally found our groove," Kate says with a breathy laugh.

"Yeah, waiting for us out there on that dance floor. Who knew?" Castle murmurs against her neck, trailing a line of butterfly kisses all the way up to her left ear.

Kate hooks her leg around his waist, and her hands slide down to cup his buttocks, her fingers stroking soft, smooth skin as she pulls him deeper with every shared thrust.

"Mmm," she hums, her mouth dry, throat constricting. "So close. Oh god. So…"

"Let go, Kate. I've got you," he tells her, reaching between them to stroke her, fingers grazing hidden flesh, wet and silky, eliciting a helpless whimper.

"Oh god. Castle," she moans, and he feels her speed up, clinging on tight. She lasts a final few seconds before she shatters around him, feathering him with her tremors until a sob catches in her throat and her body relaxes.

He looks deep into her eyes when he comes a handful of heartbeats later, cradling her to his chest. Shockwaves pass through his body, turning his muscles rigid, driven to the point of ecstasy by his desire for the warm, sensual woman beneath him.

When they finally slide apart, they're both laughing hard, freed from the boundaries that had kept them constrained and apart for so long.

Castle rolls onto his side and wraps Kate up in his arms, his lips resting against her shoulder as she curls into the arc of his body.

"Did we just perfect the tango?" he whispers, his heart still beating out a frantic rhythm.

"I don't know about perfect, but I'm going to insist that we keep on practicing, partner," replies Kate, smiling against his hot, flushed skin.

Castle agrees without hesitation.

"Give me five minutes and we can head back to the floor," he says, with a wicked grin. "I think dancing with you just became my new, favorite hobby."

The End (for sure this time).

A/N: I've got a five-hour layover in Newark Airport tomorrow, so I'm going to get back to updating Playing For Time. I hope you had fun with this one. Reviews would be much appreciated.