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Her cellphone wakes her up. Kate blinks, bleary, her eyes focusing on her clock. Eight. Okay. She closes her eyes and settles down for a split second.
Wait, eight o'clock? Eight o'clock in the morning?
She starts awake, body rigid, staring at the alarm clock. She slept in. She slept in. Kate grabs for the clock, frowning at it in disbelief, holding it up for a closer look. Her alarm is off. It's eight. She slept in.
She never sleeps in. She hasn't slept in in years. Kate's a morning person. She's always been a morning person. She likes being up before most of the city. Loves the feeling in the air when the city that never sleeps starts to doze a little. There's something magical about that time of the day that nothing beats and she never misses it.
Except today.
Kate lets the clock slip from her fingers, thudding back onto the bedside, and tries to clear the cobwebs from her brain. She's irritated, annoyed, and possibly a little hung over. She pulls a face and sits up. The dress from the night before is crumpled on the floor by her bed, red and black sequins winking at her in the morning light.
She drags a foot across the fabric, the sequins skimming her bare skin, and starts to smile. The feeling of the dress swishing about her hips as she moved comes easily to mind. Even easier the way she'd moved around the dance floor. She's not the least bit surprised that Castle's a halfway decent dancer. Somehow, she can't imagine Martha ever permitting her baby boy to be anything but phenomenal, but she was surprised, is still surprised, at how nervous he'd been.
*
"You keep looking at your feet, Castle, this is going to end in tears."
"Yeah, well, I have a feeling, if I don't, there'll still be tears. Mine. I like my neck, Detective, so, you know, I'd rather you not break it in a mad search for unholy vengeance."
"Shut up and dance, Castle."
"Yes, ma'am."
*
Kate snickers at the memory and, cheered by it, finally gets all the way out of bed. She stretches her arms over her head, feeling pleasantly sore, and then stops. Even before she hears the sleepy groan, she knows.
Oh god.
Her smile dims, fades, and she lowers her arms. Oh god, no. Please, no. Anything but that. She didn't. They didn't, right?
*
"Mistletoe?" Her gaze slides upward, annoyed, and then searches the crowd. "Esposito."
"Nope," Castle grins. "Ryan. Pretty sure he might be trying to steal a kiss or two."
Kate rolls her eyes.
"Relax," he says, "neither one of us has untoward designs." He lets go of her, slowly, and steps back. Not too much, just enough to make his intentions clear. "You have my word." Mischief creeps back into his gaze. "I'm pretty sure Ryan has his eye on another prize, and me? Two divorces is my limit."
She almost rolls her eyes again. "It's mistletoe, Castle. Not a proposal of marriage." She grabs his shirt, fisting hands in the loose fabric, and yanks him in close. Okay, so possibly that last glass of champagne is finally hitting her head and she's going to be so embarrassed tomorrow. Tonight, she's a little bit drunk, a little bit happy, and maybe a lot adventurous. "Just kiss me before someone takes a picture."
She's not that adventurous.
His serious expression slides into a grin. "Am I that bad?"
Kate brushes her lips against his, quick and hurried, then shakes her head. "You really don't want me to answer that."
"Don't be so sure, " he replies, running his tongue over his mouth.
She shivers, absolutely not distracted at all. "I'm not."
*
Kate's never been a big fan of alcohol, too many control issues and too little trust to really go there, but god, she wishes. She so wishes. Not remembering a thing from last night would be the best Christmas present ever. At least, that's what she should be thinking. Funny thing about it is that she's having a little trouble with that.
"Where are my pants?" Castle yawns noisily as he sits up. He sounds completely normal, the bastard, he's supposed to be panicking. Really. She frowns, annoyed by his ease. "Seriously I can't find my pants. Got up a few minutes ago – put the coffee on, by the way, and you're totally welcome – and no pants. I didn't think we were that -- " he stops, mid-ramble, and she can feel his eyes on her. "Beckett?"
She closes her eyes briefly, letting the haphazard trip to the bedroom play out in her mind again. Right. Detour. "They're in the living room, behind the sofa, left side."
Before he can ask her, she pushes her feet into motion, and goes for a robe. "You said there was coffee on?"
She checks the machine, making an effort to be normal, she has to be normal. Friends do this. They do. They have a little too much to drink, they share a cab home, and somewhere along the line they get handsy.
*
Pressed against the elevator wall, lips on her neck, his hand sliding up her inner thigh. Fingertips, blunt and curious, brush against her and Kate gasps, hips pushing forward. She grabs for him, fingers curling around his wrist, holding him still.
His voice, rough with uneven breaths, murmurs her name, asking the question without really asking. She shakes her head, biting her lip, and closes her eyes. With his fingers where she wants them, Kate grinds forward, once, twice, and then heat spreads through her.
"God," Castle mutters, "You -- I mean, you're -- "
She kisses him. "Shut up and keep going, idiot."
*
Kate presses her hands flat against the counter, looking out at the city, and it's weird. She should know how to breathe. She's been doing it for years and years now. In and out, easy as, well, breathing. Funny, then, how each breath drawn in is a battle and – god, she's starting to think like him.
That is never a good sign.
"It snowed last night," he says.
She jumps. Covers it by reaching up for a mug. "Yeah," she says, "it did. You want one?"
"No," he says, quickly. Too quickly, but Kate can cover for him too. "I need to get going." He forces out a laugh, staccato, like machine gun fire. "I'm not there when Mom and Alexis wake up, there'll be awkward questions and, after the last time, Alexis swore she'd never give me the talk again."
Kate risks a look back at him. He's giving one of his elaborate shrugs, shirt half open, hair a complete mess, and oh god, her stomach tightens at the sight. She wants him again. She wants him again. How is that possible?
She isn't supposed to want him at all. She's not.
Everyone knows that. Kate knows that. Castle knows that. The guy who sells coffee outside the precint knows that. Castle is a three year old on a sugar rush. Beckett is the responsible adult. They're an old married couple, complete with a total lack of sex.
Kate blushes. Okay, so they used to be.
"Bec—"
"I think it's safe to call me Kate," she says. "It would probably be a little weird to call me Beckett after—"
After the best sex of her life. She wishes she was kidding about that, but she isn't. She'll never admit it, the man's ego is over-inflated enough, but even halfway in a bottle, Castle is amazing. The kind of amazing that, usually, Kate would call Lanie first thing to brag about.
She's not going to be able to brag about this one. Kate's pretty sure Lanie would never let her live it down.
*
He swears, his head pressing back into the couch, and his fingers dig into her hips. That's gonna leave a mark.
The thought has her giggling and he glares up at her. They're both still a little drunk, his glare's fuzzy around the edges, and her giggle is, well, a giggle. Yeah, still drunk. Well, not drunk. They're just buzzed enough that she goes with it when he thumbs her clit, rubbing in slow circles, making a sound that's not quite a growl.
"S'not funny," he says.
She leans forward, nose to nose, smirking. "Looks pretty funny from here." She cringes. That sounded so less stupid in her head. "Really, really funny."
He makes a face, not quite a glare, not quite a promise, and she yelps as she falls backward. The couch comes up to meet her, fluffy and comfortable, and then he's looking down at her. His hair is a mess from her fingers, sticking out in all angles, and he looks cute.
"Castl-- " she stops and tries again. " Rick." It sounds wrong and she shakes her head. "Fuck."
"In a minute." He moves down, awkward, the couch not long enough for what he has in mind. Kate realizes it a second before his tongue replaces his fingers on her clit. His hands spread her apart, cool air of the apartment a shock that makes her hips jerk.
"God, Castle, I -- "
He snickers. "Just go with it, Kate." His lips brush her as he speaks and she's so not ready for that. Not ready for the unexpectedly deliberate way he approaches eating her out. They're supposed to be drunk, he's not supposed to be able to think this clearly, but Castle is. He doesn't just take his time. It's not that simple. He goes after her with the single-minded focus of a man who's gotten his once in a lifetime chance and is hellbent on not fucking it up.
She looks down at him, at the top of his head, and, after a moment, he looks back. His eyes meet hers.
Biting her lip, Kate closes her eyes and digs fingers into the couch. God, she hopes the neighbors don't hear her scream.
*
Castle sighs. "This is gonna get weird, isn't it? I think this is going to get weird." He looks sheepish, nervous, and she breathes deep. "I mean, the whole sex thing, it was probably -- "
"It happened," Kate says. "It always does."
He looks at her. "Beg pardon?"
"Someone always has a little too much and hooks up over the holidays." Kate pours a cup of coffee and turns around to look at him. "Last year, I would've sworn it was Esposito and Ryan, but -- " she shrugs, trying to look casual.
It almost works, except she's still just wearing the robe and her legs are bare. Castle's eyes keep straying downward and she knows what he's thinking. She can see the memory of her legs wrapped tight around him, pulling his body deeper into hers with every thrust.
"Really?" he says as if he's not staring at her legs. "Huh."
"Oh please," she snorts. "I've read Heat Wave, remember?"
A sneaky grin flits across Castle's face. "Okay, so maybe there might have been some subtext. Just don't tell them, huh? The last thing I need is those two going to war. They'll have me ritually disemboweled in Time's Square or something."
"Nope," Kate shakes her head. "They're not that merciful."
Castle pulls his gaze away from her legs. "This isn't going to get weird." This time, he's not asking a question. He's cautiously stating it, his gaze almost hopeful, and Kate's pretty sure he isn't going to make it out of the room.
She does have the day off and, obviously, that means he does too. Kate turns around and empties her mug into the sink. "Maybe," she says, rinsing it, "you should call your mother. Let her know you'll be late."
His coat slides to the floor in a muffled thump. A second later, he's pressed against her back, hands sliding beneath her fuzzy robe.
Kate doesn't hesitate. She leans back into him, spreading her legs and waiting for the first touch.
"This is probably an epically bad idea," he mumbles. One of his hands curves around her hip, the other glides down into the waiting wet heat. She grabs for the kitchen counter, holding on tight as those talented fingers start exploring. She's familiar territory to him now. The way he touches her tells the tale as well as, if not better, any words ever could. He remembers her body. He paid attention. This is interesting.
"We're -- "
"Just going to get it out of our system," she says, her breathing growing shallow. "Then we go back to work like nothing even happened. Okay?"
He turns her around, going to his knees in front of her. "Probably not, but it's New Years Day. This is absolutely the day to lie to yourself." He runs his tongue over her, looking up as he does, and Kate slumps back against the counter. "We'll worry about being honest tomorrow."
Castle presses his face against her, the seconds counting off as he breathes deep, and, okay, that's the hottest thing she's ever seen. Seriously. That counts every single thing she saw him do last night.
Kate licks her lips, slowly, dragging her tongue over the sensitive skin. Her lips tingle and her voice is strained as she says, "Castle -- "
"Seriously," he murmurs, turning his head to press a kiss into her thigh. "Tomorrow. Save the panic and the awkward conversations, Beckett. Right now I really want to hear you scream."
She rolls her eyes. Around him, she does that a lot. It's worrisome at times. "Castle -- "
"I know, I know," he mumbles into her skin, "This isn't page 105, shut up and fuck me already, right?" He nuzzles into her leg.
His hair tickles and she bites back a laugh. "Sounds good to me."
Castle laughs, surging upward. "I thought it might."
*
She falls onto the bed, face first into the pillow, and ignores him when he thumps into the mattress. His arm lands across her back. Instead of pulling her against him, however, Castle crowds closer, pressing his cheek into her back.
"Mind if I ask you something?" he says in a voice just above a whisper.
She's sex-lazy, satisfied, and absolutely relaxed. "Sure," she agrees, snuggling into her pillow.
"Promise me you won't regret this tomorrow?"
Kate's eyes slide open, staring into the dark of her bedroom. He's behind her, she can't see his face, but she knows what he looks like. His thumb rubs her hip, tracing circles in light touches, and Kate stops it. Laying her hand on his, she nodes.
"I won't." It's something she shouldn't promise. She's comfortable now, relaxed, completely at ease in her own skin. She likes this feeling. "Promise."
*
And that's the funny part.
She doesn't.