Vampire Weekend, and what would have happened if Ryan and Esposito (a.k.a the cockblock twins) had walked in just five seconds later.

Beckett hums just a little in the back of her throat, leaning further over Castle's shoulder for a better look at the paper splayed in his hands.

There's no way it can be a coincidence; Morgan Lockerby, Morlock... it has to be-

"You smell like cherries."

He murmurs, soft, careless, almost as if the thought accidentally spilled out of his mouth without his permission. It's such an unexpected and genuine thing for him to say - because it totally wasn't intended as a sleazy come-on – that she finds herself turning her head towards him, just to look at the expression on his face, but oh.

Oh.

He's a lot closer than she'd anticipated.

A lot closer.

Too close.

Very, very, very close, and she has absolutely no idea what she's going to do because their noses are almost brushing and since when are his eyes exactly the same colour as the ocean where it meets the horizon?

Beckett's so occupied with this rather distracting train of thought that she almost doesn't notice his hand as it slides over her leather-clad shoulder to cradle the side of her neck, thick fingers splayed in her hair, behind her ear.

When she looks back on it, although she tells herself it was all Castle, she can never quite tell whose fault it is.

He's tugging her forward slowly, slightly, gentle enough to give her a way out if she wants one, but she lets him guide her.

And then oh, god, their mouths meet in the middle, feather-light, and she wants to pull back but at the same time she sort of doesn't.

Her eyes are open, and so are his; kind of awkward and he's not really moving, as if he's scared if he does she'll pull away.

Well. His lips are soft.

Then it hits her, a rush of holy-shit-I'm-kind-of-kissing-Castle, and she's about to pull away when-

"Hey, we got a hit on the-" And then there's a flood of holy-shit-I'm-kind-of-kissing-Castle-and-Ryan-saw coursing through her blood, and she straightens, steps back from the warmth of his mouth as fast as humanely possible.

And, oh, look, there's Esposito, and judging from the highly suggestive expression on his face, he saw too. Well, great. Awesome timing.

"Are we—did—were you guys-?"

"Yes." Castle says with firm conviction, at the same time she growls a slightly squeaky and relatively unconvincing, "No."

Yes, Beckett, because they're going to believe that.

"Well, it definitely looked like you were-"

"No."

"I don't know, Beckett, I think that-"

"No."

And this is exactly why she would have made a terrible lawyer.

"Beckett, I'm pretty sure we actually were-" Castle begins, but she cuts him off.

"No. We were not. Never happened. What were you saying you got a hit on?"

Ryan and Espo share a look, a smirk, and an eyebrow waggle so synchronized that she's pretty sure they must have planned it out in advance.

But luckily, they seem to silently agree to stop torturing her. For now.

Stop torturing her for now. For now. Because, oh, this is definitely going to come back to bite her.

As Ryan explains the lead, Esposito smiling at his side, she feels Castle's eyes burning into the side of her skull, and she has no doubt about the millions of questions he's running through in his head.

Beckett resists the urge to meet his gaze.

(At first, she thinks it's because she doesn't know the answers, but after a minute of thinking she realises that maybe she does.)

fin.