Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

The regular crowd—or what Castle hopes will be the regular crowd at his new chunk of real estate, The Old Haunt—shuffles in. Beckett. Ryan. Esposito. Montgomery. Drinks are on the house, his house, and as the night wears on, their uncensored war stories grow increasingly uncensored. They don't have to worry about anyone overhearing them, even the staff, since Castle had sent them home early. By the time The 12th Precinct Quartet shuffles out, they're all a little worse for wear and very, very happy about it.

Castle locks the door behind them, turns off the lights out front, and smiles. He rolls up his sleeves—hey! I'm the barkeep!—and starts collecting glasses. He has just put the first load in the sink when he hears a knock. Had he not flipped the CLOSED sign in the doorway? He collects some more glasses and hears another knock. Must be a drunk, gonna ignore him. A third knock, this one louder, more insistent. It's kind of proprietary, which is ballsy, because Castle is the proprietor now, thank you. OK, that's enough, whoever you are, now you're smacking your fist on the window. He's not opening up for this jerk, but he'll look through the glass with a just-this-side-of-threatening-bodily-harm glare. That should do it.

"Can you read? We're closed."

"Caaastle?"

Jesus, it's not a drunk, it's Kate! "Beckett?" He pulls the door open. "Are you all right?"

"Never better, as I've heard you say more than once, which doesn't make sense because how can you keep being never better? Isn't better than better eventually best?" She brushes by him into the dimly-lit interior.

"You've got a point, Beckett, and please do come in." That's what his mouth is saying, but his brain is saying this could be the best. Just the two of them, alone in a bar, assuming she's going to stay. He deflates a little. She probably just forgot something, her scarf, her bag.

"Nice place, Castle. You did a good thing today, saving it."

She's taking off her coat? She's hanging it up?

"I was wondering if I could have a nightcap," she says, as she saunters to a barstool.

More like sashays, she just sashayed. Her ass doesn't move that way without her wanting it to. He's inflating again. He moves behind the bar and stands directly in front of her. He's not sure what she's doing or where she's going but he's going to risk it. Puts his elbows on the bar and leans in a little. "Absolutely. What can I get you, Detective?"

"Well, it's after hours. I'm off the clock, and so is this bar, so I'm Kate right now. After hours Kate. What the hell, make it a vodka. Ketel, on the rocks."

"Feeling a little nostalgia for Russia, Kate? For your student days in Kiev?" She might be glaring a little bit. Maybe this is the wrong tack, but oh, God, that Russian accent he has heard her do, not nearly often enough. Keeps him awake at night. He's a little nervous now. "Or not. Ketel isn't Russian, after all, it's Dutch." Now she's got that little crease between her eyebrows, what is that? "Not a Dutch treat, though. Well, it's a treat by the Dutch but this drink isn't a Dutch treat really, since I'm buying. Not Dutch." He's petered out. He's confused. She has him discombobulated, that's it.

"Castle? Get the bottle."

"Getting the bottle." He turns, walks a few feet down the bar to fetch the Ketel, drops some ice in a glass, makes the drink and and places it in front of her. He smiles.

She lifts the glass and tips it towards him. "Gezondheid."

"Gezondheid, what is that, did I sneeze?"

"No. It's Dutch. For cheers, salut, your health, here's lookin' at ya."

He's lookin' at her, all right, but he's a little more discombobulated with each passing second. He's pretty sure, no, very sure, that she's flirting with him, seriously flirting with him, and his manly parts are taking notice. Tightening up, filling out.

"Castle? Aren't you going to join me? I don't want to drink alone, you know."

"Of course. Thanks. I'll join you," he says, pouring a glass of his own and praying that his laugh doesn't sound as strangled as it feels.

"Yeah, well where I come from 'join me' also means sitting down together. Wanna come out from behind that bar?"

It's good it's so dark in here that she won't notice the front of his pants. He hopes she won't notice. Maybe hopes she will. "Okay, that's nice, let's go sit in that booth over there."

"That booth? I was hoping that I could get the full tour of this place. I've seen this part already. Seen the basement and that secret passageway, too. Don't you have your own special office tucked away somewhere? With your own private stock? A couple of special bottles for special occasions? A nice table? Maybe a leather…couch?"

Damned if she didn't just lick her lips. Look right at him and lick her lips. He moves towards the back of the room and gestures to a door. "I do. I will give you the five-dollar tour, for free. For New York's Finest. The finest of New York's Finest. Please, come with me."

He shows her into the room which does, indeed, have a leather couch. "You use your special Detective First Grade powers, Beckett? That how you know about my leather couch?"

"Nope, just know your taste." She takes another sip of vodka. "And your predilections. I should by now." And she sits down on the couch. "You know, I was going to do paperwork tonight, until you sweet-talked us all into coming here." She's stretching out on the couch, and she's prone. She's arching her neck and looking up at him. She takes her left hand and runs it across her gorgeous ass, which would be even more gorgeous if it weren't covered in denim. "So now I'm behind in my work, Castle, don't you think? And it's your fault."

He has no idea what he's done to deserve this, this Beckett who's oozing sex, oozing directly at him, but he's not going to overthink it. Just appreciate it, savor it. He bends over, takes her by the feet, and pulls her over the buttery leather towards him until she's close enough that he can run his hand over her. "You are behind, Kate. And I'm taking the credit, not the blame." Before she can make a move, he grabs her around the waist so that she's jackknifed against him, then slides onto the couch and brings her onto his lap.

"I'm glad you came, Kate," he says.

"I didn't, not yet. But I will. And so will you, if I have anything to say about it." She's sliding her hand down his shirt. "Remember when we came here for the first time and you told me that I should pop a button, Castle? It's your turn. Here, I'll get you started." She has two of his buttons through the holes before he can begin to undo hers, and the race is on.

They're both shirtless in seconds, and would be pantless, too, it they weren't so busy kissing. Tongues in, tongues out, tongues across, over and around They're both breathing hard. He thinks she said, "Going for the other button, Castle," but he's not sure since her tongue is buried in his ear. But he's right, because he just felt the button on his jeans open, and her long, slender, flexible fingers reach in, wrap around him, and tease him. Oh, Christ, is the rest of her going to be this flexible? Before his brain shuts down, he has to make a move, so he reaches down and unzips her pants. "Up, Kate, up, I have to get these off you."

"Mmph, okay, okay, you, too." They both stand and clumsily pull off their shoes and their pants. She reaches back, unhooks her bra and dangles it from two fingers. "Should I hang this there?" she says, looking into his eyes but pointing to the enormous erection that's straining his boxers. "Or just get rid of it?" She drops the bra to the floor.

"Look at this, Kate," he says, sounding like a kid who just discovered the glories of a chemistry set while he points at her gray silk panties and his gray silk boxers. "We match!"

"Trade ya," she says, seizing his waistband and pulling his shorts all the way off.

"Done," he answers, divesting her of the tiniest bikinis on record. That's when he sees her tattoo, right on her hip. "You really have one?"

"Yes, I really have one."

"It's a little bear, Kate. I can't believe it, a little bear. And you're bare. Very bare."

"You gonna do something about it, Castle?"

"Why, yes, I believe I am." He scoops her up and walks to the long table that's flush against the wall. He lays her down on it, and brings her legs up over his shoulders. He begins to kiss the soft skin of her inner thighs, moving almost all the way down one before abandoning it for the other.

She is completely exposed to him, and surprised that she's not shy about it. Much as she loves foreplay, she's so aroused already that she can hardly hold on. When he moves his mouth to her clit, she can't keep quiet.

Castle looks up, his chin very wet. "That was a squoan, Kate. I've never heard that before. Do it again." He tongues her sharply and she's even noisier. "A squoan!"

She's half off the table in a frenzy of need. "Fuck, Castle, what are you talking about, a squoan?"

"It's a cross between a squeak and a moan. I can't call it a meak because you're anything but meak." He tongues her again. "A meal maybe, you're a four-star meal."

TBC

A/N I thought this was going to be a one-shot, but apparently I was wrong. Shenanigans ahead.