A/N: The title means "In narcotics, truth", but only because I cobbled the phrase together, not because I actually remember any Latin.
Prompt: For a prompt on castlefanficprompts: "Castle?" "Yes?" "You have a really nice booty." Kate gets her wisdom teeth out and while in the car she talks about Castle's butt the whole entire way to her apartment. (S4)
Hope this suits.
The phone rings. Castle answers from his spot in the armchair, mind far far away, laptop screen reminding him that he Should Be Writing.
"Richard Castle."
"Mr. Castle? This is Dr. Manganiello's office calling."
"Doctor who?"
"Manganiello. We have a patient here - oh dear, this is awkward - she told us to call you."
"Alexis? Martha?" He sits up straight, the laptop sliding to one side. "Is it an emergency?"
"No, no, she just needs a ride home. She said - Ms. Beckett, please - "
Beckett? What the hell?
The lady herself comes on the line. "Castle, izzat you?"
"Beckett, what the hell?"
"Oh God. These are NOT the good drugs. Here, you talk."
She apparently hands off the phone, back to the first caller, who says, "Ms. Beckett came in to have her wisdom teeth removed. She told us she had a ride home, and now she doesn't remember who it was, but obviously they're not here."
"And she's under the influence," Castle acknowledges. "Got it. I can come round right away and pick her up - what's the address?"
When Castle gets to the dentist's office it's almost dark outside, and there are no patients in the waiting area. There's a receptionist, who comes over with a relieved expression.
"Mr. Castle? I'm so glad you could come. She just needs to sleep it off - we've given her some prescription painkillers for when she wakes up. Is there anyone who can stay with her for a few hours, just to be sure she's okay?"
"I'll be happy to Beckett-sit," says Rick genially. "No trouble at all. We're friends and all."
He provides his own references, courtesy of the NYPD (he has a letter he carries in his wallet), and the doctor deems him worthy to take Beckett off their hands.
Beckett herself is in a little room next to the doctor's own office, stretched out on a cot with her coat draped over her and her shoes off. The lights are dim, but as Castle tiptoes into the room she turns her head and opens her eyes about halfway. Then she smiles, a crooked, drunken smile, and says, "Castle! What are you doing here?"
"Come to take you home, partner," he says briskly. He maneuvers Beckett into a sitting position and gets her shoes on - thank God she doesn't have to stagger along in the usual sky-high boots - and she's turned into Chatty Cathy all of a sudden.
"This isn't my bed," she notes, trying to look around and leaning dangerously far off the bed. "Why isn't this my bed?"
"You're at the doctor's," Castle says. "I'm going to take you home. Stand up, now, let's get your coat on you. That's it." It's like dressing a recalcitrant toddler. Fond memories.
She's standing, swaying, suddenly looking right up at him like he's the only thing she can focus on. "You're taking me home? You'll take me home again, Kathleen - " she sings, then says, "No, wait. You'll take me home again, Cass-sssllllllle - nope, that doesn't work."
The receptionist is giggling as Castle gets his arm around Beckett and guides her to the door. He grins at the lady and says, "At least she's a happy drunk."
"I've seen 'em all," says the receptionist, shaking her head. "Good night, Ms. Beckett. And thanks again, Mr. Castle. Call our emergency number if she needs anything."
Beckett launches into an unsteady chorus of "I don't need anything but you!" (from Annie) as they proceed along the hallway.
"Here we are," says Castle as he unlocks his car and opens the back door. Beckett stops humming show tunes and looks up.
"This isn't my bed," she frowns. "I thought you were taking me to bed, Castle."
He makes a supreme effort to refrain from his usual innuendo - it'd be wasted on her right now, anyway - and says, "As soon as you get in the car, we'll be on our way."
He puts her in the front passenger seat, making sure to secure her seatbelt and engage the child lock on the door in case she suddenly opts to disembark while they're in motion.
All in all, it's been an entertaining evening. If his hands weren't full (and if he knew Beckett wouldn't eviscerate him for it) he'd be playing Twenty Questions with her and recording it on his iPhone. Musing that there's still time for that, he opens the driver's side door to get in and starts to slide into his seat -
and finds himself landing on something that is definitely not luxuriously soft faux leather. Something small and warm and - wriggling.
Beckett is laughing so hard she's snorting, which is adorable, but at the moment Castle's attention is riveted to her left hand, which she'd spread, palm up, on the driver's seat, just in time for him to plant his ass on it. And now she's squeezing his butt, groping him through the seat of his pants, and he's caught between being really amused, really embarrassed, and slightly aroused.
He goes with amused.
"I don't remember ordering the custom massage seat option on this model," he drawls, delighted when she laughs some more, but she doesn't remove her hand, so he goes on, "Come on, Beckett, I'm gonna get pulled over for distracted driving."
She withdraws her hand, but sticks her tongue out at him, and he's really, really glad he has to drive the car because if they were behind closed doors he'd be happy to deal with that tongue up close and personal.
They're on the street in moderately slow traffic when Beckett speaks up.
"You have a really great ass, by the way."
Her tone is casual and when he glances at her he can see her eyes are still not really tracking, so he chalks up the random comment to her condition. Inwardly, of course, he's flattered, but she can't really mean it. Can she?
"I mean, as far as I can tell without seeing you naked," she continues conversationally. "That time with the dog? I'm so glad he didn't actually damage you. Just your pants. It was worth it just to watch you walk away with your boxers showing."
"You didn't."
"I did. Along with the rest of the bullpen." She snickers. "Karpowski won the bet on that one."
"What'd you bet on?" he asks, genuinely curious.
"Boxers or briefs. I shoulda peeked, when you put me up after my - after the fire."
"You shoulda," he smirks. Imagining Beckett sneaking into his bedroom to peruse his underwear drawer is definitely a distraction, so he shelves that thought for now and concentrates on the road.
"Bad enough just watching you slouch around in those pajama pants," she grouses. "With your bed hair and your big ol' sleepy blue eyes."
Castle is reminded of her tousled ponytail and un-made-up skin and her damn yoga pants and feels completely unrepentant. He also feels mildly surprised to find, upon reflection, that he's never had a good look at her booty. (The kitchen in the Russian poker den was poorly lit and he had only a glimpse before she barked at him for backup.)
A taxi horn blares and he's startled out of his pleasant reverie.
"Home sweet home," Castle announces as he parks on the street and trots around to retrieve Beckett from the car. Of all the times for her to fall asleep, now would not be his choice, but he volunteered for this mission and he's going to complete it. Carrying her bridal style, he won't get far, so once he gets her out of her seat he hoists her into a fireman's carry. Undignified, but with any luck none of her neighbors will recognize her with her face hidden against his coat.
When they make it to Beckett's apartment, fortunately unobserved, Castle fishes her keys out of her coat pocket, unlocks the door, and hauls her inside. He drops her and the keys onto her sofa and turns on a light, and when he turns back he sees that she's awake again. Figures.
"Hey," he smiles, kneeling beside the sofa as she squints up at him.
"Castle? What are you doing here?" She glances around. "Home. I'm home. How did I get here?"
Castle chuckles. "Well, you clicked your heels together three times and said - "
She flails a limp hand against his arm. "Funny. That only works with the red shoes. Mine are - " she peers downward - "black." She starts to remove her shoes but runs out of energy after the first one, so Castle takes care of the second shoe and then gets her to sit up so he can take her coat off.
When he comes back from hanging up her coat, she's taking off her blouse. Trying to - the buttons are apparently fighting her and she's making huffy frustrated noises.
"Castle, help me out with this."
He's tempted to look around for a hidden camera. Instead, he lifts her up by her shoulders and helps her stumble toward her bedroom while she continues to fiddle with her buttons. He sits her down on the bed and says firmly, "Stay. Don't move. And don't take off any more clothes."
Ducking into the bathroom to get her a glass of water, he fishes the bottle of painkillers out of his pocket and leaves it on the counter, then returns to the bedroom, where Beckett has given up on buttons and hauled her blouse off over her head.
She looks up at Castle and scowls. "My house, my rules."
He rolls his eyes. "Yes, Your Highnessness. Here, drink some of this, you should hydrate before you go to sleep."
She drinks the water and he thinks she might have settled down a bit, but when he pulls back the covers on the bed she looks startled.
"This is my bed," she says. "You go sleep in your own bed. Geez, Castle."
"Where's the fun in that?" He grins and goes to sit next to her on the bed, ducking when she tries to grab hold of his ear. "Come on, Beckett. You need to lie down. I'll just go hang out in the other room. Come on, now."
"No pants. Gotta take off my pants." A wicked grin spreads over her face. "I will if you will."
"What, take my pants off?" This is either the most amazing moment of his life, or possibly one of the last moments of his life. "I'm not going to bed, I don't need to get undressed."
"I won't if you won't," she pouts.
Castle shrugs. "Go ahead and sleep in your clothes. Your house, your rules. Doesn't look comfortable, though."
"'Nope, it isn't," she agrees. "Guess I'll have to do this the hard way."
He thinks she's giving up - but no, she's lunging at him, grabbing hold of his waistband and tugging on his belt loops. Fortunately, she's only at about half her usual strength and agility, so his pants don't go very far, but he can't detach her grip.
He gives in to the ridiculousness of the whole situation and flops back onto the bed, laughing along with her and letting himself enjoy the sensation of her arms around his waist - wait, what? She's going for his fly and that's just -
"Hey, hey," he protests. Fortunately, she's giggling too hard to get the zipper to cooperate.
"But your booty, Castle," she says. "I want to see your booty. Up close and personal."
She's propped on one elbow, yawning mightily, half under the covers, and how she can pout and yawn at the same time is beyond him. Finally he gets an idea as to how to gain her cooperation, in one regard at least.
"Tell you what," he says. "You take off your pants - just your pants, now - and let me tuck you in. And then - " He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
"Then you'll show me your butt?"
"Sure."
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "Pinky swear."
Immediately he complies and is treated to the sight of Beckett shimmying out of her pants while still lying down. She tosses them on the floor, tucks her hands behind her head, and smirks at him.
"Pay up, Castle."
He stands up and walks over to the bedroom doorway, preparing for a quick getaway, and Beckett whines, "Where do you think you're going?"
"I said you could see it. I'm staying out of groping range."
"Where's the fun in that?" she echoes his previous sentiment. Castle just shrugs and turns off the bedroom light, leaving on only a dim lamp in the corner. His back is to the bed, so keeping an ear out for sounds of a sneak attack, he unbuckles his belt and unfastens the button on his jeans.
"Ready?" he asks over his shoulder.
"So ready," she purrs.
"Are you sure?"
"Been dreaming about it," she tells him. "Wanna see. Wanna touch. Castle, come on."
"Just remember," he says, "you asked for it."
He isn't often bashful about being naked or even semi-naked, but usually it takes a few drinks, a dare, and/or a lot of flirting before he drops trou. Then there's the added complication -
He's not wearing any underwear. Boxers, briefs, or anything in between. Part of him is whooping lasciviously as he pushes his pants down; another part regrets that this is how the love of his life gets to see his naked tush for the first time.
He sneaks a peek over his shoulder to see Beckett looking - aghast? impressed? disgusted?
"My God, Castle," she breathes. "You have the finest ass east of the Mississippi. I swear."
Aroused, then. Relief and pride and desire pour over him as he pulls up his pants and restores order to his outfit (and the universe). He turns to look at Beckett, smiling dreamily from her pillow, and says softly, "Sweet dreams, Beckett."
"Oh, they will be," she replies. "Thanks to you."
Five minutes later he looks in on her to find her sleeping, covers tucked up under her chin, lamplight framing her form, and that's the one picture he takes, saves, to remember this crazy evening.
He's not sure whether he hopes she remembers it.