Disclaimer: Not mine.

a/n: Another drabble. I actually wrote this one BEFORE I wrote the last chapter. I switched up the order because I wanted something light after Gray.

Also I just want to thank everyone that has read and reviewed this. I never thought anyone would be interested in these 1000 word ficlets. I really didn't and honestly they're just a way for me to write out my feelings when I'm having a bad day so I know some of them are better than others. I personally think I enjoy the ones like Gray the most. There are more of those. But yeah, just thank you so much. I suck at replying individually lately but I do really appreciate every single review.

He's seeing red. Figuratively and literally. The level of anger in his blood rises just because she's standing there in his shirt. Just his shirt. In their kitchen. Another one she's pilfered. The bright red of it against her skin is distracting and no. No, he's mad. He can't think about her body being blocked from his view just by thin fabric. He's upset and so is she.

Her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, her cheeks flushed with it as she props a hand on her hip. Except her eyes flash and he can't even remember why they're yelling. He's not even sure at this point if he started it or if she did. But just to hold onto his anger, he's gonna say it's her fault.

He's failing. Grappling for something to say because she's standing there, waiting, and he'd swear she's about to start tapping her bare foot. She's already postured for it. Her eyebrows raise and he just stops.

Whatever he'd been prepared to say is gone and he can't find it. Doesn't even know why he tried. And it astounds him that this woman can having him pulsing mad and then completely speechless and trying to remember why he's angry in a span of less than two seconds. That's what makes him shake his head, drop his gaze to the floor and rub a hand over the back of his neck.

"You are something else." It's the wrong thing to say. He knows but he meant it as a compliment and she takes it as an insult.

"Me? You looked in the mirror lately, bud?" And something in her tone reaches inside him, makes him really look at her.

All wild fire in her eyes and hair a mess. He remembers how it got tangled around his fingers when they'd been sweaty and bare in the bedroom floor. Less than a foot from the bed because neither of them could wait any longer. A few hours ago and how did they end up here? In the kitchen with space between them and anger coming off of her in waves.

He doesn't mean it, he really doesn't but it's just the ridiculousness of their situation and the way she crosses her arms. He chuckles. And it's probably the one thing neither of them are expecting. But once it starts, he can't stop it.

"You think this is funny?" Apparently she doesn't. He tries to shake his head, sober up but she's staring as if he's lost his mind and his chuckle becomes full blown laughter.

She's gaping at him, clearly not as amused and she's so serious about it that he tries to explain. It takes a few attempts before he gets it all out.

"I'm sorry. I am but you look so serious and I can't even remember why we're arguing." He leaves out the part about how sexy she is standing there in his rumpled shirt with her skin flushed. He's a man but he isn't that stupid.

"Castle, this isn't funny. I'm pissed off."

"Well so am I." And he is but he's still chuckling. "But we're practically naked in the kitchen, Kate and I know you're mad and I'm mad but why?"

"Because you..." Her eyes widen, her mouth snaps closed as if she's shocked and he knows. She bites her lip, glares at him and he knows she can't answer. She doesn't remember what started it either. Something small that got blown out of proportion.

Her head shakes as her gaze drops to her feet, her mouth tilts and then her soft laugh reaches his ears.

"God, Castle we can't even remember why we're arguing."

"Because it isn't important." All the lingering anger he's feeling disappears when she looks up at him. It's all there. The truth of that statement hitting them both in the chest.

He reaches first, extending his hand out towards her. A peace offering that she stares at for a good five seconds before she unfolds her arms and gently slips her fingers over his palm.

"Are we calling a truce?" She doesn't sound as upset, she's almost playful.

"If I had a white flag, I'd wave it." He smiles, hoping to get one in return. He doesn't.

Instead she's stepping closer, her free hand slipping between them. Two of her fingers dancing low on his abdomen, running back and forth over his waistband.

"Well these are gray, close enough right?" Her eyes lift and they're just as wild. But it's not anger in her touch.

"In the kitchen, Detective?"

"We have the place to ourselves."

"And we did just have an argument."

"Mm. We did. In fact, I'm still a little mad." She probably is and just for that he wraps his arm around her waist, pulls her against him with more force than he intended.

She stumbles into his chest, her cheeks are flushed and her breath is warm against his neck. He could kiss her, easily. Her mouth calls to him, her tongue teasing him when he catches the quick flick of it over her bottom lip. But he resists.

He could unbutton the red shirt of his that she's wrapped in. He could pull her down on the kitchen floor or hoist her up on the counter. And maybe he will later. But he doesn't. Not right now.

He hugs her. Stuns her into silence with it and he feels her hesitate before her hands rest warmly on his back and her cheek finds refuge against his chest. Her body fits his. In every way. She's his match and he loves her. Even when she's fighting mad and glaring straight at him.

"I'm sorry." He whispers it against her hair, kissing her head when she sighs.

"I'm sorry too." There's a second of silence. It's just them holding each other and he wonders how long they can stay like this.

He doesn't get to find out because she's pulling back, lifting up on her toes to kiss him. It's a soft press of her warm lips, a sharp nip of her teeth and he's the one that pulls away. He's the one that rests his forehead against hers.

"You drive me absolutely crazy but I love you." He'll never be able to explain the feeling she causes in his chest. How it sweeps over his entire body, gets down in his muscles, sinks into his bones or how she's managed to ninja his brain to the point of being completely consumed by her.

"Right back at ya, Castle. Now about this makeup sex..."

"It was a twenty minute argument, Beckett." He's not protesting sex. He isn't. He would never. Not when she's looking at him like that. And she knows he has a weakness for her in his shirts. He's merely pointing out a fact.

"Well if you'd like we can yell some more, I'll storm out for about an hour and then come back."

"Not happening when I know for a fact that you have nothing on under that shirt." No one gets to see her like this.

It's not just a possessive male thing, it's the truth. She's not this open with anyone. He breathes for it. Loves when they have a day just to be themselves with no outside world intervening.

She's out of his arms before he can tug her back, her gaze locked on his and a bare shoulder taunting him before the entire shirt falls to the floor.

Just minutes ago she was standing there with anger fueling every move, every word and now she's bare and swinging her hips to tease. He will never understand Katherine Houghton Beckett. But he looks forward to spending the rest of his life trying.