Prompt: Pre-caskett - drunk sex.
He hadn't wanted to go home.
She had offered to drive him, but halfway to his loft, he had abruptly changed his mind, asked if they could go somewhere else. She hadn't blinked, hadn't tried to talk him out of it, only changed lanes and turned onto a street that would take them to the opposite side of town instead.
He doesn't question her when she stops at a liquor store, telling him to stay in the car, a frown creasing her lips when he actually listens. She returns with a bagged bottle in her hand that she places in his lap, but despite his curiosity, he doesn't open the brown bag. That seems to worry her even more.
He arches his brow at her when they end up at her apartment.
"Sorry, it's kind of a mess," she murmurs on the way up, but he waves her off, holding the bottle of unrevealed liquor for her while she unlocks the door.
"Nice," he compliments with a grin as he surveys the one bedroom sublet.
"Cramped," she corrects with a smirk, shutting the door behind him, locking it, he notices with a ripple of uncertainty. "And hopefully temporary."
She has a boyfriend, he reminds himself, and he has Gina. Not that he thinks her intentions are anything but pure. She's locking the door as a precaution, she's having him over for a drink, to cheer him up after the hardest case of his last three years of working with her. Nothing more.
"So," he drawls while she unveils the bottle of whiskey from the brown paper bag in the tiny kitchen area. "Are we drowning our sorrows tonight, Detective?"
She hums, unscrewing the cap of the bottle and finding two decent sized glasses in one of the cabinets. "Something like that. Sit."
Castle doesn't argue, plopping down on the couch that consumes her living room space. He can see her bed across the room in a corner with a nightstand beside it, can see most of her possessions still packed up in boxes that scatter the room. Her entire home has been packed into a single room, only a hint of her tastes and style enhancing the mostly bare space.
"Where's Josh?" he asks, blurts, clasping his hands tightly between his knees when he practically feels her tense behind him.
"Away," she replies, coming around the couch, placing the two glasses on the coffee table in front of the sofa. "Saving the world probably. But he doesn't come here often, too small for his taste."
"But you're here," he points out before he can think better of it, glancing up to see her pause above him.
She shrugs it off though, takes a graceful seat next to him, close enough to be friendly, but far enough away to be safe.
"Where's Gina tonight?" she counters, crossing her legs and leaning back against the arm of the couch, watching him with hooded eyes and he reaches for the whiskey in front of him, takes the entire glass in one drink.
He winces at the burn gliding down his throat, but it's nice, welcome, better than the numbness, than the torment of letting Tyson go, better than the feeling of knowing he's responsible for the next slew of lives the man decides to take.
"In LA," he answers, pouring another serving of the rich amber liquid while she still nurses her first glass. "Working with one of her other authors. She'll be back next week."
"That's good," Kate offers around the rim of her glass, tipping the drink up and allowing the liquid to slither down the pale column of her throat.
He forces his eyes to remain in his lap.
"What about Alexis?"
"At home, asleep probably. She has an important test in the morning, so she probably wants a good night's rest."
"Will you tell her?" Kate questions quietly, refilling her glass and slipping her boots off. "About tonight?"
He sighs. "Probably," he admits, because he always ends up giving Alexis the details of almost every case he works. "I tell her too much."
"At least you're honest with her, at least she knows the truth," Kate says as he finishes his second glass, biting her lip when he goes for another. He doesn't usually do this, drown out his misery with alcohol, definitely doesn't do this kind of thing with Beckett, it's too dangerous, but tonight… tonight he doesn't want to stop yet. "I don't think she likes to be in the dark."
He chuckles at that. "No, my little control freak."
That earns a small laugh from her as well and she scoots just a fraction closer. Her phone buzzes then and she retrieves the device from her jeans, read over the words filling her screen with squinting eyes.
"It's Espo, Ryan's safe and sound at home with Jenny," she shares with a breath of relief and he revels in her gratitude. He knows Ryan feels his anguish, maybe more so considering he's the actual cop of the two of them, but at least Ryan was able to miss Tyson's speech. The words still echoing in Castle's head-
"Hey, you with me?"
His vision lags just slightly as it flickers towards her. Concern bores from her eyes and the hand that seemed to be reaching for him drops to the cushion between them.
At least Ryan is home, safe with the woman he loves.
"With you," he murmurs, taking another swig of the whiskey.
"Do you have any limes, we could reenact a certain scene from your favorite book-"
She nearly misses as she tilts forward to smack his shoulder, almost spilling the last of her drink in his lap. He's never seen Kate drunk before and he doesn't think she's too drunk now, but then again, he can barely see straight, so he wouldn't exactly be able to tell.
"Keep dreaming," she scoffs, slamming her glass down a little too hard on the wooden table.
"Every night," he quips, mimicking her before dropping back against the couch, watching in amusement as her eyebrows quirk at the remark.
"Oh, really?"
"'Course, Beckett. But not tonight. Nightmares instead of fantasies," he sighs, realizing too late what he's said and hoping that the alcohol running in her veins will cause her to miss his words.
But the frown that claims her lips proves she's still sober enough to comprehend what he's saying and he watches as she pulls her knees up on the couch, drawing them to her chest while she turns on her side to stare at him.
"Because of Tyson?"
He doesn't answer and sits up instead, reaching once again for the whiskey, but her hand on his arm stops him.
"It's not your fault."
"I let him get away."
"No," she protests, using her grip on his arm to heave herself up. "There was nothing you could do. And this isn't your job, Castle. It's mine. If anyone is at fault here-"
"Don't," he warns, miscalculating her balance when he attempts to tug his arm from her grasp, bringing her toppling against his side.
She huffs, her forehead falling to a rest against his shoulder.
"You probably regret it now," she murmurs, lifting her head and offering him a sad attempt at a smile while he tilts his head in confusion. "Shadowing me."
"Do you regret it?" he questions, wondering in the back of his mind how his hand ended up splayed across the small of her back.
"Right now I do," she whispers, her eyes dimming. "After what happened tonight, I do."
He's not thinking as he pulls her closer, not thinking as he drifts close enough to smell the whiskey on her breath. "I don't."
One of her hands rises to his face, fingers trickling down his cheek.
"You should. I thought - you were almost gone. It's too easy to lose people Castle. I don't - not you too, okay?"
He's not thinking of the consequences when he kisses her, neither is she.
The sorrow that had consumed her face only moments ago slowly fades, giving way to urgency as she rises to her knees, cradling his jaw in her palms while her lips work over his, tracing his mouth with her tongue, settling her body in his lap.
He tears away from her when she sucks his upper lip into the warm cavern of her mouth and rolls her hips against his.
"Kate-"
"No," she moans, her fingers splaying over the sides of his neck, his ears, holding him still. "Don't. Just - let me."
He groans when her lips descend upon his once more, hot and wet and open, her tongue pushing past his lips, exploring his mouth with fervor. He doesn't fight her when she grinds in his lap, doesn't try to stop his body from responding to her, jerking her closer, slipping his hands beneath her sweater, swallowing the gasp she emits at the touch of his fingers pressing into her bare skin.
He can taste the whiskey on her tongue, a hint of coffee beneath the overwhelming alcohol, and a burst of flavor that he thinks must be uniquely hers that has him lifting her up from the couch, carrying her to the bed only a few steps away with her legs coiled tightly around his waist.
It's a sloppy and uncoordinated effort, but they make it to her mattress eventually, his body falling atop hers. Her hands scramble at his belt, her fingers brushing purposefully over his erection, and he shoves her turtleneck up the line of her body in retaliation, smearing open mouthed kisses over her stomach, her ribs, up to her breasts.
She mewls, tugging the turtleneck over her head and unhooking her bra for him, her spine arches when he takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and swirling, evoking a high pitched whine from her throat as she buries her hand in his hair. She jerks him away from her chest, bringing his mouth back to hers once more while he tries to concentrate on dragging her unzipped pants down her endless legs.
He doesn't comprehend the sound of buttons scattering across the wood of her floors until after his shirt is being shoved from his shoulders and her mouth is leaving his to nip at his collarbones.
"Oh god, Rick," she gasps when he finally slips a hand between her legs, tracing his fingers over her clit and trailing them through the wetness of her folds.
It gives him sick satisfaction to know she's aware of who's in her bed despite her intoxication, that she's still calling his name and drenching his fingers with her arousal. That she wants him. He tries not to think about how wrong it is, about the fact that what they're doing could potentially hurt two innocent people and ruin the already tentative relationship between themselves that they just only repaired a couple of months ago.
Castle sucks hard on her pulse point, lets her push his boxers down his hips with her toes and tries not to think at all.
Her heels dig into the backs of his thighs when he hesitates at her entrance, hovering above her on his elbows, brushing her hair from her face with unsteady fingers. He doesn't have to ask to know what this is, to know they're both drunk and she won't want to remember this in the morning, but she doesn't rush him. Her fingers splay at his side, over his expanding ribs, while the other trails between them, closing around his throbbing length, guiding him inside.
Her muscles stretch and clench around him, gripping him hard, and he has to drop his head to the juncture between her neck and her shoulder to refrain from drawing back and driving back into her too fast, too soon, because he can already tell this won't last long. They're both too close, too far gone.
Her hips rock beneath him and they both gasp, her legs wrapping high around his waist, and he steals the fingers digging into his side, pins the hand above her head and locks their fingers as he pulls almost all the way out of her and glides back in.
Her unrestrained hand mars his skin, nails scoring his back, the sizzle of pain adding to the pleasure, encouraging his pace, quickening their rhythm.
She comes with a harsh cry of his name, her voice nearly breaking apart with her as she sobs against his shoulder. It doesn't take him long to follow, only a few sharp thrusts before he spills inside her, breathless and seeing stars.
He knows he must be crushing her when his body collapses against hers for a brief moment, but Kate still manages to turn her lips to his cheek, staining kisses against his jaw.
When he eases off of her and settles at her side, her eyes are growing hazy, drunk and sated, drifting away, and he can feel himself following her to sleep too, but he draws her against him before she can go, maneuvers his arms around her sweat dampened body and plasters her to his side.
He never thought she would be a snuggler, but she curls into him, twines her limbs around his until they're a tangled mess in her sheets.
"M'sorry for this," she slurs against the hollow of his throat.
Some part of him is sorry too, sorry that he already knows how this ends, sorry they don't get to have the morning after he's always imagined for them, sorry for the timing they can never seem to get right. He's sorry, but he can't regret it.
"Don't be sorry," he mumbles into her hair, inhaling the comforting scent of cherries and closing his eyes. "I'm not sorry."
She hums, a pleasant vibration into his skin. He thinks she's gone to sleep, her breathing a steady lullaby that lulls him closer to his own slumber, but then her whisper fills the silence.
"Me neither."