All the usual disclaimers apply: I don't own Castle, never will, and certainly have no chance of ever profiting from it.
Mistletoe
For the first time since he was ten, he avoids it. She does the same. They mingle with the other guests, but they remain acutely aware of each other. He takes a hesitant step toward the sprig, and she mirrors him. Then she backs away slightly, and he follows suit.
They dance around each other until either the moment or the spiked eggnog finally gets the better of them. When they come together, the kiss tastes like dark chocolate: sweet and intense, but with a bitter undercurrent—the certain knowledge that, come tomorrow, they'll both pretend it didn't mean anything.