A/N: Absolutely no clue where this came from. I hope, though, that it is of your liking.

Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, though they have found their own way into my heart.

It doesn't feel like any other morning. And maybe that's because it isn't. She's not even sure it's still morning —the light's intensity has the characteristic brightness of a noon sun. But there is something vaguely familiar about it, like she's been through this once before, a long, long time ago. Yeah, it definitely feels like that other single time.

It's certainly contradictory. She's in a state of dormant serenity, still trying to push past the heavy effects of the slumber fogging her senses, waking very slowly. And yet, she is very conscious of every part of her body and its reactions to the first thoughts swimming to the front of her brain. The vivid memories from the hours prior to falling asleep are quickly flooding her mind, sending a tingly current of bliss through her body. It has been everything she'd expected and more. Words like incredible, amazing or wonderful don't even start to describe the night she's had.

They aren't in the loft. Nor are they in her apartment, or the master bedroom of Castle's villa in The Hamptons. They're in some ridiculously gigantic suite, in some remote nook lost in paradise.

She doesn't have to open her eyes to know that the blinding sun rays are pouring into the room, filtering through the thin, sheer curtains. The penetrating light makes her eyelids shine from the inside with shades of white and bright red. The warm breeze seeping in through the slightly open balcony door gets caught in the curtains, making them float and brush against each other silently. The shadows and subtle light changes they produce move in front of Kate's eyes and cast against the thin skin of her lids. Abstract, undefined shapes dance in constant change and flow.

The next thing she notices is the complete silence. The only sound she hears over the absolute tranquility is Castle's deep breathing right behind her. If she made the effort to strain her ear, she would also make out the whistling of the soft breeze, the squeaking of a group of passing seagulls, and the distant wash of tiny waves rolling on the sand.

She's lying on her right side, the thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets covering her up to her waist. Her bones seem to have turned to jelly. Her body feels extremely relaxed. So relaxed she believes it would take all her strength to move. Her limbs are very heavy, the way they feel when you are waking up from a very deep, long and restful sleep, in that precise moment right before you open your eyes, when you can feel —almost literally— the force of gravity pulling you to the ground, or in this case, sinking her into the too comfortable mattress of the too comfortable bed.

She's completely naked, and so is Castle. Their bodies are pressed flush together. All of her curves are perfectly fitted into every line of him. He's hugging her tightly with both his arms. The left one is wrapped around her waist; the right one has found its way under her neck, is bent at the elbow, and draped over her chest. She's pretty sure they must have been sleeping in that position for quite a long time. Where their skin touches —which happens to be almost her entire back side against his entire front— is kind of glued together, the thinnest of sweat sheets acting as the bonding agent. Castle's face is buried in her hair and every five seconds his warm breathing blows softly across her shoulder blade.

Sluggishly, she extends her left arm, rising up her hand in the air. Her nails are perfectly French manicured, but what captures her rapt attention, what makes her heart beat faster and a smile of amazement spread on her lips, is a thin and elegant line that wraps around one of her fingers. Kate studies her new accessory from different angles, turning her hand to one side and the other. The white gold catches the daylight and refracts it into tiny twinkling sparkles. Indifferent to its size, that small object carries —unmistakably, and impossible to ignore or forget— the weight of a new purpose, delivering a new meaning to her life.

A slight change in Castle's breathing briefly diverts her attention away from the ring. Beckett feels a small movement behind her and, suddenly, Castle's hand is creeping up her arm in a slow, smooth move. When his palm reaches the back of her hand, his fingers curl around the spaces between her splayed digits, and their hands intertwine. Their matching wedding bands glisten —side by side— down at them.

When the muscles of her arm start to burn from the effort of keeping it raised up, she lowers it, pulling Castle's arm down with hers, and not letting go of his hand. Castle's mouth brushes a kiss on her shoulder and she molds herself impossibly closer to him. They don't speak; she doesn't need words right now. The moment of silence itself has a voice of its own. It's just perfect like this, wrapped in the sanctuary of his arms. She feels like they're in their own time bubble, isolated from everything outside the love temple they've created within the walls of the room. But after a while, Kate starts to wonder if Castle's fallen asleep again.

As she twists and rolls to face him, she literally feels she's tearing herself loose from him —their glued skin stretches and splits apart as the dried layer of sweat between them dissolves. And then their gazes meet for the first time. Traces of sleep are still visible in Castle's face. His cheeks have a pinky flush to them, and the skin around his eyes is a bit puffed. But the blue in them is so intense Kate believes she could get lost in the depths of those two vast oceans staring back at her. She suspects the awe and happiness written in his face is mirrored in hers as well.

Beckett runs her fingers through Castle's hair, smoothing down the ruffled locks, and his eyes close in response to her gentle touch.

"Hi," she whispers, finally breaking the silence. Her voice croaks a bit, both from the long hours of disuse and her dry throat.

"Good morning…" Castle's grin broadens into a big smile as his fingers tug her hand up to his lips. He drops a tender kiss on her knuckles and adds, "…Mrs. Castle."

And that does it. Kate feels a million butterflies flap their wings inside her, tickling the walls of her stomach. Her lips split into a silly, shy smile, because seriously, those two words shouldn't have this effect on her, making her feel like a teenager, completely and madly in love, turning her into a puddle of love, totally helpless against the invasion of feelings —burning, affectionate, thrilling, passionate, exciting…— all swirling in her heart and being pumped at a frenetic rhythm, spreading through her veins and taking over each and every single corner of her body.

She hides herself into the pillow, her hair falling over the side of her face like a curtain, and obscuring the slight blush on her cheeks. Castle tucks a few strands behind her ear and chuckles softly.

"Kate…" he calls. She spies up at him from the corner of her right eye and finds him very close to her, an expression of amusement painted on his face. "What?" he chortles again.

Turning her head back to him, Kate nibbles at her lip and flutters her eyelashes, trying to decide whether or not to verbalize her thoughts out loud. "Say it again," she murmurs, her tone both timid and flirty.

"What… Mrs. Castle?"

She gives him a short nod. "Yeah…"

"It does have a lovely ring to it, doesn't it? Mrs. Castle…"

And there is the idiotic smile again. And the twirling of feathers inside her belly. God, the things this man can do to her.

"I like it," Kate confesses. She isn't actually going to change her name. She wants to remain Detective Beckett, and so does he. But it doesn't change the fact that she is —and will be from now on— Mrs. Richard Castle.

Kate leans forward with the intent of giving him a small peck on the lips, but Castle has another idea. His arms pull her impossibly closer, his left leg slides over both of hers, and then he kisses her lazily for a full minute. It reminds her a little too much of how their private celebration started the night before. The fire in her she thought had burned and been consumed to cinders revives back from its ashes.

When they part, too soon for her liking, she can't help but let out a big sigh of satisfaction. Castle's hand reaches up to her and his fingers start tracing the contours of her face. With a feather-like touch, his fingers caress the arch of her brows, the curve of her nose, the swell of her lips, the line of her jaw…

"You have never looked more beautiful," he murmurs.

She presses her forehead to his and breathes him in. And then a curious thought suddenly springs in her mind. "How did we end up lying upside down on the bed?"

Castle pulls back to look at her face full-on. "You're telling me you don't remember last night?"

"Oh, no. I do. I clearly remember every single second of it."

"Oh, good."

And then there is silence again.

Since she woke up, time seems to have slowed down —the seconds stretching into minutes, the minutes into hours—, almost coming to a complete halt. She just doesn't wanna move. She doesn't want to think. She just wants to be. If only she were able to…

"So…" he starts, snapping her away from her thoughts, "what would you like to do on your first day as a married woman?"

"Nothing," she answers in an exhale.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing outside these walls, anyway." She just wants to freeze this moment.

"So, just to be sure I'm getting this right. Cause' you see, I'm still a bit drugged with sleep. If I interpret your subtext correctly, you're saying you wanna stay in all day long, doing nothing."

She smiles at his play of words. "That is a pretty accurate translation. Yes."

"And… just out of curiosity. You rather it was more a lazy or active day of doing nothing?"

"Maybe a little bit of both." Just as she says the words, she feels something, and peeks under the sheets to confirm her suspicions. "Oh—, wow…" Clearly, some parts of his body have no problem waking up. She arches her brows at him in an incredulous yet amused way. "He-llo."

He shrugs, smirking. "You have that effect on me." As if that explains it.

"I didn't do anything."

He draws closer to whisper to her. "And yet, Mrs. Castle, you do everything to me."

And then, it's all about doing nothing —replaying last night all over again.

Thanks ;)