A collection of one shots written for the Kink of the Castle 2015 summer meme. Prompts will be at the end. As always, thank you for reading.

It's her own fault for coming here, in that stupid dress that she hates but knows does all kinds of amazing things to her legs. Her own fault for coming here to him in that dress and nothing else and letting him flirt with her, again, letting him drive her crazy, again.

Nikki Heat? Really?

It's as stupid and inane as the man himself, the man who is groping her breasts and touching her skin and breathing hot, heavy breath at the base of her skull as if he can't believe what's actually happening.

She can't either but, fuck it, fuck it all, it feels fantastic.

He's got that dress up around her waist and his fingers working frantically between her legs when she realizes she's staring at a fucking cardboard cutout of the man's face as he pries himself out of his pants and starts sliding against her wetness. Wetness that just gives her away entirely.

His damn face and his cocky chuckle on the back of her neck as he works himself up against her lips, stroking back and forth so assuredly that she wants to beg him to just fucking take her, and turn around and shoot him, all at the same time.

He aggravates the fuck out of her and right now he has the opportunity to aggravate the fuck into her as well only he's dithering. Toying around with her reactions, learning things he has no right to be learning when this is a - no shadow of a doubt, a one time, fucked up against the wall at her favourite authors book signing - colossal mistake of a thing that they will never, ever be speaking of again.

Except he is, he is speaking, crooning little sounds to the back of her neck, talking about how much he loves her hair being short because he can kiss her skin. And he does, he kisses and licks and bites and strokes and fuck, fuck-

"Fuck."

- sucks on her pulse point so she can feel it thud all the way down to her clit. And he knows too, somehow - fuck him and his damn observations - knows enough that when he sucks the next time, so much strength in his tongue and teeth behind it that she almost comes there and then. He knows to roll that burning little bud back and forth between his thumb and forefinger and pinch it hard enough that it stays just the right side of pleasure and tiptoes enough into pain that she cries out his name.

"Fuck, Castle, do that again."

It's a demand, so much threat of violence that she may as well be aiming a taser at his testicles, but he just laughs, damn right chuckles at the base of her neck and strokes her again.

"I knew you liked me."

She doesn't like him, nope, fuck no, not one little bit. She hates him in fact. Hates his meddling and his interference in her life that somehow has her looking forward to the next ridiculous, childish thing he comes out with just so she can jump him for being moronic.

Jump on him, not jump him. Dammit, except she really fucking wants to jump him.

Maybe ride his face to shut him up.

Fuck, no, she does not like him. She likes this, this slow tease of his cock against her warm wet skin, hunger a bitter bite that wants him to fuck her hard against the cardboard boxes that house copies of his novel, with his fucking smirking cardboard cutout right there watching every stroke and surge.

"I knew it," he hums, and she feels him, just the tip, seeking space as he maneuvers. Fuck it, she wants him inside, so she's helping. Against her better judgement and her own inner monologue of I hate you Richard Castle she's helping.

Lifting her thigh and bending her knee, rucking up her dress so he can grip her waist, and even reaching back to push his pants down his legs. She's helping him take her, helping herself get fucked, because even as she knows he'll crow about it, taunt her for it, she wants it.

This.

Him.

Now.

"You are so fucking sexy," he growls, dragging his nails up the backs of her thighs, squeezing her ass so she hisses. He parts her cheeks and toys with the wetness he finds, exciting himself and driving her to distraction.

"It's a sexy name." His voice is a hushed whisper of perversion that has her eyes slamming shut.

Does he have to fucking talk through everything he does?

Does she have to react like her skin's on fire from his voice alone?

"That's why I picked it," he spreads her open and she whimpers, "Nikki-" his finger slides inside her, "Heat. It's a sexy name because all-" he slides it back and forth and her head hits the crate in front of her "- I could think about was you. She's sexy because you are."

"Shut up." she growls and there's no weight behind it, none at all, because him shutting up, him stopping, him doing anything other than exactly what he's doing right now would ruin this for her.

"And intelligent, so fucking smart." He pulls his fingers out and grazes her with his cock, the smallest nudge that has her biting her lip so she doesn't -

"Fuck, yes, do it,"

- give herself away.

He laughs but it's not smarmy now, no smirk in his tone just happiness that she wants him. Happiness that he gets to have her.

He pushes inside and she can't help the moan that snakes its way free. It's been so fucking long and he feels so damn good. She can't help the way her fingers slide between them, up and under to feel him burning his way inside.

Thick and hard against her fingertips. Heavy and - oh, shit - pushing so deep that her knuckles white out in time with her vision.

It's too much fantasy to be real. Feels too fucking amazing to let the opportunity pass her by and she strokes his balls where they slap lackadaisically against her ass.

He grips her thigh and pushes the last little space between them away, sliding into her until her ass is cradled by his stomach and thighs, the hairs of his legs scratching at her own.

"You -" he grits out, and she can hear the nail bite control it's taking him - fuck does she want to make that slip - "You are - amazing."

He growls and his hands slip under her dress, one straight to the beating heart in her chest, stroking over it to her breast, finding her nipple. The other drops between her legs, works that little bud with focused attention even as he refuses to move.

Everything burns where they touch, inside and out, and she can't wriggle free, can't entice him to withdraw when he's buried so deep all she can do is feel. All she can taste, see and smell is him. Him and sex.

Fuck, fuck, why won't he move.

"You feel fucking amazing," he growls out his praises and pulls out only to thrust back inside, hard and fast, no warning, no preamble just fucking her like he knows exactly what she wants.

He does, somehow, and she hates him for it a little bit more.

"I can't believe -" he gasps, "- you came."

She snorts, not yet, and he laughs, delighted she's taken it dirtily, delighted she's said it outloud when she didn't mean to.

"You will, oh, Kate Beckett, you will." He promises and kisses her neck and rolls his hips so she's seeing stars.

"Why are you naked under this dress, Beckett?" He demands and he tweaks her nipple, flicks at her clit and pushes inside so she's nothing but burning sensation and no ability to hold back her answer.

"Wanted - oh, god - wanted to tease you, an- oh, annoy you like you annoy me." She meets his thrust so he grunts and fuck, if that's not the hottest thing she's ever heard she doesn't know what is. "Wanted to pester you at work, and rile you up."

"Fuck, it's working." He swears, curses her name when she squeezes her muscles around him and his cock just seems to pulsate and thicken, slide deeper and fill her until she's panting and as desperate as he is.

His fingers rub her frantically, his own orgasm licking at their heels, and it pushes her fast into a freefall, her knees shaking as she comes around him. Hard, tight muscles bucking and squeezing so that he croaks her name in shock, cries something akin to mercy when her unrelenting tidal wave of bliss drags him right along with her.

Oblivion blackening her vision, she cries out to the feel of him coming inside her.

"I like this dress," he mutters fondly, tugging it down the backs of her legs a little while later.

"I don't," she confesses, catching her hand and stopping herself from brushing the hair back from his eyes. She meets his gaze unashamedly, "I hate it."

"And me?" He wonders, sated blue eyes lazy as they roam her face.

She shrugs, looks up at him from under her lashes, "A little less than before."

"Orgasms help with that." He throws out, stepping in until her back is against the crates and cardboard Castle is smiling at her knowingly.

"Is that right?" She fights her own grin as he takes her hand, takes her lips too.

"Come home with me and I'll prove it."

"Change the name?" She has to try, he laughs into her kiss and she likes it.

"Never."

"It was worth a shot." She pushes on his shoulders but instead of moving he sinks into her and kisses her slowly, like she's a luxurious treat he can't get enough of.

Making her heart beat fast when he agrees, "As are you, detective."

Prompt : Castle/Beckett

Set in 1x04 Hell Hath No Fury

Final scene continuation. Beckett chases him around the bookstore until they stumble into a back room. She corners him and jumps him. When he discovers the only clothing she has on is the dress it drives him wild. He takes her up against the wall or bent over a table.