Was it possible for all the air in your lungs to disappear without permission? Because that totally just happened.

Castle's jaw dropped, eyes widened, as the door swung open to reveal Beckett, draped in a slinky dress that clung to her in all the right places and made her legs appear absolutely miles long. Every aspect of her was so entirely distracting; the soft curls of hair twisted back from her face, the smooth skin of her shoulder, the way her fingers tapped against her purse - was she nervous?

If she was, he knew the feeling.

His eyes mapped her face, until he got to her eyes - warm, warm eyes - oh. She was watching him watching her. Say something. Say something.

"You look beautiful tonight." he managed, and she laughed. The sound washed over him.

"Wow, you're really pulling out all the cliches, huh?" Beckett muttered, rolling her eyes but unable to fight the smile that softened her features. "Should we-"

"Of course." Castle held out his arm after a moment's hesitation (this was a date, after all) and she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow, her lovely long fingers resting against the soft fabric of his suit.

"I can't believe you agreed to do this."

"I can't believe I agreed to do this either, but I did, so here we are."

"Here we are." he echoed as the elevator jolted to a start. He was pretty sure he could feel her eyes on his face, lingering like mist in the morning, but he didn't test his theory by calling her out on it.

Something inside of him, the part that had been beaten down and kicked around by numerous beautiful women, expected her to let go of his arm, to back off, give them space, but she did nothing of the sort. Instead, Beckett's thumb traced circles against his elbow, the side of her body so close to his that he swore he could feel the phantom warmth of her.

Of course she didn't move away. She agreed to go on a date with you. A date. With you. She agreed to it.

Something about her was different tonight; maybe because this was exactly what it seemed like. It was a date. It wasn't an undercover operation where they couldn't even tell where the pretense ended and they began, it wasn't going out for dinner after a hard case and wondering exactly what was and wasn't acceptable to do.

It was just a date.

Well, not just a date. It was the date.

Castle had to wrestle with the urge to squeal - ah, the cons of having a teenage daughter- at the idea. The reality of oh my god, we're actually doing this.

"How are we getting there?" Beckett asked, her voice swimming through the thick silence they had created.

"Limo's outside."

"Fancy."

They made eye contact for the briefest of seconds. Her eyes narrowed, playful, smiling, one of her brows raising. Was she smirking at him? Yes. Yes, she was.

"Looking forward to seeing your fictional counterpart on the big screen?"

"Nikki Heat, the slutty cop who everybody at the premiere will know is based on me? Yes. Yes, of course I am, Castle." After a moment's hesitation, Castle lifted his free hand to her face, brushing a thumb over the corner of her mouth.

"Castle, what the hell are y-"

"Sorry, but you had a little bit of sarcasm on your mouth there.

"Very funny."

"There it is again."

"Shut up."

"Was that a genuine request or was it sarcastic?"

"Castle."

"Right."

Somewhere between him murmuring a, "ladies first" as they exited the elevator and the reassuring brush of his fingers over hers as she finally had to let go of his arm, the disbelief started to fade away and the reality sunk in.

I'm on a date with Castle.

By the time they were halfway there, her entire body was thrumming with it, her blood leaping, her pulse buzzing so close to the skin that she was absolutely sure she could hear her heartbeat in her ears.

Beckett couldn't stop her eyes from crawling sideways and resting on him. He looked - and she'd always had resignations about using this word with men, but his appearance truly called for it - gorgeous. Richard Castle was gorgeous. He was dressed classically, black suit, white shirt, black bow tie, and, God, he pulled off the look with ease.

She wanted to touch him, just to make sure he was real.

A skim of her fingertips over the line of his jaw, one press of the heel of her palm against his chest. That couldn't hurt, right?

Wrong. It would.

She laced her own fingers together, imprisoning them in case they decided to betray her like the little Nikki Heat voice inside her head wanted them to.

Other people had an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. She wished it was that simple. As far as her relationship with Castle went, she had a Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD voice who hissed don't you dare, kate, you're gonna get hurt, a Lanie voice who simply squealed every time he talked to her, and - although she would never admit this to anyone - there was a Nikki Heat voice, who tended to urge her to just jump his bones already at really innapropriate times.

Which, incidentally, it was whispering right now.

Beckett curled her toes inside her shoes.

She'd had no idea that being on a date with Castle - because ohmygodohmydod that was totally happening right now - would feel like this. The ever-present longing was still there (well, duh, hence why it was called 'ever-present longing') but there weren't any barriers. There wasn't the work barrier, or the his-family-are-present barrier, or even the Interrupting Detective Kevin Ryan barrier. There was nothing to stop her.

Damn, damn, damn. As long as she didn't drink anything even mildly alcoholic, she'd be fine... Kate could hold her alcohol well, better than most, and still behave fairly functionally, but, uh, some parts of her were a bit too eager to function, and that combined with her brain-mouth filter ceasing to work properly at all would not be a good thing around the ridiculously attractive man sitting next to her.

She ducked her head down a bit more, loose curls falling around her face, in an attempt to hide the rapidly spreading flush across her cheeks. Blushing was really not what she needed right now, but it had started happening a lot more around him.

All he had to do was say something suggestive, or just look at her in that way he did sometimes; look at her from under his eyelashes, and she'd blush.

A girlish blush really didn't go with the whole "badass cop" thing. Not at all.

Beckett pressed her lips together and watched the play of light over the fabric of her dress.

This was going to be interesting.