I know the pink dress tips towards yuck for a lot of people. But let's focus on the positive aspects here, people. Namely, the fact that it was like indecently short and Beckett's legs are like ten miles high and in those awesome shoes, she kicked ass. Yeah. That made it okay.

Thanks again to cartographical for creating what would be a much more accurate title for this little series: "Sucking Face Fic." Because yeah. That's basically all it is.

And yeah. I don't even know what happened here. Just – yeah.

Chapter 6: 1x04, Hell Hath No Fury

That was quite some reading. Very…moving.

He looks up and oh. Oh. Wow.

It's Kate Beckett, but she's wearing a dress that seems to have been made for someone a foot shorter than her because it's just so damn short and her legs. God. Her legs just don't stop, and he's never seen her wear a dress, and seriously, he knew she was pretty, but damn.

He can barely drag his eyes up to meet hers, but finally manages. And she's laughing at him. Laughing at him. Wearing a dress that barely covers –

Castle stumbles through the last line of the book, feeling considerably less badass than he did when he started. And he sort of hears the applause of the sniffling women in the audience, but he's only got eyes for the woman who's barely clapping, like she can't really be bothered.

He wants to bother her. He wants to bother her a lot.

Everything is fine until his mother lets slip the name 'Nikki Heat.' It doesn't even bother him that it's not yet been officially released and they're in public. The problem is that Beckett hasn't heard it. And from the look on her face as she pulls him aside…yeah, he pretty much expected this reaction.

"What kind of a name is Nikki Heat?"

"It's a cop name." A really sexy cop name.

"It's a stripper name."

He doesn't see what the problem is here. "Well, I told you she was kind of slutty."

That doesn't help, and she glares her fiercest (though the effectiveness is somewhat diminished by the shortness of that microscopic pink skirt) and orders him to change the name. He scoffs. Black Pawn loves the name and it's not going to change. Besides, the mayor's on his side. She's fresh out of luck.

After stalking after him in circles, she finally gets impatient and bats the cardboard cutout of himself out of his hands. He tries to walk away, but she grabs his elbow. "Oh, we are not finished here, Castle."

"You are really freakishly strong, you know that?" he mutters, unable to shake off her iron grasp as she drags him further back in the store, toward the door marked Employees Only. Huh. So much for Kate Beckett never breaking rules. Put a woman in a short skirt and she thinks she owns the place.

She pushes him in and shuts the door firmly behind them, folding her arms and resuming her (adorable) glare. "Castle. You cannot name a character based on a real person from the NYPD like she's a call girl. You need to at least respect the badge."

"You know I respect it, Detective. I wouldn't be writing this if I didn't." He gets another idea. "Ooooooh. Just think. Body Heat."

"Castle! Focus!" Her brow is getting more and more furrowed and he knows he should pay attention but he can't help that she's impossibly pretty right now and her legs are just impossibly perfect and he'd try to touch them if he didn't think it'd get him killed.

"Look, Beckett. Relax. The character's nothing to be ashamed of. What does it matter what her name is?"

"It matters! Everyone who reads it is going to think I slept my way to detective! Do you know how hard I have to work to earn respect in my job?"

"Probably harder than you'd have to if you weren't wearing a tiny little pink dress," he points out helpfully. "Seriously. Was it made that short, or did you just cut a foot off the bottom? I mean, I'm not complaining."

Her scowl darkens. "Quit staring at me."

"Please. Admit it. You like it when I stare at you."

"Oh, like hell, Castle."

"Then why'd you pick this dress?" he shoots back. He feels pretty sure about this point. "I just saw you at the precinct. Which means you rushed home, changed, and came straight here. When you could have just come here in work clothes. Which means you wanted me to see you in this little number. Which, by the way, is really, really working for me, if that's what you wanted to know."

Her cheeks are getting pink. He's got her cornered. "Castle. Change the name. You cannot make me into some kind of trashy literary hooker!"

"You know, you're really hot when you're angry."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not. You're angry. I'm just observing."

Kate grits her teeth. There is no way she is letting him create this slutty doppelganger of herself. This was not the deal. But short of shooting him, she doesn't know how to convince him to change it. And this dress is too short to hide her holster, so she's (unfortunately) unarmed.

Until she sees him steal another look at her legs, his face covered with completely undisguised lust. Really, Castle? All it takes is some leg? He's that puerile?

On the other hand, that's definitely something she can use.

Because most people don't realize that Kate Beckett can be bad.

Really, really bad.

And yeah. She'll play chicken.

"I'm not changing the name, Kate."

Her first name seems to make her pause. And then her eyes narrow. And he's pretty positive that means she's got an idea. And he's also pretty positive she might kill him.

"What if I found a way to persuade you?"

"You – what?" He ignores the semi-squeak in his voice, because right now Kate Beckett is eyeing him like a hawk eyeing a particularly delectable mouse and not that he has any objection (come on, she's hot) but he's slightly concerned she might actually be planning physical harm.

She smiles, that cat-like smile that floors him because Kate Beckett does not wear too-short dresses and does not wear shoes like this (they say you want me but you can't have me) and definitely doesn't look like she's about to – but she is. "Come on, Rick. I can be very, very persuasive."

She reaches for his collar, toying with it for a moment before sliding her hand down his chest, fingertips light against his skin, and he can't breathe and he's trying not to think a lot right now because so far all he's coming up with are four-letter words and her long, long legs and how they'd feel wrapped around his waist and a mental catalogue of all the places to hide in a bookstore with enough space to push her up against the wall. Not helping.

And there is no way she doesn't know what she's doing to him right now. She's all danger and sex appeal and bare skin and utter disdain and he doesn't think he's ever been so irrationally attracted to a woman this impossible to please in his whole entire life.

They're in the storage room, boxes of books and and supplies scattered around them. The bookstore managers shifted their furniture to accommodate the reading, so there are a few big armchairs back here which were replaced with folding chairs for his audience. Plenty of room to escape Unexpectedly Sexy Beckett, though.

She's coming towards him, and half of his brain is yelling just grab her and start groping but the other half is yelling she will shoot you in the face and what the hell do you think you are doing? and the first half pleads but she might not but the second half says get the hell away, this is a trap and she is going to pull your nose off your face and then shoot you in the face and you will be dead.

He takes a cautious step back, unconsciously looking around for a way to escape from this feral, catlike version of Beckett who is actually stalking him, because she seriously looks like she's planning to do things to him that might be sexy but will definitely be painful and he's not entirely sure what to do with that.

"Don't you want to hear me out, Rick?"

She reaches out, pokes one finger into his chest, and he stumbles back into a chair, falling into the cushions with an ungraceful oomf, and she's right there and her legs are so very, very naked right now and she's leaning over him and she smells so damn good and what the hell –

Without thinking, he grabs her hand, yanks her down into his lap, and crushes his mouth against hers.

Oh shit.

This was not the plan.

Her brain is no longer working.

Oh, this is not happening. There is no possible way this is happening, no way in hell she's letting him do this, no way she's climbing onto him and straddling him and ohhhhhh she did not just bite his ear. No. Not – but oh God, oh shit, she is all over him.

She rolls her lower body against his, slow, dirty, and he has to bite back a groan as he feels his groin starting to tighten and it is utterly not fair that she is straddling him while she's sucking on his tongue like this because he's never going to be able to look at her mouth again without dragging her into the nearest empty room and locking the door. His hands clutch the arms of the chair desperately, his knuckles white, forearms clenched. Because if he lets go, if he lets himself start touching her, they're not going anywhere and that dress is ending upon the floor and he really doesn't want to have to tell his publicist (and ex-wife) that he got kicked out of his own booksigning for having hot angry chair sex with a proud member of New York's finest because there's no way that conversation will go well.

He's thinking he's got himself under relative control, considering the circumstances.

And then Kate does something so downright sinful with her tongue that he can honestly feel the blood surging away from his brain.

His self-control vanishes and he grabs her, pulls her even closer, finally lets himself slide his hands over her legs (God, they never end) and her skin is just so soft and smooth and he wants to touch all of it and how is he ever supposed to work with her again, knowing how her naked skin feels under his hands? – and she's rocking against him just the right way so that his brainpower is fast disappearing and she's sucking on his neck and he doesn't care how badly it bruises because her tongue is on his skin and she's sliding a hand inside his shirt.

She bites at his ear, and Castle can't help himself; his hips jerk sharply, driving into hers at just the right angle to make them both groan as she throws her head back, panting, but he grabs her and pulls her back and kisses her again, taking control, forcing his tongue past her lips as she arches into him, and all he can think is oh God yes more –

She's rough, biting at his lip, all heat and anger and a shudder runs through his body and he's slowly inching this tiny skirt up her legs (there's not much further for it to go) and her thighs tighten around his waist and he is so far beyond turned on right now.

He's trying desperately to control his ragged breathing as she plants a row of hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses over his throat, the line of his jaw, her hands buried in his hair, and it takes him a second to realize she's slowing down, her kisses getting slower, teasing, drawn-out.

She places a delicate kiss at the corner of his mouth, just barely touching his lips, and he cannot move right now. Cannot move.

"Castle – " she murmurs, and he swallows, because her voice is low and throaty and hazy with desire and he really, really, really wants to hear this dark, husky bedroom voice of hers more often. Like every day. And every night.

He tries to speak. Fails. Probably because her mouth stops him. Not that he's complaining.

"Detective – " he manages.

He winces a moment later, because she bites his lip and it's more than a little vicious but he still kind of likes it. He really likes it. Kate Beckett can bite him any day she wants. Wearing anything she wants.

"I hate you," she growls, biting his jaw.

"I know."

He can't stop himself, letting out a soft noise as her hips shift against his, her pink lips soft and swollen from kissing him, her face flushed, her body pressed so intimately against him –

He finally clears his throat and manages to form a real sentence. With words and everything.

"I'm not changing the name," he whispers, his mouth brushing hers delicately.

She scowls, pushes him back against the chair, climbs off of him (no…) and leaves without another word.

The door bangs shut behind her, but Castle makes no move to follow. He slumps back into the chair, closes his eyes, groans. Shit.

He needs a few minutes.