Thanks to the lovely Sandiane Carter for editing this one!

Chapter 37: 3x10, Last Call

You were so cute back then.

It's bad enough when she puts on lip gloss. Yeah. He likes that. He wonders if it's flavored.

And then she shakes out her hair.

Oh.

Shit.

It tumbles over her shoulders, thick and wavy and glossy, and he has to clench his fists to keep himself from reaching for it, running his hands through its soft waves, tugging her closer, pressing his mouth to hers as they slide into the backseat of her car and -

Stop, Rick.

He pulls himself together. Too much. "Undercover. I like it." And he can't resist. "Might want to pop one more button, just in case." It's such a wonderful fantasy, and he can't help but -

She does.

And everything he's ever liked about naughty librarians and naughty schoolteachers pales beside this sexy, sexy detective eyeing him with this smoldering look, something between amusement and defiance and maybe even I dare you, and just. Wow. Black lace. She's wearing black lace and he can see it.

She stalks down the stairs with her hair and her lips and her lacy underwear, a perfect storm of smirking, disdainful sex appeal, leaving him to blink and suck in oxygen and hurry after her.

Beckett points out the urn, in its little niche, and yeah, yeah, the case, blah blah. He's still trying to surreptitiously sneak glances down the front of her shirt.

His eyes stray to...

...lime wedges.

Oh.

Yeah.

Beckett doesn't get it, doesn't understand what's caught his attention. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

It's the safest answer, because the true one leads him straight back to Nikki Heat, the sexy cop who is sleeping with her partner. Limes have taken on a whole new meaning for him since page 105, and he doesn't feel comfortable confessing aloud the things he did the night he wrote that tequila scene. Not at all. That night - he - well. He had trouble meeting her eyes the next morning.

"Welcome to the Old Haunt, folks."

Castle absolutely does not like the bartender. Stupid Brian. No guy has the right to be this young and fresh-faced and fit and look at Beckett like that, especially not when she's leaning forward and playing with her hair and that cannot possibly be accidental. It's not okay and why is she flirting -

Beckett introduces herself all girlish and giggly and hot and then grudgingly adds this is Rick, like she doesn't want him here, and he is so deeply not okay with any of this. He takes the opportunity to shake Brian's hand a little too firmly and then shift closer to her, his chest coming up against her back as his hands settle on her hips and oh this is so good. He feels her start slightly at the contact, her breath catching oh-so-quickly, but she doesn't pull away so he gets bolder, letting his fingers slip just under the hem of her shirt and trace light circles in the skin above her hip. Her skin is so smooth, so silky and warm under his hands, and he has to tell himself not to press against her more fully because it's definitely not allowed but he really almost doesn't care because she feels so good against him.

But her charms are all directed Brian. "- you don't by any chance carry a liqueur - " she pulls a cherry out of the fruit tray and Castle actually catches his breath - "it's - really delicious and it comes in this red bottle..."

Her tongue swirls over the cherry and his blood pools way too quickly and shit Beckett, no, you can't do that in public -

Brian gets this grin on his face as her teeth tug the fruit off its stem in a move that is indecently sexual, and no, no no no that's not okay. Castle clears his throat. "Oh, yeah, that, uh - that bottle we shared at that little cantina down in Tierra del Fuego. That time you couldn't keep your dress on."

Brian lets out a little choking laugh that says I'd like to see that, but Castle's already lost in the flash of overly-vivid images (the cabana on a deserted beach, flickering candles, the slinky black dress crumpled on the floor, the red bottle knocked carelessly to the floor as they stumble into bed) and wow that got way too real, way too fast.

She turns her head, probably to glare at him, but he can't stop his hand from sliding over her hip, drawing a silent gasp from her lips. Her eyes flick up at him, dark, heavy, teasing, and that's it. He can't stop himself. He doesn't think. He leans in and captures her mouth.

She arches into him immediately, the tentative kiss deepening so fast his head spins. Her mouth opens under his and he slips his tongue over her lips, teasing, light. And his good intentions are gone in a moment because he can taste the cherry, sweet and sharp, and the richness of coffee and it's all her. She kisses him back, hot, eager, her tongue tangling with his, wet and challenging and feral and she makes this sexy little noise in the back of her throat and oh shit Kate -

An awkward cough interrupts them, and Castle looks up to find Brian blushing furiously, rubbing his neck. "Uh. I, uh. Didn't find a red bottle."

Castle's still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he just kissed her and she let him and from the lip gloss to the unbuttoning to her tongue he's thoroughly convinced that these past five minutes have been nothing but a feverish Nikki Heat-style hallucination.

Except -

He can still taste her.

The sweet tang of Beckett is overwhelming his senses and he doesn't know how he's ever going to taste cherries again without having to excuse himself.

Brian's asking about vodka but Beckett's dropping the act. She holds up her badge and Castle should really do something, he should, but honestly he's lost. Because he can still taste her mouth, still feel her skin under his hands, and somehow the way she holds up her shield makes her even hotter, which shouldn't be possible, given when her tongue just did to that cherry.

After a quick interview with Brian, who's finally figured out that Beckett is absolutely not going to put her tongue on anything other than that cherry (and Castle), a quick trip into the coolest basement office ever, and a brief talk with a waitress, they leave the Old Haunt. Beckett whips out her phone as she walks briskly to the car, telling Ryan and Esposito to pick up a suspect. Her voice is clipped, that quick, strong tone she uses when she's working. Not the voice she used at the bar. That was her bedroom voice. At least, Castle thinks that's probably her bedroom voice, all soft and musical and a little breathless, like she's half a second away from a breathy giggle. It's the kind of voice that belongs with candlelight, with a hot bath and scented oils and her hands flexing weakly on the rim of the tub as he traces his tongue -

"Castle!"

"What? What?" He blinks and looks up to find her glaring at him. Oh. He was staring, wasn't he?

"Get in the car." She glares at him and he fumbles for the car door, sliding into his seat, pulling on his seatbelt and taking a deep breath because he can still taste her mouth and he doesn't think he's ever going to brush his teeth again if it means he can keep her flavor on his tongue.

But they can't talk about it. Not really. Because they both have reasons this shouldn't have happened, big, messy, personal reasons that are human and breathing and all too real.

"Castle." She grits her teeth. Does not make eye contact. "Wipe your mouth."

He rubs his fingers over his lips. Oh. That's where her lip gloss went.

Castle wipes his mouth, stares at the soft shine on his fingers.

He's going to write tonight.

He's going to write a sex scene tonight.