Author's Note: I haven't been able to participate in this year's Castle Pornado as much as I have in the past, but I couldn't let it go by entirely. So here's a light little piece for your entertainment. I hope you like it. Happy pornado!

Rick Castle wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans as he walked down the hall. The door he approached was ajar, and the faint sound of computer keys clicking came from behind it, telling him that the office was occupied.

He shouldn't be doing this. He really shouldn't, and he knew it. What he was planning to do could get him expelled, or worse... and yet... he just couldn't stop thinking about her. It was driving him crazy. And Rick Castle wasn't the kind of guy who could just let something go.

Throwing back his shoulders, he put a little swagger in his step and lifted his hand to knock.

"Professor Beckett?"

The woman behind the desk looked up as he pushed the door farther open. She was wearing the same thing she'd had on in class earlier that day: a brown pencil skirt and a simple but elegant white blouse. Her hair was up in a tidy bun on top of her head, her long legs crossed tidily under the desk. God, she was hot.

A frown creased her forehead when she saw him in the doorway. "Mr. Castle," she said disapprovingly. "My office hours ended ten minutes ago."

"I know. I'm really sorry," Rick said, flashing his winningest smile. "I couldn't get here any sooner. But I really need to talk to you. Please?" he added sweetly, giving her the puppy-dog eyes that had gotten him out of many a jam over the years.

To his secret delight, it worked. "Fine," the professor sighed, pushing her keyboard aside. She gave a jerk of her chin, indicating the chair on the other side of her desk. Rick quickly came forward and sat down.

"I suppose this is about your grades," Professor Beckett continued, folding her hands on the desk and leveling a stern glare at him. Rick winced and nodded.

"Yeah, listen, I know I haven't exactly been consistent about attendance, and-"

"Two absences this semester," she interrupted, "and I've lost track of how many times you were late to class." Shuffling quickly through a pile of folders on her desk, she pulled one out, opened it, and glanced over the contents, shaking her head. "You haven't turned in most of the assignments. And your paper on the Russian Revolution was... uninspired."

Rick blinked, mouthing the words Russian Revolution to himself. His professor simply watched him, saying nothing, although there was a subtle twinkle in her eye.

"Uh, right," he said after a moment. "Not my best work, but the thing is, Professor-" He leaned forward, catching her eye, willing his gaze not to be distracted by the tantalizing curves at the low neckline of her blouse. "I really need to pass this class. Coach says if I fail anything this semester, I'm off the team."

He could have sworn he saw her lips twitch briefly, but she maintained her stern expression. "I see," she said coldly. "So, sports are more important to you than academics?"

"No, no, not at all," he denied quickly. "I'm very interested in you. I mean, your class," he corrected himself with a smirk. This time he did let his eyes drift downward, his gaze caressing that sliver of cleavage for a moment before he dragged his attention back up to her face. He was pleased to see a slight flush creeping up her neck and tinting her cheeks.

When he met her eyes again, they were still cool, closed off. But her tongue came out to wet her lips, slowly, more slowly than necessary, and Rick felt his own mouth going dry.

"So, you want to know how to salvage your grade in my class," Professor Beckett mused. Her voice had dropped half an octave, and the throaty rasp of it was doing things to Rick, making his skin feel tingly and hot with desire.

"Yeah," he managed, grasping for his game. "I'll do anything to pass this class, Professor. Anything you want at all." Following her lead, he let his own voice drop down into his throat for the last sentence, drawling it out low and rumbly. He saw her trying not to react, trying to stay cool - but the deepening flush on her cheeks and the quickening of her breath gave her away.

Rick decided it was time to take the leap. He stood up out of the chair, throwing his shoulders back again so that his tight t-shirt outlined the well-toned muscles of his chest and arms. He saw the professor watching avidly, still seated in her desk chair and looking up at him. He could swear he felt her gaze burning across his skin, lingering on his pecs and biceps.

"So, tell me, Professor," he said, walking slowly around to her side of the desk. "What is it you really want me to do?" He paused for a beat, and then added, "To pass your class?"

Staring up at him, she cleared her throat. "I, uh, I don't know what you think you're suggesting-"

"Sure you do," Rick interrupted, smirking again. He leaned down, placing his hands on the arms of the chair on either side of the professor, caging her in with his arms. He brought his face to within a foot of hers. "I think I know what you like from a student," he murmured. "I think you like a student who takes initiative."

And then he took the leap, took his life in his hands. He kissed her.

As their lips touched for the first time, Rick's pulse thumped loudly in his ears. He was breaking so many rules right now, and everyone knew that Professor Beckett was a stickler for the rules. She was definitely going to throw him out of her office, report him to the dean, maybe even call the cops. She was-

She was kissing him back.

Heat flashed through his whole body, weakening his knees until his grip on the chair arms might be the only thing keeping him upright. Professor Beckett's mouth was open under his, her tongue teasing at his closed lips, coaxing them open. Her fingers were in his hair, gripping so tightly it almost hurt. A groan rumbled in his throat. The feel of her tongue on his was incredible. He kissed her like his life depended on it.

When they finally broke for air, she brought her hands to his chest and pressed slightly, holding him back. "You're right," she breathed hoarsely. "I do like a student who shows initiative..." Now her hands slid upward to his shoulders, and she pushed on them, urging him downward. "But I also like a student who can take direction."

Rick yielded to the pressure of her palms and sank to his knees on the floor, looking up at her. Her face was flushed, lips swollen and wet from the kissing, and he could only imagine that his own mouth looked the same. The thought made him grin. But he was distracted by her breasts, which were moving enticingly up and down with her breathing.

"Are you going to grade me on a curve?" he asked, slipping his hand up and onto one of those breasts on the last word. He savored the feel of the small soft mound in his palm, the nipple a hard little point under his thumb. To his amazement, he realized she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Only if you earn it," she answered, striving for her stern tone but not quite getting there. And she wasn't making any move to remove his hand from her breast, so despite what she had said about taking directions, he decided to follow his own desires. He quickly flicked open the buttons of her blouse, pushing the fabric aside to expose her whole torso.

"Oh, I'll earn it all right," he said, still grinning, and he leaned up to take one of those tightened nipples into his mouth. He flicked his tongue across it and suckled hard, hearing her gasp quietly above him. She arched into his touch and he took the opportunity to slide one hand up her knee, under the skirt, as he moved back and forth from one breast to the other, tormenting them both in turn with his avid mouth.

A thrill went through him when his questing fingers finally made their way up her thigh and found her panties, warm and already soaked with arousal. He stroked lightly over the fabric and felt the professor shiver against him. A moment later it was Rick's turn to twitch when he felt something sneaking up his thigh: her foot, clad in a dangerous-looking stiletto heel. When she drew the toe of the shoe slowly across the bulge in his jeans, he gasped against the soft curve of her breast.

"Fuck," he choked out, and he both heard and felt the low chuckle that rumbled through her chest.

"Not quite," she answered. "You still have a grade to earn." Her hands were on his shoulders again, pushing him downward, and he went willingly, letting her guide him down between her knees until his face was level with her crotch. He pushed the skirt up higher on her thighs, and she lifted her hips to help.

But just as he was about to hook his fingers into the elastic of her panties to pull them down, she gave a short gasp and sat up straighter, knocking him backward onto his ass.

"Shit!" she exclaimed. "We forgot to lock the door."

Rick blinked up at her, befuddled, his mind momentarily going blank in utter confusion. "No, uh, don't worry about it," he stammered. "Um, nothing's going to-"

"Don't worry about it? Anyone could just walk in," she exclaimed.

"No they couldn't," he said, bemused. But he gathered his wits and added, "Don't freak out, okay? I'll take care of it." Withdrawing his hands from her legs, he struggled awkwardly up onto his feet, made clumsy by the tight constriction of his erection in his jeans, the urgent lust buzzing in his veins. "I'm going to lock it right now. Just, uh, just stay there. Don't move."

Sprawled in her chair with her skirt around her waist, her blouse open, breasts exposed, legs spread wide, strands of hair beginning to escape from her bun, she stared up at him. And she began to laugh.

Rick frowned at her as she dissolved into mirth. "Aw, come on," he grumbled. "I'm improvising here."

"The look on your face!" she giggled, lifting one hand in apology as she tried to collect herself.

"Well, you ruined the mood! I was really getting into character, Beckett."

"You were," she agreed, still grinning. "I'm sorry. You really were, babe." She rose to her feet, letting the blouse fall away. "I'm sorry. Let's try again." She slithered up to him, taking hold of the hem of his t-shirt and pulling it over his head. Pressing her breasts against his bare chest, she lifted her chin to kiss him. "Don't pout. We'll just start over."

"The professor-student scene was your idea," he reminded her, pouting, even as his hands found her breasts again. "And you were supposed to say 'it's time for your oral exam.' You promised me you'd say that."

"I know. I forgot," she said. Her hands were at his waist, unfastening his jeans with quick, deft movements. "You were just such a hot jock, I couldn't think straight."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," he said, gulping as her hand closed around his erection. "Shit, Kate. You're my favorite teacher."

Smirking, she eased him out of his boxers and pushed the fabric out of the way. "Maybe it's time for my oral exam," she murmured in her sultriest tone. She sank back down onto the chair, tugging him forward and running the tip of her tongue teasingly up his shaft.

"So, the teacher becomes the student," he joked, and although she rolled her eyes, she said nothing. Instead, she leaned forward and took him fully into her mouth, sucking hard and doing that thing with her tongue that always made his eyes slam shut and his throat stop working. His mind went blissfully blank for a long, delicious moment.

But then a tiny thread of reason forced its way into his lust-clouded brain, and he wrenched his eyes open and lifted a hand to stop her.

"Wait," he panted, "wait, this isn't how it goes."

She let his cock leave her lips with a wet pop, quirking an eyebrow up at him. "Isn't it?"

He shook his head firmly. "Professor Beckett doesn't let a student who's failing her class come in her mouth. It's not in character."

Kate huffed out an incredulous laugh. "You're putting way more thought into the character development of our role-play than I realized, babe." She stood up again, her fingers still wrapped loosely around his shaft. "But you're right, Professor Beckett wants more than that from this hot young stud, doesn't she?" She gave him a light squeeze. "She wants to see what he can do with this."

Castle tugged her up against him again, searing her lips with a hot kiss. "Not yet," he mumbled into her mouth. "I didn't even get to taste you yet."

"Later," she whispered back. "I need you now." She pulled away and turned, bracing her hands on the desk, looking back at him over her shoulder. "The professor really needs her student to fuck her. Now."

Castle swallowed thickly. God, he loved this woman. She knew how much that position did it for him - bent over, her breasts bobbing underneath her, the short skirt riding up on her thighs, teasing with what lay beneath. He reached over and pushed the skirt up to her waist again, trailed his fingers down over her ass and between her legs, sucked in a sharp breath at the moisture he found there.

"Fuck," he rasped. He pushed his fingers underneath her soaked panties and stroked her, feeling the shudder ripple through her, hearing her groan.

"Now, Castle," she moaned. "God, now, please."

His hands trembling with desire, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and yanked them down. A quick flick of her ankle and they were gone, and he shifted into position, fastening his broad palms onto her hips.

Obeying her demand, he didn't wait any longer, just lined himself up and thrust inside. She cried out, another deep shiver running through her. He saw her hands gripping the edge of the desk so tightly that her knuckles went white.

He pulled out slowly, savoring the sensation of her tight and hot around him. With an effort, he managed to remember his role.

"Is this what you wanted, Professor?" he grunted as he thrust into her again, and again. "I'm taking directions, just like you said." Then he leaned forward, pressing his chest against her long, lean back, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. The movement changed his angle inside her, drawing another wordless cry of pleasure from her throat. He slid an arm around her waist, holding her against him for his thrusts, and let his hand go sliding down her belly and between her thighs, finding her clit, slippery and wet under his fingertips.

"And now I'm taking initiative," he whispered in her ear, and he stroked her firmly, in time with his hard thrusts, and she moaned one more time as her whole body shuddered fiercely in release. And the sight, sound, feel, smell of her brought him over the edge as well, a yell bursting from his throat as he poured himself out into her.

A few minutes later they found themselves collapsed in a sweaty heap on the floor next to the desk, Beckett still with her skirt bunched up around her waist, Castle with his jeans and boxers tangled around his ankles. She giggled a little as she helped him unwind the material and free his feet, but when she moved to take the skirt off, he stopped her with a hand on her wrist and a hungry look in his eye.

"What?" she started to ask, and then yelped in surprise when he lifted her up in one smooth move and plopped her back down on the desk chair. Before she had a chance to react, he was on his knees again, pushing her legs apart, his talented tongue sweeping across the tender skin of her inner thigh and moving swiftly upward toward his goal.

Beckett was already breathless and moaning by the time his mouth met her core. He tugged her ass farther forward on the chair, pulled her legs over his shoulders, and all she could do was lean back and grip the chair arms with all her might, her hips rolling urgently against Castle's tongue as he drove her determinedly up, up, up, and over the peak again with a high-pitched shriek of pure ecstasy.

He sat back on his heels, licking his lips with a very self-satisfied grin. "And now I've finished what I started," he said smugly. "A teacher should appreciate that."

Lying limp and boneless across the chair, she could only muster a slight curve of her lips in response. "You're definitely in a class by yourself," she murmured, making him chuckle.

"I guess I can tell Coach to put me on the roster for the next game," he said. With a grunt of effort, he shoved himself up onto his feet and held out a hand toward her. "Ooh, next time can we do football coach and naughty cheerleader?"

Beckett pursed her lips contemplatively as she took his hand and let him help her up. "I don't think I have any pom-poms."

"And I don't have any cheerleader puns. Yet," he clarified as they staggered toward the bathroom, leaning on each other for support. "We'll make it work somehow."