Though he'd never admit it, writer's block was all too familiar with Richard Castle. It was because of this that he spent many nights with the lights turned down low as he wrote; not just for the ambience, but because frustration often gave him migraines.

The new Nikki Heat book, Heat of the Moment, was due in three days, and it still needed a lot of work.

It should have been a breeze, but he'd promised his favorite detective that she could read it before he handed in the final copy. She was expecting it first thing in the morning and would without a doubt complain about his tardiness. How's a girl supposed to read an entire book in one day, after all?

He didn't bother pointing out how excited she got when he so much as brought up the new book, or the fact that she had a day off work to dedicate to it. Instead, he enjoyed the smile she was quick to hide.

Clock's ticking, she texted him. He looked at his watch and readily agreed, so used to her uncanny ability to always know what he was doing that it didn't faze him.

Where's your faith in my abilities? You'll have it, as promised, he replied with a nonchalance he definitely didn't feel.

Beckett didn't respond to that immediately. He liked to think it was the Christmas effect: the excitement builds and you go to sleep so tomorrow comes faster.

Castle decided to keep that theory to himself, lest she get offended and grab his nose when she next saw him.

He was starting to get sleepy; sleepy, frustrated, and potentially dead in less than 24 hours if he didn't finish. The wrath of Beckett would be upon him soon.

I can feel your writer's block all the way over here, she texted him fifteen minutes later. How did she do that!

After a small internal debate over whether or not he should give in and call her for help, he quickly responded, Hush and go to sleep, smarty-pants.

She snuggled deeper into her bed and smiled. G'night, master procrastinator.

Master procrastinator? He grinned and nodded to himself, filing away thoughts about making that into a t-shirt for when he was allowing himself to use the internet.

Focus on writing, he repeated for the umpteenth time that night.

But of course, he didn't, because now he was thinking about Kate snuggled up in bed, hair a beautiful mess and face peaceful in her sleep.

One of the most difficult things to overcome when he wrote about Nikki Heat was separating reality from fiction. He'd learned years ago that his character didn't hold a flame to the real thing, but he spent countless hours trying to get it close without betraying Kate's trust.

What Beckett wasn't aware of was how much he thought about her when he stayed up on nights like these. When a deadline was approaching and he needed that extra push, he closed his eyes and imagined her in every word he typed.

It was a helpful technique, but deadly when it came to a love scene like the one he was currently working on.

Channeling his innermost fantasies, he kept his eyes closed while Nikki and Rook rendezvoused on the page before him.

xxxxxxxx

Kate woke up at six, made coffee, and sat on the couch to wait for Castle's arrival. He'd texted her two hours earlier, claiming the masterpiece was nearly complete and ready for her perusal. Then another text came in ten minutes ago, saying he was in a cab and on the way.

She wanted to feign annoyance at his assumption she'd be awake and this excited to read it, but she was and didn't want to risk him calling her bluff and turning right back around.

Fingers tapping impatiently on her coffee cup, she nearly jumped out of her skin when he knocked on the door.

Kate lunged up, realizing she looked like a total fan-girl without caring in the slightest, because this fan girl got to read an advanced copy of her favorite author's book.

"Hey," she greeted him with a smile, finding it amusing that he looked the part of a nocturnal writer in need of a nap and shower. "Gimme." She reached out a hand for the book he was holding.

He held it up just out of reach. "One condition."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I already know. 'No sharing, no matter what.' I got it."

"Yes," he agreed, still keeping the copy safely in his grasp. "But that's not the condition I'm talking about." He took a dramatic pause. "I need to crash."

Beckett raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"As in sleep. Here, preferably. I don't think I can make it back outside and into a cab." He waved the book tauntingly, a smug smile in place, sure she wouldn't deny him.

"Bed's in there," she motioned with her chin, snatching the book and sauntering away to her favorite chair by the window. "Just don't snore too loudly. I like quiet when I read."

He wanted to grumble something in return, but her comfortable mattress called to him from the other room. "Wake me when you're done," he called out as he collapsed into a pile of pillows and blankets.

She didn't respond, already engrossed in the first chapter. The next day she'd definitely regret letting him see how much she'd been looking forward to this, but right now she didn't care about anything but the pages in her hands.

Rick managed to fall asleep immediately as the detective continued reading. This didn't change for the entire day, until she reached what he'd finished writing only that morning.

When she was able to move after the initial shock, he was rudely awoken by two fingers viciously pinching his ear, shouts of "Wake up, Castle," piercing the air until his eyes flew open.

Jerking back, he clutched the covers closer in a weak defense. "What the hell?"

She was towering over him, a gleam of over-exaggerated anger barely hiding a hint of nervousness. "Did you happen to proofread the last, I don't know, four chapters of this?"

He was still trying to catch his breath and didn't answer fast enough, but her hand reaching out for his ear again got his brain moving at a more Beckett-friendly pace. "No, I didn't have time. Why?"

She shook her head in disbelief. "You need to see this." Her finger held a place on page 182, and he squinted as he read.

When he realized what got her so upset, he scooted farther back in the bed, arms raised defensively. "That was completely unintentional."

Kate laughed in exasperation. "You used our names, Castle!"

His first instinct when she used that tone was to deny whatever she was blaming him for, but the glaring proof was right in front of him. He'd undoubtedly replaced "Rook" and "Nikki" with "Beckett" and "Castle".

Floundering for words, he eyed the door and wondered how fast she was without heels and exactly how much of a head start he'd need. "I was tired. It was an honest mistake," he tried to explain.

She closed her eyes briefly, taking a moment to think. When she looked at him this time, it was with a timid smile. "You're so easy," she teased, but they both knew at least some part of her was freaked out by the slip, especially one placed in a love scene.

He let out an audible breath, releasing his death-grip on the blanket. "I'll fix it before Gina gets her hands on it," he promised. "I really don't want her to know I made that mistake."

Beckett rolled her eyes. "It's not like she'd think anything of it. It doesn't mean anything. They're just characters." She needed him to agree and laugh it off with her.

He nodded, and she started to walk away in relief before he could make an argument. "Well," he started, noticing the way her shoulders tensed when he spoke. "Characters based off us. You could see where she might get the wrong idea." Or the right one. Definitely the right one.

"No, not really," she said through gritted teeth, her back still turned. "While they're based loosely-" she stressed that word, "-on us, you write them in different situations. Gina understands that."

He couldn't resist the bait, the opportunity to prove her wrong and make her just a little uncomfortable with new territory.

"Yes, but I always think of us when I write them," he admitted with no indication that this was hard for him to say.

Kate's jaw dropped slightly, and she was grateful he hadn't moved from his place in the bed. Was he really going there? "Sure," she choked out, clearing her throat. "You use a lot of information from cases we've worked."

She was mentally begging him to let this drop; he clearly got the hint and ignored it anyway. Maybe it was that his filter wasn't in place since he'd just woken up, but he felt the need to drop pretenses and be blunt.

"I'm not talking about the technical aspects," he told her boldly, stepping onto the floor, daring her to turn around.

She did so with wide eyes, unable to form a coherent sentence in her mind, much less a viable argument. How did this conversation end up here?

He took this as an invitation to move closer and continue. "You're on my mind when I write all of it: the case, the banter, the sex."

Castle noticed when she gulped.

"You should go," Beckett mumbled. "Thanks for bringing this over." She left the manuscript sitting on the edge of the bed.

He knew it was time to stop, to let her mull over what he'd had no idea he would say when he came over that morning. Nodding, he started to walk out.

But not before gently pressing his lips against her cheek.

Completely unrealistic? Probably. Short and to the point? Yep. I just had to take a break from my not-so-happy story, Visiting Hours. It's been a while since I've added anything to this. You guys have any ideas for the next slip?

Also, I had "Heat of the Moment" picked out months ago when I started this one-shot. I've noticed other people have used it since then, and I just wanted to clarify that I don't mean to copy anyone, but I'm leaving the title as is.