Author's Note: This is kind of… crack!fic. When I was "writing" this in my head, it was nothing like this, but I find that once I start writing from Castle's POV, everything comes out a little wacky. Like he's a 9-year-old on a sugar rush. :) It's a lot of fun to write like this, getting into his mind like that in a not-so-serious way. So I hope you enjoy it, even if it is a little "cuckoo." LOL.

Spoilers: This is a post-"Cuffed" fic, it takes place a few hours after the episode ends.

Summary: There's hanging upside down like a monkey. There's tigers named Justice. There's kissing against a wall. There's our favorite writer and our favorite detective, having some fun.

Castle was hanging upside down.

His head hung off the side of the couch, with one arm crooked over his stomach, and the other stretched along the cushions. He studied the tufts in the carpet, felt the rush of blood to the veins of his forehead. He wondered if the oxygenated flow would make him smarter – send neurons firing along pathways, connecting the dots.

Maybe he should wait until the pressure became too much, and then dash to his computer and start writing. Who knows? Maybe pure genius would stream out through his fingertips – something Pulitzer-worthy.

He could write a story about a tiger. A tiger who walked and talked and carried handcuffs on her belt. She could solve crimes, tear and rip into criminals with her big, bad teeth. Her name could be Justice.

Castle snorted, and rolled over, pulling his head up onto the arm rest. Hanging upside down was making him dumber. Stupid neurons.

He sighed and wondered what to do next. He should sleep, yes. That would be appropriate after spending the day handcuffed to his very irritating, very sexy partner, and nearly being eaten by a wild animal.

But he was wired. Buzzed. The adrenaline still hadn't worn off. And being cuffed to Beckett all day hadn't helped. It had wired him up in an entirely different way. He was hungry for more, ached for it.

Bored. That's what he was. Nobody home, no one to talk to, and he just needed to gush. Tell his mother and his daughter all about his day, how crazy it had been, how he had almost been devoured. Devoured! Seriously, how did they manage to get themselves into messes like that? He didn't know, but he didn't hate it altogether. His life was never boring.

Mostly never boring. Except now. Maybe he'd call Beckett. Surely she was feeling some of the same emotions. He tapped his fingers over the phone in his pocket but decided against it. Surely she was sick of him after being literally stuck to him all day. She probably needed space, time to breath.

But she'd held his hand. That was something, wasn't it? She'd asked him to hold her hand. Sure, it was so they didn't strain their wrists, but what about after that? When they fell onto the mattress after the crazy dude opened the hatch? (Wait, that was kind of like an episode of Lost. Cool.) Or when they were standing atop the freezer with a tiger jumping around their feet? (They had polar bears on Lost. Eh, same difference.)

They held hands nearly all day. He wiggled happily, thought about squealing, but decided it would be entirely too creepy of him. He wasn't above creepy, but there were some things he really should try to be more manly about.

"Manly," he said to himself, lowering his voice to a James Earl Jones-esque tone. He almost thumped his chest, but caught himself.

And then a thump at the door made him a jump, and he nearly fell off the couch.

"Whoops," he muttered and rolled, easing to his hands and knees on the rug. He hopped up, practically skipped to the door, thrilled as he was to have some company. Hopefully whoever it was had ears. And wasn't deaf. 'Cause he really wanted to chatter away, tell someone about this crazy day.

He didn't even bother to look through the peephole, just twisted the lock and yanked at the handle. His smile grew big and wide when he saw his favorite person (besides Alexis) standing on the threshold of his apartment.

"Beckett! Heyyyyy! I'm so happy to see you. I am booooored." He stepped back, gestured her in with a wave of his arm. "What're you doing here? Wanna talk about how crazy today was? 'Cause I sure do."

"Castle, shut up."

His mouth popped open with an audible smack. His lips formed an 'O' of surprise and he tilted his head to the side, studying her.

She rounded on him, turning them both so his back was to the door. "Do you remember that kiss we never talk about?"

He gulped, his throat working up and down. His eyes were wide as he nodded quickly and then kept nodding as she advanced on him. "How could I forget?" he squeaked.

"Good. Because we're going to do that again. Right now. And then,"

"Never talk about it?" he asked.

"Right, Castle. Good. So you understand?" Her smile was pleased, predatory.

He gulped again. "Got it. My lips are zipped. Wait, no—they're wide open for the taking. But um, figuratively, you know, I won't say anything ever—"

Her finger against his lips cut him off as he continued backing up. She stalked him on four inch heels, much like the tiger. He was so going to write that story about Justice. Just, never show it to anybody. Ever.

God, he was crazy, thinking about sexy tigers. He needed to focus.

He stopped retreating when his back slammed into the wall beside the door. He braced his hands, waited.

She didn't disappoint.

Her finger traced the smooth lines of his mouth as she took one last step in so he could feel the contours of her body pressed tight up against his.

She spread her hand out, her fingers wrapping around his neck as her thumb rested on his chin.

The urge to let his tongue slip out, tickle her thumb, was almost irresistible. The only thing stopping him was the look in her eyes.

Never had the name Nikki Heat been more appropriate. Her eyes were all fire and smoke, kindling flames of lust that made his throat go dry. But just beneath the surface, he could see the grey churning waves of uncertainty.

So he smiled, lifted his lips slightly at the corners to reassure her, to show her that he was going to be a man about this, give her what she needed and not push for more. Because he needed it, too. Just a little something to tide him over.

"Castle," she whispered, before her mouth crashed down onto his.

His hands left the wall to grip her hips. He held her to him, but didn't pull, didn't grind against her the way he wanted to. He just held on, anchored her to him, a life raft in a raging storm.

One hand left her hip to plunge in her hair. He didn't tug, just tilted her slightly, angled his lips deeper against hers. She sighed, opened up to him, blossoming like a tulip in the spring.

He pulled her lower lip between his teeth, made her gasp. She arched against him, and returned the favor with her teeth to his tongue. When she let go, he soothed her tender lip, and then dove in for more.

Her free hand – the one not curled around his neck – rested against his chest, fisted there in his t-shirt, just over his heart. A moan; his or hers, he wasn't sure. Another moment, another blissful swipe of tongues, and then she was pulling back.

Her hands pushed against his chest, gave her leverage to step back. Her own chest heaved with every breath, and she stared at him, a wild look in her eyes. Her hair was disheveled from his hand, and he knew he had never seen anything sexier in his entire life. His whole being yearned for her.

Forget sexy tigers.

He smiled. "I think I might buy a pet tiger. And several dozen pairs of handcuffs."

She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth, held it there, tried to hide the smile he knew was curving her lips. "Shut up, Castle."

"You've said that to me once already tonight. I liked what happened next. So maybe I will." He quirked an eyebrow at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah right." Then she dropped her hand, straightened her jacket. "I'm going to go now."

"Okay," he replied, but she didn't move. Just stood there staring at him.

"You're really going to let me have this one, aren't you?"

"Of course." He leaned against the wall, confident and cocky. "As a matter of fact, the words 'any time' come to mind, Kate. Although I do have this one fantasy about the interrogation room…"

"In your dreams, Castle."

"Almost every night, Beckett. You have no idea."

She blushed. "Okay. I'm leaving."

He grinned, supremely proud for leaving her without a comeback. She must really be flustered. He licked his lips, pleased with himself, and tasted her there.

She opened the door, and then hesitated. She looked at him, something warm and tender in her eyes now, the fire dying, as she smiled softly. "Thank you," she murmured, and then stepped out of his loft, closing the door behind her.

Immediately he started wiggling, dancing around the room to the tune of love in his heart. "Beckett and Castle, sitting in a tree," he sing-songed to himself, grinning madly. He danced his way to the couch, and then dove onto it head first. He rolled, folding his arms up under his head, tucking one leg over the other.

He sighed happily, and really wished his mother and Alexis were home, because he had even more stories to tell. In the meantime he would replay the feel of her lips on his over and over in his mind, wear it out until next time. Because he was now sure there would be a next time.

End Note: See, this was crazy! Not at all serious. Totally wacky, but seriously fun to write. I hope you guys enjoyed the ride!