Disclaimer: Not mine. I'll put them back when I'm done with them.

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She can remember her mom always warning her not to take baths during thunderstorms, joked that she might come home one day and find Kate charred in the tub clutching a book. Kate, actually, researched it once (aiming to prove it a myth) and her mom was right; a lightning strike can use the piping system as a route to ground, causing electrocution to people taking a bath, showering, or doing dishes. It's rare, but it happens.

It's never stopped her.

If she hasn't perished from being nearly blown up (again with the bathtubs), trapped in a freezer, faced with a dirty bomb, shot in the chest, or any other multitude of near-death scenarios, then she's not afraid of a little thunderstorm. Hell, just tonight she was dangling from a building after wrestling with her attempted-assassin. If a spark of atmospheric discharge crawls up the pipes to Castle's top-floor loft and executes her, then she's destined to face her demise.

A loud clap of thunder mocks her. She's pretty sure Castle doesn't know about the whole stay-away-from-the-pipes-or-the-lightning-might-get-you thing because he wouldn't have practically pushed her into the bathtub if he had. And she's not educating him now, or he'll surely try to pluck her out. She's in now, and it's heavenly. Good stuff.

All that's missing is a good book.

And her partner.

Her partner who happens to write those good books. Sexy.

As if on cue, there's a knock on the bathroom door.

"Are you seriously knocking on your own door, Castle?"

He doesn't answer her, just peeks his head around the heavy wood, blinks slowly at her, almost as if he's surprised that she's there. Or maybe he didn't think she'd really sink into his bathtub. He moves into the room and when she sees that he has a mug in his hand, she smiles up at him, even before she remembers what he said earlier that day about bringing her coffee, why he does it. Wow, she really must be predictable. Or really like coffee. Or really, really like him.

Yeah, that last one.

"Tea this time," he says, harvesting her thoughts and handing her the mug. "It's already late. Coffee will keep you up all night."

"Kinda what I was anticipating." She loves watching him falter and wishes he was at her level so she could kiss the slack-jawed expression off of his face. "Come here." She sets the mug on the wide ledge of the tub and tugs on a belt loop, dusts suds all over the front of him, until he kneels down.

This is all perfect and sensitive and wild and primitive, and she wants him so badly, can't quite fathom how she denied herself this for years. She rises up a little, the sensation of being half in hot water, half chilled by the cool air making her frenzied with sensation and need. Her mouth opens, prepares to take his when he smacks a hot, wet kiss on her lips and stands abruptly. She slinks back into the bubbles with a sigh.

"How's the water temperature holding up?" He doesn't wait for an answer before he pushes the lever to trigger the drain and turns the hot knob, replacing the lukewarm water with freshly heated. She watches him silently for minutes, the play of the muscles in his back further arousing her, the way he continues to stay at arm's length annoying her.

"Relax," she says, breaking the silence.

His eyes startle to hers. "I…I am relaxed."

"Right. You're coiled as tight as a drum. I can see the tension in your shoulders." He flexes his shoulders under her scrutiny, rolls them back and gives her an 'okay, you got me' expression after he winces at the crackling stiffness. "I'm an expert masseuse, you know." At his raised brow, "Okay, expert might be generous. I did take a class in college, though. Learned where the pressure points are. Haven't practiced in years, but I know I've still got it."

"I might take you up on that," he muses, noncommittally. The 'someday' goes unspoken and she plows on, undeterred. He's heated, she can tell. It spurs her on, the way his irises darken when he meets her gaze.

"You're overdressed." She watches as he looks down his body then back to her, quizzically. He's still only wearing his pants. He must have zipped them when he left her a few minutes ago, but the button is still undone and damn if he doesn't fill them nicely. A blush creeps up her face, she feels the burn, when she meets his eyes and realizes that she's been staring. "Join me?"

He shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets. He appears nervous, adorably shifting from foot to foot. His posture exudes innocence, but parts of him that she's studiously trying to ignore are evidencing anything but. He clears his throat. "I'm pampering you," he uses as his excuse.

"You can pamper me from in here." She pulls her wet fingers from beneath the water and wriggles them in a 'come hither' motion. "'Big, comfy tub', isn't that what you said, the line you used to seduce me into it?"

"Um."

"Come on," she urges. "I want to be close to you. But I understand if you don't want to…" She can tell from the light in his eyes that he's reluctantly persuaded.

"Okay, okay. Scootch." He motions for her to slide forward, but she stays put. She parts her legs, loves how light and buoyant they feel. He's surveying her movements, she sees, watches him swallow hard when her bent knees bob above the sudsy surface.

"Here." She pats the water between her spread limbs and shows him where she wants him.

"I'll squash you."

She laughs. "I don't break. Besides, pressure feels nice." And it does. She can feel the force of the jets at her muscles and bruises, and it's a pleasurable pain. She wants to feel his weight against her.

"Masochist."

"Just get in." She turns her head away, sips at her tea while he undresses. She wants nothing more than to watch him strip his pants and boxers off, reveal himself to her. He's getting hard, she knows, yearns to see that evidence unrestricted by clothing. But he's been timid, on edge since moving past his front door, and she doesn't want to spook him further.

She closes her eyes and tilts her head back, could easily fall asleep like this if she weren't so excited, stirred emotionally. The water splashes and shifts in waves and she feels his body settle between her thighs, pushing them even further apart. Heat pools in her belly and she has to bite her tongue to resist the urge to moan.

Opening her eyes, she can see that he's sitting stock still in front of her, and she cards her wet fingers through his hair, slicking it back. He grunts at the sensation and it makes her grin; he can't run and hide from her now. Pulling at his shoulders, jerking through his resistance, she gets him to relax against her, his head nestled under her chin. She curls her legs around him and rests her shins at his knees. He palms her ankles and halts their jaunt up his thighs.

She loops her arms under his, and he shivers when her they tickle his sides and her short nails scrape along his ribcage. Her mouth lands on his shoulder, licks at the beads of moisture there. When her teeth fasten to his flesh, Castle's hands meet hers beneath the water and squeeze in askance. She doesn't understand. He's stopping this, isn't he? She pulls her hands away completely and rests them across her chest.

"Rick, do you not…not want me?" She feels vulnerable now, trapped. This was a stupid stupid idea. She just assumed, but she's kept him waiting and-.

"God, Kate, how can you even question that?"

She exhales a deep sigh of relief, but is still confused and a little hurt. "I kiss you and now you pull back. I touch you and you pull my hands back to a safe-zone. Castle, I'm tired of playing it safe in this aspect of my life. I'm ready to let go of a lot of things, but I'm ready to latch on to you."

"I just don't ever want you to be disappointed for choosing…this, over your mom's case. I need you to have every opportunity to rethink it before…before we're too far."

"I didn't choose this. I chose myself. I haven't done that in more years than I can remember. And a part of me is you, Castle." She nudges his hair with her forehead and pecks at the back of his neck. "God, that sounded cheesy, didn't it?" She can't see his smile, but can feel the rumble of his laugh travel through her frame. "In this relationship, it's a good thing you're the writer and I'm the detec-." She stops herself, goes still.

"What? What is it?"

"I resigned."

"You what?" He's turning his head to try to face her, but she stops him, fingers at his ears holding him still, rubbing along his lobes to quiet the questions.

"I turned in my badge today. Would have had to do it anyway," she explains in a whisper. "Gates suspended me. I just made it a little more…permanent." She squeezes his biceps, trails her hands down to his forearms. "I don't really want to talk about it now, though, okay?"

"Okay."

His voice is too quiet, too even. She ducks her head and presses her cheek against his. "I'm not shutting you out, ya know? I just want to focus on the happy. You make me happy."

"I'd spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy if you'd let me."

"I'll let you." Shifting a little, he angles his head back to meet her eyes, maybe needing to see truth in her statement. Let him look; it's all right there. He half-turns and his shoulder tucks into her breasts, allowing him room to jerk her by the neck and press his hot, open mouth into hers.

"Let me love you," he pleads, rolling his body the rest of the way over, knees sliding against the slippery floor of the tub, causing his chest to smash against hers, the water lapping over the edges.

"Yes, yes, Castle. Love me." Her hands glide down his back and lower, pulling at his hips.

"Not physically. Not what I meant. Not yet. You're hurt. I want you so much. We can't, Kate." The words leave his mouth in quick succession, undoubtedly trying to sway her and her errant hands from where they're meeting in the front of him, at his abdomen and down, down.

He's hard and thick and the heft of him is scorching her palm. Knowing that this reaction is for her is empowering, increases her want. Love and lust are merging, and she's already pulsing at the sheer thought of him filling her.

"Gotta stop, Kate." He's staring at her, wet hair slung into his eyes and he's growling, deep guttural sounds pushing up from his throat.

"No." When she quickens her strokes, he leans up and grasps her wrist, shakes her off, but keeps her close.

"Not here," he mutters at the top of her breast, lips sinking below the soapy surface to take her nipple.

When he rises, she brushes the bubbles from his face and nods at him. "Yes. Here. Now." She hooks her legs around his hips, searching, and he pulls one further up to his waist, creating a bit of room between them.

"Show me-. Show me what you like, Kate." He tangles her hand in his and places them on her inner thigh, leaving her to guide him the rest of the way.

Her body is already thrumming before she presses their joined fingers to her flesh, slick with more than just water. She removes her hand from his and he stills momentarily until she secures her elbow around his neck and thrusts her hips.

The excitement of not being able to anticipate the movements and pressure of his fingers is exhilarating. She's never trusted a man to please her like this, has such confidence that he'll know her body as well as he knows her heart and mind.

He inches his fingers down to slip two inside her. She moans and screws her eyes shut, caught off guard by the amazing intrusion.

She's panting at his temple when an intense roar of thunder, followed immediately by a bright flash of lightning fills the room. Their breaths are coming quickly—harsh, staccato gasps mingling between them. She can feel it building, the slow burn he's stoking inside her, pushing, pulling, curling, pressing and then another deafening crack of thunder and…

…the power goes out.