Soaking in the tepid water with Castle at her back, Kate is boneless and malleable. Thick fingers, tender in their pursuit, scrape across her scalp, massaging in an herbal shampoo that leaves her skin tingling pleasantly. She floats, pleasantly clean, her mouth still tingling from the surreal experience of brushing her teeth next to her partner.

Pushing her up lightly and tipping her head back, he rinses her hair with water from cupped hands. When his hands start roaming her again, she flips herself.

"My turn," she states, wriggling against him in a way that makes his eyes go dark and his breathing pick up slightly. "Tell me things."

Castle's mouth quirks, "what kind of things?"

She combs her hands through his steam-dampened locks, paying special attention to his ears, which he definitely seems to enjoy being touched (though not twisted). Big puppy. The writer's eyes slide shut in pleasure, a light groan escaping him as she finds a spot he very clearly likes at the base of his skull.

"What you like."

Castle hums in contentment. "That, for starters. I like that. Hell, Kate; anything that involves you touching me, I like it. Simple mind, simple pleasures, you know."

"Nope," she warns cheerfully, "not getting off that easy."

Devilish grin appearing on his face, Castle bucks his hips into hers, sloshing a bit of water over the side of the tub.

"I beg to differ, I get off quite easy."

Kate rolls her eyes. He's good at distraction, but he'll have to be cooperative if he wants his reward. It strikes her not for the first time that he manages to talk so much while actually saying next to nothing at all sometimes, and that for his millions of words in print, he trades almost exclusively in action where it counts.

But she's still intent on making him tell her. He's got a debt, and she intends to collect.

"Come on, Castle. Quid pro quo."

Her new lover sighs, spinning her again in his arms and turning on the hot water to reheat the bath. Perhaps it's easier for him to tell her this way, held near immobile in his arms and facing away, like it was easy for her only when he was on the phone. After their confrontation earlier, maybe he needs it to be easy. Nuzzling her cheek with his nose and resting his chin on her shoulder, he answers.

"I have this knot at the base of my spine, comes up when I've been writing too long, regardless of position." She encourages him to keep going, stroking the long muscles of his calves either side her. "I like hard pressure – almost pain – there. I like your hands in my hair."

"Mmm. What else?"

"Well, I meant what I said. I'm a simple man. Not quite as sensitive as you. I like quality, of course, and I'll fidget all day in a bad sweater, but besides that… not too complicated over here."

Kate frowns. He's being evasive again, and she doesn't think he intends to be. It's just as natural a state for him as for her.

"When do you feel your best?" she asks, changing tactics.

Castle remains quiet for a good stretch, idly rubbing soapy circles over her shoulders and arms. "Physically? This is about as good as it gets," he gives her an extra squeeze. "Mentally? At work," he answers at last, as if the answer quite bothers him. "I don't have to perform there, not in the way of putting on an act, nor do I have to watch myself as much as I do at home, around Alexis and even my mother. I'm here to entertain and inform!" Kate groans at his self-assessment of his role at the precinct, as true as it may be. Just when the more cynical side of her says they could do with a little less entertaining and a little more informing, she remembers the terrible feeling of something being wrong, in the hanging days since the bombing, when his wild theories turned to snide commentary. Turning her head to push her nose into his jaw, she asks him silently to continue, thanks him in the way she knows how for being what he is.

"My mind is always working, with you and the boys. I don't get bored. It's worthy, what we do, what I get to be a part of; even help, sometimes. Besides," he pauses, pecking her on the temple, "I get to bug you all day," she elbows his side lightly and he chuckles into her neck.

"Were you going to leave?" It's not what she meant to ask – not where she wanted this discussion to go at all – but she's so relaxed that it wasn't until it was already out there that she remembered to censor. It's been on her mind, what she interrupted with her call.

He stiffens, straps one large arm around her as if to contain her in a rollercoaster's car. As if she'd escape now. As if she'd want to.

"No. Not immediately. I was… when I came back, I was going to try dating again, try maybe putting myself to use – or maybe making a nuisance of myself – by occasionally venturing into another department, but no. I would miss you, as much as I hated that. Ryan and Esposito too. They're among the only real friends I have, and I hoped that by moving on in other aspects of my life, we could become simply friends as well in time, to where it wouldn't hurt to be around you so much."

Snuggling further into his chest, she waits. His arms tighten around her, an action she'd find confining and panic-inducing were it anyone else. Instead, safety and contentment are hers alone. He seems to need it anyway. She wonders if, in time and with trust built, he'll let go of this need to hold her to him, to shape her and play with her. She wonders if she wants him to.

"I don't know that I'd ever get over it," Castle admits quietly, a watery murmur, barely a rumble in his chest. "I tried to. Maybe I'd have eventually left, or one of us would do something that pulled up a fight, and we'd disintegrate from pure disappointment."

Suddenly, she doesn't want to know any more. She knows the important things, and this is supposed to be happy. She doesn't want to hear his theories of what might have happened that would end them, or end in them hating each other. Turning, she sits up on her calves and allows herself full view of her man. Reassuring him with the light brush of her lips against his, Kate sets about taking the promised reciprocity to a new level. If he can't verbalize his likes and wants, she'll have to figure them out in other ways.

Call it benign interrogation.

Pushing the lever to drain the tub, Kate stands unsteadily, helping her partner to his feet and stepping into the attached shower stall, turning on the cool water and smirking as she appreciates him, his body at full attention.

"Come here," she requests, and Castle complies eagerly, stepping under the spray and watching with amusement as she removes the near-empty shampoo bottle from the bath and lathering her hands with a generous dollop.

Only, she finds she can't quite reach the top of his head comfortably this way. Castle's boyish grin says he knows exactly what her problem is, and he evades her for a moment longer, childishly snapping a wet washcloth at her before dutifully bowing his head and letting her work. His hands still grip at her, not to hurt but enough to prevent her from moving far, but he groans with appreciation at having his hair washed, with rather rougher pressure than she herself would like. She files it away.

Rinsing his hair with an economy of touch that makes him scowl, she washes the last of the soap from the bath from both of them and shuts the water off. When Castle makes to grab a towel, she bats his hand away.

"No," she scolds lightly, "my turn, remember?" He smiles sheepishly and humors her, bending over again to allow her to ruffle his hair to rid it of excess water. Giving his well-shaped ass a playful smack, she reminds him. "Behave."

"Never," the writer counters, but allows her to continue none-the-less.

Castle's eyes follow her every move. He stands stock still and stiffens, here and there, as she drags the towel across his body slowly. Racing a droplet of water from the indentation in his chest – nearly the same place as the one in hers, she notes with interest, though hers was rather less natural – she traces fractal patterns randomly across his body, drying the wet tracks made by the water drops. Castle inhales deeply as if to steady himself and calm his nerves.

"If you want to stop, please, tell me," she says earnestly. For all his preoccupation with touching things, he certainly doesn't seem to like this. She wants to explore, but not to make him uncomfortable.

"No," Castle shakes his head, emphasizing his point, "I do like it. Really," he adds, seeing her look of disbelief. "It's just been a long time."

She wonders what he means by that. He implied earlier – and she more or less knew it anyway – that he's not been in a relationship in some time, but just how far back does he mean? She wonders if he's always been the giver in his relationships, refusing equal reciprocity, or just never having it offered. It's an unexpectedly uncomfortable thought, but reciprocal affection, she thinks uncharitably, doesn't jive with what little she knows of either Gina or Meredith, at least from her small interactions with them and the way he talks. Kyra, maybe. It doesn't sit well with her. He's not mentioned any other significant, long-term relationships, and his difficult accepting this even with her says he's certainly not comfortable enough to allow this under circumstances any less than implicit trust. If her assumptions about Gina and Meredith ring true, he's perhaps gone twenty years without allowing or being offered this kind of attention. She shakes herself a bit. That was then. This is now.

Extracting herself from his grasp, Kate moves to his broad back, taking her time drying his skin and rubbing the muscles in his shoulders and neck. She finds herself admiring the shadowy pillar of his spine, pressing hot, openmouthed kisses to his vertebrae the way he'd done to her. The tiny muscles just underneath his skin jump and twitch like animal flesh in a way that here – unhurried and given full licence – becomes endlessly fascinating.

"Beautiful," she tells him, his only answer a return to shyness in his eyes and a run of his twitchy fingers through his hair.

Growing bolder, she lets her hands roam over him, watching intently and mentally cataloging his responses. The way he inhales sharply when she traces a nail around a nipple. The way he squirms with discomfort but still allows it when she curls her fingers around his throat, gently rubbing his Adam's apple before each high chieftan's cheekbone gets its own attention and he sighs in contentment, the care of a child cradling a sparrow in her touch. Castle's darkened eyes close nearly all the way as she slides a fleshy fingertip down the strong slope of his nose.

She's beginning to understand why this was such a necessity for him. All her nerves lick at her with desire, but she's fully able to control her responses, able to stamp the compulsion to rush and take and release in favor of the most thorough pursuit of knowledge.

The soft bow of his lips capture her finger as it traces them, and she stops any admonishment she may have had at the innocent look in his eyes, the playful quirk of his mouth. Another compelling bit of information, one that clicks into place with patchwork memories of him biting his knuckles when she's said something particularly stimulating; sucking bits of hard candy on stakeouts; the way he keeps his coffee mug to his lips long after each sip when he's stressed or can't figure something out; his occasional (and disturbing) tendency to taste substances at crime scenes all speak to a bit of an oral fixation. Her left hand smoothes circles on his chest. He bites her captive fingertip softly, releasing her after a time without further intrusion on her expedition.

Shivering in the cold of the bathroom and with the lingering dampness of her hair, Kate decides it's time for a change of venue. Without an exchange of needless words, she squeezes his hand, urging him to follow, and he does. Stoking the fire again on the way, she leads him back to the bedroom and he follows obediently behind, refusing to let her fingers go.

"Lay down," Kate requests, "on your back, please." He does so, though he looks rather wary, but ultimately trusting in a way she finds overwhelming. Shushing him indistinctly, she reassures him. "Soon."

She starts at his ankles, stroking and petting him up his calves, pressure growing stronger as she reaches his thighs, thumbs kneading into the prominent muscles there, stopping only to repay his earlier favor and pay attention to the back of each knee, finding unanticipated joy in his writhing. Her own body shudders, warming itself back up with the expectation of round two, on sight of his obvious appreciation of her attentions. Soon. Even if he can hold out, she can't.

A sound resembling a yelp escapes him the instant her lips meet his sensitive shaft, but he makes no indication to remove her. Nibbling her way down, she distantly hears him groaning and keening almost continuously, tastes her first hint of him when she licks a wet stripe up the underside of his shaft and pops his leaking head in her mouth. Salty more than sweet, and something pleasantly mild, just like the rest of him.

She purrs in appreciation, the vibrations sending his hips into action despite his clear restraint of his own reaction. The urge he can't completely quell to thrust produces a slight rocking that she finds easy to adjust to, moving with him now up and down the thick column of his length. When she hollows out her cheeks and sucks, the reaction is instant and attention-grabbing. His fingers thrust impulsively into her hair, grabbing a handful and stilling her, pulling him from her wet suction.

"Fuck," he swears thickly, his voice a shadowy combination of lust and love and frustration tinged with uncertainty. Discomfort, she speculates, at not being in full control of this encounter. She takes him partway in her mouth again, swirling her tongue around him suggestive of a screw.

"No, Kate," she stops immediately, dropping him from her mouth with a parting kiss.

His restlessness turns to impatience when she picks up his hand, and impatience turns to unbearable yearning written in every twitch of his body, in the expression torn between lust and unfocused, frustrated energy when her tongue traces the deepest line running through his weathered palm. Thick fingers flex powerfully, his tell giving him away.

Castle growls and she knows he's had enough. "Kiss me?" she asks sweetly, sitting back on her legs and allowing him up to kneel facing her. Immediately groping around his chest and smiling wickedly when she hears his sharp intake at the scratch of her fingernails, she pouts. He obliges her none-the-less, kissing her and swirling his tongue around hers as if begging. Robust arms wind around her, pulling their bodies flush together. A stab of need clenches the muscles in her abdomen, pleasure spreading through her warmly, spiking up when the writer bucks his hips against hers, his tip dragging through her slit and hitting her swollen bundle of nerves.

"So wet," he whispers to her, voice hoarse and intense as he drags his fingers through her too, circling her tight nerves and pushing her to the edge of the swirling pool of liquid heat before bringing his soaking digits back to his mouth – oral fixation, she remembers – and sucking, groaning and then crashing his lips back to hers. The lingering flavor of him mixes beautifully with hers. "Delicious."

The blood rushes in her ears, pulses in her lips fused to his and he surely feels it, feels her whole body quake when he fills her, mouth falling away from his and dropping to his shoulder. Hot and deep, she's choked with pleasure, being held on the edge. It's almost too much. She cries out, half encouraging and half sobbing.

"Let me hear you," he encourages. She lets out a needy whine, meeting his thrusts, determined to keep some degree of control and rolling her hips side to side a little. The answering slew of noises says he's just as close as she is. Roughly, she pushes him on his back again, momentary shock flickering across his face in the low light and turning to amusement as she starts riding him in earnest.

His hands brace her lower back and anchor her in touch, ensuring she can't move far, guiding her hips to roll on him, to meet each slow thrust. Hers steady herself on his breastbone and tangle in his hair. Castle groans in appreciation when she shows him what she's learned, rubbing small circles at the base of his skull.

Back arching, she throws her head back as he thrusts up into her, rearranging his legs so that he can pull her to his chest, brushing her nerves on each stroke and hitting the spot that makes her body jolt around him again and again. He seeks her neck, gathering her closer still to him so that he can suckle her pulse and nip along the sharpened line of her jaw.

"Let me hear you," he growls out urgent and undone, and a deepened thrust in combination with a bite to her lips is all it takes for her to spiral out into pleasure, his name torn from her voice box over and over, as if it's all she can manage to say at all. He's in no better state, reduced to low constant growling and a chant of her own name.

Continuous aftershocks crash over her, leaving her shaking as he finds his release in her rhythmically clenching body. Shoving a hand between them, he presses two fingers to her oversensitive nerves, drawing a last scream of pleasure from her as she drops her cheek to his shoulder again, panting heavily. A final jerk of his hips and a responding clench of her body around him draws the last of his release, leaving her feeling warm from the inside out.

His heart beats against her breast, and hers against his, haphazard rhythms synchronizing as they come down and sag against each other for support. His breathing slowly evens, and with a sigh of regret, they separate. Castle doesn't tolerate that long, wriggling underneath the covers and laying back, allowing her to find a comfortable position on her side. Vaguely, she feels him repeat his ritual of earlier, coming through her hair with his fingers and fashioning what he can reach into a braid, pushing it out of the way of her face. Cheek pressed against his chest and her shoulders cradled in his arm, she lets him pull the covers over them and drifts away, mind blank of anything except the man she loves, her always, and pleasant thoughts of what the rest of the long weekend will bring.

Castle watches her sleep as long as he can, reaching blindly behind him to turn off the lamp, letting only the thin threads of moonlight through the darkened, heavy clouds and sheets of falling rain outside light her exquisite, untroubled face. But their day has been long and intensely truthful, the purging of their old life and the former definitions of them an exhausting business. His eyes grow heavier and heavier, and finally he can keep them open no longer.

His last thought as he pulls the covers further up over his shoulders and pulls Kate's smaller form - still occasionally trembling with either cold or pleasure - closer, is neither of what was almost lost, nor of what might have been. It's not of what he tried and couldn't forget and how he was a fool for thinking he could. His last thought is not of how they'll tell first their families, then their friends, or the consequences for both of them when they do. Let that storm come.

His last thought is that he's never, ever letting go of her now. His last thought is only of tomorrow, and the long-awaited glow of forever on the horizon that's now tangibly and truthfully in front of them.

Done. This went a very different direction than I hoped, but hopefully it's satisfyingly full-circle as promised. Thank you all for reading & reviewing.