It was one of those weekends where the week's work had bled into the weekend. A renowned designer had been murdered and they had spent the whole week interviewing suspects, about fifty of them; all had enough reasons to have a go at the temperamental artist. Finally, yesterday, a surprising twist as always; the least conspicuous person had been the one to blame. Just a lovers' quarrel gone wrong, for so many stupid reasons.

"Just paperwork," she'd said at 9am as she gave him a tender peck on the lips and said goodbye. "I'll be back before you start to miss me."

It hadn't been a full five minutes after he heard the front door close, and he had already missed her warmth by his side. Part of what he liked the most about having her around his things, was the fact that they were gradually becoming hers. Her pillow still smelled like her; her scent will never leave him, it's embedded on his memory, in the coconut tones of her conditioner. His sheets bore the scent of her cherry-almond lotion and that Prada perfume. He could probably name all the different scents and textures that make their bed just that, theirs.

The Prada perfume though, that's his favorite one.

Ever since he had made a comment while in the limousine on their way to the opera, she has worn it for him, only for him. There are nights that she would step out of the shower, hair wet and tousled, downy skin and sleepy eyes. There would be no plans other than finding sleep on each other's arms and no real reason to wear such an elaborate and formal fragrance, but he'd catch her dab the deep, spicy and almost musky aroma just under her earlobes; a touch right on that scar on her chest - now just a beauty mark, a show of her resilience. Its' meaning has been soothed away by the thousands of kisses and caresses that he has bestowed during their heated lovemaking.

Those nights do not progress into calm sleep, at least not right away. The perfume calls to him, its' aroma addictive, simmering on Kate's skin. He would nuzzle her neck, and before he could stop himself, his hands would be roaming her shape. Lazy caresses that turn into frenzied desire. Ragged breaths clashing against each other's lips, and then satisfied contentment. He often finds traces of her passion the next morning, all over his back, along his neck; these are the scars that don't spark sorrow, but warmth deep within him. A reminder of the electric and uncontrollable desire they have for each other.

He got out of bed around 11am and texted her.

Should I pick something for lunch? Burgers and shakes?

He was hoping for an excuse to go by the precinct, and grab some Remy's. He'd play Angry Birds by her side until she figured out that she should be at the loft with him, or out in the city doing whatever it is that couples do over an early fall weekend.

Hey. Lanie called. She wants some girl talk over Moroccan in Chelsea. I'll come over right after.

There goes that plan, he thought. The phone chirped again, right away.

I'll make it up to you tonite ;)

He's going to give her a piece of his mind about the misspelling later, but not after he finds out whatever it is that she has on her mind for tonight. He thinks about cracking her iPhone's autocorrect; its not alright to let her desecrate the English language like this.

He busied himself with the outline for his next novel; he'd been playing with what should be Nikki and Rook's next adventure. He had been thinking of titles as well. If she knew his options, he was sure that they would probably land him in the doghouse for a while. Gina already had a couple of favorites. He had sided for the classic Wet Heat or even for Searing Heat, but his publicist had loved Scolding Heat, Racy Heat and the rather presumptuous, but somewhat fitting, Perfect Heat.

Time went by fairly fast as he got deep into 'The Zone'; words oozing out of him as he finished a very solid outline and the draft of the first chapter. Much to his own surprise, it flowed easily; usually the first chapter came as a nightmare to him, a blank page staring back at him, mocking his resolve. But not this time.

He already had a lot to say about what this new stage of their relationship had inspired. He had a whole new set of fantasies of which to work off of. If he wasn't careful this was going to become a diary, and Beckett would hate that. Oh yes, she would.


It's 5pm when she quietly comes into his study, hugging and kissing his cheek from behind, startling him out of his daze.

"Sorry I took so long," she says as she takes his laptop and places it on his desk, replacing the spot on his lap with herself. "Lunch and girlie talk turned into scouting some stores in the garment district. Lanie got a few things that will keep Javi entertained for sure."

"Did you get me any entertainment material?" He says, pushing a few wisps of hair off her face, twirling the ends between his fingers.

"Oh, and here am I thinking that I'm more than enough…" she says

"You are. More than enough. Everything. All," he says between quick sloppy kisses on her neck.

"Stop it!" she giggles and squirms out of his lap.

"Hey, I wasn't done with you."

"Too bad, Mr. Novelist." She starts unbuttoning her blouse on her way to the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower. Maybe I'll let you join me when I don't have the smell of lower Manhattan all over me."

"I didn't know they sprinkle 'Eau Du Beckett' all over New York now," he pipes. "I was enjoying myself!" He hears her scoff a laugh before the door closes.

And then the muted music starts.

Its one of the things he discovered, when she started making herself at home in his loft. He can tell how happy she is that day by the music she plays while she takes a shower. The sweetest tunes are played when she luxuriates in a bubble bath with candles, if he's lucky, she allows his company. This is her routine. He's peeked in before and watched as she enters an almost trance-like state. She emerges lighter and ready to begin anew.

He hasn't heard this playlist before though. He gets up and makes sure that he hears the water running. He wants to look, see what this tune provokes in her ritual. He carefully opens the door; steam billows around her lithe shape as the hot water hits her toned skin.

Her iPhone sits on the dock of the small Bose sound system. The previous track changes and the new song is an instrumental tune, melancholic, slow. The screen reads 'Caballo Viejo – Tango Version. Simon Diaz.' He lifts his gaze as he carefully leans against the counter to watch the show.

She's letting the water beat down on her shoulders, her back to him as she leans her forearms on the wall tile. The sight is perfect as he sees the water slide down her back and to her hips, caressing her rear, making her skin have a glistening finish; like a candy covered apple.

Her hand runs down her hair. She's caressing the day away, the hand disappearing from his view to graze the side of her breast and then down her hip to massage her thigh. He'll be damned, but he thinks he just saw her roll her hip to the smooth rhythm of this song.

So this is what she does when she's alone in the shower? Her own sexy dance by herself? He wonders what she's thinking as another hand disappears down her front, he thinks that she may be caressing her left breast.

He can help the shaky sigh that escapes him.

"Rick… I know you're watching." She says without even turning to him, her voice snapping him out of his fantasy.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He plays coy but he smiles, caught in the act. "I was just curious at your choice of music today. Wouldn't have pegged you for a Tango lover."

She turns to him and peeks out of the glass doors.

"Well, you never asked if I was ever in Argentina."

Oh. There are more layers to this story. He knows it.

"Are you saying that there's a 'Milonguera' under Kate Beckett's skin?" he says, and he cannot hide his smirk.

"Now, how would you know that term? I don't remember Derrick Storm ever dancing Tango."

"I have researched for other things, you know?" He comes closer to her, feeling the mist of the shower on his skin already. "I did not get as far as having Tango on my playlists though." He runs a finger, slowly, from her neck to the swell of her breast. "Do you know how to dance? 'Cause Nikki Heat would know how to dance Tango…"

She grabs onto the hem of his black T-Shirt and slips her warm and wet hands under the soft cotton and over his stomach. "I do. But, even if you've got some moves, I'm going to go with what my friend Nicolas said… American boys make terrible dancers."

"I don't see you complaining about my moves very often," If anything, he had surprised her a number of times with his novel ideas in between the sheets. "I seem to recall that last week someone was impressed at my ability," he grazes his fingertips just below her navel, she shudders at the tender touch. "To make them almost pass out in delight."

He wants to think that the heat of the water is not the cause of the pink tint that's painting her cheeks right now. He wants to think that she's relishing in the memories of her own moans and shaky gasps, as she came undone around him, unable to control herself. Her spasms radiating off of her, in what he thought could trigger an earthquake, if a geological fault were to be connected to her core.

"Tango is about passion," she says as she helps him take his shirt off.

"Tango is the game of 'daring desire.'" She says as her hands grab on to the waist of his jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them off with his underwear. He makes his best effort to shake the puddle of clothes off his ankles while she's straightening up, stretched in front of him.

"A need to conquer." She breathes on his ear as she delicately grazes his shaft with her fingers. Her voice goes through him like hot syrup, smoldering every part of him, while she continues to caress him, getting him harder. The air is suddenly very thick around him.

"I thought I already had you."

"You should never think you own me." Her voice is sultry. "You should always think you need to seduce me into submission."

"I would never take you for being a submissive one." It's getting harder to formulate a sound thought, but he wants to know where this is going.

"I didn't say I am, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try." There's a wicked glint in her eyes. So much meaning to what she expects their dance to be like. The song changes and he can feel her smile against his lips. Their kiss is deep, only interrupted by the brief moments where she seems to want to tease his lips, breathing his air, letting her tongue swipe hotly against his. So much sensation.

She wants him to try, so who is he to deny her?

He grabs her by the waist and pushes them both under the spray of the shower, never letting their lips separate. Hungrily they seek one another. His hands roam her sides, sliding up to either side of her jaw, caressing her neck, his fingers grasping the delicate and smooth skin.

"Open your eyes," he says. "I want you to see me as I try. I want you to see what I do to you."

"You're pretty confident." The challenge excites him even more. He slides his left hand up and down her side, never dropping her gaze. The water is hitting his back now as he pushes her against the wall and he adjusts the temperature to a pleasant warm setting.

"That's better. I don't want you passing out."

She scoffs but he shuts her up by reaching between her legs and running a finger from her opening to her clit. Just a touch. Delicate enough to be a caress, but bold enough for him to hear her gasp.

"I thought you'd like that."

She smiles and her eyes flutter as he continues massaging her bundle of nerves. Soft at first but switching the pace, between soft and rough, slow and fast, in circles, in uneven flicks. He's going to drive her mad and he knows that she's holding on, trying hard not to concede that he has this power over her.

He moves his other hand to caress the underside of her breast. He cups it, softly, feeling the weight on his palm, grazing the firm and puckered nipple with the back of his fingers. Soft, softer. He knows she likes the delicate touches, whisper like traces of skin; the violin in the background plays to the moans that she's letting escape. Louder and louder. She's close.

"Oh, like that… like that," she says when he shifts his hand to press a finger at her entrance. Not entirely in, but teasing her.

"See how I get you all worked up, Kate?" She doesn't respond. He can see she's struggling to keep to the dare of seeing this through, of watching him make her react to his need to worship her body. He sees her give up on trying, letting her eyelids slip shut. She's close. Very close.

She moans and he can see that she's struggling to keep standing, so he shifts his soft graze on her nipple to a playful but sharp twist on the pink knob. Her eyes shoot open, a gasp through her lips, probably louder than she intended.

"I said keep your eyes open."

She's about to respond when he drops to his knees, placing his arm between and under her thighs, lowering her center to his mouth. He grabs her buttocks and lets her rest her weight on his shoulders.

She's feral, surprised, she is breathless with anticipation brewing in her eyes.

"Just let me know when you feel I own you." And with that he gives one deep swipe with his tongue, covering her completely, spreading her wetness from her opening to her clit, savoring it, licking her and sucking her over and over again. He stills her movements as she writhes her hips, squirming away at times, grinding herself to his mouth at others, seeking more contact.

His tongue slips inside her while he thumbs her center and her moans come loud and guttural. He can feel the buildup very close, in the nervous electricity all around them, in the death grip of her fist in his hair. She's stubborn, but he won't let her off the hook until she concedes.

He uses both his thumbs to separate her swollen folds, to expose her clit completely and flutter his tongue over it. He knows she loves that, to the left side of it, where it's even more sensitive. She doesn't have much power over her words any more. He hears her utter only syllables, no coherency, mixed with his name, and then he goes for the kill.

As he continues flicking and lapping, he slips two fingers in her dripping opening, pushing up and twirling, applying pressure to her front wall, massaging relentlessly. And that does it.

Her scream comes out unbound, eyes opening wider, as she shudders, moans and grips one hand harder into his hair. He grabs her other hand to support her as she rides his face with abandon. She's coming all over his face and he marvels at the death grip that her inner muscles have on his fingers. Her orgasm comes in waves through her body as he feels her shake and arch her back off the wall.

When she's begun to calm down, he lifts her and circles his waist with her legs, holding her as he blindly backs his way onto the stall's bench. He sits and she lowers herself on his lap, soft and satisfied.

"Are you mine?" he asks, caressing her nose with his.

"Not yet." She scoots back on top of his knees and he wonders what she is trying to do.

"Don't let me fall, Castle."

He's astounded as she manages to maneuver and place her ankles over his shoulders; he wraps an arm around her waist to steady her. Her hips still resting on his lap, her center exposed and glistening, so close to his throbbing desire. He pulls her closer, her feet gaining leverage as they touch the wall, trapping him between her wet folds.

"This is an interesting position you've gotten yourself into," he says as he reaches her jaw with his lips, swiping his tongue on the underside, biting softly on her swollen lips.

"You like that?" she responds with a smirk. "But what are you going to do about it?" Her words come out with just a tinge of a dare. A sigh escapes her lips as he holds on to himself and starts swiping his head thru her slippery velvet.

"Castle…" she says with a moan.

"Yes?"

"Conquer me."

And that's all she needed to ask. He buries himself deep into her, a forceful grunt that comes with the sensation of her walls encircling him, stretching around him, the soft, pliant and warm feeling that it is to be inside her. She's smiling at him, with that beautiful and satisfied smirk of hers; he had seen it a few rare times over the years, but now he knows. This is Kate Beckett in ecstasy. His Kate. He is doing this to her.

He grabs onto her hips and guides himself in and out of her, slowly and controlled at first, letting all of his length slide and come in contact with every nerve, seeing himself disappear inside of her. Deep.

He raises his eyes; he sees that this mesmerizes her as well, her eyes fixated on their union. "I don't think you know what you do to me," he says, his voice coarse.

"I can feel what you do to us." She smiles, and he picks up the pace and steals her lips, sloppy; he needs all of her.

"Faster," she whispers in his ear as she pulls herself closer to him, holding on to his neck, biting, soothing with her tongue.

He grabs her hands from his neck. "You're gonna like this." He carefully maneuvers her to lay her back on top of thighs. He grabs on to her waist with one hand, stronger, meeting each thrust. And that does it. The new angle hits a spot in her that he knows she loves. She lays, her breasts within his reach, making it easy for him to flick and play as she writhes with each penetrating movement. He can see the tension building up in her abs, trembling with every touch that he throws carelessly to her clit.

"I can feel you close. Give in to me, Kate," he says in a strained voice. His own resolve is wavering. He can feel his own orgasm coming dangerously close, every muscle in his body coiled tight.

"You win." Her voice is harsh, shaky, and full of desire. "Faster, Rick. Come with me." And he thrusts into her with abandon, as her back arches and his name falls off her lips in sobs that flood his senses; her orgasm hitting her strong and powerful for a second time.

He doesn't know if it's the sudden clamp on his very sensitive flesh but he feels as if the power of her orgasm intensifies the feelings that threaten overpower him. Electricity explodes in his loins as he climaxes inside her, spilling himself in a loud animalistic groan that he cannot recognize as his own. It reverberates, bouncing off the walls of the shower, mixed with the notes of the music that started this heated encounter.


"I need to move," he hears in the distance. He forces one eye to open, and she's caressing his jaw, soft fingertips running along his earlobes. "Love, help me out this tangle."

He chuckles against her cheek. "You got yourself into it. What? No more acrobatics?"

She laughs as well and he feels her bite softly on his shoulder, before she finds a way to steady herself and get back to her feet. She stands in front of him on shaky legs, gently tracing the droplets that slide their way down to his shoulders. He grabs her waist and hugs her, placing a kiss to her stomach, caressing the skin with his lips.

"You know, this song that's playing right now," she says as he feels her carding her fingers through his hair. "There's a line in it that says, 'In the blood I carry you. And in every single moment… feverish and loving, I want to kiss your lips.'" She lowers to face him, her breath warming his lips, her eyes deep and full of emotion. He can feel it permeate the air, his own breath suddenly short and forceful.

"I own you, but you owned me first," he says as he takes her with a passion filled and searing kiss.


I love tango, I really do, but I restrained myself from making them actually dance in the shower stall. It would had been RIDUNKULOUS.

Big thanks to KyinHI. I always beta for her. I don't write much fanfiction cause she keeps me occupied with Hard Candy! She left me to my own devices last night and this is what happened. We might be looking into trying to make this a manual for someone to follow through. More people should be this daring in the shower. We also have fantasies of this happening on screen but what are the odds that Nathan finally learns how to dance?

The songs I used for inspiration are these:

Caballo Viejo – Simon Diaz. Tango version. (Actually a Venezuelan song but the tango version is beautiful)

Santa Maria – Gotan Project

Pasional – Osvaldo Pugliese (Look out the lyrics, they're quite great)