For Bee,
the Violet to my Martha.
He rolls over onto his back, rubbing his cheek against the smooth fabric of his pillow. He wiggles his toes, leeching them of sleep before the rest of his body follows. But then his foot brushes up against bare skin, smooth and soft and deliciously foreign. He stills, eyes opening and the corners of his mouth lifting.
He's still not used to it. If he's honest with himself, he hopes he never is.
He loves waking up to the surprise of her arm around his stomach, her leg tucked between his. He'll never stop wanting to be coaxed into consciousness by the swirl of her scent. He loves her molded to his chest, nose submerged in the morning tangle of her hair. He loves her draped over him, mouth open and warm against his pectoral. He just loves her.
He rolls onto his side, tugging her softly snoring form closer to the heat of his body. Pressing his nose against the nape of her neck, he breathes her in. She smells different in the morning, like the soft light that bathes his room every sunrise. He doesn't know how but if anyone could smell like sunlight, it would be her. He darts his tongue out, can't help himself, needs to see if she tastes like it too. She tastes like the shadows, mysterious and heady and dark.
She moves then, a subtle shiver but completely noticeable when he's wrapped around her like this. So she's awake then. He smirks, sucks in a breath to keep from letting out the predatory chuckle in his throat.
He flicks his tongue in the same spot, drags his mouth up her neck to her ear, tasting the salt on her skin. He breathes there for a moment, heavy despite the laziness of the morning. But then his mouth is open on her, licking and nibbling and oh she thinks he didn't hear that muffed gasp. He lets his hand drift from her hip, tracing his love for her over her stomach. He feels her abdominals contract, tense and delicious against his wandering fingertips.
He smiles against her cheek, his stubble scraping against her skin exactly how she likes it. He knows because he makes a point to do it every time he travels down her body, hears her sharp intake of breath each time. He hears it this time too, even though she tries to pass it off as a yawn.
Oh no you don't, Kate.
His fingers still but his mouth keeps moving, using all the knowledge of her body that he's accumulated over their time together. He presses closer, letting her feel every inch of his body.
He licks that spot he adores just under her eye, nuzzles his nose against hers tenderly before dipping his hand down and then she's crying out, completely surprised by the move. He laughs, can't help himself as he breathes out his amusement against her forehead.
"You bastard." She's grinning, her eyelashes long and dark against her pale skin.
"Morning to you too, babe." He moves so that he's looking down at her and kisses her smile, a warm press of his lips to her happiness. He wants to mix it with his, show her how happy they are together. But she knows. She's half of it, isn't she?
"What did I say about calling me babe?" Breaking away from his kiss, she tries to glare at him. But it's more adorable than threatening.
"You're cute in the morning." She raises an eyebrow, opens her mouth to let out some scathing retort, he's sure, but he doesn't give her the chance. His mouth is against hers before she can even utter the first syllable.
She surges up against him, lazily insistent. He feels his heart beating in his chest, sputtering despite the languid kiss. He pulls away, needs to find the breath that seems to have deserted him. But when her eyes open, lashes sweeping against her skin and eyelids fluttering he loses it all over again.
"Mmmm," he sees joy flooding the green of her irises, "you taste like morning breath." He pouts at her, a feigned indignation just for her. Her smile widens and he can see the tease of pink tongue that he loves. He lets his hand come up from her stomach, traces her lips with the pad of his thumb. Her eyes close again, content and fluid against his sheets.
"So do you, but I'm not complaining." Her tongue darts out then, licks at his thumb before capturing it between her teeth. He flexes it, letting it sweep against her warm tongue for a quick moment before lifting it away. She follows his thumb, swirls her tongue against the whorls of his fingerprint. She lets him go after a moment, but presses his hand against her heart before he gets too far.
"I love mornings like this." He knows exactly what she means. Mornings where they don't wake to the shrill tones of the alarm, no matter how much he tries to reset it for later than six. Mornings that aren't interrupted by her ringtone, death interspersed between the notes.
"Me too." She pushes against his chest with her palm and for a moment he's disappointed. But then she's crawling on top of him, head against his chest as she hums along to his heartbeat. He feels the vibrations of her hum before he hears it. "If I didn't know you better, I'd suggest that we stay here all day."
She smirks against his chest then, a move that has his eyes widening in anticipation and his fists clenching against the comforter. Practically slithering up his body, she chuckles darkly when she sees his dumbstruck expression. His hands fly to her hips, can't help it when her hair is brushing against his chest like that and her lips are some sort of dangerous weapon against the muscle of his neck. Oh, she can so not be allowed to move that way.
"I can be quite the surprise, Castle."