Sand, Snow, and Love
"I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand and the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep and there are no words for that."
- Brian Andreas
He came back from the dinner meeting with Black Pawn feeling a strange combination of energized and exhausted. They had extended his contract, giving him three more books due to the success of the first two movie adaptions and the continued sales of the novels. They had fought over advances and deadlines, over the plot points he had proposed regarding the Pulitzer winning journalist and his on-again, off-again detective girlfriend.
So when he walked into the loft, his suit jacket over his arm with the sleeves of the dress shirt rolled up this elbows in the early summer heat, Castle wasn't sure if he wanted to sleep or throw a small party.
His mind was made for him when he rounded the couch, headed toward the bedroom to hang up the jacket, and did a double-take.
Her hair was loose, some tangled under her cheek, the rest covering the arm of the couch as she slept. One hand was under curled under her chin, tucked close to her chest while the other dangled off the cushions. Her legs were bent, taking up only half the couch instead of stretching out the entire length. Keeping herself as small as possible. Her steady breathing told him that she was, indeed, completely out.
Castle did go into the bedroom, but only to drop the suit jacket on the armchair in the corner, stripping off the dress shirt and putting the lightly-polished shoes into the closet. He flipped the sheets down on the bed, tossing the comforter onto the ground, unnecessary in the humidity. Then he returned to the living room. She hadn't shifted, though her mouth had fallen open in sleep, her lips caressing the skin between her thumb and forefinger.
He didn't want to disturb her, but the couch really wasn't the most comfortable location to spend the night. From personal experience, you woke up with a crick in your neck that lasted days, a sharp pain in your lower back, and a mild headache. And that was after just spending a day alternating between writing and playing with a remote controlled race car on a track created from books and kitchen utensils. She had been working for three days straight and he had been surprised that she had lasted that long without her body shutting down.
As gently as possible, Castle slid his arms under her form, one at her knees, the other against her upper back, lifting her slowly.
She stirred, her eyes fluttering open as he cradled her against his chest. "You're home."
"Yeah. Shh. Go back to sleep," he murmured even as her hands curled around the thin white undershirt he still wore.
"M'kay."
Must be really tired, he thought as he walked back to the bedroom with her in his arms, to not fight him on this. He gently unwrapped her fingers from his shirt as he set her onto the bed. The breath that escaped her body shot straight to his soul as he went around to the other side, taking off the black trousers and white shirt.
As soon as he was laying next to her, she shifted, pressing her body against his side. A hand inched onto his chest even as her legs twisted with his.
And twisting his head to face her, Castle was again overwhelmed with love. He felt mildly ashamed that, as an author, he couldn't come up with a better word for the emotion, but love was the simplest, the one that was understandable even without words.
So he whispered it into her ear, his breath ruffling her hair. "Love you, Kate."
Her sleepy sigh back was a small shock. "You too."