She's curled up, safe and perfect between her warm sheets, and he's just standing in the doorway to her bedroom, staring. The night outside is bitter and frigid, and has taken its toll on his exposed skin—he knows that his cheeks and ears are burning pink from the wind and the ice, and for the briefest of moments, he worries that maybe he'll never regain feeling in his fingertips. Silently, he shrugs out of his coat and lets it come to rest on a nearby chair, and his pants follow suit. Surprisingly—or maybe not so much—the air in her bedroom is warmer on his legs than the damp denim of his jeans. He unbuttons his shirt, now, deciding that he might as well go all out, and it slides with a quiet rustling to the floor.
Until now, she has not stirred, but a noise rouses her slightly. She rolls onto her back, going all sinuous and stretching, and he can feel her eyes searching the darkness for his form. She is startled to see him, outlined against the street lights in the window, and pulls a blanket tighter around her. "It's late." Her voice is low and scratchy, with a slight Louisiana drawl around the edges. This is her 4 am voice. He knows this voice, and, like so many of her other traits, loves it.
"Early," he corrects. "But I still have three hours."
He feels, more than sees, a sleepy smile make its way across her features, and she lifts the blanket in invitation. He longs to join her, but is reluctant. His skin is still cold from the outside world, and she has opted to sleep without her customary nightgown. He doesn't want to leech any of that comfortable bed-warmth from the soft porcelain that is her skin. She says nothing as he stands there, but her arm doesn't move. Finally, he honors her unspoken request and slides under the comforter with her.
The sheets are pleasantly warm, as he knew they would be, and he finds himself all but basking in it as the heat radiates against his skin. Her heart is warm, and right now her skin is warmer. The thought comes unbidden, and he smiles against it in the darkness. Months earlier, he would never have dreamed of this intimacy—not with her, at least. He is laying next to her in practically nothing, while she sleeps in exactly nothing. It feels new and, at the same time, familiar.
He can't help it—he reaches out and caresses her cheek. He hears her surprised intake of breath and pulls away, just before she stretches herself out over his body. "You're freezing!" she exclaims, and tucks his hands between their bodies for warmth. He smiles and spreads his fingers out against her belly. Now that he has her, he can't get enough of her--touching her, kissing her, watching her work, hearing her laugh...
"It's snowing," he informs her, perhaps as a way of acknowledging her words without letting on that he actually felt the cold. She nods against his chest, still shifting against him. She's trying to find the best way to cover as much of his body with as much of hers as possible. Finally, she appears satisfied—or simply tired—and falls still. He's warmer already, and brings the blanket up over her shoulders.
"I love snow," comes a soft voice, vibrations next to his heart. He smiles.
"I love you."