She thinks he's a late riser. Thinks that in all the time they've been together, months now, that he's only woken before her a handful of times. She'd kill him if she knew the truth.
He wakes before her regularly. Years of being a single parent have permanently altered his body clock, his subconscious attuned to the sound of little feet clambering down the stairs. He continued to rise early long after Alexis had become self-sufficient, habit and the desire to spend time with his kid pulling him out of bed at six on weekday mornings. He'd shuffle into the kitchen, bleary eyed and disheveled, smiling at the sight of Alexis sitting at the bar, books and breakfast spread out before her. She'd started making his coffee the year she was thirteen; he'd balked loudly the first time he'd come around the corner and seen her bringing a cup of the steaming liquid to her mouth, had stood there gaping as she'd admitted with laughter shining in her eyes that she'd been sneaking mugs of his precious Kona blend for years.
Now, though, his daughter is gone, her clothes and her books piled into her dorm room, monkey bunky hidden in her trunk. He has no reason to rise with the sun anymore but he does, his brain kicking over into consciousness at six like clockwork. Usually he forces himself back to sleep, tries to reclaim some of the hours he's lost over the past eighteen years. But sometimes -
Sometimes he waits.
Kate is slow to wake; she takes her time, breathing changing from slow and deep to quick and shallow over the course of half an hour. She snuffles and scrubs at her face, fighting the process with the adorable petulance of a child. Her legs twitch and her fingers curl under, nails biting into the bare skin of his chest. He listens, keeps his face and body perfectly still. Because if he waits long enough it happens.
Her knee presses into his thigh and he tries hard not to smile, not to let his lips quirk up in anticipation of what's coming. Cool fingers slide over his ribs and down his side, a long slow sweep that pulls goose bumps up on his skin, makes him ache to let go of the charade and roll into her, cradle himself between her thighs and claim her mouth. She pushes up on one elbow and the tips of her hair whisper across his bare shoulder as her fingers slide back up his chest, dance along the curve of his jaw. She traces over his nose and chin, sweeps her thumb along the ridge of his brow before dipping into the shallow dent at his temple.
Kate Beckett likes to watch him sleep.
The thought makes him want to giggle like a schoolgirl, elation bubbling up inside his chest. She's surprisingly sentimental and it delights him to no end. She keeps little mementos of their relationship - a playbill from the first show they saw together, the card that came with the first I'm-Sorry-I-Was-A-Giant-Jackass bouquet he'd sent her, the napkin where he'd scribbled out a fairly explicit encounter between Nikki and Rook one night when he got bored watching her do paperwork. His smile almost slips out at the thought of that one; they'd had a rather enjoyable evening recreating the contents of that napkin.
He knows she's about to get up when her nose brushes across his cheek, her lips, soft and dry, skimming along behind, dragging over his stubble. She plants a solid kiss under his left ear, tongue darting for just a second.
"I love you."
His eyes fly open and he's over her in a flash, looking down into her smiling face.
"Morning, you big faker," she laughs, swatting at his chest. He swoops down claims her lips, swallowing the rest of her giggles. Her legs lift and hook over the backs of thighs and she sighs into his kiss, wrapping her arms around his chest and pulling him down.
Breathless, he pulls back and stares down at her with a look he knows must be part awe, part disbelief. "You knew?"
"I've always known you were faking it." She rolls her eyes. "For the son of a famous actress, you really have no skills."
"I'll show you skills," he grumbles, rolling his hips against her, grinning when her eyes flutter closed. He drops his head and runs his lips up the column of her throat, stopping next to her ear. "I hope you're ready, Beckett. The combination of morning sex and I love you sex has been known to maim lesser mortals."
Her legs drop and her arms tighten around his chest and suddenly he's on his back looking up at her smirking face and tousled hair.
"Don't worry, Castle. I'll go easy on you."