"And I kiss you, while the sun kisses me."
Sun light streams through the gaps.
Small flecks of gold fall like pebbles through a waterfall, in dappled, dotted contortions as they hit the floor and scatter in all directions. The light sprinkles the new day about them with glee. Born in the sunrise, the heat of morning is followed by longer, thicker, more defined strips of light throwing rainbows out where the stained glass window remains untainted by a covering.
Sun light streams through the gaps and pours itself in molten pools that gather in the dips and hollows of his back, calling to her fingers and the press of her mouth, calling for her touch and the press of her skin to his.
The sheet's tugged low, his skin is warm and haloed by beams of fractured light and this vision of him, strewn across the bed they demolished together, is the first thing that greets her eyes when she finally pulls herself up from slumber.
It's a hard fight, but one she doesn't shy away from, the promise of him at her side more enticing than the satiated weight of her limbs. More intoxicating than losing herself in memories of the day - and night - before.
He's still asleep. His arm curled beneath the pillow, one hand reaching out behind him across the bed and when she flutters her gaze low she becomes aware of the warmth of his fingers curled through her own.
They're holding hands. They fell asleep that way and they awoke in the same position and though maybe they have untangled and reconnected over night, right now they remain ensnared in each other. Touching. Holding on.
In love.
Kate sighs and her eyes close on the length of her breath, warmth like a drug through her blood that pulls her back down into the intimacy of their bed, only for her to exhale and feel her chest, her very being rise up with the air that escapes her.
She slips her fingers free of his and flutters her touch the length of his arm. Naked, peaceful, she draws patterns over his skin, the crease of his elbow, the pulse of his wrist. She follows the soft hairs higher until she caresses muscle that enraptures her.
His arms bind themselves about her body the way his name twines her tongue in ecstasy, the way his soul circles her heart. Bewitched by the way he holds her, tender and with reverence or tight and inescapable, every movement is another reminder of all they have shared thus far, all that lies before them yet untouched.
Her breath stutters, eyes close and she dips her head to breathe him in.
Her movement follows over his shoulder, curls the joint and her nails scrape through the hair at the nape of his neck. He hums in sleep and shifts into her touch the same way he does when he's awake, the rasp tingling his scalp as her fingers graze upwards and tug at the mess of his hair.
She smiles, presses the joy of her lips into him, chin resting featherlight on his back, grinning at the way all the strands on his head stand on end.
She really did a number on him.
Not one hair is in place thanks to her craven grip, hands fisting and stroking depending on his movement, his talent at the time, his devious preoccupation with which particular body part.
She drapes his back, presses the cool and naked skin of her own chest to the heated length of his spine so that her lips rest just shy of his ear. She kisses his cheek, closes her eyes and kisses again, rippling fingers following the fall of his hair and the low tumbled drape of the sheet.
There are so many ways she could wake him this morning. Dirty, naughty, delightfully suggestive ways. And with so many words on the tip of her tongue.
Rick.
Castle.
Lover?
How to choose just one?
His hips strain against the bed as he starts to rouse, his cheek lifting, even in sleep he feels her close and the rumble through his chest - pleasure, contentment, remembrance, all - makes her decision for her.
She kisses his earlobe as his eyelashes flutter, eyes finding hers in a sideways sweep.
"Good morning -" she hums, "- husband."