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Johnny's week had practically been hell, with a crisis after another keeping him so busy he had barely had any time to sleep at all; more than once he had practically collapsed either on the first available horizontal surface in the Baxter Building or in the Fantasticar… and even if today he finally managed to made it home (your home, which happened to be closer to where he and Spiderman had teamed-up to fight some mole-people, and, this week, child-free, courtesy of your ex husband who, knowing you had a lot of work, offered to keep your twins for a few days) the scene isn’t any different: when he sees you sitting on the couch, surrounded by what appears like a myriad of binders, massaging the bridge of your nose, he joins you, yawning loudly, huffing, falling on the sofa face-first.
“Sorry,” He sighs, rubbing his tired eyes. “I fear I may not be much of a company this evening – well, night. I am beat.”
You chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “I think we could actually call it an early morning – it's almost 3.”
“Already?” He laments. He gets up, and goes to the back of the couch, he rubs your shoulders, and feels the tense muscle, the knots, all signs you haven't been sleeping well and that you are worried…
Fact is, there are a lot of factors that keep you up at night: you’ve been dating a (much younger) super-hero whose life is perpetually on the line, and then, there's a case that's straining your thick deputy district attorney skin as it put you against your coworkers- your friends.
One of your oldest and dearest friends from College asked you to represent him, because he is risking to be the first man sentenced to the death penalty in the state of New York in over half a century; you are sure of his innocence but the evidences, your field of expertise, are practically non existent: nothing to convict him, but nothing that could exonerate the poor man either.
“You should take a nap. You're not going to be of any help if you fall asleep before the judge.”
While he is still massaging your shoulders, you cover Johnny’s hand with your own, and you squeeze it, and you whine a little, pouting. “I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, but I’m scared that if I don’t read the report one more time, there will be something that I missed…”
“I get it,” Johnny says, looking outside the window, but without letting it go. “Reed and I were like that when we rebuilt our ship, the Marvel. We’d stay up all night working on her.”
He closes his beautiful azure eyes, and yawns, in the least elegant way possible- one of those things that make you wonder how he can manage to be so successful with the girls- and yet, it makes him just… adorable.
“Tired?” You ask him, and Johnny, keeping his eyes closed, just nods. There's a moment of heavy silence between you two, and then, you finally say it out loud, what's been going through your mind ever since you saw him collapsing, face first, on your couch.
“You could sleep here. I mean, I have a huge bed with a brand new latex mattress...”
Johnny's eyes suddenly snap open, and his grip on your hand becomes so strong and firm that it is almost painful, desperate; you can actually feel, hear, his intake of breath as he slowly lifts his gaze to meet your eyes.
You've been in a tentative relationship for months now, but you've never fallen asleep in each other's arms. You have sex, yes, but you both have made a point of leaving once the deal is done. It's not because you see this as something purely physical: you may not be sure of Johnny's feelings for you, but you know that, despite all your feminist proclaims, your modern way of thinking, your cynical attitude, you are more than halfway in love with New York’s hottest (literally) super-hero.
But the intimacy of falling asleep together... you haven't felt it in a long time. You haven't allowed a man to see you in your real light in a very, very long time, and you're a bit, well... scared. On a daily basis, you may appear well put together, but once you remove the make up, the heels and the fashionable clothes, you're a very normal, plain woman in her middle thirties.
(Well… almost forty, if you want to be completely honest).
“Are you sure?” He lifts an eyebrow, quizzically, and you roll your eyes.
“Yes, Johnny, I'm sure. I should have some of my brother’s sweats somewhere if you want to take a shower and get changed.”
He meekly looks at you, chuckling lightly as he rolls his thumbs over your knuckles, and electricity runs through your veins.
You can't be 100% sure, but you think Johnny may be using some of his powers with (on) you, because you are feeling the heat radiating from his hands, and it's melting you.
“C'mon, let's get some hours of decent sleep.” You tell him as you walk him to your room, and hand him over the sweats – much more comfortable than his uniform – and then you go looking through your things in your wardrobe, suddenly very much aware of the gray cotton yoga pants and the oversize jersey underneath your pillow, and blushing, you instinctively grab something way nicer than that.
“I'll just go wash my teeth.” You quickly say, in a rush, a dead giveaway that you are up to something. And in fact, you re-emerge from your bathroom over fifteen minutes later, finding Johnny under the covers, going through one of your books on criminology, wearing your brother’s black t-shirt.
(One look tells you that the shorts are close to his uniform, which means he is probably sleeping with just a t-shirt and his boxers, a knowledge that makes you tremble with desire.)
“Everything all right? I almost came looking for you.” He jokes. But, he kind of is right: you told him you wanted to wash your teeth, and it took you fifteen minutes.
And why?
But because you had to be perfect, of course – you are wearing some drops of your favorite perfume, you've rubbed scented cream all over your body, applied some make-up to look like you had a naturally flawless skin, arranged your hair in curls and wore, underneath a silk pajama, an underwired lace balconnet with a matching Brazilian.
In short: the opposite of what you usually wear, especially in winter and on a chilly night.
“Cold?” He asks you as he lifts the blankets, making room for you; he pats “your” side of the bed, and you can see his body sort of glowing as he turns on the heat, ready to keep you warm all night long.
“Nope. Nope. Not at all.” You answer, and it's such a blatant lie Johnny immediately sees through it, but he is gentleman enough to stay quiet- he just smirks, and it pretty much says it all.
“Are you wearing.... perfume?” He asks, puzzled, and you blush, hiding your face underneath the blanket, and making yourself as small as possible- also because you're very cold, and you're envying Johnny and his powers, and you really, really want to turn his flames on and warm you up.
“Oh, babe, that’s so sweet of you, dolling yourself up for me,” he sneakers a little, and you take your pillow and throw it at him, realizing too late that, this way, you are allowing him to see what was hidden underneath your pillow: an oversized and extremely old jersey, with an equally extremely old yoga pants.
He looks quizzically at what he just discovered, and smirks a little- but it’s not because he desires to make fun of you; on the contrary, it’s a rather sweet expression. “Did you dress up because of me?”
Silence, heavy, and then...”Maybe? It's just that the majority of your exes are like at least ten years younger than me, and you’ve dated superstars, queens, princesses, superheroines… and, let’s be honest, I know it wasn’t really Alicia that you married, but you thought she was Alicia, and I’ve met her, and she is, like, she looks like a freaking top model!”
You are ranting, looking a little bit hysterical, but, instead of unnerving Johnny, the whole ordeal seems to amuse him. He shakes his head, smiling gently, sweetly, and runs a hand through your hair, undoing all your hard work.
“Babe, I don’t care if you don’t show as much skin as my exes… if you don’t have any powers… I don’t even care that you are older than me.”
You pout, and Johnny keeps talking. “I know you aren't perfect, you have a heavy job with awful hours and you have two teenagers, which I know can be hard work - and frankly, I don't want it any different – I want you, the dark circles, the pale skin, and the bad day hair and all.”
You both laugh, and he leaves butterfly kisses on your nose.
“You want me to keep you warm?”
You just nod, and cuddle against your boyfriend as you feel the heat radiating from his body, usually a turn on, but this time, instead, it reassures you- It’s like you know you’ll always be safe there, in his embrace.
Two hours, that's all you ask, and all you need.
Then, you'll be ready to face and fight the world yet again, the both of you: Johnny wherever the Fantastic Four’s travels and adventures will take him, you, in court.