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Karen’s got a single because her studio’s small enough without her indulging in the luxury of a bed big enough for sprawling, but it means when Frank stays over she better be prepared to sweat. No space for spreading out when the dude you’re sleeping with is about as wide as the bed is.
Unfortunately for Karen, while autumn is settling into the city nicely, there’s still the occasional warm day, and this is one of them. Which means when Frank shows up half way through the afternoon, exhausted because he spent the night before scouting out his next scumbag targets, Karen decides not to join him when he conks out on her bed for a nap. Instead, she sits at her dining table with a cup of iced tea and a magazine, and alternates between skimming through the articles and watching the steady rise of Frank’s chest. She likes the way his dog tags catch the light coming in from her window with every exhale.
About an hour in, Karen gives up on the magazine and focuses only on watching Frank sleep. He’s down to his underwear with Karen’s sheet half kicked off, so she has a clear view of his face and torso. There’s a lot of skin out on display, and Karen wouldn’t have it any other way. Still, it’s Frank’s face that has most of her attention, as it’s one of the few times it doesn’t sport some cut, bruise, or stitch. Karen’s always liked the fact that recon doesn’t involve a lot of hand-to-hand, partly because it means Frank’s in significantly less danger, and partly because it means he gets to go a few days without looking like some kind of twisted calico cat.
When she grabs her phone from where it’s sat beside her glass of tea, Karen doesn’t think too hard about what she plans to do with it. She simply flips open the camera app and aims the lens at Frank. He’s almost glowing in the afternoon sun, dust motes haloing his head as they swirl in the breeze, and while the camera doesn’t pick most of that up, it does capture the smoothness of his skin. The lack of purple that normally blossoms over his eyes and cheekbones.
She takes a few photos, For posterity, she thinks. Proof that Frank Castle needs sleep like the rest of us. Of course, she has no one she needs to prove that too, but she likes having the evidence on her phone all the same.
She takes a last look at the photos before moving them to a folder labeled with an emoticon smiley face. It’s a little tacky, she realizes, and dangerous should anyone get a hold of her phone that isn’t her. But though Karen chastises herself on every rare occasion when she snaps a candid photo of Frank, she never stops herself from taking another picture when the opportunity arises again.
“I’m so stupid,” she mutters under her breath.
“No, you’re not,” Frank says from the bed, voice thick with the dregs of sleep.
Karen’s not embarrassed Frank heard her. She’s not even embarrassed Frank probably knew she was taking his picture.
“Of course I’m not,” she agrees with a sigh. “At the very least, I’m the smartest one in the room.”
Frank, eyes still closed, chuckles. “No arguments there.”
“You all done getting your beauty sleep?” Karen asks as she stands and makes for the bed. She perches on the bottom edge and rests a hand on Frank’s exposed ankle.
Frank grunts and opens his eyes one at a time. “You think if I sleep a little more it’d make this ugly mug look more handsome?”
“I happen to like your ugly mug.”
“Got a face like a bulldog.”
“Lots of people think bulldogs are cute.”
Frank considers this. “You think bulldogs are cute?”
“Yes, I happen to think bulldogs are very cute,” Karen says. “But I also don’t happen to think you look like a dog.”
“What do you think I look like?”
Karen stretches her arm until she can grab her phone on the table. She opens the camera again. “I think you look like a model,” she says, snapping a picture to prove her point.
Frank offers a dopey smile until he hears the shutter click. Then he takes the phone from Karen and snorts. “Send that one to the papers.”
“The tabloids, too,” Karen says as she takes her phone back. “You’re not wearing a shirt. Pretty risque shit right here.”
“Especially for–” Frank lowers his voice to a growl, “–The Punisher.”
Karen snorts. “They’ll say you’re vying for Iron Man’s spot as America’s hottest hero.”
“Nah,” Frank says. “Everyone knows that spot belongs to Cap.”
“Mmm. It is hard to beat the star-spangled man. Even when he does go rogue.”
Frank sits up in the bed and draws Karen forward slowly. When their lips are inches apart, he whispers, “Bet you like him better when he’s not being such a goody two-shoes.”
Karen grins. “I have always had a soft spot for bad boys.” Then she presses their lips together.
She moves to straddle Frank, hiking up her sundress. It might be too hot to sleep together, but it’s certainly not too warm for other partnered activities.