#hypershock

Jack's kisses were slow and supple, but in the morning he's quick and careless, leaving behind nothing but a fistful of pocket change left on the nightstand with a note telling you to catch a cab and be safe on your journey home alone. It's always like this. He leaves you with just his shadow, and you leave him a memory of your flushed face. You sigh wistfully, remembering the night before as you ready yourself for the trudge back. When you leave his apartment, your eyes are affixed to the sky as you mindlessly walk in the general direction of your own home. You're looking to confirm a suspicion you've had since the last night you spent with Jack; that despite leaving you alone in the morning, he watches as you make your way home. Finally you see a flash of green light in the sky and feel satisfied, because even when keeping you at a distance Jack can't help himself, you are his favorite after all.

Hypershock is still there in the morning, but he's different. If werewolves are men that turn to beasts with the dusk then what does that make a man who turns to a beast with the dawn? His arms cross around your back, hands clinging to your shoulder blades and his head nestled in your chest, his eyes are squeezed tight, clearly no longer asleep. You debate in your mind whether to unwrap yourself from his embrace in order to get him coffee, or to stay still allowing him to cling for comfort. You opt to wait on him to acknowledge you're no longer asleep.

"Don't leave me yet," he mutters, eyes clenched tight, clearly suffering from one of his migraines. Who were you to deny the wishes of an ailing man? So you stay, until the phone rang, or until you had to unravel yourself from his grip to prepare for work, or until he had to dawn his suit and helm.

The night with Blazestone was intense and heated, but left you fading off to sleep in her warm embrace, in the morning you're still cradled in her warm arms, but far beyond comfort, instead it's smothering. You only realize why when flickering embers catch your gaze; she had lit the hotel room ablaze. You pat at her shoulder, both in an attempt to wake her, and to extinguish the flame lighting the strap of her pajamas ablaze. She may be fireproof, but you are not.

"Hey, wake up," you call as affectionately as your panic can muster. She groans and rolls her head to the side, almost into the flames. When her eyes finally open they dart between the flames and you. Saying a slew of profanities she takes you by the hand, weaving you both through the flames, and leads you out of the burning motel room. Standing outside, it looks as though the flames are reaching up to touch the rising sun.

You both stare in awe until she giggles. "Guess things got too hot last night," she whispers in your ear, placing an arm round your shoulders.