Through the Window | Peter x Mj

Maybe Five More

     The world is strange at two in the morning. When pulled from sleep by a soft moan, everything takes a minute to come into focus. It's confusion as the pillow MJ is laying on starts moving. Everything is fuzzy as she fights to open her eyes and it takes another minute, maybe three, she has no idea, before she's alert enough to realize what's happening. Her pillow is Peter. He's breathing too fast. His legs shift against her own, his hands grip her back and hip just a bit too tight to be comfortable and Michelle knows exactly what this is.

     She's no stranger to nightmares but when he groans and his fingers dig in, she knows she can't wait for it to pass or him to wake. She tries shushing him gently, telling him she's here. A constant mantra of it's okay, I'm here, you're okay seems to calm him for a few moments. His hold on her loosens and she slides her thigh over his hip. It's not a conscious thought, she just needs to be closer, have a better angle on him.

     That's how she ends up straddling him two seconds later when he starts to thrash. Cupping his face in her hands as she presses her forehead to his just seemed logical too. All she can think about is the soft pain filled groan as the blanket falls. When did he cover them in a blanket?

     "Peter," she breathes, not even caring about the sweat on his brow. She'll tease him about being a sweaty gross boy later, she just wants his breathing to calm. "Hey, Peter, please calm down. I'm not good at this shit."

     He stills immediately, his hand flies up to grip her wrist and tightens. His eyes open, wild and he's so tense Michelle wonders if he might throw her to the floor any second. Maybe it's not a good idea to wake a superhero by pinning them down. She doesn't know how to do this. She wasn't given a Spider-Man Manual for this.

     "M-MJ?"

     "Yeah, it's me." She pulls back just enough he can rake his gaze over her face. His eyes soften and her heart does that dumb clenching thing. Her wrist is starting to lose feeling. "I can't feel my hand, loser."

     It's dark and the glow of the TV makes him look even more pale than usual but she watches as he turns white as a sheet and pulls both of his arms up near his head. The disgust is there in the furrow of his brow and the thin line of his lips.

     "I didn't mean-"

     "I know. Probably not smart to pin down someone with super strength, my bad." She waits for the soft chuckle he'd usually give but it never comes. "Bad dream?"

     She'll give in to the urge to sit back and rub her wrist later, when he can't see. He's too close to panicking, she can feel it beneath her in his labored breathing. Calming someone down has never been one of Michelle's strengths but his eyes are too much and they're welling up, threatening to spill over when he gives one barely visible nod of his head.

     "Thought they didn't happen with you around. I'm so so sorry, I didn't mean to hu-"

     "We need to talk about a few things, boy hero." Starting with the fact that she did not need an apology before the ass crack of dawn. "Do not say you're sorry."

     For once, he's smart and keeps his mouth shut. Until he shifts beneath her and seems to finally realize that she's straddling his hips and still leaning awfully close. Then he's swallowing, some of the color returns to his cheeks from what she can see in the limited lighting, and he stops looking at her. The ceiling has his interest.

     "Uh, can you...move? I just want to sit up."

     "I'm kinda comfy." That's all it takes to get him to look at her again, to get his breathing to regulate enough on the deep breath he sucks in. She pulls her hands from where they slid to his neck, down to his shoulders to push herself up just a bit more. "You should see the look on your face."