AN: I don't know if anyone even reads Fantastic Four fanfic anymore, so I am going to wait and see if I get any feedback before I update. I never update until I get at least one review, but I also appreciate follows/favs to show if I have any readers. So if you want another chapter, you'll have to let me know.
I noticed that most of the Johnny Storm fanfics only get two or three chapters in, and then they just stop. So I had to write my own, which I definitely plan to finish.
Chapter One
When the Fantastic Four received the alert to release a group of hostages being held by fundamentalist terrorists in Queens, they had reluctantly peeled themselves away from their preferred activities to fight for a greater cause – except for Johnny. While Reed preferred analyzing molecular and atomic structures of compounds and elements and ranting about covalent bonding and its incredible structure over using his powers for battle, Johnny was the exact opposite. Suiting up in the form fitting uniforms and playing superhero was the best employment of time that the Human Torch could think of, since he could show off his powers without eye rolls and reprimands.
The group had made their way to the area of concern, and Ben stared at the potential battle ground.
"If the military isn't handling these sorts of ordeals, do you ever wonder what exactly they are doing holed up in their government buildings?" The Thing muttered sarcastically, obviously deeming the situation to be better suited to the military than a band of last resort mutants. "This is their job, right?"
"I'm sure they think the same thing about us," Reed reasoned, "They probably wonder what those mutants are doing in their headquarters when they aren't publicly fighting for justice."
Upon realizing that the foursome had gathered across the road from the park and were simply staring at it, Johnny decided to begin the action. "If you fellas wanna stand there chatting, go ahead, but I am gonna get to it." Sue nodded quickly, grabbing her husband and pulling him forward as well.
"There are hostages in danger every second we don't act," she pushed, "Discuss the politics later." The team launched themselves into an impromptu, spur of the moment plan. Johnny would be a distraction, as he wasn't able to carry out hostages while on fire. Reed would focus on the trapped civilians, and Ben and Sue would handle the guards with occasional help from above.
The Torch jetted into the air, his flames igniting and providing a distraction nearly impossible to be ignored. While he wanted to get into the actual action, he found that he was pretty content flying ahead and teasing the terrorists who attempted to shoot him down.
Very soon, the hostages were being ushered away successfully, and the enemy was mostly either dead or taken into custody. When Johnny decided to begin his descent, he found that his flames were stubbornly insisting on remaining present. He jerked his body, trying to jar his powers into cooperation, but the flames suddenly increased crazily.
He was flying recklessly, trying to switch his flight off, but only succeeding in propelling himself faster. All control lost, Johnny began to panic, flapping his arms and not even noticing the crowds of people watching in awe and concern. Then the flames sputtered and totally disappeared.
His fall was quick, and not exactly painless. Crashing was one thing, but crashing through the roof of a bar and landing in a pool of beer, broken glass, and wooden debris was another. The latter was, Johnny concluded, much less enjoyable.
He stayed in the rubble he had just created for a long moment before his peaceful rest was shattered by bustling and a cacophony of voices. Johnny was surrounded by people, and hands were all over him. People checked his pulse, hissed and remarked on how hot his skin was, and brushed at his face. In the commotion Johnny was sure that a few hands had wandered over his crotch very low on his abdomen, and he hoped that it was an accident, not an act of some perverted creep who waited among crowds for helpless victims. Brushing the hands aside, he finally focused on one particularly close face, and saw it was a rather annoyed looking blonde with a crease etched between her brows.
"Uh…" he started, unsure of what to say, "Is there any way I could have some room to get off of all this glass?" He spoke pretty quietly, and all of the people were paying more attention to each other's observations than the struggling man himself. The blonde, however, heard and acknowledged him.
"Move back, he's lying in glass and needs to get up," she ordered loudly, backing up and pushing the others back with her. He managed a small smile of gratitude, and forced his aching body off the floor. The manager helped him up, face just as annoyed as the girl's was. Johnny tried to look apologetic, but he was more concerned with picking the few shards of glass from his suit and checking all of his joints for injury.
"I assume that you have the funds to rebuild this roof?" the manager warned, pulling out his phone to call a lawyer, most likely. The Fantastic Four kept a bank account dedicated to handling damage fees that the government wouldn't cover. He was sure that this one was going to be on him.
"Yeah I'm sure we have plenty," he said without stopping to estimate or evaluate. The manager grimaced, but turned away when his lawyer picked up the line. Then Johnny moved his gaze to the left, where he was met by an arched eyebrow and pursed lips. "I'm sorry, is something wrong?"
"Why don't you tell me?" she asked, aloof but obviously pissed. He sighed, hating this game that females always seemed to play with poor unsuspecting males. The "I'll just be really vague and hope he gets his ass in line when he figures out the problem" game.
"Oh, I landed on your table, didn't I?" he glanced down at the remains of probably four shot glasses and a few mugs. "If I did, then you sure drink a whole lot of booze."
"No, you landed on my big break," she snapped, "A famous music agent was here and was going to actually see me perform, until you scared the hell out of him with your terrorizing entrance!"
Johnny nodded slowly, "So you are a singer?" Placing her hands on her hips, the girl shrugged.
"It was a possibility," she mumbled, "It doesn't really count here at a bar for a waitress who occasionally handles entertainment." Johnny put the pieces together, but he had to admit that he didn't really care that the girl had missed out on her little solo.
"Well, that sucks," he offered nonchalantly, and her glare returned. She huffed angrily, but didn't say anything for a second. He was considering putting his hands in his pockets and whistling to get her to leave and take her guilt trip with her.
"I guess I should ask if you are okay," she said with resignation, running a hand over her already perfectly smooth denim miniskirt. The action redirected Johnny's gaze to her body. Her legs weren't long or tantalizing, but they were shaped nicely and were healthily muscled. He moved his gaze upward, and noted that she had a thin waist and a flat stomach (unless she was sucking it in), and her breasts were on the larger side of average. Not the body of some of his past model girlfriends, but it was shapely and pleasing. Instead of commenting on his assessment of her body, which she had to have noticed, the girl only repeated herself. "Are you okay?"
He looked back up to her eyes, which were a grey-blue color like an ocean, and replied, "I have survived much worse." The two stood awkwardly, and Johnny felt uncomfortable, which was not normal for the social player. He reverted back to his tried and true tactic. "You got plans later?"
"This is a very, very bad time for you to ask that, since my biggest plans were just stepped on by none other than yourself," she said icily, "And I highly doubt you are interested in me after seeing you in those magazines with models from Vogue."
"It's a conversation starter," he defended, and her skeptical look told him that she didn't like that particular comment. He moved on. "So you know who I am?"
She scoffed at the cocky undertone. "Who doesn't know who Human Torch is? Especially when he is always shirtless on magazine covers and going out in public with bikini clad sluts."
"Ouch?" When he only received the hundredth glare of the conversation, he moved on yet again. He felt like he couldn't walk away from this conversation, no matter how badly he wanted to. "Well, you know who I am, but I don't know who you are. Is that fair?"
"Perfectly so," she said bitingly, but she relented with one look of "really?" from the Torch. "I'm Andy Sharpe." He nodded, feeling as though he had won in this confusing conversation. Or at least, he had tied with her. Or was it a competition? Who was he kidding? Everything was a competition.
"Well, it was… eventful… to meet you, Andy," Johnny said, backing away from the girl with exaggerated caution.
"Likewise," she returned, and whirled around to help the other employees clean up. As she left, Johnny noted that her butt wasn't half bad. But it wasn't the best he'd ever seen, either.