A/N: The sleep over continues. Enjoy, all.

John woke from his sleep a few hours after he'd finally drifted off, the darkness of Joss' living room even more illuminated by the snow shine outside. For a second or two, he'd forgotten where he was, but the ticking clock on the mantle piece and the scent of lemon and patchouli quickly brought him back to his sense of place.

With a groan and a sleepy hand through his hair, he slowly sat up and realized he was still in his clothes. And the merlot, wonderful spirit that it was, had left him with a pretty unpleasant case of cotton mouth. A toothbrush was needed. That, and a walk around the place to shake off the slight buzz he still had. No lightweight when it came to drinking was he—but he'd slowed down on his alcohol intake a lot since connecting with Finch and Joss, and so four or five glasses of anything would at least buzz him up a bit.

He decided to get up and get himself cleaned up a little, so as to sleep properly. A home like Joss'-warm, cozy, and quiet—would afford him a rest that he didn't often have as the Man in the Suit. It was like a home should be, and a proper sleep was his to be had. Even with as groggy as he now felt, he knew that the past few hours had been preferable to any vigilante action he could have still seen, even in drifts the like that were being forecast. He wouldn't waste this if he could help it. For the reality of the streets most assuredly waited for him, waited for them both. After all, he had a body to answer for behind a raggedy hotel on Bleeker Street still, didn't he?

He rose from the couch, and with the lights still off, was able to find his duffle where he'd stashed it behind a leather loveseat across from the couch. There was enough snow glare for him to locate a faded gray army tee, a pair of sweat bottoms, and his toothbrush. She had only one bathroom in the brownstone, so he'd have to make his way up the steps, doing his best not to disturb the sleeping detective.

Upon reaching the bathroom, John flipped on the light and got a good look at himself in the mirror. His salt and pepper hair was unmoussed and its strands fell in messy locks about his head. He was still very tired and still slightly drunk, the light crimson in his wild green eyes telling him so. He could have also done with a shave, but since it was still overnight that would wait. A washcloth and his toothbrush would be his saving graces. They were enough.

After stripping his day clothes, he quickly replaced them with the tee shirt and the sweatpants, keeping his socks on. He then went for the sink, and as the water steamed out of the taps into the basin he cleaned his face with a blue cloth he found in her small cupboard. Soon, he switched to cold water and found the paste for brushing. John often found these necessary tasks monotonous, and so he often hummed little tunes to himself to get through them. Between the action of the toothbrush in his mouth and the humming, he almost missed it.

He almost didn't hear the sounds from around the corner. Joss' bedroom.

But he had heard them. And standing there, toothbrush and foam in his mouth, he stopped, his instincts, his fighter's spirit on alert. He froze, his eyes widened, his body stiffened for action. He steeled himself to wait a second longer. But only a second. Especially when the sounds coming from her room became more audible, much clearer to him in the bathroom.

"No! No, no, no, no! Please, no! You can't! You can't hurt him! Please, no! Let go! No, no! Taylor! Taylor, no!"

John quickly rinsed his mouth, spat into the sink and dropped the toothbrush, bolting from the bathroom straight to her. She was in trouble, somehow, and the blood ran hot in his veins at her cries. He practically burst the door in, and at the thundering sound, Joss bolted up and screamed, her body leaping and bouncing off the bed as she responded to both the intrusion and the fact that she was bound up in the quilt she'd given him to use earlier.

"Who is it? Who is it? Who's there? No! No! Get out! No..." She was frantic, tears streaming down her face, her body wracked with sobs. John was just able to catch her as she stumbled from the bed toward the door, and he'd never known a woman to fight him so hard as she had at that moment.

"No! Let go! Get offa me! No!"

"Joss! Hey, hey it's okay. It's me, Joss!" he pleaded. "Joss, it's okay...slow down...Joss!"

But she wouldn't slow down. She was like a demon posessed trying to free herself from him. When she hit him in the chin with her flailing fists, he knew he had to get her under control or she might hurt herself, if not him in the process. Using his entire upper torso, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her in a gentle vice grip until she stopped fighting.

"Carter, it's okay...it's okay. I'm here."

"John..."

Within a moment or two, his actions had done the trick. He held her close, loosening his grip little by little until he could feel her resistance slipping away, and she just let herself go limp against him, her tiny body only coming up as high as his mid chest. She sniffled and choked back further sobs.

Dismayed, John rationalized to himself that what he was feeling towards her at the moment—protectiveness, tenderness—was due in part to his second nature as a soldier. He'd thought she was being attacked. Knowing how many enemies Joss Carter had from her work as an NYPD detective both on and off the force, she was never out of danger, even though he had her back at all times. So what if there was a snowstorm that could shut the city down? Hadn't he had a number that very night in that very storm?

However, he knew how his body was responding to her as he held her, and that 'protectiveness' wasn't the only impulse on play there. The sound of her voice only added fuel to his fire—though what she had to say perplexed him.

"John...I need...I need to see my boy," she murmured through sniffles and quiet hiccups.

"Taylor?" he asked gently as he stroked her now messy hair. "But why? He's at your mother's out of this storm."

"I need to tell him...I need to tell him..."

"What? You need to tell him what? He's okay. He's at your mom's. He's safe, Carter. You'll see him soon. It's okay."

"No...no...he's just a baby," she continued, her crying more pronounced now. "He's my only baby. He...he...needs to know...that his mother loves him..."

John gently squeezed her body against him once more, placing his chin on her head. "He knows, Joss. He knows. You are the most amazng mother I've ever seen. I don't know how you do it, but you do. And he's a great kid—because of you."

He could feel her move to wrap her arms around him too. The sensation was indescribable.

"He's been so proud of me. He told me the other day."

"I'll bet he is," John whispered.

"I've been having dreams, John," she said. "Horrible dreams. Dreams where Taylor is hurt...because of me. And I'm just afraid...afraid that those dreams will someday come true. I couldn't stand it, John. He's my baby...my proudest accomplishment, out of all the others. I'm so afraid..."

"Shh...hey...don't be. Don't be afraid. You are strong and courageous, and nothing will happen to your boy. You love him. You protect him everyday. He's gonna be fine. And listen," he said, lifting his head in the dimmness to look directly at her, "you got me. I will do everything in my power to see that no harm comes to either one of you."

She smiled at him. "You have, John. In spades. Do I ever say 'thank you' enough?"

"No," he grinned. "But I won't hold it against you."

Another bead of silence passed between them before she spoke again—and said something that hit him completely out of left field.

"John?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"Would you do something for me?"

"Sure. Anything."

"Would you...would you stay with me? Just for a little while?"

For a second, he couldn't respond. The protector in him, who had already planned to at least camp out in front of her bedroom door for the duration, now engaged in an instantaneous battle with his brain who said he should have actually never come there in the first place. It was too risky. Far too risky.

But the protector won out. How could he not? This was Joss. And he'd already pledged his allegiance to her a million times over since the night he'd met her.

"Of course, Joss. I'm here if you need me."

##

Joss pulled back the heavy comforter and sheets properly this time, but then noticed, in the dimness, the quilt she had given John earlier.

"You weren't cold downstairs, John?" she sniffed.

"No. You fell asleep during Gladiator and I carried you up here, so you'd be a bit more comfortable. Just didn't take the quilt back. You were already snug as a bug. Didn't want to wake you."

"Oh," she replied quietly.

"Is there...uh...any side of the bed that you prefer, Joss? Because...I'm not—I mean, I'm not picky."

"No. The bed's big enough, I think, for us both. Sides never matter to me."

"Okay. Well, after you, Detective."

Joss quietly slipped into the bed, under the top sheet and comforter, while holding up the same for John to follow. When he did so, he was surprised to find that she saddled right up to him, nestling her tiny frame into the crook of his body. Instinctively, he extended his arms around her, his desire to protect her strong. The competent detective, with one of the best records on the force, certainly had her shit together; he had no doubt of that. But at the end of the day, she was a woman, a mother, a human being with fears like anyone else.

He would be there for her. Just as she had always been there for him. Just as she had been that night. He would keep her safe, if only from her own nightmares.

He pulled her closer, the warmth of her body and the warmth of the bedding the perfect combination.

"Better now, Joss?"

"Yes. Thank you, John."

"Anytime. Might as well make myself useful, since I crashed your place tonight."

"I'm glad you did."

"Me too."

He turned slightly, off his back to his side, so as to get a glimpse of her face in the semi darkness. Along with the snow glare, she kept a night light plugged in near the bed, which lit her with a soft glow. His fingers found their way to her hair again, to sweep away a few tendrils of loose strands. Her eyes remained closed, her breathing even. She was getting comfortable again.

"Mmmmm..." she moaned, turning her head into his fingers. He liked the sound. In fact, he loved it. He loved it so much, he wanted to see if she'd do it again.

His fingers tangled in her hair gently, and then found her skin. It was soft and smooth, her little nose pert and perfect.

"Mmmmmmm..." she repeated, the purr of satisfaction leveling off with a tilt of her head into the pillow. He could make out her lips, parted and moist, as well as the glint of silver in her earrings.

John sank down into the pillows for a better cuddle. He wanted to be close to her. He wanted her warmth as much as she wanted his comfort.

Joss responded to his move putting her arm between his to clutch his back. In contrast, John pulled her even closer, their breaths nearly mingling, the sweetness of hers more intoxicating than all the merlot in the world.

Soon, each touch, each movement inspired and equal and similar impulse from the other. Joss' moans and whimpers increased in frequency, and as John's body covered hers, the two of them soon gently tossed and turned against one another, their touches and caresses invoking more than just a need for comfort.

There was now sexual need. And John's need roared to life in ways he hadn't felt in years. Not even with Zoe.

He continued to whisper for her concern, but now his voice took on the timbre of the lover.

"You okay? Hmm?" he voiced softly, breathlessly. His chest rose and fell with desire, his breathing coming along with audible pants. He nuzzled her face, her hair, then her neck and upper chest. He craved her skin, her hair—all of her.

"Uh huh...yeah...mmmmm...John..."

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"Unexpected. But I'm so glad you're here. So glad..."

"I'm glad to be here. Glad to be with you. No one else I'd rather be with."

His hands and fingers began to roam across her body, over the tank, down her thighs and up again to find her face and lips. Finger and thumb traced the swollen bottom lip, disappearing just under the rim, and she moaned again at his touch. Her hands lost themselves in his hair. The comforter rose and fell with their movements, and John's body covered Joss' over and over again, the length of his chest, his thighs and legs—his dick—all of them she felt keenly. And the more she felt, the more her own need replaced the horror from before.

John sucked in a breath, and squeezed his eyes shut, before pulling her close to him yet again, and letting his body sink even further into hers. Jesus, he was going crazy. She was driving him crazy, and he was almost powerless to prevent it. Joss was his unofficial work partner. How would this end?

He knew how he wanted it to end. But that could make their work life complicated from there on out. Very complicated.

"I need to get out of this bed...I should go...I..." he murmured, not believing his own ears at what he was saying.

"Where you gonna go in this weather, John? I asked you stay. Please..."

He let go of the breath he was holding. The sound of his sigh resonated throughout the bedroom. "Joss...if I stay in this bed...you're very beautiful. But we do work together..."

"John, it's okay. It's better than okay, in fact. Just...don't go. Please..."

He pulled her down further into the bed, once again covering her body with an embrace. When he pulled up again, he caught her cheek in a kiss that soon found her mouth. Slowly taking possesion of her lips, his blood boiled in his veins and the more he felt her moist mouth on his own, the hotter the boil.

Soon, their mouths dueled in heat. Joss' moans became more profound, while John groaned in response.

The heat threatened to consume them both, and the only answer was to remove the barriers which held them. John rose up just enough to pull the tank over her head. In the dim light he could make out her small yet buxom breasts, the small dark nipples pert and inviting. Her belly was taut with toning and he bent to kiss her belly button before trailing his mouth up to one nipple to take it in.

"Aahhhhhh...aaahhhhh," she gasped in satisfaction.

After torturing that nipple, back and forth, in and out of his mouth, his tongue and teeth working in concert to send her over the edge, he switched to the other with an audible suck, and held him to it as she rubbed the former nipple to life.

"Delicious," he murmured before getting upon his haunches to reach underneath her to pull down the leggings and warmers. "I bet you're even more delicious here."

When the leggings were off, he slowly hooked his thumbs under her thong and pulled it down her legs until he had it completely off, sending it sailing across the room. All the while, he never took his eyes off her, studying her face in the darkness, his body looming like a human cobra.

"Spread your legs for me, Joss," he gently commanded. When she did as he asked, he smiled at her, his eyes silver, his smile feignt but sure.

Sliding downward, he slid out his tongue and let himself drink from her nectar, allowed himself to let go and let love happen. Joss soon let him know how well he did that, as her body climbed the steps of passion and sensation, her legs and thighs spreading wide and closing in her lust.

When the first orgasm hit, he moved to pull off his own clothing in a flash, and positioned himself to enter her.

"Ah!" they both exclaimed in unison at the contact. John moved. He moved slowly at first, both giving her a chance to get used to him, and giving himself a chance to keep some kind of control in light of just how damned good she felt. He wasn't a man given to premature ejaculation—but Joss' heat was another story entirely. The sweet tightness drove him, coaxed and soothed him, and he wanted more of that. He wanted that balm of honey and love so badly.

He forgot himself. "Oh, babe...oh, babe...oh, yeah..." he repeated in his delirium, his hips now in slapping rhythm. Joss pressed her head back, her neck exposed, her mouth open. The gasps were silent, then guttural, then whimpering again. He continued, holding her legs in the V shape, pushing himself to his own release.

When it came, they both cried out. The bed creaked and groaned with the weight of their loving, and soon, with the exertion John put forth to pull out of her and get himself back to earth.

Joss' body slightly writhed with the sensation of having had John's love, and she continued to gasp until she, too, got her breathing under control.

"John..."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you again. I needed that. I needed you."

"I think we both did, sweetheart. I think we both did."

"You're a good man, John. No matter what."

John heard the roaring of the wind outside. It mirrored the roar of emotions in his own heart.

Pulling her close once more, he cradled her body in his.

"Shhh, Detective. Let's get some sleep."

"Good night, John."

'Night, Joss."

A/N: John, you're such a good man. See what you get for being so good? Maybe we'll see where they go from here. How far will Joss go with this new dynamic? Can she, considering who John is? After all, there's a body to consider on Bleeker Street.

Thanks for reading. See you soon!