A/N: Well, we're totally going out of order now. Sue me!
"Honey, are you ready? We'll be late for the party," Bob impatiently calls from the living room.
Simon Paladino, known to most as Gazerbeam, is hosting a formal dinner party for his 40th birthday. It'll be the Parrs' first night out since Violet was born, and both of them are eager to spend some quality time with other humans who are over the age of six months — and get to catch up with a few of the friends they've started to lose touch with since the Superhero Relocation Act.
"Almost!" Helen calls back.
"Well, Vi's asleep, and the sitter will be over any minute now," he informs her.
No answer.
After a few more minutes of silence, Bob rolls his eyes and heads toward the bedroom.
"What's the...?" he begins, trailing off when he sees his barefoot wife standing in front of the full-length mirror, prodding the sides of her black dress with a frown.
Whoa mama, she looks great. With more than a little effort, Bob draws his attention from Helen's form to the pile of rejected dresses lying on the bed.
"Having trouble with the clothing?" he asks, nodding at the mess as he straightens his own cuff.
"I need to buy new clothes," she sighs, turning to inspect her backside in the mirror. "I'm huge."
Bob eyes her up and down before he can help himself. Okay, his wife's hips and, er, bottom have widened a bit after giving birth to their daughter. But if anything, she just looks sexier now. She's already lost the baby weight around her tummy, too, even though they haven't exerted themselves on a mission in ages. Maybe it's a perk of being Elastigirl. He's not going to question it.
In fact, the slim black dress she's currently wearing fits her just a little too perfectly. Without the cover of the loose button-down shirts she's taken to sporting these days, he can see that her waist is still tiny enough that if he put both hands around it, his fingers would meet.
In short, she looks as incredible as the day they met.
"You look great," he manages, trying not to ogle.
She whirls around, her newly-bobbed hair swishing from the momentum.
"I look fat," she disagrees.
Bob thinks this is perfectly ridiculous. His dressed-up wife looks so good that he'd like nothing more than to skip the party and remind her that she's the most stunning person he's ever known.
These days, even with the bags under her eyes from sleepless nights, the often mussed-up hair and the baggy shirts, his wife has never seemed more attractive to him. While they haven't been intimate in quite a while - he's been respectfully keeping the distance after reading up about the effects of childbirth on women, not wanting to hurt her further - it doesn't mean he hasn't wanted her.
But Helen doesn't seem to realize this. He has to say something.
And so he matches her glare, fists at his sides. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"
This throws her. "What?"
"It's taken every ounce of control I have," he growls, slowly nearing her, "Not to touch you constantly."
"Bob…" she squeaks at the sudden look of possessiveness on his face.
"I thought seeing you pregnant was bad enough," he continues, inching closer, "But now you're so damn tempting that I have to take a cold shower every morning."
Helen blinks once.
Then she smirks. "That explains your shorter-than-usual showers lately."
"Well," he grins back, finally close enough to grasp her backside, "Now I can get my revenge."
She gasps as Bob brings her in with a forceful yet gentle tug.
"Simon will have another party next year," he mutters, closing the final millimeters between them.
