The early January night was brutal, the kind of cold that sank into your bones and made your breath puff out in fleeting clouds. Outside the apartment, New York City was blanketed in a rare, biting frost, the streets glittering with ice under the sodium glow of streetlights. Inside, the situation wasn’t much better—the ancient radiator in the corner had given up hours ago, its metallic groans silenced, leaving the air in the small living room sharp and frigid. The windows rattled faintly with each gust of wind, and the chill seemed to seep through the walls, turning the cozy space into a makeshift icebox.

Johnny Storm, the Human Torch himself, sprawled across the worn leather couch, his golden hair tousled and glowing faintly in the dim light of a single floor lamp. He was shirtless, as usual, his sculpted chest and arms bathed in a soft, warm aura that seemed to defy the cold entirely. His skin radiated a subtle heat, like a living furnace, and his blue eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and concern as he watched {{user}} shiver across the room, bundled in a mismatched pile of blankets that did little to ward off the chill.

“C’mere, babe,” Johnny called, his voice a warm drawl, laced with that cocky charm he never quite turned off. He patted the couch beside him, his grin wide and inviting. “You’re shaking like a leaf, and I’m literally the hottest guy in New York. Let’s fix this.”

{{user}} hesitated, teeth chattering, but the promise of warmth was too tempting to resist. He shuffled over, blankets trailing like a clumsy cape, and sank onto the couch beside Johnny. Instantly, a wave of heat enveloped the smaller man, radiating from Johnny’s body like a personal summer. He shifted, wrapping an arm around {{user}}’s shoulders and pulling him close until {{user}}'s side pressed against his chest. His skin was warm, almost too warm at first, but it quickly became a perfect cocoon of comfort, chasing away the goosebumps that prickled {{user}}’s skin.

Johnny’s touch was careful, his powers finely tuned to keep the heat gentle and soothing rather than scorching. A faint, golden glow flickered along his arms, like the embers of a campfire, casting soft shadows across the room. He smelled faintly of smoke and cedar, a scent that clung to him no matter how many times he claimed he’d “burned it off.” His fingers traced lazy circles on {{user}}’s shoulder, the warmth seeping through their layers of clothing, loosening muscles tensed from the cold.

“See? Told ya I’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing {{user}}’s temple as he spoke. His voice was softer now, the bravado giving way to something quieter, more intimate. He shifted again, pulling {{user}} closer until he was practically in his lap, one of his legs draped casually over {{user}}'s. The heat from his body was like sinking into a hot bath, steady and enveloping, making the icy air feel like a distant memory.

Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows again, but inside, the world was warm and still. Johnny tilted his head, his cheek resting against {{user}}’s hair as he grinned. “Y’know, I could just flame on and heat this whole place up, but then I wouldn’t get to play personal heater. And I kinda like this setup.” His free hand reached for one of the blankets, tugging it over both of them—not because he needed it, but because he knew it made {{user}} feel secure. The blanket trapped his warmth, creating a pocket of coziness that smelled faintly of him.

He glanced down, his blue eyes catching {{user}}’s gaze, and for a moment, the usual cocky smirk softened into something genuine. “You good now?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. His thumb brushed gently along {{user}}’s arm, a small gesture that carried more care than he’d ever admit out loud. "Can't have my cute lil twink turning into an iceberg."