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You’re awake when he eventually comes home, curled on the couch and underneath a blanket with a new book, a mug of cooled hot chocolate long forgotten on the coffee table. You don’t even hear him to begin with, not until the sudden blow of hot breath fans across your cheek and a quiet ‘why are you awake’ sinks into your ear.
The book slips from your hands when you startle, whipping to the side and nearly off the couch completely had it not been for the gloved hand that quickly wraps around your arm and steadies you.
Matt smiles, lips curling deviously beneath the edge of his mask and you exhale sharply, fighting the own upward twist of your lips as you slap at his hold, heart thundering away in your chest.
“Damn it, Matty. You scared the shit out of me!” You scold lightly, unable to stop the growth of a smile as he leans down to seek out your lips. “How was your night?”
“Quiet.” He hums against your mouth, kissing you softly and licking away the lingering traces of hot chocolate from your lips with a low noise of appreciation. “Yours?”
“The same.” You breathe, a pleasant buzz of warmth settling in your stomach with the more his lips press insistently against your own. You ignore the faint thud of your book hitting the floor as you shift on the couch, turning and coming onto your knees, craning your neck to reach him easier.
Relief settles over you in a wash of warmth, the constant nag of worry that hangs in the back of your mind whenever he leaves now put to rest—for now, anyway. All that matters is that he’s home; safe and seemingly unbloodied.
You’ve had your share of scares.
Nights where he would stumble in, unsteady on his feet and clinging to your body for support. Nights where your hands would shake, the needle firmly grasped between your fingers trembling as you tried your best to fix it the best you could. Nights where you’d ignore all calls of sleep and just watch him rest, attention focusing on any and every twitch of his body in concern that he’d suddenly stop breathing, or be lost to unseen internal injuries.
But these nights? These are the nights you cling to. The nights where he would return in the same shape as he left—still whole, still Matty.
You chase his mouth with a hand wrapping around the smooth helmet to bring him closer, the soft lick of his tongue against yours as he deepens the kiss stoking the low heat building in your core.
You know he can feel how your body responds to him, the hands resting comfortably on your waist now starting to grab a little harder, his fingers digging into soft flesh in the urge to have you closer despite the back of the couch keeping you separated.
“I want—I want to do something for you,” you pant softly, breaking away from his mouth and feeling his own rapid breathing blow across your lips, “if you’ll let me.”
“I’ll let you do whatever you want.”
“Yeah? Good.” You break fully away from him, stepping carefully from the couch and holding a hand out.
His head moves to follow the sounds of your movements, the soft crumple of cotton along your arm and the light rattle of your bracelet as you raise your hand sinks into his ears, and he reaches out immediately, fingers interlacing with yours and body moving to follow your lead.
To his surprise, you bypass the bedroom in favour of the bathroom. He feels the ever present chill of the tiles along the bare skin of his cheeks, hears the soft pad of your sock clad feet along the floor as you make your way to the shower.
“Take it off, Matty.” You request softly, opening the glass door and reaching in to start the water and fiddle with the temperature.
Steam soon starts to rise from the heavy stream of water, and it’s then you turn and return your attention to Matt, scanning over his body and observing the new blossoming patches of deep purple mixing in with some of his older bruises.
“‘Quiet’?” You scoff quietly, stepping forward and reaching out to trace over them softly.
A frown of concern pinches your brows, but Matt remains unfazed, his shoulders lifting in a small shrug as he pulls the rest of the suit off completely with a barely there flicker of a wince. It drops to the floor in a heavy heap, closing the door on the devil for another night and hopefully bringing him a bit of peace with it.
“Compared to the usual—yes. Stop chewing your cheek, I’m fine.”
“I’m not che—”
He throws a look in your general direction before taking the initiative and stepping into the shower before you could say anything, his body immediately starting to loosen and relax under the hot flow of water.
You move to gingerly pick up the suit, folding it the best you could before sitting it neatly on the sink, fingers brushing over the material with a wave of dark, almost morbid, curiosity.
How many men had fallen in front of this?
You eye the discarded mask, the colour and contours so stark and distinctive compared to the average looking glass holding your toothbrushes beside it. What did it feel like, you wonder—to have that pointed at you, the dark reddened out eyes of it hollow and formidable?
He hears you move, hears your touch as it traces carefully over one pointed horn, and then the other. There was no hiding here, not with you. Never with you. He was laid bare, both physically and spiritually. There were no demons hiding away in a chest, no secrets to protect, no excuses—lies—to burn his mouth.
The soft rustle of fabric roars over the steady stream of water with his senses attuned and focused on you, listening intently as your arms slide out of the sleeves of your sweatshirt, and then the drag of cotton against your skin as you slide your pyjama pants down your legs. He opens the door as soon as you reach for it, smiling at the jump in your heart rate. It would never get old.
You don’t move in for him, as he expects. His head tilts in curiosity as he listens, the pop of a bottle and the sudden flood of coconut filling his nose his answer as to why you didn’t immediately curl around him like you usually would.
“Come here, Matty.” You coax quietly, lathering the shampoo between your palms as he steps forward instantly, body responding to your voice before he can even process your words.
Your fingers run through his hair, spreading the shampoo across the tresses evenly before your fingertips dig in and scratch lightly at his scalp, working away the stress from his two lives. His eyes flutter, lids closing with a low hum of content as you work, smile widening when he feels you craft a soapy mohawk. You scrub it away with an amused huff, fingers twirling around his hair until you form two makeshift horns.
“Lookin’ fine, Daredevil.” You coo teasingly, warmth spreading from your chest when he smiles in amusement.
His frame relaxes further under your touch, the tension finally dissipating from his shoulders with the more your fingertips dig firmly into his scalp. You press a kiss to the stubble covering his jaw, gently manoeuvring his head back until the water runs over his hair. You comb through it, thumbs rubbing soft circles into his temples.
Truthfully it wasn’t what he had in mind, especially after the stint on the couch, but he had no objections to your kind affection and instead embraced it all with a deep appreciation. He savours it, body thrumming with each tender graze of your fingers over his skin, heart pleasantly unsteady from the devotion he could feel just from your touch.
“Thank you,” he mutters once you’ve finished ridding his hair of suds, pretty eyes fixed just past your face. His large hand moves to cup your cheek, and you nuzzle into it softly. “I don’t tell you enough, but I appreciate what you do for me.”
Your own hand cups his cheek in turn, your thumb brushing over the rough prickle of facial hair as a wave of butterflies flutter and swirl in your chest at his sincerity. He feels the build of heat grow from your chest, your heart picking up into a faster beat and it’s like music to his ears.
“I’m always here for you.” You breathe before sealing your promise with a small peck to the corner of his lips, a smile tugging at yours when he turns into it to chase the taste of your mouth.
“Patience, Mr Murdock.”
You reach out to the shower niche lined neatly with bottled products, each with its own little braille label, pushing out a few pumps of body wash onto your hands and smoothing the cool cream along his broad shoulders. It thickens and bubbles from the friction, making your journey across the planes of his chest smooth as it mixes with the water and fills the space with the familiar fresh scent that forever lingers on his skin.
His chest heaves softly under your touch as you continue over his torso, the steady drum of his heart beating against your palm before you trace lower, and lower, his stomach jumping from the stroke of your fingers.
It’s quiet, barely a whisper as the words breeze past your lips. “Can I?”
You watch your fingers drag along the tops of his thighs, gliding teasingly towards where his cock hangs, slowly hardening from your ministrations. His hips twitch when you ghost over his balls, his shaky breath almost picking up into a whine—
“Let me hear you, Matty.”
“Y-yeah. Yes. Please—”
His skin is silky against your palm as your fingers wrap around his cock, the length of him hardening in your hold with every firm jerk and twist of your soapy hand. The breath leaves his lungs with a sharp exhale, your touch bringing fire along his nerves and curdling low in his belly.
“I’ve got you, baby.”
A hand curls around the back of your neck, pulling you close enough for him to smother any other words with the pressure of his lips, stealing your own breath with his tongue that forces through your lips to slide hungrily along yours.
Returning his fervour, you tighten your grip around his thick cock, milking a drop of precum from the tip that smears over the head of him and aids in the steady jerk of your hand as the running water slowly rids his body of the remaining soap.
A sly grin pulls at your lips as his body twitches and hips start to push desperately into your hold, the furrow between his brows deepening while his eyes flutter closed.
It’s a sensory overload and he’s lost to it.
The heat of the water hammering down his back; the scents mixing in the shower space that remind him solely of you filling his nose; your rapid heartbeat; the press of your soft lips working against his; the arousal built from the way your hand works his cock seeping from your cunt and sinking heavy into his tongue when he takes a ragged breath in—
He remains blissfully light-headed, succumbing to his every sense and finding solitude in your touch. The tingle building at the base of his spine threatens to send him hurtling off the edge, and his hands scramble for your waist, the sudden power behind his touch throwing you back a few steps.
“I need—I need you, please—”
The tiles feel like ice along your back when he pushes you up against them. You arch away instinctively, the swell of your tits sliding along his bare chest as he smothers you and presses you hard up against the wall. He swallows your whine eagerly, hands roaming down your sides and sliding along your left thigh, hitching it up and over his hip with a bruising hold to keep it from slipping.
His mouth slips away from yours, the burn of his stubble rubbing along your skin as he works his way along your jaw and down your throat, the blunt edge of his teeth digging into your soft flesh before soothing the sting with a swipe of tongue.
“You need it, baby?” You pant softly into his ear, manoeuvring the head of his cock to brush against your aching clit before sliding it between your folds and along your pussy, your hips rolling against the solid feel of him.
His tongue flicks along his lips in anticipation, a slight tremble building in his hands with the more you work your cunt on him and cover his cock in your arousal. He’d finish like this if you so much as said the word—pressed up tight against you, your pussy rubbing over and over until the mixture of his and your cum was dripping down your thighs.
“Go ahead, Matty. Take what you need. Fuck me.”
And it’s all he needs to hear.
A slight change of angle and he’s sliding into your cunt, burying his head into your shoulder and groaning at the feel of your hot walls surrounding his cock while he breathes in the calming notes of your skin.
He pauses to give you a moment, almost positive you’d need it to fully accustom to him due to not fully preparing you, but an impatient whine melts into his ear, along with the shift of your hips against his and the thread holding his restraint together finally snaps.
The wet slap of skin fills the shower, your back sliding against the tiles with the way he moves against you, hips harsh and unforgiving as he pounds into you. The ferocity is exactly what you needed, the walls of your cunt fluttering and tightening around him with every solid thrust that presses you harder into the wall.
The nails digging into his shoulders do nothing but spur him on further, unleashing the leftover adrenaline that still simmers under the surface from the night’s activities and chasing the peace, the solace, that he finds with you after shedding his other skin.
Kisses turn into a messy clash of teeth and open mouths as you lose yourselves in the heat, your breath tangling with his as you drink each other down in desperation. He clings to you as much as you cling to him, fingers digging harshly into your flesh to keep you close as your arms wrap around his neck, your nails scraping against his scalp as his wet tresses tangle around your fingers.
The steady, brutal pace of his hips starts to falter, and you cling to him tighter, pressing messy kisses along his throat to coax him along before nipping sharply at his ear lobe.
“It’s okay,” you pant, “it’s okay, Matty. Give it to me. God please—”
Your breathless plea and the feel of your slick cunt opening up and taking every savage thrust he gives you sends him hurtling over the edge, his groan melting into your mouth as he gives one final slam of his hips. You feel the throb of his cock as he cums deep within you, whining softly as his pubic bone brushes against your clit and shoots a sharp jolt of heat to the fire already churning in your core.
He stays pressed against you, nose pressed against the skin of your throat as he takes a minute to catch his breath, mind hazy with his release. His softening cock slips from your cunt, his cum leaking from your entrance and sliding down the inside of your thigh as he gently releases his hold on the other.
You watch with a building frown of confusion as he lowers down to his knees, his hands running over your ankles and up your legs with soothing strokes.
“What are you doing?”
He grins wickedly up at you, tongue running along his lower lip. “I’m not through with you yet.”
The same thigh is soon hitched back up and hooked over his shoulder, your hands flying to the top of his head to steady yourself. He doesn’t hold back and instead dives in the second his fingers spread your folds, unable to reign in his wild hunger to have you finish against his mouth.
His tongue circles your clit before moving down and slipping into your cunt, the tang of his cum mixing with the heaviness of your arousal enough to drive him to the brink of insanity with the more that floods his taste buds.
Your hips start to move against his mouth and he can’t help the groan that sinks into you as you start to practically ride his face, his stubble building a burn along the inside of your thighs as his tongue slides against the walls of your pussy with each little grind. The brush of his nose against your clit with every roll of your hips mixes with the feel of his firm tongue buried in your cunt and it has dancing on the edge of a climax within minutes.
“Shit, Matt, I-I—”
He feels it the second it happens, the rush of blood coursing through your body with your heartbeat fluttering away in his ears as a sharp cry gets caught in your throat. He feels the walls of your cunt flutter around his tongue as you flood his mouth, his groan sinking into you with the rush of it all. He takes everything you give him, only slowing and stopping completely when you tug at his hair.
He guides you down with strong hands as you sink on weak, unsteady legs, no longer able to support yourself standing. Your ass hits the floor and you breathe a content sigh, eyes creasing as the water rains down upon the both of you.
“What are you thinking over there?” You ask quietly, head resting back against the tiles as Matt shifts to lower himself next to you. Your eyes follow him as he settles, tracing over the smile tugging at his lips.
“That I should have quiet nights more often.”