Work Text:
This “thing” between Matt and Frank, to be honest, starts on the rooftop That Night. For Christ’s sake, Frank chained Matt up, hello kink! But it really becomes what it is late one October, after a fight with drug traffickers has left the two, while victorious, also injured, so now they’re stopped briefly in an empty lot, in Frank’s still oppressively-new smelling van, Matt patching up the knife wound on Frank’s back, standing behind Frank while he sits on a cargo box.
Matt’s lost his billyclub, his head is still ringing from gunfire and the chemicals they were cutting the drugs with in the warehouse, and he’s exhausted, between Daredeviling and Lawyering and all the shit with Foggy, but Frank is warm beneath his hands, his shoulders and back shifting as he breathes, heart strong and steady. It’s not the worst night ever, even with the pit of hyenas and the actual mountain of coke.
They have the room to not be right on top of one another, but, well, that doesn’t last. It’s cold, no one is around, they’re safe, and the Devil hasn’t entirely left him when, with fresh gauze stark against Frank’s skin, Matt bends down and kisses the back of Frank’s neck.
Frank stops breathing.
Matt shifts back, his left hand still braced on Frank’s shoulder, but the rest of him at a distance so Frank doesn’t feel crowded.
Frank doesn’t turn, but leans back into Matt’s hand, just a bit.
“Please.” Frank’s voice is barely a whisper.
Matt slides his hand from Frank’s shoulder to just above his elbow, and tugs on it, to turn him to face Matt from the cargo box he’s sitting on, hand gentle now on the cut of Frank’s bicep.
Frank’s head is bowed, his hands dangling between his knees, forearms braced on his thighs, still in his boots and jeans.
“What do you want, Frank?”
Matt can hear him swallow, smell the musk from between his legs, trapped behind heavy denim and thin cotton, and the heavy metal-buckled belt Frank has used as a weapon more than once.
“Red.”
Matt lets go and Frank’s head snaps up.
"What the hell…”
“You said ‘red’.” Matt can hear Frank blink before he snorts.
“… I wasn’t safe wording.” He takes a deep breath and reaches up, settles a hand on Matt’s hip. “Matt.” He rubs his thumb over the armor, leaning forward, still looking up at Matt. “Matt, please, I want you to..." He drops his forehead against Matt's stomach and breathes. "Kiss me again?”
Matt does. He gets right down on his knees and kisses Frank like he's been wanting to for weeks.
They start out gentle but, being who and what they are, it doesn’t stay that way.
They’ve moved from kissing to groping, to Frank riding Matt, the deathshead vest as a pillow to keep his skull from knocking on the metal floor, lube and condom liberated from the very well stocked first aid kit.
When he starts to cry, silently, teeth grit, panting heavy through his nose, Matt tries to stop things to find out what’s going on in Frank’s head, but Frank hits him, an open palm right across his face, not hard, but stinging. A challenge.
Matt rolls them and pulls out, braced over Frank, one hand behind his neck, and growls in his face. Frank’s hands are limp at his sides, knees not coming up to attack. Every inch of him that Matt can read is still eager for this, his wet dick rubbing against Matt’s stomach, precum smell stronger than his tears.
“That wasn’t very nice."
“I’m not nice, Matt.”
The kiss is more a punch, Frank’s chin coming up to smash his lips on Matt’s, dragging messy and hot over his stubble, panting hot and wet on his jaw as Frank rubs against him, before laying a bite mark over a bruise on Matt's collarbone.
Matt shoves him flat. "Stay." He leans over to grab the belt from Frank’s jeans and wraps it around Frank’s wrists, loose, giving him ample time to safe-word, but his arousal just increases when Matt picks it up, and when he loops it around Frank’s hands, his chest opens and his shoulders pull back, head dropping back to knock on the floor. He moans when Matt knots it so it won't come undone accidentally.
Matt turns him back over, his face shoved into the vest, his bound hands overhead, and Matt covers him, rubs his cock against him, before hitching his hips to slide back in. Frank groans as he bottoms out, Matt pinning him to the floor, Frank squirming as Matt holds as deep as he can. He makes Frank sweat, a whine building in his chest.
“Please.” He gasps and Matt moves- not to pull back, but to swivel his hips, grind his cock inside Frank to make him howl.
By dawn, they’ve done their damnedest to cover up that new car smell.