Chapter Text
As his fist slammed into the man’s face with a dull thwack, sending a spray of blood across the gangbanger’s face with a wet pattering sound, Matt grinned. I fucking love this , he thought. Later would come the guilt, but here, in this moment, with adrenaline coursing through his veins and a deserving target before him, Matt could admit to himself that he even loved the guilt. It felt right, somehow. A penance to pay for this moment of indulgence. Momentarily he wondered what Father Lantom would think of this moral arithmetic, but the thought was banished when he heard a set of footsteps-- no, two sets-- creeping up behind him. Matt slammed the thug’s head into the pavement one more time, then whipped his hand up just in time to catch the thrown brick flying toward his head.
Spinning, Matt smashed the brick into the second man’s face, dislocating his jaw with a sickening crunch. Matt could hear the boots of another man behind him scuffing the cracked pavement, but before he could plan an attack, air currents buffeted his skin as his would-be attacker went flying into a pile of garbage sacks. Matt dropped the man in front of him with an elbow and a knee as a woman’s voice rang out. “Stay down, asshole,” she said.
Matt could hear her heart-- light and quick, excited, but not winded. “Nicely done,” he called out.
“You’ve got some good moves yourself,” came the reply. A few bootsteps on pavement, and she was in front of him. “I would have left you to it, but I’m on the job and I thought I should make a token effort.
“On the job?” He could smell leather, unwashed denim, cheap whisky-- not a costumed hero, then. “You’re a mercenary?”
“Private investigator.” She was quiet for a moment, and he heard a bottle slosh, a top unscrew, and the telltale scent of ethanol wafted across his senses. “Is that supposed to be a costume, or do you just dress like that? Are all the kids wearing bandanas on their faces now?” she asked as she raised the bottle for a sip.
“It’s to protect my identity,” he answered, tugging his mask down.
“Hmm. No names then,” the woman said, a grin evident in her voice. “Drink? Or are you working?”
“Not exactly. Aren’t you?” Matt said, taking the proffered bottle from her hand.
“Perks of being freelance,” she answered as he raised the bottle to his lips. Jim Beam. Not as bad as it could have been . “And now I’m off the clock,” she added, taking the bottle back. One more glug , then she tucked the bottle away-- and took one more sudden step, pressing her body into his.
“Oh!” he began, before he was silenced by her mouth on his. She kissed him, hard, before breaking it off just as suddenly.
“Like I said, I like your moves,” she breathed into Matt’s mouth. “I’d like to see some more of them.”
Matt raised his hand, rested it on her cheek. Smooth skin, angular face, long hair brushing past his hand. Beautiful. And apparently dangerous. Just my type , Matt thought ruefully as he leaned in to return the kiss. It had been a long time since he’d been with anyone, but this wild stranger appearing out of nowhere tugged at his reckless nature. Matthew Murdock, J.D., member of the New York bar, shouldn’t be having anonymous trysts. And yet, here, with his mask stretched comfortingly across his nose, the throbbing pain in his knuckles singing a counterpoint with his thudding heart, he couldn’t think of a single reason why not. He pulled her face to his and kissed her back, mouth hot and urgent.
Ok, maybe one reason why not, he reflected ruefully as a cab whipped around the corner, narrowly missing the streetlight they stood under. They both jumped back, the strange woman yelling “Watch where you’re going!”
“Maybe we should go somewhere out of the street?” Matt suggested as she muttered curses at the retreating bumper. The woman stepped back, paused to look around, then took his hand and led him into a nearby alley. She grabbed a doorknob, turned it hard, and the door popped open with a cracking noise. “Oh look, somewhere out of the street,” she said.
“Was that unlocked?” Matt asked as she led him inside.
“Sure,” she answered. Their voices echoed back-- a big room, a warehouse probably. Matt could sense large solid objects laid out regularly-- crates. Wooden ones, from the piney tang in the air.
Matt stopped in front of one thigh-high crate, and pulled her close again. He kissed her, open-mouthed and hard, grabbing at her hip with his right hand. With his other hand resting on her face, he ground his erection against her. It pushed up roughly against her pubic bone, but when she gasped and kissed him back harder he didn’t care. He slipped his right hand into the back of her jeans. They were tight, but his fingers ran across the soft skin of her ass and around her hard and bony hip. She inhaled, her heart rate spiking, and Matt broke off the kiss.
“Is this all right?” he asked as he worked his hand around to the front, resting against her lower belly.
“Oh, hell yes,” came her answer, the final word turning into a gasp as Matt thumbed open the button of her jeans. Pushing the fly down halfway, he slid his hand under the waistband of her underwear. She gasped again, louder, as his fingertips grazed rough hair. Matt cupped his hand, curving his fingers under, and slid his middle two fingers into the cleft of warm skin. The woman gave a strangled moan and bucked her hips forward, but his wrist was trapped by the layers of fabric still between them.
Removing his hand, Matt began to pull the woman’s jeans and underwear down before she pushed his hands away and sat down on the nearby crate. She loosened her bootlaces and kicked off the boots with a practiced motion, then peeled her jeans off with considerably less panache. Matt knelt and pulled them off past her ankles, dropping the warm fabric on top of the boots. And then she was there, one leg on either side of his face as he knelt on cold uneven cement. He could feel the heat radiating off her thighs, and despite his unthinking boldness to this point Matt hesitated.
“Enjoying the view?” came the voice from above him, sarcastic despite a breathy huskiness to the words.
Matt laughed, a single snort to himself. “There’s nothing else I’d rather look at,” he said, almost truthfully, and pushed his mask up to his eyes before leaning forward to nuzzle his cheek against the woman’s thigh. He was sporting his typical stubble, but from the way she moaned he assumed she didn’t mind the way it rasped across her soft skin.
As she parted her legs, the smell of her hit him; coupled with the belt of whisky, the sweet earthy scent was enough make him lightheaded. “Oh, God ,” he moaned, suddenly overwhelmed with need, and he pushed his face forward into her pussy. He spent a moment simply reveling in her, the heat and the scent and the taste as his mouth made contact with her soft warm flesh. And then he went to work, exploring her vulva with his lips and tongue, noting what brought a gasp or moan or spike in heart rate. When she hitched her leg over his shoulder and pulled his face in closer, he groaned loudly and fumbled for his fly.
Matt shoved his pants down just far enough to free his cock. Taking it roughly in hand, Matt began to pump his fist in rapid even strokes. As he did, he closed his lips around the hood of the woman’s clit and sucked gently. She gave a strangled cry when his tongue caressed the exposed tip and bucked her hips, grinding into his efforts. He hummed in appreciation, drawing another gasp, and began stroking his cock more rapidly.
Increasing the speed in both efforts, he felt his orgasm welling up. With her hot sweet juices trickling down his chin, with her long muscular leg flung over his shoulder, with the low growling moans and high fluting gasps accompanying every flick of his tongue, Matt couldn’t last long. He tried to remain focused, but with a sudden spasmodic jerk he came. His mouth was still pressed into the hot wet cleft of her, his tongue moving erratically as he spilled on the grimy cement floor, and Matt moaned aloud.
His entire body tingled, a pins-and-needles sensation like a limb waking up after a long sleep, and he wanted nothing more than to stay like this, his face buried in the sweet folds. Her thighs tightened around his ears, and he realized that he’d slowed the movement of his tongue. Throwing himself back into the task, he lapped and sucked at her clit, drawing out the hypersensitive tip. One of her hands had worked its way into the hair at the base of his neck, and when his tongue grazed the tip of her clit her hand tightened, pulling at the short hairs painfully. This is it , he thought, and when he heard her give a series of muffled, gasping curses he grinned and simply held his position. “Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! ” she rasped out, thrusting her hips. He felt her pulse flutter, her muscles spasm, and he simply breathed and tasted as the orgasm seized her.
They stayed like that for a long moment. Matt could feel tiny pieces of dirt and gravel digging into the flesh of his knees, but he remained kneeling before her as she caught her breath. One idle hand was stroking her thigh, and he was just considering leaning back in to test this beautiful stranger’s refractory period, when she suddenly set her feet down emphatically on the floor. Matt leaned back to avoid getting a knee to the face as she stood.
“So…” he began as she gathered her jeans and boots from the floor.
“Yeah, this has been great, we should do it again sometime,” came the response from behind him. His legs were still weak, his cock exposed, his chin still dripping her fluids. He felt thoroughly debauched, but he tucked himself away and stood anyway. His knees groaned in protest as he rose.
“Oh sure, I’ll just wait by the alley for the sounds of bad guy screams,” Matt quipped as he turned. The woman was fully dressed, standing by the door.
“No, really,” she said quietly. “This has… you’re… thank you.”
“Oh,” he answered awkwardly.
“Right,” she answered, inflection oddly blank. “Well, see you around.” And before Matt could respond, the door opened and she slipped out.
By the time Matt made it to the door, the alley and the night beyond were empty.