Chapter Text
Matthew Murdock has dealt with stress in a lot of ways in his life--running across rooftops, picking fights with the scum of Hell's Kitchen. Grabbing a drink at Josie's with friends. Pouring a drink at home and drinking it in the relative quiet of his living room. Meditation. Going to the gym and hitting a heavy bag for awhile. Throwing himself into his work.
But sometimes, all of these things fail. Sometimes even the things that provide him with an outlet only seem to cause more stress. This had been one of those weeks. His body ached from the blows he'd taken the night before. Work--or the troubling lack thereof--was the last thing he wanted to think about, and to that end, meeting up with anyone at Josie's was just going to be a gigantic pity party. He'd spent nearly the last hour meditating, only to still find his jaw tight and his pulse rate speeding up at random intervals for seemingly no reason. He had no real desire for any of the Scotch in the bottle that sat on his kitchen counter, nor did he have much of a desire to walk across the apartment to pour it.
He stood up from where he sat on the floor, groaning from the soreness in his ribcage, took a few steps, and allowed himself to fall freely onto his bed. The mattress flexed around him, the bedframe creaking slightly from the impact. He exhaled and allowed his senses of everything around him to blur and melt, much in the same way as one might unfocus their vision when trying to clear their mind. Matt typically had no trouble clearing his mind, but this particular evening kept bringing troubling thoughts after only a few moments of peace.
He decided to take a new approach--if clearing his mind only caused him to think about everything that was causing him anxiety, then perhaps trying to think of the good things in his life would keep those thoughts from creeping in for a little longer. Matt inhaled deeply.
'Good things...good things...start small,' he thought to himself, finding that he was at a bit of a loss for where to start.
'I have a roof over my head,' he began, then paused, adding, 'For now. If the firm doesn't start bringing in clients again...'
He cut himself off, shaking his head, as if to shake the intrusive thought loose.
"Enough," he said to himself aloud, "Good things only. Try again."
He took another breath and searched his thoughts.
'Nothing seems broken at least,' he thought, touching his ribs gingerly, 'Though how I didn't hear that other guy...'
Matt stopped himself again. "No good, Murdock. Maybe try happy memories," he spoke aloud again, addressing himself. He rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around a pillow, his mind wandering almost immediately to the last time he felt this way. Karen had come by. She hugged him. She assured him that he was never alone.
He closed his eyes and remembered what her arms around him felt like. What his arms around her felt like. Warm. Comforting. Safe. He felt the tension between his shoulder blades ease ever-so-slightly.
A small sigh escaped Matt's mouth as he tried to hold on to that thought, only to feel it beginning to slip away.
'Karen. Karen's touch. Being close to Karen,' he thought, trying to keep himself on track with the one thought that had seemed to do him any good.
He thought of the time that she "taught" him how to shoot pool. He already knew, of course, but how strange would it be if a blind man could play billiards? So he let her guide him. It took him by surprise how close she got, pressing nearly the entire length of her body against him as she guided his hands with her own, her touch lingering just a bit longer than it should have...
Matt's eyelids fluttered and his shoulders relaxed further as the full sensory memory of Karen pressed up against his body stirred something else in him. His imagination shifted to the night she walked him home in the rain, kissing her...tasting her...
He imagined her lying next to him right now, her body making full contact with his, the gentle floral scent of her shampoo clinging to her hair and tickling his nose, the soft skin of her hands touching his face, her fingers dancing across his chest, and her mouth so close that he could lean forward and capture her lips with his own, stealing little tastes of her with his tongue.
This particular line of thought seemed to be doing the trick. He rolled again onto his back, feeling just the slightest bit lightheaded from his fantasy. He palmed his crotch, shifting his partly-swollen dick into a more comfortable arrangement. He wondered how Karen might touch him right now. Would her touch be gentle like it was that night in the rain? Or would she be more forceful, like the way she is when she's full of righteous fire? He weighed the two alternatives in his mind, imagining how a scenario with each might play out.