Chapter Text
Matt heard everything. Car horns, their motors, the trembling muffler, the radio inside. People talking, walking, humming. He even heard the window washer five stories up. The man did not wet the glass well enough and the squeegee was catching with an unpleasant squeak.
And through all of that, Matt heard the bike messenger. He heard before a normal person would have. He listened to the path the bike was taking and predicted the one it would take.
It was the split second twitch that Matt could not anticipate. The cyclist’s foot slipped, or maybe his shoelace got stuck in the pedal. The bike jerked suddenly and headed right for him.
Matt took little time to make a decision. He could jump out of the way using a suspiciously evasive maneuver for a blind man— for any man— or he could let the bicycle plow into him.
Murdock boys knew how to take a hit.
The tire rolled up his leg. The rider and handlebars slammed into his back. He went down fast, and he went down hard. Matt dropped his walking stick to brace his fall against the concrete. The impact jarred the bones of his wrists and scraped his palms.
And that was it. He was hit, and he fell. The worst was over.
The messenger picked himself up and climbed back onto his bike. He had a foot on the peddle when Matt heard great, big footsteps, loud like a war drum and filled with similar intent. The man they belonged to stepped past Matt and grabbed the messenger, dragging him from his bike.
“Apologize,” Matt heard the large man say. He held the messenger down low on Matt’s level, almost making him kiss the sidewalk. “Apologize,” he said again, a grinding threat.
“I’m sorry,” the messenger said. And if the tremble of his voice did not convey his fear and confusion, his rapid heartbeat did. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
The man, Matt’s hero, picked the messenger back up and tossed him against the unyielding metal of a lamppost. It made a metallic ding and then thrumming vibrations.
“Get out of here,” the large man growled. “And look where you’re going next time.”
Matt thought once more that perhaps this was the end of it. There were many people who felt a momentary need to protect him, to coddle him.
He pushed off the ground and a strong hand— a foreign hand— reached under his arms, pulling him to his feet as though he were nothing, a doll.
“Thank you,” Matt said. He brushed the dust from his shirt and pants. He adjusted his glasses. “But you didn’t have to do that. No harm done.”
“He ran into you,” the man said, “and he didn’t apologize. I made him... accountable for his- for his actions.”
“Well, thank you again,” Matt said. He stuck his hand out, purposefully off center, as a blind man should.
“You’re... very welcome,” the man said. He shook Matt’s hand. His own was great. There was so much strength withheld behind it, Matt could tell. His touch was like the bars of a steel cage. The entity was contained, but it could still be witnessed through the spaces.
Matt let go of his hand and nudged along the sidewalk with his foot, searching.
“It seems that you were... wrong about no harm being done,” the man said. He leaned down and picked Matt’s walking stick from the sidewalk. “I’m afraid your cane has been bent, irreparably.”
Matt put his hand out, and the man moved the stick beneath his palm. He felt the unforgiving curve in thin metal. He did not need it but for appearance’s sake; however, appearances were most important in public.
“It’s no problem,” Matt assured him. “I’ll just call my friend. He’ll be happy to come and find me.” He chuckled. “Well, maybe not ‘happy,’ but he won’t mind.”
“Where were you headed?”
“Home,” Matt answered, though he was not sure he should say so to a stranger, not even one who imagined himself as a knight in shining armor. “So I’m really in no hurry. I can wait.” Matt stuck a hand out, feeling his way towards the cafe he already knew was there.
“Which way do you live?” his hero asked, following behind.
Matt nodded his head in one direction. “That way.”
The man took a gentle hold of his outstretched hand. He touched like it was a question asking for permission. Matt could feel his timid nature. He heard the way the man’s heart hammered from such chaste contact. Matt closed his fingers around the large hand, giving his consent.
“I want to make sure you... that you get home safely.” Matt could hear the pleasant smile in his words.
“You really don’t have to,” Matt said, being polite one more time. Some people could not be dissuaded from helping him.
“Let me know when we’re close.”
They began walking down the street. Matt released the man’s hand and grabbed around his arm instead. “It’s easier this way,” he said in explanation.
“Of course.”
They walked arm in arm.
“May I know your name?” he asked, and Matt could tell that doing so made him nervous.
“Matthew,” he said. “And who are you when you’re not playing at being a hero?”
“Who says I’m playing?” He pulled Matt a little closer as they crossed the street. “Wil-Wilson,” he said. “My name is Wilson.”
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Wilson,” Matt said, “my own personal hero for the day.”
They did not drift apart after safely reaching the other side. Wilson kept him close. Matt allowed it.
“What’s a bright young man like yourself doing in the streets in the middle of the day?” Wilson asked. “Surely you must have a very esteemed job.”
Matt shook his head with a grin. It was kind of him, respectful, to presume Matt worked like any other man. “I’m between jobs right now,” he said. “I actually just quit a very prestigious law firm.”
“Why would you do that?” he asked.
“Personal reasons,” Matt said. “But they’re boring, and I’m sure you’re only asking to be polite.” Before Wilson could quibble and push the matter, Matt turned the subject. “Tell me about you. What’s a man with cologne that expensive doing in Hell’s Kitchen in the middle of the day?”
“My cologne is expensive, is it?” Wilson chuckled but it sounded embarrassed. “I didn’t... put too much on, I hope?”
“No.” Matt shook his head. “No, I can just... smell better than most people.”
“Of course,” Wilson replied. “Of course you can. My apologies.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Matt smiled. “An above average sense of smell in New York, is... it’s good and it’s bad. But I have noticed that the higher the buildings get, the better the people smell. And you, Wilson, you are not where you’re supposed to be.”
“I was born in Hell’s Kitchen,” he confided. “For years, I was raised here.” Wilson squeezed his arm tighter as they stopped at a crosswalk. There was so much strength in those tensing muscles beneath expensive fabrics. He controlled it well. “I suppose I am... nostalgic and... sentimental towards the neighborhood.”
“I can relate to that,” Matt said. “Uh, born and raised as well.”
“I see we have much in common,” Wilson pointed out, forcing a comparison. He breathed in twice, quickly, upon realizing the obviousness in his mistake. He was flirting, or rather he was making the attempt. It was a stumbling and apparent effort, in no way suave.
“It certainly looks that way,” Matt said, throwing his hero a bone. Wilson’s awkwardness was too endearing to watch it flounder and suffocate through self-consciousness. “Don’t tell me you’re out of work too,” he jested.
“No,” Wilson laughed. He had a nice laugh, but he was too unsure of a proper duration. He cleared his throat and cut himself off. The man was embarrassed of his own enthusiasm, but Matt was enjoying the company of the gentle giant. “No, I- I... I work nights, you see. And during the day, sometimes I like to... walk the streets of my city.”
Matt stopped walking, and Wilson almost pulled him off his feet with that strong grip of his.
“This is me,” Matt said, pointing up at his building. He no longer felt that prickling unease at leading a stranger back to his home, not when the stranger was Wilson.
“I see.” Wilson relaxed his arm and untangled their hold, but he left a heavy hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I trust you can make it from here. It was very nice... to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Matt extended his hand and Wilson removed the one from his shoulder to shake it. “Thank you for seeing me home.”
“You’re very welcome,” Wilson replied. He shuffled where he stood, back and forth. Expensive shoes scraped on the gritty sidewalk as he delayed his exit. He was too reserved to take the next step he wanted, so Matt did it for him.
“Wilson?”
“Yes?”
“Would you like to come up for a drink?” Matt offered. “Coffee, if you’re not the alcohol in the middle of the day type.”
“Coffee sounds... fantastic,” Wilson said. Matt could hear the relief in him. He could sense as it relaxed the man’s posture. “I thank you, Matthew, for the invitation.”
“It’s the least I can do for my hero,” Matt insisted. He smiled and turned away to trace his hand over a brick exterior until he touched the door handle. “After you.”
If Matt thought Wilson was tense on the streets, it was nothing compared to the rigidity of him standing in the living room.
“Do you need any help?” Wilson asked as Matt walked to the kitchen to put on coffee.
“Thanks,” Matt grinned, “but I know my way around my own apartment.”
“Yes,” Wilson said. “Yes, of course you do. I apologize. You must think me so... insulting.”
“It’s all right,” Matt assured, trying to put him at ease. “A lot of people, they... underestimate what I can do. But I know you’re only trying to help. I can’t fault you your compassion.”
Wilson sat on the couch, but Matt could tell he went no further than its edge. He perched like a flighty bird. And when Matt handed him his cup of coffee, Wilson’s heart fluttered at the innocent contact of fingers brushing.
Matt had his pick of seating, but he took the other end of the small couch.
Wilson was not a master conversationalist, or if he was, nervousness paralyzed him.
“You’re so different,” Matt said, beginning a bold and intrusive conversation, “very different actually, from most other alphas I’ve met.”
Wilson paced himself with a drink of his coffee, pretending the topic did not phase him. “You can smell that as well then, can you?”
“Yes.”
“I thought I would receive no judgments for my... compassion,” he remarked.
“Your compassion would be well placed and understandable if we were dating,” Matt said. A blind omega was a jackpot to alphas, the triple cherry. To them, it was a guarantee they would always feel needed. His disability required dependency. “But we’re not. And that makes you different than those others of your gender— or perhaps just more cunning.”
“Forgive me if I overstep my bounds,” Wilson stated, “in saying that those you have consorted with are a... deplorable bunch. No man should leave a creature as unique and remarkable as yourself suspicious of a kind gesture. In no uncertain terms, they are villains.”
He was not lying. And towards Matt he seemed to have nothing but respect. Yet Matt did enjoy riling him to primal instinct. He liked catching the glimpse of an alpha who would fight for his honor, despite his own ability and track record therein.
“Wilson, do you know what afternoon delight is?”
His heart rate spiked. It pumped loudly: thump, thump. Wilson became aware of his own breathing and focused too hard to force a normal rhythm. “Se- sex,” he swallowed, “in the afternoon.”
“Like I said,” Matt continued, “I don’t have a lot going on right now. And you seem like the sort of man who can hold a guy up against the wall.” Matt could be subtle if he wanted, or he could ignore the concept completely. Wilson inspired a directness. Matt wanted to experience him without another hour of wordplay. “So how about it?”
Wilson drank the rest of his coffee in one long gulp. His throat expanded and contracted with each swallow. He set his mug on the table. That was all the answer Matt needed. He put his own cup down, still half-full but completely forsaken. He folded his glasses and placed them next to it.
The leather of the couch squeaked and groaned as Wilson crawled to Matt’s cushion and leaned over him. The man’s form was massive, and Matt could sense every rise and fall of body, every slipping, caressing fold of suit.
“Is this what you want... Matthew?” His voice was quiet and contained, but it rumbled within its containment, grinding in his throat and in his chest. His hand came close. His fingers rubbed tightly against each other before unfurling with confidence. Wilson pressed those fingers and that wide palm up against Matt’s cheek. “Is it?”
Matt turned his head and kissed the hand. “Yes.” It was a good way to blow off an afternoon. Too much time and too many women had passed since the last time he submitted to anyone.
“May I kiss you?” How respectful.
“Yes.”
It was sweet, tender, almost juvenile in its innocence. Matt knew the man was capable of more. He took the lead himself, a dominating omega. He pushed up, pressing harder into the kiss, rougher. Matt opened his mouth and Wilson gladly followed where he led. Strength seeped in. Confidence flowed. Matt surrendered control to that budding dominance. Wilson kissed heatedly and with determination. His mouth was wet. His lips were insistent and grinding. When he eased back, his teeth scraped along Matt’s lips like he wanted to bite. He was just what Matt needed.
He pulled away before going any further, before touching Matt’s body or pulling off his clothes.
Wilson found Matt’s hand and placed it against his unfamiliar face. “Do you see?” he asked. He believed in reciprocity and fair play. Wilson was a considerate man. But he was also apprehensive, as if he thought Matt would kick him out if he were not pleased by his appearance.
He waited for Matt to see him.
Normally, Matt forwent the treatment people expected, but it was what Wilson wanted. The man had to prove himself or be approved.
Matt touched.
Wilson’s eyes were closed. He exhaled and it was shaky. He inhaled and it was slow. He was nervous to be felt, even though he was the one that initiated.
There existed a rough image of people that Matt sculpted through his other, less intrusive, senses. Touch was always enlightening, however. Wilson’s head was shaved, recently shaved, and it was so smooth. Matt thought he could finger that warm, sleek skin for hours. He brought his other hand up to touch both sides of the man at once. It corralled the features he felt. It framed them. The face in his hands was tired, worn. Wilson was burdened by something, probably his job or life in general. Matt traced every slope, mapping every rise and fall, giving further dimension to what he already sensed. It enhanced the picture in his head.
“I see.”
Wilson was overwhelmingly nervous. The act was so intimate, too intimate for so casual an encounter. “And are you, uh... satisfied with what you see?”
“I think you’re handsome.” Matt pulled back the pressure of his hands. He rested them on Wilson’s face instead of using them. “But that’s not why we’re doing this. I don’t care what people look like,” he insisted, attempting to invalidate Wilson’s reservations. Truthfully, Matt did have an eye and a care for his flings, an ability that constantly confounded Foggy, but Wilson was certainly attractive enough to make the cut. “I don’t even know what I look like.” Matt had not seen himself since childhood. Despite his many abilities and perceptions, mirrors still did not work, not even for a vague outline.
“Stunning,” Wilson exhaled, answering a question Matt had not really posed. “You are... gorgeous, handsome, world’s above the casual and mundane. Please,” he asked, “take my word for it.”
“I do,” Matt said. It was flattery from a man caught up in the rush of a moment. But for that moment, Matt saw himself within the lens of infatuation, and he felt beautiful through Wilson’s eyes. “Thank you.” Matt pulled the man down and kissed him.
Wilson was not distracted by the affectionate words he gave. He recalled with perfect memory the ravaging kisses he was giving Matt. He hid it well, but he certainly was an alpha, taking control after permission.
He picked Matt off the couch in one quick, flowing movement that demonstrated proficiency of body and power. He stood. Matt wrapped his legs around Wilson’s hips and was carried.
Wilson pinned him between the heat of two windows. Light filtered in around them, blocked by the brick wall whose shadow they leaned against. Matt felt the inanimate brick on his back, cool through his shirt but rough on the fabric. Wilson pushed him against that wall, dragging him over the textured brick with every forward movement. He took all of Matt’s weight like it was nothing. He kissed passionately and pressed insistently. He trapped Matt between a rock and a hard place, as requested.
Matt kept a hand over Wilson’s shoulder and the other on his smooth head. He held it in place as Wilson began biting on his neck, hard enough to tingle but gentle enough not to leave a mark.
“You need me,” Wilson panted quietly in his ear. He pushed Matt up against the wall. He pulled. He pushed. It was the thrusting preamble of inevitable sex, more obscene than it had any right to be with them both still clothed. “You’re just a wanting omega, aren’t you, Matthew? I don’t need a heightened sense of smell to know that. You need it, don’t you, my cock?” His aptitude for dirty talk surprised Matt, but it was most definitely a good surprise.
“Yes,” he breathed over the man’s shoulder. “Yes, Wilson, please.”
Wilson pulled him off the wall. His large hands gripped Matt’s ass tight enough to leave his pants wrinkled. He walked them to the bedroom.
Matt leaned against Wilson. He kissed him. He kept his legs gripping around that stout waist.
Wilson placed Matt on the bed; he did not drop him. He began undressing himself from a very expensive suit.
Matt sat forward and pulled his shoes off. He yanked his socks and threw them on the floor. His shirt had too many buttons. He got the top few, just enough, and pulled it over his head. Matt felt hasty, naughty. It was probably a personal record for time between meeting someone and screwing them. Usually, there were a few drinks in between.
He was fumbling on his belt buckle when a hand closed over his. Wilson took over, undressing him at the finish line. Matt laid half on the bed and let Wilson remove his pants. And he did not pull on fabric, but skin. He traced his flat palms, his hard hands, over Matt’s torso. He continued to pull down, grazing Matt’s thighs, pushing the pants and underwear away in his insistent need to touch flesh. He exposed Matt’s cock but gave it no mind. He was so much more fascinated by caressing every inch of Matt’s legs. It was erotic. Wilson dragged his hands down, down, groping, taking Matt’s clothes off his thighs and over his knees. Matt raised his feet from the floor. Wilson pulled the pants off all the way. He dropped them.
Matt laid in the bed, on its edge, completely nude, exposed. Wilson watched him, and though Matt could not see, he knew he was being watched. There was such intensity in the room. The air was thick like a storm. Breath felt weighted. Wilson finished undressing and he watched Matt, watched him laying there, ready for debauchery, probably looking like he had already been through it.
Wilson’s pulse tapped erratically, spurred by attraction, by lust. Matt caught the slight heat in his cheeks and in his face. He breathed hard.
Matt spread his arms out over his head, stretching his body, tautly pulling skin over muscle and showing off every alluring rise and dip he knew was there.
The metal of a belt buckle clattered on the wooden floor. Wilson dropped his pants, finally undressed.
He was on Matt quick, grabbing his sides and pushing him up soft blankets and silk sheets, lifting him into the middle of the bed. It felt so good to be handled and moved, like Matt had no choice. He enjoyed giving up his choice, to Wilson, to the moment. It was liberating.
They kissed again. Wilson loomed over him, a heavy weight that could crush but would not. Matt had one leg on the bed and one thrown across Wilson’s back, trying to drag him further down. His arms grabbed onto the man’s shoulder and neck. One hand felt the shaved head he was so immediately fond of.
Matt pulled away, digging his head into the mattress to win a small amount of space between them. “Let me turn over,” he whispered, kissing Wilson lightly at the end. He preferred doing it from behind with men. It was not that he did not want to see them— he could not see anyone— but it felt better that way. The experience was almost animalistic.
Wilson seemed disappointed by that. Evidently, he wanted to look at Matt throughout. But he was respectful of the decision. He sat back, off Matt, and let him roll over, on his belly then up on his elbows and knees, presenting himself.
“You have bruises,” Wilson said, informing him, “bruises where the bicycle hit you. They look bad already, dark.” He sounded angry, not at Matt but at the cyclist. He regretted his lenient punishment. Wilson acted like Matt was his, his omega, and for that short time, Matt liked the possessive treatment.
“It’s nothing,” he said, assuaging such ireful emotions. “I’ve had worse. I’m... fairly accident prone.”
Wilson delicately traced the bruise on Matt’s leg. He kissed the one on his back. It was kind, sensual. He treated Matt as fragile, as if a strong wind or an unkind word would break him. Usually, Matt detested such treatment, but from Wilson it felt like nothing but a benevolent contrast to the rest of the cruel world. He kissed all over Matt’s injury, as if that lie from childhood— a kiss— would heal him. “I would protect you from it... ever happening again,” he sweetly promised.
It sounded like the beginnings of a relationship, as if he intended to be there, always, and shield Matt from the world. It was not what Matt wanted. Matt wanted something that ended within the next hour. He did not dislike Wilson, and he was not wholly unable to picture the man by his side, devoted and constant. Matt was busy though. His life, where he was, it was too busy.
Wilson put a hand over Matt’s ass, softly, gently, asking for permission once again.
“If you need lube,” Matt said, giving the consent he needed, “there’s some in the top drawer.” He pointed at his nightstand, purposefully missing the mark by a foot or so, pretending he could not see and was not certain.
Wilson pulled his ass apart with both hands. Matt felt lewd being displayed like that. He felt himself at the mercy of Wilson and his roving eyes, and he could sense those eyes and their intensity, staring at such an intimate part of him.
“I don’t think that will be necessary.”
He rubbed a finger over Matt’s hole— over, not in— and only then did Matt realize how wet he was. Clearly, he was more eager for it than he thought. It had been a while.
“Give it to me,” he asked. He moved his hips as much as Wilson’s grip would allow. “Give it to me, Wilson.”
A long finger, a thick finger, pressed against Matt. It pushed slowly inside. He moaned. He moaned on just one finger. It was like scratching an itch, like stretching an unused muscle.
“Oh, that’s so good,” he drawled. “I needed that. I—” Wilson pressed in further, all the way— “oh! Oh... I needed that.”
Wilson’s finger— that merciful, torturing finger— pumped in and out of Matt, getting him used to a feeling he had almost forgotten. Matt heard himself— not his thumping heart, not his deepening breaths. He heard the wet smacking of his ass, giving more, becoming more slick with stimulation. It sounded almost as indecent as it felt, and it felt absolutely obscene.
“Please,” he said, a vague request even he was unsure of, more of it or more beside it.
Wilson gave him another. His fingers were so thick, but Matt knew he needed it. He was out of practice, and Wilson’s cock was big, proportionately big. Matt could sense it behind him, filling with blood, hot and heavy.
“I bet you are... gorgeous when in heat,” Wilson flattered. He patted Matt’s lower back— he rubbed tenderly— as his fingers continued to penetrate and prepare.
“Wouldn’t know,” Matt grunted. “Only had a small one when- when puberty set in— oh yes, right there, Wilson— and that was... ended pretty quick with plenty of meds and Catholic shame.”
“No shame now, I hope.”
“Mm, not from this,” Matt exhaled. “Hmm!” He choked when Wilson pulled his fingers apart. “Don’t stop,” he said. “Don’t- Don’t stop.” Matt needed to remember to do this to himself more often. It was good.
“You’re very vocal,” Wilson mused, so satisfied just from hearing Matt go on and on.
“I’m sensitive,” Matt told him.
“You’re tight. You’re so tight, Matthew.”
He was, for the moment. He wanted Wilson to ruin that.
“Keep going,” he begged. “Mm, keep- keep going.” Matt was breathing erratically and they had barely begun. He always did this though. He became a whimpering mess of oversensitivity. He made a wanting fool of himself with men. It was why he did not like repeat performances. He never slept with one man twice. He could not bear the knowledge that they kept their pleading image of him. But Wilson was different. Before him, Matt did not feel judged. Instead, he was worshipped and obeyed.
Wilson gave him a third finger. It was almost too much.
“Gah,” Matt hissed. He clutched the slipping handfuls of silk sheets by his head. He rubbed his face into them, up and down against their cool surface. “Please,” he said, a mumble caught up in the mattress. “Please, I can’t.”
Wilson pulled his fingers out and Matt felt so empty, so unwantingly empty. “Do you want to stop?” Wilson asked, kindly and considerately.
“No,” Matt shook his head, mussing his hair in the sheets. “No, I mean I can’t... I can’t wait anymore. Do it,” he said. “Fuck me.”
Wilson growled in his throat, just loud enough for Matt to hear. “Of course, yes.”
Matt picked his head up to talk. “I trust you’re clean,” he said, but it was more than trust. If there were sickness, disease he would smell it. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” He told the truth, and somehow that blind trust was so amazing, so flattering.
“Then forget the condom.” When Matt was used, he liked to feel it: the heat, the skin, the pumping blood. “Just don’t cum inside.”
Wilson did not argue with him. Bareback felt better for everyone.
He positioned himself. Matt waited. Time slowed in anticipation. It felt like forever passed before Wilson was pulling his ass apart. At the very least, the sun should have set outside. By the time he was pushing the head against Matt’s hole, it should have been midnight. He pressed inside and Matt no longer thought of time.
They both grunted at the feeling of penetration. It was hot and tight and too much.
Wilson sounded like the wind was knocked from him. He took small, shaking breaths for concentration. Whether he wanted to prolong the sensation or take things at a pace comfortable for Matt, he went in slowly.
“You are so tight,” he panted. He came closer, nearer, laying over Matt as he pushed in further. “You are so tight. You are so hot. You are so wet. You are so wanting.”
Sheer description should not have affected Matt so deeply, but he appreciated words that appealed to his functioning senses. It made Wilson’s perspective so much easier to imagine.
“You’re so big.” Matt’s voice devolved into a whine. It was too much. Wilson’s cock, its girth, was too much. But there was no reason that should be considered a bad thing. Matt had a high pain tolerance, and the mere discomfort of the act was far outweighed by its pleasure. The scale did not flinch beneath them.
Wilson reached places no one had in years. He stretched Matt wider and deeper than any other man. No, those were boys in comparison. Wilson was a man, a real man.
“Oh!” Matt groaned, finding his voice again and nearly shouting. “Oh, you’re a big boy.” It was the only remark he could make as it was the only sensation he could focus on. The world quieted and disappeared. It receded down to the bed. It consisted of nothing but the feel in his ass: the strain, the stretch, his limit, his pleasure.
Wilson kissed the back of his neck and gave him a little more. “Wait until you feel my knot,” he spoke in Matt’s ear.
“No.” Matt shook his head. It rubbed sweat against his folded arms. “No knotting. Just sex. Just— mm... Just sex.”
“Yes,” Wilson agreed, and Matt assumed that was the end of it. He had been so respectful up until that point. A good man, a good alpha.
He rutted into Matt. He reached the end. He gave all. And then he pulled back. He thrust and he thrust, abandoning the slow pace, seeking only pleasure.
The mattress whined. The bed frame clashed against the wall. Flesh rubbed against slick flesh. Matt heard the depravity of his hole, wet and needy, so needy. It squelched on every entrance, every exit.
He was so caught up in what he heard and felt that it took him far too long to remember his own cock, hard and stressed. It swung with each of Wilson’s thrusts, a moving pendulum between his legs, aching and neglected, forgotten. He was so distracted by submission, by the demanding presence in his ass.
Matt dug his head into the bed and pulled a hand out. He wrapped it around himself. “Oh god,” he cursed, breaking so many accepted behaviors but failing hard on that third commandment. “God!” He jerked his cock for a few of Wilson’s thrusts before he had to stop. He dropped his hand back on the bed, knowing if he kept touching himself, it would be over in five seconds. He ignored his wanting erection, focusing instead— exclusively— on his ass.
The discomfort was gone, or rather, it had faded beyond mention. All Matt noticed was the enduring bliss. He could feel every millimeter of his rim as the strained skin pulled out with Wilson’s exit, clinging to the man, not wanting to let him go. Wilson fed his cock back in, and Matt felt that too, his hole pushing in on itself. He felt every sliding movement, every change of angle, every time Wilson correctly rubbed over his prostate.
It was amazing Matt could still think coherently enough to process speech.
“You feel so good,” Wilson said. “So good, Matthew. I’m almost there.”
He pushed further in, all the way until his knot rubbed against Matt’s ass, and Matt loved it so much. He loved the rounded press of that swollen flesh. He wanted it. Against his better, more knowledgeable judgment, he did. Matt often prided himself as being above those common omega desires, but it all fell apart when he was in bed. Only then did he recognize it for the lie it was. He needed an alpha as badly as any other omega, and the bigger that alpha was, the better he felt. Wilson was the biggest he had ever been with.
Wilson pushed. He was at the end, and still he pushed.
“Stop,” Matt said, suddenly serious, suddenly realizing what the man was doing. “Stop. I said stop!”
Wilson did not acknowledge him. He carried on as if he did not hear.
“Don’t, damn it!” Matt yelled at him, leaving no room to be misheard or misinterpreted. “I don’t want to get pregnant. Don’t!” He threw back a hand to slap, but Wilson grabbed his wrist. He was very strong.
“You’re not in heat.”
“That doesn’t always matter,” Matt argued. Either Wilson was that ignorant, or he expected Matt to be.
Wilson pushed again. Matt’s hole began to expand impossibly wider. Knowledge made him want to crawl away, fight his way. Primitive instinct made him want to push back and assist. Matt hesitated too long in his own dichotomy. Wilson made his decision.
“God!” Matt shouted. Something so unpleasant had no right to feel so good.
Despite himself, Matt came. He came the next second after Wilson knotted him.
Climax brought a clearer head. Matt felt betrayed. More than that insignificant emotion, he felt himself in pain. He groaned a high, whining sound. He was so full, too full. Wilson was big. Matt had all of it inside him, tip to knot. He received even more.
It was hot, what Matt could feel of that spurting, ejaculating cum. He did not want it.
“Damn it,” he cursed, speaking it into the sheets.
Wilson was still high on his own orgasm. When he came down, he laid down, and he tenderly pulled Matt onto his side with him.
They laid there for many long, dragging minutes, catching their breath, letting their skin dry.
Clarity came slower to Wilson than it did to Matt, but it did come. He sighed. It was an angry sound, directed only at himself.
“I’m sorry,” Wilson said.
“You should be.”
“I am very sorry,” he said again. It sounded genuine. His pulse was still erratic from sex and adrenaline, but Matt did not need that assessment to know he was telling the truth. “An irresponsible man, a cruel man, would blame you for it. He would say you were just too... beautiful, too tempting. And you are those things, Matthew, but this is... my fault, and I take full responsibility. I apologize... for my recklessness.”
They were nice words to let proceed such a heinous act.
“I’m on suppressants,” Matt said, quietly, mindlessly, thinking to himself. Maybe he was trying to solace Wilson, though not forgive him. “That helps. And I’ll... I can... take other steps after you leave.”
“If there’s... anything I can do to—”
“There’s not.”
Wilson did not try again. He respected Matt’s obvious wish for silence.
He took shy advantage of the proximity they were stuck inside. Surety and confidence left him. Strength was contained again, hidden and doubted again. His arm was not heavy where it rested on Matt’s side. He held up all the weight and kept it there for intimacy’s sake only. His fingertips lightly touched Matt’s stomach. They spread out until his palm laid flat. Wilson felt with powerful, tangible, suffocating intent. He was imagining Matt pregnant. He had to do it. His brain told him to. An alpha knotted inside an omega needed to think he accomplished something. The pride there was so devastatingly fragile.
Matt could tell when it was safe to move and separate. Wilson was first to address the matter, being a gentleman once more. “If you lay on your stomach,” he said, “I will... be as careful as I may.”
He got up onto his knee, and Matt rolled over on his belly. Wilson rubbed his back softly with one hand. The other parted Matt’s ass. He pulled out.
Matt hissed. The sensation was uncomfortable but manageable. If Foggy later asked why he was walking odd, it would not be a lie to say he was hit by a bike messenger.
Wilson pulled out completely and Matt felt wrecked. He was gaping with loose insides that leaked what Wilson spent and he himself produced in anticipation for it. He was thoroughly used. Be careful what you wish for, he supposed.
Matt got up without a word. He took a shower.
It lasted longer than his usual ones. Yes, he had much he felt the need to clean, but there was no denying that he was biding time, hoping Wilson would leave while he was indisposed. It would be better than an awkward parting of ways after their less than ideal circumstances.
Wilson did not leave. Matt came out of the steaming bathroom in boxers and a t-shirt, and Wilson was sitting on the couch.
“I don’t do this much,” the man said, and it sounded as though he spent Matt’s entire shower rehearsing that short sentence.
He was staring at the floor, Matt assumed. His head was looking down, but his eyes could be turned in any direction imaginable. Matt would never know.
“I don’t do this much,” he said again. For the moment, it was all he had. His rehearsal did not exceed it. Anything further had to be spoken off the cuff. “I was rash and I was... brutish. I’m afraid I’ve... that I have ruined your evening, along with whatever opinion you might have had of me.” He would not look at Matt when he spoke, too ashamed of eye contact that could not even be reciprocated. “And so I apologize to you again, Matthew, however... insufficient and arbitrary the words may sound.”
“You didn’t mean it.” Matt knew for certain. Now that Wilson’s pulse had calmed, his sincerity could be read more clearly. He was telling the truth. However, that did not make the reality of it any nicer, even if it felt amazing when it happened. And it truly was invigorating for Matt to be held down and given what he needed— though did not necessarily want. They lived in a world with consequences. Rules were put in place and enforced so those possibilities might be prevented. “But you need better control.”
“Yes.” Wilson fiddled with the sleeve of his shirt, running his fingers over and over the cufflink, grinding it within his obsessive stroke. “I tend to lose... myself,” he said, “in moments of strong emotion.” It was an excuse, but it was at least an excuse which accepted all blame. The man would make a decent Catholic.
“What’s done is done.” Matt knew better than most people that the past could not be changed, only left behind and advanced from.
Wilson stood. His steps were heavy, and every one was slow and reserved as he made his way over. It almost felt like being cornered, though Matt had no idea where the inspiration of Wilson as violent came from.
The man did nothing. There was no word nor gesture. There was certainly no violence. Wilson thought too hard with his mind while his body drowned in doubt. He did not know what to do or say in what remained of their time together. There was no good ending.
Wilson leaned forward. He tilted his head. Matt thought the angle was indicative of a kiss on the cheek. It never came. Wilson straightened back up. He put his hands behind his back, where he could trust them.
“I enjoyed our time together very much,” he said. “I enjoyed... meeting you.” Silence was preternaturally apparent, like the dead calm after fallen snow: lifeless. Wilson cleared his throat. “I’ll show myself out.”
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Matt offered, knowing his manners. Wilson let him lead. “I enjoyed meeting you as well.” It was true, however muddied the circumstances. Matt could be honest in that respect and spare the man undue suffering.
The hallway felt longer than usual, but eventually they reached its end. Matt opened the door. Wilson walked through it.
He stood in the hallway, facing in.
“I would leave my card, but...”
“I can’t read the number on it,” Matt finished for him.
“Yes.”
No further attempts were made to establish contact. Their meeting was what it was: brief and finished.
“Goodbye, Wilson.”
The man stared with what he thought was impunity. Wilson had no way of knowing the position of his head could be seen, his focus noticed. He was looking at Matt’s face and tracing every line into remembrance. “Goodbye, Matthew.”
Matt shut the door slowly.
He knew Wilson stood out in the hall longer than acceptable. He heard the man when he did leave. He heard Wilson cursing at himself. He heard every word of self-degradation. He heard Wilson hit the brick wall and its caked layers of plaster, no doubt injuring his hand.
Then, eventually, Wilson faded from hearing and into memory.
Matt dressed and went back out.
There was no discreet way to purchase the morning after pill when Matt had to ask the pharmacist to find it for him.