Stand in the Sun
Stand in the Sun
Peter Parker had been enjoying the crisp morning air as he casually strolled to Matt’s law office; he wanted to see the lawyer after he had heard about the man being offered a position to work for the democratic party, and maybe, get the first interview with the future-mayor. It would be a chance to give the newspaper something a little more exciting than pictures of Spiderman giving the camera a thumbs-up as he saved the day. Peter grinned at the thought and carefully balanced the little cup-tray filled with Starbucks; if he was going to make his name with this interview, he at least owed the man a skinny-sugar-free-cinnamon-dolce-latte.
He smiled at Matt’s secretary cheerfully, and put her black coffee with two sugars down on the desk. Peter had decided early on that it helped to be on good terms with her, because then she was always honest with him about if Matt was in a meeting, and didn’t have reason to kick him out or call security because a reporter was there. It also helped that Peter was remarkably bad at not being nice to people. “Hi, is Mr. Murdock around?” Peter inquired and the woman smiled at him with pearly white teeth; model beautiful like all the women that Daredevil attracted. “No, he’s in with Mr. Castle right now.” She explained, and she opened her coffee to let the steam off, smiling up at him easily as she emptied the sugar packets into it. “I’ll write you in next, and thanks for the coffee, honey.”
Peter blushed slightly in pride at the nickname – a girl had noticed him – and went to sit down, putting his messenger bag in his lap to rest the coffee on top of. He had to wonder what it was that the Punisher was so interested in talking to Matt about, and for a moment his heart pounded faster as he started to worry about all the bad things it could have been that was bringing the man about now. He was so deep in thought that nearly jumped when he heard the intercom come on. He had figured Matt was going to tell the woman to send in the next appointment and that in a moment, Frank Castle would slip past him like the nightmare he was.
But the noises that came over the intercom where not at all what Peter had expected.
~~~
When Frank had come to see Matt, the lawyer hadn’t expected much from the visit past insults and the angry sound of the man’s breathing as if he hated each individual breath that he took. He’d looked up to face him and tapped his fingers against the desk as if to tell the man that he didn’t have time for any frank – see, there, he could be funny – differences of opinion. The man however, had been silent for a moment, and as he moved closer, Matt could smell the hot scent of blood and gunpowder on his skin and hear the steady thudding of the man’s heart in his ears. Frank had such a unique heartbeat, one that stayed so steady that he would almost be willing to believe the man really was on as holy a mission as he must have imagined it to be if he hated envisioned a purely vengeful God.
“What do you want, Frank?” Matt had asked him dryly, and he had put new thick cardstock into his brailler to distract his hands; he liked the scent of this brand, he could tell it was unbleached which tended to make him feel a bit better about the amount he used. He didn’t want to give the man the notion that he was of enough importance to stop him from going about his daily business, so he added the next part after he evened the paper out to sit in a neat stack. “I know you’re not the type of man who makes social calls. Did I do something you need to punish me for? That prison bitch routine only goes so far.” He reminded the man, and he could hear Frank’s heart speed then, like the sound of a stampede of angry bulls.
“Can’t a man come to congratulate his friend without accusations, counselor?” Frank said lowly, and he watched as Matt’s hands moved gracefully over his desk to find his pen. Those rough, bruised, hands seemed a bit magic at times with the grace he put into his motions but now he signed the paper in front of him as if he was holding a knife against a body. The movement was decisive and Frank couldn’t help but appreciate that the man looked particularly in his element, as he kept his face turned towards his visitor, never once letting that contact break even as he went about his business. There was always something about Matt even when he was playing civilian; something violent and hateful that wanted to break free from that whole good Samaritan routine.
Matt didn’t give his response a second thought and it came out of his mouth in the deadpan tone that he had perfected in law school. “Not The Punisher.” He replied, and it wasn’t a doubt of the man’s sincerity but of his motivation for the congratulations. Mr. Castle hadn’t come to congratulate an enemy turned ally on the start of his campaign for a party he wasn’t going to vote for. He never would have figured that Frank would be the type who formed some sort of attraction over a few fucks against an ally wall, but then what else had he come to discuss. They’d rarely had any contact but that in the past few months. The situations just had a way of creating themselves in the rain so that he could see the Frank’s face from the sound of the water touching him; and somehow, despite all of his rage, Matt could feel Frank’s tenderness in his touches and hear that hurt in his slow breath.
It wasn’t a secret that Matt liked to be hurt, and Frank had started to seem like a good man for the job, because he had none of the pity that so many people had for him. He was someone who would fist his hair hard and slam his face into the floor when he had to push and shove so desperately to finally enter Matt; and he always had seemed to ignore those hot tears of shame that stained the floor afterwards. Yet, he had been mistaken it seemed, because here was Frank, and he wanted to talk. “There’s nothing to talk about.” Matt prefaced the whole scene, and he capped his pen as if to tell him that the discussion was over before it had even begun.
Matt hadn’t expected Frank to react with so much passion to the short dismissive words, but he didn’t struggle when the man came to his side and turned the chair he was sitting in around. The lawyer remained silent and still as he listened to the steady beating of the other man’s heart; he could smell just a hint of his deodorant past the gunpowder at this range. He barely had time to think of how careful Frank was not to smell like anything else than pain before the man had pulled him up and slammed him down hard against the desk. Frank was standing between his legs then, and Matt had to hold in his groan of discomfort when he heard the anger in his voice. “We do have something to talk about.” Frank corrected, and he pulled off Matt’s glasses to put them on the desk, folding them with a gentleness unlike his persona.
It gave Matt less of a crutch to cling to when he stripped away even that mask of his handicap; but that wasn’t even the point now, as he couldn’t help but notice that the man’s foggy grey eyes were almost beautiful. There was something undeniably human about Daredevil when his pale eyes moved of their own accord towards a sound, as if searching for long lost sight. Matt didn’t like to be human anymore and it showed. He looked at it as a weakness that the The Man Without Fear wake up at night in a cold sweat at his memories and that was the same weakness that made him seek out Frank on particularly lonely nights and press those soft feminine lips so eagerly to the other man’s throat. It was that unrecognized need to be cared about that made Frank’s lust for the man unbearable; he needed to be wanted as Matt needed to be loved. He was Daredevil’s missing puzzle piece, they both knew it, but Matt would never admit to it. Matt wanted to pretend he really as the Devil he dressed as, and that he never longed for someone who really understood him.
It was only a moment before his lips were against Matt’s and the man was pressing back eagerly, wanton and searching, his unspoken demand that Frank leave seemed long forgotten. Frank spoke to him lowly as he pulled away, and it applied to both of them equally, though he, unlike Matt, would admit to it. He was getting too old to pretend he was happy to be alone. “You could stand to have someone there for you.” He said and Matt leaned back slowly, as if he was moving away from the contact now that it had become affectionate. He had always thought these feelings were just a game, and it was a game that he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue now that he knew the truth. “You’ve been putting yourself out too much; you’re starting to scare me. We both know you can’t stay untouchable forever even with your new… connections.”
“What are you going to do, Frank?” Matt inquired, and he inhaled when Frank began to trace the line of a cut against his face, following it up to his lips. The mention of his mafia ties had been far too much for him to take silently; Frank of all people couldn’t talk about it. He murdered, but expected Daredevil to stay pure as virgin snow. “You, out of anyone, can hardly come in and start preaching to me about life choices. I’m always going to be the bleeding-heart “choirboy” you fuck and walk away from before the sunrise and we both know it. What difference does it make who I’m with when you’re not around?” He snarled. Frank grabbed both of his arms then, strong and hard beneath the silk of his shirt; he could feel the bandages beneath the sleeves rubbing against the smooth fabric.
Matt’s hands frantically searched for leverage on the desk when the other man spun him around and his breath escaped his body with a soft sound as his chest connected with the desktop. There was an unfortunately familiar sense of vertigo; he was dizzy from the motion and it took him a moment to comprehend his position again. He hadn’t known that he had flipped on the intercom when he grabbed for the side of the desk, because the hand that came down hard against his upturned backside shocked him enough that the idea of it slipped his mind. He groaned at the slap and tried to push himself up, panting angrily when the other man silently pushed him down against the desk once more. “Are you sure want to play these games with me, Murdock?” Frank growled, and his hand was grabbing the back of Matt’s shirt collar to hold him still.
“Because I’ll play a game with you, but there are no promises that you’ll like it.” Frank warned him and Matt was still. The sound of Frank’s voice was low and promising, and beyond that it still had that animalistic growl to it that had him waking up in damp sheets more than he would have liked to think about. It still made him angry though, not that it did any good, that Frank thought for a minute even that he had any say in what Matt did. They’d fucked a few times, and it had started it out pretty tame for two men dressed in leather. It had been up against the wall with his face scraped against the brick, shoved over the ledge of a balcony with a gun to the back of his head and finally pushed down to the floor like a whore yet recently had Frank started turning Matt to face him while they screwed. There were often slow exploring kisses when it was over now, and for all of that Matt had started to like the scent of the man instead of despise it.
But now Frank’s free hand was yanking Matt’s belt out of the loops on his pants, and he brushed the freed strap against the man’s face slowly so that the feel of it teased his skin. “Soft leather, Matt. You really have a thing for leather, don’t you? You don’t really need Italian belts do you? Shouldn’t you be giving that money to Greenpeace?” He laughed and rubbed it against the man’s cheek again, smirking at the growl that escaped the lawyer’s throat. There was that inner animal that Matt kept so well hidden while he went around playing self-righteous; “Is this deer? Does the Humane Society know?” He mocked once more and he slid the leather across the man’s lips; the split in his lip bled as the rough texture rubbed the wound and it stained the soft leather dark red. Poor Matt would have to go find something new if this one didn’t give him some of those oh so special memories.
“Open your mouth.” Frank demanded, and Matt gritted his teeth, shaking his head at the demand. Calmly, Frank put down the belt and then slid his hand over Matt’s face, pinching his nose and keeping his hand flat against his mouth so that he couldn’t breathe. Hands came up to tug away the grasp, but Matt was only fighting to keep his pride, and soon he lowered his hands to the desk. He tapped against the desk, a steady rhythm of morse code and Frank thought a bit more of the man for knowing it. He was telling him that he had enough and as Frank pulled his hand away, he parted his lips to accept the belt being placed between his teeth as a gag.
Matt had taken enough whippings as a child, first from his own father because that was what good Catholic parents did and then from foster-parents because when he was still a child they didn’t ask foster-parents if they believed in spanking, but they did offer them Supplemental Security Income for caring for a blind child. He had even let Natalia role-play this sort of thing before, with his hands tied above his head when she made him kiss the whip. This was different from all of those experiences, though. It was rough but there was no pretense to the punishment; there were no half spoken prayers on his lips, no promises that he’d learn to behave. The belt must have been marked with his teeth when he finally let it slide out of his mouth and he spoke again. “Frank, please stop.” He asked, lowly.
Frank leaned downwards without hesitation and bit at Matt’s neck just hard enough to feel like promises, and the teasing touch sent a shiver down Matt’s spine. “How do you feel?” He asked the counselor, and Matt rested his face against his forearm in shame as he whispered the reply. The tears on his face were hot as they dampened his sleeve, and he despised the very part of him that replied as it did. He knew it a complex that bordered on a fetish to have such an unbearable guilt he could never alleviate, and yearn with the desire for a hard enough punishment to atone for his sins. He had always thought he hid it well, but even without the collar, Frank had all the same appeal as a priest to absolve him. “Not enough.” Matt groaned in humiliation, and Frank’s hand rubbed over his back in an almost soothing motion as he spoke. He understood far better than the man could understand.
In a moment Matt had been swung around onto his knees in front of Frank and there was Frank’s rough calloused hand that bracing one side of his face as the other connected sharply with a noise that seemed loud enough to shatter glass. A soft groan of pain escaped the man’s lips and again Frank’s hand came down hard against his face, the other still holding his face so that his head wouldn’t swing with the force of the strike. It was less humiliating to be slapped, but far more degrading to kneel before him like penitent or a whore, and Matt let his tears trickle over his stinging cheek freely. It shook him to hear the sound of the air moving as the hand came forward, and the sound of the connection of flesh against flesh was loud and ringing in his ears. Yet so was the sound of Frank’s heartbeat, and his hand seemed almost tender when it cupped the cheek that had been struck to repeat the motion on the opposite side.
Matt’s head felt heavy and his ears were ringing when The Punisher stopped, and distantly, as if the man didn’t stand before him, he could make out the sound of a zipper being undone. Frank’s arousal was pressed against his lips then and Matt took him into his mouth without question; if this was how they were going to do it now, he could stand it. He wanted this disregard for his person. The soothing mindlessness of sucking cock was comforting, and he did so with what Frank had informed him was “instinct for you, choirboy.” Now he inhaled the scent of the man almost dizzyingly, smelling the plain soap on his skin, and the gunpowder on his hands when they moved to grip his hair. He gagged hard when Frank began to thrust into his mouth, and he had to battle his instinct to force his spasming muscles to relax at the fucking of his throat.
“I don’t want you dead, Murdock.” Frank had muttered, and under normal circumstances Matt would have told him with more than a touch of sarcasm to cut at all that romantic talk if he hadn’t had a cock muting him. He supposed that was probably why the other man had waited until now to say anything that might have sounded relatively sentimental; the cutting way that Daredevil handled personal affairs bothered Frank because it took so much to let himself show affection. The hand on his hair was rough enough that it hurt him now, and Frank had dragged him off of his cock for one moment. He could feel the man’s eyes searching him, and he was sure he was a horrific sight, tear-stained, bruising and covered in his own saliva. Yet, Frank had seen worse than that on many occasions and something about it got him hot and bothered.
Matt was slammed over the desk again, and he grabbed the edges of it with a low sob; that fucking vertigo was going to make him sick soon. He was dizzy, his throat was sore, and now with all the crying he had been doing now his nose was running to finish the picture. He was disgusting, and once he had thought of that it couldn’t escape his mind but still Frank was pushing into him with a desperation he had never felt before. “Hurt me.” He demanded, and the other man had no trouble following those directions. It was painful enough to be entered with only the minor lubricant of the previous blowjob, but the hands on his hips were holding him tight enough to bruise his pale skin and Frank gave him no pause to the claiming. The moment he was all the way inside of him, Frank had began thrusting. Matt could smell his own blood and he had to choke back a scream at the feeling. Soon the pain began to ease from his adrenaline, and he found himself forcing a phrase from his sore throat when Frank kissed the back of his neck. “Don’t get sweet with me, that’s not what either of us are here for.”
Frank slammed into him hard enough that he cried out then, again, knuckles white against the edge of the desk. He buried his face into the stacks of papers there, feeling the press of the Braille against his bruised cheek as the other man thrust harder into him as if he was trying to break him with the motions. It didn’t take long before Frank pulled out and pushed Matt to his knees again, however, and then his cock was jammed roughly into the other man’s mouth. Matt came in that moment; he’d never felt such degradation as this and the orgasm was intense enough that he shook. He was growing entirely too aware of the mindfuck of tasting himself against Frank as his arousal began to fade and it made his stomach churn when hot cum filled his mouth so fast that it trickled down his chin no matter how fast he tried to swallow it. Frank watched Matt struggle for a moment before he pulled out from his mouth and forced the man’s face down into the ground to rub in his own seed.
“If you’re going to come on the floor like a little bitch, Murdock, I want you to lap it up like one too.” He snarled, and Matt didn’t know why he obeyed the request if not for the fact that Frank could give him that warm, nearly overwhelmingly spent feeling of truly being punished. It made him feel light and free if only for a minute, and so he obeyed the request. Despite his desire to follow through, he found that he had to stop a few times due to the nausea overwhelming him. It didn’t help to quit for a moment, however, he found quickly, because as soon as he did, Frank would rub his face against the floor again. So he licked the hardwood clean enough that he could begin to taste the wax past his own taste, and leaned back against the desk when he could no longer find anymore semen with his hand.
Frank leaned down to pet the man’s face like a dog before pressing a gentle chaste kiss to his forehead finally; it was more mocking than romantic at this point. “Good boy.” The Punisher praised without much affection, and Matt pointed his finger wordlessly towards the door. There was no reason for him to stay past this and so the door opened and Frank was gone.
~~~
Peter nearly squeaked when Frank walked past him; it wasn’t just that Mr. Castle was a big, buff, angry, crazy Marine that made him shake in his seat, after all, he was a superhero. It was that he was a big, buff, angry, crazy Marine who had just given his best friend what sounded like the beating of his life and that didn’t sit well with Peter. Frank stopped at the desk on his way out to tell the secretary to hold the last appointment on Wednesday for him again, and she penciled it in dutifully as he left, looking down to cover the flushed nature of her face. It did nothing to hamper her fantasies of her boss to know that was what all these meetings with Mr. Castle had been lately and she swallowed lowly before she addressed Peter again.
“If you’d give Mr. Murdock about ten minutes, he normally likes to clean up his papers and get new files out before another client sees him.” She explained out of a mixture of mercy and habit and she reached over to flip off the intercom. Peter laughed awkwardly; was that what they were calling it now? He had a feeling that Matt was really not going to appreciate knowing that he turned his intercom on a lot more occasions than he intended. Matt opened the door to his office after a few minutes and Peter headed towards it with a grin. As far as titles to his story went…”Coffee and voyeurism” had a nice ring to it…too bad he liked Matt. He’d just have to have save it for a great punchline to his friendly reminder about workplace safety (sanity and consensuality) with Matt.