Chapter Text
Now, Matt had to deal with a lot of bullshit in his life.
He was a blind omegian lawyer who moonlighted as a superhero in borderline bondage gear and beat the shit out of thugs in Hell’s Kitchen.
He got the secondary sexism loud and clear. The patronizing for his disability could vary from tolerable to annoying to downright insulting, considering he could identify people by heartbeat, and making it through law school dealing with all this was just…frankly, it had been a lot.
So forgive him if he were in a particularly sour mood when pre-heat symptoms made him feel ready to be multiple kinds of sick all over a rooftop mid-patrol.
You see, omegas could have all manner of symptoms when their bodies were gearing up for their seasonal heat, something Matt was already plenty prepared for. His nest was all set in his apartment, he had bottled water in his bedroom, and there were microwave meals that could last at least a week ready to go thank you very much.
Some omegas had terrible cramps, others had body aches or migraines, and others had nausea. It varied from person to person.
Unfortunately for Matt, his bodies symptom of choice to let him know it was almost mate-seeking time was heightened sensitivity.
Which really always went great considering his senses were jacked up to 11 on a normal day.
Typically in the days leading up to his heat, Matt would skip out on his night job, which was, of course, gallivanting around Hell’s Kitchen in a devil costume, scaring the crime right out of any unsavory characters milling about. But sadly, a big break in a drug-dealing ring that ran from the Kitchen up to Queens was happening tonight. And Matt had been after these guys for months. He wasn’t letting it go over a little oversensitivity.
Oversensitivity being the operative word, considering he could hear construction going on ten blocks down, a baby crying in an apartment in Midtown, the sirens and horns of the nighttime streets, he could taste smoke on the air from a fire escape barbecue he was pretty sure was illegal, and god did anyone ever empty the dumpsters in Hell’s Kitchen?
Right, stupid question.
Moving on.
He carried forward showing little if any wavering from being thrown out of whack, and dropped dramatically through a shattered skylight into the heart of the deal. He hears safeties clicking off and an array of shouting, but at this point he is just 110% done and doesn’t even bother to tersely confirm what’s going on.
He just tightens his grip on his billy club and gets to work.
About twenty very cathartic minutes of ass-kicking later, he’s standing amid a veritable pile of unconscious drug-dealers/dealees (is that a word? No? Do these guys ever use deodorant? Of course not)
Matt tucks his billy club back into his belt and surveys the damage, but his senses are getting more frazzled by the second.
It doesn’t help that an approaching thwip thwip thwip has managed to stand out amongst the cacophony of sounds raging against his eardrums.
He hears light feet sticking the landing, can tell by the slight vibration through the wooden floorboards the person is maybe ten feet away, and the smell of chemical web solution and spandex puts the rest together.
“Spider-Man?” He addresses, a growl hanging on every syllable.
He was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, he was typically pretty harsh to anyone who set foot in his turf, mainly because the last thing he needed was a team-up. He wore scent-patches for a reason, and while he didn’t think the superhero community knowing he was an omega would hurt his street cred, he also didn’t want to deal with what would surely be an armload of ‘chivalrous’ assistance.
That playboy alpha Tony Stark could shove his repulser rays up his ass, Daredevil would sooner attempt to give a guided tour of the MET before he let any of his fellow heroes discover his secondary.
“Why are you here?” He demanded dully, turning to face Spider-Man and folding his arms over his chest.
He sensed Spider-Man’s heart rate jumping even higher, which was ridiculous considering how fast it was at resting. Now, Daredevil had never met Spider-Man before, and honestly, he’d probably have been more amiable if he weren’t feeling like actual garbage. Spider-Man was a solo hero as well, though he did occasionally team up with the Avengers or the Defenders or the Fantastic Four or the X-Men or…actually he’d teamed up with a lot of people.
But Matt was getting off track, so he turned his attention back on Spider-Man, who he could hear shifting foot to foot with nervousness.
“U-Um, there are probably better ways to make a first impression, but…hi! I’m…Spider-Man. I guess you already knew that. You’re Daredevil, though! Wow! I never thought I’d meet you in person!”
Matt offered little more than a non-committed grunt at these words. He internalized the voice, though, spun it around in his head because it was a nice voice. Despite the nervousness it was bright and cheerful. It sounded well used to cracking jokes, but the depth underlying it made obvious his secondary. Then again, maybe Matt was the only person on Earth who actually picked up on that sort of thing? Well, him and anyone else with super-hearing, which he was sure wasn’t a non-zero percent of the population.
Anyway.
Spider-Man carried on spewing words, his pitch growing high and voice getting louder with every word. “I swear I’m not trying to mess around in your territory, I know you’ve got Hell’s Kitchen on lock, but like, these guys have been dealing in Queens too, and that’s kind of my area and y’know, they were in Midtown and I was in Midtown and then I heard along the grapevine they would be here and I just couldn’t pass up on the opportunity, right? You get me?”
“Get out.” Matt muttered tiredly, and he could hear Spider-Man backing away.
“Sir, yes, sir! Sorry for the trouble…uh…are you ok?”
Matt hadn’t noticed the ground tilting under him till Spider-Man spoke up, and he stumbled, nearly tripping on one of the unconscious bodies littering the floor.
He threw his arms out and steadied himself, already preparing an even harsher reply to Spider-Man’s question.
Unfortunately, he had to clamp his mouth shut to avoid waking up the drug dealer he was standing over with a vomit shower, and he forcibly swallowed the bitterness back down.
I need to get back to my apartment.
Get back, put on earplugs and his noise cancelling headphones, curl up in his nest and try to pretend the entire world didn’t exist for a few hours.
Yeah. That sounded nice.
To his sluggish feet, though, his apartment a few blocks down on the edge of Hell’s Kitchen and Midtown suddenly felt much further away.
“Hey!”
He wasn’t sure quite when Spider-Man had grabbed him by the shoulders to steady him on his feet. He felt betrayed by his senses, considering he hadn’t noticed him approaching, but his shout was ringing in his ears. He reflectively clapped his hands over them.
“Quieter!”
He hissed.
“Oh! Sorry! I mean…sorry…uh…wait.” Thankfully Spider-Man reduced his volume, and continued his sentence softer.
“Are you…y’know…about to start your…thing?”
“For gods sake, are you 12? Yes, so get out!” Matt groaned this more than anything else, swatting weakly at one of the Spider’s arms.
His grip was gentle, but it didn’t waver to his weak strikes.
He chose to toss the fact that his secondary was out to Spider-Man on the back burner. He must have sweat through his scent patches, and the whole pre-heat thing must have been making his scent stronger, so he was trying his best not to be surprised. Spider-Man probably had some modicum of heightened senses too.
Did spiders have a good sense of smell? Maybe. Probably.
Matt was really fucking tired.
“I can’t just leave! Let me help you.”
“Who asked you to?
“Me, I’m asking! Or, no, wait, I’m telling! I’m not leaving you here like this. Is there somewhere I can help you get too?”
Yes, just drop me off in front of my apartment, I’ll invite you in for tea while I’m at it, don’t even think twice about it…
Matt’s head was spinning a bit, and somewhere in this ridiculously backwards mental state he managed to wave a hand weakly.
“There’s a rooftop like four blocks from here, on the edge of Midtown…it’s safe enough.”
“Safe enough?”
“Or you could leave me here, which I’d prefer.”
Spider-Man very promptly slung an arm around Matt’s waist and pulled him close. “In that case, going up, Double D!”
Matt wanted to remind him not to talk so damn loud but before he could his feet left the ground.
He had never imagined what it was like to swing around on webs as Spider-Man did. He was blind. He couldn’t exactly aim over long distances. It would never end well. His billy club grappling hook move worked well enough because he could feel vibrations down the wire. The web fluid was sticky and stretchy and definitely not up to snuff when it came to conducting info back into his super-senses.
Yet tonight of all nights he was given a test-drive of web-shooter tech, and yeah, it was definitely not making it onto Daredevil’s list of weapons of choice. The swinging alone nearly made him sick all over again, but if there was one thing he’d give it, it was a wonderfully fast mode of travel.
They were landing on the rooftop far faster than Matt could have stumbled his way there, and Matt immediately swatted Spider-Man’s arm from his side.
Shame, that was, actually. He could tell under the suit he had a lean, muscular tone, and his scent was growing incredibly pleasant.
Or was that just Matt growing incredibly too close to his heat with an alpha five feet away from him?
A shiver came unannounced up his spine, and he quickly bite down on his tongue to keep any humiliating noises from getting out.
“Are you going to be ok up here?”
Considering Matt had directed him to one building over from his actual apartment building? Yes, he was pretty sure he could make it from here.
So long as Spider-Man got lost so he could jump across to the roof access and get inside.
“I’ll be fine. Thanks for the lift, but don’t come back.” Matt tried to sound suitably scary, but there was an underlying quake in his voice.
He folded his arms again to hide the trembling. It was all the same thing he’d gone through before, he was nearly thirty, he’d gotten his own cycle down to a science by this point. The problem was with Spider-Man and his stupidly nice alpha scent standing right there things were moving faster than usual.
Maybe it was his body yelling at him to not waste the pretty and jump on this alpha he clearly found attractive.
Well, Matt didn’t actually know if he were pretty. Foggy and Karen said he was, but then, they were his friends, so they had to say that.
Off track again.
Matt recognized the sound of a zipper being undone and had some very inappropriate thoughts before he remembered Spider-Man had a backpack on.
Which seemed dumb. And possibly secret-identity exposing. But whatever.
“Uh, um, this might be totally off base, but, like, my friends in college always liked to borrow stuff, and I mean, I dunno with vigilante-ing if you’ve got someone like that around but…”
Police sirens suddenly started going off so painfully close that Matt slapped his palms over his ears again with a badly concealed whine. After a heavy, deep breath he reached down for his billy club.
“Looks like it’s just a car-jacking! No worries, I got it! You go rest up, and uh, then keep doing what you’re doing I guess? And, uh, here! Ok, bye!”
That was how Matt found himself standing on the rooftop next to his own, feeling about three seconds from a sensory-overload triggered breakdown, holding a heavy overlarge sweatshirt that was absolutely covered in Spider-Man’s scent.
What a night.