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The recommended recovery time for being forcibly drugged by some undead ninjas, suffering hallucinations, and then collapsing in a heap on the floor of some shitty warehouse Frank just happened to be scoping out was probably a few weeks, maybe a month to be on the safe side.
Red being Red, he wanted to be back out there within a few days. Frank wasn't having it. Not on his watch. Not when he was the one who got Matt the hell out of there and made sure he was still breathing. There was this little thing called taking responsibility for his idiot boyfriend.
Nobody else could keep up with Matt Murdock. Not Foggy. Not Karen. Not any kind of super freak he called friends. Nobody had a chance. Nobody but Frank.
He could keep up with him. He did. He had two loops of rope around Matt's chest and one around his forearm before the lawyer could say, "Pass the batons, please." Frank Castle wasn't screwing around, not after the other night.
Mostly he figured it was shock keeping Matt from fighting him off in time. He struggled to little or no effect as Frank tied him down to the chair, arm for arm, leg for leg, keeping him completely immobile, and completely safe for the minute.
"This had better be a joke," Matt said sternly when Frank was done.
"I ain't laughing, Red," he replied, his tone grim.
Matt huffed, clearly annoyed. "I can get out of these."
"Try," Frank challenged him.
He stepped back, studying Matt's face. He was calm, but pale, like he was about to be sick. It was far from reassuring. The fact that nearly fifteen minutes passed without Matt managing to get free, despite his best efforts, was even less reassuring, particularly when he slumped, exhausted by his own efforts, only managing to prove Frank right.
"Well, I can't concentrate when you're watching me," Matt declared a moment later, in a transparent attempt to spare his own pride.
"Stage fright, huh? Cute," Frank said coolly; then he crouched in front of him. "You're in pain. Weaker. Slower. You're still metabolizing whatever the hell they gave you the other night."
Matt scowled. "And?"
"And I'm not risking you. Sit tight," Frank ordered, straightening up to his full height.
"I could scream," Matt offered before Frank had moved even half a step.
"And have your neighbors run in here and see you in all that Devil getup?" Frank retorted, unconvinced. "I don't think so. Besides, I'd gag you if you tried. It's kind of a turn on, seeing you like this."
"Kinky, Frank. Kinda hot," Matt admitted with a smirk.
"Good," Frank replied.
He leaned over him, planting his hands firmly on Matt's forearms. His boyfriend's face was as stern as that of an owl, and about as free of mercy as he tilted his chin up, daring Frank to kiss him. If there was one problem he'd never had, it was a failure to follow through, and he kissed Matt with as much passion and confidence as he always did.
He pulled back after a moment to let himself breathe as Matt stubbornly declared, "You can't keep me here all night."
Frank smirked. "You seriously underestimate me, Red. You can spend all night tied to this chair, or all night resting and recovering in bed. Choose."
"You don't trust me?" Matt retorted, although the mischievous look that flashed across his face gave Frank the opposite inclination to trust anyway.
"That would be a no," he informed him, frowning. "Chair or bed, Red?"
"Bed," Matt acquiesced with a sigh, earning a surprised half cough from Frank. "What? I can think of a few ways to pass the time."
"I'll bet," Frank muttered, reluctantly moving to untie him. "These stay on by the way," he added, looping a rope around Matt's wrists as he stood up, and securing them, tugging him along playfully.
Matt only snorted. "I figured."
The lawyer shook his head at Frank, but allowed himself to be led all the way to the bedroom like a misbehaving dog on a leash. Frank didn't need to worry. Matt was a little too exhausted from even the short struggle with the ropes to possibly pull a Houdini on him… and if he did, nothing would thrill Frank more than catching him and keeping him safe. For all time.