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Josie. Josie. Josie.
The city churns beneath him. An ocean of static and noise and grit. Matt hears hundreds of voices from his position on the rooftop downtown. Laughter and tears and confessions of love, someone breaking up with their boyfriend and someone else arguing about money over the phone. A heartsick daughter is crying because she wants her dad to come pick her up from a college dorm. His veins hum with it, the essence of the city as blood dries on his gloves and a bruise blooms at his jaw.
He comes a part of it, that hum, those voices. He exists within the space of each one like the weeds that grow up through the cracks in the pavement. Hell’s Kitchen is in his blood and a lot of his blood is scattered through Hell’s Kitchen.
It takes him a moment to realise the insistent tinny voice is his phone, not just another sound in a cacophony of sounds that flow through his body like the blood in his veins.
His muscles ache from his crouch as Matt digs into the pockets of his suit, feeling the small phone through thick gloves.
Josie. Josie. Josie.
It grows louder as he pulls it out, fumbling with the buttons to answer the call.
Josie doesn’t call him. She has his number saved from some help he gave her years ago, back when he and Foggy first started coming to the bar and her landlord was overcharging her rent. Josie brought the bar outright with the money they managed to get her in the settlement.
Maybe he left something there in his rush earlier, although he is sure she would have just given it to Karen or Foggy to give to him. He had left them there when he heard the muffled voices, several streets over, talking about a hit. They had been celebrating their win in court but the Devil’s work was never done so he left them to their joy and headed out into the city.
“Hello?” It’s only at the last minute that Matt remembers to take the gruffness out of his voice but it feels wrong when he is dressed as Daredevil, crouched on the edge of a building to make sure the witness for their latest case gets home safely after being beaten up in an attempt to get him to refuse to testify.
“Matt, it’s Josie.” She says like he doesn’t know, “You might want to get down here.”
He frowns beneath the mask, “What’s wrong?”
Because he can tell something is, Josie’s voice lacks the hardness he is used to from her and in the background he hears silence rather than the usual hum of the bar.
“Your little merry band is drunk to high hell and managed to get themselves involved in a bar fight.” Josie tells him, “No cab will take them in this state by themselves and I swear to all that is holy, if one of them throws up in my bar you will be paying the cleaning bill, Murdock.”
His own heart deafens his sensitive ears as Matt plucks at the words that cause it to speed up. Drunk to high hell. Bar fight. The shape of them panic him and he strains his hearing to pick up Josie’s from where he is. It’s too far west for him to reach, the unknown making his stomach churn.
“Are they okay?” He tries to keep the tension from his voice but Matt is already standing, pulling off the gloves with his teeth as he shuffles the phone from one hand to the other.
“A little blood. Some bruises. They’re a scrappy pair, I’ll give them that. No lasting damage other than to a few bar stools and a glass or two.”
Josie’s voice is far too calm for the words she is saying. All Matt can think is blood and bruises and he wasn’t there. He doesn’t know what happened or why but Foggy and Karen could be hurt.
“I’m coming right over, Josie.” He doesn’t wait for her reply as he ends the call and takes a running leap off the ledge of the building to land on the next one.
He needs to ditch the suit, needs to calm down. His blood is pounding in his ears, at his temples and sweat slides down the side of his face as Matt pushes himself faster and faster in the direction of Josie’s.
The alley around back is dank and crowded with bins that smell like rotten lime but it’s deserted enough that no one sees him drop down and fish the glasses out of his pocket.
The devil gone, Matt Murdock with a raw edge is what remains.
Inside, he can hear quiet voices. The rattle of ice and the smell of blood. Someone crunches over glass on the floor, the sound plinking like bullets in his ears.
Karen. Foggy.
That’s his only thought when he pushes through the door of Josie’s, forgetting to tap his cane against the floor in his haste to reach the two heartbeats that feel like home to him. His shirt neck is open, tie shoved into the pocket of his suit pants because his hands were shaking too much for him to put it on. He must look rumpled, exhausted, worried sick.
Josie approaches him first, heavy footsteps behind the bar as she dumps what he is sure is shattered glass and bits of wood into the dustbin back there with a sigh. It must have been bad if she closed up early tonight but he couldn’t hear police sirens or smell the antiseptic that lingers with paramedics.
That must be a good sign.
“Easy, Murdock. They are okay.” Josie tells him, clearly seeing the look of terror he has no doubt is on his face, “The alcohol buzz is definitely keeping the shock away.”
“What happened?” Matt’s words are clipped.
“Dogs of Hell, a few of them started getting rowdy. I had already threatened to kick them out twice but you know how they can be.” Matt’s hands white knuckle his cane as he forces himself to listen, “One of them went after your girl. It wasn’t their fault. I didn’t call the cops, thought that would make trouble for everyone. Foggy was defending her.”
Anger, hot and rich, works its way through his body, “I appreciate that, Josie.”
“Just get them home safe. They will have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.” She taps the bar twice before she shuffles away, probably to give them some privacy. Matt is thankful because the rest of the world has already faded away to the sound of those two heartbeats he has built a life around.
Fisk could walk in now and Matt would let him breeze past. That’s how focused he is on Karen and Foggy.
Blood taints the air with copper, mixed with alcohol and peanuts that normally accompany Josie’s place. The tang of fear lurks behind it, acidic on the back of his tongue.
Matt forces himself not to run towards them, just in case Josie is still watching but he folds up the cane as he goes, listening to Karen’s heart lurch when she spots him.
“Matt.” She is on her feet and in his arms in a second, barreling into his chest in a way that sends him back a step before he steadies himself.
His arms wrap around her, his chin finding the top of her head as he listens to her heart thump against him, alcohol overwhelming every other scent that makes Karen familiar.
It still catches him by surprise some days. That he can hold her now. That he gets this with her. This tentative thing between them is still so new and precious he holds it like a fragile bird in his hands.
“Are you okay?” He asks softly, pulling back to cup her face in his hands as he listens to everything her body is telling him.
He doesn’t smell blood, not on her anyway although he can detect the press of bone against muscle in her right hand that tells him it is swelling nicely and no doubt bruised.
Adrenaline is still lingering in her body, potent and jerky. She was scared, he knows.
Somewhere inside him, the devil rattles furiously.
“She was a badass.” Foggy tells him as he stumbles to his feet, “A total badass.”
That’s why he can smell blood. It drips from Foggy’s nose onto his shirt, soaking the fabric in a way that makes it stick to his skin. Matt knows it must hurt.
“Josie said it was the Dogs of Hell?” Matt asks, keeping his voice in check which he thinks he deserves a medal for when Karen is shaking and Foggy is bleeding. Even now, his fingers are stroking over the soft tendrils of her hair without a second thought. The contact soothing him and her if the decrease of her heart beat is any indication.
“One of them was trying to get handsy with Karen.” Foggy tells him and Matt is glad he is no longer holding her because he feels the urge to swing at an invisible enemy, “She said no, repeatedly. He grabbed her. I swung at the guy, he swung back. I hit the deck, not my finest hour. Karen kicked him between the legs and then punched him right in the face. It was actually incredible.”
Matt is having trouble breathing, trying to process the words Foggy is saying and match it with the destruction around him.
Karen did what?
“Who was it?”
“Some low level idiot, probably. Never seen him before.” Foggy shrugs and the alcohol in his system makes him sway, “Oh I feel dizzy.”
“Sit down buddy.” Matt moves to help him, guiding Foggy back to the chair Josie must have set out when she called him. Foggy sits heavily, a little groan escaping him as he clutches his head.
“How do you do this every night and manage to show up for work the next day?” Foggy laments and Matt can hear the rustle of tissue as he wedges it under his nose.
“With difficulty.” He replies, turning his attention back to Karen because she hadn’t said anything yet and that is more worrying than the bar fight, “Karen?”
God, he wants to ask a million questions. Wants to know how handsy the bastard got with her. Wants to know if she hates him because he wasn’t there.
Her good hand slips into his, fingers soft and searching as she grips him tightly, “I’m okay.”
She isn’t but she is drunk and so is Foggy and Matt needs to get them home.
“Okay, I’ll ask Josie to call a cab. Foggy, you need to drink some water. You both do.”
“Yes, dad.”
If Foggy is making jokes then Matt is confident he will be alright with some painkillers and a decent night’s sleep.
Karen though is a mystery to him and he doesn’t like it. He has been making it his mission to decipher her since they agreed to give things another go and this silence isn’t like her. Not with him.
This is the woman who calls him when she can’t sleep to ask him to describe the city to her in the sounds he hears and the smells he remembers. This is the woman who kissed him in a darkened storage cupboard after court one day because she wanted to be brave. Was tired of waiting for him to be.
Karen is bold and brave and fierce and it scares Matt half to death most days but this silence scares him more.
One thing at a time though and he knows Foggy well enough to know they are on borrowed time until he passes out. Alcohol always makes him sleepy eventually.
Matt gets them into the taxi with the patience of a saint because Foggy is a stubborn drunk and a chatty one who wants to know the driver’s life story before he gets in and Karen is swaying in her heels like she might drop from exhaustion at any minute. He gets in last, squishing next to Foggy as he gives Foggy’s address over and promises an extra twenty bucks if the driver makes it fast.
He earns the extra tip.
Matt gets Foggy up the stairs with an arm pulled over his shoulder, his own ribs protesting the extra weight when it rubs at an old injury that is healing stubbornly but they make it step by step, Karen in front of them because Matt doesn’t want to risk her behind them and falling when he can’t catch her. He tracks every step until they are in front of Foggy’s door.
It reminds Matt of their college days when the drinks were cheaper and his worries seemed so much smaller. Foggy is the same solid weight he has always been as Matt practically carries him but the lingering remnants of blood is new.
The familiar ache makes his ribs hurt. Normally it was Matt in the fight and Foggy being his solid foundation. Foggy hauling him to bed or out of it because he was determined a bad break up wasn’t going to let Matt destroy his whole life.
Their whole friendship has been this foundation of holding each other up, reminding them of their morals and their values and working together to uphold them.
The bleeding has stopped, the smell turning stale as the blood dries and Matt pats at Foggy’s suit jacket for his door keys. Foggy’s hands are trying to shove him away, muttering about how he doesn’t put out on the first date.
He had forgotten how ridiculous drunk Foggy could be. How much it makes him smile.
Matt silently prays under his breath as he finds the keys and they all shuffle loudly into the apartment. Foggy’s place isn’t as familiar as his own but Matt has been here enough to know where the couch is positioned, to avoid the shoe rack by the door and the weird statue Foggy insists is modern art by the entryway to the kitchen. It smells the same way their college dorm used to, warm and minty. Foggy’s aftershave is always too strong because he likes to add more than he needs, especially in summer. It lingers in his apartment like gray clouds after a storm.
He leaves them in the kitchen, passing glasses of water into their hands as he does the rounds. Matt checks the windows are locked, his senses stretching out to ensure he can’t hear anything that isn’t supposed to be there. It’s paranoia, he knows that, knows it’s unlikely the Dogs of Hell will retaliate for a bar fight that one of their own started but everything in him frays at the edges until he can confirm Foggy’s apartment is safe.
He jumps as glass shatters in the kitchen, the shrapnel hitting tiles like machine gun fire. Matt’s heart races as he turns and heads in that direction, following the sounds of whispers and giggles from his two favourite people.
Karen and Foggy stand in the middle of the mess, Karen’s glass having slipped from her hand because Foggy is still clutching his, Matt can hear the roll of condensation on the outside, stopped by Foggy’s finger.
They laugh louder when they see him, Karen’s giggle high-pitched and honestly, heaven-sent after her continued silence in the taxi. Foggy’s is loud and booming, taking up the space in the small kitchen in a way that Matt will never tire of.
“Oh no.” Foggy whisper-shouts, muffled by his hand.
“We made him mad.” Karen replies, another little giggle as her shoes crunch against the glass, “He has the furrowed brow.”
“The furrowed brow of doom!” He can hear Foggy’s palm slap his leg, “We were talking about how serious you are. Always so serious, Matt. We have a plan!”
“Foggy!”
“We have a secret plan.” He amends, “Operation Loosen Up Matt.”
Karen laughs and Matt can hear the blood rush to her cheeks like she is embarrassed. Beside her Foggy is laughing again, and Matt is pretty sure he is furrowing his own brow in an imitation of whatever he thinks Matt’s face is doing.
Matt places his hands on his hips, reminding himself he loves them even when they are trying to test him.
“You two are a real double act tonight.” He can’t keep the smile off his face, “Do you want us to stay, Fog?”
Foggy steps through the glass, the crunch makes Matt’s teeth ache as he feels a heavy hand land on his shoulder, “I miss rooming with you buddy, but you and Karen is a bit much. Besides, there are some things I don’t need to see.”
Before Matt can even question what that means, Foggy lurches to the left and hits his shin on the statue that must weigh a ton, “Why did I even buy this?”
Matt grabs his arm, helping guide Foggy to the back of the apartment where his bedroom is, “Because you thought women would think you were cultured if you had art around the place.”
“Women think you’re cultured and you can’t even see art.” Foggy replies, letting Matt push him towards his bedroom with a sigh.
Foggy flops down on the bed as soon as it’s in sight, the mattress springs groaning as he lands on it with a sigh of bliss.
Matt smiles to himself in the doorway, “We’ll come pick you up for work tomorrow, I’ll bring food.”
One hand lifts off the bed and smacks back down again in acknowledgement.
“Thank you, Foggy.” Matt replies softly, “For looking after Karen tonight.”
The springs groan as Foggy lifts his head in Matt’s direction, “She’s family.”
She is. To both of them. Matt will never be able to explain how much it means to him that Foggy loves her too. That Foggy approves of her, of them together.
It was Foggy that convinced him he had earned his second chance with Karen after that first kiss. Foggy who had talked him down off the ledge he was spiralling from. Foggy who assured him Karen thought he was good enough, who made Matt realise he wasn't going to screw this up again.
How do you know?
You love her, Matt.
“Get some rest.”
Foggy hums loudly, “Love you buddy.”
Matt laughs, “Don’t get all mushy on me. You still have to come to work tomorrow.”
That earns him a groan, “I take it back!”
“No, you don’t.”
Foggy is asleep, snoring softly before he can answer.
/
He gets Karen into another cab with little effort, feeling her fingers clasp his as he gives the driver her address. Matt lifts their joined hands to his lips and kisses the back of hers, listening to Karen’s head thunk against the headrest with a flutter of her heart.
Her stairs are worse than Foggy’s, she has three more flights of them for one thing, and for another he can tell her hand is hurting her because she clenches her teeth when she tries to grab the handrail and quickly lets go again.
Matt’s hands slide over her hips, “Come on, I won’t let you fall.”
He doesn’t, fingers lost in the smooth cotton of her dress as he guides her up the stairs with his hands on her waist, keeping a step behind her at all times as they make their ascent.
Karen is slow and he isn’t sure whether it’s from the heels that must be killing her or the pain in her hand or whatever is making her stomach roll like someone has shone a light into a cave of bats.
Matt tries not to think about the warmth of her underneath his fingers or the lingering anger still in his veins from someone trying to make a move on her.
He was never the jealous type. Not before her. Which is ridiculous because he knows Karen wants him, can hear the flutter of her heart whenever they are together but now, Matt pays more attention to the men who pay affection to her when they are out. The ones he knows are thinking about her in a way they have no right to.
Another thing Karen brings out in him. Not just his protectiveness but his insecurity.
And every kiss she gives him or every time she reaches for his hand is her way of defeating it without even trying.
The hallway smells of burnt toast from one of her neighbours and motor oil, a combination Matt doesn’t think he has ever encountered together before. Karen smells like vanilla and whiskey, another combination that is new to him but Matt finds he quite likes on her.
Once they reach the top of the stairs, she catches him off guard by spinning around so fast that Matt has to catch her in his arms, her chest flush against his. She towers over him like this, he is still two stairs below her and Karen’s hair tickles his nose as her arms lock around his neck.
“Hi.” Her voice is soft, tired and still buzzed from the whiskey.
“Hi.” He replies equally softly, tilting his chin in the direction of her voice.
“Why are we here?” The question catches him off guard, wondering how much alcohol is still in her system.
“You live here.”
Karen hums, “I thought we would go to your place.”
“After tonight, I figured you would be more comfortable in your own bed.” He tells her gently, one hand finding the sharp line of her jaw.
She nuzzles into his palm, “Will you stay?”
Matt’s heart stutters. Then flatlines for a solid second when Karen kisses his palm with those soft lips of hers.
“Yes.”
Because what else can he say when she is in his arms and sounds so vulnerable and he absolutely was just going to spend the night on her roof to keep an eye on her anyway.
They haven’t slept together yet. He would never dream of inviting himself into her space, especially not after tonight’s events. Karen wanted to take things slow so they were. Matt took her on dates, he cooked for her, they kissed and each night became harder to leave but he had a lifetime with Karen Page ahead of him so he was happy to go as slow as she wanted.
They had never had a sleepover before.
As if she could tell he was thinking too much, Karen kisses away his anxiety. Her lips are demanding on his, warm and laced with whiskey and Matt can feel the second-hand intoxication from her mouth.
He is about to pull away when Karen’s tongue finds his and Matt forgets where they are in favour of climbing the last two stairs to her and wrapping his arms around her back to kiss her properly.
How he finds himself with his back against the door of her apartment, Karen’s hands tugging at the buttons of his shirt is a mystery but Matt knows the second he feels her lips at his neck he is in dangerous territory.
Because when Karen kisses him like that, he fucking unravels.
“Karen.” He groans, feeling every curve of her pressed against him, “Keys.”
Her arm reaches around him for the doorknob, twisting it in her grasp until he all but fumbles through the threshold into her apartment.
That stops him cold.
“It wasn’t locked?”
He hears her kicking her heels off, a little sigh of bliss escaping her when her bare feet touch the ground, “It normally is, my landlord was coming round for an inspection so I normally just leave it open to make it easier.”
There are so many things wrong with that statement but Matt’s blood has left his brain and Karen’s hands are weaving into his hair, the door closing with a kick of her foot.
“Stop thinking scary thoughts, Matt.” She tells him, “It was a one time situation.”
He isn’t thinking anything when her good hand rakes nails along his scalp and her arousal mixes with the smell of whiskey and vanilla.
“Let me check your hand.” He says instead, leaving that argument for a time when she is sober and he is calmer.
Her apartment is smaller than his, more crowded. The first time Matt was here, he almost twisted an ankle on the many piles of books on her floor because he was too busy paying attention to her. He avoids them now, guiding Karen to the couch with gentle hands before manoeuvring his way to her kitchen, avoiding the boxes stacked up by her dining table. He finds a bag of frozen peas in the freezer and brings them over to her, settling on the couch by her side.
Wordlessly, Karen places her hand on his thigh. The swelling must be bad because Matt can sense the inflammation under the skin, the heat radiating off it. His fingers gently stroke over the tips of her fingers, the nails glossy with polish.
“I don’t think anything is broken.” He tells her, “It’s going to hurt like hell for a few days. This will sting at first but it will take the edge off.”
The peas settle loudly onto her skin, ice crunching against the bag as Karen hisses between her teeth from the shock of the pain. Her fingers dig into his thigh. Matt’s other hand brushes the hair back from her ear, fingers tracing the line of her face to distract her.
“Can I ask you a question?” Karen asks, pain lacing her voice.
“Anything.”
“You want to find him, don’t you?” She isn’t looking at him, the words aimed at her bruised hand, “The guy who came onto me at Josie’s.”
Matt doesn’t know how to answer that without scaring her. Doesn’t know how to explain he cannot stand to see her hurt or afraid or so damn quiet when he can do something to stop it. He listens to Karen curl her legs up on the couch, hand still on his leg. The smell of the sunflowers on the kitchen window that he brought her for their last date making him want to kiss the words from her mouth.
He sighs, letting his fingers fall from her face to the frozen peas on her hand, “Yes.”
A simple answer, the truth laid bare.
He is getting better at it these days. With her. With Foggy.
“He was just some drunk guy, Matt.” Karen tells him, “He didn’t touch me.”
Not good enough but he knows she is trying to soothe him.
“Did he scare you?”
Karen’s heart picks up speed, “Maybe, a little.”
“Did he respect your answer when you said no?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then yeah, I want to find him.”
Her good hand finds his chin, aiming his face towards her, “I don’t want Daredevil to beat the crap out of him. No… I do, a little, but you shouldn’t. Just because we’re together, I don’t want you to do that for me.”
Her thumb lingers against his bottom lip, “I hate that this happened.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
She sighs softly, “I didn’t need to. I had it handled. Just like you taught me.”
He remembers their third date, he took her past Fogwell’s on the way to a food festival downtown and told her about his dad. Karen said she was never shown how to throw a punch but had learned it from watching old boxing movies. Kevin was a big fan. Matt had taught her right there on the street outside the gym that had once felt like a second home to him. Fist tight, thumb outside and tucked out then way, power from the body for the swing.
Her laughter as she hit his palm again and again is a sound he will never forget. The way he ducked, wrapping his arms around her to bring her body flush against his afterwards so he could taste the laughter off her lips is something close to heaven in his mind.
He never thought she would have to use it.
It’s late, Matt can taste the chill in the air as the temperature drops and he knows they need to sleep. Karen needs it. A part of him knows he won’t, he’ll be awake for hours listening to the sound of her breath and the swelling growing along the bones of her knuckles.
“We need to work on it some more.” He tells her, the seam of the couch cushion shifting against her leg as she moves.
“Promise me you won’t track him down.”
“He doesn’t deserve your protection, Karen.”
“I’m not protecting him, I’m protecting you.” She replies, “You beat him bloody and you’re the one who has to make space for it inside you.”
“It’s worth getting my soul a little dirty.”
She moves impressively fast for someone still drunk, off the couch in seconds as the bag of frozen peas hits the floor with a thud.
He stays where he is, listening to the way Karen’s toes curl against the floor, “Not for me.” She insists.
“If I don’t fight for you then what good am I?” Matt replies, moving off the couch as well because he doesn’t like the way she is swaying on the spot, the hem of her dress hitting her knees with each move.
“You can fight for me, Matt. When it matters. This doesn’t.”
He wants to believe her, he really does but he could have stopped this if he had been there. Daredevil was the reason he wasn’t so Daredevil should be the one to make it right.
Something in Karen shifts, a little hint of anger as she turns to press her fingers against her palm and remembers about her busted up hand.
“I’m sorry you got hurt, Karen.” Matt says softly, making his way to her with cautious steps, “I won’t go after him, not unless he steps out of line again.”
She seems satisfied with his answer, closing the last little bit of distance between them until she is back in his arms again, “Thank you. And thank you for taking care of me.”
Matt smiles, “I like taking care of you.”
“I like it too.” Karen clenches her jaw tightly, as if in discomfort and Matt’s attention snaps to it like a doctor identifying the problem.
“Are you in pain?” He says, “Do you have aspirin?”
Karen hums in a way he can’t decipher, the sound doesn’t fit with her earlier fire.
“A little.” She admits, “Make me feel something else.”
Her lips are on his again, needy and sure and Matt doesn’t even try to fight her on it because the reassurance of having her in his arms helps calm the devil in his chest.
He doesn’t mean to crowd her against the wall but her back ends up there as Karen lets out a happy sigh that goes straight through him.
Matt weaves one hand to the back of her neck to protect her head, his lips skirting down her jaw to her neck. Even her skin tastes of whiskey, warm and sharp, and it makes his head spin.
Then he feels Karen’s hands on his belt, struggling with one good hand, and frantic moves that make heat pool in his gut.
God, she is going to kill him.
Because they are meant to be taking it slow but slow is clearly not on her agenda for tonight and Matt isn’t sure being the strong one is in his wheelhouse when it comes to her, even with those years of Sunday School.
“Matt.” The word ghosts over his lips, a little plea that makes him want to hoist her up by the back of her thighs and take her against this damn wall.
No.
No.
He tears his mouth from hers, hands finding her wrist before she can get his belt open, “Not tonight.”
Karen pecks his lips, “Yes, tonight.”
God just needs to smite him, that would be easier than defying a horny Karen Page.
Matt can feel her want in the eager hands and the devouring kisses, knows she has probably figured out his own considering where her hands have been.
“You wanted to take it slow.” He reminds her, Karen’s body pressing against his in a way that is delicious and every fantasy come true during the many cold showers he had taken since they started dating again (and before that if he is being honest).
“Now, I just want you. Your lips, your mouth. God, even your ass drives me crazy most days at the office.”
Fuck.
Karen Page has a dirty mouth.
Matt stores that information away for later.
“Karen.”
“Matt.”
“I’m trying to be a gentleman here.” He is pleading with her when he is on her side and wants nothing more than to let her get her hands on him, to put his hands on her.
“I was hoping for a little more devil tonight.”
The universe is fucking with him. Matt is half convinced this is a dream and he is going to wake up alone, in his own bed, aching and missing the feel of her.
It’s not a dream though which means the universe is an even crueler bastard than Matt thought.
Okay, flirting with fire it is.
He never claimed to be a saint.
Matt’s hips surge forward, pinning Karen to the wall to keep her from moving against him because he is sure he is about to short-circuit. She laughs, a sure sign she is still drunk and that sobers Matt enough to double his resolve.
“Tomorrow.” He tells her, “If you wake me tomorrow and still want this I swear we will not leave that bed for three days.”
He hears her swallow, “Stop holding back, Matt. This is Operation Loosen Up.”
He is sure she is practically pouting.
His lips land on her neck, the thrum of her pulse point, “You don’t understand, Karen. I’m holding back because you are drunk and you’ve been through a lot tonight not because I don’t want you.”
“You want me?” Her voice is silk and velvet to his ears.
Temptress.
Another kiss lands by her collarbone and he feels the hitch in her breath, “Maddeningly.”
“Then why…”
He kisses her again just so she doesn’t finish that thought, “Because I want you to be sober when I get you into bed, Karen. I want you to feel every second of my hands on your skin. Every press of my lips against you. I don’t want it to be a quick fuck against the wall that you will barely remember tomorrow. I intend to make it count.”
He knows he has shocked her, her mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out, “Okay.” She finally settles on.
Matt rewards her with a kiss to the lips, chastise but firm.
“Menace.” He tells her affectionately, “We need to get you to bed.”
Karen hums, “I can’t sleep in this. The zipper, I don’t think I will be able to do it with only one good hand.”
His brain screeches to a halt, somewhere outside a siren is wailing and Matt feels like it’s for him.
“You’re killing me, sweetheart.” The endearment slips from his mouth without his permission, as it always does when he feels a sweep of affection for her that steals his breath.
He urges her to turn around, hands ghosting along her back until they find the top of the zipper. The metal is cold against his fingers as he sweeps Karen’s hair over her shoulder to gain access.
Matt has faced fights that are easier than this.
The zipper is deafening as he pulls it down her back, it snags on the clasp of her bra and the heat of her skin sings to him like a psalm.
Karen’s breath catches as he drags it lower, stopping at the base of her lower back so she can slip out of it.
The kiss he places against her spine is pure selfish indulgence.
For a torturous second he thinks she is going to let it drop right there, just like that first night they met when she changed right in front of him.
It’s a small mercy when she slips out of his hold and pads to the bathroom, Matt listens to her go with one hand braced against the wall and the names of saints slipping from his lips.
When she returns he realises that small mercy was a scam because she pads to him wrapped in his smell, bare legs brushing against each other as she sways in an off-kilter line.
Matt pushes himself away from the wall, reminds himself that he has faced Nobu and Fisk and Frank Castle so he can handle Karen Page.
“I couldn’t manage anything tighter.” She tells him, a little more definition in her words that tells him the alcohol is slowly leaving her system.
Matt reaches out a hand until he feels soft wool beneath his fingers, the hem sitting at her mid thigh.
His jumper. The one he wore last week when she cooked dinner and he had to secretly stop the noodles from burning when she went to pick some music. Soft wool, black, he doesn’t wear it much but has always loved the feel of it.
The feel of Karen in it is something else entirely.
Matt is done for.
She might as well have come out in lingerie and told him to run his hands over it. The fact her smell mingles with his on her body feels like a wild fire in his heart, overwhelming and all-consuming.
Matt needs to start leaving more clothes here.
“Matt?”
Right, she is looking at him, probably wondering why he looks like he is about to jump her bones when he made such a point of reminding her they were meant to be waiting.
“Come on.” He manages, the words rough as he offers her his hand. Karen slips her palm against his, leading him towards the bedroom, the cuff of his jumper too long so Matt can feel it pressed between them.
The bedsheets rustle as she crawls into them, folding her pillow under her head to get comfortable, “Wow, the room is spinning.”
He chuckles, unbuttoning his shirt and placing it on the chair he knows is by the window, “Yeah, you’re going to feel that tomorrow.”
“Why are you still standing there?” Her voice is sleepy now, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as she fights to keep them open.
God, she is perfect.
“Just… I don’t normally…”
“Just take your damn pants off, Matt. I promise I won’t jump you.”
It’s him that’s currently worried about jumping her but with stiff fingers he does as she asks, getting rid of his shoes and pants until he is left in just his boxers. It’s how he would normally sleep but the thought of sleeping like that with Karen is…
He starts reciting saints again.
The mattress creaks as she shuffles over, making room for him and Matt follows the sound, slipping between the covers as he turns on his side.
She hums in contentment, “I’ll keep my hands in the PG zones.” She promises and this teasing might be worse than when she was trying to undress him.
Playful Karen is one of his favourite versions of her.
He can’t resist closing the gap between their bodies, one arm snaking around her ribs to pull her back to his chest. The heat of her sears his skin and Matt tries not to think about the soft, bare skin of her legs against his.
“This is nice.”
Matt places a kiss behind her ear, “Sleep, Karen.”
She does this thing he can only describe as adorable where she snuggles into him, her whole body shrinking against his warmth and Matt feels like he won’t sleep a wink tonight when he has so many new sensations to memorise.
Karen’s body burns along the length of his as her breathing evens out.
Matt keeps vigil, reciting as many prayers and bible passages as he can remember but never letting go of her.
The morning greets him with Karen’s deep breathing and her warmth as Matt stays tangled up with her. All hands stayed in the PG zones as promised but he can’t help wishing he could run through his workout routine to burn off some of the energy burning through his veins at the feel of her in his arms.
When Karen wakes up and kisses him soundly, he realises she has another kind of workout in mind.
Matt likes that much better.