daredevilkink | Prompt Post #4

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Prompt Post #4

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I wish this would continue ;_;

... pacion! OP is back at last:

I am floored, author!anon. This was perfect in every respect, primarily in the pace and tension. Matt's feeling of dread through the whole story - first for of a possible terrorist attack, then for Foggy's safety, then being trapped in a shelter, thinking about the people he isn't being allowed to help ... Oh man. Poor Matt, but also perfectly characterized Matt.

I love the idea that the Battle of New York was a defining moment in Matt's journey towards vigilantism (hence the prompt) and I'm so glad you ran with that. You also simultaneously hit two of my most precious headcanons: the Incident is what inspired Matt to begin attending church again, and Matt is intensely bitter toward Tony Stark/the Avengers (it may not have been their fault directly and Stark did try to help in the aftermath, but mostly by throwing money around and enabling men like Fisk to get their claws in)

Stick was an asshole. But that didn’t mean that he was wrong.
Despite the hate he gets in a lot of fic, I really like Stick as a character and Matt's tempestuous relationship with him, and you did both justice here.

Basically, even though it wasn't what I asked for, it was exactly what I wanted. All my love, all my AO3 kudos, this is fantastic thank you :)

..... third part plz ;_; *sets up camp*

Careful though he was the rough washcloth stung against her new cuts, abrading tender skin not yet healed. Karen fought to keep her breathing even, struggling against the impulse to jerk away every time Matt leaned forward with the dreaded cloth in hand, newly soaked with soap and water. A bottle of iodine sat unassumingly on the table next to her when she wasn’t fiddling with it, trying to distance herself from the cold reality of it all.

For the fifth time in as many minutes she craned her neck to look around him, taking in the darkened room. Wood floors as far as the eye could see without so much as a rug in sight, furniture that had clearly seen better days but looked comfortable for all that, bare walls and empty tables devoid of any personal touches. It made sense, she supposed, he had no use for pictures and he had not struck her as a particularly sentimental man, so why should his home be cluttered with baubles?

Matt’s fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to face him again, holding her in place for his ministrations. A chill swept through her, sending a final shudder through her frame Mr. Murdock tactfully pretended he had not noticed. Karen felt the way he paused though, the new hesitancy in his touch when he finally set to work again, as silent and methodical as he had been since sitting her down at the kitchen table with a bottle of cheap whiskey to hand. He didn’t seem the type to drink it, but at his quiet urging she had taken her fair share and some of his as well.

She had been attacked, deliberately targeted. There was no other possible explanation for why her assailants had been so willing to choose such an uncooperative victim. The first sign of resistance and they should have been running, but they had relished every second of it instead. Of course, it hadn’t been much of a fight-

Exploratory fingertips ghosted across her face to find the curve of her split lip and press into it viciously.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.” Murdock winced, pausing for only a split second before going back to work. “I’m a little shaken.”

Karen pulled away deliberately, snorting with laughter she hadn’t realized was left in her. “Yeah? Me too.” Again she reached for the bottle, taking a light sip, already lightheaded with shock and fatigue but past caring. Matt’s polite mask slipped for all of a second, something baleful and taunting flickering across his expression before she had seen it. By the time she had set the bottle aside, his face was set in lines of concern again, a frown gathering on his brow for all that his tone was even.

“Are you sure you don’t want to call someone?”

“No cops.” To say her history with the Hell’s Kitchen police department was colorful would be an understatement, but this man didn’t need to know it.

“Mr. Nelson, maybe? I think he would take a vested interest in your welfare.” Murdock’s tone was so neutral it could only be a rebuke. It was inevitable, really, that Foggy would find out, but that could wait until morning when she had several hours of sleep and enough caffeine to power an army running through her veins.

“Not tonight,” she snapped, immediately regretting the tone. It wasn’t Matt’s fault she was tired and aching and still scared stiff, but so far he had borne the brunt of it. She drew a breath and tried again, mentally counting down from a hundred. “It’s late and he’s probably”- working, reading, drinking himself to sleep- “Sleeping. Soundly. This can wait.”

Silence blanketed them, but it held none of the comfort of a few minutes ago, laden with unvoiced reproach as it was. “By the way, has he called you back yet? I know he was a little brusque, but I swear that’s not the norm and we could really use the extra help.” Any port in a storm, any topic to save herself from Matt Murdock’s accusatory silence.

“I’m sure he’s been busy. As have you, apparently.” Matt laid the cloth aside, wiping his fingers carefully on another he had draped over the chair. She flinched at the pink stains, barely restraining herself from reaching up to run an inquisitive hand over her battered face.

“Honestly, I’d rather not talk about it.” They were back at square one, with Matt gamely trying to make a case for filing a police report and Karen dead-set against it. God save her from any more attorneys.

Finally he sighed, and she could hear the tinge of defeat in it, frustration and resignation mingling in equal measure. He pushed out of his chair and made his way to the cabinet above the sink, pulling down a glass and filling it to the brim with water. He downed it in a few quick gulps, fingers clenched on the glass as though it was the only thing preventing him from doing violence.

“I won’t push you, miss Page, but I disagree.”

The apartment grew darker, eerily still even for that hour. There should have been sirens or traffic, hell, Murdock’s entire window was taken up by a glowing LED screen, but just then she felt swallowed by the darkness.

Karen leapt into the silence, eager to bring him back from whatever memory he had retreated into.“So, this isn’t really that far from the office. You could probably walk it in twenty minutes.”

“Miss Page, are you asking to stay the night?” Feigned shock, a smile tugging at his lips that did nothing to banish her unease. It settled on his face unnaturally, and vanished just as swiftly.

“No, I want to go home as badly as you want me to-”

“It’s no trouble.” He pushed away from the sink, setting the glass aside as though he hadn’t been about to crush it in his bare hand a moment before. “I respect your preference for avoiding any legal entanglements, but it would be better if you didn’t stay alone tonight.”

There was no question in his tone, not even a hint that her refusal was a possibility. It vexed her unreasonably that he should so casually assume her cooperation but…

She didn’t want to be alone either.

“I’ll take the couch, then.”

“The bed would be best. You would thank me in the morning when you really start to feel this.”

Tomorrow was going to hurt, she didn’t need him to tell her that. And with the sign-

“All right, bed.” She pushed herself up from the table reluctantly, feeling a myriad of abrasions check in and what she suspected might be a bruised rib. “Would you be so kind as to walk me to work tomorrow? Just in case.”

“Just in case Mr. Nelson is considering walk-in candidates?” His arched brow said clearly she had not been half so subtle as she supposed, but no offense was taken.

“I’m really not kidding about needing the help.” Especially now that she had suddenly acquired so much extra work, beginning with unearthing the identity of her attackers.

“I’ll consider it, Miss-”

“Karen.” Her throat closed up, choked with tears she was only now beginning to feel building. The trick would be getting to bed as fast as possible before he picked up on it.

“Matt.” He reached out tentatively, but his grip was steady and firm when she slipped her hand into his. His hands were soft as hers to the first touch, but her fingers felt the raised welts of scars along his knuckles, lines of work and care worn into his palms. Not hands she would have associated with an attorney but-

“Nice meeting you, Matt.”

By nine Foggy was beginning to worry. It was an unspoken agreement that Karen would be in the office by eight, Foggy would be in by eight-thirty, and he would gladly atone for his tardiness with gifts of bagels and coffee to placate the savage beast that was Karen without breakfast.

This morning he had strolled through the door at five after eight, a bag of bagels in his left hand and not two but four cups of coffee nestled comfortably in the holder he was balancing desperately on his right. He was tired, every aching muscle screaming at him for even daring to be awake after three hours of fitful sleep, but pleased despite all that.

The priest’s words had haunted him as he dozed off last night, had echoed through his thoughts until he dragged himself from bed to the couch, counting on the philosophical musings of Wittgenstein to put him to sleep again as they had so many times during school.

No dice. His heavy thoughts refused to be ignored any longer, plaguing him until he had finally given up and actually begun to consider how he would deal with his infernal problem in the long run. The answer had come to him at false dawn, no longer nodding on the couch but leaning against the kitchen counter, long since cooled tea sitting just out of his reach. So many questions had raced through his mind, and most of them irrelevant now that he thought back on it.

Did the Devil want to be near him or was it Matt Murdock? Was Matt Murdock the Devil? Did he live in any recognizable sense? Could he, as Lanthom had insinuated, be saved? Was it Foggy’s responsibility or did each man govern his own soul?

Irrelevant. Irrelevant because the only questions he needed to ask himself was whether he had fulfilled his part of their bargain and whether any good had come of it. The answer to the first was undeniably yes, the answer to the second was… more ambiguous, but Foggy’s conscience prodded him toward a firm ‘no.’ Logically then he should sever contact. Sprinkle salt at the doorway, keep holy water near his desk…

Assuming it had any effect. Water seemed such a flimsy defense against a creature that had proved itself capable of unfeeling murder. But he had been prepared to try, determined to keep this last place safe from the Devil’s influence, to make sure Karen wasn’t caught up in another tragedy so soon on the heels of another, to make sure Brett would not be called out to an attorney’s office to clean up a bloody mess that might once have been Foggy or Karen or an innocent bystander-

Foggy poked his head out of his office again, glancing at Karen’s empty desk. She had been keeping strange hours these past few weeks; staying out later than planned, actually taking her full hour’s lunch rather than skipping back in fifteen minutes early. Until now he hadn’t thought anything of it; it was her time and none of his business how she spent it.

Or at least it hadn’t been until half an hour ago.

Feeling guilty as sin he crept to the desk, one ear cocked for the sound of footsteps, half hoping Karen would magically appear to throw open the office door and ask him why he was bothering to sneak around his own office. Unfortunately the silence was broken only by the creak of the floorboards and the echo of the fan he had switched to its highest setting in the hopes of dispelling the lingering old building smell that still clung to the place. He rested his palms atop the wood, felt the way it had warped and splintered.

They needed new furniture almost as badly as they needed a new computer, both of which would come when they had the client base to support it but-

The top drawer was locked, either that or jammed. He tugged again to be sure, glaring incredulously at the keyhole. Karen had every pertinent file for their practice locked in a single drawer that the man whose name was on the door could not open. The creeping sense of guilt vanished to be replaced by an eerie calm.

Karen could have locked it against burglars or absentmindedly turned the key and slid it from the lock as they were leaving. She could have picked up the habit before bringing her wasted talents to a law practice that hardly deserved the name yet. Any of these things might have been true, but Foggy knew instantly they weren’t. He knew her too well, a hazard of the misadventures they had already shared, a necessary prerequisite to calling her a friend. Not only was Karen hiding something but she was using their one retreat to do it.

And the Devil had stood right here, where he was standing now, holding her hand and mouthing platitudes designed to get him past the front door and keep him there.

Irrelevant. The word repeated again and again in his mind, ringing with less conviction each time.

Karen was sneaking, the Devil had come calling, the Addict’s death proved the city was growing restless. Taking any one it would be easy to dismiss them for coincidence, take them together and it painted a rather grim portrait.

Footsteps in the hall pulled him back into the present quickly enough to send him scurrying from the desk before the door creaked open, Karen peaking about the edge with uncharacteristic timidity. Foggy could feel another presence just beyond her, shielded from view by the door yet still setting his hackles on edge with anticipation.

“Foggy, I need you to promise me you’re not going to freak out.”

“Well, I mean, no promises…” His forced smile slipped from his lips as Karen slowly stepped into the room, still wearing yesterday’s clothes but conspicuously spattered with droplets of-

“Blood? Shit, Karen, what-”

The voice he had been dreading spoke, soft but firm and with just an edge of an insinuated threat Foggy knew he wasn’t imagining. “Karen was attacked by muggers last night on her way home. Fortunately I overheard. I think my approach must have scared them off.”

Murdock stepped out from behind the door, offering a solicitous arm when Karen absentmindedly reached back to tug him forward. “It’s not as bad as it looks-”

“Good because it looks like hell.” Foggy shoved aside all thought of the Devil and his damnable habit of appearing where he was not wanted. Karen’s eyes were swollen and dark, cheeks already yellowing into a bruise, lips starting to bleed again now that she was forcing a smile and the way she clutched her purse to her chest reminded him of precisely what it felt like to get hit with a baseball in the sternum.

That the Devil had something to do with it he did not doubt, that he had led all three of them to this point in time with his sheer stupidity in attracting Murdock’s attention was beyond question. As was the fact that as soon as he was certain Karen had received all the care she needed, Murdock was going to get right the hell out again.

Oh absolutely, and I'm afraid Karen has a lot more trouble to get herself into before this is over. A Lot More. But then, so does Foggy.

:P

:( I don't like picking on Karen either but she's going to kick ass later if that's any consolation.

She's also potentially going to regret said ass-kicking so... :(

Fpggy is trying his hardest to keep away frorm Murdock but Matt always finds a way to taunt him. Karen eneds to be more carefull. She doesnt knwo what she is messing with

Oh wow, this is absolutely amazing. We don't see a lot from Brett's POV so this was fantastic. Very well written and Brett picking up on little things like Foggy's flinch - loved it! XD

Matt is playing with Karen, she is justa means to an end and she is falling for him.

AA:

<333333333

Yay! Thank you thank you thank you! So glad you liked!

Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. We need more of Brett's POV I think.

Brett is a police officer; picking up on the small bits of body language should be a part of his job. =)

Another magnificent chapter.

Let me add that I also strongly dislike most of the Avengers right now...and I usually adore most of them. I'm not a huge fan of Natasha, as I don't trust her and it makes my skin crawl that she views people and the world like a set of objects to be studied and manipulated. Which makes her a badass character, but not terribly likable to me. So you are so nailing her character in this story. The rest of the team I usually adore, though. Yet I wanted to Matt to stab Clint in a tender area for the arrow at Foggy. Just like I was upset at Tony for the thrown object way back in the first chapter or so. Tony and Natasha also got frowns over wanting to stay during the medical stuff with Matt and Foggy. Privacy, people! Respect it.

But this dislike is a good thing in this story because it's appropriate for the context and events, but especially for Matt as a character. Not to mention Foggy, who is always on Matt's side and is protective, too. The Avengers we know from the movies are mostly in a very clear antagonistic relationship of them vs the bad guy(s). Here, we're seeing them be invasive, antagonistic, investigative, and manipulative to Matt and Foggy, who we all love.

It's easy to forget most of the Avengers literally know no limits. Natasha and Clint work for a black ops agency that has no limits - they assassinate, lie, steal, manipulate, oppress, and disappear people as they will because as far as Shield is concerned, Shield is the ultimate authority that only answers to the World Council (which is made up of like 5 people). Tony is rich and powerful as all fuck and is a tech genius. Information and all that money and power can get are his at a snap of his fingers or a request to JARVIS. Thor is the crown prince of the realm that rules the 9 realms - his only limits are those defined by Odin and possibly Frigga. Steve is too ingrained in the military/Shield and that mindset - especially since his modern world experience is Shield, that he's more apt to think they have every right to know everything about Matt and Foggy's lives. Bruce is the only one who knows limits and would respect privacy and boundaries like a regular person because he is the most regular of them all (aside from his genius and the Hulk), and especially as he was hunted for years and until very recently by the US Military.

I'm with Matt. Don't trust the Avengers and cut ties from them as soon as this is done. They don't have the same priorities as Matt and Foggy. The Avengers is all about the big picture and saving cities/countries/planets. Matt and Foggy are all about the individual and saving one person at a time. Of course, who knows if the Avengers will let them.

You killed me by having the Avengers know Matt is Daredevil. My heart stopped. I'm now crossing my fingers that this doesn't bite our boys in the ass.

Again, wonderful chapter. My fist is still shaking in anger at Clint!

I am somehow writing a fill for this. I honestly don't know why, but yesterday I thought HEY LET'S DO A FUN DISEASE AND RUN A DIFFERENTIAL ON MATT. And then I spent the entire afternoon picking out a disease and differentials and symptoms and all sorts of fun things and just. Yeah.

He was on edge for the next few days. Both of them were. Unhappy in his skin as he fought the impulse to just slam through the door and pin his stupid soulmate up against the wall and swallow every sound he could coax up. It was a need that was almost visceral. Like sweat dripping down from his hairline or the singular tang of citrus on a hot day. He lived on tender-hooks the longer the days spanned out. Anticipation born to snap clean.

This wasn't natural or even right. He knew that. Resisting the pull? Well, there was no point to it. Hell, why would you? It was innate. He knew what he felt. And he could feel what Vladimir felt. There was no questioning, no second guessing. And yet, he'd stalled right before the finish line. Part of him unwilling to overcome that final hurdle and accept that out of all the people in the world, this was is soulmate.

The worst part was that Vladimir let him. Every single time he let him pull away – let him walk. He hated it as much as he was pathetically grateful for it. Trying desperately not to think as a war of conflicting voices fought for their right to weigh in. Everything was supposed to make sense when you met your soulmate. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. He wasn't. He shouldn't feel torn. He shouldn't feel guilty for wanting what part of him told him he shouldn't have. He knew who Vladimir was. What he was. Morally it was an easy question with an easy answer. Only the rest of him didn't feel the same. In fact, the rest of him was screaming for it – for him.

Only thing was, despite the surety the bond brought. Despite the permanence of it. The anxiety building in his chest kept telling him he didn't have long to make a decision. And in the end, as it turned out, he should have listened.

He hadn't realized what a steady, comforting presence Vladimir was in his life until he came back from work one evening and found the man gone. Somehow he'd just known. Known his one wasn't out for a quick trip to the corner mart or whatever it was the man actually did when he was out at work or patrolling the streets. There was a feeling laced like heartbreak in his chest that told him otherwise.

The urge to head to the roof and try to pick up the sound of the man's heartbeat – his barking laugh, the slight limp that still hampered his confident strut – was impossible to ignore. Only making it worse on himself when he realized there was nothing. A sick match to the same story that played out inside. Where everything Vladimir owned, everything he'd bought or had on him when he'd dragged him halfway across the city was missing.

Vladimir was gone.

Just gone.

He told himself it didn't hurt. That he didn't feel it, soul deep and throbbing in the center of his chest when he finally went to sleep that night. Breathing the scent of Vladimir fading from the sheets as the days spanned into a week, and only multiplied from there.

He thought he'd be happy. Relieved. Like in rabbiting first, Vladimir had actually done him a favor. Instead, he just felt sick. Withdrawing from work – from Foggy and Karen. And letting his fists fly meaner on the streets. Exercising his demons on those that actually deserved it before he finally gave up and visited Father Lampton. Smile tremulous and brittle on his face as he sipped at his latte, trying and failing to act like every breath he forced himself to take didn't feel like a sucker punch for two.

It was almost two weeks later when he rounded the corner of his street after a long night at Josies - not so subtly drowning his sorrows with Foggy - that the sound of a painfully familiar heartbeat thrum-thrummed from the kitchen of his flat.

It took all his Murdock stubbornness not to run the rest of the way there. Heart pounding in his chest as every cell in his body wanted. Forcing himself to take the stairs slowly, steps measured and deliberate, as he strained every ounce of himself. Drinking in the sounds of Vladimir singing softly to himself, chopping something – mutton, barely two years old, more or less freshly frozen from New Zealand – as a very unhealthy amount of frying onions and double-creamed butter sizzled in the background.

"You left," he accused, closing the door behind him. Hating himself a little bit more at how quickly it came out – how wounded – as he placed his cane in the corner and shrugged out of his book-bag and jacket.

"Da," Vladimir replied carefully, warily. As if suddenly uncertain of his welcome as he reached behind him, flicking off the burner. "Man must make own way in world. I should have taken care of business weeks ago - here and in Moscow. Anatoly rests there now. It was what he wanted. My brother loved the city, even when it not love him back."

"You could have told me," he pointed out, walking slowly across the length of the apartment towards him. Sensing the slight ducking of a head as the man nodded slowly, but didn't back down. Wondering if he was imagining the sanctimonious smugness trickling like running water through the mobster's tone. Half certain the man could feel his relief. Feel how it'd felt to know he'd finally come home and god- he hated that. He hadn't asked for this. He hadn't-

"You needed time to clear head, I think."

This time around, he didn't even give him a chance. He slammed his fist right into the man's gut and kicked him with a high lunge that snapped the Russian's head back. Deferring the first punch, then the second, before the Russian caught him by surprise by ducking and catching him under the chin with a vicious upper-cut.

"Careful! You break vodka!" Vladimir protested when he slammed them back against the counter – an edgy spitting mad to his one's amused calm. Licking at the blood streaming from his nose with the air of a man who'd expected nothing less.

"You represent everything I am fighting against! Everything I hate! Everything I stand for! The things you've done?! How can you expect me to be okay with this!? How can anyone!?" he growled, shaking him as his fists curled into the collar of what felt suspiciously like a dress shirt. Expensive and soft with two buttons left undone at the top.

"Maybe. Maybe not," Vladimir timed annoyingly, voice losing its terseness before tipping into something close to fond. Like he'd come to terms with the way things were going to go ages ago and was just waiting for him to catch up.

"Maybe it like stories. Ones that say for man to be truly successful he must be part what he loves and part what he hates. Balance, yes? We are two half's, you and I. Together, make whole. Besides, out there, on streets? You are not winning, you barely break even," the man sneered. "Admit it to self, if not me. But you need me, da? You hate that you do, but cannot help it, yes?"

"You are a criminal!" he hissed, clinging to the words like they still meant something to the both of them as Vladimir shoved his thigh between his legs and firmed it close – rough and unapologetic. Giving him something to grind against before he could even process the shift.

"And yet, here we are," Vladimir chuckled, dark and richly layered as he swallowed loudly. Barely able to stop himself from licking the man's throat as his hips gave into gravity and started moving against him in earnest. Gasping as the firm weight of the man's prick rubbed against his. Confined through the layers that existed between them but no less tantalizing as he scented the air, tasting the salt-sweet of the man's arousal. "God laughs, yes?"

"Shut up," he gritted, self-control a pipe dream as he mouthed into the curve of the man's neck. Wondering what kind of sounds he could coax up if he forced the man to bare it and-

"'Vat? You were hoping 'dis was some kind of mistake? Nyet, malen'kiy d'yavol, you know different now, do you not? A dog is honest when it humps your leg. It is animal with animal desires. We are the only ones that kid itself about what we are. There are no more excuses, Matthew…nowhere to hide. Not for either of us," the man purred, using his given name for the first time as minuscule tremors of uneven pleasure rippled through him.

His fists clenched tight. Fighting to hang onto the dregs of all the reasons why this was wrong, why he shouldn't, couldn't on good conscience do this as the man's breath hazed out – murky and aroused – between them.

The kiss the man stole was brutal, unkind and completely expected. Coming out like a desperate sort of challenge as the bond between them pulsed fitfully. "I don't like you," he hissed into the Russian's lips, shoulders hunching, every inch of him wanting it – needing it as Vladimir let him crowd him into the corner. Soaking him in as his one's soul ingrained itself into his senses with barely a ripple of resistance.

"And I don't understand you," Vladimir crowed in reply, voice sounding disturbingly like a victory as he nipped at his lips, laving the sting with his tongue as the man traced the seam and demanded entrance. Hissing and jerking back when he bit the Russian's tongue instead.

Which of course ended up exactly where you think. With Vladimir's elbow slamming right into his ribs the same time the man bellowed like a bull and threw them both clear over the kitchen counter and into the living room. Landing side by side and gasping as the air wooshed out of their lungs in a rush. Effectively calling a tenuous sort of stalemate as they panted and stared daggers at each other.

"We finished scraping like children on playground?" Vladimir coughed, winded as he levered himself up onto his hands and knees and stumbled to his feet. Heat signature flickering between barely curbed violence to arousal before choosing the latter, humming like a downed power line only inches away.

And while the words were flippant, it was the intent behind them that brought him up short. That made whatever was left of his embattled thoughts and almost-regrets heel. Because the man had said it like he'd meant it. Like it was a request he'd actually honor, regardless of the answer. Like if he needed to, he could spend the rest of his life hating him, and the man would understand. Like-

"Oh God, yes," he rasped, garbling a whine between his teeth as the man's canines traced down the dip of his collarbone. Plucking lightly at his nipple through the fabric of his shirt as he dug his fingers into the Russian's shoulder blades and didn't stop until the metallic tang of blood welled up in the furrows as the man groaned in a sinful surge of pleasure-pain that almost ended everything before it started.

This time they attacked each other with their lips instead.

Vladimir broke his couch on purpose when he tossed them on it, taking out the entire back with a violent groan of releasing springs and spilled stuffing. Biting at his lips and laughing like a maniac as the Russian rolled them through it and wrestled him for the right to yank him out of his pants. Sucking him down and swallowing around him like it was the closest thing the bastard could get to an apology.

So, in the end, considering the fact that he ended up cumming harder than he ever had in his entire god damned life, choking the douchebag with his dick when his hips jerked and the man did something absolutely impossible with his tongue, he decided to chalk it up as a win.

Couch desecration notwithstanding.

"You know, you never told me…"

It was only really in the aftermath that he remembered to ask about it. When he was lying flat on his back, spread out like a starfish. Feeling more like he was breathing for two with Vladimir sprawled out on top of him. Pinning him comfortably to the mattress as the Russian's prick twitched valiantly in the cradle of his thigh. Sated and breathing obnoxiously loud as the man nosed into the scruff of his neck and generally seemed uninclined to roll off him any time soon.

"Told 'vat?" Vladimir grunted, stubble rasping against the sensitive inner of his neck as the Russian burrowed deeper. Hips rolling slow against him without any real purpose than to continue the gentle friction as his breathing hitched damningly. Making him smack him on the ass in retribution for the smirk the man pressed into his skin.

"You never told me what I said," he reminded, nails tracing idle patterns along the dips in the Russian's spine. Feeling, not for the first time, somewhat cheated at not being able to see himself on his one's skin. His mark. When Vladimir could see his etched clearly into the pale of his inner arm.

"Back in the tunnel. I know what you said. About knowing in spite of it…but the bondmark, well, it's different. It's proof you can see, touch. So, what was it that made you so sure I was…yours? What was it that I said?"

He frowned when a full minute passed. Listening to the man's heartbeat as it hitched slightly. Steady and strong, but shallowed intermittently by half-starts and long pauses. Like the man was thinking his answer through before putting it to voice.

"Not said yet," Vladimir admitted, the truth of it keen as the man stretched out on top of him – muscles flexing. "I think long on 'dis. When sleeping. Between nurses needles and glares, da? When I was alone in tunnel, I knew, felt pull – pull to you. But was dead man, so thought I go out with bang, yes? The song I sing then was your mark because if not I would be dead, yes? Was most important thing in moment…would not be here…vmeste without it."

"But my mark? One that sits below – here," the man continued, taking his hand and guiding it to the arch of the Russian's right hip. Letting him feel his way across the skin, automatically trying to see if he could find some trace of what it was – what it said as he ran his fingers back and forth across the pebbly, scar-studded skin. "You not said."

"But someday I think you 'vill," Vladimir hummed, pleasure, surety and affection clear in his tone - almost like the man was smiling as he spoke. Gifting the words with a snapshot of sensation he was able to translate in his mind's eye. "Soon maybe. I wait, yes?"

He blinked.

But what, oh-

Oh.

That son of a-

He sucked in a breath. Mind flicking through half a dozen different emotions. Frustration. Fondness. Before he decided to settle on hopeless and shook his head. Shoving all thoughts of the future aside for a moment in favor of taking the man by surprise and bucking him off his perch.

"Mudak," he grunted, the word deliberate and clear but lacking the Russian's natural brogue as he rolled them over. Taking all the covers with him as Vladimir just laughed – playful and darkly affectionate - as he teetered on the edge of the bed. Naked as a jaybird and twice as cunning as the man's heartbeat thrummed up another notch. Filling the air with a sudden burst of anticipation

And really, that should have been his first clue.

Because before he could anchor himself to the mattress, Vladimir pounced. Taking him down with him as they slipped off the mattress and on to the floor with a creaky thump and a jumbled mess of tangled limbs and sheets. Shouting at each other until he shut his stupid soulmate up with his lips and tongue and strongly considered suffocating him with a pillow until the man reached up and fumbled with the bottle of lube. Grabbing their pricks and distracting him with the beginning of a slow, torturous glide before ringing around his entrance with a slick finger. Murmuring something absolutely filthy in his ear as the Russian's cock fell heavy and leaking into the small of his back.

His ass smarted for days after that.

And only part of it was because of the fall.

_________________

Reference:

"Nyet, malen'kiy d'yavol": "No, little devil."

"Vmeste" – "together."

"Mudak" – "asshole."

YEEESSS!!! Yesyesyesyesyesyes!!! I've wanted this story for so long, so badyly! We had that lil preview given to us, but then the author never came back... But now there's hope!

op here

Aw shit, shit is going down. Foggy is not exactly in Matt's debt, but it's going to feel like that, and it's only going to add more fuel to the fire. How much can Foggy trust the devil before he strikes? Poor karen, no matter what universe she's in, someone is bound to use her.

author!anon here - on the off chance you haven't found it already, I'm going to be continuing it over at AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4419374/chapters/10040132

There's a slightly-revised version of chapter 1 up, more to come. :]

Ooh! D!A but I hadn't realized it was on AO3, so AWESOME, thanks for the link!!

That reunion with Stick was interesting. What Matt has to tell about Jack Murdock¿?.

Thank you =D

See, I really like the Avengers too but I'm well aware of their flaws- they wouldn't be interesting characters if they weren't flawed. Natasha is a very hard character to pin down because she's always calculating so I'm glad I managed to nail her character. The Avengers don't do so well with privacy... it's something I've noticed in the movies. They're no good at respecting boundaries and privacy.

Yes, exactly! Add to that the fact that the Avengers were, in a way, responsible for what happened to Hell's Kitchen (in canon) and then Matt (in fic) and well, I've never been able to see Matt and Foggy as liking them straight off (unless approached in a correct way).

To all of that - YES! Though maybe not Steve... he might be a military man but he believes in civil liberties first. I do think, though, he'd want to know about Daredevil and Matt's abilities which would negate his belief in those civil liberties. Bruce is definitely the real ordinary man on the team with a strong sense of what happens when people get involved in his life.

Oh definitely. Matt's not going to hang around the Avengers (if he can) once this is over. They're just not operating on the same scale - Matt's focused on the trees and can't/doesn't need to see the forest while the Avengers focus on the forest and don't see the trees. If that makes sense?

Not saying if it will or not. =)

Thanks! I'm glad you liked it.

(A!anon) thank you!!!

(A!anon) Thank you!! And that, for now, is a secret.

Yeah, I have 23 pages, so there will be a story.

(I'm still waiting on them too, cause I loved the preview!)

Sorry for the delay on this chapter - anyone who ever said an Arts degree is easy has never had to do the reading for it. I hope you like this chapter. I think it's one people have been waiting for... I hope it lives up to expectations.

Leaving the tower, Foggy is a mess of nerves. It's slowly dawning on Foggy exactly what he's done. He's signed Matt up the Avengers; people who had no problems manipulating them into a confession. Reassurance/support/love But underlying it all is a sense of relief that someone - anyone - might be watching out for Matt and guilt at that relief.

Point being, he's a bit of an emotional mess that Matt seems content to just reassure. Somehow he's pushed his emotions down or back so Foggy can get only the barest sense of them. Notimportant/friend/helpyou. He'd be annoyed, but it's helping and by the time they get to the office and call Karen - Foggy having called her on the way to the tower to tell her they'd be late and to take the morning off - Foggy's starting to get a handle on his feelings.

It's about then that Foggy notices that there's an idea in Matt's head. And realises that it's been there a while, from practically the moment they left the tower. Foggy can tell that much. But somehow Matt manages to avoid thinking on it in any way. And continues to do so all through their quiet day. So instead Foggy just gets to feel the delightbrilliant IDEAIDEAIDEA in Matt's head without any of the context for an entire day. It's maddening.

But finally, moments after Karen leaves - and takes her nearly audible worry with her - Matt stands. 'Come on.'

Finally going to tell me ideadelightalldayMattreally what you've been planning?. Foggy gathers his things, throwing Matt's briefcase at him without thinking. Matt catches it without even bothering to move his head to 'look'. Show off

Amusement That's nothing Foggy. 'I might be able to manage telling you, if you're interested.'

You're hilarious amusementannoyancebestfriend.

Matt just smiles. 'Go get some casual clothes on. I'll meet you at Fogwell's.'

Foggy blinks in confusion but Matt doesn't give him time to process. He's out the door and halfway down the stairs before Foggy can so much as blink.

It dawns on Foggy that this might getting close to the furthest they've been from another since this whole thing started - even when being Daredevil Matt had stuck fairly close to his apartment, comparatively - as Foggy's apartment is on the other side of Hell's Kitchen to Matt's. He feels Matt hesitate.

I didn't think stupidimpatient of that. I just thought it'd save time if we met up later. I know nosweatallnicefabrics that you only brought over suits to my place.

It's fine relievedlovednotabandoned Buddy. I do need to go back to my place sometime. Foggy grabs his bag and locks the door. Go Buddy. I'll beat you there.

Foggy feels Matt's amusement as he starts to move off. I'd like to see you try.

As he walks home, the sense of Matt in his mind doesn't fade. It's still there, a constant delightful buzz that lets Foggy know Matt's already at his place and if he wants to bet him, Foggy is going to have to get a move on.

He's in and out of his apartment in five minutes flat but definitely knows he's going to lose. He can sense Matt's amusement at the thought but as Matt's already halfway to Fogwell's - which is closer to his home to begin with - Foggy doesn't see what's so funny.

Sore loser.

Bad winner.

Matt laughs mentally, the warm feeling spreading through them. Foggy rides the feeling the entire way to Fogwell's. As expected, Matt's already there and he's halfway through wrapping his hands.

'So your big idea?' Foggy asks as he dumps his bag by Matt's. He might be wearing clothes appropriate for the gym but if Matt thinks he's going to actually work out he's got another thing coming. Fighting isn't Foggy's thing.

Don't worry I know youfriendsoftballer how lazy you are.

Foggy gives Matt the finger. Matt just laughs.

'My big idea is for me to train and for you to sit in.' Mentally like Daredeviltogetherseperate the other night. Maybe if we practice we can get it right? I think I'll need to be in top form tonight fearconcernwhatifFoggygetshurt, if I find this Yee.

Matt is being absolutely genuine. There's no lie in his mind; he thinks this will help. Why then does Foggy feel reluctant and like he's missing something?

'Foggy?'

'It's fine. Let's do this thing!' Matt smiles and starts to lightly punch at the bag why Foggy takes a seat. Softly, slowly, 'he' becomes 'they' and they step up their punches.

Soon they move into kicks and they move away from the punching bag. They do a series of complicated flips, ones they rarely use just in case they get them wrong, and Foggy can't help but feel a rush of lovewantlove at the look of pride on Matt's face when he lands it.

Matt freezes and it dawns on Foggy that 'they' became 'he' at some point and holy shit Matt felt that. Before he can stop it, a flash of panic/love/want/loveforever/pine slips out and Matt jerks in surprise.

'Shit.'

********

Matt can't understand why Foggy's suddenly terrified because Matt just felt the sheer amount of love Foggy has somehow managed to have for Matt. He's in shock; not just because he's confirmed that Foggy does want him like he'd started to suspect at Avenger Tower but also because it's not just want. Every piece of positive emotion that Matt's felt from Foggy is suddenly making way more sense; it's not just the love you feel for a friend.

He never thought Foggy would love Matt the way Matt loves Foggy.

Of course Foggy's too busy panicking to track Matt's thoughts. 'Oh shit, shitshitshit. Matt, Buddy, Matt-'

'Foggy,' Matt says calmly. Calm down.

'You're not mad?'

'Why would I be mad?'

Foggy's confusion is starting to overpower his panic. 'Because you can feel ah... everything. Um...'

Matt takes a step towards him. Am I mad?

He feels Foggy poking at his emotions and Matt tries to push the relevant ones forward. ...No. Wait, Matt?

By now Matt is in Foggy's personal space and he pulls his friend to his feet. 'Could... could you say it?' A part of Matt thinks he's imagining everything; that this is a figment of a dream. But if he hears it aloud...

There's a long pause. Then, 'Matt... Matt, I love you.'

It feels like every Christmas Matt's never had have just exploded an emotion in his chest. 'I know,' Matt manages to say, surprise and absolute joy in his voice because he. Does. Know.

'Oh you did not just Star Wars me there Buddy!' Foggy sounds as punch drunk as Matt feels because he loves Matt and Matt loves him.

'What? No. I mean. I know.' It dawns on Matt that using words, imprecise words, is not helping. So he pushes forward every piece of joy Foggy's ever given him; every bit of affection he's felt and the memories of every single time Matt thought 'I love you' about Foggy and hated that he'd never hear it back.

Foggy stumbles - physically stumbles - at Matt's thoughts. Then he rallies and suddenly Matt is drowning in warmth and affection and love; all pointed at him. Foggy's memories are as numerous as Matt's and he doesn't try to even think about sorting through them - there'll be time for that later! - but just basks in the connection and feels, for one moment, like someone worth loving.

It only dawns on Matt that he's been kissing Foggy for a while now when it becomes hard to focus from the lack of breathing. He pulls back, noting that someone - or both of them - had the wisdom to wrap their arms around another.

Foggy pants into Matt's mouth. 'Can I hear it?'

'I love you,' Matt says instantly and he feels Foggy's delight at the words.

It's no one in particular's decision to lean back in for another kiss. This time, Matt's not lost in the sea of emotions/thoughts/LOVE so he's able to pay more attention to the feel of Foggy's lips on his; the taste of his mouth - urgh cheeseballs, why Foggy why - and the feel of Matt's soft lips on h... oh wait.

Matt breaks it off before the feedback loop of the kiss can overwhelm them. Even so, he's definitely starting to be turned on in a way that far exceeds what he'd expect of a relatively chase kiss.

'This could be fun,' Foggy smirks and Matt makes a face at him.

'It'll be fun right up until we can't manage a kiss in public without a meltdown.' A rush of joy/arousal/glee/mischievousness runs through Foggy and Matt groans. 'No Foggy.'

Foggy shrugs. 'Practice makes perfect?'

Matt glares but leans on for a kiss anyway.

Their lips have barely touched when a scream pierces the night. They jump apart. Matt instantly pinpoints the position of the woman who's begging for the voices in her head to stop. Oh no.

'I heard that,' Foggy says. 'With my ears.' It's him, isn't it?

Yes. 'It's close.' Matt's already reaching for his bag, where the suit is hidden. 'Stay here, turn the lights off as soon as I go.'

Be safe.

Matt can't resist one final kiss. I promise.

Now go be a hero!

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Page 200 of 209

Prompt Post #4

Re: Where It Hurts 1/?

Re: FILL 4/?: "The Incident"? Is that what we're calling it now?

Re: Fill 2/3: Gen, the Devil answers to Foggy Nelson

The Devil's Due Part 3.4

Re: The Devil's Due Part 3.3

Re: The Devil's Due Part 3.3

Re: The Devil's Due Part 3.4

Re: Fill: Your Boldness Stands Alone Among the Wreck

Re: The Devil's Due Part 3.4

Re: FILL 4/?: "The Incident"? Is that what we're calling it now?

Re: Fill: Your Boldness Stands Alone Among the Wreck

Re: Fill: Clear and Honest Communication 11/15(?)

Re: Daredevil/House MD Crossover

{Fill} The Dog Days will never be over (so suck it up and deal) - 5a/5b

{Fill} The Dog Days will never be over (so suck it up and deal) - 5b/5b

Re: Daredevil/House MD Crossover

Re: The Devil's Due Part 3.4

Re: Where It Hurts 1/?

Re: Where It Hurts 1/?

Re: Applied Contract Law, 11/?

Re: Fill: Clear and Honest Communication 11/15(?)

Re: Applied Contract Law, 11/?

Re: Applied Contract Law, 11/?

Re: Daredevil/House MD Crossover

Fill: Clear and Honest Communication 12/15(?)