daredevilkink | Prompt Post #4

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Prompt Post #4

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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."

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Prompt Post #4

{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