"Very good." Fisk was sounding a little breathless now, and despite himself Matt was glad that he was being affected, too. At least he wasn't alone, as completely and utterly wrong as the situation was. "Close your eyes."

Matt couldn't help it; he snorted, a little too loudly. "Okay," he said, glibly.
"Is something funny?" Fisk asked, sharply.

"N-no," Matt stammered, his heart skipping a beat. He was hyped up, taut as a guitar string, and for some reason he felt like Fisk was staring right at him, like he knew. It was stupid. This whole situation was stupid.

So why hadn't he hung up yet?

"Good," Fisk grunted. He wondered if Fisk was touching himself yet- by the way he was breathing, probably. Not for the first time, Matt wished he knew what Fisk looked like- just, for different reasons, now. He knew Fisk was big, tall and heavy if his voice was any indication, the deep way he breathed. His heart seemed to labor at times, and he was clearly older than Matt by at least a decade, probably more. "When I find you- and I will," Fisk said, frighteningly sincere, "I will- impress upon you- the importance of showing respect. You are too impulsive, too reckless. I think you've been wanting this, haven't you."

He paused, then let out a low rumbling sound, thoughtful, from the back of his throat. Matt swallowed, his hand finally slipping beneath the silk of his boxers. His hand was dry, too dry, the callouses of his palm making him flinch. "Wanting what?" he asked, and his voice came out hushed, a little strained.

"Someone to tell you what to do," Fisk answered. "You need it, don't you? Someone to keep you in check. Someone to answer to."

"And you think- that's you?" Matt growled.

"Yes," came the reply, smug; Matt's fist tried to clench, and he squeezed his cock a little too hard, but it was good, Jesus- he whined, unable to stop himself, and Fisk laughed, softly. "Don't hurt yourself, boy. Shh," he said, as Matt opened his mouth to protest, panting, "Hush. Tell me what you like. What do you want?"

This call to end, Matt's brain supplied, but he couldn't find the will to say it out loud. He imagined Fisk's hands, probably twice as large as his, pulling down the waistband of his boxers, slick palm engulfing his, taking his cock in a vice grip, locking him in place- what would it be like, to be pinned by someone so large, to be unable to fight back? Fisk would kill him, no matter what he was saying now- he knew that, he really did, but- but what if?

"I- I want-" he started, but he couldn't finish. His face was hot, and there was no way Fisk wasn't laughing at him. He let out an angry noise and exhaled shakily.

"Yes?" Fisk said. "Tell me."

"I like- pain," Matt managed, finally, and it sounded utterly alien to his ears, this cowed voice coming out of his mouth. But it felt good to finally admit it- he'd never said it before, not to any of his girlfriends, though Elektra had probably had an idea.

Fisk didn't laugh at him, and Matt wasn't sure how to feel about that. "Yes, you do," he said, thoughtfully. "Hmm. You'd like to be thrown around a little bit, wouldn't you? You don't look like you weigh much. It wouldn't be difficult. I could pick you up, pin you to the wall by your neck while I fucked you. You would beg me to make it hurt, wouldn't you?"

Matt gasped, fisting his cock furiously, squeezing out beads of precum that wetted his palm, took away that slight edge of discomfort- he was already perilously close, and Fisk seemed to realize it.

"Calm down," Fisk said, sharply. Matt belatedly realized he was panting. "I didn't say you could come yet."